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Ou  ting 


Caspar  Whitney,  Albert  Britt 


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THE 


OUTING 

MAGAZINE 

THE     OUTDOOR     MAGAZINE    OF 
HUMAN     INTEREST 


EDITED     BY     CASPAR     WHITNEY 


VOLUME    L 
APRIL.  1907-SE:PTEMBER,  1907 


THE     OUTING     PUBLISHING     COMPANY 


NEW  YORKi  3S  WEST  3I5T  STREET 
LONDONi  THE  INTERNATIONAL 
NEWS  COMPANY,  S  BREAM'S 
BUILDINGS,     CHANCERY      LANE 


Digitize^y^OD^TC 


Copyright,  1907 
By  The  Outing  Publishing  Company 


All  Rights  Reserved 


115866 


THE  OT^INO  PRERfl.  DEPOSIT.  N.  Y. 


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CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  L 


APRIL.    1907— SEPTEMBER.    1907 

ADVENTURE  pagb 

The  Long  Labrador  Trail.  Chapters  XVI-XVII,  95;  XVIII-XIX,  191;  The 
End,  333.     Photographs  by  the  Author Dillon  Wallace 

The  Struggle  up  Mount  McKinley.  Photographs  by  the  Author  and  Professor 
Parker Belmore  H.  Browne     357 

Black  Bear  Honking  in  the  Valley  op  Kashmir.     Photographs  by  the  Author. 


T.  C.  Grew     513 
Pfei 


Running  the  Rips.     Drawings  by  Warren  Shepard Thomas  Fleming  Day  522 

The  Bondage  of  the  River.     Photographs  by  the  Author L.  D.  Sherman  532 

Ten  Years  of  Arctic  and  Antarctic  Exploration Herbert  L.  Bridgman  583 

Mountaineering  in  North  America Robert  Dunn  714 

BIOGRAPHY 

Jack  Boyd:    Master  Riverman.     Photographs  by  the  Author  and  Louise  Daven- 
port   Stewart    Edward    White    »    i 

The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac.     Drawing  by  Stanley  M.  Arthurs. 

Lynn  Tew-Sprague       27 

The  Story  of  James  White 46 

Geronimo,  a  Relic  of  the  Frontier 47 

Simon  Kenton,  Scalp  Hunter.     Drawing  by  Stanley  M.  Arthurs. 

Lynn  Tew  Sprague     285 
The  Buccaneers.  V.    Mansvelt,  The  Bluffer.     Drawing  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

John  R.  Spears    480 
The  Female  Hermit  of  Okaloacoochee  Slough.     Photograph  by  the  Author. 

David  Hill     544 
General  James  Robertson,  The  Father  of  Tennessee.     Drawing  by  Stanley  M. 

Arthurs Lynn  Tew  Sprague     606 

A  Western  Friend  of  Big  Game — Hon.  John  W.  Gilbert 725 

A  German  Globe  Trotter — Herr  Oscar  Iden-Zeller 726 

CAMPING 

Camp  Equipment.     VH.  Grub  (continued);   VIH.  Horse  Outfits 

Stewart  Edward  White     107 
The  Real  Boys*  Camp.     Photographs  by  E.  S.  Wilson Robert  Dunn     415 

COUNTRY  HOMES 

Making  the  Country  Home.     121;  242;  365;  507;  638 Eben  E.  Rexford 

DESCRIPTION 

In  the  Banquet  Belt.     Illustrated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn Arthur  Ruhl  18 

60LDIER9  of  the  Sea.     Illustrated  by  Unusual  Wreck  Photographs. .  .Clay  Emery  36 

A  Vale  of  Plenty.     Photographs  by  the  Author Clifton  Johnson  52 

The  St.UMS  of  Paris.     Photographs  by  Gribayedoff Vance  Thompson  129 

Sas-katch-b-wan — ^Thb  Missouri  of  the  North Emerson  Hough  145 

The  Carolina  Banks.    Photographs  by  the  Author 'fhoxnas  Clarke  Harris  161 

ill 


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iv  CONTENTS 

DESCRIVTION—Continucd  pagb 

The  Backbone  of  Our  Sailing  Fleet.     Photographs  by  H.  H.  Morrison. 

James  G.  McCurdy  205 

The  Forest  Primeval T.  S.  Van  Dyke  33a 

The  Niagara  of  the  West.     Photographs  by  the  Author Clifton  Johnson  293 

The  Builders — IX.     The  Story  of  a  Copper  Mine. . . ; Ralph  D.  Paine  305 

A  Ride  to  Fez.     Photographs  by  the  Author Harold  F.  Sheets  385 

Down  the  Maurice  River.     Photographs  ^^y  William  R.  S.  Miller 

Lloyd  Roberts  465 

The  Fullness  of  the  Year T.  S.  Van  Dyke"  614 

The  Pent  and  Huddled  East.     Photographs  by  Gribayedoff.  .Vance  Thompson  643 

Along  the  Columbia.     Photographs  by  the  Author Clifton  Johnson  664 

The  Fish  Ponds  of  Cape  Cod.     Photographs  by  the  Author John  Mur dock  691 

Corn  and  Grapes E.  P.  Powell  711 

DOGS 

Care  of  Dogs  in  Summer Joseph  A.  Graham  364 

Bench  vs.  Field  in  Setter-Breeding Joseph  A.  Graham  495 

Feeding  Dogs  with  the  Least  Trouble Joseph  A.  Graham  633 

The  Quality  of  a  Bird  Dog's  Xose C.  B.  Whitford  756 

Bickering  at  the  Dog's  Expense Joseph  A.  Graham  761 

DRAWINGS   AND   PAINTINGS 

Breaking  the  Dam.     April  Frontispiece Oliver  Kemp 

Clearing  the  Tote-Road G.   M.  McCouch  9 

Duck  on  Davy Worth  Brehm  84 

Steady.  Boy — Steady.     May  Frontispiece E.   V.   Nadhemy 

The  Serenaders P.  V.  E.  Ivory  144 

The  Volunteer  Choir  at  Practice Oliver  Kemp  a  16 

The  Indian  in  His  Solitude.     Frontispiece  and  between  pages  304  and  305. 

N.  C.  Wyeth 

After  the  Game — "  Ma,  can  us  fellers  have  sompin*  ter  eat?" Worth  Brehm  352 

Landing  Her  First  Catch  of  the  Season Hy.  S.  Watson  398 

A  Tragic  Lapse  of  Memory Oliver     Kemp  472 

The  Fisherman's  Return Worth  Brehm  531 

An  Episode  in  the  Closed  Season.     The  Intruder Oliver  Kemp  594 

Music  in  the  Fo'castle Henry  Jarvis  Peck  642 

Around  the  Cider  Barrel Oliver  Kemp  690 

On  the  Trail. N.  C.  Wyeth  715 

FICTION 

The  Ding-Fiddled  Ebenezer...  Drawing  bv  J.  N.  Marchand Ben  Blow  61 

John  Kendry's  Idea.     Chapters  XXI-XXIV,  67;   XXV  to  the  End.  217. 

Charles  Bailey  Femald 

Old  Soldiers Lloyd     Buchanan  155 

Fear Gouvemeur    Morris  157 

Ezra  Bogg's  Moose  Hunt Norman  H.  Crowell  159 

Bar  20  Range  Yarns.     VIII — Roping  a  Rustler Clarence  Edward  Mulford  169 

The  One  That  Got  Away.     Illustrated  by  Hy.  S.  Watson David  Henrv  184 

How  Pete  Bored  the  "Oriole" C.   G.   Davfs  249 

Talks  of  a  Collector  of  Whiskers.     1,277;  11,446;  111,555:  IV.  684. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan Ralph  D.  Paine 

When  a  Pathan  Takes  Offense.     Drawing  by  Charles  Sarka W.  A.  Eraser  314 

Ske  America  First William  J.  Lampton  320 

The  Way  of  a  Man.     Chapter  I— III,  324;    IV— IX.  451:   X— XIV.  567;   XV— 

XXI,  777.     Drawings  by  George  Wright Emerson  Hough 

A  Busy  Man's  Vacation Charles    E.    Barnes  353 

A  Few  Dog  Stories Ralph    Neville  355 

Brannigan's  Nerve Norman  H.  Crowell  357 

The  Figurehead  of  the  Frontier James  W.  Steele  407 


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CONTENTS  V 

FICTIOS—Contimied  page 

BoGGS  ON  Fish Norman  H.  Crowell  410 

The  Pedestrian  Goes  Out  and  Finds  Something Dr.  Alfred  C.  Stokes  412 

The  Shake-Up  at  the  Y-Bar-T.     Drawing  by  J.  X.  Marchand Ben  Blow  425 

We  Go  Berrying E.  P.  Powell  547 

Mormon  Murphy's  Misplaced  Confidence C.   M.    Russell  550 

A  Fact  or  a  Fake  Submitted  to  Mr.  John  Burroughs Ivorenzo  P.  Gibson  553 

A  Deviation  op  Course.     Drawings  by  E.  V.  Xadherny. ..  .Henry  C.  Rowiand  595 

The  True  Land  op  Bunco.     Illustrated  by  Horace  Taylor Ernest  Russell  658 

A  Duel  in  the  Dark.     Illustrated  by  Will  Crawford. 

W.J.  Carney  and  Chauncey  Thomas  674 
Hit  or  Miss.     The  Story  of  a  New  Brunswick  Caribou.     Illustrated  by  Hy.  S. 

Watson Maximilian    Foster  679 

Granpop's  Big  Bass 706 

Bill  Fikes*  Fox  Hunt  .  .• 709 

FISHING 

On  the  Care  op  Tackle .• Louis    Rhead  127 

Catching  and  Care  of  Bait Clarence    Deming  254 

No  Trout  Brook Clarence  Deming  301 

Cultivating  Fishes  in  Your  Own  Pono C.  H.  Townsend  376 

Clamming  Along  the  Mississippi.     Photographs  by  the  Author  and  others. 

T.  P.  Giddings  473 

Vacation  Angling  for  the  Family Louis    Rhead  493 

How  TO  Raise  Black  Bass C.  H.  Townsend  502 

Sea-Trout  Fishing  in  Canadian  Waters Arthur   P.    Silver  635 

GAMES 

The  Racquet  Season  of  1907 George  H.  Brooke  372 

Long  or  Short  Golf  Clubs Horace  S.  Hutchinson  497 

HISTORY 

The  Planting  of  a  Nation.     Old  Jamestown.     Drawing  by  Stanley  M.  Arthurs. 

Lynn  Tew  Sprague  399 

Ten  Years  of  Arctic  and  Antarctic  Exploration Herbert  L.  Bridgman  583 

HORSES 

Controlling  the  Hind-Quarters  of  Your  Horse Francis  M.   Ware  xi6 

The  Every-Day  Abuse  of  Horses Francis  M.   Ware  251 

Choice  and  Care  of  Saddles  and  Bridles Francis  M.   Ware  382 

Directing  the  Saddle  Horse Francis  M.  Ware  510 

Cross-Country  Riding   in  America Francis    M.  Ware  627 

How  TO  Pack  a  Horse  .  , Stewart  Edward  White  630 

A  Few  "Hitches'*  in  Horse  Packing Stewart  Edward  White  758 

Determining  Your  Horse's  Action Francis  M.   Ware  766 

MISCELLANEOUS 

•*  EE-O-E"  AND  Other  Fables Charles    Finley  624 

A  Night  with  a  Jersey  Skunker.     Illustrated  by  Roy  M.  Mason. 

William  H.  Kitchen  561 

ORCHARD   AND  GARDEN 

Controlling  the  San  Jos6  Scale  in  Orchard  and  Garden... S.    L.    DeFabry  505 

Preparing  the  Garden  for  Summer Francis  M.   Ware  510 

Prbparino  the  Autumn  Home  Garden Eben  E.  Rexford 


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vi  CONTENTS 

NATURAL   HISTORY  page 

Photographing  "Prairie  Pigeons."    Photographs  by  the  Author . Herbert  K.  Job  85 

Mr.  John  Burroughs  on  Fake  Natural  History Harold  S.  Deniing  124 

Feathered  Warriors E.    D.    Moffett  160 

The  Warfare  Against  the  Wild-Fowl Charles  H.  Morton  345 

Hunting  a  Muskrat  with  a  Camera.     Photographs  by  the  Author. 

Bonnycastle  Dale  436 

The  '  Robbers  of  the  Falls.     Photographs  by  the  Author Herbert  K.  Job  699 

PHOTOGRAPHS 

Miss  May  Sutton 51 

The  Fur  Brigade  Tracking  Up  the  Athabasca  River Mathers  149 

The  Sower R.  R.  Sallows  168 

Looking  for  a  Better  Place H.  M.  Albaugh  204 

"Ouch!" — Drawing  the  Splinter R.  R.  Sallows  31Q 

The  American  Horse  in  Portraiture.     A  Series  of  Photographs.     N.  W.  Penfield  341 

The  Early  Summer  Rush — Who  Said  Sandwiches? C.  H.  Claudy  424 

Montana.     A  Series  of  photographs Schelecten  Bros.,  Bozeman,  Mont.  431 

The  Old  Swimming  Hole F.  C.  Clarke  542 

The  Sand  Dunes.     A  Series  of  Photographs 560 

Having  a  Beautiful  Time James  Burton  582 

In  the  Daisy  Field F.  C.  Clarke  605 

An  Oasis  in  Midsummer W.  M.  Snell  663 

Where  the  Shade  of  the  Elm  is  Most  Welcome Chas.  H.  Sawyer  698 

When  the  Sun  is  High Miss    Ben- Yusuf  723 

.    D.ERBY  Day.     a  Series  of  Photographs C.  Muggeridge  727 

ROWING 

The  Ethics  of  American  Rowing Samuel  Crowther,  Jr.  499 

VERSE 

A  May  Morning Matilda  Hughes  143 

The  Summer  Vacation William  T.  Abbott  Childs  470 

VIEW-POINT 

Saving  the  Bison — Forest  Reserves Caspar  Whitney  102 

People's  "  Rights"  in  the  Adirondacks — Football  This  Season 

Caspar  Whitney  236 
Thomas  Jefferson's  Birthday  Banquet — Theodore  Roosevelt — Uood  Roads 
Movement — Peary  and  the  North  Pole — Timber  Supply  and  Demand. 

Caspar  Whitney  359 
Peary  Relief  Expedition — England  Views  Our  Sports — To  Save  Our  Bison. 

Caspar  Whitney  485 

The  New  Rowing  Spirit Caspar  Whitney  618 

Nature  Fakes  and  Fakirs Caspar  Whitney  748 

YACHTING 

Choosing  the  First  Yacht C.  G.  Davis  112 

Yacht  Measurement  and  Racing   Rules C.  Sherman  Hoyt  368 

The  Professional  and  the  Amateur  in  Yacht  Racing C.  Sherman  Hoyt  753 


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*'y^^»  the  poet  tells  us,  is  the  Mother  of  Springs 

and  of  Joy  has  it  not  been  said  that  there  is  no  more 

ancient  God?'* 

— Fiona  Macleod. 


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O  U  SI  N  G 


JACK   BOYD:  MASTER   RIVERMAN 

BY   STEWART    EDWARD    WHITE 

PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR  AND  LOUISE  DAVENPORT 


HE  old-fashioned  riverman, 
as  he  used  to  flourish  in 
the  pine  woods  of  Michi- 
gan and  Wisconsin,  is  rap- 
dily  becoming  extinct.  He 
was  a  product  of  environ- 
ment ;  and  the  environment 
has  passed.  Fiction  has 
dealt  extensively  with  his 
brother  pioneers,  the  trap- 
pers, cowboys  and  gold 
miners,but  has  almost  com- 
pletely passed  him  by.  Yet 
for  dash,  courage,  skill  and 
sheer  picturesqueness  his 
calling  is  fully  the  equal 
of  any  of  these.  My  own 
boyhood  happened  to  be 
contemporaneous  with  the 
palmy  days  of  the  "drive,"  and  so,  by 
personal  acquaintance,  I  came  to  know  a 
great  many  of  the  celebrated  "white  water 
birlers." 

Always,  after  I  began  to  think  about 
such  things,  I  would  ask  of  rivermen  the 
question : 

"Who  is  the  best  riverman  you  know?" 


The  answer  was  generally,  "Jack  Boyd," 
and  if  it  were  not,  Boyd  was  always  men- 
tioned as  the  second  best.  I  heard  tales 
of  his  mildness  of  manner,  the  rapidity  of 
his  work,  his  skill  at  riding  logs,  his  cool- 
ness, his  quickness,  his  unwavering  courage. 
This  from  his  mates  in  the  craft.  One  day 
I  spoke  of  these  things  to  a  lumberman  who 
employed  men. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  "that  is  all  very  well. 
But  1  have  forty  men  who  can  ride  a  log; 
and  a  hundred  more  who  can  do  all  the  rest 
of  it.  A  man  isn't  a  riverman  unless  he 
can  do  these  things.  But  what  makes  Jack 
Boyd  great  is  that  he  understands  the  river. 
He  can  get  the  logs  out.  His  drive  is  never 
hung  by  lack  of  water  nor  scattered  by  the 
freshet.     He  knows." 

One  evening  in  the  depth  of  winter  1  was 
seated  before  a  round,  red-hot  stove  thaw- 
ing out.  The  red-hot  stove  was  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  small  log  cabin  containing  two 
bunks,  a  short  counter  backed  by  shelves 
piled  with  clothes,  tobacco  and  patent 
medicines,  a  home-made  desk  and  aTium- 
ber  of  rough  chairs.  I  had  arrived  at 
camp  Thirty-four  that  noon  by  way  of  the 


Copyrighted,  1907.  by  the  Outino  Publishing  Company. 


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Jack  Boyd:  Master  Riverman 


tote  team.  The  snow  was  five  feet  deep 
and  the  mercury  had  disappeared. 

The  outside  door  opened  gently.  A  man 
deposited  a  pair  of  snowshoes  in  the  corner, 
and  turned  to  us,  slowly  drawing  a  pair  of 
mittens  from  his  hands.  He  wore  a  very 
high-crowned  cap  with  a  peaked  visor,  a 
short  bright  mackinaw  jacket  belted  close, 
the  usual  kersey  trousers  stuffed  into  the 
felt-like  German  socks,  and  plain  deerskin 
moccasins.  As  he  advanced  into  the  circle 
of  illumination  1  saw  a  mild  pair  of  blue 
eyes  under  bleached  flaxen  brows,  a  long 
bleached  mustache,  and  thin  features 
tanned  like  parchment.  His  large  and 
gnarled  hand  was  already  fumbling  with 
a  pipe,  which  he  shortly  filled  with  rank 
"Peerless"  tobacco. 

The  scaler  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 

"Why,  Jack r  he  cried. 

A  moment  later  1  was  formally  requested 
to  shake  the  hand  of  Mr.  Boyd. 

All  that  evening  the  mild  blue  eyes 
watched  me  attentively.  I  repaid  the 
scrutiny  in  kind.  This  elderly,  slightly 
bent,  s!ow-moving,  meek  individual  the 
Jack  Boyd  of  whom  I  had  heard  so  much! 

He  had  not  much  to  say  for  himself — a 
little  news  about  "Nine"  and  "Thirty-two," 
a  comment  or  so  on  a  kingbolt  he  had  met 
that  day.  None  of  his  remarks  were  ad- 
dressed directly  to  me;  but  I  must  have 
impressed  him  favorably,  for  next  morning 
— four  hours  before  daylight,  by  the  way — 
he  abruptly  proposed  that  I  should  accom- 
pany him  in  a  "little  look  'round." 

With  childlike  innocence  1  put  on  my 
mackinaw  and  mittens  and  followed  him. 
I  did  not  see  the  inside  of  that  cabin 
again  for  seven  days — nor  more  clothes. 
nor  a  toothbrush,  nor  anything  but  what  1 
wore  on  my  person  when  I  so  confidingly 
stepped  out  into  the  cold  of  that  winter 
morning.  We  investigated  pine  woods  and 
slashings;  hour  after  hour  we  stood  on 
cold  marshes  where  the  wind  blew,  watch- 
ing teams  skid  logs  on  little  islands;  we 
tramped  through  cedar  thickets  heavy  with 
snow;  we  inspected  roll  ways  at  distant 
rivers.  At  night  we  slept  in  lumber  camps 
of  various  sorts.  Sometimes  we  ate.  Our 
conversation  was  succinct.  But  the  ad- 
venture was  worth  while,  for  it  brought 
me  the  lasting  friendship  of  Jack  Boyd. 

At  this  season  of  the  year  he  was  what 
is  known  as  a  "walking  boss" — a  sort  of 


general  over-foreman  of  the  woods  forces. 
Later  1  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  him 
at  the  more  spectacular  work  of  river- 
driving.  There  his  quality  showed  more 
clearly;  though  always  except  in  an  emer- 
gency he  moved  with  the  same  deliberation, 
the  same  mild  absence  of  haste.  But  he 
was  the  "river  boss";  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  his  wild  subordinates  looked  up  to 
him  as  to  one  whose  position  was  assured 
beyond  any  question  by  even  such  white 
water  birlers  as  themselves.  Jack  Boyd 
was  the  master  riverman  of  them  all. 

What  this  means  it  is  impossible  to 
comprehend  unless  you  have  become 
acquainted  with  the  breed. 

The  riverman  is  sometimes  a  woodsman 
as  well;  but  not  always.  .  He  has  been 
brought  up  on  running  water.  As  a  small 
boy  he  has  walked  logs  in  the  great  booms 
— and  been  fished  out  of  the  river  a  hundred 
times.  At  an  early  age  he  has  taken  nat- 
urally to  the  pike  pole  and  peavy,  working 
first  in  the  still  waters  about  the  mill- 
booms,  later  with  the  drive.  His  business 
is  to  conduct  saw  logs  from  the  bank  where 
they  have  been  piled  to  the  mill  where  they 
will  be  cut.  He  does  this  by  means  of 
the  water  courses.  To  them  he  sticks  as 
closely  as  a  railroad  man  to  his  right  of  way. 
They  are  known  to  him;  they  absorb  his 
entire  life.  He  grows  to  his  environment. 
Certain  qualities  the  river  demands  of  him. 
They  are  developed  early  and  markedly, 
for  their  presence  spells  not  merely  success, 
but  life  or  death.  Possessing  them  he  sur- 
vives;  lacking  them  he  surely  perishes. 

So  from  the  almost  exaggerated  demands 
on  certain  of  the  robuster  virtues — which 
bring  with  them  equally  robust  vices — a 
type  comes  into  existence,  distinct,  marked, 
easily  recognized;  just  as  the  exigencies 
of  the  cattle  business  have  developed  a 
being  called  the  cowboy;  just  as  the  sea 
exhibits  in  correspondence  the  mariner, 
or  the  mountains  produce  hillmen.  A 
riverman  was  more  than  merely  one  who 
works  on  the  river. 

You  could  recognize  him  easily.  He 
wore  invariably  a  little  round  felt  hat  with 
a  rosette  of  matches  tucked  neatly  in  its 
band;  a  thick  flannel  shirt;  kersey  trousers 
that  had  been  chopped  off  at  the  knee: 
heavy  woolen  socks  reaching  almost  to  the 
trousers;  and  shoes  armed  with  many  long, 
sharp  spikes.  These  lattet-^ere  hisjmost 
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The  north  lumbermen  use  a  double-ended  batteau. 


distinctive  badge.  They  were  filed  to 
needle  points  the  better  to  cling  to  slippery 
logs,  and  varied  from  a  quarter  to  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  in  length.  Everywhere 
in  a  river  town  you  could  see  the  trace  of 
these  "corks" — the  wooden  sidewalks  were 
picked  into  fine  splinters;  the  floors  of 
stores  and  saloons  were  pockmarked  with 
them.  But  more  absolute  identification 
than  any  mere  externals — which  after  all 
lay  within  the  purchase  of  the  veriest  "high 
banker"* — were  the  powerful  swing  of  the 
shoulders,  the  loose,  graceful  carriage  of  the 
body,  and  the  devil-may-care  boldness  of 
the  humorous  and  reckless  eyes.  For  these 
are  things  one  cannot  buy.  They  come 
with  much  peavy  work,  the  balance  of  un- 
stable footing,  and  the  cheerful  facing  of 
danger. 

First  and  foremost  your  true  riverman 

can  ride  a  log.     This  does  not  mean  merely 

that  he  is  able  to  stand  upright  or  to  jump 

frnm  one  to  another  without  splashing  in — 

^h  even  that  is  no  mean  feat,  as  a  trial 

gh   banker  —a  term  of  insult,   i.  e.,  one  who 
on  the  bank  of  a  river  rather  than  ride  the  logs. 


will  convince  you.  That  is  the  kinder- 
garten of  it.  The  saw  log  in  the  water  is 
not  only  his  object  of  labor  but  his  means 
of  transportation.  Your  true  riverman 
on  drive  almost  never  steps  on  land  except 
to  eat  and  sleep. 

A  journey  down  stream  is  to  him  an  affair 
of  great  simplicity.  He  pushes  into  the 
current  a  stick  of  timber,  jumps  lightly  atop 
it,  leans  against  his  peavy,  and  floats  away 
as  graceful  and  motionless  as  a  Grecian 
statue.  When  his  unstable  craft  overtakes 
other  logs,  he  deserts  it,  runs  forward  as  far 
as  he  can — the  logs  bobbing  and  awash  be- 
hind his  spring — and  so  continues  on  an- 
other timber.  Jack  Boyd  once,  for  a  bet, 
rode  for  twelve  miles  down  Grand  River  on 
a  log  he  could  carry  to  the  stream's  bank 
across  his  shotdders!  Fully  half  the  time 
his  feet  were  submerged  to  the  ankles. 

Nor  does  quick  water  always  cause  your 
expert  riverman  to  disembark.  Using  his 
peavy  as  a  balancing  f)ole,  and  treading 
with  squirrel-like  quickness  as  his  footing 
rolls,  he  will  run  rapids  of  considerable  force 
and  volume.     When   the  tail  of-a  driver 

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Jack  Boyd:    Master  Riverman 


passes  through  the  chute  of  a  dam,  there 
are  always  half  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  "  rear" 
men  who,  out  of  sheer  bravado,  will  run 
through  standing  upright  like  circus  riders 
and  yelling  like  fiends. 

To  ferry  from  one  side  of  a  waterway  to 
the  other  is  a  more  difficult  matter,  but  it 
is  accomplished.  There  are  various  ways 
of  propelling  a  log  across  current.  If  the 
stream  is  narrow,  the  riverjack  usually,  by 
means  of  a  violent  running  jump,  lands  with 
both  feet  on  the  rear  end  of  the  timber. 
The  bow  thereupon  rises  in  a  flurry  of  foam, 
the  rear  is  depressed,  and  the  log  is  forced 
violently  ahead.  At  the  proper  moment  to 
avoid  upset  the  riverman  runs  forward  to 
the  center.  If  scattering  logs  are  adrift, 
progress  can  often  be  compelled  by  seizing 
on  these  with  the  peavy  and  pulling  and 
pushing  them  back.  But  one  of  the  prettiest 
methods  1  saw  Jack  employ  in  still  water. 
He  worked  his  log  sideways  by  rolling  it 
under  him — hirling,  the  process  is  called. 
Of  course  one  can  always  paddle  with  the 
peavy,  but  this  is  slow  and  commonplace. 


The  deck  of  a  log,  besides  being  a  means 
of  transportation,  is  also  valuable  as  a 
f)oint  of  vantage  from  which  to  work.  Men 
push  out  stranded  logs,  heave,  lift,  do  every- 
thing that  the  heavy  labor  of  moving  tim- 
ber calls  for,  not  from  the  stable  foundation 
of  the  earth,  but  from  the  rolling  and 
slipping  disadvantage  of  floating  timber. 
Their  adjustments  have  become  entirely 
unconscious.  I  have  watched  them  hours 
at  a  time,  fascinated  by  the  nicety  with 
which  they  trod  now  one  way,  now  the 
other,  as  the  log  rolled;  the  exactness  with 
which  they  shifted  footing  as  the  pressure 
on  their  support  became  too  great  for  its 
buoyancy.  And  all  the  time  their  minds 
were  absorbed  in  the  labor. 

Skill  of  this  individual  sort  is  presup- 
posed; just  as  is  skill  in  horsemanship  with 
a  cowboy.  Without  it  a  man  is  absolutely 
useless.  And  just  as  a  cowboy  likes  to 
show  off  or  compete  in  a  kind  of  horseman- 
ship which  can  have  no  practical  applica- 
tion to  his  trade,  so  does  the  riverman  do 
his  tricks.     A   man   in   Marinette,  whose 


Where  a  little  ingenuity  is  required. 


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Opening  the  sluice  of  a  logging  dam. 


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name  I  have  forgotten,  could  turn  a  somer- 
sault on  a  log;  innumerable  others  like  to 
lie  down  at  length  while  floating  with  the 
current;  Jack  Boyd  could  "up-end"  a  rail- 
road tie  without  falling  into  the  water;  and 
it  is  very  cold  water  indeed  that  can  scare 
off  an  occasional  birling  match. 


But  when  the  opponents  are  evenly 
matched  more  strategy  is  employed.  The 
log  whirls  one  way,  stops  abruptly,  starts 
the  other,  ch:cks  again,  blurs  into  foam 
and  stiffens  to  immobility.  It  is  akin  to 
skilled  wrest. ing.  Like  Japanese  juggling, 
all  this  must  be  seen  to  be  fully  compre- 


Dynamiting  a  jam — an  easy  solution. 


Two  men  get  on  the  same  log.  They  try 
each  to  throw  the  other  into  the  river,  but 
without  touching  him  in  any  fashion.  If 
one  is  the  marked  superior  of  the  other  he 
does  this  quite  simp'y  by  rotating  the  log, 
as  a  squirrel  does  its  cage,  faster  and  faster 
until  the  other  man  can  no  longer  keep  pace. 


bended;  but  if  my  rapid  sketch  has  con- 
veyed anything  it  must  have  convinced 
you  that  such  specialized  skill  requires  and 
develops  an  extraordinary  quickness,  a  re- 
markable control  of  equilibrium,  instan- 
taneous decision  and  a  high  degree  of 
what  might  be  called  physical  judgment. 


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This,  with  ability  to  handle  well  the 
peavy,  constitutes  the  essential  equipment 
of  the  cheapest  man  who  would  go  on  drive. 
There  is  in  addition  a  deep  "log  sense" 
which  comes  only  with  experience,  and  to 
some  more  than  to  others.  The  tendencies 
of  currents,  the  effect  of  water  in  volume 
and  swiftness,  the  places  where  jams  are 
likely  to  form,  the  why  of  them,  and  how 
to  avoid  them,  where  jams  will  break,  the 
probable  situation  of  key  logs,  rollway 
breaking,  dam  running,  and  a  thousand 
other  intensely  technical  details — all  these 
are  within  the  grasp  of  the  men  who,  like 
Jack  Boyd,  rise  to  the  top  of  the  profession. 

Now,  in  addition  to  judgment,  balance 
and  quickness,  you  must  add  an  enormous 
strength.  The  saw  log  is  a  heavy  and  inert 
mass  which  the  riverman  is  called  on  a 
hundred  times  a  day  to  tug  at  with  all  the 
heart  and  pith  there  is  in  him.  His  muscles 
develop  and  harden  like  steel. 

And  as  a  last  item  of  physical  equipment 
must  be  included  that  tough  endurance 
which  is  at  once  demanded  and  developed 
by  the  wild  life  anywhere. 

During  drive  your  riverman  often  works 
fourteen  hours  a  day.  The  logs  must  go 
out  during  the  times  of  high  water,  and 
high  water  is  in  the  early  spring.  His  feet 
are  wet  all  the  time.  There  is  much  rain 
and  some  snow.  Camp  is  in  a  different 
place  every  night.  Blankets  are  often 
soaked  beyond  the  possibility  of  drying 
until  the  sun  again  appears.  1  have  often 
seen  the  rear  crew  "sacking"  stranded  logs 
while  rotten  ice  was  still  running  in  the 
current.  The  men  worked  immersed  to 
the  waist  in  this  literal  ice  water.  Once  in 
two  or  three  hours  one  would  build  a  little 
fire  to  thaw  out  by.  Ordinary  men  could 
not  live  in  the  environment  of  these  men's 
daily  work. 

Naturally  this  sort  of  thing  demands  a 
rather  high  degree  of  resolution.  The  lat- 
ter quality  rises  to  the  dignity  of  absolute 
courage  at  times.  Jams  are  not  an  ab- 
normal part  of  the  work,  as  most  peo- 
ple suppose,  but  a  regular  incident  of  the 
day's  business.  In  the  breaking  of  them 
the  jam  crew  must  be  quick  and  sure.  I 
know  of  no  finer  sight  than  the  going  out 
of  a  tall  jam.  The  men  pry,  heave  and  tug 
sometimes  for  hours.  Then  all  at  once  the 
"^parently  solid  surface  begins  to  creak  and 

ttle.    The  men  zigzag  rapidly  to  shore. 


A  crash  and  spout  of  waters  marks  where 
the  first  tier  is  already  toppling  into  the 
current.  The  front  melts  like  sugar.  A 
vast,  formidable  movement  agitates  the 
brown  tangle  as  far  as  you  can  see.  And 
then  with  another  sudden  and  mighty  crash 
the  whole  river  bursts  into  a  torrent  of 
motion. 

If  everything  has  gone  well  the  men  are 
all  safe  ashore,  leaning  on  their  peavies, 
but  ready  at  any  instant  to  hasten  out  for 
the  purpose  of  discouraging  by  quick,  hard 
work  any  tendency  to  plug  on  the  part  of 
the  moving  timbers.  I  have  seen  men  out 
of  bravado  jump  from  the  breast  of  a  jam, 
just  as  it  was  breaking  down  to  a  floating 
log  ahead,  thus  to  be  carried  in  the  sweep 
and  rush  far  down  the  river.  A  single  slip 
meant  death.  Men  like  Jack  Boyd  never 
took  such  foolish  chances;  but  it  was  mag- 
nificent just  the  same. 

But  sometimes  things  do  not  go  quite 
right.  Few  drives  finish  without  losing  a 
man.  There  are  magnificent  rescues,  nar- 
row escapes.  However,  these  men  appear 
to  accept  whatever  comes  as  a  matter  of 
course;  or,  perhaps  more  truly,  it  is  their 
pride  never  to  show  emotion  of  any  sort. 
I  have  seen  dozens  of  such  cases;  but  per- 
haps two  will  suffice  as  examples. 

One  man  was  dragged  out  by  the  collar 
from  a  very  dangerous  predicament  be- 
tween two  parts  of  a  breaking  jam.  To 
gain  safety  his  rescuer,  burdened  by  the 
victim  of  the  accident,  had  fairly  to  scale 
the  breast  of  the  falling  logs.  For  ten 
seconds  it  looked  like  sure  death  to  both, 
but  by  a  combination  of  audacity  and  sheer 
luck  they  reached  the  bank.  Most  people 
would  have  paused  for  congratulations  and 
to  talk  it  over.  Not  they.  The  rescuer, 
still  retaining  his  grip  on  the  man's  collar, 
twisted  him  around,  and  delivered  one  good 
kick. 

"  There,  damn  you^'*  said  he;  and  the  two 
fell  to  work  without  further  comment. 

Late  in  February,  during  a  thaw,  Jimmy 
Downing,  one  of  our  own  foremen,  fell  over 
a  dam  into  the  eddy  below.  He  could  not 
swim,  and  owing  to  certain  sets  of  current, 
growth  of  timber  and  lay  of  ice,  we  could 
not  get  to  him.  The  water  was  cold,  and 
sucked  with  terrific  force  beneath  a  shelf  of 
ice  at  the  lower  end.  Sure  death  again: 
but  Jimmy,  befriended  of  the  gods,  hit  his 
knee  against  a  single  little  ledge.     Though 

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half  drowned  he  managed  to  cling  there, 
and  after  a  moment  to  drag  himself  out. 
Jimmy  coughed  up  a  quart  or  so  of  water, 
shook  himself  and  gazed  back  at  the  whirl- 
pool whence  he  had  been  so  miraculously 
extricated. 

"Damn  it  all!"  said  he,  "I  lost  my 
peavy!" 

These  examples  must  suffice.  Whether 
it  is  in  breaking  a  rollway — where  the  man 
fairly  teases  tier  after  tier  of  logs  to  plunge 


trary  to  the  general  impression.  Of  those 
who  have  ever  seen  a  genuine  riverman, 
nine  out  of  ten  have  encountered  him  in  the 
towns  when,  drunk,  dirty,  unkempt  and 
formidable,  he  conveys  only  the  impression 
of  an  irresponsible  tough.  Yet  the  town 
is  an  affair  of  weeks,  at  most,  while  his 
normal  life  of  the  woods  and  the  river  is  one 
of  months.  1  have  seen  hundreds  of  savage 
fights  in  town;  1  have  never  seen  but  three 
in  the  woods. 


Birling — the  challenge. 


directly  down  on  him — or  rescuing  a  life, 
your  true  riverman  must  be  prepared  to 
act  with  absolute  coolness  and  courage, 
and  to  accept  the  results  with  nonchalance. 
Thus  we  have  seen  that  the  simple  and 
everyday  demands  of  his  calling  develop 
and  foster  a  high  degree  of  strength,  quick- 
ness and  nerve.  Given  the  proper  impetus, 
then,  we  have  here,  in  the  delightful  old 
phrase,  a  good  man  of  his  hands.  Ordi- 
narily the  riverman  is  quiet-spoken  as  a 
child,  mild  and  unaggressive.    This  is  con- 


One  impetus  comes  to  him  in  the  woods, 
however,  and  that  is  any  threat  to  his  em- 
ployer's interests.  Then  he  becomes  truly 
formidable.  The  law  has  no  meaning  to 
him — he  is  too  remote  from  it — and  his 
loyalty  is  fervid  and  unquestioning.  "Get 
out  the  logs"  is  his  motto,  and  nothing  can 
stand  in  the  way  of  that.  Perhaps  there 
might  well  be  added  to  that  motto,  "Pay 
the  damages  afterwards."  The  subject  is 
too  large  for  the  space  of  this  article.  In 
my  own  time  and  experience  have  been 


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Jack  Boyd:   Master  Riverman 


II 


dynamite  wars,  the  resort  to  firearms,  a 
defiance  of  authority  calling  even  for  troops. 
It  makes  stirring  and  interesting  reading. 
1  remember  a  dispute  concerning  the  open- 
ing of  a  certain  floodgate  in  a  dam.  The 
owner  of  the  dam  shut  the  gate — thus 
holding  up  the  drive — and  threatened  law 
if  it  were  opened.  This  fact  was  reported 
to  Jack  Boyd. 

"Law,  hell!"  said  Jack,  "Scotty,  take 
this  gun  and  two  men.     Have  the  men  put 


ate  the  first  trespasser.  Jack  walked  coolly 
up  to  the  man,  took  away  the  gun,  threw  it 
into  the  river,  and  kicked  its  owner  ashore. 

"Jack,"  I  asked  him  once,  '*  how  did  you 
know  that  fellow  wasn't  going  to  shoot 
you?" 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  "I  looked  at  him 
close,  and  I  see  his  hand  tremble;  so  1 
knew  he  wouldn't  shoot." 

Perhaps;  but  I  should  hate  to  gamble 
on  a  thing  like  that. 


Hirling — the  contest  is  on. 


you  up  a  house  right  over  that  sluice  gate, 
and  you  stay  right  in  that  house  till  further 
orders.  If  anybody  sets  foot  on  that  dam 
tell  him  to  stop.  If  he  don't  stop,  shoot 
over  him.  If  he  don't  stop  then,  shoot  at 
him." 

And  so  it  was  done;  and  the  drive  went 
through. 

Another  time  the  other  side  got  there 
first  with  the  firearms.  The  dam  owner 
stationed  hiijiself  on  the  dam.  He  carried 
a  revolver  and  announced  he  would  perfor- 


But  when  the  riverman,  with  his  mag- 
nificent physical  equipment,  does  fight,  he 
is,  I  really  believe,  the  hardest  man  to  lick 
in  creation.  He  is  a  terrific  hitter,  can 
stand  any  amount  of  punishment,  and  is 
exceedingly  active.  I  suppose  a  boxer 
could  handle  him  in  the  squared  circle; 
but  I  am  sure  he  could  win  out  at  his  own 
rough  and  tumble.  Nothing  is  barred.  In 
fact,  the  long  riverman's  spikes  are  an 
effective  and  trusted  weapon.  Many  a  man 
is  tattooed  by  their  fine  perforations. 


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But  on  the  other  hand  it  is  a  disgrace 
even  to  carry  a  revolver,  and  a  man  who 
resorts  to  that  method  of  defense  is  looked 
down  upon  forever. 

The  riverman  never  knows  when  he  is 
licked.  As  long  as  he  remains  conscious 
he  will  continue  the  struggle.  A  big  man 
once  had  a  little  man  down,  and  was  pun- 
ishing him  severely.  Friends  of  the  little 
man  attempted  to  interfere. 

"Let   him   alone!"  cried   that  warrior. 


at  Grand  Rapids.  Six  men,  possessed  of 
some  grievance,  hired  a  carriage  and  drove 
out  there.  They  stopped  once  or  twice  to 
drink,  and  announced  everywhere  that 
they  were  going  out  for  the  express  purpose 
of  killing  Dave  Walker.  They  came  on 
their  intended  victim  standing  in  front  of 
a  peanut  stand,  and  attacked  him  without 
warning.  Dave  jumped  behind  the  little 
counter,  pulled  two  of  the  men  after  him, 
and  hit  them  each  one  blow  in  the  face. 


Birling — sparring  for  an  opening. 


"Let  him  alone!  /  may  he  on  top  in  a  jew 
minutes!** 

Dave  Walker  is  now  foreman  of  one  of 
the  fire-engine  stations  in  Grand  Rapids. 
For  many  years  he  followed  the  drive  in 
our  employ.  He  is  not  a  large  man.  An 
enemy  of  Dave's  once  attacked  him  with 
an  axe.  Again  friends  attempted  to  inter- 
vene in  so  one-sided  a  combat. 

"Let  us  be!"  cried  Dave,  '* there's  an  axe 
hetween  us!** 

Again  Dave  attended  the  fair  one  fall 


Those  men  were  taken  to  the  hospital, 
where  the  attending  physician  announced 
that  the  bones  of  the  face  were  literally 
smashed  in.  The  riverman  then  leaped 
back  over  the  counter,  attacked  the  other 
four,  and  inside  a  minute  had  put  three  to 
flight.  The  fourth  joined  his  companions 
at  the  hospital.  It  seems  to  me  this  feat 
of  arms  is  worthy  to  be  ranged  with  Hora- 
tio's at  the  bridge  in  ancient,  and  Wild 
Bill  Hickock's  defeat  of  the  seven  in  modem, 
times.     To  whip  six  grown  men,  using  no 


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Jack  Boyd:   Master  River  man 


13 


weapons  but  your  two  fists,  and  to  send 
three  to  the  hospital  is  certainly  distin- 
guished prowess. 

The  riverjacks  are  rarely  quarrelsome 
when  not  drinking,  however.  1  have  been 
among  them  a  great  deal;  and  I  have  yet 
to  receive  even  a  threat  from  them.  Of 
course  that  implies  attending  to  my  busi- 
ness, the  avoidance  of  freshness  and  a 
thorough  respect  for  the  other  man's  feel- 
ings and  point  of  view.     It  does  not  mean. 


impossible  to  exaggerate.  The  woodsman 
drinks  hard;  his  drink  affects  him  wildly; 
he  fights  ferociously  with  all  his  splendid 
powers;  and  he  manifests  a  supreme  dis- 
regard for  the  rights,  opinions,  comfort  and 
safety  of  the  rest  of  the  universe.  In  the 
old  days  the  citizens  of  river  towns  used 
to  lock  themselves  in  their  houses  when 
the  "drive"  came  down,  delivering  over 
the  entire  place  to  the  wild  keeping  of  the 
crews.     He  who  ventured  out  was  apt  to 


Birling — the  victory. 


however,  the  slightest  approach  toward 
truckling  or  abandoning  my  own  indepen- 
dent attitude. 

We  now  arrive  naturally  at  the  subject 
of  the  riverman's  dissipations.  Unfortu- 
nately, as  I  have  hinted^  these  come  most 
often  under  the  notice  of  the  casual  ob- 
server and  are  most  often  reported  by  him. 
This,  naturally,  is  because  they  take  place 
in  the  towns,  where  they  are  most  pecu- 
liarly open  to  inspection. 

As  to  the  mere  facts  of  them,  it  is  almost 


encounter  queer  adventures.  A  favorite 
jest  was  to  hold  the  inoffensive  taxpayer  up 
by  the  heels  until  the  contents  of  his  pockets 
had  all  jingled  to  the  pavement.  As  inter- 
esting parenthesis  it  might  be  said  that 
these  contents  were  never  made  away  with. 
The  riverjacks'  object  was  fun,  not  robbery. 
The  amount  of  money  *'  blown  in  "  during 
a  few  weeks  was  truly  astounding.  The 
average  "driver"  would  come  in  from  the 
river  with  several  hundred  dollars,  which 
he  would  proceed  to  distribute  in  the  short- 
en 


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a 
*> 

o 
B 

CO 

o 


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"Victuals"  for  the  lumberjack^. 


est  possible  time.  To  see  that  this  wealth 
went  where  it  would  do  the  most  good  there 
sprang  up  a  class  of  hard-bitten  sharks, 
tough  as  the  rivermen  themselves.  Canal 
Street  in  Grand  Rapids,  the  White  Row 
of  Saginaw,  the  Cribs  of  Muskegon  were 
given  over  to  such  men.  In  them  were  to 
be  found  all  sorts  of  gambling,  pretty 
"waiter girls,"  drinks — and  knockout  drops. 
With  a  dozen  of  these  three  and  four  story 
buildings  blazing  out  into  the  night  in  a 
glare  of  brilliant  light;  a  pandemonium  of 
cheap  music,  shouts,  shrieks,  curses;  a  roar 
of  laughter  and  of  fighting — it  is  little  won- 
der that  the  local  police  confessed  them- 
selves outclassed,  and  frankly  avoided  the 
dark  and  narrow  streets  of  the  river  dis- 
trict. 

I  am  not  going  to  apologize  for  all  this — 
it  is  sufficiently  deplorable.  But  I  do  want 
to  call  attention  to  one  consideration.  The 
citizen's  money  was  spilled  on  the  street, 
but  it  was  not  taken.  That  is  exactly  the 
distinction.  The  riverman  was  not  vicious 
in  his  so-called  orgies;  but  was  simply  wild 
with  the  flood  of  red  life  that  his  training 
i6 


and  his  calling  had  created  in  him.  He 
was  out  for  a  time.  The  tremendous 
energies  that  ran  naturally  enough  in  the 
broad  channels  of  their  application  to  the 
i^iver,  when  transferred  to  the  narrower 
ways  of  the  city,  overflowed  the  banks. 
His  was  the  weakness  of  good  nature,  the 
rebound  of  reaction  from  a  severe  life,  and 
above  all  the  possession  of  great  pow- 
ers that,  gone  amuck,  belied  themselves 
utterly. 

Of  such  men  was  Jack  Boyd  the  acknowl- 
edged master.  He  possessed  in  super- 
lative degree  each  of  their  qualities.  His 
knowledge  of  the  river  as  an  industrial 
problem  I  have  hinted.  His  skill  with  the 
instruments  of  his  craft — the  peavy,  the 
pike  pole,  and  the  "cork  boots" — was  of 
course  unquestioned.  His  courage  was  so 
well  known  that  tradition  says  Jack  Boyd 
never  had  but  t;^o  fights. 

Both,  of  course,  occurred  in  saloons.  In 
both  the  other  man  was  the  aggressor.  In 
both  Jack  paid  no  attention  until  his  an- 
noyer  called  him  what  Trampas  called  the 
Virginian — and  without  the  smile. 


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Jack  Boyd:  Master  Riverman 


17 


The  first  man  Jack  slapped  in  the  side  of 
the  head  with  his  open  hand,  but  so  power- 
fully that  the  fellow  whirled  completely 
around  and  sat  down  heavily  in  a  comer, 
the  blood  flowing  from  his  nose  and  ears. 

"Next  time,"  said  Jack  in  his  mild  voice 
— "next  time  you  call  me  that,  I'll  bit 
you." 

The  other  man  caught  Jack  in  a  sterner 
mood  and  got  a  good  thrashing.  When  he 
could  no  longer  stand,  Jack  would  seize  his 
collar,  and  yank  him  to  his  feet  solely  for 
the  satisfaction  of  knocking  him  down 
again.  At  the  close  Jack  stood  over  his 
prostrate  opponent. 

"Now,  my  friend,"  he  advised  calmly, 

"next  time  you  want  to  call  a  man  a 

,  be  sure  be  is  one!" 

In  conclusion  I  can  do  no  better  than  to 
quote  directly  from  a  man,  himself  an  old- 
time  riverman,  who  has  employed  Jack 
Boyd  for  over  a  quarter  of  a  century.  I 
had  written. asking  for  what  he  knew  as  to 
the  riverman's  antecedents,  and  received 
the  following  reply : 

"John  Boyd  came  to  Flat  River  from 
Canada  when  a  boy  of  eighteen  years.  He 
had  already  acquired  a  knowledge  of  log- 
ging and  driving,  and  was  an  expert  skidder. 
At  that  time  all  logs  were  skidded  with 
ox  teams.  A  skidding  crew  consisted  of  a 
yoke  of  oxen,  a  swamper  and  the  teamster. 
Eighty  logs  was  considered  a  day's  work. 
Jack  could  easily  put  up  from  one  hun- 
dred to  one  hundred  and  fifty  logs  a  day, 
and  he  spoke  so  low  to  his  team  and  treated 
them  with  so  much  gentleness  that  he  was 
known  as  the  man  who  never  spoke  above 
a  whisper  and  who  generally  did  all  the 
work  and  let  the  oxen  rest. 

"He  could  easily  command  fifty  dollars 
per  month  when  ordinary  skidders  were 


getting  thirty  dollars.  When  the  log 
running  began,  it  was  apparent  that  Jack 
was  quite  as  much  above  the  average  river- 
man as  he  was  superior  to  the  ordinary  ox 
teamster.  He  was  cool  and  careful,  yet 
there  was  not  a  white  water  birler  on  Flat 
River  dared  to  monkey  with  a  log  when 
Jack  was  on  its  deck.  He  was  given  the 
choicest  and  best  men  to  be  found,  and  for 
twenty  years  was  in  charge  of  the  channel- 
breaking  crew,  whose  business  was  to  break 
a  channel  through  the  roll  ways  from  Cay- 
wood  Pond  to  the  head  of  Flat  River,  a  dis- 
tance of  neariy  seventy-five  miles.  Channel 
and  rollway  breaking  is  the  most  dangerous 
part  of  the  river  work,  and  is  often  attended 
by  accident;  yet  in  all  the  years  that  he 
supervised  the  work  not  a  man  in  his 
charge  was  ever  even  injured.*  He  had 
charge  of  the  rear  and  rear  jam  of  every 
drive  taken  out  of  Flat  River  after  the 
second  season.  He  was  a  successful  logger 
on  his  own  hook,  and  acquired  at  different 
times  a  splendid  start.  While  working  on 
a  salary  he  commanded  from  five  dollars  a 
day  to  much  higher  wages.  He  has  been 
camp  foreman  and  walking  boss  and  super- 
intendent of  camps  successfully  for  more 
than  thirty  years,  and  while  he  is  sometimes 
a  bad  friend  to  himself,  he  has  never  been 
disloyal  to  or  neglectful  of  his  employers. 
He  is  a  great,  big,  splendid  man  with  a 
few  weaknesses." 

After  the  last  of  the  big  operations  in 
Michigan  he  moved  to  Oregon,  where 
doubtless  he  is  wrestling  with  donkey 
engines  on  the  pine  slopes  of  the  Cascades. 
But  I'll  wager  he  misses  the  white  water, 
and  the  cork  boots  and  the  glory  of  the 
jams. 

♦This,  my  informant  told  me  in  conversation,  was 
because  Boyd  always  imdertook  the  dangerous  work 
himself. 


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IN    THE    BANQUET    BELT 

JUNKETING  WITH   A  CONGRESSIONAL  PARTY 
BY   ARTHUR   RUHL 

ILLUSTRATED   BY    FLORENCE    SCOVEL   SHINN 


E     Banquet     Belt    lies 
westward  of  the  Middle 
West,  b^inning  about 
where     the    cornfields 
stop  and  extending  to 
the    Pacific    and    the 
Mexican    line.    In  this 
vast    empire  —  sage- 
brush, pinkcliffs,  enchanted  deserts,  Yankee 
made  Rivieras  and  cities  grown  great  in  a 
night — wherever  sparks  fly  from  the  pro- 
motion committee  and  the  pioneer  verve 
survives,  the  banquet  finds  a  habitat,  as 
normal  and  encouraging  to  it  as  New  Eng- 
land is  to  pie.     In  the  sadder  neighbor- 
hoods further  east  the  banquet  is  more  or 
less  a  phenomenon — an  artificial  device  for 
the  induction  of  emotions  for  which  one  is 
sorry  the  morning  after.     Here  it  occupies 
a  position  —  according  to  the  vitality  and 
mental  attitude  of  the  Banquetee — about 
midway  between  a  leading  industry  and  a 
beast  of  prey. 

The  man  from  Phoenix  was  one  of  the 
first  to  cast  a  cheerful  searchlight  beam  on 
life  in  the  Banquet  Belt.  Our  party  had 
just  completed  a  gallant  assault  on  El 
Paso — a  hot  and  very  hospitable  town, 
lying  between  naked,  sun-baked  hills  in  the 
Texas  desert  country,  down  by  the  Rio 
Grande.  They  had  arrived  there  at  high 
noon  with  the  thermometer  somewhere 
over  one  hundred  dq^rees  in  the  shade, 
and  at  once  had  been  escorted  in  open 
barouches  to  a  hotel,  where  a  champagne 
luncheon  without  the  lunch  was  served, 
and  a.  perspiring  boy-orator  told  how  the 
city  was  settled  by  the  flower  of  northern 
and  southern  chivalry,  who  had  followed 
Mason's  and  Dixon's  Line  westward  across 
the  continent  and  lost  it  on  the  way. 


The  attack  had  been  shifted,  by  means 
of  a  special  train,  to  a  little  'dobe  town 
thirty  miles  up  the  valley,  where  something 
had  to  be  inspected  and  the  formidable 
"  regular  "  banquet-luncheon  downed.  This 
done,  the  intrepid  Banquetees  had  whirled 
home  again  to  El  Paso,  keeping  up  a 
running  fire  on  the  commissariat  en  route 
until  the  cars  resembled  the  refreshment 
deck  of  a  steamboat  on  which  the  members 
of  the  Big  Tim  Sullivan  Association  were 
enjoying  their  annual  outing.  Only  paus- 
ing to  brush  the  'dobe  dust  from  their 
clothes,  the  party  at  once,  in  full  force  and 
undaunted  spirit,  proceeded  against  the 
pi^ce  de  resistance  of  the  day,  the  evening 
banquet.  This  was  disposed  of  with  no 
more  serious  casualties  than  the  insistence 
of  the  Father  of  the  Irrigation  Bill  on 
making  three  speeches,  but  the  struggle 
was  long  and  stubborn,  and  when  the 
Mexican  band  had  played  the  last  tune  in 
its  repertoire  and  the  victors  struggled 
forth  into  the  starlight,  it  was  half-past 
three  o'clock  of  the  next  morning. 

It  was  then,  on  our  way  westward,  that 
we  met  the  Phoenix  man.  Phoenix  and 
El  Paso  are  only  four  or  iwt  hundred  miles 
apart,  so  that  he  and  several  of  his  friends 
had  dropped  over  to  bid  the  party  welcome. 
During  the  hand-shaking  activities  we  had 
missed  each  other,  but  we  met  at  a  table 
in  the  dining-car,  where  he  promptly  pro- 
ceeded to  give  the  repast  as  much  as  he 
could  of  the  air  of  a  banquet  by  paying  for 
my  dinner.  This  seemed  a  bit  hard  on  a 
man  who  had  given  up  his  business  and 
two  days  of  his  time  to  ride  over  a  blistering 
desert  hundreds  of  miles  and  back  to  meet 
men  he  didn't  know  and  might  never  see 
again,  but  the  Phoenix  man  was  troubled 


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In  the  Banquet  Belt 


19 


only  about  the  apparent  indifference  of  his 
iwdcome.  He  wasn't  going  with  us  to 
visit  the  Roosevelt  dam  site— a  sixty-mile 
drive  across  desert  and  mountains,  at  the 
best  a  three  days'  trip— and  it  got  on  his 
conscience. 

"I  certainly  am  sorry  I  can't  go  over 
there  with  you,"  he  said,  "and  I  hope  you 
folks  understand  how  it  is.  You  see  we— a 
— we  have  parties  like  this  coming  along 
pretty  much  all  the  time.  Yesterday,  for 
instance,  there  was  Senator  Perkins  and 
his  crowd  over  from  California;  to-morrow 
the  Knights  of  Columbus  blow  in  from  the 
East.  Now,  of  course,  there  aren't  such  a 
lot  of  us  in  the  town  and  showing  'em 
around  more  or  less  falls  on  the  same  ones 

every  time  and — a — and "    He  turned 

his  cigar  round  and  round  with  an  air 
of  abject  embarrassment  and  contrition. 
"Well,  blank  it  all!  Some  of  the  time  a 
man's  really  got  to  look  after  his  own 
business,  you  know!" 

And  Phoenix,  compared  to  such  vor- 
texes as  Los  Angeles  or  Seattle,  is  but  a 
placid  eddy,  swirling  quietly  outside  the 
maelstrom.  We  can  imagine  ourselves 
sailing  through  the  air,  astride  the  neck  of 
some  Arabian  Nights'  bird,  looking  down 
on  this  vast  and  vari^ated  empire  west  of 
the  Missouri  and  east  of  the  Golden  Gate. 
We  can  see  them — the  Banquetees — lolling 
back  in  their  barouches,  surrounding  the 
groaning  boards,  in  a  hundred  booming 
towns.  Trailing  through  the  cai^ons  and 
across  the  amethystine  deserts — like  angle- 
worms come  out  after  the  rain — are  the 
winding  lengths  of  their  special  trains.  On 
the  high  places — mountain  tops,  capitol 
domes  and  the  like — they  stand,  hand 
thrust  in  the  bosom  of  Prince  Albert  or 
broadly  sweeping  the  horizon.  You  can 
scarcely  pick  up  a  paper  in  the  Banquet 
Belt  without  reading  on  the  first  page  a 
glowing  "  Welcome  to  our  Guests,"  learning 
that  "The  Association  of  Amalgamated 
Agricultural  Implement  Manufacturers  are 
being  entertained  by  the  local  Chamber  of 
Commerce";  that  "a  party  of  distinguished 
German  agrarian  experts,  studying  con- 
ditions in  this  country,  visited  the  city  to- 
day"; that  "a  special  train  containing  a 
party  of  Eastern  capitalists,  en  route  for 
Mexico,  will  stop  here  for  a  few  hours  to- 
morrow, during  which  time  a  banquet  will 
be  tendered  them  at  the,  etc.,  etc." 


"Every  political  meeting  ends  in  a  dance.'* 

Perhaps  the  best  way  to  visit  the  Ban- 
quet Belt  is  with  a  congressional  party 
making  one  of  their  annual  tours  of  investi- 
gation. In  the  Banquet  Belt  a  congress- 
man is  appreciated.  The  average  New 
Yorker  probably  couldn't  tell  you  the  name 
of  the  congressman  from  his  district.  His 
idea  of  a  congressman  is  that  of  a  gentle- 
man with  a  Henry  Clay  scalp-lock  and 
black  string  tie;  who,  two  minutes  after 
being  introduced,  begins  with  "in  an  ad- 
dress of  mine  delivered  before  the,  etc., 
etc.,  I  then  stdited— and  in  no  uncertain 
tones" — who  utters  spread-eagle  senti- 
ments beginning  with  "I  reckon"  in  the 
lobbies  of  Continental  hotels  and  raps  the 
marble  Venuses  and  Apollos  with  his  cane 
to  see  if  they  are  solid.  But  it  is  different 
in  the  land  of  sagebrush.  The  great  State 
of  Nevada,  for  instance,  has  but  one  con- 
gressman; all  Wyoming  from  the  Big  Horn 
down  to  Cheyenne,  from  Raw  Hide  Butte 
westward  to  the  Vintas,  is  represented  in 
the  lower  house  by  one  lone  man.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  folks  want  to  be  that  man, 
that  every  young  fellow  who  can  think  on 
his  feet  should  invariably  want  to  grow  up 
to  be  a  congressman  as  naturally  as  that  a 
small  boy  in  Boston  or  Philadelphia  should 

o 


20 


The  Outing  Magazine 


want  to  grow  up  to  be  president?  Folks 
know  their  congressman  out  there.  When 
campaign  time  comes  round  in  such  a  state 
as  Wyoming,  the  candidate's  task  is  some- 
thing like  that  of  a  scout  making  a  forced 
march  through  an  uncharted  country. 
The  speech  of  to-morrow  may  be  an  all- 
night  ride  and  more  from  that  of  to-day; 
sometimes  he  can  catch  a  Pullman,  more 
often  he  must  trek  'cross  country — in  the 
saddle  perhaps,  or  catching  a  few  hours' 
uneasy  slumber  as  the  stage  jolts  along  the 
trail.  In  Wyoming  every  political  gather- 
ing ends  in  a  dance,  and  aifter  the  speech- 
making,  the  congressman-to-be  must  foot 
it  into  the  small  hours  with  the  wives  and 
daughters — ^for  the  women  vote  in  Wyo- 
ming and  dancing  counts.  It  takes  an  up- 
and-doing  man,  lively  and  hard  as  nails, 
successfully  to  run  for  Congress  in  such  a 
neighborhood  and  the  man  who  wins  means 
something  more  to  folks  than  just  a  name. 
They've  seen  him,  fed  him,  brushed  the 
alkali  dust  from  his  clothes,  given  him  a 
bed,  drunk  with  him,  eaten  with  him, 
danced  with  him.  And  when  he  comes 
back  from  the  far  and  mysterious  East, 
they  are  interested  and  glad.  They  want 
to  talk  with  him  and  hear  what  he  has  been 
doing,  and  from  the  big  towns  to  cross- 
roads in  the  sagebrush,  they  hang  up 
bunting  saying  "Welcome  to  Our  Frank," 
and  greet  him  like  a  brother.  It  is  worth 
while,  1  repeat,  if  you  want  to  see  the  Ban- 
quet Belt,  to  be  chaperoned  by  a  congress- 
man. 

The  Redlands  man  illuminated  from 
another  slant  characteristics  of  the  Ban- 
quet Belt.  Redlands  is  one  of  those  sun- 
shiny Southern  California  places  where  the 
oranges  come  from.  It  is  full  of  palms  and 
eucalyptus  and  pepper  trees,  mission 
architecture  and  tan-colored  villas  with 
terra -cotta  roofs,  and  the  other  stage 
settings  of  our  "  American  Riviera."  For  a 
week  we  had  been  in  the  dry  places,  in 
Arizona  and  in  the  sunken  desert  at  the 
lower  end  of  California,  where  water  has 
been  brought  over  from  the  Colorado,  and 
in  the  silent  heat-shimmer,  towns  and  farms 
were  springing  up  far  below  the  level  of  the 
sea.  We  had  been  dined  in  queer  corners 
— at  Goldfields  on  the  desert  road  to 
Roosevelt,  where  the  Chinaman  chef 
dreamed  sentimentally  of  the  days  when 
h«»  had  rrmkivl  fr»r  Mr«    Stanford  ^nH  worn 


a  bright  stand-up  collar  and  had  maids  to 
help  him;  at  Mr.  Jack  Eraser's  place  in 
Fish  Creek  Cai^on,  where  had  been  pre- 
pared against  our  coming  "forty  pounds. of 
the  best  beef  ever  man  put  tooth  across"; 
at  the  railroad  eating-house  one  night  at 
Yuma,  with  the  painted  Indians  squatting 
by  their  lanterns  and  pottery  in  the  dark- 
ness outside, '  and  the  populace  staring 
through  the  windows;  in  the  little  hotels 
of  the  new  Imperial  Valley  with  the  sun 
blazing  without,  and  a  squeaky  violin  play- 
ing "Violets"  as  we  nibbled  our  canned- 
shrimp  salad.  And  so,  when  we  awoke  in 
Redlands  on  a  balmy  Sunday  and  saw 
villas  and  oiled  roads  lined  with  palms,  and 
smart-looking  carriages  and  horses  and 
servants  in  livery  and  the  rest,  we  felt 
overawed  and  humbled  and  rather  apolo- 
getic for  pushing  in — rude  junketers  that 
we  were — up)on  the  quiet  of  their  Sabbath 
morning.  Particularly  I  felt  this,  when, 
the  banquet-breakfast  being  disposed  of, 
speeches  of  welcome  made,  and  the  drive  of 
inspection  begun,  I  was  assigned  to  an  old- 
fashioned -looking  surrey  in  which  sat  a 
"benign  and  elderly  gentleman  in  a  chaste 
black  Prince  Albert  and  white  string  tie. 
In  the  East  he  might  have  been  the  vice- 
president  of  a  bank.  It  seemed  a  pity  to 
take  him  away  from  his  wife  and  family  and 
morning  service,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling 
of  extreme  personal  unworthiness  and  with 
the  desire  to  lift  the  conversation  entirely 
from  crass  and  utilitarian  channels  that  I 
observed  that  it  was  a  lovely  day.  He 
turned  toward  me,  and  his  eyes  snapped 
with  a  peculiar  luster. 

"A  lovely  day,"  he  cried,  "you  may  well 
say  a  lovely  day !  All  days,  sir,  are  lovely 
in  this  climate  of  ours !  We  have  a  climate 
here,  sir,  in  this  San  Bernardino  valley 
such  as  you  cannot  duplicate  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.  For  six  months  after  May  first 
not  a  drop  of  rain!  Think  of  it — two  hun- 
dred unbroken  sunshiny  days!  No  fleas, 
no  mosquitoes — sunstroke  unknown!  No 
matter  how  warm  at  noon  always  want  a 
blanket  at  night.  In  winter,  snow  and  ice 
in  New  York — roses  and  oranges  here. 
Redlands,  sir,  is  the  beauty  spot  of  the 
Pacific  Coast.  What  did  President  Roose- 
velt say?  'I  never  imagined  such  a  sight,' 
were  the  President's  words.  *Tbis  is 
(ihriousr  " 

Wp  rolled  on  down  th^  oiledx^venue  as 

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In  the  Banquet  Belt 


21 


on  velvet,  past  palms  and  eucalyptus  trees, 
past  a  church  into  which  the  worshipers 
flocked  as  the  last  bells  were  ringing.     He 
surveyed  them  an  instant  with  kindling 
eyes.    "Eleven    modem    churches!"    he 
said,  clucking  up  the  leisurely  horse,  "four 
pipe  organs!    We  have  eighteen  religious 
organizations,  sir — always  largely  attended 
— two  thousand  five  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  Sunday-school   children.     Can   you 
duplicate  that,  sir?     I  ask  you,  can  you 
duplicate  that  in  any  city  of  the  size  in  the 
East?"    During 
the  next  half  dozen 
blocks,    the    as- 
sessed   valuation, 
tax  rate,  bank  sta- 
tistics, newspaper 
circulation,    num- 
ber   of    miles    of 
paving  and  trolley 
lines  unrolled  as  in 
a  verbal  biograph. 
Postal    receipts, 
cost  of  living  and 
business  opportu- 
nities followed  in 
dizzy    succession. 
Weclimbed  Smiley 
Heights  — that 
sublimated  flower- 
bed, on  the  sum- 
mit     of      which 
winter    tourists 
endeavor  to  look 
like    railroad    ad- 
vertisements    by 
sitting  in  rose-clad 
arbors  and  pago- 

das     overlooking     .j^   g^  ^ 
the     valley     and 
the  Orange  groves    "Captured  him  and  tried  to 
and     murmuring: 

"Think  of  'em  shivering  back  home!" 
"Sagebrush,  and  rocks  once — just  like 
that,"  chirped  the  benign  old  gentleman, 
swinging  an  arm  from  the  maze  of  flower- 
beds, shrubbery,  fountains  and  what  not, 
toward  the  bare  brown  hills  across  the 
valley.  "All  it  needs  is  the  touch  of  water. 
This  soil  of  ours  will  grow  anything  that 
comes  out  of  the  ground — and  we  have 
the  water!  Sagebrush  yesterday — orange 
grove  to-day,  yielding,  like  enough,  three 
hundred  dollars  to  the  acre.  Three  thou- 
sand car-loads  of  oranges  shipped  from  this 


city  every  year — twenty  fruit  an'  pack- 
ing houses  and  a  marmalade  factory!" 

1  ventured  a  "beautiful,"  gazing  down 
upon  the  valley.     It  was  beautiful. 

"Do  you  know  what  Marshall  Field 
said? — This  is  the  most  beautiful  spot  on 
earth!'  What  did  Edward  Everett  Hale 
say?  'Redlands,'  said  Dr.  Hale,  'is  as  near 
heaven  as  any  place  can  be  on  earth!' 
Now  we  estimate  that " 

Ardent  folks  such  as  these  are  not  un- 
common    in     the 
Banquet  Belt — are 
indeed,  one  of  the 
reasons  for  it.   Un- 
der the  squander- 
ing    sunshine    of 
California  they 
seem  to  reach  their 
most    buoyant 
fruition.   They  are 
as  men  who  have 
drunk     deep    of 
some      enchanted 
waters,  their  feet 
never  quite  touch 
earth     again. 
Something  in  the 
sunshine,    in    the 
almost  cloying  fe- 
cundity,    in     the 
bewildering      big- 
ness and  versatil- 
ity of  that  state, 
permanently      in- 
toxicates   them. 
You  can't  get  rid 
of   the  idea   that 
they    must    have 
arrived   from    the 
climb  on  his  shoulders."     East  a  week  or  two 
ago  and   are   not 
used  to  things  yet.      In  some  little  town  in 
the  sagebrush,  at  the  end  of  a  jerk-water 
branch,  where  folks  have  won  out  in  a  literal 
hand-to-hand  fight  with  the  desert,  with 
drought    and    alkali    and    loneliness,    one 
expects  them  to  be  a  bit  proud.    They've  a 
right  to.     Here  one  would  look  rather  for 
the  blas^  pose  of  the  initiated  toward  mere 
bountifulness  and  fertility.     But  it  is  quite 
otherwise.     I  recall  hearing  one  man  say: 
" Calif ornians  are  proud  to  call  themselves 
the  Original  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the 
Golden  West."    That  is  aboiU  the  mood — 

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the  capitals  understood  not  humorously, 
but  in  all  earnestness.  It  is  somewhat  as 
though  Wall  Street  bankers  should  pause 
on  their  way  down  town  of  a  morning  to 
point  out  the  height  of  the  office  buildings 
and  whisper  delightedly  to  one  another, 
"  Isn't  it  great,  how  tall  they  are!"  There 
are  something  like  one  hundred  and  fifty 
chambers  of  commerce  in  this  joyous  state, 
grinding  steadily  in  a  sort  of  statistical 
exaltation.  A  central  promotion  commit- 
tee, honored  by  the  participation  of  the 
governor,  the  president  of  a  university  and 
other  great  worthies,  co-operates  with  them, 
flowing  ceaselessly.  One  of  our  hosts  was 
recounting  the  state's  contributions  to 
civilization. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he  solemnly,  "it's 
admitted  California  is  the  best-advertised 
state  in  the  Union."  He  spoke  with  a  sort 
of  awe,  as  a  Boston  man  might  tell  of  what 
Massachusetts  did  for  the  Union  in  '6i,  or 
a  citizen  of  the  Wabash  give  the  latest 
figures  on  the  number  of  Indiana  novelists. 

As  Banquetees  we  campaigned  for  a  week 
or  more  through  these  Elysian  fields — from 
the  Mexican  line  to  the  headwaters  of  the 
Sacramento,  from  San  Francisco  east- 
ward and  across  the  Sierras  into  Nevada. 
Where  all  were  so  kind  it  seems  hard  to 
pick  and  choose,  yet,  looking  backward 
down  that  glowing  trail,  two  days  in  the 
Sacramento  Valley  seem  somehow  to  shine 
out  a  bit  above  the  rest. 

The  neighborhood  seems  prearranged  as 
a  happy-hunting-ground  for  the  Banquetee. 
It  is  somewhat  as  the  Genessee  Valley 
might  be  if  it  had  a  semi-tropical  climate — 
orchards  of  oranges  and  olives  punctuate 
the  great  wheatfields,  palms  grow  in  front 
yards  and  along  the  streets  of  comfortable 
little  old  towns  that  might  have  been 
lifted  bodily  out  of  'York  State  or  the 
Middle  West.  This  was  the  land  of  the 
bonanza  wheat-ranches,  of  the  horizon-to- 
horizon  estates  of  the  old  days,  now  break- 
ing up  into  the  smaller  holdings  of  the  new 
regime;  towns  have  their  third  and  fourth 
generations  of  the  same  name,  going  back 
to  Forty-nine — have  mellowed  and  become 
comfortable  and  livable  while  still  retaining 
much  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  pioneers. 

Up  the  left  bank  of  the  river  we  went  to 
the  top— to  Red  Bluff,  that  is,  and  the 
oratory  and  groaning  board  of  the  evening 
banquet — and  the  next  day  down  the  right 


bank,  stopping  every  hour  or  two  along  the 
way.  At  the  stations  they  would  be  wait- 
ing for  us  with  carriages  and  automobiles 
when  there  were  vineyards  and  orchards  to 
be  shown,  if  the  jaded  Banquetees  could 
not  linger,  with  tubs  of  orangeade  and 
great  heaps  of  plums  and  apricots  and 
fresh  figs  and  peaches  and  oranges  that 
they  had  raised  with  their  own  hands. 
One  of  the  tubs  was  likely  to  have  a  pretty 
stiff  stick  in  it — ^what  sly  and  prodigiously 
droll  whispers  as  the  men  crowded  around 
it!«  What  a  swaggering  humor  and  ignor- 
ing of  expense  on  the  part  of  the  young 
man  in  shirt  sleeves,  with  an  open  cigar 
box  in  either  hand,  pushing  through  the 
crowd  with  a  "Aw,  go  on!  Take  another, 
they  won't  kill  you!"  And  then,  as  the 
train  pulled  away,  with  everybody  cheering 
and  waving  good-by  and  tossing  oranges 
through  open  Pullman  windows,  how  excit- 
ing to  find  ourselves  surprised  again,  and 
the  vestibule  heaped  full  of  boxes — raisins 
and  lemons  and  prunes  and  cherries. 
Man's  heart  is  indeed  approached  through 
his  stomach,  and  our  hearts  were  never  our 
own  those  days. 

The  Governor  was  with  us,  and  every 
time  he  got  out  the  people  crowded  about 
him  and  cheered  and  laughed  and  cheered, 
and  once — it  being  the  hour  that  school 
was  dismissed — a  shoal  of  children  came 
squealing  down  the  station  platform  and 
captured  him  and  tried  to  climb  on  his 
shoulders,  so  that  every  one  who  had  a 
camera  must  forthwith  clamber  to  the  first 
height  he  could  find  and  snap  before  it 
was  too  late.  Once  we  were  all  bundled 
up  town,  to  the  court-house  square,  where 
luncheon  was  spread  under  the  trees  and 
all  the  beautiful  young  ladies  of  the  town 
served  us,  leaning  over  our  shoulders  every 
now  and  then  with  an  "  Isn't  there  some- 
thing I  can  do  for  you?"  calculated  to  make 
even  a  sated  Banquetee  forget  home  and 
friends  and  country.  Another  time,  in 
another  court-house  square,  we  were  wel- 
comed by  the  little  town's  old  man  eloquent 
— a  frail,  trembly  old  man,  full  of  fire,  that 
mastered  and  quite  ran  away  with  him. 

"Our  city  is  yours,"  he  cried,  voice  full 
of  tears  and  arm  upraised  and  trembling, 
"all  yours.  Its  keys  are  in  your  hands. 
We  welcome  you — the  little  bir-r-r-ds," 
the  index  finger  quivered  toward  the 
branched  overhead,  "in  their  bow-ow-ers 

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In  the  Banquet  Belt 


23 


of  sunshine  card  your  pra-a-aises!  If  evil 
should  befall  you  while  in  the  borders  of 
our  glorious  state,  fi-i-if  ty  thousand  me-e-n 
will  spring  to  ar-r-rmsT'  Bolstering  to  the 
self-respect  is  the  life  of  the  Banquetee. 

Even  our  statesmen  grew  young  again 
that  day.  And  that  night,  at  the  big  ban- 
quet, two  ordinary,  respectable  and  seri- 
ous-minded gentlemen  who  sat  next  to  me, 
spent  most  of  their  time  writing  notes, 
signed  with  the  toastm aster's  name,  to 
unfortunate  and  bashful  gentlemen  across 
the  hall,  asking  them  kindly  to  be  jpre- 
pared  to  respond  to  the  toast  "The  Ladies" 
or  "Irrigation  from  the  Standpoint  of  a 
Financier,"  or  other  subjects  of  which  they 
were  supposed  to  be  least  informed.  The 
waiter  would  deliver  the  note,  the  victim 
would  go  pale,  then  red,  smile  at  his  neigh- 
bors in  a  sickly  dry-lipped  way,  then  settle 
down  into  a  pale  green  coma  of  embarrass- 
ment, and  the  two  ribald  gentlemen  would 
shriek  with  laughter  as  soon  as  the  first 
wave  of  applause  made  it  safe,  and  nudging 
each  other,  gasp  out  with  great  satisfac- 
tion: "Well,  bis  dinner's  spoiled  all  right!" 
That  was  one  of  the  Banquet  Belt's  great 
days — a  day  of  sunshine  and  laughter  and 
plenty,  a  radiant  country  and  likeable 
people. 

The  Northwest — that  land  of  mists  and 
forests  and  wheatfields  and  mushroom 
cities,  spread  down  the  seaward  slope  from 
the  Cascades  to  Puget  Sound — is  another 
neighborhood  which  offers  splendid  hunting 
to  the  sturdy  and  indefatigable  Banquetee. 
It  may  never,  perhaps,  become  quite  such 
a  vasty  harvest-festival-and-picnic  ground 
as  California,  but  the  Banquet  Belt  spirit 
is  there  all  right.  Portland,  it  is  true,  has 
become  somewhat  too  rich  and  conserva- 
tive and  self-sufficient  for  easy  approach, 
but  what  field  more  fallow  than  such  rival 
and  fiercely  jealous  towns  as  Tacoma  and 
Seattle  could  be  dreamed  of  by  the  most 
captious  Banquetee?  As  all  the  world 
knows,  these  towns  are  about  twenty-five 
miles  apart,  on  Puget  Sound,  within  seeing 
distance  of  a  mountain  which  you  must 
call  as  "Tacoma"  when  in  the  one  town, 
and  when  in  the  other — at  the  risk  of  social 
ostracism — "Rainier."  Tacoma  started 
first,  but  Seattle  caught  up  and  has  since 
far  out-distanced  her.  Many  explanations 
of  this  have  been  given.  One  man  assured 
the  writer  that  it  was  solely  because,  in  a 


struggle  which  demanded  at  every  stage  of 
the  game  a  maximum  head  of  steam,  the 
citizens  of  Tacoma  had  wasted  the  deciding 
fraction  of  their  nervous  vitality  in  trying 
to  prove  that  their  name  for  the  mountain 
was  the  right  one.  It  was  as  though,  at 
the  crucial  instant  of  a  hundred-yard  dash, 
one  sprinter  should  try  to  shake  his  fist  at 
somebody  in  the  grand  stand. 

Both  towns  have  fine  harbors  on  Puget 
Sound.  The  Seattle  folks  thought  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  a  battleship  built  in 
theirs.  Inasmuch  as  it  would  cost  several 
hundred  thousand  dollars  more  to  build 
the  ship  there  than  anywhere  else,  the 
government  did  not  feel  that  there  was 
exactly  a  piercing  demand  for  it.  That, 
however,  was  not  the  question.  The 
Seattle  folks  thought  it  would  be  nice  to 
have  that  battleship.  So — as  we  heard 
the  story — they  at  once  took  up  a  sub- 
scription, made  up  the  difference,  and 
when  our  party  were  at  Seattle,  there  was 
the  ship,  sure  enough,  being  built  in  the 
harbor.  In  Tacoma  it  is  difficult  to  get 
any  one  to  admit  that  Seattle  has  a  harbor 
at  all.  During  the  few  hours  that  we 
spent  there  as  Banquetees  I  happened 
casually  to  mention  the  matter  of  harbors. 
The  Tacoma  man  smiled — sadly,  toler- 
antly, as  he  might  at  a  foolish  child. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said  gently,  "I  pre- 
sume you  are  aware  that  a  ship  is  about  as 
safe  in  the  harbor  of  Seattle  as  she  would 
be  in  Hell  Gate.  Do  you  ever  read  the 
papers?"  He  still  regarded  me  with  that 
same  sad  smile.  "Of  course  not  every- 
thing gets  into  the  papers.  There  is  hardly 
a  day — hardly  a  day,  sir,  that  some  ship 
doesn't  sink  in  Seattle  harbor  while  she's 
tied  up  to  the  dock.  Harbor!  Harbor!" 
He  threw  up  his  hands.  "My  God!"  Then 
in  a  few,  swift,  passionate  phrases  he 
blocked  out  the  superlativeness  of  the 
harbor  of  Tacoma,  and  as  we  parted  he 
grabbed  the  lapels  of  my  coat  and  whispered 
hoarsely:  "And  you  can  mail  a  letter  in 
Tacoma  to — any — place — in — the — world 
— and  you  will  get  an  answer  to  it  one — 
whole— day  quicker  than  you  would  if  you 
sent  it  from  Seattle!" 

About  the  time  we  visited  these  vivacious 
cities  a  whale  which  had  been  disporting 
itself  m  the  waters  of  the  Sound  in  their 
neighborhood  was  found  one  day  floating, 
lifeless.     A  Seattle  paper  at  once  explained 

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••Take  another,  they  won*t  kill  you!" 


that  he  had  probably  "wandered  about 
until  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Tacoma  and 
fell  dead."  "Death  came,"  continued  this 
obituary,  "suddenly  and  unexpectedly, 
just  as  he  had  settled  himself  to  a  long  si^e 
to  watch  Tacoma  grow.  In  this  form  it 
was  probably  a  mercy,  for  he  would  have 
died  of  starvation  had  he  stayed  until  the 
object  of  his  visit  was  accomplished." 

In  Buffalo  Bill's  town  the  Banquetees 
danced — there  being  no  time  for  a  banquet 
— in  Cody,  on  the  plateau  above  the  Stink- 
ing Water.  After  dark  a  coach — a  great 
band-wagon  affair  that  would  hold  a  score 
or  so — carried  us  across  the  canon  from  the 
town.  Into  this  the  Banquetees  piled  and 
away  we  went — down  into  the  caiion, 
brakes  on  and  horses  at  the  gallop,  in  a 
way  calculated  to  inspire  admiration  for 
the  laconic  individual  who  did  the  driving, 
up  again  on  the  other  side,  still  galloping. 
The  dance  was  in  the  dining-room  of  the 
hotel  which  the  Hon.  Buffalo  B.  Cody  built 
and  named  after  his  daughter  and  it  was  a 
very  well  worth  while  dance  indeed.  You 
would  have  a  pretty  hard  time  finding  as 
4nany  different  sorts  of  people  at  a  dance 
back  East,  all  enjoying  themselves  together. 
The  only  ones  about  whose  enthusiasm 
there  seemed  to  be  the  slightest  doubt  were 
the  lady  waitresses  of  the  hotel,  and  their 
natural  hauteur,  together  with  p)ompadours 
piled  to  an  almost  Alpine  height,  combined 


to  cloud  expressions  doubtless  inwardly 
happy  with  a  certain  ambiguity.  There  were 
folks  from  town  and  from  ranches  near  by, 
and  the  engineers  had  comedown  from  their 
camps  up  the  canon;  there  was  a  beautiful 
and  mysterious  French  lady  who  didn't 
dance  and  could  only  say  a  few  words  of 
English,  and  a  nice,  pink-cheeked  cub  of 
an  architect,  just  out  of  collie  and  come 
to  this  green  comer  from  New  York  to  try 
growing  up  with  the  country,  and  the  play 
actress  lady  who  did  ingenue  parts  with 
the  So-and-So  Family  which  was  spending 
a  week  in  Cody  and  had  "never  been  East" 
but  once,  she  said — the  time  they  played 
in  Denver.  1 1  was  the  day  of  the  Harvard- 
Yale  race.  The  General  Superintendent — 
who  had  gone  to  New  Haven — ^and  I 
had  talked  and  prophesied  and  made 
vague  bets  since  breakfast,  and  while  we 
were  dancing  there  in  Cody  we  could  see 
in  our  mind's  eyes  that  other  crowd  dancing 
at  the  Pequot  and  the  Casino,  and  the 
lights  and  lanterns  of  the  yachts  twinkling 
in  New  Lx>ndon  harbor.  It  all  flashed  back 
with  new  warmth  when  one  of  the  young 
women,  hearing  mention  of  the  race  and 
New  Lx>ndon  cried  out  with  the  quick 
pleasure  and  excitement  of  a  child :  "  Know 
New  London?  I  came  from  New  London! 
I've  seen  every  race  but  this  one  since  I  was 
the  littlest  little  girl!"  It  was  a  far,  far 
cry  from  that  old  New  England  town  by 
the  sea  to  this  Wyoming  settlement  with 
its  train  twice  a  week  trailing  in  from  the 
Crow  country,  resting  a  while  and  trailing 
back  again.  Many  other  such  we  had 
met — ^wives  of  the  engineers — living  out 
the  long,  lonely  days  while  the  men  were 
at  work  in  the  field.  "Think  of  us,"  she 
laughed,  when  the  time  came  to  go,  "when 
you  get  back  to  God's  country."  To  a 
man  just  escaped  from  the  town  it  seemed 
pretty  much  just  that  right  here — with 
these  wonderful  mountains  and  canons  and 
deserts  and  streams,  this  untarnished  out- 
of-doors.  But  it  is  one  thing  for  a  man, 
even  a  man  hard  at  work,  and  quite  another 
for  a  woman,  and  their  plucky  stories  are 
told  all  over  this  western  country,  in  work 
done  that  could  not  have  been  done  with- 
out their  help  and  inspiration — deserts 
watered,  homes  and  the  wilderness  made  a 
pleasant  place.  Two  gentle  pioneers  at 
the  dance  that  night  were  not  even  follow- 
ing a  lord  and  master — two  sisters,  farmers 


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because  they  liked  it.  They  had  been 
"finished"  in  the  East  and  had  then  gone 
to  an  agricultural  college  and  learned  all 
about  fanning,  and  now  were  conducting  a 
ranch  a  dozen  miles  or  so  out  of  town  with, 
apparently,  both  success  and  satisfaction. 
Now  and  then  they  hitched  up  and  drove 
to  town— ^or  the  dances  at  the  hotel  and 
at  election  time.  I  asked  one  of  them 
what  had  been  put  on  the  floor  by  the 
dance  committee.  She  rubbed  the  toe  of 
her  boot  over  it  thoughtfully  and  observed 
demurely  that  it  might  be  commeal  and 
it  might  be  gold  dust.  Presently  the 
music  paused,  the  Gentleman  from  Wyo- 
ming made  a  speech,  then  the  band-wagon 
coach  appeared,  again  we  galloped  down 
into  the  canon  and  out  again  and  while 
the  lights  still  blinked  from  the  town 
across  the  gulch  trailed  away,  down  the 
Shoshone  toward  the  Big  Horn  and  Crow 
country. 

The  straight  glare  and  heat  of  high  noon 
were  on  the  mountains  as  the  Banquetees' 
special  swung  down  the  narrow  gorge,  from 
the  ten-thousand-foot-level  of  Gunnison 
Pass  into  the  shadow  of  Black  Canon.  We 
had  breakfasted  on  rainbow  trout  at  Salida, 
in  the  amethystine  dawn,  so  crystalline  and 
buoyant  that  even  our  sated  carcasses 
tugged  a  bit  at  their  earthy  guy-ropes. 
But  the  reaction  of  midday  was  claiming  us 
now.  After  our  month  and  more  along  the 
gilded  highways  banqueting  had  become  a 
habit,  and  like  drowsy  vultures  we  blinked 
at  the  wilderness  of  terra-cotta  rocks  and 
wanted  to  know  when  dinner  was  coming. 
Appeared  a  little  board  station  and  railroad 
eating-house.  The  train  drew  up  with  a 
tired  release  of  breath,  out  tumbled  the 
Banquetees.  The  reception  committee  con- 
sisted of  a  middle-aged  man  and  woman 
and  a  little  boy  and  three  or  four  waitresses, 
very  warm  and  flustered-looking,  with 
puckers  in  their  brows  and  brand  new  pink 
bows  in  their  hair.  Dinner  was  on  the 
table — the  railroad  silver,  in  soldierly  rows, 
almost  filled  the  gap  between  plate  and 
plate,  a  few  melancholy  flowers  drooped 
here  and  there,  and  in  the  center  bravely 
stood  a  huge  pink-and-white  cake  such  as 
grow  in  bake-shop  windows.  We  gobbled 
through  it — soup  and  rainbow  trout  and 
chk:ken  and  sad-hued  lamb  and  many 
things  out  of  cans — some  panting  freight 
had  dragged  it  all  up  over  the  Pass — grum- 


bled a  bit  because  there  wasn't  more  trout 
and  stumped  back  to  the  train.  The  little 
reception  committee  stood  at  the  door, 
bowing  each  one  out,  prolonging  the  ex- 
citement. It  is  lonesome  in  Black  Canon. 
"Good-bye,"  smiled  the  woman.  "Good- 
bye, sir,"  bowed  the  tired-looking  man,  and 
then,  almost  in  a  grand  manner:  "  Believe 
me,  it  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  have 
served  you.  We  hope  you'll  come  again." 
Some  one,  lighting  his  cigar,  guessed  that 
they  didn't  have  as  big  a  crowd  as  this  very 
often.  The  woman  nodded.  "We're  a 
long  way  from  people  here,"  she  said,  "a 
long  way  from  home."  The  man  with  the 
cigar  said  that  he  was,  too,  all  the  way  from 
New  York.  "New  York!"  She  ran  for- 
ward and  held  out  her  hand.  "That's  my 
home!  That  is,  I  came  from  Jersey  City. 
I  suppose,"  ishe  ventured,  "you  know  Jer- 
sey City?"  And  then  came  the  little  story 
so  familiar  in  the  West — her  husband 
hadn't  been  well  and  they'd  thought  he 
might  do  better  out  here  in  the  mountains. 
It  had  done  him  good  and  their  little  boy 
liked  it — he  had  caught  the  trout  for  the 
dinner.  She  hoped  we  were  satisfied  with 
the  dinner.  They'd  just  got  the  eating- 
house  and  they  wanted  to  show  the  super- 
intendent what  they  could  do  and — Well, 


"With  pompadours  piled  to  an  almost  Alpine 
height." 
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Good-bye!    Be  sure  and  come  again  some- 
time     The  train  drew  away,  the  little 

reception  committee  went  out  of  sight  be- 
hind the  terra-cotta  rocks  and  we  bowled 
on  toward  the  Valley  of  the  Uncompahgre. 
Many  things  happened  during  those  six 
week  a-junketing — I  have  gossiped  about 
only  a  few  haphazard  mile-posts  that  bob 
into  view  as  one  harks  back  over  the  ten- 
thousand-mile  trail.  In  a  way,  I  suppose, 
a  junketer's  outlook  is  somewhat  lime- 
lighted— life  west  of  the  Com  Belt  is  not 
one  grand  sweet  banquet;  the  casual  ten- 
derfoot, stepping  off  the  train  at  Alkali 
Flats,  may  not,  perhaps,  safely  assume 
that  he  will  be  met  by  the  mayor  and  a 
brass  band  and  beautiful  maidens  strewing 
the  main  street  with  roses  and  ripe  oranges. 
But  even  though  one  admits  this  in  the 
cold  intellectual  light  of  months  after,  it  is 
good  in  this  sad  world  to  have  seen,  day 
after  day  for  weeks,  all  mankind  appar- 
ently governed  by  the  cheerful  laws  of 
hospitality  and  optimism*  and  good  humor. 
It  is  difficult  for  one  who  has  been  properly 
presented  to  the  Banquet  Belt  not  to  feel 
that  somehow,  out  there,  Christmas  does 
not  come  more  than  once  a  year.  It  is  re- 
assuring, in  an  existence  filled  with  folks 
dissatisfied  with  their  own  particular  sorts 
of  cages,  to  meet  folks  who  jubilantly  are 
convinced  that  their  town,  their  mountains, 
their  climate  and  soil  and  people  are  quite 
the  best  in  the  world.  But  most  inspiring 
of  all  is  that  which  lies  under  all  this  ex- 
uberance and  optimism — the  essential 
strength  and  faith  and  idealism  and  hon- 
esty— the  good  citizens.  A  country,  like  a 
man,  has  a  certain  youth  and  Eden-time, 
which  comes  but  once;  the  greater  part  of 
the  Banquet  Belt  is  still  in  this  youth,  its 
people  the  strong,  imaginative,  chosen  peo- 
ple who  had  the  courage  to  break  the  old 
ties  and  strike  out  into  it.  They  have  been 
up  against  some  of  the  elemental  facts  of 
existence;  the  elemental  virtues  have  been 
necessary  in  their  business.  No  weight  of 
general  evil,  hovering  vaguely  in  the 
atmosphere,  as  it  were,  has  yet  made  them 
self-conscious;  with  the  President  they 
can  discover  the  Decalogue  without  fear  of 
being  laughed  at.  There  was  a  Montana 
man  who  drove  us  about  his  town  one 
morning.  He  looked  like  a  ranchman,  but 
ran  a  big  "general  store"  where  you  could 


buy  anything  from  dancing  pumps  to  a 
threshing  engine.  We  talked  about  hunt- 
ing, f)olitics,  irrigation  and  the  town. 
Something  was  said  about  a  brilliant  and 
rather  unscrupulous  critic  of  the  President. 
"Well,"  said  our  host  finally,  "if  a  man 
can't  be  witty  without  being  mean  he'd 
better  keep  still.  We're  here  in  the  world 
to  build  up  and  not  to  pull  down,"  and 
later,  when  we  were  talking  about  business 
chances  in  such  a  town,  he  summed  it  up 
with  "a  man  can  make  a  little  more  than 
he  spends  and  own  a  home  that'll  give  his 
children  a  chance.  If  a  man  can  do  that 
and  make  some  friends  along  the  way  and 
when  he  gets  out  of  the  world  have  people 
glad  he  was  in  it — after  all,  that's  about  all 
that  counts." 

I  am  not  quoting  these  chance  remarks 
as  part  of  any  unique  philosophy,  but 
merely  because  I  happen  to  remember 
them,  almost  word  for  word,  and  because 
they  are  so  typical  of  the  things  men  say  to 
you  every  day  in  the  new  country — not  in 
heart-to-heart  comparisons  of  ethical  stan- 
dards, but  spontaneously,  with  a  sort  of 
boyish  candor,  between  cigar  puffs  and 
droll  anecdotes  and  talk  of  politics  and 
business.  Folks  work  under  such  simple 
philosophies  everywhere,  in  tenements  as 
well  as  in  wheatfields — no  one  who  knows 
the  city  that  good-humoredly  fights  the 
brave  fight  has  any  notion  that  Utopia 
exists  only  in  the  country.  But  back  in 
the  town  it  is  rather  harder  to  see;  through 
the  haze  of  this  and  that,  individuals  and 
the  straight  outlines  of  simple,  vital  things 
stand  out  less  clearly.  But  here  they  are 
seen  in  fairer  perspective.  Work,  even  the 
humblest — raising  a  roof,  making  the  desert 
blossom — has  almost  the  thrill  of  creation, 
as  all  necessary  work  has  if  one  can  isolate 
it  enough  to  see  clearly  its  dignity.  So, 
here,  do  the  strong,  kindly  men  stand  out 
— clean,  refreshing,  as  the  air  of  their  high 
plateaus,  solid  and  reassuring  as  the 
mountains  from  which  they  have  taken 
strength.  They  are  ours,  these  men,  and 
their  generations  yet  unborn;  in  their 
presence  one  may  puff  aside  the  talk  of 
graft  and  selfishness,  the  music-hall  cyni- 
cism that  Yankee  Doodle  has  become  Yan- 
kee Boodle.  This  is  our  country — these 
our  people.  It  is  good,  now  and  then,  to 
get  down  to  the  ground. 


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THE  CONSPIRACY   OF    PONTIAC 


BY    LYNN   TEW   SPRAGUE 


DRAWING  BY  STANLEY  M.  ARTHURS 


RANGE  alone  of  the 
European  nations  which 
planted  colonies  in  the 
New  World,  treated  the 
natives  with  some  degree 
of  fairness  and  friendship, 
and  in  the  Seven  Years' 
War  with  England  nearly  all  the  tribes 
involved  were  her  allies.  That  war  was 
now  over.  The  Empire  of  New  France, 
built  at  such  a  terrible  cost,  had  fallen  on 
the  plains  of  Abraham,  September  13, 
1759,  before  the  expiring  genius  of  the 
gallant  Wolfe.  All  Canada  soon  sur- 
rendered and  the  articles  of  capitulation 
included  the  posts  around  the  Great 
Lakes. 

In  the  fall  of  1760  Major  Robert  Rogers, 
of  whom  we  have  already  had  a  brief  glance 
in  these  papers,  was  dispatched  from  Mon- 
treal with  his  famous  band  of  rangers,  to 
take  possession  of  those  posts  in  the  name 
of  His  Britannic  Majesty.  He  bore  a  cojpy 
of  the  capitulation  and  letters  from  the 
French  commander  directing  their  sur- 
render. 

The  first  week  in  November  found  him 
on  Lake  Erie.  Encountering  a  bitter 
storm,  he  landed  near  the  present  site  of 
Geveland  and  while  in  camp  there  was 
visited  by  a  party  of  Indian  chiefs,  who 
announced  themselves  messengers  of  Pon- 
tiac,  whom  in  the  grandiloquent  phrase- 
ok)gy  of  the  red-man,  they  declared  to  be 
the  greatest  of  all  sachems,  the  mightiest 
of  all  war  chiefs,  and  the  ruler  of  all  lands 
east  of  the  setting  sun.  His  name  and 
fame  were  new  to  Rogers,  but  as  he  was 
informed  that  the  puissant  chief  was  near 
at  hand,  he  made  no  comment,  and  in  a  few 
hours  the  haughty  king  of  the  wilderness 
arrived. 
In  appearance,  Pontiac  realized  the  ideal 


chief  of  the  school  of  Cooper.  Though  not 
above  the  average  height  he  possessed  al- 
most faultless  symmetry,  and  his  strength 
and  endurance  were  the  wonder  of  the 
savages  themselves.  No  eastern  despot 
could  comport  himself  with  loftier  disdain 
or  prouder  arrogance.  But  it  was  chiefly 
in  his  stem  and  commanding  countenance 
that  the  ascendency  of  his  spirit  and  the 
mastery  of  his  mind  were  apparent. 
Though  bom  the  son  of  an  Ottawa  chief 
and  an  Ojibway  mother,  his  personal  prow- 
ess, eloquence  and  capacity  had  early  made 
him  the  dominant  force  of  his  tribe.  He 
had  led  the  war  party  of  his  people  at  Brad- 
dock's  defeat,  and  soon  after  his  craft, 
cunning  and  courage,  his  energy,  resource- 
fulness and  knowledge,  made  him  the 
natural  leader  of  all  the  Algonquin  race 
in  the  Middle  West.  No  other  single  In- 
dian who  ever  lived  possessed  so  much  au- 
thority over  so  large  a  number  of  braves. 
He  was  ever  the  faithful  ally  of  the  French, 
and  had  grown  to  hate  the  English  with  a 
lasting  and  a  rancorous  hatred.  Perhaps 
no  man  of  his  race  ever  equaled  him  in 
mental  power  and  personal  magnetism. 
He  was  at  this  time  nearly  fifty  years  of 
age,  and  for  an  Indian,  had  traveled  ex- 
tensively. He  had  been  the  guest  of  the 
great  Montcalm  at  Quebec,  and  by  the 
adroit  French  was  everywhere  treated 
with  distinguished  courtesy. 

In  his  interview  with  Rogers  he  was 
characteristically  disdainful  and  imperious. 
Who  was  Rogers,  he  demanded?  What 
was  his  business  here?  How  dared  he  enter 
the  country  of  Pontiac  without  permis- 
sion? Such  was  the  tenor  of  his  talk.  But 
the  lordly  chief  had  now  met  with  a  type 
of  man  very  different  from  the  ceremo- 
nious and  deferential  French  comm?> 
dants.    The  undaunted  and  experie 


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American  frontiersman  knew  the  peril  of 
the  least  sign  of  humility  in  his  bearing 
toward  the  arrogant  Ijidian,  and  replied 
in  terms  scarcely  less  ostentatious,  and 
while  Pontiac  stood  amazed  at  such  inso- 
lence, he  was  rapidly  told  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  French  power,  the  capture  of 
Quebec,  and  the  surrender  of  Canada  and 
the  western  posts.  The  Indian  counte- 
nance is  not  more  mobile  than  marble;  but 
to  Pontiac's  fierce  heart  these  new  tidings 
must  have  brought  dismay  and  anguish. 
But  he  surrendered  none  of  his  insolent 
assumption.  He  answered  Rogers  that  he 
would  consider  until  another  sun  whether 
he  should  be  allowed  to  pass,  and  then 
withdrew  to  his  near-by  camp. 

But  the  storm  continued,  and  as  Rogers 
could  not  move  he  and  Pontiac  had  sev- 
eral "talks."  An  Indian's  weakness  is 
a  lack  of  forethought,  but  in  this  respect 
Pontiac  was  a  marked  exception.  He  was 
shrewd,  he  was  ambitious,  and  he  probably 
realized  that  if  Rogers'  tale  were  true, 
policy  dictated  conciliatory  and  even 
friendly  measures.  So  he  graciously  ac- 
corded a  permission  that  was  not  asked, 
and  both  he  and  Rogers  took  their  way  to 
Detroit.  Pontiac  knew  that  if  Rogers' 
tale  were  a  ruse,  the  French  were  strong 
enough  to  destroy  the  small  English  force, 
but  that  if  in  truth  the  English  King  and 
the  Indians'  "Great  Father  in  France," 
were  now  friends,  as  Rogers  allied,  his 
own  interest  lay  in  a  new  alliance. 

Though  an  ambush  had  been  prepared 
by  the  Indians  near  Detroit,  Pontiac  al- 
lowed Rogers'  force  to  reach  the  fort  in 
safety.  In  the  months  following  all  the 
French  posts  were  surrendered.  This 
yielding  up  of  strongholds  to  inferior  num- 
bers without  the  firing  of  a  gun  on  merely 
the  exhibition  of  a  bit  of  white  paper,  was 
a  thing  that  much  astonished  the  savages. 
Their  minds  could  not  grasp  the  meaning  of 
such  a  proceeding.  They  wondered  at  the 
magic  spell  of  the  letter  Rogers  bore  and 
looked  upon  it  with  superstitious  awe. 
They  wavered  between  a  profound  re- 
spect for  a  people  that  could  inspire  such 
fear,  and  an  equally  profound  contempt 
of  them  because  no  French  were  killed. 

But  the  savages  were  not  long  in  dis- 
covering that  for  them  a  new  order  of 
things  was  inaugurated.  Ceremonious  as- 
'iemblies,  dancing  and  feasts,  presents  of 


blankets,  food  and  firearms,  all  these  and 
other  pleasant  things  had  been  theirs  at 
the  hands  of  the  French.  Now  they  were 
treated  like  dogs  by  their  old  enemies,  the 
English.  Already  under  patronage  and 
protection  the  red-men  were  losing  much  of 
their  native  independence  and  martial 
dignity,  while  acquiring  only  the  vices  of 
the  whites.  The  gifts  of  the  French  had 
become  necessities,  but  under  the  English 
the  supplies  were  so  curtailed  that  suffer- 
ing and  want  resulted.  English  traders 
"cheated,  cursed  and  plundered  the  In- 
dians and  outraged  their  families."  The 
officers  at  the  forts  received  them  con- 
temptuously and  harshly.  The  brutal  sol- 
diery insulted  and  often  struck  them.  Be- 
fore a  year  had  worn  away  every  Indian 
tribe  between  the  Alleghanies  and  the 
Mississippi,  had  learned  to  hate  the  English 
with  an  implacable  enmity. 

But  not  one  among  all  the  race  felt  such 
fierce,  incessant  and  rancorous  animosity 
as  did  the  proud  Pontiac.  The  marked 
distinction,  the  lofty  compliment,  the  abun- 
dant presents  were  his  no  longer.  The 
great  chief  was  hardly  more  than  an  out- 
cast, a  beggarly  Indian  in  the  eyes  of  the 
lordly  English,  who  had  robbed  him  of  his 
lands  and  were  debasing  his  braves  with 
gambling  and  with  whiskey.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  with  his  own  selfish  feel- 
ings there  was  mingled  something  of  patri- 
otic grief.  He  pondered  over  his  wrongs 
through  every  waking  hour.  In  his  wiW 
heart  the  fiercest  passions  burned.  He 
went  apart  into  the  forest  and  spent  days 
and  nights  nursing  his  woes.  His  own 
people  grew  afraid  of  him,  looking  with 
awe  on  the  chief  whom  they  believed  com- 
muned with  the  Great  Spirit.  And  indeed 
Pontiac's  hatred  was  now  so  bitter  and  un- 
ceasing that  it  grew  to  be  a  sort  of  frenzy, 
and  by  the  red-men  the  unbalanced  in 
mind  were  ever  r^arded  with  something 
akin  to  worship,  as  the  messengers  of 
spirits  of  departed  braves. 

But  the  great  chief  was  far  from  insane. 
Withdrawn  to  himself  in  swamps  and  in 
forest  jungles,  his  savage  heart  and  bitter 
mind  were  maturing  the  most  comprehen- 
sive scheme  of  bloody  vengeance  that  In- 
dian hbtory  portrays.  Suddenly  he  gave 
over  his  incantations  and  lonely  medita- 
tions. He  came  forth  from  his  dark  re- 
treats and  visited  all  the  neighboring  tribes, 

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holding  long  counsels  with  chiefs  and  war- 
riors. He  also  dispatched  to  the  chiefs  of 
tribes  as  far  east  as  the  Senecas,  and  as  far 
south  as  the  Creeks,  wampum  belts,  and 
eloquent  appeals  for  vengeance  on  the 
despised  English.  In  haughty  terms  he 
demanded  their  co-operation,  promising 
them  the  anger  of  the  Great  Spirit  if  they 
dared  refuse,  or  if  they  betrayed  his  far- 
reaching  plans.  His  was  a  vast  conspi- 
racy to  exterminate  the  English  and  he 
dreamed  of  nothing  less  than  a  new 
St.  Bartholomew's  day.  He  knew  their 
wrongs,  he  told  them,  and  he  dwelt  at 
great  length  upon  their  woes.  The  Eng- 
lish meant  to  rob  and  kill  them  all.  The 
Great  Spirit  was  vexed  at  their  cowardice 
and  meanness  of  temper.  At  a  certain 
change  of  the  moon  on  the  following  May 
he  declared  every  English  fort  and  settle- 
ment must  be  surprised  and  overwhelmed, 
and  all  the  English  must  be  slain  to  ap- 
pease his  awful  anger.  Pontiac  knew  the 
character  of  every  tribe  to  whom  he  ap- 
pealed; he  knew  too  from  childhood  every 
rod  of  ground  in  the  vast  territory  where 
his  influence  was  paramount,  and  he 
doubted  not  but  the  spirits  of  departed 
chiefs  spake  through  him.  They  were 
angered,  he  told  his  warriors,  that  the  red- 
men  had  deserted  their  ways,  and  adopted 
those  of  the  whites.  Many  men  of  the 
French  settlements,  the  Canadian  traders, 
the  hardy  half-breed  voyageurs,  who  en- 
joyed the  confidence  of  the  savages,  some 
even  of  the  deposed  French  officers  per- 
ceiving that  trouble  was  brewing  were 
forward  in  fomenting  the  spirit  of  revenge. 
The  Great  Father  across  the  sea  in  France, 
they  told  the  credulous  Indians,  had  been 
sleeping,  but  was  now  awake.  Let  his  red 
children  but  show  themselves  warriors  and 
he  would  come  to  their  aid  in  his  big  white- 
winged  canoes.  All  this  time  the  English 
seemed  to  have  been  singularly  dead  to  the 
signs  of  the  approaching  conflict. 

As  the  day  approached  Pontiac  was  un- 
resting. Like  every  great  Indian  leader  he 
was  as  eloquent  as  he  was  cunning  and 
brave.  Some  of  his  harangues  at  the 
councils  have  come  down  to  us  from  French 
sources.  They  were  all  of  the  same  tenor 
and  abounded  in  picturesque  imagery  and 
wild  allegory.  On  one  occasion  he  told 
the  braves  of  the  words  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
spoken,  he  averred,  to  a  tried  young  war- 


rior who  had  stood  aloof  from  the  whites. 
"  I  am  the  maker  of  heaven  and  earth,  the 
trees,  lakes,  rivers,  and  all  things  else,"  ran 
that  message,  "  1  am  the  maker  of  the  red- 
man,  and  because  I  love  you,  you  must  do 
my  will.  The  land  on  which  you  dwell  I 
made  for  you,  and  not  for  others.  Why  do 
you  suffer  the  white  man  to  dwell  among 
you?  My  children,  you  have  forgotten  the 
customs  and  tradirions  of  your  forefathers. 
Why  do  you  not  clothe  yourselves  in  skins 
as  they  did,  and  use  bow  and  arrows,  and 
the  stone-pointed  lance  which  they  used? 
You  have  bought  guns,  knives,  kettles, 
and  blankets  from  the  white  man  until  you 
can  no  longer  do  without  them,  and  what 
is  worse,  you  have  drunk  the  poison  fire- 
water which  turns  you  into  fools.  Fling 
all  these  things  away;  live  as  your  wise 
forefathers  lived  before  you.  And  as  for 
these  English,  these  dogs  dressed  in  red, 
who  have  come  to  rob  you  of  your  hunting 
grounds,  and  drive  away  the  game,  you 
must  lift  the  tomahawk  against  them. 
Wipe  them  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and 
then  you  will  win  my  favor  back  again, 
and  once  more  be  happy.  The  children  of 
your  great  father,  the  King  of  France,  are 
not  like  the  English.  Never  forget  that 
they  are  your  brothers.  They  are  very 
dear  to  me  for  they  love  the  red-men,  and 
understand  the  true  mode  of  worshiping 
me." 

With  a  unity  and  secrecy  that  seem 
marvelous  in  view  of  the  fickleness  of  the 
Indian  character,  Pontiac's  plans  were 
ripened.  The  assent  of  nearly  all  the 
tribes  to  whom  he  appealed  was  gained. 
Detroit,  as  the  strongest  and  most  im- 
portant post,  the  great  chief  reserved  for 
his  own  attempt.  Four  tribes,  the  Potta- 
wattamies,  Wyandots,  Ojibways,  and  his 
own  Ottawas  had  villages  near  the  fort, 
and  over  all  Pontiac's  influence  was  su- 
preme. Warriors  from  distant  villages 
had  gathered  also,  and  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  fort  there  were  Canadian  French  set- 
tlers who  were  more  than  friendly.  He 
mustered  perhaps  two  thousand  warriors. 
Still  the  British  had  betrayed  no  sign  of 
suspicion. 

On  the  morning  of  the  7th  of  May,  1763, 
at  about  ten  o'clock,  Pontiac  approached 
the  fort  with  sixty  chiefs.  At  the  same 
time  several  hundred  warriors  fully  armed 
crept  near  the  fort  and  hid  tl^emselves  in 

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the  bushes  and  behind  logs  and  in  ditches. 
Each  of  Pontiac's  attendant  chiefs  was 
wrapped  in  his  blanket,  under  which  was 
carried  a  gun,  whose  barrel  had  been  filed 
off  to  a  length  admitting  of  concealment, 
and  a  tomahawk  and  scalping  knife.  Pon- 
tiac's plan  seemed  as  feasible  as  it  was 
crafty  and  treacherous.  He  and  his  chiefs 
were  to  ask,  as  was  a  frequent  custom,  for 
a  friendly  talk  with  Major  Gladwyn,  the 
British  Commander.  If  the  request  were 
granted,  as  such  requests  often  were,  at 
the  end  of  Pontiac's  speech  he  was  to  hand 
the  Major  the  inevitable  wampum  belt, 
and  at  the  same  time  give  the  chiefs  a  cer- 
tain signal,  at  which  they  were  to  fall  upon 
and  butcher  all  the  English  officers  as- 
sembled at  the  council.  They  were  then 
to  rush  into  the  street  before  the  unsus- 
pecting garrison  could  arm,  kill  the  senti- 
nels, throw  open  the  gates,  and  having 
admitted  the  hidden  braves,  the  work  of 
massacre  of  every  white  within  the  stock- 
ade, men,  women  and  children,  was  to  be 
merciless.  On  the  same  day  every  single 
British  post  in  the  west,  including  forts  as 
far  east  as  Fort  Pitt,  was  to  be  gained  by 
the  same  or  a  similar  treachery.  Such  was 
Pontiac's  great  conspiracy.  How  far  was 
it  to  succeed? 

We  can  imagine  that  even  an  Indian 
chiefs  iron  nerves  were  strained  when  the 
petition  for  admittance  to  the  Fort  was 
humbly  made,  and  how  the  pride  of  hellish 
vengeance  must  have  thrilled  the  fierce 
heart  of  Pontiac  when  the  request  was 
granted.  The  gates  were  opened,  Pontiac 
and  his  followers  walked  proudly  in.  But 
as  the  great  chief  set  foot  within  the  strong- 
hold his  dark  countenance  relaxed  its  pride 
and  a  deep  grunt  escaped  from  his  lips. 
Only  for  the  Traction  of  a  second  did  he  be- 
tray chagrin  and  disappointment,  but  his 
glance  had  told  him  that  so  far  as  Detroit 
was  concerned  his  plan  had  failed.  The 
streets  were  lined  with  soldiers  under  arms 
and  every  point  of  the  defense  was  manned 
and  ready  for  assault. 

No  greater  master  of  dissimulation  ap- 
pears in  the  annals  of  Indian  warfare  than 
Pontiac.  He  held  his  ''talk"  with  Glad- 
wyn in  the  r6le  of  an  Indian  innocent,  and 
protested  that  he  came  only  to  make  peace- 
ful complaint  of  the  soldiers'  brutality,  to 
smoke  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  to  offer  friend- 
ship.    "Why    was    he    received    like    an 


enemy?  Why  did  he  see  so  many  of  his 
fathers'  young  men  with  guns  in  their 
hands?"  When  Gladwyn  accused  him  of 
treachery,  indignation  was  so  consum- 
mately feigned  that  even  Gladwyn  was 
half  deceived,  and  the  great  chief  departed 
to  his  camp  with  professions  of  affection. 
Why,  after  such  perfidy,  the  chiefs  were 
not  seized  and  held,  is  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  history. 

How  Gladwyn  received  warning  is  a 
question  upon  which  there  is  no  unity  of 
evidence.  But  the  most  popular  tradition 
is  that  a  beautiful  Indian  girl,  who  was  his 
mistress,  had  visited  him  the  night  before 
and  out  of  love  betrayed  the  plot;  and  the 
romance  is  bitter  in  its  sequel,  for  we  are 
told  that  she  was  killed  under  the  torture 
of  her  people  and  that  Pontiac  himself 
hewed  out  her  heart  with  a  spiked  club. 

But  if  Pontiac's  perfidious  plot  failed  at 
Detroit  it  met  with  blood-curdling  success 
at  other  points.  Various  were  the  sub- 
terfuges employed.  On  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  that  Pontiac  held  his  disappointed 
conference  with  Gladwyn,  the  Indians 
gathered  around  the  important  northern 
post  of  Michillimackinac  for  a  game  of  ball, 
similar  to  our  modern  lacrosse.  The  un- 
suspecting officers  came  out  by  invitation 
from  the  palisade  to  witness  the  sport. 
Squaws  squatted  along  the  fortifications 
with  concealed  weapons  under  their  blank- 
ets. At  the  height  of  the  game  the  ball 
was  thrown  near  the  gate  of  the  Fort.  The 
players  rushed  that  way,  seized  the  weap- 
ons from  the  squaws,  turned  upon  and 
seized  the  officers,  and  poured  into  the  Fort 
to  massacre  the  garrison.  Three  were 
scalped  alive;  three  burned  at  the  stake; 
the  rest  were  carried  away  as  prisoners. 

At  Fort  Sandusky  the  same  tactics  were 
employed  as  those  used  by  Pontiac,  but 
Ensign  Paully  had  received  no  warning. 
He  was  seized,  most  of  the  garrison  were 
killed,  and  the  Post  was  burned  to  the 
ground.  The  Indian  mental  processes  are 
peculiar,  and  the  politic  Paully  escaped  a 
horrible  death  by  accepting  a  proposal  of 
marriage  from  an  aged  squaw. 

At  Fort  Miami  where  the  city  of  Fort 
Wayne  now  stands.  Ensign  Holmes,  who 
was  skilled  in  medicine,  was  summoned  to 
attend  a  squaw  represented  as  dying,  and 
was  treacherously  shot  outside  the  fort. 
The  surrender  of  the  stronghold  was  then 

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Before  the  eyes  of  the  helpless  garrison,  the  Indians  ^'^'**"*  ''^  ^^^  ^'  ^''^^' 

battered  in  the  door  of  the  cabin. 


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asked,  mercy  and  safe  conduct  being  sol- 
emnly promised  if  no  defense  were  made. 
The  summons  was  complied  with,  but  all 
the  English  were  atrociously  butchered. 

At  Fort  Vinango  the  whole  garrison  was 
killed  in  a  frightful  manner,  the  Indians 
exhausting  every  diabolical  resource  to 
prolong  the  agony  of  Lieutenant  Gordon. 

Fort  Ouatanon  on  the  Wabash  was 
taken  by  strategy,  but  a  humane  and  in- 
fluential Frenchman  saved  the  lives  of  the 
garrison. 

The  small  but  brave  garrison  at  Presqu' 
Isle,  where  the  city  of  Erie  now  stands,  made 
a  gallant  fight,  but  when  defeat  was  cer- 
tain surrendered  on  promise  of  mercy,  a 
promise  needless  to  say  that  was  broken. 

The  gallant  and  resourceful  Ensign  Price 
at  Fort  La  BoBuf,  after  a  desperate  defense, 
tunneled  under  his  own  palisades  and  es- 
caped to  Fort  Pitt  in  the  night  with  most 
of  his  garrison. 

The  commanders  at  Fort  Pitt  and  Fort 
Ligonier  in  western  Pennsylvania,  were 
too  sagacious  to  fall  victims  to  the  Indians' 
foul  strat^y.  Both  forts  were  furiously 
besieged,  but  held  out  valiantly. 

So  great  was  the  horror  caused  through- 
out all  the  English-speaking  colonies  by  the 
atrocious  butcheries  inspired  by  Pontiac, 
that  in  the  midst  of  the  terror,  some  set- 
tlers who  dwelt  as  far  east  as  central  New 
York,  hearing  the  reports  of  some  sports- 
men's guns  in  the  forest,  forsook  their 
homes  in  a  panic.  As  they  fled  east  they 
spread  the  frightful  news  that  the  Indians 
were  coming,  and  over  two  hundred  fami- 
lies of  settlers  deserted  their  all  in  head- 
long flight  and  never  stopped  until  they 
had  crossed  the  Hudson. 

The  day  following  Pontiac's  bitter  dis- 
appointment at  Detroit,  he  returned  to  the 
gate  of  the  Fort  with  a  large  train  of  chiefs 
and  bearing  a  calumet.  With  a  truly  ad- 
mirable spirit  of  hypocritical  villainy  he  told 
Major  Gladwyn  that  he  came  as  a  slandered 
disciple  of  love.  "Evil  birds  have  sung 
lying  songs  into  my  father's  ears,"  said  the 
perfidious  chief.  He  was  told  that  he 
might  enter  alone.  This  he  refused  to  do 
and  haughtily  retired.  The  moment  he 
was  out  of  musket  range  he  gave  a  signal, 
and  from  all  sides  of  the  Fort  warriors 
started  up  and  saluted  the  palisades  with  a 
volley.  Pontiac's  famous  seige  of  Detroit 
had  begun.    And  now  some  of  the  Indians 


rushed  to  the  cabin  of  an  old  English  wom- 
an who  lived  outside  the  palisades,  bat- 
tered in  her  door  and  tore  her  scalp  from 
her  head.  Others  took  to  canoes  and  pad- 
dled with  furious  speed  to  Isle  Au  Cochon, 
where  Detroit's  beautiful  park  named 
Belle  Isle  now  lies,  and  murdered  with 
fiendish  cruelty  an  English  family  dwelling 
there.  Soon  around  the  Fort  their  scalp 
yells  rang  as  lifting  their  bloody  trophies 
that  the  garrison  might  see,  they  per- 
formed their  hideous  war  dances. 

Two  English  officers  returning  to  the 
Fort  soon  after  were  waylaid  near  Lake 
St.  Qair.  One  of  them  was  the  brave  Sir 
Robert  Danvers.  Him  they  boiled  and 
ate  to  make  them  courageous.  The  other, 
a  Captain  Robertson,  they  skinned  before 
he  was  quite  dead  and  made  tobacco 
pouches  of  his  pelt. 

That  night  Pontiac  in  his  grisly  war  paint 
conducted  the  demoniacal  war  dance  of  his 
Ottawa  braves.  He  harangued  them  with 
his  wild,  flaming  eloquence,  promising  a 
hideous  death  to  all  hated  English. 

Not  a  soldier  at  the  Fort  had  slept  during 
the  night,  and  next  day  at  dawn  the  In- 
dians assaulted  in  overwhelming  numbers. 
There  were  but  one  hundred  soldiers  be- 
hind the  feeble  defenses,  but  sturdy  Saxon 
hearts  beat  in  their  breasts.  They  fought 
with  all  the  old-time  English  heroism,  and 
well-aimed  musket  balls  met  the  savage 
rush.  Once  the  Indians  nearly  broke  over 
the  palisades,  but  the  steady  valor  of  the 
British  finally  repelled  them.  The  Indians 
sought  shelter  in  the  outbuildings,  but 
were  soon  driven  away  with  fearful  slaugh- 
ter by  the  fire  of  cannon  loaded  with  red 
hot  spikes,  that  set  the  houses  on  fire.  All 
day  the  fight  raged  with  more  or  less  vio- 
lence, the  calm,  cool,  steady  vigilance  of 
the  few  white  men  against  the  fury  of  the 
multitudinous  savages.  But  the  attack 
slackened  toward  night.  Pontiac  learned 
that  he  had  to  do  with  a  foe  whose  staunch 
resolution  and  unwavering  mettle  were 
beyond  his  ken,  and  the  savage  horde  was 
taught  the  firmness  of  the  British  spirit. 

Realizing  his  precarious  situation,  and 
still  hoping  to  avoid  a  long  war  with  the 
Indians,  Major  Gladwyn  opened  negotia- 
tions with  Pontiac  on  the  second  day. 
The  traitorous  chief  replied  that  he  was 
very  willing  to  hold  a  council  to  establish 
peace,  but  that  he  dared  not  ooQie  to  t 


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Fort.  Major  Campbell,  second  in  com- 
mand, had  always  been  his  friend  he  said; 
if  that^  officer  would  come  to  his  camp  he 
should  not  be  hurt.  The  brave  Campbell, 
against  Gladwyn's  advice,  met  Pontiac, 
was  detained  as  a  prisoner,  and  was  after- 
ward murdered. 

And  now  week  followed  week  during 
which  the  beleaguered  British  in  their  con- 
fined quarters  suffered  terribly  from  anx- 
iety, wounds,  exhaustion  and  sickness, 
but  displayed  all  the  hardy  valor  of  their 
race.  Each  assault  was  more  feeble,  how- 
ever, and  Pontiac,  hoping  starvation  would 
do  its  work,  had  a  difficult  task  to  hold  the 
fickle  Indians  to  the  si^e.  Discourage- 
ment is  ever  the  characteristic  of  the  un- 
disciplined and  untrained,  however  fiercely 
brave.  The  garrison  learned  of  the  fall  of 
the  other  posts  and  themselves  witnessed 
many  horrors.  "It  was  not  very  agree- 
able," wrote  one  within  the  Post,  "to  hear 
every  day  of  their  (the  Indians)  cutting, 
carving,  boiling  and  eating  our  compan- 
ions; to  see  every  day  dead  bodies  floating 
down  the  river,  mangled  and  disfigured. 
But  Britons  you  know  never  shirk;  we 
always  appeared  gay  in  spite  of  the  red 
rascals." 

Some  of  the  lowest  of  the  French  Cana- 
dians fought  with  Pontiac  and  showed  more 
skill  but  less  bravery  than  his  Indians. 
All  this  time  Gladwyn  was  looking  anx- 
iously for  reinforcements  and  supplies 
from  Fort  Niagara,  which  he  had  been 
expecting  before  the  outbreak.  Constant 
watch  was  kept  by  the  pale-cheeked, 
wasted  men,  and  as  each  day  passed  their 
disappointment  grew  bitter  as  death.  At 
length  in  the  early  morning  of  May  30th 
a  cry  of  almost  frenzied  joy  came  from  a 
sentinel,  and  now  the  wasted  soldiers 
were  thrilled  with  uncontrollable  glee  at 
the  sight  of  a  row  of  English  boats,  which 
was  rounding  a  point  with  the  beloved 
Union  Jack  flying  from  the  stern  of  each. 
Strong  men  danced  and  hugged  each 
other,  weeping  with  delight.  In  the  midst 
of  the  frantic  joy  some  one  uttered  a 
shriek  of  horror.  All  eyes  turned  again  to 
the  approaching  convoy.  It  was  seen  that 
warriors  occupied  the  boats  and  English 
captives  deprived  of  their  arms,  were  at 
the  oars.  And  now  succeeded  the  deepest 
despair.  But  as  the  hopeless  soldiers 
looked  they  suddenly  marked  the  signs  of 


commotion  in  the  nearest  boat.  Four 
white  men  had  fallen  on  their  captors  and 
were  engaged  in  a  desperate  struggle.  One 
Indian  was  thrown  from  the  boat,  but  he 
dragged  a  white  with  him,  and  both  were 
drowned.  The  two  other  savages  in  the 
boat  now  leaped  overboard,  and  the  three 
remaining  whites  fell  lustily  to  the  oars. 
There  was  a  hot  chase  by  the  other  boats, 
but  they  reached  the  protecting  guns  of  the 
Fort  before  they  were  overtaken. 

From  these  escaped  men,  those  at  the 
Fort  learned  that  Lieutenant  Cuyler,  com- 
mander of  the  expedition,  had  been  at- 
tacked in  camp  and  sixty  of  his  men  killed 
or  taken  prisoners.  The  lieutenant  him- 
self escaped,  and  they  were  to  learn  later 
that  he  made  his  way  to  Niagara  in  safety. 
Immediately  upon  his  arrival  there,  a 
schooner  set  sail  with  supplies  and  reached 
Detroit  after  a  trying  voyage.  While  she 
brought  only  a  slight  accession  of  military 
force,  the  schooner  was  of  great  aid  to  the 
beleaguered  garrison.  Her  ability  to  sail 
close  into  the  wind  excited  the  wonder  and 
the  fear  of  the  savages,  who  imputed  her 
maneuvers  to  magic,  and  when  she  opened 
her  guns  upon  their  villages  their  fear 
turned  to  panic.  Once,  under  the  direction 
of  some  renegade  Canadians,  Pontiac  al- 
most succeeded  in  destroying  Gladwyn 's 
shipping  by  means  of  fire  rafts.  After  this 
the  monotonous  siege  went  on.  And  now 
the  patience  of  many  of  the  braves  began 
to  be  exhausted.  Many  withdrew  in  dis- 
couragement. 

Bloodthirsty,  vindictive,  treacherous, 
crafty,  scornful  of  suffering,  brave  unto 
death  when  at  bay,  more  cunning  than  the 
fox,  and  of  infinite  patience  on  the  trail, 
the  Indian  has  proven  more  than  a  match 
for  the  white  in  the  jungle.  It  is  certain 
that  more  whites  than  savages  have  per- 
ished in  forest  fighting.  But  in  a  set  bat- 
tle the  red-man  is  without  steadfastness  and 
perseverance.  The  least  reverse  disheart- 
ens him.  After  the  first  mad  rush  his 
purpose  wanes  and  the  slightest  check  is 
apt  to  dispirit  his  capricious  mind.  The 
wonder  is  that  the  great  chief  was  able  to 
hold  his  braves  to  a  fixed  purpose  so  long. 

Soon  after  the  failure  of  the  fire  rafts  the 
Wyandots  and  Pottawattamies  exchanged 
prisoners  and  made  peace.  Pontiac's 
mortification  and  rage  were  violent.  But 
his  promised  successes  had  not  been  real- 


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ized  and  he  could  no  longer  hold  these 
tribes.  He  had  now  only  his  own  people, 
the  Ottawas,  and  their  kindred,  the  Ojib- 
ways. 

But  a  strong  English  relief  expedition 
consisting  of  about  three  hundred  men, 
some  heavy  artillery  and  two  large  boats, 
upon  which  swivel  guns  were  mounted, 
was  approaching  under  the  command  of 
Captain  Dalzeli.  Pontiac  made  furious 
but  futile  efforts  to  gain  the  Fort  before  aid 
should  arrive.  The  garrison  meanwhile 
was  suffering  extremely  and  had  to  witness 
many  horrors.  Pontiac's  treatment  of  his 
prisoners  was  hellishly  cruel.  According 
to  an  old  manuscript  supposed  to  have 
been  written  by  a  French  priest,  and  which 
is  known  among  Indian  bibliographers  as 
the  Pontiac  manuscript,  the  savages  made 
the  captured  men  of  Cuyler's  command 
strip  themselves  and  then  sent  arrows  into 
different  parts  of  their  bodies.  "The  un- 
fortunate men  wished  sometimes  to  throw 
themselves  on  the  ground  to  avoid  the  ar- 
rows, but  they  were  beaten  with  sticks  and 
made  to  stand  up  until  they  fell  dead,  after 
which  those  that  had  not  fired  fell  upon 
the  bodies,  cut  them  to  pieces,  cooked  and 
ate  them.  The  flesh  of  others  was  cut 
with  flints  or  pierced  with  spears.  They 
would  then  cut  their  feet  and  hands  off 
and  leave  them  weltering  in  their  blood 
until  they  were  dead.  Others  were  fast- 
ened to  stakes  and  children  set  to  burn 
them  with  slow  fires." 

Yet  in  spite  of  his  treachery  and  horrid 
cruelty  the  "King  and  Lord  of  all  this 
Indian  country,"  as  Rogers  once  called 
Pontiac,  was  not  without  his  virtues  beside 
bravery  and  savage  dignity.  He  imperiled 
his  life  to  prevent  the  robbery  of  his  French 
friends.  He  even  gave  them  crude  promis- 
sory notes  written  on  birch  bark  in  pay- 
ment for  supplies  during  the  siege,  and  he 
afterward  faithfully  redeemed  these  prom- 
ises with  furs. 

The  credulity  the  whites  so  often  dis- 
played seems  to  have  been  surpassed  by 
the  faith  of  the  Indians  in  their  credulity, 
and  after  all  the  treachery  and  the  horror 
that  has  gone  before,  Pontiac  actually  de- 
manded a  surrender  with  promise  of 
safety  to  the  garrison.  But  Gladwyn  re- 
plied with  the  courage  and  disdain  of  an 
Englishman. 

At  length  on  July  29th  Captain  Dalzeli 


arrived  with  his  expedition,  fighting  his 
way  into  the  Fort  under  cover  of  a  fog,  with 
the  loss  of  fifteen  men.  He  was  very 
eager  to  inflict  a  heavy  punishment  upon 
the  Indians  at  once,  and  against  the  ad- 
vice of  Gladwyn,  who  well  knew  Pontiac's 
power,  resources  and  craft,  planned  a 
night  attack  upon  the  camp  of  the  great 
chief. 

At  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July 
31st  Dalzeli  stole  out  of  the  Fort,  at  the 
head  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  picked  men, 
to  surprise  Pontiac  and  annihilate  his  Ot- 
tawa warriors.  But  the  great  chiefs  cun- 
ning and  fury  were  not  in  the  reckoning  of 
the  British  captain.  Pontiac,  who  had 
learned  of  the  move  from  a  French  Cana- 
dian, made  Dalzell's  path  almost  one  long 
ambuscade.  As  the  advance  guard  crossed 
the  bridge  over  the  creek,  they  were 
suddenly  subjected  to  a  frightful  volley. 
Dalzeli,  at  the  head  of  his  men,  pushed  gal- 
lantly on  but  no  enemy  could  be  met  with. 
Yet  from  every  side,  out  of  ditches,  from 
behind  logs,  trees  and  bushes,  the  savages 
poured  their  destructive  fire,  uttering  all 
the  time  their  fiendish  yells.  Dalzeli  him- 
self displayed  great  courage  and  his  bravery 
prevented  a  rout.  But  retreat  was  inevi- 
table, and  that  retreat  became  a  trail  of 
blood.  Fifty  men  fell.  Captain  Dalzeli, 
gallantly  turning  aside  to  assist  a  wounded 
sergeant,  was  shot  dead.  The  whole  army 
now  made  a  mad  rush  for  the  fort,  and  had 
not  the  famous  provincial.  Major  Rogers, 
taken  possession  of  a  house  near  the  stream, 
with  a  few  soldiers,  and  fought  like  a  tiger 
to  cover  the  retiring  British,  few  would 
have  reached  the  Fort  alive.  Rogers  him- 
self was  now  besi^ed  by  three  hundred 
savages,  but  a  boat  soon  arrived  from  the 
Fort  and  swept  the  Indians  from  cover  with 
its  swivel  guns. 

After  this  battle,  known  as  that  of  the 
Bloody  Bridge,  the  English  were  content 
to  fight  on  the  defensive.  Though  they 
now  numbered  about  three  hundred  and 
fifty  men,  they  were  in  truth  but  little 
better  off  than  before  Dalzell's  arrival. 
Another  relief  expedition  set  out  from 
Niagara  in  August,  but  was  overtaken  by 
a  great  storm  on  Lake  Erie  and  returned 
with  the  loss  of  seventy  men  and  all  stores 
and  ammunition. 

In  September  Gladwyn's  little  schooner,        ' 
with  a  crew  of  but  a  dozen  men,  ten  of 


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The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac 


35 


whom  were  American  provincials,  made 
the  trip  to  Niagara  in  safety,  carrying  dis- 
patches, but  on  her  return  she  was  be- 
calmed in  the  river  before  the  Fort  and  over 
three  hundred  Indians  stole  upon  her  in 
the  night.  Their  canoes  were  only  dis- 
covered in  time  to  fire  one  cannon  shot, 
and  as  the  Indians  came  climbing  up  the 
schooner's  side  the  most  desperate  hand- 
to-hand  conflict  ensued.  The  provincials 
fought  like  demons,  killing  twice  their  own 
number;  but  the  captain  was  slain  and 
just  as  the  savages  were  on  the  verge  of 
victory  the  mate  ordered  the  vessel  to  be 
blown  up.  Some  of  the  Indians  under- 
stood the  command  and  repeated  it  to 
the  others,  and  all  the  savages  leaped  over- 
board in  fright.  The  schooner  was  thus 
saved  by  the  ruse  of  the  mate,  and  reached 
the  Fort  with  only  six  men  able  to 
stand.  "They  were,"  wrote  one  of  the 
garrison,  "as  bloody  as  butchers,  and 
their  bayonets,  spears  and  cutlasses  all 
blood  to  the  hilt." 

But  in  spite  of  every  efforts  Pontiac's 
strength  was  slowly  ebbing  away.  By  the 
middle  of  October  the  discouraged  Ojib- 
ways  deserted  him.  Only  his  own  tribe  of 
Ottawas  now  remained,  and  many  of  its 
braves  shirked  duty.  Pontiac  still  clung 
to  the  hope  of  the  French  aid  promised, 
but  when  on  the  last  of  the  month  the 
French  governor  of  Fort  Chart  res  sent  a 
letter  saying  that  his  people  could  never 
again  be  to  Pontiac  and  his  red  children  of 
the  north  what  they  had  been  in  the  past, 
and  that  the  Great  Father  in  France  had 
yielded  all  the  country  east  of  the  great 
river  to  the  English,  Pontiac,  baffled  and 
broken  hearted,  raised  the  siege  and  re- 
tired. 

He  sought  the  country  to  the  south  and 
endeavored  to  arouse  the  savages  there. 
But  Colonel  Bouquet  was  about  to  enter 
upon  his  vigorous  western  campaign,  and 
those  Indians  were  soon  disheartened  by 


his  victory  at  Bushy  Run.  Several  years 
of  scheming,  treachery  and  bitter  hate, 
during  which  on  more  than  one  occasion  he 
caused  the  British  grave  losses,  remained 
to  this  able  and  implacable  chief.  Our 
space  forbids  the  recital  of  many  thrilling 
episodes.  But  after  his  failure  at  Detroit, 
Pontiac's  prestige  declined,  and  at  length 
he  accepted  a  half-hearted  peace.  He 
became  in  the  end  a  sullen,  brooding, 
drunken  Indian,  but  the  English  traders 
still  feared  him. 

In  1769,  while  a  guest  of  the  French  at 
St.  Louis,  he  crossed  the  river  and  joined 
in  a  drunken  revel  with  Illinois  Indians  and 
Creoles  at  Cahokia.  While  maudlin  with 
drink  he  wandered  into  the  woods  singing 
medicine  songs.  There  while  practicing 
his  superstitious  rites  he  was  foully  mur- 
dered by  an  Illinois  Indian,  who,  bribed 
with  a  cask  of  rum  by  an  English  trader, 
stole  up  behind  the  old  chief  and  brained 
him  with  a  tomahawk.  Bitter  and  full 
was  the  expiation  of  that  dastardly  deed. 
Pontiac's  people  took  the  warpath  in  re- 
venge, and  the  bloodiest  of  feuds  continued 
until  of  the  once  numerous  Illinois  people 
there  was  left  only  a  miserable  remnant. 

Pontiac  exemplified  at  once  the  best  and 
the  worst  traits  of  the  American  Indian. 
He  seems  not  to  have  been  so  great  a  war- 
rior as  Osceola,  nor  as  able  a  general  in  the 
field  as  Cornstalk,  nor  so  unselfishly  a 
patriot  as  Tecumseh.  But  as  an  organizer 
among  a  people  with  whom  organization 
is  almost  impossible,  and  as  a  master  of 
the  treacherous  state-craft  of  his  race,  he 
probably  surpassed  them  all.  As  soon  as 
his  death  was  known,  the  French  governor 
at  St.  Louis  sent  for  his  body  and  buried 
it  with  full  martial  honors  near  the  Fort. 
"  For  a  mausoleum,"  Parkman  finely  says, 
"a  great  city  has  arisen  above  the  forest 
hero;  and  the  race  whom  he  hated  with 
such  burning  rancor,  trample  with  un- 
ceasing foot-steps  over  his  forgotten  grave  ' 


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SOLDIERS   OF    THE   SEA 


BY   CLAY   EMERY 


THE  day  was 
drawing  to  a 
close  on  the 
23d  of  December, 
1897.  There  had 
been  squalls  of  snow 
until  about  five 
o'clock,  when  the 
wind  veered  to  the 
northeast  and  snow 
began  to  fall  steadily. 
The  wind  increased 
in  violence  every 
minute  and  by  six 
o'clock  it  was  blowing  a  gale.  Captain  Jim 
of  the  Orleans  Life  Saving  Station,  on  the 
Massachusetts  coast,  ascended  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  tower  at  the  top  of  the 
station  and  gazed  out  into  the  night. 

"Afraid  we'll  have  trouble,"  he  remarked 
to  the  lookout  stationed  there.  "  Heaven 
help  any  vessel  that  strikes  the  shoals  to- 
night!" 

The  captain  descended  the  ladder  to  the 
kitchen  of  the  station  where  the  watch 
were  getting  on  their  boots  and  reefers 
preparatory  to  starting  on  their  lonely 
beat;  and  his  orders  were  few  and  to  the 
point: 

"  Keep  to  the  water's  edge  as  much  as 
possible  to-night  and  keep  a  sharp  lookout 
for  signals  off  shore.  If  you  see  a  light  or 
hear  the  sound  of  a  gun,  report  here  as 
quick  as  you  can.  If  you  are  nearer  the 
half-way  house  than  the  station,  make  for 
that  and  telephone  and  wait  orders  from 
me  there." 

With  a  cheery,  "All  right,  sir,"  the  men 
started  out  into  the  night.  Not  a  pleasant 
trip  this,  patroling  the  beach  in  the  teeth 
of  a  biting  snowstorm  and  gale  of  wind. 

The  captain  was  uneasy.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  foreboding  of  disaster.     He  went 


out  into  the  boat-room,  examined  all  of  the 
equipment  carefully  and  saw  that  every- 
thing was  in  its  place  and  ready  for  instant 
use.  He  next  put  on  his  cap  and  overcoat, 
turned  the  collar  up  around  his  ears  and 
went  out  to  the  bam  where  his  horse  was 
munching  her  evening  meal.  He  patted 
the  mare's  head  affectionately,  as  he  said, 
''Maria,  old  girl,  I'm  afraid  you've  got  to 
go  out  into  the  storm.  Sure's  you're  bom 
we're  going  to  have  trouble  'fore  morning. 
1  feel  it." 

Captain  Jim  left  the  bam,  fastening  the 
door  carefully  behind  him  and  returned 
to  the  station.  All  was  warm  and  cozy 
within,  the  men  not  on  duty  were  sitting 
around  reading  and  smoking,  apparently 
as  unconcerned  as  though  there  were  no 
chance  of  a  wreck. 

The  telegraph  operator  at  the  little  rail- 
way station  sat  comfortably  installed  in 
her  chair  near  the  stove  complacently 
knitting  and  thinking  that  within  an  hour's 
time  she  would  be  able  to  close  the  office 
and  go  home.  Visions  of  a  roaring  log  fire 
and  a  hot  supper  were  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  the  rapid  click  of  the  receiver, 
and  she  dropped  her  work  to  take  the 
message: 

Superintendent  Life  Saving  Service: 

Four    masted    schooner    ashore    four    miles 
south  of  Orleans  station.      Impossible  for  us  to 
cross  inlet  account  heavy  sea.    Send  help  quick. 
(Signed) 

Doane,  Keeper. 

It  was  four  miles  from  the  telegraph  sta- 
tion to  the  Superintendent's  house  near  the 
coast  and  no  one  could  be  got  to  venture 
with  the  message,  for  by  this  time  the  snow 
had  drifted  in  places  to  the  height  of  a 
man's  head  and  it  was  blowing  a  gale.  For 
a  while  it  looked  as  though  the  despatch 


37 


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The  John  S.    Parker^  from  which  the  crew  were  saved  by  means  of  the  breeches  buoy. 


would  remain  undelivered,  but  finally  the 
young  proprietor  of  a  near-by  store  volun- 
teered to  make  the  attempt. 

For  the  first  half  hour  he  made  good 
progress,  but  the  high  wind,  blinding  snow 
and  great  drifts  he  was  constantly  obliged 
to  push  through,  soon  began  to  tell  on  his 
strength,  yet  the  thought  that  the  delivery 
of  the  message  might  possibly  be  the 
means  of  saving  the  lives  of  the  crew  of  the 
stranded  vessel  urged  him  forward.  Fiercer 
and  fiercer  grew  the  storm.  At  times  he 
was  obliged  to  stop  altogether  and  turn 
his  back  to  the  wind  to  catch  his  breath. 
Then  after  a  moment's  respite,  he  would 
renew  his  journey,  the  high  drifts  often 
necessitating  his  making  a  wide  detour 
from  the  road  through  the  fields.  At  the 
end  of  two  hours'  time  his  strength  was 
almost  exhausted.  He  was  chilled  to  the 
bone  by  the  biting  cold  wind  and  an  in- 
tense longing  to  sit  down  and  rest  began 
to  come  over  him.  Visions  of  the  wrecked 
ship  with  the  winter  seas  breaking  over 
her,  the  men  high  up  in  the  rigging,  lashed 
there  for  safety,  slowly  freezing  to  death, 
constantly  came  in  his  mind;  and  with  it 
the  energy. 

"Will  1  never  reach  there?" 


The  Superintendent  of  the  Life  Saving 


Service,  busily  writing  in  his  library,  was 
startled  by  a  heavy  weight  falling  against 
the  hall  door.  Peering  out  he  could  see 
nothing  and  was  about  to  close  the  door 
when  a  heavy  gust  of  wind  forced  it  wide 
open  and  he  beheld  for  the  first  time,  the 
apparently  lifeless  body  of  a  man  stretched 
on  the  step. 

"Good  God,  it's  Henry,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  dragged  into  the  light  the  insen- 
sible youth,  to  whom  later  the  Treasury 
Department  sent  a  most  complimentary 
letter  on  his  exploit. 

The  Superintendent  was  well  versed  in 
the  various  methods  of  reviving  people  in 
this  condition  and  hastily  set  to  work,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  had  the  messenger 
back  to  consciousness  and  comfortable, 
while  he  got  into  communication  with  the 
Orleans  Life  Saving  Station. 

"Just  as  1  expected,"  said  Captain  Jim. 
"Call  all  hands.  Get  the  beach  apparatus 
ready  and  harness  my  horse  quick;  take 
extra  shovels  and  torches  and  a  dozen 
blankets." 

In  five  minutes  time  the  captain  and 
crew  were  on  their  way  tugging  at  ropes 
each  side  of  the  wagon  to  help  the  horse 
through  the  fearful  night.  Mighty  drifts 
of  snow  that  could  not  be  gone  through 
without  shoveling  were  encountered;  and 


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Soldiers  of  the  Sea 


39 


the  driving  sleet  was  almost  blinding. 
Gallantly  the  little  band  of  men  struggled 
forward  on  their  four-mile  journey  to  a 
point  abreast  the  wreck. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  men  in  advance 
shouted  back:  "There  she  is  Cap,  1  can 
just  make  out  a  light.  She's  well  off 
shore." 

In  another  ten  minutes  they  had  arrived 
opposite  the  wrecked  vessel  and  halted. 

"John,  unhitch  the  horse  and  take  her 
to  that  old  shanty  below  the  bank,  and  the 
rest  of  you  to  your  stations,"  said  Captain 
Jim. 

Every  man  sprang  to  his  work.  Each 
one  had  a  certain  part  to  do,  each  a  certain 
piece  of  apparatus  to  unload.  Short 
and  quick  were  the  orders  the  captain 
gave. 

"Snap  those  torches.  Put  that  sand 
anchor  as  high  up  on  the  beach  as  you  can 
get  it.  Quick  there  with  the  lee  and 
weather  whip.  Get  those  snatch  blocks 
ready.  Place  the  gun  here  on  this  little 
knoll.     Bend  on  that  shot  line,  lively." 

Captain  Jim  dropped  to  his  knees  and 
shoved  the  cartridge  home,  following  it 
with  the  solid  shot  to  which  the  long  line 
was  attached,  and  which  demands  high 


marksmanship  and  judgment  to  shoot  over 
the  masts  of  the  stranded  vessel. 

"Everything  ready,  sir,"  came  from  the 
"number  one"  man. 

"All  right,  stand  by." 

Captain  Jim  knelt  over  the  sight  of  the 
brass  cannon,  now  swinging  the  carriage 
from  right  to  left  and  working  his  elevat- 
ing apparatus. 

"That  ought  to  fetch  her,"  he  said  under 
his  breath,  and  standing  erect  he  waited 
for  a  favorable  lull  in  the  wind  to  give  the 
order  to  fire.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 
"  Fire !"  A  sharp  report,  and  the  shot  and 
line  were  speeding  on  their  mission.  It 
was  almost  daylight  and  the  captain 
watched  the  line  hum  out  of  the  box,  fol- 
lowing the  direction  it  had  taken  with  his 
keen  eye. 

"The  line  is  landed  right  over  the  fore 
stay,  Cap'n  Jim." 

"All  right.  Now  watch  for  some  sign 
of  life  aboard  of  her." 

In  vain  the  little  crew  waited.  No  sign 
of  life  was  visible  aboard  of  the  doomed 
vessel. 

"We'll  fire  the  gun  again,"  said  Captain 
Jim.  "If  there's  anybody  aboard  per- 
haps they'll  hear  it  this  time." 


The  life-savers  launching  their  boat- 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


The  report  of  the  gun  died  away  and 
still  no  sign  of  life  was  seen. 

"She's  working  inshore  all  the  time, 
Cap.'* 

"it's  no  use,"  said  Captain  Jim,  "the 
crew  have  all  been  washed  overboard  or 
frozen  to  death  and  we  can't  do  a  thing  to 
help  them.  The  lifeboat  couldn't  live  a 
minute  in  that  sea.  Spread  out  along 
shore  men  and  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for 
bodies.  The  ship  will  break  up  before 
we  are  two  hours  older." 

Suddenly  the  noise  of  a  terrific  crashing 
reached  their  ears. 

"There  goes  the  foremast,  Gip'n." 

Sure  enough  the  weather  rigging  had 
given  way  and  the  foremast  had  gone  by 
the  board.  Bits  of  wreckage  soon  began 
to  be  strewn  along  the  beach.  First  a 
hatch  and  then  a  section  of  bulwark,  tim- 
bers and  planking,  deck  beams,  a  small 
piece  of  the  cabin,  the  topgallant  fore- 
castle and  bits  of  wood  fairly  wrenched  to 
pieces  by  the  tremendous  force  of  the  sea, 
and  finally  a  piece  of  wreckage  with  a 
quarter  board  bearing  part  of  the  name  of 


the  wrecked   vessel,    *'Cal "     It  was 

soon  daylight  now  and  the  wreck,  with 
decks  all  awash  and  fast  breaking  up,>\as 
plainly  visible. 

"  Haul  the  shot  line  ashore,"  commanded 
Giptain  Jim,  "and  then  spread  out  to  the 
south." 

Soon  a  dark  object  was  discerned  ap- 
parently lashed  to  a  small  spar.  Captain 
Jim's  keen  eyes  had  sighted  it  as  it  was 
washed  from  the  wreck.  "  If  I'm  not  mis- 
taken," he  said  huskily,  "  there's  one  of  the 
poor  devils.  Take  a  couple  of  heaving 
lines  and  a  grappling  hook  and  follow  me, 
John." 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  dark  object  came, 
sometimes  taking  a  sudden  move  in  toward 
shore  and  again  when  almost  within  reach 
of  the  line  and  grappling  hook  moving 
away  again,  carried  out  by  the  strong 
undertow.  Captain  Jim  stood  with  a 
heaving  line  coiled  in  his  left  hand  and  the 
grappling  hook  in  his  right  ready  to  cast 
it  at  the  first  favorable  opportunity.  Sud- 
denly as  a  big  sea  broke,  Captain  Jim,  who 
had  never  taken  his  eyes  from  the  floatinri 


The  A'ti/c'  Ihiiiint^^  waN  s( 


li^ht  that   slie  came  up  hi«;h  and  dry  on  the  beach  and 
all  her  crew  were  rescued. 


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The  Elsie  M.   Smithy  from  which  thirteen  men  were  saved  before  she  broke  up. 


body  for  an  instant,  dashed  into  the  sea 
nearly  up  to  his  waist,  and  before  the  next 
sea  had  broken  had  cast  his  grappling 
hook  with  unerring  aim  across  the  body 
and  the  spar  to  which  it  was  lashed.  He 
dashed  back  to  shore  before  the  next  sea 
broke,  carefully  paying  out  the  line  until 
satisfied  that  the  grappling  hook  had 
caught  around  the  spar. 

"Steady  now,  John.  Stand  by  and 
when  that  next  sea  breaks  run  in  and  grab 
him." 

Skilfully  Captain  Jim  handled  the  line, 
paying  it  out  when  the  undertow  was  so 
strong  that  it  threatened  to  release  the 
grappling  hook. 

"  Now  scoot !"  and  in  a  second  more  the 
body  of  a  sailor  was  brought  up  on  the 
beach  out  of  the  reach  of  the  waves. 

"Go  back  to  the  wagon  and  bring  one 
of  those  torches,"  commanded  Captain 
Jim.  "There  may  be  some  life  in  him." 
He  knelt  by  the  body  and  unbuttoning  a 
heavy  pea  jacket  placed  his  hand  over  the 
sailor's  heart.  "There's  a  chance,"  he  mut- 
tered and  without  waiting  for  the  torch  he 
lifted  the  body  in  his  arms  and  rushed  up 
the  beach  to  where  the  gear  wagon  stood. 


"Give  me  a  bottle  of  whiskey  quick  and 
cut  open  that  bundle  of  blankets." 

"  He  ain't  alive,  is  he  Cap?  "  queried  John. 

"Don't  know,  but  there  might  be  a 
chance.  I  think  his  heart  beats.  So  now, 
force  his  mouth  open  till  1  get  some  of  this 
fire-water  down  him." 

A  low  moarr  followed  this  treatment. 

"Call  Amos  and  Bill  and  tell  them  to 
build  a  fire  in  the  shanty — where  the  horse 
is.  We  ain't  got  a  minute  to  lose  if  we're 
going  to  save  him,"  and  taking  the  body 
in  his  arms  he  forced  his  way  through  the 
drifts  to  the  shanty. 

The  shanty  was  used  by  gunners  in  the 
cold  weather  as  a  sort  of  warming  up  place, 
and  a  fire  from  a  quantity  of  driftwood 
stored  in  it  was  soon  roaring  in  the  stone 
fireplace.  Quickly  removing  the  sailor's 
wet  clothes  they  forced  more  whiskey  down 
his  throat,  rubbed  his  body  with  blankets 
and  then  wrapped  him  up  in  a  half  dozen 
of  them,  constantly  slapping  his  hands  and 
going  through  the  tactics  prescribed  by 
the  service  to  revive  such  cases. 

"1  must  go  back,"  said  (Captain  Jim, 
"stay  here  and  work  over  him.     We'll  save 

*^^"^  ^"'■^•"  C^r\r\a\o 

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Soldiers  of  the  Sea 


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All  of  the  forenoon  they  worked  hauling 
up  bits  of  wreckage  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
sea,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  bodies. 
Five  more  were  picked  up  by  noon.  The 
others  probably  drifted  out  to  sea.  The 
first  rescued  was  the  only  one  they  suc- 
ceeded in  resuscitating,  however.  Ten- 
derly and  carefully  each  corpse  was 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  hauled  to  the 
station  in  the  beach  cart  and  before  that 
day  was  done  the  vessel  itself  had  entirely 
disappeared.  The  beach  for  miles  to  the 
south  was  strewn  with  wreckage. 

It  seems  almost  incredible  that  a  big, 
four-masted  ship,  so  strongly  built,  will 
within  a  few  hours  after  striking  the  beach 
in  a  heavy  storm  be  entirely  demolished. 
Oftentimes,  however,  the  storm  subsides 
soon  after  the  vessel  strikes  and  the 
crew  is  saved  and  the  vessel  floated. 
The  four-masted  schooner,  Katie  J.  Barrett, 
for  instance,  which  went  ashore  within  a 
short  distance  of  the  Orleans  Station,  Feb- 
ruary 1 6,  1890,  is  an  illustration  of  how 
close  in  a  vessel  is  driven,  even  when 
loaded,  by  the  fierce  gales  which  sweep  the 
coast.  This  wreck  was  so  far  up  that  one 
could  walk  dry  shod  around  the  vessel 
at  normal  low  tide.  On  the  morning 
when  she  came  it  was  blowing  so  strong 
that  the  surf  boat  could  not  be  launched 
from  the  beach.  After  two  unsuccessful 
attempts  the  station  men  gave  up  further 
effort  in  that  direction,  and  as  the  vessel 
was  too  far  off  shore  to  be  reached  by  a  line 
shot  from  the  gun,  they  hurried  to  the  har- 
bor two  miles  distant  and  launched  the 
boat  from  the  Humane  Society  house  and 
managed  to  get  out  over  the  harbor  bar 
where  the  seas  were  not  breaking  so  heavily. 
The  captain  and  crew  of  nine  men  were 
nearly  exhausted  from  the  cold,  but  were 
taken  ashore  safely.  The  wreck  master 
and  his  crew  were  then  taken  aboard,  hop- 
ing that  if  the  gale  moderated  they  might 
be  able  to  hold  the  vessel  where  she  was 
with  her  ground  tackle.  Two  days  later, 
however,  a  heavy  gale  drove  the  schooner 
high  up  on  the  beach  and  all  efforts  to  get 
her  off  at  that  time  were  abandoned  and 
she  was  accordingly  stripped.  In  Sep- 
tember of  the  same  year,  however,  the 
wreck  was  sold  to  Boston  parties;  and  on 
extremely  high-course  tides,  by  means  of 
strong  tugs,  the  vessel  was  worked  off 
shore,  being  kept  afloat  by  having  her 


hold  completely  filled  with  empty  casks. 
She  was  towed  to  Boston,  placed  in  dry 
dock  and  put  in  repair. 

An  instance  of  where  the  entire  crew  of 
ten  were  saved  by  the  breeches  buoy  was  at 
the  wreck  of  the  schooner  KaU  Harding, 
which  in  a  heavy  gale  with  an  unusually 
high  sea  on,  came  ashore  without  any  cargo 
in  her,  November  3,  1892,  about  a  mile 
north  of  the  Highland  Life  Saving  Station. 
The  vessel  was  so  light  that  she  came  up 
high  and  dry  on  the  beach  and  the  sailors 
were  landed  without  great  trouble. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  and  trying  con- 
ditions for  the  life  saving  men  is  when  it 
is  too  rough  to  launch  the  surf  boat  and 
the  vessel  is  too  far  off  shore  to  get  a  line 
to.  They  can  see  the  crew  in  the  rigging 
of  the  vessel  and  know  that  it  is  but  a  few 
hours  before  these  men  will  die,  while  they 
are  powerless  to  save  them.  The  wreck  of 
the  British  ship  Jason,  which  came  ashore 
December  5,  1893,  was  such  a  one.  She 
came  ashore  about  half  a  mile  north  of  the 
Pamet  River  Life  Saving  Station  during 
a  violent  storm,  and  the  crews  of  the  High 
Head  and  Cohoon's  Hollow  Stations  were 
summoned  to  the  Pamet  River  Station  to 
give  assistance.  It  was  too  rough  to 
launch  the  boat  and  twenty-four  attempts, 
all  of  which  failed,  were  made  to  shoot  a 
line  over  the  wreck.  All  of  the  crew  were 
lost  with  the  exception  of  one  man  who 
was  washed  ashore. 

June  and  July  is  the  inactive  season  at 
the  life  saving  stations  and  during  this 
period  no  crews  are  maintained,  the  cap- 
tain being  required  only  to  sleep  at  the  sta- 
tion and  make  observations  three  times 
during  the  night.  It  sometimes  happens 
that  even  in  these  months  when  storms  are 
most  unlikely  to  occur,  a  vessel  is  wrecked 
on  account  of  fog.  The  wind  is  usually  light 
and  the  strong  currents  which  sweep  the 
New  England  shores  carry  vessels  out  of 
their  course.  The  crews  are  unable  to  take 
any  observations  and  consequently  they  find 
it  impossible  to  tell  where  they  are.  Under 
these  conditions,  the  British  schooner, 
iValttr  Miller,  was  stranded  on  Nauset  Bar 
during  a  dense  fog,  June  10,  1897.  There 
was,  of  course,  no  one  on  duty  at  the  Or- 
leans and  Nauset  Stations  except  the  cap- 
tains, but  they  succeeded,  however,  with 
the  help  of  some  of  the  villagers  who  hap- 
pened to  be  on  the  beach,  in  shooting  a  line 


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The  fragments  of  the  Cal were  strewn  along  the  shore. 


oflf  to  the  wreck  and  bringing  the  crew,  in- 
cluding the  captain's  wife,  to  shore  safely 
in  the  breeches  buoy.  The  assembly  flag 
had  been  hoisted  on  the  stations  as  soon  as 
the  wreck  was  sighted  and  on  the  arrival 
of  the  crew,  the  sea  having  moderated 
somewhat,  the  surf  boat  was  launched  and 
the  wreck  boarded.  The  seas  were  sweep- 
ing over  the  after-part  of  the  vessel  and  it 
was  with  much  difficulty  that  they  man- 
aged to  save  many  of  the  personal  effects 
of  the  crew.  The  wreck  master  and  his 
crew  stood  by  the  wreck  until  the  17th  of 
June,  when  tugs  from  Boston  succeeded  in 
getting  her  off  on  an  extremely  high  tide 
and  towed  her  to  that  port. 

Vessels  are  wrecked  also  on  account  of 
their  cargo  shifting  in  a  heavy  gale.  This 
makes  the  vessels  unmanageable  to  a  great 
extent  and  starts  them  leaking.  At  such 
times  the  crew  must  keep  constantly 
pumping  till  exhausted  or  the  water  in 
the  hold  gains  on  them  too  fast.  Then 
the  captain  beaches  the  vessel.  Under 
such  conditions  the  British  schooner  Lily 
was  put  ashore  by  her  captain  fifteen 
miles  east  of  Cape  Cod  light  on  the  morn- 
ing of  January  3,  1901.  The  patrol  of 
the  Nauset  Life  Saving  Station  saw  the 
signals  of  distress  at  daylight  and  the  crew 
immediately  tried  to  launch  the  life-boat. 
It  was  found  impossible  to  do  so  however, 
and  a  short  time  afterward  the  captain  of 
the  schooner  hoisted  sail  and  beached  his 
vessel  about  two  and  a  quarter  miles  south 


of  the  Nauset  Station  and  the  crew  left  the 
vessel  and  reached  the  shore  safely  in 
their  own  boat. 

An  instance  of  where  the  cargo  of  a  ves- 
sel was  saved,  owing  principally,  however,  to 
its  being  lumber,  was  in  the  British  three- 
masted  schooner,  John  S.  Parker.  She 
became  unmanageable  in  a  heavy  north- 
east gale  and  struck  the  Orleans  beach 
at  2.30  A.M.,  November  7,  1901,  coming 
in  far  enough,  fortunately,  to  allow  a  line 
to  be  shot  aboard;  and  the  crew  of  six 
men  were  saved  by  means  of  the  breeches 
buoy.  After  the  storm  was  over,  the  lum- 
ber was  thrown  overboard  and  hauled 
ashore  by  means  of  an  endless  line.  The 
vessel  itself,  however,  was  a  total  loss. 

The  Gloucester  fisherman,  FAsie  M. 
Smith,  had  made  a  successful  trip  to  the 
Banks  and  was  loaded  with  a  full  fare  of 
fish  homeward  bound,  when  within  a  day's 
run  of  home  she  was  wrecked  on  February 
13,  1902.  Proceeding  under  shortened 
sail  in  a  northeast  gale  and  driving  snow- 
storm, for  two  days  the  crew  had  not  seen 
the  sun,  and  it  was  impossible  for  them 
to  tell  where  they  were.  With  hardly  a 
moment's  warning,  the  little  vessel  struck 
the  beach  two  miles  south  of  the  Orleans 
Life  Saving  Station  and  on  the  instant 
commenced  to  break  up.  They  attempted 
to  launch  one  of  their  small  fishing  boats, 
but  when  two  of  the  crew  had  dropped 
into  her,  she  was  forced  away  from  the 
side  of  the  vessel  by  a  heavy  sea  which 

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Soldiers  of  the  Sea 


45 


parted  the  painters,  and  being  unmanage- 
able the  boat  was  swamped  and  the  two 
men  drowned.  The  seas  were  now  break- 
ing over  the  schooner's  entire  length  and 
the  remaining  thirteen  men  of  the  crew 
were  driven  to  the  fore  rigging.  The  ves- 
sel was  sighted  from  the  beach  almost  as 
soon  as  she  struck  and  in  a  few  moments  a 
line  was  successfully  shot  over  the  fore- 
stay,  the  breeches  buoy  rigged  and  the 
thirteen  men  saved.  The  vessel  and  cargo 
were  a  total  loss  and  she  broke  up  in  a 
few  hours. 

Probably  no  location  on  either  the  At- 
lantic or  Pacific  coasts  has  had  so  large  a 
number  of  vessels  stranded  on  its  beacji 
as  this  long  stretch  of  white  sand  known 
as  Cape  Cod,  which  reaches  out  into  the 
ocean  from  eastern  Massachusetts,  and  it  is 
due  to  the  efficient  life  saving  service  in- 
stituted by  the  Government  that  so  many 
lives  are  saved. 

In  almost  every  graveyard  in  the  little 
villages  along  this  coast  are  buried  the 
bodies  washed  ashore  from  wrecked  ves- 
sels. Generally  the  names  are  not  known 
and  no  clue  is  found  on  the  bodies  by 
which  they  can  be  identified;  but  a  careful 
record  is  kept  in  the  archives  of  each  vil- 


lage of  such  interments,  giving  the  name 
of  the  ship,  the  date  on  which  it  came 
ashore,  and  the  date  the  body  was  picked 
up. 

Every  few  miles  along  the  beach  the 
Government  has  life  saving  stations  and 
a  crew  on  duty  at  each  of  them  ten 
months  in  the  year.  These  stations  are 
connected  by  telephone  and  also  with  the 
house  of  the  district  superintendent;  A 
local  physician  is  appointed  for  each  dis- 
trict and  all  bodies  that  come  ashore  must 
be  inspected  by  him  before  interment. 
The  marine  underwriters  also  appoint  an 
agent  to  each  district,  known  as  the  wreck 
master  of  the  coast  and  he,  in  their  behalf, 
does  what  he  can  to  save  all  property  of 
the  vessels  and  if  possible  the  vessels  them- 
selves. 

Few  people  realize  the  judgment  and 
courage  shown  by  the  captains  and  crews 
of  these  stations,  or  the  hardships  en- 
dured in  patroling  the  beach  during  the 
cold  and  bitter  winter  storms.  They  lead 
a  lonely  life,  the  salary  is  small  and  the 
danger  great. 

All  praise  to  the  gallant  souls  whose  lives 
are  devoted  to  the  saving  of  men  who  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 


The  end. 


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OUTDOOR    MEN   AND   WOMEN 


THE  STORY  OF  JAMES  WHITE 

FIRST    EXPLORER   OF    THE    GRAND    CANON 

'X'HE  expedition  led  by  Major  Powell 
*-  which  descended  the  Colorado  River 
through  the  Grand  Canon  is  generally 
credited  with  the  first  authentic  passage 
of  that  perilous  r^on.  This  daring  feat 
was  accomplished  in  1868.  A  year  before 
that  date,  however,  a  prospector  named 
James  White  went  down  the  Colorado  on  a 
frail  raft,  and  after  incredible  suffering  and 
dangers,  reached  a  settlement  and  lived 
many  years  thereafter  to  tell  the  story 
which  has  been  hidden  away  in  the  dusty 
files  of  a  geological  report. 

There  has  been  preserved  also  a  letter 
from  this  humble  hero,  written  to  his 
brother  shortly  after  he  passed  through  the 
Carton.  This  letter  which  is  reproduced 
herewith,  together  with  the  official  report 
of  the  adventure,  form  a  remarkable 
chapter  in  the  history  of  the  discovery  of 
the  unknown  west. 

In  January,  1868,  C.  C.  Parry,  an  assist- 
ant geologist  of  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad 
Survey,  happened  to  meet  James  White  at 
Hardyville  on  the  Colorado,  and  in  a  report 
to  the  president  of  the  company  he  in- 
cluded the  following  narrative  as  he  re- 
ceived it  from  its  hero: 

"James  White,  now  living  at  Callville, 
on  the  Colorado  River,  formerly  a  resident 
of  Kenosha,  Wisconsin,  was  induced  to 
join  a  small  party  for  the  San  Juan  region, 
west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  in  search  of 
placer  gold  diggings.  The  original  party 
was  composed  of  four  men,  under  the  com- 
mand of  a  Capt.  Baker. 

"The  party  left  Fort  Dodge  on  the  13th 
of  last  April,  and  after  crossing  the  plains, 
completed  their  outfit  for  the  San  Juan 
country  in  Colorado  City,  leaving  that 
place  on  the  20th  of  May.  Proceeding  by 
way  of  South  Park  and  the  Upper  Arkansas 
they  crossed  the  Rocky  Mountains,  passing 
around  the  head-waters  of  the  Rio  Grande, 


46 


till  they  reached  the  Animas  branch  of  the 
San  Juan  River.  Here  their  prospecting 
for  gold  commenced,  and  being  only  par- 
tially successful,  they  continued  still 
farther  to  the  west,  passing  the  Dolores  and 
reaching  the  Mancas,  which  latter  stream 
was  followed  down  to  the  main  valley  of 
the  San  Juan. 

"Crossing  the  San  Juan  at  this  point 
they  continued  down  the  valley  in  a  west- 
erly direction  for  about  two  hundred  miles, 
when  the  river  entered  a  cafion.  Here 
they  again  crossed  to  the  north  bank,  and 
leaving  the  river  passed  across  a  mountain 
ridge  aiming  to  reach  the  Colorado  River. 
In  a  distance  of  fifty  miles  over  a  very 
rugged  country,  they  reached  this  latter 
stream,  or  rather  its  main  eastern  tributary, 
Grand  River.  At  the  point  where  they 
first  struck  the  river  it  was  inaccessible  on 
account  of  its  steep  rocky  banks;  they 
accordingly  followed  up  the  river  in 
search  of  a  place  where  water  could  be 
procured. 

"At  an  estimated  distance  of  twelve 
miles  they  came  upon  a  side  cafion,  down 
which  they  succeeded  in  descending  with 
their  animals  and  procuring  a  supply  of 
water.  They  camped  at  the  bottom  of 
this  ravine  on  the  night  of  the  23d  of 
August,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  24th 
started  to  ascend  the  right  bank  to  the 
table-land.  In  making  this  ascent  they 
were  attacked  by  Indians,  and  Capt.  Baker, 
being  in  advance,  was  killed  at  the  first 
fire.  The  two  remaining  men,  James 
White  and  George  Strole,  after  ascertaining 
the  fate  of  their  comrade,  fought  their  way 
back  into  the  canon,  and  getting  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  Indians,  hastily  unpacked 
their  animals,  securing  their  arms  and  a 
small  supply  of  provisions,  and  proceeded 
on  foot  down  to  the  banks  of  Grand  River. 
Here  they  constructed  a  raft  of  dry  cotton- 
wood,  composed  of  three  sticks,  ten  feet  in 
length  and  eight  inches  in  diameter,  secure- 
ly tied  together  by  lariat  ropes,  and  having 
stored   away  their  arms  and   provisions. 

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they  embarked  at  midnight  on  their  ad- 
venturous voyage. 

"The  following  morning,  the  25th  of 
August,  they  made  a  landing,  repairing 
their  raft  by  some  additional  pieces  of 
dry  cedar,  and  continued  on  their  course. 
The  river  here  was  about  two  hundred 
yards  wide,  flowing  r^ularly  at  a  rate  of 
two  and  a  half  to  three  miles  per  hour. 
According  to  their  estimate  they  reached 
the  mouth  of  Green  River,  and  entered  the 
main  G)]orado  thirty  miles  from  the  point 
of  starting.  Below  the  junction  the 
stream  narrows,  and  is  confmed  between 
perpendicular  walls,  gradually  increasing 
in  elevation.  At  an  estimated  distance  of 
forty  miles  from  Green  River  they  passed 
the  mouth  of  the  San  Juan,  both  streams 
here  being  hemmed  in  by  perpendicular 
walls.  From  this  point  the  canon  was  con- 
tinued, with  only  occasional  breaks  formed 
by  small  side  canons  equally  inaccessible 
with  the  main  chasm.  Still  they  experi- 
enced no  difficulty  in  continuing  their 
voyage,  and  were  elated  with  the  prospect 
of  soon  reaching  the  settlements  on  the 
G)lorado  below  the  Great  Canon. 

"On  the  28th,  being  the  fourth  day  of 
their  journey,  they  encountered  the  first 
severe  rapids,  in  passing  one  of  which, 
George  Strole  was  washed  off,  and  sank  in  a 
whirlpool  below.  The  small  stock  of  pro- 
visions was  also  lost,  and  when  White 
emerged  from  the  foaming  rapids  he  found 
himself  alone,  without  food,  and  with 
gloomy  prospects  before  him  for  complet- 
ing his  adventurous  journey.  His  course 
now  led  through  the  sullen  depths  of  the 
Great  Ginon,  which  was  a  succession  of 
fearful  rapids,  blocked  up  with  masses  of 
rock,  over  which  his  frail  raft  tumbled  and 
whirled,  so  that  he  had  to  adopt  the  pre- 
caution of  tying  himself  fast  to  the  rocking 
timbers. 

**  In  passing  one  of  these  rapids  his  raft 
parted  and  he  was  forced  to  hold  on  to  the 
fragments  by  main  strength,  until  he 
effected  a  landing  below  in  a  shallow  eddy, 
where  he  succeeded,  standing  waist  deep  in 
water,  in  making  necessary  repairs,  and 
started  again.  One  can  hardly  imagine 
the  gloomy  feelings  of  this  lone  traveler, 
with  no  human  voice  to  cheer  his  solitude, 
hungry,  yet  hopeful  and  resolute,  closed  in 
on  every  side  by  the  beetling  cliffs  that 
shut  out  sunlight  for  the  greater  part  of  the 


long  summer  day,  drenched  to  the  skin, 
sweeping  down  the  restless  current,  shoot- 
ing over  foaming  rapids  and  whiriing  below 
in  tumultuous  whirlpools,  ignorant  of  what 
fearful  cataracts  might  yet  be  on  his  un- 
swerving track,  down  which  he  must  plunge 
to  almost  certain  destruction;  still,  day 
after  day,  buoyed  up  with  the  hope  of 
finally  emerging  from  his  prison  walls  and 
feasting  his  eyes  on  an  open  country  with 
shaded  groves,  green  fields  and  human 
habitations. 

"The  mouth  of  the  Colorado  Chiquito 
was  passed  on  the  fourth  day  in  the  evening, 
the  general  appearance  of  which  was  par- 
ticularly noted,  as  he  was  here  entangled 
in  an  eddy  for  two  hours,  until  rescued  as 
he  says,  'by  the  direct  interposition  of 
Providence.'  The  general  course  of  the 
river  was  noted  as  very  crooked,  with 
numerous  sharp  turns,  the  river  being  shut 
in  on  every  side  by  precipitous  walls  of 
'white  sand  rock.'  These  walls  present  a 
smooth,  perpendicular,  and  occasionally 
overhanging  surface  extending  upward  to  a 
varied  height  and  showing  a  distant  line  of 
high-water  mark  thirty  to  forty  feet  above 
the  then  water  level. 

"His  estimate  of  the  average  height  of 
the  Carton  was  three  thousand  feet,  the 
upper  edge  of  which  flared  out  about  half- 
way from  the  bottom,  thus  presenting  a 
rugged  crest.  The  last  two  days  in  the 
Canon,  dark-colored  igneous  rocks  took 
the  place  of  the  'white  sandstone,'  which 
finally  showed  distant  breaks  on  either  side, 
till  he  reached  a  more  open  country  con- 
taining small  patches  of  bottom  land  and 
inhabited  by  bands  of  Indians.  Here  he 
succeeded  in  procuring  a  scanty  supply  of 
Mezquite  bread,  barely  sufficient  to  sustain 
life  till  he  reached  Callville  on  the  8th  of 
September,  just  fourteen  days  from  the 
starting,  during  seven  of  which  he  had  no 
food  of  any  description. 

"When  finally  rescued  this  man  pre- 
sented a  pitiable  object,  emaciated  and 
haggard  from  abstinence,  his  bare  feet 
literally  flayed  from  constant  exposure  to 
drenching  water,  aggravated  by  occasional 
scorchings  of  a  vertical  sun;  his  mental 
faculties,  though  still  sound,  liable  to  wan- 
der and  verging  close  on  the  brink  of  in- 
sanity. Being,  however,  of  a  naturally 
strong  constitution,  he  soon  recovered  his 
usual  health,  anc'  *out,  hearty, 


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thick-set  man.     His  narrative  throughout  brother  is  not  a  brilliant  piece  of  composi- 

bears  all  the  evidences  of  entire  reliability,  tion    or    spelling,    but    its    matter-of-fact 

and  is  sustained  by  collateral  evidence,  so  ruggedness  gives  one  a  vivid  idea  of  this 

that  there  is  not  the  least  reason  to  doubt  brave  and  simple-minded  prospector  who 

that  he  actually  accomplished  the  journey  underwent  one  of  the  most   remarkable 

in  the  manner  and  in  the  time  mentioned  experiences    that    ever   a   man    lived    to 

by  him."  tell    about.     A  photographic  copy  of  the 

The  letter  written  by  James  White  to  his  original  letter  is  as  follows: 


,^2^itA.      ^S^t.^>^S5   .Z^  ^^n,^^  ..^t!^  ^i^^,*^^^  Sct^^^^    ^cj^^*-*^  ^  ' 
''^S!4t./«-tA*^6»^   a^e//^^t^^  ^^..^a^'^^  ^^»^    ^S^<i»ii*"l'^  ,  ilfmi' 


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49 


.44^A^  -^^;^y  ^^^ .y^^-iAd ^4P^^  .^  «^^^^-/*  V  yt  etH  .Ac^   Au»A^^4i^Z^ 


Navigation  of  the  Big  Cafton. 

A  terrible  voyage. 
Callville.  September  26 — 1867 
Dear  Brother  it  has  ben  some  time  since  i 
have  heard  from  you.  i  got  no  ans.  from  the 
last  letter  that  i  roat  to  you  for  i  left  soon  after 
i  rote,  i  Went  prospected  With  Captin  Baker 
and  Gorge  Strole  in  tne  San  Won  montin.  Wee 
found  very  god  prospects  but  noth(ing)  that 
wold  pay.  then  wee  stort  Down  the  San  Won 
river.  Wee  travel (ed)  down  about  200  miles, 
then  Wee  cross  (ed)  over  on  Colorado,  and 
Camp(ed).  Wee  lad  over  one  day.  Wee  found 
out  that  Wee  cold  not  travel  down  the  river  and 
our  horse  Wass  sore  fite,  and  Wee  had  may  up 
our  mines  to  tume  back  When  Wee  was  at- 
tacked by  15  or  20  Utes  Indi(an)s.  Thev 
kill(ed)  Baker,  and  Gorge  Strole  and  myself  took 
fore  ropes  off  our  bourse  and  a  ax,  ten  pounds 
of  flour  and  our  gunns.  Wee  had  1 5  millse  to 
Work  to  (the)  Colarado.  Wee  got  to  the  river 
Jest  at  night.  Wee  bilt  a  raft  that  night.  Wee 
got  it  bilt  abot  teen  o'clock  tha  night.  Wee 
saile  all  tha  night.  Wee  had  good  Sailing  for 
three  days  and  the  fore  day  Gorge  Strole  was 
Wash(ed)  of  from  the  raft  and  down  and  that 
left  me  alone,  i  thought  that  it  Wold  be  my 
tume  next,  i  then  poul(ed)  off  my  boos  and 
pands.  i  then  tide  a  rope  to  my  Wase  i  Went 
over  foils  from  10  to  15  feet  hie.  my  raft  wold 
tip  over  three  and  fore  time  a  day.  the  thurd 
day  Wee  loss  our  flour  and  fore  seven  davs  i  had 
noth(ing)  to  eat  to  (except)  raw-hide  knife  cover, 
the  8  days  I  got  some  musquit  beens.  the  13  days 
(I  met)  a  party  of  frendey  indes.  thay  Wold  not 
give  me  noth(ing)  eat  so  i  give  (them)  my 
pistols  for  hine  pards  of  a  dog.  i  ead  one  of 
(them)  for  super  and  the  other  (for)  breakfast, 
the  16  days  i  arriv(ed)  at  Callville  Whare  i  Was 


<^-^A^^- 


tak(en)  Care  of  by  James  Ferry,  i  Was  ten 
days  Wih  out  pants  or  boos  or  hat.  i  Was  soon 
(sun)  bornt  so  i  cold  hadly  Wolk.  the  ingins  tok  7 
heed  (of)  horse  from  us.  i  wish  i  can  rite  you 
halfe  i  under  Went,  i  see  the  hardes  time  that 
eny  man  ever  did  in  the  World  but  thank  god 
that  i  got  thrught  saft.  am  Well  a  gin  and  i 
hope  the  few  lines  Will  fine  you  all  Well  i  send 
my  best  respeck  to  all.  Josh  anser  this 
When  you  get  it.  Dreck  yor  letter  to  Callville 
Arizona. 

Josh  ass  Tom  to  ancy  that  letter  that  i  rote 
him  sevel  yeas  agoe  James  White. 


GERONIMO,  A  RELIC  OF  THE 
FRONTIER 

MOST  writers  who  picturesquely  mix 
their  fact  and  fiction  to  paint  pic- 
tures of  the  West  that  is  no  more,  have 
overlooked  the  most  genuine  surviving 
relic  of  red  days  on  the  Border.  In  a  Gov- 
ernment **  shack,"  on  the  outskirts  of  Fort 
Sill,  Arizona,  thrives  an  aged  man  of  some 
eighty  summers.  Wrinkled  and  bent,  put- 
tering around  the  post  seeking  small  coin 
from  visitors,  or  being  loaned  by  the  Gov- 
ernment as  a  drawing-card  for  "World's 
Fairs"  and  other  exhibitions,  is  this  bat- 
tered old  red-man,  Geronimo,  who  baffled 
the  armed  force  of  the  United  States  for 
many  years,  whose  pursuit  and  capture 
cost  the  tax-payers  a  million  dollars,  and 


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nearly  depopulated  the  territory  of  Arizona 
during  his  murdering,  plundering  raids  of 
a  generation  ago.  He  is  the  last  of  the 
"bad  Indians"  who  wrote  red  pages  in  this 
country's  history,  and  the  most  notorious 
of  them  all,  this  Apache  whom  General 
Miles  declared  with  great  sincerity  was 
"the  worst  Indian  that  ever  lived." 

If  he  ever  showed  one  redeeming  trait, 
it  has  not  been  recorded,  and  yet  in  his  old 
age  the  "Great  White  Father"  has  dealt 
him  tolerant  forgiveness  and  charity.  Last 
winter  during  the  inaugural  ceremonies 
at  Washington,  Geronimo  was  one  of  the 
big  chiefs  brought  East  to  give  color  to 
the  parade  in  Washington.  Some  persons 
made  vigorous  objection  to  permitting  this 
old  cut-throat  to  march  with  his  fellow 
warriors,  but  the  Commissioner  of  Indian 
Affairs,  Mr.  Leup,  pooh-poohed  these  crit- 
ics, saying  that  Geronimo  had  lived  down 
his  crimes  during  some  twenty  years  of 
imprisonment  and  deserved  a  place  as  a 
harmless  and  striking  feature  of  the  presi- 
dential train. 

There  are  many  men  in  the  West  who 
would  dearly  love  to  have  a  pot-shot  at 
Geronimo,  men  whose  kinsfolk  died  in 
torture  in  the  light  of  their  blazing  homes 
some  thirty-odd  years  ago.  And  it  was 
impossible  for  the  thousands  who  have  seen 
him  in  recent  years  at  St.  Louis  or  Buffalo 
or  with  a  "Wild  West  Show"  to  realize 
these  facts  as  collected  by  the  Society  of 
Pioneers  of  Arizona: 

"Seventy-six  white  men,  women  and 
children  were  killed  by  Geronimo  in  his  last 
raid.  It  is  said  that  in  the  years  1869  and 
1870  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  persons 
were  murdered  by  his  band  of  Apaches, 
and  according  to  a  record  kept  by  Herman 
Ehrenberger,  a  civil  and  mining  engineer, 
four  hundred  and  twenty-five  persons,  at 
that  time  one-half  the  American  popula- 
tion of  Arizona,  fell  victims  to  the  scalping 
knives  of  Geronimo's  braves  between  1856 
and  1862." 

For  twenty  years  he  has  been  herded 
around  army  posts,  in  Florida,  Alabama 
and  Arizona,  more  of  a  pensioner  than  a 
prisoner,  for  he  is  enrolled  as  "Govern- 
ment scout,"  with  wages  of  thirty-five  dol- 
lars a  month.  Whenever  old  Geronimo 
asks  for  his  freedom,  which  is  often,  he 
fails  to  press  the  case  very  hard,  for  he 
knows  that  freedom  means  the  loss  of  his 


income  as  a  "scout."  He  is  free  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes,  and  would  take  it  hard 
if  "Uncle  Sam"  viewed  his  protests  seri- 
ously and  turned  him  adrift  to  shift  for 
himself. 

Wrinkled  and  crafty  and  cruel  is  his 
swarthy  face  to-day,  but  the  fire  of  his 
infernal  energy  has  died  and  he  is  no  more 
than  a  relic  of  the  Geronimo  of  whom  Gen- 
eral Miles  said  after  their  first  meeting: 

"  He  rode  into  our  camp  and  dismounted, 
a  prisoner.  He  was  one  of  the  bright- 
est, most  resolute,  determined  men  I  ever 
met,  with  the  sharpest,  clearest  dark  eye. 
Every  movement  showed  power  and 
energy." 

Geronimo  in  his  prime  ran  forty  miles  on 
foot  in  one  day,  rode  five  hundred  miles  on 
one  stretch,  as  fast  as  he  could  change 
horses,  and  wore  out  the  column  that  finally 
captured  him  until  three  sets  of  officers 
were  needed  to  finish  the  chase,  and  not 
more  than  one-third  of  the  troopers  who 
started  were  in  at  the  finish.  He  harried 
the  Southwest  for  twenty-five  years  from 
his  retreat  in  the  fastness  of  the  Gila  coun- 
try, with  his  band  of  Chiracahua  Apaches. 

General  Crook  was  after  him  for  years 
and  finally  persuaded  him  to  surrender  in 
1883.  But  Geronimo.  soon  after,  broke 
out  and  swooped  down  on  his  last  great 
raid  of  1885.  Miles  took  up  the  campaign, 
and  with  him  was  the  late  General  Lawton, 
then  a  cavalry  captain,  and  also  an  army 
surgeon,  Leonard  Wood. 

When  the  quarry  was  run  to  earth,  it 
was  found  that  Geronimo  had  with  him 
only  eighteen  sick,  worn-out  and  wounded 
bucks,  as  the  survivors  of  this  last  grim 
pursuit  and  flight. 

He  has  stuck  to  it  that  his  reason  for 
hating  all  white  men  was  because  his  wife 
and  babies  were  killed  by  Mexicans  while  he 
was  away  on  a  hunting  trip  during  his 
youth.  Thereafter  he  chose  the  warpath 
with  deadly  persistence.  Now  his  talents 
are  turned  toward  making  money  by  sell- 
ing bows  and  arrows  and  posing  for  artists. 

Several  years  ago  he  sought  baptism, 
and  enrollment  as  a  Methodist,  an  episode 
whose  sincerity  was  questioned  by  the 
population  of  Arizona.  However,  Geron- 
imo paid  no  heed  to  the  scoffers  and  jogs 
along  the  end  of  the  trail  into  the  next 
world,  certain  in  his'mind  that  his  accounts 
are  squared  for  the  errors  of  his  youth. 


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^"'mplonshlp  ,0  Miss  Elizabeth,  H.  Moore  by  deflu^^"!® 


o 


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A   VALE   OF    PLENTY 


BY   CLIFTON    JOHNSON 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY  THE    AUTHOR 


"lALIFORNIA  has  a  num- 
ber of  valleys  that  are  re- 
markable for  their  great 
size  and  their  productive 
capacity,  but  the  San 
Joaquin  excels.  A  few 
decades  ago  it  was  not 
esteemed  of  much  use  except  for  grazing, 
though  certain  parts  would  grow  excellent 
crops  of  wheat;  but  irrigation  has  changed 
all  this,  and  as  you  pass  through  it  on  the 
train  you  marvel  at  the  seemingly  endless 
succession  of  thriving  fields  and  orchards. 
My  first  day  in  the  valley  was  a  Sunday 
spent  at  a  little  village  consisting  mostly 
of  a  hotel  and  a  few  stores  and  saloons 
facing  the  railway.  Round  about  was  a 
vast  level  extending  for  miles  in  every 
direction,  and  nearly  all  of  it  green  with 
wheat.  At  long  intervals  amid  this  green 
sea  could  be  discerned  a  small  huddle  of 
buildings  where  there  was  a  ranch  house. 
It  was  one  of  the  regions  in  which,  when 
the  grain  ripens,  a  harvester  is  used  that 
is  drawn  by  thirty-six  mules  or  horses,  and 
that  cuts  off  the  heads  of  the  wheat, 
threshes  out  the  grain  and  drops  it  in  sacks 
behind  as  it  goes  along. 

For  an  hour  or  two  in  the  morning  I  sat 
on  the  hotel  piazza  at  some  remove  from 
a  group  of  men  gathered  near  the  door 
of  the  barroom.  The  day  was  quiet  and 
warm.  The  flies  buzzed,  and  some  spar- 
rows chattered  noisily  and  flitted  about 
with  bits  of  straw  for  their  nest-building 
beneath  the  cornice  of  the  piazza.  A  few 
teams  were  hitched  to  railings  under 
the  umbrella  trees  along  the  sidewalk, 
and  there  were  occasional  passers  on  the 
highway.  One  of  these  was  a  man  driv- 
ing two  burros  laden  with  packs.  He 
was  from  some  mine,  and  all  his  outfit  and 
belongings  were  on  the  donkeys.     A  boy 


on  horseback  rode  up  in  front  of  the  hotel 
and  borrowed  the  proprietor's  gun  that 
he  might  do  a  little  hunting.  A  tramp 
came  along  and  wanted  something  to  eat, 
and  he  was  set  at  work  chopping  wood. 
Except  for  him  it  was  a  day  of  loafing  and 
recreation. 

On  another  Sunday  I  was  at  Visalia,  a 
busy  town  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  best 
portions  of  the  valley.  Here  the  chief 
event  of  the  day  was  the  getting  out  of  the 
fire-engine  for  a  little  sport  and  practice 
squirting  around  the  streets. 

It  was  the  rainy  season,  and  there  were 
several  heavy  downpours  that  night,  which 
left  the  region  pretty  thoroughly  soaked. 
However,  the  sun  shone  forth  the  next 
morning,  and  in  spite  of  the  mirey  walking, 
1  started  for  a  long  ramble  among  the 
farms.  1  had  to  do  a  good  deal  of  dodging 
to  get  around  the  pools  and  puddles,  and 
there  were  certain  of  the  "slues"  in  the 
hollows  which  almost  brought  me  to  a 
stop,  yet  by  climbing  along  on  fences  or 
resorting  to  the  embankment  of  an  irri- 
gating ditch,  I  contrived  to  get  along. 

The  country  was  good  to  look  at  in  spite 
of  the  over-abundance  of  mud  and  water. 
On  the  eastern  horizon  rose  ranges  of 
snowy  mountains,  but  the  lowlands  were 
a  green  paradise.  The  grazing  fields  in 
particular  were  very  beautiful  with  their 
cattle,  horses,  or  hogs,  and  with  their  scat- 
tering ancient  oaks.  Many  great  tracts 
of  land  were  set  out  in  regular  rows  of 
prune  and  peach  trees,  and  every  farm- 
house seemed  to  have  its  packing-shed  and 
its  great  heap  of  wooden  drying-trays. 
Formerly  pears  were  a  staple  fruit,  but 
some  sort  of  a  blight  has  killed  them  all. 

The  people  1  met  and  spoke  with 
agreed  that  so  wet  a  season  was  unpre- 
cedented in  Southern  California.     It  was 


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an  unusual  condition  to  have  too  much 
water,  and  the  owners  of  the  flooded  lands 
were  not  altogether  happy;  yet  any  dam- 
age they  suffered  was  largely  offset  by  the 
drowning  of  such  pests  as  the  gophers  and 
ground  squirrels.  The  local  conditions, 
therefore,  were  on  the  whole  satisfactory, 
but  certain  other  sections  had  not  fared 
so  well.  For  instance,  in  the  same  county, 
there  used  to  be  a  lake  thirty  miles  broad 
and  a  hundred  long.  It  afforded  fine  fish- 
ing, and  the  hunters  resorted  to  it  to  shoot 
the  abundant  ducks  and  geese.  Gradu- 
ally it  dried  away  and  left  some  of  the 
richest  farm  land  in  the  world.  The  old 
lake-bed  became  a  great  wheat-producing 
district;  but  now  the  heavy  rains  had  be- 
gun to  fill  the  basin  of  the  former  lake,  and 
the  body  of  water  was  fast  expanding 
to  its  former  size.  The  wheat  had  grown 
to  be  waist  high  and  was  well  headed  out, 
but  the  lake-bed  dwellers  had  to  abandon 
everything  except  the  little  they  could 
carry  away,  and  driving  their  stock  before 
them  they  sought  more  elevated  ground. 
It  was  thought  that  many  years  must 
pass  before  the  water  would  again  dry 
away. 

As  1  walked  on  1  at  length  wandered  into 
a  little  village.  Near  its  center  1  stopped 
on  the  piazza  of  a  small  bakeshop.  Here 
was  a  chair,  a  settee  and  several  boxes 
occupied  by  a  row  of  men  smoking,  spitting 
and  talking.  The  weather  was  not  pro- 
pitious for  field  work,  and  the  piazza  group 
was  in  a  very  leisurely  and  hospitable  frame 
of  mind.  If  any  one  passed,  either  walking 
or  driving,  they  never  failed  to  shout  out 
an  invitation  to  stop.  **Come  and  join 
us,"  they  would  say.  '*  You'll  never  find 
a  better  lookin'  crowd  in  your  life." 

Presently  a  fellow  approached,  driving  a 
smart  span  of  horses  attached  to  a  gig. 

"Hold  on  to  them  ribbons,  thar!"  was 
the  cry  from  the  piazza. 

The  man  in  the  gig  slowed  down  and 
halted.  His  vehicle  was  old  and  weather- 
beaten,  but  it  had  a  bright  red  whiffletree. 

"Why  didn't  you  paint  the  rest  of  your 
gig?"  some  one  queried. 

"Well,"  said  the  driver,  "I  left  it  that 
way  so  people  'd  ask  questions.  This  is 
a  nice  little  team.  I've  driven  'em  about 
fifteen  miles  and  now  1  think  I'll  put  'em 
in  the  stable." 

"Oh,  no,  don't  do  that,"  said  some  one 


on  the  porch.  "Drive  'em  some  more. 
It  'II  make  'em  eat  their  hay  good." 

Shortly  after  he  had  gone  on,  a  man  in  a 
top-buggy  drove  up  in  front  of  the  bake- 
shop, and  one  of  the  loafers  said,  "  Looks 
like  you  was  goin'  somewhere." 

The  man  in  the  buggy  poked  his  head 
out  and  said,  "Who  wants  to  go  to  town 
with  me  and  get  drunk?" 

Some  responded  that  they  would  like 
well  enough  to  get  drunk,  but  none  of  them 
cared  to  exert  themselves  sufficiently  to  go 
to  town,  and  he  had  to  continue  his  journey 
alone. 

The  man  of  the  piazza  gathering  who 
interested  me  most  was  an  old  settler  of 
the  region  who  had  come  from  Tennessee 
in  1870.  "This  country  in  its  natural 
shape,"  said  he,  "was  a  forest  of  oak  with 
here  and  there  an  open  where  the  tall  grass 
grew.  We  used  to  cut  the  grass  for  hay. 
Deer,  antelopes  and  wild  mustangs  was 
plenty.  I've  shot  lots  of  deer.  I  didn't 
care  so  much  for  the  antelopes.  You'd 
often  see  'em  feeding  in  among  the  cattle. 
People  e't  their  meat,  but  it  was  coarser 
and  not  so  good  as  deer  meat.  You  could  go 
up  there  in  those  foothills  you  see  to  the  east 
and  kill  a  wagon-load  of  deer  in  a  day.  They 
roamed  about  fifty  to  a  hundred  in  a  band. 

"  Bears  was  common  up  in  the  mountains 
— brown,  cinnamon,  black  and  grizzlies; 
but  I  wa'n't  lookin*  for  them  fellers.  1  was 
willin'  to  make  friends.  If  they'd  let  me 
alone  I'd  let  them  alone,  you  bet  yer  boots 
1  would.  But  one  time  I  was  up  there 
helpin'  old  Billy  Rhoades  with  his  sheep. 
Fred  Stacy  was  with  me,  and  we  was  goin' 
across  a  little  medder  when  we  see  a  full- 
grown  grizzly  bear  with  a  cub  follerin' 
her,  and  they  wascomin'  straight  toward  us. 

"It  happened  there  was  a  cluster  of 
smallish  pine  trees  near  by,  and  Fred  went 
up  one  tree  and  I  went  up  another.  I 
didn't  have  a  thing  to  shoot  with,  and  I 
don't  suppose  I'd  have  used  a  gun  if  I'd 
had  one.  The  bear  kind  o'  looked  up  at 
us,  but  kept  on  down  the  trail.  She  found 
our  camp,  and  she  turned  over  our  potatoes 
and  beans  and  scattered  them  and  our  other 
things  all  about.  Yes,  she  had  a  regular 
tear-up.  But  1  was  glad  to  git  off  with  no 
worse  damage.  A  bear  with  a  cub  will 
fight,  you  know,  and  I  come  as  dost  to  a 
grizzly  then  as  1  want  to,  less'n  the  bear 
was  in  a  cage. 


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"Another  time  old  man  Rhoades  and  his 
son  was  fetchin'  some  sheep  off  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  boy  went  into  a  canon  for  a 
drink.  He  lay  down  to  git  at  the  water, 
when  a  black  bear  jumped  out  of  the  wil- 
lers  onto  him  and  began  a-chawin'  him. 
He  hollered  for  the  old  man,  who  come 
hurry  in'  down — and  there  was  the  bear 
chawin'  on  his  boy.  The  only  thing  the 
old  man  had  to  attack  the  bear  with  was  a 
pocket-knife.  That  was  a  poor  weapon, 
but  he  saw  he  had  the  job  to  do,  and  he 
didn't  hesitate.  The  bear  was  on  the 
boy;  but  now  the  old  man  was  on  the 
bear;  and  he  got  her,  and  he  skinned  her 
afterward.  She  mighty  nigh  killed  the 
boy,  and  the  old  man  was  so  tore  and 
scratched  he  carried  the  scars  to  his 
grave. 

"Any  one  could  have  a  horse  in  the  early 
days  by  just  goin'  out  and  ketchin'  a  wild 
mustang.  The  way  we  used  to  do  that 
was  to  build  a  corral  consisting  of  a  fence 
about  eight  feet  high  around  a  half  acre 
or  so,  with  a  long  wing  fence  extending  out 
from  it.  Then  when  we  see  some  mus- 
tangs feeding  near  we'd  go  out  on  the  far 
side  of  'em  and  give  a  yell  to  start  'em,  and 
by  heading  'em  off  we'd  drive  'em  against 
the  wing  fence  and  run  'em  right  into  the 
corral.  After  that  a  man  would  go  in  and 
lassoo  one.  He'd  have  to  be  on  horseback 
or  they'd  run  right  over  him. 

"When  he'd  got  a  mustang  roped  he'd 
drag  him  out,  put  on  a  bridle  and  saddle, 
blindfold  him  and  get  on.  The  mustang 
didn't  like  that,  and  he'd  b^in  to  buck. 
Seems  to  me  I've  seen  'em  buck  as  high  as 
that  schoolhouse  over  thar.  No  matter 
what  the  mustang  did,  the  rider  had  got  to 
stick  on.  That  was  the  only  way  those 
horses  could  be  broke.  They  were  the 
meanest  things  you  ever  see.  They  were 
good  saddle  ponies,  though — fine!  The 
mustangs  were  small,  but  they  were  tough 
and  hardy — kind  o'  like  a  jack-rabbit. 
You  could  run  one  all  day,  and  it  would  be 
about  as  good  at  the  end  as  when  it  started; 
and  the  next  morning  it  would  buck  you 
off  if  you  wa'n't  careful. 

"When  I  come  here,  cattle,  sheep  and 
hogs  were  all  the  go.  There  was  very 
little  soil  cultivated;  but  gradually  it  got 
to  be  a  great  wheat  country.  Now  wheat 
has  given  way  to  orchards,  and  we  ship 
fruit  all  over  the  worid. 


"  I  used  to  raise  wheat,  but  we  had  fif- 
teen dry  seasons  right  a-running,  which 
did  me  up.  Now  the  weather  seems  to 
have  changed,  and  I  look  for  fifteen  wet 
seasons.  So  I'm  goin*  to  try  wheat  again. 
You  ain't  sure  of  a  crop  unless  you  irrigate. 
When  we  people  come  here  from  the  East 
we  didn't  know  anything  about  irrigation. 
But  somebody  tried  it  and  found  it  a  suc- 
cess. Then  we  all  turned  loose.  It's  a 
good  thing.  At  the  same  time  there's  a 
lot  of  hard,  dirty  work  in  irrigating. 

"  First,  you're  obliged  to  plow  and 
scrape  till  you've  got  your  land  level  and 
in  check.  We  put  two  or  three  acres  in  a 
check  with  a  levee  around  it.  The  checks 
have  to  be  smaller  if  the  land  is  rough. 
Our  land  here  is  pretty  smooth,  and  two 
men  with  a  pair  of  horses  can  git  a  quarter 
section  in  order — leveling  checks,  making 
ditches  and  flood-gates — all  in  about  a 
couple  of  months.  But  you  are  out  some- 
thing right  along,  digging  to  keep  the  chan- 
nels clear  and  making  repairs. 

"  You  can  raise  anything  that  will  grow 
on  the  top  side  of  the  earth  in  this  valley. 
1  got  only  two  objections  to  it — in  over 
half  the  land  there's  alkali,  and  secondly, 
malaria  is  a  good  deal  too  common.  You 
notice  our  houses  ain't  got  cellars  and  are 
set  up  on  posts  off  the  ground — some  of 
'em  three  or  four  feet.  That's  on  account 
of  malaria. 

"Perhaps  it  strikes  you  the  houses  must 
be  cold  in  winter,  but  we  don't  have  such 
sharp  weather  as  they  have  in  other  parts 
of  the  United  States.  1  ain't  seen  but  one 
snowfall  in  all  the  time  I  been  here.  You 
take  a  person  from  back  East  and  drop 
'em  down  here  in  March  and  they  think 
they're  in   Paradise. 

"  But  things  ain't  always  so  pleasant  in 
our  valley  as  people  think  they're  goin'  to 
be.  Thar's  a  mighty  lot  gits  fooled.  They 
think  they  can  pick  up  twenty-dollar  gold 
pieces,  dog-gone-it;  and  they  have  it  all 
figured  out  how  easy  they  can  make  their 
fortunes.  So,  as  soon  as  they  see  a  piece 
of  property  that  they  fancy,  they  just  dive 
in  and  pay  a  good  round  price.  Then  when 
they  find  they  can't  git  rich  in  a  few  weeks 
like  they  expected  they're  sorry  they 
grabbed  so  quick.  Often  they're  so  home- 
sick that  they're  ready  to  take  whatever 
anybody  'II  give  for  the  property  they've 
bought." 


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BY    BEN    BLOW 


DRAWING    BY  J.    N.    MARCHAND 


RONCHO  busters,"  the 
foreman  of  the  Jack  Hall 
outfit  said  sagely,  "is 
bom  fur  the  business; 
then  afterwards  they  has 
^  to  learn  it  all  over.  Take 
one  o'  these  here  wall- 
eyed, crazy,  half-broke  bronchs  that  squats 
an*  spraddles  when  they  sees  the  saddle 
an'  shivers  like  they  had  the  double-bar- 
reled Arkinsaw  chills  when  they  feels  the 
heft  of  it,  an'  the  man  that  sets  one  o' 
them  without  huntin'  leather  knows  he's 
been  to  meet  in'  when  he  puts  foot  on  the 
dust." 

The  foreman  paused  briefly,  reflecting 
on  the  inherent  wickedness  of  "wall-eyed 
bronchs." 

"Short  Leg  Dwyer,"  he  resumed,  "wuz 
a  bom  rider;  Pedro  c'd  set  the  tail  of  a 
Kansas  cyclone  an'  roll  a  cigarette  with  one 
hand,  but  the  best  that  ever  hit  the  Little 
Gorell  country  to  my  knowin'  wuz  a  slab- 
sided  feller  which  come  to  us  from  the 
Stirmp  outfit  which  says  his  name  is 
Alixander  Hamilton,  but  which  the  boys 
soon  brands  Mizzoo,  bein'  as  he  hails  from 
that  land  o'  milk  an'  honey  an'  scmb  oak 
an'  red  clay. 

"Mizzoo  ain't  none  too  much  to  look  at, 
goin'  or  comin',  an'  the  two  horses  he  has 
he  must  'a'  got  plum  scandalous  reasonable 
some  place,  for  if  ever  I  see  bronchs  that 
had  eat  loco  pods  till  they  wuz  chronic, 
them  wuz  the  two.  They  ain't  no  pets,' 
Mizzoo  says,  introducin'  them,  goin'  up  an' 
fetchin'  one  a  cuff  with  the  butt  of  a  quirt 
that  looked  like  the  ground  end  o'  one  o' 
the  willow  clothes-poles  1  use  to  git  for 

maw  back  at  the  old  farm 'but  they 

knows  blame  well  who's  boss  o'  us  three.' 
As  he  says  this  the  bronch  reaches  out  an' 
tries  to  bite  his  arm  off,  hitchin'  up  his 


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hind  Ic^s  an'  squealin'  like  an  old  maid 
when  she  sees  a  rat.  Tlum  playful  this  'n' 
is,  yet,'  he  says  an'  bats  him  a  clip  that  'd 
a-jarred  Pike's  Peak  if  it  'dalit  square, 'but 
he'll  learn,'  he  says,  'he'll  learn  an'  grow  up 
into  a  cow  horse  that  any  gent  who  kin  set 
steady  'II  be  proud  an'  happy  to  ride/ 

"  1  misdoubts  this  statement  some,  bein' 
as  both  the  bronchs  is  squealers,  but  I  ain't 
got  no  call  to  express  my  sentiments,  so  I 
lets  the  brag  pass.  Mizzoo  settles  down 
an'  tends  to  business;  keeps  reasonable 
steady  c'nsiderin'  he's  from  Mizzoura;  an' 
don't  ask  no  favors  from  nobody,  but  from 
Bull  an'  the  horse  wrangler  up  the  outfit 
takes  a  dislike  to  him  from  the  start. 

"  Bull  is  one  o'  these  here  dogs  that  don't 
often  bubble  over  with  sociability,  not 
believin'  much  in  familiarity  on  short 
acquaintance,  but  with  Mizzoo  he's  dif- 
ferent from  what  anybody  ever  seen  him. 
He  scruffs  the  back  of  his  neck  up  till  it 
looks  like  a  wore-out  curry-brush  an'  he 
walks  on  the  ends  o'  his  toes  like  he's  goin' 
to  bust  loose  any  minute,  but  the  look  in 
his  eyes  ^ays  he's  plum  juberous  of  Mizzoo. 

"Not  havin'  no  tail  to  tuck  in  under  him 
its  hard  tellin'  the  exact  state  o'  his  feelin's, 
but  Cook  states  that  he's  sure  the  dog  is 
scared  proper,  an'  sounds  Mizzoo  on  the 
state  of  his  feelin's  relatin'  to  the  canine 
race  in  general,  namin'  Bull  for  a  paricular 
example,  an'  discovers  that  he  ain't  got  no 
use  for  none  o'  them,  black,  white  or 
spotted,  growed  up  or  pups.  Cook  says 
that  it's  his  opinion  that  Mizzoo  is  plum 
bad  some  way  or  other,  an'  allows  that  dogs 
an*  children  is  mighty  quick  to  locate  hid- 
den cussedness  concealed  in  the  male  sect. 

"'Bein'  from   Mizzoura,'  he  says,   'an' 

furthermore  and  moreover  bein'  proud  o' 

the  fact,  I  hates  to  think  bad  of  a  man 

which  hails  from  the  same  glorious  stat|. 

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the  trade-mark  o'  which  is  two  bears  rared 
back  on  their  hams  to  signify  brotherly 
love,  an'  ding  fiddle  my  cats!  I  hates  it  more 
becuz  Mizzoo  claims  to  come  from  Pike, 
which  is  the  home  county  o*  the  free  an' 
the  land  o'  the  brave,  an'  raises  more  mules 
than  the  whole  o'  Coloraydo,  as  everybody 
which  has  heard  "Joe  Bowers"  sang  knows 
to  be  the  unskimmed  truth.  But  ding 
fiddle  it!'  he  says,  'Bull  ain't  never  lied  to 
me  before  by  wink  or  wag  of  tail — which  he 
couldn't  well  do  seein'  as  he  ain't  got  any — 
an'  1  says  now  that  this  here  feller  which 
says  his  name  is  Alixander  Hamilton  is 
goin'  to  turn  out  perfidious,  an'  like  as  not 
he  comes  from  some  o'  them  Ozark  hill 
counties  down  close  to  the  Arkinsaw  line, 
where  they  uses  step  ladders  to  cultivate, 
an'  where  the  people  is  as  low-down  shif- 
less  as  the  clay-eatin'  Murungians  o'  east 
Tennessee.  Bull  says  he's  bad,  an'  Mizzoo 
admits  it  by  sayin'  he  ain't  got  no  use  for 
dogs,  an'  right  here  an'  now  1  says  that  I'm 
a-goin'  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  the 
critter,  an'  when  the  time  comes  to  stomp 
I'm  a-goin*  to  stomp  heavy  on  this  here 
Alixander  Hamilton,  which  like  as  not  is 
elias  for  som^thin'  else.  But  what  1  want 
to  know  is  why  Bull  is  afraid  o'  him; 
answer  me  that.' 

"  I  remains  dumb  an'  speechless,  not  bein' 
a  mind-reader  of  human  bein's,  let  alone 
dogs,  but  allows  that  murder  will  out  in 
the  end,  which  pacifies  Gx>k  some,  an'  the 
matter  drops.  Things  drifts  along  at  Jack 
Hall  easy  and  steady  an'  the  goose  honks 
high  exceptin'  when  some  o'  the  boys  wan- 
ders off  to  where  he  kin  git  excitement  by 
the  glass.  Mizzoo  tends  to  his  business 
plum  conscientious,  not  creatin'  no  dis- 
turbance exceptin'  fur  his  'I  done'  an'  M 
says*  an'  *l  seen,'  which  disturbs  the  quiet 
painful  an'  gets  everybody  to  wishin'  that 
he'd  git  dumb  for  a  spell  so's  we  could  rest 
up.  But  they  ain't  no  discountin'  that 
him  an*  the  bronchs  knows  the  cattle  busi- 
ness from  cuttin'  out  to  brandin',  which 
looms  up  clear  one  night  when  I  starts  a 
run. 

"It  wuz  one  o'  these  here  wet,  sweaty 
evenin's  when  the  clouds  hung  so  low  that 
they  bumped  the  mount'ins  an'  the  cattle 
wuz  jumpy  an'  ready  f'r  most  anything. 
Bein'  a  unfortunit  son-of-a-gun  by  nature 
I  lets  my  horse  step  on  one  o*  his  feet  or 
fall  into  a  gopher  hole,  which  throws  both 


of  us,  an'  the  grunt  he  gives  when  he  lights 
brings  a  half  dozen  crazy-headed  steers  up 
a-runnin*.  I  gets  my  horse  up,  but  bein' 
as  my  legs  is  plum  useless  an'  numb  from 
bein'  fell  on  I  don't  make  much  headway 
gettin'  into  the  saddle,  an'  things  begins  to 
get  ticklish,  for  the  fool  steers  bores  over 
my  way  an'  keeps  a-comin'  thicker'n  I  likes 
to  see,  an'  while  I'm  playin'  foot-an-a-half 
I  sees  Mizzoo  come  by  borin'  holes  in  the  air 
with  his  six-shooter,  an'  sure  as  I  says  it  he 
sees  me  an'  laughs  an'  goes  on  by.  But  the 
next  minute  I  sees  Gx)k,  which  is  a  busy 
little  man  an'  mighty  often  where  he  don't 
belong  when  he's  needed,  an'  he  drills  up 
to  me,  reaches  a  hand  out  across  my 
horse's  back  an'  drags  me  into  the  saddle— 
an'  none  too  quick,  for  the  steers  is  jostlin' 
us. 

"Gx)k  must  'a*  forgot  hisself,  for  he  wuz 
sheddin'  all  the  bad  words  he'd  saved  in  a 
year.  'Ding  fiddle  the  blankety  blanked 
gas-bag  of  a  Ozark  moonshiner!'  he  says, 
'he'd  *a*  let  you  stay  an*  git  tromped  on, 
would  he,  hey?  You  git  up  on  the  hill 
where  things  ain't  so  crowded  an'  I'll  tend 
to  his  case,'  an'  off  he  goes  like  a  yearlin' 
with  a  new  brand  ticklin'  him.  I  climbs 
the  hill,  an'  it  ain't  so  dark  but  what  I  kin 
see  that  the  run  has  started  good.  Down 
the  valley  I  kin  see  the  flash  of  the  guns  as 
the  boys  tries  to  bend  the  cattle  round  an' 
get  'em  to  millin',  an*  pretty  soon  things 
gets  dark  as  the  under  side  of  a  hen  settin' 
in  a  soap  box.  an'  gettin'  plum  faint  from 
the  pinch  my  1^  got  when  the  gopher  hole 
throwed  us,  I  rides  back  to  camp  slow  an' 
painful,  manages  to  get  off  my  horse,  finds 
Bull  in  charge  an'  then  lays  down  an'  goes 
peaceful  to  sleep  half  ways  into  the  shack. 

"When  I  comes  to  I  sees  Cook  as  busy  as 
a  bee  in  a  molasses  barrel  fixin'  up  some 
Chinee  root  medicine,  which  I  refuses, 
hurtin'  his  feel  in 's  some,  but  doin'  the  best 
I  kin  by  offerin'  to  let  him  rub  it  into  my 
leg  which  is  bad  sprained  an'  swoll  up. 
'Bill,'  he  says,  'accordin'  to  the  lights  in  me 
I  wuz  a-doin'  what  your  maw'd  'a'  done  for 
you,'  an'  allows  that  he  wuz  plum  scared 
when  he  come  back  an'  found  me  layin'  in 
the  door.  'But  you  wuz  bein'  well  took 
care  of,  Bill,'  he  says.  'Bull  don't  never 
go  back  on  his  friends,  an'  I  reckon  he'd  'a' 
brought  you  round  in  the  end,  for  he  wuz 
a-lickin*  your  face  like  you  wuz  his  own 
flesh  an'  blood.*  ^^^  t 

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'  Cook  bats  him  alongside  the  head  with  the  quirt  ^'^^'^  ^  ^'  ^'  m*«^^ 

an'  puts  him  flat  on  the  ground.*' 


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"'How  about  the  steers?'  I  says  to  him, 
bein'  kind  o'  bashful  over  havin'  Bull  for  a 
wet  nurse. 

'"Bunched/  he  says,  'when  I  left  'em, 
bein'  anxious  about  you.  Ding  fiddle  me 
but  that  Mizzoo  is  a  cow-man  proper!  I 
never  seen  nothin'  like  the  way  he  stopped 
that  run.  1  wuz  some  anxious  when  I  left 
you,  for  the  steers  was  headed  down  the 
valley,  an'  no  tellin'  when  the  thunder  an' 
lightnin'  'd  start  'em  harder  than  ever,  so 
1  pulls  out  from  the  crowd  an'  starts  for  the 
lead  to  help  turn  'em,  an'  when  I  gets  along 
up  to  the  front  1  runs  plum  smack  against 
Mizzoo,  an'  of  all  the  cattle  ridin*  1  ever 
sees  1  sees  some  then.  With  that  half-broke 
bronch  of  his,  the  one  with  the  white  eye, 
he  shoulders  them  steers  an'  burns  powder 
before  their  noses  an'  cusses  them  in  all  the 
dead  languages,  includin'  Shoshone  slang, 
beats  'em  with  his  slicker,  holds  'em  back 
an'  hinders  *em  an'  works  'em  out  o'  the 
straight,  an'  before  you  knows  it  they  sets 
to  millin',  an'  right  now  he's  a-ridin'  around 
'em  singin'  "  Joe  Bowers,"  an'  they  ain't 
run  three  mile.  Bill,'  he  says,  *!  misjudges 
sometimes,  but  a  man  that  kin  ride  a 
bunch  o'  steers  to  millin'  as  quick  as  that 
Mizzoo  did  must  have  some  good  in  him 
some  place.'  Just  then  he  looks  at  Bull, 
who  is  settin'  by,  gazin'  at  him  plum 
mournful  like  he  understood  the  words. 
'Ding  fiddle  me!'  he  says,  'Bull,  don't  lay 
it  up  against  me,  son,  the  man  kin  sure 
ride,  but  if  I  ain't  a  bad  judge  they  is 
somethin'  plum  rotten  an'  immoral  about 
the  feller  that'll  crop  out  in  the  end;  but 
give  the  devil  his  due.  Bull,*  he  says. 
'Mizzoo  is  a  cow-man,  pop  goes  the  weasel, 
from  the  calf  to  the  tanyard  an'  then 
back.' 

"Bull  kind  o'  smiles,  an'  bein'  a  little 
careless,  steps  on  my  sprained  1^  an'  I  says 
some  words  that  ain't  used  in  sewin' 
societies.  'So  fur  as  I'm  concerned,'  I 
says,  'the  devil  takes  care  o'  his  own,  an'  1 
reckon  them's  the  sentiments  Mizzoo  has 
when  he  rides  by  an'  leaves  me  to  be 
stomped  on  by  the  steers  which  was 
headed  my  way.' 

"Cook  kind  o'  scratches  his  head  an' 
allows  that  Mizzoo  says  he  knows  1  was 
safe  becuz  he  seen  Gx)k  comin'  an'  seen  he 
was  headed  my  way;  which  sure  is  some 
truthful,  but  I  reckon  Cook  must  'a'  forgot 
the  grin  he  spread  when  he  seen  me  in 


trouble;  but  I  don't  stir  up  no  muss  when 
I  can  help  it,  an'  besides.  Cook  keeps  me 
kind  of  interested  when  he  starts  rubbin' 
my  game  1^  with  the  root  tea  which  seems 
to  have  healin'  virtues  in  it  some  place,  for 
the  swoll  up  leg  goes  down  by  mornin'  an' 
when  I  finds  that  the  run  was  choked  off 
without  a  steer  gettin'  away  1  becomes  a 
glad  an'  thankful  invalid,  but  of  all  the 
wavin'  the  banner  that  1  ever  seen  that 
slab-sided  Mizzoo  does  for  hisself.  All  o' 
the  brags  he's  got  off  in  the  past  is  whispers 
to  what  he  relates.  Everybody  in  camp 
gets  wore  out  by  the  way  he  brags  on  his- 
self an'  his  bronchs,  an'  Cook  is  the  tiredest 
one  of  the  lot,  rememberin*  what  he  says 
to  me  maybe,  an'  ashamed  of  it;  an'  one 
day  he  comes  to  me  an'  says  that  he's  got 
business  over  to  Waugh  Mountain,  an*  will 
1  leave  him  off  for  a  day  or  so,  which  I  says 
yes  to,  bein*  as  he's  fed  me  up  high  an' 
cured  my  game  leg  by  feedin'  me  on  soup 
made  out  o'  his  pet  chickens,  an'  bein'  a 
thoughtful  little  man  anyway  he  makes  up 
enough  soup  to  last  me  an'  rides  off. 

"  Next  day  he  gets  back.  'Bill,'  he  says, 
'that  feller  which  calls  hisself  Alixander 
Hamilton  is  legal  named  Ebenezer  Day  an' 
he's  a  lowdowner  pup  than  1  thought  he 
was.  Aleck  Moorman  told  me  the  history 
o'  the  riptile,  an'  he's  a  natural  bom  varmint 
if  they  ever  wuz  one.  Since  he  left  the 
Stirrup  outfit  Alick  got  word  that  this  here 
Mizzoo  feller  had  run  off  an'  left  his  wife, 
which  is  a  pore  little  peaked  woman  with 
six  kids,  an'  passes  hisself  as  a  single  man 
when  he  meets  up  with  a  unsuspectin' 
single  female  whose  bosom  hankers  for  a 
husband.  What  do  you  think  o'  that. 
Bill?'  he  says,  'shall  this  here  oufit,  which 
has  always  been  God-fearin'  an'  respectable 
except  for  a  little  too  free  use  o'  cuss  words 
when  provoked,  warm  sich  a  viper  in  its 
shirt  front  an'  get  bit  to  death  by  him  in 
the  end?' 

"'Suit  yourself.  Cook,'  I  says  to  him, 
knowin'  that  trouble  was  goin'  to  ride 
down  the  trail  towards  Mizzoo  when  the 
boys  found  that  he  was  a  deceiver  of 
females,  'only  let's  have  peace  an'  quiet 
wave  after  him  when  he  hunts  new  cow- 
camps  an'  pastures  greener  than  this'n.' 
I  hate  to  fire  a  good  man,  but  if  you  can 
persuade  him  to  resign  1  reckon  the  Jack 
Hall  outfit  can  stagger  along  under  the 
blow.' 


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" '  Bill/  says  Cook,  'when  I  was  a  boy  in 
Washin'ton  County,  Mizzoora,  my  maw 
always  had  me  speak  Casabianca  an'  The 
Boy  Stood  on  the  Bumin'  Deck,  an'  the 
whole  infant  class  believed  I  was  goin'  to 
be  a  Methodist  preacher  or  a  congressman 
because  I  was  plum  full  an'  runnin'  over 
with  the  soft  answer  that  tumeth  away 
wrath.  I  use  to  diplomat  before  I  fit,  an' 
the  gineral  opinion  grew  up  that  it  was  bet- 
ter to  have  me  explain  things  than  to  have 
me  start  gougin',  becuz  bein'  sandy  headed 
by  nature  my  passions  rose  an'  rose  when  I 
fit  till  I  used  to  get  reel  mad.' 

"'Cook,'  I  says,  'diplomzcy  is  the  front 
door  o'  peace.  You  take  charge  o'  this 
here  matter,  persuade  Mizzoo  to  forsake 
this  here  weepin'  outfit;  let  him  go  peace- 
ful on  his  way;  let  the  vine  an*  olive  o' 
good  feelin'  wave  him  good-bye.' 

"'Bill,'  says  Cook,  'your  langwidge  re- 
minds me  of  a  feller  that  claimed  to  be  a 
circuit  rider  which  come  to  Mineral  Point 
when  I  was  wearin'  my  first  long  pants  an' 
skinned  the  whole  population  along  the 
Potosi  branch  of  the  Iron  Mountain  rail- 
road on  a  horse  race;  but  you  jest  watch 
me,  if  Rutherford  B.  Hayes,  which  is  presi- 
dent, could  see  me  diplomat  with  Alixander 
Hamilton  Ebenezer  Day,  elias  Mizzoo,  he'd 
make  me  minister  from  him  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  which  is  eventual  goin'  to  be  a 
king.' 

"  Bdn'  some  dizzy  from  his  speech  I  says 
a  bowl  o'  chicken  soup  'd  make  my  1^  feel 
better,  which  Cook  gets,  statin',  to  explain 
hb  cast-down  looks,  that  it's  made  out  o' 
the  little  rooster  which  favors  his  paw,  an' 
which  Pedro  sets  so  much  store  by,  an* 
which  he  has  killed  accidental  an'  absent- 
minded  mistakin'  him  for  a  hen.  He  al- 
lows that  he  feels  kind  o'  sorry  for  Pedro, 
which  sets  a  heap  o'  store  by  the  little 
feller,  but  says  his  state  o'  mind  is  upset 
over  the  painful  duty  o'  firin'  Mizzoo  an' 
makin'  him  think  he's  resignin'  with  peace 
an'  dignity  an'  good  will;  but  he  borrows 
a  heap  o'  worry  needless,  for  Mizzoo  piles 
up  trouble  for  hisself  till  it  slides  down  on 
him  like  snow  off  a  steep  roof.  He  gets  to 
braggin',  an' moreover  says  that  they  ain't 
no  cow  puncher  in  the  outfit  which  can 
ride  his  bronchs  without  huntin'  leather, 
which  every  man  in  camp  allows  is  too 
plum  foolish  to  consider  serious,  an'  takes 
him  up,  offerin'  to  bet  money  that  they  is 


as  peaceable  as  the  lamb  that  use  to  go  to 
school  with  Mary. 

"After  some  argument  with  Short  Leg 
Dwyer,  Pedro  ropes  the  white-eyed  one  an' 
does  hisself  proud,  rollin'  an'  lightin'  a 
cigarette  an'  makin'  fancy  motions  with  his 
hand  like  he  was  biddin'  by-by  to  his  best 
girl,  an'  while  he's  provin'  Mizzoo  mistook 
with  the  first  bronch  Cook  digs  up  a 
quirt  with  about  two  pound  o'  bird  shot 
braided  into  the  end. 

"'Bill,'  he  says,  passin'  me,  'that  other 
bronch  is  goin'  to  try  an'  bite  me  on  the 
1^  if  he  can't  set  me  peaceable  on  the 
ground.  When  he  does  that-a-way  I'm 
a^oin'  to  tap  him  with  this  here  persuader 
so  hard  that  he's  a-goin'  to  forget  what  the 
pods  o*  the  loco  weed  tastes  like.'  Which 
havin'  said  he  lifts  hisself  into  the  saddle 
plum  cautious  an'  the  bronch  drops  his 
head  an'  squeals,  then  starts  his  backbone 
up  an'  follers  it  an'  does  the  ladies-chain 
with  all  four  feet  off  the  ground  an'  acts 
generally  like  a  country  girl  at  her  first 
dance,  doin'  all  the  fancy  little  side-steps 
an'  hops  that  he  has  tried  on  Mizzoo  fre- 
quent an'  useless;  but  Cook  sets  him  easy 
an'  whoops  fur  him  to  hop  harder  till  the 
bronch  gits  mad  an'  makes  a  quick  bite  at 
one  o'  Cook's  legs  gettin'  his  shin.  'Holy 
Moses  an'  the  angels,'  says  Cook  all  of  a 
sudden,  bein'  took  by  surprise;  but  before 
the  bronch  kin  spit  an'  grab  again  he  belts 
him  with  the  heavy  end  of  the  quirt,  an* 
if  ever  I  did  lie  I  aint'  lyin'  none  now 
when  I  says  that  bronch  quit  cold  an' 
behaved  hisself  like  a  little  girl  in  a  new 
pin  back. 

"Cook  climbs  off  an'  bats  the  bronch 
once  for  luck,  unlooses  the  cinch,  takes  off 
the  saddle  an'  says  to  Mizzoo: 

"'He  knows  his  medicine,  he  does.  He 
knows  us  that  treats  him  kind.' 

"Everybody  laughs  but  Mizzoo,  who 
kind  o'  reddens  up.  'You  must  love  ani- 
mals,' says  Cook,  'judgin'  from  the  gentle 
way  in  which  you  treats  them.' 

"Mizzoo gets  more  red  an'  allows  that  he 
takes  kindly  to  some  animals,  but  don't 
generally  cotton  much  to  dogs,  makin'  a 
kick  at  Bull  to  prove  he's  statin'  the  un- 
adulterated truth.  Bull  makes  a  quick 
side  hop  an'  bumps  the  white-eyed  bronch, 
which  kicks  him  a  rod  an'  a  half  straight 
up  in  the  air,  but  don't  hurt  him  none  to 
speak  of,  him  bein'  used  to  maulin'. 


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"Cook  gets  white  an'  ca'm. 

*"  1  kin  see  you  don't  love  dogs,'  he  says, 
'treatin'  mine  that-a-way.  Didn't  you 
never  have  a  dog  in  your  whole  life?' 

"'Sure  I  did,'  says  Mizzoo,  M  had  one 
onct  that  wuz  a  dead  ringer  fur  that  'n'  o' 
yours  only  he  had  one  good  ear  instead  o' 
bein'  bald-headed.' 

"'What  become  o'  him?'  says  Cook, 
gettin*  pale  an'  white. 

"'1  got  tired  o'  him  an'  kilt  him,'  says 
Mizzoo. 

""Bout  two  year  ago,  over  in  South 
Park,  I  guess  it  was,'  says  Cook. 

"'Pardner,'  says  Mizzoo,  'you  know  it. 
You  must  'a'  seen  him — plum  wore  out  an' 
scrawny  an'  a  r^ular  bag  o'  bones.' 

"'You  see  him  now,'  says  Cook.  'I 
found  him  makin'  a  stagger  to  foller  your 
low-down  trail  an'  1  nursed  him  an'  he 
saved  my  life  fur  it  an'  from  the  first 
minute  you  hit  this  here  outfit  he's  knowed 
you  for  the  low-down  riptile  that  you  are.' 
Bein'  plum  angry  Cook  bats  him  alongside 
the  head  with  the  quirt  an'  puts  him  flat 
on  the  ground,  an'  forgettin'  my  game  leg, 
I  arises  an'  goes  down  to  see  how  bad  hurt 
he  is. 

"'  Keep  away.  Bill,'  says  Cook.  'It's  me 
an'  him  an'  Bull.  Some  o'  you  boys  git 
water  an'  throw  in  his  face  an'  leave  us  two 
alone,'  which  we  does,  exceptin'  leavin' 
them  alone,  an'  when  Mizzoo  gets  back 
from  starland  Cook  sets  down  an'  explains 
to  him  that  he's  made  hisself  plum  un- 
popular an'  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do  is 
to  resign  an'  move  on. 

"'You  low-down  reproach  to  the  grand 
old  state  of  Mizzoora  with  the  two  bears  on 


the  great  seal,'  he  says,  'a<allin'  yourself 
Alixander  Hamilton  after  a  great  man 
when  you're  named  Ebenezer  Day.  You 
ding  fiddled  Ebenezer  that  hates  dogs! 
You  reprobate  that  runs  off  from  your  pore 
peaky  little  wife  an'  six  infant  children! 
You  case-hardened  coyote  that  grins  when 
your  foreman  gets  throwed  by  a  gopher 
hole!  I'm  plum  glad  I  cuffed  you  with 
this  quirt,  an'  I'm  plum  sorry  1  didn't  put 
your  light  out,  for  if  ever  they  wuz  a  wart 
on  the  world  you're  him.'  Bein'  overcome 
by  his  langwidge  Cook  sets  down  an'  takes 
Bull  in  his  lap  an'  cries  over  him.  'Left 
you  to  die,  did  he?'  he  says.  'Hates  dogs, 
does  he?  Runs  away  from  his  lawful  wife 
an'  children  an'  is  a-makin'  out  to  deceive 
innocent  females,  is  he?  Well,  he  better 
rise  up  an'  pack  his  duds  an'  rack  away 
from  the  Jack  Hall  outfit  by  resignin'  be- 
fore he  loses  his  low-down  life.' 

"An'  seein'  that  he  is  done  for  an'  has 
his  bluff  called,  Ebenezer  Day  lifts  hisself 
up  an'  departs  with  his  two  loco  bronchs, 
an'  as  he  rides  down  the  trail  Cook  looks  up 
at  me  an'  gives  a  kind  o'  wet  wink  an'  says: 

"'Bill,  Ebenezer  is  two  pounds  lighter 
than  a  July  rabbit.  If  he  wuz  to  fall  off  a 
mountain  he'd  float  up  an'  rest  on  the  top.' 
Just  then  a  .44  bullet  lights  between  Cook's 
legs,  sprinklin'  him  with  dust,  an'  Ebenezer 
departs  with  the  forehanded  members  of 
the  outfit  shootin'  at  him  an'  the  unpre- 
pared ones  runnin'  for  their  guns,  and  from 
then  on,  thenceforth,  forever  after,  we 
never  sets  eye  on  him  again  and  gets  no 
word  till  Cook  goes  back  to  Mineral  Point, 
Mizzoora,  one  summer  an'  meets  up  with 
Mrs.  E.  and  the  six." 


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JOHN    KENDRY'S    IDEA 


BY  CHESTER   BAILEY   FERNALD 


CHAPTER  XXI 


A  NEW  MARY 


I  EN  DRY  expected  to 
arrive  first  on  the  ground 
and  there,  with  his  back 
against  the  dawn,  to 
command  a  halt  of 
Paulter's  subsequent  ap- 
proach. On  which  the 
two  would  bc^n  to  shoot  and  would  con- 
tinue till  one  of  them  was  dead. 

Three  months  previous  Kendry  would 
have  called  such  a  programme  brutal,  hide- 
ous, uncivilized,  unnecessary.  He  would 
have  looked  upon  it  as  vain,  melodramatic, 
pitiful.  Paulter  primitively  demanded  that 
Kendry  should  relinquish  his  communion 
with  a  young  woman — it  was  of  separate 
importance  that  she  was  Ethel  Marr.  For 
an  alternative  there  was  Paulter's  insistent 
menace  against  her  peace  and  against  Ken- 
dry's  life.  Upon  these  premises  Kendry 
would  have  said  that  the  duty  of  a  civilized 
man  was  to  appeal  to  the  law.  The  rights 
Paulter  assailed  were  Kendry's  by  law. 
To  halt  upon  the  question  of  what  his 
enemy  thought  of  his  courage  Kendry 
would  have  called  harking  back  to  a 
decayed  and  ridicubus  "chivalry." 

But  now  that  he  impulsively  had 
brought  the  issue  to  where  it  was,  Kendry 
supported  the  impulse  with  his  reason. 
What  were  the  exact  measures  the  law 
would  take?  Provided  he  could  convince 
a  magistrate  that  Paulter's  intentions  were 
homkidal,  the  magistrate  would  place 
Paulter  under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace. 
Paulter's  desire  to  reach  Ethel  Marr,  across 
the  gulf,  to  him  invisible,  that  in  all  dimen- 
sions divided  him  from  her,  then  must  be 
proportioned  against  a  sum  of  money,  ex- 
torted from  him  after  the  whole  story  that 


had  b^^n  on  the  mountain  had  been 
recited  in  the  court,  to  be  magnified  and 
elaborated  in  an  irresponsible  press.  Ken- 
dry believed  that  Paulter  would  disregard 
the  bond  with  that  same  turn  of  lip  which 
he  paid  to  all  else  that  opposed  him.  Ken- 
dry believed  it  because  he  could  not  imagine 
money  weighing  against  an  obsession  of 
the  meanest  heart.  The  law  required  a 
sickening  publicity;  in  exchange  it  could 
give  no  certainty.  The  law  marched  be- 
hind the  event.  In  the  highest  civilization 
there  would  be  nothing  to  prevent  one 
man's  summoning  death  as  the  arbiter  of 
his  quarrel  with  another  man.  If  it  was 
humiliating  for  Kendry  to  set  himself 
against  one  so  ignoble  as  Paulter  in  a  con- 
test where  undiscriminating  chance  should 
decide  the  issue,  it  still  had  become  the 
sweeter  alternative.  To  this  conclusion 
instinct  and  reason  moved  together. 

It  brought  him  to  a  cooler,  clearer  state  of 
mind.  The  two  worse  possibilities  seemed 
to  balance.  On  the  one  hand  was  to  die, 
which  was  disagreeable,  but  to  die  a  man; 
on  the  other  hand  was  to  live,  which  was 
desirable,  but  to  suffer  the  extinction  of 
his  self-respect.  To  turn  and  flee  was  in- 
conceivable; hence  to  go  ahead,  perhaps 
to  the  elimination  of  Paulter,  but  in  any 
case  to  a  solution,  to  a  finality,  was  the 
logical  index;  and  the  logical  index  was 
all  he  asked. 

There  hovered  over  him  immediately  the 
inevitable  cloud  on  human  processes.  It 
carried  that  memory  of  Ethel  Marr  being 
drawn  in  odious  closeness  to  Arthur  Paulter 
at  the  irresponsible  moment  of  her  reac- 
tion from  her  fears.  It  meant  that  if 
Kendry  died,  if  he  himself  escaped  an 
unbearable  imposition,  he  left  her  prey 
to  it  without  his  sympathy,  his  aid.  The 
thought  weighed  in  the  balance  against  his 

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stoicism;  it  threatened  to  bring  him  to  the 
trial  as  a  supplicant,  asking  for  poetic 
justice.  He  summoned  more  stoicism,  he 
imagined  her  filling  his  dead  silence  with 
her  own  stoicism.  There  were  prepara- 
tions necessary.  He  strove  to  preoccupy 
his  mind  with  them. 

There  was  to  make  his  will  and  there  was 
to  scan  the  ledger  of  his  other  personal 
relations.  He  wrote  cheerfully  to  his  sis- 
ter, impressing  himself  upon  each  one  of 
her  family  in  the  way  he  would  like  to  be 
remembered,  yet  giving  no  hint  of  what 
the  cable  might  startle  them  with  two 
days  hence.  He  must  now  be  as  methodi- 
cal and  exact  in  his  more  intimate  affairs 
as  he  knew  how  to  be  in  the  conduct  of  his 
fortune.  There  was,  shameful  to  his  days 
of  selfish  introspection,  that  piece  of  paper 
he  had  taken  from  the  breast  of  the  saibr 
in  those  fading  moments  under  ground. 
By  now  the  sailor  and  the  Pole  might  be 
dead  and  buried  without  identification.  In 
the  least  event,  their  peril  partly  had  been 
due  to  him  and  there  was  reparation  due 
them.  It  was  Monday;  he  telephoned  his 
agent  and  commanded  a  report  on  both 
men  before  two  o'clock  on  Tuesday.  From 
that  hour  till  nightfall  he  would  devote 
himself  to  their  cases.  Prior  to  that  time 
he  would  occupy  himself  with  his  will,  and 
from  this  nothing  should  divert  him. 
Thursday  was  the  appointed  dawn.  He 
wanted  Wednesday  for  himself  alone. 

It  had  been  his  thought,  to  the  extent  of 
his  few  millions,  to  leave  his  money  as  a 
force  at  some  new  point,  demonstrating  a 
new  desideratum,  a  new  possibility  in  the 
evolution  of  society.  The  thought  was 
vague,  susceptible  to  ridicule,  liable  to 
men's  unconcern,  just  as  the  idea  at  first 
had  been  vague,  just  as  every  fresh  thought 
may  be  when  first  half  plucked  from  the 
dimness  above  men's  finite  grasp.  He  had 
not  precipitated  it  out  of  that  vagueness. 
He  took  up  his  pen.  There  were  insti- 
tutions of  learning,  essaying  to  advance 
leading  the  strong — most  of  the  great 
movements  of  history  had  risen  from  levels 
intellectually  lower  and  emotionally  deeper, 
to  be  labeled  and  preserved  in  desiccation 
by  those  institutions.  There  were  institu- 
tions of  mercy,  which  followed  the  human 
procession,  restoring  the  weak  and  the 
wounded  to  the  long,  straggling  rear — 
fighting  the  phenomena  of  elimination  by 


whkh,  rightly  or  wrongly,  society  moved 
toward  its  unknown  goal.  In  the  other 
cat^ories  he  found  nothing  that  appealed 
to  his  aim.  The  commonplace  rich  man 
could  be  trusted  to  endow  them  all. 

At  midnight  he  tore  up  his  bescribbled 
page.  He  was  keeping  account  of  his 
nervous  forces.  Sleep  was  their  coefficient. 
He  gently  put  Ethel  Marr  from  his  mind; 
the  best  he  could  do  for  her  was  to  maintain 
his  strength,  his  steadiness. 

Two  o'clock  on  Tuesday  found  him  no 
nearer  inspiration.  Deprived  of  his  own 
guidance  the  money  seemed  capable  of 
building  itself  into  a  monster  of  ineffectual- 
ness  against  which  the  only  remedy  would 
be  its  whole  dispersion.  The  report  con- 
cerning the  sailor  lay  on  his  table;  that 
about  the  Pole  was  to  be  expected.  Ken- 
dry  started  to  dress.     Eastwood  came  in. 

"  I  must  be  out  of  here  in  four  minutes, 
but  the  place  is  yours,"  Kendry  said.  He 
assembled  the  bottle,  the  siphon,  the  arm- 
chair and  cushions  necessary  to  Eastwood 
and  his  limp.  Eastwood  had  greeted  him 
with  an  expectancy,  which  he  followed  by 
a  hesitation. 

"  You  haven't  read  the  papers  this  morn- 
ing," he  finally  said.  "Then,  when  do  you 
— the  next  day?  Well,  the  lode  of  the 
Little  Dog  mine  has  jumped  off  the  claim. 
It  busts  Mab — complete.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

"  It  will  be  forty-eight  hours  before  1  can 
b^n  to  digest  it,"  Kendry  was  frowning 
over  his  collar  button.  Eastwood  fixed  on 
him  and  b^an  to  stroke  his  double  chin. 

"Perhaps  there's  no  reason  why  you 
should  digest  it,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
coolness.  "But  there's  a  reason  for  my 
wanting  to  put  you  the  straight  facts." 

"Hand  'em  out!"  Kendry  acquiesced. 
He  seized  his  waistcoat.  Eastwood  swal- 
lowed his  glass  at  a  gulp  and  put  it  down 
with  the  mark  of  inquiry.  Then  he 
flushed;  then  he  sighed.  He  tapped  his 
boot  with  his  stick. 

"She  came  home  to  get  individual  pos- 
session of  her  share  of  the  estate.  She 
would  have  the  mine.  I  told  her  what 
everybody  knows  about  mines.  But  she 
wouldn't  touch  the  real  estate;  the  idea  of 
a  mortgage  or  two  simply  scared  off  her 
reason.  And  she  would  have  the  mine.  1 1 
had  taken  a  spurt  and  1  didn't  count  the 
spurt  in  the  valuations  we  made.     It  in- 


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creased  forty  per  cent,  in  the  clean-up,  for 
two  weeks;  then  the  kxie  jumped  into  the 
next  company's  claim.  She  has  left  to  her 
just  that  one  unimproved  piece  backing 
yours  on  Missk>n  Street,"  he  paused,  with 
an  indefinite  note  of  query.  Kendry  was 
filling  his  pockets. 

"What  is  the  moral  effect  of  this  going 
to  be  on  Mary?"  he  seemed  to  have  found 
something  to  say.  Eastwood's  head  turned 
to  him  with  a  suddenness. 

"I  don't  guess  she's  got  'round  to  the 
moral  effect,"  he  feelingly  said.  '*She*s 
camping  on  the  financial  effect!  The 
moral  dfect  on  me,  if  you  want  to  know, 
has  been  merry  Hell!  It's  rung  every  bell 
in  ber  chimes.  /  use  the  back  stairs.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  spread  out  on  that;  every 
woman  keeps  an  angelic  side  for  somebody, 
if  he's  nimble  enough  to  chase  the  spot 
where  it  shines."  He  threw  a  jealous 
glance  at  Kendry's  preparations.  "  I  sup- 
pose it  occurs  to  you  that  I'm  going  to  do 
something  for  her?" 

"I  should  hope  soT'  Kendry  raised  his 
brows,  seeking  his  hat.  He  waited,  ready 
to  depart.  Eastwood  regarded  him  to  a 
length  that  was  interrogative,  but  he  failed 
to  penetrate  the  other's  mind. 

"Well,  how  much?"  he  voiced  his  dis- 
satisfaction. "Why  should  the  whole  ton 
of  bncks  fall  on  me?  The  old  man  left  my 
mother  enough  to  live  on  quietly.  He  had 
a  sneaking  idea  she'd  marry  again — 1  guess 
everybody  knows  that  story.  He  left  the 
rest  to  Mab  and  me.  I've  been  saving  up 
most  of  my  income  against  a  rainy  day, 
and  a  family.  Mab  has  shown  me  what  it 
costs  to  keep  a  woman  contented.  She's 
been  spending  from  sixteen  to  twenty  thou- 
sand a  year,  keeping  up  that  'salon'  in 
Paris;  and  1  saw  some  people  there  that 
kx)ked  as  if  they  would  take  five  if  they 
couldn't  borrow  five  hundred.  Mother  has 
three  thousand  a  year,  and  that  is  just 
what  I've  been  allowing  myself  for  my  own 
expenses,  and  i^'s  enough  for  Mab,  as  a 
single  woman,  and  that's  just  what  I'm 
going  to  give  her!"  he  challenged,  with 
visible  effort.  Kendry  held  his  watch  in 
hand. 

"  If  you  want  my  judgment,  she  can  get 
ak>ng*  on  that,"  he  stared.  Eastwood 
could  not  fathom  him. 

"She'll  make  a  better  mam'ed  woman 
for  the  experience,"  he  seemed  to  b^n 


to  think  aloud.  "She'll  come  down  and 
perch  where  she  can  be  petted.  Lord,  how 
she  does  want  to  be  petted,  just  about  now! 
A  couple  of  soft-boiled  words" — he  ap- 
peared to  break  the  thread  of  his  thoughts. 
"Old  chap,  don't  let  me  keep  you  from 
more  important  matters.  I'll  finish  my 
glass;  you  go  on."    Kendry  nodded. 

"  I'll  see  Mary  at  the  first  opportunity," 
he  started  away.  Eastwood  stopped  him 
with  a  rap  of  his  stick  on  the  table.  He 
nervously  suppressed  a  smile  at  space. 

"At  the  first  opportunity?"  Kendry 
waited  patiently.  "Well,  she's  down  in 
the  reception-room  waiting  for  me,  of 
course,"  he  drawled.  It  brought  Kendry 
to  a  standstill. 

"I'll  take  her  with  me,"  he  announced. 
But  hb  rapid  steps  in  a  moment  returned 
along  the  corridor.  "When  did  she  get 
this  news?"  he  inscrutably  said,  holding 
the  door.    Eastwood  took  a  k>ng  breath. 

"Oh,  you've  seen  her  since.  It  was 
after  you  left  her,  that  day  you  got  me 
into  that  hole  m  Giinatown.  She  hadn't 
been  going  to  say  anything  about  it,  but 
they  put  that  stuff  in  the  paper.  How 
long  shall  you  be?"  There  appeared  to  be 
a  definite  purpose  in  Kendry's  mind. 

"I'll  return  here  in  just  one  hour  and 
twenty  minutes,"  he  stated.  Eastwood 
allowed  himself  an  agreeable  assumption. 

"You  talk  like  a  business  man!"  his  tone 
might  have  been  taken  to  insinuate  more. 
"On  with  the  dance— I'll  wait." 

He  waited,  though  he  had  received  no 
answering  gleam.  Kendry  wasn't  very 
plump,  he  said  to  himself,  comparing  Ken- 
dry with  his  own  amplitude;  it  was  the 
result  of  an  overworked  conscience,  or 
something.  Kendry  walked  the  world 
generally  with  a  twinkle  about  his  eyes, 
enough  to  denote  good  nature,  but  not 
enough  to  denote  what  Eastwood  called 
good  fellowship.  You  couldn't  tell  what 
Jack  Kendry  would  do,  he  reflected,  any 
more  than  you  could  have  told  what  his 
father  would  do,  even  if  it  had  been  worth 
thousands  to  you.  Still,  it  took  all  kinds 
of  men  to  fit  out  the  girls  with  something  to 
love.  Eastwood  settled  himself  to  see  if 
he  could  get  an  image  of  Ethel  Marr  in  a 
glass  of  brandy,  and  to  wonder  how  she 
had  so  manag^  to  climb  up  and  pull  the 
ladder  after  her. 

Maiy  c«ne  for^a^d^^tlQ^sadJittle 


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meaning  toss  of  the  head.  When  she 
turned  to  look  for  a  chair  his  hand  re- 
strained hers. 

"Henry  has  told  me  the  news,"  he  said. 
"Will  you  drive  with  me?  It  will  give  me 
a  chance  to  see  you.  There's  something 
you  can  suggest  my  doing,  perhaps,  for  a 
woman  in  misfortune — something  you'd 
like  to  look  back  to."  She  was  moving  off 
with  him  mechanically  while  he  spoke. 
She  was  unobtrusively  proving,  to  the  at- 
tracted eyes  in  the  lobby,  the  imperturb- 
ability of  a  spirit  whose  pride  was  essential. 
Kendry  had  never  seen  her  so  richly,  so 
almost  noticeably  dressed.  Her  glitter 
caught  the  attention  of  the  people  on  the 
street  and  became  for  him  something  con- 
sciously to  seem  to  ignore.  It  pointed  to 
him,  though  not  keenly  against  his  major 
preoccupation,  the  change  that  had  stolen 
over  her  since  those  first  Paris  days.  It 
added  to  the  incongruousness  of  their 
driving  across  into  the  less  desirable  resi- 
dence quarter  of  the  town.  Her  glance 
took  in  the  cheap  shops,  the  smoky  tene- 
ments. 

"If  it's  money,  I'll  give  her  some,"  she 
rather  feebly  said,  "but  I've  quite  run  out 
of  sympathy.  When  I'm  in  a  mean  street 
I  get  into  a  mean  mood.  And  I've  already 
been  preparing  myself  to  pick  out  a  mean 
room  on  a  mean  steamer.  I  suppose  the 
sooner  we  go,  the  better.  What  have  you 
decided?" 

She  seemed  to  have  lost  substance;  her 
voice  lacked  volume. 

"You  won't  have  a  chance  to  give 
money,"  Kendry  said.  "But  your  sym- 
pathy will  flow  spontaneously,  if  you  get 
this  woman  to  talk.  1  wonder  if  you 
wouldn't  be  happier  staying  in  California, 
at  home  in  the  big  house?" 

•'That's  just  the  sort  of  thing  I  didn't 
expect  from  you,"  she  frowned.  "It 
sounds  too  much  like  Hal.  Please  don't 
count  up  my  jewelry  and  tell  me  what  I 
could  get  for  it.  It  isn't  the  money;  it's 
the  loss  of  one's  even  standing  with  one's 
friends.  I'm  sensitive  on  that.  If  you're 
not  most  careful  I  shall  suspect  a  change 
even  in  you."  The  words  seemed  to  fall 
against  an  austere  semi-detachment  on  his 
part.  Her  look  flattened  to  the  long 
straight  lines  of  dirty  drab  and  yellow 
houses,  of  barren  brief  garden  spaces,  of 
false  roof-fronts  and  dingy  panes. 


"  I  can't  see  what  money  has  to  do  with 
our  joint  history,"  Kendry  presently 
answered  her.  So  right  and  so  empty  I — 
she  might  have  told  him.  Well-fed,  inso- 
lent children  of  the  Republic  were  hanging 
on  triumphantly  behind  the  open  carriage; 
he  ought  to  have  foreseen  that,  he  ought  to 
have  chosen  a  closed  one.  They  bounced 
through  muddy  holes  and  skidded  along 
car  tracks  in  and  out  among  the  trucks 
which  contributed  to  the  debris  between 
the  curbs. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  brought  me  here," 
she  sighed.  "  Is  it  a  prophecy  in  extension 
of  what  I'm  coming  to?"  To  her  it  was  as 
if  with  stale  habituation  he  had  expected 
her  remark. 

"  Because  otherwise  1  shouldn't  have  the 
chance  to  see  you  to-day,"  he  was  kind. 
"Besides,  you  already  see  how  fortunate 
you  still  are,"  he  waved  at  the  monotony 
that  depressed  her.  "You'll  get  a  new 
sense  of  proportion  when  you  hear  this 
woman's  story.  The  man  was  going  to 
marry  her,  but  he's  lost  his  grip.  She's 
willing,  but  the  sailor  thinks  he  oughtn't 
to.  Try  to  melt  the  poor  creature,"  he 
coaxed. 

Her  faint  responsive  air  lingered  while 
his  eyes  were  on  her.  They  had  come  into 
the  region  of  the  most  saloons,  of  the  most 
second-hand  furniture  and  clothing  shops, 
where,  by  the  merciful  adaptiveness  of 
human  nature,  the  deepest  indifference 
endured  as  to  color,  form  or  permanency. 
They  ascended  straight  narrow  steps  above 
a  locksmith's  into  a  smell  of  cabbage. 
They  waited  mutely  under  curious  eyes 
that  peeped  through  the  crack  of  double 
doors.  The  crowded  upholstery  fought 
the  blue  wallpaper,  appealing  to  a  precari- 
ous stand  whereon  a  violet  and  orange 
bowl  held  pink  paper  flowers.  The  fat 
woman  without  a  collar  beneath  her 
frowsly  head  brought  down  to  them  a 
woman  of  forty,  thin  and  worn.  Kendry 
disappeared  whence  she  had  come.  Mary 
heard  him  gruffly  greeted  by  the  sailor. 
She  sat  gingerly  on  the  sofa  that  mocked 
the  shade  of  her  gown.  Mrs.  Spiller  was 
neatly  mended  and  buttoned.  She  had 
pricked  fingers  and  hollow  eyes;  she  in- 
duced melancholy,  taking  note  of  Mary's 
clothes.  It  was  a  pleasant  day,  they 
agreed,  looking  to  the  hideous  roofs  re- 
fracted by  the  window  glass.    Tbewoman'sj 

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mind  seemed  undetachable  from  the  sound 
of  masculine  voices  in  the  room  above. 
Yes,  she  got  good  wages.  Yes,  she  gave 
herself  enough  to  eat;  she  didn't  know 
why  she  shouldn't;  some  people  ate  too 
much,  her  eyes  met  Mary's  for  one  instant. 
Her  husband  had  died  Hve  years  ago,  and 
her  only  child  had  gone  in  the  same  year. 
Her  face  hardened.  There  was  a  long 
pause.  The  creature  was  inhuman,  Mary 
flushed;  and  the  carpet  hadn't  been  swept. 
They  were  startled  by  the  sailor's  voice 
hysterically  calling,  "Mary!"  The  woman 
blanched;  they  came  to  their  feet. 

"He doesn't  mean  me?"  Mary  Eastwood 
stared. 

"No,"  the  woman  scorned,  running  to 
the  stairs.  Kendry  met  her  half  way  up, 
his  hand  raised  to  reassure  her.  For  Mary 
the  sight  of  him  was  a  refuge  to  be  sighed 
over.  He  was  joyously  benign,  smiling 
down  to  Mrs.  Spiller;  the  walls,  the  carpet, 
the  cabbage,  diminished  to  his  supporting 
background.  He  was  beautiful,  Mary 
angered  at  her  humbleness. 

"Go  up  to  him,"  he  laughed  to  Mrs. 
Spiller.    Mary  moved  as  to  depart. 

"Wait,"  Kendry  mischievously  whis- 
pered. They  were  to  see  Mrs.  Spiller  re- 
turning in  tears,  blindly  feeling  for  the 
balusters.  It  was  painful  to  Mary;  the 
woman  had  no  handkerchief;  she  mixed 
her  inarticulate  sobs,  her  blessings  on  Ken- 
dry, with  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her 
face.  She  hadn't  dreamt  of  anything  like 
this.  They  never  would  foi^get  Mr.  Ken- 
dry. She — she —  Kendry  patted  her  on  the 
shoulder  and  bade  her  to  return  to  that 
man  above  who  would  be  on  his  feet  in 
another  twenty-four  hours.  Now  the  pub- 
lic carriage  seemed  luxurious;  they  could 
escape  out  of  that  doleful  r^ion. 

"  Have  you  given  them  a  fortune?"  Mary 
said.    "That  place  was  so  smelly." 

"They  didn't  need  a  fortune.  He  had 
lost  his  nerve;  it  was  just  what  1  have 
come  out  of,  only  worse.  I  gave  him  a 
job.  and  there's  a  house  with  it,  and  he's 
going  to  marry  her  to-morrow.  Love  and 
a  cottage,  you  see,  square  everything." 

"Ah,  I  grant  you,"  she  said.  He  seemed 
to  linger  long  over  the  pleasure  his  visit 
had  given  him.  They  crossed  the  dividing 
street  and  came  into  a  broad  avenue  that 
took  on  some  grace  as  they  progressed. 
She  coukl  not  see  why  he  should  gaze  with 


such  sentimental  abstraction  at  the  houses 
to  her  so  familiar  and  ugly,  and  forward 
to  those  blue  hill  tops  across  the  Gate. 
"Then  this  is  the  resurrection  of  the  idea," 
she  finally  said.  "And  your  wavering  was 
only  loss  of  nerve.  And  you'll  stay  here. 
And  it  seems  to  you  that  the  idea  and  I 
can  never  be  reconciled." 

"This  was  hardly  the  idea  in  operatbn; 
it  was  making  amends."  They  turned  into 
her  street.  "As  to  plans,  I  have  none — 
beyond  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"I  have  a  rather  important  engagement 
with  another  man  then,  and  I'm  afraid  it 
distracts  me.  You  are  not  happy,  are  you, 
Mary?"  he  softened,  seeking  her  eyes.  She 
kept  them  up  to  him  till  she  had  made  a 
moment  different  from  any  that  had  gone 
before. 

"  You  are  bulging  the  question  about  the 
idea,"  she  presently  said.     He  twinkled. 

"And  if  1  should  go  back  to  it — full 
blast?"  he  asked.  Her  mind  worked 
keenly. 

"It  will  prove  that  you  were  right  and 
that  I  was  too  scornful."  she  quietly  turned 
away,  looking  into  the  faces  of  two  friends 
she  passed  without  recognizing.  It  was 
the  unsaying  of  her  old  attitude,  the  end 
of  her  condescension.  Something  of  her 
mystery  evanesced  with  it.  He  felt  the 
difference  in  their  years;  suddenly  it  was 
left  an  isolated  fact  by  her  earnest  of  a 
harmony  in  their  minds. 

"My  own  concerns  aren't  worth  talking 
about,"  he  more  compassionately  said.  "  1 
shall  be  thinking  of  yours." 

The  driver  cast  a  glance  behind  him. 
Kendry  went  on  to  say  that  wealth  was 
merely  relative  and  that  the  body  politic 
eventually  would  undertake  to  r^ulate  its 
ownership.  She  half  listened  while  he 
enlarged  upon  that.  She  was  preparing 
the  scene  for  their  tea — not  in  that  great 
cold  room  to  which  her  own  coldness  so 
often  had  contributed,  but  on  the  balcony 
upstairs,  under  an  awning  warmed  by  the 
afternoon  sun,  and  screened  by  plants.  It 
was  small  and  there  were  many  cushions, 
and  Hal  and  her  mother  would  not  be 
there.  His  present  impersonal  note  was 
suited  to  the  ears  of  the  person  on  the  box. 
This  she  could,  by  a  word,  a  glance,  cause 
to  strike  as  she  should  wish  it  to.  Kendry 
went  ahead  and  rang  the  bell  for  her.  When 
the  door  opened  he  held  out  his  hand. 

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**  You're  coming  in,"  she  commanded. 

"I  absolutely  must  be  at  my  rooms  in 
five  minutes,"  he  sorrowfully  showed  his 
watch.  "I'm  moving  on  a  schedule  that 
1  can't  alter.  Your  brother  is  waiting  for 
me." 

"Telephone  him,"  she  said;  "he's  un- 
important." 

"That's  what  he'll  think,"  Kendry 
laughed.  "  I  shall  have  to  tell  him  that  I 
must  run  off  again,  at  once."  He  pressed 
her  fingers;  they  were  limp.  "I  shall  be 
more  human  after  Thursday — if  I'm  alive, 
with  this  rush,"  he  responded  to  her  un- 
spoken charge.  It  was  not  enough.  She 
was  taking  it  for  granted  that  there  never 
would  be  more,  never  enough. 

"Good-bye,"  she  dully  said.  The  dull- 
ness remained,  hardly  yet  enlivened  by  its 
coming  glimmer  of  cynicism,  while  he  ran 
down  and  took  his  seat  in  the  carriage.  It 
was  in  her  poise,  not  so  erect.  Her  clothes 
seemed  to  deride  her.  His  present  delin- 
quency accused  him  as  he  waved  adieu. 
He  hurried  his  driver  down  the  hill. 

"Poor,  dear  Mary,"  he  murmured.  "But 
— not  till  after  Thursday." 

CHAPTER  XXII 

A   SIMILAR  EXCURSION 

Eastwood  appeared  to  have  risen  at  the 
sound  of  his  steps.  He  sought  Kendry 's 
eye,  noted  his  breathing,  his  color,  his 
cheerful  greeting.  Kendry  pounced  on  his 
agent's  yellow  envelope. 

"Well?"  Eastwood  finally  said. 

"Do  pardon  my  rush,"  Kendry  looked 
up.  "  1  dropped  your  sister  at  her  house," 
he  added.     Eastwood  studied  him. 

"You  dropped  her  at  our  house?"  he 
presently  voiced. 

"Yes,  you  don't  mind  my  reading  this  a 
moment?"  Kendry  said.  The  letter  rustled 
in  the  silence. 

"You  dropped  ber?**  Eastwood  repeated. 

"At  your  house/'  Kendry  genially  half 
returned  to  him.  "Sit  down."  Eastwood 
slowly  buttoned  his  coat. 

"  I  guess  I'll  mosey  along  about  my  own 
particular  damned  business,"  he  addressed 
the  door.  "Something  more  on  your 
table."  Kendry  picked  up  the  card  of 
Miss  Marr.  "  I  thought  1  heard  something 
begin  to  drop,"  Eastwood  went  on  without 


turning,  "but  I  guess  I'm  a  little  too  deaf 
in  one  ear.    So  long!" 

Kendry  restrained  a  dispositbn  to  snap 
his  fingers  at  the  closed  door.  If  a  growing 
understanding  of  her  brother  added  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  thorns  in  Mary's  new 
dq>endent  situation,  that  was  not  a  matter 
for  one  who,  till  Thursday  morning,  must 
kx>k  upon  himself  as  dead.  On  Ethel's 
card  she  had  written:  "  I  will  wait."  She 
had  come  to  try  to  dissuade  him  from 
meeting  Paulter;  it  was  natural;  nothing 
else  could  have  brought  her  to  call  on  him. 
He  must  go  down  to  her  in  the  receptk)n- 
room.  There  was  the  Pole,  for  whom  the 
yellow  envelope  accounted;  there  was  a 
will  to  write,  and  there  was  his  day  of 
lonely  preparation  on  the  mountain. 

He  stopped  on  the  soft  carpet  in  the 
corridor.  Ethel  was  within  the  curtains, 
k)oking  out  of  the  window,  doubtless  in  the 
expectation  of  seeing  him  return.  It  was 
not  the  familiar  blue  serge,  the  straw  hat: 
there  was  an  effect  of  line,  of  richness,  of 
not  wanting  attention,  but  of  being  proof 
against  it  that  carried  him  back  to  his  first 
days  with  Mary.  Only,  the  lines  were 
softer,  firmer,  the  poise  more  pliant — the 
uninvited,  the  inevitable  contrast  to  Ken- 
dry of  greater  strength,  sounder  health, 
plus  youth.  It  touched  his  generosity,  his 
compassion  for  Mary,  his  rebellion  against 
forces  in  themselves  so  heartlessly  material. 
The  girl  felt  his  presence;  he  saw  her  com- 
ing to  him  without  preliminaries,  her  eyes 
supporting  the  appeal  that  palpably  stood 
upon  her  lips.  He  would  be  kind,  he 
would  be  appreciative,  but  he  would  be 
firm  and  he  must  contrive  to  make  it  short. 
From  some  unseen  source  there  darted  be- 
tween them  Georgian  a  Baine. 

"Oh,  here  we  all  are,"  she  cried  with  fine 
surprise.  "  1  did  want  to  see  you  both," 
she  b^an. 

"And  we  both  want  to  see  you,"  Kendry 
forced  her  watchfulness  back  to  himself. 
"  You  didn't  leave  me  your  address.  You're 
to  inspect  a  family  of  orphans  with  us,  at 
once,"  he  led  them  down  the  stairs.  "  Prob- 
ably Miss  Marr  will  need  your  professional 
knowledge.  It's  that  Polish  tailor;  he  had 
already  lived  too  long  in  a  cellar.  He  has 
left  a  widow  and  f\\e  children." 

If  Ethel  was  proof  against  the  surprise  in 
his  statement  her  mildness,  her  acquiescence 
did  not  go  to  the  length  of  applauding  his 

o 


John  Kcndry's  Idea 


73 


dissiniulation.  Georgiana  cast  sidewise 
glances  at  her  in  the  carriage.  Georgiana 
was  willing  to  bet  that  she  had  ridden  in 
one  twenty  times  as  often  as  Ethel  Marr, 
and  her  protest  at  the  girl's  ease  added 
something  to  the  pink  spaces  on  her 
creamy  cheeks.  Georgiana's  skirt  hung 
stiffly  out  over  her  yellow  shoes,  her  hat 
stood  up  on  the  back  of  her  head  as  if  aloof 
from  a  worldly  wickedness  she  could  not 
help  knowing  of  by  hearsay.  They  were 
polite,  but  she  felt  out  of  company.  But 
she  guessed  she  could  hold  her  own. 

"  I  hope  it's  quite  clear  to  you,"  Kendry 
said  to  Ethel.  "You  are  to  determine 
what  ought  to  be  done  for  these  people. 
Georgiana,"  he  strained  it  a  little,  "is  to 
give  us  her  hygienic  advice.  I  am  to 
furnish  the  funds.  We  act  entirely  under 
your  orders,"  Georgiana  missed  his  eye, 
"and  you  have  carte  hlancbe  absolute." 

"  Even  if  it's  the  Polish  tailor's  family  on 
Unk)n  Street?"  Ethel  said,  noticing  their 
direction.  "I've  long  known  them  by 
sight.  You  won't  think  I'm  doing  too 
much  for  them — you've  counted  on  my 
recklessness?" 

"I  pay,"  he  bowed.  He  saw  her  imagi- 
nation warming. 

"There's  the  oldest  girl,"  she  said,  "you 
must  notice  her."  Then  with  a  breath: 
"I've  dreamt  of  such  an  opportunity,  but 
I've  never  had  one."  The  two  others  felt 
themselves  dwarfed  to  her  beside  the  im- 
portance of  the  event.  "You've  still  a 
chance  to  make  reservations."  But  he  had 
the  huge  satisfaction  of  answering  only 
with  the  muscles  about  his  eyes.  Georgi- 
ana was  saying  something  about  soap. 

Except  for  one  who  could  look  with 
Ethel's  memories  to  the  top  of  the  adjacent 
hill,  the  Latin  quarter  vibrated  with  more 
cheerfulness  than  that  plane  Kendry  had 
visited  with  Mary  Eastwood.  There  were 
wider  spaces,  bits  of  triangularity,  and  a 
remoteness  from  the  greater  manufactories. 
In  the  language  of  the  shop  signs,  in  the 
goods  displayed,  the  dressing  of  the  women, 
the  voices,  still  lingered  unassimilated  bits 
of  Mexico,  of  Spain,  and  of  Italy  and 
France.  The  population  was  less  dense, 
more  prosperous;  roughly  it  represented 
the  wine  of  the  country  as  against  the 
whbkey  and  the  beer.  That  perhaps  had 
attracted  Pinewsky  to  his  cellar  apartment, 
to  which,  after  some  feet  of  corridor,  the 


entrance  was  by  winding  cement  steps. 
In  the  corridor  there  was  a  trail  of  leaves 
and  petals  by  which  they  coukl  have  found 
their  way.     Ethel  stopped. 

"  It  will  be  the  idea."  she  said.  "  It  will 
be  the  oldest  girl.  But  the  others — one's 
heart  can't  turn  away." 

"  It  was  on  account  of  one's  heart  that 
one  was  begged  to  come  here,"  Kendry 
said,  repaid  by  her  flush.  Eagerly  she  led 
the  way. 

She  stopped  on  the  bottom  step,  with 
only  the  light  from  the  cellar  illuminating 
her.  A  giri  of  twelve  looked  up  from  a 
battered  book.  The  far  ceiling  stretched 
from  a  meager  skylight  at  the  rear  to  a 
transom  obscurely  on  the  level  of  the 
sidewalk.  The  child  sat  with  her  feet  on 
the  rung  of  her  rawhide  chair.  Her  skin 
was  olive,  she  had  deep  brown  eyes  and 
much  hair,  but  her  features  were  not  yet 
beautiful.  The  brightly  aureoled  vision 
under  the  arch  above  the  step  stood  fixed 
on  the  child  while  she  arose  on  her  patch 
of  carpet  and  laid  her  book  on  the  high 
table,  flattened  at  her  place.  This  was  not 
the  kind  of  visitor  that  ever  had  entered 
here  before. 

"My  father  has  been  buried  this  morn- 
ing," she  explained,  with  a  foreign  turn  to 
her  "r's"  and  "s's."    "We  are  not " 

"I  know,"  the  vision  said.  "It  is  very 
clean  here,  but  you  are  soon  to  live  in  a 
better  place."  The  utterance  was  more 
resonant,  more  liquid  than  had  come  down 
those  cold  steps  from  any  thin  American 
throat  the  child  remembered. 

"My  mother  is  been  taken  to  the 
hospital,"  her  own  voice  was  encouraged  to 
match  the  lady's.  "Three  of  them  are 
gone  to  the  convent.  He  and  I  are  keeping 
the  house,"  she  pointed  to  a  screen.  There 
were  bolts  of  cloth  piled  at  the  end  of  the 
table;  the  wall  behind  her  hung  with 
patched  and  pressed  old  clothes.  "He  is 
asleep  now,"  the  lady's  eyes  brought  forth 
the  child's  confidence.  "He  cried  a  long 
time.  He  says  he  is  not  strong  enough. 
It  is  because  he  is  lame." 

"And  when  he  wakes,"  the  lady  spoke, 
"he'll  hear  news — that  you  are  to  leave 
here;  that  you  are  to  go  to  school."  The 
child's  eyes  opened. 

"You  said " 

"  You  are  to  go  to  school ;  you  are  not  to 
sew  at  night  and  hurt  your  eyes;  you  are 


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not  to  worry  about  the  cost  of  what  you 
eat;  you  are  to  think  only  of  growing  big 
and  strong." 

The  child's  lips  parted.  The  room  was 
growing  so  big,  herself  so  small.  Her  hand 
made  a  little  movement  forward  as  if  in- 
clined to  test  the  reality  of  this  vision.  The 
dimmer  figure  of  Geoiigiana  seemed  actual 
enough,  and  when  Ethel  began  her  ap- 
proach the  quality  of  the  child's  face 
dawned  on  Kendry's  wonder.  The  smile, 
if  it  started  at  the  young  lips,  called  up 
every  further  vibrant  faculty  of  counte- 
nance, of  limbs,  of  torso. 

"What  orchestration — what  a  tempera- 
ment!" he  murmured,  heedless  of  Georgi- 
ana's  weight  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  You  used  once  to  pass  here!  You  have 
spoken  to  me  when  I  did  not  understand 
English  I"  the  child  cried.  "  You — you  say 
I  am  going  to  the  school?"  the  words 
frightened  her. 

"There  is  some  one  who — even  if  he 
should  die,"  the  lady's  voice  strangely  put 
it,  "will  see  that  you  are  educated  and 
given  a  chance  to  develop  all  the  power 
you  have.  Do  you  like  that?"  The  or- 
chestra suddenly  stilled.  She  turned  to 
the  screen. 

"  1 — 1  couldn't  leave  bim,'*  she  shook  her 
head,    "He  is  lame." 

"We  shall  see  about  that,"  the  lady  said. 
"Your  brother  shall  go  to  school,  too;  and 
there  will  be  many  books,  and  a  fireplace, 
and  beds  upstairs,  and  the  sun  through  the 
window  in  the  morning.  It  will  be  in  the 
country." 

The  child  tried  to  bring  back  the  smile 
against  her  fluctuating  color.  But  her  mind 
galloped  to  the  finish.    She  shook  her  head. 

"There  is  my  mother — and  three  chil- 
dren.   She — she  is  always  very  pale.     1 

could  not  go.     But — but "  she  gasped, 

pointing  to  the  screen,  "he  is  so  clever.  1 
have  a  temper;  sometimes  1  am  bad  be- 
cause the  houses  make  me  feel  like 
prisons,"  her  eyes  glistened,  her  small  chest 

heaved.   "  But  he "  she  whispered,  "he 

is  always  good."  All  the  elements  of  her 
smile  reassembled  in  the  voice  of  prayer: 
"fVould  you  take  him?     He  is  lame." 

"Listen,"  the  lady  held  the  child's  head: 
"all  six  of  you  shall  go  to  a  house  among 
trees.  And  there  shall  be  a  dog,  and  there 
shall  be  a  cow,  and  it  shall  come  true  very 
soon.     Do  you  believe  me?" 


The  child  touched  the  lady's  hands;  they 
were  warm,  soft,  real.  A  real  horse  and 
cart  clattered  by  beyond  the  slit  of  light  at 
the  sidewalk.  ^ 

"Oh — oh! "    her    face  lit   up,    her 

thought  spread  forth  through  all  her  fiber. 
"He — he "  then,  diminuendo:   "must 


I  tell  to  him,  yet " 

"Why  not?"  But  the  child  appealed 
anxiously  to  the  screen. 

"  If  you — if  you  went  away,"  she  man- 
aged to  say,  "if  you  did  not  come  again, 
it  would  make  him  never  happy,"  she 
held  back  tears.  She  was  lifted  to  the 
table.  They  both  faced  Kendry.  The 
eyes  of  Ethel  Marr  attacked  him  across 
that  cold  space. 

"Ask  this  gentleman,  for  me,  for  you, 
with  all  your  might,  if  he  won't  come  to 
see  you,  early — very  early — Thursday 
morning — like  a  good  gentleman,  like  a 
sane  gentleman,  so  that  we  all  shall  be 
happy."  His  glance  was  not  forbidding,  but 
the  child  could  not  speak.  He  was  think- 
ing how  Ethel  Marr  had  magnified  since 
that  first  day  on  the  mountain,  as  if  the 
sun  had  shone  upon  an  opening  blossom. 

"  If  I  don't  come,  little  girl,  someone  else 
shall,  and  everything  this  lady  says  shall 
be  true,  upon  my  word  of  honor."  The 
child  started,  from  the  intensity  within  the 
encircling  arm. 

"We  never  asked  you  for  anything  be- 
fore; we  may  never  b^  of  you  anything 
again,  but  we  do  beseech  you  to  come 
on  Thursday — early."  Kendry  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  can't  alter  my  engagement.  Do  we 
look  honest?"  he  came  to  the  child.  She 
nodded  from  conviction.  "Tell  me  some- 
thing else  you'd  like  to  have,"  he  avoided 
Ethel's  eye.  The  child  thought.  Her 
short  skirt  had  been  tailored  from  some 
man's  abandoned  coat. 

"Will  there  be  a  piano?"  she  trembled. 

"Oh,  not  only  a  piano — but  someone  to 
teach  you  to  play  it."  She  laughed  and 
gave  him  all  her  confidence. 

"It  is  for  him.  1  will  sing  in  grand 
opera;  he  will  play  for  my  learning,  and  to 
be  my  manager,"  she  laughed,  with  the 
prophecy  ringing  true  in  the  laughter. 

When  the  colossal  beings  moved  out  of 
the  room  they  left  the  child  warming  the 
largest  gold  coin  of  the  realm  in  her  mois- 
tening palm.  C"r^n,n]o 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


John  Kendry's  Idea 


7S 


"You  might  have  said  so  beautifully 
that  you'd  come,"  Ethel  spoke.  But 
she  did  not  wait  for  his  answer.  "Will 
you  go  to  the  country  with  them;  will 
you  look  out  for  them?"  she  said  to 
Georgian  a. 

"Lx>rd,  no/'  Georgiana  breathed.  "It's 
stupid  enough  in  town,  for  me.  Besides, 
I  couldn't  get  on  with  that  girl;  she's 
like  a  theater."  Kendry  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"  You'd  like  to  be  driven  to  the  ferry?" 
he  asked  them.  Ethel  unhappily  sought 
his  eye. 

"  Heavens,  if  you  two  want  to  drive  there 
together,  don't  fuss  about  me,"  Georgiana's 
giggle  ascended.  It  caused  Ethel  to  push 
her  toward  the  carriage  step.  Kendry 
said  he  must  return  to  his  rooms  by  the 
quicker  electric  car.  The  girl  leaned  out 
to  him,  mutely  beseeching;  forgetting 
Georgiana,  perhaps  forgetting  herself.  But 
he  moved  away. 

He  had  withstood  her.  It  seemed  im- 
possible, it  seemed  brutal;  but  it  was  true. 
He  was  not  a  live  man;  not  yet — perhaps 
not  ever.  If  she  was  magnificent;  if  Mary 
Eastwood,  thinly  diaphanous  in  the  light 
that  shone  from  Ethel  Marr,  was  by  so 
much  more  entitled  to  his  generosity,  his 
stepping  to  her  rescue — they  belonged  to- 
gether in  one  cat^ory.  It  would  not 
do  to  think.  Thinking  might  make  him 
fatally  yearn  to  live. 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

kendry's  will 

Toward  eleven  that  evening  the  mes- 
senger who  brought  him  a  letter  from  Mary 
Eastwood  would  not  wait  for  an  answer. 
Kendry  did  not  break  the  seal.  The  letter 
could  contain  nothing  he  should  be  able  to 
answer  prior  to  Thursday.  But  though  he 
had  a  vision  of  its  being  found  on  his  body 
and  read  by  vulgar  eyes,  he  could  not  add 
it  to  the  heap  of  smoldering  papers  in  his 
fireplace.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket.  If  it 
contained  a  feminine  n^ation  of  her  atti- 
tude in  the  afternoon,  according  to  what 
she  considered  that  to  have  been,  then  her 
attitude  at  their  next  meeting  might  be 
another  n^ation,  canceling  the  first. 
From  another  source  there  had  been  a 
communication : 


"Dear  Jack:  My  life  depends  on  you.  I 
hope  you  will  come  direct  to  my  room  at  not 
later  than  eleven  to-night. 

Marie  de  Fontenoy." 

To  which  he  had  shrugged  and  tossed  it 
into  the  flames.  But  he  would  go.  Ex- 
cept for  the  provisions  covering  the  future 
of  the  sailor  and  the  Polish  family  his  will 
had  made  no  progress.  He  had  dressed 
for  the  mountain.  He  took  up  his  light 
marching  kit.  He  would  not  return  to  his 
rooms.  As  soon  as  circumstances  per- 
mitted he  would  cross  the  bay  and  disap- 
pear into  the  wilderness  until  the  appointed 
hour. 

Marie  de  Fontenoy  peeped  at  him 
through  the  narrowest  slit  of  the  door  be- 
fore she  stood  behind  it  for  his  entrance. 
She  wore  a  gown  of  purple  brocade,  with 
ornaments  in  the  fashions  of  the  seventies. 
Her  false  front  stood  memorially  on  her 
forehead;  there  were  little  bristles  on  her 
chin ;  her  figure  was  of  a  corpulence  drown- 
ing femininity.  She  locked  the  door, 
thrust  lighted  cigar  into  her  mouth,  ex- 
tended her  hands  with  a  cordiality  that  in 
China  would  have  been  considered  im- 
modest and  hysterical. 

"The  perfumery  is  stronger  than  the 
cigar,"  Kendry  said.  "Of  course,  if  you 
will  be  a  joke,  I  can  smile.  You're  a  sort 
of  walking  pun  on  yourself.  But  I  like  to 
take  my  friends  seriously." 

"  Alors,"  said  Chan  Kow,  "seriously  take 
me  to  where  I  shall  not  be  coughing  in  a 
hangman's  noose.  They  accuse  me  of 
those  dollars,  of  that  dead  monkey  you 
found  on  my  floor.  I  am  'wanted.'  But 
I  am  innocent;  therefore  1  must  sublime. 
Will  you  whisk  me  into  Marin  County  in  a 
horseless  wagon?" 

"  I  will."  said  Kendry.  "  I  will  consider 
the  morality  of  the  act  after  it  is  performed. 
But  an  automobile,  at  this  hour " 

"Awaits!"  Chan  Kow  lightly  sang.  "I 
took  the  liberty  of  ordering  it  in  your 
name."  He  locked  a  portmanteau;  he 
made  no  subtraction  from  the  elaborate 
array  of  articles  on  his  bureau;  a  drawer 
carelessly  open  was  full  of  ribbons  and 
laces.  He  touched  a  match  to  the  alcohol 
beneath  a  pair  of  silver  curling  tongs.  He 
jammed  on  a  leather  cap  and  tied  a  double 
veil  over  his  face,  hiding  his  eyes  and  his 
diamond  earrings.  The  table  was  ar- 
ranged with  French  newspaper  and  novels. 

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and  an  open  box  of  chocolates.  He  gave 
the  portmanteau  into  Kendry's  hand. 
**Mon  cavalier/'*  he  explained. 

"This  is  my  last  appearance  in  any  such 
rdle  as  this,  ma  belle  Marie,"  Kendry  hid 
his  discbmfort.    "  Sabbee?" 

"We  meet  again  in  Paris,"  Chan  Kow 
nodded,  "at  the  opera,  as  gentlemen.  I, 
perhaps,  with  a  dash  of  rouge  on  my 
cheek." 

They  left  the  room  lighted,  a  needless 
fire  in  the  grate,  the  alcohol  burning  under 
the  tongs.  A  fat  pug  dog  lay  asleep  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  as  unalert  as  if  Chan  Kow 
had  drugged  it.  The  great  lady  took  Ken- 
dry's  arm  along  the  arcaded  corridor,  her 
bulk  explaining  her  tottering  gait  on  high 
heels;  her  jingle  of  gold  bracelets,  her  per- 
vading musk,  her  glint  of  rings  at  the  end 
of  her  silk  mitts  excusing  to  the  hotel 
world  her  want  of  comeliness.  On  the 
ground  floor  they  avoided  the  open  area 
where  the  lounging  spaces  were.  They 
came  out  by  a  side  entrance.  The  man 
who  had  brought  the  automobile  saluted 
Kendry  with  recognition;  other  than  him 
there  were  no  interested  spectators  to  so 
commonplace  a  departure  from  that  laige 
hostelry.  They  flew  toward  the  ferry,  the 
ugly  details  of  the  wide  street  lost  in  dark- 
ness deepened  by  rows  of  inadequate  gas 
lamps  and  the  glare  of  the  headlights  from 
the  cable  cars.  The  buildings  softened 
against  the  sky  of  a  mild  night  in  the 
grateful  surcease  of  the  day's  commotion. 
Chan  Kow  had  settled  himself  in  the  rear 
seat,  an  appropriately  characterless  figure. 
Kendry  did  not  speak  until  they  had 
locked  wheels  on  the  deck  at  the  stem  of 
the  ferry-boat  and  were  safely  in  the 
stream.  Chan  Kow  did  not  respond. 
With  the  colored  lights  of  the  water-front 
gleaming  behind  him  and  the  illuminated 
outlines  of  the  hill  where,  like  a  Buddhist 
tocsin  echoing  among  Christian  spires,  he  had 
spent  so  many  profitable,  sensual,  dangerous 
years,  Chan  Kow  was  ingenuously  snoring. 

Kendry  paced  beneath  the  stars.  The 
dark  summits  of  all  the  mountains  held  in 
his  thoughts.  Dying  would  bring  removal 
of  all  these  boundaries,  with  such  infinite 
diffusion  of  spirit  over  space  as  to  make 
further  consciousness  seem  improbable. 
But  his  reverie  was  not  melancholy ;  he  had 
asked  for  something  to  do  and  destiny  had 
confronted  him  with  Thursday  morning. 


In  the  face  of  dissolution  all  values  altered. 
He  believed  himself  content.  He  guided 
the  car  in  the  wake  of  the  last  passengers 
off  the  boat.  In  fifteen  seconds  they  were 
out  of  sight  of  it.  He  went  at  thirty  miles 
around  broad  curves  into  the  deserted 
country  road. 

"  I  beg  you  to  teach  me  the  control  of 
this  monster,"  Chan  Kow  said,  a  few  miles 
farther.  He  was  exchanging  his  pointed 
slippers  for  a  pair  of  boots.  "Seeing  me 
carried  like  this,  as  on  a  noisome  cloud, 
would  curl  up  the  spirits  of  my  ancestors. 
1  shall  ask  to  drop  you  in  some  convenient 
place;  then  1  shall  continue  alone,  till  the 
'devil*  underneath  us  throws  me  into  the 
ditch,  which  I  understand  is  the  inevitable 
end  of  enjoying  this  pleasure,  as  with  many 
others.  I  hand  you  here  a  check  on  my 
Paris  bank,  to  pay  the  owners." 

He  conservatively  maneuvered  under 
Kendry's  direction,  a  determined,  but  not 
so  apt  a  pupil  as  one  might  have  expected. 

"Now  I  will  nap  again  till  you  have 
passed  San  Rafael,"  he  yielded  the  wheel. 
"1  have  promised  myself  to  deliver  your 
friend  Collins,  including  his  great  ears,  to 
the  Sheriff  of  Marin  County  before  sunrise. 
1  hope  he  is  sleeping  as  soundly  as  this 
motion  invites  me  to." 

They  echoed  through  the  streets  of 
sleeping  San  Rafael  and  presently  ran 
steeply  down  into  a  region  between  the 
foothills  of  the  sea-ridges  and  the  long 
spread  of  marshes  bordering  the  upper 
waters  of  the  bay.  The  hills  rose  suddenly 
out  of  the  flats,  sleekly  rounded  in  their 
folds,  covered  with  grass,  but  mainly  with 
no  other  v^etation  than  a  rare  clump  of 
eucalyptus  or  an  indigenous  oak  at  some 
chance  height,  black  and  domed  in  the 
night.  In  the  middle  of  a  straight  stretch 
of  road  Chan  Kow  pressed  Kendry's 
shoulder. 

"Let  us  halt  and  smoke." 

"And  discuss  the  effect  of  my  being 
called  into  court  and  telling  all  I  know 
about  this,"  Kendry  said.  He  shut  off  his 
spark.  The  stars  and  the  two  red  points 
of  their  cigars  stood  out  together.  The 
other  human  sign  intermittently  was  that  of 
a  shifting  engine  beyond  the  hills.  "  Did 
you  murder  that  old  man?"  Kendry  said. 
Chan  Kow's  interior  seemed  to  have  filled 
with  smoke,  awaiting  this  question.     He 

cocked  his  feet  on  his  portmanf 

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"Ting  Lee  went  into  the  jewelry  busi- 
ness with  my  capital,"  he  said.  "He  al- 
ways honestly  paid  me  half  of  his  profits. 
They  became  large.  Paulter  bought  bul- 
lion and  secretly  shipped  it  to  them  from 
the  East;  Ting  Lee  manufactured  a  little 
jewdry  and  that  ex-convict  Kelly-Collins 
made  many  beautiful  silver  coins.  I  long 
suspected  it;  Paulter  knew  it.  Paulter 
wanted  to  increase  his  returns;  he  debased 
some  of  the  silver;  you  remember  their 
quarrel.  It  was  I  who  settled  that,  by 
sending  back  his  bonds.  But,  because  you 
had  come  to  see  me.  Ting  Lee  and  Paulter 
and  Collins  unceasingly  suspected  that  L 
was  under  pressure  to  betray  them.  The 
man  shot  in  the  theater  was  one  of  my 
household  they  had  made  a  spy  of.  The 
fatal  stratagem  of  Ting  Lee,  following  that, 
showed  the  decay  of  a  once  fertile  brain. 
He  presented  me  with  a  bottle  of  a  liquor 
he  greatly  praised.  He  insisted  on  opening 
it  for  me;  so  that  I  brought  him  a  circular 
tray  with  two  glasses.  He  was  too  gra- 
cious— he  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
the  liquor  was  to  celebrate  the  end  of  our 
first  misunderstanding.  For  me  it  was 
then  only  to  divert  him  with  pretexts  until 
the  opportunity  arrived  for  me  to  shift  the 
tray.  I  drank  and  he  suspected  me  until 
I  b^an  to  show  signs  of  suffering.  Thai 
he  drank  and  my  suffering  suddenly  ceased 
and  we  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
with  his  beginning  to  enlarge.  While  he 
writhed  on  the  floor  I  composed  a  poem 
which  it  is  a  pity  I  cannot  translate  into 
French  or  English.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
inopportuneness  of  that  death — it's  proving 
to  the  others  that  I  knew  what  to  expect 
from  them.  I  did  not  wait  for  your  visit; 
I  could  not  seek  you,  for  you  had  gone  with 
Collins — I  learned  where.  I  took  the  first 
boat  across  the  bay  the  next  morning  and 
had  the  honor  of  bringing  home  the  laundry 
to  Miss  Marr.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  confirm 
one's  opinion  of  so  perfect  a  product  of 
humanity.  1  said  what  caused  her  to  per- 
suade Paulter  to  go  and  release  you  from 
that  death.  Had  I  gone  myself  probably 
I  never  should  have  ridden  in  the  Champs 
Elysie,    My  cigar  is  out." 

"I  hope,"  said  Kendry,  "that  I  now  am 
saving  your  neck.  Do  you  realize  what 
it  must  have  cost  her  pride  to  appeal  to 
that  man  for  me?" 

*M  bdieve  I  know  what  pain  it  would 


have  cost  her  not  to  succeed,"  Chan  Kow 
said.  "But  you  still  live,  and  a  mighty 
force  beats  within  her  breast — equal  to  all 
your  powers  of  mind  and  body  and  soul — 
the  marvel  of  the  world.  To  which  may 
your  wisdom  lead  your  appreciation." 

"What  an  extraordinary  composition 
you  are,  sir,"  Kendry  sighed.  "Why  do 
you  now  risk  your  liberty,  perhaps  your 
life,  pursuing  Collins?  With  your  stand- 
points what  have  you  to  gain  beyond  the 
petty  vengeance  of  jailing  this  man?" 
Chan  Kow  exhaled  at  the  North  Star. 

"Collins  will  be  dreaming  in  one  of  those 
caftons,"  he  said.  "The  moon  will  be 
shining  through  the  holes  in  his  window- 
shade.  The  cabin  is  off  the  road  in  dense 
brush  and  oaks.  Collins  will  awake  to  a 
falsetto  scream,  a  falling  body  against  his 
door.  He  will  have  been  a  week  without 
seeing  a  mortal.  After  a  long  silence  he 
will  open  the  door.  On  the  step — petti- 
coats— the  age  obscured  by  the  folds,  the 
beauty  of  the  female  hidden  by  a  veil.  If 
he  does  not  shoot,  he  will  stoop  down  to 
that  veil.  And  I  will  bind  him  like  a  pig 
and  leave  him  at  the  Sheriff's  door,  with 
the  circular  of  the  Treasury  Department 
pinned  on  his  breast,  showing  his  likeness 
and  his  history " 

"Alive?" 

"You  are  thinking  what  an  uproar  he 
will  make,  shouting  my  name  while  I  am 
guiding  this  devil-go  around  the  comer? 
But  he  will  not  have  seen  my  face;  he  will 
have  only  felt  my  needle  pumping  through 
his  skin,  and  the  morphine  will  make  him 
warm  and  happy,  like  that  fat  dog  we  left 
on  the  bed."  He  sighed  comfortably  and 
stretched  his  legs.  "As  you  say,  however, 
there  is  no  satisfaction  in  all  that,  for  mere 
enmity's  sake — if  it  succeeds.  But  to  me, 
now,  a  new  experience  is  worth  the  risk  of 
one's  life.  I  have  tasted  poverty  and 
wealth,  slavery  and  domination,  love  and 
disillusionment,  debauchery  and  asceticism, 
friendship  and  homicide,  philosophy-to- 
optimism  and  philosophy-to-despair.  For 
you,  mon  brave,  and  for  that  lovely  coppery 
hair  and  morning  eyes,  it  was  left  to  show 
me  what  she  calls  your  idea.  If,  as  I 
think,  you  have  invented  it,  that  is  because 
you  were  bom  in  the  Westem  Hemisphere, 
upside  down.  For  you  the  idea  is  to  build 
up  the  beautiful;  for  me  it  is  to  destroy 
the  hideous.     In  either  case  it  is  a  dedica- 


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tion  of  one's  more  lasting  self  to  the  great 
whole,  asking  no  return  but  the  satisfaction 
of  one's  spiritual  intellect.  It  is  a  new 
religion  without  a  god — happy  thought! 
For  no  one  can  ever  take  its  name  in  vain, 
or  weakly  shift  responsibility  on  it,  or 
suffer  with  fear  of  it,  or  seem  to  com- 
promise with  it  by  saying  words.  Exit 
Collins  from  a  bettered  world,  or  exit  Chan 
Kow.  1  see  signs  of  the  moon.  Have  I 
said  enough?"  The  steely-blue  reflection 
from  the  zenith  was  deepening  shadows 
on  his  great  countenance  framed  in  the 
veil.  The  man  was  at  least  seventy, 
Kendry  looked  at  his  hard  flesh. 

"You  are  stupendous,"  Kendry  sighed. 
"  If  I  could  understand  why  you  flee,  being 
innocent,  I  should  be  at  peace  with  you." 

Chan  Kow  made  no  answer.  When 
they  were  ready  to  start  he  said: 

"Should  you  like  to  ride  to  your  wedding 
in  an  automobile  constructed  in  China- 
town?" 

"I  should  probably  ride  to  a  broken 
neck,"  Kendry  said,  in  English.  "You 
Chinese  are  no  mechanics." 

"But  long  before  Byzantium  we  were 
administering  courts  of  law,"  Chan  Kow 
smoked.  "Hence  I,  a  Chinaman,  prefer 
not  to  ride  in  your  mechanical  car  of 
justice." 

They  skirted  the  northeasterly  end  of  the 
slopes  that  came  down  from  the  flanking 
summits  next  the  mountain.  The  moon 
ascending  silhouetting  the  line  of  emi- 
nences on  the  San  Pablo  shore,  silvering 
the  winding  waterways  of  the  marshes. 
They  scuttled  like  some  fiery  incongruous 
insect  with  a  hundred  hasty  legs.  At  length 
Chan  Kow  stopped  him. 

"Presently  there  is  a  cross-road,  and  a 
house.  Shall  we  part  here,  you  for  your 
road  to  the  mountain?" 

"Why  do  you  assume  that  I'm  bound 
there?"  Kendry  said. 

"  From  which  of  the  two  ladies  have  1  a 
letter,  begging  me  to  dissuade  you  from 
this  affair  with  Paulter?" 

"  It  might  be  from  either,  if  both  knew," 
Kendry  somewhat  shortly  said. 

"Both  do.  1  informed  Miss  Eastwood; 
it  was  but  fair.  But  I  have  destroyed  the 
letter.  Do  not  suspect  that  I  shall  inter-^ 
fere.  I  shall  be  zig-zagging  toward  Paris, 
possibly  infected  with  this  mad  motor-car 
disease."     He  put  on  a  belt  with  a  holster 


and  covered  himself  with  an  opera  cloak. 
"  If  you  kill  Paulter,  I  trust  to  nature  and 
the  curve  of  that  willow  waist.  If  he  kills 
you — man  Dim,  you  have  been  young,  well 
fed — and  let  us  rejoice  that  your  death  will 
simplify  the  life  of  her  who  carries  the 
torch  of  perfection."  He  alighted  in  his 
grotesque  garb  whose  existence  he  seemed 
to  have  foigotten.  "The  greatest  fact  for 
me  is  that  your  father  was  my  friend,  that 
1  am  yours,  and  that  perhaps  you  will  be- 
come mine,"  he  offered  his  hand.  "To- 
night— sleep!  That  is  the  secret.  When 
you  meet  Paulter,  let  him  talk.  Your  eye, 
not  on  his  eye — that  is  romance,  the 
theater.  Your  eye  on  the  lower  button  of 
his  waistcoat,  your  breathing  full  as  may 
be — six  shots  and  save  one.  A  bad  tooth- 
ache is  worse  than  the  pain  of  giving  up  the 
ghost.  No  stimulants!  Learn  how  much 
your  pull  deflects  your  aim." 

"  I  am  your  friend,"  Kendry  gripped  him, 
spare  and  straight  against  the  broad  round- 
shouldered  figure.  "If  I  live,  test  me." 
The  old  man's  eyes  glowed  with  approval, 
with  understanding,  with  fidelity.  "The 
idea  will  test  us  both,"  he  said.  "The 
idea  came  out  of  your  learning  the  uses  of 
wealth,  its  formula.  When  you  have 
learnt  the  uses  of  love,  and  have  learned 
its  formula;  when  you  are  as  rich  in  love 
as  now  you  are  in  money,  then  that  little 
surplus  aspiration  that  remains  will  grow 
and  strengthen  for  the  service  of  the  idea. 
Adieu!  If  any  man's  god  will  make  wit- 
ness to  me  I  will  worship  that  god  in  your 
favor."  He  jerked  forward  and  disap- 
peared over  a  rise  in  the  road,  his  veil  blow- 
ing behind  him,  his  ability  to  guide  the 
machine  at  such  a  pace  a  matter  for  con- 
jecture. Kendry  turned  off  to  the  byroad 
toward  the  mountain. 

Mary's  note,  then,  had  been  to  dissuade 
him.  It  justified  his  not  opening  it.  At 
last  he  was  alone,  with  nothing  before  him 
until  Thursday  at  dawn.  A  day  and  two 
nights  would  evolve  the  matter  of  his  will. 
At  present  he  watched  the  long  shadows 
of  the  eucalypti  bordering  the  way,  letting 
his  mind  restfully  wander.  Wandering, 
however,  it  sought  no  new  fields;  presently 
it  gravitated  to  an  ancient  theme.  There 
with  unhampered  activity  it  fastened  upon 
a  contrast  of  amber  hair  and  chestnut,  then 
on  twenty  other  contrasts,  less  of  chance 
and  more  of  essence.     But  his  will  pre- 

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sided.  He  found  a  new  balance — it  was 
just,  it  was  comprehensive,  it  was  liberat- 
ing. His  fortune  should  be  divided  equally 
between  Mary  Eastwood  and  Ethel  Marr, 
each  to  administer  according  to  her  light. 
Surely  now  he  could  sleep. 

He  climbed  a  steep  hillside  and  came 
under  the  spreading  gnarled  branches  of  an 
oak  that  swept  the  ground.  It  was  dark 
in  the  shadows.  It's  outlook,  through  the 
leaves,  was  only  to  other  hillsides,  other 
oaks  and  the  stars  beyond.  He  lay  with 
his  hands  behind  his  head.  The  air  was 
soft,  dry,  still.  The  solitude,  the  vacancy, 
were  part  of  his  mind.  What  he  in  the 
embodied  spirit  might  have  done  for  Mary 
Eastwood,  for  Ethel  Marr,  not  even  they 
could  have  foretold.  What  the  money 
could  restore  to  Mary,  what  it  could  hold 
forth  for  Ethel  Marr,  he  foresaw.  The 
solution  was  so  exact,  so  auspicious,  so 
poetic  that  it  seemed  to  make  superfluous 
the  day  before  the  dawn  of  Thursday. 
It  was  the  solution.  It  made  John  Kendry 
superfluous  too.  It  was  the  b^inning  of 
a  loneliness. 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
Ethel's  plan 

At  the  gate  Ethel  listened  for  sounds 
from  Paulter.  Apparently  he  was  ^ot 
about  the  house.  There  was  a  maturer 
shadow  at  her  mouth.  She  glanced  to  her 
window  and  to  the  fence  of  wire  and 
charred  lath  that  divided  the  small  garden 
from  refuge  beyond.  The  lamp  on  the  set 
dinner  table  in  the  living-room  limned  her 
mother  at  the  doorway,  in  her  gray  gown 
and  in  her  shawl.  The  girl  approached  her 
with  a  bunch  of  violets. 

**I  ate  on  the  boat;  I  was  late  and  I 
wanted  to  be  away  from  Georgiana  Baine," 
she  said  to  the  relaxed  face  that  would  not 
look  at  her  and  would  not  respond.  Her 
mother  moved  onto  the  veranda,  drew  up 
her  shawl.  The  city  was  a  distant  glimmer. 
"I  went  to  see  Mr.  Kendry,"  Ethel  con- 
tinued behind  her,  less  with  the  freshness 
of  her  greeting.  "  I  have  promised  to  care 
for  some  orphans  for  him.  I  shall  be  busy. 
Where  is  Arthur?" 

"He  just  went  out,"  her  mother  color- 
lessly said.  The  girl  let  the  violets  fall  to 
her  side.    She  made  her  way  to  her  room. 


Some  time  elapsed  before  she  returned  in 
slippers  and  in  a  calico  gown,  her  sleeves 
rolled  up.  She  began  clearing  the  table, 
changing  the  cloth,  leaving  the  violets  in  a 
vase.  Her  mother's  thin  fingers  gripped 
the  doorposts. 

"You  didn't  tell  tm  you  were  going 
there;  you  didn't  go  to  see  him  about 
orphans."  The  girl  drew  up  as  if  to  the 
lash  upon  wounded  shoulders. 

"  Mother,  you  know  why  I  went.  Arthur 
isn't  concealing  anything  from  you.  I 
hoped  I  could  stop  them.  I  didn't  suc- 
ceed." The  hands  left  the  doorposts  to 
clasp  each  other. 

"It  will  be  Arthur — I  know  it  will  be 
Arthur,"  her  mother  moaned.  "Why  did 
you  go  to  that  man — why  didn't  you  come 
to  bim?  If  you  would  say  one  word  to 
Arthur!"    The  girl  straightened  her  arms. 

"Why  haven't  you  said  that  word?"  she 
approached  her.  "Why  do  you  call  on 
me  when  it  is  1  who  ought  to  look  to  you? 
I  am  your  daughter;  why  have  you  let 
this  man  pursue  me  into  our  own  house, 
when  I  loathe  him  and  when  he  has  brought 
us  to  this  unbearable  pass?  Mother,  why 
do  you  stand  away  from  me  so?" 

A  half  smile,  as  if  from  the  sweet  taste 
of  self,  mixed  with  the  bitterness  of  her 
mother's  tone.  "You'll  try  to  lay  it  on 
me,"  she  said.  "You  won't  say  the  word 
that  would  keep  him  away  from  that  man. 
You  want  him  to  be  killed." 

"Ah,  what  possible  word  can  I  say  to 
him?"  her  daughter  deepened. 

"You  could  show  him  some  condescen- 
sion, some  gratitude  for  all  the  things  he 
has  done  for  us '" 

"Things  against  my  will,  against  my 
b^ging  him " 

"Then  things  he  has  done  for  me," 
Violet  Marr  took  her  opportunity.  *'He 
sometimes  thinks  of  me.  I  have  some 
value  in  his  eyes;  every  day  I  have  less 
and  less  in  yours.  He's  much  more  like 
my  son  than  you  are  like  my  daughter," 
she  pressed  the  thin  hair  from  her  temples. 
The  girl  drew  in  her  breath. 

"Would  you  say  that  if  you  realized  that 
it  might  be  true?"  she  uttered  with  awe. 
"  If  you  feel  that  way  do  you  dream  of  its 
wretchedness  for  me?  Mother!"  she  tried 
to  compel  the  mouth  that  flickered  between 
aggrievement  and  the  pleasure  it  took  in 
the  effect  it  had  produced.    The  girl  stood 


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suspecting  herself  of  a  vitality,  of  a  heart, 
opposed  to  one  who  sought  to  fasten  on 
them;  to  fasten  on  them  with  feeble  ten- 
drils that  pleading  for  mercy's  sake  not  to 
be  torn,  mercilessly  planned  an  aggr^ate 
that  should  crush  her  power  to  expand. 
The  echo  of  their  words  horrified  her. 
"Mother,  I  haven't  been  forgetting  you  to- 
day. You  saw  the  violets;  you  turned 
away  from  me  when  I  came  with  them.  I 
think  Mr.  Kendry  is  going  to  marry  Miss 
Eastwood.  Nothing  but  my  sense  of  being 
responsible  for  Arthur's  hatred  of  him 
would  have  made  me  call  there.  Won't 
you  give  me  your  eyes,  mother?"  The 
gray  gown  passed  in  front  of  her;  the  once 
shapely  hand  took  to  smoothing  a  tiny 
wrinkle  in  the  cloth. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Georgiana  Baine  was  there.  But  I 
said  what  he  quite  understood.  He  has 
taken  too  many  affronts  from  Arthur; 
they've  gone  down  too  deep  in  him;  he 
merely  said  that  he  would  not  break  his 
engagement  for  Thursday  morning."  The 
fingers  drew  up  the  cloth. 

"  He  nuans  to  kill  him,"  her  mother  said 
between  her  teeth.  Ethel  stood  behind 
her;  the  light  shone  through  her  mother's 
thin  nostril;  the  room  took  on  a  foreign- 
ness,  a  hostility.  Her  mind  went  back 
to  the  reception-room  where  she  so  long  had 
waited. 

"Or  else  to  be  killed,"  she  corrected. 
The  pale  blue  eyes  shot  at  her. 

"I've  seen  him;  be  doesn't  mean  to  be 
killed;  he's  planned  it  all  out.  He's  not 
hot-blooded  like  Arthur;  he's  calculating 
like  his  father;  he's  cold,  like  your  father, 
like  you.  Suppose  Arthur  does  kill  him?" 
she  was  inspired.  "  It  will  be  for  lack  of 
one  touch,  one  endearment,  from  you." 
The  girl  stared  with  widened  eyes. 

"  I>o  you  mean,  mother,  that  you  would 
have  me  marry  him?"  she  said.  Violet 
Marr  again  turned  from  her. 

"  If  he  ibougbt  you  were  going  to.  he'd 
stay  away  from  the  mountain,  he'd  do  any- 
thing. Even  without  your  actually  saying 
you  would,"  she  heard  her  words,  and 
flushed.  The  girl  did  not  respond.  Once 
after  the  heat  of  an  angry  passage  between 
them  the  girl  had  told  herself  that  there 
had  been  a  degree  of  maturity  beyond 
which  her  mother's  mind  never  had  passed. 
Now  the  truth  of  it  was  weighing  on  her. 


Vk)Iet  Marr  smoothed  the  ck)th.  "I 
couldn't  stand  the  scandal,  the  publicity 
of  it,"  she  began  to  moan.  "  I'm  not  like 
you."  Her  daughter  was  motionless.  The 
tick  of  the  clock  became  exasperating.  "  I 
know  I  shall  never  live  through  this — I 
know  I  shall  die — up  there  aJone,"  she 
began  to  sob.  Ethel  followed  and  put  an 
arm  about  her. 

"Mother,"  her  changed  voice  came  close 
to  the  older  woman's  ear,  "you  must  tell 
Arthur  that  he  can't  live  here  any  more. 
We  haven't  time  to  discuss  it.  He  must 
understand  that  he  is  to  leave  our  house  and 
you  and  I  are  going  to  another  part  of  the 
world;  that  he  will  never  see  us  again; 
that  it  is  needless  for  him  to  continue  his 
quarrel  with  Mr.  Kendry.  Will  you  do 
the  only  thing  that  may  save  them  both — 
the  only  thing  that  ever  can  make  us 
happy  together?"  Her  mother's  shoulders 
worked  to  be  free;  the  girl  shuddered  but 
withheld  her.  "Don't  you  see  how  you 
and  I  can  come  together  again,  in  our  own 
little  home,  away  from  him?  I  shall  work; 
I  shall  be  able  to  have  you  a  servant.  We 
can  read;  we'll  go  to  the  theater;  we'll 
drive  sometimes — ^you  know  you  love 
those  things.  Mother — say  you  will,  now, 
to-night."  Her  mother  laid  a  finger  on 
her  open  lips.  . 

"He's  coming,"  she  panted.  The  girl 
clung  to  her  with  both  arms. 

"You  can  say  yes  or  no,  mother,"  she 
stifled  a  sob.  She  kissed  the  cheek  as  she 
had  kissed  it  in  the  midnight  terrors  of 
young  childhood.  "I'll  give  you  all  my 
love,  mother.  Tell  him.  Say  yes."  There 
were  steps  on  the  veranda.  Violet  Marr 
extricated  herself. 

"He'll  hear  you,"  she  whispered.  The 
girl  stood  away  from  her.  The  light  be- 
trayed their  agitation.  Paulter  examined 
them. 

"What's  up,  mother?"  he  said.  They 
were  silent.  Ethel  did  not  acknowledge 
his  presence.  The  new  shadow  deepened 
about  her  mouth.  "What's  up  in  our 
happy  boarding-house?"  his  jocularity 
mixed  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm.  Ethel 
took  the  lamp. 

"  I'll  tell  you  presently,"  she  said,  ignor- 
ing her  mother's  protest.  She  left  them 
in  semi-darkness  while  she  appeared  to  be 
trimming  all  the  other  lamps,  beyond  the 
half-closed  kitchen  door.    Paultcr  whistled 


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and  ascended  to  change  his  clothes.  When 
he  brought  down  his  own  lamp  to  her  she 
was  washing  the  dishes,  in  her  rubber 
gloves.  Paulter  stretched  himself  on  the 
lounge,  in  his  carpet  slippers.  His  hair 
was  oiled  and  pasted  down  over  the  top  of 
the  abrasion  from  Kendry's  door.  He 
waited,  ready  to  wink  reassurance  to  Mrs. 
Marr,  but  she  would  not  meet  him,  and 
the  work  in  the  kitchen  drew  out. 

"This  don't  phase  me/'  he  undertoned. 
Then  he  whistled  and  pretended  to  read  a 
newspaper.  He  wanted  to  know  what  new 
thing  had  happened,  but  he  could  get  on 
without  saying  so.  They  need  not  think 
he  had  been  moping  that  day.  He  had 
been  at  the  races;  he  had  lunched  with 
two  affable  ladies  and  his  bets  had  paid  for 
the  lunch.  If  the  ladies  were  not  her  kind, 
their  responsiveness  made  up  for  it,  and 
he  knew  what  they  were  and  they  knew 
what  he  was,  and  they  knew  just  how  far 
any  woman  or  any  man  could  go  with  him. 
Violet  Marr  did  not  approve  of  the  races 
and  he  never  expatiated  on  them  to  her. 
She  disfiked  tobacco  smoke  and  he  could 
point  to  a  good  many  times  when  he  had 
deferred  to  her  in  that.  Now,  however,  he 
was  about  to  see  if  there  was  a  cigar  left  in 
his  case,  when  Ethel  reappeared.  She 
tried  to  breathe  as  usual.  She  took  strong 
hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"1  was  begging  my  mother  to  ask  you  to 
live  somewhere  else,"  she  said.  "You 
came  back  before  she  could  answer  me." 
Paulter  did  not  meet  her  forced  gaze.  He 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  fixed  on 
her  mother. 

"Well,  ma,  why  don't  you  answer?"  he 
said.  They  gave  her  time;  she  painfully 
blinked  at  the  floor. 

"1  shall  take  no  answer  to  mean  no, 
mother,'   Ethel  said.     Paulter  chuckled. 

"1  guess  if  she  wanted  me  to  go  she'd 
find  a  way  to  let  me  feel  it.  Maybe  she'll 
find  out  that  you  spent  the  afternoon  with 
him,  and  tried  to  make  somebody  else  take 
a  job  in  the  country  so  that  shed  be  out  of 
the  way.  It's  about  time  there  was  some 
man  willing  to  look  after  you,  and  it  ain't 
every  man  that  will  do  it  and  take  his  pay 
in  hard  words."     She  did  not  flinch. 

"You've  been  down  to  see  Georgiana 
Baine." 

"Yes,"  he  rose  to  the  challenge.  "And 
if  you  knew  as  much  as  she  does  about 


looking  out  for  yourself  she  wouldn't  have 
been  able  to  blab.  Oh,  1  size  her  up,  don't 
worry?" 

"Mother  answers  no,"  Ethel  resumed, 
able  to  free  herself  from  the  chair.  "She 
hasn't  the  courage  to  ask  you  to  go.  Now, 
1  ask  you  to  go.  There  is  a  hotel  near  the 
station.  Will  you  go  to-night?"  He 
angrily  felt  his  color  change.  "You  are 
coming  between  me  and  my  mother;  you 
make  me  live  under  a  cloud  of  self-con- 
sciousness; I'm  like  a  plant  in  a  cellar  here. 
I  want  you  to  go.  Will  you  oblige  me?" 
The  sofa  was  low  and  Ethel  was  tall,  but 
his  wish  to  show  no  perturbation  kept  him 
from  altering  her  advantage.  He  pointed 
his  finger. 

"Say,  who  paid  for  those  clothes  you 
wore  to-day?"  he  hoarsely  said.  "The 
money  came  in  a  letter  from  *  Mooseer  de 
Prayless' — something.  And  who  is  he? 
He  never  saw  Tahiti,  and  1  can  prove  it. 
He's  a  Chinaman  and  his  name  is  Chan 
Kow,  and  he  wouldn't  throw  you  money 
for  nothing,  would  he?  Who  would? 
Why,  his  bosom  friend.  Jack  Kendry;  he 
paid  for  your  clothes.  And  you  went  up 
to  him  to-day  as  much  as  to  say:  'Well, 
here  1  am  in  *em,  and  what  next?'  That's 
all.  If  she  wants  to  chuck  me  out  of  her 
house,  she  can."     He  had  missed  his  mark. 

"Mr.  Kendry  isn't  the  kind  of  man  who 
does  that  sort  of  thing,"  Ethel  said. 

"Oh.  that  amount  wouldn't  be  a  gnat- 
bite  to  him,"  Paulter  sniffed. 

"You  miss  the  essence,"  her  quiet  cut 
him.  "  He  wouldn't  put  me  under  such  an 
obligation,  against  my  knowledge,  my  wish. 
That  would  be  more  like  you.  Will  you 
go  now?"  she  gained  in  presence.  Paulter 
tossed  to  the  end  of  the  sofa. 

"Will  1  go,"  he  said,  "just  so  you  can 
steal  up  there  and  be  with  him  on  Thursday 
morning  and  spoil  the  game?  Say,"  he 
lowered,  "  Tm  going  to  fill  that  guy  so  full 
of  lead  that  he  won't  float  on  ice.  If  you 
don't  want  to  marry  him,  why  are  you 
so  pale?"  Her  hands  came  back  to  the 
chair. 

"Then  you  refuse  to  go?"  she  ominously 
said.     Her  mother  cried  out  as  if  in  pain. 

"  1  asked  you  to  coax  him,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  say  everything  you  can  to  make 
him  want  to  go  to  that  man  and  be  shot. 
You  sha'n't  drive  him  out  of  the  house  at 
midnight." 


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"Then,  mother,  I  shall  go  myself," 
Ethel  drowned  her.  "I  shall  never  live 
with  you  until  you  are  done  with  him. 
Good-bye."  She  was  bareheaded,  her 
slippers  were  thin;  her  throat  was  exposed. 
She  started  for  the  door.  Her  mother 
gasped  her  name.  Paulter  was  before 
her. 

"You  stay  here,"  he  said,  with  the  key 
of  the  locked  door  in  his  hand.  He  hur- 
ried to  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  his  eyes 
upon  her.  She  had  made  no  effort  to  pass 
him;  she  might  have  seemed  to  less  ex- 
cited eyes  more  closely  watching  her  effect 
on  him  than  planning  for  herself.  Paulter 
locked  the  windows;  they  could  not  be 
opened  noiselessly.  "You  sit  down  and 
stay  a  while,"  he  said.  "Your  mother 
says  I  don't  pet  you  up  enough.  Well, 
I've  said  all  the  cold  words  1  wanted  to 
say.  Now  I'll  be  pleasant,  whether  you 
are  or  not."  The  girl,  least  agitated  of  the 
three,  went  to  her  mother. 

"  He's  committing  a  crime,"  she  stated. 
"  I'm  of  age  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  de- 
prive me  of  my  liberty.  1  shall  find  a  way 
to  go.  Do  you  realize  the  situation?" 
Her  mother  burst  into  tears. 

"  It's  horrible,"  she  made  her  way  to  the 
stairs.  "Neither  of  you  thinks  of  me.  I 
won't  stay  to  hear  you  quarrel — I  can't 
stand  it."  She  was  without  her  lamp,  but 
they  heard  her  shut  her  door.  It,  too,  the 
girl  thought  she  heard,  was  being  locked 
against  her.  That  drew  on  her.  Paulter 
laughed. 

"Now,  say,"  he  whispered,  "I  know  as 
well  as  you  when  a  hen  hatches  a  duck. 
If  you  knew  how  much  1  was  on  your  side, 

you  old  handsome "     It  brought  her 

to  remember  how  rarely  her  mother  had 
left  her  entirely  alone  with  him.  She 
sought  the  piano.  "  Sure — whoop  her  up ! " 
he  praised  the  move,  his  eyes  on  the  full 
softness  of  her  throat.  He  threw  himself 
into  the  armchair  and  searched  for  his 
cigar  case.  It  was  empty  and  while  her 
fingers  ran  over  the  keys  he  glanced  at  the 
stairs.  She  began  playing  snatches  from 
his  whistling  repertory  of  popular  airs, 
mocking  them  with  the  grandeur  of  her 
accompaniment. 

"I've  just  burnt  up  all  the  tobacco  in 
the  house,"  she  collectedly  said.  "I'll 
send  you  the  equivalent  when  1  have  left 
here.     1  was  looking  forward  to  this  and 


1  didn't  want  you  to  be  filling  the  house 
with  smoke  all  night." 

"Oh,  it's  all  night,"  he  cheerfully  said. 
"You  think  I've  got  to  smoke  to  live. 
Just  watch  me." 

He  feasted  his  eyes.  It  didn't  need  any 
Georgiana  Baine  or  any  coffee  to  keep  him 
awake  to-night,  he  chuckled,  putting 
together  the  detached  items  of  Georgian a's 
half  confidences  about  Kendry.  Not  to 
smoke  made  him  sleepy  as  a  rule,  but  the 
man  who  couldn't  sit,  to  any  length  of  time, 
before  that  swaying  waist,  that  tumbled 
hair,  that  clear  browned  skin  of  neck  and 
arm — his  name  wasn't  Paulter.  His  im- 
agination, unsoothed  by  its  habitual  nar- 
cotic, warmed  with  the  sight  of  her  and 
with  the  advancing  of  the  hour.  Her 
mother's  tread  was  no  longer  heard. 

"This  is  like  married  life,"  he  laughed. 
She  leaned  from  the  keys  and  tossed  her 
head  at  him  and  smiled — actually  smiled, 
he  repeated  to  himself. 

"  Love  in  a  cottage,"  she  said,  her  hair  a 
little  more  disordered,  her  knee  rising  with 
the  pedal.  Her  eye,  while,  for  lack  of 
knowing  the  words,  she  hummed  the  vapid 
sentimental  song  of  the  moment,  seemed  to 
linger  where  she  best  could  be  aware  of 
him.  And  the  look  about  it  was  almost 
wicked.  By  God,  the  man  silently  slapped 
himself,  women  were  strange  beings!  She 
broke  into  an  air  he  was  certain  she  never 
had  heard  sung  on  the  stage;  its  invita- 
tion, its  suggestion,  if  it  had  come  to  her, 
must  have  come  through  the  music.  He 
came  to  his  feet. 

"Say,  you  could  just  tie  me  up  with  a 
string  and  dangle  me  on  your  finger,  if  you 
wanted  to,"  he  emphasized,  his  knee 
against  the  piano  stool.  The  girl  jumped 
up  and  took  the  lamp. 

"The  oil's  out,"  she  laughed.  He  was 
ahead  of  her  with  the  key  to  the  kitchen. 
He  gallantly  took  the  lamp  from  her  hand. 

"The  prima  donna  don't  fill  any  lamps 
in  this  show,"  he  said.  He  opened  the 
door  to  the  rear  veranda,  where  the  oil 
can  was.  The  girl  strolled  back  to  the 
living-room.  The  can  was  empty.  He 
heard  her  leisurely  ascend  the  stairs. 
There  was  no  more  oil  to  be  found.  He 
heard  Ethel  lock  herself  into  her  room. 

It  made  him  dash  around  to  beneath  her 
window.     She  was  just  lighting  her  lamp. 

"Going  to  bed?"  he  said. 


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"  I  shall  stay  here  till  you've  fallen  asleep 
for  lack  of  tobacco,"  she  closed  the  window 
and  drew  the  shade.  His  disillusionment 
was  as  if  she  had  thrown  cold  water  down 
on  him.     He  gave  a  hard  laugh. 

"Will  I?"  he  said. 

He  hurried  back  to  the  kitchen.  The 
lamp  showed  that  there  was  no  other  oil 
can  hidden  there.  He  could  hear  her 
walking  about  in  her  room.  There  was  no 
oil  in  any  other  lamp.  There  was  no  candle 
and  no  matches,  save  what  he  had  in  his 
pocket.  He  risked  the  ascent  to  his  room 
— he  could  hear  if  she  opened  her  window. 
There  was  neither  tobacco  nor  lamp.  If  he 
slept,  she  was  going  to  steal  out.  She  must 
think  he  was  easy!  He  would  stay  awake 
till  Thursday  morning,  if  necessary,  and 
then  she  couldn't  beat  him  up  that  steep 
trail.     He  chuckled  his  scorn. 

He  went  alertly  back  to  the  kitchen. 
She  had  forgotten  the  oil  stove — there  was 
enough  fuel  in  it  to  boil  a  little  water. 
G)fFee,  of  course!  He  searched  the  cup- 
boards by  its  light.  There  was  no  coffee 
and  there  was  no  tea.  All  right.  There 
was  an  Arthur  Paulter.  She'd  have  a 
chance  to  get  acquainted  with  him. 

He  couldn't  remember  a  shred  of  tobacco 
in  any  pocket;  he  couldn't  recall  where  he 
had  abandoned  a  half-smoked  cigar.  He 
came  out  on  the  gravel  walk  again.  Her 
light  burned.  He. was  accustomed  to  late 
hours,  and  she  wasn't,  he  reflected.  She 
would  read  and  that  would  make  her  eyes 
heavy.  There  was  just  one  more  thing  he 
wanted  to  know.  He  stole  back.  He 
once  had  given  her  a  pistol,  the  year  when 
the  pistol  had  come  back  to  dispute  the 
field  with  the  revolver.  It  was  his  first 
and  only  gift.  It  had  rather  pleased  her, 
but  it  had  frightened  her  mother.  In  the 
new  house  t'ley  had  agreed  that  it  should 
remain  unt^  uched  in  a  cupboard  of  its  own. 


It  was  gone.  All  right — he  wasn't  going 
to  climb  up  a  ladder  to  her  window  and 
have  her  say  she  had  thought  he  was  a 
burglar.  He  would  settle  himself  for  a 
test  of  endurance,  and  she  should  not  have 
the  satisfaction  of  hearing  from  him. 

The  moon  was  rising.  It  made  the 
shadows  of  the  living-room  gloomy  to  one 
whose  eye  must  not  close.  He  placed  a 
table  across  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  piled 
it  high  with  books  in  unstable  equilibrium. 
He  put  on  his  overcoat  and  brought  out  a 
stool  to  the  veranda.  Even  if  he  were 
foolish  enough  to  risk  running  down  to  the 
village  after  cigars,  the  stores  would  be 
closed  and  deserted.  On  the  stool,  with- 
out a  back,  if  he  went  to  sleep  he  would 
fall,  and  that  would  awaken  him. 

But  for  some  hours  he  had  no  further 
tendency  toward  sleep.  He  was  not  used 
to  solitude,  to  self-contemplation;  they 
made  him  melancholy,  they  brought  a  kind 
of  fear.  She  was  up  there  and  he  was 
out  in  the  moral  cold.  He  wasn't  making 
good  with  her.  He  could  have  been  at  the 
Golden  Bow-wow,  in  town,  with  a  fat  cigar 
in  his  teeth  and  a  drink  at  hand  and  some 
one  trying  for  all  she  was  worth  to  make 
good  with  him.  Instead  he  sat  here  with 
not  even  the  old  hen  poking  her  head  out 
to  commiserate  him.  Here  he  was,  going 
up  against  a  man  that  would  land  him  in  a 
mahogany  overcoat  if  he  wasn't  quick 
enough — and  what  was  A.  Paulter  going  to 
get  out  of  that,  either  way?  Say,  had  the 
two  of  them  planned  this  out  together? 
Was  Kendry  off  in  the  woods  somewhere? 
He  put  his  pistol  in  his  overcoat  pocket. 
Let  him  come.  He  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  veranda,  stopping  at  the  sound 
of  a  night  bird,  a  prowling  dog.  There 
was  wearily  no  sign  from  above.  Her 
light  shone  mysteriously  on  her  white 
curtain. 


(To  be  continued,) 


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PHOTOGRAPHING   "PRAIRIE 
PIGEONS" 

BY    HERBERT    K.   JOB 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


"N  late  April  or  early  May, 
when  the  rich  black  soil 
has  thawed  at  the  sur- 
face, the  settler  of  the 
northwest  prairies  goes 
forth  to  plow.  The 
warm  season  is  short, 
and  his  tillage  vast,  so  he  delays  not 
for  wind  or  storm.  One  day  he  is  dark 
as  a  coal-heaver,  when  the  strong  winds 
which  sweep  almost  ceaselessly  over  the 
prairie  hurl  upon  him  avalanches  of  black 
dust.  Next  day,  perchance,  in  a  driving 
storm  of  wet  snow  he  turns  black  furrows 
in  the  interminable  white  expanse,  his 
shaggy  fur  coat  buttoned  close  around 
him.  Then  comes  a  day  of  warm  sun- 
shine, when,  as  he  plows,  he  is  followed 
by  a  troupe  of  handsome  birds  which  some 
might  mistake  for  white  doves.  Without 
sign  of  fear  they  alight  in  the  furrow  close 
behind  him  and,  with  graceful  carriage, 
hurry  about  to  pick  up  the  worms  and 
grubs  which  the  plow  has  just  unearthed. 
Often  have  1  watched  the  plowman  and 
his  snowy  retinue,  and  it  appeals  to  me  as 
one  of  the  prettiest  sights  which  the  wide 
prairies  can  afford.  No  wonder  that  the 
lonely  settler  likes  the  dainty,  familiar 
bird,  and  in  friendly  spirit  calls  it  his 
"prairie  pigeon." 

It  is  indeed  a  beauty,  a  little  larger  than 
a  domestic  pigeon,  with  white  plumage, 
save  for  the  grayish  mantle,  as  it  were,  on 
the  back,  the  dark  slaty  head  and  neck 
which  make  it  appear  to  wear  a  hood,  and 
the  black-tipped  wings.  It  often  passes 
very  near,  and  one  can  see  that  the  white 
breast  and  under  parts  have  a  beautiful, 
delicate  rosy  blush,  which  can  be  likened 
to  that  of  the  peach  blossom.     In  reality 


it  is  no  pigeon  at  all,  but  a  gull,  one  of 
several  rosy-breasted  gulls  of  the  northern 
r^ions,  the  Franklin's  gull,  so  named  in 
honor  of  the  arctic  explorer,  Sir  John 
Franklin,  or,  as  the  earlier  writers  called  it, 
the  Franklin's  rosy  gull. 

In  Audubon's  time  few  white  men  had 
penetrated  "the  great  American  desert" 
or  seen  this  handsome  rosy  gull,  which  only 
recently  Dr.  Richardson  had  discovered  in 
the  "fur  countries."  Audubon  himself  had 
never  met  with  it  alive,  and  has  no  picture 
of  it  in  his  great  work,  describing  it  from 
the  only  two  stuffed  skins  available, 
brought  from  the  Saskatchewan  country, 
probably  by  some  explorer  or  fur-trader. 
But  now  the  billowy  prairies  are  settled, 
and  thousands  of  farmers  know  well  the 
bird  which  the  indefatigable  ornitholo- 
gist was  then  unable  to  meet. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  this  bird  is  of  special 
interest  in  the  region  where  it  is  known. 
Its  tameness  and  familiarity  are  delightful, 
especially  to  those  who  are  isolated  on 
remote  claims  in  the  more  newly  settled 
parts.  In  abundance,  too,  it  is  one  of  the 
few  species  which  could  even  suggest  the 
numbers,  at  times,  of  the  lamented  wild 
or  passenger  pigeon,  now  all  but  extinct. 
In  the  cold  days  of  spring  in  North  Dakota 
I  have  seen  the  air  fairly  full  of  them,  set- 
tling in  acres  upon  the  dark,  cold  prairie, 
as  though  a  snow-storm  were  in  progress. 
In  one  case  this  was  within  a  few  miles  of 
where  I  afterward  found  an  enormous 
breeding  colony. 

Another  attractive  element  about  this 
bird  is  its  restlessness  and  mysteriousness. 
It  is  nearly  always  on  the  move.  Faintly 
come  the  cries  as  of  a  distant  flock  of  wild 
geese  or  a  pack  of  hounds.     Louder  and 


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louder  grow  the  voices,  and  presently  the 
undulating  line  appears  and  leisurely  yet 
steadily  sweeps  by,  whither  bound  who 
can  tell.  Often  have  1  wished  I  could  fol- 
low and  learn  their  secret.  But  wherever 
I  might  drive  1  would  see  their  lines  still  on 
the  move.  Where  there  is  a  marshy  lake 
they  may  often  be  seen,  at  times  in  large 
numbers  hovering  over  the  rushes  or 
grass,  throwing  up  their  wings  to  settle 
down,  presently  to  come  fluttering  up 
again,  parties  frequently  leaving  to  strag- 
gle over  the  prairie,  and  others  arriving, 
probably  passing  to  and  from  their  dis- 
tant breeding-ground. 

Of  these  unique  birds  but  very  little  has 
been  known  until  within  recent  years,  and 
most  of  the  works  on  ornithology  have 
almost  no  information  to  offer.  They  are 
now  known  to  winter  in  the  southern 
Stat  es,  mostly  west  of  the  Mississippi  River. 
In  April,  or  as  soon  as  the  ice  breaks  up  in 
the  lakes,  they  appear  in  the  Dakotas  and 
surrounding  r^ions,  extending  their  mi- 
gration, as  a  species,  to  the  arctic  regions. 
It  ivas  formerly  supposed  that  they  were 
altogether  boreal,  but  less  than  thirty 
years  ago  they  were  discovered  breeding 
in  Manitoba,  and  more  recently  were  found 
to  do  so  in  Minnesota  and  North  Dakota. 

Each  spring,  in  May,  all  the  rosy  gulls  of 
a  wide  r^ion  somehow  agree  to  resort  to 
a  particular  one  of  various  marshy  lakes 
for  the  purpose  of  rearing  their  young. 
Just  how  they  decide  the  important  ques- 
tion is  not  for  us  humans  to  know.  At 
any  rate,  what  they  do  select  is  a  great 
area  of  grass,  reeds,  or  rushes  growing  out 
of  the  water,  and  there,  out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  dry  stems,  each  pair  builds  a 
partly  floating  nest,  side  by  side  with 
others,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  them. 
These  great  "cities"  of  the  prairie  pigeort 
present  one  of  the  most  dramatic,  spectac- 
ular sights  in  the  bird-life  of  this  conti- 
nent, comparable  in  a  way  to  the  former 
breeding  "roosts"  of  the  real  wild  pigeon, 
and  are  well  worth  great  effort  on  the  part 
of  any  lover  of  wild  life  to  see,  offering 
particular  sport  to  the  hunter  with  the 
camera,  as  the  game  is  both  beautiful  and 
readily  approachable. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  locate  a  colony, 
as  the  birds  select  a  wild  region  and  are 
liable  to  change  their  location  from  year 
to  year,  so  that  to  ascertain  from  settlers 


where  they  have  resorted  before  does  not 
assure  finding  them  the  next  season.  The 
distances  over  the  prairie  are  so  vast  that 
one  may  easily  miss  the  colony.  This  was 
my  experience  in  North  Dakota,  where  I 
drove  and  tramped  during  several  seasons 
over  hundreds  of  miles  of  territory  before 
1  found  the  desired  bird-city,  and  more 
latterly,  in  another  part  of  the  "great 
plains,"  it  proved  no  easy  task  to  hunt  the 
prairie  pigeon  with  the  camera  to  a  suc- 
cessful issue. 

This  was  out  on  the  broken,  rolling 
prairie  country  of  western  Saskatchewan 
where  there  are  many  lakes  and  where  the 
rosy  gull  is  nearly  everywhere  a  common 
bird.  Most  of  the  lakes  which  we  first 
visited  were  more  or  less  alkaline,  and  had 
no  grass  or  reeds  favorable  to  the  desired 
pigeon  roost.  Plenty  of  birds  were  flying 
about  everywhere,  but  no  one  knew  where 
they  made  their  headquarters.  Now  and 
then  we  investigated  a  lake  of  the  right 
sort,  but  the  birds  had  not  seen  fit  to  locate 
there. 

The  ninth  of  June  began  as  one  of  the 
many  cold,  lowering  days  of  the  wet  season 
of  1905  on  those  bleak,  wind-swept  plains, 
when  we  started  off  on  another  cold  drive 
in  search  of  the  elusive  colony.  The  sky 
was  dark  with  heavy  masses  of  cumuli, 
and  had  a  sinister,  fallish  aspect.  The 
trail  led  for  five  miles  over  the  irr^ular 
prairie  and  then  up  a  billowy  ridge.  Out 
beyond  us,  almost  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  extended  a  perfectly  flat  plain  which 
in  ages  past  had  evidently  been  the  bed  of 
a  very  large  lake.  All  that  was  left  of  it 
lay  well  out  in  the  middle  of  the  plain,  a 
lake  over  a  mile  long,  rather  narrow,  and  in 
two  arms,  surrounded  by  a  vast  area  of 
reeds.  In  the  foreground  a  big  bunch  of 
cattle  were  feeding.  As  we  drove  nearer 
I  noticed  a  few  rosy  gulls  flying  toward 
the  lake,  or  hovering  over  the  reeds.  This 
showed  that  success  was  possible,  though 
by  no  means  assured,  for  again  and  again 
had  similar  good  signs  proved  disappoint- 
ing. 

We  were  now  within  less  than  half  a  mile 
and  the  nearer  we  came  the  more  birds 
were  in  evidence.  Stopping  the  horse  I 
got  out  my  powerful  stereo-binoculars,  and 
took  a  good  look.  There  was  no  longer 
room  for  doubt.  By  watching  any  one 
spot  for  a  moment  I  could  see  gulls  in 

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numbers  rising  and  alighting;  the  reeda 
over  a  wide  area  seemed  full  of  them. 
Handing  the  glasses  to  my  friend,  a  thor- 
ough enthusiast,  who  had  yet  to  behold 
this  long-sought  spectacle,  I  exclaimed, 
"Now  you  can  shout;  we  have  found  it 
at  last!" 

Driving  to  the  margin  of  the  great 
marshy  flat,  where  the  prairie  began  to 
be  wet,  we  halted.  Near  us  began  a  solid 
area  of  reeds  that  extended  out  perhaps 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  first  open  water. 
We  could  now  hear  the  confused  sound  of 
the  chattering  of  a  multitude  of  gulls. 
With  cameras  strapped  to  our  backs  and 
long  rubber  boots  pulled  up,  we  started  in, 
rather  anxiously,  to  test  the  depth  of  water 
among  the  reeds.  Very  likely  it  might 
prove  too  deep  to  wade,  and  we  had  no 
boat.  In  exploring  the  North  Dakota 
colony  I  had  found  the  water  out  by  the 
nests  neck  deep  and  a  boat  essential.  But 
here,  as  we  waded  on  and  on,  the  water, 
much  to  our  joy,  was  only  up  to  the  knees. 
Canvasbacks,  redheads  and  other  ducks 
kept  flying  out  before  us,  and  coots  and 
grebes  slipped  off  through  the  tangle  that 
grew  from  the  water,  but  we  were  not 
bothering  that  day  over  such  "common" 
things;  we  were  about  to  witness  a  sight 
so  remarkable  that  we  had  no  eyes  for  any- 
thing else.  Though  half  way  out  the  water 
had  not  increased  in  depth.  We  were  ap- 
proaching the  nearest  of  the  gulls,  and  they 
began  to  discover  us.  They  were  rising 
with  loud  screams  and  wheeling  to  meet 
us.  The  sunshine  was  now  splendid,  and 
their  white  plumage  and  rosy  breasts 
flashed  and  sparkled.  The  first  nests  were 
at  our  feet  at  last,  rude  floating  platforms 
of  dead  reed-stems,  each  with  two  or  three 
large  drab  eggs  heavily  marked  with  black. 
It  had  seemed  as  though  the  whole  colony 
must  be  a-wing,  yet  at  almost  every  step 
new  multitudes  were  startled  and  rose  with 
tragic  screams.  We  could  see  them  rising 
away  ahead  and  far  along  the  strip  of  reeds 
on  either  side  of  us.  In  every  direction, 
indeed,  we  were  encompassed  by  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  screaming,  indignant, 
outraged  birds.  Those  whose  nests  were 
at  our  feet  darted  at  our  heads  with  the 
most  reckless  abandon.  The  noise  was 
tremendous,  ear-splitting;  conversation 
was  next  to  impossible. 

Here  was  material  for  a  day's  work, 


and  after  we  had  rambled  about  in  the 
colony  as  far  as  we  cared  to  explore,  with- 
out ever  reaching  the  end  of  it,  we  set 
to  work  in  earnest.  My  friend  began  by 
photographing  nests  with  eggs,  or  with 
small  young,  for  a  few  of  them  had  b^un 
to  hatch.  G)nditions  indicated  that  the 
first  eggs  had  been  laid  about  May  twen- 
tieth, and  thence  on  to  the  first  of  June. 
1  b^an  on  flying  birds,  for  I  had  brought 
out  from  shore  my  5x7  reflex  camera  for 
this  purpose.  I  set  the  focal-plane  shutter 
at  one  six-  to  eight-hundredth  of  a  second 
and  took  some  general  views  showing  the 
reed-tops  and  the  clouds  of  birds.  One 
direction  was  as  good  as  another,  as  long 
as  it  was  not  toward  the  sun. 

Then  came  snapshots  at  groups  at  fairiy 
close  range,  and  at  single  birds  with  the 
22-inch  single  lens  of  the  11 -inch  doublet, 
which  would  give  the  bird  large  on  the 
plate.  If  any  one  imagines  these  perform- 
ances to  be  easy  1  should  like  to  have  him 
watch  the  bewildering  maze  of  bird  images 
that  are  darting  across  the  ground-glass, 
and  see  when  he  would  decide  to  snap. 
They  are  in  all  positions  and  distances, 
in  focus  and  out  of  it.  A  good  combina- 
tion occurs  for  the  veriest  fraction  of  a 
second;  to  hesitate  is  to  be  lost  to  this 
opportunity.  The  irresolute  one  will  stand 
there  for  no  one  knows  how  long,  follow- 
ing and  focusing,  till  fingers  are  blistered 
and  neck  almost  broken,  without  taking  a 
single  picture.  Or,  if  he  carelessly  snaps 
away  at  random  he  probably  will  get 
fourth-rate  results. 

It  was  amusing  to  watch  my  companion 
planted  out  in  the  reeds,  his  head  under 
the  focus-cloth,  or  adjusting  the  instru- 
ment, and  the  swarm  darting  about  him 
like  angry  bees.  If  they  had  had  stings  he 
surely  would  not  have  escaped  alive. 

By  one  o'clock  I  had  carefully  exposed 
some  three  dozen  plates,  and  we  both 
waded  back  to  the  rig,  untangled  the 
stupid  horse,  ate  lunch  in  comfort  on  the 
wagon-seat,  despite  the  equally  hungry 
mosquitoes,  and  then  started  in  again  for 
the  afternoon's  work.  This  time  1  carried 
my  4x5  long-focus  instrument  for  tripod 
work,  with  two  dozen  plates.  First  1 
worked  on  nests  with  ^gs  and  young. 
Then,  having  noticed  that  the  beautiful 
birds  kept  alighting  in  open  pools,  some- 
times quite  a  number  at  a  time,  I  set  up 

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the  tripod  and  camera  among  the  reeds  at 
the  edge  of  one  and,  standing  quietly 
behind  the  instrument  partly  under  the 
focus-cloth,  1  had  little  trouble  in  photo- 
graphing them  as  they  swam  gracefully 
and  prettily  about.  Then  1  moved  the 
camera  to  an  area  of  nests  where  the  reeds 
grew  rather  sparsely  and  opened  up  the 
view  to  the  nearer  nests.  The  birds  soon 
became  somewhat  accustomed  to  me  and 
would  alight  on  their  nests  within  twenty 
to  a  dozen  feet,  though  1  stood  by  the 
camera  and  was  working  the  telephoto  lens 
to  good  advantage.  The  main  secret  of 
success  with  this  rather  cumbersome  yet 
very  useful  instrument  is  absolute  rigidity, 
which  can  be  secured  by  using  a  firm  tripod, 
propping  up  the  front  of  the  camera  with  a 
stick  or  brace  and  sheltering  it  from  the 
wind.  The  proper  exposure  in  bright  sun- 
light is  about  one-half  second  with  the  lens 
wide  open.  Sometimes  one  can  secure 
just  as  good  pictures  by  employing  a  single 
member  of  a  large  doublet,  and  enlarging 
the  picture  at  home.  Yet  if  the  telephoto 
is  handled  rightly  it  will  give  very  fine 
pictures,  though  there  is  a  lack  of  depth 
of  focus.  The  time  was  when  1  had 
almost  given  up  in  despair  the  securing  of 
first-class  pictures  with  this  cumbersome 
arrangement,  but  my  courage  has  revived, 
as  during  the  season  just  passed  I  have 
secured  with  it  some  of  my  best  pictures — 
particularly  when  it  was  used  from  a 
sheltered  place,  in  concealment. 

The  day  had  now  gone,  like  a  pleasant 
dream,  amidst  the  intoxicating  delight  of 
such  enlivening  scenes,  surrounded  by 
beautiful  birds — in  the  air,  on  their  nests, 
or  feeding  their  young.  Two  weeks  passed 
before  1  made  the  second  visit  to  this  great 
and  noisy  aggr^ation  of  bird  life.  As  1 
waded  out  again  among  the  reeds  I  hardly 
recognized  the  place.  It  was  surprising  in 
that  short  time  how  the  reeds  had  grown. 
On  that  first  day  one  easily  overtopped  the 
dead,  broken  stems  beaten  down  by  the 
winter's  storms,  and  could  see  in  all  direc- 
tions near  and  far  with  unimpeded  view 
the  hosts  of  beautiful,  fluttering  creatures. 
Now  the  lush  green  growth  had  arisen  like 
a  veritable  forest,  in  whose  depths  one  was 
completely  buried  and  in  danger  that  cloudy 
afternoon  of  getting  lost  without  the  aid 
of  a  compass.  The  one  compensation  was 
that  the  sharp  spear-like  points  of  the  reeds 


were  now  so  high  up  that  there  was  no 
longer  the  unpleasant  likelihood  whenever 
one  stooped  of  receiving  a  thrust  in  the 
eyes. 

Through  such  dense  growth  it  was  no 
easy  matter  to  wade  the  quarter  of  a  mile 
to  the  beginning  of  the  colony.  However, 
as  1  struggled  slowly  on  various  sights  en- 
livened the  journey.  The  brilliantly  col- 
ored male  yellow-headed  blackbirds  were 
giving  the  alarm  to  their  duller-hued  mates, 
who  flew  from  their  basket-nests  suspended 
in  the  reeds,  revealing  the  gaping  mouths 
of  their  ever-hungry  offspring.  Now  and 
then  1  came  upon  the  floating,  soggy  nest 
of  a  grebe,  with  its  dirty  white  eggs,  or  the 
neater  and  drier  structure  of  the  mud-hen 
or  coot.  Then  came  a  pretty  find — seven 
^gs  of  the  redhead  duck  in  a  wicker 
basket-like  nest. 

Though  the  surroundings  had  changed, 
the  birds  had  not.  Effusive,  noisy,  solic- 
itous as  ever,  they  soon  found  me  out, 
struggling  amid  the  reeds,  and  poured 
forth  the  incisive  torrent  of  their  invective. 
Yet  they  hardly  seemed  as  numerous,  for 
many  of  them  were  gathering  food  for  their 
young  which  were  now  nearly  all  hatched. 
Swarms  of  them,  cunning  little  striped 
brownish  balls  of  down,  left  the  nests  at  my 
approach  and  swam  off  among  the  reeds. 
The  whole  place  was  literally  alive  with 
them. 

It  was  really  a  beautiful  sight  to  stand 
quietly  in  the  reeds  at  the  edge  of  one  of 
the  open  pools  and  watch  what  occurred. 
The  adult  gulls  kept  dropping  down  into 
the  water,  and  bands  of  youngsters  would 
swim  out  from  their  places  of  concealment 
among  the  reeds  to  join  them.  The  old 
gulls  were  not  at  all  glad  to  see  them;  they 
swam  vigorously  after  the  chicks,  pecked 
at  them  and  drove  them  back  under  cover 
of  the  reeds.  Perhaps  they  were  afraid 
that  I  would  hurt  the  little  things,  yet  they 
themselves  did  not  seem  to  fear  my  pres- 
ence particularly,  though  they  kept  up 
their  screaming  all  the  time — perhaps 
from  force  of  habit.  1  had  the  camera  on 
the  tripod,  and  was  making  brief-timed 
exposures  on  them,  as  the  light  was  not 
strong  enough  for  instantaneous  work.  It 
may  have  been  that  they  were  curious  to 
know  what  1  was  doing,  for  they  swam  up 
within  ten  feet  of  me,  seeming  to  be  greatly 
interested  in  my  photographic  work.    Now 


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ai  These  scenes  and  inci- 
d  ts  in  the  life  of  this 
si  ly  are  typical  of  the  nest- 
re  ibits  of  the  bird,  wher- 
e;  >und,  aside  from  minor 
ei  tails.  It  should  also  be 
tl  s  a  matter  of  practical 
qi  o  the  western  farmer, 
fc  ►    largely    insectivorous. 

ascertained  to  feed  its 
m  Minnesota  colony,  as 
re  ^  >y  Dr.  T.  S.  Roberts — 
exposed  plates.  Next  morning  I  had  largely  upon  the  nymph  of  the  dragon- 
to  start  upon  the  long  two  thousand  fly,  and  no  doubt  upon  any  other  in- 
five  hundred  mile  journey  homeward,  sects  or  larvae  local'y  available.  Another 
During  those  three  days  of  leisure,  and  favorite  food,  a  little  later  in  the  sea- 
many  a  time  since,  1  have  seemed  to  hear  son,  is  the  dreaded  grasshopper.  As  the 
the  appalling  clamor  of  that  host,  and  to  roving  flocks  course  over  the  prairie  they 
see  their  fluttering  thousands  outlined  do  splendid  work  in  helping  to  exter- 
against  the  billowy  clouds,  like  flakes  of  minate  this  pest,  and  as  they  never 
snow,  rose-tinted  by  the  feeble,  slanting  disturb  the  grain-fields  deserve  all  possible 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  protection. 


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THE    LONG    LABRADOR   TRAIL 

THE  COMPACT  WITH   HUBBARD   FULFILLED 
BY   DILLON   WALLACE 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY   THE    AUTHOR 


XVI 

TO  WHALE  RIVER  AND  FORT  CHIMO 

{Continued) 

[T  was  after  dark  Sunday 
night  when  my  letter  to 
Edmunds  reached  the 
Post.  Earlier  in  the  even- 
ing Edmunds  and  his 
man  had  crossed  the 
-J  river,  which  is  here  over 
half  a  mile  in  width,  and  pitched  their 
camp  on  the  opposite  shore  preparatory  to 
starting  up  the  river  the  next  morning  on  a 
deer  hunt,  herds  of  which  were  reported  to 
the  northward  by  Eskimos.  Mrs.  Edmunds 
read  the  letter,  and  she  and  Mary  were  at 
once  all  excitement.  They  lighted  a  lan- 
tern and  signaled  to  the  camp  on  the  other 
side  and  fired  guns  until  they  had  a  reply. 
Then,  for  fear  that  Edmunds  might  not 
understand  the  urgency  of  his  immediate 
return,  they  kept  firing  at  intervals  all 
night,  stopping  only  to  pack  the  komatik 
box  with  the  clothing  and  food  that  Ed- 
munds was  to  bring  to  us.  Neither  of  the 
women  slept.  With  the  thought  of  men 
starving  out  in  the  snow  they  could  not 
rest.  The  floating  ice  in  the  river  and  the 
swift  tide  made  it  impossible  for  a  boat  to 
cross  in  the  darkness,  but  with  daylight 
Edmunds  returned,  harnessed  his  dogs,  and 
was  off  to  meet  us  as  has  been  described. 
We  had  left  George  River  on  October 
twenty-second,  and  it  was  the  eighth  of 
November  when  we  reached  Whale  River, 
and  in  this  interval  the  caribou  herds  that 
the  Indians  had  reported  west  of  the  Kok- 
soak  had  passed  to  the  east  of  Whale  River 
and  turned  to  the  northward.     Fifty  miles 


inland  the  Indian  and  Eskimo  hunters  had 
met  them.  The  killing  was  over  and  they 
told  us  hundreds  of  the  animals  lay  dead 
in  the  snow  above.  So  many  had  been 
butchered  that  all  the  dogs  and  men  in 
Ungava  would  be  well  supplied  with  meat 
during  the  winter  and  numbers  of  the 
carcasses  would  feed  the  packs  of  timber 
wolves  that  infested  the  country  or  rot  in 
the  next  summer's  sun.  Sam  Ford  had 
gone  inland  but  was  too  late  for  the  big 
hunt  and  only  killed  four  or  five  deer.  The 
wolves  were  so  thick,  he  told  us,  that  he 
could  not  sleep  at  night  in  his  camp  with 
the  noise  of  their  howling.  One  Eskimo 
brought  in  two  wolf  skins  that  were  so 
large  when  they  were  stretched  a  man 
could  almost  have  crawled  into  either  of 
them.  I  saw  wolf  tracks  myself  within  a 
quarter  mile  of  the  Post,  for  the  animals 
were  so  bold  they  ventured  almost  to  the 
door. 

Edmunds  is  a  famous  hunter.  During 
the  previous  winter,  besides  attending  to 
his  Post  duties,  he  killed  neariy  half  a  hun- 
dred caribou  to  supply  his  Post  and  Fort 
Chimo  with  man  and  dog  food,  and  in  the 
same  season  his  traps  yielded  him  two 
hundred  fox  pelts — mostly  white  ones — 
his  personal  catch.  This  was  not  an  un- 
usual year's  work  for  him.  Mary  inherits 
her  father's  hunting  instincts.  In  the 
morning  she  would  put  her  baby  in  the 
hood  of  her  adikey,  shoulder  her  gun  and 
don  her  snowshoes  and  go  to  tend  her 
traps.  One  day  she  did  not  take  her  gun, 
and  when  she  had  made  her  rounds  of  the 
traps  and  started  homeward  discovered 
that  she  was  being  followed  by  a  big  gray 
timber  wolf.  When  she  stopped,  the  wolf 
stopped;  when  she  went  on,  it  followed, 


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Stealing  gradually  closer  and  closer  to 
her,  almost  imperceptibly,  but  still  gain- 
ing upon  her.  She  wanted  to  run  but  she 
realized  that  if  she  did  the  wolf  would 
know  at  once  that  she  was  afraid  and 
would  attack  and  kill  her  and  her  baby; 
so  without  hastening  her  pace,  and  only 
kx>king  back  now  and  again  to  note  the 

x)r  of  the 
lal  not  ten 
carries  a 
n  shoot, 
at  Whale 
he  winter. 
:d  us  valu- 
ing for  us, 
and,  from 
t  while  we 
ers,  koola- 
nunds  and 
moccasins, 

'  at  their 
possible  to 
)n  to  Fort 
lunds  an- 
send  Sam 
?r  with  the 
>,  I  availed 
ccompany 
Df  Novem- 
is  who  had 
ed  toward 

and  brac- 
ty  degrees 
'iver  some 
und  a  safe 
ice  broken 
elow,  and 

valley  was 
ountry  we 
ve  had  left 
River  in 
so  to  its 
ick  spruce 
;k  growth, 
ntly  quite 
ossing  the 
y  out  of  it 
en,  rocky, 
*en  to  the 
►  the  Kok- 


soaK. 


That  night  was  spent  in  a  snow  igloo. 


The  next  day  we  crossed  the  False  River,  a 
wide  stream  at  its  mouth,  but  a  little  way 
up  not  over  two  hundred  yards  wide.  At 
twelve  o'clock  a  halt  was  made  at  an 
Eskimo  tupek  for  dinner. 

The  people  were  as  these  northern  people 
always  are,  most  hospitable,  giving  us  the 
best  they  had — fresh  venison  and  tea. 
After  but  an  hour's  delay  we  were  away 
again  and  at  three  o'clock,  with  the  dogs 
on  a  gallop,  rounded  the  hill  above  Fort 
Chimo  and  pulled  into  the  Post,  the  far- 
thest limit  of  white  man's  habitation  in 
all  Labrador. 

We  were  welcomed  by  Mr.  D.  Mathew- 
sori,  the  Chief  Trader,  who  has  charge  of  the 
Ungava  District  for  the  Hudson's  Bay 
G)mpany,  and  Dr.  Alexander  Milne,  Assist- 
ant G)mmissioner  of  the  G)mpany,  from 
Winnipeg,  who  had  arrived  on  the  Pelican 
and  was  on  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the 
Labrador  Coast  Posts. 

The  Chief  Trader's  residence  is  a  small 
building,  and  Mr.  Mathewson  was  unable  to 
entertain  us  in  the  house,  but  he  gave 
orders  at  once  to  have  a  commodious  room 
in  one  of  the  dozen  or  so  other  buildings  of 
the  Post  fitted  up  for  us  with  beds,  stove 
and  such  simple  furnishings  as  were  neces- 
sary to  establish  us  in  housekeeping  and 
make  us  comfortable  during  our  stay  with 
him.  Here  we  were  to  remain  until  the 
Indian  and  Eskimo  hunters  came  for  their 
Christmas  and  New  Year's  trading,  at 
which  time,  I  was  advised,  I  should  prob- 
ably be  able  to  engage  Eskimo  drivers  and 
dogs  to  carry  us  eastward  to  the  Atlantic 
coast. 

XVII 

HOMEWARD   BOUND  AT   LAST 

Tighter  and  tighter  grew  the  grip  of 
winter.  Rarely  the  temperature  rose 
above  twenty-five  degrees  below  zero, 
even  at  midday,  and  oftener  it  crept 
well  down  into  the  thirties.  The  air  was 
filled  with  rime,  which  clung  to  every- 
thing, and  the  sun,  only  venturing  now  a 
little  way  above  the  southern  horizon, 
shone  cold  and  cheerless,  weakly  pen- 
etrating the  ever-present  frost  veil.  The 
tide,  still  defying  the  shackles  of  the  mighty 
power  that  had  bound  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  surged  up  and  down,  piling  ponder- 
ous ice  cakes  in  mountainous  h" 


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the  river  banks.  Occasionally  an  Eskimo 
or  two  would  suddenly  appear  out  of  the 
snow-fields,  remain  for  a  day  perhaps,  and 
then  as  suddenly  disappear  into  the  bleak 
wastes  whence  he  had  come. 

Slowly  the  days  dragged  along.  We 
occupied  the  short  hours  of  light  in  read- 
ing old  newspapers  and  magazines,  or 
walking  out  over  the  hills,  and  in  the 
evenings  called  upon  the  Post  officers  or 
entertained  them  in  our  cabin,  where 
Mathewson  often  came  to  smoke  his  after- 
supper  pipe  and  relate  to  us  stories  of  his 
forty-odd  years'  service  as  a  fur  trader  in 
the  northern  wilderness. 

One  bitter  cold  morning,  long  before  the 
first  light  of  day  b^an  to  filter  through  the 
rimy  atmosphere,  we  heard  the  crunch  of 
feet  pass  our  door,  and  a  komatik  slipped 
by.  It  was  Dr.  Milne,  away  to  George 
River  and  the  coast  on  his  tour  of  Post 
inspection,  and  our  little  group  of  white 
men  was  one  less  in  number. 

We  envied  him  his  early  leaving.  We 
ourselves  could  not  start  for  home  until 
after  New  Year's,  for  no  dogs  were  to 
be  had  for  love  or  money  until  the  Eski- 
mos came  in  from  their  hunting  camps  to 
spend  the  holidays.  Everything,  however, 
was  made  ready  for  that  longed-for  time. 
Through  the  kindness  of  Thevenet,  who 
put  his  Post  folk  to  work  for  us,  the  deer- 
skins 1  had  brought  from  Whale  River 
were  dressed  and  made  up  into  sleeping- 
bags  and  skin  clothing,  and  other  neces- 
saries were  got  ready  for  the  long  dpg 
journey  out. 

Christmas  eve  came  finally,  and  with  it 
komatik  loads  of  Eskimos,  who  roused  the 
place  from  its  repose  into  comparative 
wakefulness.  The  newcomers  called  upon 
us  in  twos  or  threes,  never  troubling  to 
knock  before  they  entered  our  cabin, 
looked  us  and  our  things  over  with  much 
interest,  a  proceeding  which  occupied 
usually  a  full  half  hour,  then  went  away, 
sometimes  to  bring  back  newly  arriving 
friends,  to  introduce  them.  A  multitude 
of  dogs  skulked  around  by  day  and  made 
night  hideous  with  howling  and  fighting, 
and  it  was  hardly  safe  to  walk  abroad  with- 
out a  stick,  of  which  they  have  a  whole- 
some fear,  as,  like  their  progenitors,  the 
wolves,  they  are  great  cowards  and  will 
rarely  attack  a  man  when  he  has  any 
visible  means  of  defense  at  hand. 


Christmas  afternoon  was  given  over  to 
shooting  matches,  and  the  evening  to 
dancing.  We  spent  the  day  with  Theve- 
net. .Mathewson  was  not  in  a  position  to  en- 
tertain, as  the  Indian  woman  that  presided 
in  his  kitchen  partook  so  freely  of  liquor  of 
her  own  manufacture  that  she  became 
hilariously  drunk  early  in  the  morning, 
and  for  the  peace  of  the  household  and 
safety  of  the  dishes,  which  she  playfully 
shied  at  whoever  came  within  reach,  she 
was  ejected,  and  Mathewson  prepared  his 
own  meals.  At  Thevenet 's,  however, 
everything  went  smoothly,  and  the  sump- 
tuous meal  of  baked  whitefish,  venison, 
with  canned  vegetables,  plum  pudding, 
cheese  and  coffee — delicacies  held  in  re- 
serve for  the  occasion — made  us  forget  the 
bleak  wilderness  and  ice-bound  land  in 
which  we  were. 

It  seemed  for  a  time  even  now  as  though 
we  should  not  be  able  to  secure  dogs  and 
drivers.  No  one  knew  the  way  to  Ramah, 
and  on  no  account  would  one  of  these  Eski- 
mos undertake  the  journey.  As  a  last  re- 
sort Thevenet  promised  me  his  dogs  and 
driver  to  take  us  at  least  as  far  as  George 
River,  but  finally  Emuk  arrived  and  an  ar- 
rangement was  made  with  him  to  carry  us 
from  Whale  River  to  George  River,  and 
^  two  other  Eskimos  agreed  to  go  with  us  to 
Whale  River.  The  great  problem  that 
confronted  me  now  was  how  to  get  over 
the  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  of  bar- 
rens from  George  River  to  Ramah,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  arrange  for  this  before 
leaving  Fort  Chimo,  as  dogs  to  the  east- 
ward were  even  scarcer  than  here.  Mathew- 
son finally  solved  it  for  me  with  his  promise 
to  instruct  Ford  at  George  River  to  put  his 
team  and  drivers  at  my  disposal.  Thus, 
after  much  bickering,  our  relays  were 
arranged  as  far  as  the  Moravian  mission 
station  at  Ramah,  and  I  trusted  in  Provi- 
dence and  the  coast  Eskimos  to  see  us 
on  from  there.  The  third  of  January  was 
fixed  as  the  day  of  our  departure. 

Our  going  in  winter  was  an  event.  It 
gave  the  Post  folk  an  opportunity  to  send 
out  a  winter  mail,  which  I  volunteered  to 
carry  to  Quebec. 

Straggling  bands  of  Indians,  hauling  fur- 
laden  tobo^ans,  began  to  arrive  during 
the  week,  and  the  bartering  in  the  stores 
was  brisk,  and  to  me  exceedingly  interest- 
ing.    Money  at  Fort  Chimo  is  unknown. 


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Values  are  reckoned  in  "skins" — that  is,  a 
"skin"  b  the  unit  of  value.  There  is  no 
token  of  exchange  to  represent  this  unit, 
however,  and  if  a  hunter  brings  in  more 
pelts  than  sufficient  to  pay  for  his  purcha- 
ses, the  trader  gives  him  credit  on  his  books 
for  the  balance  due,  to  be  drawn  upon  at 
some  future  time.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
however,  the  hunter  is  almost  invariably 
in  debt  to  the  store.  A  "skin"  will  buy  a 
pint  of  molasses,  a  quarter-pound  of  tea  or 
a  quarter-pound  of  black  stick  tobacco. 
A  white  arctic  fox  pelt  is  valued  at  seven 
skins,  a  blue  fox  pelt  at  twelve,  and  a 
black  or  silver  fox  at  eighty  to  ninety 
skins.  South  of  Hamilton  Inlet,  where 
competition  is  keen  with  the  fur  traders, 
they  pay  six  dollars  for  white,  eight  dol- 
lars for  blue  (which,  by  the  way,  are  very 
scarce  there),  and  not  infrequently  as  high 
as  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  or  even 
more  for  black  and  silver  fox  pelts.  The 
cost  of  maintaining  Posts  at  Fort  Chimo, 
however,  is  many  times  greater  than  at 
these  southern  points. 

Here  at  Ungava  the  Eskimos'  hunt  is 
confined  almost  wholly  to  foxes,  polar 
bears,  an  occasional  wolf  and  wolverine, 
and  of  course  during  the  season,  seals, 
walrus  and  white  whales.  An  average 
hunter  will  trap  from  sixty  to  seventy 
foxes  in  a  season,  though  one  or  two  ex- 
ceptional ones  I  knew  have  captured  as 
many  as  two  hundred.  The  Indians  who 
penetrate  far  into  the  interior  bring  out 
marten,  mink  and  otter,  principally,  with 
a  few  foxes,  an  occasional  beaver,  black 
bear,  lynx  and  some  wolf  and  wolverine 
skins.  There  is  a  story  of  a  very  large  and 
ferocious  brown  bear  that  tradition  says 
inhabits  the  barrens  to  the  eastward  to- 
ward George  River.  Mr.  Peter  McKenzie 
told  me  that  many  years  ago,  when  he  was 
statbned  at  Fort  Chimo,  the  Indians 
brought  him  one  of  the  skins  of  this  animal, 
and  John  Ford  at  Geoige  River  said  that 
some  twenty  years  since  he  saw  a  piece  of 
one  of  the  skins.  Both  agreed  that  the  hair 
was  very  long,  light  brown  in  color,  silver 
tipped  and  of  a  decidedly  different  species 
from  either  the  polar  or  black  bear.  This 
is  the  only  definite  information  as  to  it  that 
I  was  able  to  gather.  The  Indians  speak 
of  it  with  dread,  and  insist  that  it  is  still  to 
be  found,  though  none  of  them  can  say 
positively  that  he  has  seen  one  in  a  decade. 


1  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  brown 
bear,  so  far  as  Labrador  is  concerned,  has 
been  exterminated. 

New  Year's  is  the  great  day  at  Fort 
Chimo.  All  morning  there  were  shooting- 
matches  and  foot-races,  and  in  the  after- 
noon football  games  were  in  progress,  in 
which  the  Eskimo  men  and  women  alike 
joined.  The  Indians,  who  were  recover- 
ing from  an  all-night  drunk  on  their  vile 
beer,  and  a  revel  in  the  "Qjieen's"  cabin, 
condescended  to  take  part  in  the  shooting- 
matches,  but  held  majestically  aloof  from 
the  other  games.  Some  of  them  came  into 
the  French  store  in  the  evening  to  squat 
around  the  room  and  watch  the  dancing 
while  they  puffed  in  silence  on  their  pipes 
and  drank  tea  when  it  was  passed.  That 
was  their  only  show  of  interest  in  the  fes- 
tivities. Early  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  they  all  disappeared.  But  these 
were  only  a  fragment  of  the  many  that 
visit  the  Post  in  summer.  It  is  then  that 
they  have  their  powwow. 

At  last  the  day  of  our  departure  arrived, 
with  a  dull  leaden  sky  and  that  penetrating 
cold  that  eats  to  one's  very  marrow. 
Thevenet  and  Belfleur  came  early  and 
brought  us  a  box  of  cigars  to  ease  the 
tedium  of  the  long  evenings  in  the  snow 
houses.  All  the  little  colony  of  white  men 
were  on  hand  to  see  us  off,  and  I  believe 
were  genuinely  sorry  to  have  us  go,  for  we 
had  become  a  part  of  the  little  coterie  and 
our  coming  had  made  a  break  in  the  lives 
of  these  lonely  exiles.  Men  brought  to- 
gether under  such  conditions  become  very 
much  attached  to  each  other  in  a  short 
time.  "It's  going  to  be  lonesome  now," 
said  Stewart.  "I'm  sorry  you  have  to 
leave  us.  May  God  speed  you  on  your 
way  and  carry  you  through  your  long 
journey  in  safety." 

Finally  our  baggage  was  lashed  on  the 
komatik;  the  dogs,  leaping  and  straining 
at  their  traces,  howled  their  eagerness  to 
be  gone;  we  shook  hands  warmly  with 
everybody,  even  the  Eskimos,  who  came 
forward  wondering  at  what  seemed  to 
them  our  stupendous  undertaking,  the 
komatik  was  "broken"  loose,  and  we  were 
away  at  a  gallop. 

Traveling  was  good,  and  the  nine  dogs 
made  such  excellent  time  that  we  had  to 
ride  in  level  places  or  we  could  not  have 
kept  pace  with  them.    When  there  was  a 


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hill  to  climb  we  pushed  on  the  komatik  or 
hauled  with  the  dogs  on  the  long  bridle  to 
help  them  along.  When  we  had  a  descent 
to  make,  the  drag — a  hoop  of  walrus  hide 
— was  thrown  over  the  front  end  of  one  of 
the  komatik  runners  at  the  top,  and  if  the 
place  was  steep  the  Eskimos,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  komatik,  woulS  cling  on  with 
their  arms  and  brace  their  feet  into  the 
snow  ahead,  doing  their  utmost  to  hold 
back  and  reduce  the  momentum  of  the 
heavy  sledge.  To  the  uninitiated  they 
would  appear  to  be  in  imminent  danger  of 
having  their  legs  broken,  for  the  speed 
down  some  of  the  grades  when  the  crust 
was  hard  and  icy  was  terrific.  When  de- 
scending the  gentler  slopes  we  all  rode, 
depending  upon  the  drag  alone  to  keep 
our  speed  within  reason.  This  coasting 
down  hill  was  always  an  exciting  expe- 
rience, and  where  the  going  was  rough  it 
was  not  easy  to  keep  a  seat  on  the  narrow 
komatik.  Occasionally  the  komatik  would 
turn  over.  When  we  saw  this  was  likely 
to  happen  we  distreetly  dropped  off,  a 
feat  that  demanded  agility  and  practice  to 
be  performed  successfully  and  gracefully. 

It  was  a  relief  beyond  measure  to  feel 
that  we  were  at  length,  after  seven  long 
months,  actually  headed  toward  home  and 
civilization.  Words  cannot  express  the 
feeling  of  exhilaration  that  comes  to  one 
at  such  a  time. 

We  did  not  have  to  go  so  far  up  Whale 
River  to  find  a  crossing  as  on  our  trip  to 
Fort  Oiimo,  and  we  were  fortunate  to  meet 
no  very  rough  ice  on  the  river.  We 
reached  the  eastern  side  before  dark. 
Sometimes  the  ice  hills  are  piled  so  high 
here  by  the  tide  that  it  takes  a  day  or  even 
two  to  cut  a  komatik  path  through  them 
and  cross  the  river.  We  had  very  little 
cutting  to  do.  Not  long  after  dark  we 
coasted  down  the  hill  above  the  Post,  and 
the  cheerful  lights  of  Edmunds'  cabin  were 
at  hand. 

Here  we  had  to  wait  two  days  for  Emuk, 
and  in  the  interim  Mrs.  Edmunds  and 
Mary  went  carefully  over  our  clothes, 
sewed  sealskin  legs  to  deerskin  moccasins, 
made  more  duffel  socks,  and  with  kind 
solicitation  put  all  our  things  into  the  best 
of  shape  and  gave  us  extra  moccasins  and 
mittens.  "Tis  best  to  have  a-plenty  of 
everything  before  you  starts,"  said  Mrs. 
Edmunds,  "for  if  the  huskies  is  huntin' 


deer  the  women'll  do  no  sewin*  on  seal- 
skin, an'  if  they's  huntin'  seals  they'll  not 
touch  a  needle  to  your  deerskins,  though 
you  were  a-freezin'." 

"Why  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"O,  'tis  some  o'  their  heathen  beliefs," 
she  answered.  "They  thinks  'twould 
bring  bad  luck  to  the  hunters.  They're 
believin'  all  kinds  o'  foolishness." 

Emuk  had  never  been  so  far  away  as 
George  River,  and  Sam  Ford  was  to  be 
our  pilot  to  that  point,  and  to  return  with 
Emuk.  The  Eskimos  do  not  consider  it 
safe  for  one  man  to  travel  alone  with  dogs, 
and  they  never  do  it  when  there  is  the 
least  probability  that  they  will  have  to 
remain  out  over  night.  Another  reason 
for  this  is  that  two  men  are  always  needed 
to  build  a  snow  igloo.  It  was  therefore 
necessary  for  me  at  each  point,  when  em- 
ploying the  Eskimo  driver  for  a  new  stage 
of  our  journey,  to  engage  a  companion  for 
him.  that  he  might  have  company  when 
returning  home. 

Our  coming  to  Whale  River  two  months 
before  had  made  a  welcome  break  in  the 
even  tenor  of  the  cheerless,  lonely  exist- 
ence of  our  good  friends  at  the  Post.  In 
the  score  of  years  that  they  had  lived  in 
these  dreary  barrens,  we  were  the  first  vis- 
itors from  the  far-off  world  that  had  ever 
come  to  them,  and  it  was  an  event  in  their 
confined  life. 

"'Twill  be  a  long  time  before  we  has 
folks  come  to  see  us  again;  aye,  a  long 
tune,"  said  Mrs.  Edmunds,  sadly  adding: 
"  1  expects  no  one  will  ever  come  again." 

When  we  said  our  farewells  the  women 
cried.  In  their  Godspeed  the  note  of 
friendship  rang  true  and  honest  and  sin- 
cere. These  people  had  proved  them- 
selves in  a  hundred  ways.  In  civilization, 
where  the  selfish  instinct  governs  so  gen- 
erally, there  are  too  many  Judases.  On  the 
frontier,  in  spite  of  the  rough  exterior  of 
the  people,  you  find  real  men  and  women. 
That  is  one  reason  why  I  like  the  North 
so  well. 

We  left  Whale  River  on  Saturday,  the 
sixth  of  January,  with  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  of  barrens  to  cross  before 
reaching  George  River  Post,  the  nearest 
human  habitation  to  the  eastward.  Our 
fresh  team  of  nine  dogs  was  in  splendid 
trim  and  worked  well,  but  a  three  or  four 


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lOI 


inch  covering  of  light  snow  upon  the  har- 
der under  crust  made  the  going  hard  and 
wearisome  for  the  animals.  The  frost 
flakes  that  filled  the  air  covered  every- 
thing. Ginging  to  the  eyelashes  and 
faces  of  the  men  it  gave  them  a  ghostly 
appearance;  our  skin  clothing  was  white 
with  it;  long  icicles  weighted  our  beards, 
and  the  sharp  atmosphere  made  it  neces- 
sary to  grasp  one's  nose  frequently  to 
make  certain  that  the  member  was  not 
freezing. 

When  we  stopped  for  the  night  our  snow 
house  which  Emuk  and  Sam  soon  had 
ready  seemed  really  cheerful.  Our  halt 
was  made  purposely  near  a  cluster  of  small 
spruce  where  enough  firewood  was  found 
to  cook  our  supper  of  boiled  venison,  hard- 
tack and  tea,  water  being  procured  by 
mdting  ice.  Spruce  boughs  were  scattered 
upon  the  igloo  floor  and  deerskins  spread 
over  these.  After  everything  was  made 
snug,  and  whatever  the  dogs  might  eat  or 
destroy  put  safely  out  of  their  reach,  they 
were  unharnessed  and  fed  the  one  meal 
that  was  allowed  them  each  day  after  their 
work  was  done.  Feeding  the  dogs  was 
always  an  interesting  function.  While  one 
man  cut  the  frozen  food  into  chunks,  the 
rest  of  us,  armed  with  cudgels,  beat  back  the 
animals.  When  the  word  was  given  we 
stepped  to  one  side  to  avoid  the  onrush  as 
they  came  upon  the  food  which  was  bolted 
with  little  or  no  chewing.  They  will  eat 
anything  that  is  fed  them — seal  meat, 
deer  meat,  fish,  or  even  old  hides.  There 
was  always  a  fight  or  two  to  settle  after  the 
feeding,  and  then  the  dogs  made  holes  for 
themselves  in  the  snow  and  lay  down  for 
the  drift  to  cover  them.  When  the  ani- 
mals were  cared  for  we  crawled  with  our 
hot  supper  into  the  igloo,  put  a  block  of 
snow  against  the  entrance  and  stopped  the 
chinks  around  it  with  loose  snow.  Then 
the  kettle  covers  were  lifted  and  the  place 
was  filled  at  once  with  steam  so  thick  that 
one  could  hardly  see  his  elbow  neighbor. 
By  the  time  the  meal  was  eaten  the  tem- 
perature had  risen  to  such  a  point  that  the 
place  was  quite  warm  and  comfortable — 
so  warm  that  the  snow  in  the  top  of  the 
igkx>  was  soft  enough  to  pack  but  not 


quite  soft  enough  to  drip  water.  Then  we 
smoked  some  of  Thevenet's  cigars  and 
blessed  him  for  his  thoughtfulness  in  pro- 
viding them.  Usually  our  snow  igloos 
allowed  each  man  from  eighteen  to  twenty 
inches  space  in  which  to  lie  down,  and  just 
room  enough  to  stretch  his  l^s  well.  With 
our  sleeping-bags  they  were  entirely  com- 
fortable no  matter  what  the  weather  out- 
side. The  snow  is  porous  enough  to 
admit  of  air  circulation,  but  even  a  gale  of 
wind  without  would  not  affect  the  temper- 
ature within.  It  is  claimed  by  the  natives 
that  when  the  wind  blows,  a  snow  house  is 
warmer  than  in  a  period  of  still  cold.  I 
could  see  no  difference.  A  new  snow  igloo 
is,  however,  more  comfortable  than  one 
that  has  been  used,  for  newly  cut  snow 
blocks  are  more  porous.  In  one  that  has 
been  used  there  is  always  a  crust  of  ice  on 
the  interior  which  prevents  a  proper  circu- 
lation of  air. 

On  the  second  day  we  passed  the  shack 
where  Easton  and  1  had  held  our  five-day 
fast,  and  shortly  after  came  out  upon  the 
plains — a  wide  stretch  of  flat,  treeless 
country  where  no  hills  rise  as  guiding  land- 
marks for  the  voyageur.  This  was  beyond 
the  zone  of  Emuk's  wanderings,  and  Sam 
went  several  miles  astray  in  his  calcula- 
tions, which,  in  view  of  the  character  of  the 
country,  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  pilot- 
ing as  he  did  without  a  compass.  How- 
ever, we  were  soon  set  right  and  passed  again 
into  the  rolling  barrens,  with  even  higher 
hills  with  each  eastern  mile  we  traveled. 

At  two  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  Tues- 
day, January  ninth,  we  dropped  over 
the  bank  upon  the  ice  of  George  River 
just  above  the  Post,  and  at  three  o'clock 
were  under  Mr.  Ford's  hospitable  roof 
again. 

Here  we  had  to  encounter  another  vexa- 
tious delay  of  a  week.  Ford's  dogs  had 
been  working  hard  and  were  in  no  condi- 
tion to  travel,  and  not  an  Eskimo  team  was 
there  within  reach  of  the  Post  that  could 
be  had.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait 
for  Ford's  team  to  rest  and  get  into  condi- 
tion before  taking  them  upon  the  trying 
journey  across  the  barren  grounds  that  lay 
between  us  and  the  Atlantic. 


{To  he  conUtmei) 


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This  is  the  season  when  good  Americans  neither  shoot  nor  eat  wild  ducks. 


Working 
to  Save 
the  Bison 

thousands 
dividuals. 


One  of  the  worthiest  causes 
now  before  the  public  for  sup- 
port is  preservation  of  the 
American  bison,  which  in 
hardly  thirty  years  decreased 
from  numberless  herds  of 
to  about  fifteen  hundred  in- 
For  a  long  time  it  has  been  ap- 
parent to  the  intelligent  that  the  day  is 
fast  approaching  when  the  bison  will  be- 
come extinct  unless  by  some  unusual  and 
united  effort  its  rapidly  diminishing  num- 
bers are  restored  through  powerful  pro- 
tective measures.  This  realization  has 
spurred  to  effort  from  time  to  time  various 
organizations  of  sportsmen  and  some  in- 
dividual men;  but  none  has  made  material 
advance  and  all  together  have  had  little 
effect  on  the  real  issue.  The  only  practical 
results  of  the  agitation  were  the  establish- 
ment by  sportsmen  of  small  herds  for  their 
private  estates.  Several  of  our  zoological 
gardens  also  have  done  excellent  service 
through  securing  small  herds  and  endeav- 
oring to  surround  them  with  conditions 
conducive  to  breeding.  One  of  the  most 
intelligent  workers  along  these  lines  is  the 
Zoological  Society  of  New  York,  which  has 
gathered  the  largest  number  to  be  found  in 
any  zoological  garden  of  the  world  and 
turned  them  out  on  a  range  which  more 
nearly  than  that  of  any  other  enclosure 
approaches  conditions  of  real  wildness. 
Yet  the  breeding  results  on  private  estates, 
on  rather  extended  ranges,  and  at  the 
several  zoological  gardens  have  been  about 
the  same,  and  none  too  encouraging.  The 
bison  does  breed  in  captivity  and  appears  to 
live  in  health,  but  the  calf  is  not  a  vigorous 
specimen.     It  is  a  weakling,  in  a  word. 

Those  of  us  who  have  been  watching  these 
matters  rather  closely  and  with  some  in- 


telligence have  come  to  understand  that 
under  existing  conditions  it  will  be  only  a 
short  period  of  years  when  herds  confined 
within  limited  areas  will  gradually  diminish 
into  a  weedy,  degenerate  remnant,  and  no 
doubt  in  time  pass  out  of  existence  al- 
together. Thus,  as  I  say,  most  of  us  have 
known  for  a  long  time  that  something  of  a 
big  scope  must  be  done  to  save  the  bison 
from  extinction,  but  it  remained  for  Ernest 
Harold  Baynes  to  inaugurate  a  practicable 
working  plan. 

For  several  years  Mr.  Baynes  sought  to 
arouse  enough  public  interest  to  permit  of 
the  formation  of  a  national  society  for  the 
protection  and  preservation  of  the  bison, 
and  last  year  success  crowned  his  effort  in 
the  organization  of  the  American  Bison 
Society,  of  which  Theodore  Roosevelt  is 
the  honorary  president  and  William  T. 
Homaday,  the  active  president.  In  Mr. 
Homaday  Mr.  Baynes  found  a  sympa- 
thetic and  active  co-laborer  in  the  worthy 
work,  and  it  is  very  gratifying  to  record 
here  that  the  results  attendant  upon  their 
united  efforts  have  given  the  Society  an 
encouraging  start. 


Out-trots 
a  Steer 


During    its    first    year    the 
work    of    the    Society    was 
largely    educational.     Scores 
of  newspaper  and  magazine 
articles,,  many  of  them  illus- 
trated, were  written  and  published  mostly 
in  the  United  States,  but  also  in  Canada 
and  in  Europe;  the  majority  of  the  news- 
paper articles  being  syndicated  and  printed 
simultaneously   in   about   twenty  of  the 
leading  papers  from  New  Hampshire  to 
California.    As   supplementing   this   mis- 
sionary service,  Mr.  Baynes  spent  a  great 
deal  of  time  on  free  lecture  tcmrs  through- 
I02  Digitized  by  Vni        ^ 


The  View-Point 


103 


out  New  England,  New  York  and  at  Wash- 
ington. In  addition  he  also  succeeded  in 
breaking  to  yoke  and  to  harness  a  pair  of 
young  bison  taken  from  the  Corbin  herd  in 
New  Hampshire,  and  these  he  exhibited 
at  many  agricultural  fairs  and  sportsmen's 
shows.  Incidentally,  Mr.  Baynes  writes 
me  that  these  bison  will  be  two  years  old  in 
April  of  this  year  and  that  they  have  be- 
come more  and  more  tractable  and  show 
speed,  strength  and  endurance.  He  has 
made  several  attempts  to  match  these 
bison  in  a  speed  contest  with  domestic 
steers  of  the  same  age,  but  with  little  suc- 
cess. One  farmer,  however,  in  Maine,  who 
had  broken  a  steer  to  sulky,  and  which 
enjoyed  quite  a  local  reputation  for  speed, 
agr^  to  a  match  at  a  half  mile.  The 
contest  was  held  on  the  race  track  during 
the  Central  Maine  Fair,  and  the  bison  won 
by  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile!  All  this  may 
read  as  irrelevant  to  the  legitimate  work 
of  bison  preservation,  yet  the  fact  is  that 
not  only  is  it  decidedly  germane,  but  it 
indicates  good  judgment  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Baynes;  because  such  exhibitions  of  the 
bison  attract  public  attention  and  arouse 
popular  curiosity  and  interest  in  the  real 
work  which  the  Society  seeks  to  accomplish. 


Many  Usee 
for  the 
Biaon 


Preserving  the  bison  on 
sentimental  ground  is  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  more 
intelligent  of  our  people, 
but  sentimental  ground  is 
not  at  all  sufficient  to  the 
average  American  mind.  And  it  is,  there- 
fore, with  wisdom  that  Mr.  Baynes  has 
sought  to  extend  the  appeal  which  the 
bison  has  for  many  different  kinds  of  peo- 
ple. For  example,  last  summer  he  took 
up  the  questbn  of  buffalo  wool.  A  small 
quantity  was  obtained  just  as  it  was  shed 
by  the  animals,  was  carded  at  a  factory  and 
later  spun  and  knitted  into  gloves  which 
proved  very  warm  and,  so  far  as  could  be 
judged  from  a  few  months'  wear,  durable 
as  well.  Samples  of  this  wool  and  yam 
have  been  submitted  to  manufacturers,  who 
all  agree  that  the  wool  is  of  a  very  good 
quality,  that  for  a  while  it  would  demand  a 
high  price  as  a  novelty  and  later  a  very 
good  price  for  general  utility  purposes 
where  light  colors  are  not  required.  Other 
men  Mr.  Baynes  has  found  who  are  inter- 
ested in  the  bison  as  a  beef  animal,  and 


still  others  who  are  inclined  to  give  ear  to 
the  voice  of  the  Society  because  they  be- 
lieve that  by  crossing  the  bison  with  certain 
breeds  of  domestic  cattle,  a  valuable  new 
breed  may  in  time  be  evolved.  Indeed 
some  rather  conservative  scientific  men 
have  expressed  the  opinion  that  bison  farms 
would  prove  profitable  in  any  of  the  states 
included  in  the  animal's  former  range. 

Thus  has  Mr.  Baynes  sought  to  arouse 
public  interest  from  as  many  points  of  view 
as  possible,  and  especially  through  suggest- 
ing the  commercial  uses  to  which  the  ani- 
mal might  be  put,  he  has  succeeded  in 
making  widely  known  the  existence  of  the 
Society  and  the  movement  it  is  fathering 
for  the  preservation  of  a  dying  race. 

That  I  choose  my  word  (dy- 

Th   Last         ^"^   ^^^^    advisedly    I    will 

of    Dvinff       ^^^^  ^^  ^  ^*^^  ^^  ^^^  number 
allying       ^^  ^^.^^   .^   ^^^  world,  the 

basis  of  which  figures  are 
taken  from  the  report  of  Dr. 
Frank  Baker,  of  the  National  Zoological 
Park  at  Washington,  who  in  1905  com- 
piled a  census  from  data  which  he  had 
gathered  in  every  case  from  the  owners  or 
persons  in  charge  of  the  bison.  In  the 
first  place  I  may  say  that  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  herd  near  Great  Slave  Lake 
and  a  little  herd  in  Yellowstone  National 
Park,  there  are  no  examples  of  the  Ameri- 
can bison  unconfined  in  all  the  world. 


PuRB  Bloods  in  thb  United  States 

Flathead  Indian  Reservation,  Montana  (Michel 

Pablo). 300 

Austin  Corbin  Estate.  Newport,  N.  H 170 

Fort  Pierre,  S.  D.  (Tames  Philip) 108 

(Goodnight,  Texas  (Charles  (Goodnight) 55 

Kalispell  (Mrs.  A.  D.  Conrad) 55 

Pawnee.  ()kla.  (G.  W.  LiUie) 48 

Yellowstone  National  Park,  Wyoming  (in  cap- 
tivity)   39 

Yellowstone  National  Park,  Wyoming  (rtmning 

wild) ao 

Wild  West  Show.  Missoula 3a 

New  York  Zodlogical  Society  Park,  Bronx 31 

Island  Improvement  0>. ,  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah . .  38 

The  Golden  Gate  Park,  San  Francisco 14 

Denver  City  Park.  Colorado 10 

Washington  National  Zodlogical  Park 14 

Lincoln  Park.  Chicago ao 

Belvidere,  Kansas  (F.  Rockefeller) 26 

Cardigan.  Minn.  (J.  T.  HUl) 16 

Cincinnati  Zodlogical  Garden x6 

Bliss,  Okla..  zoi  Ranch 23 

Bancroft.  Iowa  (C.  G.  Lenander) 10 

Ronan,  Montana  (Baton  Bros.) xo 

Philadelphia  Zodlogical  Gardens 8 

I.OS3 

To  a  small  extent  changes  are  always 
making  in  numbers  and  at  times  in  the 
ownership  of  the  smaller  herds,  but  these 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


I04 


The  Outing  Magazine 


figures  are  substantially  correct.  There 
are  also  some  small  herds  containing  from 
two  to  six  scattered  throughout  the  coun- 
try, making,  say,  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty  all  told,  and  thus  we  get  a  total  of 
one  thousand  one  hundred  and  eighty-three 
pure  blooded  bison  in  the  United  States. 

The  effort  making  in  several  directions 
to  cross  the  bison  with  cattle  has  resulted  in 
a  hybrid  called  catalo.    Of  these  there  are: 

Hybrids  in  tbb  United  Status 
a6  in  California  (B.  G.  Molera) 
13  in  Minnesota 
95  in  Montana  (Pablo) 
I  a  in  Oklahoma 
39  in  South  Dakota 
65  in  Texas  (Goodnight) 
5  in  Wyoming 

845 

Besides  these  there  are  about  seventeen  in 
scattered  ownership,  which  would  make  a 
total  of  two  hundred  and  sixty-two  hybrids. 


The  Only 


In  Canada  the  principal  herd 

is  located  in  a  large  triangle, 

P    «  formed  by  the  Great  Slave 

xn^itJ^r^i  and  the  Peace  and  the  Hay 

Wild  Bison  *u       *      r    i    1 

nvers   northwest    of    Lake 

Athabasca  and  south  of 
Great  Slave  Lake.  These  are  called  wood 
bison,  but  are  in  fact  the  old  plains  bison 
with  a  thicker,  darker  robe,  and  a  fuller 
stem.  The  extreme  cold  of  their  natural 
reserve  explains  the  warmer  pelt,  and  a  less 
harassed  life  answers,  I  suppose,  for  the 
heavier  stem.  This  herd  is  variously  es- 
timated as  containing  from  three  to  five 
hundred.  Three  or  four  years  ago  it  was 
officially  said  to  number  six  hundred.  As 
only  a  stray  Indian  or  so  now  and  again 
penetrates  the  range  of  these  animals,  there 
is  good  cause  for  the  wide  difference  of 
figures.  Actually  very  little  is  known  of 
the  herd. 

On  my  way  to  the  Barren  Grounds  and 
the  Arctic  Ocean  after  musk-oxen  in  1895, 
I  made  a  side  hunt  for  this  herd  of  bison. 
At  that  time  their  number  was  estimated 
by  the  local  Indians  and  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  Factor  at  Fort  Smith — the  near- 
est post  to  their  range — as  being  from  two 
hundred  and  fifty  to  three  hundred.  I  do 
not  believe  the  number  has  decreased  very 
much,  nor  is  it  likely  to  have  increased  since 
then,  so  1  should  say  that  three  hundred 
very  fairly  represents  the  number  of  these 
animals  yet  alive.  Their  increase  would 
be  normal  were  it  not  for  the  wolves  which 
kill  the  calves  when  an  unusually  heavy 


snow  has  been  followed  by  freezing  sleet 
which  puts  the  heavy  bison  at  the  mercy  of 
the  agile  and  ravenous  wolves  that  run  to 
the  attack  over  the  cmst.  At  such  times, 
which  come  usually  once  in  every  winter, 
it  is  impossible  for  the  bison  to  defend  their 
young  and  the  natural  increase  is  killed. 
This  is  the  only  real  menace  to  the  life  of 
these  bison. 

It  is  now  about  ten  years  since  the 
Canadian  government  established  protect 
tion  for  this  herd  by  a  perpetual  close  sea- 
son, but  it  was  not  at  all  necessary,  for  1 
believe  I  am  correct  in  saying  that  none 
has  ever  been  killed  by  a  white  man  and 
only  a  comparative  few  by  Indians.  I 
know  of  only  three  white  men  that  have 
penetrated  to  the  actual  wood  bison  range: 
Warburton  Pike,  Henry  Toke  Munn  and 
myself.  All  three  of  us  on  our  independent 
trips  had  an  extremely  hard  experience  and 
none  of  us  scored.  Both  Pike  and  I  after 
several  weeks  of  hard  tracking  on  starva-  . 
tion  rations  found  the  game;  each  of  us 
had  a  view  and  each  of  us  lost  his  chance 
through  the  Indian  guide  firing  unex- 
pectedly (to  us)  and  prematurely  at  the 
moment  when  we  were  each  starting  to 
circle  within  range.  In  each  case  the  herd 
"went  out  of  the  country,"  not  again  to  be 
seen,  though  both  of  us  hunted  hard  for 
days  after.  Munn  made  a  hunt  lasting 
something  like  two  weeks,  but  though  he 
got  on  tracks  he  did  not  have  the  good 
fortune  (or  the  misfortune)  to  actually  see 
bison.  Before  the  government  had  pro- 
tected the  bison,  a  couple  of  other  white 
men  set  out  from  the  railroad  to  hunt  them, 
but  1  believe  never  really  got  into  the  coun- 
try. Thus  it  is  easy  to  see  that,  even  were 
there  no  protection,  the  danger  of  these  ani- 
mals being  slaughtered  by  man  b  remote. 

There  has  been  some  talk  in 
First  C  tch  ^^^^^  of  a  wolf  bounty 
Your  W  If  ^^^  ^^^  '^^^  ^^  cleaning 
them  out  so  as  to  insure  the 
bison  freedom  from  attack 
during  the  severe  storm  periods  which  visit 
their  section  with  regularity.  1 1  is  a  worthy 
thought,  and  I  hope  the  Dominion  govern- 
ment will  spread  such  a  law  on  record,  but 
privately  1  confess  to  very  great  doubts  as 
to  its  achieving  any  extended  practical 
results.  The  wolf  is  a  very  canny  gentle- 
man and  not  easily  to  be  caught  by  either 
art  or  by  cajolery;  in  this  partic^r  coun- 

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try  he  is  favored  by  a  wilderness  which  is 
difficult  in  the  extreme  for  travel,  and  so  far 
removed  from  man's  habitation  as  to  make 
a  trip  unattractive  and  impracticable 
except  the  reward  be  considerable.  For 
example,  the  point  of  departure  for  the 
wood  bison  country  is  Fort  Smith,  and 
Fort  Smith  is  about  five  hundred  miles  of 
snowshoeing  from  the  railroad.  Then  it 
would  be  necessary  to  take  from  the  rail- 
road your  provisions  for  the  entire  trip,  be- 
cause the  two  Hudson's  Bay  Company  posts 
en  route,  and  especially  Fort  Smith,  rarely 
in  winter  have  more  than  enough  for  their 
own  needs.  From  Fort  Smith  you  would 
have  about  a  week's  stiff  snowshoeing 
until  you  got  into  the  bison  country.  You 
may  go  into  this  section  only  in  winter,  be- 
cause you  must  travel  over  muskeg,  and 
the  muskeg  of  this  region  is  practically  im- 
passable except  when  frozen  and  snowed 
upon. 

Having  got  into  the  country  the  next 
step  would  be  to  catch  the  wolf,  and  I  need 
not  tell  my  knowing  readers  what  that 
implies.  In  fine,  the  idea  of  protecting 
these  bison  by  levying  bounty  on  the  wolves 
is  well  meant,  but  unfortunately  I  believe 
it  is  not  feasible.  It  would  require  six  to 
eight  months  and  the  provisions  for  the 
hunter,  his  party  and  his  dogs,  to  make  a 
trip  of  this  kind — and  it  would  take  a 
great  many  wolves'  scalps  to  cover  even 
the  expenses  of  that  journey. 

So  I  think  we  are  safe  in  putting  down 
the  number  of  bison  in  that  part  of  Gm- 
ada  as  about  three  hundred. 

PuRB   Bloods  in  Canada 

AthabMca  ■ection 300 

Banff 38 

Wumipeg i  x 

Toronto a 

Hybrids  in  Canada  35  x 

7  in  AHierta  and  94  in  Ontario;  31  in  all. 

Thus  it  is  demonstrated  that  in 
.^  the   United   States  we   have 

1,053  pure  blooded  bison  of 
*""*"'*  which  all  but  20  are  in  cap- 
tivity. In  Canada  are  351 
pure  blooded  animals  of  which  300  are  in 
the  wild  state,  making  a  total  of  i  ,404  pure 
bkxxied  American  bison  left  out  of  the 
countless  thousands  that  but  little  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  covered 
great  areas  of  the  western  prairie.  Nothing 
like  it  ever  has  been  recorded  in  the  world 
of  animal  life.    It  reads  like  a  fairy  tale. 


In  Europe  there  are  about  107  pure 
bkxxied  examples  of  the  American  bison,  of 
which  number  England  has  32,  Germany 
44,  Hungary  10,  France  i,  Netherlands  12, 
and  Russia  8,  and  there  are  about  20 
hybrids  in  Europe,  of  which  England  has 
15  and  Russia  5. 

With  these  figures  and  facts 

--      Y  in  view  none  will  deny  the 

C     Hd  worthiness  or  the  timeliness 

*°       ^        of  the  cause  for  which 

the  American  Bison  Society 
stands,  viz.:  the  "permanent  preservation 
and  increase  of  the  American  bison." 

Now,  although  fairly  successful  results 
have  attended  the  efforts  of  the  officers  and 
Board  of  Managers  of  this  Society  to  raise 
money,  yet  the  sum  realized  is  not  com- 
mensurate with  either  the  effort  of  these 
gentlemen  or  with  the  cause  they  represent. 
The  truth  is  that  the  Society  has  been  and 
is  very  much  handicapped  for  money.  It 
needs  money  badly.  It  will  be  to  the  ever- 
lasting disgrace  of  us  Americans  if  the 
bison  is  permitted  to  pass  into  extinction, 
and  now  there  is  not  longer  the  excuse  of 
no  practicable  method,  for  here  stands 
ready  a  Society  with  the  organization  and 
the  impulse,  and  the  plan  for  carrying  out 
protective  measures  on  a  thorough-going 
working  basis.  It  is  therefore  now  within 
the  means  of  every  citizen  of  this  country 
to  lend  aid  in  this  good  work — and  that  aid 
may  be  rendered  by  joining  the  American 
Bison  Society.  The  fee  is  a  very  small  one 
(Five  Dollars)  and  may  be  remitted  to  the 
Treasurer,  Clarke  Williams,  26  Nassau  St., 
New  York,  or  to  the  Secretary,  Ernest  Har- 
old Baynes,  Sunset  Ridge,  Meriden,  N.  H., 
or  to  the  President,  William  T.  Homaday, 
New  York  Zoological  Park,  New  York. 

The  Society  has  money  enough  to  begin 
its  work,  but  it  will  be  stopped  unless  more 
money  is  raised,  either  through  this  meas- 
ure of  increased  membership  or  through 
the  contributions  of  those  who  indorse 
the  splendid  work  and  can  afford  to  help 
through  substantial  donations.  One  hun- 
dred dollars  is  a  very  small  sum  to  a  very 
great  number  of  our  well-to-do  American 
citizens,  yet  if  a  given  number  of  them 
could  be  smitten  by  an  acute  attack  of 
Americanism  and,  as  a  symptom,  forward 
that  sum  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  I  have 
named — the  Society  would  be  placed  be- 
yond financial  embarrassment-^^  t 

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The  scheme  of  the  Society  is 
Federal  ^°  establish  herds  under  as 

Aij  VT    J  J    natural  conditions  as  possible 
Aid  Needed  ^  ,      .  .     j.^r 

on  government  land  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  country.  One 
manner  of  doing  this  is  to  buy  bison  from 
private  herds  and  present  them  to  the 
Federal  government  to  be  maintained  and 
protected  by  the  government  on  ranges  in 
the  forest  reserves  or  elsewhere  set  apart 
and  fenced  for  this  purpose,  with  money 
appropriated  by  Congress. 

Last  year  the  Zoological  Society  of  New 
York  offered  twenty  of  its  herd  to  the 
government  on  the  understanding  that  if 
the  gift  was  accepted  a  range  should  be 
fenced  off  at  Federal  expense  on  the 
Wichita  Reservation.  The  gift  was  ac- 
cepted under  these  conditions,  and  it  is  a 
very  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  record 
that  Congress  took  sufficient  time  from  its 
pursuit  of  personal  interests  to  appropriate 
$1 5,000  for  fencing  this  range  and  for  build- 
ing the  necessary  corrals  and  sheds.  This 
range  will  be  ready  for  occupancy  shortly, 
and  by  the  autumn  we  should  have  working 
the  first  practical  effort  for  preserving  the 
bison. 

With  such  ends  in  view  the  American 
Bison  Society  is  trying  to  induce  the  New 
York  Legislature  to  put  apart  some  State 
land  in  the  Adirondacks  and  appropriate 
a  sufficient  sum  of  money,  something  like 
$12,000,  1  believe,  for  the  purchase  and 
support  of  a  small  herd  in  that  section. 
The  idea  is  to  foster  a  scheme  for  establish- 
ing and  maintaining  State  herds  on  public 
lands,  and  the  plan  is  to  be  put  before 
the  legislatures  of  such  states  as  have 
considerable  public  land  suitable  for  the 
purpose.  The  wisdom  of  this  course  is 
beyond  question. 

For  a  long  time  all  thinking 
Forest  American    citizens    have   felt 

j^  convinced     that     the    surest 

-..  method  of  protecting  the  re- 

a  Refuge  1        r  a 

-^  -  ^        mainmg  examples  of  our  Am- 
erican wild  fauna  is  to  make 
game  refuges  of  all  the  forest 
reserves.    This  plan  has  been  put  before 
Congress  several  times  and  indorsed  by  the 


President  and  urged  and  supported  by  some 
of  our  broadest  minded  and  most  earnest 
Americans,  but  so  far  Congress  has  been  too 
absorbed  in  paying  off  personal  grudges 
to  take  time  for  anything  of  a  popular 
economic  interest  such  as  this.  The  day 
is  coming,  however,  when  Congress  must 
yield  to  the  demand  of  the  people,  and  it  is 
the  duty  of  every  American  citizen  to  vote 
only  for  such  men  as  will  listen  to  the  voice 
of  the  people  and  not  place  private  crusades 
above  economic  questions  in  his  service  at 
Washington. 

Every  schoolboy  nowadays  knows  the 
importance  to  this  country  of  forest  preser- 
vation and  of  the  protection  and  pres- 
ervation of  our  remaining  wild  animals. 
Included  in  this  latter  question  is  the 
present  very  earnest  move  for  the  pro- 
tection of  our  bison,  and  if  every  indi- 
vidual will  do  his  share  success  is  assured. 
And  to  do  his  share  in  this  matter  is  a  part 
of  good  citizenship. 

I  hope  1  do  not  appeal  in  vain  when  I  ask 
every  reader  of  this  magazine  to  send  in 
his  membership  fee  to  the  American  Bison 
Society,  and  to  make  his  state  and  national 
representatives  know  in  no  uncertain  terms 
of  its  being  his  will  that  the  splendid  and 
comprehensive  plans  for  forest  preservation 
be  indorsed,  that  forest  reserves  be  made 
also  national  game  reserves,  that  the  bill  of 
George  Shiras,  3d,  which  has  for  its  pur- 
pose the  Federal  control  of  the  laws  govern- 
ing migratory  game  be  passed  when  next 
it  comes  up,  and  that  more  protection  be 
given  the  upland  plover.  All  such  matters 
are  not  sentimental  questions.  They  are 
questions  that  concern  very  closely  na- 
tional economics.  Two  of  them,  the 
forestry  and  the  protection  of  the  plover, 
are  especially  close  to  the  farmer,  for 
denudation  of  forest  land  touches  the  water 
supply,  and  loss  of  the  plover  means  taking 
from  the  agricultural  districts  one  of  the 
most  indefatigable  hunters  of  the  weevil 
and  of  the  grasshopper  and  other  crop- 
destroying  insects. 

Let  us  all  get  together  in  one  strong 
united  effort  to  have  these  measures  not 
only  brought  to  the  attention  of  Congress, 
but  put  through. 


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CAMP   EQUIPMENT 


BY   STEWART   EDWARD   WHITE 


CHAPTER  VII 
Grub  (Continued) 

DESICCATED    FOODS 

As  I  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  this 
chapter,  modem  desiccation  of  foods 
has  helped  the  wilderness  traveler  to  some 
extent.  I  think  I  have  tried  about  every- 
thing in  this  line.  In  the  following  list  I 
shall  mention  those  I  think  good,  and  also 
those  particularly  bad.  Any  not  men- 
tioned it  may  be  implied  that  I  do  not  care 
for  myself;  but  am  willing  to  admit  that 
yovL  may. 

Canned  Eggs,  The  very  best  thing  of 
this  kind  is  made  by  the  Bakers'  National 
Egg  Co.  of  St.  Louis.  It  is  a  coarse  yellow 
granulation  and  comes  in  one  potmd  screw- 
top  tin  cans.  Each  can  contams  the  equiv- 
alent of  five  dozen  eggs,  and  costs,  I  think, 
only  $i.oo.  A  tablespoon  of  the  powder 
and  two  of  water  equals  an  egg.  With  that 
egg  you  can  make  omelets  and  scrambled 
eggs  which  you  could  not  possibly  tell  from 
the  new  laid.  Two  cans,  weighing  two 
pounds,  will  last  you  all  summer;  and 
think  of  the  delight  of  an  occasional  egg 
for  breakfast  I  The  German  canned  eges  are 
rather  evil  tasting,  do  not  beat  up  ught, 
and  generally  declme  sullenly  to  cook. 

Soups.  Some  of  the  compressed  soups 
are  excellent.  The  main  dimculty  is  that 
they  are  put  up  in  flimsy  paper  packages 
difficult  to  carry  without  breaking.  Also 
I  have  fotmd  tliat  when  you  take  but  two 
kettles,  you  are  generally  htmgry  enough 
to  begrudge  one  of  them  to  anything  as 
thin  as  even  the  best  soup.  However, 
occasionally,  a  hot  cupftd  is  a  good  thing, 
and  I  s)iould  always  include  a  few  packages. 
The  most  filling  and  nourishing  is  the 
German  army  ration  called  Erbswurst,  It 
comes  in  a  sausage-shaped  package  which 
is  an  exception  to  the  rule  in  that  it  is 
strongly  constructed.  You  cut  off  an  inch 
and  bcm  it.  The  taste  is  like  that  of  a 
thick  bean  soup.  It  is  said  to  contain  all 
the  elements  of  nutrition. 

We  have  tried  them  all,  and  have  decided 
that  they  can  be  divided  into  two  classes: 
those  that  taste  like  soup  and  the  dish-water 
brand.  The  former  comprise  pea,  bean, 
lentil,  rice  and  onion;  the  latter,  all  others. 

The  green  pea  and  lentil  make  really 
ddidous  soup. 

Bouillon  capsules  of  all  sorts  I  have  no 
use  for.  They  serve  to  flavor  hot  water, 
and  that  is  about  all. 

Desiccated  Vegetables  come  in  tablets 
about  four  inches  square  and  a  quarter  of 


an  inch  thick.  A  quarter  of  one  of  these 
tablets  makes  a  dish  for  two  people.  You 
soak  it  several  hours,  then  boil  it.  In 
general  the  results  are  all  alike,  and  equally 
tasteless  and  loathsome.  The  most  nota- 
ble exception  is  the  string  beans.  They 
come  out  quite  like  the  original  vegetable, 
both  in  appearance  and  taste.  I  always 
take  some  along.  Enough  for  twenty 
meals  could  be  carried  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  your  waistcoat. 

Julienne,  a  mixture  of  carrots  and  other 
vegetables  cut  into  strips  and  dried.  When 
soaked  and  boiled  it  swells  to  its  original 
size.  A  half  cupful  makes  a  meal  for  two. 
It  ranks  with  the  strin^^  beans  in  being 
thoroughly  palatable.  Inese  two  prepara- 
tions are  much  better  than  canned  goods, 
and  are  much  more  easily  carried. 

Potatoes,  saxin,  saccharine  and  crystaUose 
I  have  already  mentioned. 

QUANTITY 

That  completes  the  most  elaborate  grub 
list  I  should  care  to  recommend.  As  to 
a  quantitative  list,  that  is  a  matter  of 
considerably  more  elasticity.  I  have  kept 
track  of  the  exact  quantity  of  food  con- 
stmied  on  a  great  many  trips,  and  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  anything  but 
the  most  tentative  statements  must  spring 
from  lack  of  experience.  A  man  paddling 
a  canoe  or  carrying  a  pack  all  day  will  eat 
a  great  deal  more  than  would  the  same  man 
sittim^  a  horse.  A  trip  in  the  clear,  bracing 
air  of  the  mountains  arouses  keener  appe- 
tites than  a  desert  journey  near  the  bottlers 
of  Mexico.  If  either  party  were  to  depend 
on  the  other  party's  fist,  it  would  be  woe- 
fully surprised.  The  variation  is  really 
astonishing. 

Therefore,  the  following  figures  must  be 
experimented  with  rather  cautiously.  They 
represent  an  average  of  many  of  my  own 
tnps. 

ONB  month's   SUPPLIB8   FOR  ONB  MAN   ON 
A   PORBST  TRIP 

15  lb.  flour  (includes  flour,  pancake  floor,  oom- 
meal,  in  proportions  to  suit). 

15  lb.  meat  (bacon  or  boned  ham). 

8  lb.  rice. 

i  lb.  baking  powder. 

I  lb.  tea. 

a  lb.  sugar. 

150  saccharine  tsfbleti. 

8  lb.  cereal. 

I  lb.  raisins. 

Salt  and  pepper. 

5  lb.  beans. 


3  lb.  or  4  dos.  Erbswurst. 
a  lb.  or  t  dos.  dried  vegetables. 
9  lb.  dried  potatoes. 
I  can  Bakers'  eggs. 


107 


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ONB  MONTH'S   8UPPLIB8   FOR  ONB  MAN   ON 
PACK-HORSB  TRIP 

15  lb.  floitr  supplies   (flour,   flapjack  flour,  oorxi' 
meal). 

1 5  lb.  ham  and  bacon, 
a  lb.  hominy. 

tlb.  rice, 
lb.  baking  powder. 

X  lb.  coflee. 

i  lb.  tea. 

so  lb.  potatoes. 

A  few  onions. 

a  lb.  sugar. 

X50  saccharine  tablets. 

3  lb.  pail  cottolene,  or  can  olive  oil. 

3  lb.  cream  of  wheat. 

<  lb.  mixed  dried  fruit. 

Salt,  pepper,  cinnamon. 
%  cans  evaporated  cream. 
)  gal.  syrup  or  honey. 

5  lb.  b«ins. 
Chilis. 
Pilot  bread  (in  flour  cask). 

6  cans  com. 


6  cans  salmon, 
a  cans  corned  beef. 
I  can  Bakers'  eggs. 
h  dos.  Maf{gi's  soups. 
t  dos.  dned  vegetables 
— beans  and  Julienne. 

These  lists  are  not  supposed  to  be  **  eaten 
down  to  the  bone."  A  man  cannot  figiire 
that  closely.  If  you  buy  just  what  is  in- 
cluded in  them,  you  will  be  well  fed,  but 
will  probably  have  a  little  left  at  the  end 
of  the  month.     If  you  did  not,  you  would 

grobably  begin  to  worry,  about  the  twenty- 
fth  day.  And  this  does  not  pay.  Of 
course  it  you  get  game  and  fish  you  can 
stay  out  over  the  month. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

HORSB    OUTFITS 

We  nave  now  finished  the  detailing  of 
your  wear  and  food.  There  remains  still 
the  problem  of  how  you  and  it  are  to  be 
transported.  You  may  travel  through  the 
wilderness  by  land  or  by  water.  In  the 
former  case  you  will  either  go  afoot  or  on 
horseback;  m  the  latter  you  will  use  a 
canoe.  Let  us  now  consider  in  detail  the 
equipments  necessary  for  these  different 
sorts  of  travel. 

RIDING   SADDLES 

You  will  find  the  Mexican  or  cowboy 
saddle  the  only  really  handy  riding  saddle. 
I  am  fully  aware  of  the  merits  of  the 


Sawbuck  saddle. 


Riding  saddle. 


McClellan  and  army  saddles,  but  they  lack 
what  seems  to  me  one  absolute  essential, 
and  that  is  the  pommel,  or  horn.  By 
wrapping  your  rope  about  the  latter  you 
can  lead  reluctant  horses,  pull  firewood  to 
camp,  extract  bogged  animals,  and  rope 
wild  stock.  Without  it  you  are  practicaUy 
helpless  in  such  circumstances.  The  only 
advantage  claimed  for  the  army  saddle  is 


Under  side  of  pack 
saddle. 


Saddle  holster — usual  arrange 
ment  of  straps. 

..     -.  ,  .  «^     j.^       *  Proper  way  of  ar- 

itS  h^htness.      The  differ^      ranging   straps  on 
ence  in  weight  between  it     holster  and  saddle, 
and  the  cowboy   saddle 
need  not  be  so  marked  as  is  ordinarily  the 
case.     A  stock  saddle,  used  daily  in  roping 
heavy  cows,  weighs  quite  properly  from 
thirty-five  to  fifty  potmds.  The  same  saddle 
(of  lighter  leather  throughout),  made  by  a 
conscientious  man,  need  weigh  but  twenty- 
five  or  thirty,  and  will  still  be  strong  and 
durable  enough  for  all  ordinary  use.     My 
own  weighs  but  twenty- 
five  pounds,  and  has 
seen    some    very    hard 
service. 

The    stirrup    leathers 

are  best  double,  and 

should  be  laced,  never 

buckled.      In   fact,  the 

logic    of    a     wilderness 

saddle  should  be  that  it 

can  be  mended  in  any 

part  with  thongs.     The 

stirrups    themselves 

should  have  light  hood 

tapaderos,  or  coverings.     They  will  help  in 

tearing  through  brush,  will  protect  your 

toes,  and  will  keep  your  feet  dry  in  case  of 

rain.     I  prefer  the  round  rather  than  the 

square  skirts. 

In  a  cow  coimtry  you  will  hear  many  and 
heated  discussions  over  the  relative  merits 
of  the  single  broad  cinch,  crossing  rather 
far  back,  and  the  double  cinches,  one  just 
behind  the  shoulder  and  the  other  on  the 
curve  of  the  belly.  The  double  cinch  is 
imiversally  used  by  Wyoming  and  Arizona 
cowmen,  and  the  ^'center  fire**  by  Calif or- 
nians  and  Mexicans — and  both 
with  equally  heated  partisanship. 
Certainly  as  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say  which  are  the  better  horse- 
men, so  it  would  be  unwise  to 
attempt  here  a  dogmatic  settle- 
ment of  the  controversy. 

For  ordinary  mountain  travel, 
however,  I  think  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  double  cinch  is  the 
better.     It  is  less  likely  to  slip 
forward  or  back  on  steep  hills; 
it  need  not  be  so  tightly  cinched  Shaoe  of 
as  the  **center  fire;"  and  can  be     <»i|y 
adjusted,  according  to  which  ^^i[^ 
you    draw   the   tighter,    for   up  saddles. 


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or  down  hill.  The  front  dnch  should 
be  made  of  hair.  I  have  found  that  the 
usual  cord  cinches  are  apt  to  wear  sores 
just  back  of  the  shoulder.  Webbing  makes 
a  good  back  dnch.  The  handiest  ng  for 
attaching  them  is  that  used  b}r  the  Texan 
and  Wyoming  cowmen.  It  is  a  heavy 
oiled  latino  strap  punched  with  buckle 
holes  passmg  through  a  dnch  rins  supplied 
with  a  large  buckle  ton^e.  You  can 
reach  over  and  puU  it  up  a  hole  or  so  with- 
out dismounting.  It  differs  from  an  or- 
dinary buckle  only  in  that,  in  case  the  rig 
breaks,  the  strap  can  still  be  fastened  like 
an  ordinary  latigo  in  the  diamond  knot. 

SADDLE  BAGS  AND  SADDLE  BLANKETS 

On  the  right  hand  side  of  your  pommel 
will  be  a  strap  and  buckle  for  your  riata. 
A  pair  of  detachable  leather  saddle  bags 
are  handy.  The  saddle  blanket  should  be 
thick  and  of  first  quality,  and  should  be 
surmounted  by  a  ** corona,'*  to  prevent 
wrinkling  under  the  slight  movement  of 
the  sadcue. 

QUIRTS 

A  heavy  quirt  is  indispensable,  both  for 
your  own  mount,  if  he  prove  refractory, 
but  also  for  the  persuasion  of  the  pack- 
horses. 

8LINO  SHOTS 

When  with  a  laige  outfit,  however,  I 
always  carry  a  pea  shooter  or  sling  shot. 
With  it  a  man  can  spot  a  strayinc^  animal 
at  considerable  distance,  generally  much 
to  the  truant 's  astonishment.  After  a  little 
it  will  rarely  be  necessary  to  shoot;  a 
mere  snapping  of  the  ruboers  will  bring 
every  horse  into  line. 

BRIDLES 

The  handiest  and  best  rig  for  a  riding 
bridle  can  be  made  out  of  an  ordinary 
halter.  Have  your  harness-maker  fasten 
a  snap  hook  to  dther  side  and  just  above 
the  comers  of  the  horse's  mouth.  When 
you  start  in  the  morning  you  snap  your 
bit  and. reins  to  these  hooks.  When  you 
arrive  in  the  evening  you  simply  unsnap 
the  bit,  and  leave  the  halter  on. 

RIATA,    SPURS 

Rope  and  spurs  will  be  necessary.  I 
prefer  the  Mexican  grass  rope  with  a  orass 
nouda  to  the  rawhiae  riata.  because  I  am 
used  to  it.  I  once  used  a  Hnen  rope  with 
weighted  houda  that  was  soft  ana  threw 
welL  The  spurs  will  be  of  good  steel,  of 
the  cowboy  pattern,  with  bltmt  rowels. 
The  smaller  spurs  are  not  so  easy  to  reach 
a  small  horse  with,  and  are  apt  to  overdo 
the  matter  when  they  do.  The  wide  spur 
leathers  are  to  protect  the  boot  from  chaf- 
ing on  the  stirrups. 


SCABBARDS 

There  remains  only  your  rifle  to  attend 
to.  The  usual  scabbard  is  invariably 
slung  too  far  forward.  I  always  move 
the  sline  strap  as  near  the  mouth  of  the 
scabbard  as  it  will  go.  The  other  sling 
strap  I  detach  from  the  scabbard  and 
hang  loopwise  from  the  back  latigo  ring. 
Then  I  thrust  the  muzzle  of  the  scaS- 
barded  rifle  between  the  stirrup  leathers 
and  through  this  loop,  hang  the  forward 
sling  strap  over  the  pommel — ^and  there 
I  am!  Tne  advantage  is  that  I  can  re- 
move rifle  and  scabbard  without  unbuck- 
ling any  straps.  The  gun  should  hang  on 
the  left  side  of  the  horse,  so  that  after  dis- 
mounting you  need  not  walk  around  him 
to  get  it.  A  little  experiment  will  show 
you  how  near  the  horizontal  you  can  sling 
it  without  danger  of  its  jarring  out. 

PACK   OUTFITS 

So  much  for  your  own  riding  horse. 
The  pack  outfit  consists  of  the  pack  saddle, 
with  the  apparatus  to  keep  it  firm;  its 
padding,  the  kyacks,  or  alforjas — sacks 
to  sling  on  dther  side,  and  the  lash  rope 
and  dnch  with  which  to  throw  the  hitches. 

PACK   SADDLES 

The  almost  invariable  type  of  padc 
saddle  is  the  sawbuck.  If  it  is  ooug^ht  with 
especial  reference  to  the  animal  it  is  to  be 
used  on,  it  is  tmdoubtedly  the  best.  But 
nothing  will  more  quickly  gouge  a  hole  in 
a  horse's  back  than  a  saddle  too  narrow 
or  too  wide  for  his  especial  anatomy.  A 
saddle  of  this  sort  bolted  together  can  be 
taken  apart  for  easier  transportation  by 
baggage  or  express. 

Another  and  very  good  type  of  pack  rig 
is  that  made  from  an  old  riding  saddle. 
The  stirrup  rigging  is  removed,  and  an 
upright  spike  bolted  strongly  to  the  cantle. 
Tne  loops  of  the  kvacks  are  to  be  himg 
over  the  horn  ana  this  spike.  Such  a 
saddle  is  apt  to  be  easy  on  a  horse's  back; 
but  is  after  all  merely  a  makeshift  for  a 
properly  constructed  sawbuck. 

APARBJ08 

I  shall  only  mention  the  aparejos.  This 
rig  is  used  tor  frdghting  boxes  and  odd- 
shaped  bundles.  It  is  practicallv  nothing 
but  a  heavy  pad,  and  is  used  without 
kyacks.  You  will  probably  never  be  called 
upon  to  use  it;  but  in  another  chapter  I 
will  describe  one  **sline"  in  order  that 
you  may  be  forearmed  against  contin- 
gendes. 

PADS 

We  will  assume  that  you  are  possessed 
of  a  good  sawbuck  saddle  of  the  right  size 
for  your  pack  animal.     It  will  have  the 


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double  cinch  rig.  To  the  under  surfaces 
tack  firmly  two  ordinary  collar  pads  by 
way  of  softening.  Beneath  them  you  will 
use  two  blankets  each  as  heavy  as  the  one 
you  place  under  your  riding  saddle.  This 
abtmdance  is  necessary  because  a  padc 
** rides  dead" — that  is,  it  does  not  tavor 
the  horse  as  does  a  living  rider. 

BREASTING    AND    BREECHING 

The  almost  universal  saddle  rigging  in 
use  the  West  over  is  a  breast  strap  of  web- 
bing fastened  at  the  forward  points  of  the 
saddle,  and  a  breech  strap  fastened  to 
the  back  points  of  the  saddle,  with  guy 
lines  nmmng  from  the  top  to  prevent  its 
falling  too  far  down  the  horse's  legs. 
This,  with  the  double  cinch,  works  fairly 
well.  Its  main  trouble  is  that  the  breech 
strap  is  apt  to  work  up  imder  the  horse's 
tail,  and  the  breast  strap  is  likely  to  shut 
off  his  wind  at  the  throat. 

Mr.  Ernest  Britten,  a  motmtaineer  in  the 
Sierras,  has,  however,  invented  a  rig  which 
in  the  nicet v  of  its  compensations,  and  the 
accuracy  ot  its  adjustments,  is  perfection. 
Each  who  sees  it  becomes  a  convert  and 
hastens  to  alter  his  own  outfit. 

The  breasting  is  a  strap  (a)  nmning  from 
the  point  of  the  saddle  to  a  padded  ring 
in  the  middle  of  the  chest.  Thence  another 
strap  (b)  runs  to  the  point  of  the  saddle  on 
the  otner  side,  where  it  buckles.  A  third 
strap  (c)  in  the  shape  of  a  loop,  goes  between 
the  fore  legs  and  around  the  front  cinch. 

The  breechinjg^  is  somewhat  more  com- 
plicated. I  think,  however,  with  a  few 
rivets,  straps  and  buckles  you  will  be  able 
to  alter  your  own  saddle  in  half  an  hour. 

The  back  cinch  you  remove.  A  short 
strap  ((/),  riveted  to  the  middle  of  the 
front  cinch,  passes  back  six  inches  to  a 
ring  {e).  This  ring  will  rest  on  the  middle 
of  the  belly.  From  the  ring  two  other 
straps  (/,  /)  ascend  diagonally  to  the 
buckles  (g)  in  the  ends  of  the  breeching. 
From  the  ends  of  the  breechine  other  straps 
{h)  attach  to  what  would  be  the  back 
cinch  ring  {k).  That  constitutes  the 
breeching  rig.  It  is  held  up  by  a  long 
strap  (m)  passing  from  one  side  to  the  other 
over  the  horse's  rump  through  a  ring  on 
top.  The  ring  is  attached  to  the  saddle  by 
a  short  strap  (n). 

Such  a  rig  prevents  the  breeching  from 
riding  up  or  dropping  down;  it  gives  the 
horse  all  his  wind  going  up  hill,  but  holds 
firmly  goin^  down;  when  one  part  loosens, 
the  other  tightens;  and  the  saddle  cinch, 
.  exceptt  to  keep  the  saddle  from  turning,  is 
practically  useless  and  can  be  left  quite 
loose.  I  cannot  too  strongly  recommend 
you,  both  for  your  horse's  comfort  and 
your  own,  to  adopt  this  rigging. 

KYACKS 

The  kyacks,  as  I  have  said,  are  two 
sacks  to  be  slung  one  on  each  side  of  the 
horse.     They  are  provided  with  loops  by 


Mr.  Ernest  Britten's  pack  rig. 


Ordinary  and  inferior  pack  rig  usually  employed. 

which  to  hang  them  over  the  sawbucks  of 
the  saddle,  and  a  long  strap  passes  from 
the  outside  of  one,  across  the  saddle,  to  a 
buckle  on  the  outside  of  the  other. 

Undoubtedly  the  best  are  those  made  of 
rawhide.  They  weigh  very  little,  will 
stand  all  sorts  of  hard  usage,  hold  the 
pack  rope  well,  are  so  stiff  that  they  will 
protect  the  contents,  and  are  so  hard  that 
miscellaneous  sharp-cornered  articles  may 
be  packed  in  them  without  fear  of  injury 
either  to  them  or  the  animal.  They  are 
made  by  lacing  raw  hides,  hair  out,  neatly 
and  squarely  over  one  of  the  wooden  boxes 
built  to  pack  two  five-gallon  oil  cans.  A 
roimd,  hardwood  stick  is  sewn  along  the 
top  on  one  side;  to  this  the  sling  straps  are 
to  be  attached.  After  the  hide  has  dried 
hard,  the  wooden  box  is  removed.* 

Only  one  possible  objection  can  be  urged 
against  rawhide  kyacks;  if  you  are  travel- 
ing much  by  railroad,  they  are  ex- 
ceedingly awkward  to  ship.  For  that 
purpose  they  are  better  made  of  canvas. 

Many  canvas  kyacks  are  on  the  market, 
and  most  of  them  are  worthless.  It  is 
astonishing  how  many  knocks  they  are 
called  on  to  receive  and  how  soon  the 
abrasion  of  rocks  and  trees  will  begin  to 
wear  them  through.  Avoid  those  made  of 
light  material.  Avoid  also  those  made  in 
imitation  of  the  rawhide  with  a  stick  along 
the  top  of  one  side  to  take  the  sling  straps. 
In  no  time  the  ends  of  that  stick  wul  ptmch 
through.  The  best  sort  are  constructed 
of  OO   canvas.     The   top   is   made   of  a 


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half-inch  rope  sewn  firmly  to  the  hem  all 
around.  The  sling  straps  are  long,  and 
riveted  firmly.  The  ends  are  reinforced 
with  leather.  Such  k3racks  will  give  you 
service  and  last  you  a  long  time, 
hen  you  wish  to  express  them,  you  pack 
your  saddle  and  saddle  blankets  in  one, 
telescope  the  other  over  it,  and  tie  up  the 
btmdle  with  the  lash  rope. 


LASH    ROPES 

The  lash  rope  is  important,  for  you  will 
have  to  handle  it  much,  and  a  three 
months'  trip  with  a  poor  one  would  lose 
you  3rour  inmiortal  soul.  Most  articles  on 
the  subject  advise  thirty-three  feet.  That 
is  long  enough  for  the  diamond  hitch,  and 
for  other  hitches,  with  a  very  small  top 
pack,  but  it  will  not  do  for  many  valuable 
nit<:hes  on  a  bulky  pack.  Forty  feet  is 
nearer  the  ticket.  The  best  is  a  Manila 
1-inch  or  |-inch.  If  you  boil  it  before 
starting  out,  you  will  find  it  soft  to  handle. 
Parenthetically:  do  not  boil  your  water,  or 
it  will  kink.  The  boiling  does  not  impair 
its  strength.  Cotton  rope  is  all  right,  out 
apt  to  be  stiff.  I  once  used  a  linen  rope;  it 
proved  to  be  soft,  strong,  and  held  well,  but 
I  have  never  been  able  to  find  another. 


CINCH   HOOKS 

The  cinch  hook  sold  with  the  outfit  is 
sawn  into  shape  and  strengthened  with  a 
bolt.  If  you  will 
go  out  into  the 
nearest  oak  grove, 
however,  you  can 
cut  yourself  a 
natural  hook 
which  will  last  lon- 
ger and  hold  much 
better.  The  illus- 
tration shows  the 
method  of  attach- 
ing such  a  hook. 

So  you  have 
your  horses  ready 
for  their  burdens. 

PICKET   ROPES 

Picket  ropes 
should  be  of  (-inch 
rope  and  aboutso 
feet  long.  The 
bell  for  the  bell 
horse  shoidd  be  a 
loud  one,  with  dis- 
tinctive note  not 
easily  blended  with  natural  sotmds,  and  at- 
tached to  a  broad  strap  with  safety  buckle. 

HOBBLES 

Hobbles    are    of    two    patterns.     Both 
consist  of  heavy  leather  straps  to  buckle 


Natoxsl  dnch  hook  of  oak. 


arotmd  either  front  leg  and  connected  by 
two  links  and  a  swivel.  In  one  the  strap 
passes  first  through  the  ring  to  which  the 
hnks  are  attached,  and  then  to  the  buckle. 
The  other  buckles  first,  and  then  the  end 
is  carried  through  the  ring.  You  will  find 
the  first  mentioned  a  decided  nuisance, 
especially  of  a  wet  or  frosty  morning,  for 
the  leather  tends  to  atrophy  in  a  certain 
position  from  which  nimibed  fingers  have 


A— wMh  leftther. 
B— heavy  leather, 

E-twIrd. 


C— cteel  ring, 
D-buckle. 


Hobbles — wrong  (upper)  and  right  sort. 

more  than  a  little  difficulty  in  dislodging 
it.  The  latter,  however,  are  compara- 
tively easy  to  undo. 

Hobbles  should  be  lined.  I  have  ex- 
perimented with  various  materials,  in- 
cluding the  much  lauded  sheepskin  with 
the  wool  on.  The  latter  when  wet  chafes 
as  much  as  raw  leather;  and  when  frozen 
is  about  as  valuable  as  a  wood  rasp.  The. 
best  lining  is  a  piece  of  soft  wash  leather 
at  least  two  inches  wider  than  the  hobble 
straps. 

With  most  horses  it  is  sufficient  to  strap 
a  pair  of  these  around  the  forelegs  and 
above  the  fetlocks.  A  gentle  animal  can 
be  trusted  with  them  fastened  below. 

But  man>r  horses  by  dint  of  practice 
or  plain  native  cussedness  can  hop  alone 
witn  hobbles  nearly  as  fast  as  they  could 
foot-free,  and  a  lot  too  fast  for  you  to 
catch  them  single  handed.  Such  an  ani- 
mal is  an  unmitigated  bother.  Of  course 
if  there  is  good  staking  you  can  picket  him 
out,  but  quite  likely  he  is  imused  to  the 
picket  rope»  or  the  feed  is  scant. 

SIDE    LINES 

In  that  case  it  mav  be  that  side  lines, 
which  are  simply  hobbles  by  which  a  hind 
foot  and  a  forefoot  are  shackled,  may 
work.  I  have  had  pretty  good  success  by 
fastening  a  short,  heavy  chain  to  one 
foreleg.  As  long  as  the  animal  fed  quietly, 
he  was  all  right;  but  an  attempt  at  gal- 
loping or  trotting  swimg  the  chain  suffi- 
ciently to  rap  him  sharply  across  the 
shins. 

Very  good  hobbles  can  be  made  from  a 
single  strand  unraveled  from  a  large  rope, 
doubled  once  to  make  a  loop  for  one  leg, 
twisted  strongly,  the  two  ends  brought 
arotmd  the  other  leg  and  then  tlmist 
through  the  fibers.  This  is  the  sort  used 
generally  by  cowboys.  They  are  soft  and 
easily  carried,  but  soon  wear  out. 


{Tob€  continued.) 


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CHOOSING   THE   FIRST   YACHT 


BY  C  G.   DAVIS 


•TFP  itvrLY 


THE  selec. 
tionofthe 
first  yacht  is 
naturally  a 
very  difficult 
undertaking 
for  the  novice, 
and  he  would 
be  wise  to  let 
some  one  ex- 
perienced   in 
such  matters 
do  it  for  him. 
Very  likely  an 
old  craft,  with 
holes  and  cracks  fil- 
led with   putty  and 
shining   with   a  coat 
of  new  paint,  is  far 
more  attractive  to 
him     than    a    much 
better    boat    looking 
grimy  and  worn.   Try 
not  to  be  deceived  by 
paint,  but  make  your 
selection  to  suit  your 
price,  to  fit  the  con- 
ditions the  boat  is  to 
be  used  for  and  above 
all  with  a  view  to  her 
soundness. 

It  is  often  very 
difficult  to  console 
one's  ambition  with 
one's  pocketbook. 
When  a  young  man, 
lately  out  of  school,  we'll  say,  accumulates 
a  himdred  dollars,  he  feels  pretty  well  off — 
imtil  he  canvasses  the  various  yacht  yards 
and  beaches  where  small  boats  haul  out 
over  winter. 


sr^•ciuLu-'?'»l 


Some  diminutive  little  cutter  with  the 
cutest  of  skylights  and  a  real  windlass 
takes  the  eye  and  fills  the  soul  with  long- 
ing. But  when  the  grizzly  guardian  of 
the  beach  annotmces  the  price  is  six  hun- 
dred dollars  the  disappomtment  fails  to 
hide  behind  the  outward  mask  of  indif- 
ference. Search  the  beaches  as  one  may, 
it  seems  as  if  nothing  but  flat-bottomed 
scows  and  the  plainest  of  small  cat-boats 
are  on  the  eligible  list. 

Yachts  these  days  must  be  round-bot- 
tomed affairs — ^the  deeper  the  keel  the 
more  yachty  thev  are;  flat-bottomed  boats 
are  held  in  mild  contempt  as  poor  make- 
shifts for  a  floating  home,  and  an  imitation, 
such  as  a  skip-jack,  is  not  even  considered. 
But  many  a  poor  beginner  has  had  to  re- 
sort to  tnis  kind  of  craft  for  his  first  ven- 
ture. 

Where  racing  is  concerned  and  room 
inside  is  no  object  flat-boats  have  often 
proved  themselves  superior  to  their  roimd- 
sided  deeper  sisters.  I  recall  one  instance 
of  this.  It  was  in  the  summer  of  1890. 
The  fleet  of  the  Corinthian  Navy  had 
assembled  in  Echo  Bay  at  New  Rochelle 
for  a  cruise  on  Long  Island  Sound.  A 
more  variegated  fleet  would  be  hard  to 
collect  in  one  harbor.  There  was  the  large 
roomy  sloop  Charles  Wilde  with  a  harum- 
scarum  crew  of  about  twenty ;  the  pompous 
little  cutter  Roamert  with  her  diminutive 
"Admiral"  and  his  crew  of  one  Swede; 
the  trim  little  cutters  Beth  and  /.  O.;  the 
cat  UnOt  along  with  some  half  dozen  simi- 
lar felines;  the  St.  Lawrence  sailing  skiff 
Germania,  and  a  periauger-rigged,  double- 
ended  little  affair  called  the  Unique  that 
turned  turtle  the  moment  Jones  got  aboard 
and  gave  him  an  imexpected  bath. 


f  mc  -  \iv. 


TYPE3     09  SMAU  YACHTS. 

119 


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Choosing  the  First  Yacht 


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Just  before 
this  fleet  was 
ready  to  start 
east  there  came 
slowly  eliding 
into  the  harbor 
from  Long 
Island  a  yawl- 
rigged  scow, 
square  at  both 


ends  and  almost  flat  on  the  bottom,  with 
the  name  Bouncer  painted  on  the  stem. 
She  was  greeted  with  cheers  and  cat-calls 
of:  ••  Where  did  you  get  that  bam  door?" 
"Look  at  the  packing-box  coming  in!" 
** Which  way  are  you  heading,  Tom?" 
(Thomas  Clapham  of  Rosyln  was  sailing 
her). 

But  when  the  starting  eun  was  fired  and 
the  fleet  started  off  for  Black  Rock,  the 
Bouncer  went  fully  two  feet  to  any  other 
boat's  one,  and  the  last  seen  of  her  was  a 
speck  of  white  on  the  horizon  ahead.  That 


*71m  OM«*lion*    iHff 


night  there  was  a  panic  in  the  fleet :  ' '  Beat 
a  cutter — ^poohl  How  could  a  miserable 
square  scow  beat  a  deep  sea-going  cutter!" 
It  was  voted  a  trick  of  some  kind  that 
could  probably  never  be  repeated — but 
it  was  and  many  times  over.  She  skimmed 
over  the  top  of  the  water  instead  of  plow- 
ing through  it,  and  her  extreme  beam,  car- 
ri«i  the  lull  length,  gave  great  sail-carry- 
ingpower. 

Rowboats  and  small  duck  boats  have 
been  built  on  this  principle  for  ages,  but 
yachtsmen  seemed  to  look  with  disgust 
on  anything  so  simple  for  a  yacht.  Tney 
expected  speed  in  the  round-bottom  or  any 
expensive  shape,  just  as  though  the  ex- 
penditure of  money  would  insure  it. 

In  1805  when  this  feeling  was  at  its 
height,  L.  D.  Huntington,  Jr..  of  New 
Rochelle,  built  a  narrow,  wiallow,  arc- 
bottomed  boat  called  the  Question,  for  the 
popular  15-ft.  class  then  known  as  half 
raters — a  term  brought  by  the  English 
boat  Spruce  IV,  when  she  came  over  to 


race  the  EtheU 
Wynne  for  the 
cup  now  known 
as  the  Seawan- 
haka  Cup. 

Question  was 
a  4  ft.  on  deck, 
14  ft.  4  ins.  on 
the  water-line, 
5  ft.  beam,  and 
the  hull,  ex- 
clusive of  skeg, 
only  drew  3  in., 
witn  a  free- 
board a  m  i  d  - 
ships  of  almost 


COorr-MV 


6  in.  and 
she'  carried  a  a  5'  square  ft. 
of  sail,  nearly  all  of  which 
was  in  her  mainsail — ^her 
jib  being  a  tiny  triangle  of 
about  five  square  feet,  just 
enough  to  class  her  as  a 
sloop.  There  were  boats 
of  every  conceivable  shap>e 
against  her,  but  when  it 
blew  hard  the  little  scow 
beat  them  all,  outdistan- 
cing boats  four  and  five 
times  her  size  when  going 
to  windward. 

However,  in  spite  of 
their  speed  and  safety,  a 
young,  ambitious  yachts- 
man cannot  help  feeling 
ridiculous  every  time  he 
passes  another  yacht  in  a 
scow-shaped  craft,  and  so 
is  anxious  to  buy  a  round- 
bottom  yacht. 

A  boat  to  delight  a  boy's 
heart,  and  about  the  only 
cheap  kind,  is  an  i8-ft.  old 
style  plumb-ended  center- 
board  cat- boat.  Such 
boats  can  be  picked  up  for  anywhere 
from  $50  to  $150,  but  are  becoming  scarcer 


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A    K«<f     Cdt-bq^it 


n 


1*7  -  ai  •  IM4 


A   Center b^rtrd    Cfltbo^t. 


each  year,  having  been  succeeded  by  boats 
with  overhanging  ends.  A  fine  little  open 
cat-boat  can  be  bought  for  about  $300, 
and  for  $400  to  $500  a  little  20-ft.  cabin 
cat  can  be  built  new.  By  diligent  search 
great  bargains  are  often  found  where  a 
$500  boat  can  be  got  for  $200,  but  such 
opportunities  have  to  be  hunted  up— they 
don't  often  present  themselves, 

The  20-ft.  Cape  Cod  cat  with  a  9  or  10 
ft.  beam  is  one  of  the  stiifest  small  boats 
afloat. 

They  seldom  capsize,  though  they  sail 
from  port  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  over 
treacherous  bars  where  the  breakers  are 
huge  and  beat  back  in  the  teeth  of  nor'- 
westers,  loaded  down  with  lobsters  and 
lobster  pots.  Familiarity  with  their  boats 
and  a  dauntless  courage  have  a  great  deal 
to  do  with  such  deeds,  but  after  all  the 
boat  must  be  there  to  stand  it.  Their  high 
freeboard  is  one  of  the  chief  advanta^s, 
being  fully  double  that  of  a  boat  of  similar 
size  built  for  use  about  New  York  waters. 

A  little  cutter  would  be  an  appropriate 
selection  for  the  yachtsman  who  does  his 
sailing  on  deep,  exposed  bodies  of  water. 
They  cost  more,  as  thev  have  very  heavy 
keels  of  lead  or  iron  bolted  on  to  their 
wooden  keels,  but  one  has  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  the  boat  cannot  capsize. 
No  matter  how  far  over  she  may  heel,  she 
is  botmd  to  come  up  again.  All  that  is 
needed  is  to  keep  the  slide  and  skylight 
shut  tightly  so  no  water  can  get  below. 


If  the  angle  becomes  uncomfortable,  clew 
up  the  topsail,  or,  if  that  sail  is  not  set, 
lower  the  mainsail  and  reef  it.  A  cutter 
will  stand  any  amount  of  punishment. 
That  is  the  reason  they  always  look  so 
shippy;  ever5rthing  about  a  cutter  is  built 
witn  a  solidity  not  often  seen  on  a  sloop. 

The  hull  itself  is  heavy  planked,  well 
braced  and  well  kneed.  The  deck  fittings 
are  stout.  The  skylight  slide,  etc.,  being 
made  strong  to  resist  the  water  when  the 
yacht  is  dragging  them  under.  The  iron- 
work,   rigging   and   spars   are   all   heavy. 

They  may  not  pull  .on  their  tillers  like 
a  Cape  Cod  cat,  but  the  heavy  displace- 
ment gives  them  a  slow,  shiplike  stateli- 
ness  of  action.  When  they  round  up  to  their 
moorings  they  don't  bounce  and  splash  one 
or  two  seas  and  then  stop  dead,  but  cut 
clean  and  forereach  many  times  their  length 
against  wind  and  sea — due  to  their  great 
momentum  and  narrow  knife-like  model. 

I  have  been  scudding  up  the  Hudson 
River  in  an  open  cat-boat  under  the  peak 
of  a  mainsail  and  seen  a  cloud  of  white 
canvas  coming  up  the  river  astern;  now 
hidden  in  a  bank  of  white  mist  as  a  squall 
of  rain  overtook  her,  now  in  sight  aeain, 
growing  larger  and  larger  rapidly  imtil  she 
came  up  abreast  of  us  and  disappeared  in 
short  order  ahead.     But  what  a  sight  for 


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Choosing  the  First  Yacht 


"5 


-*x^ 


a  yachtsman's  eyes  in  the  few  moments 
she  was  near  us! 

The  Coauette,  I  believe  her  name  was. 
A  long,  tnin,  black  hull,  with  glistening 
copper  bottom,  straight  bowsprit,  short 
lower  mast,  wide  spreaders  and  tall  thin 
topmast.  A  mahogany  skylight  with 
shining  brass  rods,  companion  slide  and 
a  cosy  little  mahogany- trimmed  cockpit 
in  which  two  oilskin-clothed  men  were  as 
comfortable  as  could  be.  And  we  three 
were  cruising  for  two  weeks  in  a  leaky, 
open,  $75  cat-boat!  **Oh,  well, "  we  would 
sigh,  "we  can't  all  be  rich."  But  how  we 
would  yearn  for  such  a  yacht!  That  is 
what  keeps  a  yachtsman  ambitious. 

A  practical  builder's  glance  over  a  boat 
is  of  more  value  than  a  day's  inspection  by 

the  amateur. 
He  will  know 
just  where  to 
look  for  struc- 
tural weak- 
ness and  he 
will  see  and 
u  n  d  e  r  s  t  and 
many  little 
signs  that  the 
novice  would 
never  notice. 
If,  however, 
he  can  not  get 
any  experi- 


'^^ 


enced  judgment  and 
the  selection  devolves 
upon  himself  let  him 
try  and  remember 
some  of  the  following 
hints: 

Boats  are  naturally 
built  so  their  curves 
all  run  in  true,  fair 
lines.   So  stand  at  one  ^ 

end  and  look  along 
the  deck  edge;  if  the 
hull  is  strained  it  will 
show  a  hump.  The 
keel  line  should  show 
a  fair  straight  line, 
or  sweep,  according  "• 
to  the  model.    In  the 

old  style  of  straight-keel  boat  you  will  find 
many  where  the  keel  is  arched  up  in  the 
middle  or  ** hogged"  as  we  call  it;  this 
shows  the  backbone  of  the  boat  is  weak  or 
has  been  strained  all  out  of  shape  and  is 
anything  but  a  desirable  investment.  If 
it  is  a  keel  boat  this  hogging  will  not  be 
so  likely  to  occur,  as  the  additional  stiffness 
given  by  the  false  keel  and  iron  or  lead 
ballast  prevents  it. 

In  many  of  the  modem  fin-keel  type 
where  the  keel  is  extremely  short  and  deep, 
you  will  find  the  ends  have  sagged,  giving 
an  S-shaped  sheer.  This  occurs  mostly  in 
the  frail,  lightly  built  racers  where  every- 
thing is  sacrificed  to  obtain  a  light  hull, 
even  to  putting  in  spruce  deadwood.  Some- 
times sagging  is  caused  by  the  boat  being 
improperly  blocked  up  when  laid  up  for 
the  winter. 


bound    HmII 


SiMtfxad  Hull 


Examine  the  ends  of  the  planking  where 
they  are  fitted  into  the  rabbet.  Straining 
will  often  show  by  the  top  or  bottom  edges 
of  the  planking  having  crowded  forward 
out  of  place.  If  the  top  edge  projects  it 
shows  the  boat  has  hogged,  that  is  the  two 
ends  have  dropped.  If  the  lower  edge 
projects  it  shows  the  middle  has  sagged. 
Both  are  a  sign  of  weak  construction. 
Another  sign  of  weak  construction  is  the 
seam  between  the  edges  of  the  planking. 
You  will  often  see  a  boat  where  the  putty 
keeps  roughing  up  along  the  seams,  par- 
ticularly about  the  chain-plates  where  the 
strain  of  the  mast  comes.  This  shows 
the  planks  move. 

To  test  the  soundness  of  a  plank,  jab  the 
point  of  your  knife  into  it.  Do  this  par- 
ticularly   just    above    the    water-line.     If 


b^^ 


H0ff^- 


SOMrttif  Hull  OXmwtaa  Hull 


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^tW^ 


there  is  a  rotten  spot,  it  will  be  ptinky  and 
soft.  Another  way  is  to  bore  with  an 
auger  and  see  if  the  chips  come  out  brittle 
and  sound  or  are  black  and  punky.  If  >rou 
can  hear  or  feel  the  bit  cutting  it's  a  sign 
the  wood  is  strong;  if  it  cuts  soft  the  wood 
is  otherwise.  Always  jab  the  point  of 
your  knife  a  few 
times  near  the 
edges  of  the 
boards,  for  there 
is  where  the  sap 
will  be.  Some- 
times the  plank- 
ing will  be  so 
crooked  that  to  cut 
it   out  requires  a 

wide  board;  and  some  builders  wfll  cut  the 
plank  so  it  includes  much  of  the  blue  wood 
containing  sap  imder  the  bark  at  the  edge 
of  the  plank.  This,  of  course,  is  bad. 
If  she  is  a  keel  boat  examine  the  bolts  that 
hold  her  ballast  on,  and  the  iron  floors  if 
there  are  any.  Tap  them  with  a  light 
hammer,  for  sometimes  under  a  scale  of 
rust  you  will  find  the  floors  are  eaten  away. 
If  she  is  a  center-board  boat  examine  the 
connection  that 
hangs  the  board,  and 
if    possible    have    a 


^oo4 


riflf  cut    too    ^ort  , 


\njt 


T. 


ft«o4        ^Hwtlll 


111    ftor 


Look  carefully 
along  the  garboard 
seam  between  the 
planking  and  keel 
clear  up  to  the  bow 
and  stem.  This 
seam  along  tmder 
the  bottom  in  par- 
ticular will  open 
quite  wide  in  a 
weak  boat.  See 
that  the  centerboard  slot  is  parallel  and 
not  pinched  together  in  the  middle  so  the 
board  will  bind. 

Get  inside  the  boat  and  see  if  the  frames 
fit  flat  against  the  plank  and  are  not  touch- 
ing on  one  edge  only.  The  truer  they  fit 
the  better  the  job  of  course. 

If  the  planking  is  copper  riveted  see  that 
the  nails  used  are  in  proportion  to  the  size 
of  timber  and  not  little  bits  of  things. 
See  that  the 
riveting  over  the 
*' burrs  '  has  left 
them  in  good  con- 
dition and  that 
they  were  nearly 
driven  through 
the  washer  or  "burr."  If  clinched,  see 
that  the  nails  when  they  were  bent  over 
on  the  ends  did  not  break  or  split  the  frames. 
While  inside,  examine  the  seams  of  her 
planking  to  see  if  they  are  close  together 
and  do  not  show  cotton  sticking  through. 
If  they  are  wider  m- 
side  than  out,  con- 
demn the  boa^ — you 
Hoi/o«;od«m  can    never    keep    it 

tight. 


^ownd 


Brok^ 


CONTROLLING  THE   HIND  QUAR- 
TERS  OF   YOUR    HORSE 


BY   F.   M.   WARE 


NO  art  in  this  country  is  more  generally 
misunderstood  cr  more  scantily  ap- 
preciated than  that  of  la  haute  ^cole—a, 
science  which  is  to  ordinary  riding  what  a 
collegiate  education  is  to  the  kindfergarten 
course;  an  art  upon  which  all  genuine 
horsemanship  depends,  and  upon  which,  in 
however  imperfect  shape  it  may  appear, 
the  management  of  all  norses  under  saddle 
must  and  does  rest.  That  this  study 
should  be  looked  upon  so  generally  witn 
contempt  in  America  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  perhaps  for  two  reasons — first,  that  its 
intricacies  have  never  been  favorably  con- 
sidered in  England,  after  whose  tastes  so 
many  of  our  modem  fashions  are  patterned, 
and  second,  that  through  the  national  char- 


acteristics of  impetuosity  and  impatience 
of  detail  our  people  are  not  mentally  cal- 
culated to  actively  take  up  a  pursuit  which 
requires  in  the  nighest  degree  patience, 
dexterity,  self-control  and  willingness  to 
learn  from  the  demonstration  of  others, 
or  to  sift  forth  from  the  bushels  of  chaff 
written  upon  the  subject  the  kernels  of 
knowledge  which  are  so  generally  con- 
cealed that  without  the  assistance  of  an 
expert,  who  will  charge  roundly  for  his 
services,  they  are  impossible  to  find. 

For  another  thing,  the  physical  structure 
of  many  equestrians  prevents  their  ever 
acquiring  the  secureness  of  seat,  perfect- 
ness  of  balance  and  ready  flexibility  of  pose 
without  which  no  advance  beyond  narrow 


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limits  in  this  fascinating  pursuit  is  possible. 
Without  this  perfect  seat  no  such  accom- 
plishment as  good  hands"  is  possible — 
so  absolutely  does  the  latter  acquirement 
depend  upon  the  former,  and  therefore 
recruits'who  are  likely  to  attain  success  are 
few  indeed. 

The  average  equestrian  looks  upon  a 
horse  as  an  animal  with  two  ends,  one  of 
which  you  steer  to  either  hand  or  back- 
ward, while  the  other  must  perforce  keep 
out  of  the  way,  and  it  is  the  animal's  busi- 
ness to  arrange  that  this  shall  be  done  ex- 
peditiously. It  never  occurs  to  such  riders 
to  go  further  into  the  matter,  and  the 
average  hunting  man  or  frequenter  of  the 
bridle  path  has  no  use  for  any  methods 
which,  as  he  thinks,  entail  more  trouble 
upon  himself.  He  has  taken  his  regular 
outings  at  either  pursuit  in  just  this  fash- 
ion, and  he  has  succeeded  m  getting  the 
exercise  and  achieving  the  en&  at  which 
he  aimed;  nor  has  he  been  injured  in  the 
process.  Therefore  to  him  all  further  in- 
vestigation is  as  leather  and  pnmella,  and 
he  begins  by  scoffing  at  its  necessity  and 
ends  by  ridiculing  its  usefulness;  nor  has 
he  any  patience  with  those  who  advocate 
the  advantages  of  a  proceeding  which  he 
will  not  acknowledge  has  an^  merits  and 
of  which  he  resolutely  and  igporantly  re- 
fuses to  avail  himself;  ignoring  the  fact 
that,  if  a  hunting  man,  he  never  opens  a 
gate  (as  the  very  "hardest"  of  us  some- 
times must)  that  he  does  not  roughly  exe- 
cute quite  unconsciously  a  compmcated 
*•  high-school "  movement  —  the  reverse 
pirouette;  or  that,  if  a  road-rider,  he  never 
puts  his  horse  into  a  canter  before  that 
most  adaptable  beast  has  voluntarily  as- 
sumed the  collection  of  forces  which  his  care- 
less rider  nes^lects;  has  diagonally  aligned 
his  body  in  Uie  same  wa^ ;  and  has,  of  his 
own  volition  and  at  hts  time  and  place 
taken  up  a  gait  which  should  have  been 
begun  only  at  the  rider's  correct  indica- 
tion. The  equestrian  may  fancy  in  such 
cases  that  he  is  the  master,  and  is  really 
riding  his  horse,  but  that  self-assertive 
quadruped  knows  better,  and  thoroughly 
understands  that  he  is  carrying  his  burden, 
not  bein^  managed  by  it.  It  is  just  this 
sense  which  it  would  seem  should  lead  us 
all  to  undertake  this  study,  and  to  master 
as  many  of  its  simpler  and  absolutely  logi- 
cal directions  as  will  benefit  us  in  our 
daily  experience  and  lead  ours  to  be  the 
guiding  hand  in  an  outing  in  which  one  of 
the  two  must  be  the  master,  even  if  the 
fact  is  not  conspicuouslv  evident. 

Roufhly  speaking,  la  haute  ^cole  may  be 
defined  as  "The  science  of  absolutely  con- 
trollixig  and  directing  the  movements  of 
the  hind  quarters  of  the  horse."  Perhaps 
some  people  would  add  to  this  that  it  in- 
cluded fim  "the  placing  and  maintaining 
under  all  circumstances  of  the  horse  in 
perfect  balance  or  equilibrium,"  and  this 
statement  may  be  included  in  the  defini- 
tion, since  it  is  so  absolutely,  as  are  all 


other  effects,  the  result  of  the  control  of 
the  hind  legs.  Without  this  no  balance 
can  ever  be  perfect,  and  rarely  even  good, 
but  all  horses  must  hang  upon  the  mmds 
with  a  weight  proportionate  to  their  indi- 
vidual physical  structure,  and  the  lengths 
to  which  they  can  without  personal  dis- 
comfort respond  to  our  efforts  to  prevent 
it.  Prop>erry  balanced,  no  horse  can  pull  or 
refuse  his  rider's  demand  in  any  way; 
without  it  he  has  always  the  ability  and 
very  often  the  will  to  refuse  to  obev  direc- 
tions of  his  rider,  and  to  successfully  resist 
any  efforts  to  compel  him  to  submit.  This 
balance  accrues  to  his  advantage  in  vari- 
ous ways,  and  we  neglect  our  duty  to  pur 
dumb  dependents  in  not  more  regularly 
striving  to  perfect  it.  We  place  a  burden 
upon  his  back — a  burden  not  of  one  weight, 
nor  carried  in  one  position  or  balance,  but 
a  sadly  unsteady  one,  and  often  very  heavy, 
and  then  we  make  no  attempts,  beyond  the 
most  primitive  efforts,  to  explain  to  him 
how  he  may  carry  it  most  comfortably  and 
enduringly.  This  singular  negligence,  how- 
ever, is  apparent  in  the  way  most  of  us  sit 
and  stand  and  even  Ue;  so  that  perhaps 
it  is  not  so  very  odd  that  we  overlook  m 
the  equine  connection  the  regulations  which 
are  vitally  important  in  the  human. 
Every  horse  is  better  for  learning  his  bal- 
ance, and  like  KipUng's  ship  that  "found 
herself"  he  will  ever  after  prove  the  more 
enduring  whether  in  daily  use  or  turned  out 
to  take  his  ease  at  pasture. 

In  harness  only  shall  we  find  the  thor- 
oughly trained  high-school  horse  not  likely 
to  be  useful.  His  balance,  acquired  with 
much  effort  after  diligent  rehearsal,  and 
maintained  by  constant  practice,  has  al- 
ways been  accomplished  with  the  bits  in 
his  mouth  which  forced  response  to  the 
efforts  of  the  hind  quarters  guided  by  the 
indications  of  the  rider's  legs  and  heels. 
When  now  he  is  thus  bridled  and  finds  no 
demands  upon  the  hind  legs  by  any  signal 
which  he  nas  already  been  taught  he  is 
quite  at  sea  and  fails  to  answer  pleasantly 
to  his  driver's  demands.  When  further- 
more he  is  required  to  over-balance  him- 
self by  pulling  from  his  shoulders  at  from 
600  to  1,200  lbs.  of  weight  in  the  shape  of 
vehicle  and  occupants,  he  is  further  con- 
fused, and  makes  usually  a  most  inferior 
beast  for  the  purpose,  while,  through  miss- 
ing the  guidance  of  the  rider's  Tegs,  he 
wanders  about  in  the  most  awkward  fash- 
ion once  he  is  between  the  shafts.  There 
is,  however,  for  ordinary  purposes,  no 
slightest  need  for  carrying  instruction  so 
far  as  this,  and  like  every  other  science, 
the  merit  of  this  consists  m  its  reasonable 
use  and  not  its  abuse.  No  rational  man 
(or  woman)  desires  to  go  capering  about 
the  public  streets  or  parks  at  the  Spanish 
trot  or  the  traverse,  or  to  perform  in  either 
public  or  private  any  of  the  other  stunts 
of  la  haute  ^cole  which  are  useful  merely 
to  show  to  what  perfection  the  equilibrium 
of  the  subject  has  been  brojight.     There 

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are  many  feats  which  stop  short  of  this 
and  yet  enter  or  should  enter  into  the  de- 
tails of  daily  riding  which  are  neither 
difficult  of  accomplishment  nor  elaborate 
in  detail. 

La  haute  ^cole  is,  however,  even  more 
than  this — it  is  a  perfect  system  of  calis- 
thenics for  the  horse,  and  by  it  many  an 
awkward  and  misshapen  brute  may  be 
converted  into  a  nimble,  agile  hack,  hand- 
some and  truly  proportioned  to  the  eye 
in  every  outline.  It  is  in  this  connection 
that  it  appeals  to  us  all,  for  we  have  all 
seen  horses  which,  but  for  this  angularity 
and  that  defective  curve,  would  have  suited 
us  .to  perfection ;  and  this  very  develop- 
ment could  have  been  brought  about  by  a 
course  of  high-schooling  which  yet  need 
never  have  entered  into  the  graduate  class, 
and  could  perfectly  well  have  been  carried 
out  by  ourselves.  Beauty  is  a  matter  of 
harmonious  curves,  and  while  these  may 
be  produced  in  the  naturally  true-made 
horse  by  sufficient  flesh,  the  outline  is 
greatly  assisted  by  proportionate  muscular 
development ;  and  this  can  be  effected  not 
only  in  the  neck  and  forehand,  but  in  the 
shoulders,  body,  loin  and  hind  quarters. 

Furthermore,  the  rider  must  in  all  these 
performances  retain  his  proper  seat,  posi- 
tion and  balance  as  he  needs  to  in  no  other 
connection;  and  he  must  correct  hourly 
and  daily  any  eccentricities  of  either.  The 
horse  will  not  allow  any  departure  from  the 
I' real  thing,"  but  prove,  if  he  is  to  advance 
in  proficiency,  as  exacting  to  his  master  as 
that  gentleman  is  to  him.  In  short,  this 
science  teaches  a  man  to  really  ride  as  no 
other  effort,  however  long  continued,  will 
do,  and  thereby  furnishes  another  and 
most  irrefutable  argument  of  the  advantage 
to  be  gained  from  the  study. 

The  idea  is  general  that  the  work  is 
undertaken  for  the  purpose  of  suppling 
the  horse — though  nothmg  can  be  more 
absurd.  All  resistance  comes  originally 
from  the  hind  quarters,  and  it  seems  strange 
to  observe  riders  persisting  for  months  m 
efforts  to  "flex  the  neck"  of  a  horse,  when 
if  turned  loose  he  can  and  will  demon- 
strate most  plainly  that  he  is  embarrassed 
by  no  stiffness  of  that  member  by  promptly 
turning  it  far  round  and  scratching  his 
back  with  his  teeth !  How  much  suppling 
does  any  animal  need  that  can  do  that? 
and  can  you  by  the  most  persistent  efforts 
ever  render  him  supple  enough  to  go 
through  the  same  actr  Turn  him  loose 
and  he  will  go  through  pirouettes,  gam- 
bades, caprioles,  volts,  the  Spanish  trot, 
and  forty  other  things  you  can  find  no 
name  for,  in  the  sheer  lightness  of  his  heart; 
but  you  will  have  to  be  quite  an  expert  and 
stick  to  your  job  persistently  to  make  him 
volunteer  a  tithe  of  them  once  he  is  em- 
barrassed by  your  weight. 

Not  every  horse,  however,  can  by  any 
means  be  either  regarded  as  a  fit  subject  for 
development  along  the  lines  of  high-school 
education  nor  as  likely  to  be  worth  the 


trouble  after  he  is  thus  worked  upon — 
and  it  is  to  this  fact  nearly  as  much  as  to 
any  other  that  the  distrust  and  contempt 
in  which  the  art  is  held  by  many  e<^ues- 
trians  is  due.  Not  only  must  the  animal 
be  well  made  and  fairly  proportioned,  but 
he  must  be  sound,  especially  in  the  hocks 
and  loins,  and  of  a  structure  likely  to  so 
remain  under  the  stress  of  his  exertions  in 
the  acquirement  of  supreme  balance ;  while 
again  he  must  be  well  made  about  and  be- 
low the  knee,  that,  when  his  training  is 
finished  he  is  not  found  to  be  either  over 
in  the  knees,  nor  about  to  be  afflicted  by 
this  disfiguring  deficiency — ^which,  by  the 
by,  almost  invariably  originates  from  im- 
proper or  careless  shoeing  which  injures 
or  bruises  the  heels,  and  causes  the  attitude 
to  be  assumed  which  finally  results  in 
permanent  disfigurement.  The  preven- 
tion of  this  state  of  affairs  is  obvious,  and 
in  the  bare  foot  or  the  "tip"  properly  put 
on  we  have  the  means  to  that  end. 

If  there  is  weakness  anywhere  in  the 
physical  structure  or  malformation  of  cer- 
tain parts,  the  animal  cannot  without  much 
pain  yield  and  collect  himself;  nor  will  he 
do  so,  but  vigorously  resist  attempts  to 
coerce  him.  No  horse  with  a  short,  thick 
neck,  narrow  jaws,  or  a  ewe  neck  can  bend 
that  member  properly;  nor  will  hocks  far 
behind  him,  a  weak,  bent,  or  curved  hind 
leg,  unsound  hocks,  a  very  light  loin,  or  a 
very  loose  coupling  over  the  hips,  allow 
of  any  strain  being  placed  upon  them 
which  is  more  severe  tnan  that  of  average 
locomotion  which  they  so  arrange  as  to 
allow  for  the  deficiencies  which  make  them- 
selves felt  at  once  if  any  other  style  of  pro- 
gress is  essayed.  Such  horses  must  usually 
carry  weight  from  150  lbs.  to  over  200  lbs. 
possibly — and  when  under  collection  the 
strain  upon  the  hind  quarters  is  very  acute. 
There  is  every  reason  why  a  subject  upon 
which  this  method  is  about  to  be  tried 
should  be  handsome;  not  only  from  the 
fact  that  his  accomplishments  and  his 
beauty  will  mutually  augment  the  admi- 
ration he  excites,  but  because  the  mere 
possession  of  physical  beauty  proves  prac- 
tically that  the  animal  is  harmoniously 
proportioned,  naturally  well  balanced, 
graceful  and  agile — otnerwise  we  should 
not  be  impressed  by  him  in  this  respect. 
The  further  reason  for  the  necessity  of  a 
forehand  that  is  handsome  and  elastic  is 
that,  as  no  horse  ever  at  any  pace  places 
his  foot  upon  the  ground  in  advance  of  his 
own  nose,  the  erect  carriage  of  the  neck 
and  perpendicular  position  of  the  head,  so 
much  admired  in  the  trained  high-school 
horse,  has  a  practical  value  and  necessity 
in  that  by  this  carriage  and  by  none  other 
is  assured  the  collected  and  rather  short- 
ened stride  which  is  absolutely  essential  if 
equilibrium  is  to  be  maintained,  and  if  the 
quick  changes  and  abrupt  curves  of  the 
various  "airs"  are  to  be  unerringly  and 
promptly  executed.  We  shall  see  as  we 
go  on  tliat  while  various  shapes,  attitudes. 


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Controlling  the  Hind  Quarters  of  Your  Horse       119 


poses,  etc.,  are  held  by  saddle-horse  fan- 
ciers in  esteem  merely  because  they  are 
graceful  and  characteristic,  there  is  always 
a  practical  reason  and  actual  necessity  for 
such  acquirements  far  more  genuine  and 
important  than  the  mere  gratifying  of  a 
fad  or  fleeting  fancy. 

Classes  are  offered  at  the  various  horse 
shows  held  throughout  the  country  for 
high-school  horses,  so-called,  and  no  events 
have  done  more  to  improve  the  science 
they  assumed  to  foster  than  these  ill- 
conceived  exhibitions  of  "  how  not  to  do  it." 
Executors  have  tmquestionably  meant  well, 
and  have  fancied  that  the  forced  caperings 
and  plungings  were  the  finest  develop- 
ments of  7a  haute  ^cole;  nor  were  spec- 
tators generally  better  informed,  but  as- 
sumed m  rather  contemptuous  fashion  that 
the  mere  circus  tricks  displayed  afforded 
the  finest  examples  of  the  art  of  Baucher 
and  his  confreres.  Nothing  could  be  more 
grotesque  or  farther  from  the  tiHith,  nor 
nave  we  ever  yet  foimd  judges  with  either 
the  knowledge  to  discriminate  against  such 
farces  or  the  courage  to  turn  tne  contest- 
ants out  of  the  ring  and  to  withhold  the 
ribbons.  To  show  how  rare  is  the  knowl- 
edge and  the  skill  required  to  properly 
graduate  a  horse  in  these  accomplishments, 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  there  have  never  been 
over  six  men  in  all  America  who  could 
certainly  accomplish  the  feat,  and  not  over 
fifteen  horses  who  were  thoroughly  au 
fait  at  every  step,  or  could  be  carried  prop- 
erly through  every  phase  from  the  piaf- 
fer  to  the  trot  and  canter  backward.  A 
stream  of  animals  has  been  sent  in  from 
the  West,  trained  by  force  to  a  few  tricks, 
and  we  see  them  in  the  circus  once  in  a 
while,  but  such  freaks  are  no  more  like  an 
educated  high-school  horse  than  plain 
water  is  like  a  cocktail.  It  is  a  fair  test, 
and  the  only  fair  test,  to  ask  any  rider  or 
trainer  (in  the  horse-show  arena  or  out  of 
it)  to  put  his  horse  into  the  piaffer — 
strictly  speaking  a  **trot-in-place" — and 
to  do  this  at  once.  If  either  he  or  his 
mount  fails  at  this  test  there  is  no  need 
of  further  investigation,  because  if  the 
horse  cannot  properly  piaffer  he  is  not 
in  balance  at  all,  and  can  do  nothing 
properly;  and  because  the  piaffer  is  the 
eviaence  of  balance  so  perfect  as  to  make 
anything  else  possible  it  is  the  foundation 
upon  which  the  whole  performance  and 
education  rests,  and  a  most  practical  and 
necessary  movement;  one  which,  while 
not  necessarily  performed  with  the  high 
play  of  knees  and  hocks,  and  the  measured 
cadence  so  much  admired  and  so  beautiful 
to  see,  should  be  possible  to  any  horse  which 
pretends  to  any  proficiency — ^possible  with 
perfect  balance,  light  mouth  and  nimble 
action — merely  a  **trot-in-place,"  i,e„  with- 
out advancing  or  retreating. 

Naturally  not  all  riders  will  care  to 
acquire  special  proficiency,  but  one  may 
go  as  far  as  one  likes,  or  as  one's  seat  and 
Balance  will  allow,  and  with  none  but  the 


best  results.  Even  the  most  persistent 
scoffers  unwittingly  use  certain  methods 
of  la  haute  icole,  although  in  crude  form; 
and  even  in  the  rush  of  a  steeplechase 
field  or  the  clash  of  a  polo  game  these 
elementary  principles  are  curiously  evident. 
Watch  the  field  swing  into  a  turn;  notice 
the  increased  pressure  of  the  outside  legs  of 
the  riders,  and  the  shift  of  the  bit  to  make 
the  horses  change  the  lead  to  the  inner  leg. 
They  will  tell  you  "it  saves  ground,"  and 
so  it  does  for  the  soundest  of  reasons.  In 
the  same  way  as  the  flying  field,  or  a  himt- 
ing  field  for  that  matter,  approach  a  fence 
you  will  see  the  legs  of  the  riders  closing 
— stealing  back,  if  response  is  not  prompt — 
the  "hard  men"  taking  their  horses  "be- 
tween legs  and  hands  "  to  insure  the  utmost 
collection  and  best  balance  possible  at  the 
pace  they  are  traveUng.  Again  the  polo 
player  as  he  throws  his  eager  ponv  back 
upon  his  hatmches  while  going  at  fuU  speed 
executes  with  his  high  hand  and  his  closed 
legs  a  quite  complicated  high-school  feat 
known  as  the  "halt  at  the  gallop."  Now 
one  and  all  of  these  equestrians  would 
sneer  at  these  so-called  "tricks"  if  per- 
formed by  an  exponent  of  the  art,  and  yet 
crudely  utilize  them  every  da)r  of  their 
lives — and  that  is  the  only  important 
thing  about  this  art,  that  it  and  its  prin- 
ciples are  thoroughly  practical,  are  in  uni- 
versal if  unconscious  use,  and  that  as  it  is 
the  pinnacle  of  all  horsemanship,  so  also  is 
it  its  sure  and  necessary  foundation. 

A  saddle-horse  should  "traverse"  to 
either  hand,  should  "pirouette"  and  "re- 
verse," change  its  lead  and  the  canter  as 
naturally  as  it  walks  and  trots;  nor  is  it 
a  really  decent  hack  until  it  can  do  all 
these  tnings.  The  worst  of  it,  and  the  dis- 
cour^ng  feature  of  horse-handling  of  any 
sort,  is  that  once  so  trained  not  one  man  in 
a  hundred  can  comfortably]  ride  him,  and 
not  one  man  in  a  thousand  is  willing  to  pay 
for  either  the  time  or  the  skill  required  to 
thoroughly  finish  a  horse.  We — the  buy- 
ing public — ^prefer  our  horses  "in  the  raw" 
apparently,  and  naturally  purveyors  are 
not  going  to  take  any  more  time  with  the 
animals  than  will  suffice  to  make  them 
acceptable  to  the  prospective  purchaser. 
Hence  the  latter,  in  most  cases,  passes 
his  life  bumping  about  upon  half-nedged 
creatures  spoiled  in  the  making,  and  with 
no  more  appreciation  of  the  dehghts  with- 
in his  reach,  or  of  what  a  genuine,  first- 
class,  balanced  hack  is  like  than  a  primary 
scholar  has  of  trigonometry.  He  need 
never  bother  his  head  with  the  ultimate 
requirements  of  the  science — the  "airs  and 
graces" — ^for  they  mean  nothing,  and  were 
never  intended  to  accomplish  anything  but 
to  afford  evidence  of  nimbleness,  agility, 
true  balance  and  the  perfect  accord  of  man 
and  beast.  The  ABC  includes  such 
apparently  simple,  yet  generally  neglected 
accompHsnments  as  making  a  horse  stand 
still ;  progress  only  when  you  signal  and  at 
the  pace  you  intend;  turn  when  you  guide 


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and  where  you  guide,  by  legs  as  well  or 
more  than  by  hands;  carry  himself  lightly 
and  in  hand  at  all  paces;  step  in  measured 
cadence,  if  naturally  loose-jointed  and 
sprawling  the  more  to  be  collected  and 
balanced;  carry  always  a  perpendicular 
face,  a  closed  mouth  and  a  pliant  one,  and 
a  well-arched  neck;  walk  fast  and  free; 
trot  square  and  regularly;  canter  on  either 
lead,  and  change  at  rider's  will  from  a  walk 
(preferably)  or  from  a  trot  (generally  and 
imfairly  compelled,  and  resulting  not  in  a 
balanced  and  collected  canter,  but  in  a  dis- 
heveled hand-gallop) ;  stop  quickly  at  any 
pace,  and  halt  at  the  walk  and  canter;  tra- 
verse freely  to  either  hand;  back  straight 
and  freely;  turn  freely  on  the  fore-feet 
("reverse  pirouette")  as  in  opening  and 
closing  a  gate,  and  as  quickly  on  the  hind 
feet  (pirouette"),  etc. — ^all  simple  things 
to  teacn  and  simple  for  the  rider  to  learn,  * 
yet  all  important  parts  of  la  haute  ^cole  and 
trom  which  all  the  exhibition  tricks  are 
compounded  and  upon  which  they  are 
founded. 

These  maneuvers  require  two-handed 
riding,  and  the  double  bridle  with  bit  and 
tridon.  One  hand  is  necessary  for  soldiers, 
police,  paralyzed  people,  and  those  who  are 
satisfied  '*  they  know  it  all ; "  two  hands  will 
find  themselves,  at  times,  very  full.  No 
bridle  but  the  double  bridle  will  answer, 
because  none  other  is  constructed  on  in- 
telligent principles,  or  will  give  the  neces- 
sary indications  clearlv  and  powerfully. 
No  martingale  of  any  Kind  is  to  be  used, 
nor  is  any  needed  upon  an  animal  of  the 
shape  and  with  the  temper  nec^sary  to 
make  a  saddle  horse.  Such  things  are 
useful  for  raw  colts,  or  as  a  *' lubber's  de- 
vice" for  controlling  grown  horses.  In 
later  papers  various  methods,  ways  and 
means  will  be  discussed. 

THE   INTERNATIONAL   HORSE    SHOW 

The  English  papers  have  begun  to  notice 
the  International  Horse  Show,  billed  to 
occur  in  London,  June  7-1  ^th,  and  sports- 
men who  have  just  returned  from  the  other 
side  report  that  all  they  have  ever  heard 
of  the  function  has  been  through  the  Ameri- 
can dailies,  and  that  in  England  and  on  the 
Continent  not  only  is  nothing  generally 
known  about  the  matter,  but  no  interest 
whatever  is  felt  in  any  exhibition  now  or  at 
any  time  along  the  Unes  proposed  by  those 
who  are  trying  to  work  up  mterest  in  the 
show.  That  such  an  enterprise  can  ever 
prove  popular  in  London,  or  any  foreign 
country,  i.e.,  on  the  lines  of  our  National 
Show,  IS  much  to  be  doubted.  Englishmen 
are  nothing  if  not  conservative,  and  the 
fashions  and  customs  sanctioned  by  genera- 
tions of  approval  are  quite  good  enough  for 


them;  while,  least  of  all,  will  they  fancy 
any  display  which,  to  filch  a  morsel  of  their 
own  slang,  is  sure  to  **  wipe  their  eye,"  in  the 
harness  classes  (at  least)  in  all  matters  of 
appointment,  and  (if  carried  out  in  every 
particular,  as  it  is  done  in  America)  in  every 
detail  of  their  management  and  up-to- 
dateness.  No  classes  in  the  English  snows 
axe  really  popular,  except  those  for  hunters 
— and  in  a  few  locahties,  the  breeding 
divisions.  The  harness  classes  are  crude 
in  the  extreme,  and  but  sparsely  filled;  the 
saddle  divisions  contain  numbers  of  ani- 
mals which  we  should  class  as  distinctly 
I'hamessy,"  and  a  thoroughbred  or  two  of 
indifferent  manners  for  which  the  strain  is 
notorious.  At  Richmond,  or  any  of  the 
shows,  the  harness  events  are  hardly  fea- 
tured; the  appointments  (from  our  view- 
point) shocking;  the  whole  thing  informal, 
rather  crude  and  very  amateurish,  except 
for  the  hunter  classes,  which  are  fine  and 
generally  decided  over  a  course  that  '* wants 
a  bit  of  doing."  Again,  the  public  that 
reallv  fancies  horses  and  patronizes  shows 
for  that  reason  is  no  larger  than  our  own — 
and  that  is  very  small  indeed — ^while  the 
mobs  of  pushing,  gawkine  social  climbers 
and  "stargazers,  *  who  make  our  shows  pro- 
fitable, are  not  developed,  or  wholly  want- 
ing, in  the  older  and  more  sedate  mother 
country;  and,  indeed,  they  are  Hkely  to  be 
drawn  forth  in  numbers  by  only  one  means 
—that  of  the  King  taking  interest  enough 
in  the  affair  to  show  himself  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, in  person.  Lacking  this,  with  all 
the  attractions  of  the  London  season  claim- 
ing both  attendance  and  tribute,  the  Inter- 
national Horse  Show  seems  Ukely  to  fare 
rather  poorly  in  point  of  patronage  from 
that  general  public  whose  presence  or 
absence  after  all  it  is  which  makes  or  mars 
all  such  functions. 

Exhibitors  from  this  country  will  be  few. 
Messrs.  Vanderbilt  and  McGrann,  an  odd 
dealer  or  two  (possibly)  and  the  list  is  about 
complete.  There  are  to  be  three  sessions 
per  day — 10  to  i — 2  to  6^ — 8  to  10:30 — ^it 
means  a  lot  of  entries  and  a  lot  of  classes  to 
keep  those  hours  full  for  six  da3rs.  Will  the 
response  in  the  harness  and  saddle  classes 
be  strong  enough  to  fill  up?  Hunters, 
ponies,  obraughters  and  breeding  classes 
should  be  good,  but  will  they  attract  even 
the  sparse  horse-show  enthusiasts  to  the 
seat  of  action  thrice  daily  for  six  long — and 
possibly  very  hot — days?  (for  after  the 
cold  winter  over  there,  the  summer  is  likely 
to  be  unusually  fervid).  To  sum  up,  the 
undertaking  is  going  to  cost  somebody  a 
pot  of  money  to  prepare  and  to  carry 
through,  and  it  is  heartily  hoped  that  the 
response  of  the  British  public  will  warrant 
the  outlay  and  recoup  the  sponsors  of  the 
exhibition. 


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MAKING   THE  COUNTRY   HOME 


BY   EBEN   E.  REXFORD 


LAWN   MAKING 

PW  home-makers  will  go  to  the  expense 
of  employing  a  professional  lawn- 
maker.  But  tne  amateur  who  undertakes 
to  make  his  own  lawn  will  be  likely  to 
score  a  failtire  unless  he  thinks  out  his 
work  carefully  before  beginning  it,  and 
goes  at  it  intelligently,  ratner  than  in  the 
haphazard  fashion  which  characterizes  the 
work  of  many  amateurs. 

A  lawn,  to  be  pleasing,  must  have  a 
smooth,  eveh  surface.  It  can  be  perfectly 
level,  or  it  can  slope  evenly  from  the 
house  to  the  street.  A  level  lawn  is  easiest 
to  make,  unless  there  happens  to  be  a  good 
deal  of  soil  about  the  house,  from  the  ex- 
cavations of  the  cellar.  In  this  case  it 
is  an  easy  matter  to  secure  a  slope.  Unless 
a  house  stands  well  above  ground,  on  a  good 
foundation  of  stone,  I  would  advise  a  level 
lawn. 

Go  over  the  grotmd  with  spade  and  hoe 
and  cut  down  all  knolls.  The  soil  thus 
obtained  should  be  used  in  filling  hollows. 
But  do  not  undertake  to  fill  any  depres- 
sion of  the  surface  by  simply  dumping 
loose  soil  into  it.  Put  in  a  little,  work  it 
over  until  mellow,  and  then  beat  it  down 
thoroughly.  Then  put  in  some  more,  and 
repeat  the  beating  process,  and  keep  on 
doing  this  tmtil  the  surface  is  even.  It  is 
very  necessary  that  this  part  of  the  work 
should  be  carefully  done.  If  it  is  not  the 
soil  will  settle  and  your  lawn  will  have 
little  inequalities  all  over  its  surface  and 
be  anything  but  satisfactory. 

After  having  leveled  the  ground,  the 
surface  of  it  ^ould  be  scarified  in  some 
manner,  to  prepare  it  for  the  recepttion  of 
seed.  Some  persons  go  over  it  with  the 
hoe,  making  little  cuts  all  over  the  sxu*- 
face,  following  this  operation  with  an  iron 
rake,  to  pulverize  the  soil.  This  does  very 
wen  where  the  grotmds  are  small,  but  is  a 
somewhat  tedious  task  on  large  grotmds. 
I  would  advise  using  a  harrow  drawn  by 
one  horse.  Go  over  the  grotmd  thoroughly 
one  way,  and  then  cross-harrow  it.  Do 
not  have  the  harrow  teeth  set  to  cut  deeply 
into  the  soil.  This  is  tmnecessary,  as  all 
you  want  to  do  is  to  prepare  the  surface 
tor  the  seed.  If  there  are  any  bits  of 
sward  or  clods  after  harrowing  is  com- 
pleted, pulverize  them  with  the  ux)n  rakes. 

If  harrowing  is  not  feasible,  the  spade 
can  be  resorted  to  as  a  leveling  tool.  Or 
a  garden  cultivator  can  be  used  with  a 
fair  degree  of  success,  tmless  the  soil  is 
grassy.  Manure  should  be  applied  liber- 
ally,  and  can   be   done  most  effectively 


when  the  process  of  leveling  is  going  on, 
for  then  it  becomes  thoroughly  mixed  with 
the  soil.  I  could  advise  chemical  fertil- 
izers, bone  dust,  or  guano,  because  with 
these  we  get  no  weed  seeds. 

Get  the  very  best  ^ade  of  lawn  mixture 
for  seeding,  and  use  it  liberally.  I  believe 
in  thick  sowing.  This  way  you  are  not 
obliged  to  wait  a  year  for  a  good  sward. 
Sow  the  seed  on  a  very  still  day  if  you  want 
an  even  "catch."  I  would  advise  sowing 
from  one  side,  and  then  cross-sowing.  It 
is  a  good. plan  to  sow  just  before  a  rain,  if 
possible,  as  this  will  imbed  the  seed  in  the 
soil  and  prevent  it  from  being  blown  away. 
If  the  season  is  a  dry  one  it  is  well  to  roll 
or  beat  down  the  soil  after  sowing  to  make 
it  compact  enough  to  retain  moisture  tmtil 
germination  can  take  place. 

Don't  begin  to  use  the  lawn-mower  too 
early  in  the  season  on  new  lawns.  Let  the 
plants  get  a  good  start  before  you  be^ 
to  interfere  with  them.  When  mowmg 
is  begun  have  the  cutter-knives  set  so  that 
they  will  not  cut  low.  but  just  clip  off  the 
tops  of  the  plants.  Many  a  lawn  is  ruined 
by  shaving  the  sward  while  it  is  in  its 
"stoolingHout"  period.  Keep  watch  for 
weeds.  Whenever  one  is  seen  pull  it  up. 
It  will  not  be  an  easy  task  a  little  later 
when  the  grass  becomes  thick  and  matted 

R0CKBRIB8 

Rockeries,  when  well  constructed,  add 
much  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  home 
grounds.  But  a  formally  built  rockery, 
— one  laid  up  with  prim  precision — is  one  of 
the  most  depressing  things  it  has  ever  been 
my  fortune  to  see.  It  is  a  constant  source 
of  annoyance  to  the  owner  and  of  amuse- 
ment to  the  visitor,  because  its  formality 
makes  it  a  btirlesoue  on  the  real  thing.  A 
rockery  of  nature  s  making  is  always  wild 
and  rough  in  outline — but  artistic.  It  is 
the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  success- 
fully imitate  nature's  way  of  doing  things, 
but  that  is  what  we  must  do  if  we  wot3d 
make  the  rockery  in  any  way  satisfactory. 
The  most  pleasing  one  I  ever  saw  was  made 
before  the  maker  got  ready  to  make  it. 
This  may  seem  like  a  somewhat  paradoxi- 
cal statement,  but  nevertheless  it  is  a  true 
one.  He  drew  the  stones  from  which  he 
planned  to  build  it,  and  dumped  them 
down  carelessly.  His  only  thought  at  the 
time  was  to  get  the  stones  unload^.  When 
all  the  matmal  was  on  the  ground,  and  he 
was  ready  to  set  about  the  work  of  con- 
struction, he  took  observations,  and  it  oc- 
ctirred  to  him  that  the  heap  of  stones  left 


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just  as  thrown  off  the  wagon  was  really  a 
good  deal  more  like  a  natural  rockery  than 
anything  he  could  build.  And  he  had  the 
good  sense  to  leave  it  just  as  it  was — big 
stones  and  httle  stones,  hard-heads  and 
bowlders — all  indiscriminately  mixed.  The 
result  was  that  when  he  had  filled  the 
cracks  and  crevices  with  earth  and  planted 
wild  plants  and  vines  there  he  had  a  really 
pleasmg  imitation  of  nature's  handiwork. 
It  wotdd  not  have  been  that  if  he  had 
carried  out  his  original  plan. 

Therefore,  if  you  propose  to  build  a 
rockery,  let  me  advise  you  to  simply  throw 
the  stones  together  in  an  utterlv  aimless 
way,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  And  plant  in 
it  only  wild  things,  such  as  you  find  grow- 
ing where  the  stones  are  dug.  Use  this 
earth  to  fill  in  between  the  stones.  Don't 
have  it  in  the  front  yard.  Put  it  in  a 
secluded  portion  of  the  grounds.  The  very 
idea  of  a  rock-garden  suggests  seclusion 
and  aloofness  from  the  public  view. 

WATER   GARDENS 

Aquatic  gardening  is  getting  to  be  some- 
what of  a  fad  of  late.  The  probabilities 
are  that  it  will  speedily  become  something 
more  than  a  fad,  for  it  is  a  phase  of  garden- 
ing which  has  great  possibihties  in  it.  Those 
who  are  so  situated  that  they  can  have  the 
needed  water  supply  will  find  that  a  tank 
or  pond  of  lilies  and  other  water-loving 
plants  can  be  made  extremely  ornamental. 
It  can  be  stocked  in  April  and  May,  and 
will  give  very  pleasing  results  the  first 
season. 

In  making  the  tank  or  pond,  excavate 
the  ground  to  the  depth  of  at  least  two 
feet  and  a  half.  (The  size  of  it  must  be 
determined  largely  by  the  size  of  your 
grounds.  I  would  not  advise  one  less  than 
thirty  feet  square.  If  you  have  room 
for  a  larger  one,  by  all  means  build  it,  for 
there  are  so  many  desirable  water-loving 
plants  that  a  small  tank  will  oblige  you  to 
leave  out  many  kinds  you  would  like  to 
grow.) 

If  the  soil  at  the  bottom  of  the  tank  or 
pond  is  a  stiff  clay  it  may  not  be  necessary 
to  use  cement  there.  Many  ponds  artifici- 
ally supplied  with  water  are  simply  "pud- 
dled" at  the  bottom.  That  means  that 
before  water  is  let  into  them  the  clay  is 
mixed  to  the  consistency  of  thick  paint 
and  smoothed  over  the  soil.  Of  course 
this  will  not  make  the  bottom  entirely 
water-tight,  but  it  will  be  so  nearly  so  that 
it  will  not  be  necessary  to  turn  on  the 
pump  oftener  than  twice  a  week  to  keep  it 
full.  In  loose,  light  soils  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  cement  the  entire  bottom.  It  is  a 
good  plan  to  lay  down  small  stones  and  nm 
cement  between  and  over  them,  making  a 
smooth,  level  floor.  About  the  edge,  a 
wall  should  be  laid  up  in  stone  and  cement, 
taking  care  to  have  it  water-tight.  In  one 
comer  of  the  bottom  a  pipe  should  be  set 
in  cement,  through  whicn  the  water  can  be 


let  off  in  fall.  Let  the  upper  end  of  this 
pipe — which  should  be  not  less  than  two 
inches  across — come  flush  with  the  cement 
of  the  bottom.  Fit  it  with  a  plug,  which 
can  be  removed  when  you  desire  to  let  the 
water  off.  It  will  be  necessary  to  drain 
the  pond  before  winter  sets  in  to  prevent 
injury  to  the  cement  from  freezing,  unless 
you  cover  it  with  boards  and  hank  it  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  keep  out  frost. 

After  the  cement  has  hardened  fill  the 
bottom  of  the  tank  with  muck  to  the  depth 
of  four  or  five  inches.  In  this  many  of  our 
native  aquatics  can  be  planted. 

If  you  have  a  windniill  on  the  premises 
it  will  be  an  easy  matter  to  connect  it  with 
the  well  or  other  source  of  water  by  a  small 
pipe,  through  which  the  tank  can  be  kept 
supplied  with  water.  Possibly  there  is  a 
brook  which  can  be  diverted  from  its  origi- 
nal channel  and  made  to  supply  the  neces- 
sary water. 

The  expense  of  building  a  tank  is  not 
large.  If  well  constructed  it  will  last  for 
years.  In  it  can  be  grown  nearly  all  kinds 
of  our  native  water  lilies.  These  you  can 
purchase  from  several  leading  florists,  who 
grow  them  for  the  express  purpose  of  stock- 
mg  ponds  and  tanks  of  the  kind  described. 
They  also  grow  many  kinds  of  foreign 
plants  adapted  to  water,  such  as  the  Egjrp- 
tian  lotus,  with  its  immense  foliage  and 
large  very  fragrant  flower,  and  the  regia. 
I  would  advise  you  to  procure  their 
catalogues,  in  which  you  will  find  not  only 
a  full  description  of  the  plants  they  have 
for  sale,  but  many  exceedingly  valuable 
hints  about  their  culture. 

From  what  has  been  said  about  drawing 
off  the  water  in  fall,  the  reader  may  be  at  a 
loss  to  tmderstand  what  becomes  of  the 
plants  growing  in  it  during  summer.  I 
will  explain :  Most  of  the  lilies  and  plants 
of  that  character  are  not  planted  directly 
in  the  soil  in  the  bottom  of  the  pond.  They 
are  put  into  boxes  of  earth  two  feet  across 
and  perhaps  a  foot  in  depth,  and  dropped 
into  the  water  where  you  want  them  to 
grow.  If  given  a  good  rich  soil  they  will 
make  a  vigorous  growth  and  do  qmte  as 
well  as  if  planted  directly  in  the  muck  be- 
neath them.  In  fall,  when  the  water  is 
let  off,  they  are  taken  from  the  pond  in 
their  boxes  and  placed  in  some  shed,  cellar, 
or  other  spot  where  they  will  be  free  from 
frost.  It  will  not  matter  if  they  get  dry. 
The  roots  will  be  all  the  better  for  that, 
for  they  will  be  getting  a  complete  rest 
during  their  winter  storage. 

Of  course  the  plants  put  directly  into 
the  soil  can  not  be  removed,  and  it  is  not 
necessary  that  they  should  be.  The  t^ik 
is  filled  with  leaves.  These  are  tramped 
down  well  above  the  muck.  After  that 
a  covering  of  boards  goes  on,  and  this  is 
well  banked  with  snow.  In  this  manner 
the  plants  growing  in  the  soil  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  tank  are  well  protected  from 
cold.  Sometimes  some  of  our  native  lilies 
are  planted  in  the  soil  and  left  in  the  tank 


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over  winter,  with  good  results.  But,  as  a 
general  thing,  this  class  of  plants  is  win- 
tered in  the  cellar,  as  explained  above. 

Let  me  add  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
may  have  some  idea  of  making  a  water 
garden,  that  any  one  can  be  reasonably 
sure  of  success  in  the  cultxu'e  of  the  plants 
adapted  to  this  phase  of  gardening.  In 
fact  they  will  take  care  of  themselves  after 
you  get  them  planted.  If  you  want  some- 
thing .out  of  the  common,  something  uniaue 
and  altogether  delightful  that  will  add  a 
most  attractive  feature  to  the  cotmtry 
home  grounds,  have  a  water  garden. 

ANSWERS  TO   CORRBSPONDBNTS 

The  Best  Canary.  (C.  W.  S.)— The  best 
singers,  among  canaries,  are  fotmd  in  the 
strain  known  as  St.  Andreasberg.  These 
are  selected,  while  young,  with  reference 
to  their  vocal  abilities,  all  ordinary  birds 
being  rejected.  The  "chosen  few"  are 
given  especial  training  by  men  skilled  in 
this  business.  Their  song,  when  developed, 
is  wonderfully  soft  and  sweet  and  includes 
trills,  runs,  and  what  are  called  "water- 
bubble"  notes,  in  great  variety.  Ameri- 
can dealers  import  them  in  November. 
The  supply  is  always  limited,  therefore 
they  bnn^  a  good  price.  One  never  tires 
of  these  birds,  whose  song  is  as  superior  to 
that  of  the  ordinary  canary  as  that  of  the 
mocking-bird  is  to  the  chatter  of  an  Eng- 
lish sparrow. 

Coal  Ashes  for  Walks.  (B.  T.)— Coal 
ashes  make  an  excellent  foundation  for 
walks  and  drives.  Excavate  the  path  or 
drive  to  the  depth  of  eight  inches.  Mix 
unsifted  ashes  with  about  one-third  coarse 
sand.  Put  four  inches  of  this  mixture  in 
the  bottom  of  the  excavation,  potmding  it 
down  as  firmly  as  possible.  Set  up  bricks 
on  their  side  along  each  side  of  the  path, 
allowing  them  to  rest  on  the  filling  of  ashes 
and  sand,  and  fill  in  with  coarse  gravel. 
This  will  give  you  a  hard,  dry  walk  which 
will  last  indefinitely.  The  brick  edging 
will  prevent  grass  from  growing  out  mto 
the  walk  and  make  a  much  neater  job  of  it 
than  is  possible  where  gravel  and  sward 
meet  each  other.  If  gravel  is  not  readily 
obtainable,  the  entire  filling  can  be  made 
of  ashes;  but  an  upper  layer  of  gravel  is 
advisable,  because  it  will  allow  water  to 
run  off  quickly. 

Flower  Beds  on  the  Lawn.  (C.  H.  K.) 
— Don't  cut  up  your  lawn — anyway  that 
part  of  it  between  house  and  street — with 
flower  beds.  They  rob  it  of  that  effect 
of  breadth  and  dignity  which  an  tmbroken 
sweep  of  sward  ought  to  impart  to  the 
house  lot.  Especially  are  beds  out  of 
place  on  small  lawns.  Have  your  beds  at 
the  sides,  or  at  the  rear. 

Ornamenting  a  Driveway.  .(W.  M.) — 
This  correspondent  has  a  strip  of  groimd 
ten  feet  wide  and  one  hundred  feet  long 
on  one  side  of  his  driveway,  and  wants  to 


know  how  he  had  better  plant  it.  There 
are  several  ways  by  which  such  a  strip 
could  be  ■  made  charming.  First,  by  set- 
ting it  out  with  hardy  shrubs,  putting 
largetgrowing  kinds  at  least  ten  feet  apart, 
to  allow  for  future  growth,  and  small  ones 
about  six.  Set  about  four  feet  from  back 
of  strip.  The  smaller  kinds  can  be  ar- 
ranged in  front  of  the  larger  ones  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  fill  all  breaks  or  gaps,  if 
thought  best.  In  front  of  these  can  be  set 
such  low -growing  hardy  perennials  as  phlox 
sublata,  achillea  and  coreopsis  lanceolata, 
with  hvacinths,  tulips  and  other  early 
spring-flowering  bulbs  between  them.  Cfr 
summer-fiowermg  plants  like  the  gladiolus 
and  dahlia  can  be  worked  in  among  the 
shrubs,  and  annuals  can  be  given  a  place  in 
the  foreground.  A  fine  hardy  border  can 
be  made  by  planting  perennials  like  del- 
phinium, hollyhock,  peonies  and  others  of 
that  class,  giving  the  tall-growing  kinds  a 
place  in  the  rear  and  graduating  the  plants 
according  to  size  toward  the  driveway. 
This  can  be  done  so  as  to  secure  a  most 
charming  effect  if  one  studies  the  size  and 
habits  of  the  plants  used  before  putting 
them  out.  Or  there  can  be  a  combina- 
tion of  shrubs,  perennials,  annuals  and 
bulbs. 

A  Bay  Window.  (Mrs.  K.  M.  T.)— If 
you  are  going  to  have  a  bay  window  built 
for  the  accommodation  of  plants  rather 
than  for  looks,  build  it  more  like  a  porch 
than  anything  else — a  porch  with  posts 
at  the  comers  only,  and  enclosed  with  sash. 
Let  the  woodwork  be  as  light  as  possible 
that  it  may  not  interfere  with  the  free  ad- 
mission of  light.  Have  all  the  sash  space 
you  can.  Let  the  cornice  be  narrow,  and 
let  the  roof  project  only  enough  to  shed 
rain  well.  Let  the  sash  begin  about  two 
feet  from  the  floor.  Ceil  the  space  below, 
outside  and  in  with  matched  lumber  used 
over  ordinary  boards,  with  two  or  three 
thicknesses  of  building  paper  between. 
Let  the  floor  be  of  good  matched  boards, 
lined  with  sheathing  paper.  Of  course 
there  should  be  a  thick  wall  under  it.  Use 
good-sized  glass  bedded  in  putty  and  held 
m  place  with  strips  of  wood,  rather  than 
putty,  as  the  latter,  when  exposed  to  out- 
side influences,  will  soon  peel  off.  If  you 
have  proper  facilities  for  warming  it,  or 
can  arrange  for  them,  do  not  make  your 
plant  room  less  than  eight  by  twelve  feet 
m  size  and  about  nine  feet  high.  You  will 
find  that  your  collection  will  soon  fill  a 
room  of  this  size,  and  the  chances  are  that 
you  will  wish  you  had  built  it  larger.  Have 
the  end  sashes  in  two  sections,  with  the 
upper  ones  htmg  from  the  top  on  hinges, 
so  that  they  can  be  swxmg  outward  for 
ventilation  in  summer.  If  the  plant  room 
opens  off  the  living  room  or  parlor  I  would 
advise  having  a  large  opening  between, 
fitted  with  glass  doors,  as  this  will  allow 
the  occupants  of  the  dwelling  to  get  a  full 
view  of  the  plants  at  all  times. 


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MR.  JOHN  BURROUGHS  ON  FAKE 
NATURAL   HISTORY 


BY   HAROLD  S.   DEMING 


THERE  is  an  article  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  John  Burroughs  in  The  Outing 
Magazine  for  February,  1007,  tmder  the 
heading  "Fake  Natural  History — Gold 
Bricks  for  the  Editors."  Three-fourths  of 
this  article  is  devoted  to  two  *'Briartown 
Sketches"  by  me  in  Harper's  for  Octo- 
ber, 1905,  and  May,  1906.  Mr.  Burroughs 
announces  these  sketches  to  be  "sham" 
and  "false,"  not  "records  of  genuine  ob- 
servations made  in  field  and  wood"  but 
"blundering  caricatures"  built  of  "a  tissue 
of  falsehoods"  which  substitute  the  "in- 
vention" of  a  fakir  for  the  honest  obser- 
vations of  the  true  nature  student  whose 
spirit  he  skillfully  simtdates. 

If  the  reader  is  interested  to  turn  to  the 
"Briartown  Sketches,"  which  have  called 
forth  from  Mr.  Burroughs  this  unqualified 
denunciation,  it  will  perhaps  be  easier  for 
him  to  understand  the  nature  of  this  attack. 
The  Briartown  Sketches  are  not  treatises 
upon  natural  history.  They  do  not  at- 
tempt to  generalize  upon  plant  or  animial 
life.  They  do  not  pretend  to  present  re- 
sults of  prolonged  scientific  research,  but  are 
just  what  they  appear  to  be,  outdoor 
sketches,  written  not  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  scientific  naturalist  at  all,  but  com- 
posed b^  casting  together  into  pleasant 
descriptive  form  a  series  of  observations 
made  b v  an  interested  onlooker  at  the  do- 
ings of  birds  and  other  creatures. 

Even  in  accredited  text-books  upon 
natural  history,  where  the  statements  take 
the  form  of  generalizations  assumed  to  be 
founded  only  upon  observations  repeatedly 
verified,  some  erroneous  statements  cer- 
tainly appear.  In  the  very  nature  of  the 
work  of  even  the  highly  skilled  field  nat- 
uralist there  is  alwa3rs  some  possibility 
of  error;  and  because  of  this,  few  natural- 
ists, I  think,  would  hold  any  general  state- 
ment as  to  the  exact  habits  of  a  given 
animal  as  final,  and  not  subject  to  modifi- 
cation by  later  observations.  In  the  notes 
to  later  editions  of  works  like  Nuttall's 
Ornithology  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find 
this  or  that  statement  by  the  author  ques- 
tioned, and  on  good  grounds.  If,  tnen, 
even  in  well-known  text-books  errors  ap- 
pear, and  are  justly  criticized  afterward. 
It  will  surprise  no  one  if  in  these  Briartown 
Sketches  errors  crop  out.  For  in  the  prep- 
aration of  a  scientific  text-book  every  care 
is  taken  by  a  skilled  naturalist  01  wide 
experience  to  verify  each  statement  made; 
while  in  these  outdoor  sketches  the  state- 


ments rest  upon  the  observations — some 
of  them  upon  the  isolated  observations — 
of  a  "countryman"  rather  than  of  a 
"naturalist." 

If,  therefore,  some  naturalist  of  experi- 
ence had,  upon  reading  these  sketches,  seen 
fit  to  criticize  this  or  that  fact  as  seemingly 
carelessly  recorded,  too  loosely  described 
even  for  the  purpose  of  an  outdoor  sketch, 
or  so  at  variance  with  the  reports  of  others 
as  probably  to  have  been  stated  from 
faulty  observation  or  recollection,  the 
criticism  would  not  only,  have  been  legiti- 
mate, but  such  as  the  writer  of  the  sketches 
would  have  been  grateful  for. 

But  this  is  not  the  attitude  of  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs. He  does  not  question,  in  a  criti- 
cal spirit,  the  accuracy  of  one  or  many 
statements,  but  denounces  the  sketches  in 
their  entirety  as  intentionally  faked  up, 
invented,  falsified,  fact  upon  fact,  from 
befi[inning  to  end. 

It  would  be  impracticable  to  catalogue 
all  the  statements  which  Mr.  Burroughs 
condemns  as  invented;  and  it  would  be 
impossible  to  furnish  direct  proof  of  the 
truth  of  all  those  statements.  Clearly 
many  of  them,  as  individual  incidents  or 
facts,  depend  solely  upon  my  word.  But 
it  is  not  necessary  to  prove  or  disprove 
all  these  statements  in  order  to  test  Mr. 
Burroughs'  capacity  as  a  fair  judge  and 
critic  of  the  recorded  observations  of  other 
men.  An  examination  of  Mr.  Burroughs* 
article  itself, ^-of  its  "quotations"  from 
the  Briartown  Sketches,  of  its  reasoning, 
of  its  misstatements  as  to  facts  of  natural 
history  easily  within  the  ken  of  many, — 
will  furnish  test  enough. 

Though  to  the  ordinary  eye  it  would 
seem  clear  enough  that  these  are  not  scien- 
tific monographs,  but  literary  sketches, 
Mr.  Burroughs  is  imwilling  to  permit  in 
them  any  latitude  of  descriptive  phrase; 
but  has  demanded  of  them  an  exactness 
of  statement  and  a  nicety  of  description 
like  that  in  a  scientific  treatise.  Yet,  if  the 
reader  will  place  the  Briartown  Sketches 
side  by  side  with  Mr.  Burroughs*  article,  he 
will  notice  that  Mr.  Burroughs  himself,  in 
his  versions  of  my  statements,  certainly 
shows  no  scientific  exactness.  My  state- 
ments are  there  in  cold  type,  unchanging. 
They  were  facts  under  Mr.  Burroughs  ob- 
servation. '  If  the  reader  will  contrast  his 
own  impression  of  them  with  the  impres- 
sion which  Mr.  Burroughs  gives  of  them 
in  his  article,  the  resiut  will  need  little 


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comment.  Not  only  does  Mr.  Burroughs 
pick  out  isolated  statements  and  phrases 
and  treat  them  apart  from  the  context, 
omitting  when  he  speaks  of  one  statement 
any  mention  of  another  explaining  it;  he 
goes  farther,  he  puts  unfair  construction 
upon  passages  as  a  whole,  and  as  a  result 
attacks  not  what  I  have  said,  but  what 
he  reports  me  to  have  said;  and  in  one  in- 
stance at  least  he  invented  an  extraneous 
circumstance  which  threw  a  false  light  on 
what  I  did  say. 

To  illustrate:  Mr.  Burroughs  declares 
that  I  could  not  possibly  have  identified 
a  crow  on  various  occasions  as  being  the 
same  crow,  for  "every  crow,"  he  writes, 
"looks  like  every  other  crow,  and  even  if** 
(the  italics  here  and  elsewhere  are  mine) 
"one  had  a  bell  upon  some  particular  in- 
dividual or  some  conspicuous  mark,"  it 
would  be  impossible  to  trace  his  wander- 
ings. Would  the  reader  suppose  from  this 
that  the  crow  in  question  had  any  distin- 
guishing mark?  Yet  the  Briartown  Sketches 
twice  calls  attention  to  "Crusoe's"  ra^n^ed, 
injured-looking  right  wing.  Did  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs overlook  this  fact? 

Again :  Mr.  Burroughs  invents  a  locality 
for  my  sketches,  which  he  states  to  have 
been  written  in  New  Jersey,  and  upon  that 
assumption  which  he  has  invented  bases 
"proof,"  by  reference  to  the  flora  of  New 
Jersey,  that  I  invented  certain  facts. 

Seemingly  reporting  the  gist  of  my 
words  in  another  place,  Mr.  Burroughs 
writes:  "We  see  the  female  .  .  . 
(hummer)  .  .  .  while  her  mate  brings 
her  bits  ot  rotten  wood.  .  .  .  He 
makes  a  heap  of  the  material  beside  him, 
while  she  .  .  .  converts  it  into  a  kind 
of  pulp  for  use  in  her  nest  .  .  . 
Fancy  pulp  made  from  rotten  wood!  It 
were  as  easy  to  make  pulp  from  ashes  or 
common  soil."  Here  are  the  words  of 
the  sketch:  "...  both  hurried  to 
a  rotten    stump  near    by,    and     .     .     . 

E lucked  off  bits  of  the  pulpy  wood  and 
roucht  them  to  the  maple.  After  a  little, 
the  female  bird,  perching  on  the  maple 
branch,  began  to  work  over  the  pulp 
aheadv  collected.  .  .  .  With  deft  bill 
she  snredded  the  fibers  in  the  rotting 
wood,  sorted  her  material,  and  set  about, 
building  a  nest.  She  built  it  in  layers,  the 
first  one  fastened  to  the  rough  maple  bark 
by  innumerable  fiber  ends,  each  succeeding 
layer  woven  into  the  one  below."  Later  on 
in  the  sketch  I  referred  in  a  general  way 
to  this  nest  as  being  built  of  **  woven  fibers 
and  wood  pulp."  Could  any  fair-minded 
reporter  of  wnat  I  said  represent  me  as 
having  described  the  hummer  as  manufac- 
turing wood  pulp,  like  a  hornet?  Is  not 
Mr.  Burroughs  over-eager  to  convict  me  of 
"grossly  and  stupidly  misrepresenting" 
facts?  My  written  words  were  facts  under 
his  observation.  Has  he  represented  them 
with  overmuch  care? 

If  the  reader  will  apply  to  Mr.  Burroughs* 
versions  of  my  statements  the  "test  of  the 


parallel  column,"  he  will  find  for  himself 
plenty  of  illustrations  of  the  distorted  im- 
pr^ion  of  another  man's  observations 
which  Mr.  Burroughs  appears  willing  to 
give  to  the  public  when  he  is  denouncing 
that  other  man  as  a  bungling  misreporter 
and  inventor  of  facts.  A  goodly  share  of 
his  attacks  are  not  upon  what  I  actually 
said  but  upon  his  perversions  of  what  I 
said.  I  shall  have  occasion  to  allude  to 
some  other  instances  of  this. 

Some  of  his  dogmatic  generaUzations 
from  which  he  has  deduced  the  falsity  of 
my  "invented"  statements  will  perhaps 
surprise  the  reader,  if  he  has  ever  taken  a 
country  vacation  in  New  England  in  the 
summer.  For  instance,  he  lays  down  this 
rule  as  to  the  race  of  kingbirds:  "As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  kingbird  only  attacks 
its  enemies  when  they  appear  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  its  nest."  Has  Mr.  Burroughs  never 
seen  a  kingbird  pursue  a  hawk  or  crow  as 
far  as  his  eye  could  follow  them  on  some 
late  August  day  when  kingbirds'  nests  are 
empty?  I  venture  to  say  that  the  reader 
has.  It  is  worth  mention  in  passing  that 
Mr.  Burroughs  misreports  me  as  having 
made  the  kingbirds  "attack  ...  a 
great  blue  heron." 

Again,  Mr.  Burroughs  writes  that  I 
"should  be  told  that  red-shouldered  black- 
birds do  not  nest  in  colonies  of  'countless 
pairs,'  but  singly — ^a  pair  or  two  in  one 
locaUty."  Therefore  I  lied  when,  in  writ- 
ing  of  a  broad  marsh  bordering  a  lake,  I 
put  in  one  of  mv  sketches  these  words: 

In  the  alders  almost  countless  pairs  of 
red- winged  blackbirds  built  their  nests." 
To  begin  with,  would  a  fair  critic  trans- 
mute my  description  above  into  one  of  a 
"colony  (such  as  herons  build)?  But 
waiving  that,  if  Mr.  Burrou|[hs  has  never 
seen  more  than  a  couple  of  pairs  of  redwings 
nesting  in  one  "locality,"  I  feel  sure  that 
there  are  plenty  to  agree  with  me  that 
this  can  go  to  prove  no  more  than  that  Mr. 
Burroughs'  experience  with  redwings  has 
been  rather  limited,  much  too  limited  for 
him  to  generaUze  with  assurance  as  to 
every  group  of  redwings  in  the  union. 

In  Thb  Outing  Magazine  for  December 
last  Mr.  Burroughs  states  that "  the  nests  (of 
humming  birds)  are  always  neatly  thatched 
with  lichens;"  and  with  this  as  his  scientific 
premise,  he  deduces  the  result  that  I  lie 
when  J  write  that  I  saw  on  a  grapevine 
a  hummer's  nest  thatched  with  bits  of 
grapevine  bark.  If  he  will  look  in  "Bird- 
craft,"  by  Mrs.  Mabel  Osgood  Wright,  a 
well-known  writer,  he  will  find  record  of  a 
hummer's  nest,  in  a  tall  spruce,  "covered 
with  small  flakes  of  spruce  bark,  instead 
of  the  usual  lichens.  This  accords  ill 
with  the  omniscience  of  Mr.  Burroughs 
as  to  humming;  birds. 

Humming  birds,  Mr.  Burroughs  declares, 
nest  in  May  or  early  June,  and  in  New 
Jersey — the  locality  which  he  invented  for 
my  sketches — near  the  middle  of  May. 
Therefore  he  deduces  that  I  lie  when  I  re- 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


Sort  a  nest  as  newly  built  when  the  wood 
lies  and  meadow  lilies  were  in  bloom. 
And,  exclaims  Mr.  Burroughs  sarcastically, 
'*In  this  sketch  the  wild  grapevines  are  m 
bloom  also  and  minele  their  perfume  with 
that  of  the  lilies!  In  my  sketch  the 
reader  will  find,  in  the  course  of  a  gener^ 
description  of  the  colors  and  perfumes  of 
a  summer  noon,  this  phrase:  "Each  stir 
of  air  among  the  grapevines,  bringing  me 
the  blended  fragrance  of  leaf  and  bloom, 
set  the  branches  overhead  weaving  new 
shadowy  designs  on  the  grass."  I  wrote 
not  of  blooming  grapevines,  but  of  a  sum- 
mer breeze  bringing  its  burden  of  mingled 
odors  through  the  natural  arbor  of  wild 
grape.  But  adopting  Mr.  Burroughs'  ver- 
sion, if  he  will  turn  to  Gray's  Manual  of 
Botany,  he  will  find  that  the  blossoming 
seasons  of  wood  lilies,  meadow  lilies,  and 
grapevine  overlap  in  June.  That  is  cer- 
tainly true  for  Massachusetts,  near  the 
southern  border  of  which  my  sketches  were 
in  fact  written.  And  a  number  of  wit- 
nesses could  corroborate  me  in  the  state- 
ment that  in  northern  Connecticut  hum- 
mers sometimes  nest  in  late  June  and  early 
July,  as  the  hummers  of  which  I  wrote  did.. 
Reference  to  "Birdlore"  for  May,  1901, 
will  disclose  a  report  of  a  hummer's  nest  as 
newly  built  about  the  21st  of  July  in 
En^lewood,  New  Jersey,  Trvdy,  it  looks 
as  if  hummers,  lihes  and  CTapevine  were 
violating  the  laws  which  Air.  Burroughs 
had  appointed  for  them.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  few  persons,  I  think,  will  question 
the  fact  that  individual  pairs  of  many  of 
our  common  birds  may  now  and  then  be 
found  nesting,  or  individual  patches  of 
many  of  our  common  flowers  be  found 
blooming,  "out  of  season." 

When  Mr.  Burroughs  turns  his  attention 
to  my  report  of  having  found  a  crow's 
treasxire  heap  of  bright  trifles,  he  is  moved 
to  declare  a  general  law  of  nature  broad 
enough  to  include  all  animals.  He  de- 
nounces my  statement  as  a  palpable  in- 
vention, "preposterous  and  not  worthy  of 
a  moment  s  credence.  What  purpose," 
queries  Mr.  Burroughs,  "could  the  habit" 
of  collecting  bright  objects  "serve  in  the 
economy  of"  a  crow's  life?  "None." 
"That  tame  crows  will  carry  away  bright 
objects  and  hide  them  is  no  oroof  that 
wild  crows  will  do  the  same."  (Nor  would 
it,  Mr.  Burroughs,  appear  to  be  an  appro- 
priate argument  ifor  the  contrary  conclu- 
sion.) *'ihe  wild  creatures  have  no  traits  or 
habits  that  are  not  directly  related  to  their 
needs,' '  says  Mr.  Burroughs.  Taking  the 
italicized  sentence  as  an  enunciation  of  an 
incontrovertible  law  of  science,  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs deduces  the  result  that  my  report 
of  the  crow's  treasure  is  a  deliberate  he. 
Does  the  Australian  bower  bird  build  its 
bowers  and  ornament  them  with  bright 
feathers  and  Uttle  heaps  of  whitened  bones 
to  meet  an  "economic"  need  in  its  life? 
And  does  the  clipping  of  the  wings  and 
the  taming  of  a  crow  bom  wild  create 


within  it  new  needs,  non-economic,  leading 
it  to  steal,  hide,  and  then  secretly  visit  (as 
more  than  one  tame  crow  is  known  to 
have  done)  various  bright  objects? 

How  can  even  a  natxiralist  of  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs' long  experience  lay  down  the  law 
as  to  what  every  individual  wild  creature 
in  this  world  will  do,  and  hold  such  a 
mighty  generalization  fit  basis  from  which, 
as  if  by  geometry,  to  deduce  that  any  one 
who  diners  with  nim  is  a  liar? 

Another  example  of  Mr.  Burroughs*  wil- 
lingness to  construe  the  statements  01 
another  man  into  deliberate  Ues  can  be 
noted  in  what  follows:  "Our  Briartowi. 
observer  has  pretematurally  sharp  eyes. 
This  crow's  nest  was  forty  feet  from  the 
ground  in  a  tall  pine,  ana  yet  this  writer 
claims  he  could  tell  the  kind  of  food  the 
mother  bird  brought  her  young."  Some 
persons  I  have  questioned  did  not  think 
it  preternatural  to  judge  of  a  large  worm 
or  insect  at  forty  feet  through  clear  air. 
And  it  might  occur  as  an  afterthought  to 
Mr.  Burroughs  that  a  field  glass  1^  its 
appropriate  uses.  Moreover,  if  any  one 
has  seen  crows,  at  close  range,  feed  certain 
food  to  their  young,  it  is  possible  to  infer 
with  moderate  sureness  that  other  crows 
feed  Uke  things  to  their  young  on  other 
occasions;  and  a  statement  to  that  effect 
would  seem  proper  enough  in  an  outdoor 
sketch. 

Among  the  food  which  the  crow  brought 
I  mentioned  dobsons.  "How  the  crow 
could  get  dobsons  (the  ktrvcB  of  the  dragon- 
fly)  is  a  mystery,"  says  Mr.  Burroughs. 
"  When  I  have  sought  them  for  bass  bait 
I  have  had  to  wade  in  the  creek  and  turn 
over  heavy  stones  for  them."  The  solu- 
tion of  tne  mystery  is  this:  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs is  a  bit  rusty  in  his  entomologv. 
He  is  at  pains  to  tell  the  reader  that  tne 
dobson  is  the  larvae  of  the  dragonfly,  but 
he  is  evidently  speaking  of  that  other  dob- 
son  known  to  fishermen  as  the  hell- 
gramite.  If  he  will  look  in  a  manual  of 
entomology  he  will  find  his  bass  bait 
labeled  Corydalus  cornutus,  and  will  see 
that  it  develops  into  a  large  insect  very 
different  from  the  "dragonfly."  In  the 
same  entomology  he  will  nnd  that  the  real 
larvae  of  the  oragonfiies  (Odonata),  the 
creatures  of  which  I  wrote  (which  are 
also  popularly  called  aobsons),  throng 
every  shallow  lake  and  pool.  Crows  and 
even  slender-billed  sandpipers  can  easily 
capture  them  in  the  shallows  along  the 
shore. 

My  statement  that  a  certain  humming 
bird  s  nest  did  not  drain  dry  after  a  rain 
sends  Mr.  Burroughs  into  an  ecstasy  of 
contemptuous  incredulity.  "How  long 
would  a  race  of  birds  that  built  such  water- 
tight nests  survive?"  he  cries.  "A  bird's 
nest  will  not  hold  water  as  well  as  a  boy's 
straw  hat — not  even  the  mud-lined  nest  of 
the  robin."  I  wrote  not  of  a  race  of  birds, 
but  of  a  single  very  tiny  nest,  so  unhappily 
tucked  away  in  the  corrugations  of  the 


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On  the  Care  of  Tackle 


127 


bark  on  a  broad  branch,  that  it  did  not 
drain.  How  long  would  a  race  of  birds 
survive  if  it  built  nests  so  carelessly  that  a 
mere  breeze  would  shake  them  down  ?  Yet 
Mr.  Burroughs  has  doubtless  seen  here  and 
there  a  nest  so  built.  How  long  would  a 
race  of  birds  survive  in  which  the  would-be 
parents  hanged  themselves  in  loops  from 
the  building  nests?  Yet  many  have  seen 
occasionally  such  catastrophes. 

In  brief,  Mr.  Burroughs  method  of  at^ 
tack  may  be  thus  summed  up :  Apart  from 
the  bad  names  he  calls  me,  his  article  con- 
sists mainly  of  three  elements.  First,  he 
makes  unfair,  distorted  versions  of  many 
of  my  descriptive  statements,  and  then, 
displaying  to  the  reader  the  perversions 
which  he  himself  has  created,  scoffs  at 
them  as  clumsy  fabrications  of  mine. 
Secondly,  he  la5rs  down  dogmatically  the 
law  as  to  the  things  which  every  indi- 
vidual member  of  a  given  species  of  animal 
will  (or  apparently  can)  do,  wherever  found 
in  this  broad  land — ^and  many  of  his  ** laws'* 
it  takes  no  scientific  naturalist  to  recognize 
as  at  variance  with  common  experience — 
then  from  these  "laws"  which  ne  himself 


has  made,  he  deduces  the  conclusion, 
which  he  then  asserts  as  a  fact,  that 
my  statements  inconsistent  therewith  are 
deliberate  hes.  Thirdly,  as  to  my  other 
statem^its  whose  verity  he  demes,  his 
process  is  simpler.  He  says  in  effect:  "I 
don't  beheve  you;  therefore,  you  lie." 
But  Mr.  Burroughs  is  not  omniscient. 
That  he  has  not  seen  a  certain  thing  does 
not  make  it  impossible  that  another  man 
should  see  it. 

Mr.  Burroughs*  position  is  tmtenable. 
The  Briartown  Sketches  are  not  the  pro- 
duct or  a  morbid  imagination;  they  are 
based  upon  actual  observations  honestly 
made  and  honestly  recorded.  I  mav  have 
misobserved  or  tKrough  faulty  recollection 
misreported;  and  I  have  no  wish  to 
deprecate  fair  criticism  of  any  of  my 
statements.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  Mr. 
Burroughs*  article  is  not  only  not  fair 
criticism,  it  is  not  criticism  at  all,  but  a 
blend  of  faulty  logic,  frequent  misstate- 
ments and  heated  temper,  strangely  out  of 
tune  with  the  good  sense  and  kindliness 
which  so  distinguish  his  writings  when  he 
is  not  in  this  curious  bellicose  mood. 


ON   THE  CARE  OF   TACKLE 


BY   LOUIS   RHEAD 


LONG  before  the  opening  season  for 
trout  fishing,  when  the  cold  wind 
blows  and  the  snow  lies  deep,  some  name- 
less influence  is  working  to  arouse  the 
angler  once  again;  no  matter  how  absorbed 
in  business  cares,  memories  of  the  past  rise 
in  his  imagination — and  he  has  no  choice 
but  to  look  over  his  fly  book,  tackle  and 
rods.  The  spell  is  on — ^recollections  of 
brave  fights  won  and  disappointments  en- 
tirely forgot — almost  hourly  he  dreams  of 
future  pleasures^  wherein  the  love  of  the 
art  is  above  the  greed  of  prey — not  the 
picnicking  duffer,  but  the  real  true  fisher- 
man, I  mean,  whose  love  is  broad  and  takes 
nature  to  him  as  a  tender  brother;  who 
sees  in  every  tree,  though  so  lightly  clad,  a 
message  of  joy — of  sunshine,  wmd  and  rain. 
In  the  pursuit  of  angling  as  a  pleasurable 
recreation,  the  important  thing  is  to  have 
good  tackle  in  thorough  repair,  and  with  a 
little  care,  at  odd  times  during  the  winter, 
the  expected  pleasure  will  be  assured.  We 
all  have  some  particular  rod  we  like  better 
than  the  rest.  I  have  for  some  seasons 
past  chosen  a  steel  rod  from  others  lighter, 
tetter  and  more  expensive.  My  tender- 
ness for  it  I  cannot  explain,  except  perhaps 
that  I  can  cast  a  longer  distance  and  can 
treat  it  with  the  utmost  brutality,  yet  it 
remains  sotmd  and  true.     I  have  had  it  in 


use  ten  years;  during  that  time  it  has  been 
enameled  twice,  and  is  still  as  good  as  new. 
All  rods  should  have  the  greatest  care, 
be  they  of  solid  wood,  split  bamboo,  or 
steel.  We  are  not  all  inclined  to  send  them  to 
the  rod  maker  every  season  for  examination 
and  repair;  we  would  rather  do  that  our- 
selves, at  odd  times.  Scrape  the  rough 
places  carefully  with  the  sharp  edge  of  a 
piece  of  broken  glass,  then  revamiSi  with 
good  coach  or  piano  varnish  laid  thinly  on 
with  a  camel-hair  brush.  Examine  care- 
fully, that  no  crack  or  opening  is  seen  in 
the  bamboo  and  that  the  silk  is  not  frayed 
or  tmtied.  If  the  latter,  some  fine  red  silk 
twist  carefully  wound  will  replace  the 
frayed  parts.  If  the  thin  part  of  the  tip 
shows  weakness,  extra  ties  can  be  wound 
over  it,  and  if  the  guides  are  loose,  they 
should  be  retied;  also  the  ferrules,  if  only 
slightly  loose,  should  be  taken  out,  reset 
and  reglued — then  true  casting  is  made 
more  sure.  Personally,  I  think  the  plated 
or  silver  moimtings  are  a  mistake.  I  do 
not  keep  mine  polished  bright,  for  the  rea- 
son that  the  nash  in  the  act  of  casting 
scares  both  trout  and  bass,  especially  on 
bright  simny  days  and  low  water.  The 
time  is  near  I  hope  when  makers  will  pro- 
duce a  rod  with  motmtings  of  a  somber 
color.     When   the   varnish   is  thoroughly 


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dry  the  rod  can  be  placed  back  in  its  case, 
and  is  ready  for  use  when  the  time  comes. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  rod  is  the  reel, 
of  which  there  are  numberless  varieties — 
but  all  should  be  tested  and  put  in  good 
working  order  before  the  angler  starts  on 
his  trip.  The  click  is  apt  to  loosen,  the 
spool  not  act  with  freedom  and  ease,  and 
often  a  screw  is  loose.  All  these  shotdd  be 
attended  to  and  made  to  work  smoothly 
and  the  revolving  parts  thoroughly  cleanea 
and  then  oiled.  Alost  important  of  all, 
see  that  the  reel  fits  tight  on  the  butt;  a 
reel  is  no  good  if  it  wobbles  in  the  oocket, 
or  the  ring  is  not  tight  and  firm. 

I  remember  an  instance  that  gave  con- 
siderable annoyance.  After  castmg  for  a 
time  there  rose  a  larg^e  bass  in  the  opposite 
direction.  I  immediately  changed  the  rod 
to  cast  left-handed.  He  took  the  fly  just 
at  the  moment  my  reel  dropped  in  the 
water,  and  darted  up  stream.  I  was  stand- 
ing on  a  rock  in  comparatively  deep  water. 
I  checked  the  line  with  my  thirnib,  and 
tried  to  lift  the  reel  by  the  line,  which  to 
my  disgust  tmwotmd  and  would  not  hold 
it.  I  then  dropped  the  line  in  the  water 
and  played  the  fish,  and  landed  him.  After 
considerable  difficulty  and  wasted  time  I 
got  things  to  rights  again,  but  always  took 
good  care  after  that  experience  that  my 
reel  was  secure. 

In  the  proper  care  of  lines  one  is  apt  to 
balk.  It  is  too  much  trouble  to  unwind 
and  dry  every  time  one  returns  from  a  hard 
day's  nshing,  and  the  most  we  do  is  to  re- 
wind parts  to  test  if  any  kinks  are  there. 
A  silk  tmvamished  line  is  the  worst  to  kink, 
so  that  it  is  always  advisable  after  the  sea- 
son is  over  to  take  the  lines  from  the  reels 
and  wind  them  on  a  large  wheel.  A  careful 
and  prudent  brother  angler  has  devised 
a  imique  plan  of  winding  his  lines  rotmd  a 
bicycle  wheel,  after  the  tire  has  been  re- 
moved. Placing  the  bicycle  upside  down 
he  works  the  pedals  and  winds  it  through 
an  oiled  rag.  This  softens  the  lines  and 
keeps  them  moist  and  pliable,  as  well  as 
prevents  cracking.  I  refer  to  the  oiled 
trout  and  salmon  lines — ^plain  silk  or  linen 
need  only  to  be  well  dried  before  winding. 
Even  the  best  and  most  expensive  lines 
become  weak  and  worthless  through  want 
of  proper  care  and  attention — it  is  im- 
possible to  prevent  mildew  or  rot,  tmless 
a  line  is  put  away  for  the  winter  in  ship- 
shape order.  The  sloven  who  throws  his 
flies,  leaders  and  lines  all  in  a  heap,  with 
the  idea  of  arranging  them  on  arrival  at 
the  river,  finds  himself  very  miserable  and 
ill-tempered — especially  when  in  the  com- 

gany  of  friends  who  are  kept  waiting  till 
is  tackle  is  fit  for  work.  Such  trouble 
would  be  obviated  if  done  comfortably  by 
the  winter  fireside. 

Both  leaders  and  flies,  if  properly  cared 
for,  will  last  two  or  three  seasons.  The 
best  and  finest  gut  is  expensive  and  hard 
to  get  perfect.  If  the  angler  can  tie  a 
strong  knot  neatly,  the  frayed  parts  may 


be  cut  away  and  the  remainder  tied  to- 
gether just  as  good  as  new.  Gut  should 
always  oe  soaked  in  water  before  testing  its 
stren^h,  then  taken  out  singly,  thoroughly 
exammed  that  no  cracks  or  frays  may  be 
there,  and  then  stretched  till  thoroughly 
dry  (bein^  held  fast  at  each  end  by  two 
pins  or  thm  wire  nails),  when  they  may  be 
wound  and  replaced  in  the  round  tin  boxes 
ready  for  use.  They  should  be  kept  in 
a  cool  damp  place,  air  tight  if  possible,  to 
keep  them  from  rotting.  More  fish  are 
lost  on  defective  leaders  than  on  any  other 
part  of  the  tackle,  so  that  extra  care  should 
be  taken  to  have  leaders  perfectly  strong. 

We  buy  new  flies  every  year,  so  that 
they  accumulate,  and  many  are  not  used  at 
all.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  look 
them  over  at  least  two  or  three  times  dur- 
ing the  winter  months,  to  prevent,  if  pos- 
sible, the  pesky  little  moths  making  short 
work  of  the  feathers.  This  can  be  avoided 
by  a  plentiful  supply  of  fine  moth  powder 
scattered  thickly  between  each  leaf.  I 
have  seen  twenty-five  dollars'  worth  of 
flies  utterly  destroyed  by  moths  in  one 
winter,  and  I  seldom  see  a  book  of  flies 
without  signs  of  moths  in  them.  Only  a 
little  care  and  attention  and  this  can  be 
prevented.  If  the  fly  book  is  placed  in  a 
tin  box  or  glass  jar  with  a  tight  cover,  there 
need  be  no  powder  used  and  the  tmpleasant 
odor  is  done  away  with.  The  late  W.  C. 
Harris  claims  that  fish  have  the  sense  of 
smell  in  a  comparatively  lars^e  degree;  but 
we  cannot  tell  if  a  fish  would  fight  shv  at 
the  smell  of  moth  powder.  Outside  of  the 
tackle  there  are  numberless  little  things  of 
great  importance  to  keep  in  order:  the 
landing  nets,  creels,  wading  or  hip  boots, 
should  be  well  dried  before  being  put  away 
for  the  winter.  Even  with  the  best  of  care, 
rubber  boots  can  not  be  made  to  last  over 
one  season's  constant  use. 

I  have  said  nothing  about  the  bait  fish- 
erman's outfit,  as  each  individual  has  his 
own  way  of  providing  articles  for  his  use, 
such  as  minnow  buckets  and  traps,  floats 
and  sinkers,  measure  and  scales — all  have 
to  be  packed  away  and  placed  where  they 
can  be  fotmd  when  wanted.  The  true  an- 
gler has  his  chest  made  specially  for  his 
purpose — ^to  him  angling  is  a  passion  of 
which  every  detail  is  of  interest.  And 
again,  there  are  others  whose  pocketbook 
is  conveniently  full,  that  everything  miss- 
ing or  out  ot  order  can  quickly  be  re- 
placed with  new.  The  economical  angler 
is  twice  blessed  in  that  he  has  the  jov  of 
making  one  fly  kill  a  dozen  trout,  added 
to  his  zest  of  fishing.  How  inimitably 
amusing  is  Andrew  Lan^  in  his  "Confes- 
sions Ota  Duffer,"  wherem  he  describes  his 
utter  inability  to  use  even  a  semblance  of 
care  over  his  tackle. 

So,  the  moral  is,  look  weU  to  your  tackle. 
To  land  any  game  fish  is  not  easy,  but  the 
angler  may  be  well  assured  the  fun  is 
greater  and  success  surer  if  tackle  is  in 
proper  trim. 


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*«  What  fitter  symbol  for  this  divine  uplift  of  the 
year  than  this  bird  (^the  lark)  whose  ecstasy  in  song 
makes  the  very  word  Spring  an  intoxication  in  our 
ears  ?  .  ,  .  .  //  //  but  a  symbol  of  the  divine 
Joy  which  is  Life:  that  most  ancient  Breath,  that 
Spirit  whose  least  thought  is  Creation,  whose  least 
glance  is  that  eternal  miracle  which  we,  seeing 
dimly  and  in  the  rhythmic  rise  of  the  long  cadence 
of  the  hours,  call  by  a  word  of  out-welling,  of 
measureless  affluence,  the  Spring,*^ 

— Fiona  Macleod. 


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STEADY,    BOY— STEADY!' 


Drawing  by  E.  V.  Nadherny. 

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THE 

O  \J,lkl 


N  G 


THE   SLUMS   OF    PARIS 


BY   VANCE   THOMPSON 


PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  GRIBAYEDOFF 


hour — just 

cats    slink 

see    an   old 

I    along    the 

ere  is  a  huge 

is  bent  spine. 

th,  he  hobbles 

»ked  stick  in 

d  and  ragged 

r,  Father-the- 

cabin  in  the 

cite   dore   by 

eked    lantern 

it  about  him 

as    he   goes — a   gnome,  you  would   say, 

dancing  after  a  J ack-o'- Lantern. 

Un  biffin,  quoi? 

For  he  and  all  his  kind,  meri  la  chiffe 
and  all  the  ragpickers,  have  been  driven 
out  of  the  age-old  slums  of  the  city.  Broad 
new  avenues  have  let  sunlight  and  honesty 
into  the  black  quarters.  Then  the  old  in- 
habitants fled.  They  found  shelter  in  the 
clusters  of  hovels  near  the  fortifications — 
cities  they  are  called  in  the  quarries — where 
they  could.  But  the  old  slums  remain — 
the  black  pits  of  Paris;    nor  have  they 


changed  so  much  as  you  might  fancy.  In 
them  hides  a  poverty  which  is  like  no  other 
in  the  world,  for  in  the  midst  of  sullen 
resignation  it  has  red  moments  of  revolt; 
and  always  it  is  tinged  with  a  kind  of  sav- 
age gayety.  Even  so  it  was  in  the  long  ago. 
The  rogues  and  beggars  are  those  with 
whom  Villon  foregathered  in  his  day — 
these  pale,  little  men,  wicked  as  spiders, 
but  with  a  sort  of  feudal  courage  and 
chivalry  in  them.  As  you  shall  see,  for  at 
the  moment  it  is  our  business  to  go  down 
into  the  black  pits — to  visit,  too,  the  outer 
slums,  circling  the  great,  heart-shaped  city 
— and  have  speech  with  the  men  and  the 
little  women. 

Years  ago  when  I  did  not  know  Paris  as  1 
do  now,  I  used  to  go  police-conducted 
through  this  underworid;  and  that  was 
ludicrous.  And  with  others  it  became  a 
habit.  The  great  folk  of  earth  took  to 
"slumming in  Paris";  grand  dukes  dipped 
their  ennui  in  these  black  waters;  hectic 
women  of  society  sought  a  "shudder"  in 
the  dens  of  P^re  Lunette  or  Fradin;  excur- 
sions were  organized  as  to  the  Catacombs  or 
the  sewers.     Any  one  who  will  may  follow 


Copyrighted.  1907.  by  the  Outino  Publishing  Company.     All  rights  reserved. 


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The  Slums  of  Paris 


133 


this  road,  without  peril,  or,  for  that  matter, 
profit.     In  the  first  place  the  very  men  you 

image  fly  all  to 
ise — the  police; 
►hows  you  is  a 
r.  Such  a  trip 
ide  across  the 
re  all  along  the 
•s  had  erected 
les,  farms,  to 
ulous  her  land 
tter  alone.  At 
id  ducal  trail, 
ith  those  they 
my  friend,  "  La 

"  by  reason  of 

almost  beard- 

with  bad  alco- 

a  ragged  coat 

I  handkerchief, 

rd  cap.    Once 

I  prison  for  ten 

ion  to  being  a 

deal  of  time — 

and    engages 

It  would  be 

acquaintance; 

ur  down-going 

/e  are  che^  Bar- 
to  meet  me — 
the  *  Dog  that 
Smokes.'" 


ROUND   THE    MARKETS 

Barabbe's  is  a  restaurant  near  the  Central 
Markets.  It  is  not  too  disreputable.  There 
come  the  night  workers  for  the  comfort  of 
a  dram;  and,  toward  dawn,  men  in  even- 
ing dress,  prattling  women  of  the  half- 
world,  come  there  to  breakfast  on  a  famous 
onion  soup.  Cbe{  Barahhe  you  may  meet 
anyone — cut-throat  or  ambassador.  And 
the  old  head-waiter  is  the  best-known  man 
in  Paris.  You  were  never  really  a  student 
in  Paris,  if  you  never  borrowed  a  louts  d*or 
from  Fr^d^ric — some  thirsty  morning.  So 
I  pay,  tipping  grandly,  for  the  sake  of  old 
days;  and  "La  Boule"  and  I  go  out  into 
the  night.  Now  turn  to  the  right,  or  turn 
left,  you  are  in  the  slums.  Old,  old  streets, 
narrow  and  obscure,  the  Rue  Pirouette,  the 
Rue  Mond^hour.  the    Rue  de  la   Grande 


Truanderie,  the  Rue  Ve  la  Petite  Fruand- 
erie  (that  is,  the  streets  of  vagabondage  big 
or  little),  one  and  all  are  much  as  they  were 
four  hundred  years  ago  when  other  rogues 
slunk  through  them,  other  painted  giris 
laughed  from  the  windows.  At  least  there 
are  fragments  left.  The  Boulevard  Sebas- 
topol  has  cut  the  old  quarter  in  two.  And 
then  in  the  tangle  of  streets,  amid  the  old 
houses,  humid  and  black  and  crooked,  tall 
new  apartment  houses  rise  here  and  there. 
New  Paris  is  making  its  way  into  the  slums; 
slowly,  very  slowly.  The  Rue  de  Venise, 
with  houses  almost  touching  overhead,  is 
as  solid  as  any  street  of  Genoa,  and  has  all 
the  mystery  of  old-worid  things.  The 
figures  that  pass  you  sweat  grease  and 
alcohol;  once  they  were  women.  And 
yonder  is  the  mansion  of  Law,  he  who  blew 
South  Sea  Bubbles;  swarmed  over  now 
with  thieves,  beggars,  human  parasites;  it 
is  a  lodging  house.  But  we  are  going  to 
the  **  Dog  who  Smokes." 

It  is  too  early  yet  to  visit  the  dens  where 
the  vagabonds  of  Paris,  the  night-errants 
and  criminals  and  mendicants  come  to 
dance  and  drink  and  take  their  pleasure,  or 
to  sleep.  It  is  eleven  o'clock,  a  cloudy 
evening.  The  great  halls  of  the  markets 
have  begun  to  take  on  an  air  of  life — 
electric  lights  flare  here  and  there  in  the 
huge  iron  sheds;  the  first  vegetable  wagons 
are  coming  in  from  the  country;  the 
"strong  men"  with  loads  on  their  heads 
pass;  women  scream  to  each  other. 

The  first  floor  of  the  Chien  qui  Fume  is  an 
ordinary  wine  shop,  with  tables  and  a  long 
zinc  counter.  A  staircase,  so  narrow  your 
shoulders  touch  both  walls,  leads  to  the 
restaurant  above  stairs.  There  are  a  num- 
ber of  little  rooms  for  those  who  would  bj 
private.  Thieves  of  the  richer  sort  are  the 
only  customers.  "La  Boule"  and  I  eat 
our  oysters  below  stairs,  at  a  table  near  the 
bar.  Near  us  three  bulky  fellows  stand 
drinking,  typical  men  of  the  market, 
wearing  huge  white  sombreros,  loose  blue 
blouses. 

"Tiens,  le  pere  VAfjanuJ*  says  "La 
Boule";  Father  Starvation  is  a  withered 
little  man,  thirsty  and  active.  When  they 
don't  call  him  Father  Starvation,  they  call 
him  the  Hermit  of  the  Halles.  He  is  one 
of  the  hundreds  who  pick  up  a  mysterious 
living  round  the  markets,  dining  on  car- 
rots, sleeping  under  carts;  in  fifty  yearsj|fe> 


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The  Slums  of  Paris 


135 


has  never  journeyed  so  far  as  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli.    A  philosopher. 

"When  one's  well  off  in  a  place,  why 
leave  it?"  he  says. 

As  it  grows  later  the  streets  fill;  women 
come  out;  the  beggars  come  home  from  the 
boulevards;  from  farther  away — from  the 
suburbs  and  outskirts — come  the  little  men 
who  have  made  a  coup,  emptied  a  pocket  or 
a  villa ;  "  La  Boule  "  has  finished  his  oysters 
and  we  begin  our  night  journey.  As  we 
turn  into  the  Rue  Pirouette  the  lighted 
belfry  of  St.  Eustache  gives  the  hour: 
midnight.  That  street  is  dark.  You  can 
hardly  make  out  the  figures  that  pass,  men 
or  women.  The  air  is  heavy  with  the 
odors  of  fish,  of  decaying  vegetables — 
underfoot  the  pavement  is  gluey  with  dead 
things;  your  boots  crunch  on  snail  shells. 
At  No.  5  there  is  a  low  archway;  it  leads 
to  the  Cour  du  Heaume,  a  vast  court,  sur- 
rounded by  a  gallery  set  on  pillars  of  wood; 
five  centuries  ago  it  was  a  sumptuous 
palace — this  moldy  building;  then  a 
"Court  of  Miracles";  this  night  it  is  filled 
with  empty  hand  carts,  with  ladders,  bas- 
kets, the  refuse  of  the  markets;  only 
against  one  wall  a  half-dozen  old  hags  lie 
huddled — sleeping  away  the  hours  until 
they  can  find  work  at  the  markets.  Further 
on,  the  Rue  Pirouette  is  lighter.  Women 
stand  in  the  doorways — the  eternal  women 
of  the  underworld. 

They  offer  you  the  effrontery  of  their 
eyes. 

They  wear  no  hats,  these  women;  the 
glory  of  each  of  them  is  her  huge  casque 
of  hair,  yellow,  red  or  black — built  high  on 
the  head. 

The  "little  men"  in  the  wine  shops  look 
out  as  we  pass,  "La  Boule"  and  I;  they 
are  drinking  absinthe,  playing  cards,  eating 
snails;  most  of  them  are  young;  they  are 
sallow  and  lean  and  wicked;  it  is  in  their 
horoscope  to  die  in  a  jail  or  under  the 
guillotine  or  in  a  wild  brawl  of  knives.  We 
shall  meet  them  yonder  in  the  "Angel 
Gabriel,"  in  the  "Cave  of  the  Innocents" 
and  many  another  den  to-night;  and  they 
are  worth  studying — these  bandits  of  Paris. 
From  without  the  "Ange  Gabriel"  is  as 
banal  as  any  other  of  the  dirty  wine  shops 
of  the  town.  And  indeed  unless  one  is  an 
old  Parisian,  given  to  slumming,  there  is  no 
way  of  telling  the  peaceful  tavern  from  the 
den  of  murder  and  spoil.     I  could  take  you 


into  a  "  zanzi "  over  near  the  Morgue  that 
you  would  fancy  was  quite  the  most  des- 
perate place  in  Paris;  yet  this  tavern  of 
the  FUcbe  Notre  Dame — in  an  old  house  of 
the  street  of  the  Cloister — is  as  peaceable 
as  need  be.  But  it  has  a  bad  look,  with  its 
blood-red  front.  Go  in  and  you  find  fel- 
lows in  blood-stained  blouses  drinking. 
Grewsome,  but  harmless.  These  men  are 
the  Morguers.  Between  two  operations — 
when  they  have  "made  the  toilet"  of  some 
poor  devil  found  knifed  in  the  street  or 
afloat  in  the  Seine — they  stroll  over  to  the 
FUche  to  wet  their  throats  and  chase  the 
microbes.  They  come  familiarly  in,  their 
blouses  blood-marked,  their  hands  humid 
from  the  handling  of  corpses,  bringing  with 
them  an  odor  of  phenic  acid.  And  they 
pledge  old  P^re  Rochefort,  the  landlord,  in 
the  good  gray  wine  of  Bar-le-Duc.  Harm- 
less, as  I  said.  But  the  "Ange  Gabriel" 
for  all  its  banal  look,  has  a  history  of  crime 
and  bloodshed.  It  had  its  hour  of  no- 
toriety. Fame  came  to  it  with  the  Casque 
d'Or.  She  got  her  name  from  the  mass  of 
yellow  hair  that  crowned  her.  And  the 
"little  men"  fought  for  her — Manda,  Lecca 
and  many  another,  of  whom  some  are  dead 
and  some  in  New  Caledonia — with  pistols 
and  knives. 

She  it  is  who  stands  swaying  in  the  door- 
way. 

A  low,  narrow  room,  a  zinc  counter  run- 
ning the  full  length;  on  the  wall,  painted 
by  some  artist  fallen  into  the  slums — a 
fantasy  of  pigs  that  sprawl  and  grin  and 
eat.  The  sullen  man  behind  the  bar  is 
the  proprietor;  unquestionably  he  is  "in" 
with  the  police;  but  he  protects  his  clients 
until  their  time  is  ripe.  And  they  know  it 
and  do  not  much  care;  for  nowhere  are 
they  safe.  The  rooms  on  the  floor  above 
are  crowded.  In  the  smoky  atmosphere 
you  make  out  many  tables,  crowded  all.  A 
poor  devil  of  a  violinist  stands  on  a  chair 
in  the  comer,  scraping  out  a  dance  tune. 
Voices  take  up  the  chorus — a  lugubrious 
noise.  About  all  these  people  who  sit 
there,  drinking,  howling  the  melancholy 
waltz,  there  is  a  look  of  kinship.  The  men 
are  slender,  but  stout  of  shoulder;  they 
wear  felt  hats,  tipped  down,  or  broad-viz- 
ored caps;  their  clothes  are  of  old  cordu- 
roy, or — for  the  prosperous — of  flaring 
checked  cloth.  The  faces  are  as  of  brother 
and  brother;  each  has  the  hapc^  features, 
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the  heavy  jawbone,  the  large  mouth  with 
thin  red  lips — the  face  of  the  Gaul;  and 
each  has  the  yellow  pallor — the  color  of  im- 
pure wax — which  is  the  mark  of  the  slums. 
They  are  all  young.  Hither  they  have 
come  from  all  the  outlying  quarters  of 
Paris,  Belleville,  M^nilmontant,  Charonne 
—for  this  week-end's  debauch.  Lads  of  a 
band;  they  are  the  knife  men  of  Paris, 
They  have  gained  and  deserved  the  names 
of  Apaches. 

Les  Apaches — 

They  work  in  gangs;  in  the  underworld 
their  associations  are  complete  and  dis- 
tinct; fame  has  come  to  them  —  to  the 
gang  of  Egbert  of  Montparno,  of  G^gfene  or 
the  Courtille,  the  Green  Cravats,  the  Cos- 
tands  of  the  Villette,  the  Monte-en-l'air 
of  the  Batignolles.  Against  these  bands 
the  police  war  in  vain.  They  wage  their 
battles  in  open  day — for  some  mdme  that 
Egbert  has  stolen  from  G^g^ne.  A  band 
comes  down  from  the  heights  of  Belleville 
or  of  Charonne  and  raids  a  peaceful  quarter 
—a  home-going  cab  is  surrounded,  the 
passenger  stabbed  through  the  window  and 
robbed.  They  prey  on  the  public.  Band 
wars  upon  band.  There  are  nightly  duels 
on  the  fortifications  or  under  the  bridges — 
when  the  "Beau  Totor"  meets  "Poigne 
d'Acier,"  knife  to  knife,  in  a  savage  and  not 
unloyal  way.  Young  all;  from  sixteen  to 
twenty-two,  rarely  older.  Where  do  they 
come  from?  Everywhere.  They  grow  on 
the  pavements  of  Paris,  along  the  gutters. 
Foundlings  or  deserted  children;  sons 
perhaps  of  that  laboring  class  which  is  on 
the  edge  of  crime  and  beggary.  The  life 
of  the  Apache  is  short;  but  for  every  one 
sent  to  the  jail  or  the  guillotine  two  stand 
ready  at  the  door  of  the  slums.  They  used 
to  haunt  the  den  of  the  P^re  Lunette;  but 
now,  "La  Boule"  tells  me,  it  is  a  police 
trap;  they  are  safer  at  the  Angel.  When 
they  have  money  it  is  here  they  come.  They 
eye  the  visitor  with  quick  side  glances  and 
talk  in  whispers  to  their  "little  women." 
They  are  almost  girls,  the  "  little  women  *' ; 
they  are  sallow,  with  carmined  lips  and 
caiques  of  hair.  Others  plaster  the  hair 
down  on  each  side  of  the  face  with  sugared 
water;   but  this  fashion  is  going  out. 

Always  in  a  doorway  some  Casque  d*Or 
is  swaying 

Will  you  look  at  her  a  moment,  before 
we  go  down  into  the  blacker  pits? 


She  is  the  real  Parisienne;  she  and  not 
Mimi  of  that  fabulous  Latin  quarter,  in- 
vented by  the  novelists;  she  and  not  the 
little  milliner,  blond  and  blithe  as  a  canary 
bird,  of  whom  Miirger  sang.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  a  workingman.  When  she 
was  little  I  saw  her  carrying  a  basket 
through  the  streets  of  the  suburbs;  hum- 
ming a  tawdry  song  of  the  wine  shop  or  the 
fair,  she  passed;  a  child  of  the  Villette,  of 
Saint-Ouen,  of  Crenelle  or  of  the  Place 
d'ltalie.  Then  she  gained  eighteen  sous 
for  fourteen  hours'  toil  in  shop  or  factory. 
Her  home  life  in  cellar  or  garret  may  not 
be  looked  upon — hunger,  drunkenness, 
blows,  shame;  she  knew  every  suffering. 

And  when  love  came  to  her,  love  itself 
was  sad;  sad  as  the  songs  sung  in  the  wine 
shop  when  day  is  done — mournful  songs, 
stupid  and  vile. 

How  old  was  she? 

Not  twenty  as  you  think;  she  was  fif- 
teen; and  her  huband,  her  petit  homme, 
was  not  much  older.  They  met  one  even- 
ing, home-coming  from  the  shop.  All 
round  them  was  the  sinister  Parisian  twi- 
light; behind  them  the  dim  bulk  of  the 
fortifications  and,  further  still,  the  tall 
chimneys  of  the  factories,  with  smears  of 
smoke. 

*'Tu  m'aimes?" 

"Out,  je  faime,  man  p'tit  homme.'* 

A  poor  love,  banal  as  a  song  of  the  wine 
shop;  a  poor  love  that  led  by  devious  ways; 
so  she  stands  here  swaying  in  a  doorway — 
with  drunken  eyes  and  crimson  lips,  an 
incarnation  of  hate  and  violence — a  bird 
of  prey  and  of  the  night. 


II 


WHERE    MISERY    DANCES    AND    SLEEPS 

They  amuse  themselves  in  the  under- 
world. A  grim  kind  of  pleasure — song  and 
dance  and  alcohol.  On  the  left  bank  of 
the  river,  as  on  the  right,  they  dance,  the 
sinister  little  men  with  the  red  neckerchiefs 
and  the  hatless  girls — the  rouge  melted  in 
strange,  dirty  arabesques  on  their  cheeks; 
suburban  rangers  and  urban  rogues.  In 
the  Latin  quarter  the  most  notable  bal  is 
that  of  the  Mille-Colonnes.  It  is  a  ribbon 
of  light  this  Rue  de  la  Gait^,  which  runs 
through  the  streets,  all  tranquil,  dull,  al- 
most somber,  near  the  Montp|irnasse  sta- 
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tion.  There,  between  the  Avenue  du  Maine 
and  the  Boulevard  Edgar  Quinet,  at  two 
steps  from  the  cemetery,  shine  endlessly  the 
bars,  the  caf^s,  the  wine  shops — "  Riolet's" 
and  many  another — ^Jasmin's  concert  hall 
and  the  Babino;  a  crowd  swarms — among 
the  vagabonds  a  few  honest  working  folk, 
students.   Better  this  night,  the  Bal  Odohre. 

The  steepest,  narrowest  street  in  Paris; 
a  few  faint  lights  in  the  blackness  of  it; 
the  Rue  de  la  Montagne  Sainte-Genevi^ve. 
One  sign  flares  up:  BAL.  An  ordinary 
wine  shop,  a  bit  lighter  than  its  neighbors. 
At  the  back  of  the  bar  a  door — guarded 
now  by  two  policemen — opens  into  the 
dance  hall.  The  patron,  ^  big  man  with  a 
good-natured  face,  gives  us  welcome. 
Judging  me  by  my  tailor,  he  leads  me  into 
a  little  side  room  with  a  window  giving 
on  the  ball  room — "the  observatory  for 
swells,"  says  he,  smiling.  He  tells  me  of 
the  grand  dukes  who  have  sat  there,  look- 
ing out  on  the  dancing  mob  and,  with  just 
pride,  of  the  visit  the  King  of  England 
made  him.  And  what  is  to  be  seen?  A 
great  rectangular  room,  lit  by  gas  jets  on 
ceiling  and  wall;  on  a  platform  at  the  back 
a  rudimentary  orchestra  blaring  a  waltz; 
and  over  the  discolored  floor  the  vehement 
little  men  who  swing  the  girls — too  young, 
all  of  them.  Over  them  like  a  cloud  sways 
an  odor  of  rancid  humanity,  intensified  by 
outrageous  perfumery.  And  the  phe  Oc- 
tohre  points  out  his  choice  clients — Fris^  du 
Boul'  Mich'  and  the  Tondu  of  the  Place 
Maub'.  Admiringly  he  says:  "Ah,  the 
Fris^  has  his  little  talents!"  A  second- 
story  man,  a  monie-en-l'air,  of  note.  They 
drink  and  dance.  The  cost  is  deux  rondo 
la  suie,  two  cents  a  dance.  And  thus  it 
goes  all  night;  with  somber  fervor,  silently, 
under  the  eyes  of  the  two  policemen  at  the 
door.  Toward  dawn  perhaps  a  quarrel. 
Nothing  fatal.  The  "little  men"  have 
been  stripped  of  their  weapons. 

The  most  dangerous  quarter  is  that  of 
the  Gobelins.  There  in  the  Avenue  de 
Chaisy  is  the  Bal  d'  Alcazar;  the  "AIca" 
in  affectionate  slang;  and  there,  too,  they 
dance,  dance,  drinking  the  "little  glasses"; 
somber  and  strenuous,  the  people  of  the 
underworld  take  their  pleasure. 

Caveau  des  Innocents,  No.  15  in  the  old 
street  of  that  name.  It  has  gone  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.     Nothing  remark- 


able on  the  ground  floor,  a  shabby  restau- 
rant; above,  straw  ticks  are  spread  on  the 
floor  and  men  and  women  sleep,  pellmell, 
covered  with  gray  blankets  —  peasants 
mostly  who  have  driven  in  to  the  markets; 
for  four  cents  they  have  a  dish  of  soup  or 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  four  hours  of  the  straw 
sack.  This  is  merely  poverty,  or  a  mild 
kind  of  thrift.  Anyway  it  smells  worse 
than  crime. 

"Phew!  La  Boule,  let  us  go,"  and  we 
descended  into  the  caves.  As  we  go  down 
the  narrow  stairs  puffs  of  hot,  foul  air  come 
up  to  us.  There  are  four  cellars,  with  great 
arches.  On  coarse  wooden  benches  sit  the 
clients,  packed  like  herrings,  each  with 
glass  of  beer  or  wine  or  shum.  Through 
the  cloud  of  smoke  the  four  lights  over- 
head wink  like  fireflies.  The  proprietor,  a 
young  fellow  full  of  health  and  wine  and 
jest,  has  come  down  with  us;  he  makes 
place  for  us  at  one  of  the  heavy  oak  tables 
— the  surface  cut  deep  with  names  and 
dates. 

"Ay,  and  there  are  famous  ones,"  says 
he,  "look!" 

Cut  deep  in  the  oak  in  huge  letters: 
PRANZINI.  Ay,  a  famous  murderer. 
And  beneath  it:   "To  Nenesse  for  life." 

A  piano  clangs  away;  a  barytone  sings 
— white  little  songs  of  spring  and  mother 
and  "Lit  Marjolaine";  these  deserters,  vic- 
tims, rebels  of  life,  are  sentimental;  even 
the  worst  of  us  can't  go  on  knifing  fat 
citizens  all  the  time;  the  violent  girl  may 
love  a  rose;  one  and  all  lift  their  drink- 
roughened  voices  in  the  maudlin  choruses. 

There  comes  a  time  when  even  the  night- 
errant  goes  to  sleep;  penniless,  he  sleeps 
under  the  bridges  or  on  the  slopes  of  the 
fortifications,  or,  furtively,  in  the  Bois  or 
the  streets;  with  two  cents,  or  four,  he  can 
have  shelter.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
boulevard  there  are  lodging  dens  in  such 
sinister  streets  as  that  of  Venise,  the  Beau- 
bourg,  and  especially  the  Rue  Simon-le- 
Franc. 

There  is  the  Golden  Eagle,  in  the  vast 
old  mansion  of  the  Lords  of  la  Reyme; 
and,  curious  among  all,  the  Senate  where 
senile  misery  gathers.  Ah,  this  cohort  of 
old  thieves,  old  drunkards,  old  mendicants ! 
Peer  down  on  them  from  the  cellar  steps — 
a  mass  of  dirty  rags  and  old  beards  in  which 
something  stirs  and  groans.  ^The  Senate  is 
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The  Slums  of  Paris 


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the  last  half  on  the  journey.  Lean  brown 
hands  are  stretched  up  to  us;  and  there  are 
voices  that  b^  and  voices  that  curse  and 
voices  that  moan  in  that  fetid  cellar.  It 
is  not  good  to  be  here.  Nor  in  the  Rue 
Simon-le-Franc;  for  this  is  "Burglars' 
Row,"  and  in  these  dark  shops  the  "re- 
ceivers" deal  in  stolen  goods,  and  new 
faces  are  not  welcome.  And  we  do  not 
linger  near  the  "Hotel  des  Rupens"  at  the 
comer;  at  this  hour  of  night  there  are 
safer  places.  Gros  Sale  makes  his  home 
there,  and  Pinceibe,  and  other  men  of  the 
dark  lantern. 

Le  Phe  Lunette,  too  famous  as  a  night 
shelter,  this  wretched  den  of  the  Place 
Maub'  is  so  closely  watched  now  by  the 
police  that  it  has  lost  much  of  its  old  clien- 
tage of  crime;  only  wretchedness  seeks 
refuge  there  now.  1 1  has  long  been  a  show- 
place  of  the  slums.  More  than  one  king 
has  come  to  stare  at  the  tawdry  painting 
on  the  walls — a  grim  dance  of  death,  a 
skeleton  with  the  head  of  General  Bou- 
langer  leads  the  rout,  and  after  him  caper 
all  the  men  once  famous — Zola,  Freycinet, 
Garibaldi,  Rochefort,  Louise  Michel — 
capering  down  to  the  same  grave  that 
waits  for  the  beggar  man,  drunk  in  the 
comer.  Oh,  he  has  his  grim  humor,  the 
Latin  outcast!  Hiccoughing,  in  rags,  red- 
eyed,  monstrous  with  disease,  the  starve- 
lings and  pariahs  lie  heaped  together — a 
pretty  sight  to  set  before  the  king  who 
comes  seeking  amusement  in  a  world  not 
his  own. 

"Eh,  UBoule?" 

"One  gets  his  pleasure  where  he  can," 
says  "La  Boule";  his  tolerance  is  large. 

The  foulest  slum  in  Paris  runs  from  the 
Place  Maubert  to  the  Porte  St.  Devis, 
taking  in  all  the  quarter  of  the  markets. 
Now  these  slum  dwellers  know  all  the 
miseries — the  heart  turns  in  you  at  sight 
of  them;  but,  as  well,  they  have  all  the 
vices  and  not  one  virtue  save  that  of  gayety 
and,  perhaps,  a  kind  of  feudal  comrade- 
ship. In  a  cold  hate  for  "the  others" 
they  are  all  brothers.  The  vermin  of 
humanity — a  hideous  swarm  that  bides 
and  stings  and  devours  and  dies;  always 
wretched. 

Fradins,  No.  43  Rue  St.  Devis;  an  old 
building  of  four  stories;  a  hotel  without 
beds;  the  guests  sleep  on  the  benches  or 


propped  up  against  the  tables,  on  the  floor, 
under  the  stairs,  in  every  available  foot  of 
room.  At  the  door  a  crowd  of  men  stop 
us.  They  stand  in  the  mud  of  the  gutter, 
their  hands  in  their  pockets,  waiting  for 
Providence  to  send  them  four  cents.  Bent 
creatures,  so  d^raded  that  not  even  their 
voices  are  human. 

*'Quatre  ronds,  mon  prince!" 

Without  a  word  of  thanks  they  shuffle 
into  the  refuge,  a  vast  hall,  sweating 
filth  like  all  the  others.  P^re  Fradin,  a 
short,  big-shouldered  man  in  a  blue  blouse, 
meets  the  newcomers;  in  return  for  the 
four  cents  that  each  one  pays  he  gives 
them  a  ticket  good  for  a  bowl  of  soup  or 
a  glass  of  wine;  with  that  they  may  sit 
or  lie  where  they  will  and  sleep.  P^re 
Fradin  has  a  story  of  his  own.  He  strokes 
his  huge  mustache — as  of  a  Gaulish  chief- 
tain— and  talks  of  his  past.  He  was  chef 
in  the  kitchens  of  the  Mar^chal  MacMahon 
and  of  Dom  Pedro  of  Brazil;  but  this  pays 
better — the  greasy  soup  he  feeds  to  seven 
or  eight  hundred  vagabonds  nightly.  We 
pick  our  way  over  the  bodies  that  cumber 
the  floor.  Those  who  wake  hold  out  a 
begging  hand  mechanically;  but  they  do 
not  speak,  and  in  a  second  fall  back  into 
bmtish  sleep.  This  floor  and  the  two 
upper  ones  swarm  with  sordid  folk,  sleep- 
ing all.  They  lie  in  all  postures,  thick, 
indistinguishable.  Some  picture  like  that 
you  may  have  seen:  it  represents  the  night 
after  a  battle — a  shadowy  scene.  There 
are  two  cellars.  The  upper  cellar  has 
wooden  benches.  Everywhere  the  sleepers 
lie. 

We  start  down  to  the  sub-cellar.  So 
foul  an  odor  came  never  from  the  pit  of 
hell.  It  smites  one  in  the  face  like  a  de- 
caying hand.  On  the  earth  they  sleep, 
and  against  the  sweating  stones  of  the  wall 
and  the  staircase;  and  it  is  black  down 
there  save  for  the  flickering  irony  of  a  little 
lamp.     A  living  chamel  house. 

"Bah!"  says  P^re  Fradin,  "they  have 
nothing  to  complain  of — some  of  them 
have  been  coming  here  for  ten  years." 

I  have  had  enough  of  it;  quite,  quite 
enough.  And  they  are  men  and  women, 
those  dim  things  rotting  there  in  infamous 
sleep — shapeless  things,  corroded  with  mis- 
ery, monstrous! 

What  grim  mocker  said  that  all  men  were 
brothers? 

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Sulphur-colored  hints  of  daylight  in  the 
sky;  I  leave  the  cab  at  the  fortifications; 
this  is  the  cit^  Jeanne  d'  Arc,  an  inclosure 
formed  by  low  huts  and  sheds.  The  home 
of  P^re  la  Chiffe.  Piles  of  rags,  of  bones, 
old  tins,  corks,  bottles,  broken  china, 
papers,  all  the  refuse  of  the  great  city. 
Round  these  piles  men,  women,  children 
crowd,  digging  with  iron  crooks  into  the 
multiple  filth.  One  old  man  gives  a  little 
cry.  It  is  like  the  squeak  of  a  rabbit.  He 
has  fished  a  mutton  bone  out  of  the  mass. 
The  wandering  street  dogs  had  not  gnawed 
it  clean.  Grunting  he  sits  down  and  with 
an  old  knife  begins  to  scrape  the  bone.  A 
few  pieces  of  flesh  he  gets  and  bits  of  mar- 
row, and  eats  them  with  an  idiotic  smile. 
A  huge  woman  comes  toward  him.  Bloated, 
clothed  in  multitudinous  rags,  her  gray  and 
dirty  hair  hanging  loose,  she  waddles  down 
on  him,  cursing.  With  his  little  squeak  the 
old  man  gets  to  his  feet  and  hobbles  off ;  then 
the  woman  laughs.  The  cabins  are  of  wood; 
the  roofs  are  broken;  the  beds  are  such  rags 
as  those  the  half-naked  children  sort;  yet  in 
•them  live  as  honest  a  folk  as  any  in  the 
slums.  For  they  work,  the  rag  pickers. 
They  form  a  world  apart.  They  have  no 
point  of  contact  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 
At  night  they  prowl  the  streets;  their  days 
are  passed  in  the  cites.    A  world  apart. 


Said  Fhrt  la  Chiffe:  *'Moi,  je  suis  nj 
dans  le  chiffon — fai  vecu  dans  le  chiffon — 
je  mourrai  dessus — voila" 

"Ay,"  said  he,  "I  was  bom  in  the  rags 
and  I've  lived  in  the  rags  and  I'll  die  in 
'em — ay!" 

Of  course  the  city  of  Paris  has  shelters 
for  the  poor,  as  he  may  know  who  pays  the 
poor-tax;  in  work-houses  and  poor-houses 
you  will  find  many  of  our  slum  dwellers — 
they  come  and  go;  but  the  public  formal 
charity  touches  but  the  rim  of  the  city's 
wretchedness.  There  are  hospitals  to  die 
in,  and  jails;  and  a  guillotine  to  end  it  all. 
Oh,  Paris  is  not  negligent!  The  poor  are 
always  poor,  says  the  proverb.  And  then 
it  is  a  mathematical  law:  out  of  every 
thousand  just  so  many  are  eternally  fore- 
doomed to  sleep  on  empty  bellies  and  lie 
cold  o'  nights;  and  another  proportion — 
exactly  determined  by  omniscient  science 
— is  predestined  to  rot  and  kill  and  die  by 
"Chariot's"  hand.  Paris  has  only  her  due 
percentage.  And  with  her  two  hundred 
thousand  who  go  the  black  road,  all  is  not 
as  bad;  here  and  there  along  the  way 
lights  shine — there  is  a  little  warmth — a 
piano  jangles  a  dance  tune,  and  they  sing : 

*'  Tu  tnaimes? 

Oui,  je  t*aime,  man  p'tit  homme** 


A    MAY    MORNING 

BY   MATILDA   HUGHES 


A  touch  of  frost  in  the  morning  air, 

A  sudden  sense  that  life  is  fair; 

The  glad,  wild  note  of  a  happy  bird 

From  the  tall  bare  boughs  of  the  poplar  heard, 

Ere  he  shakes  his  wings  to  mount  on  high 

A  glorious  stretch  of  wind-swept  sky. 

And  a  heart  that  catches  the  lilt  and  swing 

And  the  joy  that  is  life  and  love  and  Spring. 


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SAS-KATCH-E-WAN 

THE   MISSOURI   OF  THE   NORTH 
BY   EMERSON    HOUGH 


i  of  the 
d  move 
iply  by 
ia."  It 
lave  in- 
cannot 
nything 
u  could 
t  vowel 
another 
I 

ough  it 
lest  of  a 
i  in  the 
laiation 
What 
>ses  this 
It  reeks 
ish  and 
service 
it  avoid 
ing  the 
ting  the 
he  cold, 
d,  mys- 
Is  of  the 

ve  seen, 
riall  see. 
es  of  it, 
t  rever- 
lundred 
among 
a  of  its 
le  swells 
the   sea 
marshes  of  the  Gulf — ^we  have  seen  all  that. 
We  have  seen  perhaps  four  thousand  miles 
of  the  Missouri,  seen  its  source  and  its  mid- 
waters,  and  its  eventual  outlet  in  the  Gulf; 
a  strange  stream  and  one  full  of  romance. 
The  Ohio,    the   Arkansas,   the    Red,   the 
Platte — great    American    streams   full    of 


history,  full  of  destiny — all  these  we  may 
have  seen,  beginning  and  end,  front  and 
back  and  all  between.  But  these,  our  own 
ways,  our  old  ways,  are  old  indeed  to-day, 
and  the  history  which  they  write  to-day  is 
that  of  commerce  and  not  of  adventure. 
To-day  they  are  paths  of  old  men. 

Let  us  have  rivers  for  young  men,  men 
thin  in  the  flank  and  hard  of  leg.  All 
America  to-day  wheezes  with  fat.  Lo! 
we  cry,  we  of  this  America,  behold  our 
most  amazing  fat,  our  bulk,  our  immensity! 
— thinking  of  no  better  thing  to  boast  than 
bigness.  Yet  this  Saskatchewan,  with  the 
wilderness  still  in  its  legs,  youth  still  in  its 
eye,  could  tell  us  that  bulk  is  not  strength, 
but  its  opposite,  that  it  spells  coming  weak- 
ness. Wherefore,  let  us  who  do  not  care 
for  rose  leaves,  or  turbots'  tongues,  or  for 
the  stealing  of  other  people's  millions,  get 
us  to  Saskatchewan. 

For  there  is  still  upon  this  continent 
another  Missouri.  It  rises  in  the  snow  and 
ends  in  the  ice,  and  in  its  crooked  arms  it 
holds  an  empire.  Few  men  now  know  the 
Saskatchewan  throughout  all  its  length. 
Two  hundred  and  thirty-six  years  ago  it 
was  that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  began 
to  know  it,  studying  it  in  the  speech  of  the 
wild  tribes  who  came  down  with  cargoes  of 
furs.  These  red-men,  the  Salteurs,  the 
Assiniboines,  the  Crees,  the  Piegans,  the 
Slaves,  told  the  white  men  of  a  vast,  mean- 
dering waterway,  leading  deliberately  out 
toward  the  west,  running  backward  and 
forward,  east  and  west,  north  and  south, 
with  the  open  and  obvious  purpose  of 
showing  all  comers  of  a  new  empire  to  men 
in  search  of  empire.  That  was  the  Missouri 
of  the  North,  and  from  the  first  it  has  been 
competitor  of  our  Missouri. 

Once  came  a  race  between  these  rivers. 
When  Lewis  and  Clark  were  crossing  our 

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continent  by  way  of  the  Missouri,  the  men 
of  hard-legged  Simon  Fraser  were  racing 
up  the  Saskatchewan  trying  to  beat  us  to 
the  coast  and  take  away  from  us  that  West, 
now  so  much  richer  than  Thomas  Jefferson 
dreamed.  The  Scotchman  started  a  little 
late.  In  the  winter,  when  our  men  were 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia,  Fraser  was 
more  than  a  thousand  miles  northeast  of 
them,  snowbound  far  up  in  the  mountains. 
He  had  gone  up  the  Saskatchewan  beyond 
Edmonton,  and  thence  swung  straight  west 
toward  the  Peace  River  Pass — the  same 
pass  toward  which  four  railroads  are 
reaching  to-day.  1 1  was  next  spring  before 
he  could  cross  this  pass  and  seek  for  the 
west-bound  waters. 

Old  Simon  would  have  done  far  better 
could  he  have  gone  down  the  Wood  River, 
or  the  Canoe  River,  and  so  struck  the  point 
of  the  Big  Bend  of  the  Columbia,  where 
Steinhof  and  Barnes  and  myself  last  spring 
saw  the  mountain  gorges  opening  out 
toward  the  heads  of  the  Peace  and  Sas- 
katchewan. But  Simon  went  across  by 
the  T^te  Jaune  Cache  and  got  upon  a  bold 
water  which  he  thought  was  the  Columbia, 
but  which  was  not,  being  the  stream  later 
called  after  him,  the  Fraser.  Rivers  there- 
about were  not  named  in  his  day.  The 
Indians  warned  him  not  to  try  to  run  the 
Fraser,  but  old  Simon  paid  no  heed  to  that, 
being  bound  to  find  the  mouth  of  what  he 
thought  was  the  Columbia.  And  so  he 
built  Fort  St.  James  and  Fort  Fraser  and 
Fort  George — the  latter  still  there  if  you 
want  to  make  a  trip  for  giant  moose — and 
deliberately  fastened  his  grip  upon  that 
country.  But  it  was  spring  of  1808  when 
he  learned  that  he  had  long  ago  lost  his  race 
with  the  young  Virginians,  and  lost  the 
empire  of  the  northwest  coast.  Lewis  and 
Clark  were  by  that  time  back  home,  and 
America  was  growing  wild  over  her  newly 
discovered  empire  on  both  sides  of  the 
Rockies.  So  now  Fraser  went  back  east 
again,  ascended  his  wild  rivers  to  the  wild 
mountains,  crossed  the  mountain  pass 
which  has  lain  for  a  hundred  years  unused, 
tramped  east  over  the  muskegs  to  the  north 
arm  of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  so  followed 
it  down  to  Lake  Winnipeg.  Then  he  came 
down  that  lake  to  the  Portage  of  the 
Prairies,  and  so  got  down  through  the 
Rainy  Lake  waters  to  Lake  Superior,  and 
thence  back  to  Fort  William  on  the  Great 


Lakes,  where  he  had  first  got  word  of  the 
intention  of  these  same  young  Virginians. 
That  hard,  historic  journey  of  Simon 
Fraser  over  the  country  which  Saskatche- 
wan traverses,  was  one  of  the  hero  journeys 
of  the  world.  It  almost  deserved  to  win. 
Verily  I  believe  that  since  then  the  ghosts 
of  Clark  and  Fraser  have  shaken  hands  in 
their  graves  and  have  said  that  neither  was 
beaten,  and  that  river  equaled  river,  and 
that  both  were  meant  to  be  the  pathways 
of  the  young  men. 

The  story  of  Simon  Fraser  is  but  one  of 
the  many  stories  of  Saskatchewan.  Through 
many  years  it  remained  mysteriously  un- 
known, highway  only  of  the  furs.  Bull 
boats  and  flat  boats,  York  boats  and  North- 
west canoes  laden  with  furs  alone  coming 
down,  supplies  going  up,  parted  this  flood, 
yellow  far  to  the  east  in  its  fifteen  hundred 
miles  of  length,  blue  toward  the  west,  and 
green  where  it  emerges  from  the  ice.  We 
did  not  yet  concern  ourselves  with  fields  of 
wheat  below  this  river,  or  with  exhaustless 
forests  for  the  maws  of  coming  pulp  mills 
north  of  it.  Saskatchewan  was  still  un- 
exploited.  The  nets  came  up  full  of  fish  in 
all  the  lakes  along  it.  Its  plains  were 
tenanted  by  the  buffalo  and  antelope.  The 
plover  circled  about  the  uplands;  the 
painted  wild  fowl  streamed  across;  and  the 
wind  blew  always  fresh  and  keen  enough  to 
wash  away  a  strong  man's  sins.  On  the 
Saskatchewan  a  man  did  as  he  pleased. 
There  were  little  churches  with  crosses  at 
the  mouths  of  the  great  rivers  where  the 
furs  came  down,  and  one  might  there  con- 
fess and  be  absolved.  So  for  a  hundred 
years  Saskatchewan  lay  at  our  doors,  the 
very  sign  and  symbol  of  a  wilderness.  No 
doubt  its  real  discovery  was  due  to  the 
finding  of  gold  far  down  on  the  Yukon. 
The  movement  toward  Alaska  by  one  or 
another  way  was  the  beginning  of  the  end 
of  all  the  mysteries  of  the  far  North.  Of 
course  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  knew 
all  about  it,  but  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, finger  on  lip,  was  gum-shoeing  around 
with  a  big  secret  on  its  soul  for  more  than 
tw6  centuries.  "Whisper!"  said  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company,  and  so  all  was  done  in 
whispers. 

Speaking  of  its  physical  aspects,  what 
does  the  average  man  to-day  know  about 
this  historic  river?  Can  you  without 
studying  a  map  tell  offhand  where  it  rises. 


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or  where  it  finds  its  mouth?  How  long  is 
it?  How  big  is  it,  this  Missouri  of  the 
North?  It  is  well  enough  to  know  some  of 
these  things  of  a  river  now  so  swiftly  com- 
ing into  notice.  For  twenty  years  you 
have  been  able  to  ride  by  rail  to  its  source. 
For  two  years  you  have  been  able  to  take 
trains  to  a  part  of  its  lower  waters.  But 
even  yet  these  lower  waters  ^re  little 
known  to  most  folk.  A  friend  of  mine,  a 
man  of  average  intelligence  and  education, 
told  me  the  other  day  that  of  course  the 
Saskatchewan  River  emptied  into  Lake 
Superior  through  the  Rainy  Lake  region. 
Questioned  closely,  he  was  of  the  belief 
that  its  sources  were  somewhere  in  the 
musk-ox  country  of  the  arctics!  The 
truth  about  the  Saskatchewan  is  that  it  is 
a  Missouri  tilted  up  and  running  eastward 
instead  of  ^uth.  1 1  is  the  backbone  of  the 
most  wonderful  waterway  of  all  the  world. 

Strangely  related,  too,  with  our  own 
backbone  river,  is  this  Missouri  of  the 
North — the  Swift-flowing  Water,  as  the 
red-man's  name  for  it  means.  The  Sas- 
katchewan drains  the  whole  of  the  upper 
Rockies,  from  the  Athabascan  waters  to 
the  Missouri,  hence  its  head  waters  lead 
down  to  ours.  The  old  voyageurs  trafficked 
freely  between  the  two.  The  two  forks  of 
the  Saskatchewan  resemble  the  upper 
sources  of  our  river,  the  Yellowstone  and 
the  main  Missouri.  The  south  fork  of  the 
Saskatchewan  is  made  by  the  Red  Deer  and 
the  Bow,  and  again  the  Bow  receives  the 
Little  Bow  and  the  Belly  Rivers  from  the 
southward,  and  so  we  come  in  direct  touch 
with  the  St.  Mary's  waters  on  this  side  of 
the  line,  with  the  Swift  Current,  with  the 
Milk  River,  which  is  ours  for  most  of  its 
course. 

The  Blackfeet  knew  no  national  line,  and 
traded  from  the  Yellowstone  to  the  north 
arm  of  the  Saskatchewan.  I  have  often 
heard  my  friend,  Joe  Kipp,  of  the  Blackfeet 
nation,  tell  of  a  starving  march  he  once 
made  in  the  winter  from  the  Saskatchewan 
to  the  Milk  River;  how  nearly  they  came  to 
perishing;  how  they  ate  owls  and  eagles, 
and  how  at  last  they  rejoiced  when  they 
found  a  half  dead,  starving  bull  out  on  the 
prairies.  I  have  listened  to  old  John  Mon- 
roe, of  the  Piegans,  tell  how  he  killed 
grizzlies  far  out  to  the  east  on  the  plains  of 
the  Saskatchewan,  with  no  better  arms 
than   the  old   Hudson's   Bay  fuque  and 


heavy  knife — once  with  the  bow  and 
arrows,  when  he  was  on  horseback  and  the 
bear  pursuing  him. 

From  John  Monroe  I  heard  of  his  father, 
Hugh  Monroe,  old  Rising  Wolf  of  the 
Blackfeet,  a  Hudson's  Bay  man  from  his 
youth.  Hugh  Monroe  was  the  son  of  a 
British  Army  officer  and  of  a  daughter  of 
the  distinguished  La  Roche  family  of 
Montreal,  ^migr^,  bankers,  large  land- 
owners, aristocrats.  When  only  fifteen 
years  of  age,  Hugh  Monroe  barkened  to  the 
call  of  Saskatchewan,  and  followed  the  fur 
brigades  far  toward  its  source.  It  was  he 
who  was  perhaps  the  first  white  man  to 
cross  from  the  Saskatchewan  to  the  Mis- 
souri. He  joined  a  great  band  of  Black- 
feet, who  followed  up  the  lower  sources  of 
the  former  river  and  went  south  along 
the  eastern  edge  of  the  Rockies,  some- 
times close  to  the  foothills,  sometimes  fifty 
miles  out  on  the  prairies,  flat  as  a  floor, 
and  covered  then  with  buffalo.  Presently 
they  came  to  the  Sun  River  and  the  Mussel- 
shell, and  the  Judith,  and  the  Marias,  and 
the  Missouri. 

That  party  of  Blackfeet  numbered  eight 
hundred  lodges,  or  about  eight  thousand 
persons,  a  splendid  savage  cavalcade,  in  a 
splendid  savage  day,  and  one  that  has  had 
few  parallels.  They  were  bound  south  to 
sample  the  trade  of  the  white  men  then 
coming  up  the  Missouri,  and  Hugh  Monroe 
went  along,  though  then  but  a  boy,  to 
learn  their  language,  to  dissuade  them 
from  the  American  trade,  and  to  bring 
them  back  to  the  Saskatchewan  with  their 
furs  in  the  coming  season.  It  was  again 
rivalry  of  river  against  river — Saskatchewan 
against  Missouri;  the  Northwest  G)mpany 
against  the  American  Fur  Company ;  Can- 
ada against  the  United  States.  That  was 
in  1813,  and  soon  everybody  of  any  con- 
sequence knew  all  about  both  of  these 
great  swift-flowing  rivers  which  took  hold 
upon  the  fur-bearing  hills. 

It  was,  by  the  way,  this  same  Hugh 
Monroe  who,  in  the  opinion  of  a  few  men 
studious  in  early  western  history,  was  the 
first  white  man  to  set  eyes  on  the  Great 
Salt  Lake  of  Utah.  He  left  no  written 
history,  but  once  at  least  left  his  name  on 
the  country.  At  the  head  of  the  beautiful 
Two  Medicine  Valley  of  Montana,  not  far 
from  the  pass  of  the  Great  Northern  rail- 
road, there  is  a  noble  mountain  called  Ris- 

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ing  Wolf  Mountain — the  mountain  called 
Mah-quee-a-pah,  or  "  Wolf-Gets-Up,"  after 
this  early  adventurer.  When  1  talked 
with  his  son,  John  Monroe — ^who  speaks 
five  languages  all  at  once — it  was  in  his 
smoke-fragrant  teepee,  in  sight  of  this 
noble  mountain,  and  I  digress  now  for  sake 
of  a  little  matter  of  justice  which  ought  to 
be  set  right  so  far  as  possible.  In  one  of 
its  illustrated  folders  some  years  ago  the 
Great  Northern  railroad  printed  a  photo- 
graph of  this  noble  mountain,  with  the  sub- 
title of  "Hough's  Mountain."  This  is  an 
inaccuracy  that  is  little  less  than  a  sin. 
The  members  of  the  Blackfeet  tribe  who 
were  with  me  on  a  winter  hunt  in  that 
country  some  years  previous  had  given 
names,  now  geographically  accepted,  for 
most  of  the  peaks  in  that  part  of  the 
Rockies,  and  because  1  killed  a  sheep  on 
one  mountain  there  they  named  it  after 
me;  but  this  is  across  the  canon  from 
the  mountain  called  Mah-quee-a-pah,  or 
Rising  Wolf.  He  would  be  a  very  poor  sort 
of  man  who  would  wish  to  change  nomen- 
clature so  old  and  just  as  that. 

Old  Hugh  Monroe,  who  died  some  years 
since,  after  a  life  which  could  not  now  be 
duplicated  on  this  globe,  passed  his  later 
years  in  what  is  now  Montana.  His  son 
John,  old  and  gray  and  feeble  when  1  last 
saw  him,  had  wandered  all  over  the  coun-« 
try  between  these  two  great  rivers.  His 
last  wife  was  a  Cree  woman,  born  north  of 
the  Saskatchewan.  That  river  had  led 
his  father,  his  wife  and  himself  down  to 
our  own  mountains.  There  is  no  romance 
so  keen  as  that  of  these  great  early  water 
trails. 

The  southern  arm  of  the  Saskatchewan 
runs  pretty  much  all  over  the  pair  of 
Canadian  provinces  and  past  several  cities. 
1 1  passes  Calgary  and  Banff,  and  shows  the 
railway  the  road  up  the  mountains  to  a 
point  opposite  the  wild  Kicking  Horse 
stairway  on  the  west  slope  of  the  Rockies. 
You  can  see  all  this,  a  series  of  wonderful 
mountain  pictures,  by  rail  to-day  on  the 
Canadian  Pacific  railway.  The  northern 
arm  remains  more  remote.  The  two 
streams  diverge  into  a  wide  loop,  and  both 
so  ramify  and  wander  that  literally  there  is 
Saskatchewan  within  touch  almost  any- 
where you  go  west  of  Winnipeg  Lake. 
And  whan  you  touch  Saskatchewan  you 
are  within   reach  of  all  North  America. 


Knowledge  of  the  wonderful  extent  and 
efficacy  of  the  old  waterways  of  the  North 
has  now  almost  pass^  out  of  mind,  but 
there  is  no  study  more  curious  and  inter- 
esting. 

The  false  mouth  of  the  Saskatchewan  is 
in  the  northwestern  comer  of  Lake  Winni- 
peg, but  the  true  mouth,  in  Hudson's  Bay, 
is  at  about  the  fifty-seventh  parallel  of 
latitude.  After  passing  through  Lake  Win- 
nipeg it  is  called  for  a  part  of  its  length 
"Katchewan."  Then,  picking  up  more 
northern  streams,  it  is  called  the  Nelson 
River,  which  of  course  it  is  not,  no  matter 
what  the  geographies  say.  It  is  Saskatche- 
wan, the  Swift-flowing  Water,  the  link  be- 
tween the  Rockies  and  Hudson's  Bay. 

One  of  the  many  lakes  strung  on  the 
lower  thread  of  Saskatchewan  is  Sturgeon 
Lake,  where  was  located  the  old  Cumber- 
land House,  from  which  men  departed 
both  to  the  Missinnippian  and  Athabas- 
can streams — the  center  of  a  tremendous 
geography.  By  means  of  a  chain  of  lakes 
and  connecting  streams  the  voyageur  got 
west  to  the  Athabascan  system,  or  east  to 
Hudson's  Bay.  As  Dr.  Coues  remarks: 
"We  have  brought  our  traveler  from  the 
Red  River  of  the  North  by  water  up  to 
Cumberland  House;  we  could  bring  him 
down  to  this  place  from  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. In  fine,  we  are  here  in  the  focus  of 
a  vast  network  of  waters  whose  strands 
radiate  in  every  direction.  A  canoe  could 
start  from  this  house,  and  with  no  portage 
of  more  than  a  day's  length,  could  be 
launched  on  the  Arctic  Ocean,  Hudson's 
Bay,  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  or  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  without  much  greater  inter- 
ruption, could  be  floated  on  the  Pacific 
Ocean!" 

We  in  America  followed  down  the  Ohio, 
up  the  Mississippi  and  the  Missouri,  the 
Platte,  the  Arkansas  and  the  Red.  Thus 
the  men  of  Canada  followed  the  rivers  of 
the  North,  and  most  of  all,  the  Saskatche- 
wan. In  those  splendid  unknown  years, 
what  adventurous  keels  plowed  those  upper 
floods!  How  many  feet,  red  and  white  and 
brown,  made  the  little  tracking  paths  along 
these  shores! 

Many  early  men  passed  up  the  Missouri 
of  the  North  at  one  time  or  another — 
Mackenzie,  later  knighted  for  his  daring, 
who  started  west  from  Fort  Chippewayan 
and  reached  the  Pacific  June  22,  1793,  the 


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Copyright  Fhoto^.Taph  by  Mathers. 

The  fur  brigade  tracking  up  the  Athabasca  River. 


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first  man  to  cross  the  American  continent, 
and  the  first  to  trace  an  arctic  river  down; 
Fraser  and  Thompson,  and  both  the 
Henrys,  Alexander  the  uncle  and  Alexan- 
der the  nephew;  McDonald,  Hearne,  Har- 
mon, Tanner — scores  of  those  who  wrote 
or  who  did  not  write,  save  as  they  helped 
to  blazon  over  all  the  North  the  cabalistic 
letters  H.  B.,  or  X.  Y.,  or  N.  W.,  for  one 
or  other  of  the  great  companies  which 
combed  that  country  for  its  furs. 

Mackenzie  is  not  more  useful  to  us  than 
'  Fraser,  and  he  not  so  good  as  the  astron- 
omer, map-maker,  and  naturalist,  David 
Thompson;  nor  the  latter  so  useful  in  some 
ways  as  the  younger  Alexander  Henry,  the 
coarsest,  most  literal  and  most  matter-of- 
factly  informing  of  all  the  "Northers." 
Henry  is  not  very  interesting,  having  no 
imagination  and  small  conscience,  but  he 
kept  a  precise  and  literal  diary  day  by  day, 
which  few  of  these  others  did;  so  he  is 
useful  as  giving  us  both  a  general  and  a 
specific  knowledge  of  the  country  along  the 
Saskatchewan. 

On  Monday,  August  8,  1808,  Henry  left 
the  mouth  of  the  Pembina  River — he  had 
been  trading  in  all  northern  Minnesota,  and 
knew  the  country  west  as  far  as  the  Mis- 
souri— and,  took  boat  to  the  foot  of  Lake 
Winnipeg,  where  he  joined  a  brigade  of 
canoes  that  had  come  from  Fort  William 
on  Lake  Superior  via  the  old  Rainy  Lake 
water  trail.  A  rough  voyage  brought  them 
on  August  20th  to  the  mouth  of  the  Sas- 
katchewan. The  Northwest  men  were  the 
hustlers  of  the  fur  trade.  They  despised 
York  boats,  the  heavy  craft  of  the  H.  B. 
G)mpany,  and  prided  themselves  on  their 
own  swifter  canoes. 

West  of  Lake  Winnipeg  our  voyageurs 
note  many  wild  pigeons,  many  wild  fowl, 
many  moose,  elk  and  antelope,  or  "cab- 
brie,"  as  Henry  calls  them.  On  August 
29th  they  see-  tracks  of  the  grizzly  bear, 
as  well  as  those  of  black  bears.  The 
grizzly  once  ranged  almost  as  far  to  the 
east  as  the  buffalo.  Without  doubt  or 
question  Henry  knew  bears,  and  he  saw  the 
grizzly  often  in  Minnesota.  By  September 
5th  they  were  far  to  the  west.  "Now," 
says  Henry,  "we  may  be  said  to  enter  the 
Plains."  Sandbars  and  willow  patches  ap- 
pear; there  are  buffalo  crossings,  and  now 
they  see  buffalo  swimming  the  river. 

A  month  out  from  the  Red  River  they 


are  near  Battle  River,  in  a  splendid  buffalo 
range,  and  in  good  grizzly  country  also. 
There  are  many  "red  deer,"  by  which 
Henry  means  elk,  and  this  is  a  fine  beaver 
country.  As  to  the  Indians  whom  they 
have  been  meeting,  they  were  to  the  east 
Salteurs  and  Assiniboines.  Now  they 
meet  Crees  and  Sarcees,  and  many  "Slaves," 
by  which  they  mean  the  Blackfeet,  Pi^ans, 
Bloods,  etc.,  the  latter  not  always  very 
friendly.  Their  brigade  reaches  Fort  Ver- 
million on  September  14th,  having  been 
absent  since  May  loth,  journeying  to  Fort 
William  on  Lake  Superior,  and  back  again. 
Henry  wintered  at  Fort  Vermillion,  and 
in  June  of  the  next  year  was  himself  back 
at  Fort  William.  It  must  have  been  a 
splendidly  regular  schedule  after  all,  that  of 
this  tremendous,  matter-of-fact  voyaging, 
for  in  the  next  fall  Henry  arrived  at  Ver- 
million again  on  September  13th,  precisely 
his  date  on  the  preceding  year!  The  jour- 
ney from  Fort  William  to  Vermillion  re-  * 
quired  about  two  months. 

But  we  are  interested  in  Saskatchewan 
as  part  of  the  transcontinental  trail, 
wherefore  we  may  use  this  same  man  as 
well  as  any  other  in  following  it  to  the 
Rockies.  He  left  Edmonton  on  September 
29th,  and  on  October  3d  was  within  sight 
of  the  Rockies.  Two  days  later  he 
reached  the  already  ancient  trading  post, 
the  Rocky  Mountain  House,  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Clearwater.  Leaving  here 
February  3d  by  dog  sled  it  took  him  just 
a  week  to  arrive  at  the  lower  end  of  that 
singular  and  beautiful  mountain  valley 
known  as  the  Kootenai  Plains,  where  the 
Saskatchewan  rests  gently  for  a  time  before 
sallying  forth  on  its  long  journey  east  to 
Hudson's  Bay.  A  great  mountain  wall 
came  down  close  to  one  side  of  the  valley; 
there  were  mountains  ahead  and  all  around, 
but  our  traveler  set  about  crossing  the 
Rockies  in  the -dead  of  winter  as  though 
it  were  a  matter  of  course,  which  indeed 
it  was  to  those  old  timers.  He  passed  up 
the  Kootenai  Plains  to  the  place  where  the 
river  forks,  head  of  navigation  for  even 
the  lightest  canoe.  Beyond  that  it  meant 
snowshoes,  and  the  voyageur  followed  the 
lower  arm  of  the  dwindled  river  and  b^an 
to  climb. 

He  gives  us  no  very  great  story  of  his 
ascent  of  the  mountains,  but  the  pass  does 
not  seem  to  be  very  difficult.    Oti  Febru- 

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aiy  9th,  as  he  calmly  remarks,  he  sees 
what  he  presumes  to  be  "the  highest 
source  of  the  Saskatchewan" — there  hid- 
den beneath  the  snow.  A  half  mile  from 
its  apparent  end  in  a  rock  wall  he  leaves  it 
and  enters  a  pine-covered  forest;  and  so, 
with  very  little  ado  about  it,  he  makes  the 
summit.  "We  went  on  about  two  hours 
through  the  thick  woods,"  he  says,  "and 
at  nine  o'clock  came  to  a  small  opening, 
where  three  small  streams  of  the  Colum- 
bian waters  joined."  So  there  he  was  at 
the  crest  of  the  Rockies.  And  1  would 
rather  have  been  Alexander  Henry  then 
than  John  D.  Rockefeller  now. 

Henry  reached  the  summit  February 
9th.  We  may  therefore  now  figure  the 
entire  Saskatchewan  schedule  somewhat 
thus:  Red  River  (from  near  Winnipeg)  to 
Fort  Vermillion,  thirty-five  days;  to  Ed- 
monton, three  days;  to  Rocky  Mountain 
House,  six  days;  to  the  summit,  nine  days 
— or  say  about  fifty-three  days  in  all,  a 
trifle  less  than  two  months  of  travel  by 
sail,  paddle,  pole,  cordelle,  horse,  dog  and 
snowshoe.  It  took  hardy  men  to  do  that, 
but  thegoumal  figures  it  thus.  The  aver- 
age must  be  over  twenty  miles  per  day  at  a 
low  estimate. 

On  this  trip  our  voyageur  did  not  go 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  G)lumbia,  al- 
though some  of  his  Indians  went  on  over 
the  perfectly  well-known  trail  which  David 
Thompson  had  often  used,  that  from  Howse 
Pass  down  the  Blaeberry  Creek,  which 
empties  into  the  Columbia  near  Moberly  on 
the  C.  P.  R.  to-day.  This  point  is  farther 
up  the  Columbia  than  Beavermouth,  where 
my  own  bear-hunting  party  struck  the  Big 
Bend  of  the  Columbia  last  May.  For  a 
time  I  tried  to  figure  out  the  old  localities 
by  means  of  David  Thompson's  early  maps. 
These  maps  show  a  river  coming  down 
from  the  Howse  Pass  into  the  Columbia 
River  at  a  big  lake  or  widening  of  the 
stream.  There  is  no  such  lake  on  the  Big 
Bend  excepting  Timbasket  Lake,  and 
there  is  no  river  that  enters  Timbasket 
Lake  except  the  Middle  River,  which  heads 
off  somewhere  toward  the  Howse  Pass. 
When  I  first  saw  our  secret  valley  up  the 
Middle  River,  I  thought  we  might  be  on 
the  old  Thompson  trail,  but  there  is  no 
historical  warrant  for  thinking  that  any  of 
these  old  travelers  crossed  any  summit  and 
came  down  our  valley.     I  do  not  know 


where  the  Middle  River  heads,  and  cannot 
learn  about  it  from  any  man  or  any  map 
or  any  writing.  Some  day  I  am  going  to 
find  out,  and  some  time,  perhaps,  find  the 
"  highest  source  "  of  the  Saskatchewan  from 
that  side  of  the  Divide.  The  Howse  Pass 
lies  fair  for  the  head  of  the  Blaeberry,  but 
that  does  not  enter  the  Columbia  anywhere 
near  Timbasket  Lake.  Neither  does  the 
Wood  River  nor  the  Canoe  River,  which 
enter  at  the  head  of  the  Big  Bend.  It  was 
above  this  point  that  the  old  voyageurs 
crossed  west  after  coming  through  the  old 
Peace  River  Pass,  toward  which  four  rail- 
roads are  now  crowding.  So  I  suppose  that 
our  valley  is  about  as  virgin  as  most 
valleys  in  the  Rockies  to-day.  It  lies  be- 
tween the  two  main  paths  which  lead  from 
the  heads  of  the  Saskatchewan  and  the 
Peace,  down  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  by  way 
of  the  Columbia  and  the  Fraser.  It  must 
run  up  to  a  glacier- topped  range  at  its  head, 
which  not  even  Simon  or  David  or  Alex- 
ander of  old  found  it  necessary  to  tackle. 

Those  early  men  did  not  travel  for  sport 
or  adventure  so  much  as  they  did  for  busi- 
ness. Their  story  is  always  of  fur.  All 
Europe  had  its  eyes  on  the  furs  of  western 
America.  La  Valli^re,  Parab^re,  Pompa- 
dour— imperial  mistresses  for  three  genera- 
tions, looked  to  Saskatchewan  for  their 
sables  and  their  ermines  and  their  otter 
robes.  The  nobles  of  Louis  XIV.  trafficked 
with  the  merchants  of  Canada  for  furs. 
The  courtiers  of  the  regent,  the  new-made 
nobility  of  John  Law,  looked  to  Canada  for 
their  winter  finery.  The  young  macaroni 
of  old  London  wore  a  hat  of  beaver  that 
grew  on  Saskatchewan.  The  Swift-flowing 
Water  ran  toward  Europe,  toward  Paris, 
toward  London,  then  as  it  does  to-day. 

The  conquest  of  all  this  new  land  of  furs 
was  at  first  Gallic.  The  thin  edge  of  the 
wedge  of  civilization  west  of  Superior  was 
French.  Volatile,  unstable,  migratory,  the 
Frenchman  of  that  day  was  by  all  odds 
the  best  advance  guard  in  the  wilderness. 
Picards  and  Normans  erected  the  early 
settlements  of  old  France  all  along  the 
Great  Lakes — the  fortress  to  repel  invasion; 
the  chapel  to  shrive  one  of  one's  sins;  the 
little  fields  to  keep  the  women  busy.  All 
around  these  swept  the  vast  forests,  full  of 
fur,  full  of  the  sins  of  the  flesh.  The  local 
commandant,  smug,  far  from  France, 
owner  of  a  dozen  wives,  reared  in  peace  his 

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swarms  of  dusky  offspring — "  Bois  Bruits" 
they  were  called,  in  tribute  to  their  com- 
plexion— ^wielders  of  paddles  later  in  their 
lives,  perhaps,  alongside  the  sons  of  some 
godly  Father  who  had  found  no  sin  in 
learning  a  savage  language  in  the  most 
practical  fashion,  since  the  Pope  was  far 
away  in  Rome. 

Back  from  all  these  little  settlements— 
gay,  insouciant  centers  of  a  gay,  insouciant 
age,  when  perhaps  they  got  more  out  of 
life  than  we  do  in  our  own  anxious  times — 
ranged  always  these  new  men,  the  G)ureurs 
des  Bois,  runners  of  the  forest,  half-breeds 
or  renegade  French,  able  as  Indians  with 
paddle,  or  rifle,  or  trap,  more  able  to  endure 
large  privations  and  hardships,  more  pa- 
tient, more  mercurial  and  merry  than  any 
savage,  stronger  to  bear  heavy  burdens, 
less  moody,  more  tenacious — more  useful 
than  any  other  breed  for  the  subduing  of 
the  wilderness.  These  G)ureurs  des  Bois 
were  part  white  and  part  savage  in  their 
look  and  garb.  They  wore  the  breech 
cloth  and  the  tunic,  though  the  latter  might 
be  of  cloth.  Their  caps  were  knitted  of 
red  worsted,  their  blanket  coats  were  of 
many  colors.  Their  moccasins  were  of 
hide,  their  leggings  of  buck,  fringed  au 
sauvage.  In  heavy  weather  they  wore  a 
hooded  surtout  of  blue  cloth — the  cap6te 
or  "capoo"  as  it  was  called,  with  a  belt  of 
scarlet  wool,  carrying  a  heavy  knife,  the 
latter  comprising  axe,  hammer,  skinning 
knife,  table  knife,  jack-knife  and  weapon 
all  in  one. 

From  these  men,  the  gayest,  most  gen- 
erous, most  wasteful  and  most  licentious 
gentry  any  part  of  this  continent  ever  knew, 
came  the  later  engages  or  mangeurs  du  lard 
— "pork  eaters" — of  the  later  fur  trade. 
It  was  these  coureurs  of  Greysolon  d'Lhut 
and  his  partner  Grosseilliers  who  extended 
the  fur  trade  west  of  Superior  and  founded 
Fort  de  la  Reine,  near  where  Winnipeg 
arose  later.  It  was  they  who  established 
New  Albany  and  Post  Nelson  on  Hudson's 
Bay,  and  in  1686  they  had  taken  away 
from  England  all  her  fur  posts  in  the 
North  excepting  that  of  Nelson. 

It  was  the  French  who  first  learned  of 
Saskatchewan;  and  it  was  the  French  who 
won  in  the  West,  until  the  English  con- 
quered in  the  East,  and  in  1763  by  the 
Treaty  of  Paris  exacted  the  cession  of  all 
that  immense  realm  which  had  been  won 


by  La  Salle  and  by  the  French  fur  traders 
beyond  Superior. 

Meantime  the  Hudson's  Bay  G)mpany 
had  its  own  serene  way  until  1766,  when 
private  traders  pushed  west  beyond  the 
Great  Lakes.  In  1783  these  banded  to- 
gether as  the  Northwest  Company,  soon  to 
prove  more  enterprising,  more  daring  and 
more  able  than  the  old  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, and  it  is  with  these  that  the  practical 
history  of  Saskatchewan  begins.  For  now 
the  Saskatchewan  becomes  a  known  and 
beaten  trail,  and  one  full  of  picturesque 
incident,  whose  total  would  make  the  most 
romantic  history  ever  written  in  the  world. 
The  Northwest  Company  wore  no  gum 
shoes.  Its  boots  were  full  of  hobnails,  and 
it  cared  not  who  heard  where  it  trod. 

The  men  of  the  Northwest  Company 
used  great  canoes  in  their  trade,  birch  bark 
craft  thirty  feet  in  length,  four  feet  wide, 
two  feet  and  a  half  deep,  capable  of  carry- 
ing down  stream  or  on  the  lakes  at  least 
three  thousand  pounds  in  cargo,  or  say 
sixty-five  "pieces"  of  ninety  pounds  each. 
Similar  boats  carried  all  the  trade  goods  up 
the  rivers  (thirty  "pieces"  or  less,  some- 
times, to  the  load  on  Saskatchewan),  as  well 
as  the  supplies  of  the  outlying  posts — 
cloths,  beads,  prints,  mirrors,  weapons, 
powder  and  lead,  and  above  all,  whiskey. 
Only  it  was  not  whiskey,  but  high  wine  or 
alcohol,  diluted  after  arrival  on  the  spot 
where  needed.  As  the  years  went  on  the 
dilution  became  less.  The  Salteurs,  far  to 
the  east  and  accustomed  to  strong  drink, 
rebelled  at  too  much  water.  The  more 
innocent  Blackfeet,  far  to  the  northwest, 
would  accept  more  dilution,  and  trade  for 
this  thin  fire-water  their  furs,  their  horses, 
their  robes,  their  women.  The  record  of 
the  fur  trade  of  the  Northwest  Company  is 
one  of  a  continual  debauch,  and  the  voyag- 
eurs,  the  half-breeds  and  the  natives  were 
sometimes  joined  by  their  bourgeois  in  the 
universal  boisson,  or  drinking  match,  which 
preceded  and  ended  every  trade. 

But  with  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
and  the  Northwest  Company  were  many 
abler  and  more  sober-minded  men,  leaders, 
resident  traders,  factors,  and  finally  per- 
haps partners,  such  men  as  Donald  Mac- 
Tavish,  drowned  with  Alexander  Henry  in 
the  Columbia  finally.  These  strong  char- 
acters were  content  to  spend  their  lives  in 
the  wilderness,  to  take  native  women  for 


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their  wives,  to  subsist  on  the  hard  fare  of 
the  country — meat,  fresh  or  salted,  pemmi- 
can,  white  fish,  smoked  meat  of  wild  fowl. 
Gardens  were  rare  on  the  Saskatchewan; 
a  hen  was  a  priceless  thing;  fruit  was  un- 
known, save  as  the  service  berries  or  thorn 
apples  could  be  called  fruit.  Yet  men  of 
brains  and  commanding  qualities  lived  thus 
and  led  in  a  brutal  merchandising  which 
was  for  years  little  better  than  thievery. 
They  took  a  boat  load  of  furs  for  a  few 
kegs  of  diluted  high  wines — one  hundred 
and  twenty  beaver,  one  record  says,  for  two 
blankets,  two  gallons  of  watered  whiskey, 
and  one  pocket  mirror.  Joe  Kipp  told 
me  that  in  his  time  whiskey  on  the 
Saskatchewan  brought  sixty-five  dollars 
for  a  little  keg,  and  quicksilver — for  the 
mysterious  Saskatchewan  is  full  of  fine 
gold  along  its  bars — cost  ten  to  twenty 
dollars  per  pound. 

Yet  these  resident  traders,  the  kings  of 
the  Saskatchewan,  were  the  aristocrats  of 
their  land  and  day.  They  curiously  show 
the  power  of  the  wilderness  over  civilized 
man.  I  have  remarked  on  the  birth  and 
breeding  of  old  Hugh  Monroe,  one  of  the 
most  remarkable,  though  one  of  the  least- 
known  discoverers  of  a  century  now  passed. 
He  was  a  gentleman  bred,  but  the  woods 
called  him  when  he  was  still  a  boy,  and  he 
never  came  back.  He  took  with  him  the 
old  La  Roche  dueling  pistols,  which  had 
defended  the  family  honor  many  a  time  in 
France.  Perhaps  they  defended  life  in 
some  forgotten  fight  on  the  plains  of  Sas- 
katchewan, but  they  never  returned  to 
Montreal.  Others  of  the  better  bred  men 
who  went  West  came  back  from  time  to 
time,  engaging  in  revelries  at  the  settle- 
ments of  the  East,  spending  their  money 
like  water  in  prodigality  and  licentiousness, 
to  make  amends  for  their  years  of  solitude 
and  privations. 

Such,  then,  were  the  leaders  of  the  trad- 
ing posts  and  the  fur  brigades  who  con- 
quered the  Saskatchewan;  such,  too,  the 
voyageurs,  the  common  canoemen,  squat, 
short,  brawny,  sinewy,  strong  as  wild  asses 
and  of  small  intellectuality.  One  can  see 
them  now,  these  hardy  travelers,  passing 
westward  and  northward  in  their  great 
canoes,  high  in  bow  and  stem,  at  each  ex- 
tremity a  brown-faced,  grizzled  man  for 
steersman.  There  are  four  paddlers  or 
polesmen  on  each  side  when  the  current 


stiffens.  When  the  wind  comes  fair  astern 
a  blanket  sailJs  rigged.  When  a  portage 
must  be  made,  out  go  these  voyageurs, 
waist  deep,  holding  their  thin-skinned  craft 
off  the  rocks  that  it  may  not  be  injured. 
Laughing  and  singing,  each  slings  on  his 
back  his  "piece"  of  ninety  pounds,  more 
usually  two  of  these  pieces,  and  so  off  over 
the  rocks,  or  knee-deep  through  the  mud. 
At  paddle  or  portage,  the  "pipe,"  or  interval 
of  rest,  as  long  as  it  takes  to  smoke  a  pipe, 
is  religion  of  the  labor  union  of  that  day. 
The  distance  between  pipes  or  pauses  on  a 
long  portage  was  usually  about  a  third  of  a 
mile. 

Thus,  paddling,  poling,  sailing,  carrying, 
the  voyageurs  learned  every  bend  and  riffle 
of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  all  its  shores  as 
well;  for  when,  far  out  on  the  plains,  the 
current  became  too  strong  and  steady,  each 
of  the  paddlers  slung  his  pack  strap  across 
his  shoulder,  and  fastened  himself  like  a 
draft  beast  to  the  sixty-foot  towing  line. 
For  more  than  a  thousand  miles  along  Sas- 
katchewan they  towed,  slipping,  stumbling, 
wet,  weary,  beset  with  all  manner  of  pests, 
yet  laughing  and  merry,  going  at  a  trot  to 
the  very  head  of  the  water  where  it  comes 
out  of  the  snow,  across  a  continent  of  vast 
adventuring. 

•  Once  a  voyageur,  always  one.  A  wife  in 
every  tribe,  a  little  finery  out  of  one's  wages 
for  each,  a  "debt"  like  an  Indian,  if  one 
wished  to  trap  for  a  season,  a  little  trinket 
now  and  then  for  the  purchase  of  the  smiles 
of  some  new  girl  here  or  there — Susanne 
Duchesne  of  Mo'reaw'  or  Ah-ta-k^-pi  of  the 
Sarcees  at  Fort  Augustus — it  was  a  merry 
life,  that  of  the  voyageur.  Sickness  and 
rheumatism  came  at  last,  and  finally  the 
end.  But  when  one  was  old  was  time 
enough  for  repentance,  and  meantime  at 
every  post  along  the  water  trail  there  were 
little  chapels  and  priests  to  whom  one 
might  confess. 

Such  was  a  wild  commerce  which  en- 
riched many  families — a  commerce  which 
presently  was  to  purchase  a  large  portion 
of  Manhattan  Island;  for  it  was  Astor  who 
bought  out  the  old  Northwest  G)mpany 
south  of  the  Canadian  line,  and  began  to 
turn  brown  furs  into  brown  stone,  and  to 
found  an  aristocracy  as  proud,  perhaps,  as 
that  once  the  aim  and  mark  of  all  the  belles 
of  Mo'reaw'  and  old  Quebec! 

These  men,  who  mapped  the  Mackenzie 

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and  the  Peace  and  the  Athabasca,  the  Fin- 
lay  and  the  Liard  and  all  the  arms  of  old 
Saskatchewan,  saw  all  of  a  bold,  brave  life 
of  which  you  and  1  to-day  read  covetously, 
wishing  we  had  been  young  when  they  were 
young,  when  the  world  was  but  begin- 
ning, when  Saskatchewan  was  a  household 
phrase  at  every  hearthstone  of  the  East 
and  every  tepee  fire  in  all  the  West.  They 
waged  not  war,  but  commerce.  They  did 
not  exterminate,  but  mingled  their  blood 
with  the  savage  tribes.  And  after  later 
days  had  come  along  the  Saskatchewan, 
the  larger  and  more  just  souls  of  these 
leaders,  seeing  that  civilization  had  caught 
up  with  them,  and  brought  a  new  code  of 
morals,  did  what  they  could  to  set  right 
what  civilization  now  called  wrong.  They 
gave  millions  of  acres  of  land  scrip  to  the 
half-breed  children  of  the  old  fur  trade, 
descendants  of  the  men  who  made  the 
trails.  And  later  white  men  came,  shrewd 
trading  Yankees  or  others,  and  got  this 
half-breed  scrip  for  a  song,  and  robbed  of 
their  birthright  the  descendants  of  the 
men  who  really  won  Saskatchewan. 

Yes,  if  you  seek  romance,  or  love  adven- 
ture, scratch  in  the  sands  along  Saskatche- 
wan. Its  story  still  is  there.  Saskatche- 
wan to-day  speaks  of  the  wild  rose,  typical 
flower  of  the  frontier — the  same  flower  your ' 
mother  gathered  when  she  came  to  Iowa 
or  Kansas,  before  you,  my  friend,  went 
East  to  live  in  a  Flatiron  on  Manhattan,  and 
be  ironed  out  to  smoothness  and  nothing- 
ness. Saskatchewan  shall  speak  to  you 
to-day  of  vast,  white  mountains — oh,  so 
beautiful  are  those  mountains!  It  shall 
show  you  still  its  wild,  wide  plains — ah,  so 
wonderful  are  these  plains!  It  can  show 
you  still  the  passing  harrow  of  the  wild 
fowl  high  on  the  sky,  and  offer  you  the 
brilliant  note  of  the  curlew,  and  the  splash 
of  the  beaver  at  its  work,  and  the  track  of 
the  great  moose  in  the  bog.  If  the  smell 
of  tepee  smoke  be  now  less,  it  will  give  you 
sod  house  fire  and  drying  nets,  and  dog 
harness,  and  snowshoes,  and  ox  gads  and 
— ah,  well,  coal  smoke  now,  and  the  reek 
of  towns! 

Not  long  ago  a  friend  of  mine  rounded  up 
a  horse  band  in  North  Dakota,  crossed  the 
line  and  broke  north  to  see  what  he  could 
see.  He  turned  up  at  Red  Deer  and  then 
started  westward  to  discover  a  continent 

T  himself.     He  followed  the  north  arm 


of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  at  last  traced  it 
up  and  through  the  eastern  front  of  the 
Rocky  range.  Here,  to  his  surprise,  he 
discovered  a  vast,  wide,  level  valley,  fenced 
all  about  by  snow-capped  mountains.  Ah, 
it  was  the  Kootenai  Plains,  as  new  to  him 
as  it  was  to  Thompson  and  Henry  a  hun- 
dred years  ago!  He  saw  trees  thick  as  his 
leg  growing  in  the  old  trail  at  the  Rocky 
Mountain  House.  The  wanderer  built  him 
a  little  rail  fence  from  the  edge  of  the 
mountain  to  the  edge  of  the  river  at  the 
lower  end  of  this  valley,  and  so  had  a 
horse  ranch  made  to  order;  and  there  he 
is  to-day,  in  Paradise. 

The  white  man  has  indeed  come  to  the 
Saskatchewan.  In  1906  these  buffalo 
plains  raised  thirty  million  bushels  of 
wheat,  and  each  year  now  adds  a  half 
million  or  a  whole  million  of  acres  under 
plow.  Soon  there  will  be  ten  million  acres 
of  wheat  standing  in  the  bull  wallows  along 
the  Saskatchewan.  Soon  there  will  be  two 
hundred  million  bushels  of  wheat  to  sell 
annually.  Soon  this  Missouri  of  the  North 
will  be  sending  to  Great  Britain  twenty 
times  as  much  wheat  as  she  can  use  to-day. 
Wheat  has  come  to  take  the  place  of  fur. 

The  old  words  of  our  treaties  with  the  red- 
man  ran:  "So  long  as  the  waters  shall  run 
or  the  grass  shall  grow."  There  is  no  more 
solemn  phrase  to  be  found  in  the  measuring 
of  time.  We  come  to  that  same  phrase 
in  the  measuring  of  the  future.  Where 
does  the  water  come  from — have  you  not 
asked  your  mother  that? — have  you  not 
made  inquiry  of  your  father  asking  where 
it  goes?  As  for  this  icy  drop  of  Saskatche- 
wan, it  passes  through  a  country  still  be- 
longing to  the  young  men.  The  story  of  a 
young  world  lies  along  its  shores.  And 
while  we  may  be  young — why  not?  If  we 
may  still  run  and  exult,  then  why  not? 
And  even  if  we  be  old,  will  not  the  winds  of 
Saskatchewan,  as  of  yore,  wash  out  a 
strong  man's  sins?  Why  should  not  our 
young  men  dream  dreams? 

For  myself,  who  could  never  quite  learn 
t^  love  the  boulevards,  1  most  love  to 
dream  the  dreams  of  the  ghosts  of  Clark 
and  Eraser,  shaking  hands  on  the  shores 
of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  admitting  that, 
river  against  river,  one  Missouri  against 
the  other,  neither  adventurer  had  the  bet- 
ter of  the  other,  but  that  both  joined  in 
winning  a  mighty  victory  for  thp^orld.    j 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  16 


LITTLE   OUTDOOR   STORIES 


OLD   SOLDIERS* 

BY  LLOYD   BUCHANAN 

I  HEY  are  a  whimsical 
lot — these  old  soldiers  of 
ours.  Until  you  have 
lain  through  the  wet 
nights  with  them  on 
outpost  and  shared 
their  bacon  and  coffee  in 
the  field  you  can  never  know  their  quaint 
humor  and  their  curious  philosophy  of  life. 
But  I  will  put  down  here  a  few  yams,  in 
the  hope  of  showing  a  phase  of  life  in  the 
ranks  that  every  man  does  not  know. 
Some  of  these  things  I  heard  or  saw  my- 
self. Others  were  told  over  the  pipes  in 
the  mess,  simply,  as  one  officer  tells  tales 
of  the  service  to  another.  That  is  the 
merit  of  them — they  are  true. 

In  Chickamauga,  in  '98,  a  sergeant  was 
detailed  as  orderly  for  the  commanding 
general.  He  was  a  bright,  neat  chap,  but 
young — dreadfully  young — ^with  only  four 
years'  service  behind  him. 

Now,  in  a  certain  regiment  of  regular 
cavalry  in  camp  there  was  a  grizzled  vet- 
eran, a  medal  of  honor  man,  who  had 
fought  and  suffered  in  many  winter  cam- 
paigns and  burning  desert  marches.  The 
sight  of  this  baby  orderly  preyed  on  his 
mind.  He  troubled  over  it  for  two  days 
and  a  night.  Then  he  arrayed  himself  in 
his  full  r^mentals,  pinned  his  medal  of 
honor  on  his  breast,  and  marched  to  the 
commanding  general's  tent. 

What  did  he  want?  He  wanted  to  see 
the  general.  What  was  his  business? 
It  was  purely  private.  They  looked  at  thf 
medal  on  his  coat  and  the  ragged  scar  on 
his  forehead.  After  a  decent  period — as 
is  always  compatible  with  the  dignity  of 
generals — they  admitted  him  to  the  tent 
of  the  Great  Presence. 

^Ifore  Old  Soldier  yams  will  appear  in  future 


The  general  looked  up  from  his  papers. 
He  was  a  gray  old  man,  with  a  kindly  eye, 
and  his  face,  like  the  sergeant's,  was  worn 
with  the  wind  and  sun. 

"What  do  you  want.  Sergeant?"  he 
asked. 

The  sergeant  saluted  with  the  stiffness 
that  was  the  fear  of  all  recruits. 

"My  rights,  sorr,"  he  answered  shortly. 

The  general's  eyes  twinkled. 

"What  are  your  rights?"  he  asked. 

"Giniral,  sorr,  a  while  back  ye  detailed 
a  sergeant-orderiy.  Sorr,  he  is  but  a 
rookie,  no  more.  I  am  the  oldest  sergeant 
in  your  throops.  This  medal  I  won  at 
Wounded  Knee.  1  was  with  you,  sorr, 
afther  Gironomo — ^ye'll  be  maybe  remem- 
berin'  me,  Giniral,  in  Throop  B  av  th'  old 
Sicond.  If  ye  care,  sorr,  to  see  me  dis- 
charges, I  can  show  ye  here  me  actions  an' 
campaigns — an'  they  be  not  a  few,  though 
it's  me  as  says  it.  An'  ivery  discharge 
'ixcillint,'  barrin'  wan  Very  good,'  w'ich, 
excusin'  yer  pris'nce,  sorr,  was  give  me 
be  old  Captain  Darrow  of  the  Sixth,  afther- 
wards  dismissed  the  sarvice.  An'  Giniral, 
I  think  ye'll  agree  that  it's  me  rights  that 
I  be  detailed  as  yer  orderly,  ahead  of  any 
rookie  in  yer  command." 

The  general  smiled.  He  knew  himself 
something  of  the  bitterness  of  neglected 
"rights." 

"Very  well.  Sergeant,"  he  said,  "you 
shall  be  detailed  at  once." 

Two  days  went  by.  The  sergeant,  once 
more  in  spotless  array,  with  his  medal  of 
honor  on  his  coat,  appeared  before  the 
general. 

"What  is  it  now.  Sergeant?"  asked  the 
great  man  kindly. 

The  veteran  saluted  as  stiffly  as  before. 
His  expressionless  gray  eyes  were  fixed  on 
an  invisible  object  two  feet  above  the 
general's  head. 

"Giniral,"   he  answered,   "I    have  th' 

honor  to  rayquest  that  1  be  relayved  an' 

ordered  back  to  me  throop,  which,  in  me 

absince,  is  goin'  rotten  with^^  bunch  pf 

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green  rookies.    All  I  wanted  here,  sorr, 
was  me  rights.     1  have  thim  now  " 

I  lay  on  my  blanket  in  Jolo  after  a  hard 
day's  hike.  The  dusk  was  thickening. 
From  over  the  way  came  the  pop  of  burn- 
ing bamboo  and  the  smell  of  coffee,  where 
the  troop  cooks  were  preparing  supper. 

"Flynn!"  called  one  of  them  in  a  loud 
voice,  to  one  of  the  "kitchen  police," 
"Flynn!" 

From  the  shadows  came  a  weary  answer: 

"Here!" 

"Flynn,  was  it  you  or  was  it  Flaherty 
got  the  last  bucket  o'  wather?" 

"Nayther  of  us,"  came  the  answer,  while 
the  troop  snickered  audibly;  "we  both  got 
it  together." 

"Is  thot  so?"  roared  the  undismayed 
cook;  "thin  half  o'  yez  go  an'  get  another 
wan." 

A  captain  and  aide-de-camp  sat  with  me 
over  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  and  a  dozen  dry 
rice-birds  in  the  club  in  Manila.  Our  talk 
had  turned  to  the  men  of  the  service — the 
bronzed,  blue-shirted  fellows  who  bear  hard- 
ship so  cheerfully  and  prosperity  so  sadly. 

"You  remember  theTaraca  hike  in  Min- 
danao?" he  asked.  "I  ran  across  a  funny 
old  cock  of  a  sergeant  the  day  we  started 
out — in  the  Twenty-third.  The  column 
was  to  move  at  seven  in  the  evening.  1 
dropped  in  at  Tom  Blank's  for  tiffin  that 
day.    Tom  was  in  my  class,  you  know. 

"He  and  1  were  swapping  lies  after 
chow,  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door.  The  boy  announced  that  a  soldier 
wanted  to  see  the  captain,  so  out  goes  Tom. 

"  1  got  busy  on  a  pile  of  old  New  York 
papers  and  didn't  think  any  further  of  the 
thing  until  in  a  few  moments  I  heard  Tom 
and  somebody  in  the  joy  of  a  furious  dis- 
cussion— you  know  how  you  can  hear  all 
through  a  nipa  shack?  Tom  was  roaring 
and  ramping — and  the  other  chap  was 
roaring  and  ramping  right  back.  For  a 
time  Tom  seemed  winning,  through  sheer 
force,  but  at  last  he  weakened  a  bit,  and 
then  shook  and  succumbed.  The  other 
voice  conquered.  There  was  a  period  of 
peace.  Then  the  whole  works  began  again 
— rose,  swelled,  and  died — Tom  died — as 
before,  and  back  he  comes,  looking  very 
upset  and  grouchy. 


"'What's  the  matter,  Tom?'  I  said, 
'your  tailor  called?' 

"'Oh,  hell,  no!'  he  growled,  'it's  that 
blank  fool  Sergeant  Flynn.' 

"'What's  the  matter  with  him?'  I  asked. 

"'The  ass!'  said  Tom,  'he's  an  old  man 
— twenty  years'  service — had  dysentery, 
and  fever.  He's  not  fit  for  the  field.  This 
hike's  going  to  be  a  stinker.  So  I  gave 
orders  for  him  to  stay  behind  in  charge  of 
quarters.  And  the  blame  fool  just  found 
out  and  came  to  see  me  about  it.' 

"'Hm!    What  did  he  want?' 

"'Want?  He  wanted  to  go.  Said  he'd 
never  been  left  behind  from  his  company 
on  a  hike  in  his  life.  Said  he  had  fought 
Apaches  and  Spaniards  and  Filipinos  for 
thirty  years,  and  he  wasn't  going  to  be 
called  cold-footed  at  this  time  of  his  life. 
Delicately  reminded  me  that  he  was  hiking 
when  1  was  chewing  rubber  rings  in  a  coach. 
And  he  simply  said  he  was  going  anyhow 
— that  I  couldn't  disgrace  him  by  keeping 
him  back.' 

"'What  did  you  say?' 

"'Oh,  1  stuck  out  at  first.  I  told  him 
he  was  sick  and  damaged,  and  besides,  I 
wanted  a  good  man  in  quarters — specially 
since  the  niggers  have  taken  to  stealing 
rifles.  But  it  was  no  go.  So  at  last  I 
offered  to  compromise.  1  said  that  he 
could  go  and  try,  and  carry  his  rifle  and 
belt  but  that  he  must  let  the  pack  train 
tote  his  pack  with  the  kitchen  stuff.' 

"'Didn't  that  satisfy  him?' 

" '  Not  a  bit.  The  fool  said  he  had  never 
let  anybody  carry  any  of  his  pack  before 
— and  he  wasn't  going  to  begin  now.  How 
would  he  look  being  carted  around  in  a 
baby  carriage,  he  asked  politely,  in  front  of 
a  lot  of  hump-backed  rookies?  He  was 
going — and  he  was  going  to  carry  his  own 
stuff.' 

"'How  did  you  settle  it?' 

"'Settle  it?  1  ordered  and  threatened 
and  promised — and  heaven  knows  what! 
But  it  was  no  go.  I  couldn't  budge  him. 
So  we  compromised.' 

"'Compromised?' 

"'Yes.  Compromised.  The  dashed  old 
fool's  going — and  he's  going  to  carry  his 
own  stuff.'" 


Not  in  a  thousand  years  will  blood  forget 
blood,  even  in  this  great  naticpof  ours,  j 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  16 


Little  Outdoor  Stories 


^57 


The  column  had  been  winding  all  morn- 
ing through  open  country.  Now  it  was 
approaching  close  woodland  and  high  grass. 
The  captain  of  the  company  acting  as  ad- 
vance guard  knew  that  trouble  was  prob- 
ably lying  ahead.  He  called  to  him  his  pet 
sergeant — the  man  he  had  been  saving 
through  all  the  day  for  the  time  when  a 
"best"  man  was  needed. 

"Sergeant  O'Hara,"  he  said,  "I  want 
you  to  pick  out  from  the  company  any  six 
men  you  choose  and  go  ahead  as  a  point. 
You  can  have  anybody  you  want — only 
choose  the  best  you  know.  I  think  we 
will  be  fired  on  from  those  low  hills." 

Sergeant  O'Hara's  eyes  searched  the 
company. 

"Sullivan!"  he  called,  "McCartylO'Don- 
nell!  Moriarty!  McGinniss!"  He  hesi- 
tated. His  glance  wandered  uneasily  up 
and  down  the  line.  Big,  honest  Swedes, 
burly  Teutons,  lanky  Yankees,  there  were 
in  plenty.  But  where — oh,  yes,  there  on 
the  left  of  the  line — that  bright-eyed,  pug- 
nosed,  red-headed  little  beggar,  nodding 
and  imploring  attention  with  his  twisted- 
up  face.    The  sergeant's  brow  cleared. 

"Lynch!"  he  called  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"This  is  thim,  sorr,"  he  added,  turning  to 
the  captain. 

FEAR 

BY   GOUVERNEUR   MORRIS 

A  LONG  line  of  cut-unders,  buckboards 
^^  and  private  carriages  is  drawn  up 
daily,  during  the  season,  to  meet  the 
steamer  which  brings  to  Bar  Harbor  pas- 
sengers from  the  New  York  and  Boston 
trains.  On  such  occasions  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  noise,  disputes  between  drivers, 
loud  repartees,  snorting  of  horses,  whistling 
of  launches  and  small  steamers  coming 
into  and  putting  out  from  the  wharf,  fights 
among  dogs,  fights  among  boys,  children 
screaming  with  joy  over  the  expected  ar- 
rival of  parents,  laughter,  barking,  tooting, 
pawing  of  horses,  grating  of  wheels  against 
carriage  bodies,  collisions,  oaths,  etc.,  etc. 
One  day  in  August,  f\ye  years  ago,  among 
the  carriages  was  a  spick-and-span,  rubber- 
tired  runabout,  drawn  by  a  handsome  bay 
mare  and  driven  by  a  very  small  groom 
(a  boy  of  fifteen)  in  gray  whipcords.  This 
smart  outfit  belonged  to  the  Admiral,  who 


was  returning  from  New  York,  where  he 
had  been  to  attend  a  hastily  summoned 
meeting  of  railroad  directors.  The  Ad- 
miral in  middle  life  had  retired  from  the 
navy  and  turned  to  business,  and,  later, 
finance,  with  extraordinary  success.  He 
enjoyed  a  reputation  along  these  lines  only 
less  than  that  which  he  had  won  for  him- 
self during  the  Civil  War  as  a  fighter.  His 
nickname,  "Fighting  Jack,"  is  a  synonym 
for  the  terms  "recklessness,"  "daring," 
"courage."  To  look  into  his  rugged, 
bushy-browed  face,  and  cold,  quiet  eyes, 
you  would  know  him  at  once  for  a  fighter 
beyond  fighters.  It  was  history  that  when 
a  lieutenant  he  had  fought  his  gunboat 
until  the  water  entered  the  muzzles  of 
his  cannon,  and  had  then,  leaving  his  colors 
flying,  swam  through  a  boisterous  sea  to 
a  less  beriddled  consort  and  served  a  gun 
through  the  remainder  of  the  engagement. 
His  name  stood  high,  too,  for  moral  cour- 
age. And  fathers  pointed  him  out  to  their 
boys  as  a  man  to  admire  and  emulate. 

The  boat  was  late.  The  Admiral's 
groom  stood  by  the  head  of  the  Admiral's 
fine  bay  mare,  whistling  and  executing  an 
occasional  double  shuffle  with  his  feet. 
He  was  a  good  groom,  clever  with  horses, 
sure  to  get  on  in  stable  life,  and  conse- 
quently conceited.  Unfortunately  he  was 
a  native  of  Bar  Harbor,  and  known  by 
the  other  little  boys  with  whom  he  had 
been  brought  up  to  have  failings.  So  his 
overweening  and  self-satisfied  attitude, 
which  might  have  inspired  respect  in  other 
surroundings,  attracted  to  him  from  his  old 
playmates  jeers,  mingled  with  envy  and 
spite.  They  knew  that  he  would  stand  up 
to  a  dangerous  horse,  but  not  to  a  violent 
boy  even  smaller  than  himself.  Conse- 
quently one  of  these  kittle  loafers,  goaded 
by  spite,  passing  close  to  the  groom,  trod 
on  his  toes,  and  called  him  the  uncallable, 
to  which  epithet  he  added  "purse-proud" 
and  "lily-livered."  The  groom  drew  a 
quick  breath  through  his  nose,  sniffled  and 
turned  white.  A  close  observer  would 
have  noticed  that  he  was  trembling  all 
over,  but  not  as  one  might  tremble  from 
rage.     Fear  had  him. 

"  Lemme  alone,"  he  said,  "  I  got  the  boss 
to  look  after." 

"Hoss  nothin'!"  said  his  adversary. 

He  stood  motionless  for  a  few  seconds, 
glaring   upward    into    the   groem's    ey 
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Then,  with  an  oath,  very  horrid  from  the 
lips  of  one  so  young,  he  clenched  his  fist 
and  drew  it  back  as  if  to  strike.  The 
groom  averted  his  face  and  broke  ground. 
The  tormentor  pursued.  The  groom  turned 
and  ran  with  a  grunt  of  fear.  He 
was  followed  by  jeers  and  cat-calls,  and 
was  only  saved  from  a  pommeling  by  the 
sudden  whistling,  from  behind  Bar  Island, 
of  the  expected  boat.  The  groom  sneaked 
back  to  his  p'lace  at  the  head  of  the  bay 
mare,  which  during  all  the  pandemonium 
had  stood  like  a  lamb.  She  was  a  hand- 
some creature,  apparently  without  nerves, 
full  of  interest  in  all  that  was  going  on,  but 
staunch,  sensible  and  feariess. 

The  Admiral  landed  from  the  boat, 
nodded  to  the  groom,  climbed  into  the 
runabout,  and  took  the  reins.  The  groom 
sprang  in  beside  him,  and  the  bay  mare 
started  up  the  wharf  at  a  brisk  trot.  Turn- 
ing into  G)ttage  Street,  by  the  post  office, 
the  mare  overreached.  The  sharp,  me- 
tallic click  of  her  own  shoes  frightened  her. 
She  made  half  a  dozen  insane  plunges, 
snorted  with  terror,  and  ran.  The  runa- 
way bore  down  on  two  dogs,  who  with 
bristling  manes  and  erect  tails  were  circling 
each  other,  growling  and  preparing  to 
fight.  Diverted  by  the  alarming  clatter 
of  the  mare's  hoofs  and  the  cries  of  pedes- 
trians the  dogs  sprang  apart.  One  of 
them  stuck  his  tail  between  his  legs  and 
fled  howling  under  a  fence.  The  other 
sprang  at  the  mare's  head,  rolled  in  the 
dust,  passed  uninjured  under  hoofs  and 
wheels,  picked  himself  up  and  pursued  the 
runaway  with  joyous  barks. 

Meanwhile  the  fighting  Admiral  had 
turned  sick  and  white.  He  was  being  run 
away  with.  He  who  had  walked  uncon- 
cerned among  hailing  grapeshot  was  un- 
manned by  a  horse's  velocity  and  the  sight 
of  a  hard  macadam  road.  He  made  a 
violent  effort  for  clear  vision  and  self  con- 
trol. All  that  he  saw  was  a  heavy  express 
wagon  emerging  from  Holland  Avenue  at 
right  angles  to  his  course,  and  threatening 
collision  and  disaster.  The  self  control  he 
had  struggled  for  consisted  in  dropping  the 
lines  and  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  Don't  jump,  you  goat,"  cried  the  groom 
in  a  clear  voice. 

The  Admiral  sprang  from  the  runabout 
and  bit  the  dust.  The  groom  caught  up 
the  reins,  steered  clear  of  the  express  cart, 


rounded  into  Eden  Street  on  two  wheels, 
and  succeeded  in  stopping  the  mare. 
G)urage,  resolve,  triumph  shone  on  the 
groom's  face;  but  three  weeks  later,  when 
the  battered  Admiral  first  opened  his  eyes 
in  consciousness,  the  groom  was  sum- 
marily discharged  for  having  called  the 
Admiral  a  "goat." 

EZRA    BOGG'S   MOOSE 
HUNT 

BY   NORMAN   H.    CROWELL 

-j/EP,"     sighed 
^  old   Ez,   as  he 
bunched  a  fork- 
ful of  chewing 
and  elevated  it 
into  the  gap  in 
^his  features, 
.  "I've  seen  'em. 
An'  I  can  say 
that  jedgin'  by 
what   I   see  of 
'em     they're 
tough   custom- 
ers.     1    hain't 
a-hankerin'    to 
renew  my    ac- 
qu  ain  t  ance 
with  'em — they're  a  trifle  too  devilish  fer 
your  uncle  Ezra,  says  I." 

The  speaker  relapsed  into  the  depths  of 
his  chair  and  chewed  reminiscently  at  his 
cud.  We,  who  sat  on  either  hand,  hitched 
our  chairs  surreptitiously  nearer  and 
glanced  at  each  other  knowingly.  Dave 
Cotton  was  getting  his  tongue  loosened 
to  propel  an  inquiry  when  signs  of  recur- 
ring animation  on  Ezra's  part  made  him 
pause. 

"  You  git  one  of  them  big  fellers  with  fire 
in  his  eyes  and  froth  on  his  teeth  about  ten 
jumps  behind  an'  a  man  '11  go  some,  1  tell 
ye.    Me  'n  Bill  Fikes  was  huntin'  up  on  the 

Winnebigash " 

"  Hoi'  on,  Ez,"  broke  in  George  Tolliver. 

"What  sort  of  a  nightmare  be  you  talkin' 

about,  anyhow?" 

The  narrator  eyed  his  interrupter  briefly. 

"Didn't   1   tell  you   at   the  start?"  he 

asked. 

"Not  to  be  noticeable,  you  didn't,"  said 
George,  shaking  his  head  emphatically. 

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"  Take  th*  same,  Jim- 
thanlcy !  " 


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"Well,  I  was  referrin'  to  moose,  boys — 
kind  of  a  cross  betwixt  a  Bengal  tiger  an'  a 
camel  with  the  jumpin*  toothache — always 
mad  enough  to  eat  a  kag  o'  spikes.  As  I 
was  sayin'.  Bill  an'  me  was  perambulatin' 
through  them  woods  when  all  of  a  sudden 
Bill  puts  his  hand  agin  my  vest  an'  shoves 
me  back  about  five  foot. 

*" 5-5-5.''  he  says,  kinder  low  an'  spooky. 

'•'What  in  th'  dickens  do  ye  see?' 
says   1. 

"'Covey  o'  moose,'  says  Bill,  tremblin' 
so  his  keys  rattled. 

"Jest  then  one  o'  th'  critters  give  a  cough 
that  sounded  like  tearin'  a  clapboard  ofT'n 
a  house  an'  I  located  'em.  There  was 
three  of  'em — a  bull,  a  cow  an'  a  calf. 
When  th'  cow  got  a  whiff  o'  Bill's  to- 
backer  she  peeled  back  her  upper  lip  an' 
showed  about  sixty-seven  of  th'  meanest 
lookin'  teeth  I  ever  laid  eye  on.  1  says 
to  Bill: 

" '  Let's  pull  our  freight.' 

"  Bill  snorted  like  a  little  gasoline  boat  in 
disgust. 

"'Pull  nuthin,'  he  says,  'why,  them 
animiles  can  go  seventy  mile  an  hour  with 
their  legs  broke.     Can  you  beat  that?' 

"I  said  no,  I  couldn't,  but  that  bein'  et 
by  a  moose  in  a  lonesome  neighborhood 
didn't  appear  as  pleasin'  as  it  might. 

"'Pshaw!'  says  Bill,  'I'll  show  ye  a  trick 
I  got  from  th'  Injuns  back  in  th'  '70's.  I'll 
scare  them  moose  into  nervous  posterity 
or  I  hain't  Bill  Fikes.' 

"  Bill  p>eeled  his  coat  an'  passed  it  to  me. 
Then  he  tied  a  red  bandanner  round  his 
head  an'  took  his  fur  cap  in  his  front  teeth. 

"'Now  see  'em  hit  th'  high  spots,'  says 
he. 

"'Good-bye.  Bill,  ye  died  brave,'  says  I, 
squeezin'  his  hand  warmly. 


••  Shoves  me  back  about  five  foot" 


"Bill  stuck  his  thumbs  into  his  ears, 
leaned  over  an'  started  fer  them  critters 
yellin'  like  a  Piute  grave  robber  bit  by  a 
rattlesnake.  He  was  a  terrifyin'  object  an* 
fer  'bout  a  secont  he  had  them  moose 
a-guessin',  I  tell  ye.  But  jest  then  th'  bull 
pawed  up  a  wagonload  of  dirt  an'  let  out  a 
beller  that  purty  nigh  loosened  th'  fillin' 
in  my  hind  teeth. 

"'Beware,  Bill,'  says  I,  'he's  pointed 
your  way.' 

"Bill  emitted  another  choice  combina- 
tion of  whoops,  an'  jest  then  that  infamel 
beast  made  a  forty-foot  leap  an'  grabbed 
my  pore  pardner  with  his  fangs.  Bill  give 
a  yelp  an'  I  swarmed  up  a  tree  like  a  Dago 
pursued  by  th'  invitation  committee  o'  th' 
Black  Hand." 

The  narrator  paused  and  thoughtfully 
switched  his  cud  to  his  left  cheek.  In  the 
suspense  that  ensued  he  glanced  tentatively 
at  the  barkeeper,  who  was  perusing  the 
evening  paper  and  did  not  look  up.  After 
hemming  a  few  times,  L-em  Burton  clutched 
his  chin  in  his  hands  and  asked : 

"Do  moose  bite?  That'd  make  'em 
carnivorous,  wouldn't  it,  Ez?" 

"Make  'em  what?'*  ejaculated  Ezra, 
bristling  up.  "Carnivorous  or  no  carnivo- 
rous, 1  tell  ye  that  moose  stood  there 
a-holdin'  my  devoted  pardner  in  his  teeth 
an'  lookin'  as  mad  as  a  pug  dog  that  has 
dug  up  a  hornets'  nest.  An'  Bill  was 
originatin'  a  line  o'  talk  that  blame  nigh 
set  th'  bushes  afire,  too. 

"Jest  then  th'  critter  got  his  eye  on  me, 
an'  he  come  a-rippin'  over  my  way,  luggin' 
Bill  along  like  a  cat  would  a  mouse.  Bill 
seen  me  about  fifty  feet  up  th'  tree  an', 
after  callin'  me  some  o'  th'  nicest  names  he 
could  think  of,  he  says: 

'"Come  down  here  an'  grab  'im.' 

'"Grab  'im  yourself^I  don't  want  'im/ 
says  I. 

"That  made  Bill  mad,  an'  he  hit  the 
moose  on  th'  nose  with  his  fist.  Of  course 
that  insulted  th'  critter  an'  he  begun  tryin' 
to  connect  Bill's  skull  with  th'  tree. 

Bill  managed  to  miss  most  of  th'  time, 
but  once  in  a  while  h'd  foul  it  an'  th' 
way  he'd  refer  to  me  in  those  instances 
was  a  caution.  I  had  a  notion  to  go 
down  an'  kick  him  once,  but  got  another 
not  to. 

"All  to  once  Bill's  suspenders  give  wav 
an'  he  come  sailin'  up  onto  my  limb. 

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Of  course,  me  'n  Bill  was — eh?  Thirsty? 
Why,  yes,  just  a  trifle  that  way.  Take  th' 
same,  Jim — thanky!" 


•*  He  come  sailin'  up  onto  my  limb." 

'"Was  it  hot  at  th'  seashore  this  year?* 
says  I,  kinder  grinnin'  at  him. 

"Bill  snorted  an'  tried  to  hit  me  in  th' 
eye,  but  missed  an'  almost  fell  off'n  th' 
limb." 

Ezra  dropped  his  chin  on  his  shirt  bosom 
and  studied  the  floor.  After  a  furtive 
glance  toward  the  bar  he  sighed,  and 
resumed :    . 

'•  Me  'n  Bill  sot  there  on  that  limb  fer  jest 
four  days,  eatin'  nothin'  but  woodpecker 
stew  an'  tobacker.  When  we  got  down  to 
ground  agin  Bill  was  so  bowlegged  that  he 
never  outgrowed  it — hangin'  to  that  limb 
was  what  done  it." 

The  speaker  yawned  and  combed  his 
whiskers  with  his  fingers.  After  a  mo- 
ment's delay  Lem  Burton  fidgeted  un- 
easily and  remarked : 

"Where  was  th'  moose?" 

Ezra  squinted  at  the  questioner  with 
every  indication  of  surprise  and  annoyance. 

"Moose?"  said  he,  "why,  he  went  to 
sleep  an'  walked  off.  Moose  always  walk 
in  their  sleep,  ye  know,  so  all  we  had  to  do 
was  wait  fer  him  to  git  to  sleep.  An* 
besides  that  he  was  thunderin'  thirsty — 
hadn't  had  a  drink  o'  nothin'  fer  four  hull 
days — any  o'  you  fellers  knows  what  it  is 
to  be  thirsty  an'  not  have  nothin'  to  drink. 


FEATHERED  WARRIORS 

BY   E.   D.   MOFFETT 

IN  an  Indiana  town  last  summer  a  cat  was 
*  prevented  from  robbing  a  jaybird's  nest 
by  a  joint  attack  of  the  male  and  female 
birds.  The  nest  was  in  a  tree,  a  large  white 
oak,  and  was  built  in  the  topmost  branches. 
The  cat  is  a  tom  and  is  a  notorious  bird 
hunter;  he  makes  his  home  at  an  East 
Washington  Street  livery  barn.  The  at- 
tack and  rout  of  the  cat  was  witnessed  by  a 
resident  of  the  street,  north  of  which  stands 
the  oak. 

When  first  observed  the  cat  was  recon- 
noitering,  and  stealthily  approaching  the 
tree.  The  jays  were  apparently  busy  with 
their  housekeeping  and  failed  to  see  the 
approach  of  their  enemy.  He  stood  at  the 
roots  of  the  tree  a  few  moments  alert  and 
quiet  except  for  the  slow  movements  of  his 
tail  back  and  forth,  and  then  began  his  long 
climb.  It  was  slow  work,  but  he  never  left 
the  body  of  the  tree.  He  knew  by  experi- 
ence that  if  the  birds  caught  sight  of  him 
they  would  have  him  at  a  disadvantage — 
he  meant  to  take  them  by  surprise. 

The  cat  got  within  ten  feet  of  the  nest 
^hen  the  jays  first  saw  him.  They  acted 
together  and  instantly.  With  a  harsh 
scream  of  rage  they  darted  down,  one  on 
either  side,  and  struck  him  with  such  force 
that  he  was  knocked  from  the  body  of  the 
tree,  but  catlike  caught  on  a  limb  ten  feet 
below,  where  he  made  a  stand.  But  for 
a  moment  only;  the  two  feathered  furies 
struck  him  again  and  he  started  down  the 
tree  to  escape.  The  jays  struck  him  twice 
more  before  he  reached  the  ground.  Then 
he  ran  for  safety  to  the  back  porch  of  a 
residence  a  hundred  feet  distant. 

But  the  jays  were  not  satisfied.  They 
flew  to  the  porch  and  made  another  sav- 
age attack  from  opposite  points.  It  was 
enough;  the  cat,  completel}^  routed,  ran  to 
the  barn  for  shelter.  The  bluejays,  chat- 
tering viciously,  flew  back  to  their  home  in 
the  top  of  the  oak. 


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l'liotO|;raph  hy  Byron. 


THE   CAROLINA   BANKS 

BY   THOMAS   CLARKE   HARRIS 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AITHOR 


THE  three  hundred  and  odd  miles  of 
North  Carolina's  shore  line  are 
fringed  with  a  string  of  narrow 
banks  of  loose  white  sand,  which  is  con- 
stantly shifted  by  the  winds  and  heaped 
into  fantastic  ridges  and  hillocks.  Here, 
apart  from  the  turmoil  and  convulsions  of 
daily  and  modern  life,  live  a  few  hardy. 


hospitable  fishermen  with  their  families, 
whose  homes,  nestled  among  the  sandhills, 
are  quite  picturesque  in  their  rude  sim- 
plicity. The  tide  of  industrial  progress 
and  civilization  has  passed,  leaving  them 
anchored  in  one  of  the  few  unexplored  and 
unadvertised  corners  of  our  great  and 
progressive  country. 


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In  this  simple,  restful  and  lonely  stretch 
of  coast,  the  chief  concerns  of  life  are 
the  taking  of  fish  and  oysters.  The  former 
supplying  the  principal  food  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, while  the  latter  are  sold  to  trading 
vessels,  and  subsequently  go  forth  to  all 
the  world  in  gaily  decorated  tins. 

The  blue  waters  of  the  restless  Atlan- 
tic, the  calmer  waters  of  the  sounds,  the 
fish,  oysters,  game   and    the   snow-white 
sandhills  about  their 
homes,  form  all  "*"~ 
visible  horizon  in 
life  of  the  aver 
"  Banker,*'  unless 
ing  a  restless  sp 
he  has  wandered 
some  of  the  adjoii 
interior  countries 

Currituck  Sou 
near  Norfolk,  Va 
noted  for  its 
ducking  shores,  m 
at  Albemarle  Soi 
which  is  next  t< 
there  are  exten 
shad  and  herring 
eries,  employ 
steamboats  and 
chinery.  The  fisl 
at  Avoca  has  a  re 
of  over  500,000 
ring  at  one  hau 
the  seine.  These 
the  most  part, 
salted  and  shippe 
barrels,  but  the  * 
are  packed  in  ice 
shipped  fresh. 

In  Croat  an 
Sound,  next 
to  Roanoke 
Island,  we  meet 
with  salt  water 
and  here  the 
oyster  begins 
to    be     found. 

Indeed,  all  the  sound  waters  south  of  this 
point  are  filled  with  the  "luscious  bi- 
valves," and  the  coast-line  vessels  do  an 
extensive  trade  in  oysters,  v.hich  they  buy 
from  native  tongers  or  dredgers,  and  mar- 
ket in  Norfolk  and  Baltimore. 

Pamlico  Sound  extends  from  Roanoke 
Island  to  the  mouth  of  Neuse  River  and 
joins  Core  Sound.    This  makes  a  body  of 


water  some  seventy-five  miles  long  and 
from   twenty  to  thirty  miles  wide,   that 
abounds    in    fish   of    almost    every    kind 
known  to  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  in  the 
autumn  and  winter  months,  duck,  brant, 
swan  and  geese  may  be  found  in  incredible 
numbers,  for  the  numberless  bays,  creeks, 
marshes  and  rivers  that  fringe  the  shores 
are  all  filled  with  the  favorite  foods  of  these 
wild  fowl.     But  should  you  prefer  fishing, 
there  is  every  op- 
portunity in   trol- 
ling   for    bluefish 
and  Spanish  mack- 
erel.      We    tack 
back  and  forth  a 
mile  or  two  out- 
side the  breakers, 
with  one  hundred 
feet  of  stout   line 
trailing   over    the 
stern.     The  hook 
is    pretty   strong, 
with     a    shank 
about    six   inches 
long    that    passes 
through  a  cylinder 
of  white  wood  or 
bone  endwise,  and 
the  tackle  bobs 
about  at  a  lively 
rate  on  top  of  the 
waves.     It  greatly 
resembles  the  an- 
tics of  some  small 
fish,  and  is  seized 
by  the  bluefish  or 
mackerel,   which 
evidently    mis- 
takes it  for  some 
member  of  the 
feeds. 

nng  briskly  and  the 

turn  or  two  of  line 

;ts  a  good  bite,  the 

tug  on  the  line  will 

wake  him  up  most  effectually,  and  perhaps 

cut   him   painfully.     The  line  often   slips 

through  the  fingers,  and  the  fish  may  gain 

many   yards   of   slack    before    recovered; 

sometimes  it  will  even  spring  several  feet 

into  the  air  in  an  effort  to  escape,  and  often 

does  tear  away  in  mad  rushes,  but  a  steady 

pull  and  close  attention  to  the  line  wil! 

usually  land  it  in  the  boat,  where  it  flops 

around  and  snaps  viciously  with  steel-trap 


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jaws    that     are    armed    with    dangerous 
teeth. 

The  tyro  must  be  cautious  in  extracting 
the  hook  or  he  may  get  a  painful  wound. 
If  the  fish  are  feeding  in  that  vicinity,  the 
sport  is  likely  to  be  fast  and  furious.  The 
boat  will  tack  back  and  forth  with  the  flock 
of  screaming  gulls,  and  the  sportsman  needs 
tough  hands  or  stout  gloves  to  withstand 
the  strain  and  friction  of  his  line,  or  his 


fingers  will  be  cut  and  bleeding  before  he 
has  fairly  begun.  If  several  men  are  fish- 
ing, the  boat  will  soon  be  alive  with  the 
struggling  and  snapping  captives,  and  it  is 
not  uncommon  to  take  several  hundred 
pounds  of  fish  in  an  hour  or  two. 

Bluefish  and  Spanish  mackerel  are  both 
fine  eating  and  as  game  as  any  fish  we  have, 
and  the  Pompano  are  taken  on  this  coast, 
but  for  real,  live  sport,  troll  for  bluefish  or 

/GOO^   i63 
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mackerel  a  few  miles  outside  the  breakers 
in  a  lively  breeze.  Perhaps  the  fly  caster, 
who  is  accustomed  only  to  quiet  brooks  or 
still  ponds,  will  not  enjoy  it,  for  the  muscu- 
lar exertion  is  extreme,  and  sea-sickness  is 
apt  to  attack  him  who  has  not  his  sea  legs 
on. 

Still,  or  bottom  fishing,  from  the  wharves 
or  a  boat  anchored  in  deep  water,  is  always 
in  season  and  never  fails  to  produce  results. 
Sheepshead  are  usually  taken  about  the 
wharves  or  any  old  piling  or  wreckage, 
where  they  are  said  to  congregate  to  feed 
on  the  barnacles  which  thickly  cover  such 
objects. 

The  usual  tackle  is  a  stout  hand  line  with 
a  lead  sinker,  heavy  enough  to  resist  the 
drift  of  the  tide.  At  intervals  above  the 
sinker  are  attached  from  one  to  four  hooks, 
which  are  baited  and  lowered  until  the 
sinker  rests  on  the  bottom  and  it  is  not  un- 
common to  haul  up  four  victims  at  once. 
In  this  way  fish  of  some  sort  may  be  caught 
all  the  year  around. 

At  times  a  school  of  small  sharks  will 
begin  to  take  the  bait,  and  their  presence 
is  noted  by  the  immediate  disappearance 
of  other  fish.  Occasionally  a  shark  of  the 
shovel-nose  variety,  as  much  as  nine  or  ten 
feet  long,  is  seen.  Contrary  to  the  usual 
superstition  of  landsmen,  these  sharks 
never  attack  people  outside  of  the  tropics. 
The  writer  has  bathed  in  the  surf  with 
several  of  the  big  fellows  swimming  about, 
but  noise,  such  as  shouting  or  laughing,  will 
always  drive  them  away. 

During  February  and  March  the  fisher- 
men at  Beaufort  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for 
whales.  On  some  high  sandhills  near  by 
a  watcher  is  posted  in  his  tiny  hut  of 
thatch,  who  signals  to  his  comrades  if  he 
sees  one  "blow." 

The  bomb  gun  used  by  the  Beaufort 
fishermen  is  a  peculiar  weapon.  It  is  like 
a  very  short  and  heavy  single-barrel  shot- 
gun, measuring  one  and  a  quarter  inches 
inside  the  bore  and  having  a  barrel  about 
two  feet  long.  The  skeleton  stock  is  of 
cast  iron  of  the  regular  shape,  and  the  gun 
complete  weighs  about  fifty  pounds. 

The  projectile  or  bomb  is  the  novel  fea- 
ture and  consists  of  a  piece  of  iron  pipe 
fitting  inside  the  barrel.  It  is  welded  into 
a  sharp,  three-cornered  point  and  is  fitted 
at  the  rear  with  a  short  piece  of  smaller  pipe 
screwed  into  the  bomb  proper.    The  short 


piece  carries  the  fuse,  intended  to  bum  one 
or  two  seconds.  I  ts  exposed  end  is  covered 
with  beeswax,  while  the  whole  is  secured  by 
a  covering  of  gum-packing,  having  three 
blades  of  the  same  material,  like  the 
feathers  of  an  arrow.  The  gun  is  a  muzzle- 
loader  and  is  charged  with  three  or  four 
drams  of  powder  and  the  bomb  is  pushed 
down  on  it,  without  a  wad.  When  ready 
for  a  shot,  the  bomb  projects  some  six 
inches  outside  the  muzzle  and  its  fuse  is 
ignited  by  the  charge  in  the  gun,  which 
melts  the  beesv.ax  covering.  The  bomb 
carries  some  six  or  eight  ounces  of  rifle 
powder  which,  if  exploded  fairly  inside 
the  body  of  the  whale,  usually  proves  effec- 
tive. 

The  recoil  of  the  whale  gun,  so  loaded,  is 
something  terrific  and  usually  kicks  the 
shooter  overboard.  The  gun  is  not  lost, 
being  previously  secured  to  the  boat  by  a 
stout  lanyard,  and  the  hunter  is  expected 
to  take  care  of  himself.  It  is  never  fired  at 
a  distance  of  more  than  thirty  or  forty  feet 
and  the  harpooner  endeavors  to  throw  his 
weapon  at  the  same  time,  so  as  to  make 
fast  to  the  whale,  which  otherwise  would 
be  lost  as  it  sinks  immediately  it  is  killed. 

In  early  spring  (which  is  February  down 
there)  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  the  baleen 
or  whalebone  whale  (Baleena  Mysticitus) 
near  the  coast.  They  appear  to  be  feeding 
northward  and  are  sometimes  killed  in  the 
bight  just  below  Cape  Lookout.  The  fisher- 
men of  Beaufort  and  Morehead  City  will 
not  hesitate  to  attack  the  whale,  going 
out  to  sea  ten  or  fifteen  miles  in  their  sail- 
boats to  do  so,  and  nearly  every  season 
one  or  more  is  profitably  killed.  The  oil 
and  whalebone  find  a  ready  sale  at  high 
prices. 

Another  peculiar  industry  followed  by 
some  of  the  residents  of  the  Banks,  is  the 
raising  of  wild  horses  commonly  known  as 
Banker  ponies.  These  little  horses  are  free 
to  roam  everywhere  and  get  their  living 
from  the  marsh,  often  wading  far  out  into 
the  sounds,  where  the  tall  grass  grows. 

Everywhere  along  the  Sound  side  of  the 
Banks  may  be  seen  growing  wild  the  yeo- 
pon,  or  native  tea.  It  is  an  evergreen, 
botanically  known  as  Ilex  Cassine  and  is 
the  same  genus  as  the  ma/^  or  Paraguay  tea 
of  South  America.  By  the  Bank  folks  it  is 
often  used  in  place  of  ordinary  tea  or  coffee. 
The  yeopon   also  possesses  valuable  me- 


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165 


dicinal  properties  and  was  the  source  of  the 
"black  drink"  of  the  southern  Indians, 
who  considered  it  a  panacea  for  all  ills. 

A  few  old  windmills  still  stand  with  their 
four  great  canvas-covered  arms  slowly 
turning  to  the  wind. 

Since  these  Banks  form  an  effectual 
barrier  to  the  ocean  waves,  and  as  many 


they  cannot  become  a  more  kindly  race 
or  show  more  strongly  the  sterling  qual- 
ities of  the  original  colonies. 

To  one  who  has  lounged  in  the  footprints 
of  the  pioneers  on  these  sunny  shores,  out- 
side the  sorry  fences  of  fashionable  society, 
there  will  remain  in  his  memory  a  soft, 
sweet  haze  of  shifting  light  and  shade;   a 


Only  the  shallowest  boats  can  cruise  around  the  Banks. 


rivers  are  depositing  their  constant  streams 
of  sediment,  it  is  merely  a  question  of  time 
when  the  sounds,  becoming  more  and  more 
shallow,  will  finally  appear  as  marshes  and 
then  dry  land.  When  that  age  appears,  it 
is  likely  that  the  denizens  of  the  Banks  will 
have  changed  considerably  also,  but  to 
whatever  they  may  develop  in  the  future 


taste  of  gentle  breezes  from  the  tumbling 
surf,  an  ether  of  dolce  far  niente  wherein  we 
dream  and  are  glad. 

The  local  history  of  these  shores  tells  of 
a  character,  notorious  for  his  piratical 
crimes,  one  Edward  Teach,  commonly 
called     "Black     Beard."     Hie^    flourished 


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A  mighty  fine  home  for  a  very  little  trouble. 


about  171 5  and  was  so  daring  that  he 
defied  the  government,  and  in  a  ship  of 
forty  guns  spread  terror  along  the  coast. 

Finding  itself  unable  to  resist  his  power, 
the  Colonial  Government  deemed  it  proper 
that  the  King's  pardon  should  be  issued  to 
all  pirates  who,  within  a  limited  time, 
should  surrender  themselves  to  any  of  the 
Colonial  governors.  Teach,  with  twenty 
of  his  men,  took  advantage  of  the  opportu- 
nity, but  his  habits  were  not  suited  to  a  life 
of  peace  and  industry  and  he  soon  spent 
Sis  ill-gotten  wealth  in  licentious  living. 

36 


Fitting  out  a  sloop  at  a  place  which 
now  bears  his  name,  within  Ocracoke  In- 
let, called  Teach's  Hole,  he  again  sallied 
forth  on  piratical  adventures,  and  so  great 
were  his  depredations  that  the  Assembly 
of  Virginia  offered  a  reward  of  one  hundred 
pounds  for  his  capture. 

Lieutenant  Maynard,  with  two  small 
coasting  vessels,  sailed  from  Hampton 
Roads  on  the  17th  of  November,  1718,  to 
capture  Teach.  He  found  him  at  his 
usual  place  of  rendezvous,  near  Ocracoke 
Inlet,  and  the  attack  immediately  beganj 

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A  few  old  windmills  still  wave  their  arms  above  the  Banks. 


Teach,  with  horrible  oaths,  boasted  that  he 
neither  asked  nor  gave  quarter. 

At  one  broadside  nineteen  of  Maynard's 
men  were  killed.  To  protect  them  from 
such  a  murderous  fire,  Maynard  ordered  his 
men  below  and  assumed  the  place  of  steers- 
man himself.  When  the  pirates  boarded 
his  vessel  the  lieutenant  called  up  his 
men  and  a  deadly  hand-to-hand  combat 
ensued. 

During  the  mel^  the  two  commanders 
met,  and  Teach  fell  covered  with  blood. 


Eight  of  his  fourteen  men  were  killed  and 
the  other  six  so  wounded  that  they  could 
no  longer  fight.  After  the  battle  Maynard 
sailed  up  to  the  town  of  Bath  with  the  head 
of  Teach  on  the  bowsprit  of  his  vessel. 

Such  was  the  end  of  a  man  whose  valor 
was  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  whose 
name  is  given  to  a  place  well  known  to 
every  sailor  on  these  shores.  To  this  day, 
like  the  legends  of  Captain  Kidd,  supersti- 
tion still  connects  his  name  with  heaps  of 
buried  treasure  in  the  vicinity  of  Ocracoke. 

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^         167 


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BAR    20    RANGE   YARNS 

VIII— ROPING   A   RUSTLER 
BY   CLARENCE   EDWARD   MULFORD 

DRAWING  BY  FRANK  E.  SCHOONOVER 


^ 

Bfev.^^-^ 

RUSTLERS  ON  THE  RANGE 

R.  BUCK  PETERS  rode 
into  Buckskin  one  bright 
October  morning  and 
then  out  the  other  side 
of  the  town.  Coming  to 
himself  with  a  start,  he 
looked  around  shame- 
facedly and  retraced  his  course.  He  was 
very  much  troubled  for,  as  foreman  of  the 
Bar  20,  he  had  many  responsibilities,  and 
when  things  ceased  to  go  aright  he  was 
expected  not  only  to  find  the  cause  of  the 
evil  but  also  the  remedy.  That  was  why 
he  was  paid  seventy  dollars  a  month  and 
that  was  what  he  had  been  endeavoring  to 
do.  As  yet,  however,  he  had  only  accom- 
plished what  the  meanest  cook's  assistant 
had  done.  He  knew  the  cause  of  his 
present  woes  to  be  rustlers  (cattle  thieves) 
and  that  was  all. 

Riding  down  the  wide,  quiet  street,  he 
stopped  and  dismounted  before  the  ever- 
open  door  of  a  ramshackle,  one-story  frame 
building.  Tossing  the  reins  over  the  flat- 
tened ears  of  his  vicious  pinto,  he  strode 
into  the  building  and  leaned  easily  against 
the  bar,  where  he  drummed  with  his  fingers 
and  sank  into  a  reverie. 

A  shining  bald  pate,  bowed  over  an  open 
box,  turned  and  revealed  a  florid  face,  set 
with  two  small,  twinkling,  blue  eyes,  as  the 
proprietor,  wiping  his  hands  on  his  trousers, 
made  his  way  to  Buck's  end  of  the  bar. 
"Mornin',  Buck.  How's  things?" 
The  foreman,  lost  in  his  reverie,  con- 
tinued to  stare  out  the  door. 

"Momin',"  repeated  the  man  behind 
the  bar.     "  How's  things?  " 


169 


"Oh!"  ejaculated  the  foreman,  smiling. 
"Purty  cussed." 

"Anything  new?" 

"Th'  C  80  lost  another  herd  last  night." 

His  companion  swore  and  placed  a  bottle 
at  the  foreman's  elbow,  but  the  latter  shook 
his  head.  "Not  this  mornin' — I'll  try  one 
of  them  vile  cigars,  however." 

"Them  cigars  are  th'  very  best  that — " 
began  the  proprietor,  executing  the  order. 

"Oh,  hell!"  exclaimed  Buck  with  weary 
disgust.  "  Yu  don't  have  to  palaver  none. 
I  shore  knows  all  that  by  heart." 

"Them  cigars " 

"Yas,  yas;  them  cigars — I  know  all 
about  them  cigars.  Yu  gets  them  for 
twenty  dollars  a  thousand  an'  hypnotizes 
us  into  payin*  yu  a  hundred,"  replied  the 
foreman,  biting  off  the  end  of  his  weed. 
Then  he  stared  moodily  and  frowned.  "  1 
wonder  why  it  is?  "  he  asked.  "  We  punch- 
ers like  good  stuff  an'  we  pays  good  prices 
with  good  money.  What  do  we  get?  Why, 
cabbage  leaves  an'  leather  for  our  smokin', 
an'  alcohol  an'  extract  for  our  drink.  Now, 
up  in  Kansas  City  we  goes  to  a  sumptious 
lay-out,  pays  less  an'  gets  bang-up  stuff. 
If  yu  smelled  one  of  them  K.  C.  cigars  yu'd 
shore  have  to  ask  what  it  was,  an'  as  for  th' 
liquor,  why,  yu'd  think  St.  Peter  asked  yu 
to  have  one  with  him.  It's  shore  wrong 
somewhere." 

"They  have  more  trade  in  K.  C,"  sug- 
gested the  proprietor. 

"An'  help,  an'  taxes,  an'  a  license,  an' 
rent,  an'  brass,*  cut-glass,  mahogany  an' 
French  mirrors,"  countered  the  foreman. 

The  proprietor  grinned  out  the  window: 
"Here  comes  one  of  your  men." 

The  newcomer  stopped  his  horse  in  a 

cloud  of  dust,  playfully  kicked  the  animal 

''     Digitized  by 


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I  JO 


The  Outing  Magazine 


in  the  ribs  and  entered,  dusting  the  alkali 
from  him  with  a  huge  sombrero.  Then  he 
straightened  up  and  sniffed:  "What's 
bumin'?"  he  asked,  simulating  alarm. 
Then  he  noticed  the  cigar  between  the 
teeth  of  his  foreman  and  grinned:  "Gee, 
but  yore  a  brave  man.  Buck." 

"Hullo,  Hopalong,"  said  the  foreman. 
"Want  a  smoke?"  waving  his  hand  toward 
the  box  on  the  bar. 

Mr.  Hopalong  Cassidy  side-stepped  and 
began  to  roll  a  cigarette:  "Shore,  but  Til 
bum  my  own — 1  know  what  it  is." 

"What  was  yu  doin'  to  my  cay  use  afore 
yu  come  in?"  asked  Buck. 

"Nothin',"  replied  the  newcomer.  "That 
was  mine  what  1  kicked  in  th'  corruga- 
tions." 

"How  is  it  yore  ridin'  th*  calico?"  asked 
the  foreman.  "I  thought  yu  was  dead 
stuck  on  that  piebald." 

"That  piebald's  a  goat:  he's  been  livin' 
off  my  pants  lately,"  responded  Hopalong. 
"Every  time  I  looks  th'  other  way  he 
ambles  over  an'  takes  a  bite  at  me.  Yu 
just  wait  till  this  rustler  business  is  roped 
an'  branded,  an'  yu'll  see  me  eddicate  that 
blessed  scrap-heap  into  eatin'  grass  again. 
He  swiped  Billy's  shirt  th'  other  day — took 
it  right  off  th'  corral  wall,  where  Billy 'd 
left  it  to  dry."  Then,  seeing  Buck  raise 
his  eyebrows,  he  explained:  "Shore,  he 
washed  it  again.  That  makes  three  times 
since  last  fall." 

The  proprietor  laughed  and  pushed  out 
the  ever-ready  bottle,  but  Hopalong  shoved 
it  aside  and  told  the  reason:  "Ever  since 
I  was  up  to  K.  C.  I've  been  spoiled.  I'm 
drinkin'  water  an'  slush  (coffee)." 

"For  Gawd's  sake,  has  any  more  of  yu 
fellers  been  up  to  K.  C?"  queried  the  pro- 
prietor in  alarm. 

"Shore;  Red  an'  Billy  was  up  there, 
too,"  responded  Hopalong.  "  Red's  got  a 
few  remarks  to  shout  to  yu  about  yore  pain- 
killer. Yu  better  send  for  some  decent 
stuff  afore  he  comes  to  town,"  he  warned. 

Buck  swung  away  from  the  bar  and 
looked  at  his  dead  cigar.  Then  he  turned  to 
Hopalong:  "What  did  yu  find?"  he  asked. 

"Same  old  story:  nice  wide  trail  up  to 
th'  Staked  Plain — then  nothin'." 

"It  shore  beats  me,"  soliloquized  the 
foreman.     "It  shore  beats  me." 

"Think  it  was  Tamale  Josd's  old  gang?" 
asked  Hopalong. 


"If  it  was  they  took  the  wrong  trail 
home — that  ain't  th'  way  to  Mexico." 

Hopalong  tossed  aside  his  half-smoked 
cigarette:  "Well,  come  on  home;  what's 
th'  use  stewin'  over  it?  It  '11  come  out  all 
O.K.  in  th'  wash."  Then  he  laughed: 
"There  won't  be  no  piebald  waitin'  for  it." 

Evading  Buck's  playful  blow  he  led  the 
way  to  the  door  and  soon  they  were  a  cloud 
of  dust  on  the  plain.  The  proprietor,  de- 
spairing of  customers  under  the  circum- 
stances, absent-mindedly  wiped  off  the  bar 
and  sought  his  chair  for  a  nap. 

The  Bar  20  contained  about  five  hundred 
square  miles  of  land.  It  was  an  irregular 
ellipse  in  shape,  about  thirty  miles  in 
length  and  seventeen  in  width.  The  east- 
em  boundary  was  sharply  defined  by  the 
Pecos  River;  the  others,  where  the  en- 
croaching desert  turned  back  the  cattle. 
Surrounding  it  were  three  other  ranches 
of  about  the  same  size,  and  others  lay  in 
the  adjacent  territory  wherever  grazing 
land  was  to  be  found.  The  immediate 
ranches  were  the  Three-Triangle,  the  C  80 
and  the  Double-Arrow;  the  others,  the 
0-Bar-O,  the  Barred-Horseshoe  and  the 
Cross-Bar-X. 

For  several  weeks  cattle  had  been  dis- 
appearing from  the  ranges  and  the  losses 
had  long  since  passed  the  magnitude  of 
those  suffered  nine  years  before,  when 
Tamale  Jos^  and  his  men  had  crossed  the 
Rio  Grande  and  repeatedly  levied  heavy 
toll  on  the  sleek  herds  of  the  Pecos  Valley. 
Tamale  Jos^  had  raided  once  too  often, 
paced  the  outfit  of  the  Bar  20  into  Mexico 
and  died  as  he  had  lived — harcj.  His  band 
had  been  wiped  out  of  organized  existence 
and  the  survivors  were  content  to  sit  in 
pulque  saloons  and  sip  mescal  as  they  di- 
lated on  the  prowess  oiF  their  former  leader. 
Prosperity  and  plenty  had  followed  on  the 
ranches  and  the  losses  of  nine  years  before 
had  been  forgotten  until  the  fall  round-ups 
clearly  showed  that  rustlers  were  again 
at  work. 

Despite  the  ingenuity  of  the  ranch  owners 
and  the  unceasing  vigilance  and  night  rides 
of  the  cow  punchers,  the  losses  steadily  in- 
creased until  there  was  promised  a  shortage 
which  would  permit  no  drive  to  the  western 
terminals  of  the  railroad  that  year.  For 
two  weeks  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande 
had  been  patrolled  and  sharp-eyed  men 
searched  daily  for  trails  leadinc^uthwand, 
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Bar  20  Range  Yarns 


171 


for  it  was  not  strange  to  think  that  the  old 
raiders  were  again  at  work,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  they  had  paid  dearly  for 
their  former  depredations.  The  patrols 
failed  to  discover  anything  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary and  the  searchers  found  no  trails. 
Then  it  was  that  the  owners  and  foremen 
of  the  four  central  ranches  met  in  Cowan's 
saloon  at  Buckskin  and  sat  closeted  to- 
gether for  all  of  one  hot  afternoon. 

The  conference  resulted  in  riders  being 
dispatched  from  all  the  ranches  repre- 
sented, and  one  of  the  couriers,  Mr.  Red 
Connors,  rode  north,  his  destination  being 
far-away  Montana.  All  the  ranches  within 
a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles  received  letters 
and  blanks  and  one  week  later  the  Pecos 
Valley  Cattle-Thief  Elimination  Associa- 
tion was  organized  and  working,  with  Buck 
as  Chief  Ranger. 

One  of  the  outcomes  of  Buck's  appoint- 
ment was  a  sudden  and  marked  immi- 
gration into  the  affected  territory.  Mr. 
Connors  returned  from  Montana  with  Mr. 
Frenchy  McAllister,  the  foreman  of  the 
Tin-Cup,  who  was  accompanied  by  six  of 
his  best  and  most  trusted  men.  Mr.  Mc- 
Allister and  party  were  followed  by  Mr. 
You-bet  Somes,  foreman  of  the  2-X-2 
of  Arizona,  and  dye  of  his  punchers; 
and  later  on  the  same  day  Mr.  Pie  Willis, 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Billy  Jordan  and  his 
two  brothers,  arrived  from  the  Panhandle. 
The  O-Bar-O,  situated  close  to  the  town  of 
Muddy  Wells,  increased  its  payroll  by  the 
addition  of  nine  men,  each  of  whom  bore 
the  written  recommendation  of  the  fore- 
man of  the  Bar  20.  The  C  80,  Double- 
Arrow  and  the  Three-Triangle  also  received 
heavy  reinforcements  and  even  Carter, 
owner  of  the  Barred-Horseshoe,  far  re- 
moved from  the  zone  of  the  depredations, 
increased  his  outfits  by  half  their  regular 
strength.  Buck  believed  that  if  a  thing 
was  worth  doing  at  all  that  it  was  worth 
doing  very  well,  and  his  acquaintances 
were  numerous  and  loyal.  The  collection 
of  individuals  that  responded  to  the  call 
were  noteworthy  examples  of  "gun-play" 
and  their  aggregate  value  was  at  par  with 
twice  their  number  in  cavalry. 

Each  ranch  had  one  large  ranch-house 
and  numerous  line-houses  were  scattered 
along  the  boundaries.  These  latter,  while 
intended  as  camps  for  the  out-riders,  had 
been  erected  in  the  days,  none  too  remote. 


when  Apaches,  Arrapahoes,  Sioux  and  even 
Cheyennes  raided  southward,  and  they  had 
been  constructed  with  the  idea  of  defense 
paramount.  Upon  more  than  one  oc- 
casion a  solitary  line-rider  had  retreated 
within  their  adobe  walls  and  had  success- 
fully resisted  all  the  cunning  and  ferocity 
of  a  score  of  paint-bedaubed  warriors  and, 
when  his  outfit  had  rescued  him,  emerged 
none  the  worse  for  his  ordeal. 

On  the  Bar  20,  Buck  placed  these  houses 
in  condition  to  withstand  siege.  Twin 
barrels  of  water  stood  in  opposite  cor- 
ners, provisions  were  stored  on  the  hanging 
shelves  and  the  bunks  once  again  rev- 
eled in  untidiness.  Spare  rifles,  in  pat- 
terns ranging  from  long  range  Sharps  and 
buffalo  guns  to  repeating  carbines,  leaned 
against  the  walls,  and  unbroken  boxes  of 
cartridges  were  piled  above  the  bunks. 
Instead  of  the  lonesome  out-rider,  he 
placed  four  men  to  each  house,  two  of  whom 
were  to  remain  at  home  and  hold  the  house 
while  their  companions  rode  side  by  side 
on  their  multi-mile  beat.  There  were  six 
of  these  houses  and,  instead  of  returning 
each  night  to  the  same  line-house,  the  out- 
riders kept  on  and  made  the  circuit,  thus 
keeping  every  one  well  informed  and 
breaking  the  monotony.  These  measures 
were  expected  to  cause  the  rustling  opera- 
tions to  cease  at  once,  but  the  effect  was  to 
•shift  the  losses  to  the  Double-Arrow,  the 
line-houses  of  which  boasted  only  one 
puncher  each. 

It  was  in  line-house  Number  Three,  most 
remote  of  all,  that  Johnny  Redmond  fought 
his  last  fight  and  was  found  face  down  in 
the  half-ruined  house  with  a  hole  in  the 
back  of  his  head,  which  proved  that  one 
man  was  incapable  of  watching  all  the 
loopholes  in  four  walls  at  once.  There 
must  have  been  some  casualties  on  the  other 
side,  for  Johnny  was  reputed  to  be  very 
painstaking  in  his  "gun-play,"  and  the 
empty  shells  which  lay  scattered  on  the 
floor  did  not  stand  for  as  many  ciphers,  of 
that  his  foreman  was  positive.  He  was 
buried  the  day  he  was  found  and  the  news 
of  his  death  ran  quickly  from  ranch  to 
ranch  and  made  more  than  one  careless 
puncher  arise  and  pace  the  floor  in  anger. 
More  men  came  to  the  Double-Arrow  and 
its  sentries  were  doubled.  The  depreda- 
tions continued,  however,  and  one  night  a 
week  later  Frank  Swift  reeled  into  the 

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ranch-house  and  fell  exhausted  across  the 
supper  table.  Rolling  hoof-beats  echoed 
flatly  and  died  away  on  the  plain,  but  the 
men  who  pursued  them  returned  empty 
handed.  The  wounds  of  the  unfortunate 
were  roughly  dressed  and  in  his  delirium 
he  recounted  the  fight.  His  companion 
was  found  literally  shot  to  pieces  twenty 
paces  from  the  door.  One  wall  was  found 
blown  in  and  this  episode,  when  coupled 
with  the  use  of  dynamite,  was  more  than 
could  be  tolerated. 

When  Buck  had  been  informed  of  this 
he  called  to  him  Hopalong  Cassidy,  dare- 
devil and  gun  expert;  Red  Connors,  a 
twin  of  the  first  named  in  warlike  attri- 
butes, and  Frenchy  McAllister,  who  was 
a  veteran  of  many  ranches  and  battles. 
The  next  day  the  three  men  rode  north  and 
the  contingents  of  the  ranches  represented 
in  the  Association  were  divided  into  two 
squads,  one  of  which  was  to  remain  at 
home  and  guard  the  ranches;  the  other, 
to  sleep  fully  dressed  and  armed  and  never 
to  stray  far  from  their  ranch-houses  and 
horses.  These  latter  would  be  called  upon 
to  ride  swiftly  and  far  when  the  word  came. 


11 


MR.  TRENDLEY  ASSUMES  ADDED  IMPORTANCE 

That  the  rustlers  were  working  under  # 
well -organized  system  was  evident.  That 
they  were  directed  by  a  master  of  the  game 
was  ceaselessly  beaten  into  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  Association  by  the  diversity, 
dash  and  success  of  their  raids.  No  one, 
save  the  three  men  whom  they  had  de- 
stroyed, had  ever  seen  them.  But,  like 
Tamale  Jos^,  they  had  raided  once  too 
often. 

Mr.  Trendley,  more  familiarly  known  to 
men  as  "Slippery,"  was  the  possessor  of  a 
biased  conscience,  if  any  at  all.  Tall,  gaunt 
and  weather-beaten  and  with  coal-black 
eyes  set  deep  beneath  hairless  eyebrows,  he 
was  sinister  and  forbidding.  In  his  forty- 
five  years  of  existence  he  had  crowded  a 
century  of  experience.  Unsavory  rumors 
about  him  existed  in  all  parts  of  the  great 
West.  From  Canada  to  Mexico  and  from 
Sacramento  to  Westport  his  name  stood 
for  brigandage.  His  operations  had  been 
conducted  with  such  consummate  clever- 
ness that  in  all  the  accusations  there  was 


lacking  proof.  Only  once  had  he  erred,  and 
then  in  the  spirit  of  pure  deviltry  and  in  the 
days  of  youthful  folly,  and  his  mistake  was 
a  written  note.  He  was  even  thought  by 
some  to  have  been  concerned  in  the  Moun- 
tain Meadow  Massacre;  others  thought  him 
to  have  been  the  leader  of  the  band  of  out- 
laws that  had  plundered  along  the  Santa 
F^  Trail  in  the  late  '6o's.  In  Montana  and 
Wyoming  he  was  held  responsible  for  the 
outrages  of  the  band  that  had  descended 
from  the  Hole-in-the-Wall  territory  and 
for  over  a  hundred  miles  carried  murder 
and  theft  that  shamed  as  being  weak  the 
most  assiduous  efforts  of  zealous  Chey- 
ennes.  It  was  in  this  last  raid  where 
he  had  made  the  mistake,  and  it  was  in 
this  raid  that  Frenchy  McAllister  had  lost 
his  wife. 

When  the  three  mounted  and  came  to 
him  for  final  instructions.  Buck  forced  him- 
self to  be  almost  repellent  in  order  to  be 
capable  of  coherent  speech.  Hopalong 
glanced  sharply  at  him  and  then  under- 
stood; Red  was  all  attention  and  eagerness 
and  remarked  nothing  but  the  words. 

"Have  yu  ever  heard  of  Slippery  Trend- 
ley?"  harshly  inquired  the  foreman. 

They  nodded,  and  on  the  faces  of  the 
younger  men  a  glint  of  hatred  showed 
itself.  Frenchy  wore  his  poker  counte- 
nance. 

Buck  continued:  "Th*  reason  I  asked 
yu  was  because  1  don't  want  yu  to  think 
yore  goin'  on  no  picnic.  I  ain't  shore  it's 
him,  but  I've  had  some  hopeful  informa- 
tion. Besides,  he  is  th'  only  man  1  knows 
of  who's  capable  of  th'  plays  that  have  been 
made.  It's  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  tell 
yu  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open  and  never 
to  get  away  from  yore  guns.  Now  1  'm  goin' 
to  tell  yu  th'  hardest  part:  yu  are  goin'  to 
search  th'  Staked  Plain  from  one  end  to  th' 
other,  an'  that's  what  no  white  man's  ever 
done  to  my  knowledge. 

"Now  listen  to  this  an'  don't  forget  it: 
Twenty  miles  north  from  Last  Stand  Rock 
is  a  spring;  ten  miles  south  of  that  bend  in 
Hell  Arroyo  is  another.  If  yu  gets  lost 
within  two  days  from  th'  time  yu  enters 
th'  Plain,  put  yore  left  hand  on  a  cactus 
some  time  between  sun-up  an'  noon,  move 
around  until  yu  are  over  its  shadow  an' 
then  ride  straight  ahead — that's  south. 
If  yu  goes  loco  beyond  Last  Stand  Rock, 
follow  th'  shadows  made  betoe  noon-:- 
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that's  th'  quickest  way  to  th'  Pecos.  Yu 
all  knows  what  to  do  in  a  sand-storm, 
so  I  won't  bore  yu  with  that.  Repeat 
all  I've  told  yu,"  he  ordered,  and  they 
complied. 

"  I  m  tellin'  yu  this,"  continued  the  fore- 
man, indicating  the  two  auxiliaries,  "  be- 
cause yu  might  get  separated  from  Frenchy. 
Now  I  suggests  that  yu  look  around  near 
th*  Devil's  Rocks:  I've  heard  that  there 
are  several  water  holes  among  them,  an' 
besides,  they  might  be  turned  into  fair 
corrals.  Mind  yu,  1  know  what  I've  said 
sounds  damned  idiotic  for  anybody  that 
has  had  as  much  experience  with  th' 
Staked  Plain  as  I  have,  but  I've  had  every 
other  place  searched  for  miles  around.  Th' 
men  of  z\\  th'  ranches  have  been  scoutin' 
an'  th'  Plain  is  th'  only  place  left.  Them 
rustlers  has  got  to  be  found  if  we  have  to 
dig  to  hell  for  them.  They've  taken  th' 
pot  so  many  times  that  they  reckons  they 
owns  it,  an'  we've  got  to  at  least  make  a 
bluff  at  drawin'  cards.  Mebby  they're  at 
th'  bottom  of  th'  Pecos,"  here  he  smiled 
faintly,  *'  but  wherever  they  are,  we've  got 
to  find  them.     1  want  to  holler  '  Keno.' 

"  If  yu  finds  where  they  hangs  out,  come 
away  instanter,"  here  his  face  hardened 
and  his  eyes  narrowed,  "for  it  '11  take  more 
than  yu  three  to  deal  with  them  th'  way 
I'm  a-hankerin'  for.  Come  right  back  to 
th'  Double-Arrow,  send  me  word  by  one  of 
their  punchers  an'  get  all  th'  rest  yu  can 
afore  I  gets  there.  It'll  take  me  a  day  to 
get  th'  men  together  an'  to  reach  yu.  I'm 
goin'  to  use  smoke  signals  to  call  th'  other 
ranches,  so  there  won't  be  no  time  lost. 
Carry  all  the  water  yu  can  pack  when  yu 
leaves  th'  Double-Arrow  an'  don't  depend 
none  on  cactus  juice.  Yu  better  take  a 
pack  horse  to  carry  it  an'  yore  grub — yu 
can  shoot  it  if  yu  have  to  hit  th'  trail  real 
hard." 

The  three  riders  felt  of  their  accouter- 
ments,  said  "So  long,"  and  cantered  off  for 
the  pack  horse  and  extra  ammunition. 
Then  they  rode  toward  the  Double-Arrow, 
stopping  at  Cowan's  long  enough  to  spend 
some  money,  and  reached  their  desti- 
nation at  nightfall.  Early  the  next  morn- 
ing they  passed  the  last  line-house  and, 
with  the  profane  well-wishes  of  its  (kcu- 
pants  ringing  in  their  ears,  passed  on  to  one 
of  nature's  worst  blunders — the  Staked 
Plain. 


Ill 


HOPALONG  S   DECISION 

Shortly  after  noon,  Hopalong,  who  had 
ridden  with  his  head  bowed  low  in  medita- 
tion, looked  up  and  slapped  his  thigh. 
Then  he  looked  at  Red  and  grinned. 

"lax)k  ahere,  Red,"  he  began,  "there 
ain't  no  rustlers  with  their  headquarters  on 
this  God-forsaken  sand-heap,  an'  there 
never  was.  They  have  to  have  water  an' 
lots  of  it,  too,  an'  th'  nearest  of  any  ac- 
count is  th'  Pecos,  or  some  of  them  streams 
over  in  th'  Panhandle.  Th'  Panhandle  is 
th'  best  place.  There  are  lots  of  streams 
an'  lakes  over  there  an'  they're  right  in  a 
good  grass  country.  Why,  an'  army  could 
hide  over  there  an'  never  be  found  unless 
it  was  hunted  for  blamed  good.  Then, 
again,  it's  close  to  th'  railroad.  Up  north 
a  ways  is  th'  south  branch  of  th'  Santa  F6 
trail  an'  it's  far  enough  away  not  to  bother 
anybody  in  th'  middle  Panhandle.  Then 
there's  Fort  Worth  purty  near,  an'  other 
trails.  Didn't  Buck  say  he  had  all  th'  rest 
of  th'  country  searched?  He  meant  th' 
Pecos  Valley  an'  th'  Davis  Mountains 
country.  All  th'  rustlers  would  have  to  do 
if  they  were  in  th'  Panhandle  would  be  to 
cross  th'  Canadian  an'  th'  Cimarron  an'  hit 
th'  trail  for  th'  railroad.  Good  fords,  good 
grass  an'  water  all  th'  way,  cattle  fat  when 
they  are  delivered  an'  plenty /)f  room.  Th' 
more  I  thinks  about  it  th'  more  I  cottons 
to  th'  Panhandle." 

"Well,  it  shore  does  sound  good,"  replied 
Red  reflectively.  "Do  yu  mean  th'  Cun- 
ningham Lake  region  or  farther  north?" 

"Just  th'  other  side  of  this  blasted 
desert:  anywhere  where  there's  water," 
responded  Hopalong  enthusiastically. 
"I've  been  doin'  some  hot  reckonin'  for  th' 
last  two  hours  an'  this  is  th'  way  it  looks 
to  me:  they  drives  th'  cows  up  on  this 
skillet  for  a  ways,  then  turns  east  an'  hits 
th'  trail  for  home  an'  water.  They  can  get 
around  th'  canon  near  Thatcher's  Lake  by 
a  swing  to  th'  north.  I  tell  yu  that's  th' 
only  way  out'n  this.  Who  could  tell  where 
they  turned  with  th'  wind  raisin'  th'  devil 
with  th'  trail?  Didn't  we  follow  a  trail 
for  a  ways,  an'  then  what?  Why,  there 
wasn't  none  to  follow.  We  can  ride  north 
till  we  walk  behind  ourselves  an'  never  get 
a  peek  at  them.  I  am  in  favor  of  headin' 
for  th'  Sulphur  Spring  Creek  district.     We 


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can  spend  a  couple  of  weeks,  if  we  has  to, 
an'  prospect  that  whole  region  without 
havin'  to  cut  our  water  down  to  a  smell  an' 
a  taste  an'  live  on  jerked  beef.  If  we  in- 
vestigates that  country  we'll  find  some- 
thing else  than  sand-storms,  poisoned 
water  holes  an'  blisters." 

"Ain't  th'  Panhandle  full  of  nesters 
(farmers)?"  inquired  Red  doubtfully. 

"Along  th'  Canadian  an'  th'  edges,  yas; 
in  th'  middle,  no,"  explained  Hopalong. 
'*They  hang  close  together  on  account  of 
th'  War-whoops  an'  they  like  th'  trails 
purty  well  because  of  there  alius  bein' 
somebody  passin'." 

"Buck  ought  to  send  some  of  th'  Pan- 
handle boys  up  there,"  suggested  Red. 
"There's  Pie  Willis  an'  th'  Jordans — they 
knows  th*  Panhandle  like  yu  knows  poker." 

Frenchy  had  paid  no  apparent  attention 
to  the  conversation  up  to  this  point,  but 
now  he  declared  himself.  "Yu  heard 
what  Buck  said,  didn't  you?"  he  asked. 
"We  were  told  to  search  th'  Staked  Plain 
from  one  end  to  th'  other  an'  I'm  goin'  to 
do  it  if  I  can  hold  out  long  enough.  I 
ain't  goin'  to  palaver  with  yu  because  what 
yu  say  can't  be  denied  as  far  as  wisdom  is 
concerned.  Yu  may  have  hit  it  plumb 
center,  but  1  knows  what  1  was  ordered  to 
do,  an'  yu  can't  get  me  to  go  over  there  if 
yu  shouts  all  night.  When  Buck  says 
anything,  sh4  goes.  He  wants  to  know 
where  th'  cards  are  stacked  an'  why  he 
can't  holler  'Keno,'  an'  I'm  goin'  to  find 
out  if  1  can.  Yu  can  go  to  Patagonia  if  yu 
wants  to,  but  yu  go  alone  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned." 

"Well,  it's  better  if  yu  don't  go  with 
us,"  replied  Hopalong,  taking  it  for  granted 
that  Red  would  accompany  him.  "Yu 
can  prospect  this  end  of  th'  game  an'  we'll 
be  takin'  care  of  th'  other,  I  t's  two  chances 
now  where  we  only  had  one  afore." 

"Yu  go  east  an'  I'll  hunt  around  as  or- 
dered," responded  Frenchy. 

"East  nothin',"  replied  Hopalong.  "Yu 
don't  get  me  to  wallow  in  hot  alkali  an' 
lose  time  ridin'  in  ankle-deep  sand  when  I 
can  hit  th'  south  trail,  skirt  th'  White  Sand 
Hills  an'  be  in  God's  country  again.  1 
ain't  goin'  to  wrastle  with  no  canon  this 
here  trip,  none  whatever.  I'm  goin'  to 
travel  in  style,  get  to  Big  Spring  by  ridin' 
two  miles  to  where  I  could  only  make  one 
on  this  stove.    Then  I'll  head  north  along 


Sulphur  Spring  Creek  an'  have  water  an' 
grass  all  th'  way,  barrin'  a  few  stretches. 
While  yu  are  bein'  fricasseed  I'll  be  streakin' 
through  Cottonwood  groves  an'  ridin'  in  th' 
creek." 

"  Yu'll  have  to  go  alone,  then,"  said  Red 
resolutely.  "Frenchy  ain't  a-goin'  to  die 
of  lonesomeness  on  this  desert  if  1  knows 
what  I'm  about,  an'  I  reckon  I  do,  some. 
Me  an'  him  'II  follow  out  what  Buck  said, 
hunt  around  for  a  while  an'  then  Frenchy 
can  go  back  to  th'  ranch  to  tell  Buck  what's 
up  an'  I'll  take  th'  trail  yu  are  ascared  of 
an'  meet  yu  at  th'  east  end  of  Cunningham 
Lake  three  days  from  now." 

"  Yu  better  come  with  me,"  coaxed  Hop- 
along, not  liking  what  his  friend  had  said 
about  being  afraid  of  the  trail  past  the 
cafton  and  wishing  to  have  some  one  with 
whom  to  talk  on  his  trip.  "I'm  goin'  to 
have  a  nice  long  swim  to-morrow  night," 
he  added,  trying  bribery. 

"An'  I'm  goin'  to  try  to  keep  from  hittin' 
my  blisters,"  responded  Red.  "1  don't 
want  to  go  swimmin'  in  no  creek  full  of 
moccasins — I'd  rather  sleep  with  rattlers  or 
copperheads,  Every  time  I  sees  a  cotton- 
mouth  I  feels  like  I  had  just  sit  down  on 
one." 

"  I'll  flip  a  coin  to  see  whether  yu  comes 
or  not,"  proposed  Hopalong. 

"If  yu  wants  to  gamble  so  bad  I'll  flip 
yu  to  see  who  draws  our  pay  next  month, 
but  not  for  what  yu  said,"  responded  Red, 
choking  down  the  desire  to  try  his  luck. 

Hopalong  grinned  and  turned  toward  the 
south.  "If  I  sees  Buck  afore  yu  do,  I'll 
tell  him  yu  an'  Frenchy  are  growin'  water- 
melons up  near  Last  Stand  Rock  an'  are 
waitin'  for  rain.     Well,  so  long,"  he  said. 

"Yu  tell  Buck  we're  obeyin'  orders!" 
shouted  Red,  sorry  that  he  was  not  going 
with  his  bunkie. 

An  hour  later  they  searched  the  Devil's 
Rocks,  but  found  no  rustlers.  Filling 
their  canteens  at  a  tiny  spring  and  allov/ing 
their  mounts  to  drink  the  remainder  of  the 
water,  they  turned  toward  Hell  Arroyo, 
which  they  reached  at  nightfall.  Here, 
also,  their  search  availed  them  nothing  and 
they  paused  in  indecision.  Then  Frenchy 
turned  toward  his  companion  and  advised 
him  to  ride  toward  the  Lake  in  the  night, 
when  it  was  comparatively  cool. 

Red  considered  and  then  decided  that 
the  advice  was  good.     He  rolled  a  ciga- 

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rette,  wheeled  and  faced  the  east  and 
spurred  forward.     "So  long,"  he  called. 

"So  long/'  replied  Frenchy,  who  turned 
toward  the  south  and  departed  for  the 
ranch. 

The  foreman  of  the  Bar  20  was  clean- 
ing his  rifle  when  he  heard  the  hoof- 
beats  of  a  galloping  horse,  and  he  ran 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  meet  the 
newcomer,  whom  he  thought  to  be  a  cour- 
ier from  the  Double-Arrow.  Frenchy  dis- 
mounted and  explained  why  he  returned 
alone. 

Buck  listened  to  the  report  and  then, 
noting  the  fire  which  gleamed  in  his  friend's 
eyes,  nodded  his  approval  to  the  course. 
"I  reckon  it's  Trendley,  Frenchy — I've 
heard  a  few  things  since  you  left.  An' 
yu  can  bet  that  if  Hopalong  an'  Red  have 
gone  for  him  he'll  be  found.  I  expect  ac- 
tion any  time  now,  so  we'll  light  th'  signal 
fire."  Then  he  hesitated:  "Yu  light  it — 
yu've  been  waiting  a  long  time  for  this." 

The  balls  of  smoke  which  rolled  upward 
were  replied  to  by  other  balls  at  differ- 
ent points  on  the  plain  and  the  Bar  20 
prepared  to  feed  the  numbers  of  hungry 
punchers  who  would  arrive  within  the  next 
twenty-four  hours. 

Two  hours  had  not  passed  when  eleven 
men  rode  up  from  the  Three-Triangle,  fol- 
lowed eight  hours  later  by  ten  from  the  O- 
Bar-O.  The  outfits  of  the  Star-Circle  and 
the  Barred-Horseshoe,  eighteen  in  all,  came 
next  and  had  scarcely  dismounted  when 
those  of  the  C  80  and  the  Double-Arrow, 
fretting  at  the  delay,  rode  up.  With  the 
sixteen  from  the  Bar  20  the  force  num- 
bered seventy-five  resolute  and  pugnacious 
cow  punchers,  all  aching  to  wipe  out  the 
indignities  suffered. 


IV 


A  PROBLEM   SOLVED 

Hopalong  worried  his  way  out  of  the 
desert  on  a  straight  line,  thus  cutting  in 
half  the  distance  he  had  traveled  when 
going  into  it.  He  camped  that  night  on 
the  sand,  and  early  the  next  morning  took 
up  his  journey.  It  was  noon  when  he  be- 
gan to  notice  familiar  sights  and  an  hour 
later  he  passed  within  a  mile  of  line-house 
Number  Three,  Double-Arrow.  Half  an 
hour  later  he  espied  a  cow  puncher  riding 


like  mad.  Thinking  that  an  investigation 
would  not  be  out  of  place,  he  rode  after 
the  rider  and  overtook  him,  when  that 
person  paused  and  retraced  his  course. 

"Hullo,  Hopalong,"  shouted  the  puncher 
as  he  came  near  enough  to  recognize  his 
pursuer.  "Thought  yu  was  farmin'  up  on 
th'  Staked  Plain." 

"Hullo,  Pie,"  replied  Hopalong,  recog- 
nizing Pie  Willis.  "What  was  yu  chasin' 
so  hard?" 

"Coyote — damn  'em,  but  can't  they  go 
some?  They're  gettin'  so  thick  we'll  shore 
have  to  try  strychnine  an'  thin  'em  out." 

"1  thought  anybody  that  had  been 
raised  in  th'  Panhandle  would  know  bet- 
ter 'n  to  chase  greased  lightnin',"  re- 
buked Hopalong.  "Yu  has  got  about  as 
much  show  catchin'  one  of  them  as  a  ten- 
derfoot has  of  bustin'  an  outlawed  cay- 
use." 

"Shore;  I  know  it,"  responded  Pie, 
grinning.  "But  it's  fun  seein'  them  hunt 
th'  horizon.  What  are  yu  doin'  down  here 
an'  where  are  yore  pardners?" 

Thereupon,  Hopalong  enlightened  his  in- 
quisitive companion  as  to  what  had  oc- 
curred and  as  to  his  reasons  for  riding  south. 
Pie  immediately  became  enthusiastic  and 
announced  his  intention  of  accompanying 
Hopalong  on  his  quest,  which  intention 
struck  that  gentleman  as  highly  proper  and 
wise.  Then  Pie  hastily  turned  and  played 
at  chasing  coyotes  in  the  direction  of  the 
line-house,  where  he  announced  that  his 
absence  would  be  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  that  he  and  Hopalong  were  going  on 
a  journey  of  investigation  into  the  Pan- 
handle. Billy  Jordan,  who  shared  with 
Pie  the  accommodations  of  the  house, 
objected  and  showed  very  clearly  why  he 
was  eminently  better  qualified  to  take  up 
the  proposed  labors  than  his  companion. 
The  suggestions  were  fast  getting  tangled 
up  with  the  remarks,  when  Pie,  grabbing  a 
chunk  of  jerked  beef,  leaped  into  his  saddle 
and  absolutely  refused  to  heed  the  calls  of 
his  former  companion  and  return.  He  rode 
to  where  Hopalong  was  awaiting  him  as 
if  he  was  afraid  he  wasn't  going  to  live 
long  enough  to  get  there.  Confiding  to  his 
companion  that  Billy  was  a  "locoed  sage 
hen,"  he  led  the  way  along  to  the  base  of 
the  White  Sand  Hills  and  asked  many 
questions.  Then  they  turned  toward  the 
east  and  galloped  hard. 


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It  had  been  Hopalong's  intention  to 
cany  out  what  he  had'  told  Red  and  to  go 
to  Big  Spring  first,  and  thence  north  along 
Sulphur  Spring  Creek,  but  to  this  his  guide 
strongly  dissented.  There  was  a  short-cut, 
or  several  of  them  for  that  matter,  was 
Pie's  contention,  and  any  one  of  them 
would  save  a  day's  hard  riding.  Hopalong 
made  no  objection  to  allowing  his  compan- 
ion to  lead  the  way  over  any  trail  he  saw 
fit,  for  he  knew  that  Pie  had  been  bom  and 
brought  up  in  the  Panhandle,  the  Cun- 
ningham Lake  district  having  been  his 
back  yard,  as  it  were.  So  they  followed 
the  short-cut  having  the  most  water  and 
grass  and  pounded  out  a  lively  tattoo  as 
they  raced  over  the  stretches  of  sand  which 
seemed  to  slide  beneath  them. 

"What  do  yu  know  about  this  here  busi- 
ness?" inquired  Pie  as  they  raced  past  a 
chaparral  and  on  to  the  edge  of  a  grassy 
plain. 

"Nothin'  more  'n  yu  do,  only  Buck  said 
he  thought  Slippery  Trendley  is  at  th'  bot- 
tom of  it." 

"What!"  ejaculated  Pie  in  surprise; 
"him!" 

"  Yore  on.  An'  between  yu  an'  me  an' 
th'  devil,  1  wouldn't  be  a  heap  surprised  if 
Deacon  Rankin  is  with  him,  neither." 

Pie  whistled:  "Are  him  an'  th'  Deacon 
pals?" 

"Shore,"  replied  Hopalong,  buttoning  up 
his  vest  and  rolling  a  cigarette.  "Didn't 
they  alius  hang  out  together?  One  watched 
that  th'  other  didn't  get  plugged  from 
behind.  It  was  a  sort  of  yu-scratch- 
my-back-an'-  I'll  -scratch  -yourn  arrange- 
ment." 

"Well,  if  they  still  hangs  out  together  I 
know  where  to  hunt  for  our  cows,"  re- 
sponded Pie.  "Th'  Deacon  used  to  range 
along  th'  head-waters  of  th'  Colorado — it 
ain't  far  from  Cunningham  Lake.  Thun- 
deration!"  he  shouted,  "I  knows  th'  very 
ground  they're  on — I  can  take  yu  to  th' 
very  shack!"  Then  to  himself  he  mut- 
tered: "An'  that  doodlebug  Billy  Jordan 
thinkin'  he  knowed  more  about  th'  Pan- 
handle than  me!" 

Hopalong  showed  his  elation  in  an  ap- 
propriate manner  and  his  companion  drank 
deeply  from  the  proffered  flask.  There- 
upon they  treated  their  mounts  to  liberal 
doses  of  strap-oil  and  covered  the  ground 
with  great  speed. 


They  camped  early,  for  Hopalong  was 
almost  worn  out  from  the  exertions  of  the 
past  few  days  and  the  loss  of  sleep  he  had 
sustained.  Pie,  too  excited  to  sleep,  and 
having  had  unbroken  rest  for  a  long  period, 
volunteered  to  keep  guard,  and  his  com- 
panion eagerly  consented. 

Early  the  next  morning  they  broke  camp 
and  the  evening  of  the  same  day  found 
them  fording  Sulphur  Spring  Creek,  and 
their  quarry  lay  only  an  hour  beyond,  ac- 
cording to  Pie.  Then  they  forded  one  of 
the  streams  which  form  the  head-waters  of 
the  Colorado,  and  two  hours  later  they  dis- 
mounted in  a  Cottonwood  grove.  Picket- 
ing their  horses,  they  carefully  made  their 
way  through  the  timber,  which  was  heavily 
grown  with  brush,  and,  after  half  an  hour's 
maneuvering,  came  within  sight  of  the 
further  edge.  Dropping  on  all  fours,  they 
crawled  to  the  last  line  of  brush  and 
looked  out  over  an  extensive* bottom.  At 
their  feet  lay  a  small  river,  and  in  a  clearing . 
on  the  farther  side  was  a  rough  camp,  con- 
sisting of  about  a  dozen  lean-to  shacks  and 
log  cabins  in  the  main  collection,  and  a  few 
scattered  cabins  along  the  edge.  A  huge 
fire  was  blazing  before  the  main  collection 
of  huts  and  to  the  rear  of  these  was  an  in- 
distinct black  mass,  which  they  knew  to  be 
the  corral. 

At  a  rude  table  before  the  fire  more  than 
a  score  of  men  were  eating  supper  and 
others  could  be  heard  moving  about  and 
talking  at  different  points  in  the  back- 
ground. While  the  two  scouts  were  learn- 
ing the  lay  of  the  land,  they  saw  Mr. 
Trendley  and  Deacon  Rankin  walk  out  of 
the  cabin  most  distant  from  the  fire,  and 
the  latter  limped.  Then  they  saw  two  men 
lying  on  rude  cots  and  they  wore  bandages. 
Evidently  Johnny  Redmond  had  scored  in 
his  fight. 

The  odor  of  burning  cowhide  came  from 
the  corral,  accompanied  by  the  squeals  of 
cattle,  and  informed  them  that  brands 
were  being  blotted  out.  Hopalong  longed 
to  charge  down  and  do  some  blotting  out  of 
another  kind,  but  a  heavy  hand  was  placed 
on  his  shoulder  and  he  silently  wormed  his 
way  after  Pie  as  that  person  led  the  way 
back  to  the  horses.  Mounting,  they  picked 
their  way  out  of  the  grove  and  rode  over 
the  plain  at  a  walk.  When  far  enough 
away  to  insure  that  the  noise  made  by 
their  horses  would  not  reach  the  ears  of 


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those  in  the  camp,  they  cantered  toward 
the  ford  they  had  taken  on  the  way  up. 

After  emerging  from  the  waters  of  the 
last  forded  stream.  Pie  raised  his  hand  and 
pointed  off  toward  the  northwest,  telling 
his  companion  to  take  that  course  to  reach 
Cunningham  Lake.  He  himself  would 
ride  south,  taking,  for  the  saving  of  time, 
a  yet  shorter  trail  to  the  Double-Arrow, 
from  where  he  would  ride  to  Buck.  He 
and  the  others  would  meet  Hopalong  and 
Red  at  the  split  rock  they  had  noticed  on 
their  way  up. 

Hopalong  shook  hands  with  his  guide 
and  watched  him  disappear  into  the  night. 
He  imagined  he  could  still  catch  whiffs  of 
burning  cowhide  and  again  the  picture  of 
the  camp  came  to  his  mind.  Glancing 
again  at  the  point  where  Pie  had  disap- 
peared, he  stuffed  his  sombrero  under  a 
strap  on  his  saddle  and  slowly  rode  toward 
the  lake.  A  coyote  slunk  past  him  on  a 
time-destroying  lope,  and  an  owl  hooted  at 
the  foolishness  of  men.  He  camped  at  the 
base  of  a  cottonwood  and  at  daylight  took 
up  his  journey  after  a  scanty  breakfast 
from  his  saddle-bags. 

Shortly  before  noon  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  lake  and  looked  for  his  friend.  He  had 
just  ridden  around  a  clump  of  cottonwoods 
when  he  was  hit  on  the  back  with  some- 
thing large  and  soft.  Turning  in  his  sad- 
dle, with  his  Colt  ready,  he  saw  Red  sitting 
on  a  stump,  a  huge  grin  extending  over  his 
features.  He  replaced  the  weapon,  said 
something  about  fools  and  dismounted, 
kicking  aside  the  bundle  of  grass  his  friend 
had  thrown. 

"  Yore  shore  easy,"  remarked  Red,  toss- 
ing aside  his  cold  cigarette.  "Suppose  I 
was  Trendley,  where  would  yu  be  now?" 

"Diggin'  a  hole  to  put  yu  in,"  pleas- 
antly replied  Hopalong.  "  If  1  didn't  know 
he  wasn't  around  this  part  of  the  country 
I  wouldn't  a  rode  as  I  did." 

The  man  on  the  stump  laughed  and  rolled 
a  fresh  cigarette.  Lighting  it,  he  inquired 
where  Mr.  Trendley  was,  intimating  by  his 
words  that  the  rustler  had  not  been  found. 

"About  thirty  miles  to  the  southeast," 
responded  the  other.  "He's  figurin'  up 
how  much  dust  he'll  have  when  he  gets  our 
cows  on  th'  market.  Deacon  Rankin  is 
with  him,  too." 

"Th'  devil!"  exclaimed  Red  in  profound 
astonishment. 


"Yore  right,"  replied  his  companion. 
Then  he  explained  all  the  arrangements 
and  told  of  the  camp. 

Red  was  for  riding  to  the  rendezvous  at 
once,  but  his  friend  thought  otherwise  and 
proposed  a  swim,  which  met  with  approval. 
After  enjoying  themselves  in  the  lake  they 
dressed  and  rode  along  the  trail  Hopalong 
had  made  in  coming  for  his  companion,  it 
being  the  intention  of  the  former  to  learn 
more  thoroughly  the  lay  of  the  land  im- 
mediately surrounding  the  camp.  Red  was 
pleased  with  this,  and  while  they  rode  he 
narrated  all  that  had  taken  place  since  the 
separation  on  the  Plain,  adding  that  he 
had  found  the  trail  made  by  the  rustlers 
after  they  had  quitted  the  desert,  and 
that  he  had  followed  it  for  the  last  two 
hours  of  his  journey.  It  was  well  beaten 
and  an  eighth  of  a  mile  wide. 

At  dark  they  came  within  sight  of  the 
grove  and  picketed  their  horses  at  the  place 
used  by  Pie  and  Hopalong.  Then  they 
moved  forward  and  the  same  sight  greeted 
their  eyes  that  had  been  seen  the  night  be- 
fore. Keeping  well  within  the  edge  of  the 
grove  and  looking  carefully  for  sentries, 
they  went  entirely  around  the  camp  and 
picked  out  several  places  which  would  be 
of  strategic  value  later  on.  They  noticed 
that  the  cabin-  used  by  Slippery  Trendley 
was  a  hundred  paces  from  the  main  col- 
lection of  huts  and  that  the  woods  came  to 
within  a  tenth  part  of  that  distance  of  its 
door.  It  was  heavily  builf,  had  no  win- 
dows and  faced  the  wrong  direction. 

Moving  on,  they  discovered  the  store- 
house of  the  enemy,  another  tempting 
place.  It  was  just  possible,  if  a  siege  be- 
came necessary,  for  several  of  the  attack- 
ing force  to  slip  up  to  it  and  either  destroy 
it  by  fire  or  take  it  and  hold  it  against  all 
comers.  This  suggested  a  look  at  the 
enemy's  water  supply,  which  was  the  river. 
A  hundred  paces  separated  it  from  the 
nearest  cabin  and  any  rustler  who  could 
cross  that  zone  under  the  fire  of  the  be- 
siegers would  be  welcome  to  his  drink. 

It  was  very  evident  that  the  rustlers  had 
no  thought  of  defense,  thinking,  perhaps, 
that  they  were  immune  from  attack  with 
such  a  well-covered  trail  between  them  and 
their  foes.  Hopalong  mentally  accused 
them  of  harboring  suicidal  inclinations  and 
returned  with  his  companion  to  the  horses. 
They  mounted  and  sat  quietly  for  a  while 


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and  then  rode  slowly  away,  and  at  dawn 
reached  the  split  rock,  where  they  awaited 
the  arrival  of  their  friends,  one  sleeping 
while  the  other  kept  guard.  Then  they 
drew  a  rough  map  of  the  camp,  using  the 
sand  for  paper,  and  laid  out  the  plan  of  at- 
tack. 

As  the  evening  of  the  next  day  came  on 
they  saw  Pie,  followed  by  many  punchers, 
ride  over  a  rise  a  mile  to  the  south,  and  they 
rode  out  to  meet  him. 

When  the  force  arrived  at  the  camp  of 
the  two  scouts  they  were  shown  the  plan 
prepared  for  them.  Buck  made  a  few 
changes  in  the  disposition  of  the  men  and 
then  each  member  was  shown  where  he 
was  to  go  and  was  told  why.  Weapons 
were  put  in  a  high  state  of  efficiency,  can- 
teens were,  refilled  and  haversacks  were 
somewhat  depleted.  Then  the  newcomers 
turned  in  and  slept  while  Hopalong  and 
Red  kept  guard. 


THE  CALL 

At  three  o'clock  the  next  morning  a  long 
line  of  men  slowly  filed  into  the  Cottonwood 
grove,  being  silently  swallowed  up  by  the 
darkness.  Dismounting,  they  left  their 
horses  in  the  care  of  three  of  their  number 
and  disappeared  into  the  brush.  Ten 
minutes  later  forty  of  the  force  were  dis- 
tributed along  the  edge  of  the  grove  fring- 
ing on  the  bank  of  the  river  and  twenty 
more  minutes  gave  ample  time  for  a  de- 
tachment of  twenty  to  cross  the  stream  and 
find  concealment  in  the  edge  of  the  woods 
wnich  ran  from  the  river  to  where  the  cor- 
ral made  an  effective  barrier  on  the  south. 
Eight  crept  down  on  the  western  side  of  the 
camp  and  worked  their  way  close  to  Mr. 
Trendley's  cabin  door,  and  the  seven  who 
followed  this  detachment  continued  and 
took  up  their  positions  at  the  rear  of 
the  corral,  where,  it  was  hoped,  some  of 
the  rustlers  would  endeavor  to  escape 
into  the  woods  by  working  their  way 
through  the  cattle  in  the  corral  and  then 
scaling  the  stockade  wall.  These  seven 
were  from  the  Three-Triangle  and  the 
Double-Arrow  and  they  were  positive  that 
any  such  attempt  would  not  be  a  success 
^rom  the  view-point  of  the  rustlers. 

Two  of  those  who  awaited  the  pleasure 
^  Mr.  Trendley  crept  forward  and  a  rope 


swished  through  the  air  and  settled  over  a 
stump  which  lay  most  convenient  on  the 
other  side  of  the  cabin  door.  Then  the 
slack  moved  toward  the  woods,  raised  from 
the  ground  as  it  grew  taut,  and,  with  the 
stump  for  its  axis,  swung  toward  the  door, 
where  it  rubbed  gently  against  the  rough 
logs.  It  was  made  of  braided  horsehair, 
was  half  an  inch  in  diameter  and  was 
stretched  eight  inches  above  the  ground. 

As  it  touched  the  door.  Lanky  Smith, 
the  Bar  20  rope  expert,  Hopalong  and 
Red  stepped  out  of  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
and  took  up  their  positions  behind  the 
cabin,  Lanky  behind  the  northeast  comer 
where  he  would  be  permitted  to  swing  his 
right  arm.  In  his  gloved  right  hand  he 
held  the  carefully  arranged  coils  of  a  fifty- 
foot  lariat,  and  should  the  chief  of  the 
rustlers  escape  tripping  he  would  have  to 
avoid  the  cast  of  the  best  roper  in  the 
southwest.  The  two  others  took  the  north- 
west corner  and  one  of  them  leaned  slightly 
forward  and  gently  twitched  the  tripping 
rope.  The  man  at  the  other  end  felt  the 
signal  and  whispered  to  a  companion,  who 
quietly  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
river  and  shortly  afterward  the  mournful 
cry  of  a  whip-poor-will  dirged  out  on  the 
eariy  morning  air.  It  had  hardly  died 
away  when  the  quiet  was  broken  by  one 
terrific  crash  of  rifles,  and  the  two  camp 
guards  asleep  at  the  fire  awoke  in  another 
worid. 

Mr.  Trendley,  sleeping  unusually  well 
for  the  unjust,  leaped  from  his  bed  to  the 
middle  of  the  floor  and  alighted  on  his  feel 
and  wide  awake.  Fearing  that  a  plot  was 
being  consummated  to  deprive  him  of  his 
leadership,  he  grasped  the  Winchester 
which  leaned  at  the  head  of  his  bed  and, 
tearing  open  the  door,  crashed  headlong 
to  the  earth.  As  he  touched  the  ground, 
two  shadows  sped  out  from  the  shelter  of 
the  cabin  wall  and  pounced  upon  him. 
Men  who  can  rope,  throw  and  tie  a  wild 
steer  in  thirty  seconds  flat,  do  not  waste 
time  in  trussing  operations,  and  before  a 
minute  had  elapsed  he  was  being  carried 
into  the  woods,  bound  and  helpless.  Lanky 
sighed,  threw  the  rope  over  one  shoulder 
and  departed  after  his  friends. 

When  Mr.  Trendley  came  to  his  senses 
he  found  himself  bound  to  a  tree  in  the 
grove  near  the  horses.  A  man  sat  on  a 
stump  not  far  from  him,  three^thers  w«re 

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seated  around  a  small  fire  some  distance  to 
the  north  and  four  others,  one  of  whom 
carried  a  rope,  made  their  way  into  the 
brush.  He  strained  at  his  bonds,  decided 
that  the  effort  was  useless  and  watched  the 
man  on  the  stump,  who  struck  a  match 
and  lit  a  pipe.  The  prisoner  watched  the 
light  flicker  up  and  go  out  and  there  was 
left  in  his  mind  a  picture  that  he  could 
never  forget.  The  face  which  had  been  so 
cruelly,  so  grotesquely  revealed  was  that 
of  Frenchy  McAllister,  and  across  his  knee 
lay  a  heavy  caliber  Winchester.  A  curse 
escaped  from  the  lips  of  the  outlaw;  the 
man  on  the  stump  spat  at  a  firefly  and 
smiled. 

From  the  south  came  the  crack  of  rifles, 
incessant  and  sharp.  The  reports  rolled 
from  one  end  of  the  clearing  to  the  other 
and  seemed  to  sweep  in  waves  from  the 
center  of  the  line  to  the  ends.  Faintly  in 
the  infrequent  lulls  in  the  firing  came  an 
occasional  report  from  the  rear  of  the  cor- 
ral, where  some  desperate  rustler  paid  for 
his  venture. 

Buck  went  along  the  line  and  spoke  to  the 
riflemen,  and  after  some  time  had  passed 
and  the  light  had  become  stronger,  he  col- 
lected the  men  into  groups  of  five  and  six. 
Taking  one  group  and  watching  it  closely, 
it  could  be  seen  that  there  was  a  world  of 
meaning  in  this  maneuver.  One  man 
started  firing  at  a  particular  window  in  an 
opposite  hut  and  then  laid  aside  his  empty 
gun  and  waited.  When  the  muzzle  of  his 
enemy's  gun  came  into  sight  and  lowered 
until  it  had  nearly  gained  its  sight  level, 
the  rifles  of  the  remainder  of  the  group 
crashed  out  in  a  volley  and  usually  one  of 
the  bullets,  at  least,  found  its  intended 
billet.  This  volley  firing  became  universal 
among  the  besiegers  and  the  effect  was 
marked. 

Two  men  sprinted  from  the  edge  of  the 
woods  near  Mr.  Trendley's  cabin  and  gained 
the  shelter  of  the  storehouse,  which  soon 
broke  out  in  flames.  The  burning  brands 
fell  over  the  main  collection  of  huts,  where 
there  was  much  confusion  and  swearing. 
The  eariy  hour  at  which  the  attack  had 
been  delivered  at  first  led  the  besieged  to 
believe  that  it  was  an  Indian  affair,  but 
this  impression  was  soon  corrected  by  the 
volley  firing,  which  turned  hope  into  de- 
spair. It  was  no  great  matter  to  fight 
Indians;  that  they  had  done  many  times 


and  found  more  or  less  enjoyment  in  it; 
but  there  was  a  vast  difference  between 
brave  and  puncher  and  the  chances  of  their 
salvation  became  very  small.  They  sur- 
mised that  it  was  the  work  of  the  cow  men 
on  whom  they  had  preyed,  and  that  venge- 
ful punchers  lay  hidden  behind  that  death- 
fringe  of  green  willow  and  hazel. 

Red,  assisted  by  his  inseparable  com- 
panion, Hopalong,  laboriously  climbed  up 
among  the  branches  of  a  black  walnut  and 
hooked  one  leg  over  a  convenient  limb. 
Then  he  lowered  his  rope  and  drew  up 
the  Winchester  which  his  accommodating 
friend  fastened  to  it.  Settling  himself  in 
a  comfortable  position  and  sheltering  his 
body  somewhat  by  the  tree,  he  shaded  his 
eyes  by  a  hand  and  peered  into  the  windows 
of  the  distant  cabins. 

"How  is  she.  Red?"  anxiously  inquired 
the  man  on  the  ground. 

"Bully;  want  to  come  up?" 

"Nope.  Tm  goin'  to  catch  yu  when 
yu  lets  go,"  replied  Hopalong  with  a 
grin. 

"Which  same  I  ain't  goin'  to,"  responded 
the  man  in  the  tree. 

He  swung  his  rifle  out  over  a  forked  limb 
and  let  it  settle  in  the  crotch.  Then  he 
slewed  his  head  around  until  he  gained  the 
bead  he  wished.  Five  minutes  passed  be- 
fore he  caught  sight  of  his  man  and  then  he 
fired.  Jerking  out  the  empty  shell  he 
smiled  and  called  out  to  his  friend: 
"One."   ^ 

Hopalong  grinned  and  went  off  to  tell 
Buck  to  put  all  the  men  in  trees.* 

Suddenly  an  explosion  shook  the  woods. 
The  storehouse  had  blown  up.  A  sky- 
full  of  burning  timber  fell  on  the  cabins 
and  soon  three  were  half  consumed,  their 
occupants  dropping  as  they  gained  the 
open  air.  One  hundred  paces  makes  fine 
pot-shooting,  as  Deacon  Rankin  discov- 
ered when  evacuation  was  the  choice 
necessary  to  avoid  cremation.  He  never 
moved  after  he  touched  the  ground  and 
Red  called  out,  "Two,"  not  knowing  that 
his  companion  had  departed. 

Eleven  o'clock  found  a  wearied  and 
hopeless  garrison  and  shortly  before  noon 
a  soiled  white  shirt  was  flung  from  a 
window  in  the  nearest  cabin.  Buck  ran 
along  the  line  and  ordered  the  firing  to 
cease  and  caused  to  be  raised  an  answering 
flag  of  truce.    A  full  minute  passed  and 

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then  the  door  slowly  opened  and  a  leg  pro- 
truded, more  slowly  followed  by  the  rest 
of  the  man,  and  Qieyenne  Qiarley  strode 
out  to  the  bank  of  the  river  and  sat  down. 
His  example  was  followed  by  several  others 
and  then  an  unexpected  eVent  occurred. 
Those  in  the  cabins  who  preferred  to  die 
fighting,  angered  at  this  desertion,  opened 
fire  on  their  former  comrades,  who  barely 
escaped  by  rolling  down  the  slightly  in- 
clined bank  into  the  river.  Red  fired  again 
and  laughed  to  himself.  Then  the  fugi- 
tives swam  down  the  river  and  landed 
under  the  guns  of  the  last  squad.  They 
were  taken  to  the  rear  and,  after  being 
bound,  were  placed  under  a  guard.  There 
were  seven  in  the  party  and  they  looked 
worn  out. 

When  the  huts  were  burning  the  fiercest, 
the  uproar  in  the  corral  arose  to  such  a 
pitch  as  to  drown  all  other  sounds.  There 
were  left  within  its  walls  a  few  hundred 
cattle  whose  brands  had  not  yet  been 
blotted  out,  and  these,  maddened  to  frenzy 
by  the  shooting  and  the  flames,  tore  from 
one  end  of  the  inclosure  to  the  other, 
crashing  against  the  alternate  walls  with 
a  noise  which  could  be  heard  far  out  on  the 
plain.  Scores  were  trampled  to  death  in 
each  charge  and  finally  the  uproar  sub- 
sided in  sheer  want  of  cattle  left  with 
energy  enough  to  continue.  When  the 
corral  was  investigated  the  next  day  there 
were  found  the  bodies  of  four  rustlers,  but 
recognition  was  impossible. 

Several  of  the  defenders  were  housed  in 
cabins  having  windows  in  the  rear  walls, 
which  the  occupants  considered  fortunate. 
This  opinion  was  revised,  however,  after 
several  had  endeavored  to  escape  by  these 
openings.  The  first  thing  which  occurred 
when  a  man  put  his  head  out  was  the  hum 
of  a  bullet,  and  in  two  cases  the  experi- 
menters lost  all  need  of  escape. 

The  volley  firing  had  the  desired  effect 
and  at  dusk  there  remained  only  one  cabin 
from  which  came  opposition.  Such  a  fire 
was  concentrated  on  it  that  before  an  hour 
had  passed  the  door  fell  in  and  the  firing 
ceas^. 

There  was  a  rush  from  the  side  and 
the  Barred-Horseshoe  men  who  swarmed 
through  the  cabins  emerged  without  firing 
a  shot.  The  organization  that  had  stirred 
up  the  Pecos  Valley  ranches  had  ceased 
to  exist. 


VI 


THE   SHOWDOWN 


A  fire  burned  briskly  in  front  of  Mr. 
Trendley's  cabin  that  night  and  several 
punchers  sat  around  it  occupied  in  various 
ways.  Two  men  leaned  against  the  wall 
and  sang  softly  of  the  joys  of  the  trail  and 
the  range.  One  of  them.  Lefty  Allen  of 
the  0-Bar-O,  sang  in  his  sweet  tenor,  and 
other  men  gradually  strolled  up  and  seated 
themselves  on  the  ground,  where  the  fitful 
gleam  of  responsive  pipes  and  cigarettes 
showed  like  fireflies.  The  songs  followed 
one  after  another,  first  a  lover's  plea  in  soft 
Spanish  and  then  a  rollicking  tale  of  the 
cow  towns  and  men.  Supper  had  long 
since  been  enjoyed  and  all  felt  that  life  was 
indeed  well  worth  living. 

A  shadow  loomed  against  the  cabin  wall 
and  a  procession  slowly  made  its  way 
toward  the  open  door.  The  leader,  Hopa- 
long,  disappeared  within  and  was  followed 
by  Mr.  Trendley,  bound  and  hobbled  and 
tied  to  Red,  the  rear  being  brought  up  by 
Frenchy,  whose  rifle  lolled  easily  in  the 
crotch  of  his  elbow.  The  singing  went  on  un- 
interrupted and  the  hum  of  voices  between 
the  selections  remained  unchanged.  Buck 
left  the  crowd  around  the  fire  and  went  into 
the  cabin,  where  his  voice  was  heard  assent- 
ing to  something.  Hopalong  emerged  and 
took  a  seat  at  the  fire,  sending  two  punch- 
ers to  take  his  place.  He  was  joined  by 
Frenchy  and  Red,  the  former  very  quiet. 

In  the  center  of  a  distant  group  were 
seven  men  who  were  not  armed.  Their 
belts,  half  full  of  cartridges,  supported 
empty  holsters.  They  sat  and  talked  to 
the  men  around  them,  swapping  notes  and 
experiences,  and  in  several  instances  found 
former  friends  and  acquaintances.  These 
men  were  not  bound  and  were  apparently 
members  of  Buck's  force.  Then  one  of 
them  broke  down,  but  quickly  regained  his 
nerve  and  proposed  a  game  of  cards.  A 
fire  was  started  and  several  games  were 
immediately  in  progress.  These  seven 
men  were  to  die  at  daybreak. 

As  the  night  grew  older  man  after  man 
rolled  himself  in  his  blanket  and  lay  down 
where  he  sat,  sinking  off  to  sleep  with  a 
swiftness  that  bespoke  tired  muscles  and 
weariness.  All  through  the  night,  how- 
ever, there  were  twelve  men  on  guard,  of 
whom  three  were  in  the  cabin. 


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At  daybreak  a  shot  from  one  of  the 
guards  awakened  every  man  within  hearing 
and  soon  they  romped  and  scampered  down 
to  the  river's  edge  to  indulge  in  the  luxury 
of  a  morning  plunge.  After  an  hour's 
horseplay  they  trooped  back  to  the  cabin 
and  soon  had  breakfast  out  of  the  way. 

Waffles,  foreman  of  the  0-Bar-O,  and 
You-bet  Somes  strolled  over  to  the  seven 
unfortunates  who  had  just  completed  a 
choking  breakfast  and  nodded  a  hearty 
"Good  morning."  Then  others  came  up, 
and  finally  all  moved  off  toward  the  river. 
Crossing  it,  they  disappeared  into  the  grove 
and  all  sounds  of  their  advance  grew  into 
silence. 

Mr.  Trendley,  escorted  outside  for  the 
air,  saw  the  procession  as  it  became  lost  to 
sight  in  the  brush.  He  sneered  and  asked 
for  a  smoke,  which  was  granted.  Then  his 
guards  were  changed  and  the  men  began 
to  straggle  back  from  the  grove. 

Mr.  Trendley,  with  his  back  to  the  cabin, 
scowled  defiantly  at  the  crowd  that  hemmed 
him  in.  The  coolest,  most  damnable  mur- 
derer in  the  West  was  not  now  going  to  beg 
for  mercy.  When  he  had  taken  up  crime 
as  a  means  of  livelihood  he  had  decided 
that  if  the  price  to  be  paid  for  his  course 
was  death,  he  would  pay  like  a  man.  He 
glanced  at  the  cottonwood  grove,  wherein 
were  many  ghastly  secrets,  and  smiled. 
His  hairless  eyebrows  looked  like  livid 
scars  and  his  lips  quivered  in  scorn  and 
anger. 

As  he  sneered  at  Buck  there  was  a  move- 
ment in  the  crowd  before  him  and  a  path- 
way opened  for  Frenchy,  who  stepped  for- 
ward slowly  and  deliberately,  as  if  on  his 
way  to  some  bar  for  a  drink.  There  was 
something,  different  about  the  man  who 
had  searched  the  Staked  Plain  with  Hopa- 
long  and  Red;  he  was  not  the  same  puncher 
who  had  arrived  from  Montana  three  weeks 
before.  There  was  lacking  a  certain  air  of 
carelessness  and  he  chilled  his  friends,  who 
looked  upon  him  as  if  they  had  never  really 
known  him.  He  walked  up  to  Mr.  Trend- 
ley  and  gazed  deep  into  the  evil  eyes. 

Twenty  years  before,  Frenchy  McAllister 
had  changed  his  identity  from  a  happy-go- 
lucky,  devil-may-care  cow  puncher  and  be- 
come a  machine.  The  grief  which  had  torn 
his  soul  was  not  of  the  kind  which  seeks  its 
outlet  in  tears  and  wailing:  it  had  turned 
and  struck  inward  and  now  his  deliberate 


ferocity  was  icy  and  devilish.  Only  a  glint 
in  his  eyes  told  of  exultation  and  his  words 
were  sharp  and  incisive;  one  could  well 
imagine  one  heard  the  click  of  his  teeth  as 
they  bit  off  the  consonants:  every  letter 
was  clear-cut,  every  syllable  startling  in  its 
clearness. 

"Twenty  years  and  two  months  ago 
to-day,"  he  began,  "you  arrived  at  the 
ranch-house  of  the  Double-Y,  up  near  the 
Montana-Wyoming  line.  Everything  was 
quiet,  except,  perhaps,  a  woman's  voice, 
singing.  You  entered,  and  before  you  left 
you  pinned  a  note  to  that  woman's  dress. 
I  found  it,  and  it  is  due." 

The  air  of  carelessness  disappeared  from 
the  members  of  the  crowd  and  the  silence 
became  oppressive.  Most  of  those  present 
knew  parts  of  Frenchy's  story  and  all  were 
in  hearty  accord  with  anything  he  might 
do.  He  reached  within  his  vest  and 
brought  forth  a  deerskin  bag.  Opening  it, 
he  drew  out  a  package  of  oiled  silk  and 
from  that  he  took  a  paper.  Carefully  re- 
placing the  silk  and  the  bag,  he  slowly  un- 
folded the  sheet  in  his  hand  and  handed  it 
to  Buck,  whose  face  hardened.  Two  dec- 
ades had  passed  since  the  foreman  of  the 
Bar  20  had  seen  that  precious  sheet,  but 
the  scene  of  its  finding  would  never  fade 
from  his  memory.  He  stood  as  if  carved 
from  stone,  with  a  look  on  his  face  that 
made  the  crowd  shift  uneasily  and  glance 
at  Trendley. 

.  Frenchy  turned  to  the  rustler  and  re- 
garded him  evilly.  "You  are  the  hellish 
brute  that  wrote  that  note,"  pointing  to 
the  paper  in  the  hand  of  his  friend.  Then, 
turning  again  to  the  foreman,  he  spoke: 
"  Buck,  read  that  paper." 

The  foreman  cleared  his  throat  and  read 
distincly: 

"McAllister:  Your  wife  is  too  damn  good  to 
live.  Trendley." 

There  was  a  shuffling  sound,  but  Buck 
and  Frenchy,  silently  backed  up  by  Hopa- 
long  and  Red,  intervened,  and  the  crowd 
fell  back,  where  it  surged  in  indecision. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Frenchy,  "1  want 
you  to  vote  on  whether  any  man  here  has 
more  right  to  do  with  Slippery  Trendley 
as  he  sees  fit  than  myself.  Any  one  who 
thinks  so,  or  that  he  should  be  treated  like 
the  others,  step  forward.     Majority  rules." 

There  was  no  advance  and  he  spoke 


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again :  "Is  there  any  one  here  who  objects 
to  this  man  dying?" 

Hopaiong  and  Red  awkwardly  l2.uniped 
their  knuckles  against  their  guns  and  there 
was  no  response. 

The  prisoner  was  bound  with  cowhide  to 
the  wall  of  the  cabin  and  four  men  sat  near 
and  facing  him.  The  noonday  meal  was 
eaten  in  silence  and  the  punchers  rode  off 
to  see  about  rounding  up  the  cattle  which 
grazed  over  the  plain  as  far  as  eye  could  see. 
Supper  time  came  and  passed  and  busy 
men  rode  away  in  all  directions.  Others 
came  and  relieved  the  guards  and  at  mid- 
night another  squad  took  up  the  vigil. 

Day  broke  and  the  thunder  of  hoofs,  as 
the  punchers  rounded  up  the  cattle  in  herds 
of  about  five  thousand  each,  became  very 
noticeable.  One  herd  swept  past  toward 
the  south,  guarded  and  guided  by  fifteen 
men.  Two  hours  later  and  another  fol- 
lowed, taking  a  slightly  different  trail  so 
as  to  avoid  the  close-cropped  grass  left  by 
the  first.  At  irregular  intervals  during 
the  day  other  herds  swept  by,  until  six  had 
passed  and  denuded  the  plain  of  cattle. 

Buck,  perspiring  and  dusty,  accom- 
panied by  Hopaiong  and  Red,  rode  up  to 
where  the  guards  smoked  and  joked. 
Frenchy  came  out  of  the  cabin  and  smiled 
at  his  friends.  Swinging  in  his  left  hand 
was  a  newly  filled  Colt  .45,  which  was 
recognized  by  his  friends  as  the  one  found 
in  the  cabin,  and  it  bore  a  rough  "T" 
gouged  in  the  butt. 

Buck  looked  around  and  cleared  his 
throat:  "We've  got  th'  cows  on  th'  home 
trail,  Frenchy,"  he  suggested. 

"Yas?"  inquired  Frenchy.  "Are  there 
many?" 

"Six  drives  of  about  five  thousand  to  the 
drive." 

"All  th'  boys  gone?"  asked  the  man 
with  the  newly  filled  Colt. 

"Yas,"  replied  Buck,  waving  his  hand 
at  the  guards,  ordering  them  to  follow 
their  friends.  "It's  a  good  deal  for  us; 
we've  done  right  smart  this  hand.  An' 
it's  a  good  thing  we've  got  so  many  punch- 
ers: thirty  thousand's  a  big  contract.  I 
hope  almighty  hard  that  we  don't  have 
no  stampedes  on  this  here  drive.  Thirty 
thousand  locoed  cattle  would  just  about 
wipe  up  this  here  territory.  If  th'  last 
herds  go  wild  they'll  pick  up  th'  others,  an' 
then  there  '11  be  th'  devil  to  pay." 


Frenchy  smiled  again  and  shot  a  glance 
at  where  Mr.  Trendley  was  bound  to  the 
cabin  wall. 

Buck  looked  steadily  southward  for 
some  time  and  then  flecked  a  foam-sud 
from  the  flank  of  his  horse.  "We  are  goin' 
south  along  th'  Creek  until  we  gets  to  Big 
Spring,  where  we'll  turn  right  smart  to  th' 
west.  We  won't  be  able  to  make  more  'n 
twelve  miles  a  day,  though  I'm  goin'  to 
drive  them  hard.     How's  yore  grub?" 

"Grub  to  bum." 

"Got  yore  rope?"  asked  the  foreman  of 
the  Bar  20,  speaking  as  if  the  question 
had  no  especial  meaning. 

Frenchy  smiled:  "Yes." 

Hopaiong  absent-mindedly  jabbed  his 
spurs  into  his  mount,  with  the  result  that 
when  the  storm  had  subsided  the  spell  was 
broken  and  he  said  "So  long"  and  rode 
south,  followed  by  Buck  and  Red.  As 
they  swept  out  of  sight  behind  a  grove  Red 
turned  in  his  saddle  and  waved  his  hat. 
He  could  see  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man 
standing  with  his  feet  spread  far  apart, 
swinging  a  Colt  .45,  and  Hopaiong  swore 
at  everything  under  the  sun.  Dust  arose  in 
streaming  clouds  far  to  the  south  and  they 
spurred  forward  to  overtake  the  outfits. 

Buck  Peters,  riding  over  the  starlit  plain, 
in  his  desire  to  reach  the  first  herd,  was 
so  completely  lost  in  reverie  that  he  failed 
to  hear  the  muffled  hoof-beats  of  a  horse 
which  steadily  gained  upon  him,  and  when 
Frenchy  McAllister  placed  a  friendly  hand 
on  his  shoulder  he  started  as  if  from  a  deep 
sleep. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  and  their 
hands  met.  The  question  which  sprang 
into  Buck's  eyes  found  a  silent  answer  in 
those  of  his  friend.  They  rode  on  side  by 
side  through  the  clear  night,  and  together 
drifted  back  to  the  days  of  the  Double-Y. 

After  an  hour  had  passed,  the  foreman  of 
the  Bar  20  turned  to  his  companion  and 
then  hesitated: 

"Did — did — was  he  a  cur?" 

Frenchy  looked  off  toward  the  south 
and,  after  an  interval,  replied:  "Yas." 
Then,  as  an  afterthought,  he  added,  "Yu 
see,  he  never  reckoned  it  would  be  that 
way." 

Buck  nodded,  although  he  did  not  fully 
understand,  and  the  subject  was  forever 
closed. 


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THE   ONE   THAT   GOT  AWAY 


BY   DAVID   HENRY   DAY 


ILLUSTRATED    BY   HY.   S.    WATSON 


150 WN  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  on  through 
the  beautifully  wooded 
valleys  of  the  foothills 
to  the  sea,  flows  the 
little  River  of  Dreams. 
Long,  long  years  ago, 
before  the  foot  of  the  white  man  ever 
profaned  its  mossy  banks  the  Indians 
gave  it  its  musical  name;  but  I  am  not 
going  to  tell  you  what  that  is,  for  fear 
you  may  journey  there  uselessly.  For  you 
may  not  fish  upon  the  River  of  Dreams 
now;  it  is  no  longer  a  part  of  nature's 
wilderness.  From  its  source  to  its  mouth, 
and  for  a  space  of  a  mile  from  each  shore, 
it  belongs  to  Standard  Qjpper,  Amalga- 
mated Oil,  Consolidated  Medicines,  and 
United  Chewing  Gum.  It  has  become  a 
part  of  their  system,  their  playground,  and 
the  public  is  not  allowed  to  get  in,  either 
on  the  ground  floor  or  any  other  floor. 

But,  should  you  chance  to  have  for  a 
friend  a  member  of  the  System,  and  should 
you  be  so  fortunate  as  to  occupy  a  place  in 
his  regard  of  the  cash  value  of  one  thousand 
dollars,  he  may  invite  you  to  spend  seven 
days  with  him  at  his  club,  for  which  privi- 
lege the  by-laws  of  that  institution  require 
him  to  send  his  check  to  the  treasurer  for 
the  above-mentioned  amount.  And  you 
may  well  believe  you  are  high  in  the  good 
graces  of  your  friend,  for  he  may  issue 
but  one  such  invitation  in  the  course  of 
the  year.  Thus,  you  see,  those  who  fish  on 
the  River  of  Dreams  belong  to  the  chosen 
people. 

Davis  Pherry,  the  man  who,  many  years 
ago,  first  gave  to  mankind  the  priceless 
boon  of  Pherry 's  Lightning  Pain- Killer, 
and  William  Emery,  who  cut  down  and 
sold,  at  a  very  fair  profit,  half  the  standing 


pine  on  the  lower  peninsula,  were  the  first 
of  the  system  to  discover  the  beauties  of 
the  River  of  Dreams.  First  and  foremost 
of  those  beauties  were  the  speckled  ones, 
for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  beauties  of  na- 
ture did  not  appeal  to  them  with  half  the 
force  of  their  love  for  fishing,  and  when 
they  found  that  the  little  river  fairly 
swarmed  with  trout  and  salmon,  they  made 
haste  to  acquire  by  purchase,  and  other 
means,  the  river  from  its  source  to  its 
mouth  and  all  the  fish  in  the  river,  and 
the  forest  for  a  mile  on  either  side,  and  the 
guides  who  lived  upon  its  banks,  and  the 
atmosphere  above  the  river  as  high  up  as 
it  might  extend.  Then  they  let  in  a  few 
of  their  friends  on  the  ground  floor,  shut 
the  door  and  nailed  it  shut,  and  the  River 
of  Dreams  was  erased  from  the  map  of  the 
government  domain. 

It  was  an  ideal  stream  for  a  fisherman 
of  wealth.  Too  deep  to  wade,  and  with 
the  forest  on  either  side  coming  close  down 
to  the  banks  and  holding  its  interiaced 
fingers  of  underbrush  over  the  icy  waters, 
ready  to  snatch  the  flies  from  the  leaders 
of  the  poacher  v/ho  essayed  to  fish  from 
the  bank,  it  could  only  be  fished  suc- 
cessfully from  a  canoe  poled  by  two  expert 
guides  who  knew  the  channel  thoroughly, 
and  asked  and  received  five  dollars  apiece 
for  a  day  of  their  services.  Here  was  too 
good  a  thing  to  allow  to  go  to  waste;  the 
public  would  never  appreciate  it,  and  ihey 
would;  hence  arose  that  little  coterie  of 
disciples  of  wealth  who  owned  and  con- 
trolled the  little  wilderness  and  all  that 
dwelt  therein. 

Strange  fishermen  they,  the  members  of 
this  little  club.  Expert  fly-casters  every 
one  of  them,  with  an  excellent  knowledge 
of  the  likely  haunts  of  the  trout  or  salmon 

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*  Drew  forth  the  joints 


and  the  ability  to 
drop  a  fly  within  a 
few  inches  of  a  chosen 
spot,  and  to  hook  and 
land  the  fish  after 
the  strike  was  made; 
yet  not  one  among 
them  could  handle  a 
canoe,  either  with 
pole  or  paddle.  They 
had  never  learned  be- 
cause they  had  never 
had  to:  they  had  al- 
ways been  able  to 
hire  some  one  to  do 
it  for  them. 

The  guides,  whom 
they  had  acquired 
along  with  the  river 
and  forest  and  atmos- 
phere, were  mostly 
French-Canadian 
half-breeds  and  quar- 
ter-breeds, and  with 
them  they  had  ac- 
quired the  right  to  six 
days  of  their  labor; 
but,  when  they  en- 
deavored to  acquire 
the  seventh  day's  labor  also,  they  found, 
much  to  their  surprise,  that  it  was 
the  one  thing  that  they  did  not  have 
money  enough  to  buy.  With  all  their  mil- 
lions of  money,  their  influence  and  their 
pull  they  could  not  get  those  simple  woods- 
folk  to  work  on  Sunday.  They  never  had, 
neither  had  their  fathers  or  grandfathers. 
It  had  never  been  done,  and  they  would 
not  do  it  now.  Hence,  it  became  a  custom 
among  the  fishermen  of  the  System  to  rest 
upon  the  seventh  day,  and,  as  time  went 
on,  they  gradually  came  to  believe  that 
the  universal  rule  against  Sunday  fishing 
was  of  their  own  making.  They  even  in- 
corporated it  among  their  by-laws  and  took 
great  pride  in  its  existence  and  enforce- 
ment, and  to  give  it  a  greater  moral  effect 
they  even  tacked  on  a  penalty  of  a  hun- 
dred dollar  fine  for  any  one  caught  vio- 
lating it. 

One  Sunday  morning  Emery  arose  with 
the  lark,  or  some  other  early-rising  bird, 
and  wandered  down  to  the  shore  of  the 
great  pool.  He  was  in  a  very  wicked  frame 
of  mind.  The  run  of  salmon  was  a  week 
overdue,  and  the  trout  had  been  wary  and 


shy  about  taking  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  a 
"^  fly  not  made  in  na- 

ture's laboratory. 
The  night  before,  as 
he  stood  on  the  bridge 
near  the  club,  he  had 
noticed  that  the  trout 
were  beginning  to 
jump  again  most 
vigorously,  and  he 
was  longing  to  get 
one  on  his  line.  As 
he  emerged  from  the 
wooded  path  that  led 
to  the  shore  of  the 
big  pool  where  the 
canoes  were  drawn 
up  on  the  gravel 
beach,  he  came  upon 
Pherry,  seated  on  the 
bottom  of  an  upturn- 
ed canoe  and  care- 
fully putting  together 
a  six-ounce  trout 
rod. 
Emery's  brows 
of  a  light  trout  rod. "  corrugated  into  a  for- 
bidding frown,  and 
Pherry's  face  turned  a  beautiful  salmon- 
pink  under  his  broad  fishing  hat. 

"  Breaking  the  law,  eh,  Pherry?  It's  my 
duty  to  report  you  for  this  and  to  see  that 
you  get  soaked  for  a  hundred." 

Pherry  grinned  sheepishly,  but  went  on 
joining  his  rod  carefully. 

"No,  1  haven't  broken  the  law — ^yet. 
I  haven't  caught  any  fish — ^yet.  But  you 
just  wait  until  I've  rigged  up  this  old  stick 
and  you'll  see  something." 

"So  you're  going  to  break  the  law,  are 
you?"  said  Emery,  his  six  feet  of  virtuous 
indignation  towering  above  the  little  fat 
man  huddled  over  his  work  on  the  canoe. 
"Maybe  I  am,  and  maybe  I'm  only  going 
to  practice  casting  a  bit,"  returned  Pherry 
sweetly. 

"Practice  casting!"  snorted  Emery. 
"  Practice  casting !  You,  the  best  fly-caster 
on  the  river,  with  your  trunkful  of  medals, 
to  come  down  here  on  Sunday  morning  to 
practice — and  at  this  unearthly  hour,  too. 
Oh,  bosh!"  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  went 
on.  "What  1  want  to  know  is  whether 
you  intend  to  break  the  law  or  not?" 
Pherry  went  on  carefully  threading  iiis 
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line  through  the  guides  and  when  he  got  to 
the  tip  answered  quietly,  "Til  answer  that 
question  when  you  tell  me  whaCs  the  matter 
with  your  leji  knee." 

It  was  Emery's  turn  to  get  red,  and  he 
did  it  with  a  vengeance. 

"My  left  knee?"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  sir,  your  left  knee.  What  makes 
you  walk  stiff-legged?" 

"  1 — er — er — Oh,  my  left  knee.  Oh,  yes 
1 — I  thought  you  said  my  right  knee  at 
first.  Well,  my  left  knee  is  a  little  stiff 
to-day — it's  a  little  rheumatism  1  guess. 
Makes  me  walk  a  little  stiff-legged,  you 
see." 

"Why,  it's  as  stiff  as  a  rod,**  said  Pherry, 
carefully  selecting  a  trout-fly  from  his 
book. 

"Oh,  not  so  very  bad,  just  a  little  touch, 
I  guess.     It  11  soon  be  gone." 

Pherry  attached  his  fly  carefully  to  his 
leader,  wetting  the  knot  in  his  mouth,  then 
he  flicked  it  tentatively  out  over  the  water. 

"And  that  lump  on  your  leg — on  your 
hip;   that  looks  like  a  real  swelling." 

Emery  started  to  reply,  stopped,  coughed 
and  started  again;  then  he  laughed  a  bit 
foolishly  and,  reaching  under  the  waist- 
band of  his  trousers,  drew  forth  the  joints 
of  a  light  trout  rod  with  the  reel  in  place 
on  the  butt.  Pherry  smiled  and  nodded 
approvingly. 

"That's  the  way  1  brought  mine  down," 
he  said,  as  he  made  a  long  cast  into  a  bunch 
of  foam. 

Emery  began  to  put  his  rod  together. 
"I  noticed  last  night  that  the  trout  were 
beginning  to  jump,  and " 

"So  did  I." 

"1  thought  I'd  just  sneak  down  here 
early  and  land  a  few." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Before  any  of  the  rest  of  the  boys  were 
up." 

"Same  here." 

Emery  finished  assembling  his  rod  and 
stepped  into  one  of  the  canoes. 

"Not  going  out  in  a  boat,  are  you?" 
asked  Pherry. 

"Not  I,"  replied  Emery.  "1  don't  care 
to  land  in  the  Devil's  Track  this  morning. 
I  just  thought  Yd  stand  in  the  stem  and 
cast  out  into  the  pool." 

Pherry  reeled  in  his  line  and  carefully 
attached  a  new  fly;  then  he  stepped  gin- 
gerly out  to  the  edge  of  a  lai^e,  flat  rock 


and  began  to  cast.  Behind  him  was  a 
bare,  sandy  beach,  at  least  fifty  yards  in 
width;  plenty  of  room  for  the  back-cast, 
with  no  chance  for  entanglements.  Emery 
watched  the  little  fat  man  admiringly  as 
he  sent  his  two-yard  leader,  with  its  three 
flies  attached,  in  gradually  lengthening 
casts  out  over  the  placid  waters  of  the  pool. 
The  man  who  held  all  records  for  distance 
and  accuracy  casting  went  on  quietly 
lengthening  his  line  at  each  cast,  dropping 
his  flies  with  absolute  accuracy  at  the  very 
spots  his  quick  eye  picked  out  as  most  de- 
sirable. Emery  made  a  few  perfunctory 
casts,  but  his  mind  was  lost  in  admiration 
of  his  companion's  uncanny  skill. 

And  then  something  happened  that 
brought  his  heart  to  a  standstill  and 
bleached  his  face  to  a  grizzly  gray.  His 
three  flies  were  floating  idly  on  the  surface, 
where  he  had  left  them  at  his  last  cast, 
when  his  eye  caught  a  ripple,  a  slight  break 
of  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  one  of  the 
flies  disappeared.  For  one  brief  moment 
he  held  his  breath,  while  he  tightened  his 
grip  on  his  rod.  Then  he  struck.  In  an- 
other instant  his  rod  bent  into  a  graceful 
bow,  while  the  reel  gave  a  wild  shriek,  as 
of  mortal  fear. 

"Must  be  a  four-pounder,"  ventured 
Pherry  indolently,  as  the  song  of  the  reel 
caused  him  to  turn  his  head. 

Emery,  never  taking  hi^  eye  off  his  line, 
which  was  still  running  out  with  lightning 
rapidity,  hissed  through  his  set  teeth, 
"Pherry,  drop  your  rod;  get  in  this  canoe 
and  push  her  out.  Fve  hooked  a  big  salmon 
on  this  six-<mnce  fly-rod!" 

Pherry  dr9pped  his  rod  and  ran  for  the 
boat.  A  forty-pound  salmon  on  a  six- 
ounce  trout  rod !  An  elephant  on  a  clothes- 
line! As  he  reached  the  boat  he  paused. 
The  voice  of  Emery  smote  in  tones  of 
thunder  on  his  ear. 

"You  frozen  idiot!  Get  into  this  boat 
and  push  her  off  or  I'll  lose  this  fish — and 
kill  you!" 

"But — but  I  can't  pole  a  canoe!"  splut- 
tered Pherry  as  he  tumbled  over  the  stem 
and  picked  up  the  pole. 

"You'll  pole  this  one  all  right,  or  I'll 
throw  you  overboard,"  said  Emery  grimly. 
"Easy  now;  keep  your  head.  I've  only 
got  fifty  yards  of  trout  line  on  this  reel; 
the  rest  is  a  lot  of  old  rotten  little  perch 
line  I  put  on  for  a  filler.     If  I  caiyk^p  him  , 

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187 


on  the  trout  line  I  may  land  him;  but  if 
he  ever  gets  to  sawing  that  perch  line 
through  the  tip,  he's  a  goner.  Hold  the 
canoe  where  she  is — steady  now.  I've 
only  got  ten  feet  of  line  to  get  in,  and  then 
I'll  be  able  to  do  business  with  him." 

Slowly  and  carefully,  inch  by  inch, 
Emery  coaxed  the  great  fish  toward  the 
boat,  his  eyes  glued  on  the  little  knot  where 
the  line  was  spliced.  It  came  to  the  tip 
of  the  rod,  caught  an  instant — an  eternity 
—and  slipped  through!  Pherry,  in  the 
stem,  breathed  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 
Slowly  the  knot  traveled  down  the  length 
of  the  rod  toward  the  reel — and  safety. 

"Now  you  see  the  advantage  of  trumpet 
guides,"  said  Emery  triumphantly.  "Where 
would  you  be  with  your  ring  guides  and 
that  knot?  I  tell  you  there's  nothing 
like " 

"Look  outl"  shrieked  Pherry  in  agony. 

But  Emery  was  looking  out.  The  big 
fish  had  made  a  rush,  and  he  had  let  it  go. 
It  was  the  only  thing  to  do,  and  as  it  was 
headed  up  stream  and  toward  the  sheer 
granite  wall  on  the  upper  side  of  the  pool 
he  knew  he  had  line  enough 
to  let  it  have  its  run. 

"Check  him!  Check  him!" 
screamed  Pherry  in  a  spasm  of 
fear,  as  the  reel  fairly  screamed 
in  its  efforts  to  keep  up  with 
the  fast-running  line. 

"Check  nothing!  You  pay 
attention  to  your  end  of  the 
boat.  I'm  handling  this  fish. 
Push  her  along  now;  1  want 
to  get  back  some  of  that  line 
I  lost." 

When  thegreat  fish  found  his 
rush  obstructed  by  the  smooth 
wall  of  rock  he  very  promptly 
went  to  the  bottom  and  sulked. 
Emery  was  very  glad  to  have 
him  do  this,  for  it  gave  him 
a  chance  to  get  back  some  of 
his  lost  line.  Clumsily  and  la- 
boriously, with  many  useless 
exertions,  Pherry  poled  the 
canoe  slowly  toward  the  sulking 
salmon,  while  Emery  carefully 
reeled  in  the  frail  line  until  the 
knot  that  marked  the  danger 
line  once  more  disappeared 
under  the  glistening  surface  of 
the  varnished  trout  line. 


"Raise  him!  Raise  him!"  whispered 
Pherry,  as  he  stopped  exhausted  at  his 
work. 

"You  attend  to  your  own  business," 
growled  Emery.  "Pole  me  up  closer;  I 
want  all  the  line  I  can  get  on  my  reel.  Pole 
me  over  to  the  right — to  the  right,  I  said, 
you  idiot!  Oh,  you  absolute  imbecile! 
Not  that  way,  he'll — now  you've  done  it!" 

Pherry  had  done  his  best  to  get  the 
canoe  placed  right,  but  had  only  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  boat  directly  over 
the  fish,  which  promptly  made  another 
rush,  this  time  down  stream,  and  carrying 
the  line  under  the  canoe.  Emery,  by  a 
quick  turn  of  the  rod  switched  the  line 
under  the  bow  of  the  canoe  just  an  instant 
before  it  tightened.  A  fraction  of  a  second 
later  and  it  would  have  been  too  late. 

"Check  him!  Check  him!"  wailed  the 
Pain-killer,  struggling  manfully  to  send 
the  canoe  after  the  flying  fish;  for  when 
a  forty-pound  salmon  starts  down  stream 
it's  policy  to  follow  him  without  delay. 

"Get  after  him!  Get  after  him!"  bel- 
lowed Emery.     "Get  a  hustle  on  yourself. 


Reel  in — reel  in,  you  asinine  imbecile!^  j 

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the  stem  of  that  canoe  I'd  have  landed 
that  forty-pounder  all  right!" 

"If  I'd  had  a  fisherman "  such  an 

accent  Pherry  put  on  that  word — "in  the 
bow  of  that  canoe,  that  fish  wouldn't  be 
getting  his  breath  in  the  big  pool  now." 

"You  ought  to  get  back  to  the  pill- 
counter  where  you  came  from,"  retorted 
Emery  hotly.  "Think  of  it!  A  forty- 
pound  salmon  on  a  six-ounce  fly-rod,  lying 
practically  dead  within  a  foot  of  you,  and 
you  without  sense  enough  under  your 
number  seven  hat  to  gaff  him !  What  were 
you  waiting  for?  Did  you  think  he  was 
going  to  jump  into  the  boat?" 

"Well,  how  did  you  expect  me  to  hold 
the  boat  and  gaff  him  at  the  same  time? 
I'm  no  professional  guide,  and  I  never 
claimed  to  be." 

The  cold  water,  in  which  Emery  stood  to 
his  waist,  was  rapidly 
cooling    his    temper, 
and    he    said,    more 
kindly: 

"Well,  we  practi- 
cally had  him  landed 
anyway  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  an  accident 
we'd  have  had  him 
in  the  boat." 

"Yes,  that's  so," 
assented  Pherry,  his 
teeth  chattering  in 
the  cold  morning  air. 
"It's  just  like  kill- 
ing a  duck  and  then 
losing  him  in  the 
grass.  It's  a  satisfac- 
tion to  know  that  we 
had  him  practically 
landed.  But  the 
question  is  now,  how 
are  we  going  to  get 
ashore?" 

"The  reef  runs 
across  here,"  said 
Emery,  wading  to- 
ward the  shivering 
Pherry.      "There's  "He  shook  his  chubby  fists  at  Emery." 


only  five  feet  of  water  on  it  in  the  deepest 
part.     We  can  wade  it  all  right." 

"Yes,  you  can;  but  I'm  only  five  feet 
four,  and  I  can't  breathe  under  water.  I 
tried  it  once,  and  I  know  I  can't." 

Emery  laughed  good-naturedly  and  said, 
"Well,  get  on  my  back,  and  I'll  carry  you 
across.  I've  packed  two  hundred  pounds 
all  day  long  for  weeks  at  a  time  in  my 
younger  days,  and  1  guess  I  can  manage 
an  extra  fifty  for  a  few  yards." 

Emery  crouched  down  while  the  little 
fat  man  climbed  on  his  back.    Then  he 
struck  off  carefully  through  the  fast  water. 
"Say,  Emery." 
"Well?" 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I  guess 
we'd   better  not    mention    this   affair   at 
all." 
"Just  what  I've  been  thinking." 

"The  boys  will 
only  believe  thefunny 
part  of  it,  and  give 
us  the  laugh  when  we 
tell  'em  about  landing 
a  forty-pound  salmon 
on  a  six-ounce  trout 
rod." 

"And  we'd  be 
fined  a  hundred 
apiece  for  fishing  on 
Sunday." 

But  that  same 
night  at  dinner  the 
members  of  the  club, 
as  they  sat  around 
the  table,  made  the 
night  resound  with 
uproarious  laughter. 
And  the  next  day 
the  club  treasury 
was  the  richer  by 
two  checks  for  one 
hundred  dollars  each, 
one  of  which  bore 
the  name  of  Emery, 
and  the  other  the 
well-known  signature 
of  Davis  Pherry. 


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THE    LONG   LABRADOR   TRAIL 

THE   COMPACT  WITH   HUBBARD   FULFILLED 
BY   DILLON   WALLACE 


PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


%m 


XVIII 

CROSSING  THE    BARRENS 

N  Tuesday  morning,  Jan- 
uary sixteenth,  we  swung 
out  upon  the  river  ice 
•1^  j^l  v^i  with  a  powerful  team  of 

Y^    ^^^^     .    twelve  dogs.    Will  Ford 

*^     -^«S^        and  an  Eskimo  named 
Etuksoak,  called  by  the 
Post   folk    "Peter,"  for   short,  were  our 
drivers.     The  dogs  b^an  the  day  with  a 
misunderstanding  amongst  themselves,  and 
stopped  to  fight  it  out.     When  they  were 
finally  beaten  into  docility  one  of  them,  ap- 
parently the  outcast  of  the  pack,  was  limp- 
ing on  three  legs  and  leaving  a  trail  of 
blood  behind  him.     Every  team  has  its 
bully,    and   sometimes   its  outcast.    The 
bully  is  master  of  them  all.     He  fights  his 
way  to  his  position  of  supremacy,  and  holds 
it  by  punishing  upon  the  slightest  provo- 
cation, real  or  fancied,  any  encroachment 
upon  his   autocratic  prerogatives.     Like- 
wise he  disciplines  the  pack  when  he  thinks 
they  need  it  or  when  he  feels  like  it,  and  he 
is  always  the  ringleader  in  mischief.    When 
there  is  an  outcast  he  is  a  doomed  dog.  The 
others  harass  and  fight  him  at  every  oppor- 
tunity.   They  are  pitiless.    They  do  not 
a<;sociate  with  him,  and  sooner  or  later  a 
morning  will  come  when  they  are  noticed 
licking  their  chops  contentedly,  as  dogs  do 
when  they  have  had  a  good  meal — and  af- 
ter that  no  mere  is  seen  of  the  outcast. 
The  bully  is  not  always,  or,  in  fact,  often 
the  leader  in  harness.    The  dog  that  the 
driver  finds  most  intelligent  in  following  a 
trail  and  in  answering  his  commands  is 
chosen  for  this  important  position,  regard- 


less of  his  fighting  prowess. 


This  morning  as  we  started  the  weather 
was  perfect — thirty  odd  degrees  below  zero 
and  a  bright  sun  that  made  the  hoar  frost 
sparkle  like  flakes  of  silver.  For  ten  miles 
our  course  lay  down  the  river  to  a  point 
just  below  the  "Narrows."  Then  we  left 
the  ice  and  hit  theoverland  trail  in  an  almost 
due  northerly  direction.  It  was  a  rough 
country  and  there  was  much  pulling  and 
hauling  and  pushing  to  be  done  crossing 
the  hills.  Before  noon  the  wind  began  to 
rise,  and  by  the  time  we  stopped  to  pre- 
pare our  snow  igloo  for  the  night  a  north- 
west gale  had  developed  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  drifting  snow. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  I  began  to  have 
cramps  in  the  calves  of  my  l^s,  and  finally 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  muscles  were  tied 
into  knots.  Sharp,  intense  pains  in  the 
groin  made  it  torture  to  lift  my  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  snow,  and  I  was  never  more 
thankful  for  rest  in  my  life  than  when  that 
day's  work  was  finished.  Easton  con- 
fessed to  me  that  he  had  an  attack  similar 
to  my  own.  This  was  the  result  of  our  in- 
activity at  Fort  Chimo.  We  were  suffer- 
ing with  what  among  the  Canadian  voy- 
ageurs  is  known  as  nud  de  roquelte.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  endure  it  without 
complaint,  for  there  is  no  relief  until  in 
time  it  gradually  passes  away  of  its  own 
accord. 

This  first  night  from  George  River  was 
spent  upon  the  shores  of  a  lake  which, 
hidden  by  drifted  snow,  appeared  to  be 
about  two  miles  wide  and  seven  or  eight 
milfes  long.  It  lay  amongst  low,  barren 
hills,  where  a  few  small  bunches  of  gnarled 
black  spruce  relieved  the  otherwise  un- 
broken field  of  white. 

The  following  morning  it  was  snowing 

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and  drifting,  and  as  the  day  grew  the 
storm  increased.  An  hour's  traveling  car- 
ried us  to  the  Koroksoak  River — River  of 
the  Great  Gulch — which  flows  from  the 
northeast,  following  the  lower  Torngaret 
mountains  and  emptying  into  Ungava 
Bay  near  the  mouth  of  the  George.  The 
Koroksoak  is  apparently  a  shallow  stream, 
with  a  width  of  from  fifty  to  two  hundred 
yards.  Its  bed  forms  the  chief  part  of  the 
komatik  route  to  Nachvak,  and  therefore 
our  route.  For  several  miles  the  banks 
are  low  and  sandy,  but  farther  up  the  sand 
disappears  and  the  hills  crowd  close  upon 
the  river.  The  gales  that  sweep  down  the 
valley  with  every  storm  had  blown  away 
the  snow  and  drifted  the  bank  sand  in  a 
layer  over  the  river  ice.  This  made  the 
going  exceedingly  hard  and  ground  the 
mud  from  the  komatik  runners. 

The  snowstorm,  directly  in  our  teeth,  in- 
creased in  force  with  every  mile  we  trav- 
eled, and  with  the  continued  cramps  and 
pains  in  my  l^s  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
misery  of  it  all  was  about  as  refined  and 
complete  as  it  could  be.  It  can  be  imag- 
ined, therefore,  the  relief  1  felt  when  at 
noon  Will  and  Peter  stopped  the  komatik 
with  the  announcement  that  wemust  camp, 
as  further  progress  could  not  be  made 
against  the  blinding  snow  and  head  wind. 
Advantage  was  taken  of  the  daylight 
hours  to  mend  the  komatik  mud.  This 
was  done  by  mixing  caribou  moss  with 
water,  applying  the  mixture  to  the  mud 
where  most  needed,  and  permitting  it  to 
freeze,  which  it  did  instantly.  Then  the 
surface  was  planed  smooth  with  a  little 
jack-plane  carried  for  the  purpose. 

That  night  the  storm  blew  itself  out, 
and  before  daylight,  after  a  breakfast  of 
coffee  and  hardtack,  we  were  off.  The 
half  day's  rest  had  done  wonders  for  me, 
and  the  pains  in  my  l^s  were  not  nearly 
so  severe  as  on  the  previous  day.  January 
and  February  see  the  lowest  temperature 
of  the  Labrador  winter.  Now  the  cold  was 
bitter,  rasping — so  intensely  cold  was  the 
atmosphere  that  it  was  almost  stifling  as 
it  entered  the  lungs.  The  vapor  from  our 
nostrils  froze  in  masses  of  ice  upon  our 
beards.  The  dogs,  straining  in  the  harness, 
were  white  with  hoar  frost,  and  our  deerskin 
clothing  was  also  thickly  coated  with  it. 
For  long  weeks  these  were  to  be  the  prevail- 
ing conditions  in  our  homeward  march. 


Dark  and  ominous  were  the  spruce-lined 
river  banks  on  either  side  that  morning  as 
we  toiled  onward,  and  grim  and  repellant 
indeed  were  the  rocky  hills  outlined  against 
the  sky  beyond.  Everything  seemed  fro- 
zen stiff  and  dead  except  ourselves.  No 
sound  broke  the  absolute  silence,  save  the 
crunch,  crunch,  crunch  of  our  feet,  the 
squeak  of  the  komatik  runners  complain- 
ing as  they  slid  reluctantly  over  the  snow, 
and  the  oo-isbt-oo-isbt,  oksuit,  oksuit  of  the 
drivers,  constantly  urging  the  dogs  to 
greater  effort.  Shimmering  frost  flakes, 
suspended  in  the  air  like  a  veil  of  thinnest 
gauzcj,  half  hid  the  sun,  when  very  timidly 
he  raised  his  head  above  the  southeastern 
horizon,  as  though  afraid  to  venture  into 
the  domain  of  the  indomitable  ice  king  who 
had  wrested  the  world  from  his  last  sum- 
mer's power  and  ruled  it  now  so  absolutely. 

With  every  mile  the  spruce  on  the  river 
banks  became  thinner  and  thinner,  and 
the  hills  grew  higher  and  higher,  until  fi- 
nally there  was  scarcely  a  stick  to  be  seen 
and  the  lower  eminences  had  given  way  to 
lofty  mountains  which  raised  their  jagged, 
irr^ular  peaks  from  two  to  four  thousand 
feet  in  solemn  and  majestic  grandeur  above 
our  heads.  The  gray  basaltic  rocks  at 
their  base  shut  in  the  tortuous  river  bed, 
and  we  knew  now  why  the  Koroksoak  was 
called  the  "River  of  the  Great  Gulch." 
These  were  the  mighty  Tomgarets,  which 
farther  north  attain  an  altitude  above  the 
sea  of  full  seven  thousand  feet.  We  passed 
the  place  wh ere Tomgak  dwells  in  his  cavern 
and  sends  forth  his  decrees  to  the  spirits  of 
Storm  and  Starvation  and  Death  to  do 
destruction,  or  restrains  them,  at  his  will. 

In  the  forenoon  of  the  third  day  after 
leaving  George  River  we  stopped  to  lash  a 
few  sticks  on  top  of  our  komatik  load.  "  No 
more  wood,"  said  Will,  "This '11  have  to 
see  us  through  to  Nachvak."  That  after- 
noon we  turned  out  of  the  Koroksoak  val- 
ley into  a  pass  leading  to  the  northward, 
and  that  night's  igloo  was  at  the  head- 
waters of  a  stream  that  they  said  ran  into 
Nachvak  Bay. 

The  upper  part  of  this  new  valley  was 
strewn  with  bowlders,  and  much  hard  work 
and  ingenuity  were  necessary  the  following 
morning  to  get  the  komatik  through  them 
at  all.  Farther  down  the  stream  widened. 
Here  the  wind  had  swept  the  snow  clear  of 
the  ice,  and  it  was  as  smooth  as  apiece  of 

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glass,  broken  only  by  an  occasional  bowl- 
der sticking  above  the  surface.  A  heavy 
wind  blew  in  our  backs  and  carried  the 
komatik  before  it  at  a  terrific  pace,  with 
the  dogs  racing  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 
Sometimes  we  were  carried  sidewise,  some- 
times stern  first,  but  seldom  right  end 
foremost.  Lively  work  was  necessary  to 
prevent  being  wrecked  upon  the  rocks,  and 
occasionally  we  did  turn  over,  when  a 
bowlder  was  struck  side  on.  There  were 
several    steep   down   grades.     Before  de- 


ture,  and  with  his  legs  spread  before  him, 
hut  still  holding  desperately  on,  he  skim- 
med along  after  the  komatik.  The  next 
and  last  evolution  was  a  "belly-gutter" 
position.  This  became  too  strenuous  for 
him,  however,  and  the  line  was  jerked  out 
of  his  hands.  I  was  afraid  he  might  have 
been  injured  on  a  rock,  but  my  anxiety  was 
soon  relieved  when  I  saw  him  running 
along  the  shore  to  overtake  the  komatik 
where  it  had  been  stopped  to  wait  for  him 
below. 


Wallace  approaching  Makkovik,  the  last  Moravian  station  on  his  southern  trail. 


scending  one  of  the  first  of  these  a  line  was 
attached  to  the  rear  end  of  the  komatik, 
and  Will  asked  Easton  to  hang  on  to  it  and 
hold  back,  to  keep  the  komatik  straight. 
There  was  no  foothold  for  him,  however, 
on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  ice,  and  Eas- 
ton found  that  he  could  not  hold  back  as 
directed.  The  momentum  was  consider- 
able and  he  was  afraid  to  let  go  for  fear  of 
losing  his  balance  on  the  slippery  ice,  and 
so,  wild-eyed  and  erect,  he  slid  along, 
clinging  for  dear  life  to  the  line.  Pretty 
soon  he  managed  to  attain  a  sitting  pos- 


This  valley  was  exceedingly  narrow, 
with  mountains  lofty,  rugged  and  grand 
rising  directly  from  the  stream's  bank, 
some  of  them  attaining  an  altitude  of  five 
thousand  feet  or  more.  At  one  place  they 
squeezed  the  brook  through  a  pass  only 
ten  feet  in  width,  with  perpendicular  walls 
rising  high  above  our  heads  on  either  side. 
This  place  is  known  to  the  Hudson's  Bay 
(x)mpany  people  as  "The  Porch." 

In  the  afternoon  Peter  caught  his  foot 
in  a  crevice,  and  the  komatik  jammed  him 
with  such  force  that  he  narrowly  escaped 


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a  broken  leg  and  was  crippled  for  the  rest 
of  the  journey.  Early  in  the  afternoon  we 
were  on  salt  water  ice  and  at  two  o'clock 
sighted  Nachvak  Post  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  and  at  half-past  four  were 
hospitably  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Ford,  the 
wife  of  George  Ford,  the  agent.  This  was 
Saturday,  January  twentieth.  Since  the 
previous  Tuesday  morning  we  had  had  no 
fire  to  warm  by  and  had  been  living 
chiefly  on  hardtack,  and  the  comfort  and 
luxury  of  the  Post  sitting-room,  with  the 
hot  supper  of  Arctic  hare  that  came  in  due 
course,  were  appreciated.  Mr.  Ford  had 
gone  south  with  Dr.  Milne'to  Davis  Inlet 
Post  and  was  not  expected  back  for  a 
week,  but  Mrs.  Ford  and  her  son  Solomon 
Ford,  who  was  in  charge  during  his  father's 
absence,  did  everything  possible  for  our 
comfort. 

The  injury  to  Peter's  1^  made  it  out  of 
the  question  for  him  to  go  on  with  us,  and 
we  therefore  found  it  necessary  to  engage 
another  team  to  carry  us  to  Ram  ah,  the 
first  of  the  Moravian  missionary  stations 
on  our  route  of  travel,  and  this  required  a 
day's  delay  at  Nachvak,  as  no  Eskimos 
could  be  seen  that  night.  The  Fords  of- 
fered us  every  possible  assistance  in  secur- 
ing drivers,  and  went  to  much  trouble  on 
our  behalf.  Solomon  personally  took  it 
upon  himself  to  find  dogs  and  drivers  for 
us,  and  through  his  kindness  arrange- 
ments were  made  with  two  Eskimos, 
Taikrauk  and  Nikartok  by  name,  who 
agreed  to  furnish  a  team  of  ten  dogs  and 
be  on  hand  early  on  Monday  morning.  I 
considered  myself  fortunate  in  securing  so 
large  a  team,  for  the  seal  hunt  had  been 
bad  in  the  previous  fall  and  the  Eskimos 
had  therefore  fallen  short  of  dog  food  and 
had  killed  a  good  many  of  their  dogs.  I 
should  not  have  been  so  ready  with  my 
self-congratulation  had  I  seen  the  dogs 
that  we  were  to  have. 

Nachvak  is  the  most  God-forsaken  place 
for  a  trading  post  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
Wherever  you  look  bare  rocks  and  tower- 
ing mountains  stare  you  in  the  face;  no- 
where is  there  a  tree  or  shrub  of  any  kind 
to  relieve  the  rock-bound  desolation,  and 
every  bit  of  fuel  has  to  be  brought  in  dur- 
ing the  summer  by  steamer.  They  have 
coal,  but  eVen  the  wood  to  kindle  the  coal 
is  imported.  The  Eskimos  necessarily  use 
stone  lamps  in  which  seal  oil  is  burned  to 


heat  their  igloos.  The  Fords  have  lived 
here  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  but  now 
the  Company  is  abandoning  the  Post  as 
unprofitable,  and  they  are  to  be  transferred 
to  some  other  quarter. 

"God  knows  how  lonely  it  is  some- 
times," Mrs.  Ford  said  to  me,  "and  how 
glad  ril  be  if  we  go  where  there's  some  one 
besides  just  greasy  heathen  Eskimos  to 
see."* 

The  Moravian  mission  at  Killinek,  a  sta- 
tion three  days'  travel  to  the  northward, 
on  Cape  Chidley.  has  deflected  some  of  the 
former  trade  from  Nachvak,  and  the 
Ramah  station  more  of  it,  until  but  twen- 
ty-seven Eskimos  now  remain  at  Nachvak. 

Early  on  Monday  morning  not  only  our 
two  Eskimos  appeared  but  the  entire  Es- 
kimo population,  even  the  women  with 
babies  in  the  hoods,  to  see  us  off.  The 
ten-dog  team  that  I  had  congratulated 
myself  so  proudly  upon  securing  proved  to 
be  the  most  miserable  aggregation  of  dog- 
skin and  bones  I  had  ever  seen,  and  in  so 
horribly  emaciated  a  condition  that  had 
there  been  any  possible  way  of  doing  with- 
out them  I  should  have  declined  to  permit 
them  to  haul  our  komatik.  However,  I 
had  no  choice,  as  no  other  dogs  were  to  be 
had,  and  at  six  o'clock — more  than  two 
hours  before  daybreak — we  said  farewell  to 
good  Mrs.  Ford  and  her  family  and  started 
forward  with  our  caravan  of  followers. 

We  took  what  is  known  as  the  "outside" 
route,  turning  right  out  toward  the  mouth 
of  the  bay.  By  this  route  it  is  fully  forty 
miles  to  Ramah.  By  a  short  cut  overiand 
which  is  not  so  level  the  distance  is  only 
about  thirty  miles,  but  our  Eskimos  chose 
the  level  course,  as  it  is  doubtful  whether 
their  excuses  for  dogs  could  have  hauled 
the  komatik  over  the  hills  on  the  short  cut. 
An  hour  after  our  start  we  passed  a  collec- 
tion of  snow  igloos,  and  all  our  following, 
after  shaking  hands  and  repeating  Oksunae, 
left  us — all  but  one  man,  Korganuk,  by 
name,  who  decided  to  honor  us  with  his 
society  to  Ramah— so  we  had  three  Es- 
kimos instead  of  the  more  than  sufficient 
two.  Though  the  traveling  was  fairly  good, 
the  poor  starved  animals  crawled  along 
so  slowly  that  with  a  dog-trot  we  easily 
kept  in  advance  of  them,  and  not  even  the 
extreme  cruelty  of  the  heathen  drivers, 

*  I  have  just  heard  from  Dr.  Grenfell.  the  mission- 
ary, that  Mrs.  Ford  died  on  board  ship  on  her  way 
to  civilization. 


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who  beat  them  sometimes  unmercifully, 
could  induce  them  to  do  better.  I  re- 
monstrated with  the  human  brutes  on  sev- 
eral occasions  but  they  pretended  not  to 
understand  me,  smiling  blandly  in  return, 
and  making  unintelligible  responses*  in 
Eskimo.  Before  dawn  the  sky  clouded, 
and  by  the 
time  we 
reached  the 
end  of  the 
bay  and  turn- 
ed southward 
across  the 
neck,  toward 
noon,  it  be- 
gan to  snow 
heavily.  This 
capped  the 
climax  of  our 
troubles  and 
1  questioned 
whether  our 
team  would 
ever  reach 
our  destina- 
tion with  this 
added  im- 
pediment of 
soft,  new 
snow  to  plow 
through. 
From  the 
first  the  snow 
fell  thick  and 
fast.  Then 
the  wind  rose, 
and  with 
every  mo- 
ment grew  in 
velocity.  I 
soon  realized 
that  we  were 
caught  under 
t  he  worst  |X)S- 
sible  condi- 
tions in  the  Paui  Schmidt  and  his  family, 
throes    of     a  welcome 

Labrador 

winter  storm — the  kind  of  storm  that  has 
cost  so  many  native  travelers  on  that  bleak 
coast  their  lives.  We  were  now  on  the  ice 
again  beyond  the  neck.  Perpendicular 
cliff-like  walls  shut  us  off  from  retreat  to 
the  land,  and  there  was  not  a  possibility  of 
shelter   anywhere.     Previous   snows    had 


found  no  lodgment  into  banks,  and  an  igloo 
could  not  be  built.  Our  throats  were 
parched  with  thirst,  but  there  was  no  water 
to  drink,  and  nowhere  a  stick  of  wood  with 
which  to  build  a  fire  to  melt  snow.  The 
dogs  were  lying  down  in  harness  and 
crying  with  distress,  and  the  Eskimos  had 

cont  inually 
to  kick  them 
into  renewed 
efforts.  On 
we  trudged, 
on  and  end- 
lessly on.  We 
were  still  far 
from  our 
goal.  All  of 
us,  even  the 
Eskimos, 
were  utterly 
weary.  Pi- 
tt a  1  ly  fre- 
quent stops 
were  neces- 
sary to  rest 
the  poor  toil- 
ing brutes, 
and  we  were 
glad  to  take 
advantage 
of  each  op- 
portunity to 
throw  our- 
selves at  full 
length  on  the 
snow-cov- 
ered ice  for  a 
moment's  re- 
pose. Some- 
times we 
would  walk 
ahead  of  the 
komatik  and 
lie  down 
until  it  over- 
took us,  fre- 
who  gave  Wallace  such  a  warm  quently  tail- 
at  Ramah.  ing  asleep  in 

the  brief  in- 
terim. Now  and  again  an  Eskimo  would 
look  into  my  face  and  repeat  *'Oksunae*' 
(Be  strong),  and  I  would  encourage  him 
in  the  same  way.  Darkness  fell  thick  and 
black.  No  signs  of  land  were  visible — 
nothing  but  the  whirling,  driving,  pitiless 
snow  around  us  and  the  ice  under  our  feet. 


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Sometimes  one  of  us  would  stumble  on  a 
hummock  and  fall.  I  wondered  whether 
the  Eskimos  knew  where  they  were,  and 
if  they  did  how  they  could  know  and  keep 
their  direction.  It  was  an  unfathomable 
mystery  to  me.  I  wondered  whether  we 
were  not  going  right  out  to  sea,  and  how 
long  it  would  be  before  we  should  drop 
into  open  water  and  be  swallowed  up. 
There  was  no  fear  attached  to  this — it  was 
just  a  calculation  in  which  I  had  only  a 
passive  interest. 

The  thirst  of  the  snow-fields  is  most  ago- 
nizing and  can  only  be  likened  to  the  thirst 
of  the  desert.  The  snow  around  you  is 
tantalizing,  for  to  eat  it  does  not  quench 
the  thirst  in  the  slightest;  it  aggravates  it. 
If  I  ever  longed  for  water  it  was  then. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  and  the  night 
seemed  interminable.  But  somehow  we 
kept  going,  and  the  poor  crying  brutes  kept 
going.  All  misery  has  its  ending,  how- 
ever, and  ours  ended  when  1  least  looked 
for  it,  or  had  given  up  looking  for  it.  Un- 
expectedly the  dogs'  pitiful  cries  changed 
to  gleeful  howls  and  they  visibly  increased 
their  efforts.  Then  Korganuk  put  his  face 
close  to  mine  and  said :  "  Ramah !  Ramah ! " 
and  quite  suddenly  we  stopped  before  the 
big  mission  house. 

XIX 

ON     THE     ATLANTIC    ICE 

The  dogs  had  stopped  within  a  dozen 
feet  of  the  mission  house,  but  it  was  barely 
distinguishable  through  the  thick  clouds 
of  smothering  snow  which  the  wind,  risen 
to  a  terrific  gale,  swirled  around  us  as  it 
swept  down  in  staggering  gusts  from  the 
invisible  hills  above.  A  light  filtered  dimly 
through  one  of  the  frost-encrusted  wiildows, 
and  I  tapped  loudly  upon  the  glass. 

At  first  there  was  no  response,  but  after 
repeated  rappings  some  one  moved  within, 
and  in  a  mom^t  the  door  opened  and  a 
voice  called  to  us,  "Come,  come  out  of  the 
snow.  It  is  a  nasty  night."  Without 
further  preliminaries  we  stepped  into  the 
shelter  of  the  broad,  comfortable  hall. 
Holding  a  candle  above  his  head,  and 
peering  at  us  through  the  dim  light  that 
it  cast,  was  a  short,  stockily  built,  bearded 
man  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  wearing  hairy 
sealskin    trousers   and   boots.     To   him    1 


introduced  myself  and  taston,  and  ho,  in 
turn,  told  us  that  he  was  the  Reverend 
Paul  Schmidt,  the  missionary  in  charge 
of  the  station. 

Mr.  Schmidt's  astonishment  at  our  un- 
expected appearance  at  midnight  and  in 
such  a  storm  was  only  equaled  by  his 
hospitable  welcome.  His  broken  English 
sounded  sweet  indeed,  inviting  us  to  throw 
off  our  snow-covered  garments.  He  ush- 
ered us  to  a  neat  room  on  the  floor  above, 
struck  a  match  to  a  stove  already  prepared, 
and  in  five  minutes  after  our  entrance  we 
were  listening  to  the  music  of  a  crackling 
fire  and  warming  our  chilled  selves  by  its 
increasing  heat. 

Our  host  was  most  solicitous  for  our 
every  comfort.  He  hurried  in  and  out, 
and  by  the  time  we  were  thoroughly 
warmed  told  us  supper  was  ready  and  askvid 
us  to  his  living-room  below,  where  Mrs. 
Schmidt  had  spread  the  table  for  a  hot 
meal.  Each  mission  house  has  a  common 
kitchen  and  a  common  dining-room,  and 
besides  having  the  use  of  thes3  the  separate 
families  are  each  provided  with  a  private 
living-room  and  a  sleeping- room. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  routed  out  of 
bed  in  the  middle  of  the  n'ght,  but  these 
good  missionaries  assured  us  that  it  was, 
and  treated  us  like  old  friends  whom  they 
were  overjoyed  to  see.  "Well,  well,"  said 
Mr.  Schmidt,  again  and  again,  "it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  come.  1  am  very  glad 
that  you  came  to-night,  for  now  we  shall 
have  company,  and  you  shall  stay  with  us 
until  the  weather  is  fine  again  for  traveling, 
and  we  will  talk  English  together,  which 
is  a  pleasure  for  me,  for  1  have  almost 
forgotten  my  English,  with  no  one  to  ta'k 
it  to."  It  was  after  two  o'clock  when  we 
went  to  bed,  and  I  verily  believe  that  Mr. 
Schmidt  would  have  talked  all  night  had 
it  not  been  for  our  hard  day's  work  and 
evident  need  of  rest. 

When  we  arose  in  the  morning  the  storm 
was  still  blowing  with  unabated  fury.  We 
had  breakfast  with  Mr.  Schmidt  in  his 
private  apartment  and  were  later  intro- 
duced to  Mr.  Karl  Filsehke,  the  store- 
keeper, and  his  wife,  who,  like  the  Schmidts 
were  most  hospitable  and  kind.  At  all  of 
the  Moravian  missions,  with  the  exception 
of  Killinek,  "down  to  Chidley,"  and  Mak- 
kovik,  the  farthest  station  "up  south," 
there  is,  besides  the  mi^sion^ry  whoj  de- 
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votes  himself  more  particularly  to  the 
spiritual  needs  of  his  people,  a  storekeeper 
who  looks  after  their  material  welfare,  and 
assists  in  conducting  the  meetings.  In 
Labrador  these  missions  are  largely,  though 
by  no  means  wholly,  self-supporting.  Furs 
and  blubber  are  taken  from  the  Eskimos  in 
exchange  for  goods,  and  the  profits  result- 
ing from  their  sale  in  Europe  are  applied 
toward  the  expense  of  maintaining  the  sta- 
tions. They  own  a  small  steamer,  which 
brings  the  supplies  from  London  every 
summer  and  takes  away  the  year's  accumu- 
lation of  fur  and  oil.  Since  the  first  per- 
manent establishment  was  erected  at  Nain, 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  they 
have  followed  this  trade. 

During  the  day  I  visited  the  store  and 
blubber  house,  where  Eskimo  men  and 
women  were  engaged  in  cutting  seal  blub- 
ber into  small  slices  and  pounding  these 
with  heavy  wooden  mallets.  The  pounded 
blubber  is  placed  in  zinc  vats,  and  when 
the  summer  comes  is  exposed  in  the  vats 
to  the  sun*s  heat,  which  renders  out  a  fine, 
white  oil.  This  oil  is  put  into  casks  and 
shipped  to  the  trade. 

In  the  depth  of  winter  seal  hunting  is 
impossible,  and  during  that  season  the 
Eskimo  families  gather  in  huts,  or  igloo- 
soaks,  at  the  mission  stations.  There  are 
sixty-nine  of  these  people  connected  with 
the  Ramah  station,  and  I  visited  them  all 
with  Mr.  Schmidt.  Their  huts  were  heated 
with  stone  lamps  and  seal  oil,  for  the  coun- 
try is  bare  of  wood.  The  fuel  for  the  mis- 
sion house  is  brought  from  the  south  by 
the  steamer. 

The  Eskimos  at  Ramah  and  at  the  sta- 
tions south  are  all  supposed  to  be  Christ- 
ians, but,  naturally,  they  still  retain  many 
of  the  traditional  beliefs  and  superstitions 
of  their  ancestors.  They  will  not  live  in 
a  house  where  a  death  has  occurred,  be- 
lieving that  the  spirit  of  the  departed  will 
haunt  the  place.  If  the  building  is  worth 
it,  they  take  it  down  and  set  it  up  again 
somewhere  else.  Not  long  ago  the  wife  of 
one  of  the  Eskimos  was  taken  seriously  ill, 
and  became  delirious.  Her  husband  and 
his  neighbors,  deciding  that  she  was  pos- 
sessed of  an  evil  spirit,  tied  her  down  and 
left  her,  until  finally  she  died,  uncared  for 
and  alone,  from  cold  and  lack  of  nourish- 
ment. This  occurred  at  a  distance  from 
the  station,  and  the  missionaries  did  not 


learn  of  it  until  the  woman  was  dead  and 
beyond  their  aid. 

Once  Dr.  Grenfell  visited  Ramah  and 
exhibited  to  the  astonished  Eskimos  some 
stereopticon  views — photographs  that  he 
had  taken  there  in  a  previous  year.  It  so 
happened  that  one  of  the  pictures  was  that 
of  an  old  woman  who  had  died  since  the 
photograph  was  made,  and  when  it  ap- 
peared upon  the  screen  terror  struck  the 
hearts  of  the  simple-minded  people.  They 
believed  it  was  her  spirit  returned  to  earth, 
and  for  a  long  time  afterward  imagined 
that  they  saw  it  floating  about  at  night, 
visiting  the  woman's  old  haunts. 

The  daily  routine  of  the  mission  station 
is  most  methodical.  At  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning  a  bell  calls  the  servants  to 
their  duties;  at  nine  o'clock  it  rings  again, 
granting  a  half  hour's  rest;  at  a  quarter  to 
twelve  a  third  ringing  sends  them  to  din- 
ner; they  return  at  one  o'clock  to  work 
until  dark.  Every  night  at  five  o'clock 
the  bell  summons  them  to  religious  service 
in  the  chapel,  where  worship  is  conducted 
in  Eskimo  by  either  the  missionary  or  the 
storekeeper.  The  women  sit  on  one  side, 
the  men  on  the  other,  and  are  always  in 
their  seats  before  the  last  tone  of  the  bell 
dies  out.  I  used  to  enjoy  these  services 
exceedingly — watching  the  eager,  expec- 
tant faces  of  the  people  as  they  heard  the 
lesson  taught,  and  their  hearty  singing  of 
the  hymns  in  Eskimo  made  the  evening 
hour  a  most  interesting  one  to  me. 

It  is  a  busy  life  the  missionary  leads. 
From  morning  until  night  he  is  kept  con- 
stantly at  work,  and  in  the  night  his  rest 
is  often  broken  by  calls  to  minister  to  the 
sick.  He  is  the  father  of  his  flock,  and  his 
people  never  hesitate  to  call  for  his  help 
and  advice;  to  him  all  their  troubles  and 
disagreements  are  referred  for  a  wise  ad- 
justment. I  am  free  to  say  that  previous 
to  meeting  them  upon  their  field  of  labor 
I  looked  upon  the  work  of  these  mission- 
aries with  indifference,  if  not  disfavor,  for 
I  had  been  led  to  believe  that  they  were 
accomplishing  little  or  nothing.  But  now 
I  have  seen,  and  I  know  of  what  incalcul- 
able value  the  services  are  that  they  are 
rendering  to  the  poor,  benighted  people  of 
this  coast. 

They  practically  renounce  the  world  and 
their  home  ties  to  spend  their  lives,  until 
they  are  too  old  for  further  service  or  their 


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A  typical  native  house  south  of  Sandwich  Bay. 


health  breaks  down,  in  their  Heaven- 
inspired  calling,  surrounded  by  people  of 
a  different  race  and  language,  in  the  most 
barren,  God-cursed  land  in  the  world. 
When  their  children  reach  the  age  of  seven 
years  they  must  send  them  to  the  church- 
school  at  home  to  be  educated.  Very 
often  parent  and  child  never  meet  again. 
This  is,  as  many  of  them  told  me,  the 
greatest  sacrifice  they  are  called  upon  to 
make,  but  they  realize  that  it  is  for  the  best 
good  of  the  child  and  their  work,  and  they 
do  not  murmur. 

Phillipus  Inglavina  and  Ludwig  Alasua, 
two  Eskimos,  were  engaged  to  hold  them- 
selves in  readiness  with  their  teams  of 
twelve  dogs  for  a  bright  and  early  start  for 
Hebron  on  the  first  clear  morning.  On 
the  fourth  morning  after  our  arrival  they 
announced  that  the  weather  was  suffi- 
ciently clear  for  them  to  find  their  way  over 
the  hills.  Mrs.  Schmidt  and  Mrs.  Filsehke 
filled  an  earthen  jug  with  hot  coffee  and 
wrapped  it.  together  with  some  sand- 
wiches, in  a  bearskin  to  keep  from  freezing 
for  a  few  hours;  sufficient  wood  to  boil 
the  kettle  that  night  and  the  next  morning 
was  lashed  with  our  baggage  on  the  koma- 

20Q 


tik;  the  Eskimos  each  received  the  daily 
ration  of  a  plug  of  tobacco  and  a  box  of 
matches,  which  they  demand  when  travel- 
ing, and  then  we  said  good-bye  and  started. 
The  komatik  was  loaded  with  Eskimos, 
and  the  rest  of  the  native  population  trailed 
after  us  on  foot.  It  is  the  custom  on  the 
coast  for  the  people  to  accompany  a  koma- 
tik starting  on  a  journey  for  some  distance 
from  the  station. 

The  wind,  which  had  died  nearly  out  in 
the  night,  was  rising  again.  It  was  directly 
in  our  teeth  and  shifting  the  loose  snow 
unpleasantly.  We  had  not  gone  far  when 
one  of  the  trailing  Eskimos  came  running 
after  us  and  shouted  to  our  driver  to  stop. 
We  halted,  and  when  he  overtook  us  he 
called  the  attention  of  Phillipus  to  a  high 
mountain  known  as  Attanuek  (the  king), 
whose  peak  was  nearly  hidden  by  drift- 
ing snow.  A  consultation  decided  th:m 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt 
the  passes  that  day,  and  to  our  chagrin 
the  Eskimos  turned  the  dogs  back  to  the 
station. 

The  next  morning  Attanuek's  head  was 
clear,  the  wind  was  light,  the  atmosphere 
bitter  cold,  and  we  were  off  in  good  season. 

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We  soon  reached  '*Lamson's  Hill,"  rising 
three  thousand  feet  across  our  path,  and 
shortly  after  daylight  began  the  weari- 
some ascent,  helping  the  dogs  haul  the 
komatik  up  steep  places  and  wallowing 
through  deep  snow-banks.  Before  noon 
one  of  our  dogs  gave  out,  and  we  had  to 
cut  him  loose.  An  hour  later  we  met 
George  Ford  on  his  way  home  to  Nachvak 
from  Davis  Inlet,  and  some  Eskimos  with 
a  team  from  the  Hebron  mission,  and  from 
this  latter  team  we  borrowed  a  dog  to  take 
the  place  of  the  one  we  had  lost.  Ford 
told  us  that  his  leader  had  gone  mad  that 
morning  and  he  had  been  compelled  to 
shoot  it.  He  also  informed  me  that  wolves 
had  followed  him  all  the  way  from  Okak  to 
Hebron,  mingling  with  his  dogs  at  night, 
but  at  Hebron  had  left  his  trail. 

At  three  o'clock  we  reached  the  summit 
of  Lamson's  Hill  and  began  the  perilous 
descent,  where  only  the  most  expert 
maneuvering  on  the  part  of  the  Eskimos 
saved  our  komatik  from  being  smashed. 
In  many  places  we  had  to  remove  the  dogs 
before  letting  the  sledge  down  steep  places, 
and  it  was  a  good  while  after  dark  when 
we  reached  the  bottom.     Then,  working 


the  komatik  over  a  mile  of  rough  bowlders 
from  which  the  wind  had  swept  the  snow, 
we  at  length  came  upon  the  sea  ice  of 
Saglak  Bay,  and  at  eight  o'clock  drew  up 
at  an  igloosoak  on  an  island  several  miles 
from  the  mainland. 

This  igloosoak  was  practically  an  under- 
ground dwelling,  and  the  entrance  was 
through  a  snow  tunnel.  From  a  single 
seal-gut  window  a  dim  light  shone,  but 
there  was  no  other  sign  of  life.  I  groped 
my  way  into  the  tunnel,  bent  half  double, 
stepping  upon  and  stumbling  over  numer- 
ous dogs  that  blocked  the  way,  and  at  the 
farther  end  bumped  into  a  door.  Upon 
pushing  this  open  I  found  myself  in  a  room 
perhaps  twelve  by  fourteen  feet  in  size. 
Three  stone  lamps  shed  a  gloomy  half  light 
over  the  place  and  revealed  a  low  bunk 
covered  with  sealskins  extending  along  two 
sides  of  the  room,  upon  which  nine  Eskimos 
— men,  women  and  children — were  lying. 
A  half  inch  of  soft  slush  covered  the  floor. 
The  whole  place  was  reeking  in  filth  and 
was  infested  with  vermin,  and  the  stench 
was  sickening. 

The  people  arose  and  welcomed  us  as 
Eskimos  always  do.    Our  two  drivers,  who 


The  Moravian  hospital  and  htation  at  Okak,  the  largest  Eskimo  village  in  Labrador. 

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followed  me  with  the  wood  we  had  brought, 
made  a  fire  in  a  small  sheet-iron  tent-stove 
kept  in  the  shack  by  the  missionaries  for 
their  use  when  traveling,  and  on  it  we 
placed  our  kettle  full  of  ice  for  tea,  and  our 
sandwiches  to  thaw,  for  they  were  frozen 
as  hard  as  bullets. 

At  Ramah  I  had  purchased  some  dried 
caplin  for  dog  food  for  the  night.  The 
caplin  is  a  small  fish,  about  the  size  of  a 
smelt  or  a  little  larger,  and  is  caught  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Hamilton  Inlet  and  south. 
They  are  brought  north  by  the  missionaries 
to  use  for  dog  food  when  traveling  in  the 
winter,  as  they  are  more  easily  packed  on 
the  komatik  than  seal  meat.  The  Eskimos 
are  exceedingly  fond  of  these  dried  fish, 
and  they  appealed  to  our  men  as  too  great 
a  delicacy  to  waste  upon  the  dogs.  There- 
fore, when  feeding  time  came,  seal  blubber, 
of  which  there  was  an  abundant  supply 
in  the  igloo,  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  animals, 
while  our  drivers  and  hosts  appropriated 
the  caplin  to  themselves.  The  bag  of  fish 
was  placed  in  the  center,  with  a  dish  of  raw 
seal  fat  alongside,  with  the  group  surround- 
ing it,  and  they  were  still  banqueting  upon 
the  fish  and  fat  when  I,  weary  with  travel- 
ing, fell  asleep  in  my  bag. 

It  was  not  yet  dark  the  next  evening 
when  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Eskimo  vil- 
lage at  the  Hebron  mission,  and  the  whole 
population  of  one  hundred  and  eighty 
people  and  two  hundred  dogs,  the  former 
shouting,  the  latter  howling,  turned  out  to 
greet  us.  Several  of  the  young  men, 
fleeter  of  foot  than  the  others,  ran  out  on 
the  ice,  and  when  they  had  come  near 
enough  to  see  who  we  were,  turned  and  ran 
back  again  ahead  of  our  dogs,  shouting 
"  Kablunot !  Kablunot ! "  (outlanders),  and 
so,  in  the  midst  of  pandemonium,  we  drew 
into  the  station,  and  received  from  the  mis- 
sionaries a  most  cordial  welcome. 

Here  I  was  fortunate  in  securing  for 
the  next  eighty  miles  of  our  journey  an 
Eskimo  with  an  exceptionally  fine  team  of 
fourteen  dogs.  This  new  driver — G)melius 
was  his  name — made  my  heart  glad  by  con- 
senting to  travel  without  an  attendant.  1 
was  pleased  at  this  because  experience  had 
taught  me  that  each  additional  man  meant 
just  so  much  slower  progress. 

No  time  was  lost  at  Hebron,  for  the 
weather  was  fine,  and  early  morning  found 
us  on  our  way.     At  Napartok  we  reached 


the  "first  wood,"  and  the  sight  of  a  grove 
of  green  spruce  tops  above  the  snow 
seemed  almost  like  a  glimpse  of  home. 

It  was  dreary,  tiresome  work,  this  daily 
plodding  southward  over  the  endless  snow, 
sometimes  upon  the  wide  ice  field,  some- 
times crossing  necks  of  land  with  tedious 
ascents  and  dangerous  descents  of  hills, 
making  no  halt  while  daylight  lasted,  save 
to  clear  the  dogs'  entangled  traces  and 
snatch  a  piece  of  hardtack  for  a  cheerless 
luncheon. 

Okak,  two  days'  travel  south  of  Hebron, 
with  a  population  of  three  hundred  and 
twenty-nine,  is  the  largest  Eskimo  village 
in  Labrador  and  an  important  station  of 
the  Moravian  missionaries.  Besides  the 
chapel,  living  apartments  and  store  of  the 
mission,  a  neat,  well-organized  little  hospital 
has  just  been  opened  by  them  and  placed 
in  charge  of  Dr.  S.  Hutton,  an  English 
physician.  Young,  capable  and  with  every 
prospect  of  success  at  home,  he  and  his 
charming  wife  have  resigned  all  to  come 
to  the  dreary  Labrador  and  give  their  lives 
and  efforts  to  the  uplifting  of  this  bit 
of  benighted  humanity.  The  only  other 
member  of  the  hospital  corps  was  Miss  S. 
Francis,  a  young  woman  who  has  prepared 
herself  as  a  trained  nurse  to  give  her  life 
to  the  service. 

We  had  now  reached  a  section  where 
timber  grows,  and  some  of  the  houses  were 
quite  pretentious  for  the  frontier — well 
furnished,  of  two  or  three  rooms  and  far 
superior  to  many  of  the  houses  of  the  outer 
coast  breeds  to  the  south.  This,  of  course, 
is  the  visible  result  of  the  century  of  Mo- 
ravian labors.  Here  I  engaged,  with  the 
aid  of  the  missionaries,  Paulus  Avalar  and 
Boas  Anton  with  twelve  dogs  to  go  with  us 
to  Nain,  and  after  one  day  at  Okak  our 
march  was  resumed. 

1 1  is  a  hundred  miles  from  Okak  to  Nain, 
and  on  the  way  the  Kiglapait  Mountain 
must  be  crossed,  as  the  Atlantic  ice  outside 
is  liable  to  be  shattered  at  any  time  should 
an  easterly  gale  blow,  and  there  is  no  pos- 
sible retreat  and  no  opportunity  to  escape 
should  one  be  caught  upon  it  at  such  a 
time. 

We  had  not  reached  the  summit  of  the 
Kiglapait  when  night  drove  us  into  camp 
in  a  snow  igloo.  The  Eskimos  here  are 
losing  the  art  of  snow-house  building,  and 
this  one  was  very  poorly  constructed,  and 


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with  a  temperature  of  thirty  or  forty  degrees 
below  zero,  very  cold  and  uncomfortable. 

When  we  turned  into  our  sleeping-bags 
Paulus,  who  could  talk  a  few  words  of  Eng- 
lish, remarked  to  me:  "Clouds  say  big 
snow  maybe.  Here  very  bad.  No  dog 
feed.  We  go  early,*'  and  pointing  to  my 
watch  face  indicated  that  we  should  start 
at  midnight.  At  eleven  o'clock  I  heard 
him  and  Boas  get  up  and  go  out.  Half  an 
hour  later  they  came  back  with  a  kettle 
of  hot  tea  and  we  had  breakfast.  Then 
the  two  Eskimos,  by  candle-light,  read 
aloud  in  their  language  a  form  of  worship 
and  sang  a  hymn.  All  along  the  coast  be- 
tween Hebron  and  Makkovik  I  found  morn- 
ing and  evening  worship  and  grace  before 
and  after  meals  a  regular  institution  with 
the  Eskimos,  whose  religious  training  is 
carefully  looked  after  by  the  Moravians. 

By  midnight  our  komatik  was  packed. 
"Ooisht!  ooisht!"  started  the  dogs  for- 
ward as  the  first  feathery  flakes  of  the 
threatened  storm  fell  lazily  down.  Not  a 
breath  of  wind  was  stirring  and  no  sound 
broke  the  ominous  silence  of  the  night  save 
the  crunch  of  our  feet  on  the  snow  and  the 
voice  of  the  driver  urging  on  the  dogs. 

Boas  went  ahead  leading  the  team  on  the 
trail.  Presently  he  halted  and  shouted 
back  that  he  could  not  make  out  the  land- 
marks in  the  now  thickening  snow.  Then 
we  circled  about  until  an  old  track  was 
found  and  went  on  again.  Time  and  again 
this  maneuver  was  repeated.  The  snow 
now  began  to  fall  heavily  and  the  wind 
rose.  No  further  sign  of  the  track  could 
be  discovered,  and  short  halts  were  made 
while  Paulus  examined  my  compass  to  get 
his  bearings. 

Finally  the  summit  of  the  Kiglapait  was 
reached,  and  the  descent  was  more  rapid. 
At  one  place  on  a  sharp  down  grade  the 
dogs  started  on  a  run  and  we  jumped  upon 
the  komatik  to  ride.  Moving  at  a  rapid 
pace  the  team,  dimly  visible  ahead,  sud- 
denly disappeared.  Paulus  rolled  off  the 
komatik  to  avoid  going  over  the  ledge 
ahead,  but  the  rest  of  us  had  no  time  to 
jump,  and  a  moment  later  the  bottom  fell 
out  of  our  track  and  we  felt  ourselves  drop- 
ping through  space.  It  was  a  fall  of  only 
fifteen  feet,  but  in  the  night  it  seemed  a 
hundred.  Fortunately  we  landed  on  soft 
snow  and  no  harm  was  done,  but  we  had  a 
good  shaking  up. 


The  storm  grew  in  force  with  the  coming 
of  daylight.  Forging  on  through  the  driv- 
ing snow,  we  reached  the  ocean  ice  early  in 
the  forenoon  and  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  the  shelter  of  an  Eskimo  hut. 

The  storm  was  so  severe  the  next  morn- 
ing that  our  Eskimos  said  that  to  venture 
out  in  it  would  probably  mean  to  get  lost, 
but  before  noon  the  wind  so  far  abated 
that  we  started. 

The  snow  fell  thickly  all  day,  the  wind 
began  to  rise  again,  and  a  little  after  four 
o'clock  the  real  force  of  the  gale  struck  us 
in  one  continued,  terrific  sweep,  and  the 
snow  blew  so  thick  that  we  neariy  smoth- 
ered. The  temperature  was  thirty  de- 
grees below  zero.  We  could  not  see  the 
length  of  the  komatik.  We  did  not  dare 
let  go  of  it,  for  had  we  separated  ourselves 
a  half  dozen  yards  we  should  certainly 
have  been  lost. 

Somehow  the  instincts  of  drivers  and 
dogs,  guided  by  the  hand  of  a  good  Provi- 
dence, led  us  to  the  mission  house  at  Nain, 
which  we  reached  at  five  o'clock  and  were 
overwhelmed  by  the  kindness  of  the  Mo- 
ravians. This  is  the  Moravian  head- 
quarters in  Labrador,  and  the  Bishop, 
Right  Reverend  A.  Martin,  with  his  aids, 
is  in  charge. 

Sunday  was  spent  here  while  we  secured 
new  drivers  and  dogs  and  waited  for  the 
storm  to  blow  over. 

During  the  second  day  from  Nain  we 
met  Missionary  Schmidt  returning  from  a 
visit  to  the  natives  farther  south,  and  had 
a  half  hour's  chat  on  the  ice. 

That  evening  we  reached  Davis  Inlet 
Post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  and 
spent  the  night  with  Mr.  Guy,  the  agent, 
and  the  following  morning  headed  south- 
ward again,  passed  Cape  Harrigan,  and  in 
another  two  days  reached  Hopedale  mis- 
sion, where  we  arrived  just  ahead  of  one 
of  the  fierce  storms  so  frequent  here  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  and  which  held  us 
prisoners  from  Thursday  night  until  Mon- 
day morning.*  Two  days  later  we  pulled 
in  at  Makkovik,  the  last  station  of  the  Mo- 
ravians on  our  southern  trail. 
(7*0  bg  continued) 

♦  Since  writing  the  above  I  have  learned  that  a 
half-breed  whom  I  met  at  Davis  Inlet,  his  wife  and 
a  yoimg  native  left  that  point  for  Hopedale  just  after 
us.  were  overtaken  by  this  storm,  lost  their  wayand 
were  probably  overcome  by  the  elements.  Their 
dogs  ate  the  bodies,  and  a  week  later  returned,  well 
fed,  to  Davis  Inlet.  Dr.  Grenfejl  found  the  bones 
in   the  spring.  i^  r^r^t^-   W. 

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THE   BACKBONE   OF   OUR 
SAILING    FLEET 

BY   JAMES   G.   McCURDY 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    H.    H.    MORRISON 


T  the   usual    din 
lamer  incident   to 
a  gigantic  strug- 
s  been  in  progress 
irs  upon  the  bosom 
:  deep.     And  this 
t  for  the  suprem- 
acy of  the  sea,  in  which  steam  has  been 
pitted  against  sail,  has  been  none  the  less 
relentless  and  bitter  because  carried  on  in 
comparative  silence. 

So  evenly  matched  were  the  two  con- 
testants in  this  great  commercial  war,  that 
for  decades  but  little  advantage  rested 
upon  either  side.  Within  recent  times, 
however,  the  speed  and  certainty  of  steam 
as  a  motive  power  triumphed,  and  to-day 
its  supremacy  stands  unquestioned  in  the 
maritime  world. 

To  its  dominating  force  is  due  in  a  large 
measure  the  present  precarious  condition  of 
the  American  square-rigged  fleet.  After 
making  its  long  and  gallant  fight  for  exis- 
tence, the  ship  has  had  to  relinquish  the 
most  profitable  ocean  routes  to  its  rival, 
and  the  present  generation  will  in  all 
probability  witness  the  complete  extinc- 
tion of  this  noble  type  of  vessel. 

There  are  at  present  but  two  hundred 
and  eighty  square-riggers  flying  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  counting  ships,  barks  and 
brigs,  and  scarcely  a  week  goes  by  without 
a  further  reduction  of  the  number  by  rea- 
son of  wreck,  dismantling  and  condemna- 
tion. None  has  been  built  during  the  past 
three  years,  and  builders  have  no  orders 
on  their  books  for  future  construction. 

Of  Sewall's  magnificent  fleet  of  ships 
only  a  remnant  remains.  Along  the  Bos- 
ton and  New  York  docks  a  trim  American 


2^5 


ship  has  become  almost  a  curiosity.  Upon 
the  Pacific  Coast,  where  the  last  fragment 
of  our  square-rigger  fleet  is  making  its  last 
stand,  there  is  nothing  in  sight  to  bring 
about  a  lasting  improvement  in  the  situa- 
tion. 

But  the  passing  of  the  square-rigger  docs 
not  portend  the  extinction  of  sailing  craft. 
Far  from  it.  It  simply  emphasizes  the 
fact  that  upon  the  sea,  as  on  the  land,  the 
forces  of  evolution  are  at  work,  and  that 
ships  seem  fated  to  pass  into  history  along 
with  other  utilities  that  were  good  enough 
in  their  day  but  are  unable  to  meet  present 
requirements. 

In  the  schooner,  or  fore-and-aft  rigged 
vessel,  the  square-rigger  has  a  worthy  suc- 
cessor, and  one  that  seems  destined  to  in- 
definitely retain  a  prominent  place  in  the 
carrying  trade  of  the  country,  in  spite  of 
steam  aggression.  In  glancing  at  the  sta- 
tistics for  the  last  ten  years  we  certainly 
find  much  encouragement  for  vessels  of 
this  type.  Whereas  ship-rigged  vessels 
suffered  a  decrease  during  this  period  of 
over  fifty  per  cent.,  schooners  held  their 
own,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  in  the 
same  interval  several  hundred  fore-and- 
afters,  some  dating  back  as  far  as  1830, 
gave  up  the  ghost  and  were  removed  from 
the  maritime  lists. 

From  1894  to  1904,  379  schooners  and 
167  schooner-rigged  barges  were  con- 
structed, a  total  of  546,  as  against  265 
steamers  for  the  same  period.  Within  re- 
cent times  the  average  size  of  our  schooners 
has  nearly  doubled,  increasing  from  359  to 
502  tons  burden.  There  are  now  upon  the 
lists  a  total  of  1,523  seagoing  schooners, 
aggregat  ig  764,866  tons.    Included  among 

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The  two -mas  ted  schooner  Maid  of  Orleans. 

them  are  several  vessels  that  were  formerly  number  of  years,  was  transformed  into  a 

square-riggers,  but  which  have  been  lately  four-masted  schooner  and  is  now  actively 

re-rigged  and  converted  into  schooners.  engaged  in  the  lumber  traffic.    The  bark 

The  old  Invincible,  after  lying  idle  for  a  Snam  &  Burgess  is  now  plowing  the  main  as 


The  American  ship  Shenandoah,  the  largest  wooden  square-rigger  afloat  and  one  of  the  last  of 

its  kind. 

206 

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The  five-masted  schooner  Snow  &^  Burgess — formerly  a  deep-water  ship. 

a  five-master  and  is  making  better  passages  to  this  rejuvenating  process  and  take  on  a 

and  more  money  for  her  owners  than  ever  new  lease  of  life. 

before.     It    is    not    unlikely    that    many         While  we  may  regret  the  disappearance 

square-riggers  will  eventually  be  subjected  of  ship-rigged  craft,  we  can  turn  with  sat- 


The  six-masted  barlcent;  /  r    Gn^,i^s,  which  was  formerly  the  four-masted  ship 

^n^  Everett  "^j^^j  iVolscley. 

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The  Backbone  of  Our  Sailing  Fleet 


209 


isf action  to  the  achievements  of  our 
schooners,  for  they  are  distinctly  a  Yankee 
product,  evolved  from  the  minds  of  Ameri- 
'  can  builders.  Their  history  is  part  and 
parcel  of  our  own. 

Back  in  1713  the  first,  a  two-master,  was 
built  at  Gloucester  by  Captain  Andrew 
Robinson,  and  received  its  name  by  the 
following  trivial  circumstance.  As  the  ves- 
sel cleared  the  stocks  and  took  the  water 
with  a  leap  and  a  bound,  a  bystander  ex- 
claimed, **Oh,  how  she  scoons!"  And  her 
owner,  at  a  loss  what  to  call  her,  answered, 
"A  schooner  let  her  be." 

The  new  craft  proved  seaworthy,  man- 
ageable, and  a  good  carrier,  and  a  large  fleet 
was  soon  engaged  in  traffic  along  the  At- 
lantic G)ast.  And  to-day,  after  a  lapse  of 
nearly  two  hundred  years,  the  Gloucester 
fisher-schooners  are  a  distinctive  portion 
of  the  New  England  sailing  fleet. 

That  the  country  at  large  owes  a  tre- 
mendous debt  of  gratitude  to  the  diminu- 
tive two-masters  no  one  will  attempt  to 
deny.  For  generations  they  have  been 
sailing  in  and  out  of  New  England  ports, 
braving  old  ocean  in  his  wildest  moods 
bringing  their  burdens  from  afar.  The 
product  of  their  countless  voyages  has 
added  immeasurably  to  the  wealth  of  the 
nation,  while  through  their  instrumentality 
a  race  of  "men  of  the  oaken  heart"  has 
been  developed  whose  worth  is  not  to  be 
computed  in  dollars. 

Upon  the  Pacific  Coast  their  record  has 
been  no  less  worthy  of  note.  Engaged  in 
the  halibut  fishing  trade,  while  enveloped 
in  dense  fogs  and  skirting  the  ragged, 
wreck-strewn  shores  of  Vancouver  Island, 
not  inaptly  styled  "The  Marine  Cemetery 
of  the  Pacific,"  their  crews  have  continued 
to  ply  their  vocations  when  larger  vessels 
have  been  glad  to  seek  the  friendly  shelter 
of  an  anchorage.  As  sealers  they  have 
traversed  the  treacherous  wastes  of  the 
North  Pacific,  threading  the  intricate, 
tide-lashed  channels  of  the  Alaska  Archi- 
pelago, where  a  single  error  of  judgment  on 
the  part  of  their  hardy  skippers  meant 
destruction  swift  and  inevitable. 

In  the  opening  up  of  Alaska  territory, 
they  were  first  and  foremost,  bearing 
northward  the  intrepid  trader  and  pros- 
pector, and  continuing  their  sole  connecting 
link  between  the  wilderness  and  the  outside 
world.     Even  after  the  increase  of  trade 


had  attracted  other  forms  of  carriers  they 
continued  in  service,  supplying  the  needs 
of  the  miner  and  bringing  him  home  at  the . 
close  of  the  season  at  a  time  of  the  year 
when  storms  of  fearful  violence  sweep  over 
the  great  Alaska  Gulf. 

1  am  minded  of  the  eventful  voyage  of 
the  Ralph  J.  Long,  a  little  schooner  that 
came  down  from  Alaska  in  '99,  during  the 
great  gold  excitement,  crowded  with  some 
hundred  returning  miners.  Her  whole  in- 
terior was  fitted  up  with  temporary  bunks 
in  order  to  accommodate  the  crowd,  which 
was  indeed  a  motley  company.  Some  had 
struck  it  rich  and  had  the  results  of  a  suc- 
cessful season  stowed  away  in  belt  or  bag; 
some  had  done  well  enough  to  feel  fairly 
contented;  while  some  poor  fellows  wero 
"dead  broke,"  and  had  been  furnished  a 
passage  home  by  some  friend  more  fortu- 
nate than  themselves. 

The  second  day  out  the  little  craft- ran 
into  the  teeth  of  a  living  gale,  which  in- 
creased in  violence  as  she  fought  her  way 
southward.  The  sun  was  obscured  from 
s!ght  by  driving  mist,  and  the  seas  ran  to 
tremendous  heights.  Many  of  the  sai's 
were  split  and  carried  away.  The  captain 
and  mate  took  turns  at  the  wheel,  to  which 
they  had  to  be  securely  lashed  in  order  not 
to  be  swept  overboard.  The  hatches* were 
battened  down  to  prevent  the  craft  being, 
swamped  by  the  terrific  seas  that  boarded 
her  continuously. 

The  plight  of  the  miners  shut  up  within 
the  dark  interior  was  a  sorry  one.  Now 
and  then  some  bold  spirit,  unable  to  bear 
the  suspense  longer,  would  brave  the  dan- 
ger and  venture  on  deck,  only  to  be  sent 
speedily  below  by  a  smothering  deluge  of 
spray.  But  after  one  of  their  number 
had  been  swept  away  to  death  by  a  huge 
comber,  they  were  content  to  leave  the  fate 
of  the  craft  to  the  hardy  skipper. 

At  length  a  wave,  even  larger  than  all 
that  had  preceded  it,  struck  the  laboring 
vessel  a  smashing  blow  fairly  amidships,  and 
over  she  went  almost  on  her  beam-ends.  A 
frightful  crash  took  place  below,  where  the 
unhappy  passengers  were  sent  tumbling 
over  one  another  in  the  pitchy  darkness. 

Slowly  the  stanch  little  craft  righted  her- 
self, and  then  it  was  found  that  the  commo- 
tion below  had  been  caused  by  the  bunks 
breaking  loose  under  the  continued  strain 
they  had  undergone. 

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Spreading  the  square-sails  on  the  barkentine  James  Tuft.     Note  the  number  of  men  required. 


The  Janus  Tuft  loaded  and  ready  for  sea. 

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The  barkentine  Maknweli — a  compromise  between  a  ship  and  scho<:)ner  rig  and  a  very 

handy  carrier. 


The  schooner  Caine  ashore  in  Puget  Sound. 

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The  Backbone  of  Our  Sailing  Fleet 


213 


The  storm  followed  free  and  fast  upon 
their  heels  during  the  rest  of  the  run  to 
Puget  Sound,  as  though  loath  to  give  them 
up.  When  at  last  a  safe  harbor  was  reached 
and  a  reporter  came  down  to  the  dock  to 
interview  the  crowd,  the  sentiments  of  the 
whole  company  were  expressed  by  a  big, 
brawny  miner,  who  spoke  up,  affectionately 
patting  the  splintered  bulwarks:  "She's  a 
noble  little  craft,  and  no  mistake.  There 
are  mighty  few  vessels  of  her  size  that 
would  have  brought  us  through  like  she 
did.  She  ought  to  have  a  medal."  And 
this  is  but  one  instance  out  of  hundreds 
that  might  be  given,  showing  the  confi- 
dence placed  in  these  vessels  by  those  ven- 
turing upon  the  sea. 

For  years  the  pioneer  coasters  were  able 
to  take  care  of  all  the  traffic  offering,  but  in 
course  of  time  a  demand  arose  for  larger 
vessels.  An  increase  in  size  naturally 
called  for  a  corresponding  increase  in  the 
sail  area,  which  had  to  be  met  by  making 
the  sails  larger  or  the  masts  more  numer- 
ous. The  builders  tried  the  latter  expedi- 
ent, the  result  being  the  first  three-master, 
the  Zachary  Taylor,  built  at  Philadelphia. 

Not  long  after  a  Bath  shipyard  turned 
out  a  four-master,  by  accident  one  might 
say,  as  the  fourth  mast  was  added  as  an 
afterthought,  when  it  was  discovered  that 
the  craft  would  be  unwieldy  with  only 
three. 

The  growth  in  size  was  gradual,  and  it 
was  not  until  1882  that  the  schooner 
reached  one  thousand  tons  register,  the 
EUicoti  B.  Church,  of  1,137  tons,  being 
launched  that  year.  A  five-master,  the 
Governor  Ames,  was  built  in  1889,  and  at- 
tracted more  attention  on  her  voyage 
around  the  world  than  had  fallen  to  the  lot 
of  any  American  vessel  since  the  days  of 
the  Red  Jacket,  Dreadnaught  and  other 
famous  clippers. 

Five-masters  had  become  quite  common 
when  the  George  IV.  IVeUs,  a  six-master  of 
2,970  tons  appeared  in  1 901 .  The  Eleanor  A. 
Percy,  2l  huge  3,400  tonner  and  a  six-master 
at  that,  came  following  right  after,  to  be  in 
turn  speedily  eclipsed  by  the  seven-master 
Thomas  W .  Lawson,  a  steel  vessel  of  nearly 
5,000  tons,  built  at  Quincy,  Mass.,  in 
1902. 

Although  there  is  no  telling  where  the 
schooner  will  stop  in  point  of  size,  the  Elea- 
nor A.  Percy  is  probably  the  largest  wooden 


schooner  that  will  be  built.  The  cost  of 
steel  over  wood  is  about  one-third  more, 
but  the  resulting  stability  more  than  com- 
pensates for  the  difference.  The  big  six- 
masters,  for  instance,  had  to  be  braced 
from  stem  to  stem  by  immense  keelsons, 
which  took  up  much  valuable  cargo  space. 
Even  with  this  stiffening  one  could  stand 
at  either  end  and  watch  them  give  under 
the  strain  of  wind  and  sea. 

The  ability  of  the  schooner  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  present  day  conditions, 
while  the  square-riggers  have  been  found 
wanting,  can  be  readily  understood  when 
we  take  into  consideration  the  numerous 
advantages  possessed  by  the  fore-and-aft 
rig,  that  are  essential  to  the  ideal  carrier. 

Operating  expense,  that  prime  factor  in 
all  transportation  problems,  is  here  re- 
duced to  a  minimum,  for  there  is  no  motive 
power  so  cheap  as  the  free  winds  of  heaven, 
and  no  other  craft  so  well  adapted  to  utilize 
and  control  this  force.  The  sails  are  of 
handy  form,  and  can  be  readily  handled 
from  the  deck  by  a  handful  of  men,  or  with 
steam  power  if  desired.  The  schooner  can 
sail  several  points  nearer  the  eye  of  the 
wind  than  a  square-rigger  is  able  to  do. 

Built  on  the  old  clipper  model,  they  sail 
like  witches,  and  owing  to  their  peculiar 
constructions  can  be  readily  loaded  and 
discharged.  They  require  but  little  ballast, 
and  having  no  heavy  top-hamper  can,  if 
necessary  to  the  trade,  take  on  immense 
deck-loads.  In  the  lumber  traffic  of  the 
Pacific  Northwest  we  find  these  vessels 
leaving  port  with  huge  deck-loads  tower- 
ing ten  to  fifteen  feet  above  the  rail.  Oc- 
casiona'ly  they  get  caught  in  a  blow  and 
have  to  sacrifice  a  portion  of  the  deck-load ; 
but  where  one  meets  such  a  mishap,  dozens 
reach  their  destinations  safely  and  land 
their  cargoes  intact. 

Being  so  easily  handled  they  are  especi- 
ally adapted  to  coast-wise  traffic,  where 
ample  sea-room  is  often  lacking.  And  yet 
we  find  them  busily  engaged  in  the  deep-sea 
trades  in  opposition  to  steam  and  bounty- 
fed  foreign  ships.  Hardly  a  day  passes 
on  Puget  Sound  without  the  sailing  of  an 
American  schooner  for  some  port  in  China, 
Japan,  Australia  or  west  coast  of  South 
America.  Lumber  to  Sydney,  coal  to 
Honolulu,  sugar  to  San  Francisco,  and  home 
again  in  ballast,  is  a  common  route  for  one 
of  these  deep-sea  carriers. 

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The  Birth — Ship  building  on  Fuget  Sound. 


Lately  the  schooner  William  Nottingham 
cleared  from  Puget  Sound  for  Boston  with 
a  cargo  of  spars,  being  the  first  of  her  rig 
to  embark  in  this  round-the-Horn  busi- 
ness, a  trade  that  may  assume  large  pro- 
portions. 

Another  type  of  vessel  that  has  become 
very  popular  upon  the  Pacific  G^ast  is  the 
four-masted  barkentine,  which  is  really  a 
cross  between  the  schooner  and  ship  rig. 
It  has  the  hull  of  the  schooner,  while  the 
fore-mast  is  square-rigged.  Some  author- 
ities hold  that  this  rig  is  advantageous  when 
the  wind  is  directly  astern  and  that  con- 
siderable wear  and  tear  on  vessel  and  sails 
is  saved  by  its  use.  This  claim  is  disputed 
by  others.  One  thing  is  certain;  the  bar- 
kentines  do  not  carry  larger  cargoes,  or 
make  any  better  time  than  the  schooners, 
while  the  square-rigged  fore-mast  takes 
at  least  two  additional  men  to  help 
handle   it. 

The  tendency  to  adopt  the  schooner 
rig  was  strikingly  shown  recently  while  the 
vessel  Lord  Wolseley  was  being  repaired. 
This  huge  English  four-masted  ship  was 
caught  in  a  hurricane  and  completely  dis- 
masted. She  was  sold  at  auction,  and  her 
new  owners,  after  careful  figuring,  found 
they  could  save  a  large  sum  annually  by 
214 


making  the  craft  over  into  a  schooner.  But 
fearing  that  the  hull  was  too  narrow  for  an 
all  fore-and-aft  rig,  they  compromised  the 
matter  by  converting  the  vessel  into  a  six- 
masted  barkentine,  the  first  of  her  class 
afloat.  The  square-rigged  fore-mast  had 
the  effect  of  keeping  her  steady,  and  as  the 
American  vessel  Everett  G.  Griggs  she  has 
been  making  very  successful  voyages,  in 
every  way  a  credit  to  our  merchant  marine. 

Scattered  along  the  Maine  coast  are  a 
number  of  shipyards  actively  engaged  in 
turning  out  vessels  of  the  schooner  rig, 
some  of  them  having  been  in  the  business 
for  generations.  Last  year  their  output  was 
fourteen  wooden  schooners  of  over  1,000 
gross  tons  each,  to  say  nothing  of  the  large 
number  of  smaller  ones.  Most  of  the  spar 
timber  now  used  in  the  eastern  yards  comes 
from  the  Pacific  northwest,  as  nowhere 
else  can  be  obtained  the  beautiful  sticks 
from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  long  used  in  rigging  the  huge 
vessels  of  the  day. 

Upon  Puget  Sound,  Hall  Brothers,  the 
veteran  shipbuilders,  have  in  their  career, 
extending  over  the  past  thirty  years,  built 
over  one  hundred  schooners,  and  they  are 
still  at  it.  Their  vessels  are  remarkably 
handsome,  being  modeled  on  graceful  lines 

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and  fitted  with  extremely  lofty  masts. 
Viewed  in  the  offing,  as  they  maneuver 
here  and  there  to  make  the  most  of  variable 
winds,  they  resemble  pleasure  yachts  more 
than  prosaic  cargo  carriers. 

The  schooners  of  the  Pacific  Q)ast  are 
at  present  experiencing  an  era  of  almost 
unparalleled  prosperity,  due  to  the  great 
demand  for  luml>er  brought  about  by  the 
disasters  at  San  Francisco  and  Valparaiso. 
Every  craft  large  enough  to  take  on  a  cargo 
has  been  pressed  into  service,  and  freight 
rates  are  higher  than  for  years  past. 

As  may  be  supposed,  the  masters  of 
these  vessels  are  mariners  of  the  first  order, 
keen,  alert  and  venturesome,  yet  cautious 
when  occasion    demands.     Most  of  them 


served  their  apprenticeship  in  the  old 
square-riggers  and  are  familiar  with  every 
phase  of  their  calling.  The  mates  are  as  a 
rule  thorough  sailor-men,  but  the  rest  of 
the  crew  are  not  necessarily  the  pink  of  the 
profession. 

That  the  schooner  may  have  to  pass 
through  further  stages  of  evolution  is  not 
at  all  unlikely;  but  that  they  will  continue 
to  ply  along  the  ocean  highways  for  gen- 
erations to  come  is  the  opinion  of  those 
well  versed  in  maritime  affairs.  The 
gloomy  prospect  of  a  sea  without  a  sail  is 
therefore  too  remote  to  cause  any  great 
apprehension  on  the  part  of  those  whose 
affection  goes  out  to  the  white-winged 
argosies  of  the  deep. 


Old  Age — Repairing  a  ship  at  Key  West. 


riiol.Ji^T.ipli  l.y  Arthur  HcwiU. 


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JOHN    KENDRY'S    IDEA 


BY   CHESTER   BAILEY    FERNALD 


CHAPTER   XXV 


THE    VEILED    LADY 


IHEY  listened.  The  moon- 
light was  a  narrow  strip 
between  thick  redwoods, 
through  which  the  road 
from  the  level  of  the 
marsh  had  become  a 
winding  lane. 
"Now  what's  a  bloomin'  motor  doin'  up 
'ere,  this  time  o'  night?"  the  other  man 
whispered.  '"Old  on!"  he  commanded, 
when  Collins  nervously  turned.  *'  You 
know  'ow  to  run  a  car!" 

"They  ain't  been  a  pair  of  wheels  up 
here  all  this  week,"  Collins  said.  "You 
say  you're  wanted.  That  automobile  is 
about  how  a  sheriff's  posse  sounds  to  me. 

I'm "     The  other  caught   him   by   a 

thin  arm. 

"No,  you  ain't,  you  little  pairo'  wings!" 
he  blew  an  alcoholic  breath  across  one  of 
Collins'  great  ears.  "Don't  talk  like  a 
bloomin*  fife.  Now,  Gawd  knows  what 
your  name  is,  Mr.  Collins,  but  mine's  Pink. 
That's  my  real  name,  arsk  Scotland  Yard. 
I've  just  remembered  it.  And  I  never  'ave 
walked  when  I  could  ride.  They're  keepin' 
an  'emp  necktie  for  me,  but  your  'andsome 
little  nut  they  only  want  to  shave.  Where- 
by, it's  me  that  are  the  'eadpiece  of  this 
lovely  pair  o'  twins,"  he  held  his  arm 
around  CoUins'  neck.  "So  you  just  'eave 
alongside."     Collins  laughed. 

"  1  see  you're  accustomed  to  having  your 
own  way,  Mr.  Pink,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh 
of  surrender.  He  ducked  from  Pink's  arm 
and  became  invisible  in  the  gloom  of  the 
redwoods. 

Pink  contemplated  the  black  shades 
and  heard  the  footfalls  cease  at  a  safe 
distance. 


"You  know  what  you  remind  me?"  he 
called.  "  You  remind  me  of  an  'at  pin  and 
two  palm-leaf  fans.  You  aren't  a  man; 
you're  an  inseck." 

The  automobile  had  maintained  its 
heavy  "chug"  in  and  out  of  the  ravines. 
Pink  jammed  his  cap  over  his  eyes.  He 
softly  stepped  behind  a  thick  bush.  As 
the  automobile  ascended  around  the  curve 
and  a  solitary  figure  showed  in  it,  Pink 
jumped  alongside. 

"'Ands  up — 'igh  with  'em!"  he  said, 
over  two  pistols. 

Almost  at  once  the  solitary  figure 
uttered  a  small  scream.  The  car  stopped, 
its  vitals  whirring  in  the  exact  state  of  a 
frightened  woman's  heart.  Two  gloved 
hands  sought  to  shut  away  the  sight  of  the 
pistols.  A  voice  from  a  heaving  bosom 
whimpered: 

"O,  dear !" 

Mr.  Pink  peered  nearer,  over  the  sights. 
His  shoulders  began  to  shake.  He  ap- 
pealed to  the  darkness. 

"It's    a    fee-myle "    he    exploded. 

"Come  back  'ere,  you  little  skelington.  do 
you  want  to  cawmpermise  my  reputytion?" 
The  lady  was  examining  him  through  her 
fingers.  Pink  turned  the  pistols  to  her. 
"Did  you  say  the  gentleman  was  walkin' 
on  be'ind,  mum?"  he  narrowly  asked.  The 
lady  drew  back  and  despairing'y  shook  her 
head  beneath  her  veil. 

"O,  dear!"  she  squeaked. 

"O,  yes,  mum,"  Pink  enthusiastically 
pocketed  his  pistols,  "that's  what  the 
iydies  usually  calls  me."  Again  he  turned. 
"Do  you  'ear,  you  shiverin'  little  bacteria? 
Come  out  o'  your  'ole.  Now,  mum,  we'll 
back  her  'round  easy,"  he  deferentially 
pushed  the  car.  The  lady  helped  by  a 
turn  of  the  wheel.  0)llins  appeared,  his 
pistol  precedip-     "'^  **  n'  to  fear,  mum, 


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only  a  loose  wood-nymph."  Pink  casually 
tossed  his  head.  "Now,  mum,  me  an'  you 
in  the  back  seat.'*  The  lady  alighted 
heavily  on  the  side  away  from  him,  her 
veil  and  cloak  obscuring  all  but  the  fact  of 
her  immensity.  She  pulled  herself  up 
with  an  obese  groan.  "  Hexcellent,  mum," 
said  Pink,  "and  makin'  up  in  bulk  any 
trifle  of  beauty  you've  mislaid.  Climb 
up,  kebby,"  he  gave  Collins  a  dig  in  the 
ribs.  Collins  seemed  to  be  wanting  in 
humor. 

"Let  her  walk,"  he  said.  "It  won't 
hurt  her.  Take  my  advice."  Pink  whis- 
tled. 

"Did  you  'ear  'im,  mum — the  blasted 
hinterloper!  I  wouldn't  mind  cuttin'  'is 
ears  off,  mum,  if  the  wind  wasn't  be'ind 
us."  The  car  was  fitted  with  a  collapsible 
hood  which  he  found  he  could  raise  and 
throw  so  that  its  quarter  circle  went  for- 
ward of  the  rear  seat  and  shut  Collins  from 
view.  "Now,  you,"  he  called  over  it,  from 
tiptoes,  "drive  on  to  you-know-where,  or 
I'm  just  as  hapt  to  come  and  'urt  your 
feelin's,  you  bloomin'  houtsider." 

They  began  to  roll  down  the  hill.  The 
lady,  retired  to  a  corner,  appeared  to  be 
soaking  up  the  tears  with  her  veil. 

"What — rain?"  Pink  leaned  toward  her. 
"  I  say,  this  is  hagitatin'.  My  word,  mum, 
I  can't  stand  it.  Arsk  me  anything— arsk 
me  for  myself,  mum,  an'  you  shall  'ave  it. 
'O,  stow  them  crystal  drops' — as  the  poet 
'as  it." 

So  it  happened,  by  the  charm  of  his 
silver  tongue  and  from  a  yearning  for  a 
communion  that  for  several  years  had  been 
denied  to  him  by  stem  authority,  Mr.  Pink 
brought  the  lady's  great  arm  to  pass  around 
his  neck  and  fondle  his  elbow,  while  his 
own  right  arm  went  about  a  hard  waist 
that  was  slim  only  when  compared  to  the 
stuffed  bosom  above  it.  The  lady's  free 
hand  caressed  his  bristly  jowl  and  she  mur- 
mured in  self-deprecation  a  single  "O, 
dear!"  Mr.  Pink  would  have  liked  to  roll 
on  the  ground,  to  express  his  sense  of  the 
situation.  "  You're  a  rippin'  old  couple  of 
tons,"  he  tittered.  Presently  he  wanted  to 
scratch  his  nose. 

It  took  him  a  moment  to  realize  that  his 
arms  had  passed  out  of  his  control.  The 
lady's  weight  against  the  seat  was  immov- 
able. Her  gloved  hand  entered  his  mouth 
and  held  his  jaw  as  if  it  had  been  a  wolf's. 


Pink  tried  to  lower  his  head  and  to  bite, 
hoping  to  squirm  to  the  floor.  A  turn  of 
his  wrist,  reckless  of  the  anatomy  of  his 
elbow,  brought  from  him  an  impotent 
groan. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Collins'  voic2 
complained. 

"O,  dear!"  the  lady  squeaked,  with  like 
impatience.  They  had  reached  the  level 
of  the  marsh.  Collins  had  made  acquaint- 
ance with  the  car.  He  turned  northward 
and  let  out  speed.  Pink  sat  with  his  eyes 
fastened  on  the  veil.  The  face  behind  it 
was  making  a  long  inspection  of  him,  with 
Pink's  elbow  uncomfortable  enough  to 
remind  him  of  what  excruciation  might 
follow  his  stirring.  He  limply  awaited  his 
opportunity,  but  the  slow  shake  of  that 
hidden  head  was  too  chilling  to  his 
heart.  He  kicked  and  snorted  in  a  wild 
effort  to  be  heard;  the  car  roared  at  top 
speed,  and  the  lady  added  a  confusing 
scream. 

"O,  cut  it  out,"  Collins  called.  Under 
his  breath  he  cursed  the  half-drunken  fool 
for  carrying  with  them  a  witness  to  their 
flight.  Pink  had  received  a  blow  with  the 
side  of  the  hand,  in  the  fashion  of  a  saber 
cut,  at  the  top  of  his  nose.  It  blinded  him 
while  he  sought  his  pistols.  He  was  thrust 
over  the  back  of  the  seat  and  his  hands 
beat  about  in  the  flying  dust  down  into 
which  he  could  not  keep  himself  from 
sliding.  They  clutched  at  the  passing 
ground;  it  cut  out  his  palms.  The  dust 
was  solidly  filling  his  lungs  and  he  could  not 
double  himself  because  his  face  brought  up 
against  the  slippery  overhanging  body  of 
the  car.  Three  miles  away  was  a  blur  of 
lights  from  a  creek-boat  coming  down 
toward  the  bay.  Pink  cried  out  to  it  with 
a'l  his  might  from  a  bloody  mouth.  Chan 
Kow  lowered  the  ankles  and  let  the  head 
bounce  once  on  the  ground. 

The  head  bounced  once  on  the  white 
streak  in  the  moonlight  and  was  hauled  up 
a  few  inches.  Chan  Kow  took  a  restful 
breath,  his  knees  braced  against  the  seat- 
back,  his  fingers  sunk  in  the  flesh  above  the 
ankle  bones.  His  muscular  sensations 
carried  him  back  to  the  man-power  boat 
on  the  Canton  River.  It  was  a  far  cry 
from  then  and  there  to  this  reckless  motor 
car  which  made  the  hilltops  dance  and 
dissolve.  What  a  wonderful  variety  human 
existence  was  caoable  of,  he  mused,  staring 


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John  Kendry's   Idea 


219 


at  the  head  and  shoulders  that  writhed  and 
took  on  the  color  of  the  dust.  But  Western 
civilization,  from  his  thirty  years'  experi- 
ence of  it,  was  a  failure.  It  was,  he  held, 
like  this  person  Pink,  irretrievably  upside 
down.  It  began  at  the  wrong  end.  John 
Kendry's  idea,  in  which  there  still  was  the 
fatal  taint  of  Christianity,  was  to  upbuild 
the  beautiful,  rather  than  to  destroy  the 
hideous:  witness  the  vague  ethical  reluc- 
tance with  which  Kendry  approached  the 
business  of  destroying  such  a  man  as 
Paulter!  Chan  Kow  leaned  over  and  let 
the  face  scrape  along  the  road;  probably 
the  first  twenty  feet  had  eliminated  the 
features,  if  one  could  see  through  the  dust. 
The  figure  of  his  thus  making  a  grindstone 
of  the  earth  pleased  his  fancy,  though  he 
saw  no  way  to  complete  the  figure  in  bring- 
ing in  the  name  of  the  late  Mr.  Pink. 
There  was  less  convulsion  in  the  iendo 
Achilles;  the  toes  no  longer  worked. 
Western  civilization  undeniably  had  ac- 
complished great  things;  but,  owing  to  its 
intrinsic  error,  it  would  evanesce;  where- 
as the  Orient  already  was  stirring  from  its 
long  and  refreshing  slumber.  He  let  go 
one  ankle  and  held  the  other  with  both 
hands,  varying  the  effect.  In  the  short 
spaces  of  comparative  smoothness  the 
thing  dragged  like  a  stone  on  a  string. 
For  a  moment  he  saw  it  receding  behind, 
where  it  had  rolled  and  unfolded  and  lay 
motionless.  A  turn  in  the  road  hid  it.  He 
could  not  help  recalling  those  lines  he  had 
written  while  the  poisoned  Ting  Lee  had 
pounded  about  the  floor  on  his  heels  and 
the  back  of  his  head.  He  threw  away 
Pink's  empty  shoe  and  sat  down  to  mop 
the  copious  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 
Some  day,  he  breathed,  old  age  would  come 
creeping  into  his  thews.  He  readjusted 
the  veil.  He  pulled  back  the  hood  and 
collapsed  it.  Collins'  speed  was  too  dan- 
gerous, and  it  was  in  the  wrong  direction. 
He  calculated  the  thickness  of  Collins' 
skull. 

"O,  dear!"  he  squeaked,  forcibly  pulling 
Collins'  shoulder.  Collins  snatched  a  look 
behind  him.  Pink  was  not  to  be  seen  and 
the  old  lady  was  pointing  panic-stricken  to 
the  rear.    Collins  set  his  brake. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  evilly  said, 
dropping  the  wheel. 

Not  too  heavily  Chan  Kow  brought  down 
the  butt  of  his  American  pistol. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


A   SELF-DISCOVHRY 


Before  sunrise,  when  Paulter  leaned  with 
a  hand  on  the  post  of  the  pergola,  a  dull 
and  dogged  figure  in  a  cap  and  overcoat, 
there  was  a  sound  on  the  stairs.  He  slid 
to  fill  the  doorway. 

"It's  I,"  Violet  Marr  tremulously  said, 
from  the  half-light  at  the  bottom  step. 
Paulter  let  her  push  aside  the  obstructing 
table  and  pick  up  the  pile  of  unsteady 
books  that  fell  as  he  had  arranged  them  to. 
His  haggardness  kept  her  eyes  averted. 
If  he  did  not  see  that  she,  too,  had  not 
slept,  that  now  she  sought  from  him  the 
sympathtic  word,  the  acknowledgment  of 
what  she  was  sacrificing  in  peace  for  him, 
she  laid  it  to  his  discomfort,  which  in  turn 
she  laid  upon  her  daughter. 

"  You  go  down  and  buy  me  some  cigars 
and  some  coffee  and  some  whiskey,"  he 
pointed  to  her,  hoarsely  voiced.  "I'm 
awake.  She  don't  take  that  kind  of  a  rise 
out  of  me."  His  tone  swept  her  to  obey. 
Her  fingers  trembled  with  her  hat.  She 
sought  another  hat  pin,  flustered  by  his 
contemptuous  impatience. 

"Say,  how  old  are  you?"  he  groaned,  at 
last.     She  raised  her  handkerchief. 

"I  was  fifty  years  old  yesterday,"  her 
tearfulness  exasperated  him.  "No  one 
thought  of  it." 

"Well,  you  act  like  you  was  ninety,"  he 
waved.     "Get  a  move  on." 

She  forewent  the  hat  pin.  She  faded 
from  the  house,  pale  under  her  gray  hat, 
slight  and  purposeless  of  mien.  He  spat 
from  the  veranda. 

"  You  act  as  if  you  was  ninety,"  he  cor- 
rected himself,  aloud,  with  a  glance  at  the 
comer  that  hid  Ethel's  window.  To  have 
heard  would  have  carried  her  back  to  her 
first  knowledge  of  him.  She  had  uoder- 
taken  the  reformation  of  his  speech,  of  his 
outlook  as  to  many  things,  forgetting  his 
maturity  and  accepting  his  plausible  man- 
ner. In  an  episode  of  which  her  beauty 
had  been  the  exciting  cause  her  disillusion- 
ment had  come  with  sudden  horror  to  a 
giri  of  sixteen.  But  she  had  never  told  her 
mother;  it  seemed,  too,  possible  that  her 
ears,  her  understanding,  had  played  her 
false.  Out  of  the  repugnant  aloofness  that 
nevpr  afterward  quit  her  his  sentimental 
*own,  increasing^ as  time^added 
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to  her  mystery.  Her  generosity  to  him 
had  never  been  tinged  with  romance,  but 
for  Paulter  it  was  impossible  to  believe 
that.  He  had  continued  to  visit  the  house 
on  the  hill,  under  Violet  Marr's  plea  that 
they  were  spiritualizing  him.  Why  she 
was  attached  to  him  he  could  not  have 
guessed  if  his  mind  had  owned  an  average 
habit  of  introspection,  but  the  fact  com- 
forted his  pride.  In  her  married  youth  a 
sea  captain's  wife  had  been  offered  oppor- 
tunities for  abandonment,  but  her  vital 
content  was  strangely  assorted.  From  her 
husband  she  never  had  had  the  absolute 
domination  she  could  have  wished  for.  He 
desperately  had  striven  to  foster  her  will, 
her  self-reliance.  Arthur  Paulter  had 
come  into  her  life  when  she  was  forty-six. 
His  ascendency  was  without  conscience; 
she  surrendered  her  rights  of  volition  in 
exchange  for  a  sense  of  rest  that  all  her  life 
she  had  awaited;  passion  was  dead,  and  to 
her  it  seemed  that  she  gave  him  nothing 
in  exchange.  It  was  enough  for  Paulter 
that  she  kept  him  within  reach  of  her 
daughter. 

He  went  in  and  sat  astride  of  the  end  of 
the  sofa.  Soon  he  wou.d  be  ab!e  to  revive 
himself.  His  tendency  to  collapse  on  the 
soft  surface  so  near  at  hand — that  was  what 
Ethel  was  playing  for!  He  jumped  up  and 
paced  the  veranda  again,  muttering  ironies 
on  the  old  woman's  slowness.  The  sun 
brought  warmth.  He  threw  off  his  over- 
coat and  then  his  coat,  to  enjoy  that  free- 
dom in  shirt-sleeves  which  to  him  meant 
home.  He  had  denied  himself  this  since 
he  had  come  here,  and  now  he  looked  upon 
such  denial  as  a  weakness.  He  would 
congratulate  Ethel  on  a  pleasant  night 
when  she  came  down.  With  coffee  and 
tobacco,  for  which  she  was  accustomed  to 
no  equivalent,  he  could  stay  on  end  for  a 
week  of  days  and  nights,  if  need  be.  Dur- 
ing the  hour  before  to-morrow's  dawn  he 
should  not  be  able  to  prevent  her  from  fol- 
lowing him  up  the  mountain,  but  he  would 
make  the  pace  so  hot  that,  whatsoever  her 
purpose  was,  he  should  have  done  with 
Kendry  before  she  arrived  to  accomplish 
it.  He  had  her  hooked;  let  her  thresh  the 
waters. 

In  her  room  Ethel  stared  at  the  wooden 
ceiling.  In  the  first  blank  moments  her 
face  was  like  the  one  that  had  looked  down 
on  Kendry,  questioning  the  forces  his  un- 


conscious form  had  been  the  first  to  stir 
within  her.  If  instead  of  letting  this  new 
room  go  in  its  intrinsic  ugliness,  as  she  had 
let  the  one  go  on  the  hill,  she  had  been  at 
pains  to  stamp  herself  on  it,  in  the  furni- 
ture, the  colors,  she  did  not  trace  her  reason 
for  that  to  what  Kendry  might  be  expected 
to  fancy  her  doing.  But  a  glance  about 
her  brought  him  to  her  mind  and  set  on  her 
face  the  altered  expression  he  had  caused 
to  write  itself  there. 

She  felt  for  the  key  of  her  room  and  for 
the  pistol  under  her  pillow.  The  night 
light  burned  near  her  window,  the  sign,  for 
Paulter,  of  a  sleepless  vigil  in  the  hope  of 
escape.  Her  khaki  suit,  her  high  boots, 
lay  rolled  in  her  golf  cape  and  tied  in  a 
sheet,  with  a  laundry  list  pinned  to  it.  It 
was  her  first  deception  where  deception 
had  been  expected  of  her  for  weeks.  It 
made  her  flush,  avoiding  her  eyes  in  the 
mirror  while  she  combed  out  the  heavy 
braids  and  arranged  her  hair  with  severe 
compactness  that  would  suit  a  hooded 
head  plunging  through  dense  chaparral. 
Her  muscles  played  beneath  the  roundness 
of  her  arms.  Her  blood  bounded  more 
anxiously  under  her  translucent  skin.  She 
took  no  pleasure  in  the  full  modeling  of  her 
throat  and  cheek,  in  the  firmness,  beneath 
sheer  fabric,  of  a  bust  from  whose  quarter- 
round  her  garment  fell  in  a  straight  line  to 
her  feet.  The  man  below  was  cursing  the 
absence  of  her  mother.  It  was  her  slim- 
ness,  her  comparative  feebleness  of  bone 
she  saw  in  the  g'ass.  The  man  was  a 
savage.  The  pistol  frightened  her.  She 
hid  it  in  the  bag  she  was  accustomed  to 
carry  at  her  belt. 

Her  dressing  as  she  had  dressed  the  night 
before  suggested  an  excursion  no  farther 
than  the  garden.  The  open  throat  was 
grateful  to  the  expectancy  that  began  to 
oppress  her. 

Paulter's  cigar  had  not  waited  for  his 
breakfast.  She  heard  him  toss  a  con- 
descending word  to  her  mother.  He 
locked  the  front  door,  braced  to  a  show  of 
freshness.  Ethel  passed  him  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  letting  her  bundle  drop  where 
it  might  on  the  floor.  She  sighed  and 
leaned  with  her  forehead  touching  the 
window  pane.  He  kicked  the  bundle,  but 
it  was  her  attitude  of  weariness  that  pre- 
occupied him. 

"  Little  shy  on  a  night's  sleep?"  he  blew 

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a  cloud  toward  her.  She  came  again  past 
him,  without  acknowledging  his  presence. 
One  understood,  she  was  saying  to  herself, 
to  what  ignominious  depths  of  duplicity 
women  were  brought  by  the  forms  of 
tyranny.  She  took  up  the  unopened  news- 
paper and  sank  into  the  armchair.  While 
he  settled  himself  on  the  sofa  close  by  she 
gazed  at  the  print  without  reading,  until 
her  eye  caught  the  name  of  Q)llins  in  a 
headline.  It  was  a  name  from  that  region 
in  which  Paulter  did  things  he  was  never 
voluble  about.  The  brief  dispatch,  in- 
serted on  an  after  page,  told  of  Collins  being 
discovered  long  after  midnight  by  the 
sheriff  of  Marin  G^unty,  hog-bound  and  in 
a  stupor  at  the  sheriff's  door.  The  woman 
who  had  thundered  on  the  panels  had 
whisked  into  thin  air  in  an  automobile — the 
impression  that  she  was  a  woman  had  been 
helped  by  her  having  carried  away  a  mud- 
guard against  a  tree-box  at  the  comer  of 
the  street.  Q)llins,  recovering,  had  an- 
nounced that  he  would  turn  state's  evi- 
dence, confessing  to  his  career  as  a  counter- 
feiter, and  incriminating  p)ersons — the  sheriff 
did  not  offer  their  names  for  publicity — to 
whom  Q)!lins  laid  his  discomfiture. 

It  was  news  that  might  prove  too  stimu- 
lating to  him  whose  eyes  inclined  to  droop. 
She  let  her  own  lids  sleepily  close,  then 
opened  them  as  if  determined  not  to 
drowse.  She  was  aware  of  a  smile  flicker- 
ing about  Paulter's  thin  lips  through  the 
haze  of  smoke.  If  he  responded  to  her 
generous  yawn  it  was  by  a  distention  of  his 
nostrils,  as  he  brought  his  feet  to  a  level 
with  his  head.  She  let  her  cheek  turn  to 
the  comer  of  the  chair  back.  From  a  deep 
sigh  the  movement  of  her  bosom  changed 
to  a  light  heaving.  Her  mother  walked  on 
tiptoe;  the  kettle  sang  in  the  kitchen. 
Paulter  gave  a  start  and  resumed  his  cigar. 

"It's  so  stuffy,"  the  girl  murmured,  with- 
out opening  her  eyes.  Presently  she  heard 
her  mother  trying  to  open  the  farthest  win- 
dow without  their  hearing  her.  Presently 
she  heard  a  sound  in  Paulter's  nostrils. 
Her  mother  stole  about  drawing  the  shades, 
then  the  stairs  gave  evidence  of  her  retire- 
ment above.  A  blue-jay  harshly  reinforced 
the  morning  chorus  of  birds  against  the 
silence  of  the  redwoods.  There  came  the 
unpleasant  odor  of  an  extinguished  cigar. 

She  took  off  her  weight  on  the  arms  of  her 
chair.    She  slid  along  by  the  wall,  where 


the  floor  creaked  least,  and  came  out  of  the 
house  by  the  window. 

A  hundred  yards  away  in  a  tangle  of 
hazel  and  wild  honeysuckle,  a  little  down 
the  incline  off  the  road,  she  could  have 
heard  his  tread  on  the  veranda,  his  burst  of 
rage.  She  laced  her  boots  in  p)eace,  recover- 
ing her  breath,  gaining  in  spirit  with  this 
first  success.  She  was  free,  but  Paulter  was 
recup)erating.  The  butcher's  boy  came 
driving  up  in  his  two-wheeled  cart.  The 
road  was  on  a  ridge  that  ran  south  from  the 
mountain  and  abruptly  finished  at  the  joint 
debouchment  of  the  two  cai^ons  the  ridge 
divided.  Her  smile,  her  hair  with  the  dry 
leaves  caught  in  it,  her  jaunty  skirt  and  the 
shap)eliness  of  pliant  leather  at  her  ankles, 
made  the  boy  her  blushing  servitor.  He 
had  her  at  his  side  while  he  sped  his  horse 
down  the  hill  in  keeping  with  the  manliness 
swelling  in  his  bosom.  As  they  went  the 
number  of  dwellings  increased.  Ethel 
stopp)ed  the  baker  and  bought  bread. 

"You'll  find  Mr.  Paulter  asleep  in  the 
living-room,"  she  said.  "  Please  knock  on 
the  window  and  tell  him  I  asked  you  to." 
The  butcher's  boy  waited  to  see  her  fly 
bareheaded  down  a  path,  her  belt  bag  in 
hand,  her  cape  dangling  from  its  shoulder 
straps.  She  had  asked  him  casually  about 
the  trail  on  the  opposite  ridge.  He  re- 
sumed his  upward  joumey,  glowing  with 
memory.  For  her  the  running,  after  a 
night  behind  shut  panes,  was  agreeable  to 
the  lungs.  She  crossed  the  stream.  The 
"commuters"  who  took  the  first  moming 
train  to  the  city  saw  her  among  tree  trunks, 
marching  up  over  dead  leaves.  Above 
where  they  lived  the  slopes  were  barren, 
save  for  the  grass.  The  cattle  of  a  passed 
period,  cropping  it  on  rain-soaked  soil,  had 
cut  the  incline  into  close,  narrow  terraces. 
At  the  top  were  trees  again,  and  she  looked 
across  the  cai^on  to  the  road  she  had 
driven  on.  Her  heart  beat  evenly  and  her 
color  gloried.  All  the  clocks  in  the  world 
were  ticking  the  time  between  now  and 
to-morrow's  dawn,  and  to  be  leading  Paul- 
ter on,  making  him  expend  himself,  caused 
her  teeth  to  shut  and  her  fists  to  clench. 
The  butcher's  boy,  visible  through  gaps  in 
the  opposite  foliage,  was  driving  fast  again, 
with  a  man  whose  shoulders  crowded  him, 
whose  compulsion  made  him  pale  with 
angry  fear.  She  swung  the  scarlet  side  of 
her  cape  to  catch  their  eyes^^^She  moved 
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as  if  to  keep  along  the  ridge  where  she  was 
until  it  joined  the  steeper  ascents  of  the 
mountain,  more  than  an  hour  to  the  north. 
Paulter  plunged  down  the  path  in  pursuit 
of  her,  as  she  had  wished. 

Under  cover  of  a  ravine  presently  she, 
too.  descended,  but  at  an  avoiding  angle. 
It  brought  her  up  through  the  dense  red- 
woods on  her  own  side  of  the  canon,  leisure- 
ly to  her  mother's  door. 

"You've  spoiled  it,"  her  mother  said,, 
not  without  belief  that  in  this  return  she 
had  cause  for  triumphing.  "He  would 
have  slept.  I  put  bromide  in  his  coffee. 
He  believes  you've  gone  to  meet  bint. 
He's  grown  desperate.  You'll  have  to  get 
down  on  your  knees  to  him." 

Her  ineffectualness  brought  a  flash  of 
color  to  her  cheek.  Ethel  was  pointing 
through  the  window,  across  the  caiion,  to 
the  figure  that  hastened  northward  on  the 
ridge. 

"He  thinks  I've  kept  behind  the  trees, 
mother.  I'm  trying  to  tire  him  out,  on 
account  of  to-morrow.  Tell  him  that  if 
you  like.  He  won't  believe  it.  You  don't 
believe  it.  I  have  made  it  my  first  prin- 
ciple to  be  frank  with  you,  but  you  think 
I  have  an  appointment  to-day  with  Mr. 
Kendry.  You've  ceased  to  trust  me  and 
I  can't  live  with  you.  It's  an  odious 
happening." 

Her  mother  laid  a  hand  on  the  newel- 
post.  She  tried  for  once  to  keep  fixed  upon 
her  daughter's  eyes. 

"There's  something  I  don't  know,"  she 
huskily  began,  her  voice  mounting,  "and 
that  means  that  if  you  do  go  away,  some 
day  you'll  want  to  come  back.  You'll 
want  to  shiver  behind  your  mother  and  tell 
her  how  you  hate  that  man." 

The  eyes  had  widened  and  intensified. 
They  left  to  Violet  Marr  no  resource  but 
tears.  The  effect  of  the  tears  was  unex- 
pected. 

"Mother,"  the  girl  trembled,  "it  isn't 
your  best  self  I'm  going  from.  If  ever 
you're  alone  and  you  want  me,  I'll  come. 
Won't  you  kiss  me?" 

Her  mother  bowed  upon  the  newel-post, 
wet-eyed  but  not  sobbing.  The  girl  looked 
about  at  the  long-familiar  articles  they  had 
brought  to  this  pleasanter  place.  There 
were  gifts  from  her  mother,  relics  of  her 
father,  things  that  her  baby  fingers  had 
reached  for.     The  portrait  of  her  father 


was  on  the  wall;  under  it  were  the  ashes 
of  Paulter's  cigar,  and  his  hat,  his  black- 
thorn stick.  She  remembered  another 
door,  another  sunlight,  out  into  which 
she  had  seen  her  father  go,  smiling  at  his 
daughter's  tears. 

"Mother?"  she  broke. 

That  strange  half-smile  played  about  her 
mother's  mouth.  Without  a  glance  Violet 
Marr  mounted  the  stairs.  There  came  the 
sound  of  her  door  locking. 

The  girl  went  out  to  the  veranda  and 
looked  over  to  the  city.  It  glittered,  await- 
ing her  beauty,  her  slender  purse,  for  what 
it  could  wring  out  of  her  or  for  what  it  must 
yield  to  her.  Perhaps  it  would  nourish  her 
rather  kindly,  in  the  terms  of  the  common- 
place, the  unimaginative,  the  dull  grind  of 
the  unaspiring.  The  city  was  not  the 
mountain.  After  she  had  sacrificed  on  the 
mountain — her  pride,  her  strength,  her 
reckless  presence  at  the  moment  when  these 
men  should  meet,  the  city  would  take  her 
and  the  mountain  would  never  know  her 
in  its  intimate  way  of  yore.  It  would  have 
been  different  if  her  father  had  lived;  he 
would  have  made  himself  live  on  in  her; 
she  would  have  been  the  first  consideration 
in  his  life.  She  straightened.  He  should 
survive  in  her.  Somewhere  in  the  mid- 
seas  he  had  gone  down,  unrecorded,  un- 
traced.  It  was  not  necessary  for  his 
daughter  to  be  told  how  his  blue  eyes  had 
faced  the  end.  They  were  like  her  eyes; 
the  situation  was  a  little  different,  but  she 
would  try,  as  he  had  confronted  merciful 
death,  to  confront  the  greater  agony  of  life. 
She  hurried  on  her  predetermined  course. 

Chan  Kow's  answer  awaited  her  at  the 
post  office:  ** There  are  things  which  must 
be  left  to  Fate.  This  is  one  of  them,"  It 
failed  to  echo  his  prophetic  linking  of  her 
name  with  Mr.  Kendry  s.  It  sounded  to 
her  like  the  first  of  more  than  one  farewell. 
She  turned  again  toward  the  mountain, 
this  time  by  the  westward  canon,  which 
would  lead  her  to  where  Paulter  would  ex- 
pect to  find  her,  and  bring  her  there  before 
him.  In  two  hours  she  sat  on  the  western 
summit,  a  little  fatigued,  none  inspirited. 
She  was  prepared  to  do  so  much,  to  do  it  so 
intensely,  from  motives  which,  most  of  all 
to  Kendry,  would  seem  so  insufficient.  If 
she  rushed  in,  if  nothing  in  the  working  out 
of  the  event  to-morrow  seemed  to  justify 
her  presence,  how  could  she  give  it  dignity 


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in  his  eyes?  She  had  been  going  to  justify 
it  by  a  lofty  reference  to  the  idea,  to  his 
value  to  humanity,  to  her  obsession  that 
he  must  survive.  She  still  could  frame  the 
words,  but  would  they  be  less  than  hy- 
pocrisy? 

Through  the  chaparral  she  could  see  to  a 
path  that  forked  and  encircled  the  rounded 
summit,  then  became  one  again  on  the  sea- 
ward side.  Where  she  looked,  Paulter,  if 
he  continued  his  fancied  pursuit  of  her, 
would  pass.  A  mile  beyond  stood  the  lone 
tree,  where  he  would  go  in  the  hope  of 
finding  her  with  Kendry.  No  trail  led  to 
where  she  had  spread  her  cape;  people  who 
climbed  the  mountain  followed  the  rail- 
road to  the  other  summit.  Perhaps  she 
would  wait  in  vain.  But  it  was  the  logical 
thing  to  do,  and,  doing  it,  such  a  mind  as 
Kendry 's  would  have  waited  in  a  kind  of 
peace,  she  thought,  peace  such  as  she  could 
not  know. 

It  was  because  he  could  thus  intellectual- 
ly proceed,  following  the  finer  instincts,  the 
spiritual  way,  to  wheresoever  they  might 
lead,  that  chance  would  be  his  enemy — 
chance  that,  by  upsetting  the  calculations 
of  such  men,  ever  had  preserved  the  balance 
between  them  and  strains  like  Arthur 
Paulter's.  Kendry  would  have  thought  of 
that,  too,  and  he  would  have  come  decided 
as  to  his  attitude  toward  death;  he  would 
come,  in  short,  knowing  himself.  That 
was  where  he  was  superior,  where  she 
failed.  He  never  would  stay  unstably  con- 
templating Mary  Eastwood;  he  would 
examine,  himself  to  the  last  shred  and  he 
would  discover  just  the  value  Mary  East- 
wood had  for  him.  And  in  this  great  com- 
motion approaching  to-morrow  the  hour 
would  strike  for  Mary  Eastwood  and  for 
him;  souls  would  unveil.  Yet  he  would 
not  swerve  from  the  trial.  He  would  come, 
and  if  he  survived  he  would  hand  to  Ethel 
Marr  her  release  from  Paulter's  baneful 
shadow;  a  gift  for  which  not  the  passion- 
ate "  I "  would  await  acknowledgment,  but 
which  the  impersonal  "Idea"  would  ac- 
claim as  its  own  satisfaction.  The  name 
"Idea"  was  as  hostile  as  the  trees,  the 
high  hills,  the  cold  sea  at  their  feet;  it 
echoed  from  the  mountain  itself,  with  the 
sound  of  eternity,  denying  what  was  of 
woman's  youth,  of  her  beauty,  of  her 
bounding  blood.  She  must  give  thanks 
to  him,  changeless  of  color,  quiverless  of 


lip.  She  must  go  on,  alone.  He  never 
fully  could  have  respected  her.  There 
were  things  about  Mary  Eastwood  that 
a  lifetime  would  prove,  but  Mary  East- 
wood never  could  have  known  such  a 
man  as  Arthur  Paulter;  never  could  have 
stood  stroking  his  cheek  in  fear  that  he 
would  kill  someone;  never  could  have  sat 
alone  on  a  mountain-top,  armed  with  his 
own  dreadful  gift  against  what  his  unbridled 
instincts  might  lead  him  to,  in  a  solitude, 
under  a  passion  that  so  degraded  her. 
Ethel  thrust  her  hand  to  part  the  bushes. 
The  figure  that  advanced  around  the  bend 
was  at  a  glance  not  Paulter.  It  was  too 
obviously  of  another  school.  It  was  c'ad 
in  the  color  of  the  rocks.  It  swung 
strongly,  full  of  purpose,  full  of  grace,  deep 
in  thought.  Did  it  go  to  meet  its  death? 
She  paled;  she  rose,  then  crouched,  then 
rose  again,  her  hand  toward  it.  It  passed, 
erect,  light  of  foot,  firm  of  mouth.  She 
could  not  call  to  it.     It  disappeared. 

Why  had  she  not  been  honest  with  her- 
self? Why  could  she  not  go  to  the  event 
in  the  abandonment  to  truth  where  lay  the 
one  solace,  the  one  dignity  ? 

"I  do — I  do!"  she  whispered  the  words. 
They  were  gone  and  the  breeze  never 
would  give  them  back.  Her  head  bowed 
on  her  knees.  She  tossed  her  hands  from 
her  eyes,  stumbling  up.  But  there  was 
no  goal — the  mountain  at  last  had  turned 
against  her.  There  was  only  the  figure  of 
another  man,  rounding  the  bend  on  hasty 
feet,  turning  to  look  behind  him,  tightening 
an  evil  mouth  she  knew  too  well,  going 
with  stealth  and  with  his  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  his  coat.  He  would  not  look  up 
to  the  waving  of  her  cape;  she  could  not 
break  fast  enough  down  through  that  dense 
growth  to  stop  him.  She  tore  open  the 
bag  at  her  belt.  The  explosion  of  that 
pistol,  pointed  at  the  ground,  seemed  to 
shake  the  skies.  The  man  jumped  and 
whirled;  he  caught  at  last  her  moving 
figure  on  the  skyline. 

Down  on  the  other  fork  of  the  trail  from 
the  one  Kendry  had  taken  she  waited  till 
she  knew  that  Paulter,  struggling  through 
the  brush,  had  sighted  her.  She  broke  a 
sapling  to  mark  her  flight  down  the  steep 
beyond — away  from  the  direction  Kendry 
had  taken,  through  a  battling,  pathless 
tangle,  over  uncertain  stones  and  hollow 
pitfalls  hidden  by  nets  of  fallen  leaves  on 

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fallen  branchlets.  The  sapling  still  quiv- 
ered when  Paulter  leaped  exultingly  across 
the  trail. »  He  heard  her  crashing  through 
tough  scrubby  oaks,  interlocking  redwood 
shoots  and  clumps  of  ceanothus;  hood  on 
head  she  could  not  match  his  carelessness 
of  torn  skin,  and,  somewhere  beyond,  he 
pictured  Kendry  slackening  his  speed  to 
hers.  He  thought  he  saw  through  Ken- 
dry's  game,  now  that  he  had  read  the  news- 
paper some  one  had  dropped  off  the  moun- 
tain train.  Kendry  had  arranged  the 
capture  of  Q)llins,  and  they  would  try  to 
hold  Paulter,  if  not  on  a  charge,  then  as  a 
witness,  so  that  Paulter  would  fail  to  ap- 
pear at  dawn  to-morrow.  Kendry  hadn't 
calculated  on  what  was  happening  now! 
Paulter  remembered  how  once  before  he 
had  lost  her,  because  his  own  crackling  of 
dry  brush  had  drowned  hers.  He  made 
pauses;  they  sent  her  ahead,  but  his  ears 
stood  him  in  turn.  He  hated  the  accursed 
tangle  and  it  hated  him,  but  a  mere  woman 
could  not  fight  it  as  he  was  fighting.  He 
came  to  a  nearly  sheer  descent  of  many 
feet,  the  face  of  the  rock  hung  with  the 
exposed  roots  of  the  fringe  of  shrubs  above, 
the  bottom  obscured  by  tall  redwoods. 
There  were  sounds  down  there — she  had 
known  a  quicker  way,  but  that  would  not 
change  the  end,  so  long  as  he  had  ears. 
He  slid  down  with  stones  clattering  about 
his  head;  he  would  teach  them  better 
shooting  than  that  effort  of  theirs  on  the 
summit.  The  sounds  became  confused, 
nearer,  a  slow  beating  as  if  with  a  heavy 
stick  against  something  impassable,  as  if 
one  of  them  was  entangled  and  frantically 
sought  to  be  free.  He  hastened  along  the 
bottom,  gloating,  framing  his  speech, 
glorifying  his  prowess.  The  face  of  the 
wall  ran  higher.  As  he  came  into  a  clear 
space  a  heavy  stone  crashed  from  above 
and  made  that  sound  against  a  redwood 
bough.  She  had  not  descended.  She  had 
walked  along,  hurling  down  the  stones. 
She  was  alone.  Now  he  heard  her  quick 
retreat  up  toward  the  trail  and  back  toward 
whence  he  had  been  coming  when  he  dis- 
covered her.     Paulter  threw  himself  down. 

"All  right,"  he  presently  tossed  his 
defeat  from  him.  **If  he  isn't  there  to- 
morrow, I'll  go  to  where  he  is.  Hand  'em 
out  one  little  white  chip;  I'll  cash  in  some 
red  ones." 

He  lay  panting  on  his  back.     He  was  not 


going  to  risk  returning  to  the  house — not 
until  he  had  read  another  day's  newspaper 
about  the  confession  of  G^llins.  The  sun 
was  warm,  the  spot  was  sheltered  from  the 
wind.     He  put  the  newspaper  over  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A    MIND   AND   A    PAIR   OF    PISTOLS 

Kendry  had  paused  at  the  foot  of  an- 
other face  of  rock  high  on  the  mountain's 
southern  side,  against  which  the  sun  made 
his  shadow  more  noticeable  than  himself, 
sending  up  in  the  reflected  warmth  about  his 
feet  the  bouquet  of  a  mid-California  day 
— the  mixture  of  mints,  of  yerha  santa,  of 
immortelles  and  of  other  faintly  perfumed 
leaves  and  flowers.  Lizards  basked  and 
darted  in  the  heat  radiating  between  his 
eyes  and  the  Pacific,  the  high  hills,  the  city 
whose  gray  pall  drifted  inland  on  a  lessen- 
ing breeze.  Often  he  had  rejoiced  in  these 
savors,  this  glittering  path  of  freights  to- 
ward»  the  roofs  and  spires  which  partly 
showed  brhind  the  inner  headlands  of  the 
Gate.  The  region  lays  on  m:n  of  every 
race,  every  mold,  its  bright  allurement. 
If  elsewhere  the  scenes  of  men's  works 
more  finished,  more  restrained,  had  aided 
his  discriminations,  they  never  had  abated 
the  loyalty,  the  poetic  optimism  which 
glowed  on  his  viewing  that  empire  of  sum- 
mits fronting  to  the  changeful  sea.  He 
was  under  the  spell  perhaps  for  the  last 
time;  he  was  perhaps  to  leave  it  as  the 
hero  of  a  poor  sensational  episode,  tickling 
the  minds  of  the  majority;  his  one  contri- 
bution to  the  story  of  a  fair  haven  that 
waited  for  spirits  schooled  like  his  to  de- 
liver it  from  a  drgree  of  self-debasement. 

In  the  kind  of  mortal  danger  he  went  for- 
ward to,  men  of  least  imagination  seek  a 
fillip  otherwise  denied  them;  faint  ecstatic 
beings  flee  from  it,  and  only  men  of  fancy 
spiritually  deep  approach  it  with  full  fore- 
thought and  full  courage.  Not  but  that 
Kendry  was  approaching  death  in  a  stir  of 
all  his  faculties,  while  he  stood  with  the 
liveliness  of  youth  responding  to  the  en- 
nerving  dryness  of  the  air  and  the  subtle 
invitation  of  the  flowers.  Death  passed 
before  him  in  the  varied  meanings  mankind 
had  made  for  it,  out  of  fear,  through 
credulity,  into  faith.  To  him  the  fear  of 
after-death,  and  its  superstructi^re  of  faith 
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in  the  promise  of  eternal  life,  had  been  the 
index  of  the  Christian  Era,  and  the  decline 
in  the  value  of  that  promise  pointed  to 
greater  peace  on  earth  and  to  the  greater 
majesty  of  man. 

The  weight  of  the  promise  had  been  its 
n^ation  of  the  alleged  terrors  of  death. 
Before  this  negation,  this  summum  bonum, 
western  civilization  wearily  had  laid  down 
the  burden  of  natural  thought,  and  be- 
fore this  closed  gate  the  multitude  had 
rested  throughout  centuries.  To  occasional 
querulous  voices  the  promise  repeated 
itself  in  even  terms.  It  was  the  artificial 
stopping  point,  the  mortal  error,  in  a 
world  of  unfathomed  possibilities  of  spirit- 
ual extension.  For  one  who  bound  his 
eyes  with  no  self-consecrated  fillet  and  for 
whom  the  instinct  to  evolve  existed  as 
forcibly  as  the  instinct  to  avoid  death,  the 
promise  of  eternal  happiness,  offered  to  the 
spirit  through  the  mind,  had  the  value  of 
that  which  the  mind  cannot  conceive. 
John  Kendry  could  not  imagine  light 
which  makes  no  shadow,  nor  actual  peace 
except  from  actual  threat  of  pain.  The 
peace  which  passes  the  understanding 
passed  for  him  into  the  negation  of  sentient 
being. 

If  to-day  this  did  not  decrease  a  young 
man's  willingness  to  die,  though  it  did  not 
touch  on  his  will  to  meet  the  issue,  it 
heightened  his  joy  in  his  worid,  climbing 
down  from  the  warm  rock  through  the 
delicate  air  of  manzanita  blossoms,  of 
lilac-like  blooms  of  the  ceanothus.  It 
strengthened  his  hope  for  the  world  he 
knew,  when  all  the  incantations  wasted 
upon  space  should  be  translated  into  deeds 
for  its  betterment.  The  far  perspective  of 
the  hills  aided  a  perspective  of  humanity 
congenial  to  his  soul.  The  world  was  not 
asleep,  but  awakening.  As  ever,  the  fer- 
ment was  in  the  masses,  less  in  answer  to 
the  shouting  of  the  prophets  than  to  the 
slow  digestion  of  centuries  of  experience. 
At  length  the  monster  had  ceased  to  accept 
specific  mortal  ills  in  meek  exchange  for 
vague  promises  beyond  the  grave.  On  the 
one  side  stood  the  spirit  of  truth  and 
democracy,  and  all  the  extensions  of 
democracy  most  often  grouped  under  the 
term  socialism;  on  the  other  side  stood 
empiricism,  aristocracy,  plutocracy,  and 
the  machineries  of  the  allied  faiths.  Every- 
where the  monster  moved  against  these  old 


forms  of  its  own  nourishing,  often  obtusely, 
often  without  mercy,  yet  always  under  the 
same  new  instinct  for  a  better  life  on 
earth — a  life  which  should  stand  to  that 
of  the  present  inversely  as  the  superstitious 
domination  of  the  middle  ages  stood  to 
spiritual  freedom.  This,  then,  was  the 
deep  rumble  of  the  multitude  as  in  harmony 
with  which  John  Kendry  might  hope  to 
liken  his  idea  to  one  of  some  individual 
silver  bells.  To  know  that  harmony  re- 
leased him  from  the  loneliness  he  had 
found  when  he  had  asked  an  understand- 
ing of  the  idea  from  men  who,  as  it  hap- 
pened in  his  acquaintance,  were  neither  of 
conscious  bell  metal  nor  of  the  intuitive 
multitude. 

While  he  thought  these  things  he  went 
over  dry  ground  where  the  manzanita 
thickly  shaded  its  roots  amongst  which  no 
grass  grew.  His  hobnails  grated  on  the 
angular  pebbles  and  startled  a  little  tur- 
quoise snake.  The  soil  changed  from 
yellow  to  green,  the  vegetation  became 
lower  and  sparse  and  he  dug  his  heels  into 
the  loose  earth  of  a  steep  bank  and  came 
down  on  to  a  road  that  wound  to  seaward, 
in  and  out  of  folds,  past  springs,  and  into  a 
strangely  altered  meadow  where  flourished 
ancient  yews  and  twisted  bays,  and  the 
song-sparrow  did  not  wait  for  the  evening 
hours  but  sang  for  the  joy  of  living  while 
life  ran. 

But  birds  were  birds  and  men  were  men, 
he  mused,  and  the  building  of  nests: — here 
were  a  man's  footprints  in  the  sand  the 
winter  rains  had  brought  upon  the  road, 
and  those  of  a  woman;  any  man  and  any 
woman  walking  toward  the  sea's  horizon, 
and  perhaps  singing,  even  as  the  birds! 
Presently  the  footprints  were  joined  by 
those  of  a  child,  as  if  it  had  been  set  down 
from  the  man's  shoulder.  There  was  the 
balance  on  heels,  the  dart  across  to  a  clump 
of  yellow  poppies;  there  was  the  joyful  skip 
to  join  the  others,  the  sudden  discovery  of 
the  soft  surface  near  a  waterway  into 
which  the  feet  had  sunk,  to  be  snatched 
back  to  drier  ground  and  to  blithely  wind, 
trailing  a  stick,  to  where  the  small  fingers 
had  left  their  marks  in  the  scooping  up  of 
the  sand. 

It  was  this  he  was  to  forego,  Kendry 
said  to  himself,  as  the  sea  came  into  nearer 
view  and  as  the  four  grown  footprints 
assembled  where  the  child  had^been  lifted 

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back  to  shoulder.  He  marveled  at  how 
little  he  ever  had  thought  of  man  in  his 
capacity  of  father.  He  had  let  it  lie  over 
invisible  beyond  marriage.  And  it  was  the 
one  certain  approach  to  immortality  life 
had  to  show.  It  was  the  one  avenue  by 
which  man's  virtue,  his  experience,  his 
essence,  lingered  after  him.  If  it  lingered 
in  combination  with  another  strain  it  was 
itself  such  a  combination,  and  in  the  union 
all  romance  was  exalted,  all  egoism  quali- 
fied. Why  was  it  not  enough?  Why  was 
it  not  the  answer  to  the  thirst  for  conscious 
endlessness?  Why  was  it  not  noblest  to 
accept  the  extinction  of  one's  known  selfish 
entity,  rejoicing  in  and  glorifying  posterity? 
Posterity!  The  word  glowed.  To  live  for 
posterity,  to  have  been  lived  for  by  an- 
cestry! To  have  lived  in  ancestry,  and  in 
posterity  still  to  live;  posterity  and  an- 
cestry wherein  all  men  were  blood  brothers 
and  the  self-seeking  of  the  individual  soul, 
that  fretted  over  the  little  time,  the  little 
space  that  bound  it,  was  cast  aside  on  ac- 
count of  its  morbidity!  To  build,  to 
beautify,  to  preserve,  not  for  the  covetous 
moments  of  one's  own  evanescence,  but  for 
all  the  living  world  to  come!  It  asked  no 
strangling  of  the  instinct  for  thought;  it 
was  founded  on  human  experience,  human 
intelligence;  it  crowned  the  strongest  of 
human  instincts  and  raised  it  out  of  cen- 
turies of  hypocritical  reproach;  it  extended 
human  romance  through  marriage,  through 
maturity,  through  old  age;  sweetly  and 
without  strain  it  brought  together  all 
human  sympathy  and  understanding;  it 
made  infinite  the  possible  extension  of 
human  activities;  it  did  all  this  and  asked 
for  no  credulity,  for  no  especial  tempera- 
ment, no  subversion  of  insiinct,  no  symbol, 
because  it  began  with  the  first  principle  of 
life,  beside  whose  antiquity  all  beliefs  and 
all  observances  were  but  flaws  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  deep. 

Kendry  smiled  a  little,  his  hands  tapping 
the  pistols  in  his  breast  pockets.  What 
was  in  the  mind  of  Paulter  at  this  moment, 
Paulter  who  would  have  dug  the  shores  for 
gold  till  the  sea  swallowed  him  up;  who 
would  have  corrupted  public  authority  till 
anarchy  destroyed  him;  who  could  have 
worshiped  himself  until  he  was  immolated 
in  the  service  of  his  egotism?  Kendry 
drew  an  agreeable  breath  of  the  air  from 
the  sea.     He  tapped  his  boot  with  a  willow 


switch.  There  was  a  difference  between 
chance  and  odds.  He  intended  that  the 
odds  should  be  in  his  favor.  He  gave  up 
his  mind  to  the  details  of  a  violent  demise, 
which  should  be  not  his  but  Paulter's. 

The  road  curved  out  of  the  last  sheltered 
hollows  to  the  treeless  slopes  that  descended 
steeply  to  the  shores.  He  passed  a  prosaic 
cattle  ranch,  and  a  deserted  summer  camp- 
ing resort,  and  came  out  upon  a  broad 
sandpit  paralleling  the  shore  for  some 
miles.  He  became  an  unnoticeable  figure 
on  it,  along  with  the  huge  flotsam  of  timber 
rafts  and  with  the  nimble  sand-peeps.  He 
had  been  neither  a  duffer  nor  a  crack-shot ; 
he  never  had  met  anything  he  wanted  to  kill 
so  much  as  he  wanted  its  living  acquaint- 
ance. He  set  up  a  bottle  on  a  stick  where 
the  still  sea  lapped  the  sands.  After  his 
seven  bullets  had  been  sent  at  it,  the  bottle 
remained  intact.  Something  in  the  pull  of 
his  finger,  the  tension  of  his  breath,  de- 
flected his  aim.  He  spent  two  hours  trying 
to  disregard  his  breathing  and  to  conquer 
the  deflection.  There  was  in  the  calm  of  a 
successful  aim  a  seeming  denial  of  the 
passion  that  should  justify  killing  a  man. 
It  was  difficult  to  accord  to  the  sharpness 
of  the  explosion  its  irrelevancy.  He  made 
a  target  something  of  a  man's  figure  and 
ran  at  it  over  obstacles,  firing  as  he  went. 
There  was  a  point  from  which  he  could  not 
miss;  it  was  perhaps  a  question  of  his 
reaching  that  point  in  the  face  of  Paulter's 
fire.  He  sat  counting  the  possible  dangers, 
the  possible  developments,  till  the  sun  sank 
into  the  clouds  of  the  horizon.  No  optim- 
ism had  resulted.  It  was  not  odds;  it 
still  was  chance. 

He  ate  and  started  up  the  incline  again, 
now  directly  in  the  line  of  the  rendezvous, 
where  he  planned  to  secure  the  advantage 
of  the  ground.  He  took  the  ascent  slowly, 
saving  all  strength.  At  the  top  the  ground- 
robin  scuttled  beneath  the  brush,  the 
meadow-lark  called  from  a  dead  tree;  the 
sense  of  eventide,  the  dying  of  the  breeze, 
the  cow  motionless  beyond  a  fence,  the 
cooler  smell  of  the  grass,  the  flat  glazed  sur- 
face of  the  sea,  the  gathering  gloom  to  east- 
ward, these  weighed  on  the  mind  of  a  man 
who  might  not  see  the  fullness  of  another 
morning.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  went 
long  upon  the  upper  meadows.  He  crossed 
their  park-like  stretches  where  the  redwood 
and  the  bay,  happily  not  contending  in  a 

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crowd  for  light,  spread  their  branches  far 
aground.  He  passed  a  grove  of  madronos 
large  and  small,  where  the  red  disk  on  the 
horizon  heightened  the  ocher  surface  of  the 
trunks  and  made,  with  its  flood  of  con- 
trasted cok)r,  its  vivid  setting  off  of  yellow 
bough  and  bottle-green  leaf,  its  irregularity 
of  all  the  shapes  of  branch  and  twig,  a  still 
strange  mystery  of  which  the  essence  was 
unanswered  loneliness.  He  tried  to  dwell 
upon  the  beauty  of  the  rolling  hollows, 
their  smooth  verdure  and  the  setting  of 
vigorous,  perfect  trees.  But  the  sun  dropped 
out  of  the  frame.  A  rabbit  ran  away  and 
paused,  obscurely  cocking  its  ears.  The 
song-sparrow  ceased.  The  sea  was  lost  be- 
hind the  rises  and  the  hollows  and  the  sky 
was  filling  with  high  vapors  shutting  away 
the  faint  stars.  In  that  wheeling  of  the 
birds  of  dusk,  that  alternate  regular  chirp 
of  the  crickets  far  and  near,  were  the  sym- 
bols of  solitude,  of  the  mind's  night,  of  the 
endless  round  while  men  struggled  to  change 
the  world  and  from  the  struggle  suddenly 
passed  into  the  inexplicable  Silence. 

It  formed  in  him  a  wish  that  was  incon- 
sistent, yet  would  not  down;  that  for  a 
while  there  might  be  some  one  with  him. 
It  was  not  the  occasional  crackling  of  dry 
leaves,  the  unexpected  stirrings  of  the  air, 
that  chilled  him.  It  was  a  sense  of  a  new 
want,  of  an  incompleteness,  of  an  unex- 
pressedness,  to  which  only  the  darkness 
echoed.  It  led  him  back  to  Mary  East- 
wood's door.  He  could  have  stopped  there 
with  her;  he  could  have  had  his  half  hour 
with  her  and  their  future  would  have  been 
resolved.  This  would  not  necessarily  have 
met  his  present  yearning.  He  figured 
Mary  walking  at  his  side;  he  could  not 
imagine  in  what  garb,  what  inner  mood. 
The  rustlings  in  the  shadows,  the  forms  the 
shrubs  and  fallen  trees  took  on,  would  have 
brought  her  nearer  him,  disconcerted  and, 

^  though  under  his  protection,  still  longing 
for  her  lights,  her  locks  and  keys,  her  ser- 
vants. The  stones  would  have  hurt  her  feet 
and  she  would  have^hivered  in  the  cooling 
of  the  air.  He  would  have  reassured  her, 
but  it  was  he  himself  who  needed  reassur- 
ance, not  as  to  the  familiar  phenomena  of 
night  in  the  wilderness,  but  about  himself, 
in  that  dimension  where  the  weakness  of 
man  equals  the  strength  of  woman. 
The  clouds  had  thickened  and  settled. 

He  k>st  the  trail  and  went  on  with  a  woods- 


man's sense  of  direction.  Forms  faded 
into  formlessness,  and  only  the  least  pene- 
tration of  the  shrouded  moon  gave  line  to 
the  tops  of  groves  of  trees  and  of  eminences. 
He  came  out  on  to  the  drier  ground  again. 
The  far  summits  dimly  ran  against  the 
clouds.  To  the  south  the  city  glimmered 
and  took  shape  out  of  the  darkness,  sending 
a  few  shimmering  reflections  into  the  waters 
of  the  bay.  He  picked  his  way  among 
bowlders  and  through  thickets  to  where  the 
lone  tree  stood  against  the  rock.  Pistol  in 
hand  he  climbed  down  cautiously  on  to  the 
uneven  terrace  overhanging  a  gulf  of  black- 
ness. He  listened  long  and  heard  no  sound. 
Evidently  he  was  first  and  alone.  He  be- 
lieved that  no  one  could  approach  within 
pistol-shot  without  being  heard. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    BEGINNING 

Up  back  of  him  the  outline  of  the  moun- 
tain swept,  a  little  blacker  than  the  clouds. 
Beneath  the  gulf  beyond  the  less  dim  sur- 
face of  the  rock  the  hills  and  trees  and 
waterways  were  one  in  formlessness.  The 
sheltered  shelf  at  the  rock's  edge,  waist 
deep,  was  opposite  the  tops  of  redwoods 
through  whose  foliage  the  wind  gave  now 
and  then  a  sigh  against  the  silence.  There 
he  dropped  his  burden  from  his  back, 
weary  not  with  travel,  nor  with  foreboding, 
but  with  the  length  of  the  hours  that  must 
pass.  He  gave  himself  to  groping  on  each 
tilted  plane,  over  each  crevice  with  a 
struggling  shrub  that  should  dispute  his 
footing  on  his  way  to  meet  an  adversary. 
He  conned  the  points  that  would  stand  out 
up  the  slope  in  the  path  of  his  aim,  to  aid 
him;  he  studied  the  dim  contrast  he  him- 
self would  make  as  a  mark  against  the  hill- 
sides, down  across  the  distance,  that  would 
be  shaded  by  the  morning  light  beyond 
them.  He  imagined  his  combat  till  atten- 
tion lost  its  edge  and  he  turned  his  back  on 
the  scene  and  acknowledged  the  flaw  in  that 
calm  neutrality  he  had  expected  to  perfect. 

Rightly  he  should  be  sitting  erect,  heels 
over  brink,  a  finished  figure  in  bronze, 
symbolically  gazing  at  the  reflection  of  the 
far  clouds  above  the  city.  He  bowed,  a 
figure  of  clay;  his  depression  deepened 
with  the  slow  prc^ess  of  the  hidden  stars. 
Past  the  walls  erected  by  aiuintellect  the 

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current  of  his  emotions  the  more  violently 
swept.  If  he  died  and  Mary  Eastwood  took 
half  his  fortune,  he  should  have  served  her 
well.  But,  in  defense  against  the  dead- 
ness  of  the  gloomy  hours  he  let  himself 
consider,  what  as  to  her  if  he  lived? 

That  is  a  familiar  phase  through  which 
he  had  passed  in  Mary's  sympathetic  com- 
pany. He  had  been  young,  linguistic, 
capable  of  world -mindedness,  moving 
toward  cosmopolitanism.  After  two  years, 
when  his  father's  death  had  called  him 
back  to  his  own  country,  Kendry  had 
suffered;  the  cacophony,  the  foolish  haste, 
the  ugliness,  the  corruption,  the  thousand 
vulgarities,  the  poverty  of  social  life — all 
loomed  upon  him  in  unhappy  oppositeness. 
In  his  letters  to  Mary  the  moment  had  been 
of  their  closest,  if  still  undefined  com- 
munion. Gradually  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed— numbed,  Mary  would  have  said — 
to  much  that  first  had  appalled  him.  Con- 
ditions could  differ  more  than  men :  a  rev- 
elation which  covered  his  own  country 
and  justified  his  cosmopolitanism.  Amid 
the  din  and  the  prating  of  self-sufficiency 
he  distinguished  the  mounting  cry  for  the 
more  agreeable  to  the  eye,  the  more  admir- 
able in  social  intercourse,  and  for  a  public 
morality.  The  vastness  of  the  country 
made  the  voices  seem  isolated — if  one 
listened  for  the  ring  that  meant  the  deed 
behind  the  word.  Social  life  was  inverte- 
brate, and  the  organization  of  society  singu- 
larly deficient  in  the  power  and  means  of 
veracious  self-expression.  The  cry  was  the 
cry  of  a  minority  under  the  despotism  of  a 
majority,  and  he  lived  in  a  longitude  where 
men,  a  little  too  sleek,  are  prone  to  beg  the 
question  of  public  honesty  by  an  appeal  to 
the  glorious  climate,  as  with  creative  pride. 
But  the  familiar  lines  brought  him  to  his 
restored  balance.  To  youth,  America,  in 
every  field  but  those  of  certain  arts,  meant 
opportunity.  And  where,  even  from  a 
world  point  of  view,  the  most  glorious  op- 
portunity lay,  the  field  was  least  crowded : 
the  fateful  fight  to  rouse  responsibility  in 
the  sheep  whose  march  to  the  polls,  over- 
fed, underbred,  was  a  pageant  for  the 
enemies  of  democracy.  Though  to  live  the 
mildest  of  lives  in  the  land  of  his  birth 
meant  that  his  chances  of  being  maimed 
or  murdered  were  about  ten  times  as 
great  as  they  were  under  the  effete  mon- 
archies; that  was  part  of  the  price  of  this 


greatest  of  opportunities,  and  he  was  willing 
to  pay  the  whole  price. 

It  brought  him  to  the  question:  how  to 
begin,  considering  that  he  was  neither  "a 
good  fellow  "  nor  perhaps  naturally  gifted 
as  a  leader  of  men.  The  answer  to  that 
was  that  any  man  must  shine,  at  least  as  an 
example,  whose  motives  transcend  his  own 
aggrandizement  and  his  own  times.  Ex- 
tending that,  he  had  framed  his  idea.  He 
had  striven  to  convert  Mary  to  it. 

During  the  time  since  his  episode  with 
Paulter  on  the  mountain,  during  his  suc- 
ceeding days  of  disheartenment — hence  of 
so  little  importance,  yet,  except  to  himself, 
as  if  he  had  dropped  like  a  pebble  into  the 
sea  he  could  have  wished  to  convulse — 
Mary  had  been  an  added  weight.  Now,  as 
he  looked  across  to  that  crowded  precinct 
where,  despite  her  horror  of  it,  she  would 
have  preferred  to  be,  rather  than  on  this 
rock,  he  saw  that  he  had  converted,  not  her 
spirit,  but  perhaps  her  heart.  He  saw  that  it 
had  been  the  shadow  of  this  conclusion  that 
had  made  him  put  off  thinking  about  her. 

If  he  survived,  if  he  rushed  to  find  her, 
if  he  said  nothing  contrary,  they  would 
drift  back  to  Europe — inevitable  for  Ameri- 
cans when  drift  they  must.  Mary  would 
not  object  to  his  becoming  a  man  without 
a  country;  his  matured  cosmopolitanism 
would  count,  not  for  a  luminous  view  of  the 
hundred  facets  of  life  under  the  Constitu- 
tion, but  for  enjoyment,  for  dilettante- 
ism,  for  a  fussy,  unaccountable,  old  age. 
Against  which,  even  at  his  feeblest,  there 
would  wax  the  sadness,  the  regrets,  of  ex- 
patriation. The  knowledge  of  this  would 
be  Mary's  fear,  her  unexpressed  reserva- 
tion— of  ample  possibilities  for  conjugal 
chafing — that  some  day  he  might  set  sail 
and  grimly  become  American. 

She  had  accepted  the  idea  with  resigna- 
tion, not  with  joy.  For  the  idea  anything 
other  than  enthusiasm  was  antagonism. 
That  was  as  clear  as  the  black  form  of  the 
horned  owl  that  flapped  past  him  and 
alighted  in  the  near  obscurity. 

He  thought  he  had  made  this  discovery 
without  the  help  of  other  force.  He 
thought  he  was  self-governed  in  the  me- 
dium wherein  he  was  groping.  If  so,  and 
since  he  yet  could  withdraw  with  honor, 
though  not  with  fine  consistency,  why — if 
he  was  to  withdraw  to  what  would  be  com- 
pleter loneliness — did  he  hasten  to  light  a 

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match,  perhaps  endangering  his  life,  in 
order  that  the  letter  he  had  torn  open 
might  at  last  be  read? 

"Must  I  protest  against  this  duel — this  un- 
speakable folly  with  Miss  Marr's  friend,  when 
her  protest  will  have  been  effectual  or  will  have 
made  mine  ridiculous?  1  shall  have  started 
for  Europe,  to  be  sure  of  Tuesday's  steamer. 
There  seems  no  reason  for  my  lingering.  The 
train  leaves  at  8:30  Wednesday  evening. 
Mother,  whom  1  have  not  alarmed,  wishes  me 
to  congratulate  you  for  her,  on  your  remaining 
an  American.  As  ever, 

"Mary." 

By  this  hour  Mary's  train  would  be 
climbing  the  Sierra.  Another  day  and 
still  she  could  have  caught  the  Tuesday 
steamer.  But  she  had  announced  herself 
able  to  go  without  waiting  to  hear  the  out- 
come. He  stood  up,  the  better  to  realize 
his  freedom,  his  lightness.  What  fell  upon 
his  head  was  the  completeness,  perhaps 
the  unalterableness,  of  his  isolation,  as  if 
the  rock  was  surrounded  by  depth  and 
darkness  and  distance  through  which  he 
never  could  pass. 

They  had  traveled  a  stretch  of  road 
together;  but  his  destination  had  been  for 
a  life  that  should  exalt  the  spirit,  though 
at  the  cost  of  pain;  hers  had  been  for  an 
escape  from  responsibility,  counting  no 
cost.    The  owl  quavered  from  its  black 

hiding  place:  **Ou-ou;  our-uh-ou "  as  it 

had  hooted  to  him  that  night  beneath  the 
fog  in  his  pursuit  of  Ethel  Marr. 

How  magnificently  Mary  might  have 
taken  his  view,  shared  his  generosity, 
brightening  Ethel  Marr's  career!  Mary 
could  have  dispelled  all  self-consciousness; 
he  could  have  handed  the  situation  to  her 
as  he  had  found  it;  he  could  have  fallen 
back  to  the  position,  not  of  Miss  Marr's 
chance  acquaintance,  but  of  Mary's  ex 
officio  ally.  With  all  eloquence  and  assump- 
tion of  her  responsiveness  he  had  pointed 
the  way  to  Mary,  and  she  had  gone  straight 
upon  her  divergent  path.  It  had  left  the 
enterprise  blasted.  It  had  left  him  neither 
here  nor  there.  It  had  brought  him  to 
the  rock,  instead  of  disposing  of  Paulter 
by  a  gradual  process  in  which  Kendry 
would  have  figured  as  a  force  without  a 
name.  It  had  given  him  a  chance  to  die 
without  the  whisper  in  his  ears  of  other 
lips:  "I  understand." 

Nothing  he  could  write,  he  muttered, 
with  a  moist  hand  gripping  the  rock,  would 


make  Ethel  understand.  Only  what  he 
never  might  be  able  to  do  would  prove  to 
her  that  he  had  not  waited  here  in  doubt 
of  his  heart,  in  doubt  of  the  idea,  a  cargo 
of  flaccidity  beached  on  an  undiscovered 
shore.  He  was  dragging  slow  chains 
through  the  hours.  His  detachment  was 
as  complete  as  if  already  he  was  dead. 
His  young  woe  was  as  deep  as  his  unfulfilled 
ideal  had  been  exalted.  He  was  seized 
by  a  terrifying  double-consciousness;  the 
sense  of  receding  from  himself,  within  him- 
self, of  looking  back  on  himself,  hearing  and 
knowing  the  thing  he  was,  in  pitiful  in- 
timacy. The  thing  moved  along  the 
shelf,  seeking  a  stone,  anything  to  silence 
the  hooting  of  that  owl.  The  thing  he  was 
fussed  over  its  miserable  little  life,  its  little 
theories,  its  little  emotions — one  particle 
flickering  one  moment  in  all  time,  all 
stellar  dust.  . 

"  I  never  have  lived,"  it  groaned. 

He  had  thrust  his.  hand  at  a  shadow, 
feeling  for  a  stone.  The  hand  had  touched 
what  was  soft,  what  was  round,  what  was 
fabric.  It  moved.  He  exclaimed  in  his 
throat.    The  owl  flew  off. 

"It's  you!"  he  said.  He  dropped  back 
against  the  rock.  "  Wonderful,  wonderful !" 

No  one  else  would  have  answered  with 
silence.  He  threw  himself  down  near  her 
and  held  a  fold  of  her  cape,  taut  from  her 
shoulder.  He  could  feel  her  shoulder  rise 
and  fall;  he  could  be  sure  that  she  would 
not  dissolve. 

"  My  marvelous  good  fortune,"  his  chest 
hove.     She  seemed  to  shake  her  head. 

"If  I  hadn't  been  responsible " 

"No,  no — responsive,"  he  cried.  "Re- 
sponsive— everything."  He  could  not 
judge  when  the  dawn  would  come.  "I'll 
tell  you  things  presently."  For  the  mo- 
ment it  was  enough  to  feel  the  life  within 
her  moving  the  cape. 

"The  letter  was  Mary's  announcement  of 
her  return  to  Europe,"  he  began.  "She 
foresaw  that  she  would  not  be  necessary 
to  my  happiness.  I  groaned  because  I 
possess  nothing  that  is."  He  could  see  the 
outline  of  her  hood.  She  must  have  been 
long  kneeling.     "  How  you'll  be  cramped!" 

"My  foot's  asleep,"  she  half  laughed, 
changing  her  position.  He  took  up  the 
pull  on  her  cape  again  and  together  they 
gazed  across  to  where  the  city  lay. 

"  How  shall  you  like  my  finUhed  creed?" 

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he  presently  said.  "It's  to  look  upon  the 
beauty  of  the  world  and  upon  what  one 
can  do  to  increase  that,  not  as  one  who  ex- 
pects to  leave  the  world,  but  as  one  who 
expects  to  live  in  it  forever.  It's  to  assume 
that  one  does  live  in  it  forever;  either  in 
the  posterity  of  one's  own  blood,  or  the 
posterity  of  one's  example.  It's  the  idea 
projected,  reconciled  with  mortality.  It 
asks  you  to  be  content  with  such  immortal- 
ity as  passes  from  you  into  the  future  of  the 
world.     Has  it  ever  come  to  you  like  that?" 

"What  else  would  content  me  with  being 
a  woman?  You've  given  a  woman's  an- 
swer to  all  the  philosophies  in  the  world." 

"It  must  be  the  right  one.  In  the  end 
every  normal  thinker  brings  his  great 
theory  to  some  woman  and  lays  it  in 
ridiculous  little  glinting  pieces  at  her  feet. 
He  thinks  she  doesn't  know  that  his  circle 
isn't  complete,  and  she  charmingly  lets  him 
think  so,  while  the  world  rolls  on  and  she 
remains  the  one  unalterable  fact.  Nunc 
dimittis!  I  have  talked  enough.  I  shall 
wade  into  that  American  city.  It's  a 
swamp  of  distrust,  where  men  run  about 
trying  to  sell  their  liberties  at  the  lowest 
price.  If  it  were  not  so — more  than  I  have 
ever  saddened  you  with — I  never  should 
have  thought  these  things  so  much  alone. 
Those  who  will  give  their  time  and  forego 
their  enrichment,  trying  to  redeem  it,  are  a 
tragic  few.  I  shall  be  one  of  them.  I 
shall  have  lost  my  critical  aloofness,  my  dif- 
fidence with  my  contemporaries.  I  shall 
be  in  good  company;  1  shall  have  found 
my  career.  So  much  for  one's  relations 
with  men.     Does  the  woman  approve?" 

"Doesn't  it  follow?"  But  she  heavily 
sighed.  The  air  stirred  the  trees  and  cer- 
tain wakened  birds  foretold  the  dawn. 

"Your  beauty,"  he  glowed.  "It's  so 
marvelously  compelling.  I  have  never 
said  so.  Often  I  have  dreamt  of  you. 
It's  a  beauty  one  need  not  be  afraid  of. 
It's  not  merely  youth — it's  you.  You  as 
you  are,  as  you  will  remain,  just  as  one 
would  have  you,  without  one  flaw.  It's 
a  joy  to  have  said  so." 

The  hood  turned  toward  him ;  she  pushed 
it  off  her  head,  and  he  thought  it  was  be- 
cause he  so  well  knew  her  features  that  he 
could  make  out  the  movement  of  her  lips. 

"You  said  'compelling'?" 

"Overwhelming!  So  much  so  that  one 
*^eld  back,  asking  if  it  was  safe.  Then " 


"Is  it  safe?" 

"Gloriously  safe." 

She  was  on  her  knees  again,  facing  him. 
Her  fingers  touched  his  sleeve. 

"Do  you  love  to  walk  in  the  woods  at 
night?"  she  said.  "When  the  trees  are 
only  forms  and  the  stars  are  only  fires — so 
simple  and  still,  so  convincing.  Do  you 
like  to  go  without  thinking,  without 
speaking?" 

"Ah,  yes." 

"Only  to  be  primitive — only  to  live. 
Wouldn't  it  refresh  your  soul?  Wouldn't 
you  like  once  to  be  irresponsible?  Why 
do  you  say  I  am  beautiful,  you  have  never 
known  me  yet.  Look!"  she  showed  him 
the  parted  clouds  in  the  west.  "It  takes 
that  stariight,  it  takes  that  solitude — I'm 
shivering  now.  It  takes  the  flame,  the 
touch,  the  madness,  to  make  me  beautiful. 
It's  over  there,"  she  whispered.  "Come, 
while  the  night  lasts."  He  groaned.  Her 
warm  breath  was  on  his  ear,  her  breast  was 
soft  against  his  shoulder. 

"After  dawn,  after  dawn." 

"Then  it  will  be  hateful  day.  No,  into 
my  beautiful  night.    G)me." 

"To-morrow  night.  I  shall  live.  To- 
morrow night." 

He  could  have  crushed  her  for  standing 
off  from  him.  But  she  was  holding  out 
her  arms.  He  could  see  the  glorious  con- 
fusion of  her  hair. 

"To-night  is  the  only  night  in  the  world. 
I  shall  be  truly  beautiful.  I  shall  not 
think;  I  shall  not  speak;  I  shall  not  care.  I 
shall  only  live — live,  for  once.    Ah,  come!" 

"God!"  he  jumped  up  to  her.  "I  can't 
come!  I  won't  come!  That  is  a  greater 
triumph  for  you  than  if  I  had." 

She  buried  her  head  in  her  cape  on  the 
edge  of  the  terrace. 

"If  I  had  been  beautiful!  If  what  you 
said  were  true!" 

At  his  movement  she  stood  up  and  aWay 
from  him. 

"I've  seen  what  you  have  in  your  hand," 
he  advanced.     "  You  must  give  it  to  me." 

Her  free  palm  thrust  him  back  with  a 
force  he  could  not  have  guessed.  She  cried 
out,  in  fear  that  she  had  spun  him  over  into 
space,  then  fled  from  him.  He  caught  her 
elbows,  taxed  to  all  his  power.  Youth 
could  not  withstand  her  strong  perfection 
palpitating  in  his  arms. 

"I've  tried  to  let  you  go  without  one 

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touch  from  me,"  he  said.  "  I  love  you — 
I've  said  it.     It's  because  1  love  you  less." 

"It's  because  you  love  me  more.  Come 
— come  with  me — what  else  matters! 
Ah.  let  go  my  hand,"  she  sobbed.  He 
threw  her  pistol  into  the  abyss. 

"  You  are  mine.  You  must  do  as  I  say. 
You  must  let  chance  decide.  You  must 
go."  He  set  her  free.  He  had  not  kissed 
her.  It  was  at  the  fearful  edge  of  the  rock 
he  caught  her  again  and  shook  her  with  his 
trembling.  "No,  no!"  he  shuddered,  hard 
upon  her  lips.  When  he  let  those  speak 
her  arms  were  stifling  him. 

"See  if  you  can  break  my  hold,"  she 
threatened.  "I  love  you  and  I  will  not 
go.     Promise  that  I  stay." 

Out  of  her  visible  eyes  flamed  that  which 
made  him  colossal. 

"Where  you  were:  where  you  won't  be 
seen,"  he  whispered. 

She  let  him  lead  her  there,  folding  her 
cape  about  her.  The  trees  were  resolving 
from  the  shades.  The  morning  star  stood 
faintly  in  the  open  west.  Birds  flew  and 
called.  The  eastern  hills  rose  up  against 
the  broken  clouds. 

They  waited,  sitting  together,  her  chin 
upon  his  shoulder.  His  jaw  set  firmer 
while  she  drank  him  in  with  frightened 
eyes.  Her  fingers  stole  over  his  face,  in  the 
full  dawn  where  no  man's  footstep  echoed, 
softly  touching  the  lines  that  so  had  sunk 
into  her  young  heart  when  first  she  had 
begged  him  back  to  life  on  that  mountain- 
side. Would  he  go  once  more  into  the 
silence  forever.  She  shuddered.  The 
eastern  hills  were  the  edge  of  a  fiery  sword. 
He  turned  to  her.  Morning — morning, 
amber  light  upon  her  hair!  They  thought 
they  heard  a  step. 

Her  fingers  quivered  on  his  shoulder. 

"We  still— still  can  go." 

"Listen!" 

The  steps  were  mechanical,  scuffling  over 
the  gravel  of  the  trail.  It  was  as  if  they 
had  lost  their  way  in  the  deep  dark  of  that 
other  cafion;  as  if  doggedly  at  last  they 
nevertheless  came  to  their  goal.  They 
left  the  trail  and  became  a  swish  in  the 
bushes.  Kendry  tore  off  her  hands  and 
leaped  away. 

"If  you  reach  out  I  shall  maim  your 
hand,"  he  held  up  the  butt  of  his  pistol. 
She  bowed  upon  her  knees.  He  sprang  to 
the  rock. 


THE    END 


"Halt!"  he  cried,  to  the  bloodshot  eyes. 

She  was  at  one  side,  a  scarlet  patch,  erect. 

"I  love  him!" 

The  dry  lips  spat  at  her  the  venom  of  a 
caitiff  soul.  He  was  shooting,  not  at  Ken- 
dry  but  at  Ethel.  Kendry  had  tripped;  all 
plans  had  come  to  naught.  He  fired  from 
his  side,  slowly,  without  the  movement  of 
an  eye.  Paulter  crouched  behind  a  shrub. 
The  smoke  drifted  away  from  his  pistol. 
The  pistol  was  all  that  Kendry  could  see. 

"Jack?" 

"Obey — obey!"  he  waved  her  back. 

The  pistol  did  not  turn  to  cover  him  as 
he  approached.  The  arm  was  caught  in 
the  stiff  fork  of  the  manzanita. 

"My  Jack!" 

He  came  back  to  her. 

"  It's  very  complete — it's  horrible.  Give 
me  your  cape."  He  motioned  her  by 
another  way  to  leave  the  rock.  Presently 
he  returned,  coatless,  pale. 

"It's  his  tragedy.    We " 

He  took  her  fingers  from  her  arm.  Some 
blood  was  coloring  her  sleeve. 

"It's  just  a  little — ^just  enough,"  she 
smiled  to  him. 

They  came  along,  hand  in  hand,  her  arm 
in  a  tourniquet  of  his  making,  to  the  last 
level  stretch  of  the  trail,  where  they  saw  over 
the  broad  distance.  Flowers  looked  up  to 
them;  birds  started  from  their  feet.  Be- 
yond lay  the  world. 

"  You — you  are  the  idea,"  he  held  her. 

"Ah,  no,  you — ^you." 

He  pointed  far  to  where  the  sun  glinted 
on  the  windows  of  the  city. 

"We  will  be  the  idea," 

So  they  went  down  together  toward  the 
city  built  on  sand,  where  most  men  built 
with  sand  and  saw  through  sand,  and  many 
slaved  and  some  slew  for  sand.  For  those 
men's  souls  were  mostly  as  sand — which, 
swirled  aloft  by  a  gust  of  prosperity,  takes 
the  hollow  form  of  its  trivial  moment,  then 
falls  to  shapelessness,  sand  upon  sand. 

But  she  was  the  true  fruit  of  a  land  of 
sunshine  and  of  flowers,  and  he  was  the 
vindicating  product  of  its  abundance  and 
of  its  gold.  For  them  life  stood  forth  in  a 
glorious  meaning,  and  they  went  down 
patiently  to  build,  out  of  youth,  out  of  love, 
out  of  the  idea,  what  should  have  the 
dignity  of  the  mountain  that  swept  the 
sky  to  northward — majestic,  clear,  resplen- 
dent in  the  morning. 

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THE   FOREST    PRIMEVAL 

THE   OPENING   OF  THE  YEAR 
BY   T.   S.   VAN    DYKE 


M    earliest    days    the 
^oods  were  to  me  the 
reatest  of  attractions, 
ly  home  was  in  the  cor- 
er  of  a   twenty   acre 
iece  of  forest  on   the 
dge  of  town,  which  con- 
nected with  woods  upon 
woods  reaching  miles  away  into  the  coun- 
try.    It  was  for  the  groves  that  I  started 
when  school  was  out  and  there  most  of  my 
vacations  and  Saturdays  were  spent.     Fre- 
quent trips  to  New  York  were  mainly  to 
explore  the  game  departments  of  the  mus- 
eums and  the  novelties  of  the  gun  stores, 
and  I  always  returned  with  a  pitying  con- 
tempt for  the  city  boys  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  woods  as  they  were  fifty  years  ago. 
Yet  I  always  longed  for  bigger  and  wilder 
forests,  not  pine  woods,  but  the  old  hard- 
wood timber  that  Boone  so  loved.     And 
after  years  of  longing  I  was  really  happy 
when  in   1867  an  obstinate  case  of  ague 
gave  me  an   excuse  for  spending  seven 
months  in  the  great  virgin  forest  of  north- 
western Wisconsin,  where  the  least  trace  of 
malaria  was  unknown.    A  dim  wagon  road 
wound  forty  miles  into  the  north,  on  which 
were  five  new  settlers,  each  going  eight  or 
ten  miles  beyond  the  last,  looking  for  some- 
thing better.     Like  them  I  wanted  the  last 
and  best  and  started  for  the  end  of  the  line 
with  nothing  but  a  rifle  and  blanket.     As 
I   left  the  lovely  oak  openings  and  the 
heavy  timber  closed  in  around  me  I  felt 
like  the  prince  in  a  fairy  tale,  just  come  to 
his  own. 

And  during  the  next  eight  years  that  I 
lived  near  its  edge  and  made  frequent  visits 
to  the  depths  of  the  great  forest  there  was 
no  disenchantment,  though  all  the  time  I 
was  enjoying  the  charms  of  the  wild  prairie, 
the  grand  fishing  of  the  lakes  and  the  Mis- 


sissippi, the  marvelous  duck  and  woodcock 
shooting  of  the  river  bottoms,  with  ruflfed 
grouse  and  deer  in  the  bluffs  a  little  farther 
back.  And  nothing  is  brighter  in  memory 
to-day,  though  I  have  roamed  the  greatest 
and  wildest  of  our  pine  forests  and  love 
them,  too.  For  the  attractions  of  this 
great  hard-wood  belt,  all  settled  and  ruined, 
I  suppose,  to-day,  were  then  tenfold  those 
of  the  finest  pine  woods,  while  they  were 
so  free  from  swamp,  mountain,  rock,  briars, 
etc.,  and  so  full  of  little  grassy  meadows 
that  they  could  be  traversed  in  any  direc- 
tion with  a  horse.  Portages  and  tump- 
lines  were  undreamed  of,  and  the  trout 
that  flashed  in  every  stream  made  spring 
as  pleasant  as  any  time  of  year. 

Like  the  great  belts  of  pine,  the  hard- 
wood forest  is  locked  in  ice  and  snow  for 
several  days  after  spring  smiles  upon  the 
adjoining  prairie;  but  suddenly  the  sun 
seems  to  bound  higher  from  the  horizon 
and  with  more  penetrating  light,  beneath 
which  the  woods  snap  the  bonds  of  frost 
days  before  it  loosens  its  hold  upon  the 
belts  of  pine.  The  boughs  no  longer  snap 
and  creak,  but  bend  lightly  to  the  breeze, 
while  the  trickling  of  the  brook  beneath 
the  ice  changes  fast  to  a  lively  gurgling. 
And  it  is  but  a  few  days  until  the  head  of 
the  ash  is  misty  with  swelling  buds,  and 
beside  the  fallen  log,  where  the  snow  has 
most  quickly  melted,  the  liverwort  begins 
to  lift  its  calyx  of  creamy  blue.  And  the 
petals  of  the  bloodroot,  white  almost  as  the 
snow  that  just  died  to  give  them  birth, 
soon  follow  it,  with  those  of  the  wind- 
flower  quickly  trembling  in  rivalry  on  its 
slender  stem.  Then  pink  begins  to  shine 
from  the  bare  limbs  of  the  redbud,  with 
gold  glimmering  from  the  still  leafless 
spicebush,  and  greenish-white  from  the 
prickly  ash,  while  wild  bees  begin  to  hum 


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233 


around  the  bleeding  maple  or  the  yellowing 
catkins  of  the  willow. 

So,  too,  the  woods  are  silent  for  days 
after  the  prairie  has  heard  the  sounds  of 
joyous  life.  The  soft  note  of  the  bluebird 
may  not  reach  the  timber  for  a  week  or 
more  after  it  is  heard  in  the  open,  and  the 
same  with  the  sweet  carol  of  the  robin. 
But  suddenly  they  are  here,  and  it  is  but 
a  few  days  longer  before  the  kinglet  is 
whisking  among  the  golden  flowers  of  the 
leather-wood,  little  creepers  soon  stealing 
around  the  tall  trunk  of  the  basswood  and 
the  nuthatch  hitching  himself  up  and 
down  the  shaggy  bark  of  the  white  oak. 
And  as  the  woods  begin  to  darken  beneath 
the  spreading  leaves,  what  light  could  be 
more  welcome  than  that  shed  from  the 
scarlet  and  white  of  the  woodpecker,  as  in 
some  high  dead  limb  he  drills  the  hole  for 
his  summer  home?  And  when  I  used  to 
roam  these  woods  the  deeper  rattle  of  the 
great  pileated  woodpecker  or  "cock  of  the 
wood"  sounded  from  the  depths  of  the 
timber,  and  the  flash  of  his  crimson  head 
above  his  glossy  back  was  always  one  of 
the  most  welcome  signs  of  spring — always 
excepting  that  mysterious  bub-bub-bub-bub, 
bub,  bub,  bubbubbubbubbubbbb  with  which 
the  ruffed  grouse  used  to  puzzle  us  almost 
before  the  feathery  bloom  of  the  shadbush 
revived  memories  of  the  departed  snow. 

This  far  in  the  north  spring  comes 
a-flying  when  once  it  spreads  its  wings,  and 
down  by  the  creek  the  leaves  of  the  tall 
sycamore  are  widening  fast,  with  the  gray 
limbs  of  the  walnut  vanishing  in  its  thick- 
ening green;  the  wild  hop  twining  around 
the  brightening  butternut  and  the  dicentra 
opening  its  creamy  corolla  along  the  stream 
beneath  it.  And  on  the  overhanging  limb 
the  rattle  of  the  kingfisher  is  heard  again 
and  his  chestnut,  blue  and  white  pictured 
in  the  still  water  below.  On  the  lofty  elm 
the  falcon  again  sits  swaying  in  the  breeze, 
while  far  above  him,  weaving  circles  of  in- 
finite grace  on  that  motionless  wing  whose 
power  puzzles  all  philosophy,  the  vulture 
floats  once  more.  And  the  air  throbs  more 
and  more  beneath  the  wing  of  the  grouse, 
though  you  will  have  to  be  very  sly  to 
catch  him  beating  that  strange  drum. 
Yet  from  almost  every  thicket  it  used  to 
startle  me  like  some  spirit  voice,  and  even 
in  the  dead  of  night  has  roused  me  from 
my  dreams. 


As  the  woods  darken  beneath  the  roof  of 
green,  new  lights  beam  along  the  ground — 
here  the  snowy  triplet  of  petals  above  the 
strangely  whorled  petals  of  the  wake-robin, 
lighting  up  the  slope  the  broadening  leaves 
of  the  poplar  are  checkering  with  shade; 
there  the  white  bells  of  Solomon 's-seal 
below  the  mild  pink  of  the  azalea,  the  dog- 
tooth violet  tempering  the  scene  with  its 
rich  gold,  yet  with  all  tints  softly  harmo- 
nizing in  the  great  kaleidoscope  the  days  of 
May  are  now  turning.  The  chewink  soon 
shows  his  velvet  back  with  chestnut  sides, 
scratching  among  the  fallen  leaves  of  the 
year  that  has  gone,  as  his  cheery  greeting 
to  the  spring  chimes  with  the  silvery  notes 
of  the  wood  robin  in  the  snowy  top  of  the 
dogwood.  With  milder  tone  and  more 
modest  air  the  greenlet  trips  about  with 
dainty  foot,  seeking  material  for  his  nest, 
and  the  golden-crowned  warbler  may  be 
gliding  about  on  the  same  business.  No 
woodcock  plies  his  twittering  wing  among 
these  thickening  shades,  nor  does  the  mellow 
call  of  bob-white  reach  beyond  hazel  and 
dwarf  oak  that  line  the  outer  edge  of  the 
great  virgin  forest.  But  when  you  hear 
the  "wank"  of  the  night  hawk  pitching 
about  among  the  stars,  and  the  liquid  tones 
of  the  whip-poor-will  ring  in  mournful  ca- 
dence through  the  night,  with  their  rapid 
waves  rolled  onward  by  the  deep  "too- 
hoo"  of  the  great  owl,  you  will  fall  asleep 
as  gently  as  under  the  sweetest  music. 

The  loud  chorus  the  brooks  sang  of  the 
melting  snow  sinks  to  a  gentle  chant,  and 
under  arcades  of  willow  and  alder  they  now 
eddy  in  crystal  purity  between  banks 
fringed  with  waving  ferns  and  twining 
grass.  Looking  in  them  you  may  see 
nothing  but  a  pebbly  bottom  with  a  flit- 
ting gleam  of  light,  lost  in  a  twinkling  be- 
neath the  red  shoots  of  the  osier  or  behind 
some  bowlder  the  lichen  is  covering  with 
robe  of  gray.  Yet  the  water  seems  as 
innocent  of  life  as  the  drip  of  an  iceberg, 
whether  churned  into  silvery  flakes  on 
some  shingly  rapid  or  sleeping  in  depths 
so  dark  that  you  are  startled  to  see  your 
face  reflected  there.  You  never  really  saw 
yourself  until  pictured  here  in  the  silent 
water  where  the  clouds  that  drift  across 
the  blue  interwoven  with  the  green  seem 
even  clearer  in  the  water  than  above.  Yet 
no  other  sign  of  life  is  there  save  the  tran- 
sient gleam  from  the  trout  as  he  darts  for 

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The  Outing  Magazine 


cover  at  the  first  touch  of  your  shadow  on 
the  water.  There  are  no  brilliant  dragon- 
flies  yet,  no  little  water-bugs  circling  on  the 
smooth  surface,  no  little  frogs  on  the  bank, 
no  little  crawfish  wiggling  about  on  the 
bottom.  Yet  under  every  foot  of  the 
bank  and  under  many  a  big  stone  is  hidden 
a  mine  of  flashing  life  that  a  mere  trifle 
may  spring.  If  one  of  the  first  flies  of  the 
season  should  fall  into  the  water  light 
would  flash  from  a  dozen  directions  if  you 
were  out  of  sight,  and  the  water  around  it 
become  for  a  second  a  silvery  whirl.  If 
you  have  a  line  fast  to  that  fly  you  may 
feel  the  rod  struck  by  some  unseen  spirit 
and  your  nerves  tingle  as  with  an  electric 
shock.  And  where  a  lovelier  form  of  life 
than  this  gem  of  olive  and  crimson,  silver 
and  gold  showering  light  from  a  glistening 
curve  when  you  have  kept  your  wits  and 
given  that  little  simple  twist  of  the  wrist  at 
just  the  right  time?  For  nothing  in  the 
whole  line  of  out-of-door  sport  is  more 
marvelous  than  the  ease  with  which  you 
can  twitch  on  that  line  just  a  second  too 
soon,  or  wait  just  a  second  too  long,  or 
strike  an  average  by  lifting  the  fish  out  of 
water  to  return  again  with  saddening 
splash  while  your  tackle  is  hung  up  to  dry 
in  the  boughs  above.  Yet  even  though 
lost  you  have  been  the  gainer.  For  the 
strange  charm  of  that  little  fish  has  swayed 
many  a  human  heart  in  the  ages  past  and 
will  sway  many  a  one  in  the  days  to  come. 
Long  delayed  summer  marches  rapidly 
in  the  deep  woods  when  once  it  finds  its 
pace.  The  dark  branches  of  the  red  oak 
are  soon  lost  in  green  with  the  white  arms 
and  drooping  aments  of  the  birch  vanish- 
ing in  the  same  way.  Giant  white  oaks  are 
interlacing  with  huge  maples  whose  broad 
heads  crowd  out  the  aspiring  ash,  while 
great  elms  struggle  with  the  basswood  to 
fill  every  interval  with  green.  Strangely 
enough  the  lovely  hickory  is  wanting  to 
complete  the  list,  while  the  cottonwood  is 
found  only  on  the  bottoms  of  some  of  the 
larger  rivers.  But  where  else  can  you  see 
such  hosts  of  flowers  flooding  the  woods 
with  light  faster  than  the  expanding  green 
above  can  shut  it  out?  And  those  that 
come  are  as  fair  as  those  that  go.  The 
snowy  involucre  of  the  dogwood  is  none  the 
less  fair  because  only  a  whorl  of  leaves  sur- 
rounding the  true  flower,  nor  are  the  yej- 
lowish  cups  of  the  tulip  tree  to  be  despised 


because  less  brilliant  than  the  pink  and 
white  of  the  hawthorns  that  now  begin  to 
shine.  And  if  it  were,  is  not  the  mountain 
ash  unfolding  its  broad  white  cymes  and 
the  honeysuckle  trailing  its  golden  tubes 
over  the  fallen  log  and  on  the  rocky  hill- 
side the  columbine  drooping  from  its  long 
stem  its  spurred  corolla  of  red?  Yes,  and 
as  the  shades  deepen  along  the  water  the 
Greek  valerian  swings  its  bells  of  softest 
blue,  with  the  bright  gold  of  the  lady's  slip- 
per beside  it,  while  on  the  dryer  slopes 
the  polygala  soon  beams  in  mildest  purple. 
The  dove,  so  common  on  the  prairie, 
never  penetrates  this  heavy  timber  far, 
but  here  was  one  of  the  places  where  the 
passenger  pigeon  made  his  last  stand  be- 
fore vanishing  apparently  from  the  earth. 
The  murder  committed  in  the  great  roosts 
and  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  professional 
netters  who  caught  them  by  thousands, 
cannot  account  for  their  loss,  and  the 
theory  that  they  were  drowned  in  a  cyclone 
in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  while  migrating  is 
little  better.  It  is  true  of  some,  for  thou- 
sands were  seen  floating  or  washed  ashore, 
but  it  can  hardly  be  that  all  migrated  at 
once  or  that  there  was  a  succession  '^f  such 
cyclones  just  at  that  time.  Whatever  it 
may  be  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that 
for  some  twenty  years  it  has  been  a  ques- 
tion among  ornithologists  and  hunters 
whether  a  single  specimen  is  left  of  this 
bird  that  only  forty  years  ago  fairiy 
clouded  the  sky.  As  late  as  1 870  there  was 
a  roost  of  these  birds  near  my  home  on  the 
bottom-lands  of  the  Chippewa  River  on 
the  edge  of  this  great  forest  about  fifteen 
miles  long  and  two  wide,  solid  timber, 
with  from  ten  to  a  hundred  nests  in  every 
tree.  The  swiftest  of  all  things  that  move, 
this  lovely  bird  was  often  a  distinctive  fea- 
ture of  the  great  hard-wood  belts,  but 
hardly  ever  went  into  the  pine.  When 
the  young  were  ready  to  fly  and  for  weeks 
before  they  went  south,  they  shot  about 
through  the  timber  in  all  directions,  though 
most  of  them  preferred  the  thinner  parts 
and  the  oak  openings.  But  some  made 
their  nests  far  within  and  apart  from  the 
great  army,  and  when  the  squirrels  were 
carrying  green  limbs  at  the  same  time  to 
make  their  nests  with  the  orioles,  tanagers 
and  a  score  of  other  birds  in  the  same  busi- 
ness, there  was  a  bustle  of  life  in  the  tree 
tops  that  gave  one  enough  to  look  at. 

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Though  the  brooks  soon  hum  in  lower 
key  and  the  darkness  sleeps  more  heavily 
in  the  deeper  glens,  nature  becomes  even 
more  prodigal  of  life.  The  rose  family  is 
now  out  for  an  airing,  and  white  glares 
from  the  hosts  of  berries  in  the  great  wind- 
fall where  acres  of  mighty  trunks  have 
bowed  before  the  cyclone's  wrath,  as  well 
as  in  the  openings  where  fire  has  swept  the 
forest  aisles.  Along  the  lower  grounds  the 
blackthorn,  whitethorn  and  cockspur  thorn, 
with  wild  cherries  and  chokeberries  in- 
numerable, add  to  the  glow,  while  the  wild 
rose  comes  out  in  best  attire,  and  to  the 
mild  pink  some  of  her  relatives  are  casting 
over  the  white  she  adds  her  deeper  tones. 
And  thousands  of  the  smaller  children  of 
the  woods  join  the  procession:  here  the 
delicate  little  pyrola  nodding  in  white,  with 
the  soft  purity  of  the  prince's  pine  hanging 
from  its  long  stem  and  the  Indian  pipe 
swinging  its  cloudy  light  where  somber 
pines  jut  in  upon  the  hard-wood  timber; 
the  pink  moccasin  flower  opening  its  dainty 
lips  among  the  rocks,  or  the  woodsorrel  un- 
folding its  violet  hues  beside  the  fallen  log. 
What  other  woods  can  show  such  a  variety 
and  abundance  of  flowers  that  would 
adorn  any  garden,  amid  trees  so  grand 
that  the  squirrel  that  shakes  the  leaves 
in  his  curving  spring  looks  more  like  a 
mouse  than  a  big  gray  or  black  squirrel? 

Yet  the  climax  is  still  ahead.  Day  by  day 
the  fragrance  that  has  been  stealing  through 
the  deepening  shades  begins  to  roll  upon 
you  in  waves — here  in  a  great  swell  from 
the  berries  and  there  in  greater  surge  from 
where  the  snowy  bloom  of  the  viburnum 
still  covers  its  glossy  green  and  helps  the 
crabapples  and  wild  plums  to  rival  the  rest 
of  their  family.  What  wonder  that  the 
hum  of  the  wild  bee  is  on  every  hand  with 
big  bumblebees  spinning  around  in  lines 
of  ebony  and  gold;  with  hundreds  of  wasps 
and  hornets  in  russet  and  crimson,  and 
among  them  all  the  larger  lines  of  purple 
and  burnished  green  that  mark  the  course 
of  the  happy  humming-bird!  And  all  the 
birds  of  the  woods  are  now  here — little 
sap-suckers  in  jackets  of  gray  hitching 
themselves  up  and  down  the  trunks,  fly- 
snappers  fluttering  down  from  the  point 
of  some  low  dead  limb,  warblers  of  a  dozen 
kinds  twittering  their  satisfaction  from  the 
shrubs.  Though  not  as  common  as  in  the 
more  open  country,  the  golden  hues  of  the 


oriole  may  beam  from  the  hanging  bough 
and  the  brown  thrush  pour  his  soul  from 
the  top  of  the  towering  basswood.  And 
the  luster  of  the  redstart  may  steal  like  a 
lambent  flame  through  the  gloom,  and  the 
scarlet  of  the  tanager  blaze  like  the  full- 
blown fire. 

As  the  roof  of  green  shuts  out  the  sky 
and  the  ground  disappears  beneath  flowers, 
ferns  and  grasses;  as  the  tenants  of  the 
forest  increase  in  nest  and  lair  with  the 
march  of  midsummer,  the  whole  becomes 
more  lonely.  Little  will  you  see  of  the 
vireo  amid  the  rising  green  of  the  sweet 
fern  or  the  rosy  purple  of  the  phlox,  and  the 
little  warblers,  with  the  sparrows  and 
thrushes,  now  seem  scarce  in  the  dense 
covert.  The  evening  grosbeak  still  shines 
in  gold  and  glossy  jet,  but  rarely  shall  you 
see  him  now  though  his  sweet  song  fall 
from  the  top  of  the  dark  Norway  pine. 
Possibly  you  may  surprise  the  ruffed  grouse 
with  her  downy  brood,  but  more  often  the 
whole  family  will  slip  away  without  your 
suspecting  it.  It  is  the  same  with  the 
deer  whose  tracks  you  find  so  plenty. 
Vainly  will  you  seek  him  where  the  rosy 
corolla  of  the  Andromeda  smiles  from  its 
evergreen  leaves,  or  the  pure  white  of  the 
grass  of  Parnassus  begins  to  nod.  With 
the  bear  and  the  panther  he  is  hidden 
where  the  purple  blossoms  of  the  laurel 
look  so  solemn  against  the  solid  ranks  of 
evergreen  leaves,  or  the  rank  fronds  cf  the 
bracken  fern  are  crowding  out  all  other  life 
along  the  ground,  or  where  the  winding 
green  briar  and  the  trailing  clematis  are 
strangling  the  tall  berry-bushes  that  strug- 
gle up  out  of  the  giant  windfall.  So  keen 
are  their  eyes  for  the  slightest  motion, 
so  delicate  their  scent  for  the  faintest  trace 
of  man,  and  so  sharp  their  ears  for  the  least 
disturbance  of  the  dense  verdure,  that  your 
attempts  to  see  them  are  generally  vain 
unless  flies  drive  them  to  water. 

No  wonder  Bryant  called  the  woods 
God's  first  temple.  For  nowhere  else  can 
you  so  feel  the  mysterious  power  that  rules 
all.  Not  upon  the  prairie,  though  there  are 
few  places  where  you  feel  smaller  than  on 
its  vast  sweep  of  loneliness.  Nor  on  the 
sea  with  its  still  more  certain  proof  that 
there  is  no  fellow  man  within  many  miles. 
Nor  yet  on  the  mountain  top  where  you 
can  see  even  more  plainly  what  a  trifling 
link  you  are  in  the  mighty  chain  of  being. 

Digitized  by  VjOO^ 


Trying  to  Steal 
the  Rights  of 
the  People  in 
the  Adirondacks 


Mr.  "Ed"  Merritt,  who 
appears  suddenly  to 
have  become  a  very 
busy  person,  has  intro- 
duced into  the  New 
York  State  Assembly 
and,  through  Senator 
O'Neil,  into  the  Senate,  a  bill  tinkering  with 
the  rights  and  interests  of  the  people  of  this 
State  in  the  Adirondacks.  The  bill  on  its 
face  is  a  "constitutional  amendment  relat- 
ing to  the  construction  of  dams  and  the 
storage  of  waters  on  the  forest  preserve  for 
public  purposes,"  but  literally  it  is  another 
attempt  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Merritt  in  his 
own  behalf  and  on  the  behalf  of  his  friends, 
to  mutilate  and  to  steal  a  part  of  this  in- 
estimable health-resort  and  playground 
of  the  people.  It's  the  old  story.  Some 
group  of  money  grubbers  is  always  trying 
to  break  into  the  Adirondacks  under  one 
specious  claim  or  another.  Mr.  Merritt  has 
made  rather  an  amusing  bungle  of  his  at- 
tempt by  drafting  a  bill  in  such  pidgeon- 
English  as  to  make  it  unintelligible. 

But  there  is  no  danger  of  the  resolution 
becoming  law;  if  the  present  Legislature 
shows  so  little  regard  for  the  people  whom 
they  represent,  the  people  themselves  will 
defeat  the  measure  at  the  polls,  as  they  have 
other  similar  attempts  by  groups  of  graft- 
ers to  invade  their  great  forest  domain  for 
private  advantage.  The  Adirondack  region 
has  already  suffered  too  much  through  the 
unregulated  acts  of  private  individuals  and 
corporations,  and  the  people  are  now  awake 
to  their  interests.  They  are  aware  of  the 
fact  that  upon  the  preservation  of  our 
forests  depends  the  prosperity  of  large 
sections  of  our  agricultural  districts;  they 
know  that  in  the  Adirondacks  they  have  a 
possession  of  very  great  value  for  recrea- 
tion, for  the  purposes  of  health,  and  for  the 


development  of  large  natural  powers  to  be 
conserved  and  used  for  all  the  people  of  the 
State;  they  know  that  the  adoption  of  this 
Merritt  resolution  would  permit  of  the 
destruction  of  the  forest  on  State  lands — 
and  they  know  that  means  injury  to  the 
water  supply,  to  the  beauty  and  to  the 
healthfulness  of  the  North  woods. 

Therefore  they  will  vote  it  down  if  it 
reaches  the  polls — and  if  it  does  reach  the 
polls  it  will  stamp  the  New  York  Legisla- 
ture as  unworthy  to  represent  the  people 
of  this  great  State. 

Don't  sit  down,  however,  good  people, 
and  think  it's  all  over  but  the  shouting. 
No  matter  how  worthy  your  cause  or  ap- 
parently safe  your  case,  you  can  never  be 
sure  when  you  are  combating  the  political 
gang.  So  lose  no  time.  The  Association 
for  the  Protection  of  the  Adirondacks  has 
been  doing  noble  work;  if  you  need  am- 
munition, write  to  the  Secretary  in  the 
Tribune  Building,  New  York  City,  and 
keep  at  it.  It  would  be  a  calamity  if  this 
Merritt  resolution  were  suffered  to  live. 


Again! 


23 


At  the  close  of  a  season  which 
had  been  widely  satisfying  to  the 
college  world  for  its  showing  of 
more  open  and  cleaner  football 
under  the  wisely  revised  rules.  Harvard  in 
her  final  game,  last  autumn,  marshaled 
an  eleven  of  admirable  individuals  who 
had  been,  however,  scarcely  more  than  half 
educated  along  the  lines  of  the  remodeled 
game  and  were  easily  defeated  by  Yale's 
team  that  had  been  prepared  to  play  ball 
under  the  new  rules  and  whose" work  on  the 
field  received  intelligent  direction. 

Within  a  month  came  one  of  those  official 
eruptions  at  Cambridge  which  we,  who 
have  reached  the  "don't  worry"  milestone 
on  life's  journey,  have  learned  to  accept, 

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237 


along  with  our  morning  coffee  and  the 
latest  from  Russia  without  increase  of 
temperature.  And  shortly  thereafter,  Har- 
vard's governing  bodies,  the  Board  of 
Overseers  and  the  G)rporation,  moved  sym- 
pathetically by  the  same  motive,  jointly 
appointed  a  Special  G)mmittee  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  making  a  rigorous  in- 
vestigation into  the  condition  of  athletics 
at  their  University. 

Harvard  has  become  accustomed  to  out- 
breaks and  investigating  committees,  and 
is  not  easily  stirred — but  this  disturbance 
of  the  closing  year  (1906)  differed  from  the 
usual  annual  commotion;  its  strength  and 
duration  were  startling — apparently  the 
agitation  reached  to  the  very  foundations 
of  the  University.  Through  the  press,  on 
the  rostrum,  and  from  the  house  tops, 
official  Harvard  pronounced  practically  all 
the  major  forms  of  competitive  sport  un- 
desirable, and  those  having  team  play  as 
totally  unfitted  for  the  participation  of 
"young  gentlemen."  Captains  and  all  ath- 
letic authorities  at  Harvard  received  posi- 
tive instructions  from  headquarters  to  make 
no  engagements  for  future  inter-collegiate 
contests,  and  word  was  passed  around 
among  the  thoroughly  shaken  undergradu- 
ates that  Harvard's  athletic  life  hung  in  the 
balance — and  that  the  Special  Committee 
was  gathering  a  weighty  package  to  place 
on  the  negative  side  of  the  scales. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  conservative  statement 
that  all  Harvard,  under-graduates  and 
alumni,  were  distracted  by  the  attack  upon 
their  recreations  which  seemed  almost 
fanatic  in  its  intensity  and  unbridled 
animus.  Reforms  that  had  been  just  put 
under  way  by  the  Athletic  Committee  were 
halted;  in  a  word,  everything  of  an  athletic 
nature  was  at  a  standstill. 


Fanaticism 

or 
Altruism 


Meanwhile  the  public,  be- 
cause it  could  not  escape  a 
subject  so  industriously  ex- 
ploited, fell  to  wondering 
whether  it  was  the  unclean 
condition  of  Harvard  athlet- 
ics which  caused  the  upheaval  at  Cam- 
bridge, or  whether  an  excess  of  altruism  on 
the  part  of  Harvard's  sponsors  sought  to 
make  that  University  the  scap^oat  for  the 
benefit  of  college  sport  generally. 

Certain  it  is — that  every  reader  of  the 
newspapers  who  had  been  unable  to  avoid 


the  subject,  and  every  Harvard  and  other 
college  man,  was  convinced  that  if  Harvard 
were  finally  permitted  to  continue  a  party 
to  inter-collegiate  athletic  contests,  it  would 
be  only  after  radical  reforms  had  been 
inaugurated  by  the  Corporation  and  the 
Board  of  Overseers  as  a  result  of  the  report 
of  their  Special  Committee.  Naturally, 
therefore,  the  work  of  this  Committee  was 
awaited  breathlessly,  so  to  say. 


The  Mountain 
Brings  Forth 
Another  Mouse 


And  finally — after  about 
four  months — the  report 
came. 

Taking  into  considera- 
tion the  circumstances 
under  which  this  Com- 
mittee was  appointed,  the  power  with 
which  it  was  invested,  the  anxiety  its 
existence  had  given  all  Harvard,  the  public 
denouncements,  the  threats,  the  tumult  and 
all  the  bubbling  and  seething  since  last 
December — the  report  is  nothing  short  of 
ludicrous. 

It  is  a  compilation  of  recommendations 
only,  for  the  greater  part  general;  of 
recommendations  that  have  been  made 
before  and  often.  There  is  not  an  original 
thought  of  importance  in  the  report,  and 
not  a  single  recommendation  bearing  prac- 
ticably on  the  uplift  of  sport  which  has  not 
been  advocated  these  three  years  by  every 
friend  of  college  athletics. 

And  the  report  was  indorsed  without 
comment  by  the  Corporation  and  the 
Board  of  Overseers!  Thus  ends  Harvard's 
latest  official  athletic-reform  play,  during 
which  the  fair  name  of  Harvard  has  been 
sullied,  and  the  institution  of  college  sport 
itself  made  the  target  for  perhaps  as  busy  a 
period  of  sustained  mud-slinging  as  it  has 
ever  withstood. 

1  should  say  that  sport  emerged  from  the 
encounter  with  more  credit  than  the  Har- 
vard officials — if  you  ask  me. 


Perhaps 
It  Is 
a  Habit 


Now  the  appointment  of  Har- 
vard committees  for  the  pur- 
pose of  investigating  Harvard 
organizations,  or  the  slandering 
of  Harvard  athletics  by  Har- 
vard university  officials,  are 
purely  Harvard  affairs  for  Harvard  men  to 
deal  with;  yet,  so  far  as  they  relate  to  inter- 
collegiate athletics,  Harvard's  attitude  and 
Harvard's  action  and  Harvard's  expressions 

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of  opinion  and  official  charges  are  in  a  large 
sense  of  concern  to  all  college  men.  Be- 
cause of  the  leading  place  that  Harvard  fills 
in  the  educational  world,  and  of  the  great 
distinction  in  that  world  of  her  President, 
whom  we  all  honor  for  his  scholarly  attain- 
ments, the  utterances  of  that  President  and 
the  course  of  Harvard  on  any  given  ques- 
tion command  our  attention  at  once.  1 1  is 
on  account  of  this  high  place  in  national 
esteem  that  Harvard's  movements  and 
efforts  in  athletics  are  viewed  with  interest 
and  in  confidence.  When,  for  example. 
Harvard  officially  proclaims  a  game  un- 
wholesome, when  her  sponsors  appear  con- 
stantly to  be  finding  need  of  investigation, 
and  continuously  threatening  to  chasten 
undergraduates  if  reform  be  not  instituted, 
the  college  world  forthwith  concludes  the 
Harvard  undergraduate  body  to  be  an  un- 
clean one  athletically,  while  the  public 
grows  to  the  belief  that  sport  is  a  debauch- 
ing influence  not  above  the  worst  things 
that  are  said  of  it — ^which  is  outrageously 
unjust. 

It  is  only  fair,  therefore,  to  the  great  in- 
stitution of  American  college  sport  to  try 
and  ascertain  whether  the  trouble  lies 
with  sport — the  much  abused — or  with 
Harvard. 

I  cannot,  although  the  public  may,  ac- 
cept Harvard's  frequent  and  active  stirring 
of  the  athletic  pot  at  Cambridge  as  indicat- 
ing Harvard  to  be  the  only  university 
undertaking  reform — because  I  know  that 
not  only  have  other  institutions  under- 
taken the  task  without  commotion,  but 
some  of  them  in  a  broad  sense  have  actually 
accomplished  more — notably  Cornell,  Penn- 
sylvania, Chicago.  Nor  have  Harvard's 
achievements  in  the  reform  line  been  above 
others  notably  drastic  or  far-reaching — ^for 
there  are  the  professional  coach,  and  the 
baseball  player-getting-board-and-lodging- 
during-summer-in-exchange-for-his-skill — 
which  have  not  advanced  beyond  "  recom- 
mendations." 

The  athletic  ills  of  the  Harvard  under- 
graduate body  are  no  greater  than  those  of 
other  colleges  to  explain  the  more  frequent 
agitation  over  rule  making  or  revising — 
on  the  contrary  this  student  body  is  the 
most  normal  and  the  cleanest  minded 
(athletically)  of  all  the  undergraduate 
bodies  of  the  large  colleges,  and  it  always 
has  been  so. 


Yet  there  is  always  commotion  at 
-.  Harvard.    There  is  always  slan- 

p  dering  of  one  sport  or  another; 

-^  always  some  official  or  specially 
appointed  committee  looking  into 
the  character  of  this,  or  that,  or 
the  other  branch  of  athletics.  There  is 
always  some  unpleasant  reflection  on 
sport  in  our  morning  papers  with  the 
Cambridge  date  line,  and  when  the  supply 
fails  at  Cambridge,  a  hurry  call  is  sent  on 
to  the  New  York  Evening  Post — and  re- 
sponded to  promptly  and  joyously. 

There  used  to  be  an  annual  blow  off  and 
upheaval  in  rowing  until  Yale  was  so  closely 
held  for  a  couple  of  years  and  finally  beaten 
in  1906 — not  because  Harvard  had  a  pro- 
fessional coach,  but  because  Harvard  had 
worked  on  the  same  lines  long  enough  to 
get  a  system.  Had  the  Harvard  eleven — 
individually  splendid  but  pitiful  in  its  poor 
equipment  of  modem  playing  skill — ^by 
some  miracle  beaten  Yale  last  year,  would 
this  Special  Committee  have  been  ap- 
pointed? Would  we  have  heard  the  un- 
sparing and  unfair  arraignment  of  sport 
which  official  Harvard  put  on  record? 
Would  there  have  been  a  commotion  which 
stirred  all  Harvard  to  its  depths? 

There  always  has  been,  after  the  season, 
academic  turmoil  in  all  the  major  sports  at 
Harvard,  except  track  athletics,  and  curi- 
ously those  sports  to  which  success  has 
come  less  frequently  are  the  ones  which 
agitation  has  touched  most  often  and  with 
greatest  vehemence. 

Are  we  to  conclude  that  Harvard  is  not  a 
good  loser?  It  would  certainly  look  so  to 
one  without  an  intimate  and  long  knowl- 
edge of  their  men  and  their  timber  and 
their  traditions. 

No — it  is  not  that  Harvard  is  a  poor 
loser. 

We  have  seen  that  Harvard  has 
^  created  for  herself  more  tribiila- 

.  tion  over  athletics  than  all  the 

Oth  remainder  of  the  leading  uni- 

versities together.     It  is  natural 
then  to  ask: 

(1)  Are  the  athletic  conditions  at  Har- 
vard so  unhealthful  as  to  give  warrant  for 
such  repeated  and  severe  arraignment? 

They  are  not. 

(2)  Is  reform  more  necessary  at  Harvard 
than  at  any  other  university? 

No. 


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239 


(3)  Is  Harvard  the  only  institution  in 
America  undertaking  the  uplifting  of  sport. 

No,  only  one  of  many.  Every  univer- 
sity, college  and  school  in  the  land  with  pre- 
tensions to  the  first  class  is  actively  mindful 
of  the  health  of  its  sport. 

(4)  Has  Harvard  accomplished  more  in 
the  way  of  athletic  reform  than  any  other 
institution? 

Harvard  was  the  vtry  first  to  introduce  a 
reform  movement  and  for  the  first  half 
dozen  years  was  the  leader;  during  the  last 
ten  years  Harvard  has  been  among  the 
leaders.  From  first  to  last  Harvard  may 
be  said  to  have  done  good  creditable 
work;  more  than  a  few — for  almost  every 
college  is  doing  good  work  of  this  kind — 
but  not  as  broad  or  as  practicable  work  as 
some  others. 

(5)  Are  Harvard's  achievements  in  the 
reform  movement  in  proportion  to  the 
agitation  attending  their  incubation. 

No. 

Need  I  say  that  this  is  not  written  in 
unfriendly  or  captious  spirit,  but  is  a 
deliberate  critical  review  of  Harvard's 
course  for  twenty  years. 


Up  the 
Hill  and 
Down  Again 


It  is  on  record  that  Har- 
vard has  done  more  official 
talking  against  sport  than 
all  of  the  other  universities 
combined,  and  yet  has  ac- 
complished no  more  than 
the  majority  and  not  so  much  as  the  leading 
universities.  We  may  assume  that  the  fail- 
ure to  take  the  leadership  in  recent  years, 
say  last  year,  so  we  may  have  a  concrete 
illustration  before  us,  was  not  lack  of  power 
to  act,  because  in  tjie  history  of  American 
college  sport  there  never  has  been  a  uni- 
versity committee  of  such  power  as  that 
Special  Committee  called  to  duty  by  the 
highest  authority  of  the  university.  Un- 
der such  conditions  and  in  view  of  official 
Harvard's  public  statements  concerning 
athletic  "abuses,"  certainly  if  ever  Har- 
vard was  to  put  in  practice  some  of  the 
high  official  sentiments,  if  ever  Harvard 
was  to  enter  upon  unselfish  pioneering 
in  the  interest  of  wholesome  collie  sport 
regardless  of  consequences  to  her  chances 
of  victory — if  ever,  in  a  word,  Harvard  was 
to  make  good — here  was  the  golden  oppor- 
tunity, with  the  entire  college  world  wait- 
ing exf)ectantly. 


And  what  was  the  result? — a  series  of 
second-hand  recommendations! 

On  the  question  of  the  professional 
coach,  which  the  unprejudiced  are  agreed 
is  the  most  destroying  element  of  the  con- 
dition of  university  sport  we  seek,  read 
what  this  all-powerful  committee  has  to 
say: 

"That  the  Athletic  Committee  be  strongly 
recommended  to  use  every  effort  to  get  concerted 
action  with  other  colleges  to  abolish  professional 
coaches." 

Apparently  lacking  real  interest  or  real 
courage  necessary  to  initiative  action  this 
Special  Committee  hides  behind  the  skirts 
of  the  Athletic  Committee,  that  Harvard 
may  be  in  a  position  to  do  as  she  did  in 
rowing,  vi^.:  abandon  the  amateur  coach 
for  the  professional,  for  the  confessed  rea- 
son of  improving  the  chances  of  winning 
from  Yale.  In  other  words  when  principle 
conflicts  with  chances  of  victory,  principle 
goes  by  the  board. 

On  the  subject  of  the  vacation  baseball 
player  who  uses  his  skill  during  summer  to 
earn  board  and  lodging,  there  is  not  even  a 
recommendation. 

It  was  within  the  power  of  this  Com- 
mittee to  have  done  something  radical  and 
important  and  far-reaching.  1 1  could  have 
declared  that  hereafter  no  man  may  use  his 
baseball  skill  to  secure  board,  and  represent 
Harvard;  it  could  have  forbidden  profes- 
sional coaches;  it  could  have  swept  away 
the  infinite  and  harmful  multiplicity  of 
rules  and  established  an  honor  system 
similar  to  that  which  obtains  in  the  class- 
room; it  could,  in  a  word,  have  lifted  the 
spirit  above  the  letter  of  the  law.  That 
would,  no  doubt,  have  cost  some  victories 
for  a  year,  but  it  would  have  been  an  action 
to  prove  to  the  worid  that  Harvard  sets 
principle  above  mere  winning.  It  would 
have  set  in  motion  a  movement  which 
must  come  some  day  and  which  all  will 
follow  when  some  one  has  been  found  with 
requisite  courage  for  leadership. 


Ego 

the 

Trouble 


I  wish  it  to  be  borne  in  mind 
that  I  am  writing  not  with  a 
view  to  criticising  Harvard's 
methods  but  with  the  object  of 
analyzing  them  in  our  honest 
effort  to  learn  whether  the  re- 
peated academic  commotions  at  Harvard 
are  really  necessary  to  athletic  improve- 

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ment,  if  the  official  talk  about  "radical" 
reform  is  sincere,  and  if  the  scathing  ar- 
raignments of  athletics  are  tenable.  I 
think  we  must  conclude  from  what  I  have 
already  shown  that  the  trouble  is  not  so 
much  with  sport  as  with  Harvard.  Many 
other  colleges  do  as  much  toward  bettering 
the  competitive  conditions  and  ethical 
situations  of  sport — and  we  never  hear  of 
their  work.  Others  do  more  than  Harvard 
without  pitching  into  hysterics.  The  re- 
port of  the  Special  Committee,  indorsed 
as  it  is  by  the  Corporation  and  Overseers, 
seems  to  prove  beyond  refutation  that 
official  talk  of  "radical  reform"  is  not 
sincere.  And  as  for  Harvard's  athletics, 
their  ethical  condition  need  not  disturb  any 
Harvard  man.  Of  course,  there  is  room 
for  improvement  in  all  college  sport,  but  in 
the  spirit  not  in  the  letter  of  the  law.  How- 
ever, that  is  not  my  theme  at  the  moment. 

And  now  what  is  the  trouble?  Why  is  it 
that  so  often  defeat  for  Harvard  spells  the 
signal  for  brick  throwing?  Why  does 
Harvard  so  rarely  pull  together? 

Ego — pursuit  of  ego — that  is  the  deeply 
rooted  trouble  at  Cambridge  which  explains 
the  lack  of  that  very  team  spirit  which  as 
team  work  President  Eliot  publicly  de- 
nounces as  undesirable — and  which  is  the 
very  essence  of  success  in  the  beat,  on  the 
gridiron,  in  the  shop,  in  the  counting-room, 
in  the  university  hall — the  sine  qua  non  of 
success  in  every  human  endeavor  where 
two  or  more  are  united  in  business,  in 
education,  or  in  play. 

The  adoration  of  the  unbridled  ego — 
EGO — that  is  the  matter  with  Harvard. 
That  is  why  she  is  a  poor  organizer,  lacks 
established  system — which  means  that  she 
has  not  gained  wisdom  from  experience — 
and  that  her  destinies  are  shaped  by  cliques. 

At  all  the  large  colleges  the 
--  organization    of    the    football 


Others 
Dolt 


coaching  force  is  much  the  same. 
A  head  coach  is  appointed  or 
engaged,  and  the  first  thing  he 
does  is  to  get  in  touch  with  as 
many  of  the  recent  old  players  as  is  possible 
for  him  to  induce  to  return  at  intervals 
during  the  season  to  help  develop  the  team. 
The  policy  is  mapped  out  by  the  head 
coach,  his  immediate  associates,  if  he  has 
any,  the  captain  and  the  most  competent 
among  the  helping  "grads."    The  more 


good  old  men  the  head  coach  can  induce  to 
rally  round  the  flag  the  more  pleased  is  he. 
The  more  enthusiasm  he  can  work  up 
among  the  old  men  the  more  enthusiasm  he 
knows  he  is  certain  to  create  among  the 
'varsity  candidates  and  the  undergradu- 
ates. In  a  word,  securing  the  thought  and 
the  time  and  the  active  assistance  of  the 
best  players  of  comparatively  recent  years 
is  almost  the  first  effort  of  the  head  coach. 
Now  in  the  shaping  of  a  playing  policy 
differences  of  opinion  naturally  arise. 
These  are  threshed  out  for  what  they  are 
worth  and  boiled  down  into  a  final  com- 
promise on  some  line  which  the  majority 
consider  best  adapted  for  what  they  are 
commonly  interested  in  doing,  namely,  of 
making  the  strongest  all-round  combina- 
tion possible  for  them  to  put  forth  on  their 
football  field.  In  other  words,  they  get 
together  for  the  good  of  their  alma  mater. 


How 
Harvard 
Does  It 


But  that  isn't  the  way  it  works 
at  Cambridge.  No  man  once 
in  power  ever  sacrifices  his  own 
prejudices  for  Harvard's  sake. 
No  one  seeks  to  get  back  the 
splendid  men  whom  Harvard 
has  graduated  and  who  would  be  only  too 
willing  to  give  the  benefit  of  their  experi- 
ence and  thought  for  what  it  is  worth.  No 
one  seeks,  at  Cambridge,  to  harmonize  the 
varying  views  or  to  assemble  the  talent  of 
other  years.  When  the  head  coach  is  ap- 
pointed at'Harvard  his  first  official  act  is  to 
let  the  old  players  know  that  if  he  wants 
them  he  will  call  for  them.  He  proceeds 
to  make  it  known  that  he  is  running  the 
game,  and, outside  of  the  few  that  may  con- 
stitute his  particular  clique,  all  old  players 
who,  because  of  loyalty  to  their  college, 
make  any  effort  to  break  down  the  barrier, 
do  so  only  to  be  affronted. 

When  the  situation  is  not  of  this  char- 
acter it  takes  on  the  character  of  several 
irreconcilable  cliques  that  obstinately  hold 
to  their  individual  opinions  and  prefer 
obstinately  clinging  to  these  than  yielding 
a  little  here  and  a  little  there  in  order  that 
they  may  come  together  and  that  Harvard 
may  benefit  by  a  merging  of  their  various 
views  in  some  common  line  of  action  which 
will  make  for  the  development  of  the  team. 
He  would  rather  cling  to  his  opinion  and 
remain  disorganized  than  yield  a  little  and 
get  together  for  common  good. 

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With  a  few  exceptions  so  it  has  almost 
always  been  in  football.  The  clique  in 
power  has  "run  things"  and  every  one  out- 
side the  clique,  no  matter  what  his  service 
on  the  field,  no  matter  how  sound  his 
judgment,  how  distinguished  his  ability, 
was  out  of  it.     Ego — always  ego. 

And  this  is  how  the  ego  spirit  works  out 
— last  year  men  who  had  served  Harvard 
faithfully  and  brilliantly  on  the  football 
field  as  players  and  coach,  and  who  were  of 
all  those  near  Cambridge  most  competent 
to  put  some  needed  brains  into  the  ill- 
shaped  policy,  were  made  to  understand 
that  their  help  was  not  desired.  Mean- 
while a  small  clique,  mostly  incompetent, 
prepared  the  Harvard  eleven  for  its  sub- 
sequent and  logical  slaughter. 

Harvard  men  are  always  referring  to 
Yale's  successes  as  though  they  were  the 
result  of  occult  force.  The  only  difference 
between  Yale's  successes  and  Harvard's 
defeats  is  brains — Yale  brains  which  profit 
by  experience,  and  do  not  permit  their  least 
competent  men  to  shape  the  destinies  of 
their  various  athletic  teams,  nor  tolerate  a 
system  which  permits  such  elevation  of  ego 
as  exhibited  at  Cambridge.  Harvard  has 
men  with  as  much  gray  matter  as  the  best 
Yale  can  produce — but  again  the  difference 
— at  Yale  they  get  a  chance;  at  Harvard 
they  are  snubbed  by  some  individual  or 
clique  that  has  attained  to  power- 
heaven  only  knows  how.  That's  it — I  have 
asked  over  and  again — how  do  these  incom- 
petent individuals  and  all  powerful  cliques 
get  into  power? 

Have  the  Harvard  alumni  and  under- 
graduates neither  spirit  nor  strength  to 
break  free? 

Who  is  the  hydra-headless  force  that 
trifles  in  such  outrageous  manner  with  the 
splendid  undergraduate  material  and  ig- 
nores the  fine  type  of  men  Harvard  counts 
among  her  alumni? 


And  the  spirit! 
How  better  can  it  be 
illustrated  than  by  re- 
printing here  two  edi- 
torials that  appeared  in 
the  Yale  Alumni  IVeekly 
and  in  the  Harvard  Bui- 
Utin,  respectively,  after 
last  autumn's  football  game. 
Here  is  how  Yale  expresses  the  situation: 


The  Letter  Haa 
No  Meaning 
Until  the 
Spirit 
Oivet  It  Life 


"The  result  of  the  final  football  game  was 
thoroughly  satisfactory  to  the  university.  It 
was  not  only  a  vindication  of  the  new  playing 
rules — large  credit  for  which  should  be  given  to 
Yale  influence  in  the  rules  committee — but  it  was 
also  a  proof  that  Yale  could,  in  a  single  year, 
absolutely  abandon  her  traditional  style  of  play, 
adopt  a  novel  and  unpracticed  system,  meet 
what  was  probably  the  strongest  rush  line  Har- 
vard has  had  in  years,  and  retain  her  supremacy 
on  the  gridiron.  The  Yale  team  last  Saturday 
won  by  sheer  force  of  superior  knowledge  of  the 
game,  and  by  the  use  of  football  brains.  The 
season  was  an  especially  difficult  one;  and  it  was 
only  by  the  unselfishness  of  more  than  one  grad- 
uate coach  and  by  the  combined  pluck  of  the 
team  itself  that  it  ended  in  success.  It  should 
be  added,  that  the  game  itself  was  clean  football 
from  start  to  finish,  and  that  both  Harvard  and 
Yale  players  showed  the  sort  of  sportsmanship 
that  reflects  credit  on  both  universities,  and  on 
American  university  athletics." 

And  now  read  this  from  the  Harvard 
Bulletin: 

"  The  outlook  for  the  success  of  Harvard  foot- 
ball teams  in  their  future  contests  with  Yale  is 
not  encouraging.  That  sport  is  in  much  the 
same  condition  rowing  was  in  when  the  Bulletin, 
more  than  three  years  ago,  pointed  out  that 
Harvard  must  make  up  her  mind  to  be  beaten 
pretty  regularly  by  Yale,  as  long  as  Yale  em- 
ployed a  professional  rowing  coach  and  Harvard 
did  not  have  one.     .     .     . 

"In  football  Yale  has  a  much  greater  advan- 
tage than  she  had  in  rowing.  Mr.  Walter  Camp 
is  an  asset  which  Harvard  does  not  and  cannot 
possess.  Harvard  has  no  graduate  who  knows 
as  much  about  football  as  Mr.  Camp  knows,  and. 
as  the  Bulletin  said  when  Mr.  Reid  was  engaged 
to  take  charge  of  football  hert,  it  was  absurd  to 
expect  him  in  two  years  to  acquire  the  knowledge 
and  experience  which  Mr.  Camp  has  obtained 
through  many  years  of  coaching.  Mr.  Reid  has 
done  his  best.*  The  future  will  show  whether 
he  has  succeeded  in  building  up  'a  system,'  as 
the  term  is  commonly  used,  which  will  give  us 
anything  like  an  equal  chance  with  Yale  in  the 
future.  We  frankly  say  that  we  do  not  believe 
that  he  has;  we  fear  that  Mr.  Camp,  Yale's  pres- 
tige which  increases  with  every  victory,  and  much 
better  material  which  Yale  gets  because  of  that 
prestige,  together  make  a  handicap  which  Har- 
vard can  overcome  only  in  exceptional  instances. 

"We  are  convinced  Harvard  must  face  the 
probability  that  in  the  future,  if  football  con- 
tinues and  the  existing  conditions  do  not  change, 
she  will  win  not  more  than  one  game  in  half  a 
dozen." 

Cheerful  outlook  to  spread  before  the 
undergraduates! 

Is  not  indeed  Harvard  in  need  of  that 
very  team-play  spirit  which  her  President 
so  persistently  stigmatizes?  And  are  not 
the  athletic  ills  of  this  great  university 
academic  and  easily  cured? 

♦He  was  not  rc-engagcd  at  close  of  season. — Ed 


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243 


blemish  on  the  neat  appearance  of  the 
home  grounds.  Finish  them  of!  well, 
paint  them  well  and  then  plant  vines  about 
them  to  add  a  final  touch  of  beauty  and 
grace.  One  makes  a  mistake  in  simply 
throwing  buildings  of  this  kind  together, 
under  the  impression  that  almost  anything 
will  do.  and  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
make  them  look  well.  If  they  are  hon- 
estly constructed  they  will  last  for  years, 
while  a  hastily,  cheaply  built  one  will  soon 
take  on  a  timible-down  look  that  will 
detract  greatly  from  the  general  appear- 
ance of  neatness  which  ought  to  charac- 
terize every  place.  And  it  will  be  found, 
on  trial,  that  even  the  commonest,  cheap- 
est building  can  be  fashioned  along  graceful 
lines.  We  should  recognize  the  value  of 
beauty  in  everything  we  build.  It  is  the 
observance  of  this  principle  which  results 
in  the  charming  effects  which  characterize 
so  many  of  our  covmtry  homes.  It  is  not 
enough  to  have  the  house  beautiful  which 
shelters  the  family — let  beauty  prevail  all 
about  the  house. 

WAXED    FLOORS 

A  complaint  comes  from  a  woman  who 
reads  this  department  that  her  wax-finished 
floors  are  hard  to  keep  looking  well.  She 
spends  a  good  deal  of  time  and  labor  on 
them,  but  they  do  not  satisfy  her.  I 
think  she  will  find  it  an  easy  matter  to  keep 
her  floors  in  fine  condition,  without  a  great 
amount  of  labor,  if  she  will  make  use  of 
some  of  the  wax  finishes  now  on  the  market. 
Once  a  month  ought  to  be  often  enough 
to  apply  them.  Before  putting  them  on 
the  wood,  go  over  it  with  warm  water  con- 
taining a  Httle  kerosene,  and  make  sure 
that  every  particle  of  dust  is  removed 
from  it.  Then  apply  the  finish^  according 
to  the  directions  accompanying  it,  and  rub 
it  well.  This  rubbing  is  of  prime  impor- 
tance. Simply  spreading  it  over  the  sur- 
face is  not  enough.  The  result  will  be  a 
dull  eloss  which  is  far  preferable  to  a  high 
polish.  Unless  a  floor  is  made  perfectly 
clean  before  applying  any  kind  of  finish, 
whatever  dirt  or  dust  there  is  on  it  will 
work  into  the  wax,  and  the  result  will  be 
a  muddy  coat  which  will  be  anything  but 
satisfactory.  In  going  over  the  floors  daily, 
avoid  the  use  of  much  water.  Simply 
moisten  your  cloth  and  rub  lightly,  then 
follow  with  a  flannel  of  soft  texture  used 
dry,  but  applied  with  considerable  force. 
This  will  keep  up  the  glossiness  which  is 
one  of  the  charms  of  a  waxed  floor.  The 
wax  finish  can  also  be  applied  to  furniture 
with  good  results. 

CHANGES   IN   THE    HOUSE 

It  is  said  that  one  must  build  at  least 
three  houses  before  a  satisfactory  one  is 
secured.  This  is  true  to  a  considerable 
extent,  for  we  are  always  discovering 
where  we  made  serious  mistakes  in  plan- 


ning and  improvements  are  constantly 
suggesting  themselves  as  we  make  use  of 
the  house  we  have  built.  This  is  the  test 
of  a  house's  value  as  a  home.  The  dis- 
covery of  mistakes  does  not  make  it  ad- 
visable for  us  to  tear  down  and  build  over, 
but  it  suggests  the  practicability  of  reme- 
dying our  mistakes  by  making  such 
changes  as  will  enable  us  to  work  toward 
the  ideal  home  we  have  in  mind.  Very 
often  the  removal  of  a  partition  and  the 
throwing  of  two  rooms  into  one  will  greatly 
enhance  the  practical  utility  and  the  ap>- 
pearance  of  the  place  a  hundred  per  cent. 
The  closing  of  a  window  which  has  been  put 
in  the  wrong  place,  and  the  making  of  an- 
other where  there  ought  to  be  one,  will 
wonderfully  improve  a  home.  It  is  by 
making  such  changes  as  we  discover  the 
need  of  them  that  we  secure,  ultimately, 
the  truly  convenient  home.  Home-mak- 
ing, home-building,  is  a  process  of  evolu- 
tion. I  am  glad  to  see  that  most  of  our 
modem  homes  contain  good-sized  rooms, 
and  that  the  living-room  is  given  first  con- 
sideration. This  IS  as  it  should  be.  The 
parlor  deserves  only  secondary  attention, 
and  I  would  be  in  favor  of  dispensing  with 
it  altogether.  Put  the  expense  that  has 
heretoK)re  gone  into  it  into  the  furnishing 
of  all  the  other  rooms  of  the  house,  ana 
make  the  living-room  so  attractive,  so 
cosy  and  so  pleasant  that  there  will  be  no 
need  for  a  parlor.  We  American  people 
are  just  beginning  to  find  out  that  home 
for  the  home-folks  is  the  matter  of  chiefest 
importance  in  home-making,  and  that  a 
place  good  enough  for  the  uimily  is  quite 
good  enough  for  its  visitors.  In  other 
words,  that  we  should  consider  the  occu- 
pants of  the  home  first,  and  the  stranger 
least  of  all. 

THE  DAHLIA  AND  THE  GLADIOLUS 

These  two  plants  are  among  our  very 
best  plants  for  a  grand  display  of  color. 
Both  are  easily  grown.  Give  the  dahlia  a 
very  deep,  rich  soil,  and  water  it  well  if  the 
season  happens  to  be  a  dry  one.  Stake 
it  well,  as  its  stalks  are  very  brittle  and 
are  easily  broken  by  strong  winds,  and 
often  by  their  own  weight.  Do  not  plant 
it  in  the  open  ground  imtil  all  danger  of 
frost  is  over,  as  it  is  extremely  tender.  If 
the  plants  are  set  about  two  feet  apart  you 
will  secure  a  hedge-like  growth  which  will 
be  extremely  effective  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  season,  when  they  come  into 
full  bloom.  It  used  to  be  thought  neces- 
sary to  start  this  plant  in  the  house,  but 
we  have  foimd  out  that  just  as  good  re- 
sults are  secured  by  planting  the  tubers 
in  the  garden  after  tne  weather  has  become 
warm  and  settled,  provided  we  make  the 
soil  so  rich  that  tne  plants  are  pushed 
rapidly  ahead.  This  seems  to  be  the 
secret  of  success  with  thtnn.  There  are 
several  classes  of  this  flower  on  the  market 
at  present:  the  decorative,  a  large,  moder- 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


ately  double  flower  of  fine  form  and  rich 
coloring;  the  cactus,  with  strangely  twisted 
and  ctirled  petals — a  ** freaky"  sort  of 
flower — and  the  old  very  double  type,  mag- 
nificent in  coloring  and  wondertiilly  pro- 
lific in  bloom.  AU  are  good,  but  I  think 
the  decorative  dahlia  wul  give  most  gen- 
eral satisfaction. 

Gladioluses  shovdd  be  planted  thickly, 
as  a  strong  show  of  color  is  secured  only  by 
massing.  Put  them  into  the  groimd  about 
the  middle  of  May,  at  the  north.  Plant 
about  four  inches  below  the  surface,  in 
mellow  and  well-enriched  soil.  Let  the 
corms  be  about  six  inches  apart.  The  best 
support  I  have  ever  been  able  to  devise  for 
this  flower  is  made  as  follows:  Spread  out 
over  the  beds  in  which  your  gladioluses  are 
planted  very  coarse-meshed  wire  netting, 
and  cut  it  in  lengths  to  fit  each  bed.  (This 
should  be  done  before  the  plants  have 
made  much  growth.)  Drive  a  stake  at 
each  comer  oi  the  bed,  allowing  it  to  pro- 
ject about  eighteen  inches  above  the  sur- 
face. Nail  strips  of  wood  from  stake  to 
stake,  at  the  top,  and  fasten  the  netting 
to  the  frame  thus  made.  The  flower- 
stalks  of  the  plants  will  make  their  way  up 
through  the  netting,  whose  meshes  will 
supply  all  the  support  the  plants  will  re- 
qmre.  Unless  some  support  is  given,  the 
stalks — which  will  be  very  heavy  when 
well  set  with  buds — are  c^uite  sure  to  be 
blown  over  by  sudden  winds,  and  when 
they  are  once  aown  it  is  not  an  easy  matter 
to  bring  them  back  into  place  without 
breaking  them  off  at  their  junction  with 
the  corm.  Individual  staking  is  not  an 
easy  matter,  and  plants  so  supported  have 
a  stiff,  formal  look,  anything  but  pleasing. 
Paint  the  framework  to  which  the  netting 
is  fastened  a  neutral  color — preferably  a  dull 
green — and  at  a  little  distance  the  plants 
will  appear  to  be  without  any  support. 

ANNUALS   FOR   SPECIAL   PURPOSES 

For  brilliant  and  constant  show:  pe- 
tunias, poppies,  phlox,  verbenas  and  caJli- 
opsis.  These  should  be  massed  in  large 
beds  to  secure  most  satisfactory  results. 
Keep  each  kind  by  itself. 

For  late  flowering:  ten -week  stock, 
aster,  cosmos,  petunia,  verbena  and  pansy. 

For  edging:  candytuft,  sweet  alyssum 
and  ageratum. 

For  covering  fences  and  low  screens: 
sweet  pea,  cypress  vine  and  nasturtium. 

For  covermg  outbuildings,  verandas,  the 
trunks  of  trees,  and  summer-houses:  wild 
cucumber,  morning  glories  and  flowering 
bean. 

For  cutting:  mignonette,  poppy,  sweet 
pea,  nasturtium,  scabiosa,  aster  and  ten- 
week  stock. 

For  low  beds  near  the  paths,  or  under 
the  dwelling-house  windows:  verbenas, 
porttilacca  and  ageratum. 

For  tropical  effect:  ricinus  or  castor 
plant  and  amaranthus. 


For  hedge  or  back  rows:   zinnia,  amar- 
anthus and  cosmos. 


CUTTING    BEDS 

I  would  suggest  giving  these  beds  a  place 
somewhere  in  the  rear,  and  I  would  plant 
in  them  the  odds  and  ends  of  all  seed  left 
from  the  planting  of  the  garden  proper. 
You  will  feel  at  liberty  to  cut  from  them  to 
suit  your  pleasure,  for  you  will  not  be  rob- 
bing the  rest  of  the  garden  by  so  doing. 
As  a  general  thing,  these  beds  are  the  most 
enjoyable  ones  you  will  have,  because  of 
their  entire  lack  of  formality.  If  you  ex- 
pect to  use  many  cut  flowers  it  will  be  well 
to  plant  with  this  intention  in  mind.  The 
best  aster  for  cutting  is  Semple's  branching. 
Its  pale  pink,  pure  white  and  soft  lavender 
varieties  are  quite  as  lovely  as  chrysan- 
themums, and  they  have  the  merit  of  re- 
taining their  freshness  for  two  weeks,  if  the 
water  in  which  they  are  placed  is  changed 
daily.  They  have  long  flower-stalks,  and 
are  easily  the  best  of  all  annuals  in  their 
season,  for  general  house  decoration. 

Rustic  Work.  (J.  P.  M.)— There  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  set  about  the 
construction  of  your  summer-house  and 
bridge  for  yourself,  if  you  have  the  knack 
of  using  tools,  and  plan  out  your  work  well 
before  going  ahead  with  it.  Decide  on  a 
design  first  of  all.  Don't  select  something 
calling  for  elaborate  work.  Let  it  be 
simple  and  graceful,  and  have  the  merit  of 
substantiality.  Aim  to  make  close-fitting 
joints,  and  fasten  every  part  well  as  you 
go  along  with  stout  wire  nails.  Cedar 
poles  are  preferable  to  any  other  material 
for  such  structures,  as  they  last  a  long  time 
and  retain  their  bark  well  if  cut  when  green. 
In  making  a  summer-house  have  it  of  good 
size — large  enough  to  hold  the  entire  family 
— and  fit  it  up  with  hammocks,  comfort- 
able seats,  and  if  possible  a  table.  The 
idea  is  to  make  the  place  so  cozy  and  at- 
tractive that  the  family  will  make  con- 
stant use  of  it  in  summer — a  place  for  a 
daily  outing.  By  all  means  give  it  a  roof 
of  shingles.  Bark  and  thatch  roofs  are 
snares  and  delusions,  and  it  takes  a  genius 
to  make  them  look  well.  Shingles  will 
keep  out  the  rain  as  nothing  else  will,  and 
if  they  are  given  a  coat  or  two  of  the  moss- 
green  creosote  stains  the  effect  will  be 
very  harmonious.  I  would  advise  planting 
native  vines  like  Virginia  creeper,  clematis 
and  bittersweet  about  the  house  to  still 
further  enhance  the  charm  of  it.  If  mos- 
quitoes and  flies  are  likely  to  prove  annoy- 
ing, inclose  it  with  fine  wire  netting.  This 
can  be  done  by  having  the  netting  fitted 
to  frames  made  to  fill  the  spaces  between 
the  posts.  These  frames  can  be  removed 
in  fall  and  stored  in  a  dry  place,  and  will 
last  for  years.  Better  let  a  good  carpen- 
ter do  this  part  of  the  work,  tmless  you 
have  the  necessary  skill  yourself,  as  its 
success  will  depend  on  a  perfect  fit  of  the 
frames. 


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THE  WARFARE  AGAINST   THE 
WILD-FOWL 

GOOD   LAWS  n.  THE  GAME  BUTCHER 
BY   CHARLES    H.   MORTON 


TWO  years  ago  the  writer  visited  the 
great  marsh  known  as  the  Cheyenne 
Bottoms,  in  Barton  Coimty,  Kansas.  This 
is  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  wild-fowl  and  is 
one  of  the  best  shooting  grounds  of  the 
middle  west,  covering  an  area  of  nearly 
fifty  square  miles. 

When  the  ducks  are  flying,  the  firing  is 
continuous  and  heavy.  Decoys  are  placed 
on  the  open  water  around  the  nide,  and  the 
gunner  shoots  until  darkness  compels  him 
to  cease.  Then  he  picks  up  all  the  ducks 
he  can  find  and  wades  back  to  camp.  The 
sport  is  fine;  the  shooting  is  not  difficult, 
for  ducks  are  plentiful — but  fifty  per  cent, 
of  those  shot  are  not  gathered.  Twenty- 
five  per  cent,  are  crippled  and  have  flapped 
away  in  the  reeds,  and  fully  that  number  of 
the  dead  ducks  are  never  found.  It  is  next 
to  impossible  to  mark  down  and  gather  a 
duck  killed  among  this  thicket  of  rushes, 
and  it  is  pure  luck  if  it  is  picked  up  at  all. 
While  searching  for  his  game  the  gunner 
will  find  dozens  of  dead  ducks  in  various 
stages  of  decomposition.  They  dot  the 
surface  of  the  water  literally  by  thousands. 
No  one  eats  mud-hens  or  coots,  but  they 
make  good  shooting  and  provide  a  pathetic 
example  of  the  sportsman's  prowess,  hun- 
dreds being  shot  and  left  to  he  where  they 
drop.  The  wings  of  the  great  marsh-hawk 
fan  the  air  untiringly  above  the  rushes,  as 
he  searches  out  tne  crippled  ducks.  He 
carries  his  prey  to  the  edge  of  the  marsh 
and  there  makes  his  meal,  eating  only  the 
breast  The  rim  of  the  marsh  is  dotted 
with  the  skeletons  of  these  hapless  fowl, 
wounded  by  the  hunter  and  captured  by 
the  marsh  harrier.  Around  and  among 
these  remnants  are  thousands  of  empty 
shotgun  shells  of  every  make  and  gauge. 
They  litter  the  footpaths  and  fill  the  hides 
along  the  shore.  Thousands  are  soaking 
in  the  muddy  water.  These  "empties" 
give  an  impetus  to  the  thoughts  of  a  sports- 
man who  deems  himself  lucky  if  he  bums 
a  himdred  shells  during  the  year. 

Protected  by  the  sheltering  rushes  a 
^reat  colony  of  ducks  live  in  security,  feed- 
mg  and  moving  from  place  to  place.  There 
are  mallards  and  pintails,  teal,  mud-hens, 
redheads.  Nearly  all  the  duck  tribe  is 
represented.  They  do  not  fly  up  as  you 
approach,  but  splash  away  into  tne  rushes 
and  disappear.  You  cannot  find  them 
with  i>ersistent  search,  but  stand  quietly 
for  a  while  and  then  try  your  duck-call 


with  the  little,  whimpering  note  of  the 
feeding  flock  You  are  answered  from  all 
sides,  and,  splashing  and  rustling,  the  ducks 
swim  toward  you.  Now  you  see  them 
scuttling  here  and  there,  some  bold  enough 
to  glide  into  the  open,  and  others  lurking 
along  the  edges  of  the  clearing,  whUe  all  the 
air  is  filled  with  soft,  chuckling,  querulous 
duck  talk.  All  at  once  you  understand 
why  they  did  not  fly  when  first  alarmed, 
and  the  discovery  fills  you  with  pity.  They 
are  cripples  banded  together  and  living  a 
strange  and  miserable  life  beneath  the 
bending  reeds,  waiting  for  their  wounds  to 
heal,  or  for  the  fate  that  comes  to  all  wild 
things.  They  are  more  forttmate  than 
they  know,  for  there  are  no  muskrats 
here.  Some  are  fat  and  hearty,  being 
merely  wing-tipped.  Others,  more  seriously 
stricken,  are  thin  and  feeble,  and  a  few, 
body-shot,  or  with  mangled  bills,  are  slowly 
dying.  In  this  tangled  mat  of  vegetation, 
where  the  dead  ducks  are  most  difficult  to 
find,  the  crippled  ones  are  never  recovered, 
nor  even  sought  for. 

Even  the  wisest  provisions  of  a  game 
law  limiting  the  bag  cannot  avail  here,  for 
unless  the  htmter  hearkens  to  the  voice  of 
conscience  he  may  shoot  imtil  he  gathers 
the  limit,  although  he  kiU  ten  times  his  al- 
lowance. Such  conditions  always  prevail 
wherever  the  passings  wild-fowl  gather; 
along  the  Mississippi  Valley,  over  the 
stretches  of  northern  marshes  and  in  the 
southern  wintering  grounds.  What  a 
waste:  what  a  senseless,  pitiful,  selfish 
destruction!  And  nowhere  is  this  des- 
truction more  universal  or  wanton  than  in 
the  southern  swamps  and  tidal  marshes 
where  the  wintering  millions  swarm.  Here 
they  are  killed  for  market  by  professional 
pot-hunters.  Millionaire  "sports,"  camp- 
mg  in  sumptuous  houseboats,  rival  their 
English  pheasant-shooting  brethren  with 
bags  of  ducks  that  discount  any  shooting 
on  the  moors  or  over  the  stubble — with 
this  fine  distinction  in  favor  of  the  British 
game  butchers:  the  ducks  are  left  to  rot 
where  they  fall,  for  the  sport  lies  in  the 
shooting,  and  also  the  bircfs  usually  are  in 
no  fit  condition  for  the  table. 

Our  present  provisions  for  wild-fowl 
protection  show  a  great  advance  over  the 
lax  conditions  formerly  existing,  aHhough 
one  cannot  help  but  note  even  now  room 
for  much  improvement.  Local  restrictions 
work  against  the  htmter  in  one  state,  and 


245 


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246 


The  Outing  Magazine 


in  another  provide  absolutely  no  protec- 
tion: ducks  and  geese  come  safely  through 
the  close  seasons  of  the  northern  and  mid- 
dle states  only  to  court  destruction  in  the 
south — their  refuge  in  name  only. 

Recently  Illinois  passed  a  law  imposing  a 
fee  of  seventy-five  cents  upon  hunters  living 
in  the  state,  and  $15.50  for  non-residents. 
Being  in  the  nature  of  an  experiment,  it  was 
at  first  questionable  whether  this  was  good 
poHcy,  but  as  nearly  $1 70,000  was  collected 
the  first  year,  the  scheme  appears  successfvd 
and  the  game-warden  is  expending  a  good 
many  thousands  of  Illinois  dollars  m  stock- 
ing the  state  with  Alabama  quail.  Thus 
good  shooting  will  be  obtained  with  no 
diminution  of  the  supply,  and  this  system 
of  stocking  gameless  regions  is  proved  to 
be  very  feasible.  It  appUes  to  all  game 
except  our  migratory  waterfowl.  In 
those  very  localities  where  protection  would 
benefit  them  most — ^the  states  of  the 
southern  tier — they  meet  with  the  worst 
treatment.  Even  the  strict  measures  of 
the  northern  states  are  set  at  naught,  for 
they  tend  only  to  preserve  them  for  slaugh- 
ter in  the  south.  There  is  somethmg 
wrong  in  these  varying  methods  of  pro- 
tection, which  in  many  states  work  no 
good  because  of  the  brief  tarrying  of  the 
passing  flocks;  protecting  them  here  and 
there  only  to  increase  their  ranks  in  other 
localities  where  the  hunter  may  disregard 
the  motives  of  true  sportsmanship  and  sel- 
fishly destroy  what  others  are  striving  to 
preserve,  because  there  falls  no  threaten- 
mg  shadow  of  fines,  broken  laws  or  watch- 
ful wardens. 

Nor  is  the  opportunity  to  kill  big  bags 
of  ducks  confined  to  marsh  or  seacoast. 
The  wastefvd  work  goes  on  under  the 
bright  skies  and  arid  stretches  of  the  high 
western  plains,  where  marshes  are  im- 
known  and  water  is  at  a  premiimi.  Here 
the  conditions  are  so  changed  that  the 
veteran  duck-shooter  is  at  a  loss  how  to 
proceed;  these  dry-land  ducks  are  abun- 
dant and  one  needs  no  decoys,  blinds  nor 
waders.  The  dead  ducks  and  cripples  are 
always  gathered,  and  the  hunter's  days  are 
all  of  the  pleasantest — a  phase  of  sport  un- 
known to  the  eastern  hunter,  to  whom 
duck-shooting  means  work  in  flannels, 
gloves  and  heavy,  storm-defying  garments. 

Awa>r  out  in  these  western  plains  many 
small  rivers  begin  their  journeys  toward 
the  rising  sun,  through  the  level  stretch  of 
fenceless  plains  covered  with  buffalo  grass 
and  dotted  with  the  mounds  of  prairie-dog 
towns.  These  rivers  spread  in  the  spring 
over  wide,  flat,  treeless  valleys,  but  in  the 
fall  the  only  indication  that  a  river  exists 
is  the  narrow  ribbon  of  white  sand  marking 
the  windings  of  the  bankless  bed,  and  here 
and  there,  far  apart,  where  the  red  clay 
bluff  shoulders  tne  river  aside,  is  a  clear, 
green,  narrow  pool;  shallow,  filled  with 
moss  and  rushes,  where  fish  and  frogs 
abound,  and  where,  in  the  early  fall  days, 
the  ducks  come,  swarming  by  thousands. 


halting  on  their  way  south  for  weeks  to 
feed  and  fatten  in  these  desert  oases.  Here 
the  shooting  is  of  the  best,  for  the  ducks 
are  yoimg  and  tame,  and  loathe  to  leave 
their  feeding.  But  unreasoning  selfishness 
reigns,  and  the  killing  of  ducks  follows  the 
line  of  strict  economy  in  ammunition.  In- 
stead of  the  average  of  ten  shells  for  each 
duck  these  localities  produce  a  striking 
contrast  of  a  good  many  more  than  ten 
ducks  for  each  shell.  What  will  the  reader 
think  of  a  bag  of  nineteen  ducks  at  one 
shot?  Of  thirty-five  ducks  in  two  shots? 
Of  one  himdred  and  five  ducks  killed  in  the 
discharge  of  both  barrels  of  a  ten-bore? 
Of  three  hunters  who  killed  forty,  sixty  and 
ninety  ducks  respectively  in  the  same 
mommg  along  one  of  these  little  streams 
of  the  West,  and  fired  a  total  of  fifteen 
shots?  And  every  one  of  these  ducks  a 
green-winged  teal,  the  fall  flight  not  having 
commenced  and  the  season  barely  begun! 
This  must  be  where  the  old  farmer  lived, 
who  said  apropos  of  a  beloved  six-foot 
muzzle-loadmg  cannon,  vintage  of  1870: 
"Old  Betsy  is  gettin'  shot  out;  she  used 
to  get  twenty  ducks  every  shot — now  she 
only  gets  fifteen." 

Water  is  scarce  and  precious  in  these 
arid  regions  and  along  the  little  river's 
course  the  infrequent  pools  are  often 
crammed  with  wild-fowl.  Later  in  the 
season  there  is  no  doubt  that  mallard,  red- 
head and  bluebill  suffer  the  same  slaughter 
that  is  meeted  to  green  and  blue  winged 
teal.  Indeed,  in  these  districts,  the  himt- 
ers  reverse  the  usual  conditions  governing 
duck-shooting.  One  finds  as  good  sport 
during  fair  weather  as  he  would  in  storm 
and  rain;  he  needs  no  wading  boots,  for  the 
game  may  be  reached  from  the  edge  of  the 
water;  he  drives  over  dusty  plains  from 
one  pool  to  the  other;  decoys  are  useless, 
as  the  presence  of  water  is  sufficient  to  at- 
tract the  ducks;  light,  cylinder  bores  are 
preferred  to  the  heavy,  close-shooting  guns 
of  the  eastern  lakes,  and  small  shot,  of  the 
size  well  known* in  trap-shooting  as  "7J 
chilled,"  is  used  imiversally. 

The  reader  may  think,  perhaps,  that 
these  statements  are  enlarged  to  suit  the 
writer's  whim,  and  direct  attention  to  im- 
aginary conditions  in  an  over-zealous  at- 
tempt to  create  sentiment.  They  are  not 
exaggerated;  indeed,  only  a  plain  state- 
ment of  facts  has  been  made.  These  are 
but  instances  of  a  few  localities  where  ducks 
are  slaughtered  in  enormous  numbers,  and 
that  there  are  many  other  similar  shooting- 
grounds  where  like  opportunities  occur  is 
a  matter  of  small  doubt.  Consider  that 
the  manv  shooting  grounds  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi Valley,  the  Great  Lakes,  the  Gulf 
States,  the  Atlantic  Seaboard,  wheresoever 
the  wild-fowl  congregate,  must  fulfill  the 
same  distressing  conditions  in  the  interest 
of  "sport."  Ek)es  it  not  dawn  upon  the 
reader  that  hundreds  upon  thousands  of 
wild-fowl  are  annually  killed,  and  need- 
lessly? It  is  time  to  put  on  thfr-brake;  tp 
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The  Warfare  Against  the  Wild-fowl 


247 


preach  the  doctrine  of  self-denial,  for  the 
lash  of  the  game  law  has  lost  its  stin^. 
Legislation  is  powerless  to  combat  this 
selnsh  disr^ard  of  all  that  is  humane  and 
sportsmanlike.  It  lies  wholly  with  the 
gunner  and  his  inclinations.  The  average 
city  sportsman  shoots  for  pleasure  and  the 
love  of  sport.  He,  in  many  instances,  is 
a  busy,  work-ridden  man  who  snatches  a 
few  precious  hours  in  the  fall  and  spring  for 
his  favorite  sport,  duck-shooting.  Once  in 
a  while,  not  often,  he  has  a  lucky  day.  He 
strikes  the  flight  during  the  busy  season 
and  enjoys  some  great  shooting.  In  fact, 
he  kills  so  many  ducks  that  he  should  be 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  quite  often  he  is, 
for  the  average  sportsman  is  made  of  better 
stuff  than  that  which  enters  the  make-up 
of  the  game-hog.  Once  in  a  while,  then, 
comes  tne  opportunity  to  kill  a  great  num- 
ber of  ducks  and  the  temptation  is  over- 
whelming. True,  the  excuse  is  that  the 
chance  so  seldom  presenting  itself,  the 
hunter  would  be  loolish  not  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  Herein  lies  the  great  harm — 
there  are  so  many  hundreds  of  hunters  who 
take  advantage  of  their  few  outings  to 
shoot  all  they  can  during  these  trips  that 
the  resulting  slaughter  is  appalling.  If  a 
single  hunter  may  kill  two  nundred  ducks 
during  the  season  the  loss  would  never  be 
noticed  in  the  flying  ranks  of  wild-fowl. 
But  a  thousand  gunners  are  afield;  a  train- 
load  of  game  is  killed  to  satisfy  the  love 
of  sport  inbred  in  the  souls  of  American 
sportsmen.  We  are  a  nation  of  shooters, 
equipped  with  that  most  deadly  of  weap- 
ons, the  modem  choke-bore  shotgun  in  its 
many  forms — shell  ejecting,  repeating  and 
automatic— enabling  the  gunner  to  main- 
tain a  rapid  and  continuous  fire.  We  have 
the  advantage  over  our  sportsmen  fathers 
in  the  use  of  the  various  smokeless  powders, 
and  notwithstanding  the  increasing  scar- 
city of  wild-fowl  and  the  encroachment  of 
our  vast  civilization  upon  their  wilderness 
haunts,  we  have  killed  more  ducks  and 
geese  in  the  past  fifteen  years  than  our  an- 
cestors would  kill  in  a  century.  It  is 
questionable  sport,  that  of  shooting  great 
numbers  of  ducks  for  pleasure  alone.  A 
cruel  and  entirely  wanton  slaughter.  If 
killing  for  pastime  is  the  great  incentive, 
then  the  spirit  of  sportsmanship  should 
dictate  terms  which  would  keep  the  shooter 
within  the  bounds  of  reason. 

A  great  majority  of  our  protecting  laws 
have  not  yet  taken  into  consideration  the 
serious  backset  given  to  their  purposes  by 
the  extension  of  open  seasons  into  the 
spring  months,  when  ducks  are  commencing 
to  breed  and  are  in  no  fit  condition  for  the 
table.  If  the  duck  season  universally  em- 
braced only  the  months  of  September, 
October,  November  and  December,  a  mil- 
lion ducks  would  be  alive  each  spring  to 
breed  in  the  north,  instead  of  a  few  strag- 
gling hundreds,  lucky  to  have  escaped. 
Sprmg  shooting — and  in  the  south,  shoot- 
ing throughout  the  last  two  winter  months 


— will  soon  achieve  their  extinction.  In  a 
letter  from  the  President  of  the  Jefferson 
County  Sportsmen's  Association  of  New 
York,  to  Forest  and  Stream,  is  shown  the 
result  of  game  laws  in  relation  to  proper 
seasons: 

"We  have  claimed  as  an  argument  for  the  passage 
of  this  bill  that  if  the  fall  ducks  or  divers  were  un- 
molested in  our  waters  in  the  spring  they  would  find 
choice  feeding  spots,  and  would  retxuti  earlier  and  in 
larger  numbers,  and  stay  longer  in  the  fall.  We  also 
claimed  that  if  the  summer  ducks,  the  black  duck, 
the  mallard,  the  wood  duck  and  the  teal,  were  un> 
molested  they  would  remain  with  us  and  nest  and 
rear  their  young.  That  they  have  done  so  this  year 
is  an  undisputed  fact,  as  never  within  the  memory 
of  the  oldest  sportsman  have  there  been  so  many  of 
these  ducks  in  this  country  on  the  opening  day.  If  in 
one  season  such  results  can  be  accomplished  in  a 
restricted  locality  surrounded  by  unprotected  areas, 
it  is  easy  to  predict  that  an  enormous  increase  of 
birds  would  follow  the  universal  suppression  of  spring 
shooting." 

The  Year  Book  of  the  Department  of 
Agriculture  contains  an  article  by  the  emi- 
nent ornithologist,  A.  K.  Fisher,  stating  in 
unambiguous  terms  the  evils  of  spring 
shooting.  His  topic  deals  with  the  im- 
pending extinction  of  the  wood  duck,  but 
its  keynote  is  a  warning  to  be  heeded,  as  it 
is  so  well  applied  to  each  and  all  of  the 
duck  species.     He  says: 

*'  Within  the  past  few  years  friends  of  game  pro- 
tection have  felt  encouraged  not  only  by  the  apparent 
awakening  of  a  more  healthy  public  sentiment  against 
undue  destruction  of  birds  and  animals,  but  also  by 
the  progressive  movement  in  the  direction  of  more 
extended  and  more  imiform  close  seasons.  But  al- 
though much  has  been  done  for  the  protection  of  ui>- 
land  game,  little  has  been  accomplished  toward  saving 
the  waterfowl.  Unaccountable  as  it  may  seem, 
ducks  are  considered  ligitimate  game  at  a  season 
when  they  are  hurrying  to  their  nesting  grounds,  and 
spring  shooting  is  still  tolerated  in  a  great  majority 
of  the  states.  Ducks  killed  in  the  spring  are  often 
in  a  wretched  condition  and  thousands  find  their 
way  to  the  big  markets  that  certainly  would  be  con- 
demned as  improper  food  if  inspection  laws  were 
rigidly  enforced. 

"  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  such  states  as  Iowa,  the 
Dakotas.  Montana.  Wyoming  and  Colorado,  which 
contain  large  breeding  grounds,  should  be  among 
the  number  that  extend  the  open  season  to  April  or 
later.  This  unseasonable  slaughter  is  steadily  de- 
pleting the  ranks  of  even  the  most  abundant  species. 
And  If  migratory  ducks  are  thus  affected,  what  must 
be  the  effect  on  a  species  like  the  wood  duck  which 
breeds  over  a  wide  extent  of  unprotected  territory? 
The  question  is  not  hard  to  answer.  It  is  only  neces- 
sary to  point  to  the  fact  that  this  handsome  bird  is 
now  almost  unknown  in  many  places  where  once  it 
was  common. 

*'  In  southern  states  where  the  wild  fowl  winter 
and  where  they  have  utterly  inadequate  protection, 
sportsmen  should  rally  and  by  concerted  action 
make  a  strong  effort  to  have  proper  laws  enacted.  A 
short  open  season  of  not  over  six  weeks  should  take 
the  place  of  the  practically  imrestricted  one.  A 
limit  should  be  placed  on  the  size  of  the  bag.  and  be- 
yond allowing  the  sportsman  to  carry  a  tew  birds 
with  him  on  his  return  home,  all  shipment  should  be 
prohibited." 

It  is  good  news  to  learn  that  Mr.  Fisher's 
ideas  have  been  followed  almost  univer- 
sally. The  last  two  years  have  witnessed 
some  remarkable  changes  in  our  game 
laws,  showing  strenuous  effort  on  the  part 
of  sportsmen  right-minded  and  resourceful, 
and  a  more  intelligent  appreciation  of  the 
value  of  good  laws  by  our  legislatures. 
A  tax  upon  hunting,  in  the  form  of  licenses; 


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limited  ba^  of  game;  shorter  open  sea- 
sons, that  in  many  states  bar  out  spring 
shooting;  and.  finally,  the  unequivocal  in- 
hibition of  market-shooting — ^these  are  the 
fruits  of  insistent  urging  for  better  things. 
Montana  now  has  an  open  season  of  but 
three  months — from  September  ist  to  De- 
cember I  St;  a  twenty-five  dollar  non-resident 
license  is  issued  by  the  state  game-warden, 
but  no  limit  is  placed  on  ducks.  Export- 
ing is  prohibited,  with  the  exception  of 
game  lawfvdly  killed,  accompanied  by  law- 
ful owner,  and  the  shipment  is  limited  to 
the  number  allowed  on  each  license.  This 
is  a  great  advance  toward  better  conditions, 
and  that  we  are  learning  the  true  value  of 
timely  protective  measures  is  shown  by 
the  laws  now  in  force  and  of  but  recent 
passage.  Probably  the  most  important  of 
these  new  enactments  was  the  making  of 
entirely  new  game  laws  in  Mississippi  and 
in  Prince  Edward's  Island,  and  the  afx)lish- 
ment  of  spring  shooting  by  the  province  of 
Alberta.  The  passage  ot  the  Mississippi 
Act  completes  the  chain  of  non -export 
laws  in  all  the  United  States,  and  special 
officers  enforce  the  game  laws  in  every  state 
but  three — Alabama,  Arkansas  and  Texas — 
and  they  are  needed  there,  if  anywhere. 

Of  the  new  laws  passed  in  1906  is  to  be 
noted  the  prohibition  of  hunting  in  the 
District  of  Columbia,  except  on  the  Eastern 
Branch  marshes  and  the  west  side  of  the 
Potomac  River;  a  change  in  Louisiana 
which  shifts  the  open  season  on  ducks  from 
September  1st  to  April  15th,  allows  a  bag  of 
seventy-five  per  day  and  protects  the  wood 
duck  all  the  year.  Maryland  has  repealed 
the  law  permitting  autumn  teal-shoot- 
ing in  Cecil  and  Hartford  coimties,  prohib- 
ited Stmday  shooting,  but  allows  an  open 
season  from  November  ist  to  April  loth. 
Massachusetts  stops  wood-duck  shootincf 
imtil  November  i,  191 1;  Rhode  Island 
has  but  one  new  act  which  prohibits  use 
of  boats  propelled  by  means  other  than 
oars.  The  province  of  Alberta  prohibits 
spring  shootmg  and  Manitoba  follows  closely 
with  a  law  establishing  a  bag-limit  on 
ducks,  with  an  open  season  from  Septem- 
ber ist  to  December  ist.  Throughout  the 
coimtry  efforts  have  been  made  to  pass  bills 
of  more  or  less  beneficial  character.  Bills  to 
prohibit  the  use  of  automatic  ^uns  by 
hunters  were  introduced  in  the  District  of 
Columbia,  Georgia,  Massachusetts,  Mis- 
sissippi, New  Jersey,  New  York,  Ohio, 
Rhode  Island,  Virginia  and  the  province  of 
Quebec,  but  in  no  case  did  they  receive 
favorable  action.  A  bill  to  extend  through 
April  the  open  season  on  wild-fowl  in  Ken- 
tucky failed  of  passage;  the  season  there 
is  long  enough  as  it  is — August  15th  to 
April  ist,  six  and  one-half  months.  New 
Jersey  tried  the  reverse  by  introducing  a 
bill  cutting  April  and  September  from  the 
open  season,  but  it  was  killed.  Perhaps 
the  legislators  took  a  "pot-shot"  at  it. 
New  York  failed  to  enact  a  law  prohibiting 
the  sale  of  wild-fowl  from  January  ist  to 


September  1 5th — but  New  York  has  an  open 
season  from  September  i6th  only  to  Janu- 
ary ist,  and  allows  no  export  of  game. 
Long  Island  failed  to  pass  a  bill  allowing 
spring  shooting. 

Recreation  (October,  1906)  says: 

"  It  should  be  noted,  also,  that  the  defeat  of  such 
bills  as  those  extending  sale  in  Kentucky,  permitting 
the  sale  of  certain  game  throughout  the  year  in  New 
York  and  permitting  spring  shooting  on  Long  Island, 
was  a  distinct  gain  and  was  due  only  to  unremitting 
vigilance  and  activity  on  the  part  of  friends  of  game 
protection.  Such  vigilance  is  always  necessary  to 
secure  the  continuance  of  good  laws  not  only  in 
states  immediately  concerned,  but  in  others  which 
would  be  directly  sySected  by  the  passage  of  retrograde 
laws." 

While  commenting  on  good  laws  we  note 
that  Washington  permits  the  sale  of  wild- 
fowl only  during  November,  and  then  not 
more  than  twenty-five  per  day.  The  open 
season  is  from  September  ist  to  March  ist, 
and  an  export  allowed  of  one  day's  limit 
only,  which  must  be  accomijanied  by  an 
affidavit  that  the  game  was  killed  by  the 
owner  and  is  not  for  sale. 

But  the  following  states  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley  still  permit  spring  shooting:  Ar- 
kansas, which  has  no  close  season  nor  even 
the  redeeming  feature  of  a  limited  per  diem 
allowance;  Illinois,  Iowa,  Kansas,  Louis- 
iana, Missouri,  Nebraska  and  the  Dakotas. 
Minnesota's  season  runs  from  September 
ist  to  December  ist;  Mississippi  from  Sep- 
tember ist  to  March  1st;  Kentucky  from 
August  15th  to  April  ist.  The  other  states 
above  noted  limit  the  daily  toll  taken  from 
the  migrating  fowl  alone  this  waterway  to 
1 5  birds  in  Minnesota  and  South  Dakota;  20 
in  Kansas  and  Mississippi;  25  in  Iowa, 
Missouri,  Nebraska  and  North  Dakota;  35 
in  IlUnois;  75  in  Louisiana,  and  no  limit  in 
Kentucky  and  Arkansas.  Texas  (with 
a  limit  of  25  birds  i>er  day),  Alabama  and 
Florida  have  no  close  season,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  four  counties  in 
Alabama — the  last  two  no  bag-limit.  Thus, 
in  fifteen  states  along  the  wild-fowl's  great 
migrator}^  highway  and  winter  retreats  but 
two  prohibit  spring  shooting. 

The  eflfect  upon  the  markets  of  stringent 
game  legislation  is  already  widely  felt, 
especially  in  the  middle  and  western 
states,  where  sportsmen  have  been  rudely 
awakened  into  active  and  indicant  reali- 
zation of  the  deplorable  conditions  against 
which  they  have  hitherto  vainly  struggled. 
Our  feathered  friends  of  the  woodland  and 
prairie  are  holding  their  own — even  in- 
creasing in  many  localities.  Protection 
and  importation  of  their  species  are  doing 
wonders.  Even  the  pinnated  grouse  of 
the  western  plains,  so  near  to  extermina- 
tion, is  returning  to  his  old  haunts,  won- 
derful as  it  may  seem,  for  a  hand  has  been 
uplifted  and  a  voice  has  said  to  the  slayers 
ot  this  noble  bird  in  all  his  chosen  fields: 
"  No  exporting,  no  selling,  kill  but  a  few — 
beware!"  And  sportsmen  obey,  for  they 
realize  that  in  the  emphasis  of  the  voice 
speaks  the  law.     Why  cannot  legislators^ 


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How  Pete  Bored  the  "Oriole" 


249 


see  the  wisdom  of  similar  protection  for  the 
wild-fowl?  How  often  does  the  average 
Solon  make  of  the  carefully  prepared  game 
bill  a  legislative  plaything  to  while  away 
a  tedious  hour?  The  member  from  the 
hedge-rows  wants  (^uail  forever  protected 
— it  will  keep  the  citv  hunters  off  his  farm. 
The  member  with  the  diamond  stud  and 
eyeglasses  desires  to  insert  "seven-up  and 
poker' '  in  the  list  of  protected  eame.  Ducks, 
geese  and  snipe  are  migratory  oirds;  they  do 
not  belong  to  the  state,  so  why  protect 
them  in  the  spring  or  any  other  time? 
What's  the  matter  with  the  old  game  laws? 
— "rause  mit"  the  new  onel  The  bill 
passes  as  amended;  crows,  hawks  and  jays 
are  secured  from  harm  by  the  mighty  arm 
of  the  law,  but  the  ducks  and  geese  have 
l3een  overlooked  in  the  shuffle.  In  many 
instances,  however,  good  has  been  achieved. 
Market-shooting  has  received  a  solar-plexus 
blow  from  the  Federal  statute  known  as 
the  Lacey  Act,  regulating  interstate  com- 
merce in  eame.  Non-export  laws,  first 
enacted  in  Minnesota  in  1871,  are  now  in 
force  in  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  in 
nearly  every  Canadian  province.  Forty- 
five  states  allow  no  sale  of  game,  and  thirty- 
five  place  restrictions  on  the  number  of 
head  of  game  killed.  Eleven  states  only — 
Alabama,  Arkansas,  California,  Connecti- 
cut, Georgia,  Massachusetts,  Nevada,  New 
Mexico,  Oklahoma,  Rhode  Island  and 
Texas— do  not  require  a  license  to  himt, 
and  sixteen  states  compel  a  non-resident 
license  of  from  ten  to  twenty-five  times 
that  imposed  on  resident  hunters.  State 
and  county  game-warden  supervision  has 
been  established  in  forty-five  states,  and 
in  Canada  each  province  has  a  special 
provincial  game  officer. 

The   future  welfare  of   our   web-footed 


game  seems  fairly  established  by  reason 
of  this  concerted  movement  throughout 
the  land.  Certainly  it  seems  that  we  have 
well  in  hand  the  solution  of  the  market- 
shooting  menace.  Now  all  we  need  is 
the  eradicating  of  spring  shooting,  and 
the  observance  of  decency  in  connection 
with  duck-shooting  along  the  southern 
coast — where  the  ducks  should  find  a 
refuge,  not  alone  from  winter  but  from 
extinction.  When  they  struck  the  blow 
at  the  market-shooter  by  prohibiting  trans- 
portation and  sale  of  wild-fowl  and  all 
game  birds,  our  sportsmen  and  lawmakers 
did  a  deal  of  good,  but  there  are  certain 
conditions  not  yet  governed  by  legisla- 
tures, and  for  which  only  the  sportsman 
himself  must  be  held  responsible.  And 
these  conditions  are  of  the  gravest  im- 
portance, for  only  in  their  strict  obser- 
vance lies  the  true  protection  of  our  game 
birds,  and  especially  the  preservation  of 
our  wild-fowl.  Let  every  sportsman  be  a 
sportsman  in  every  sense.  Stifle  the  sel- 
fish desire  to  outdo  one's  fellow-himter. 
Remember  that  great  scores  are  com- 
mendable only  when  smashing  clay  birds. 
The  "high  gun"  of  the  traps  is  hailed  a 
champion — the  "high  gim"  of  the  ducking- 
marsh  is  merely  a  game  butcher. 

There  is  no  more  noble  and  thoroughly 
enjoyable  sport  than  that  of  duck-shooting. 
The  triumph  of  outgeneraling  a  bunch  of 
wary  mallards  by  calling  them  within 
ranee  is  almost  as  satisfying  as  the  ensuing 
douole  scored  by  the  hidden  gimner.  It  is 
sport  to  duplicate  this  feat  a  dozen  times, 
but  it  is  the  acme  of  hoggishness  to  shoot 
a  hundred  of  these  great,  beautiful  birds. 
One  hvmdred  shots  over  the  traps  will 
serve  the  purpose  entirely  if  one's  sole  de- 
sire is  to  shoot  for  sport. 


HOW  PETE  BORED  THE  "ORIOLE" 


BY   C   G.   DAVIS 


OLD  Pete  was  always  a  great  friend  of 
mine.  He  was  one  of  that  fast  dis- 
appearing school  of  old-time  ship-builders 
with  whom  I  became  acquainted  in  my 
yachting  experience.  Pete  was  as  full  of 
reminiscences  as  a  cat  is  full  of  fleas,  and 
one  noon  hour  he  gave  me  the  following  dis- 
sertation on  construction.  It  came  about 
from  our  watching  a  prospective  buyer 
prodding  his  knife  blaae  into  a  yacht's 
plank  to  see  if  she  was  sound. 

"Now  that  fellow,"  remarked  Pete, 
"might  just  as  well  have  stuck  his  knife  in 
the  ground,  as  to  stick  it  the  way  he  did. 
Did  you  notice  where  he  stuck  itr " 

"Yes,  in  the  middle  of  each  plank." 


"Yes  an'  what  good  did  it  do  *im?  Not 
a  dam'd  bit  of  good.  That  ain't  the  part 
of  the  plank  that  rots.  Where  he  should 
have  tried  was  right  along  the  edge  of  a 
plank  and  near  a  butt. 

"Say,"  he  went  on,  "if  that  chap  had 
lined  out  as  many  plank  in  his  day  as  I 
have,  he'd  know  dam'd  well  the  plank  was 
likely  to  be  sound  there,  but  it's  the  ends, 
where  the  planks  get  narrow  and  a  man 
tries  to  save  all  the  length  he  can,  that  sap 
is  apt  to  be  left  on  the  edges." 

Tnis  brought  out  a  recollection. 

"I  was  up  the  river  here  years  ago,  had 
my  own  plant  there,  and  along  came  a 
feller  one  day.     I  seen  hinujvhen  he,  came 

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in  the  yard,  but  he  didn't  see  me.  He 
sidled  over  under  the  old  Oriole  and  looked 
her  all  over.  She  had  been  in  the  yard 
about  six  years,  tied  up  for  debt.  In  fact 
she  owed  me  for  a  lot  of  repairs  and  for 
storage  and  care  all  that  time. 

*'Well  this  new  chap  he  axed  for  me 
after  he*d  got  his  fill  of  lookin*  her  over,  and 
he  tried  to  pump  me  as  to  how  much  was 
owin'  on  her,  how  much  I  thought  she  was 
worth — an'  I  dtmno  wot  he  didn't  ax  me. 
I  told  him  I  didn't  know  nothin'  'bout  her; 
go  see  her  owner.  Well,  he  said  he  would 
and  cleared  out. 

"That  night,  just  after  I'd  a  had  my 
supper,  'long  comes  the  owner  an'  he  tells 
me  now's  the  time  to  get  her  off  our  hands. 
*But,*  says  he,  *he  wants  me  to  guarantee 
her  sound.     How  can  I  do  that? 

•*Now  I  didn't  know  what  the  deuce  to 
do  fer  a  minnet. 

"I  knew  if  he  didn't  sell  her  I'd  never  get 
my  money  from  him,  for  he  was  broke  and 
I  could  use  several  hundred  dollars  very 
nice  just  about  then,  but  then  again  I  hated 
to  deceive  the  new  man,  so  I  was  thinkin* 
which  I  ought  to  do  when  he  says  again, 
•  What  can  you  do,  Pete  ?     Can  you  fix  it  ? ' 

"*Well  yes,*  says  I,  'I  can  nx  it  so  he 
won't  know  no  better,  but  it  ain't  just 
right.*  An'  yet  I  thought  of  that  money 
that  I'd  never  see  any  other  way  an*  he 
gave  me  a  lot  of  talk  about  how  this  new 
man  thought  he  knew  more  about  jrachts 
than  both  of  us  together  and  that  kind  o* 
riled  me. 

*'If  the  new  man  had  come  up  and  axed 
me  instead  of  sneakin'  around  himself  first 
I'd  a  told  him  plvunp  an'  plain,  *  No,  she's 
rotten  as  punk.'  But  instead  he  comes 
up  next  day  with  a  smart-lookin'  chap  an' 
the  two  of  'em  went  over  her  like  rats,  in- 
side and  out. 

'•  I  got  a  three-quarter  an'  a  three-eighths 
bit  an'  my  bitstock  an'  we  all  climbed  up 
on  the  stagin'  where  the  high  tide  had 
come  up  under  her  stam,  an'  I  axed  'em  to 
show  me  where  they  wanted  her  bored,  an' 
I  gave  the  new  chap  a  piece  of  chalk.  I 
wanted  to  see  how  much  he  knowed,  an'  I 
soon  found  out.  The  owner  by  this  time 
was  near  scart  white.  He  knew  her  tim- 
bers was  all  pimk. 

"I  pretended  to  put  the  Ijig  bit  in  the 
stock  when  it  accidently  (and  here  old 
Pete  gave  me  a  wink)  dropped  overboard. 
Well,  of  course  I  swore  and  pretended  to 
get  down  to  go  for  another,  and  then  I 
seed  how  much  his  friend  knowed. 

"*Why,  you've  got  another  bit  here,' 
he  said. 

"That  was  all  I  wanted  to  know.  I 
knew  right  away  he  didn't  know  nuthin'. 
'That's  sol'  says  I,  kind  o'  surprised.  I'd 
have  failed  to  find  a  bigger  oit  anyhow 
for  if  I  had  to  use  a  big  bit,  bigger  than 
three-eighths  or  half  inch  at  the  most,  I 
knowed  it  was  all  up. 

"So  I  put  in  the  small  bit  and  I  bores 


away  careless  like  through  the  plank.  No 
one  cared  for  those  chips,  her  planking  was 
all  yaller  pine,  pretty  new.  Sne'd  been  all 
replanked  once  or  twice,  but  when  the 
o£uc  chips  came  out  on  the  bit  hard  and 
bright,  they  takes  'em  in  their  hands  and 
they  exammes  'em  like  they  was  snuff. 

"Well  say,  I  nearly  bust  trying  to  keep 
in;  the  owner  tumt  all  colors  and  if  1 
hadn't  a  have  a  big  jaw-full  of  tobacco 
I  know  I'd  a-laffed  at  him;  but  I  chewed 
hard. 

"Then  I  bored  her  again,  got  bright  oak 
cuttin's  every  time  I  pulled  the  bit  out. 
They  was  lookin'  kind  o'  pleased  and  after 
I'd  bored  about  a  dozen  places  they  was 
satisfied.  Once  or  twice  I  thought  they'd 
ketch  on;  you  see  its  this  way:  a  frame,  a 
deck  beam,  a  keel  or  any  piece  of  wood 
when  it  decays  rots  inside  first,  an'  the  in- 
side of  a  frame  '11  be  soft  as  a  sponge  so 
you  can  pick  it  out  with  your  fingers,  while 
the  outer  shell,  where  it  gets  enough  air,  '11 
stay  hard — -iust  a  shell  of  good  wood. 

**Now  I  knowed  that  an'  that's  why  I 
wanted  to  use  a  small  bit  an'  accidently 
lost  the  big  one  overboard.  An'  every 
time  I  bored  I'd  slap  the  bit  up  again'  the 
plank,  careless  like,  but  you  ken  bet  I  was 
dum  careful  to  get  it  accordin'  to  the 
fastenin's,  just  so's  it'd  come  out  into  the 
edge  of  ^he  frame.  I  hit  it  pretty  good 
most  of  the  time.  Once  or  twice  I  missed 
it,  an'  the  frame  was  so  darned  rotten  in 
the  middle  the  bit'd  push  right  through  it. 

I'd  pretend  I'd  missed  the  frame  alto- 
gether and  only  gone  through  the  plank, 
taking  good  care  to  tell  'em  so,  and  I'd  get 
my  hand  over  the  bit  as  it  come  out  an' 
not  let  'em  see  the  black  rot  on  it. 

"Well,  sir,  they  bought  that  craft  an' 
I  got  my  money;  but  about  two  years 
afterward  that  man  came  back  an*  he  gave 
me  a  layin*  out  proper.  They  had  to  Keep 
pumpin'  her  clear  out  through  the  canals 
on  to  the  lakes,  where  they  took  her,  an' 
when  they  got  her  there  they  had  to  haul 
her  out  and  put  in  a  whole  new  frame; 
every  one  of  'em  as  rotten  as  punk,  an'  he 
axed  me: 

"*How  in  thimder  did  you  bore  and 
bring  out  bright  wood  cuttin's  from  such 
rotten  frames?' 

"I  wouldn't  tell  him.  All  I  said  was, 
*I  got  that  other  bit  at  low  tide;  there's 
tricks  in  all  trades,  an'  that's  one  of  'em.'  " 


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THE   EVERY-DAY  ABUSE  OF 
HORSES 

BY   F.   M.   WARE 


IN  the  matter  of  cruelty  to  or  neelect  of 
horses,  it  is  not,  unfortunately,  the 
obvious  troubles  that  really  cause  the 
most  discomfort  and  suffering,  but  the  gen- 
erally overlooked  little  things  and  seem- 
ingly inconsequential  details  that  really 
make  or  mar  the  only  real  pleasures 
which  the  patient  creature  is  usually  fated 
to  enjoy— comfort  of  body  and  ease  of 
mind.  Curiously  enough,  it  is  not  the 
lame  horse  (that  is,  the  animal  not  too  dis- 
abled to  still  perform  his  usual  tasks)  who 
suffers  most,  tor  the  very  limp  or  shortness 
of  stride  and  stiffness  of  gait  which  call  our 
attention  to  his  trouble,  are  an  evidence 
not  of  pain,  but  of  the  creature's  precau- 
tion to  prevent  suffering — ^just  as  in  our 
own  cases  we  limp  and  "go  short"  not  be- 
cause com  or  bvmion  troubles  us,  but  so 
that  they  will  not.  This  point  is  one 
always  ignored  by  those  well-meaning  but 
impractical  people  who,  lacking  experience 
and  ordinary  "horse  sense,"  are  governed 
entirely  by  the  eye  in  making  their  deci- 
sions upon  the  condition  of  horses,  and  their 
fitness  for  work,  and  strain  at  the  gnat  of 
an  inequality  of  gait  while  coimtenancing 
for  years,  in  the  care  and  training  of  their 
own  carriage  horses,  the  most  pernicious 
practices,  as  destructive  to  health  and 
durability  as  to  comfort  and  ordinary  ease 
— as  universal  as  inexcusable.  Of  such 
there  are  but  too  many  who  busy  them- 
selves with  other  people's  affairs  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  our  various  societies  for 
the  prevention  of  crueltv  to  animals — 
organizations  which,  worthy  in  themselves 
of  the  highest  praise  and  most  liberal  sup- 
port, prove  almost  without  exception  so 
ill-managed  and  so  impractical  as  to  dis- 
courage the  philanthropist  and  disgust  the 
practical  horseman,  who  can  but  view 
their  abortive  proceedings  with  mingled 
feelings  of  contempt  and  amusement. 
Every  animal  lover  hopes  for  the  time  when 
the  management  of  such  bodies  shall  be 
placed  in  the  hands  of  men  competent  to 
decide  and  alert  to  administer,  and  not  left 
to  the  indifferent,  the  inert  and  the  inapt 
in  matters  which  concern  animal  care  and 
management. 

A  fat  horse  is  usually  a  contented  horse, 
but  we  shall  find,  if  we  care  to  investigate 
his  surroundings,  his  accouterments  and 
his  daily  management  that  he  is  forced  to 
endure  many  discomforts  which  we  ought, 
as  htmiane  men  and  women,  to  guard 
against  and  to  change.  Let  us  begin  with 
him  in  his  life  in  the  stable  and  proceed 


with  him  through  his  usual  day's  work, 
and  we  shall  find,  alas,  many  a  point  upon 
which  we  are,  and  have  always  been,  sadly 
remiss,  and  the  worst  part  of  the  whole 
matter  is  that  every  one  of  these  details 
may  be  easily  regulated  and  at  little  or  no 
expense.  To  begin  with,  does  your  horse 
suffer  from  nostalgia?  Most  horses  do,  and 
many  really  pine  away  and  die  from  no 
other  cause.  We  can  at  least  by  making 
the  poor  creature  thoroughly  comfortable, 
do  all  in  our  power  to  "give  his  pain  sur- 
cease," and  to  make  him  happy  and  con- 
tented—  for  than  homesickness  of  the 
acute  and  chronic  form  man  knows  few 
more  wearing  ailments.  Is  yoiu*  horse's 
disposition  sociable  or  misanthropic?  You 
don't  know?  Well,  why  not  find  out? 
Does  it  irritate  him  to  have  his  yoke-mate 
or  neighbors  eating  noisily  and  visibly 
while  he  does?  Is  privacy  evidently  his 
preference?  Very  well,  then,  by  boards, 
or  zinc,  or  tin,  or  canvas,  shut  off  both 
sides  of  his  stall  at  the  head  so  that  he  may 
eat  in  peace  and  live  the  isolated  life  which 
he  prefers.  If  he  lays  back  his  ears,  or 
snaps  at  his  neighbors,  or  fidgets  and  kicks 
at  the  partitions,  etc.,  he  does  not  fancy 
company — at  least  at  meal-times,  and  he 
will  be  better,  do  better,  and  (here  the 
pocket  comes  in)  keep  more  cheaply  if  you 
cater  to  his  fancy.  If,  on  the  contrary,  a 
"shy  feeder,"  let  him  see  others  eat;  even 
let  him  by  a  simple  arrangement  feed  from 
the  same  manger  as  one  of  his  neighbors, 
which  is  to  be  tied  up  short  im til  Master 
Dainty  has  eaten  all  he  will,  when,  upon 
allowing  the  neighbor  to  partake,  the  fas- 
tidious one  will  redouble  nis  efforts  to  eat 
just  to  spite  the  late  comer  at  the  feast. 
The  writer  has  used  this  plan  with  many 
poor  feeders  from  race-horses  down,  and 
always  with  the  best  results. 

Are  your  stall  floors  level — the  slats, 
that  is?  Let  the  floors  (for  drainage  pur- 
poses) slant  rearward  as  sharply  as  they 
will.  Every  loose  horse  stands,  if  he  can, 
when  at  rest  with  head  down  hill  to  relax 
and  rest  all  muscles,  sinews  and  tendons. 
We  humanitarians  force  him,  by  slanting 
stall  floors  back,  to  stand  always  up-hill, 
and  to  be  sure  that  we  make  mm  as  un- 
comfortable as  possible  we  grow  nowadays 
abnormally  long  toes  (totally  destro)ring 
the  true  angles  of  the  foot  and  the  proper 
bearing  and  relation  of  every  joint  m  the 
leg)  in  order  to  "develop  action,"  or  for 
some  such  fool  reason — tne  real,  but  con- 
cealed argument  being  that  it  is  an  idiotic 


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fashion  so  to  do,  founded  upon  no  rule  of 
mechanics  or  common-sense,  and  used  in  the 
first  place  to  "square  away"  some  double- 
gaited  harness  horse  which  needed  this 
atrocious  malformation  and  chanced  to  fre- 
quently win  thus  distorted  and  disfigured. 

Is  the  stall  always  sweet  and  well-venti- 
lated— not  at  the  rear,  or  in  the  passage 
way  (and  in  cool  weather),  but  at  the  head 
and  in  the  hottest  nights  of  summer  and  at 
(say)  four  o'clock  of  a  stifling  July  morning? 
You  don't  know?  Well,  why  don't  you? 
And  are  you  fit  to  have  a  horse  if  you 
don't?  Is  the  siux:ingle  always  comfort- 
ably loose,  or  is  it,  as  usual,  drawn  as  tight 
as  an  average  husky  groom  can  draw  it 
••to  keep  the  blankets  in  place?"  Now  if 
it  is  tight  when  the  animal  is  standing  up, 
it  is  far  more  so  when  he  is  lying  down,  and 
if  you  have  a  horse  whom  your  man  says 
"sleeps  standing  up"  just  go  personally 
and  give  him  two  to  three  holes  m  the  sur- 
cingle for  a  few  nights  ("unbeknownst" 
to  your  employee^,  and  then  inqiiire  again. 
This  carelessness  is  universal  and  hideously 
cruel.  It  bruises  the  ridge  and  back,  pre- 
vents rest  and  sleep,  and  is  indefensible 
upon  any  pretext,  for  a  breast-girth,  or  any 
of  the  blankets  with  straps  sewn  on,  will 
keep  the  covering  in  place  and  allow  the 
sufferer — for  he  is  notning  else — to  rest  in 
peace.  While  you  are  about  it,  just  meas- 
ure his  halter-shank  and  see  if  he  can  lie 
down.  Many  a  horse  is  purposely  tied  too 
short  to  save  the  groom  trouole  in  cleaning 
him;  also  see  if  the  nose-band  of  the  halter 
is  loose  enough  so  that  he  can  chew  com- 
fortably; that  the  throat-lash  is  not  too 
tight;  that  the  crown-piece  and  brow-band 
are  not  harsh-edged  leather  which  will  rasp 
and  irritate  his  ears;  and  then  offer  him  a 
pail  of  water — or  two  probably — and  see  if 
James  has  not,  as  usual,  left  him  about  half 
cared  for  to  get  along  until  daylight  the 
best  way  he  can.  Again,  find  out  if  he  is 
afraid  oi  the  dark — ^many  horses  are — and 
if  he  is  a  "night  kicker,  be  sure  that  he 
does  thus  dread  the  departure  of  daylight, 
and  leave  an  artificial  fight,  dim  or  oright, 
but,  at  all  events,  enough  to  allay  his 
paroxysms  of  terror  Ninety  stall  kickers  in 
the  htmdred  will  abandon  the  practice  forth- 
with if  a  light  is  left  in  the  stable.  The 
expense  is  small,  the  cure  almost  certain. 

Now  to  harness  him-  Does  this  fit  in 
every  part?  Not  "pretty  well"  but  "ex- 
actly"? If  not,  it  shoiUd.  It  costs  no 
more,  and  means  only  punching  a  few 
more  holes  and  using  a  Httle — such  a  little 
— care  about  the  width  of  bits,  the  depth 
and  width  of  collars,  the  length  of  back- 
bands  and  of  brow-bands,  the  stuffing  of 
the  pad,  the  size  and  spread  of  the  blinkers, 
the  placing  of  the  pad  where  the  girths  will 
not  chafe  the  thin  skin  behind  the  elbows, 
the  precaution  to  see  that  the  belly-band 
works  safely  in  its  billets  upon  the  pad- 
girth  and  not,  as  is  so  usual,  independently, 
thus  constantly  pinching  the  tender  skin. 
Nothing  causes  so  many  accidents  as  too 


short  a  back-strap  and  too  "sharp"  (or 
ill-padded)  a  crupper,  which  should  always 
be  very  thick  in  order  to  ease  the  pressure, 
to  heighten  the  carriage  of  the  tail,  and  to 

?revent  holding  a  rem  caught  imder  it. 
his  is  vitally  important,  and  especially 
so  now  that  fashion  interdicts  the  useful 
breeching  in  nearly  all  the  light,  and  many 
of  the  heavy,  vehicles,  thus  putting  all  the 
stress  upon  the  tail,  which  may  become, 
with  a  narrow  crupper  in  hot  weather, 
badly  chafed  and  very  sore.  What  can  you 
expect  but  a  smash?  Added  to  this,  if  the 
back-band  is  loosened  too  much,  the  pad 
— which  may  be  sharp  and  thinly  pro- 
tected— will,  at  a  descent  or  a  sharp  pull- 
up,  ride  forward  against  the  hair  on  to  the 
shoulder-points  and  withers  in  an  acutely 
painful  fashion,  the  girths  meanwhile 
sharply  cutting  the  elbows — and  another 
carnage  goes  to  the  repair-shop — if  any- 
thing is  left  of  it.  Too  large  or  too  close 
blinkers  may  cause  persistent  shying;  too 
tight  a  throat-lash  will  make  any  horse 
"make  a  noise,"  as  will  too  short  a  collar: 
while  if  this  article  is  too  narrow  the  ani- 
mal may  have  vertigo,  and  if  too  loose  and 
large  he  is  certain  to  chafe  badly.  The 
anchor-draughts  on  the  harness  must  be 
spnmg  wide  enough  for  the  traces  to  clear 
his  shoulders,  and  the  check,  if  worn,  must 
be  of  a  length  such  as  will  not  prove  irk- 
some to  the  wearer,  nor  yet  so  loose  as  to 
make  it  useless  for  the  purpose  intended. 
The  bit,  or  bits,  must  fit  the  mouth  in 
width,  be  placed  "where  they  will  do  the 
most  good  *  and  be  easy  in  character,  and  if 
of  the  curb  variety,  not  too  harsh  of  chain. 
There  is  a  place  for  every  piece  of  harness 
upon  the  equine  anatomy,  and  a  very  ex- 
cellent reason  for  putting  it  there  to  the 
fraction  of  an  inch  and  nowhere  else.  There 
is  a  substantial  financial  equivalent  in  the 
way  of  durability  of  animal  and  outfit,  arid 
freedom  from  the  necessity  of  accident 
policies,  in  knowing  where  these  locations 
are,  and  why  they  are  the  proper  spots. 
He — and  she — who  neglects  thus  to  in- 
form themselves  are  inexcusably  negligent, 
derelict  in  a  duty  they  owe  not  only  to 
themselves  and  their  families  but  to  the 
public  at  large,  and  are  by  ignorance  tempt- 
mg  a  fate  which,  after  all,  their  carelessness 
richly  deserves. 

Now  that  we  have  our  animal  out  of  the 
stall  and  harnessed,  let  us  proceed  to  put 
him  to  the  carriage  and  go  to  drive — per- 
forming both  these  feats  in  a  fashion  cal- 
ctilated  to  promote  his  comfort,  so  far  as 
may  be.  First,  as  to  the  length  of  traces: 
is  the  horse  as  "close  to  his  work"  as  pos- 
sible, due  regard  being  given  to  the  space 
allowed  for  his  hocks  when  in  motion  so 
that  at  any  gait,  even  a  gallop,  he  will  be 
stire  to  strike  neither  axle  nor  cross-bar? 
If  in  double  harness,  are  the  tugs  or  trace- 
bearers  long  enough  so  that  the  draught  is 
direct  from  the  harness  to  the  roller-bolts 
or  whiffietrees,  and  not  interfered  with 
by  a  shortness  of  the  tugs  which  changes 

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the  angle,  and  galls  the  back?  Be  stire 
(in  single  harness)  that  the  belly-band  or 
shaft-girth  is  at  least  two  holes  looser  than 
tisuall)^  buckled,  for  nowadays,  since 
breechings  have  gone,  or  even  if  they  are 
used,  the  average  grooni  draws  this  girth 
wickedly  tight  and  for  no  earthly  reason, 
when  there  are  strong  stops  on  the  shafts. 
If  the  breeching  is  worn,  it  must  hang  well 
down  the  quarters,  that  the  horse  may  as 
it  were  "sit  upon  it"  when  holding  back, 
and  not  find  it  half  way  up  to  his  tail,  and 
likely  to  go  higher  if  wet  with  perspiration. 
It  must  be  loose  enough  to  afford  room 
to  prevent  any  chafing  of  flesh  or  wearing 
away  of  hair.  One  of  the  most  common 
sights  in  New  York — in  no  other  city  is  it 
so  frequent — is  to  see  butcher,  grocer, 
baker  and  such  wagons,  with  the  shafts 
made  a  foot  or  more  too  long.  Between, 
there  is  a  poor  creature  whose  breeching 
is  six  holes  too  long,  and  his  traces  ar- 
ranged two  links  (chain)  or  three  holes 
(trace)  too  free,  while  his  belly-band 
dangles  in  a  large  loop.  Pulled  up  or 
backed  this  luckless  beast  finds  the  shafts 
(not  steadied  by  the  belly-band)  jam- 
ming their  points  into  ears,  eyes  and  teeth 
from  the  loose  harnessing,  while,  for  the 
same  reason,  every  time  he  stops  he  meets 
his  wagon  with  a  sharp  jerk,  and  must  start 
it  after  tightening  his  loose  traces  with  an- 
other sudden  and  injurious  straining.  No 
official  hand  is  raised  to  stop  the  persistent 
cruelty  so  long  as  the  animal  is  not  dead 
lame  and  can  by  any  means  limp  about 
his  tasks.  Partly  due  to  boyish  drivers, 
partly  to  ignorant  foreigners,  and  always 
to  official  incompetence  and  to  public  cal- 
lous indifference  you  will  stand  on  any 
street  comer  in  New  York  city  for  an  hour 
and  have  pass  before  you  more  cases  of 
cruelly  severe  checking,  improperly  har- 
nessed horses,  overloaded  trucks  and  carts, 
incompetent  and  brutal  drivers,  and  more 
lame  horses  and  others  totally  unfit  for 
service  or  fearfully  galled  and  thin,  than 
in  any  other  city  in  America,  and  in  wet 
or  frosty  weather  you  will  witness  scenes 
of  animal  suffering  m  this  same  enlightened, 
civilized  and  cultured  burg  such  as  you 
would  have  never  deemed  possible  had  you 
not  with  your  own  eyes  beheld  it.  The 
best  that  can  be  said  of  the  powers  which 
assimie  to  govern  and  to  regulate  this 
wholesale  abuse  is  that  they,  in  the  slang 
of  the  day,  are  *' jokes,"  incompetent  either 
to  administer  the  law  or  to  prevent  its  per- 
sistent violation.  To  return  to  our  luck- 
less gee-gee:  his  delivery  wagon  as  built 
forces  the  driver  to  step  upon  the  shaft 
every  time  he  enters  or  leaves  the  wagon, 
and  this  each  time  wrenches  the  pad  around 
upon  a  back  which  hard  work  or  age,  or 
both,  hg5  made  sharp  and  bony,  and  which 
defective  stuffing  of  the  pad  soon  "wrings" 
into  galls  and  persistent  sores.  Walk  into 
any  business  or  cart  stable  in  any  city,  ex- 
amine the  horses,  and  you  will  find  but 
a  moiety  unblemished  of  back  and  shoul- 


der, while  not  a  few  will  have  raw  sores 
that  will  make  your  teeth  clinch — and, 
by  the  way,  any  time  you  want  to  see 
some  really  finished  abuse  of  horse-flesh 
take  time  to  look  over  the  animals  that 
pull  the  up-town  and  out-of-town  expresses 
(the  long  trips)  and  also  the  mail-wagon 
horses  and  those  that  run  the  fast  delivery 
of  the  daily  papers.  Nobody  else  ever 
examines  the  poor  devils,  so  that  you  will 
find  yourself  quite  imdisturbed.  Again 
returning  to  our  waiting  steed,  the  head 
checked  too  high  must  stare  into  sun  or 
rain,  however  the  hapless  wearer  tries  to 
dodge  the  torture;  muscles,  nerves,  temper, 
and  condition  must  suffer.  The  two  places 
where  a  tight  check-rein  are  needful  are: 
first,  during  a  race  in  harness  where  some 
malformed  or  ffighty  animal  must  have 
a  tight  overdraw,  or  a  side-check,  to  bal- 
ance him;  and  second,  where  a  very 
straight-shouldered  and  low-headed  work 
horse  must  be  checked  up  in  order  to  keep 
the  collar  up  and  back  upon  the  shoulders 
where  it  belongs,  to  get  the  best  results 
from  his  weight  and  power,  and  to  keep 
the  strain  away  from  the  shoulder-points. 
In  double  harness  we  find  the  chief  neglect 
to  lie  in  too  tight  "poling  up"  and  an  ac- 
companying shortness  of  the  coupling 
reins — both  of  which  measures,  in  moaera- 
tion,  make  a  pair  quick  and  handy  in 
traffic,  but  are  often  carried  to  an  im- 
necessary  extent. 

Once  put-to  and  out-of-doors  the  princi- 
pal evil  we  shall  notice  is  the  tendency  of 
drivers  of  wagons,  cabs,  aye,  and  private 
carriages  as  well,  to  na^  and  jerk  the  horses' 
mouths,  instead  of  using  the  voice  or  the 
whip,  and  it  appears  that  this  brutal  prac- 
tice is  on  the  increase.  Some  drivers* 
hands  are  never  still,  but  it  is  jerk,  jerk, 
jerk  all  day  long  and  the  appearance  of 
their  horses  shows  how  the  simering  wears 
upon  them,  while  an  inspection  of  their 
mouths,  and  the  way  in  which  they  let  ^o 
of  their  bits,  will  disclose  bone  and  skm 
bruises  and  abrasions  of  dreadful  extent, 
lacerated  tongues  and  torn  lip-comers. 
The  lower  jaw  of  a  horse  is  a  marvelous 
structure  01  tenderest  and  thinnest  skin, 
quivering  nerves,  and  acute  sensitiveness, 
and  yet  every  other  vehicle  in  our  streets 
is  steered  by  some  double-fisted  brute,  who 
mauls  this  organ  from  daylight  to  dark. 
The  horror  of  it !  A  single  jerk  to  a  horse's 
mouth  inflicts  far  more  acute  agony  than 
cutting  off  six  tails  (if  he  had  them),  yet 
one  goes  unpimished  and  the  other  is  a 
states  prison  offense — or  would  be  if  the 
S.  P.  C.  A.  were  in  earnest  about  prevent- 
ing the  mutilation  of  the  thousands  of 
horses  annually  docked  in  this  state. 

Once  outside  the  stable  door,  whether  in 
the  heat  of  summer  or  the  cold  of  winter, 
carelessness  and  ignorance  combine  to  in- 
flict further  suffering  on  animals  working  in 
harness.  To  expose  the  improtected  body 
to  the  attacks  of  insects  is  an  ingenious 
form  of  cruelty  recognized  by  all  savage 


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nations  as  the  acme  of  torture.  Yet  this  is 
the  very  suffering  we  inflict  upon  our 
horses,  and  to  scientifically  make  sure  that 
the  sacrifice  is  as  complete  as  possible,  we 
cut  off  their  tails,  if  for  private  use,  or — 
worse  still — "bang**  or  square  the  hair  of 
the  tails  and  cut  away  entirely  the  mane 
and  fore-top  upon  horses  wortdng  on  the 
city  carts,  express  wagons,  trucks,  etc. — 
thus  removing  the  only  protection  against 
flies,  and  leaving  the  poor  creatures  abso- 
lutely defenceless;  nor,  even  in  their  hours 
of  rest,  do  we  take  any  precautions  to 
darken  the  stables  or  to  sprinkle  them 
with  substances  for  which  nies  have  an 
aversion,  nor  do  we  furnish  light  sheets 
indoors,  nor  flv-nets  outdoors  (which 
should  be  compelled  by  law  from  Jtme  1 5  th 
to  October  ist,  and  are  both  inexpensive 
and  effective);  nor  do  we  sponge  or  spray 
with  an  atomizer  about  tne  eyes,  ears, 
elbows,  flanks,  ribs,  and  shins  (before  and 
behind),  in  all  which  places  flies  most  do 
congregate;  nor  is  there  any  legal  compul- 
sion in  this  civilized  (?)  country  to  make 
us  do  so.  In  winter  we  neglect  outdoor 
blanketing,  or  use  an  absurd  little  loin 
cloth  about  three  feet  square  which  makes 
the  parts  protected  far  more  susceptible  to 
chill  than  if  nothing  were  worn,  and  we 
omit  the  really  useml  breast-cloth  which 
protects  the  limgs  from  the  direct  cold 
winds,  yet  does  not  weaken  the  parts 
locally.  We  send  out  our  horses  smooth 
shod  to  battle  with  snow  and  ice;  we  over- 
load them,  and  our  drivers  brutally  abuse 
them  in  order  to  "deliver  the  goods"  in 
every  sense,  and  to  hold  their  jobs.  Women 
of  fashion  keep  their  horses  shivering  for 
hours  wtiile  calling  or  shopping,  and  resent 
any  suggestion  that  they  are  thereby  en- 
couraging callousness  ana  cruelty  as  much 
as  they  do  by  their  demands  for  the  skins 
of  dead  animals  to  warm  their  bodies,  the 
plumage  of  dead  birds  to  ornament  their 
hats,  and  the  mutilated  toy  dogs  they  carry 
about.  That  docking  of  horses  and  (worse 
and  more  inexcusable  still)  the  acutely 
painful  proceeding  of  "pricking"  and 
setting  up"  their  mutilated  tails  is  for 
one  moment  allowed  in  any  country  is  a 
horrible  thing  to  think  of,  and  a  senseless 
proceeding  to  practice,   but   Fashion  de- 


mands it — and  there  you  are.  If  the  S.  P. 
C.  A.  were  in  earnest  about  stopping  the 
practice,  one  month  would  see  it  all  done 
away  with,  but  when  its  members  drive  to 
its  meetings  behind  docked  animals,  and 
depart  from  such  a  rendezvous  to  purchase 
(and  forthwith  order  docked)  a  pair  of 
horses,  what  can  any  one  think  of  the 
sincerity  and  competence  of  the  outfit 
which  assumes  to  fine  or  imprison  some 
poor  devil  who  is  trying  to  support  his 
family  by  overworking  a  poor  old  horse, 
when  the  sponsors  of  the  society  which 
ptmishes  him  mutilate  their  own  animals 
at  will,  and  when  decrepit  callously  sell 
them  to  a  servitude  worse  than  any  death  ? 
There  is  so  much  brutality  to  be  seen  in 
any  of  our  cities  and  towns — ^much  of  it 
wholly  caused  by  thoughtlessness  and  (in- 
excusable) ignorance — that  the  public  has 
grown  used  to  it,  and  is  so  selfishly  intent 
upon  its  own  pursuits  that  nothing  is  done 
to  better  things — "everybody's  business  is 
nobody's" — and  the  poor  horse  suffers  on. 
The  S.  P.  C.  A.  can  do  much  good  by  hav- 
ing really  practical  agents  who  wiU  stop 
drivers  and  show  them  things  they  need 
to  know;  inform  owners  (by  postal  card 
written  on  the  spot)  of  any  brutality  of 
employees  or  overloading  of  wagons,  or  of 
cruelty  of  coachmen  or  improper  harness- 
ing of  horses.  It  can  also  give  public  lec- 
tures on  such  details,  practically  and  in- 
expensively demonstratmg  thereby  actual 
examples  of  what  is  right  and  wrong  and 
why  it  is  so — and  these  lectures,  or  lessons, 
should  be  given  in  modified  form,  in  all 
schools.  It  should  and  can  do  a  thousand 
things  practically  which  now  it  never 
touches  upon  and  which,  from  the  large 
sums  of  money  it  annuall)r  collects,  it  must 
be  financially  able  to  do,  since  it  has  found 
means  to  erect  a  $400,000  headquarters. 
Its  Animal  Home,  Horses'  Home,  etc., 
should  be  a  matter  of  course,  and  can  be 
not  only  self-supporting  but  a  source  of 
revenue  not  only  m  the  cities  but  in  every 
town.  One  thing,  at  all  events,  is  certain  : 
no  one  has  any  right  to  assume  responsi- 
bility for  an  animal's  welfare  unless  he  will 
thoroughly  inform  himself  of  all  details  as  to 
its  care  and  management;  lacking  this,  he  is 
"less  than  a  man    in  more  ways  than  one. 


CATCHING   AND   CARE   OF    BAIT 

BY  CLARENCE    DEMING 


THE  little  four-lettered  monosyllable 
"bait"  is  a  mighty  word  in  the  ang- 
ler's vocabulary — and  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  most  so-called  fly  fishers  deride  the 
term  and  deem  it  a  synonym  for  the  ang- 
ling vulgarities.     Yet,   out  of  the  depths 


of  angling  experience  running  far  back 
now  for  nigh  half  a  century  through  all 
sorts  of  conditions  of  the  sport,  may  the 
writer  offer  a  bit  of  testimony  to  dull  the 
edge  of  the  fly  fisher's  high  and  lofty 
esthetics? 


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Catching  and  Care  of  Bait 


^SS 


I  yield  to  no  one  in  admiration  of  the 
supple  fly  rod,  the  skill  and  range  of  cast, 
the  art  which  drops  the  fly  with  precision 
far  on  the  water  lite  an  airy  snownake,  the 
long  practice  which,  at  last,  likens  the 
movement  of  the  lure  to  that  of  the  living 
insect,  and  final,  but  not  least,  the  study 
of  the  great  category  of  artificial  flies 
through  their  infinite  variations  of  shape 
and  hue.  Nor  is  the  high  poesy  to  oe 
ignored  of  surface  fishing,  the  visible  dash 
or  leap  of  the  h\mgry  fish,  saying  nothing 
of  the  moral  quality  of  the  idea  of  giving 
the  fish  a  better  chance  of  life. 

All  these  may  and  must  be  conceded  to 
the  fly  fishers.  But,  when  behind  the 
cigar  and  recotmting  deeds  of  fishy  prowess, 
they  heap  scorn  on  the  bait  fisher  and 
affect  the  angling  hauteur,  would  it  not 
be  more  consistent  if  in  practice  action 
squared  closer  with  precept.  Often  has 
the  writer  heard  the  fly  fisher  profess  con- 
tempt of  bait;  and  almost  as  often  has  he 
found  the  same  esthete,  when  the  fly  did 
not  avail,  turning  to  worm  or  hellgamite 
with  the  same  zest  as  the  most  inveterate 
bait  fisher.  The  truth  is,  brethren  of  the 
rod  and  reel,  it  is  the  sporting  sensation  in 
terms  of  joyful  nerve  tingles  and  of  the 
recreative  amateur  spirit  that  coimts  and 
which  indexes  the  genuine  angler  from  old 
Walton  down  to  the  six-year-old  youngling 
with  his  alder  rod,  linen  thread  and  pin 
hook.  So  let  the  noble  army  of  rod  fishers 
be  at  charity  one  with  another,  welcoming 
to  their  ranks  all  who  obey  law;  kill  fish 
only  for  sport  and  food  and  spurn  the  taint 
of  the  markets.  Let  not,  therefore,  talk  on 
catching  and  care  of  bait  be  a  thing  to 
offend. 

First,  because  most  common  in  the  list 
of  baits,  comes  the  angle  worm  so  familiar 
to  all  fishers  that  he  seems  to  need  but 
short  shrift.  Yet  some  points  may  be  men- 
tioned if  not  amplified.  The  angle  worm 
takes  the  nature  of  the  soil  in  which  he 
feeds.  In  clayey  and  hard  earth  he  is 
tough;  in  light  and  peaty  soils — including 
the  "chip"  dirt  where  he  must  so  often  be 
sought  in  summer  drought — he  is  tender. 
Toughest,  and,  so  far  as  that  quality  goes 
best  for  bait,  are  the  dark-headed  worms  of 
the  soil;  but  they  are  usually  too  large  for 
the  average  trout,  while  first  rate  for  bass. 
By  transfer  to  stiff  soil  the  tender  angle 
worms  can  be  much  toughened. 

To  both  keep  and  harden  worms,  here  is 
the  best  device:  Saw  off  a  rough  *'tub" 
from  an  ordinary  barrel,  say  ten  inches 
from  the  bottom.  Bore  two  or  three  large 
holes  in  the  bottom,  cover  them  with  fine 
wire  netting  and  fill  up  the  tub,  say  two- 
thirds  full  of  moderately  clayey  soil,  mixed, 
say  in  the  proportion  of  one  to  four,  with 
vegetable  mold.  Bury  in  it  three  or 
four  sods  each  of  twice  the  size  of  the 
doubled  fist.  Such  a  tub  of  earth,  with  its 
vegetable  feed,  will  keep  a  couple  of  thou- 
sand angle  worms  through  a  full  season. 
It  should  be  put  in  a  cellar  or  in  the  open 


air  under  shade.  Care  must  be  taken  to 
keep  the  earth  moist,  the  wire  netting  at 
the  bottom — which  must  be  fine  enough  to 
prevent  the  escape  of  the  worms — letting 
the  surplus  of  water  flow  away  and  avoid- 
ing a  muddy  substratum.  The  moment 
the  worms  begin  to  grow  thin  change  the 
dirt  and  sods.  The  change  ought  not  to  be 
needed  oftener  than  once  in  two  weeks. 

If  this  excellent  and  labor-saving  plan 
of  keeping  angle  worms  "in  stock  is 
adopted  the  worms  had  best  be  secured  in 
April  or  early  May,  before  the  soil  is  dried 
by  the  sun;  and  the  man  who  si)ades  up 
your  garden  can  easily  combine  his  job 
with  getting  a  thousand  or  two  angle 
worms.  Better  still,  if  the  garden  hap- 
pens to  be  plowed  or  the  plow  is  nm 
through  some  rich  field  near  by — esi>ecially 
if  planted  last  year  with  potatoes  or  com — 
you  may,  by  following  the  plowman, 
glean  in  two  or  three  hours  such  a  harvest 
of  angle  worms  as  lasts  through  a  whole 
season  and  saves  lots  of  stunmer  toil  and 
imcertainty  when  angle  worms  are  scarce. 

A  few  final  words  as  to  securing  angle 
worms — particularly  the  large  nightwalkers 
that  are  killing  bait  for  bass  in  July — by 
night  in  hot  weather  after  rain.  If  you 
will  study  your  garden  in  a  morning  after 
such  a  rain  you  can  mark  down  by  the 
little  pyramidal  casts  the  spots  favored  by 
the  worms.  A  good  bull's-eye  lantern  that 
shows  the  worms  when  half  hidden  among 
plants  or  grass  is  a  great  aid  as  compared 
with  the  common  lantern  of  the  household. 
The  nightwalkers,  whether  large  or  small, 
are  sensitive  to  the  jar,  but  to  nothing  else. 
It  is  the  stealthy  approach,  the  light  foot, 
and  "snappy  "  pick-up  that  captures  them. 

Many  words  could  be  written  on  catching 
and  care  of  the  minnows  and  shiners  which 
have  passed  into  angling  nomenclature  as 
* '  live  bait — though  why  ' '  live '  *  bait  when 
other  living  bait  are  not  live  "  is  one  of  the 
fishy  paradoxes.  There  are  three  devices 
foremost  in  taking  them — the  scoop  net 
for  the  small  brooks,  the  single-hand  seine 
for  the  larger  brooks  and  smaller  rivers,  and 
the  regtdar  "bait**  seine  for  ponds  and  big 
streams. 

The  scoop  net,  the  most  common  bait 
taker,  is  usually  made  much  too  small  and 
too  shallow.  Its  handle  should  be  seven 
or  even  eight  feet  long,  its  hoop  not  less 
than  two  feet  in  diameter,  the  depth  of  the 
net  proper  not  less  than  fotir  feet — thus 
preventmg  quick  return  of  the  bait  when 
they  meet  tne  net's  bottoril.  The  netting 
should  be  of  tough  threads  and,  in  making 
the  net,  sew  it  not  with  cord  but  with  two- 
foot  lengths  of  copper  wire  about  half  the 
size  of  the  ordinary  knitting  needle.  If 
the  net  then  tears  near  the  hoop  or  seam, 
the  wire  can  be  instantly  imwoimd  and  the 
tear  taken  up  by  what  is,  in  effect,  a 
threaded  needle — the  end  of  the  wire.  The 
single-handed  bait  seine,  a  net  that  I  have 
not  often  met  with,  very  effective  in  moder- 
ate-sized open  pools  too  large  for  the  scoop 


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net,  consists  merely  of  two  handles  hung  to 
a  short  seine,  sajr  six  feet  long  and  four 
feet  broad,  carrying  the  usual  floats  and 
sinkers,  and  which  can  be  shortened  b^ 
xx)lling  up  the  handles.  Its  strong  point  is 
the  wide  sweep  of  the  bottom  as  compared 
with  the  scoop  net.  Finally  there  is  the 
familiar  bait  seine  proper,  from  ten  to 
forty  feet  in  length.  The  angler  himself 
can  make  one  even  from  the  common  mos- 
quito netting,  but  the  result  is  apt  to  be  so 
crude  and  imperfect  that  the  seine  had  far 
better  be  bought  at  the  sporting-goods 
store,  where  they  cost  from  $2.00  to  $S. 00 
each,  according  to  length.  The  seine  some 
forty  feet  long  and  costing  the  sum  last 
named  is  preferable,  and,  if  well  dried  after 
using,  will  last  for  years.  With  twenty- 
foot  ropes  attached,  carried  straight  out 
into  a  lake  and  roimded  to  shore,  this  seine 
will  sweep  a  quarter  acre  of  bottom,  comer 
the  shiners  if  they  have  fled  to  deeper 
waters,  and  catch  bait  where  the  shorter 
seine  quite  fails.  The  ordinary  bait  seine 
of  course  needs  two  persons  to  handle  it. 

The  care  of  live  bait  in  the  summer,  when 
in  the  warm  water  they  die  so  quickly,  is 
often  a  vexin*".  matter.  With  running 
water  in  or  r.ar  the  angler's  home  or  a 
spring  close  by  the  task  is  easy;  but  such 
vantages  are  not  common.  A  large  clean 
barrel  in  the  coolest  comer  of  the  cellar, 
often  replenished  from  the  well,  is  the  only 
alternative,  and  not  a  very  satisfactory 
one,  for  stocking^  a  large  number  of  bait. 
In  the  actual  fishing,  after  the  bait  car,  the 
double  pail — inner  one  perforated — is  the 
best  plan.  If  you  happen  to  have  ice  in 
the  boat,  a  chunk  the  size  of  the  fist  in  a 
three-gallon  pail  will  often  double  the  time 
between  changes  of  water  and  keep  the 
bait  more  lively.  A  thing  to  be  considered 
is  that  brook  minnows  in  summer  have 
greater  vitality  than  those  of  the  pond, 
while  not  quite  so  apt  to  be  alluring  bait. 

Taking  tne  bass  season  through,  thehell- 
gamite  ranks  easily  first  as  bait  for  the 
crowned  king  of  fresh-water  fighters;  and 
a  good  stock  of  that  bait,  carrying  the 
angler  over  high-water  periods  when  it  can- 
not be  caught,  is  a  matter  of  wise  precau- 
tion. The  hellgamite  is  an  erratic  creature, 
varying  greatly  in  abimdance  from  season 
to  season,  and  found  in  particular  streams 
while  quite  deserting  otner  better-looking 
streams  close  by — differing  as  much  in 
habit  as  it  does  in  name,  "bloomer,"  "alli- 
gator," "dobson, "  "crawler,"  "creeper," 
and  other  titles  more  localized. 

Hellgamites  can  often  be  found  by  the 
hundred  if  one  takes  a  stream  where  they 
abound — ^usually  a  small  river — at  a  very 
dry  period  and  when  reduced  to  a  mere 
runlet.  In  that  case  simply  turn  the 
stones  and  pick  the  creatures  up,  giving 
some  special  attention  to  the  still-water 
places,  where,  at  ordinary  stage  of  water 
the  hellgamites  cannot  be  taken.  But  this 
is  exceptional.  The  orthodox  and  al- 
most invariable  mode  of  capture  is  putting 


the  scoop  net  below  a  stone  in  running 
water  and  letting  the  current  sweep  the 
"  doubled  up  "  hellgamite  downward.  One 
refinement,  which  may  save  much  time  in 
this  toilsome  quest,  may  just  here  be  noted. 
Pick  out  for  turning,  not  the  smooth  stones, 
but  those  that  are  rough,  corrugated  or 
weedy. 

The  care  and  keep  of  hellgamites,  often 
a  costly  and  hard-won  bait,  is  very  im- 
portant in  the  bass  season.  They  are 
pretty  tough  creatures,  but,  imder  the  best 
artificial  conditions,  some  will  die.  Though 
so  black  and  unsightly  to  the  eye,  they  are, 
in  fact,  cleanly  and  easily  poisoned  by 
their  own  excreta.  Rimning  water  pouring 
gently  in  at  top  and  out  at  bottom  through 
an  ordinary  tin  pail  or  can  filled  with  fresh 
leaves  suits  them  best.  If  running  water 
is  not  available  take  a  large  tin  pail  with 
cover,  fill  it  with  plantain  leaves  and  put 
in  a  number  of  hellgamites,  not  exceeding 
fifty.  Fill  it  with  clean  water  twice, 
"swash"  it  thoroughly,  pour  away  all  but 
an  inch  of  the  water,  and,  keeping  the  pail 
in  a  cool  place,  repeat  the  process  once  a 
day.  For  more  hellgamites  use  more  pails 
or,  better,  a  wash  boiler  with  smooth,  clean 
bottom.  Out  of  many  kin<s  of  vegetation 
tested  as  hellgamite  preservatives  the  plan- 
tain leaves  survive  as  fittest.  But  as  they 
blacken  and  rot  they  must  be  discarded 
and  replaced. 

Next  in  order  of  value  as  fresh-water 
bait  for  game  fish  come  yoimg  frogs.  But 
I  have  fully  referred  to  them  heretofore 
(The  Outing  Magazine  for  September, 
1905)  and  they  are  here  passed.  Crickets, 
a  fine  late-season  attraction  for  bass,  and, 
at  times,  almost  exclusive  bait,  deserve  a 
few  angling  pointers.  Keep  them  in  an 
ordinary  wooden  box,  with  a  narrow  crack 
or  two  for  air,  filled  with  dry  leaves  and  a 
few  cuttings  of  a  ripe  sweet  apple  for  food. 
In  such  a  simple  home  crickets  will  live 
and  thrive  indefinitely.  Their  feed  is  im- 
portant as,  hungered,  they  will  gnaw 
through  a  moderately  thin  wooden  box 
over  night  in  the  exact,  though  belittled, 
fashion  of  mice. 

With  mention  of  crayfish  the  list  of 
orthodox  baits  for  the  game  fish  of  fresh 
waters  closes.  In  the  lakes  and  ponds 
where  he  abides  the  crayfish  is  usually  best 
and  quickest  caught  on  mud  bottom  very 
near  the  shore  in  thick  water  weeds.  Set 
the  seine  just  outside  the  weeds  and  wading 
through  them  drive  the  crayfish  out.  This 
will  often  be  found  a  far  better  scheme  than 
catching  the  crayfish  one  by  one  with  hand 
or  scoop  net  among  the  rocks.  The  soft- 
shell  crayfish  have  proved  much  better 
than  the  hard-shells  as  bait.  Pierce  the 
crayfish  below  the  shield  in  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  body  and  you  will  find  that  he  uves 
much  longer  on  the  hook.  Keep  him  in 
a  large  cool  jar  either  with  running  water 
or  water  changed  once  a  day  and  feed  him 
with  a  few  bits  of  fish  and  you  will  Ifind  that 
he  rarely  dies. 


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I^ow  the  Four-way  Lodge  is  opened;  now  the  Hunting  Winds  are  loose — 

Now  the  smokes  of  spring  go  up  to  clear  the  brain — 

l^ow  the  young  men*  s  hearts  are  troubled  for  the  whisper  of  the  Trues, 

Now  the  Red  Gods  make  their  medicine  again. 

— Kipling. 


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THE 


O  UJ^i  N  G 


THE   STRUGGLE   UP    MOUNT 
McKINLEY 

BY   BELMORE    H.  BROWNE 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY   THE    AUTHOR   AND   PROFESSOR    PARKER 


mountain  in 
least  end  of 
n  Range  that 
lundred  years 
liscovered  and 
Bolshaia"  by 
ans,  that  the 
II  "Traleika" 
mountain  of 
e  1895,  when 
DF,  rafted  the 
Dwering  above 
1  as  "McKin- 
out  two  hun- 
t,  on  the  edge 
iemess.  The 
feeds  four  of 
Sushitna,  the 
he  Yukon,  via 
Rivers.  The 
;kan  Range  are 
:wo  ranges  is  a 
nd  fifty  miles 
drained  by  the 
Sushitna  River  and  its  tributaries. 


There  are  only  three  practicable  ways  of 
reaching  the  mountain.  The  easiest  route 
is  to  follow  up  the  Sushitna  River  to  the 
Chulitna  River  in  a  launch,  and  up  the 
Chulitna  River  to  the  foothills  of  Mt. 
McKinley.  Several  large  glaciers  flow  from 
McKinley  toward  the  Chulitna  River  and 
all  of  them  offer  possible  roadways  to  the 
summit.  The  second  route  is  a  long  over- 
land trip  from  Tyoonok  to  the  Kus- 
koquim  side  and  thence  in  a  northerly 
direction  along  the  high  brnches  of  the 
range  to  Mt.  McKinley.  The  third  route 
is  up  the  Yukon  River  to  the  Tanana  River, 
and  thence  up  the  Kautishna  River  with  a 
pack  train  to  the  big  mountain.  All  three 
routes  offer  many  difficulties,  and  to  the 
mountaineer  the  problem  of  reaching  the 
mountain  appears  to  be  as  great  as  that  of 
the  actual  climb. 

In  mountain  climbing  the  world  over  the 
climber  usually  arrives  fresh  and  unfatigued 
at  the  base  of  the  peak  he  wishes  to  storm, 
and  as  a  rule  begins  his  ascent  at  a  high 
altitude.     On    Mt.    McKinley    it    is    the 


Copyrighted.  1907,  by  the  Outing  Publishing  Company. 


All  rights  reserved. 

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The  Struggle  Up  Mount  McKinley 


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opposite.  There  are  twenty-five  miles  of 
rugged  foothills  and  glaciers  to  be  crossed — 
with  heavy  packs — before  the  base  of  the 
mountain  is  reached,  and  then  the  climber 
is  confronted  by  eighteen  thousand  feet  of 
rock  and  ice.  On  the  western  slope  the 
approach  is  less  difficult,  but  two  attempts 
to  climb  the  mountain  from  that  side  have 
met  with  failure. 

Prior  to  last  summer  there  had  been  two 
attempts  made  to  climb  Mt.  McKinley. 
The  first  by  Judge  Wikersham  of  Alaska  in 
1903,  from  the  Tanana  side,  and  the  second 
in  the  same  year  by  Dr.  Cook.  Dr.  Cook 
attacked  the  mountain  via  the  Ketchatna 
pass  and  the  western  slope,  was  repulsed, 
crossed  back  across  the  range  through 
Broad  pass,  north  of  McKinley,  and  rafted 
down  the  Chulitna. 

In  the  1906  expedition  Dr.  Cook  deter- 
mined to  take  either  the  Sushitna-Chulitna 
route,  or  break  through  the  range  between 
Mt.  McKinley  and  the  Ketchatna  pass,  a 
feat  never  accomplished  up  to  that  time. 
Our  outfit  included  Dr.  Cook,  Prof.  Parker 
of  Columbia  University,  Russell  W.  Porter 
of  the  Zeigler-Baldwin  polar  expedition, 
Walter  Miller,  photographer,  Barrill  and 
Printz,  packers,  and  myself,  with  twenty 
horses,  and  a  forty-foot  shoal  draft  launch 
which  we  named  the  Bolshaia  after  the  old 
Russian  name  for  McKinley.  She  was 
especially  adapted  for  use  in  swift  shallow 
streams. 

On  reaching  Tyoonok,  the  Doctor  de- 
cided to  break  through  the  range  south 
of  McKinley  and  to  make  one  first  at- 
tempt on  the  western  side.  There  were 
several  reasons  for  this  plan.  If  we  were 
successful  we  would  have  a  quick  and 
easy  route  to  the  mountain.  No  pass 
was  known  directly  south  of  Mt.  McKin- 
ley, and  we  would  explore  and  map  a  good 
part  of  this  wilderness.  The  western  side 
of  the  range  would  furnish  us  with  plenty 
of  game  and  was  a  good  country  for  pack- 
train  travel.  Lastly — if  we  were  unsuc- 
cessful we  could  fall  back  on  the  launch 
and  the  Sushitna-Chulitna  route. 

Our  only  chance  to  find  a  pass  was  on  the 
head-waters  of  the  Yentna — the  largest 
western  tributary  of  the  Sushitna.  So  the 
Doctor  split  the  party. 

We  started  from  Tyoonok  with  most  of 
the  outfit  in  the  launch.  Printz  and  Barrill 
took  the  horses  overiand,  traveling  above 


the  lowlands  and  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
Alaskan  Range.  They  were  to  cross  the 
head-waters  of  the  Ketchatna  River,  then 
the  Squentna,  and  meet  us  on  the  head- 
waters of  the  Yentna. 

Stormy  weather  made  topographical 
work  impossible,  and,  incidentally,  held  the 
launch.  Our  food  ran  low  and  we  took 
with  joy  to  the  banks  of  the  Sushitna  where 
the  Hoolicans  eased  our  hunger.  These 
fish  resemble  smelt  and  run  up  the  northern 
streams  in  incredible  numbers.  One  after- 
noon, while  navigating  the  Sushitna  we 
baled  over  one  hundred  into  our  launch 
with  our  bare  hands. 

Our  last  look  at  civilization  was  at  the 
Sushitna  station.  There  were  many  In- 
dians there,  and  scaffolds  lined  the  banks 
weighted  down  with  long  fringes  of  Hooli- 
cans drying  in  the  sun.  The  Sushitna 
birch-bark  canoes  were  everywhere,  fiitting 
light  as  leaves  through  the  swift  water. 
We  saw  prospectors  heading  for  the  great 
unknown  interior  and  dreaming  of  creeks 
with  golden  sands.  Stories  of  gold  fell  on 
the  ear;  of  men  made  rich  in  a  day — but 
the  gold  was  all  "behind  the  ranges*'  on 
"some  other  river";  if  they  were  there 
they  would  be  satisfied. 

A  half  mile  above  the  station  you  meet 
the  white  water  of  the  Yentna,  where  a  big 
bluff  makes  a  savage  eddy.  There  we  said 
good-bye  to  civilization  and  began  the  long 
journey  that  we  hoped  would  end  on  Mt. 
McKinley's  icy  head. 

As  we  pushed  our  way  up  the  Yentna  our 
difficulties  and  enjoyment  increased.  The 
great  snow-fields  of  the  Alaskan  Range 
began  to  show  to  the  westward.  When 
men  are  traveling  in  the  lowlands  life  in 
time  becomes  monotonous.  The  swamps 
and  sluggish  sloughs  shut  you  in,  fringes  of 
ragged  spruce  form  the  horizon,  and  the 
low  songs  of  winding  rivers  serve  only  to 
accentuate  the  silence.  These  first  glimpses 
of  snow  and  ice  looked  to  us  as  a  well- 
watered  country  would  to  one  who  has 
traveled  in  a  desert. 

The  navigating  was  getting  to  be  a  prob- 
lem, due  to  the  swiftness  of  the  water  and 
the  numerous  sand  bars.  1 1  was  necessary 
to  keep  a  man  sounding  with  a  pole,  and 
even  then  we  often  stuck  on  bars  or  sub- 
merged snags.  At  night  we  camped  on 
exposed  islands,  as  mosquitoes  were  begin- 
ning to  be  troublesome.    There  was  little 

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sign  of  big  game.  We  would  see  now  and 
then  where  a  moose  had  wallowed  through 
the  soft  sand,  or  where  a  bear  had  walked 
the  banks  in  search  of  salmon,  and  at  night 
we  heard  the  soft  bugle-calls  of  wild  swans 
— but  that  was  all. 

On  the  lower  Yentna  we  met  a  few 
prospectors  tracking  their  river  boats 
against  the  pitiless  current.  Once  a  boat- 
ful of  bronzed  "sour  doughs"  drifted  past 
us  headed  for  the  "outside"  and  the  de- 
lights of  civilization.  These  men  will 
undergo  any  hardship  to  reach  a  country 


The  pack-train  was  working  slowly  across 
the  uplands  and  would  not  arrive  for  many 
days.  We  could  see  the  valley  of  the 
Yentna  winding  before  us  into  grim  snow- 
covered  mountains,  and  it  was  our  duty  to 
explore  this  valley  for  a  possible  pass  to  the 
Kuskoquim  before  the  arrival  of  our 
cayuses. 

After  a  council  the  Doctor  decided  to 
push  on  and  see  if  we  could  find  a  route 
through  the  mountains.  The  Doctor,  Por- 
ter and  I  started  on  this  trip.  We  took 
about  three  days'  grub  in  pemmican,  tea. 


The  settlement  of  Tyoonok  from  which  we  started  in  the  launch. 


where  gold  is  reported.  Once  let  the 
whisper  of  yellow  sand  drift  through  the 
forest  to  their  eager  ears,  and  everything  is 
forgotten  but  the  wild  joy  of  hitting  the 
trail,  and  the  frenzy  of  the  stampede.  "  If 
there  was  any  gold  on  McKinley,"  a  pros- 
pector once  said  to  me,  "you'd  find  a 
'camp'  there  damn  quick!" 

At  last  the  day  came  when  our  little 
craft  could  go  no  farther.  On  a  point  near 
by  was  wood  in  plenty,  for  cache  and  fire, 
so  we  made  a  base  camp  and  called  it  "  the 
head  of  navigation." 


beans  and  bacon.  Besides  our  grub  and 
sleeping-bags  we  had  a  silk  tent  and  a 
plain  table  for  topographical  work.  I  car- 
ried a  3040  carbine. 

Shortly  after  leaving  camp  we  had  our 
first  view  of  Mt.  McKinley — a  great  dome, 
rolling  up  cloud-like  from  the  Alaskan 
Range.  Then  the  mountains  shut  us  in 
and  we  settled  down  to  work.  Before  us 
stretched  a  great  glacier  valley,  four  miles 
broad,  flat  as  a  floor  and  swept  bare  to  rock 
and  sand  by  the  fury  of  the  spring  over- 
flows.    At  intervals  majestic  glaciers  swept 


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Mt.  McKinley  above  the  clouds. 


A  comfortable  camp  on  the  Yentna.  ^-^  - 

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proudly  back  into  the  rugged  mountains. 
The  valley  was  cut  up  with  many  streams. 
They  were  all  deep  and  swift  enough  to  be 
troublesome.  At  times  the  rivers  ran  from 
one  side  of  the  valley  to  the  other  and  we 
had  either  to  climb  the  mountain  sides  or 
ford  the  swift  water.  The  hillsides  were 
covered  with  dense  alder  thickets,  and  with 
packs  on  our  backs  we  made  little  head- 
way. Once  we  traveled  for  three  hours 
through  the  thickets,  and  at  the  end  we 
had  scarcely  a  mile  to  show  for  our  toil. 

Usually  we  held  to  the  middle  of  the 
valley  and  forded  as  best  we  could.  At 
times  we  encountered  streams  that  we 
could  not  ford.  The  water  was  mostly 
glacial,  and  at  noon  the  streams  were  strong 
from  the  melting  of  the  snow  and  ice  under 
the  sun,  so  we  would  wait  until  midnight 
came  and  ford  when  the  water  was  low. 

At  that  time  of  the  year  it  was  never  dark 
and  we  traveled  at  all  hours..  After  a  day's 
travel  we  met  two  prospectors  with  a  river 
boat.  The  roar  and  rattle  of  a  glacier 
stream  separated  us,  but  we  could  hear 
them  yelling,  "The  glacier  streams  are 
ninnin'  on  edge  up  above,  yuh  can't  cross 
'em.'*  We  yelled  back  that  we  had  already 
forded  the  west  branch  and  that  we  were 
going  on.  They  watched  us  dubiously  as 
we  started  off  and  did  not  answer  the  *'so 
long"  that  we  shouted  across  the  water. 

When  we  traveled  at  night  the  moun- 
tains took  on  a  certain  grandeur  and 
solemnity.  We  saw  unnamed  glaciers  blush 
from  the  red  of  the  rising  or  setting  sun. 
Through  the  heat  waves  of  midday  the 
mountains  seemed  to  draw  back  and  be- 
come hazy,  and  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the 
snow  and  the  water-washed  rocks  was 
blinding. 

Our  camps  scarcely  deserved  the  dignity 
of  the  name;  a  small  silk  tent;  a  wisp  of 
smoke  from  a  brush  pile  surrounded  by 
steaming,  ragged  clothes;  a  small  black  pot 
and  three  sun-  and  smoke-browned  men 
hugging  the  fire — that  was  all.  At  a  short 
distance  we  were  nothing  but  an  indistinct 
blur  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountains.  A 
few  chips  and  blunt  axe  marks  on  fallen 
trees  is  the  only  impression  we  made  on  the 
valley  of  the  Yentna. 

Our  real  interest  began  when  the  valley 
narrowed  up.  We  found  the  rivers  grow- 
ing swifter  day  by  day,  the  gravel  was 
giving  way  to  large  bowlders,  and  we  were 


forced  more  often  to  the  rugged  mountain 
sides.  By  this  time  we  had  all  had  narrow 
escapes  while  crossing  the  streams.  A 
man  with  a  heavy  pack  is  helpless  when  he 
los2S  his  footing  in  swift  water,  and  is 
rolled.  He  is  lucky  if  he  reaches  the  bank 
with  no  worse  hurt  than  bleeding  hands  and 
a  bruised  body.  The  Doctor  and  Porter 
used  Alpine  ruksacks — to  my  mind  a  poor 
contrivance  for  wilderness  packing.  They 
hang  badly  when  heavily  loaded,  are  un- 
steady, and  in  swift  water  are  dangerous, 
as  they  cannot  be  loosened  quickly.  I 
used  a  home-made  canvas  adaptation  of  the 
"Russian  Aleut"  strap,  to  my  mind  the 
easiest  and  safest  strap  in  the  world. 

At  last  we  came  in  sight  of  a  mighty 
glacier  that  headed  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Mt.  Dall;  beyond  we  saw  our  Mecca — 
the  cafion  of  the  Yentna.  On  it  depended 
all  our  hopes — if  we  could  get  horses 
through  or  around  it  our  route  to  the 
McKinley  was  assured.  The  indications  of 
a  pass  were  a'so  favorable.  The  mountains 
seemed  to  fall  away  to  the  westward,  and — 
best  sign  of  all  to  a  mountaineer — a  long 
line  of  clouds  drifted  steadily  through  a  gap 
between  two  giant  peaks.  We  were  begin- 
ning to  be  worried  about  our  fcxxl.  We 
were  three  days'  travel  from  our  base  and 
the  first  half  of  our  journey  was  still  far 
ahead  of  us.  We  had  only  taken  three  or 
four  days'  grub,  thinking  that  we  could  get 
a  view  of  the  pass  from  some  high  moun- 
tain. The  windings  of  the  valleys  made 
this  impossible,  so  we  tcx)k  in  our  belts  a 
hole  or  two  and  went  on  short  rations. 

Before  reaching  the  canon  we  were  forced 
to  climb  the  mountain  side.  As  the  range 
was  fairly  regu'ar  we  climbed  above  brush 
line  and  followed  on  parallel  to  the  course 
of  the  valley.  The  scenery  was  of  great 
grandeur  and  beauty.  Below  us  spread 
the  Yentna  valley  with  its  savage  streams, 
wandering  like  silver  bands  across  its  browrt 
flcx)r.  Ahead  the  dark  canon  rose  sharply 
from  a  cup-shaped  basin.  We  noticed  with 
misgiving  that  most  of  the  water  came  from 
the  canon. 

•Beyond  ithe  valley  was  a  large  glacier, 
winding  around  a  grand  unnamed  dell^ 
formed  peak,  and  to  the  westward  rose  the  • 
mountains  we  wished  to  penetrate.  They 
had  a  more  cheerful  atmosphere  than  the 
silent  valley.  Hoary  marmots  whistled  at 
us  from  their  sheltered  homes  in  the  XQ^}^ 

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Takoshay  MouBtaios  about  twenty  miles  south  of  Mt.  McKinley. 

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The  Struggle  Up  Mount  McKinley 


267 


slides.  Bear  sign  was  fairly  plentiful,  and 
ptarmigan  feathers  lay  among  the  willows. 

We  had  hopes  of  seeing  sheep,  but  did  not 
expect  to  fmd  any  until  we  reached  the 
western  side  of  the  Alaskan  Range.  We 
progressed  very  slowly;  the  sun  was  hot, 
our  packs  heavy,  and  the  climbing  at  times 
was  difficult.  A  shoulder  of  the  mountain 
hid  the  view  to  the  westward  and  we  panted 
on  with  the  optimistic  idea  that  once  be- 
yond the  ridge  we  would  see  the  Kusko- 
quim. 

Before  long  we  encountered  a  small  gorge 
that  barred  our  path,  and  we  were  forced 
to  climb  still  higher.  Other  obstructions 
came  in  their  turn  until  we  were  no  longer 
of  the  earth,  but  moving  in  that  sphere 
where  the  valleys  are  a  haze  below  you  and 
your  only  companions  are  the  wind-swept 
rocks  and  snow-slides. 

At  last  at  the  foot  of  a  cliff  I  found 
white  mountain  sheep  hair.  It  meant 
many  things  to  me — the  excitement  of  the 
chase,  fresh  meat,  and  the  knowledge  that 
we  were  within  reach  of  the  Kuskoquim 
side  of  the  range.  The  snow-slides  were 
more  numerous  as  we  advanced,  and  on  one 
of  them,  a  wicked  slope  of  snow  that  lay  at 
a  dizzy  angle,  the  Doctor  had  an  unpleas- 
ant experience.  Porter  and  I  were  above 
and  crossed  where  the  angle  was  not  dan- 
gerous, but  the  Doctor  started  across  at  a 
place  where  the  snow  sloped  downward 
till  it  was  lost  in  the  haze  of  the  valley. 
After  starting  he  could  not  turn  back  and 
we  were  unable  to  help  him.  We  watched 
from  above  while  he  carefully  worked  across 
the  slide,  cutting  steps  with  a  small  axe. 

At  the  next  shoulder  we  camped  at  a 
mossy  pool  below  a  snow-slide,  and  on 
climbing  a  little  hill  we  saw  the  sloping 
sheep  mountains  of  the  Kuskoquim!  It 
was  a  wonderful  feeling  to  stand  there  and 
look  on  a  view  that  no  mortal  eye  had 
rested  on  before.  Even  at  that  height  the 
mosquitoes  were  troublesome.  So  with 
my  rifle  and  the  plain  table  tripod  we 
pitched  our  silk  tent  and,  tired  but  hiappy, 
rolled  into  our  sleeping-bags. 

Camps  above  timber  line  are  cold  and 
cheerless.  We  had  no  fuel,  and  our  food 
consisted  of  dry  fruit  and  hardtack  washed 
down  with  the  coldest  water  1  have  ever 
tasted.  Early  the  next  morning  found  us 
on  a  mossy  shoulder  where  we  could  see 
the  pass  to  better  advantage.     Porter  did 


some  plain  table  work  and  the  Doctor  and 
I  made  a  moss  fire  and  studied  the  valley 
below.  As  far  as  we  could  see  the  route 
looked  possible  for  pack-train  travel. 

Beyond  us  the  canon  split.  One  fork 
flowed  in  a  westerly  direction  toward  the 
Ton  zona  River.  The  other  headed  between 
two  large  mountains,  and  offered  a  possible 
route  for  our  horses.  Between  the  forks 
was  a  mountain  of  great  beauty.  It  rose 
from  dim  mile-long  sweeps  of  talus  and 
sheep  meadows  far  below  us,  to  a  rugged 
pinnacled  top  that  tore  great  rents  in  the 
evening  sky  and  scattered  the  clouds 
broadcast. 

Since  finding  the  sheep  hair  I  had  been 
continuously  on  the  lookout  for  moving 
white  spots.  When  one  realizes  that  even 
to  a  well-fed  man  sheep  meat  is  a  delicacy, 
you  can  understand  with  what  anxiety  we 
searched  the  mountain  sides.  By  this  time 
all  the  food  remaining  was  a  half-pound 
sausage  of  erbswurst,  a  handful  of  tea  and 
a  little  square  of  bacon.  Our  fruit,  bread 
and  sugar  were  gone  and  we  were  four  long 
days'  travel  from  our  base  camp. 

After  talking  things  over  we  decided  to 
climb  down  the  mountainside  and  explore 
the  bottom  of  the  cafion.  There  was  no 
use  in  going  further,  as  we  could  see  more 
than  a  day's  travel  ahead.  The  descent  to 
the  canon  was  the  most  difficult  task  we 
encountered  on  the  reconnoissance.  The 
mountain  fell  off  in  numerous  precipices 
and  was  covered  with  a  jungle  of  gnarled 
and  twisted  alders.  We  traveled  on  our 
hands  and  knees,  our  packs  catching  on  the 
brush  and  " devil's  club."  Our  hands  were 
filled  with  the  "devil's  club"  thorns  and 
our  bodies  covered  with  bruises.  We  ad- 
vanced in  the  hope  that  once  in  the  bottom 
of  the  canon  we  would  find  easy  walking. 

Looking  down  from  a  great  height  is 
always  deceiving.  When  we  reached  the 
bottom  we  found  the  stream  dangerous  and 
unfordable.  So  swift  was  the  water  that 
in  a  ford  I  attempted  I  could  scarcely  keep 
my  feet  in  water  that  barely  reached  my 
knees. 

We  were  tired  and  hungry,  so  we  built  a 
fire  of  driftwood  and  cooked  a  pot  of  erbs- 
wurst. The  cafion  was  a  dreary  spot;  the 
roaring  of  the  water  was  deafening,  and 
cold,  damp  winds  swept  down  from  the 
snow-fields  above.  After  our  meal  and 
rest  we  slung  our  packs,  and  the  thought 


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The  Struggle  Up  Mount  McKinley 


269 


of  our  base  camp,  with  food  and  com- 
panions, eased  the  difficulties  of  our  climb 
from  the  gorge. 

The  retreat  was  a  repetition  of  our  first 
trip,  but  rendered  more  difficult  by  our 
lack  of  food.  Our  ration  was  about  three 
cups  of  tea  and  a  thin  slice  of  bacon  a  day, 
for  each  man.  The  scarcity  of  food  did  not 
seem  to  detract  from  our  ability  to  travel, 
but  when  you  think  and  talk  of  nothing 
but  the  food  you  would  like  to  eat  it  gets 
monotonous.  Our  greatest  hardship  was 
thinking  of  the  good  things  we  had  refused 
to  eat  in  days  gone  by — that  was  hard! 
But  we  were  confident  of  getting  our  horses 
through  the  pass.  Our  only  disappoint- 
ment was  the  lack  of  game,  and  over  the 
fires  at  night  we  talked  of  the  sheep  steaks 
and  "caribou  butter"  we  would  eat  when 
we  "hit"  the  Kuskoquim. 

On  the  return  trip  we  "jumped"  a  bear, 
but  the  thick  brush  prevented  a  shot.  We 
reached  our  base  camp  on  June  17th,  after 
traveling  eight  days.  Great  changes  had 
taken  place  since  our  departure.  A  strong 
cache  was  completed,  a  trail  marked  "Wall 
Street"  ran  along  the  river,  and  over  the 
tent  was  the  sign  "Parker  House." 

Now  the  question  before  us  was  meeting 
the  pack-train  and  getting  them  through 
the  swamps  and  timber  to  the  open  sand 
bars.  We  first  dropped  the  Bolshaia  down 
stream  to  a  sheltered  "sloo,"  and  then 
started  a  trail  to  timber  line.  We  com- 
pleted the  trail  four  days  later  and  settled 
down  to  wait  for  our  horses.  Two  men 
went  to  the  Ketchatna  River  and  hacked  a 
trail  to  timber  line,  and  so  our  system  of 
roads  was  complete. 

Trail  cutting  is  always  interesting,  but 
it  is  hard  work.  Ours  wound  ever  toward 
the  mountains;  now  following  an  old 
moose  trail,  or  the  print  left  in  the  wet 
grass  by  a  passing  grizzly;  now  making 
a  detour  to  avoid  destroying  a  song  bird's 
nest,  then  slashing  its  way  through  twisted 
alders  toward  some  big  spruce,  where  the 
brush  is  thinner. 

As  you  rise  you  begin  to  catch  glimpses 
of  snow-fields  above  and  the  rivers  come 
into  view  far  below.  When  our  trail  winds 
along  a  bald  knob  we  take  a  smoke  and 
look  out  over  the  silent  lowlands,  and  say, 
as  we  wipe  the  sweat  from  our  faces,  "Three 
hours  more  and  we'll  leave  the  mosquitoes 
behind."    This  is  rank  optimism,  for  you 


never  do.  We  finally  camped  on  top  of  a 
snow-capped  mountain,  and  the  mosquitoes 
were  swarming.  On  the  last  day  a  terrific 
storm  struck  us,  and  the  lightning  and 
thunder  flashed  and  rumbled  across  the 
valleys.  We  took  refuge  in  our  tents  and 
during  the  night  the  mountains  echoed 
with  the  gale,  and  the  sound  of  the  rain  was 
as  "the  sound  of  mighty  rivers." 

The  next  day  the  horses  arrived  and  with 
our  surplus  grub  cached  and  the  Bolshaia 
in  a  safe  berth  we  turned  our  pack-train 
toward  the  pass  to  the  Kuskoquim  and 
McKinley. 

The  trip  that  followed  was  in  a  way  a 
repetition  of  our  first  trip.  The  horses 
served  as  pack  animals  and  ferryboats. 
We  were  forced  to  swim  the  animals  with 
their  packs  on,  and  we  either  sat  behind 
the  packs  or  held  on  to  the  ropes  while  we 
were  in  the  water.  It  was  always  exciting 
work  and  sometimes  it  was  dangerous. 
Several  times  members  of  our  party  were  in 
danger  of  drowning.  In  some  of  the  fords, 
counting  the  distance  we  were  carried  by 
the  current,  we  swam  one  hundred  yards. 
This  distance,  in  swift  ice  water,  is  trying  to 
man  and  beast,  but  the  short  fords  in 
savage  swimming  water  are  more  nerve- 
trying,  and  the  legs  of  the  horses  suffer  from 
scrambling  among  the  sharp  rocks.  At 
times  the  river  banks  are  steep  and  a  horse 
is  unable  to  land  after  a  hard  swim;  then, 
unless  the  man  who  is  managing  him  keeps 
cool — not  an  easy  thing  to  do  in  glacier 
water — trouble  may  result. 

Professor  Parker  probably  had  the  nar- 
rowest escape.  He  was  crossing  a  swift 
chute  of  water  above  a  canon .  The  Doctor, 
Printz  and  I  had  crossed  safely,  and  the 
Professor  was  half-way  across  when  his 
horse  lost  his  footing  and  could  not  regain 
it.  He  luckily  drifted  close  to  the  bank 
and  was  helped  ashore  by  Barrill,  but  the 
horse  disappeared  from  view  in  the  canon. 
Three  of  us  went  around  the  gorge  to  re- 
cover the  pack  if  possible.  To  our  surprise 
we  found  the  cayuse  alive  and  not  much 
the  worse  for  his  swim.  The  pack  was 
intact  and  a  30.40  that  I  had  pushed  under 
the  ropes  was  in  working  order.  I  swam 
the  river  on  a  powerful  roan  horse,  changed 
the  pack  and  brought  both  horses  across. 

Our  evening  camps  were  very  picturesque. 
They  were  usually  on  a  bar  of  the  glacial 
rivers.    Our  camp  fires  were  built  in  thft 

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piles  of  driftwood  that  the  river  floated 
down  in  the  spring  freshets.  The  men 
moved  half  naked  in  the  crimson  glow, 
drying  their  steaming  clothes,  and  all  about 
us  rose  the  cold  snow-covered  peaks  of  the 
Alaskan  Range. 

After  several  days  of  hard  wet  travel  we 
reached  the  canon  that  was  the  deciding 
factor  in  our  crossing  the  pass.  We  had 
overcome  all  the  difficulties  of  Alaskan 
summer  explorations;  swift  water,  trail 
cutting  in  heavy  rains,  camps  without 
horse  feed,  and  mosquitoes.  At  last  we 
reached  the  Yentna  gorge  and  made  a 
base  camp.  The  next  morning  the  Doctor, 
Printz,  Barrill,  and  I  started  up  the  caiion 
on  a  reconnoissance.  We  took  our  four 
strongest  horses  and  rode  mountain  pack- 
saddles,  as  they  are  handy  to  hold  on  to  in 
swift  water.  At  the  first  ford  in  the  caiion 
we  realized  the  difficulty  of  the  under- 
taking. 

The  water  was  swift  and  white  and  our 
horses  shrank  in  fear  from  it.  Our  mis- 
givings were  well  founded.  Not  one  of  us 
returned  to  camp  that  night  by  way  of  the 
gorge.  After  swimming  six  fords  the  caiion 
split.  The  Doctor  and  Printz  took  the 
right  hand  fork  and  Barrill  and  1  took  the 
left.  The  right  hand  branch  swung  to  the 
north  and  carried  a  "fresh"  water  stream, 
showing  that  there  was  no  glacier  at  the 
head.  Our  caiion  carried  the  original  dirty 
glacier  torrent,  which  grew  swifter  rapidly 
until  we  were  afraid  to  send  our  horses  into 
it.  At  the  last  ford  we  came  in  sight  of  a 
beautiful  glacier  that  completely  dammed 
the  gorge.  It  was  deep  bluish-green  and 
the  river  boiled  up  from  a  great  cavern  in 
the  face  of  the  ice.  Scattered  about  us 
were  a  million  tons  of  granite  that  had 
rolled  from  the  mountains  above,  and  now 
and  then  a  crash  heard  above  the  roar  of 
rushing  water  would  tell  us  of  some  new 
arrival. 

We  had  realized  long  before  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  take  a  pack-train  up  the 
caiion,  but  the  possibility  of  discovering  a 
route  higher  up  and  the  interest  of  our  ex- 
plorations led  us  on.  With  an  axe  we  cut 
steps  in  the  ice  and  crossed  the  glacier. 
We  found  that  the  stream  tunneled  under 
the  mountain  of  ice.  Above  the  ice  wall 
the  canon  grew  narrower  and  we  were 
forced  to  climb  the  caiion  wall.  About  two 
hundred  yards  above  the  bed  of  the  gorge 


we  found  sheep  sign.  Ahead  we  could  see 
miles  of  sheep  pasture,  everlasting  talus 
slopes,  and  a  great  ridge  that  shut  off  the 
view  of  the  pass.  The  signs  of  sheep  put 
new  energy  into  our  tired  legs  and  we 
climbed  above  willow  line.  On  the  great 
ridges  that  faced  the  south  1  saw  more 
sheep  signs  than  I  had  ever  seen  before. 
It  was  a  favorite  winter  pasture  evidently, 
as  there  were  not  many  fresh  tracks. 

During  one  of  our  rests  I  saw  a  big  brown 
bear  cross  an  open  in  a  thicket  below  us. 
Barrill  was  unarmed,  but  in  his  desire  for 
fresh  meat  he  followed  me  down  the  moun- 
tain. I  intercepted  the  bear  in  a  grassy 
glade  and  my  first  shot  tumbled  him  down 
the  mountain.  He  rolled  about  one  hun- 
dred yards  and  lodged  in  a  thicket,  where 
I  finished  him  at  close  quarters.  He  was 
a  very  large  bear,  but  to  our  sorrow  and 
chagrin  we  could  not  eat  him.  His  neck 
and  chest  were  scratched  and  torn  from 
fighting.  These  cuts  had  festered,  and 
hungry  as  we  were  we  had  to  leave  him. 

After  about  an  hour's  climb  we  turned 
the  mountain  and  could  see  two  passes 
below  us  and  to  the  westward.  Our  caiion 
split  again  and  between  the  two  forks  was  a 
high  rounded  mountain.  It  was  impossible 
to  get  horses  through  as  we  had  passed 
many  caiions  and  cliffs  that  would  stop  a 
pack-train. 

We  lay  for  a  few  minutes  looking  down 
on  the  dim  distances  of  the  Kuskoquim 
(our  "promised  land"),  and  then  we  sadly 
turned  homeward.  We  were  filled  with 
anxiety  on  nearing  the  canon,  the  sun  had 
been  melting  the  ice  and  snow,  and  the 
deep  roar  from  below  told  us  that  the 
stream  was  more  dangerous  than  it  had 
been  in  the  morning.  Our  fears  were 
realized  when  we  reached  the  gorge.  The 
stream  below  the  glacier  was  full  of  ice  and 
looked  impassable.  We  would  have  waited 
for  the  water  to  subside,  but  night  was  ap- 
proaching; there  was  no  accessible  food  for 
our  horses,  who  had  weakened  preceptibly 
since  morning,  and  we  ourselves  were  tired 
and  our  food  was  gone:  we  had  to  go  on. 
Our  poor  horses  were  terrified,  but  needed 
no  encouragement  in  the  first  fords.  Their 
dislike  of  the  caiion  was  distinctly  notice- 
able and  their  desire  to  escape  from  the 
black  walls  was  almost  human.  At  the 
first  four  fords  a  misstep  would  have  cost 
us  our  lives,  but  our  noble  anima's  braced 


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We  packed  across  the  Tokoshitna  glacier,  which  was  three  miles  wide  and  covered  with  crushed 

granite. 

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The  Struggle  Up  Mount  McKinley 


273 


themselves  against  the  granite  bowlders 
and  took  advantage  of  the  eddies  with 
wonderful  intelligence. 

We  hoped  to  have  easier  fords  when  we 
reached  the  main  canon,  but  our  horses  by 
this  time  were  benumbed  by  the  cold,  and 
it  was  all  we  could  do  to  force  them  into 
the  water.  At  the  junction  of  the  two 
streams  Barriirs  horse  lost  its  footing  and 
swept  past  me  in  a  smother  of  foam.  In 
the  swells  of  the  rapid  I  saw  the  horse's  legs 
and  BarrilFs  hat  surrounded  by  foam  and 
thought  he  would  drown.  But  he  reached 
a  sand  bar  and  completed  the  ford  success- 
fully. By  this  time  the  dusky  northern 
night  had  closed  about  us  and  a  chilly  wind 
from  the  snow-fields  sucked  through  the 
gorge.  Our  horses  left  a  trail  of  blood  from 
their  bruised  legs  and  we  were  weak  from 
the  cold.  The  water  was  full  of  ice  that 
was  ground  to  powder  in  the  rapids. 
Barrill's  horse  barely  succeeded  in  making 
the  next  ford  and  then  refused  to  go  on.  I 
crossed  safely  and  landed  on  the  same  side 
of  the  river  as  our  camp. 

The  roar  of  the  river  made  talking  to 
Barrill  impossible.  I  knew  he  had  matches 
and  driftwood  was  plentiful,  so  I  waved 
good-bye  and  started  toward  camp.  My 
horse  refused  the  next  ford,  so  I  unsaddled 
and  left  him  in  a  patch  of  grass  and  climbed 
over  the  cafton  walls  to  camp.  The  next 
morning  the  men  got  Barrill  across  safely 
and  returned  with  the  horses. 

The  Doctor  and  Printz  had  followed  their 
CBfion  until  it  "boxed,"  and  being  unable 
to  climb  out  they  returned.  Printz'  horse 
played  out  and  he  returned  by  way  of  the 
cliffs.  The  Doctor  attempted  another  ford, 
but  his  horse  was  rolled  completely  over  in 
a  savage  eddy,  and  he  barely  escaped  with 
his  life.  This  strenuous  day  ended  our  at- 
tempt to  reach  the  western  side  of  Mt. 
McKinley.  The  only  feasible  plan  was  to 
return  to  our  base  camp  on  the  Yentna  and 
from  there  strike  in  a  northerly  direction 
toward  the  eastern  side  of  the  big  mountain. 

Our  retreat  was  enlivened  by  quicksands, 
high  water  and  trail  cutting.  On  the  last 
day  we  forded  all  the  united  streams  of  the 
West  Yentna.  The  danger  was  consider- 
able because  of  quicksands,  and  some  of  the 
horses  sank  so  deep  that  only  their  heads 
were  visible.  Even  the  land  at  a  distance 
from  the  rivers  was  soft,  and,  in  pack-train 
pariance,  would  "bog  a  snipe." 


We  lost  no  time  at  the  base  camp,  but 
started  immediately  for  McKinley.  We 
crossed  the  east  fork  of  the  Yentna  at  a 
collection  of  caches  called  Youngstown  by 
the  prospectors.  This  city  was  movable 
and  was  an  uncertain  place  to  send  mail 
to — ^we  expected  at  any  minute  to  find  that 
the  miners  had  moved  the  town  a  day's 
travel  down  stream.  From  Youngstown 
we  crossed  Kliskon,  a  rounded  hill  about 
three  thousand  feet  in  height.  The  coun- 
try was  soft;  the  mosquitoes  lay  in  black 
clouds,  and  our  horses  were  exhausted. 
We  climbed  Mt.  Kliskon  and  were  repaid 
by  a  glorious  view  of  the  Alaskan  Range; 
from  old  Bolshaia  on  the  north  to  Mts. 
Redoubt  and  Iliamna  to  the  southward  was 
one  unbroken  chain  of  jagged  peaks  and 
glistening  snow-fields!  Then  we  dipped 
into  a  low  country  dotted  with  black  lines 
of  spruce  and  cut  with  rushing  streams. 
We  found  grayling,  trout  and  salmon,  no 
end,  and  added  them  to  our  simple  bill- 
of-fare.  We  found  buried  deep  in  the  moss 
the  locked  antlers  of  two  giant  moose  that 
had  fought  and  perished  miserably.  Our 
horses  struggled  through  the  swamps  and 
grew  weaker.  Near  Mt.  Kliskon  we  were 
forced  to  camp  and  rest  the  animals.  We 
were  never  free  of  the  mosquito  pest,  but 
unlike  our  cayuses  we  grew  hardened  to  it. 
We  crossed  Lake  Creek,  a  gold-bearing 
stream — and  an  Indian  told  us  that  in  the 
lake  from  which  the  stream  came,  there 
lived  a  fish  "four  hundred  feet  long  that  ate 
caribou!" 

At  the  great  glacier  that  heads  the 
Kahiltna  River  we  climbed  above  timber 
line  and  swung  toward  McKinley.  The 
country  changed  to  high  rolling  caribou 
hills,  minus  the  caribou,  and  one  sunny 
morning  a  brown  bear  ambled  amiably  into 
camp  while  we  were  eating  breakfast. 

At  the  head  of  the  Tokoshitna  we  found 
two  glaciers.  One  was  small  and  headed 
in  a  nest' of  rugged  mountains;  the  other 
one  was  large  and  extended  far  into  the 
Alaskan  Range.  We  were  now  close  to 
Mt.  McKinley.  The  country  ahead  was  too 
rugged  for  pack-train  transportation,  so 
we  turned  our  horses  loose  and  prepared  for 
the  real  struggle.  First,  the  Doctor,  Prof. 
Parker  and  I  climbed  a  high  mountain  that 
gave  us  an  unobstructed  view  of  Mt.  Mc- 
Kinley. The  southeast  and  eastern  side 
rose  in  a  grand  system  ot^pigged  cliffs. 
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There  was  a  steady  drift  of  clouds  moving 
across  the  range;  so  with  hopes  of  a  better 
view,  the  Doctor  and  I  decided  to  remain 
on  the  peak  all  night.  We  pitched  our 
mountain  tent  with  the  entrance  facing  the 
mountain,  and  as  it  was  light  all  night  we 
obtained  some  beautiful  views  of  the  great 
peak.  Through  the  ragged  lines  of  clouds 
we  could  see  great  glaciers,  jagged  rock 
peaks,  and  creamy,  mile-wide  sweeps  of 
snow.  At  intervals  a  roar  like  thunder, 
that  made  the  rock  mountains  tremble, 
would  tell  us  that  an  avalanche  had  fallen 
from  McKinley's  eastern  side,  and  the  sur- 
rounding mountains  would  throw  the  echoes 
back  and  forth  till  all  the  ranges  rumbled 
and  muttered  with  a  sound  like  surf  on  a 
rocky  shore. 

From  our  aerie  we  could  see  a  grand  un- 
named peak  that  rose  to  a  height  of  about 
17,000  feet  on  McKinley's  southeast  side, 
and  for  want  of  a  better  name  we  spoke  of 
it  as  Little  McKinley. 

Mt.  McKinley  from  this  side  S.  E.  by 
E.  was  absolutely  unclimbable.  Rising 
from  about  3,000  feet  above  sea-level  it 
shot  upward  in  one  grand  precipice  to  a 
height  of  about  15,000  feet  and  then 
sloped  gently  to  its  20,364  foot  summit. 
Our  only  possible  chance  was  to  work 
farther  north  across  the  Tokoshitna  Glacier 
and  attempt  to  reach  the  northeastern 
ar^te.  The  country  we  had  to  cross  was 
gashed  by  great  parallel  glaciers,  separated 
by  high  mountain  chains;  it  was  a  poor 
outlook. 

We  started  from  the  Tokoshitna  Glacier 
with  packs  and  worked  our  way  across. 
The  glacier  was  about  three  miles  wide  and 
covered  with  crushed  granite,  which  ranged 
in  size  from  coarse  sand  to  blocks  the  size 
of  a  house.  Our  glacier  camps  were  cold 
and  cheerless.  There  was  no  wood  but 
dead  alders  and  willows,  and  it  rained 
continually. 

The  Tokoshitna  Glacier  rises  in  the 
vicinity  of  Little  McKinley,  and  is  the 
fountain  head  of  the  Tokoshitna  River. 
Bounding  this  glacier  on  the  north  was  a 
mountain  range  that  we  climbed  and  from 
which  we  enjoyed  a  wonderful  view  of 
McKinley.  North  of  the  mountain  was  an- 
other huge  unnamed  glacier  that  seemed 
to  come  from  Mt.  McKinley,  and  after 
talking  it  over  we  decided  to  use  this 
glacier  as  a  roadway  to  the  mountain.  That 


night  we  weathered  a  savage  wind  and  rain 
squall. 

We  had  pitched  our  tent  on  top  of  a  high 
peak,  anchoring  it  with  ice  axes  and 
bowlders.  The  view  from  the  mountain 
was  wonderful;  two  thousand  feet  below 
us  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  were 
giant  glaciers,  and  over  them  the  black 
storm  clouds  tore  themselves  to  shreds 
against  the  cliffs.  We  had  a  wild  night  and 
our  tent  rattled  like  a  sail  in  a  storm.  On 
the  big  unnamed  glacier  I  found  tracks  of 
a  cow  and  calf  caribou,  and  a  brown  bear, 
which  I  tried  to  kill.  I  was  armed  with 
a  Luger  pistol  belonging  to  Professor 
Parker,  which  I  had  never  used.  I  crawled 
up  to  within  ten  paces  of  bruin  and  pro- 
ceeded to  finish  him,  when  to  my  dismay 
the  Luger  refused  to  work.  1  was  too 
close  to  him  to  run  and  spent  several  un- 
comfortable minutes  waiting  for  him  to  see 
me  and  run  away — which  he  finally  did. 
The  mountains  further  north  were  said  by 
the  Sushitna  Indians  to  be  a  good  caribou 
range.  We  wanted  fresh  meat  badly,  but 
pemmican  was  a  great  help  in  the  heavy 
traveling.  We  found  that  less  than  one 
pound  of  pemmican  would  last  a  man  a 
day  and  keep  him  in  good  health.  We 
baked  our  bread  below  timber  line,  so  that 
we  had  nothing  but  tea  to  make  in  our  high 
camps.  On  studying  the  big  glacier  from 
the  mountain  top  we  found  that  to  climb 
it  we  should  have  to  cross  either  an  ice  wall 
or  a  swift  glacier  stream.  We  tried  the 
stream  first,  but  the  waters  were  too  swift 
for  us.  We  followed  the  stream  until  it 
disappeared  in  a  great  cavern  in  the  ice 
wall.  Below  the  cavern  the  wall  continued 
as  far  as  we  could  see  to  the  eastward.  The 
face  of  the  wall  was  solid  green  ice  and  it 
was  covered  with  granite  bowlders  that 
made  any  attempt  to  climb  it  dangerous. 
We  skirted  the  wall  to  the  Tokosheh 
Mountains  and  found  no  place  where  we 
could  gain  the  top. 

The  weather  was  cold  and  rainy,  our 
food  low,  and  Dr.  Cook  was  expected  back 
at  Tyoonok  by  the  15th  of  August;  so 
with  one  last  look  and  vows  to  try  the 
northeast  ridge  the  following  spring  we 
began  our  long  march  toward  civilization. 

The  return  to  Tyoonok  was  uneventful. 
We  left  Porter  between  the  Tokoshitna  and 
the  Kahiltna  Glacier.  He  was  to  finish  his 
topographical  work  and  join  us  later.     We 


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Map  showing  the  three  routes  to  Mt.  McKinley:  via  the  Sushitna  and  Chulitna  Rivers— over- 
land from  Tyoonok  to  the  Kuskoquim,  and  thence  along  the  range — ^and 
via  the  Yukon,  Tanana  and  Kautishna  Rivers. 


275 


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crossed  the  Kahiltna  in  flood,  shot  salmon 
for  food  in  Lake  Creek,  and  then  the  pack- 
train  went  to  Youngstown.  The  Doctor, 
Miller  and  1  crossed  the  valley  of  the  Yent- 
na,  swimming  what  streams  we  could  not 
wade,  until  we  reached  our  old  base  camp 
and  the  Bolshaia.  After  eating  a  wonder- 
ful amount  of  food  and  packing  our  dunnage 
we  headed  the  Bolshaia  down  stream. 

We  picked  our  party  up  at  Youngstown 
and  four  days  later  we  reached  Tyoonok. 
On  Cook's  Inlet  we  ran  into  a  gale  off 
Tumagain  Arm,  a  deep  fiord  that  has  been 
called  the  "Cook's  Inlet  Compressed  Air 
Plant."  It  kicked  up  a  nasty  sea  and 
buried  our  little  launch  to  the  frail  canvas 
house  in  yellow  foam. 

We  had  lost  our  rudder  on  a  sand  bar  on 
the  Sushitna  River  and  were  forced  to 
steer  with  sweeps  from  the  poop,  where  we 
lashed  ourselves  with  ropes.  It  was  more 
like  the  hurricane  deck  of  a  cayuse  than  a 
boat,  but  our  crude  methods  triumphed 
and  we  reached  Tyoonok.  Then,  with  all 
thoughts  of  climbing  Bolshaia  put  aside 
for  another  year,  our  party  broke  up. 

Professor  Parker  returned  to  New  York. 
Dr.  Cook  decided  to  explore  the  glaciers 
north  of  the  Tokoshitna  River  with  the 
launch,  via  the  Sushitna,  Chulitna,  and 
Tokoshitna  rivers.  He  asked  me  to  make 
a  side  trip  up  the  Matamouska  River  into 
the  Chugach  Mountains  and  secure  some 
big  game  specimens.  Printz  and  Miller 
took  the  remains  of  our  pack-train  up  the 
Kechatna  River.  Barrill  and  some  prospec- 
tors picked  up  at  Sushitna  station  accom- 
panied the  Doctor. 

At  the  appointed  time  we  met  at  Sel- 
dovia  on  the  Kenai  Peninsula.  Printz  and 
Miller  were  the  first  to  join  me.  On  the 
head-waters  of  the  Kechatna  they  found 
miles  of  tangled  brush  and  morasses.    The 


poor  horses  grew  too  weak  to  travel,  and 
the  report  of  a  rifle  echoing  through  the 
silent  spruce  forest  was  their  only  requiem. 
The  death  of  the  horses  left  Printz  and 
Miller  without  means  of  transportation 
until  they  reached  the  Kechatna  River  and 
built  a  raft.  They  finally  reached  the 
Sushitna  station  after  a  narrow  escape  from 
death  by  drowning  and  took  a  boat  to 
Seldovia. 

At  this  time  we  heard  the  rumor  that  Dr. 
Cook  and  Barrill  had  reached  the  top  of 
Mt.  McKinley,  but  we  paid  little  attention 
to  it,  as  rumors  in  Alaska  are  as  thick  as  the 
mosquitoes.  At  last  the  Doctor  joined  us 
and  confirmed  the  report.  He  reached  the 
northeastern  ar^te  from  the  big  glacier 
north  of  the  Tokoshitna. 

With  the  help  of  the  launch  he  arrived  in 
seven  days  at  a  point  that  on  our  first  trip 
cost  us  two  months'  toil  and  the  lives  of  all 
our  horses.  You  have  all  heard  of  the 
Doctor's  ascent  and  of  his  conquest  of  old 
Bolshaia.  As  I  have  seen  the  great  moun- 
tain I  can  say  that  any  one  who  goes 
through  the  cold  and  exhaustion  that  he 
and  Barrill  must  have  suffered  on  the 
gleaming  sweeps  of  ice  and  snow  must 
indeed  be  of  the  stuff  men  are  made  of. 

Now  that  Bolshaia  is  climbed  reports  are 
heard  that  another  mountain  to  the  south- 
ward is  still  higher — and-so  the  world  goes 
on.  In  the  great  northern  wilderness  there 
are  many  great  peaks  unconquered,  and 
when  once  a  man  has  the  love  of  climbing 
in  his  blood  it  is  hard  for  him  to  stop. 
After  a  few  months  of  civilization  his 
thoughts  turn  westward  and  the  roar  of 
the  city  at  night  is  the  rumble  of  ava- 
lanches on  distant  slopes  of  scree,  and  in 
imagination  he  hears  the  tinkle  of  axes  on 
hard  green  ice  and  the  call  of  the  wilder- 
ness rivers. 


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TALES   OF   A   COLLECTOR   OF 
WHISKERS 

BY  J.ARCHIBALD  McKACKNEY,  MUS.  DOC,  F.R.G.S.,  ETC. 

(EDITED   BY   RALPH    D.    PAINE) 


ILLUSTRATED    BY  WALLACE   MORGAN 


Archibald  McKackney  have 
rican  Society  for  the  Promo- 
be  remarked,  is  an  elderly 
se  estate  is  one  of  the  show- 
been  engaged  in  assembling 
ry  and  employment  of  their 
ents  of  Acoustics  and  Har- 


>1.  XII.,  pp.  287-334  (1901);  Vol. 
r  Mechanismus  D^r  MerucMichsn 
n  Kempelen  (Vienna).  Also  latest 
McKackney  Theory  of  the  Analogy 
by  Dr.  Bnmo  Heilig,  published  oy 


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For  the  information  of  the  layman  it  is  perhaps  well  to  refer  to  the  circumstances 
which  preceded  the  organization  of  the  now  famous  Hirsute  Orchestra.  Having  wearied 
of  the  more  commonplace  objects  of  the  collector's  ardor,  including  Japanese  pottery, 
unset  gems  and  Roman  coins,  Mr.  McKackney  turned  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  to 
the  task  of  obtaining  the  photographs,  paintings  and  drawings  of  all  the  styles,  patterns, 
designs  and  front  elevations  of  the  beards,  whiskers  and  mustachios  that  have  orna- 
mented the  human  face  from  the  days  of  the  ancient  Egyptians.* 

He  visited  almost  all  the  inhabited  comers  of  the  globe  in  the  hope  of  adding  new 
trophies  to  his  classified  list  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  distinct  or  catalogued 
varieties  of  whiskers,  and  the  walls  of  his  immense  library  are  covered  with  bewildering 
sequences  of  facial  landscapes. 

For  the  first  time  some  account  of  the  adventures  and  achievements  of  Mr.  McKackney 
has  been  prepared  in  popular  form,  and  the  following  is  the  first  of  a  series  of  these 
narratives  that  will  appear  in  this  magazine,  as  told  by  the  distinguished  collector  and 
virttioso. 

I 

THE    HIRSUTE   ORCHESTRA 


I  had  hastened  to  my  "workshop,"  or 
laboratory,  early  in  the  morning  of  that 
memorable  day.  For  months  1  had  been 
groping  my  way  toward  a  discovery  which 
should  set  the  world  of  science  by  the  ears 
and  crown  the  brow  of  J.  Archibald  Mc- 
Kackney with  a  unique  kind  of  fame.  My 
Whisker  Collection,  notable  as  it  was,  had 
almost  ceased  to  focus  my  interests.  My 
life  was  bound  up  in  the  array  of  electrical 
machinery,  burnished  spheres,  rows  of 
tuning  forks  and  other  complex  apparatus 
which  filled  the  long  room  up  under  the 
roof  of  my  mansion.  Even  my  loyal  as- 
sistant. Hank  Wilkins,  had  not  been  taken 
into  my  confidences.  The  former  sailor- 
man,  who  had  won  his  position  with  me 
because  of  his  peerless  beard  of  the  rare 
Titian  red,  was  left  to  pore  over  the  illus- 
trated catalogue  of  the  McKackney  Whis- 
ker Collection  while  I  toiled  behind  locked 
doors. 

Never  can  I  forget  the  moment  when  I 
rushed  into  the  upper  hall  and  shouted 
down  the  stairway  to  Wilkins: 

"Come  up  here.  I've  done  it,  by  the 
Lord  Harry!  Hurry  up!  The  grandest 
discovery  of  modem  times!  You  can  hear 
it!    Beautiful!    Wonderful!    Amazing!" 

I  was  dancing  with  impatience  as  the 
sailor  fairly  flew  upstairs,  his  immense 
crimson  beard  streaming  over  his  shoulders 
as  if  he  had  set  studding-sails  for  a  swift 
passage.  Our  strange  adventures  in  search 
of  rare  types  of  whiskers  had  prepared  him 


for  the  unexpected,  but  for  once  he  was 
almost  dismayed. 

1  grasped  his  arm  and  led  him  into  the 
workshop  and  pointed  toward  a  row  of 
rounded  wooden  blocks  to  which  were  at- 
tached artificial  whiskers  of  various  lengths 
and  patterns.  The  faithful  fellow  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  his  jaw  dropped.  If  the  dis- 
play of  false  whiskers  puzzled  him,  the 
maze  of  elaborate  mechanisms  to  right  and 
left  fairly  bewildered  him.  The  series  of 
bellows  geared  to  a  small  engine  and 
dynamo  next  drew  his  attention  and  his 
expression  was  so  extraordinary  that  I 
managed  to  explain : 

'i  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,  Wilkins, 
and  it  will  take  time  to  batter  this' achieve- 
ment into  that  thick  skull  of  yours.  Sit 
down  and  I  will  try  to  make  it  clear." 

I  could  not  restrain  a  nervous  laugh  and 
my  voice  was  not  easily  controlled  as  1 
mopped  my  face  and  went  on: 

"I  am  excited,  Wilkins,  and  small  won- 
der. After  many  heart-breaking  failures 
and  incredible  effort  I  have — I  have — been 


*"My  first  impulse  toward  this  field  of  investiga- 
tion was  inspired  as  the  result  of  an  idle  hour  in  a 
crowded  railway  station.  I  began  to  note  the  whis- 
kers of  the  hurrying  pedestrians  and  was  surprised  to 
discover  that  their  patterns  were  as  severally  distinct 
and  indiWdual  as  the  faces  of  their  wearers.  I 
counted  no  less  than  seventeen  successive  types,  no 
two  of  which  were  identical  in  any  respect.  It  oc- 
curred to'  me  at  that  time  that  if  such  a  wide  variety 
could  be  found  in  this  casual  observation,  there  must 
be  an  opportunity  for  a  scientific  study  of  these 
highly  entertaining  and  important  human  phenom- 
ena." (Extract  from  the  owner's  Introduction  to 
the  Illustrated  Catalogue  of  the  McKackney  CoHec- 
tion.) 


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able  to  apply  the  theories  of  musical  vibra- 
tion to  the  human  whisker.  For  ages  the 
winds  of  Heaven  have  been  sweeping 
through  the  whiskers  of  mankind,  which 
has  been  deaf  to  the  magic  of  their  har- 
monies." 

Wilkins  made  a  brave  rally  and  tried  to 
meet  my  astounding  statement  half  way 
as  he  fairly  shouted: 

"The  devil  you  say,  sir!  Then  my  peer- 
less Titian  beard  must  be  a  whole  brass 
band.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  can  play 
tunes  on  'em?" 

He  had  blindly  stumbled  on  the  very 
climax  of  my  discovery,  and  as  I  waved  my 
arm  around  the  room  I  told  him : 

"That  is  what  I  hope  to  do,  and  before 
very  long,  if  you  will  help  me.  Did  you 
ever  see  an  i^olian  harp?" 

"One  of  those  boxes  full  of  strings  that 
make  soft  and  soothing  sounds  when  tickled 
by  the  wind?"  he  replied.  "Why,  I  sailed 
with  a  skipper  that  had  one  in  his  cabin 
skylight.  But  you  could  hear  that  music, 
and  my  whiskers  have  been  dumb  for 
thirty  years." 

Then  I  told  him,  as  simply  as  possible, 
how,  after  an  exhaustive  study  of  the  laws 
of  vibration  and  sound  waves,  I  had 
evolved  the  theory  that  there  must  be  a 
similitude  between  the  /Eolian  harp  and 
the  Human  Whisker.  The  instrument 
was  but  waiting  for  the  player.  But 
further  progress  had  seemed  hopeless  after 
I  discovered  by  experiment  that  the  aver- 
age vibrations  of  the  Human  Whisker  when 
stirred  by  the  wind  range  from  ten  thou- 
sand to  forty  thousand  per  second.  Now 
it  is  well  known,  as  I  explained,  that  the 
practical  range  of  the  musical  scale  is 
hardly  more  than  four  thousand  vibrations 
per  second  for  the  highest  note  of  the 
piccolo  flute.  It  was  therefore  evident 
that  the  sound  of  the  vibrating  whisker 
is  beyond  the  reach  of  the  human  ear. 
This  accounted  for  the  failure  of  the 
human  race  to  detect  its  own  hirsute 
music,  as  Wilkins  was  quick  to  comprehend. 
And  because  these  tones  were  inaudible 
without  some  means  of  greatly  magnifying 
and  recording  sound,  my  most  arduous 
efforts  had  been  bent  toward  developing 
the  powers  of  the  microphone. 

When  under  unusual  mental  pressure 
Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  sometimes  burst  into 
snatches  of  impromptu  doggerel,  and  be- 


fore I   could  carry  my  explanation  any 
farther  he  chanted  with  great  vehemence: 

"Will  I  hear  my  whiskers  singin' 

When  the  wind  is  sou '-sou '-west? 
And  melojious  music  ringin' 
From  the  region  of  my  vest?" 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  his  faith  in 
my  assertions,  and  I  hastened  to  finish 
my  explanation.  I  told  him  how  my 
specially  devised  improvements  of  the 
microphone,  together  with  my  newly  dis- 
covered principles  of  sound  wave  motion, 
had  enabled  me  to  hear  the  tones  of  the 
Human  Whisker  when  set  in  vibration  by 
air  currents,  and  that  the  resonators  con- 
trived by  Helmholtz  had  shown  me  how  to 
distinguish  the  fundamental  notes  from 
the  confusing  overtones  which  determined 
the  timbre  or  clang-tint.  Wilkins  heard 
me  out  with  admirable  patience,  although 
he  pulled  at  his  beard  with  nervous  fingers 
as  if  eager  to  test  his  own  share  of  hirsute 
harmony.  When  I  paused  he  asked  me  if 
I  could  "tune  up  a  few  bass  or  tenor  whis- 
kers and  give  him  some  action." 

I  moved  over  to  my  switchboard  and 
halted  only  to  tell  him  that  the  length  and 
texture  of  the  whisker  determine  the  num- 
ber of  sound  waves  and  therefore  the  vi- 
bratory pitch  or  note.  "False  whiskers  will 
do  for  experiments,"  I  added,  "but  they 
lack  a  certain  fullness  of  tone  which,  I  am 
sure,  must  be  found  in  the  living  growth." 
Then  I  asked  Wilkins  to  hold  the  receivers 
of  the  microphone  battery  to  his  ears  while 
I  started  the  bellows. 

My  assistant  gingeriy  sat  himself  down 
at  a  table  littered  with  wires  and  discs  and 
cells,  and  faced  the  row  of  rounded  wooden 
blocks  which  were  adorned  with  such 
various  patterns  of  ornamental  whiskers  ^s 
the  "Piccadilly  Weeper"  (No.  2),  the"Bum- 
side,"  the  "Mutton-chop,"  the  "Galway," 
the  "Chin-curtain"  (full  size),  the  "Chest- 
warmer"  and  the  "Populists'  Delight." 

I  confess  that  my  hand  trembled  with 
tense  expectancy  as  I  began  to  operate  the 
electric  keys.  Then  the  bellows  began  to 
heave  and  stir  and  the  false  whiskers  were 
violently  agitated,  one  set  after  another. 
Of  course  I  could  hear  no  resultant  sounds 
from  the  vibrations  thus  set  in  motion,  and 
I  was  delighted  when  Wilkins  smothered 
an  amazed  oath,  while  his  rugged  face  was  a 
study  of  novel  emotions.    There  had  come 


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to  his  ears  a  succession  of  musical  sounds 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  heard.  He 
informed  me  that  one  reminded  him  of  a 
violin;  another  sounded  like  the  lingering 
sweetness  of  a  twanged  harp-string,  while 
a  third  suggested  a  'cello.  Mingled  with 
these  were  incredibly  high-pitched  and 
piping  notes  that  soared  far  above  any  oc- 
taves known  to  human  instruments.  There 
were  discords,  of  course,  because  I  had  not 
progressed  as  far  as  trying  to  tune  these 
experimental  whiskers. 

I  asked  Wilkins  to  move  one  of  the  dum- 
mies aside  and  step  in  its  place.  I  was 
wild  with  eagerness  to  try  a  living  subject. 
Leaving  one  set  of  bellows  pumping  at  full 
blast  I  rushed  to  snatch  up  the  receivers. 
The  stiff  breeze  fanned  the  noble  beard  of 
Wilkins  and  spread  it  out  like  a  crimson 
panel.  After  listening  for  several  minutes, 
I  dropped  the  instruments  and  could  not 
help  shouting: 

"Hurrah,  I  was  right!  No  more  false 
whiskers  !  Oh,  the  mellow  richness  of  your 
tone,  Wilkins!  Never,  never  trim  your 
whiskers  without  my  supervision!  After 
lunch  we  must  discuss  the  plans  for  as- 
sembling an  orchestra  with  a  human  key- 
board. I  will  spare  no  expense  to  find  the 
needed  assortment  of  whiskers." 

As  we  went  downstairs  I- was  pleased  to 
hear  Wilkins  humming  behind  me: 

"As  long  as  there's  harvests  of  whbkers  to 

grow, 
We  shall  have  music  wherever  we  go." 

It  was  late  that  night  before  I  was  able 
to  outline  the  final  instructions  which 
should  send  my  assistant  forth  on  the  most 
difficult  mission  of  our  checkered  career 
together.  He  was  not  appalled  in  the 
least,  however,  and  I  had  reason  for  re- 
newed gratitude  that  so  resourceful  and 
dauntless  a  companion  as  Wilkins  had 
been  granted  me  in  the  pursuit  of  my 
hobby.  It  was  Wilkins  who  had  obtained 
the  portrait  of  the  Insane  Cossack  with  the 
Pink  Whiskers  after  a  perilous  journey 
across  Siberia,  and  that  splendid  trophy  in 
its  massive  gilt  frame  hung  facing  him  as 
we  chatted  in  my  library.  It  was  in  itself 
an  inspiration  and  a  reminder. 

On  the  table  were  strewn  my  sketches 
and  diagrams  that  indicated  the  various 
styles  of  whiskers  needed  to  perfect  the 
musical    scale   which   I   had    resolved  to 


assemble  as  soon  as  possible.  They  were 
grouped  according  to  the  pitch  required, 
and  carefully  numbered  and  described.  He 
could  not  go  far  wrong  with  these  charts. 
He  was  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and 
hedges  and  find  twenty-four  men — no 
more,  no  less — to  equip  me  with  a  range  of 
three  octaves  for  my  Hirsute  Orchestra. 
They  would  be  offered  handsome  salaries 
to  visit  me  for  an  indefinite  period,  and 
already  I  had  given  orders  to  have  the 
billiard  room  and  annex  made  into  com- 
fortable dormitories  with  a  private  dining- 
room.  These  guests  were  to  be  carefully 
selected  as  per  the  diagrams  furnished  Wil- 
kins, and  I  explained  to  him : 

"Each  of  these  species  of  whiskers  will 
give  forth  a  different  note  when  properly 
tuned,  and  all  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  con- 
sult your  directions.  For  example,  here  is 
Face  Number  Six — Close  Cropped  Side- 
boards (see  page  ii8  of  the  illustrated 
catalogue  of  my  collection) ;  or  Face  Num- 
ber Nine — Crisp,  Pointed  Vandyke,  such 
as  young  doctors  affect.  If  my  recent  ex- 
periments with  the  tuning  forks  have  not 
misled  me  this  latter  type  of  whisker 
should  develop  a  clear  and  bell-like  Mid- 
dle C." 

Wilkins  ventured  to  object: 

"But  I  can't  tell  whether  they'll  be 
melojious.  Supposing  I  happen  to  ship 
you  a  shockin'  consignment  of  discords." 

He  also  inquired  why  he  should  not  be 
allowed  to  pick  up  "a  bunch  of  the  hairiest, 
whiskerest  Johnnies  he  could  find  and  let 
Mr.  McKackney  trim,  clip  and  tune  them 
to  suit."  I  explained  with  some  slight  im- 
patience that  I  could  not  think  of  waiting 
for  such  whiskers  as  these  to  season  and 
gain  timbre;  that  a  beard  is  like  a  violin, 
and  needs  age  to  give  it  tone.  Rather 
sharply  I  ordered  Wilkins  to  be  sure  to 
send  me  no  whiskers  that  had  been  worn  for 
less  than  three  years. 

I  left  him  sitting  by  the  library  fire  with 
his  head  in  his  hands  studying  his  charts. 
The  prospect  of  asking  perfect  strangers 
for  the  use  of  their  whiskers  seemed  to  dis- 
turb him  now  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of 
setting  out  in  chase.  But  I  knew  that  no 
difficulties  could  make  him  flinch  once  he 
was  fairly  on  the  trail  of  a  coveted  whisker. 

My  estate  is  remote  from  populous  towns, 
and  Wilkins  had  decided  to  head  for  Bos- 
ton as  the  most  promising  field  for  his 


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quarry.     From  his  detailed  reports  I  later 
learned  that  upon  reaching  that  city  he  laid 
his  course  for  the  wharves  and  sailors' 
boarding-houses  where  he  was  most  likely 
to  run  across  old  friends.    This  was  a  wise 
choice  also  for  technical  reasons,  because  I 
afterward  discovered  that  the  whiskers  of 
the  seafaring  members  of  the  orchestra  sur- 
passed the  others  in  musical  qualities.     I 
explained  this  on  the  ground  that  they  had 
been  exposed  to  strong 
winds  and  rain  and  sun 
until  they  were  toned 
and  seasoned  to  an  un- 
common   degree  —  but 
I  am  wandering  from 
my  story. 

Wilkins'  first  cap- 
ture, it  seems,  was 
made  as  he  was  near- 
ihg  a  saloon  where  in 
other     days     he     had 


"Whiskers  that  would  calk  a  ship's  yawl.' 


him  when  O'Dwyer 

e  kind  of  cock-eyed 
I't  my  face  fit  me?" 
s  bulky  bundle  of 
;  one  sheet  with  his 
med: 

ete,  but  I  want  your 
reward  out  for  a 
these  specifications. 


Tell  me  first,  how  long  have  you  worn 
them?" 

He  was  assured  that  the  O'Dwyer  whis- 
kers had  sprouted  four  years  back,  or  just 
after  these  two  had  parted  in  Shanghai. 
Wilkins  came  at  once  to  the  point  and  told 
him: 

"Forty  dollars  a  month  and  keep  you 

like  a  prince.     A  job  right  out  of  a  fairy 

story — that's  what  I  offer  you.     And  I'll 

give  you  a  juicy  advance 

the    minute   you    sign 

articles." 

Mr.  O'Dwyer  nar- 
rowly eyed  his  friend, 
and  was  unfeeling 
enough  to  reply: 

"I'm  plannin'  to  ship 
aboard  a  bark  to-mor- 
row, and  you'd  better 
come   along  with  me. 
Booze  always  did  give 
you    singular    visions. 
Did  you  dream  you'd 
started  a  mattress  fac- 
tory and   wanted   my 
whiskers  for  stuffing?" 
Wilkins  saw  that  it 
would  only  alarm  his 
ship-mate    to    enlarge 
upon  the  musical  values 
of  whiskers,  and  tact- 
fully based  his  persua- 
sions upon  a  show  of 
cash.     Still    mystified, 
but  confiding  in  the  oft- 
proven    friendship    of 
Wilkins,  able   seaman, 
O'Dwyer  at  length  de-  " 
clared     that     he    was 
ready    to   follow    him 
until    the    surface    of 
Hades  became   solidly 
congealed,  or  words  to 
that   effect.     As    they 
walked    toward   the 
water-front  a  salty  breeze  swept  up  from 
the  harbor  and  fairly  whistled  through  the 
notable    beards   of    these    two    seafarers. 
Wilkins  halted  in  his  tracks  and  cocked  his 
head    as    if   eagerly    listening.    O'Dwyer 
stared  at  him  with  gloomy  misgivings,  as 
if  his  suspicions  were  trooping  back,  and 
muttered  something  about  "having  known 
'em  to  hear  voices  in  the  early  stages." 
As  Wilkins  tells  it,  he  felt  himself  blush 


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up  to  the  eyes  as  he  came  to  himself  with 
a  start  and  thought  aloud: 

"  I  just  couldn't  help  listening.  But  of 
course  my  tones  was  invisible  to  the  naked 
ear." 

After  putting  O'Dwyer  aboard  a  train  to 
be  shipped  to  me  as  the  first  "note"  har- 
vested, Wilkins  set  out  after  additional 
fragments  of  stray  harmony.  Among  the 
several  prizes  captured  later  in  the  day  was 
the  cook  of  a  coasting  schooner  who  proved 
to  be  a  treasure  indeed.  When  sighted  he 
was  leaning  against  his  galley  airily  twist- 
ing the  needle-like  ends  of  a  rat-tailed 
mustache,  while  a  slim  goatee  jutted  from 
his  chin  like  the  point  of  a  marline  spike. 
Wilkins'  observations  showed  his  quick 
grasp  of  the  technique  of  his  arduous 
mission. 

"  I  could  see  that  he  belonged  with  the 
rest  of  my  sweet  singers,"  he  explained  to 
me,  "for  them  little  wind-cutters  was 
keyed  way  up  for  the  piccolo  flute.  And 
that  goatee  added  to  them  cunning  mus- 
tachios  had  ought  to  make  a  noise  like 
pickin*  three  strings  of  a  guitar  at  once." 

The  cook  was  a  Portuguese  madly  in 
love  with  a  girl  in  New  Bedford,  and  the 
offer  of  a  situation  ashore  made  him  desert 
his  pots  and  pans  with  cries  of  joy.  Gain- 
ing assurance  from  these  early  successes 
Wilkins  left  the  water-front  for  more  con- 
ventional regions  and  was  routed  in  con- 
fusion for  the  first  time  in  his  dashing 
career.  While  crossing  the  Common  there 
approached  him  a  slim  and  very  erect  gen- 
tleman with  a  pompous  dignity  of  bearing. 
He  carried  a  bundle  of  books  under  one 
arm,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  weighty 
reflections.  Wilkins  appraised  him  as  a 
person  of  intellectual  distinction,  and 
thrilled  with  pleasure  as  he  stared  at  the 
trim,  brown  "Vandyke"  which  appeared  to 
have  been  tended  with  scrupulous  care. 
In  a  letter  to  me  Wilkins  wrote: 

"  I  wish  you  had  given  me  a  tuning  fork 
to  try  them  out.  Commodore,  but  this 
high-browed  party  struck  me  as  a  perfect 
specimen  of  Number  Five,  and  properly 
sound  and  seasoned.  I  thought  I'd  just 
put  it  to  him  as  man  to  man.  So  I  braced 
up  to  him  with  a  most  respectful  apology 
and  tried  to  tell  him  that  as  I  felt  sure  that 
he  would  be  willing  to  help  along  the  cause 
of  Acoustics  and  Harmony,  I'd  like  to 
borrow  his  whiskers,  he  to  go  along  with 


them,  of  course.  I  asked  him  to  spare 
me  only  a  few  minutes,  and  promised 
to  return  him  and  his  whiskers  in  good 
order." 

Condensing  Mr.  Wilkins'  narrative,  it  ap- 
pears that  the  stranger  fled  with  panicky 
strides,  and  cried  out  and  wildly  beckoned 
to  the  first  policeman  he  saw.  Wilkins 
stood  his  ground  until  the  policeman  made 
for  him  and  then  he  dove  like  a  frightened 
rabbit  into  the  nearest  subway  entrance. 
He  was  followed  aboard  a  train  by  a 
smartly  dressed  young  man  with  a  twin- 
kling eye  who  sat  down  by  his  side  and 
remarked : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  simply  can't 
help  asking  what  you  said  to  Professor  R. 
Xerxes  Peabody.  He  is  my  uncle,  you 
know,  and  I  never  saw  him  rattled  before. 
Upon  my  word,  it  was  like  watching  a 
glacier  blow  up." 

Wilkins  was  worried  and  upset,  but  the 
young  man's  friendly  air  soon  won  his 
confidence  and  at  length  he  explained  the 
purpose  of  his  mission.  The  stranger 
laughed  so  long  and  loud  that  Wilkins 
began  to  resent  the  ill-timed  levity.  Then 
the  young  man  explained  that  Boston  was 
immensely  proud  of  Professor  R.  Xerxes 
Peabody  as  its  most  cultured  citizen,  and 
that  never  in  his  life  had  he  spoken  to  a 
human  being  without  an  introduction. 
The  idea  of  asking  him  for  "the  loan  of  his 
whiskers"  struck  the  cheerful  nephew  as 
such  an  absolutely  incredible  event  that 
he  fairly  begged  Wilkins  to  "fall  off  at  the 
next  station  and  have  a  drink"  in  celebra- 
tion. Wilkins  was  persuaded  to  follow  his 
acquaintance,  and  a  little  later  he  related 
the  morning's  adventures  along  the  water- 
front. I  am  sure  that  as  the  listener 
studied  the  candid  features  and  keen  eyes 
of  Wilkins  he  must  have  viewed  him 
with  growing  seriousness,  for  he  finally 
exclaimed  with  much  emphasis: 

"You  aren't  in  the  least  bit  dippy,  Mr. 
Wilkins.  It  is  gorgeous,  every  bit  of  it. 
And  you  simply  must  let  me  in  on  this.  I 
am  a  musicis^n  myself  in  an  amateurish 
way.  And  I  am  dying  to  meet  Mr.  J. 
Archibald  McKackney,  whom  I  know,  by 
reputation  of  course,  for  his  famous  Whisker 
Collections." 

The  conscientious  Wilkins  protested  that 
his  young  acquaintance  was  ineligible,  be- 
cause his  face  was  as  smooth  as  a  hard- 


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boiled  egg,  and  |>ro- 
nounced  him  to  be  a 
"fiddle  without  any 
strings."  But  this  Mr. 
Arthur  Harrison  G)lby 
was  a  persistent  youth 
and  he  argued  with 
much  spirit,  that  while 
Mr.  Wilkins  was  able  to 
handle  seafaring  folks, 
he  had  already  run 
out  of  this  web-footed 
material  and  was  in- 
vading new  territoiy 
in  which  he  was  apt 
to  "find  seventeen 
kinds  of  trouble."  He 
quoted  Professor  Pea- 
body  as  an  example  of 
the  perils  that  con- 
fronted the  musical  pil- 
grim, and  wound  up 
with  this  proposition: 

"Now,  I  can  guaran- 
tee to  take  care  of  a 
dozen  numbers  on  your 
chart  among  my  own 
acquaintances,  if  you 
will  ring  me  in  as 
assistant  on  the  har- 
monious round-up." 

Wilkins    thought    it 

over  and  finally  wired     ,,.-1    .   •  .•       u 

^.  .         -^  ^  **Airily  twistine  the 

me  the   circumstances  rat-tailed 

with  a  request  for  my 
O.  K.     I  was  glad  to  send  my  approval, 
and  next  day  received  a  note  from  Mr. 
Colby  in  which  he  said: 

"I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  for  your  confidence  in  me.  I  have 
had  a  very  expensive  musical  education 
and  1  realize  the  importance  of  your  under- 
taking. I  promise  on  my  honor  to  spare 
no  pains  to  help  Mr.  Wilkins  assemble  the 
most  harmonious  collection  of  whiskers 
that  ever  sung  together  like  the  morning 
stars." 

Mr.  Colby  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Three 
days  later  Wilkins  found  him  waiting  in  the 
hotel  lobby.  With  him  were  no  less  than 
fifteen  mustached  and  bearded  strangers. 
Most  of  them  were  fashionably  dressed,  al- 
though four  or  ^we  of  these  recruits  looked 
badly  battered  and  seedy.  Before  Wilkins 
could  shout  a  greeting,  this  admirable 
young  Colby  waved  his  bamboo  cane  as  if 


it  had  been  a  baton, 
and  his  fifteen  foltowers 
rose  as  one  man  and 
bowed  with  great  dig- 
nity. They  were  pre- 
sented by  their  leader 
as  "two  full  Ck:taves, 
shy  one  note  \^hich  got 
lost  in  the  shuffle.  He 
was  a  merry  wag  whom 
we  plucked  from  the 
Salvation  Army  bread 
line.  On  the  way  hither 
he  sprinted  for  a  weigh- 
ing machine,  explaining 
that  before  taking  a 
musical  engagement 
he  wanted  to  try  his 
scales." 

Wilkins,  of  course, 
carefully  inspected  the 
company,  compared 
their  individual  whisker 
growths  with  his  charts 
and  checked  them  off 
one  by  one.  The  results 
^  were  so  gratifying  that 
he  asked  Mr.  Colby  to 
"steer  the  whole  sym- 
phony into  the  bar 
and  wet  its  pipes." 
Presently  the  Salvation 

,,    vi        A     c       Army  jester  drifted  in, 
needle-like  ends  of  a  ,  ,i,.,i  •  1^1 

mustache."  ^^^  Wilkms  was  able 

to  tell  Mr.  Colby  that 
twenty-one  of  the  twenty-four  musical 
notes  had  been  secured.  The  remaining 
three,  however,  were  the  "rarest  whiskers 
that  grew  in  these  latitudes,"  according  to 
the  experienced  Wilkins,  and  he  decided  to 
send  Mr.  Colby  ahead  with  his  two  Octaves 
for  speedy  delivery.  He  himself  would  stay 
behind  and  endeavor  to  run  down  the  three 
missing  notes.  Mr.  Colby  explained  that 
ten  of  his  followers  were  personal  friends 
and  relatives  of  his  who  had  been  selected 
from  the  club  windows  of  Boston.  "They 
will  be  missed,  because  they  were  distinctly 
decorative,"  he  added. 

From  the  end  of  the  bar  there  came  the 
subdued  harmony  of  an  impromptu  quar- 
tette singing: 

"There's  music  in  the  Hair-r-r." 

Wilkins  opined  that  it  was  time  to  move, 
and  Mr.  Colby  promised  to  deliver  two 


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Octaves  at  their  destination  in  ship-shape 
order.  1  will  say  for  Mr.  Colby  that  he  did 
deliver  his  consignment  intact,  but  their 
arrival  at  my  place  was  unpleasantly 
spectacular.  From  the  railroad  station 
they  marched  into  my  ground  in  column 
of  twos  with  half  the  village  at  their  heels. 
Mr.  Colby's  elderly  Harvard  friends  and 
uncles  had  festooned  their  whiskers  with 
bows  of  crimson  ribbon  and  at  frequent 
intervals  •  they  shouted  a  stentorian  cheer 
which  wound  up  with: 

"Whiz-z-z,  Whee-e,  Bing  Boom  Ah-h. 
We're  the  /^1-i-an  Orchestra-a." 

I  succeeded  in  quieting  this  disturbance 
and  showed  these  two  fortissimo  Octaves  to 
their  quarters  in  the  annex.  No  sooner 
were  they  off  my  hands  than  Captain  Jona- 
than Rust  was  setting  the  dormitory  by 
the  ears.  He  was  an  old  sea-dog  and  a 
confounded  nuisance,  and  I  had  reason  to 
wish  that  I  might  strangle  him  in  his  bari- 
tone whiskers.  First  he  took  offense  at 
the  harmless  Portuguese  sea-cook  and 
demanded  that  he  be  removed  to  other 
quarters.  The  old  curmudgeon  made  a 
social  issue  of  eating  at  the  same  table  with 
a  man  whom  he  would  feel  at  liberty  to 
kick  the  length  of  a  deck,  and  whittled  out 
several  wooden  belaying-pins  which  he 
hurled  at  the  head  of  the  panicky  Portu- 
guese. Then  he  insisted  that  the  company 
should  be  divided  into  two  watches  for  the 
sake  of  discipline.  A  musical  crank  argued 
that  the  natural  division  was  into  the  three 
Octaves,  and  these  two  quarreled  night  and 
day.  Some  of  the  others  took  sides,  and  1 
was  in  mortal  fear  that  they  would  fall 
to  pulling  each  other's  whiskers  and  wreck 
their  tonal  values. 

On  top  of  these  trials,  the  able  seaman 
Peter  O'Dwyer  persisted  in  making  fish- 
nets for  diversion.  Of  course  he  had  to 
upset  a  bucket  of  tar  in  his  whiskers  and 
Heaven  only  knew  whether  I  could  get 
him  cleaned  up  in  time  for  the  first  re- 
hearsal. When  Mr.  Colby  and  his  friends 
were  not  playing  golf  they  started  fresh 
rows  between  old  Rust,  the  musical  crank. 


and  the  Portuguese  cook  and  egged  them 
on  with  Harvard  cheers.  I  breathed  a 
prayer  of  fervent  thanksgiving  when  Wil- 
kins  wired  that  he  was  en  route  with  the 
twenty-fourth  prize  in  tow.  This  musical 
fragment  was  an  Irish  stevedore  with  a  coy 
and  peerless  fringe  sprouting  from  be- 
neath his  smooth-shaven  chin.  1  was  so 
glad  to  see  Wilkins  that  I  included  this  Mr. 
O'Hara  in  my  effusive  greeting  at  the  sta- 
tion. The  old  gentleman  was  ill  at  ease 
and  backed  away  from  me  as  he  croaked : 

"  Your  fifty  dollars  is  in  me  pants,  and 
I'd  go  half  way  to  Hell  for  twice  as  much  as 
that.  But  rU  be  ready  to  lep  through  a 
windy  if  you  do  begin  talkin'  to  yourself 
and  makin'  faces  at  me.  Mister  Wilkins 
here  says  he  will  give  me  a  job  on  the  high 
C's.  1  sailed  thim  when  a  lad,  but  they 
was  niver  like  this." 

Mr.  O'Hara  was  cheered  to  find  several 
salt-water  comrades  in  the  dormitory  and 
the  forceful  presence  of  Wilkins  soon  re- 
moved the  discords  from  what  he  called 
my  "human  anthems."  In  the  evening  I 
summoned  my  able  assistant  to  the  library 
and  congratulated  him  upon  his  brilliantly 
successful  pilgrimage.  My  hasty  survey 
of  the  tout  ensemble  led  me  to  believe  that 
the  material  for  my  unique  Hirsute  Or- 
chestra was  ready  to  be  classified  and 
tuned.  Wilkins  reported  that  Captain 
Rust  had  suddenly  become  nervous  about 
the  danger  of  fire  among  the  luxuriant 
growths  of  whiskers  gathered  in  the  dormi- 
tory and  had  tried  to  place  an  embargo 
on  smoking.  1  ordered  Wilkins  to  equip 
the  old  man  with  a  dozen  hand  grenades 
and  a  chemical  extinguisher  and  to  appoint 
him  chrfef  of  the  fire  department,  and  then 
I  took  up  the  more  important  subject  of 
assembling  the  orchestra  in  my  laboratory 
for  preliminary  practice. 

"Have  the  full  three  Octaves  here  at  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  Wilkins,"  I 
said  in  parting.  "  You  and  I  are  on  the  eve 
of  a  marvelous  revelation,** 

"All  we  need  is  a  fair  wind,  sir,"  sol- 
emnly spoke  the  faithful  fellow  from  the 
doorway. 


( The  second  tale  of  a  Collector  of  IVbiskers  will  describe  further  adventures  of  the  Hirsute  Orchestra 
under  the  title  of  "The  Bearded  Peasant's  Revenge.") 


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SIMON   KENTON,  SCALP  HUNTER 

BY   LYNN    TEW   SPRAGUE 


DRAWING   BY  STANLEY  M.   ARTHURS 


IF  our  early  backwoodsmen 
Daniel  Boone,  "the 
Father  of  Kentucky,"  is 
perhaps  the  most  cele- 
brated. He,  more  than 
any  of  the  others,  pos- 
sessed those  characteris- 
tics which  endear,  and  he  remained  a 
backwoodsman  to  the  end.  When  set- 
tlers in  Kentucky  had  become  numerous 
enough  to  divest  life  of  its  peril  he  moved 
west  into  Missouri  that  he  might  con- 
tinue to  kill  big  game,  scalp  Indians  and 
dwell  in  the  midst  of  border  alarms. 
Though  a  mighty  hunter  and  an  eager  and 
skillful  Indian  fighter,  he  was  not  rash, 
boastful  or  bloodthirsty.  On  the  con- 
trary he  was  a  cool-headed,  kind-hearted, 
gentle,  intelligent  man,  as  modest  as  he 
was  fearless,  and  as  chary  of  words  as  he 
was  prolific  of  deeds. 

But  among  his  friends  there  in  the  Ken- 
tucky wilderness  were  men  equally  brave, 
who,  though  by  no  means  so  lovable,  sur- 
passed him  in  many  of  the  things  that  won 
him  distinction.  The  energetic,  theatrical 
and  boastful  Clark  was  much  his  superior  in 
mental  capacity  and  as  a  leader  of  men,  and 
Boone's  particular  friend  and  scout — the 
rash  and  foolhardy  Simon  Kenton — in  point 
of  romantic  adventure  and  hairbreadth 
escapes  perhaps  leads  all  the  other  fighters 
of  the  old  frontier.  We  smile  at  the 
memory  of  the  deeds  of  the  heroes  in  the 
dime  novels  that  Munroe  and  Beadle  used 
to  print,  but  when  we  have  read  old  Si- 
mon's life  we  are  willing  to  believe  that 
their  hackwriters  possessed  some  sense  of 
sobriety  and  restraint.  Of  course  the 
point  of  view  is  everything  in  looking  at 
Simon's  career.  Fill  your  mind  with  the 
theoretical,  pleasant  humanitarianism  of 
to-day,  with  sympathy  for  the  wronged  and 


innocent  red  children  of  the  forest,  and 
Simon  becomes  a  mere  cutthroat  and 
horse-thief.  But  drift  back  in  fancy  to 
Simon's  own  time  and  dwell  in  a  wilderness 
swarming  with  fierce  and  unspeakable  red 
devils  who  seek  your  scalp  for  a  trophy  and 
your  body  for  a  barbecue,  and  Simon  be- 
comes a  very  Bayard.  Of  one  thing  we 
may  be  certain.  None  of  the  seemingly  in- 
sufferable agonies  that  Simon  as  an  Indian 
fighter  stoically  endured  arose  from  the 
tough  old  hero's  conscience. 

Kenton  sprang  from  the  most  common 
stock,  the  poor  whites  of  the  South.  The 
date  of  his  birth  is  only  approximately 
known,  1755  being  the  most  probable  year. 
It  was  a  rough  time  and  the  place  of  his 
nativity,  a  little  hamlet  of  Fauquier  County, 
Va.,  was  a  very  raw  community.  Indeed 
democratic  society  was  then  in  the  making, 
and  Simon's  lot  having  been  cast  among  its 
dregs  presents  in  his  youth  no  very  edifying 
pictures.  He  was  no  hothouse  plant,  nor 
was  he  brought  up  on  what  Rudyard 
Kipling  calls  the  "sheltered"  plan.  He 
received  no  early  book  education  and 
never  acquired  any  worth  the  mention. 
To  read  the  simplest  matter  was  always  a 
task.  Among  the  class  to  which  he  be- 
longed to  be  able  to  sign  one's  name  was 
something  of  a  distinction,  and  this  Simon 
acquired,  though  on  a  late  occasion  when 
he  and  a  companion  both  subscribed  to 
land  claims,  there  was  nothing  in  the  pen- 
marks  to  throw  light  upon  the  question 
which  signature  was  his.  But  though 
utterly  unlettered  he  was,  like  all  distin- 
guished frontiersmen,  an  acute  student  of 
the  phenomena  of  the  wilderness.  His 
boyhood  life  was,  of  course,  more  pictur- 
esque than  polite.  Time  softens  and  hal- 
lows, and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  romance 
and  pxjetry  with  which  our  minds  invest 

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the  colonial  life  of  the  bwly  would  prove 
rough  or  mythical  if  that  life  were  experi- 
enced. Young  Simon's  tasks  were  those  of 
a  low-bom,  illiterate  laborer  on  a  wilderness 
clearing;  his  pastimes  were  hunting,  cock- 
fighting,  horse  racing,  gambling,  carousing 
and  fighting,  and  the  last  was  the  chief  in- 
spiration and  pleasure  of  his  type.  Physi- 
cal skill,  endurance  and  prowess — these 
were  the  things  that  commanded  respect  in 
Simon's  day  and  place.  And  what  mills 
of  violence  and  torture  the  old  m^l^es 
were!  To  maul  and  batter  a  victim  till  he 
was  jelly,  to  leave  a  life-mark  of  victory 
upon  the  vanquished,  and  then  to  celebrate 
the  Olympian  event  by  getting  gloriously 
drunk  with  your  friends  on  new  whiskey — 
this  was  fame  and  sport.  It  was  a  tame 
fight  in  which  one  of  the  contestants  did 
not  lose  a  part  of  his  ear,  or  have  his  nose 
bitten  off,  but  the  acme  of  skill  and  power 
lay  in  plucking  out  your  opponent's  eye. 
Indeed,  "eye-gouging,"  as  it  was  called, 
was  a  road  to  glory,  and  the  threat  "I'll 
measure  your  eye-strings"  was  the  highest 
taunt. 

But  barbarous  as  these  fights  were,  there 
was  a  manly  fairness  in  the  code.  At  any 
stage  of  the  contest  one  had  but  to  cry 
"enough,"  and  the  fight  was  done,  but  few 
cared  to  live  under  such  an  imputation  of 
poltroonery.  ^  To  these  gentle  sports,  add 
poverty,  family  feuds  and  profanity,  and 
you  have  a  pleasant  picture  of  border 
amenities  "in  the  good  old  Colony  days 
when  we  lived  under  the  king." 

If  we  seem  to  linger  needlessly  long  over 
Simon's  gentle  boyhood  surroundings,  it  is 
because  his  were  the  early  environments  of 
not  a  few  of  the  famous  frontier  fighters. 
While  Simon  was  a  baby  in  arms  Daniel 
Morgan,  afterward  the  most  gallant  sol- 
dier the  Old  Dominion  gave  to  the  Revolu- 
tion, and,  excepting  Washington,  perhaps 
the  ablest,  was  the  bully  of  two  neighboring 
counties,  and  his  fistic  feats  won  for  the 
town  in  which  he  dwelt  the  nickname  of 
"  Battletown."  And  this  life,  rough,  sav- 
age and  atrocious,  tempered  though  it  was 
with  something  of  the  Saxon  spirit  of  fair- 
ness, still  in  some  degree  survives.  Those 
backward  communities  in  the  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky  mountains  which  are  the 
delight  of  story  writers,  are  not,  as  many 
suppose,  a  new  and  strange  development; 
they  are  isolated,  little  changed   bits  of 


the  same  conditions  that  nurtured  Clark, 
Boone  and  Kenton. 

In  1 77 1  when  Kenton  was  about  sixteen, 
a  fair-haired,  tall  gaunt  boy,  but  a  man  in 
strength  and  vigor  and  by  disposition 
peaceful,  generous  and  kindly  when  not 
aroused,  but  rash,  quick  and  fierce  as  a 
panther  when  his  passions  were  stirred,  he 
fell  in  love.  The  girl  preferred  an  older 
rival.  Simon  expostulated,  and  was  so 
insistent  that  the  presumably  luckier  man 
knocked  him  down  and  beat  him  unmerci- 
fully. This  was  a  double  disgrace,  and 
Simon's  soul  hungered  for  revenge.  Meet- 
ing his  opponent  in  the  forest  path  shortly 
afterward  Simon  proposed  a  final  life  and 
death  struggle.  With  native  promptitude 
and  fairness  both  men  laid  aside  their  guns 
and  fell  to.  In  the  parlance  of  to-day 
Simon  was  "outclassed,"  but  a  demon  was 
in  his  heart.  When  his  rage  was  spent  his 
rival  lay  bruised  and  limp  and  as  one  dead. 
This  somewhat  sobered  Simon.  Eye- 
gouging  might  be  sport,  but  the  murder  of  a 
fellow  white  was  an  embarrassing  incon- 
venience. He  tried  to  arouse  his  victim 
but  failed.  Then  with  that  instinctive 
sense  of  justice,  for  which,  according  to  his 
rough  view  of.  life  he  was  always  noted,  he 
unstrapped  his  belt  and  laid  it  beside  the 
man,  that  no  one  else  should  suffer  sus- 
picion, and  shouldering  his  gun  he  turned 
his  back  to  home  and  hamlet  and  set  out 
for  the  mountains  to  the  west.  Simon's 
backwoods  life  had  now  begun,  and  of  all 
the  "Long-knives"  not  one  was  to  pass 
through  such  a  terrible  ordeal  of  thrilling 
adventure  and  indescribable  suffering. 

An  expert  hunter,  he  for  weeks  wandered 
along  the  western  slopes  of  the  Alleghenies^ 
suffering  hardships,  privations  and  loneli- 
ness, and  then  his  powder  being  low  he 
drifted  to  th.e  neighborhood  of  Fort  Pitt, 
and  under  the  name  of  Simon  Butler 
mingled  again  with  his  kind.  He  hunted 
and  trapped  and  led  a  vagabond  life  until 
meeting  with  another  young  man  of  like 
taste  and  training,  who  bore  the  name 
Yeager,  he  heard  from  his  new  friend  tales 
of  a  fabulous  land  down  the  Ohio.  Yeager 
had  been  captured  by  the  Indians  as  a 
child,  and  had  lived  with  savages  in  Ohio 
for  a  number  of  years  before  he  escaped. 
With  this  wandering  tribe  he  had  visited 
what  recollection  aided  by  fancy  pictured 
as  an  enchanted  region  south  of  the  great 

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river,  and  ever  since  his  freedom  he  had 
longed  to  see  and  verify  this  El  Dorado. 
Simon  was  carried  away  by  his  friend's 
glowing  account,  and  with  another  adven- 
turous spirit  named  Strader  they  launched 
a  scow  upon  the  Ohio  and  started  to  explore 
the  then  unknown  region  of  wild  cane 
which  had  come  to  be  known  as  Kain- 
tuck-ee.  All  this  undefined,  unexplored 
and  fertile  region  was  then  claimed  by  the 
province  of  Virginia.  It  was  not  the  fixed 
home  of  any  tribe,  but  the  Indians  both  to 
the  north  and  to  the  south  were  accustomed 
to  kill  game  there  and  it  was  regarded  by 
the  native  races  as  a  sort  of  neutral  hunting 
ground.  Simon  and  his  companions  were 
the  first  white  men  to  see  much  of  the 
northern  part  of  the  country.  Boone  and 
his  brother  had  previously  penetrated  the 
eastern  part  and  two  or  three  other  men 
had  made  some  explorations  along  the 
river,  but  as  yet  in  all  of  what  is  now  Ken- 
tucky, there  was  no  settlement. 

The  three  friends  found  no  enchanted 
region,  but  Simon  was  greatly  impressed 
with  the  beauty  and  fertility  of  the  country 
and  with  its  abundance  of  game.  They 
hunted  and  trapped,  and  when  cold 
weather  began,  returned  up  the  river. 
Subsequently  in  the  mountainous  district 
to  the  east,  whether  in  what  is  now  Ken- 
tucky or  West  Virginia  is  uncertain,  they 
were  surprised  one  night  in  camp  by  a 
party  of  Indians.  Strader  was  killed  and 
Simon  and  Yeager  fled  without  their  guns. 
For  three  days  the  two  friends  wandered 
in  the  mountainous  wilderness  unarmed, 
pursued  by  savages,  and  almost  dying  of 
hunger  and  fatigue.  At  length,  utterly 
exhausted,  they  crawled  into  the  camp  of  a 
party  of  traders  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 
This  was  Simon's  first  Indian  adventure. 

Returning  now  to  the  border  settlements 
he  learned  from  a  chance  acquaintance  that 
the  victim  of  his  youthful  jealousy  had  not 
died,  but  had  survived  his  cruel  mauling 
and  married  the  bewitching  beauty  of  his 
native  hamlet.  So  Simon  took  again  his 
legal  name,  and  breathed  easier. 

The  next  two  years  he  hunted  and 
trapped  in  the  western  slopes  of  the  Alle- 
ghenies,  gaining  a  deeper  knowledge  of 
woodcraft  and  Indian  customs,  and  waxing 
stronger  and  more  resourceful.  In  the 
region  where  he  wandered  he  became 
known  as  an  unerring  shot,  a  swift  runner 


and  a  man  of  great  muscular  power  and 
untiring  energy.  He  had  the  eye  of  an 
eagle  and  was  so  cunning  at  hiding  or  find- 
ing a  trail,  and  knew  so  well  all  the  signs  of 
the  forest  that  when  later  an  expedition 
was  projected  by  Virginia  down  the  Ohio, 
he  was  engaged  asy  guide  and  scout.  But 
rumors  of  Indian  hostilities  brought  about 
by  the  treacherous  murder  by  the  whites 
of  the  chief  Bald  Eagle,  and  of  the  family 
of  the  thrice-wronged  chief  Logan,  com- 
pelled the  abandonment  of  this  expedition. 
Shawnees,  Wyandots,  Miamis,  Delawares 
and  part  of  the  Iroquois  were  now  on  the 
warpath.  In  Lord  Dunmore's  war  which 
followed,  Simon  acted  as  a  scout,  having 
for  his  colleague  the  celebrated  renegade, 
Simon  Girty,  and  the  skill,  activity,  en- 
durance and  sagacity  he  displayed  brought 
him  high  commendation. 

In  1774  at  the  close  of  the  war  he  found, 
after  the  excitement  of  Indian  battle,  that 
trapping  and  hunting  were  a  boy's  tame 
sports,  so  in  company  with  a  bold  kindred 
spirit  named  Williams,  the  credulous 
Simon  embarked  once  more  on  the  Ohio 
and  set  forth  to  find  the  Arcadia  for  which 
he  and  Yeager  had  vainly  searched.  After 
voyaging  for  some  weeks  upon  the  river 
they  landed  on  one  occasion  near  the 
mouth  of  Cabin  Creek,  and  hiding  their 
boat  in  the  bushes,  started  inland  to  hunt. 
And  so  it  happened  that  Simon  was  the 
discoverer  of  the  district  known  as  the 
"Blue  Grass  Region"  of  Kentucky.  He 
found  it  in  May,  1775,  ^"^  ^^^  beauty  of 
its  verdure  and  topography  left  no  doubt 
in  his  mind  that  at  length  he  was  in  the 
enchanted  land  of  Yeager's  dreams.  This 
he  resolved  should  be  his  home.  Simon 
at  twenty  was  now  a  pioneer  of  Kentucky. 
He  and  Williams  cleared  a  small  plot  and 
planted  some  com  which  they  had  brought. 
For  some  months  they  dwelt  peacefully  in 
their  pleasant  home.  The  Indians,  they 
supposed,  had  been  thoroughly  cowed  by 
the  punishment  Colonel  Lewis  had  adminis- 
tered in  Lord  Dunmore's  war.  In  the  late 
summer  when  hunting  they  discovered 
near  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  two  exhausted 
white  men  who  had  lost  their  boat  in  the 
river.  One  of  these  they  persuaded  to  re- 
main in  their  fertile  land.  The  other,  after 
recuperating,  resolved  to  tramp  back  to  the 
eastern  settlements.  So  Simon  and  Wil- 
liams started  on  the  first  day's  journey  with 

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him  to  set  him  right,  leaving  their  new 
recruit  in  charge  of  the  camp.  Returning 
the  third  day,  a  sight  that  dismayed  them 
met  their  eyes.  Their  camp  was  plundered 
and  destroyed  and  their  new  friend  was 
gone.  As  they  stood  wondering  amid  the 
ruins  of  their  camp,  they  espied  smoke  rising 
from  a  near-by  hollow.  Indians  were  un- 
doubtedly near.  Simon  was  not  yet  the 
crafty  and  accomplished  Indian  killer  that 
he  subsequently  became,  and  at  the  sight 
he  and  Williams  withdrew  somewhat 
hastily.  But  gathering  courage,  the  next 
day  they  stealthfully  returned  in  the  hope 
of  rescuing  the  captive.  They  had  fol- 
lowed the  trail  but  a  little  way,  however, 
before  they  found  the  remains  of  the  man 
so  mutilated  as  to  show  that  he  had  died 
a  horrible  death  at  the  stake.  And  now 
Simon  became  convinced  that  as  yet 
agriculture  was  attended  with  risks  and  in- 
convenience in  this  promising  land  that  he 
had  found.  Turning  his  back  upon  it  for 
the  present,  he  and  Williams  made  their 
way  east  and  joined  a  small  fortified  post 
called  Hinckston  on  one  of  the  branches  of 
the  Licking.  But  the  savages  were  aroused 
and  hostile  again,  resenting  the  encroach- 
ment of  the  whites  on  their  hunting  ground, 
and  this  and  other  small  settlements  were 
also  abandoned.  And  now  Simon  drifted 
first  to  Harrodstown  and  later  to  Boons- 
boro,  at  the  latter  place  meeting  Boone 
for  the  first  time.  These  two  stockaded 
settlements  were,  excepting  Logan's  sta- 
tion, the  only  ones  left  in  the  Kentucky 
region.  This  was  in  the  fall  of  the  year 
1775.  Simon  fell  at  once  under  Boone's 
spell,  and  Boone  in  his  turn  recognized  in 
Simon  a  man  after  his  own  heart,  trusty 
and  resourceful,  but  fearless  to  the  point  of 
folly.  While  at  Hinckston  he  had  met 
Clark  and  had  acted  as  his  guide,  as  we 
have  shown  in  our  account  of  Clark's  ex- 
ploits. It  was  a  strenuous  life  these 
pioneers  led,  trying  to  wrest  a  living  from 
the  untamed  wilderness.  The  Revolu- 
tionary War  had  begun  and  the  English 
were  fomenting  the  war  spirit  among  the 
savages.  Clark  had  been  appointed  by  the 
Virginia  legislature  the  military  commander 
of  the  Kentucky  frontiers,  and  his  ambi- 
tious spirit  had  already  dreamed  of  the 
conquest  of  the  British  posts  to  the  north- 
west. In  accordance  with  Clark's  plan  of 
protection  each  of  the  three  posts  in  Ken- 


tucky named  two  scouts  who  were  to  watch 
the  south  side  of  the  Ohio  and  give  alarm  of 
Indian  raids.  Boone  at  once  appointed 
Kenton.  To  be  chosen  from  among  the 
hardy  backwoodsmen  for  the  most  adroit 
and  dangerous  service  argued  rare  prowess 
and  resource  on  the  part  of  Kenton,  and 
amply  did  he  justify  the  selection.  Scarce- 
ly a  week  now  passed  without  a  brush  with 
prowling  savages,  and  the  perilous  missions 
he  undertook  into  dangerous  regions  read 
like  wild  border  fiction.  His  frays,  esca- 
pades and  escapes  may  not  be  detailed  in 
our  restricted  space,  but  a  few  picturesque 
examples  may  be  related.  One  of  the 
most  romantic  of  his  early  adventures  had 
to  do  intimately  with  Boone  himself.  In 
an  artless  and  trustworthy  little  history  of 
Kentucky,  printed  more  than  half  a  century 
ago,  when  men  who  had  talked  with  Ken- 
ton were  still  living,  we  read  that  "early  on 
the  morning  of  the  4th  of  July  (1777)  while 
Kenton  and  two  others,  who  had  loaded 
their  guns  for  a  hunt,  were  standing  in  the 
gate  of  the  fort  at  Boonsboro,  two  men 
in  the  fields  adjacent  were  fired  on  by  the 
Indians.  They  immediately  fled,  not  being 
hurt.  The  Indians  pursued  them,  and  a 
warrior  overtook  and  tomahawked  one  of 
the  men  within  seventy  yards  of  the  fort, 
and  proceeded  leisurely  to  scalp  him. 
Kenton  shot  the  daring  savage  dead,  and 
immediately  with  his  hunting  companions 
gave  chase  to  the  others.  Boone,  hearing 
the  reports  of  firearms,  hastened  with  ten 
men  to  the  relief  of  Kenton.  The  latter 
turned,  and  observed  an  Indian  taking  aim 
at  the  party  of  Boone;  quick  as  thought  he 
brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  pulled  the 
trigger  first  and  the  redman  bit  the  dust. 
Boone,  having  advanced  some  distance, 
now  discovered  that  his  party,  consisting 
of  fourteen  men  in  all,  was  cut  off  from  the 
fort  by  a  large  body  of  the  enemy,  who  had 
got  between  him  and  the  gate.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  lost;  Boone  gave  the  word, 
'Right  about— fire — charge!'  and  the 
intrepid  hunters  dashed  in  among  their 
adversaries  in  a  desperate  endeavor  to 
reach  the  fort.  At  the  first  fire  of  the 
Indians,  seven  of  the  fourteen  whites  were 
wounded,  and  among  the  number  the  gal- 
lant Boone,  who,  his  leg  being  broken,  fell 
to  the  ground.  An  Indian  sprang  on  him 
with  uplifted  tomahawk,  but  before  the 
blow   descended   Kenton   rushed    on   the 


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"Before  the  blow  descended  Kenton  rushed  on  the  warrior  and  Drawing  by  suniey  m.  Arthu«. 

discharged  his  gun  into  his  breast." 


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warrior,  discharged  his  gun  into  his  breast, 
and  bore  his  leader  into  the  fort.  When 
the  gate  was  closed  and  all  things  secure, 
Boone  sent  for  Kenton,  and  said  to  him: 
'Well,  Simon,  you  have  behaved  yourself 
like  a  man  to-day — indeed  you  are  a  fine 
fellow.'  This  was  great  praise  from 
Boone,  who  was  a  taciturn  man,  and  little 
given  to  compliment.  Kenton  had  cer- 
tainly fully  earned  the  brief  eulogium;  he 
had  saved  the  life  of  his  captain,  and  killed 
three  Indians  with  his  own  hand.  The 
enemy,  after  keeping  up  the  siege  for  three 
days,  retired.  It  is  characteristic  that 
when  all  the  others  were  rejoicing  at  their 
deliverance,  Simon  was  found  lamenting 
because  the  Indians  had  carried  off  their 
dead,  and  he  was  therefore  unable  to 
gather  the  scalps  of  any  of  his  victims." 

It  was  shortly  after  this  episode  that 
Simon  accompanied  Boone  on  an  expedi- 
tion against  some  Indian  villages  just  north 
of  the  Ohio.  As  usual  he  had  scouted  on 
ahead,  and  as  he  was  stealthfully  picking 
his  way  through  some  canebrake  he  heard 
the  voices  of  Indians.  He  crouched  down, 
and  soon  saw  two  savages  approaching, 
mounted  on  a  single  pony.  Now  the 
usages  of  civilized  warfare  were  but  little 
more  observed  by  the  backwoodsmen  than 
by  the  redmen,  and  Simon  eagerly  coveted 
the  scalps  of  the  two  warriors.  So  he 
brought  his  long,  trusty  rifle  to  his  shoulder 
for  a  "double."  The  ball  killed  the  Indian 
riding  in  front,  penetrating  his  breast  and 
saverely  wounding  the  other  Indian. 
Simon  bounded  from  his  hiding-place, 
knife  in  hand,  but  as  he  was  about  to 
gather  his  ghastly  trophies  he  heard  a 
rustle  in  the  canebrake  behind  him,  and 
turning  saw  he  was  covered  by  the  guns 
of  two  other  Indians.  But  Simon  was  as 
alert  as  he  was  cool-headed.  He  leaped  to 
one  side  just  as  the  savages  fired,  and  then 
flew  to  the  cover  of  trees.  And  now  other 
Indians  came  rushing  to  the  scene.  Simon 
hastily  reloaded  and  killed  another  warrior 
just  as  Boone  and  his  men,  alarmed  by  the 
shots,  came  to  the  rescue.  A  sharp  skir- 
mish followed,  but  the  Indians  finally 
gave  way,  and  Simon  gathered  his  scalps. 
Boone  pushed  on  a  little  farther,  but  con- 
cluded that  as  the  Indians  were  alarmed 
and  re-enforced  it  was  wise  to  return  to  the 
protection  of  Boonsboro.  Simon,  how- 
ever, chose  to  remain  behind  in  the  hope 


of  gathering  more  scalps.  On  the  second 
night  he  came  upon  an  Indian  trail,  and  fol- 
lowing it  craftily  found  the  camp  of  four 
warriors,  and  while  they  were  sleeping  was 
able  to  steal  their  horses  and  make  a  suc- 
cessful retreat  with  his  prizes  to  Boons- 
boro. Stealing  the  Indians'  horses,  next 
to  lifting  their  scalps,  was  Simon's  chief 
passion,  and  it  was  later  to  bring  him  to 
grief. 

And  now  Simon  joined  Colonel  Clark 
in  that  epoch-making  expedition  which 
achieved  the  conquest  of  the  Illinois  region, 
and  which  we  have  previously  outlined. 
He  did  not,  however,  remain  through  all 
the  fighting.  Clark  used  him  as  a  scout — 
Simon  at  one  time  passing  through  Vin- 
cennes  while  that  post  was  held  by  the 
British,  and  making  his  escape  with  the 
information  desired  by  his  Colonel  on  a 
stolen  horse — and  later  sent  him  back  to 
the  Ohio  with  dispatches.  His  reputation 
was  by  this  time  as  great  among  the  In- 
dians as  among  the  whites.  Roosevelt  in 
his  ''Winning  of  the  West"  speaks  of 
Kenton  as  "the  bane  of  every  neighbor- 
ing tribe  and  renowned  all  along  the 
border  for  his  deeds  of  desperate  prowess, 
his  wonderful  adventures  and  his  hair- 
breadth escapes." 

But  evil  days  lay  just  ahead  of  him.  In 
the  fall  of  1778  that  Colonel  Bowman  who 
had  been  Clark's  chief  lieutenant,  planned 
an  expedition  against  some  Shawnee 
villages  north  of  the  Ohio,  and  sent  Simon 
and  two  other  scouts,  one  named  Mont- 
gomery and  the  other  Clark,  to  gather 
what  information  they  could.  The  spies 
penetrated  the  wilderness  and  reached  the 
Indian  town  of  Chilicothe.  They  lay  con- 
cealed during  the  day  and  about  midnight 
Simon  entered  the  town,  explored  its 
crooked  streets  and  counted  the  wigwams. 
As  he  was  leaving,  ill  luck  led  him  upon  a 
corral  of  all  the  Indian  horses,  and  the 
reckless  idea  of  stealing  them  all  thrilled 
his  daring  mind.  His  companions  were 
dare-devils  like  himself.  The  three  crawled 
into  the  pound,  each  mounted  a  horse,  and 
then  with  sudden  lashings  and  cries  suc- 
ceeded in  stampeding  the  drove  of  nearly 
one  hundred  animals.  Of  course  the  whole 
village  was  aroused.  Dogs  barked,  squaws 
screamed,  and  warriors  seized  tomahawks 
and  guns  and  howled  wild  war-whoops.  As 
soon  as  the  braves  could  discover  what  had 


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291 


happened  they  bounded  to  the  pursuit. 
But  Simon  and  his  friends  were  now  well 
under  way,  and  the  swiftest  Indian  was  no 
match  for  a  horse's  speed.  The  country 
was  a  clear  prairie,  and  the  three  scouts  and 
their  band  of  horses,  leaving  their  red 
pursuers  far  behind,  reached  the  banks  of 
the  Ohio  River  the  next  morning.  But  a 
difficulty  awaited  them  here.  The  river 
was  rough  and  they  could  not  get  the 
horses  to  enter  the  stream.  Simon's  two 
friends  were  for  abandoning  all  but  one 
animal  each,  but  Simon  persuaded  them  to 
wait  a  little  in  the  hopes  of  calm  water. 
No  danger  would  induce  him  to  abandon 
his  living  plunder.  But  the  savages  were 
hot  on  the  trail.  In  a  few  hours  the  first 
of  the  Indians  came  up.  The  scouts  tried 
to  shoot,  but  their  powder  was  wet  with 
the  river  water,  so  they  each  mounted  a 
horse  and  fled.  But  mounted  Indians  who 
had  caught  abandoned  horses  gained  on 
Montgomery,  and  Simon  turned  back  to 
his  help.  Montgomery  was  shot,  and 
Simon  himself  taken  prisoner.  Clark  es- 
caped. The  harrowing  details  of  Simon's 
captivity  are  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on.  He 
was  first  beaten  with  sticks  until  he  was 
nearly  senseless;  then  he  was  tied  naked 
upon  the  back  of  an  unbroken  horse,  and 
the  animal  was  raced  through  brambles, 
so  that  his  flesh  was  horribly  torn.  At 
night  he  was  staked  out  in  a  most  painful 
manner,  so  that  he  could  move  neither 
hand  nor  foot.  When  he  reached  the 
Indian  village  he  was  made  to  run  the 
gauntlet,  and  such  was  his  speed  and  en- 
durance that  he  reached  the  Council  House 
without  being  killed.  He  was  now  allowed 
a  brief  respite.  But  on  succeeding  days  he 
was  led  to  other  villages  that  all  the  tribe 
might  see  the  celebrated  white  brave  and 
take  a  hand  in  his  punishment.  At  each 
village  he  was  tied  to  a  stake  and  beaten  by 
squaws  and  children.  It  was  proposed  to 
burn  him  later.  On  his  cruel  pilgrimage  be- 
tween the  villages  he  once  made  his  escape. 
Owing  to  his  wonderful  physical  powers 
and  speed  he  got  clear  of  his  pursuers,  but 
unfortunately  ran  into  another  party  of 
Indians,  and  being  unarmed  and  exhausted 
was  of  course  captured.  Two  different 
councils  sentenced  him  to  the  stake.  Once 
when  his  face  was  painted  black,  in  sign  of 
his  doom,  and  all  preparations  were  made, 
he  was  saved  for  the  moment  by  his  old 


companion  in  Lord  Dunmore's  war,  the 
renegade  Girty,  who  happened  to  be  in  the 
Indian  village.  At  another  time  the  great 
chief  Lx>gan  interceded  out  of  admiration 
for  his  bravery. 

At  length  a  party  of  British  traders  pre- 
vailed upon  the  savages  to  allow  them  to 
ransom  Simon  and  take  him  to  Detroit, 
saying  that  the  British  governor  wished  to 
gain  information  concerning  American  set- 
tlements in  Kentucky,  and  promising  to  re- 
turn Simon  for  further  torturous  pastimes; 
a  promise,  however,  which  they  had  no 
intention  of  fulfilling.  At  Detroit  the  hardy 
Simon  recovered  from  his  terrible  injuries, 
but  had  to  work  like  a  convict.  In  a  few 
weeks,  however,  in  company  with  two 
other  Kentucky  captives,  he  succeeded  in 
making  his  escape.  A  young  squaw  who 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Simon  secured  guns 
for  the  three.  They  got  clear  of  the  British 
fort  and  made  their  way  straight  through 
the  hostile  Indian  country,  having  stirring 
adventures  and  being  twice  nearly  cap- 
tured, but  in  the  end  reaching  Kentucky 
in  safety. 

After  such  mishaps  and  sufferings  one 
would  think  that  Simon  would  have  been 
contented  to  keep  within  the  protection  of 
the  settlements  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  But 
as  soon  as  he  was  rested  from  his  perilous 
journey  he  started  for  the  Illinois  country 
to  visit  his  old  leader  Clark  at  Vincennes, 
and  had  one  or  two  thrilling  adventures 
on  the  way.  Later  we  find  him  fighting 
Indians  and  making  raids  at  the  head  of 
a  small  band  of  frontiersmen.  Clark  had 
made  him  a  captain  of  border  fighters,  but 
he  was  always  more  successful  as  an  indi- 
vidual scalp  hunter.  For  a  short  time  he 
settled  in  the  Blue  Grass  region  which  he 
had  discovered,  and  built  there  a  small 
stockade;  but  Simon  could  no  more  keep 
to  a  humdrum  life  than  a  duck  can  keep  to 
dry  land. 

In  1870  when  Clark  led  his  Kentuckians 
against  theShawnees,  Kenton,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  volunteered.  At  Pickaway  he 
was  the  maddest  fighter  in  the  van.  At 
this  village  he  had  suffered  horribly  during 
his  captivity,  and  now  he  had  the  gratifica- 
tion of  helping  to  burn  and  plunder  it.  He 
served  with  Clark  to  the  end  of  that  leader's 
fighting  career.  Simon  simply  could  not 
keep  away  from  Indian  troubles,  and  so  he 
took  service  with  General   Wayne   when 


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that  commander  achieved  his  great  victory 
of  the  Fallen  Timbers,  and  as  an  old  man 
Simon  marched  with  Harrison  and  bore  a 
part  in  the  decisive  battle  of  the  Thames 
when  Tecumseh  fell.  He  fought  valiantly, 
even  desperately,  in  the  various  battles 
and  sieges  in  which  he  was  engaged,  but 
won  no  new  laurels.  In  truth  he  was 
less  distinguished  at  fighting  by  rule  and 
with  disciplined  troops,  nor  was  he  a  con- 
spicuous success  as  a  captain  under  Clark, 
but  he  shone  with  a  greater  luster  than 
most  of  his  backwoods  friends  when  left 
entirely  to  his  own  resources.  Give  him 
his  trusty,  long-barreled  gun  and  let  him 
plunge  into  a  wilderness  infested  with 
skulking,  prowling  savages,  and  he  had 
few  equals.  He  was  at  his  best  when 
alone  or  with  but  one  or  two  frontiersmen, 
following  the  trail  of  red  hostiles  or  being 
pursued  by  them.  He  loved  danger  of  this 
kind,  and  was  cunning,  resourceful  and  sa- 
gacious, though  ofttimes  foolishly  brave. 
There  was  no  chance  he  was  not  ready  to 
take  if  an  Indian's  horse  or  scalp  was  to  be 
gained,  and  when  the  peril  was  such  that  he 
could  not  light  a  fire  to  cook  his  food,  or 
so  imminent  as  to  bewilder  and  confuse  the 
faculties  of  most  men,  then  Simon  seems  to 
have  experienced  only  a  stimulating  and 
pleasurable  excitation. 

He  had  married  during  one  of  his  brief 
respites  from  fighting,  and,  familiar  as  he 
was  with  the  whole  country,  had  taken  up 
larg3  tracts  of  the  best  land  of  Kentucky. 
He  supposed  himself  a  rich  man,  as  riches 
went  in  those  days,  and  was  so  generous 
that  he  gave  away  to  friends  several  valu- 
able farms.  But  the  title  to  much  of  his 
property,  owing  to  imperfect  surveys  and 
descriptions,  or  to  carelessness  on  his  part 
in  perifecting  titles,  proved  defective;  and 
swindling  speculators  seem  ever  to  have 
been  on  the  alert  to  take  advantage  of  the 
old  hero's  ignorance  and  simplicity.  He 
found  at  the  end  of  his  fighting  career  that 
he  was  poor,  and  that  even  his  little  log 
shack  stood  upon  ground  claimed  by  an- 
other. He  was  even  arrested  for  debt 
under  the  warranty  clause  of  some  of  his 
conveyances,  and  was  for  a  time  in  jail. 
Old  and  broken,  harassed  by  processes 
that  he  did  not  understand,  he  left  the  now 
prosperous  but  ungrateful  state  and  settled 
in  Ohio,  where  he  dwelt  in  poverty  and 


obscurity.  One  more  public  event  awaited 
him.  In  1824,  when  in  utter  want,  he 
journeyed  to  Frankfort,  the  capital  of  Ken- 
tucky, to  see  if  the  legislature  would  not 
release  one  poor  tract  of  his  land  that  had 
been  forfeited  to  the  state  for  taxes.  The 
ragged  and  broken  old  man  was  at  first 
ridiculed  in  the  streets,  but  was  finally 
recognized  by  a  former  companion  in  arms 
and  a  great  fuss  was  now  made  over  him. 
He  was  escorted  to  the  legislative  hall, 
placed  in  the  speaker's  chair,  and  much 
useless  flummery  and  speeches  about  the 
gallant  pioneers  of  old  were  indulged  in. 
But  the  unsophisticated  Simon  was  made 
happy  by  all  this  empty  distinction,  and 
the  legislature  did  remit  the  taxes  on  a 
tract  of  worthless  mountain  land.  Subse- 
quently a  trifling  pension  of  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year  was 
granted  Kenton,  so  that  he  did  not  have  to 
find  a  refuge  in  a  pauper's  home.  He  died 
in  Logan  County,  Ohio,  in  1836. 

Clark,  Boone,  and  Kenton  are  the  arche- 
types of  distinct  classes  of  Kentucky  pio^ 
neers,  and  it  is  sad  to  relate  that  all  three 
of  them  died  in  indigence.  As  we  have 
said,  Clark  was  far  the  ablest,  and  he  was 
the  only  one  of  all  those  early  backwoods- 
men who  took  a  statesmanlike  view  of 
their  mission  and  clearly  foresaw  the 
measureless  destinies  of  the  West.  Boone 
was  a  natural  leader  of  small  bands  of  hardy 
frontiersmen,  and  may  be  said  to  have 
founded,  and  in  its  early,  crucial  stages,  to 
have  preserved,  the  commonwealth  of  Ken- 
tucky. But  Simon  Kenton  was  the  highest 
and  best  type  of  the  individual  Indian 
fighter,  and  his  life  abounds  in  such  stories 
of  adventure  as  we  have  narrated.  The 
services  of  men  of  his  kind  were  incal- 
culable. They  fought  the  savages  in  the 
only  way  they  could  be  successfully  fought 
in  those  early  times  and  conditions,  with- 
out discipline,  and  after  the  Indians'  own 
method.  Their  lives  were  simple  and  harsh 
and  full  of  peril,  but  they  were  strong,  free, 
loyal  and  fearless,  and  their  deeds  made 
it  possible  for  those  who  followed  them  to 
fell  the  forest,  to  plow  and  plant  and  reap 
in  peace.  Before  those  achievements  of 
"The  Builders"  of  which  Mr.  Paine  so 
graphically  tells  us,  the  ground  everywhere 
had  first  to  be  won  and  held  by  rough 
men  like  Simon  Kenton. 


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THE   NIAGARA   OF    THE   WEST 


BY  CLIFTON   JOHNSON 


PHOTOGRAPHS   BY  THE    AUTHOR 


HE  Shoshone  Falls  on 
the  Snake  River  in  south- 
em  Idaho  rank  among 
the  most  imposing  in  the 
world,  yet  they  have 
received  scant  attention. 
Even  the  railway  officials 
are  woefully  lacking  in  knowledge  of  how 
to  get  to  them. 

I  stopped  off  one  night  at  Shoshone,  sup- 
posing I  was  to  go  next  day  from  there  a 
twenty-five-mile  journey  by  stage  to  the 
falls,  but  I  found  the  stage  had  long  been 
discontinued  and  that  I  must  travel  a 
roundabout  route  by  rail,  a  distance  of  one 
hundred  miles. 

Minidoka  is  the  junction  station  on  the 
main  line,  and  thence  one  has  to  go  by  a 
branch  road  to  Twin  Falls  City.  This 
branch  road  had  been  called  into  existence 
within  a  year  by  irrigation.  The  region  for 
hundreds  of  miles  was  a  sagebrush  plain 
rising  and  falling  in  long  swells  and  broken 
here  and  there  with  ragged  gullies.  But 
an  irrigation  company  was  now  ready  to 
furnish  water  for  three  hundred  thousand 
acres,  and  the  government  was  preparing 
to  supply  a  flow  for  half  as  much  more 
territory.  So  the  entire  fifty  miles  along 
the  railroad  had  suddenly  become  populous 
with  those  who  are  ever  on  the  watch  to 
rush  into  any  district  that  is  opened  up. 

I  saw  the  cabins  of  the  homesteaders 
dotting  the  landscape  far  out  into  the 
dreary  desert  on  either  side  of  the  railroad. 
"When  I  come  here  a  year  ago,"  said  the 
brakeman  on  the  train,  "there  was  nothin' 
doin'  at  all,  and  now  the  country  is  thickly 
settled.  No  crops  will  go  in  this  year  on 
the  government  property,  because  the 
canals  ain't  finished.  The  people  living 
on  the  land  have  no  chance  for  any  present 
income  from  their  claims.    All  they  can  do 


is  to  make  sure  of  'em.  You're  obliged  to 
spend  part  of  your  time  on  your  property 
and  put  up  a  house  and  make  some  im- 
provements. Usually  a  man's  house  is  a 
one-room  shack — just  a  little  board  shed 
as  cheap  as  it  can  be  made.  Even  then  it 
costs  seventy-five  or  one  hundred  dollars, 
for  lumber  is  expensive  and  it  all  has  to 
come  in  by  railroad. 

"About  the  only  work  that  can  be  done 
on  the  land  is  to  grub  up  the  sagebrush  and 
build  fences.  Some  hack  at  the  sagebrush 
by  hand,  but  most  hire  a  machine  which 
claws  it  out  at  a  cost  of  three  dollars  an 
acre.  After  that  job  is  done  the  brush  has 
to  be  piled  up  and  burned.  There  ain't 
many  who  can  afford  to  stay  continually  on 
their  places.  They've  got  to  go  and 
rustle  to  get  money  to  make  payments,  and 
they  put  in  most  of  their  time  workin'  on 
the  railroad,  or  in  some  town,  or  on  a  ranch. 
If  a  man  has  a  family  he  leaves  them  to 
hold  down  the  claim.  I've  got  a  claim 
myself,  and  so  have  several  other  fellows 
workin'  on  the  train. 

"This  country  is  said  to  assay  ninety  per 
cent,  sagebrush  and  sand,  and  ten  per  cent, 
wind.  We  always  get  the  wind  on  such  a 
big  open  plain  as  this,  but  the  soil  is  rich, 
and  as  soon  as  the  crops  are  growing  things 
will  look  very  different.  Some  say  the  hot 
wind  blowing  from  the  desert  will  make  us 
trouble,  and  that  with  the  fine  sand  it 
carries  along  it  will  bruise  the  foliage  of  our 
crops  and  spoil  everything.  The  better  the 
irrigation  is,  they  say,  the  more  tender  the 
crops  will  grow,  and  the  worse  they'll  be 
damaged;  but  I'm  willing  to  risk  it." 

Now  and  then  the  train  stopped  at  a 
little  town  consisting  of  a  cluster  of  shops, 
saloons  and  homes,  all  perfectly  new  and 
distressingly  bare  of  vegetation.  There 
were  no  embowering  trees  and  vines,  and 


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none  of  the  repose  that  comes  with  age. 
Twin  Falls  was  like  the  other  villages,  but 
larger  and  carefully  laid  out  with  broad 
streets,  and  it  even  had  its  public  park. 
Everywhere  in  and  around  the  town  were 
the  irrigation  channels,  some  wide,  some 
narrow,  but  all  of  them  filled  with  a  muddy 
flow  of  water,  and  it  was  this  water  which 
was  to  make  the  dead  desert  a  land  of 
plenty. 

The  town  had  started  in  the  sagebrush 
and  grown  from  nothing  within  about  a 
twelvemonth  to  a  place  of  over  one  thou- 
sand inhabitants.    The  man  who  had  been 
there  a  full   year  was  an  old   settler — a 
pioneer.     This  was  to  be  the  metropolis  of 
the  irrigated  country,  and  it  already  had 
some  quite  substantial  buildings,  and  the 
place  resounded  with  the  blows  of  hammers 
and  the  clink  of  trowels.     As  a  whole,  small 
structures  were  the  predominant  ones,  and 
ircely  larger  than  a 
ox,  were  common, 
ngin  tents, or  in  the 
red  wagon  that  had 
els  and  set  on  the 

ere  seven  miles  dis- 
walk  thither.  The 
rect,  for  I   had  to 

roads  with  which 
lid  off.     An  uneasy 

now  and  then  a 
art  and  catch  up  a 
nes  the  dust  would 
olumn  hundreds  of 
ntly  had  several  of 
ns  in  sight  at  the 

iy  taming  the  land 
ps.  I  noticed  that 
lave  a  heap  of  sage- 
liting  use  as  fuel, 
g  growing  on  the 
tcept  grease  wood," 
"The  greasewood 
ther  have  the  sage 
utts.  A  good  deal 
1  we  depend  on  that 
There  was  spells, 
hen  enough  didn't 
ind  we  had  to  go 
The  pxx)r  families 
ns,  and  when  things 
road  would  leave  a 
e  people  could  help 


themselves  to  what  they  needed.  A  car 
that  was  out  over  night  wouldn't  have 
much  left  in  it  by  morning.  It  was  under- 
stood with  the  constable  that  he  wasn't  to 
watch  very  close  and  was  only  to  arrest 
chronic  swipers  who  would  take  the  coal  to 
saloons  and  sell  it  for  booze." 

From  any  rising  bit  of  ground  on  my 
walk  I  could  see  to  the  north  a  dark, 
irregular  rift  in  the  sagebrush  barren,  and 
I  knew  there  flowed  the  Snake  River.  The 
rift  looked  ominous,  yet  by  no  means  of 
imposing  proportions,  and  1  concluded  that 
any  falls  it  might  contain  would  be  a  dis- 
appointment. At  last  1  left  the  farmlands 
behind,  and  the  road  became  a  narrow  trail 
winding  along  through  a  strewing  of  lava 
blocks.  Then  I  came  to  the  verge  of  the 
canon,  which  seemed  to  have  expanded  as 
if  by  magic  to  a  width  of  half  a  mile,  and 
which  yawned  over  eight  hundred  feet  in 
depth.  Far  down  in  the  chasm  was  the 
great  foaming  waterfall.  1  had  come  from 
the  hot,  silent,  monotonous  prairie,  wholly 
unprepared  either  for  so  magnificent  a 
sight  or  for  the  thunder  of  waters  that 
sounded  in  my  ears.  The  gorge  itself  is  of 
gloomy  volcanic  rock,  devoid  of  any  beauty 
in  color,  but  savagely  impressive  by  reason 
of  its  size  and  also  because  its  columnar  and 
grottoed  walls  and  vast  terraces  are  sugges- 
tive of  the  planning  and  labor  of  some 
titanic  architect  and  builder. 

I  wandered  for  a  considerable  distance 
along  the  verge  of  the  monstrous  gorge,  and 
gazed  down  on  the  misty  fall  from  the 
scarp  of  many  a  projecting  buttress,  some 
of  which  dropped  away  almost  perpendicu- 
larly to  the  dark  stream  at  the  bottom  of 
the  canon.  When  1  at  length  took  advan- 
tage of  a  ravine  to  descend  to  lower  levels 
I  found  the  setting  of  the  falls  became  in- 
creasingly attractive;  for  now  the  rock 
walls  and  black  crags  towered  far  above 
and  made  a  most  inspiring  spectacle.  The 
river  itself  is  a  stream  that  at  the  falls  flows 
a  full  thousand  feet  wide.  Immediately 
above  the  leap  are  rapids  and  lesser  falls, 
while  big  bowlders  and  various  islets  block 
the  way  and  add  to  the  wild  beauty.  The 
vertical  final  drop  is  about  one  hundred  and 
eighty  feet,  and  as  you  watch  the  great 
white  tumult  of  waters  going  down  into  the 
void  of  foam  and  flying  spray  below,  you 
cannot  help  thinking  of  Niagara.  The 
latter  is  not  as  high,  but  it  is  much  broader 

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The  gorge  about  the  Falls  is  of  gloomy  volcanic  rock,  and  savagely  impressive. 

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The  Wandering  Minstrels  of  the  Falls. 

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and  carries  a  far  larger  amount  of  water. 
However,  the  Shoshone  Falls  exhibit  about 
as  much  width  and  power  as  the  mind  can 
comprehend,  and  the  environment  appeals 
to  one  decidedly  more  than  does  the  com- 
monplace level  from  which  the  greater  fall 
makes  its  descent.  The  onlooker  feels 
satisfied  that  here  is  on 3  of  the  noblest 
sights  on  this  continent. 

High  above  the  walls  of  the  gorge  the 
buzzards  soared.  During  the  previous 
winter  the  ground  had  been  pretty  con- 
tinuously covered  with  snow,  and  there  had 
been  much  suffering  among  the  cattle  on 
the  range.  Many  had  died,  and  some  had 
fallen  over  the  cliffs  of  the  canon.  So  the 
buzzards  hovered  about  the  vicinity  in 
force,  for  food  was  plenty.  A  little  apart 
from  the  falls,  on  the  tip  of  an  island  crag, 
an  eagle  had  built  its  nest,  though  the 
casual  observer  would  not  have  thought 
the  rude  heap  of  sticks  was  anything  more 
than  the  broken  tangle  of  a  dead  cedar. 

Somewhat  farther  up  the  river  in  the 
quiet  water  beyond  the  rapids  was  a  clumsy 
flat-bottomed  ferryboat.  As  I  watched  it 
ply  back  and  forth  I  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing what  would  happen  if  the  wire  broke. 
Not  long  ago  the  present  ferryman's  prede- 
cessor, after  imbibing  too  freely  of  whiskey, 
went  over  the  falls  in  his  rowboat,  and  his 
body  was  found  in  the  river  below,  several 
days  later.  One  foolhardy  adventurer 
leaped  from  the  crest  of  the  falls.  He  was 
an  Indian  half-breed,  and  when  a  comrade 
dared  him  to  make  the  jump,  down  he 
went.  However,  he  escaped  with  only  a 
few  bruises,  and  was  at  once  famous.  Some 
showman  arranged  with  him  to  repeat  the 
exploit;  but  while  making  a  tour  with  h«"s 
prot^g^  in  preparation  for  the  event,  the 
half-breed  robbed  his  manager  and  was 
lodged  in  jail. 

On  a  plateau,  close  by  the  falls,  stands  a 
rusty  old  hotel.  There  I  lodged,  and  from 
its  piazza  at  eventide  I  looked  out  on  the 
mists,  rosy  with  the  sunset  light,  hovering 
over  the  mighty  torrent  and  pulsating 
fiercely  in  the  wind,  swaying  and  weaving, 
now  filling  the  canon,  and  again  all  but  dis- 
appearing. The  volume  of  water  in  the 
river  would  be  very  much  greater  in  June, 
the  time  of  flood,  and  the  spray  would  then 
fly  over  the  hotel  like  rain.  On  its  exposed 
side  the  house  was  kept  coated  by  the  spray 

"^  a  grayish  deposit  that  can  only  be 


removed  by  the  use  of  an  acid.  The  glass 
in  the  upper  sashes  of  the  windows  was 
semi-opaque  with  it,  for  as  this  part  of  the 
windows  was  supposed  to  be  hidden  by 
curtains,  the  hotel  people  exerted  them- 
selves no  more  than  to  keep  the  lower 
sash  clean. 

The  ground  quivered  with  the  pounding 
of  the  water,  and  the  hotel  was  in  a  tremble 
and  the  furniture  shaking  all  night.  I  was 
out  early  and  crawled  down  a  narrow  gulch 
among  the  crannied  rocks  to  the  foot  of  the 
falls.  This  was  a  tooth  and  nail  task,  but 
the  view  of  the  roaring  cataract  from  below 
was  well  worth  the  labor.  The  river  here 
was  in  violent  commotion,  and  the  waves 
dashed  on  the  rocky  shore  like  the  breakers 
of  an  angry  sea.  The  scene,  no  doubt,  is 
far  wilder  in  time  of  flood,  yet  the  falls 
must  lose  in  beauty  by  reason  of  the  vast 
volumes  of  obscuring  mist.  The  falls  are 
at  their  worst  in  the  late  summer  and  early 
autumn,  for  then  the  stream  is  so  low  that 
a  large  portion  of  the  precipice  over  which 
it  flows  is  perfectly  bare. 

When  I  left  the  canon  I  found  a  family  of 
travelers  camped  in  a  hollow  among  the 
rocks  a  little  before  my  road  reached  the 
level  of  the  prairie.  They  had  a  covered 
wagon  and  a  tent.  The  man  of  the  family, 
armed  with  a  gun  and  accompanied  by  a 
small  daughter,  was  just  returning  from  a 
walk  through  the  sagebrush.  "  I  never 
bagged  a  thing,"  he  said.  "The  only  wild 
creature  I've  seen  to-day  is  a  coyote.  It 
paid  us  a  visit  a  little  before  sunrise  and 
sat  up  here  on  the  rocks  howling,  and  our 
dog  was  barking  back.  I  opened  the  win- 
dow and  poked  out  my  gun  and  blazed 
away  at  him,  but  he  got  away." 

The  man  adjusted  a  folding  chair  in  the 
shadow  of  his  wagon  and  invited  me  to  sit 
down.  He  said  he  and  his  family  were  all 
musicians  and  they  went  from  town  to 
town  giving  entertainments  and  playing  at 
dances.  The  star  performer  was  his  young- 
est girl  eight  years  old,  and  he  had  her  get 
out  her  violin  and  give  me  a  sample  of  her 
art.  The  music  was  very  pleasing,  for  the 
child  played  sweetly  and  simply  and  with 
delightful  ease.  Best  of  all,  her  music  was 
accompanied  by  the  solemn  melody  of  the 
great  waterfall  in  the  depths  of  the  black 
gorge  that  yawned  close  at  hand.  This 
final  experience  is  one  of  the  most  poetic 
memories  I  have  of  the  Niagara  of  the  West. 


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NO    TROUT    BROOK 


BY   CLARENCE    DEMING 


HE  name  of  the  old  Yankee 
township  was  Edom — a 
scriptural  title  whereto 
hung  a  tradition  per- 
petuated by  the  local 
graybeards.  As  the  an- 
cient tale  ran,  dating  far 
back  in  the  mists  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, there  came  a  time  when  the  resi- 
dents of  a  comer  of  a  big  township — 
originally  bought  from  the  Indians  for 
twelve  flintlock  muskets  and  an  iron 
pot — sought  authority  in  the  General 
G>urt  of  the  colony  to  erect  a  new  town- 
ship of  their  own.  As  it  chanced,  they 
sent  as  petitioners  a  delegation  wearing 
homespun  of  a  strange  hue.  This  stirred 
some  derision  in  the  General  Court,  one  of 
whose  members,  half  in  jest,  flung  at  the 
delegation  the  biblical  query:  "Who  is 
this  that  Cometh  from  Edom  with  dyed 
garments  from  Bozrah?"  The  staid  law- 
makers smiled,  next  took  the  utterance  as 
inspiration  and  urged  Bozrah  for  the  name 
of  the  new  town  as  against  the  local  pref- 
erence for  some  more  secular  title.  Finally 
Edom  was  accepted  as  a  compromise. 
Vainly  will  you  seek  Edom  on  the  map  or  in 
gazetteer.  It  is  there,  but  under  another 
name,  here  masked  in  deference  to  local 
sentiment. 

The  village  of  Edom,  whe.e  focused  the 
social  life  of  the  township,  was  typical  of 
New  England  soil  and  tradition.  It  was 
bunched  closely  around  the  little  central 
green,  flanked  by  two  rival  stores,  the 
gaunt  meeting-house  where  the  congrega- 
tion fed  weekly  on  fiery  dogma,  the  black- 
smith shop  echoing  its  cheery  anvil  solo, 
the  tavern — compound  of  farm  dwelling 
and  boarding  house — and  the  sequence  of 
village  homes  differing  less  in  architecture 
and  size  than  in  residuary  paint.    Thirty 


years  ago  the  village  had  begun  to  take 
on  that  lusterless  and  washed-out  local  tint 
that  marks  the  center  of  the  expiring  New 
England  farm  town  whose  young  bone  and 
sinew  have  merged  in  the  long  procession  of 
sons  of  the  soil  moving  to  the  cities  and  to 
the  West.  But  Edom  had  one  resource 
in  the  nature  of  a  by-product,  albeit  minor 
in  economic  value.  It  stood  near  the  cen- 
ter of  a  region  famed  for  trouting  and 
worthy  of  its  renown.  Nature's  broad 
framework  of  the  village  was  in  every 
quarter  a  rare  medley  of  shaggy  mountain, 
forest  and  dale,  deep  valleys  through  which 
poured  strong,  foamy  streams,  brooks 
trickling  through  meadow  and,  anon, 
dashing  over  mossy  rock,  and  a  few  deep 
swamps  girt  by  thick  brushwood  quite 
unfishable  and  an  asylum  for  the  trout 
o'  winters.  Spite  of  a  springtime  horde  of 
exotic  fishers,  equipped  with  the  newest  and 
most  killing  tackle  of  their  craft,  Edom's 
Salmo  fantinalis,  protected  by  alder  and 
brier  bush,  where  once  was  open  meadow 
and  pasture,  seemed  to  thrive  as  the  aban- 
doned farm  went  down. 

Thus  it  came  to  be  that  Edom  won  a  kind 
of  highhook  repute  as  an  upland  fishing 
resort  and  begot,  in  particular,  three  char- 
acters, all  of  the  potfisher  class.  Of  these 
Jem  Smith  was  the  potfisher  overlord. 
What  Jem,  by  virtue — or  vice — of  long  ex- 
perience didn't  know  of  times  and  places 
and  obscure  comers  and  springholes  for 
trout-taking  didn't  seem  worth  trying  to 
find  out.  He  had  a  dark  reputation  for 
quick  but  deadly  fishing  of  posted  streams 
by  the  dawn's  eariiest  flush,  and  the  mighty 
strings  of  trout  which  he  expressed  to  the 
nearest  urban  markets  in  the  early  morn- 
ing of  the  first  day  of  the  "open"  season 
smacked  either  of  lawless  prevision  or  the 
superhuman  powers  of  the  fish-god  of  the 


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Phoenicians.  Bracketed  with  Jem  was 
Bill  Tyler  who,  however,  had  a  different 
sphere  of  effort.  It  was  Bill  who  played 
pilot  to  the  angling  plutocrats  who  came  in 
from  the  factory  towns,  drove  Ithem  to  the 
points  of  trouty  vantage,  made  fiscal  truce 
for  them  with  the  embattled  landowner 
and  tarried  for  them  downstream — mean- 
while intermitting  visits  to  the  cheering 
flask  with  dreams  of  the  five  dollar  note  in 
futuro.  Tom  Marsh,  third  of  the  village 
trio,  was  of  yet  another  breed.  He  was 
Edom's  potfisher  emeritus.  Age  had 
bleared  his  eyes,  "rheumatiz,"  pervasive, 
persistent  and  acute,  had  stiffened  his  lower 
joints,  and  how  he  lived  was  a  fathomless 
mystery.  But  as  his  nether  parts  palsied 
his  brain  grew  brisk.  Trouting  legends 
and  memories  poured  from  his  lips  like 
Tennyson's  endless  brook.  To  sit  on  the 
barrel  head  of  the  village  grocery  and  hear 
Tom — on  another  barrel  head — descant  on 
fishy  prowess  was  like  fishing  through  the 
Lick  Telescope.  All  his  trout  were  salmon 
and  his  black  bass  whales. 

The  time  was  thirty  years  ago  when 
The  Stranger — he  is  not  far  from  the  writer 
at  this  moment — first  visited  Edom,  the 
guest  of  an  old  college  chum  who  was  not 
stirred  by  the  divine  angling  afflatus.  The 
Stranger,  yearning  for  sport,  had  thus, 
perforce,  to  seek  it  under  his  limitations 
of  local  ignorance  or,  by  advice  of  his 
chum,  transmute  Bill  Tyler's  mercenary 
wisdom  into  base  dollars.  There  were  but 
two  days  of  grace,  one  of  them  Sunday 
and  an  Edom  dies  non  for  angling.  It  was 
just  here,  as  The  Stranger  was  in  moral  vi- 
bration between  the  appeal  to  self-reliance 
and  the  seductions  of  Bill  Tyler's  lore,  that 
No  Trout  Brook  entered  the  story.  Its 
real  name  was — and  is — Round  Brook,  so 
called  because  it  half  circles  the  village,  its 
arc  nowhere  more  distant  from  the  church 
than  two  stone-throws;  but  for  reasons  to 
be  made  manifest  in  the  sequel  No  Trout 
Brook  it  is  lettered  here  and  so  shall  stay. 

Saying  nothing  of  the  close  touch  of  the 
village  and  its  life.  The  Brook,  on  the  super- 
ficial view,  had  few  credentials  of  a  "live" 
trout  stream.  It  was  not  very  abundant 
as  to  its  waters — something  midway  'twixt 
rivulet  and  real  brook — its  current  not 
very  swift,  no  outward  semblance  even  of 
dashing  waterfall,  and  the  angler's  eye  at 
first  missed  the  foamy  rapid  breaking  into 


ripple  and  slanting  into  stiller  depths  at 
whose  upper  slope,  just  as  the  current  be- 
gins to  still,  the  trout  loves  to  abide.  All 
these  things  thought  out  The  Stranger  as, 
pipe  in  hand,  on  Sunday  afternoon,  he 
leaned  on  the  moss-grown  side-pole  of  the 
highway  bridge  only  a  few  rods  below  the 
village  green.  Was  it  some  flashing  mem- 
ory of  Richard  Jeffrey's  "London  Trout" 
or  the  ingrained  angling  instinct  which  just 
then  prompted  him  to  lean  far  over  and 
scan  the  pool  where  the  deeper  current 
eddied  past  a  big  stone  of  the  abutment? 
Ha!  What  was  that  quick  shadow  which 
seemed  to  melt  under  the  edge?  Was  it 
a  sucker,  large  dace,  mere  fancy  of  the 
angler's  tense  imagination,  or  was  it  a 
veritable  trout?  Probing  by  stick  brought 
out  no  fish,  and  The  Stranger  gave  over  the 
trout  hypothesis.  But  the  angling  im- 
pulse to  further  quest  had  entered  his  soul, 
and  he  began  exploration  of  The  Brook 
for  a  matter  of  twenty  rods  or  so  above 
the  highway. 

The  sky  was  overcast,  the  shadows  deep 
on  the  bottoms  and  he  happened  to  see  no 
trout.  What  he  did  find  was  a  stream 
which,  barring  its  course  at  the  very  back 
gardens  of  the  villagers,  belied  the  first 
shallow  inference  and  took  on  a  distinct 
trouty  cast.  It  whirled  around  roots  and 
under  overlapping  banks.  It  had  sharp 
corners  where  the  currents  had  bored  under 
gnarled  willow  clumps.  Here  and  there 
the  ripples  drifted  under  overhanging  brush 
into  reaches  of  still  water;  and  there  were 
even  a  few  wavy  rapids,  though  on  a  pygmy 
scale.  A  little  farther  upstream  the  brook 
in  strange  fashion  dwarfed  to  a  mere  rivulet. 
Brief  but  sharp  scrutiny  brought  out  the 
occult  cause.  Bordering  the  stream  was  a 
sloping  swamp  of  about  a  quarter  acre, 
saturated  with  water  which  filled,  still, 
clear  and  cold,  every  little  nook  and  filtered 
slowly  to  the  stream.  It  was  a  great 
natural  sponge  filled  with  spring  water  and 
the  main  source  of  The  Brook.  On  the 
negative  side  of  the  trout  diagnosis  was 
the  village  debris — the  broken  crockery,  the 
rust-eaten  can  and,  tumbled  sidewise  in  a 
deep  pool  near  the  bridge,  an  antiquated 
wash-boiler — that  here  and  there  projected 
from  the  bottom  sands;  and  many  a  juve- 
nile boot  track  and  the  sandpits  pock- 
marked by  little  toes  proved  that  the  small 
boy  of  Edom  after  his  fashion  knew  the 


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No  Trout  Brook 


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Stream.  But  the  freshets  of  No  Trout 
Brook  had  swept  away  most  of  the  defiling 
debris  and  purified  and  half-buried  the 
rest;  while,  as  to  the  small  boy,  his  traces 
argued  fugitive  sucker  or  dace  rather  than 
captive  trout — the  game  fish,  as  the  out- 
come proved,  being  educated  by  the  Edom 
boy  into  the  shy  shrewdness  that  pro- 
tected him  from  commonplace  fishcraft. 

But  The  Stranger's  analysis  of  The 
Brook,  as  a  whole,  was  negative;  and  his 
illusion  was  deepened  by  a  later  interview 
with  Tom  Marsh.  Tom — under  suspicion 
of  a  local  trout  trust,  with  himself.  Bill 
Tyler  and  Jem  Smith  in  the  combination — 
on  the  general  subject  of  Edom's  trout 
streams  was  not  responsive.  But  the  hint 
that  there  might  be  good  fish  in  No  Trout 
Brook  he  spumed  with  jocund  sincerity. 
"Might  as  well,"  quoth  Tom,  "bob  fer 
whales  in  a  washtub  as  try  fer  traouts  in 
(^aound  Brook.  But  we  used  naow  and 
thin  to  ketch  lots  there  if  yer  got  in  fust 
arter  a  shaower.  Gosh!  What  a  big  pan 
full  me  and  my  oldest  boy,  Tom,  ketched 
thar  one  July — 'twas  the  year  of  the  Hard 
Cider  campaign.  Lots  of  'em  weighed  a 
paound  each.  Nowadays  only  the  boys  go 
thar  to  ketch  dace  and  stun  suckers.  Traout 
wouldn't  live  in  the  brook  naow  if  yer  paid 
them  ninepence  a  minnit  and  flung  in  a 
cigar  ter  boot."  Tom  was  so  obviously 
frank  that  the  visitor  took  his  dogmatism 
for  verity.  What  chance  was  there,  after 
all,  that  trout  would  live  unknown  right 
under  Edom's  village  eaves  and  the  nos- 
trils of  her  skilled  fishers!  It  was  in  the 
sequel  pure  luck  more  than  angling  logic 
that  won  the  game. 

Next  morning  The  Stranger,  long  hesi- 
tant between  very  doubtful  trouting  and 
the  relative  certitudes  of  skittering  for  pick- 
erel on  the  weedy  shores  of  Long  Pond  a 
mile  away,  at  last  chose  the  quest  of  the 
more  vulgar  fish.  As  a  starter — before  the 
first  pickerel  could  be  served  as  "cut"  bait 
to  cannibal  brethren — a  few  shiners  were 
craved.  A  borrowed  scoop  net  of  a  neigh- 
bor furnished  him  equipment,  and,  booted 
high  in  rubbers,  he  took  his  first  dash  into 
No  Trout  Brook  under  the  highway  bridge 
at  the  foot  of  the  pool  leading  up  to  the 
abutment.  Driving  the  shiners  upstream 
to  the  narrows,  he  reached  the  rock  of  his 
Sunday  day-dream.  "Try  it  again  with 
the    net"    whispered    Angling    Instinct. 


Tested  it  was  with  the  net  set  just  below 
and  a  series  of  rapid  "chugs"  o'  foot  under 
the  edge.  There  was  a  dash  of  spectral 
shadow  moving  netward;  a  sharp  tug  at 
the  net's  bottom;  and  a  rush  to  shore  and 
quick  drop  brought  The  Brook's  secret  to 
light.  1 1  was  a  trout  of  half-pound  weight, 
full  fleshed,  yellow  breasted,  deep  spotted, 
one  of  those  ideal  fish  on  which  the  ardent 
angler's  eye  tarries  lovingly  and  long.  But 
it  was  more  than  a  single  trout  illegally, 
though  not  immorally,  taken  and  for  the 
law's  sake  and  in  the  spirit  of  angling  honor 
and  good  faith  to  be  gently  turned  again 
home.  It  was  a  forecast,  a  demonstration, 
and  the  prelude  of  The  Stranger's  red- 
lettered  day  in  a  life-time  of  trouting 
annals. 

Minutes  seemed  hours  as  The  Stranger 
rushed  homeward  and,  thrilled  to  inmost 
marrow  with  the  angler's  joy  of  battle, 
girded  on  his  fishy  armor  for  conquest  of 
The  Brook.  The  task,  indeed,  was  one 
for  the  angler's  supremest  skill.  No  case 
was  this  of  the  guileless  trout  of  the  wilds 
eager  for  the  bait,  but,  conversely,  the 
trout  furtive,  shy,  harassed  and  educated 
by  human  environment.  Nor  was  the 
choice  of  tackle  a  light  thing.  Well-nigh 
useless  was  the  fly  for  a  stream  narrow, 
grass-edged,  bush-fringed  and  rarely  widen- 
ing to  pools;  and  vain  too  would  be  the 
common  worm  and  sinker  plashing  their 
watery  note  of  warning.  The  call  was  for 
the  gossamer  line,  the  thin  gut  leader,  the 
slim  angle  worm,  the  pygmy  hook.  All 
these  The  Stranger  gave  thanks  for  as  well 
as  for  a  rod  haply  long,  flexible  enough  for 
distant  and  accurate  cast,  stout  enough  to 
"snap"  out  a  trout  forty  feet  away  from 
the  reel;  and  he  had  gratitude  as  deep 
for  an  open-and-shut  May  day  with  now 
and  then  little  bursts  of  shower  quivering 
on  the  bud  and  bloom  of  apple  tree — sure 
mark  of  the  full  ripeness  of  the  spring 
trouting  season. 

His  outfit  ready,  it  was  perhaps  three 
minutes  after  passing  through  The  Squire's 
back  yard  that  he  found  himself  at  the 
natural  sponge  aforesaid,  whence  The  Brook 
drew  its  vital  streams.  First  the  little  run- 
let above  was,  in  angling  sense,  "tasted," 
but  with  no  bites — a  streamlet  too  small  for 
hopes  and  only  tested  provisionally.  Just 
below  the  sponge  No  Trout  Brook,  now 
enlarged,   poured   damlike  over  a  plank, 


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thence  swirled  sidewise  under  a  lichened 
rock.  There  was  a  snap,  a  quick  run,  a 
straightening  of  the  line,  a  sharp  counter 
snap,  and  the  first  trout  fell  leaping  on  the 
turf. 

Then  followed  a  bit  of  the  most  pains- 
taking fishing  in  angling  memory.  Step 
by  step  and  foot  by  foot  The  Brook  was 
tried  out.  Every  nook  and  comer,  each 
eddy  and  turn  was  searched  by  the  bait, 
crosswise,  up  and  down,  but  always  with 
the  long  throw  and  gentle  cast;  and  at 
places  on  the  first  trip  down  The  Stranger 
must  cut  away  the  overhanging  willows  to 
give  access  to  new  pools.  He  recalls  now, 
as  though  it  were  but  yesterday,  how  No 
Trout  Brook's  fish  that  day  nibbled  rather 
than  bit,  how  the  deft  hand  had  to  meet 
the  quick  runs  to  cover,  and  how  many 
were  lost  at  the  first  trial  trip  and  taken  on 
later  rounds. 

Five  times  up  and  down  The  Stranger 
whipped  No  Trout  Brook's  arc  of  maybe 
fifty  rods  from  the  natal  sponge  to  where 
the  stream  lost  itself  in  a  millpond  fed 
chiefly  by  a  larger  tributary,  it  was  just 
at  the  close  of  his  three  hours  of  victorious 
fishcraft  that  his  most  unique  experience 
came. 

In  the  deep  still  pool  just  above  the 
bridge,  there  lay  on  its  battered  side 
part  buried  in  the  sand  the  rusty  wash- 
boiler  mentioned  heretofore.  Over  and 
over  again  The  Stranger  had  passed  it  by 
carelessly.  But  just  before  taking  apart 
his  rod,  the  bruised  household  relic  caught 
his  eye  seriously.  Yet  more  in  joke  than 
earnest  he  flung  the  bait  at  its  opening. 
A  fishy  head  moved  slowly  and  slyly  out, 
bait  and  sinker  vanished  in  the  relic  and, 
two  seconds  later,  a  six-ounce  trout  was 
landed  struggling  and  amazed  on  the 
sward — fit  episode  to  crown  the  fishy 
oddities  of  a  half  day  whose  summary  was 
twenty-two  trout,  yellow  chested,  round- 
backed,  in  prime  flesh  and  flavor,  many  of 
six  ounces,  few  below  a  quarter  pound. 
Among  them  was  noi  the  half-pounder  that 


had  betrayed  the  secret  of  The  Brook, 
Health  and  long  life,  the  happiest  of  waters 
and  the  daintiest  of  flies,  go  back  to  him 
as  greeting  from  the  grateful  angler  across 
the  wide  span  of  time! 

The  Stranger  un jointed  his  rod,  duly 
** deaconed"  his  well-filled  creel  of  fish 
with  the  still  gasping  trout  hidden  at  the 
bottom,  and  with  loftier  stature  and  several 
new  inches  of  chest  expansion  hied  him 
over  the  few  rods  homeward. 

Just  before  he  reached  the  grocery — 
shadowed  by  local  hints  of  drinks  more 
bracing  than  ginger  beer  and  lemon  pop — 
Jem  Smith  and  Tom  Marsh  emerged.  It 
was  a  piscatorial  crisis.  The  quiz  was  surj 
and  imminent  and  the  peril  great  either  to 
No  Trout  Brook's  hidden  gold  or  to  the 
visitor's  breeding  in  the  truth.  Was  there 
not  a  midway  path  of  evasion?  Might  not 
th2  trout  have  been  caught  in  jocular  vein 
**over  by  the  red  bam"  or  "down  toward 
Dawsonville" — technically  correct,  as  that 
township  was  seven  miles  southerly  in  the 
same  g  ncral  compass  line  from  Edom  vil- 
lage as  No  Trout  Brook;  or,  happy  in- 
spiration, would  not  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  prove  the 
telling  bluff? 

** Hullo,"  said  Tom,  "been  a-fishin'? 
Give  us  a  look" — and  he  looked. 

"Gee!  cotched  'em  this  time  didn't  yer! 
Where'd  yer  fish?" 

"Round  Brook." 

"Haw,  haw,  haw!  That's  a  good  'un. 
Say  it  again  slow  so  as  to  give  me  more 
time  to  swaller." 

Jem  Smith  eyed  the  trout  satirically. 
"That  top  fish,"  said  he,  "ain't  a  minnit 
less  nor  three  hour  out  of  the  drink.  Guess 
yer  got  up  airly,  didn't  yer,  and  hoofed  it 
daown  south  four  mile  ter  Spruce  Brook? 
Waal,  ef  a  new  chap  ken  hook  such  a  mess 
ef  fish  in  Spruce  Brook,  I'm  daown  there 
myself  ter-morrer." 

Thus  did  the  truth  prevail — not  for 
extending  knowledge  but  to  fatten  igno- 
rance. 


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THE    INDIAN    IN    HIS    SOLITUDE 

A   SERIES   OF   PAINTINGS 
BY   N.   C   WYETH 


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In  the  Crystal  Depths, 


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THE  STORY  OF  A  COPPER  MINE 


BY   RALPH    D.    PAINE 


^HE  spell  of  the  gold 
chase  has  stirred  the 
hearts  and  dazzled  the 
eyes  of  strong  and  ad- 
venturous men  even 
from  the  time  of  King 
Solomon's  mines,  down 
through  the  ages  to  the 
frenzied  rush  of  the  Argonauts  and  the 
invasion  of  frozen  Alaska.  The  so-called 
baser  metals  have  been  sought  and  found 
in  more  prosaic  fashion,  and  their  story 
seems  bare  of  romance  and  hazard.  Yet 
copper  and  iron,  for  example,  have  done 
more  to  make  this  country  great  and 
strong  than  all  the  gold  that  ever  was 
mined.  And  if  one  will  take  the  trouble 
to  explore  the  stories  of  their  part  in 
national  upbuilding,  there  will  be  found 
much  of  that  picturesque  and  pioneering 
spirit  which  has  marked  the  trail  of  the 
gold-seeker. 

Little  more  than  a  half  century  has 
passed  since  copper  was  the  lure  that  led 
men  to  explore  a  wilderness  as  near  home 
as  the  upper  peninsula  of  Michigan,  and  to 
reveal  a  magnificent  storehouse  of  treasure 
on  the  shores  of  Lake  Superior.  Late  into 
the  last  century  that  region  was  considered 
so  hopeless  a  wilderness,  fit  only  for  the 
Indian,  the  fur  trader  and  the  trapper,  that 
Michigan  made  vehement  protest  against 
its  inclusion  within  her  borders,  and  almost 
put  the  matter  to  a  clash  of  arms  with  the 
state  forces  of  Ohio.  The  pioneer  settlers 
of  what  was  then  the  remote  West  were 
not  looking  for  iron  or  copper.  They  had 
neither  the  means  for  transportation  nor 
manufacture,  and  they  pressed  on  past  the 
Lake  Superior  country  with  an  indifference 
that  seems  amazing  in  the  light  of  after 
events. 

It  had  been  known  for  centuries  that  this 


region  was  rich  in  minerals.  The  hardy 
Jesuits  who  were  as  keen  prospectors  after 
natural  resources  as  after  aboriginal  souls, 
found  copper  by  the  shore  of  the  inland  sea 
that  was  later  called  Lake  Superior.  And 
as  early  as  1640,  a  history  of  America  writ- 
ten in  French  declared  that  "there  are  in 
this  region  mines  of  copper,  tin,  antimony 
and  lead.'*  The  Indians  of  that  time  were 
mining  copper  in  crude  fashion,  but  even 
they  were  not  the  pioneer  discoverers. 
Stone  hammers  were  found  beside  ancient 
workings  whose  mounds  of  earth  were 
topped  by  trees  of  primeval  growth.  More 
remarkable  than  this,  hewn  wooden  props, 
not  wholly  decayed,  were  found  support- 
ing masses  of  copper  mined  in  a  prehistoric 
age.  The  Mound  Builders,  or  a  race  akin 
to  them,  had  discovered  and  exploited, 
without  the  aid  of  a  promotion  syndicate 
or  an  issue  of  watered  stock,  the  earliest 
American  copper  mines. 

A  hundred  and  forty  years  ago  an  ad- 
venturous Englishman,  Captain  Jonathan 
Carver,  voyaged  Lake  Superior  and  went 
home  to  form  a  company  for  developing 
the  mineral  wealth  of  that  trackless  terri- 
tory. English  investors  were  more  timid 
then  than  now  about  American  securities, 
and  Captain  Carver,  who  deserved  a  better 
fortune  for  his  daring  enterprise,  saw  his 
schemes  go  glimmering. 

It  was  left  for  a  young  American  geolo- 
gist, Douglas  Houghton,  to  explore  this  pen- 
insula and  awaken  his  countrymen  to  the 
riches  that  lay  at  their  hand.  He  perished 
in  a  storm  on  Lake  Superior  at  the  age  of 
thirty-six,  but  his  brief  career  wrought  a 
mighty  work  for  his  nation.  In  a  birch- 
bark  canoe  he  skirted  the  south  shore  of 
Lake  Superior  for  voyage  after  voyage, 
making  observations  and  gathering  data 
with  the  eye  of  a  practical  scientist  and  the 


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imagination  of  a  tamer  of  wilderness  places. 
In  1841  he  submitted  a  report  to  the  state 
government  of  Michigan  in  whose  employ 
he  was,  and  there  began  a  rush  of  treasure 
seekers  into  a  country  far  more  inaccessible 
than  the  Klondike  of  to-day. 

Copper  was  the  prize  sought  by  thou- 
sands of  prospectors,  most  of  whom  strug- 
gled with  the  severest  hardships  only  to 
abandon  their  claims  in  disgust  and  return 
to  civilization  empty-handed.  But  a  be- 
ginning had  been  made  and  American 
enterprise,  no  longer  content  to  let  England 
enjoy  what  was  almost  a  monopoly  of  the 
copper  production  of  the  world,  buckled 
down  to  the  task  of  opening  its  own  mines. 

This  was  long  before  the  discovery  of  the 
great  deposits  of  Montana  which  have 
yielded  fabulous  wealth  for  the  copper 
kings  of  Butte  and  Anaconda  and  Helena. 
Nor  has  the  Lake  Superior  region  been  be- 
smirched by  such  a  colossal  war  of  greed 
as  has  befouled  Montana  politics  and  made 
its  copper  mines  a  by-word  for  stock  job- 
bery, and  a  gorgeous  variety  of  corruption. 
By  contrast,  it  is  as  wholesome  and  clean  a 
story  of  American  commercial  success  as 
one  can  find,  this  development  of  the  cop- 
per resources  of  the  Lake  Superior  region, 
as  typified  in  the  famous  Calumet  and 
Hecia  Mine. 

Copper  is  a  sturdy  king  among  metals  to- 
day. As  the  Age  of  Steel  has  followed  the 
Age  of  Iron,  so  the  succeeding  industrial 
epoch  is  to  be  the  Age  of  Electricity,  whose 
foundation  is  Copper.  Already  this  metal 
adds  five  hundred  million  dollars  each  year 
to  the  wealth  of  the  world,  and  its  reign  is 
no  more  than  in  its  sturdy  youth.  Here, 
for  example,  is  this  Calumet  and  HecIa 
property  which  has  never  gained  that  kind 
of  spectacular  notoriety  that  is  given  a 
famous  gold  mine.  Yet  the  product  of 
this  one  group  of  shafts  has  paid  more 
dividends  than  have  been  reaped  by  any 
other  mining  corporation  in  the  world. 

Almost  one  hundred  million  dollars  have 
been  paid  to  the  lucky  stockholders  in  the 
last  thirty-five  years,  on  a  total  capitaliza- 
tion of  only  two  and  a  half  millions.  In 
one  recent  period  of  five  years  the  mine 
paid  twenty-seven  million  dollars  in  divi- 
dends, or  more  than  double  its  capital 
stock  each  year.  Small  wonder  that  the 
group  of  conservative  Boston  men  who 
direct     this    magnificent    bonanza    have 


fought  shy  of  such  top-heavy  and  inflated 
combinations  as  "Amalgamated  Copper." 

The  Calumet  and  HecIa  mines  were  dis- 
covered forty  years  ago.  Tradition  has  it 
that  an  astute  and  industrious  pig,  while 
rooting  amid  the  forests  a  few  miles  back 
from  Lake  Superior,  turned  up  the  chunk 
of  copper  which  unearthed  this  hidden 
mine.  The  pig  story  is  plausible  enough 
and  has  no  lack  of  historical  confirmation 
from  various  other  sources.  In  fact,  it  is  a 
sort  of  historical  mode  or  fashion  for  famous 
mines  to  have  been  discovered  by  an  in- 
quisitive pig  or  a  wandering  burro  with  an 
agile  hoof.  Somewhere  in  MeJtico  there  is 
a  silver  pig  with  jeweled  eyes,  holding  a 
place  of  honor  in  a  cathedral  in  memory  of 
the  location  of  a  fine  silver  mine  by  one  of 
these  porcine  prospectors.  In  crediting  a 
pigwiththediscovery  of  Calumet  and  HecIa 
the  traditions  have  been  faithfully  observed. 

The  Calumet  and  Hecla  of  to-day  is 
worth  a  visit  as  an  impressive  object  lesson 
of  how  well  a  great  corporation  can  look 
after  its  properties  and  employees  without 
impairing  its  dividends.  It  can  be  said  of 
certain  other  American  corporations  that 
their  properties  were  discovered  by  men 
and  have  been  managed  by  pigs  ever  since. 
The  Calumet  and  Hecla  has  reversed  this 
procedure. 

As  you  come  to  the  copper  country  after 
a  voyage  up  the  lake  in  a  steamer,  there  is 
little  to  suggest  that  devastation  of  God's 
green  landscape  which  elsewhere  goes  hand 
in  hand  with  mining  operations.  Back  of 
the  city  of  Houghton  rises  a  range  of  billow- 
ing hills,  wooded  with  a  second  growth  of 
timber.  Against  the  sky-line  looms  a  red 
shaft  house  or  two,  looking  not  wholly  un- 
like grain  elevators.  And  along  the  crest 
of  the  hill  trails  a  long  train  of  ore-laden 
cars  like  a  monstrous  snake.  The  scattered 
towns  through  which  the  trolley  takes  you 
on  the  way  to  Calumet  have  little  of  that 
ugliness  and  squalor  of  most  mining  com- 
munities, nor  is  the  air  heavy  with  smoke 
and  foul  with  vapors.  The  clean  breeze 
sweeps  over  fields  and  patches  of  woodland, 
and  you  perceive  that  this  is  a  far  more 
attractive  landscape  than  that  which  is  left 
in  the  wake  of  the  coal  or  iron  miner.  In 
fact,  the  tall,  red  shaft  houses  which  dot 
the  fields  are  almost  the  only  signs  of  the 
prodigious  activity  that  toils  underground 
by  night  and  day. 


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The  Story  of  a  Copper  Mine 


307 


Scattered  over  this  rolling  country  are  a 
dozen  different  towns,  all  part  of  one  vast 
mining  camp,  Hecia  and  Calumet,  Red 
Jacket,  Blue  Jacket,  Yellow  Jacket,  Wol- 
verine, Tamarack,  Osceola  and  l^urium. 
More  than  forty  thousand  people  live  in 
these  towns  and  depend  on  copper  for 
their  livelihood.  Five  thousand  men  work 
for  the  Calumet  and  Hecla  company,  and 
more  than  half  of  this  army  is  employed 
in  the  underground  workings.  There  are 
more  miles  of  streets  beneath  the  surface 
than  in  the  towns  on  top.  Two  hundred 
miles  of  shafts,  drifts  and  cross-cuts  honey- 
comb the  earth  as  far  down  as  a  mile  from 
the  surface.  To  support  this  amazing  sys- 
tem of  underground  highways,  this  com- 
pany uses  thirty  million  feet  of  timber 
every  year.  It  is  clearing  the  country  of 
timber  for  five  hundred  miles  and  is  eating 
up  the  northwestern  forest  faster  than  all 
the  lumbering  interests.  The  company 
has  its  own  logging  crews  and  mills  and 
its  great  forests.  Its  lumbering  activity 
is  a  huge  industry  in  itself. 

This  upper  corner  of  the  stanch  Amer- 
ican state  of  Michigan  is  a  show-ground  of 
the  people  of  thirty  nations  at  work,  side 
by  side,  in  peace  and  comfort.  The  native- 
born  is  outnumbered  on  a  basis  of  one 
American  to  a  hundred  foreigners.  The 
Cornwall  and  Finnish  miners  lead  in  num- 
bers, followed  by  the  Irish,  Scotch,  Welsh, 
German,  Polish,  French,  Danish,  Norwe- 
gian, Swedish,  Polanders,  Russians,  Hol- 
landers, Greek,  Swiss,  Austrians,  Belgians, 
Negroes,  Slavs,  Bohemians,  with  a  sprin- 
kling above  ground  of  Chinese,  Arabians, 
Persians,  and  one  family  of  Laplanders. 

This  is  an  amazing  medley  of  races,  in 
which  the  American  seems  fairly  lonesome. 
Among  the  local  newspapers  are  the  IVeekly 
Glasnik,  the  Daily  Paivalehti,  The  American 
Soumeiar,  and  La  Sentinelli.  Even  the 
leading  American  newspaper  publishes  for 
the  benefit  of  its  subscribers  a  daily  column 
in  the  dialect  of  Cornwall  which  includes 
such  poetic  gems  as  this: 


* 'Wheal  Damsel  es  a  fitty  mine, 
Next  door  to  Wheal  Kiser; 
Ef  the  sun  forgot  to  shine 
We  should  never  miss  her; 
Give  us  candle,  clay  and  cap. 
We  can  see  where  we  must  stap, 
Ef  to  work  we  do  incline, 
Down  to  Old  Wheal  Damsel. 


CHORUS 

"Pay-day  comes  on  Saturday, 
Rcstin'  time  on  Sunday, 
Shall  we  work  or  shall  we  play 
Ton  Maaze  Monday?* 

*'Ef  not  chucked  weth  powder  smawk 
And  the  smill  of  dyneemite, 
Tes  so  aisy  straight  to  walk 
As  for  dogs  to  bark  and  bite; 
But  touch-pipe  in  kiddlywink, 
Weth  some  fourp'nny  for  to  drink, 
Reason  'pon  its  throne  will  rock 
Forgettin'  old  Wheal  Damsel. 
Oh,  there's  trouble  in  the  glass, 
Wuss  than  boyer-baiten, 
When  the  thursty  time  do  pass, 
Peggy's  tongue  es  waiten." 

The  men  from  Cornwall  chuckle  over 
such  bits  of  the  home  tongue  as  this,  but 
need  no  "Maaze  Monday"  to  recover  from 
the  effects  of  visiting  the  saloons  of  Calu- 
met or  Red  Jacket.  In  fact,  this  polyglot 
community  is  so  singularly  law-abiding 
that  the  horde  of  sociologists  that  is  ramp- 
ant in  the  land  should  organize  a  personally 
conducted  tour  to  this  favored  community. 
There  is  no  municipal  police  force  in  the 
district.  The  towns  are  under  the  super- 
vision of  a  few  constables  and  watchmen, 
after  the  manner  of  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
New  England  village  communities.  There 
are  no  strikes,  and  therefore  no  need  for  an 
emergency  police  to  suppress  organized 
disorders.  The  Calumet  and  Hecla  com- 
pany maintains  a  metropolitan  fire  de- 
partment of  its  own  and  carries  its  own 
insurance.  This  relieves  the  towns  from 
the  burden  of  fire  protection. 

In  the  town  of  Calumet  two-thirds  of  the 
public  revenue  is  received  from  saloons* 
license  fees,  and  yet  drunkenness  seldom 
becomes  disorderly.  This  town  has  an  in- 
come of  sixty  thousand  dollars  a  year  from 
fees  and  taxes,  and  the  officials  have  on 
their  hands  the  problem  of  spending  a 
handsome  surplus  for  the  benefit  of  their 
community.  They  are  using  it  in  paving 
streets  and  other  permanent  improvements 
instead  of  in  supporting  a  police  force  and 
paying  salaries  to  a  lot  of  political  barnacles. 

This  Calumet,  a  large  and  thriving  town 
composed  of  men  of  more  than  a  score  of 
different  nations,  is  so  much  more  ad- 
vanced than  most  American  cities  that  it 

*  In  the  old  days  Cornish  miners  used  to  require 
the  Monday  after  pay-day  to  get  over  the  eflfccts  of 
visiting  the  kiddhrwink,  or  village  public  house — 
hence  the  name  *'  Maaze  Monday." 


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A  logging  yard  of  a  copper  mine  which  eats  up  30,000,000  feet  of  lumber  every  year. 


has  a  municipal  theater,  built  by  the  public 
funds  at  a  cost  of  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. This  handsome  stone  playhouse  is 
leased  to  a  manager  who  pays  the  town  four 
per  cent,  interest  on  its  investment,  and 
who  is  held  responsible  for  the  conduct  of 
the  enterprise  on  a  popular  and  efficient 
basis. 

Here  is  a  large  community  peopled  by 
foreigners  who  are  alleged  to  be  pouring 
into  this  country  faster  than  we  can  absorb 
them.  They  are  called  a  menace  to  our 
institutions,  and  agitators  declare  that 
Americanism  will  be  submerged  by  this 
swelling  tide.  The  Calumet  and  Hecla 
company  has  worked  out  its  own  solution 
of  the  immigration  problem.  Its  miners 
and  their  families  are  treated  as  human 
beings,  and  they  are  good  enough  Ameri- 
cans to  put  to  shame  the  spirit  and  achieve- 
ments of  many  a  community  which  brags 
of  its  native  stock.  This  company  has  no 
complaint  to  make  on  the  score  of  lack  of 
efficiency  among  its  employees  because 
they  are  given  a  fair  show  to  live  decently 
and  make  their  communities  clean  and 
prosperous.  It  has  gone  about  the  busi- 
ness of  assimilating  a  foreign  population 
by  methods  which  do  not  seem  to  have 
occurred  to  the  Chicago  packers. 

The  company  owns  about  twelve  hun- 
dred dwelling  houses  in  the  towns  around 
its  mines.  They  are  rented  to  employees 
308 


at  an  average  charge  of  six  per  cent,  on  the 
actual  cost  of  the  building,  plus  the  cost  of 
maintenance.  The  miners  pay  from  six 
to  eight  dollars  a  month  in  rent  for  the 
small  frame  houses,  not  tenements,  with  a 
patch  of  ground  big  enough  for  a  kitchen 
garden.  Wages  are  never  reduced  to  fatten 
dividends.  And  wages  have  been  good 
enough  to  permit  one  thousand  of  these 
miners  to  purchase  outright  from  the 
company  their  own  homes,  which  is  a 
pretty  solid  argument  in  itself. 

On  the  company's  lands  there  are  about 
thirty  churches,  occupied  by  more  than  a 
dozen  denominations.  The  company  gave 
the  sites  for  all  these  churches,  and  in 
many  cases  has  furnished  cash  aid  toward 
the  erection  and  maintenance  funds,  with- 
out regard  to  creed.  There  are  eight 
schoolhouses  on  the  Calumet  and  Hecla 
property,  most  of  which  were  built  by 
the  corporation.  In  these  schoolhouses  the 
children  of  Finns  and  Welsh  and  Slavs 
and  Germans,  along  with  the  children  of 
twenty  other  nationalities  are  fused  as  in 
a  melting  pot  to  become  good  Americans 
of  the  second  generation  speaking  English 
as  their  common  tongue,  and  saluting  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  about  their  buildings. 

A  handsome  stone  library  was  built  by 
the  company  without  the  aid  of  Andrew 
Carnegie,  for  it  has  been  the  policy  here  to 
return  some  of  the  profits,  in  building  insti- 


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tutions  to  better  the  condition  of  the  toilers 
who  helped  make  the  wealth,  instead  of 
scattering  these  profits  elsewhere.  This 
free  library  contains  more  than  sixteen 
thousand  volumes  in  a  score  of  languages, 
and  it  is  used  and  enjoyed  by  the  men  and 
women  of  all  the  races  that  live  in  this 
region.  There  is  a  fine  stone  club  house 
built  for  the  miners  by  their  employers, 
containing  bathrooms,  bowling  alleys,  etc. 
There  is  also  at  Lake  Linden,  where  the 
stamp  mills  and  smelters  are,  a  combina- 
tion library  and  club  house. 

The  company  maintains  for  its  people  a 
hospital  that  is  widely  noted  for  the  com- 
pleteness of  its  surgical  and  laboratory 
apparatus.  A  dozen  physicians  of  the 
hospital  staff  are  ready  to  respond  to  the 
call  of  any  miner  or  his  family  needing 
their  services.  In  1877  a  miners'  benefit 
fund  was  founded  by  the  company,  and  its 
management  was  turned  over  to  a  board 
of  directors  chosen  by  the  workmen.  This 
fund  pays  death  and  disability  benefits, 
and  has  disbursed  an  immense  sum  since 
its  beginning,  every  dollar  of  which  has  gone 
to  the  sick  or  injured,  or  to  families  who 


have  lost  their  breadwinners  by  accident 
or  disease. 

Whenever  a  surplus  has  accumulated  in 
this  fund,  it  has  been  invested  in  the  shares 
of  the  company,  bought  in  the  open  market, 
and  this  kind  of  investment  has  been  nota- 
bly profitable.  In  one  recent  year  the 
outlay  in  benefits  from  this  fund  was  sixty- 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  the  value  of  the 
fund,  or  reserve  and  surplus  in  hand,  was  a 
hundred  and  thirty-six  thousand  dollars. 
To  maintain  this  fund  every  employee  of 
the  company  pays  from  his  wages  fifty  cents 
a  month.  And  for  every  fifty  cents  paid  in 
by  the  miner,  the  company  adds  to  the  fund 
a  half  dollar  from  its  own  pockets.  It  is 
therefore  a  combined  charity,  philanthropy 
and  assessment  organization  which  has 
acted  as  a  splendid  factor  in  promoting 
contentment  and  keeping  at  arm's  length 
the  sufferings  of  helpless  poverty. 

Copper  mining  is  clean  work,  as  mining 
goes,  and  the  men  behind  this  gigantic  en- 
terprise have  tried  to  make  their  miners 
feel  that  thrift  and  comfort  can  be  theirs 
for  a  little  effort.  The  prudent  Finnish 
and  English  miners  save  their  wages  with 


Timbering  in  the  Calumet  and  Hecla  Mine^-one  of  the  deepest  shafts  in  the  world. 

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an  eye  to  the  future.  As  soon  as  they  have 
funds  ahead,  they  b^in  to  look  up  cheap 
farming  and  timber  tracts  for  settlement. 
Then  they  move  their  families  out  of  the 
copper  country,  and  swing  the  axe  instead 
of  the  pick,  and  get  their  little  farms  under 
way.  Thus  they  help  to  build  up  the  new 
country  of  Northern  Michigan,  and  to 
found  American  families  close  to  the  soil 
whence  the  strength  of  the  nation  has 
come. 

But  as  long  as  they  dwell  within  the 
shadows  of  the  tall,  red  shaft  houses  of 
Calumet  and  Hecla,  they  think  and  talk 
little  else  beside  copper.  They  keep  in 
touch  with  the  copper  mines  and  markets 
of  the  world,  from  Montana  to  Australia, 
and  from  the  Rio  Tinto  in  Spain  to  the 
deep  pits  of  G^rnwall.  One  of  these 
thrifty  towns  strikes  the  stranger  as  too  big 
for  its  population.  There  are  few  men  in 
the  streets  through  the  daylight  hours,  and 
the  long  blocks  of  stores  seem  deserted. 
Here  is  a  world  in  which  half  of  the  men 
are  underground  and  a  good  share  of  the 
remainder  asleep  at  home,  wherefore  you 
can  see  the  whole  town  above  ground  and 
in  the  streets  only  on  Sunday.  These 
miners  go  deep  after  copper.  If  you  go  to 
the  famous  Red  Jacket  shaft,  for  instance, 
you  find  the  most  powerful  hoisting  ma- 
chinery in  the  world,  huge  engines  of  as 
much  as  eight  thousand  horse  power  which 
reel  and  unreel  drums  of  wire  cable  that 
wind  down  a  straight  mile  below  the  sur- 
face. These  engines  hoist  ten-ton  cars  of 
ore  one  mile  at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an 
hour,  or  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  this 
stupendous  hole  in  the  ground,  in  ninety 
seconds.  This  is  the  deepest  mining  shaft 
in  the  world.  Apart  from  this  fact,  per- 
haps the  most  interesting  feature  of  the 
Red  Jacket  shaft  is  in  the  theory  that  it  is 
possible  to  detect  the  effect  of  the  earth's 
revolution  in  a  hole  as  deep  as  this.  No 
less  an  authority  than  President  McNair  of 
the  Michigan  College  of  Mines  has  explained 
the  belief  that  nothing  dropped  in  this 
deepest  of  mining  shafts  can  ever  reach 
bottom  without  colliding  with  the  east  side 
of  the  shaft. 

"This  is  due  to  the  motion  of  the  earth," 
said  he.  "The  article  dropped,  no  matter 
what  its  shape  or  size  may  be,  will  invari- 
ably be  found  clinging  to  the  east  side  of 
the  shaft.    One  day  a  monkey  wrench  was 


dropped  by  a  miner,  but  it  failed  to  reach 
the  bottom  and  was  found  lodged  against 
the  east  side  of  the  shaft  several  hundred 
feet  down.  We  decided  that  to  make  a 
proper  test  of  the  theory,  it  would  be 
worth  while  to  experiment  with  a  small, 
heavy,  spherical  body.  So  we  suspended 
a  marble  tied  with  a  thread  about  twelve 
feet  below  the  mouth  of  the  shaft.  We 
then  burned  the  thread  with  a  lighted 
match  in  order  not  to  disturb  the  exact 
fall  of  the  marble.  About  five  hundred 
feet  down,  it  brought  up  against  the  east 
side  of  the  shaft.  When  miners  have  fallen 
down  the  shaft  the  result  has  been  similar. 
Their  bodies,  badly  torn,  have  been  found 
lodged  against  the  east  side  of  the  shaft. 
A  carload  of  rock  was  dumped  down  the 
deepest  mining  shaft  in  South  Africa, 
but  not  a  particle  of  it  reached  the 
bottom.'* 

Professor  McNair  has  said  also,  that  the 
limit  of  depth  to  which  mines  can  be  driven 
and  worked  has  not  yet  been  reached.  The 
temperature  at  the  bottom  of  the  Red 
Jacket  was  almost  ninety  degrees  when  it 
was  first  opened,  but  this  has  been  reduced 
by  ventilation  to  between  seventy  and 
eighty  degrees,  at  which  miners  work  in 
comparative  comfort.  In  the  opinion  of 
Professor  McNair,  the  Red  Jacket  shaft 
will  supply  the  most  valuable  data  ever 
gathered  relating  to  the  thickness  and 
densities  of  the  earth's  crust.  "The  deep 
shafts  in  other  parts  of  the  world  begin  at 
an  altitude,  and  end  at,  or  above,  sea  level," 
said  he,  "whereas  this  shaft  pierces  the 
earth's  crust  deeper  and  farther  below  the 
ocean  level  than  any  other  hole  in  existence. 
Scientific  investigations  have  been  in  prog- 
ress for  some  time,  and  we  hope  to  make 
public  some  interesting  results." 

It  is  a  fascinating  hole  in  the  ground, 
simply  because  of  its  amazing  depth,  but  it 
is  not  an  easy  hole  to  enter  if  you  are  not 
personally  vouched  for  by  President 
Agassiz  of  the  Calumet  and  Hecla  com- 
pany. Strangers  are  not  admitted,  and 
the  reason  is  startling.  Underground  fires 
have  imperilled  this  vast  property  more 
than  once,  and  it  is  believed  that  they  were 
of  incendiary  origin.  Whether  or  not  rival 
copper  companies  are  suspected  of  such  a 
piratical  method  of  curtailing  the  supply  of 
metal  is  something  you  must  guess  for 
yourself. 


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The  "man  cage"  filled  with  miners  and  ready  to  plunge 
a  mile  underground. 


Photograph  by  Isler. 


This  is  the  greatest  fire  risk  in  the  world, 
and  it  is  protected  by  a  water-main  and 
telephone  system  underground,  pumping 
stations  and  electric  alarm  systems.  The 
company  has  lost  several  million  dollars  in 
fires,  however,  and  is  cautious  to  the  point 
of  acute  suspicion.  The  elaborate  system 
of  fire  protection  was  severely  tested  in 
1890  when  an  alarm  was  turned  in  on  Sun- 
day night.  There  were  only  a  few  em- 
ployees in  the  workings,  and  the  fire  had 
gained  frightful  headway  before  it  was  dis- 


covered. Then  the  burning  area  of  the 
mine  was  shut  off  by  closing  a  system  of 
fireproof  doors.  The  surface  opening  was 
sealed  by  covering  the  mouths  of  the  shafts 
with  heavy  timbers,  and  tamping  all  the 
crevices  with  earth.  Wherever  gas  escaped 
more  earth  was  tamped  and  made  solid 
with  water.  In  three  weeks  the  fire  was 
smothered  in  this  fashion,  and  other  shafts 
were  kept  working  without  interruption. 
Fires  in  deep  mines  have  burned  for  years, 
and  the  masterful  system  by  which  the 


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Calumet  and  Hecla  has  been  able  to  pro- 
tect its  property  is  in  keeping  with  its 
resourceful  enterprise  in  other  directions. 
The  layman  is  apt  to  wonder  how  a  mine 
can  be  swept  by  a  destructive  fire.  But  in 
those  vast  labyrinths  which  Calumet  and 
Hecla  has  driven  beneath  the  earth,  there 
is  more  timber  than  goes  into  the  buildings 
of  many  a  pretentious  and  prosperous  city. 
And  if  this  mine  were  burned  out,  there 
would  be  a  direct  loss  of  scores  of  millions 
of  dollars,  and  an  indirect  loss  of  hundreds 
of  millions. 

There  is  an  impressive  industrial  com- 
munity above  ground  in  such  an  under- 
taking as  this.  There  are  saw-mills  and 
carpenter  shops,  smithies  greater  than  can 
be  found  anywhere  else  except  in  the  works 
of  the  most  extensive  manufacturers  of 
machinery,  with  a  hundred  busy  black- 
smiths. Fifty  tons  of  steel  drills  have  to  be 
sharpened  every  day,  and  an  army  of  boys 
is  needed  to  lug  them  between  the  shops 
and  the  mines.  Warehouses  and  supply 
stations,  a  private  railroad  operating  twen- 
ty miles  of  main  track,  a  fleet  of  steam- 
ships, these  and  many  other  parts  of  this 
huge  industrial  organization  are  kept  in 
motion  by  the  copper  ore  that  is  hoisted 
from  thousands  of  feet  below  the  surface. 

The  ruler  of  this  lusty  kingdom  is  James 
McNaughton,  superintendent  of  the  Calu- 
met and  Hecla  mine.  Five  thousand  men 
take  orders  from  him,  and  he  pays  them 
six  million  dollars  a  year  in  wages.  His 
story  is  one  of  those  miracles  that  happen 
in  this  "land  of  opportunity."  He  was 
born  in  Ontario  forty  years  ago,  and  left 
home  to  hustle  for  himself.  At  twelve 
years  old  he  was  a  water-boy  on  the  Calu- 
met and  Hecla  docks  on  the  lake  front. 
Between  working  hours  he  managed  to  peg 
away  at  school  until  he  was  fourteen.  Then 
he  became  a  switch  tender,  and  a  year  later 
was  a  stationary  engineer  earning  two  dol- 
lars a  day,  and  saving  half  of  it  toward  an 
education. 

At  nineteen  he  put  himself  in  Oberlin 
College,  and  began  to  think  of  being  a  min- 
ing engineer.  By  working  during  vacation 
he  was  able  to  take  a  two  years'  course  at 
the  University  of  Michigan.  After  gradua- 
tion he  obtained  a  position  in  the  Boston 
offices  of  the  Calumet  and  Hecla  company. 
From  there  he  took  a  berth  as  a  mining 
engineer  at  Iron  Mountain,  IVJichigan.    At 


last  returning  to  the  Calumet  and  Hecla  he 
fought  his  way  to  the  top  and  was  made 
superintendent  five  years  ago. 

Now  mark  you  what  the  personal  equa- 
tion of  one  strong  and  able  man  can  accom- 
plish as  soon  as  it  finds  its  field  for  action. 
Without  cutting  wages,  or  overworking  his 
men,  or  curtailing  any  of  the  company's 
many  philanthropic  enterprises,  McNaugh- 
ton began  to  tighten  up  the  screws  for  a 
better  efficiency.  He  has  saved  millions  of 
dollars  for  his  shareholders,  and  what  his 
ability  has  amounted  to  may  be  perceived 
in  the  statement  that  he  has  cut  the  cost 
of  mining  and  milling  the  ore  almost  in 
half. 

There  is  a  somewhat  prevalent  impres- 
sion that  captains  of  industry  are  overpaid, 
that  the  army  of  toilers  pays  unfair  tribute 
to  those  who  control  their  labor.  I  do  not 
know  what  salary  the  Calumet  and  Hecla 
company  pays  James  McNaughton,  yet  if 
he  were  given  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
a  year,  not  a  miner  in  Calumet  could  object 
with  fairness.  For  every  one  of  them  is 
getting  as  good  wages  as  ever,  and  is  as  gen- 
erously treated  by  his  employers,  nor  have 
any  miners  been  deprived  of  their  jobs. 
But  because  he  has  the  brains  and  the  back- 
bone, McNaughton  is  able  to  create  millions 
of  dollars  in  industrial  wealth  with  exactly 
the  same  tools  which  could  not  create  this 
additional  wealth  in  less  competent  hands. 

The  Michigan  copper  miner  earns  from 
sixty  to  seventy-five  dollars  a  month,  with 
steady  employment  the  year  round.  With 
this  he  is  able  to  have  a  home  and  pay  his 
bills,  educate  his  children  and  protect  his 
family  if  he  is  overtaken  by  sickness  or 
death.  Nor  is  he  of  a  different  class  from 
the  average  immigrant  who  seeks  this  land 
from  all  quarters  of  Europe.  The  differ- 
ence is  in  the  environment  and  in  the  way 
he  is  handled  and  taught  after  he  lands. 
His  employers  believe  that  he  has  some- 
thing more  due  him  than  the  right  to  exist 
and  toil.  They  give  him  a  chance  to  live 
like  a  man  and  he  looks  around  him  and 
sees  a  thousand  homes  owned  outright  by 
miners  who  began  just  as  he  is  beginning, 
as  strangers  in  a  strange  land  who  have 
only  their  labor  to  sell.  There  are  no 
labor  unions  among  the  miners  of  the  Calu- 
met region.  The  miners  say  that  they  do 
not  need  them.  They  are  satisfied  with 
their  wages,  and  their  living  conditions, 


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and  they  prefer  to  work  the  whole  year 
through  to  being  on  strike  for  higher  wages. 

While  there  is  not  much  of  the  pictur- 
esque in  this  mining  r^on»  it  is  a  cheering 
American  example  of  what  can  be  done 
with  the  problem  of  foreign  immigration. 
Nor  could  this  problem  be  more  varied 
and  vexatious  than  amid  so  great  an  as- 
sortment of  tongues,  customs  and  racial 
prejudices.  The  Calumet  and  Hecla  com- 
pany appears  to  have  gone  a  long  way 
toward  a  solution  by  sticking  to  certain 
old-fashioned  doctrines  of  fair  play  and 
honest  appreciation  of  the  bonds  between 
capital  and  labor. 

If  you  would  see  copper  transformed 
from  a  dull  and  unlovely  ore  into  some- 
thing really  beautiful,  then  follow  it  from 
the  mine  to  the  smelter.  My  pilgrimage 
to  the  Michigan  copper  country  ended  with 
a  visit  to  a  smelter  near  the  town  of 
Houghton,  where  the  long  ore-trains  come 
trailing  over  the  hills  from  the  stamp 
mills  which  grind  the  fragments  of  ore  to  a 
powder  that  looks  like  coarse  brown  sugar. 
From  the  cars  it  is  dumped  into  elevated 
bins  which  shoot  it  into  other  cars  that  run 
across  a  trestle  to  the  great  furnaces  whose 
heat  is  twenty-three  hundred  degrees. 

Here  the  ore  must  be  purified  as  it  melts, 
and  the  refiner  dumps  cord  wood  into  the 
glowing  cauldron,  and  blows  air  through  the 
mass  to  clean  away  the  dross.  At  one  end 
of  the  furnace  is  a  trough,  and  at  the  proper 
time  a  gate  is  opened  and  the  liquid  cop- 
per floods  out  in  a  dazzling  stream  of  gold. 
With  a  wonderful  play  of  colored  flames, 
of  blue  and  crimson  and  violet,  the  liquid 
travels  onward  into  ingot  molds  which 
are  set  around  the  edge  of  a  huge  wheel. 
On  the  hub  of  this  wheel  sits  a  man  who 
rides  this  chariot  of  fire  with  amazing  skill 
and  indifference  to  his  incandescent  sur- 
roundings. 

As  the  slowly  revolving  wheel  brings  one 
set  of  molds  opposite  the  copper  ladle,  he 
fills  them  and  they  move  on  while  others 
take  their  places.  By  the  opposite  rim  of 
the  wheel  is  another  workman  who  pries 
the  cooling  ingots  from  their  molds  as 
they  pass  him.  This  is  pure,  commercial 
copper,  made  while  you  wait,  each  ingot 
weighing  forty-six  pounds  and  worth  six 


dollars  in  the  metal  market.  Their  color  is 
bright  red  shading  off  into  tints  of  steel 
blue. 

They  are  dumped  into  running  water  to 
cool  off,  and  a  most  ingenious  machine 
with  steel  fingers  picks  them  up  and  lugs 
them  up  a  dripping  incline  over  which 
they  clatter  and  slide  down  on  a  platform 
ready  for  the  warehouse.  Two  strong  men 
whose  hands  are  protected  by  cloth  pads, 
pick  them  up  and  swing  them  on  to  cars 
until  30,000  pounds  make  the  load.  A 
squat  electric  locomotive,  not  as  tall  as  the 
man  who  operates  it,  waits  until  a  train  of 
these  cars  is  ready.  Then  it  rattles  away 
to  the  shed  without  fuss  or  effort. 

Upon  each  of  these  little  cars  is  piled 
$4,500  worth  of  copper  which  has  been 
transformed  from  the  ore  into  the  shining 
ingots  while  you  have  paused  for  a  few 
minutes  to  watch  the  process.  So  swiftly 
wrought  is  this  miracle,  so  deftly  easy  looks 
the  process  by  which  the  turn  of  a  wheel 
seems  to  create  wealth  before  your  eyes, 
that  you  are  inclined  to  number  copper 
among  the  precious  metals. 

No  more  than  six  or  seven  men  have  been 
busied  in  this  whole  operation,  yet  in  one 
good  working  day  they  will  turn  out  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds  of  copper  ingots 
which  are  worth  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
This  crew  once  made  a  world's  record  for  a 
week's  production  of  more  than  a  million 
pounds  of  copper  worth  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  dollars.  The  daily  charge 
of  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  is  smelted 
in  five  or  six  hours.  It  is  a  most  fascinat- 
ing mining  exhibit,  without  fuss,  dirt  or 
discomfort,  with  no  uproar  and  no  foul  air. 

After  seeing  the  mining  region  beyond 
the  hills,  and  watching  the  smelting,  you 
begin  to  think  that  a  copper  mine  may  be 
as  worth  while  owning  as  a  gold  mine  in 
Alaska.  But  while  the  profits  of  the  Calu- 
met and  Hecla  mine  are  so  dazzling  and 
enviable,  nobody  will  begrudge  them  as 
long  as  these  communities  of  mining  folk 
up  among  the  woods  and  fields  of  Michigan 
are  being  made  good  Americans  in  the 
smelter  of  an  honest  corporation's  sense  of 
responsibility  for  the  thousands  of  men, 
women  and  children  whom  wealth  and 
power  have  committed  to  its  keeping. 


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WHEN   A    PATHAN    TAKES 
OFFENSE 


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When  a  Pathan  Takes  Offense 


315 


and  with  his  sharp  tulwar  slitted  the  canvas 
side  of  Slade's  habitation,  and  took  it 
away  with  him.  In  the  morning  the  sleep- 
ing sahib  awoke  to  an  uninterrupted  view 
of  the  sky  that  is  always  blue  in  those 
mountains. 

This  annexation  of  his  castle  wall 
prejudiced  our  Bara  Sahib  against  the  hill- 
mefl,  and  when  two  large  belts — one 
rubber  and  one  leather — ^were  missing,  he 
spoke  ill  words  of  the  inhabitants.  This 
looting  act  seemed  such  a  piece  of  gratui- 
tous unfriendliness.  Possessors  of  nothing 
but  a  few  sheep  and  their  implements  of 
industry,  knives  and  guns,  machinery  belts 
must  prove  superfluous.  But  when  the 
tribesmen  paid  us  friendly  calls,  joyous  in 
the  possession  of  new  sandals,  unmistak- 
ably cut  from  our  belts,  Slade  withdrew  his 
expression  of  "damn  fools,"  leaving  the 
stigma  of  "cheeky  thieves.** 

However  it  was  considered  politic  and 
less  troublous  to  send  for  other  belts  rather 
than  seek  to  arrest  the  whole  tribe.  The 
Marries  were  subjects  of  the  Khan  of 
Khelat  theoretically;  in  actuality  they 
knew*only  the  chieftainship  of  their  head- 
man, and  the  guidance  of  their  own  sweet 
wills.  The  Khan  of  Khelat  was  a  vassal  of 
the  British  Raj,  and  the  belts  would  be 
deducted  from  his  subsidy. 

The  very  atmosphere  of  those  hills  was 
productive  of  robbery.  When  the  tribes- 
men were  not  looting,  the  hyenas  and  hill- 
leopards  were  taking  our  milk-goats  from 
the  very  tent  doors. 

But  the  real  happening  came  about  over 
an  innocent  bottle  of  White  Rose  perfume; 
hardly  forceful  enough  in  its  innocuous 
daintiness  to  set  the  death  angel  stalking 
through  that  mountain  valley,  one  would 
think. 

A  caravan  of  three  camels,  bringing  us 
supplies,  was  looted  ten  miles  back  on  the 
trail.  The  owner  came  to  our  camp  with 
his  burdenless  camels,  and  a  sword  cut  in 
his  cheek.  Most  of  the  stolen  freight  had 
been  personal  supplies  of  the  Bara  Sahib, 
and  one  item  was  a  box  of  White  Rose. 

Strangely  enough  Slade,  who  was  as  big 
and  gaunt  as  an  Afghan,  was  as  fond  of 
perfume  as  a  woman.  He  cursed  with 
vehemence  as  he  dressed  the  camel  man's 
wound,  and  chuckled  ironically  at  thought 
of  a  greasy,  evil-smelling  Pathan  spraying 
his  unkempt  hair  with  subtle  White  Rose. 


"God  in  heaven!"  Slade  ejaculated; 
"fancy  one  of  these  sheepskin-coated 
brutes  whipping  out  my  bottle  of  White 
Rose  and  taking  a  whiff." 

Next  day  the  camel  man  informed  Slade 
that  the  three  Pathans  who  had  held  him 
up  were  even  then  down  at  the  sowars* 
camp — he  had  seen  them. 

"Of  all  the  cheek,"  growled  the  Bara 
Sahib,  stalking  angrily  down  to  the  encamp- 
ment. 

"That's  the  leader,"  the  camel  man  said, 
pointing  to  as  fine  a  specimen  of  cut- 
throat as  we  had  yet  seen,  even  in  that 
land  of  freebooters. 

Slade  called  to  the  Subardar  of  the  troop 
to  arrest  the  Pathan.  The  latter,  taking 
the  scent  of  trouble,  commenced  to  back 
sullenly  away  with  his  two  comrades. 
Slade,  fearing  he  might  escape,  jumped  and 
grabbed  him.  There  was  a  fierce  struggle, 
the  Pathan  striving  to  draw  his  tulwar. 
Suddenly,  with  a  bang,  the  Bara  Sahib's 
fist  crashed  on  the  Pathan's  jaw,  and  he 
fell  like  a  log.  The  sowars,  running  to  the 
fray,  had  seized  his  two  companions. 

The  Pathan  denied  emphatically,  in 
fierce  pusto,  participation  in  the  robbery. 
He  was  Ghazi  Khan,  a  warrior,  also  an 
owner  of  sheep,  and  not  a  looter  of  the 
sahib's  property.  But  on  his  person  was 
the  most  conclusive  circumstantial  evi- 
dence. The  sheep  taint  had  been  subdued 
almost  to  the  edge  of  sweetness  by  the  Bara 
Sahib's  White  Rose. 

The  robber  was  figuratively  passed 
around  for  a  sniff  of  identification.  Be- 
sides, the  man  he  had  carved  with  his 
tulwar  denounced  him.  The  robber  was 
taken  to  Sibi  by  a  guard  of  sowars,  swear- 
ing by  the  Beard  of  Allah  he  would  yet 
send  the  infidel  Feringhee,  Slade,  to  the 
abode  of  everiasting  torment,  which  is  the 
lot  of  all  unbelievers. 

"  He'll  cool  oflF  before  he  gets  out,"  Slade 
remarked.  But  the  camel  man,  either  be- 
cause of  bribery  or  through  fear  of  th3 
Pathan,  passed  into  oblivion,  taking  with 
him  his  wound,  and  the  court,  considering 
the  White  Rose  too  evanescent  as  evidence, 
failed  to  convict  the  robber.  Ghazi  Khan 
came  back  to  his  castle,  which  was  a  cave 
on  the  mountain  side;  and  though  Slade 
laughed  at  our  fears,  we  felt  that  evil  would 
yet  come  of  this  nasty  incident. 

A  month  passed,  and  though  things  hap- 

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pened  there  was  no  deviltry  traceable  to 
our  friend  of  the  White  Rose. 

A  Bara  Sahib  is  a  man  who  is  allowed  to 
do  just  as  he  likes,  but  we  remonstrated 
with  Slade  for  his  habit  of  wandering  about 
the  hills  alone,  collecting  geological  speci- 
mens.   Our  remonstrance  was  useless. 

One  afternoon  Slade  went  out  on  a 
search  for  ammonites,  armed  with  nothing 
but  a  geologist's  hammer  and  a  bag  for 
specimens.  I  saw  him  cross  the  small 
stream  that  wound  like  a  turquoise  anklet 
about  the  feet  of  the  mountains  down  in  the 
bottom  of  the  valley.  1  watched  him  pick 
his  way  up  the  red  sandy  slope  of  a  moun- 
tain, that  looked  so  near  in  that  rare 
atmosphere.  Presently  he  disappeared 
from  view,  and  I  went  about  my  duties. 

At  five  o'clock  the  pale  blue  sky  was 
suddenly  made  dark  as  though  night  had 
arrived  ahead  of  time.  A  hurricane  tore 
up  the  valley  that  was  like  a  tunnel,  and  its 
voice  was  as  the  cannonading  of  great  guns. 
Our  tents  were  crumpled  as  though  they  had 
been  but  tissue  paper.  In  the  wake  of  the 
wind  came  the  dropping  to  earth  of  a  sea — 
it  was  as  though  the  bottom  had  been  pulled 
from  under  a  lake  up  in  the  skies.  Then 
huge  bins  of  hail  burst  their  sides,  and  an 
avalanche  of  ice  beads  shot  from  the  clouds. 

In  less  than  an  hour  it  was  all  over.  The 
sky,  placid  once  more,  began  to  gray  with 
the  frown  of  eventide;  the  stars  peeped 
down  shyly  between  the  mountain  walls 
rising  three  thousand  feet  on  either  side  of 
us,  and  down  in  the  valley  the  turquoise 
stream,  that  was  now  sullen  red  in  its  anger, 
roared  hoarsely  as  it  battled  with  the  rocks, 
and  dredged  new  channels  in  the  yielding 
sand. 

Slade  had  not  returned.  It  seemed  a 
strange  fatality  that  he  should  have  been 
on  Ghazi  Khan's  home  mountain  during 
the  storm,  for  Marrie-land  was  just  a  desert 
stood  on  end,  rain  falling  but  once  or  twice 
during  the  year. 

We  waited  for  a  time,  thinking  that  per- 
haps he  had  been  detained  by  the  flooded 
torrent.  But  it  grew  dark,  and  still  he  had 
not  returned.  Then,  taking  a  dozen 
sowars,  with  heavy  hearts  we  set  out  to 
search  for  the  missing  sahib.  Fording  the 
torrent  nearly  cost  us  a  couple  of  lives.  We 
were  neck  deep  in  its  icy  waters  at  times, 
and  twirled  about  like  corks  as  we  clung  to 
each  other,  a  human  chain. 


Once  across  we  separated.  With  three 
sowars'l  made  for  the  cave-home  of  Ghazi 
Khan,  while  the  others  spread  out  fan-like, 
and  worked  up  the  mountain  side,  calling, 
and  swinging  their  lanterns.  My  men  led 
the  way  up  a  ravine  that  now  held  a  small 
stream,  though  its  sides  bore  the  marks  of 
recent  flood. 

Suddenly  the  sowar  in  the  lead  tripped 
over  something,  and  fell.  As  he  came  to 
earth  he  cried  out  in  horror:  "Allah!  admi 
mara  hail** 

My  heart  stood  still.  A  dead  man!  It 
must  be  Slade. 

In  dread  I  rushed  to  the  trooper's  side. 
In  the  night  light  1  could  make  out  a 
crumpled  figure  wedged  amongst  the 
bowlders.  Fearfully,  with  repugnance,  I 
put  out  my  hand,  and  it  fell  upon  a  tangled 
matted  beard.  That  the  touch  of  a  dead 
man  could  bring  a  thrill  of  joy  to  one  living 
seems  strange,  but  1  muttered  in  thankful- 
ness: "Thank  God!  it's  not  poor  old 
Slade."  I  struck  a  match  and  held  it  close 
to  the  face  of  the  dead  man — it  was  Ghazi 
Khan.  His  shoulders  were  wedged  tight 
between  two  rocks;  it  required  foite  to 
release  him. 

But  still  we  had  not  found  our  missing 
friend.  So,  leaving  a  man  with  the  body, 
we  continued  on  up  the  mountain.  No 
need  now  to  go  to  the  cave — the  tragedy, 
whatever  it  was,  had  been  enacted  on  the 
mountain  side.  Till  midnight  we  s  arched, 
seeing  at  times  the  blinking  eye  of  the  lan- 
terns flitting  erratically  here  and  there,  up 
and  down,  and  finally  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valley  where  the  torrent's  voice  was  now 
all  but  hushed.  Then  we  went  back,  carry- 
ing the  dead  Pathan  with  us,  hoping  that 
the  other  party  had  found  Slade,  and 
living. 

The  stream  had  fallen,  and  we  crossed 
with  less  difficulty.  When  we  came  to  the 
tents  we  found  the  Bara  Sahib  in  bed,  and 
my  comrades  listening  to  his  part  of  the 
drama. 

When  Slade  saw  the  dead  Ghazi  Khan 
he  exclaimed:  "He  got  his  just  deserts, 
though  I  had  not  hoped  for  such  swift 
retribution." 

Then  he  commenced  again  at  the  begin- 
ning and  told  us  what  had  occurred: 

"About  four  o'clock  1  saw  this  Pathan 
cutthroat,  Ghazi  Khan,  sta'king  me;  he 
was  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 


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*I  knew  he  was  watching  me  like  a  cat,  probably  had  the  long  Drauinghy  charics  sarka. 

barrel  of  his  rifle  trained  on  me." 


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his  sheepskin  coat  made  him  look  for  all 
the  world  like  a  sheep.  1  think  he  had  his 
baggy  white  breeches  rolled  up  to  hide 
them. 

''At  first  1  did  think  it  a  stray  sheep  or 
goat,  for  that  was  his  game  of  course. 

"Perhaps  he  slipped  on  a  stone — 1  don't 
know  just  what  happened,  but  1  caught  a 
glint  of  white  cloth,  and  knew  at  once  that 
it  was  Ghazi.  And  the  villain  had  cun- 
ningly got  below  me,  or  I'd  have  made  a 
break  down  the  mountain  side,  and  let  him 
blaze  away  at  me  on  the  run.  He  was 
working  near  for  a  pot  shot — he  would 
never  come  to  close  quarters,  or  I  might 
have  had  a  chance  with  the  hammer. 

"  1  continued  my  peaceful  occupation  of 
chipping  rock,  and  you  can  rest  assured 
that  the  comer  of  my  eye  was  doing  big 
business.  1  was  thinking  some,  too.  I 
knew  that  when  he  had  worked  well  within 
range,  Ghazi  would  take  a  crack  at  me  with 
his  long-barreled  je^ail. 

"All  at  once  I  remembered  a  cave  in  the 
very  gorge  in  which  you  found  the  dead 
Pathan;  I  had  prospected  it  for  fossils.  It 
was  in  a  canon  probably  five  hundred  yards 
long — a  regular  cleft  in  the  mountain,  with 
steep  walls  ten  to  twenty  feet  high.  1  had 
visited  it  before  by  climbing  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  cafion.  But  1  knew  that  I 
could  get  to  it  by  dropping  from  above  to  a 
ledge  at  the  cave  mouth. 

"Unfortunately,  to  reach  it,  1  had  to 
approach  the  skulking  Pathan.  But  I  took 
a  chance,  and  worked  down  toward  the 
cave,  cracking  away  with  my  hammer,  and 
sauntering  along  indifferently,  as  though  I 
was  quite  unaware  of  the  cutthroat  who 
had  now,  seeing  me  coming  his  way,  hidden 
behind  a  rock.  1  surmised  he  would  do 
this,  and  it^as  just  a  question  of  whether 
e  was  well  within  his  range  or  not. 
•  c  iiii^jfit  be,  and  he  might  shoot  before  1 
had  a  chance  to  slip  over  the  bank.  1 1  was 
a  brt  hard  on  the  nerve,  1  must  say.  I 
daren't  look  toward  him,  and  expected 
every  minute  to  hear  the  ringing  crack  of 
his  rifle,  and  feel  the  hot  plow  of  his 
bullet. 

"He  must  have  chuckled  to  himself  as 
he  saw  me  coming  closer  and  closer,  and 
felt  how  completely  1  was  in  his  power.  He 
could  see  that  I  was  unarmed,  and  probably 
that  was  why  he  waited  just  a  trifle  too 
long.    Once  in  the  cave  he  could  not  reach 


me  with  his  rifle,  and  I  cou!d  hold  half  a 
dozen  Pathans  at  bay  with  my  hammer. 

"To  reach  that  hole  in  the  rocks  meant 
safety.  I  knew  that  when  I  did  not  return 
at  night  you  would  come  searching  for 
me,  and  Ghazi  Khan  would  have  to  clear 
out. 

"I  suppose  I  was  not  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  rock  behind  which  Ghazi  Khan 
crouched  when  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  the 
canon  just  above  the  cave.  I  picked  a 
sample  of  rock  from  my  bag  and  examined 
it  critically.  Then  I  unshipped  the  bag 
from  my  shoulder,  and  taking  another 
piece  from  it  held  it  up  to  the  light,  some- 
what in  the  direction  of  Ghazi's  rock. 

"  I  knew  he  was  watching  me  like  a  cat, 
probably  had  the  long  barrel  of  his  rifle 
trained  on  me,  and  thought  that  as  my 
face  turned  his  way,  busy  with  the  exami- 
nation of  the  specimen,  he  would  conceal 
himself  for  a  minute  for  fear  of  being  seen. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  what  he  did,  for,,  with 
a  quick  move,  I  dropped  to  the  ledge  and 
bolted  into  the  cave.  He  must  have  been 
an  astonished  Pathan  when  he  peeped 
again  and  saw  nothing  of  the  sahib  he  was 
making  so  sure  of. 

"1  did  not  expose  myself,  but  kept  a 
sharp  look-out  just  inside  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  I  was  there  about  fifteen  minutes 
when  the  storm  broke.  It  came  with 
awful  suddenness — it  seemed  only  a  min- 
ute till  the  cafion  was  a  mill-race.  1  began 
to  fear  that  I  should  be  drowned  right  in 
the  cave. 

"  I  suppose  Ghazi  Khan  knew  that  I  was 
in  the  canon  somewhere,  and  was  working 
his  way  up  it  when  the  torrent  caught  him; 
at  any  rate  1  did  not  see  him  again  until  I 
looked  upon  him  here — dead. 

"When -it  became  dark  I  climbed  the 
slope  above,  and  made  my  way  cautiously 
down  into  the  valley.  But  I  was  forced  to 
make  a  long  detour  up  stream  to  find  a 
crossing." 

We  never  knew  just  how  Ghazi  Khan 
came  by  his  death.  One  of  his  legs  was 
broken.  Whether  he  fell  going  down  into 
the  cafion,  and  so  snapped  the  bone,  and 
was  caught  thus  disabled  by  the  torrent, 
or  whether  the  rushing  waters  had  smashed 
his  limb  against  a  rock,  we  knew  not. 

At  any  rate  he  was  very  dead,  which  was 
a  fortunate  thing  for  the  Bara  Sahib's 
welfare. 


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SEE  AMERICA   FIRST 


BY  WILLIAM  j.    LAMPTON 


THE  transatlantic  liner  was  dropping 
slowly  down  New  York  Bay,  out- 
ward bound.  The  air  was  crisp 
and  thin,  the  sky  clear  blue,  and  the  waters 
sparkled  in  the  sunlight.  Two  women 
stood  on  the  steamer's  deck,  apart  from  the 
crowd,  talking  and  looking  at  the  changing 
beauties  of  the  great  cyclorama  spread 
about  them  from  this  central  point.  They 
were  representative  Anglo-Saxon  women, 
at  least  so  far  as  concerned  wealth,  social 
position  and  educational  advantages.  One 
was  of  New  York,  the  other  of  London. 
They  had  met  two  hours  before  through  the 
introduction  of  a  mutual  friend  who  had 
come  down  to  the  ship  to  say  good-bye. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"  said  Mrs.  Jonathan 
with  a  note  of  home  pride  in  her  tones. 
What  they  saw  was  American  purely,  and 
she  was  talking  to  an  Englishwoman. 

"Not  only  beautiful,"  replied  Mrs.  John, 
heartily,  "but  significant."  This  was  not 
Mrs.  John's  first  visit  to  America  and  she 
had  been  among  us  long  enough  to  have 
Americanized  her  Anglicism  to  its  benefit. 

"Significant  of  what?"  queried  Mrs. 
Jonathan,  who  it  must  be  admitted  was  no 
more  profound  than  many  of  her  sisters. 
"I  don't  quite  understand." 

The  Englishwoman  raised  her  eyebrows 
inquisitively,  good-naturedly,  commiserat- 
ingly  perhaps. 

"  Have  you  never  thought  how  new  it  all 
is?"  she  responded. 

"Like  everything  American,"  almost 
sighed  Mrs.  Jonathan.  "That  is  why  I 
love  to  go  to  the  old  countries.  You  know 
one  feels  in  America  as  if  she  were  living 
always  in  a  new  house  newly  furnished. 
Perhaps  1  may  lack  in  loyalty  to  my  own, 
but,  you  know,  I  do  like  a  little  smell  of 
mold — a  sense  of  use,  of  age — a  ruined 
castle  here  and  there — something  with  the 


moss  of  history  draping  its  weather-worn 
walls." 

Mrs.  John  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Very  prettily  put,  indeed,"  she  said, 
"and  quite  commendable  in  sentiment,  but 
have  you  never  thought  as  you  have  stood 
low  in  the  valley  of  the  Yosemite  and 
looked  upon  those  massive  walls  uprearing 
to  the  clouds  that  they  were  old  enough — 
that  they  were  old,  old,  old,  thousands  of 
years  before  the  stone  in  the  moss-covered 
walls  of  Europe's  oldest  historic  structures 
had  been  taken  from  the  earth?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Jonathan  appealingly, 
"I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  old.  I  mean 
artificial  old.  Of  course,  1  know  that  our 
hills  are  as  old  as  any  others,  but  I  don't 
go  abroad  to  see  the  hills  of  other  lands. 
It  isn't  nature,  but  art  and  history  that 
attract  me,  don't  you  know." 

"Still  you  appreciate  the  grand  works  of 
nature?"  persisted  Mrs.  John. 

"Oh,  well — yes,  of  course — I  suppose 
so,"  Mrs.  Jonathan  admitted  somewhat  on 
the  instalment  plan. 

"You  have  seen  Yosemite?"  said  Mrs. 
John,  half  inquiry,  half  affirmation. 

"Never,  but  1  have  always " 

"Never  seen  Yosemite?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
John,  amazed  almost  to  the  limit  of  good 
manners  in  polite  conversation. 

"No;  it  is  so  far,  don't  you  know.  So 
awfully  out  West." 

"But  not  farther  than  across  the  sea," 
argued  Mrs.  John,  ignoring,  or  not  grasping, 
the  significance  of  "out  West"  to  the  east- 
ern woman. 

"Isn't  it?"  Mrs.  Jonathan  asked  as  if  she 
knew  it  must  be  vastly  farther  away  than 
London. 

"Not  so  far  in  days,"  Mrs.  John  kindly 
explained,  "for  as  you  Americans  say,  it  is 
'rail  all  the  way.'" 


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"  But  nobody  goes  to  Yosemite  except 
excursionists,"  Mrs.  Jonathan  contended, 
"  and  I  abominate  excursions." 

"I  went,"  said  Mrs.  John  simply. 

Mrs.  Jonathan  felt  the  need  of  apologiz- 
ing. "Oh,  I  don't  mean  foreigners.  They 
feel  in  duty  bound  to  see  everything." 

"  If  they  think  what  you  have  in  America 
is  worth  coming  so  far  to  see,  won't  you 
admit  that  it  is  worth  seeing?" 

"But  you  are  different.  You  have  the 
old  and  want  to  see  the  new;  we  have  the 
new  and  want  to  see  the  old." 

"The  intelligent  foreigner  wants  to  see 
both — the  works  of  man  and  the  works  of 
nature." 

"The  improved  and  the  unimproved," 
laughed  Mrs.  Jonathan,  quite  nearly  a 
superficial  giggle.  "As  for  me,  I'd  rather 
see  St.  Peter's  at  Rome  than " 

"But,"  interrupted  Mrs.  John,  "the 
groves  were  God's  first  temples.  You  have 
never  seen  the  big  trees  of  California?" 

Mrs.  Jonathan  shook  her  head. 

"Then  you  should,  and  when  you  see 
them,  1  am  sure  you  will  not  feel  as  you 
do.    You  have  visited  Egypt?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jonathan  brighten- 
ing at  the  prospect  of  a  change  in  the  con- 
versation. "  I  was  there  for  a  month  last 
winter.    The  temples  of  Kamak " 

"Pardon  me,"  Mrs.  John  gracetully  in- 
terrupted, "  I  think  I  know  what  you  would 
say,  but  if  only  you  could  stand  in  the  bed 
of  Cedar  Creek  and  look  upward  to  the  arch 
of  the  Natural  Bridge  of  Virginia,  you 
would  see  a  temple  entrance  grander  than 
ever  Kamak  knew.  No  human  architect 
has  ever  builded  such  an  arch  as  that! 
You  have  seen  the  Alps?" 

Mrs.  Jonathan  brightened  again.  This 
Englishwoman  was  making  her  uncomfort- 
able. Perhaps  there  were  things  at  home 
which  she  should  have  seen,  but  they  were 
always  with  her  and  she  intended  to  see 
them  some  time.     First,  however 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  a  bit  proudly 
perhaps,  "many  times.  Now,  you  must 
admit  we  haven't  anything " 

"The  Alps  are  beautiful,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  John,  "they  are  more  than  that,  but 
stand  at  the  level  of  the  sea  and  look  toward 
Mt.  Ranier  out  yonder  on  your  Pacific 
Coast.  There  you  will  see  a  glory  of  lofty 
whiteness  clothed  in  such  pinks  and  purples 
as  never  laid  their  light  upon  the  Alps " 


"I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Jonathan,  pulling  herself  together  fiercely, 
"but  really  you  go  into  such  raptures  over 
what  you  have  seen  in  America  that  I  begin 
to  think  you  are  a  real  estate  boomer  or  the 
editor  of  a  railroad  folder.  You  are  not, 
are  you?" 

Mrs.  John  frowned  for  a  moment  and 
began  to  laugh. 

"Well,"  she  explained,  "I  have  lived  in 
California  for  five  years  and  perhaps  my 
enthusiasm  has  grown  over-luxuriantly 
there  as  everything  else  does.  But  you 
Americans,  or  most  of  you  at  least,  need 
somebody  to  stir  you  up  on  your  own 
attractions." 

"You  are  doing  your  full  duty  by  us," 
smiled  Mrs.  Jonathan,  feeling  somewhat 
stronger  since  her  revolt. 

"I  hope  so,  and  I  may  be  over-zeal- 
ous. Without  any  object  beyond  talking 
about  what  the  beauties  of  America  are, 
I  begin  to  talk  about  them  to  Ameri- 
cans, feeling  that  no  subject  would  be  more 
interesting,  no  praise  sweeter  than  that  of 
one's  own  things,  when,  lo,  they  have  no 
knowledge  of  their  own,  and  the  very  sur- 
prise of  it  sends  me  off  into  a  sort  of  hysteria 
of  description.  I  feel  like  a  discoverer 
telling  of  the  strange  things  he  has  seen." 

"That's  the  way  it  sounded  to  me,"  Mrs. 
Jonathan  kindly  admitted. 

"  But  I  don't  care,"  Mrs.  John  went  on 
smoothly,  "for  I  am  doing  some  good,  I 
know.  Why,  only  last  week  I  spoke  to  a 
New  Yorker  about  the  Grand  Cafion  of  the 
Colorado — and  in  all  the  world  there  is 
nothing  showing  such  gorgtousness  of 
color,  such  terrors  of  nature — and  do 
you  know,  he  said  he  didn't  know  there 
was  a  Grand  Cafion  in  Colorado.  I  asked 
him  scornfully  if  he  had  ever  heard  of 
Pike's  Peak,  and  he  said  with  a  beaming 
countenance  that  he  had  because  it  was  not 
far  from  there  that  he  had  an  interest  in  a 
mining  claim  which  was  paying  twenty-five 
per  cent." 

"That  sort  of  dividend  is  quite  Pike's- 
peakian,"  laughed  Mrs.  Jonathan,  "at 
least  as  compared  with  those  from  my 
husband's  mining  property  out  there." 

Mrs.  John  took  it  pleasantly.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  she  had  seen  the  dollar 
mark  showing  itself  on  the  American  mind. 
"And  there  was  another  man,"  she  said, 
"  he  was  from  Philadelphia.     He  was  telling 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


me  about  some  wonderful  spring  of  real 
boiling  water  which  squirted — that  was  his 
word — up  into  the  air  as  high  as  his  head. 
I  told  him  there  were  in  Yellowstone  Park 
hundreds  of  hot  springs  greater  than  any  in 
Europe,  and  there  were  scores  of  geysers 
spouting  out  there  two  hundred  and  even 
three  hundred  feet  high,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  made  any  European  locality 
famous  to  Americans,  and  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  said  he  thought  all  those  stories 
were  mere  railroad  advertisements  to  at- 
tract the  ignorant/' 

"They  didn't  seem  to  have  attracted 
him,"  ventured  Mrs.  Jonathan.  "1  know 
better  than  that  myself." 

"Good,  good,"  cried  Mrs.  John.  "Some 
day  I  am  sure  you  will  see  for  yourself. 
There  is  no  place  on  earth  like  the  Park!" 

"But  there  is  history,"  ventured  Mrs. 
Jonathan  lamely,  the  meanwhile  wonder- 
ing why  it  was  an  Englishwoman  was 
positively  the  most  disagreeable  of  all  her 
sex  when  she  wanted  to  be. 

"What  is  history,"  countered  Mrs  John, 
"but  a  story  of  wars?  Have  you  ever 
visited  the  battlefield  at  Gettysburg,  only  a 
few  hours  from  New  York,  and  wandered 
over  it?  It  is  a  turning-point  in  history, 
and  a  monument  to  victor  and  vanquished 
whose  ^qual  does  not  exist  and  never  has 
existed  in  any  land,  it  is  a  tribute  of 
Peace  to  War  in  which  all  the  gentler  arts 
have  combined  to  hide  this  crimson  page  of 
history. 

"  You  went  to  Niagara  on  your  wedding 
trip,  didn't  you?"  continued  Mrs.  John, 
with  a  pretty  touch  of  sentiment. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  quite  the  vogue  when  I 
was  married,"  responded  Mrs.  Jonathan 
cheerily,  "but  I  wouldn't  think  of  doing  so 
now.  But  I  can  remember  how  it  impressed 
me,  and  1  felt  that  there  couldn't  be  any- 
thing quite  so  grand  as  that." 

"There  isn't,  in  the  way  of  a  water- 
fall," corroborated  Mrs.  John.  "There  are 
plenty  of  waterfalls  in  Europe,  but  they 
have  to  be  lighted  by  colored  lights  and 
paid  for  in  your  hotel  bill  to  make  any  show 
worth  looking  at,  while  Niagara  is  worthy 
of  all  that  has  been  written  of  it  and  painted 
of  it  and  said  of  it.  You  were  there  on 
your  wedding  trip;  now  when  you  get  home 
again,  pack  up  your  luggage  and  that  good 
husband  of  yours — oh,  I  have  heard  of  him 
—and  start  out  on  another  trip  from  New 


York  City.  Go  up  the  Hudson  to  Lake 
George,  and  through  placid  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  where  old  Fort  Ticonderoga  is  history 
and  reminds  you  of  the.ruinson  the  Rhine. 
From  Plattsburggo  winding  by  rail  into  the 
Adirondacks,  the  little  Switzerland  of  the 
East,  and  by  stage — ^you  will  think  you  are 
going  among  the  lesser  Alps  by  diligence — 
whither  you  will,  and  finally  come  again  to 
the  railway  leading  southward.  Thence  to 
the  lake  region  of  central  New  York,  some 
day  destined  to  be  like  the  lake  region  of 
England,  only  much  greater  in  extent; 
thence  on  to  Niagara  of  your  bridal  days, 
but  not  the  same.  Man's  hand  has  marred 
the  work  of  nature,  but  nature  is  still 
triumphant.  Now  by  the  Great  Lakes — 
their  kind  you  will  not  find  however  far  you 
travel  beyond  the  sea — and  on  and  on, 
a  thousand  miles  through  fields  of  waving 
grain,  and  pastures  like  a  sea  on  which  the 
herds  are  sails,  and  you  come  to  Denver,  a 
mile  above  the  world  you've  lived  in.  As 
long  as  you  please  you  may  wander  in  the 
clear,  dry  air,  seeing  an  Alp  at  every  turn, 
snow-clad  till  the  earth  bums  up.  Away 
again,  over  roads  that  pass  through  clouds 
and  take  your  breath  till  you  stop  at  Salt 
Lake  in  which  your  famous  Dead  Sea  could 
be  preserved  in  brine  and  nobody  could 
find  it.     You  have  seen  the  Golden  Horn?" 

Mrs.  Jonathan  nodded.  That's  all  she 
could  do.  She  was  speechless  in  this  rush 
of  language. 

"Well,"  Mrs.  John  flew  on,  "when  you 
have  seen  the  Golden  Gate  you  will  not 
wonder  at  the  difference  between  Turkey 

and  California.     But  keep  moving " 

poor  Mrs.  Jonathan  was  getting  awfully 
tired — "and  go  north  now  past  Shasta,  and 
Hood  and  Ranier,  and  their  lesser  satellites 
of  snowy  peaks,  to  Seattle,  a  city  sitting  on 
more  hills  than  Rome  ever  knew,  and  take 
a  steamer  for  the  inside  passage  to  Skag- 
way.  There  you  will  find  a  new  land  of  the 
Midnight  Sun  with  fiords  no  less  grand  and 
gloomy;  or  turn  from  the  shadows  to  the 
sunlight  and  stop  in  Southern  California. 
You  have  seen  the  Riviera?  Yes?"  Mrs. 
John  didn't  give  Mrs.  Jonathan  time  to 
even  nod  an  affirmation,  but  was  going 
again.  "You  will  see  a  fresher  and  finer 
one  there.  And  you  will  hear  the  old,  old 
mission  bells  ringing  in  the  new.  Such 
flowers,  such  scenery,  such  fruits,  such  sun- 
shine, such — but  pardon  me,  I   promised 


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not  to  rhapsodize,  didn't  I?  Turn  east- 
ward now,  going  through  the  Mojave 
Desert,  stopping  on  the  way  to  stare 
and  stagger  before  the  awful  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Grand  Canon  1  told  you  of,  and 
to  see  the  petrified  forest,  as  a  reminder  of 
ruins  older  than  Baalbec  and  Babylon.  At 
New  Orleans,  a  little  southern  Paris,  take 
steamer  up  the  Mississippi — though  down 
it  is  quicker — for  a  thousand  miles  through 
the  land  of  cotton  and  the  cane,  thence  into 
the  Ohio,  and  for  another  thousand  sail 
through  a  picture  valley  to  Pittsburg, 
where  the  iron  works  and  money  make 
Titian  and  Vulcan  and  Tubal  Cain  look 
like  thirty  cents,  as  you  Americans  say. 
Then  there  are  the  coal  fields  of  Penn- 
sylvania; the  gold  fields  of  the  far  West; 
the  great  plains  that  seem  to  have  no 
end;  cities  that  have  risen  in  a  night  to 
wealth  and  power;  colleges  whose  buildings 
are  sermons  in  stone;  men  and  women  who 
in  science  and  art  and  literature " 

Mrs.  Jonathan  took  a  long,  long  breath. 

"Good  gracious!"  she  exclaimed,  '*  Td  be 
dead  before  I  had  done  all  that.'* 

"Dead?"  laughed  Mrs.  John,  her  cheeks 
as  pink  as  if  she  had  made  the  trip  on  horse- 
back. "Why,  my  dear  lady,  you  would 
have  just  waked  up.  The  half  hasn't  been 
told  you." 

"There  isn't  any  more  to  see  in  this 
country,  is  there?"  asked  Mrs.  Jonathan. 

"Oh,  I  have  plenty  more,"  laughed  Mrs. 
John. 

"I'm  sure  of  that;  but  use  them  on  some 
other  American  unappreciative  of  her  own 
country.  You've  used  enough  on  me  to 
convince  me  that  I  have  been  very  remiss. 
You  know  we  have  to  look  to  the  older 
countries  for  what  the  years  have  brought 
to  them  in  the  finer  things  of  life." 

"  But  the  trend  of  civilization  is  to  the 
westward,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"What  I  have  said  about  Americans," 
Mrs.  John  became  serious  again,  "does  not 
in  any  sense  mean  that  1  oppose  their  going 


to  Europe  and  all  over  the  world.  The 
more  they  do  that  the  better  Americans 
they  will  become.  But  I  do  think  that 
before  trying  to  find  out  what  may  be 
found  away  from  home  they  first  see  what 
may  be  found  worth  knowing  and  telling 
of  in  their  own  country.  In  that  way  they 
become  widely  distributed  books  of  refer- 
ence, and  while  they  are  learning  of  other 
people  and  things  they  can  teach  of  their 
own.  I  never  have  seen  an  American  who 
was  not  better  for  having  been  away  from 
home,  but  I  have  seen  many  who  would 
have  made  a  better  impression  if  they  had 
known  America  more  and  Europe  less." 

"Me,  for  example?"  said  Mrs.  Jonathan, 
just  as  most  people  do  when  the  other  per- 
son makes  an  ambiguous  statement. 

"No,  now,"  laughed  Mrs.  John,  "and 
yes,  when  you  first  told  me  you  had  not 
seen  your  own  country.  Some  people 
won't  learn  when  they  have  the  chance, 
imagining  they  know  it  all.  But  you  are 
progressive,  as  all  good  Americans  are,  and 
now  that  you  have  grasped  the  idea  I 
feel  quite  sure  you  will  not  stop  until  you 
have  become  fully  Americanized." 

"As  you  are?"  nodded  Mrs.  Jonathan. 

"As  I  am  and  glad  to  be,  and  am  1  any 
the  worse  Englishwoman  for  it?"  responded 
Mrs.  John. 

"No,  indeed,  but  for  a  little  while  I 
thought  you  were  about  the  most  disagree- 
able type  of  your  people  1  had  ever  seen. 
Not  that  you  were  so  narrow,  as  so  many 
of  them  are,  but  that  you  were  so  much 
broader  than  I  was." 

"After  that  we  can't  help  being  friends," 
said  Mrs.  John,  extending  her  hand  as  men 
do  under  such  circumstances,  "and  when 
you  have  reached  England  you  must  come 
and  stay  as  long  as  you  wish  in  my  home 
to  prove  that  1  mean  well,  if  I  don't  always 
quite  say  it." 

"  You  promise  not  to  say  a  word  about 
my  great  and  glorious  country?"  queried 
Mrs.  Jonathan,  smiling  acceptance. 


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THE   WAY   OF   A   MAN 


BY   EMERSON    HOUGH 


CHAPTER  I 


THE    KISSING   OF    MISS    GRACE   SHERATON 


ADMIT  I  kissed  her. 
Perhaps  I  should  not 
have  done  so.  Perhaps 
1  would  not  do  so  again. 
Had  I  known  what  was 
to  come  I  could  not 
have  done  so.  Never- 
theless I  did. 
After  all,  it  was  not  strange.  All  things 
about  us  conspired  to  be  accessory  and 
incendiary.  The  air  of  the  Virginia  morn- 
ing was  so  soft  and  warm,  the  honeysuckles 
along  the  wall  were  so  languid  sweet,  the 
bees  in  the  spring  roses  so  fat  and  lazy, 
the  smell  of  the  orchard  was  so  rich,  the 
south  wind  from  the  fields  so  wanton! 
Moreover,  I  was  only  twenty-six.  As  it 
chances,  I  was  this  sort  of  a  man:  thick 
in  the  arm  and  neck,  deep  through,  just 
short  of  six  feet  tall,  and  wide  as  a 
door,  my  mother  said;  strong  as  one  man 
out  of  a  thousand,  my  father  said.  And 
then — the  girl  was  there. 

So  this  was  how  it  happened  that  1  threw 
the  reins  of  Satan,  my  black  horse,  over 
the  hooked  iron  of  the  gate  at  Dixiana 
Farm  and  strode  up  to  the  side  of  the  stone 
pillar  where  Grace  Sheraton  stood  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  watching  me  ap- 
proach through  the  deep  trough  road  that 
flattened  there,  near  the  Sheraton  lane. 
So  I  laughed  and  strode  up — and  kept  my 
promise.  I  had  promised  myself  that  I 
would  kiss  her  the  first  time  that  seemed 
feasible.  I  had  even  promised  her — when 
she  came  home  from  Philadelphia  so  lofty 
and  superior  for  her  stopping  a  brace  of 
years  with  Miss  Carey  at  her  Allendale 
Academy  for  Young  Ladies — that  if  she 
mitigated  not  something  of  her  haughtiness, 


I  would  kiss  her  fair,  as  if  she  were  but  a 
girl  of  the  country.  Of  these  latter  I  may 
guiltily  confess,  though  with  no  names,  I 
had  known  many  who  rebelled  little  more 
than  formally,  at  such  harmless  pastime. 

She  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  stone  pillar, 
where  the  ivy  hiade  a  deep  green,  and  held 
back  her  light  blue  skirt  daintily,  in  her 
high-bred  way,  for  never  was  a  Sheraton 
girl  who  was  not  high-bred  or  other  than 
fair  to  look  upon  in  the  Sheraton  way — 
slender,  rather  tall,  long  cheeked,  with  very 
much  dark  hair  and  a  deep  color  under 
the  skin,  and  something  of  long  curves 
withal.  They  were  ladies,  every  one,  these 
Sheraton  girls;  and  as  Miss  Grace  presently 
advised  me,  no  milkmaids  wandering  and 
waiting  in  lanes  for  lovers. 

When  I  sprang  down  from  Satan,  Miss 
Grace  was  but  a  pace  or  so  away.  I  put 
out  a  hand  on  either  side  of  her  as  she 
stood  in  the  shade,  and  so  prisoned  her 
against  the  pillar.  She  flushed  at  this,  and 
caught  at  my  arm  with  both  hands,  which 
made  me  smile,  for  few  men  in  that  country 
could  have  put  away  my  arms  from  the 
stone  until  1  liked.  Then  I  bent  and 
kissed  her  fair  and  took  what  revenge  was 
due  our  girls  for  her  Philadelphia  manners. 

When  she  boxed  my  ears  1  kissed  her 
once  more.  Had  she  not  at  that  smiled  at 
me  a  little  I  should  have  seemed  a  boor  I 
admit.  As  she  did — and  as  I  in  my  inno- 
cence supposed  all  girls  did — I  presume  I 
may  be  called  but  a  man  as  men  go.  Miss 
Grace  grew  very  rosy  for  a  Sheraton,  but 
her  eyes  were  bright.  So  I  threw  my  hat 
on  the  grass  by  the  side  of  the  gate  and 
bowed  her  to  be  seated.  We  sat  and  looked 
up  the  lane  which  wound  on  to  the  big 
Sheraton  house,  and  up  the  red  road  which 
led  from  their  farms  over  toward  our  lands, 
the  John  Cowles  farms,  which  had  been 


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325 


three  generations  in  our  family  as  against 
four  on  the  part  of  the  Sheratons'  holdings; 
a  fact  which  I  think  always  ranked  us  in 
the  Sheraton  soul  a  trifle  lower  than  them- 
selves. 

We  were  neighbors.  Miss  Grace  and  I, 
and  as  I  lazily  looked  out  over  the  red  road, 
unoccupied  at  the  time  by  even  the 
wobbling  wheel  of  some  negro's  cart,  I  said 
to  her  some  word  of  our  being  neighbors, 
and  of  its  being  no  sin  for  neighbors  to 
exchange  the  courtesy  of  a  greeting  when 
they  met  upon  such  a  morning.  This 
seemed  not  to  please  her;  indeed  I  opine 
that  the  best  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid  is 
to  make  no  manner  of  speech  whatever 
before  or  after  any  such  little  incident  as 
this. 

"  I  was  just  wandering  down  the  lane," 
she  said,  "to  see  if  Jerry  had  found  my 
horse  Fanny." 

"Old  Jerry's  a  mile  back  up  the  road,*' 
said  I,  "fast  asleep  under  the  hedge." 

"The  black  rascal!" 

"He  is  my  friend,"  said  I,  smiling. 

"  You  do  indeed  take  me  for  some  com- 
mon person,"  said  she,  "as  though  I  had 
been  looking  for " 

"No,  1  take  you  only  for  the  sweetest 
Sheraton  ever  came  to  meet  a  Cowles  from 
the  farm  yonder."  Which  was  coming 
rather  close  home;  for  our  families,  though 
neighbors,  had  once  had  trouble  over  some 
such  meeting  as  this  two  generations  back, 
though  of  that  1  do  not  speak  now. 

"Cannot  a  girl  walk  down  her  own 
carriage  road  of  a  morning  after  a  few  roses 
for  the  windows,  without " 

"She  cannot/'  I  answered.  I  would 
have  put  out  an  arm  for  further  mistreat- 
ment, but  all  at  once  I  pulled  up.  What  • 
was  I  coming  to,  I,  John  Cowles,  this 
morning  when  the  bees  droned  fat  and  the 
flowers  made  fragrant  all  the  air?  I  was 
no  boy,  but  a  man  grown;  and  ruthless  as 
I  was,  1  had  all  the  breeding  the  land  could 
give  me,  full  Virginia  training  as  to  what  a 
gentleman  should  be.  And  a  gentleman, 
unless  he  may  travel  all  a  road,  does  not 
set  foot  too  far  into  it  when  he  sees  that  he 
is  taken  at  what  seems  his  wish.  So  now 
I  said  how  glad  1  was  that  she  had  come 
back  from  school,  though  a  fine  lady  now, 
and  no  doubt  forgetful  of  her  friends,  of 
myself,  who  once  caught  young  rabbits  and 
birds  for  her,  and  made  pens  for  the  little 


pink  pigs  at  the  orchard  edge;  and  all  of 
that.  But  she  had  no  mind,  it  seemed  to 
me,  to  talk  of  those  old  days;  and  though 
now  some  sort  of  wall  seemed  to  me  to  arise 
between  us  as  we  sat  there  on  the  bank 
blowing  at  dandelions  and  pulling  loose 
grass  blades  and  humming  a  bit  of  tune 
now  and  then  as  young  persons  will,  still, 
thick-headed  as  I  was,  it  was  in  some  way 
made  apparent  to  me  that  I  was  quite  as 
willing  the  wall  should  be  there  as  she 
herself  was  willing. 

My  mother  had  mentioned  Miss  Grace 
Sheraton  to  me  before.  My  father  had 
never  opposed  my  riding  over  now  and 
then  to  the  Sheraton  gates.  There  were 
no  better  families  in  the  county  than  these 
two.  There  was  no  reason  why  1  should 
feel  troubled.  Yet  as  1  looked  out  into  the 
haze  of  the  hilltops  where  the  red  road 
appeared  to  leap  off  sheer  to  meet  the  dis- 
tant rim  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  1  seemed  to 
hear  some  whispered  warning.  I  was 
young,  and  wild  as  any  deer  in  those  hills 
beyond.  Had  it  been  any  enterprise 
scorning  settled  ways,  had  it  been  merely  a 
breaking  of  orders  and  a  following  of  my 
own  will,  I  suppose  I  might  have  gone  on. 
But  there  are  ever  two  things  which  govern 
an  adventure  for  one  of  my  sex.  He  may 
be  a  man,  but  he  must  also  be  a  gentleman. 
1  suppose  books  might  be  written  about  the 
war  between  those  two  things.  He  may 
be  a  gentleman  sometimes  and  have  credit 
for  being  a  soft-headed  fool,  with  no  daring 
to  approach  the  very  woman  who  has  con- 
tempt for  his  waiting;  whereas  she  may  not 
know  his  reasons  for  restraint.  So  much  for 
civilization,  which  at  times  I  hated  because 
it  brought  such  problems.  Yet  these  prob- 
lems never  cease,  at  least  while  youth  lasts, 
and  no  community  is  free  from  them;  even 
so  quiet  a  one  as  ours  there  in  the  valley  of 
the  old  Blue  Ridge,  before  the  wars  rolled 
across  it  and  made  all  the  young  people  old. 

I  was  of  no  mind  to  end  my  wildness  and 
my  roaming  just  yet;  and  still,  seeing  that 
1  was,  by  gentleness  of  my  Quaker  mother 
and  by  sternness  of  my  Virginia  father,  set 
in  the  class  of  gentleman,  I  had  no  wish 
dishonorably  to  engage  a  woman's  heart. 
Alas,  1  was  not  the  first  to  learn  that  kissing 
is  a  most  difficult  art  to  practice! 

When  one  reflects,  the  matter  seems  most 
intricate.  Life  to  the  young  is  barren 
without  kissing;  yet  a  kiss  with  too  much 

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warmth  may  mean  overmuch,  whereas  a 
kiss  with  no  warmth  to  it  is  not  worth  the 
pains.  The  kiss  which  comes  precisely  at 
the  moment  when  it  should,  in  quite  suffi- 
cient warmth  and  yet  not  of  complicating 
fervor,  working  no  harm  and  but  joy  to 
both  involved — such  kisses,  now  that  one 
pauses  to  think  it  over,  are  relatively  few. 
As  for  me,  I  thought  it  was  time  for  me 
to  be  going. 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  MEETING  OF  GORDON  ORME 

I  had  enough  to  do  when  it  came  to 
mounting  my  horse  Satan.  Few  cared  to 
ride  Satan,  since  it  meant  a  battle  each  time 
he  was  mounted.  He  was  a  splendid  brute, 
black  and  clean,  with  abundant  bone  in  the 
head  and  a  brilliant  eye — blood  all  over, 
that  was  easy  to  see.  Yet  he  was  a  mur- 
derer at  heart.  I  have  known  him  to  bite 
the  backbone  out  of  a  yearling  pig  that 
came  under  his  manger,  and  no  other  horse 
on  our  farms  would  stand  before  him  a 
moment  when  he  came  on,  mouth  open  and 
ears  laid  back.  He  would  fight  man,  dog, 
or  devil,  and  fear  was  not  in  him,  nor  any 
real  submission.  He  was  no  harder  to  sit 
than  many  horses  1  have  ridden.  I  have 
seen  Arabians  and  Barbary  horses  and 
English  hunters  that  would  buck-jump  now 
and  then.  Satan  contented  himself  with 
rearing  high  and  whirling  sharply,  and 
lunging  with  a  low  head,  so  that  to  ride  him 
was  much  a  matter  of  strength  as  well  as 
skill.  The  greatest  danger  was  in  coming 
near  his  mouth  or  heels.  My  father  always 
told  me  that  this  horse  was  not  fit  to  ride; 
but  since  my  father  rode  him — as  he  would 
any  horse  that  offered — nothing  would 
serve  me  but  I  must  ride  Satan  also,  and  so 
I  made  him  my  private  saddler  on  occasion. 

I  ought  to  speak  of  my  father,  that  very 
brave  and  kindly  gentleman  from  whom  I 
got  what  daring  1  ever  had,  I  suppose.  He 
was  a  clean-cut  man,  five-eleven  in  his 
stockings,  and  few  men  in  all  that  country 
had  a  handsomer  body.  His  shoulders 
sloped — an  excellent  configuration  for 
strength,  as  a  study  of  no  less  a  man  than 
George  Washington  will  prove — his  arms 
were  round,  his  skin  white  as  milk,  his  hair 
like  my  own,  a  sandy  red,  and  his  eyes  blue 
and  very  quiet.  There  was  a  balance  in  his 
nature  that  1  have  ever  lacked.     I  rejoice 


even  now  in  his  love  of  justice.  Fair  play 
meant  with  him  something  more  than  fair 
play  for  the  sake  of  sport — it  meant  as  well 
fair  play  for  the  sake  of  justice.  Temper- 
ate to  the  point  of  caring  always  for  his 
body's  welfare,  as  regular  in  his  habits  as 
he  was  in  his  promises  and  their  fulfill- 
ments, kindling  readily  enough  at  any  risk, 
though  never  boasting — 1  always  admired 
him,  and  trust  I  may  be  pardoned  for  saying 
so.  I  fear  that  at  the  time  I  mention  now 
I  admired  him  most  for  his  strength  and 
courage. 

Thus  as  I  swung  leg  over  Satan  that 
morning  I  resolved  to  handle  him  as  I  had 
seen  my  father  do,  and  1  felt  strong  enough 
for  that.  I  remembered  in  the  proud  way 
a  boy  will  have,  the  time  when  my  father 
and  I,  riding  through  the  muddy  streets  of 
Leesburg  town  together,  saw  a  farmer's 
wagon  stuck  midway  of  a  crossing.  "Come, 
Jack,"  my  father  called  me,  "we  must  send 
Bill  Yamley  home  to  his  family."  Then 
we  two  dismounted  and,  stooping  in  the 
mud,  got  our  two  shoulders  under  the  axle 
of  the  wagon,  before  we  were  done  with  it 
our  blood  getting  up  at  the  laughter  of  the 
townsfolk  near.  When  we  heaved  to- 
gether, out  came  Bill  Yamley's  wagon  from 
the  mud,  and  the  laughter  ended.  It  was 
like  him — he  would  not  stop  when  once  he 
started.  Why,  it  was  so  he  married  my 
mother,  that  very  sweet  Quakeress  from 
the  foot  of  old  Catoctin.  He  told  me  she 
said  him  no  many  times,  not  liking  his  wild 
ways,  so  contrary  to  the  manner  of  the 
Society  of  Friends;  and  she  only  consented 
after  binding  him  to  go  with  her  once  each 
month  to  the  little  stone  church  at  Walling- 
ford  village  near  our  farm,  provided  he 
should  be  at  home  and  able  to  attend.  My 
mother  I  think  during  her  life  had  not 
missed  a  half  dozen  meetings  at  the  little 
stone  church.  Twice  a  week,  and  once 
each  Sunday,  and  once  each  month,  and 
four  times  each  year,  and  also  annually,  the 
Society  of  Friends  met  there  at  Walling- 
ford,  and  have  done  so  for  over  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  years.  Thither  went 
my  mother,  quiet,  brown  haired,  gentle,  as 
good  a  soul  as  ever  lived,  and  with  her  my 
father,  tall,  strong  as  a  tree,  keeping  his 
promise,  until  at  length  by  sheer  force  of 
this  kept  promise  he  himself  became  half 
Quaker  and  all  gentle,  since  he  saw  what 
it  meant  to  her. 


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As  I  have  paused  in  my  horsemanship  to 
speak  thus  of  my  father,  I  ought  also  to 
speak  of  my  mother.  It  was  she  who  in 
those  troublous  times  just  before  the  Civil 
War  was  the  first  to  raise  the  voice  in  the 
Quaker  meeting  which  said  that  the  Friends 
ought  to  free  their  slaves,  law  or  no  law, 
and  so  started  what  was  called  later  the 
Unionist  sentiment  in  that  part  of  old 
Virginia.  It  was  my  mother  did  that. 
Then  she  asked  my  father  to  manumit  all 
his  slaves;  and  he  thought  for  an  hour,  and 
then  raised  his  head  and  said  it  should  be 
done;  after  which  our  blacks  continued 
to  live  on  us  as  before,  and  gave  less  in 
return,  at  which  my  father  made  wry 
faces,  but  said  nothing  in  regret.  After 
us  others  also  set  free  their  people,  and 
presently  this  part  of  Virginia  was  a  sort 
of  Mecca  for  escaped  blacks.  It  was  my 
mother  did  that;  and  I  believe  that  it 
was  her  influence  which  had  much  to  do 
with  the  position  of  east  Virginia  on  the 
question  of  the  war.  And  this  also  in  time 
had  much  to  do  with  this  strange  story  of 
mine,  and  much  to  do  with  the  presence 
thereabout  of  the  man  whom  1  was  to 
meet  that  very  morning;  although  when  1 
started  to  mount  my  horse  Satan  I  did  not 
know  that  such  a  man  as  Gordon  Orme 
existed  in  the  world. 

When  I  approached  Satan  he  lunged  at 
me,  but  I  caught  him  by  the  cheek  strap 
of  the  bridle  and  swung  his  head  close  up, 
feeling  for  the  saddle  front  as  he  reached 
for  me  with  open  mouth.  Then  as  he 
reared  I  swung  up  with  him  into  place,  and 
so  felt  safe,  for  once  1  clamped  a  horse  fair 
there  was  an  end  of  his  throwing  me.  I 
laughed  when  Miss  Grace  Sheraton  called 
out  in  alarm,  and  so  wheeled  Satan  around 
a  few  times  and  rode  on  down  the  road, 
past  the  fields  where  the  blacks  were  as 
busy  as  blacks  ever  are;  and  so  on  to  our 
own  red-pillared  gates. 

Then,  since  the  morning  was  still  young, 
and  since  the  air  seemed  to  me  like  wine, 
and  since  I  wanted  something  to  sub- 
due, and  Satan  offered,  I  spurred  him  back 
from  the  gate  and  rode  him  hard  down  to- 
ward Wallingford.  Of  course  he  picked  up 
a  stone  en  route.  Two  of  us  held  his  head 
while  Billings,  the  blacksmith,  fished  out 
the  stone  and  tapped  the  shoe  nails  tight. 
After  that  I  had  time  to  look  around. 

As  I  did  so  I  saw  approaching  a  gentle- 


man who  was  looking  with  interest  at  my 
mount.  He  was  one  of  the  most  striking 
men  I  have  ever  seen ;  a  stranger,  as  I  could 
tell,  for  I  knew  each  family  on  both  sides  the 
Blue  Ridge  as  far  up  the  valley  as  White 
Sulphur. 

"A  grand  animal  you  have  there,  sir," 
said  he,  accosting  me.  "I  did  not  know 
his  like  existed  in  this  country." 

"As  well  in  this  as  in  any  country,"  said 
I  tartly.     He  smiled  at  this. 

"You  know  his  breeding?" 

"  Klingwalla  out  of  Bonnie  Waters." 

"No  wonder  he's  vicious,"  said  the 
stranger  calmly. 

"Ah,  you  know  something  of  the  English 
strains,"  said  I .  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"As  much  as  that,"  he  commented  indifl^er- 
ently. 

There  was  something  about  him  I  did 
not  fancy,  a  sort  of  condescension,  as 
though  he  were  better  than  those  about 
him.  They  say  that  we  Virginians  have  a 
way  of  reserving  that  right  to  ourselves; 
and  I  suppose  that  a  family  of  clean  strain 
may  perhaps  become  proud  after  genera- 
tions of  independence  and  comfort  and  free- 
dom from  anxiety.  None  the  less  I  was 
forced  to  admit  this  newcomer  to  the  class 
of  gentleman.  He  stood  as  a  gentleman, 
with  no  resting  or  bracing  with  an  arm,  or 
crossing  of  legs  or  hitching  about,  but  bal- 
anced on  his  legs  easily — like  a  fencer  or 
boxer  or  fighting  man,  or  gentleman,  in 
short.  His  face,  as  I  now  perceived,  was 
long  and  thin,  his  chin  square,  although 
somewhat  narrow.  His  mouth,  too,  was 
narrow,  and  his  teeth  were  narrow,  one  of 
the  upper  teeth  at  each  side  like  the  tooth 
of  a  carnivore,  longer  than  its  fellows.  His 
hair  was  thick  and  close  cut  to  his  head, 
dark,  and  if  the  least  bit  gray  about  the 
edges,  requiring  close  scrutiny  to  prove  it 
so.  In  color  his  skin  was  dark,  sunburned 
beyond  tan,  almost  to  parchment  degree. 
His  eyes  were  gray,  the  most  remarkable 
eyes  that  I  have  ever  seen — calm,  emotion- 
less, direct,  the  most  fearless  eyes  I  have 
ever  met  in  mortal  head,  and  I  have  looked 
into  many  men's  eyes  in  my  time.  He 
was  taller  than  most  men,  1  think  above 
the  six  feet  line.  His  figure  was  thin, 
his  limbs  thin,  his  hands  and  feet  slender. 
He  did  not  look  one-tenth  his  strength.  He 
was  simply  dressed,  dressed  indeed  as  a 
gentleman.     He  stood  as  one,  spoke  as  one, 

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and  assumed  that  all  the  world  accepted 
him  as  one.  His  voice  was  warmer  in 
accent  than  even  our  Virginia  speech.  1 
saw  him  to  be  an  Englishman. 

"  He's  a  bit  nasty,  that  one/'  he  nodded 
his  head  toward  Satan. 

I  grinned.  "  I  know  of  only  two  men  in 
Loudoun  County  I'd  back  to  ride  him." 

"Yourself  and " 

"My  father." 

"  By  Jove!  How  old  is  your  father,  my 
good  fellow?" 

"  Fifty,  my  good  fellow,"  1  replied.  He 
laughed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "there's  a  third  in  Lx)u- 
doun  can  ride  him." 

"Meaning  yourself?" 

He  nodded  carelessly.  I  did  not  share 
his  confidence.  "  He's  not  a  saddler  in  any 
sense,"  said  I.  "We  keep  him  for  the 
farms." 

"Oh,  I  say,  my  friend,"  he  rejoined, 
"my  name's  Orme,  Gordon  Orme — I'm 
just  stopping  here  at  the  inn  for  a  time,  and 
I'm  deucedly  bored.  I've  not  had  leg  over 
a  decent  mount  since  I've  been  here,  and 
if  I  might  ride  this  beggar  I'd  be  awfully 
obliged." 

My  jaw  may  have  dropped  at  his  words; 
I  am  not  sure.  It  was  not  that  he  called 
our  little  tavern  an  "inn."  It  was  the 
name  he  gave  me  which  caused  me  to  start. 

"Orme,"  said  I,  "Mr.  Gordon  Orme? 
That  was  the  name  of  the  speaker  the  other 
evening  here  at  the  church  of  the  Method- 
ists." 

He  nodded,  smiling.  "Don't  let  that 
trouble  you,"  said  he. 

None  the  less  it  did  trouble  me,  for  the 
truth  was  that  word  had  gone  about  to  the 
effect  that  a  new  minister  from  some  place 
not  stated  had  spoken  from  the  pulpit  on 
that  evening  upon  no  less  a  topic  than  the 
ever-present  one  of  Southern  slavery.  Now 
I  could  not  clear  it  to  my  mind  how  a  min- 
ister of  the  gospel  might  take  so  keen  and 
swift  an  interest  in  a  stranger  in  the  street, 
and  that  stranger's  horse.  I  expressed  to 
him  something  of  my  surprise. 

"It's  of  no  importance,"  said  he  again. 
"What  seems  to  me  of  most  importance 
just  at  present  is  that  here's  a  son  of  old 
Klingwalla,  and  that  I  want  to  ride  him." 

"Just  for  the  sake  of  saying  you  have 
done  so?"  I  inquired. 

His  face  changed  swiftly  as  he  answered: 


"We  owned  Klingwalla  ourselves  back 
home.  He  broke  a  leg  for  my  father,  and 
was  near  killing  him." 

"Sir,"  I  said  to  him,  catching  his 
thought  quickly,  "we  could  not  afford  to 
have  the  horse  injured,  but  if  you  wish  to 
ride  him  fair  or  be  beaten  by  him  fair,  you 
are  welcome  to  the  chance." 

His  eye  kindled  at  this.  "You're  a 
sportsman,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  and  he  ad- 
vanced at  once  toward  Satan. 

1  saw  in  him  something  which  awakened 
a  responsive  chord  in  my  nature.  He  was 
a  man  to  take  a  risk  and  welcome  it  for  the 
risk's  sake.  Moreover  he  was  a  horseman, 
as  I  saw  by  his  quick  glance  over  Satan's 
furniture.  He  caught  the  cheek  strap  of 
the  bridle,  and  motioned  us  away  as  we 
would  have  helped  him  at  the  horse's  head. 
Then  ensued  as  pretty  a  fight  between  man 
and  horse  as  one  could  ask  to  see.  The 
black  brute  reared  and  fairly  took  him 
from  the  ground,  fairly  chased  him  about 
the  street,  as  a  great  dog  would  a  rat.  But 
never  did  the  iron  hold  on  the  bridle  loosen, 
and  the  man  was  light  on  his  feet  as  a  boy. 
Finally  he  had  his  chance,  and  with  the 
lightest  spring  1  ever  saw  at  a  saddle  skirt, 
up  he  went  and  nailed  old  Satan  fair,  with 
a  grip  which  ridged  his  own  legs  out.  1  saw 
then  that  he  was  a  rider.  His  head  was 
bare,  his  hat  having  fallen  off;  his  hair  was 
tumbled,  but  his  color  scarcely  heightened. 
As  the  horse  lunged  and  bolted  about  the 
street,  Orme  sat  him  in  perfect  confidence. 
He  kept  his  hands  low,  his  knees  a  little 
more  up  and  forward  than  we  use  in  our 
style  of  riding,  and  his  weight  a  trifle  farther 
back,  but  1  saw  from  the  lines  of  his  limbs 
that  he  had  the  horse  in  a  steel  grip.  He 
gazed  down  contemplatively,  with  a  half 
serious  look,  master  of  himself  and  of  the 
horse  as  well.  Then  presently  he  turned 
him  up  the  road  and  went  off  at  a  gallop, 
with  the  brute  under  perfect  control.  I  do 
not  know  what  art  he  used;  all  I  can  say  is 
that  in  a  half  hour  he  brought  Satan  back 
in  a  canter. 

This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with  Gor- 
don Orme,  that  strange  personality  with 
which  I  was  later  to  have  much  to  do. 
This  was  my  first  witnessing  of  that  half 
uncanny  power  by  which  he  seemed  to  win 
all  things  to  his  purposes.  I  admired  him, 
yet  did  not  like  him,  when  he  swung  care- 
lessly down  and  handed  me  the  reins. 


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"  He's  a  grand  one,"  he  said  easily,  "but 
not  so  difficult  to  ride  as  old  Klingwalla. 
Not  that  1  would  discount  your  own  skill 
in  riding  him,  sir,  for  1  doubt  not  you  have 
taken  a  lot  out  of  him  before  now." 

At  least  this  was  generous;  and  as  1  later 
learned,  it  was  like  him  to  give  full  credit 
to  the  performance  of  any  able  adversary. 


CHAPTER   HI 

THE    ART  OF   THE    ORIENT 

"Come,"  said  Orme  to  me,  "  let  us  go  into 
the  shade.  I  admit  I  find  your  Virginia 
morning  a  trifle  warm." 

We  stepped  over  to  the  gallery  of  the 
little  tavern,  where  the  shade  was  deep  and 
the  chairs  were  wide  and  the  honeysuckles 
sweet.  1  threw  myself  rather  discon- 
tentedly into  a  chair.  Orme  seated  himself 
quietly  in  another,  his  slender  legs  crossed 
easily,  his  hands  meeting  above  his  elbows 
supported  on  the  chair  rails,  as  he  gazed 
somewhat  meditatively  at  his  finger  tips. 

"So  you  did  not  hear  my  little  effort  the 
other  night?"  he  remarked,  smiling. 

"  I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  you 
speak.  But  I  will  only  say  I  will  back  you 
against  any  minister  of  the  gospel  I  ever 
knew  when  it  comes  to  riding  mean  horses." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  deprecated,  "Tm  just 
passing  through  on  my  way  to  Albemarle 
County  along  the  mountains.  You  couldn't 
blame  me  for  wanting  something  to  do — 
speaking  or  riding,  or  what  not.  One  must 
be  occupied,  you  know.  But  shall  we  not 
have  them  bring  us  one  of  those  juleps  of 
the  country?  1  find  them  most  agreeable, 
I  declare." 

I  did  not  criticise  his  conduct  as  a  wearer 
of  the  cloth,  but  declined  his  hospitality  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  early  in  the  day  for 
me.  He  urged  me  so  little  and  was  so 
much  the  gentleman  that  1  explained. 

"Awhile  ago,"  1  said,  "my  father  came 
to  me  and  said,  'I  see.  Jack,  that  thee  is 
trying  to  do  three  things — to  farm,  hunt 
foxes,  and  drink  juleps.  Does  thee  think 
thee  can  handle  all  three  of  these  activities 
in  combination?'  You  see,  my  mother  is  a 
Quakeress,  and  when  my  father  wishes  to 
reprove  me  he  uses  the  plain  speech.  Well, 
sir,  I  thought  it  over,  and  for  the  most  part 
I  dropped  the  other  two  and  took  up  more 
farming." 


"Your  father  is  Mr.  John  Cowles,  of 
Cowles  Farms?" 

"The  same." 

"No  doubt  your  family  know  every  one 
in  this  part  of  the  country." 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well." 

"These  are  troublous  times,"  he  ven- 
tured, after  a  time.  "1  mean  in  regard  to 
this  talk  of  secession  of  the  Southern 
States." 

I  was  studying  this  man.  What  was  he 
doing  here  in  our  quiet  country  commu- 
nity? What  was  his  errand?  What  busi- 
ness had  a  julep- drinking,  horse-riding 
parson  speaking  in  a  Virginia  pulpit  where 
only  the  gospel  was  known,  and  that  from 
exponents  worth  the  name? 

"You  are  from  Washington?"  I  said  at 
length. 

He  nodded. 

"The  country  is  going  into  deep  water 
one  way  or  the  other,"  said  I.  "Virginia 
is  going  to  divide  on  slavery.  It  is  not  for 
me,  nor  for  any  of  us,  to  hasten  that  time. 
Trouble  will  come  fast  enough  without  our 
help." 

"  I  infer  you  did  not  wholly  approve  of 
my  little  effort  the  other  evening?  I  was 
simply  looking  at  the  matter  from  a  logical 
standpoint.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  the 
old  world  must  have  cotton,  that  the 
Southern  States  must  supply  that  cotton, 
and  that  slavery  alone  makes  cotton  pos- 
sible for  the  world.  It  is  a  question  of 
geography  rather  than  of  politics;  yet 
your  Northern  men  make  it  a  question  of 
politics.  Your  Congress  is  full  of  rotten 
tariff  legislation,  which  will  make  a  few  of 
your  Northern  men  rich — and  which  will 
bring  on  this  war  quite  as  much  as  any- 
thing the  South  may  do.  Moreover,  this 
tariff  disgusts  England,  very  naturally. 
Where  will  England  side  when  the  break 
comes?  And  what  will  be  the  result  when 
the  South,  plus  England,  fights  those  tariff 
makers  over  there?  1  have  no  doubt  that 
you,  sir,  know  the  complexion  of  all  these 
Loudoun  families  in  these  matters.  I 
should  be  most  happy  if  you  could  find  it 
possible  for  me  to  meet  your  father  and 
his  neighbors,  for  in  truth  I  am  interested 
in  these  matters  merely  as  a  student.  And 
1  have  heard  much  of  the  kindness  of  this 
country  toward  strangers." 

It  was  not  our  way  in  Virginia  to  allow 
persons  of  any  breeding  to  put  up  at  public 


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taverns.  We  took  them  to  our  homes.  I 
have  seen  a  hundred  horses  around  my 
father's  bams  during  the  Quarterly  Meet- 
ings of  the  Society  of  Friends.  Perhaps  we 
did  not  scrutinize  all  our  guests  over- 
closely,  but  that  was  the  way  of  the  place. 
I  had  no  hesitation  in  saying  to  Mr.  Orme 
that  we  should  be  glad  to  entertain  him  at 
Cowles  Farms.  He  was  just  beginning  to 
thank  me  for  this  when  suddenly  we  were 
interrupted. 

We  were  sitting  some  paces  from  the 
room  where  landlord  Sanderson  kept  his 
bar,  so  that  we  heard  only  occasionally  the 
sound  of  loud  talk  which  came  through  the 
windows.  But  now  came  footsteps  and 
confused  words  in  voices  one  of  which  I 
seemed  to  know.  There  staggered  through 
the  door  a  friend  of  mine,  Harry  Singleton, 
a  young  planter  of  our  neighborhood  who 
had  not  taken  my  father's  advice,  but  con- 
tinued to  divide  his  favor  between  farming, 
hunting,  and  drinking.  He  stood  there 
leaning  against  the  wall,  his  face  more 
flushed  than  one  likes  to  see  a  friend's  face 
before  midday. 

"Hullo,  ol'  fel,"  he  croaked  at  me. 
"  Hurrah  for  Cfederate  States  of  America!" 

"Very  well,"  1  said  to  him,  "suppose  we 
do  hurrah  for  the  Confederate  States  of 
America.  But  let  us  wait  until  there  is 
such  a  thing." 

He  glowered  at  me.  "Also,"  he  said, 
solemnly,  "  hurrah  for  Miss  Grace  Sheraton, 
the  pretties'  girl  in  whole  Cfederate  States 
America!" 

" Harry,"  I  cried,  "stop!  You're  drunk, 
man.    Come  on,  I'll  take  you  home." 

He  waved  at  me  an  uncertain  hand. 
"Go  'way,  slight  man!"  he  muttered. 
"Grace  Sheraton  pretties'  girl  in  whole 
Cfederate  States  America." 

According  to  our  creed  it  was  not  per- 
missible for  a  gentleman,  drunk  or  sober, 
to  mention  a  lady's  name  in  a  place  like 
that.  I  rose  and  put  my  hand  across 
Harry's  mouth,  unwilling  that  a  stranger 
should  hear  a  girl's  name  mentioned  in  this 
way.  No  doubt  I  should  have  done  quite 
as  much  for  any  girl  of  our  country  whose 
name  came  up  in  that  manner.  But  to  my 
surprise  Harry  Singleton  was  just  suffi- 
ciently intoxicated  to  resent  the  act  of  his 
best  friend.  With  no  word  of  warning  he 
drew  back  his  hand  and  struck  me  in  the 
face  with  all  his  force,  the  blow  making  a 


smart  crack  which  brought  all  the  others 
running  from  within.  Still,  1  reflected  that 
this  was  not  the  act  of  Harry  Singleton,  but 
only  that  of  a  drunken  man  who  to-morrow 
would  not  remember  what  had  been  done. 

"That  will  be  quite  enough,  Harry," 
said  I.  "Come,  now,  I'll  take  you  home. 
Sanderson,  go  get  his  horse  or  wagon,  or 
whatever  brought  him  here." 

" Not  home !"  cried  Harry.  "  First  inflict 
punishment  on  you  for  denyin'  Miss  Gracie 
Sheraton  pretties'  girl  whole  Cfederate 
States  America.  Girls  like  John  Cowles 
too  much!  Must  mash  John  Cowles! 
Must  mash  John  Cowles  sake  of  Gracie 
Sheraton,  pretties'  girl  in  whole  wide 
worl'!" 

He  came  toward  me  as  best  he  might,  his 
hands  clenched.  I  caught  him  by  the 
wrist,  and  as  he  stumbled  past  I  turned 
and  had  his  arm  over  my  shoulder.  I  ad- 
mit I  threw  him  rather  cruelly  hard,  for  I 
thought  he  needed  it.  He  was  entirely 
quiet  when  we  carried  him  into  the  room 
and  placed  him  on  the  leather  lounge. 

"  By  Jove!"  I  heard  a  voice  at  my  elbow. 
"That  was  handsomely  done — handsomely 
done  all  around." 

I  turned  to  meet  the  outstretched  hand 
of  my  new  friend  Gordon  Orme. 

"Where  did  you  learn  the  trick?"  he 
asked. 

"The  trick  of  being  a  gentleman,"  I 
answered  him  slowly,  my  face  red  with 
anger  at  Singleton's  foolishness,  "1  never 
learned  at  all.  But  to  toss  a  |X)or  drunken 
fool  like  that  over  one's  head  any  boy 
might  learn  at  school." 

"No,"  said  my  quasi-minister  of  the 
gospel  emphatically,  "I  -differ  with  you. 
Your  time  was  perfect.  You  made  him 
do  the  work,  not  yourself.  Tell  me,  are 
you  a  skilled  wrestler?" 

I  was  nettled  now  at  all  these  things 
which  were  coming  to  puzzle  and  perturb 
an  honest  fellow  out  for  a  morning  ride. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  him,  "since  you  are 
anxious  to  know,  I'll  say  1  can  throw  any 
man  in  Loudoun  except  one." 

"And  he?" 

"My  father.  He's  fifty,  as  1  told  you, 
but  he  can  always  beat  me." 

"There  are  two  in  Loudoun  you  cannot 
throw,"  said  Orme,  smiling. 

My  blood  was  up  just  enough  to  resent 
this  challenge.    There  came  to  me  what 


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old  Dr.  Hallowell  at  Alexandria  calls  the 
"gaudiutn  ceriaminis"  In  a  moment  I 
was  little  more  than  a  full-blooded  fighting 
animal,  and  had  forgotten  all  the  influences 
of  my  Quaker  home. 

*'Sir/'  I  said  to  him,  hotly.  "I  propose 
taking  you  home  with  me.  But  before  I 
do  that,  and  since  you  seem  to  wish  it,  I 
am  going  to  lay  you  on  your  back  here  in 
the  road.  Frankly,  there  are  some  things 
about  you  I  do  not  like,  and  if  that  will 
remedy  your  conceit,  I'm  going  to  do  it  for 
you — for  any  sort  of  wager  you  like." 

"Money  against  your  horse?"  he  in- 
quired, stripping  to  his  ruffled  shirt  as  he 
spoke.  "A  hundred  guineas;  five  hun- 
dred?" 

"Yes,  for  the  horse,"  I  said.  "He's 
worth  ten  thousand  dollars.  But  if  you've 
two  or  three  hun  ired  to  pay  for  my  soiling 
the  shoulders  of  your  shirt,  I'm  willing  to 
let  the  odds  stand  so." 

He  smiled  at  me  simply — I  swear  almost 
winningly,  such  was  the  quality  of  the  man. 

"  I  like  you,"  he  said  simply.  "  If  all  the 
men  of  this  country  resembled  you,  all  the 
worid  could  not  beat  it." 

I  was  stripped  by  this  time  myself,  and 
so,  without  pausing  to  consider  the  pro- 
priety on  either  side  of  our  meeting  in  this 
sudden  encounter  in  a  public  street,  we 
went  at  it  as  though  we  had  made  a  ren- 
dezvous there  for  that  express  purpose, 
with  no  more  hesitation  and  no  more  fitness 
than  two  game  cocks  which  might  fall 
fighting  in  a  church  in  case  they  met  there. 

Orme  came  to  me  with  no  hurry  and  no 
anxiety,  light  on  his  feet  as  a  skilled  fencer. 
As  he  passed  he  struck  for  my  shoulder, 
and  his  grip,  although  it  did  not  hold,  was 
like  the  cutting  of  a  hawk's  talons.  He 
branded  me  red  with  his  fingers  wherever 
he  touched  me,  although  the  stroke  of  his 
hand  was  half  tentative  rather  than  ag- 
gressive. I  went  to  him  with  head  low,  and 
he  caught  me  at  the  back  of  the  neck  with 
a  stroke  like  that  of  a  smiting  bar,  but  I 
flung  him  off;  and  so  we  stepped  about, 
hands  extended,  waiting  for  a  hold.  He 
grew  eager,  and  allowed  me  to  catch  him 
by  the  wrist.  I  drew  him  toward  me,  but 
he  braced  with  his  free  arm  bent  against 
my  throat,  and  the  more  I  pulled,  the  more 
1  choked.  Then  by  sheer  strength  I  drew 
his  arm  over  my  shoulder  as  1  had  that  of 
Harry  Singleton.     He  glided  into  this  as 


though  it  had  been  his  own  purpose,  and 
true  as  I  speak,  1  think  he  aided  me  in 
throwing  him  over  my  head,  for  he  went 
light  as  a  feather — and  fell  on  his  feet  when 
I  freed  him!  I  was  puzzled  not  a  little, 
for  the  like  of  this  1  had  not  seen  in  all  my 
meetings  with  good  men. 

As  we  stepped  about  cautiously,  seeking 
to  engage  again,  his  eye  was  fixed  on  mine 
curiously,  half  contemplatively,  but  utterly 
without  concern  or  fear  of  any  kind.  I 
never  saw  an  eye  like  his.  It  gave  me  not 
fear,  but  horror!  The  more  I  encountered 
him,  the  more  uncanny  he  appeared.  The 
lock  of  the  arm  at  the  back  of  the  neck, 
those  holds  known  as  the  Nelson  and  the 
half-Nelson,  and  the  ancient  "hip  lock," 
and  the  ineffectual  school  boy  "grapevine" 
— he  would  none  of  things  so  crude,  and 
slipped  out  of  them  like  a  snake.  Con- 
tinually I  felt  his  hands,  and  where  he 
touched  there  was  pain — on  my  forehead, 
at  the  edge  of  the  eye  sockets,  at  the  sides 
of  my  neck,  in  the  middle  of  my  back — 
whenever  we  locked  and  broke  I  felt  pain, 
and  I  knew  that  such  assault  upon  the 
nerve  centers  of  a  man's  body  might  well 
disable  him,  no  matter  how  strong  he  was. 
But  as  for  him,  he  did  not  breathe  the 
faster.  It  was  system  with  him.  I  say, 
I  felt  a  horror  of  him. 

By  chance  I  found  myself  with  both 
hands  on  his  arms,  and  I  knew  that  do  man 
could  break  that  hold  when  once  set,  for 
vast  strength  of  forearm  and  wrist  was  one 
of  the  inheritances  of  all  men  of  the  Cowles 
family.  I  drew  him  steadily  to  me,  pulled 
his  head  against  my  chest,  and  upended 
him  fair,  throwing  him  this  time  at  length 
across  my  shoulder.  I  was  sure  I  had  him 
then,  for  he  fell  on  his  side.  But  even  as 
he  fell  he  rose,  and  I  felt  a  grip  like  steel  on 
each  ankle.  Then  there  was  a  snake-like 
bend  on  his  part,  and  before  I  had  time  to 
think  I  was  on  my  face.  His  knees  strad- 
dled my  body,  and  gradually  I  felt  them 
pushing  my  arms  up  toward  my  neck.  I 
felt  a  slight  blow  on  the  back  of  my  head, 
as  though  by  the  edge  of  the  hand — light, 
delicate,  gentle,  but  dreamy  in  its  results. 
Then  1  was  half  conscious  of  a  hand  pushing 
down  my  head,  of  another  hand  reaching 
for  my  right  wrist.  It  occurred  to  me  in  a 
distant  way  that  I  was  about  to  be  beaten, 
subdued — I,  John  Cowles! 

This  had  been  done,  as  he  had  said  of  my 

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own  work  with  Singleton,  as  much  by  the 
momentum  of  my  own  fall  as  by  any  great 
effort  on  his  part.  As  he  had  said  regard- 
ing my  own  simple  trick,  the  time  of  this 
was  perfect,  though  how  far  more  difficult 
than  mine  only  those  who  have  wrestled 
with  able  men  can  understand. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  found  my- 
self about  to  be  mastered  by  another  man. 
Had  he  been  more  careful  he  certainly 
would  have  had  the  victory  over  me.  But 
the  morning  was  warm,  and  we  had  worked 
for  some  minutes.  My  man  stopped  for  a 
moment  in  his  calm  pinioning  of  my  arms, 
and  perhaps  raised  his  hand  to  brush  his 
face  or  push  back  his  hair.  At  that  mo- 
ment luck  came  to  my  aid.  He  did  not 
repeat  the  strange  gentle  blow  at  the  back 
of  my  head — one  which  I  think  would  have 
left  unconscious  a  man  with  a  neck  less 
stiff — and  as  his  pressure  on  my  twisted 
arm  relaxed,  I  suddenly  got  back  my 
faculties.  At  once  I  used  my  whole  body 
as  a  spring,  and  so  straightened  enough  to 
turn  and  put  my  arm  power  against  his 
own,  which  was  all  I  wanted. 

He  laughed  when  I  turned,  and  with 
perfect  good  nature  freed  my  arm  and 
sprang  to  his  feet,  bowing  with  hand 
out  reached  to  me.  His  eye  had  lost  its 
peculiar  stare,  and  shone  now  with  what 
seemed  genuine  interest  and  admiration. 
He  seemed  ready  to  call  me  a  sportsman, 
and  a  good  rival;  and  much  as  I  disliked  to 
do  so,  I  was  obliged  to  say  as  much  for  him 
in  my  own  heart. 

"By  the  Lord!  sir,"  he  said — with  a 
certain  looseness  of  speech,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to  employ, 
"you're  the  first  I  ever  knew  to  break  it." 

"Twas  no  credit  to  me,"  I  owned. 
"You  let  go  your  hand.  The  horse  is 
yours." 


"Not  in  the  least,"  he  responded.  "Not 
in  the  least.  If  I  felt  I  had  won  him  I'd 
take  him,  and  not  leave  you  feeling  as 
though  you  had  been  given  a  present.  But 
if  you  like  Til  draw  my  own  little  wager 
as  well.  You're  the  best  man  I  ever  met 
in  any  country.  By  the  Lord!  man,  you 
broke  the  hold  that  I  once  saw  an  ex- 
Guardsman  killed  at  Singapore  for  resist- 
ing— broke  his  arm  short  off,  and  he  died 
on  the  table.  I've  seen  it  at  Tokio  and 
Nagasaki — why,  man,  it's  the  yellow 
policeman's  hold,  the  secret  trick  of  the 
Orient.  Done  in  proper  time,  it  makes  the 
little  gentleman  the  match  of  any  size, 
yellow  or  white." 

I  did  not  understand  him  then,  but  later 
I  knew  that  I  had  for  my  first  time  seen  the 
Oriental  art  of  wrestling  put  in  practice. 
I  do  not  want  to  meet  a  master  in  it  again. 
I  shook  Orme  by  the  hand. 

"If  you  like  to  call  it  a  draw,"  said  I, 
"it  would  suit  me  mighty  well.  You're 
the  best  man  I  ever  took  off  coat  to  in  my 
life.  And  I'll  never  wrestle  you  again, 
unless"— I  fear  I  blushed  a  little — "well, 
unless  you  want  it." 

"Game!  Game!"  he  cried,  laughing, 
and  dusting  off  his  knees.  "  I  swear  you 
Virginians  are  fellows  after  my  own  heart. 
But  come,  I  think  your  friend  wants  you 
now." 

We  turned  toward  the  room  where  poor 
Harry  was  mumbling  to  himself,  and  pres- 
ently I  loaded  him  into  the  wagon  and  told 
the  negro  man  to  drive  him  home. 

For  myself,  I  mounted  Satan  and  rode 
off  up  the  street  of  Wallingford  toward 
Cowles  Farms  with  my  head  dropped  in 
thought;  for  certainly,  when  I  came  to 
review  the  incidents  of  the  morning,  I 
had  had  enough  to  give  me  reason  for 
reflection. 


{To  be  continued.) 


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THE   LONG   LABRADOR   TRAIL 

THE  COMPACT  WITH   HUBBARD   FULFILLED 
BY   DILLON   WALLACE 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY   THE    AUTHOR 


XX 

BACK   TO   NORTHWEST   RIVER 

^E  had  now  reached  an 
English  speaking  coun- 
try; that  is,  a  section 
where  every  one  talks 
understandable  English, 
though  at  the  same  time 
conversant  with  the 
Eskimo   language. 

All  down  the  coast  we  had  been  fortunate 
in  securing  dogs  and  drivers  with  little 
trouble,  through  the  intervention  of  the 
missionaries,  but  at  Makkovik  dogs  were 
scarce,  and  it  seemed  for  a  time  as  though 
we  were  to  be  stranded  here;  but  finally 
with  missionary  Townley's  aid  1  engaged 
an  old  Eskimo  named  Martin  Tuktusini  to 
go  with  us  to  Rigolet.  When  1  looked  at 
Martin's  dogs,  however,  I  saw  at  once  that 
they  were  not  equal  to  the  journey,  un- 
aided. Neither  had  I  much  faith  in 
Martin,  for  he  was  an  old  man  who  had 
nearly  reached  the  end  of  his  usefulness. 

A  day  was  lost  in  vainly  looking  around 
for  additional  dogs,  and  then  Mr.  Townley 
generously  loaned  us  his  team  and  driver 
to  help  us  on  to  Big  Bight,  fifteen  miles 
away,  where  he  thought  we  might  get  dc^s 
to  supplement  Martin's. 

At  Big  Bight  we  found  a  miserable  hut, 
where  the  people  were  indescribably  poor 
and  dirty.  A  team  was  engaged  after 
some  delay  to  carry  us  to  Tishiarluk,  thirty 
miles  farther  on  our  journey,  which  place 
we  reached  the  following  day  at  eleven 
o'clock. 

There  is  a  single  hovel  at  Tishiarluk,  oc- 
cupied by  two  brothers — John  and  Sam 
Cove— and  their  sister.     Their  only  food 


was  flour,  and  a  limited  quantity  of  that. 
Even  tea  and  molasses,  usually  found 
amongst  the  "livyeres"  (live-heres)  of  the 
coast,  were  lacking.  Sam  was  only  too 
glad  of  the  opportunity  to  earn  a  few  dol- 
lars, and  was  engaged  with  his  team  to  join 
forces  with  Martin  as  far  as  Rigolet. 

There  are  two  routes  from  Tishiarluk  to 
Rigolet.  One  is  the  "Big  Neck"  route 
over  the  hills,  and  much  shorter  than  the 
other,  which  is  known  as  the  outside  route, 
though  it  also  crosses  a  wide  neck  of  land 
inside  of  Cape  Harrison,  ending  at  Pottle's 
Bay  on  Hamilton  Inlet.  It  was  my  inten- 
tion to  take  the  Big  Neck  trail,  but  Martin 
strenuously  opposed  it  on  the  ground  that 
it  passed  over  high  hills,  was  much  more 
difficult,  and  the  probabilities  of  getting 
lost  should  a  storm  occur  were  much 
greater  by  that  route  than  by  the  other. 
His  objections  prevailed,  and  upon  the 
afternoon  of  the  day  after  our  arrival  Sam 
was  ready,  and  in  a  gale  of  wind  we  ran 
down  on  the  ice  to  Tom  Bromfield's  cabin 
at  Tilt  Cove,  that  we  might  be  ready  to 
make  an  early  start  for  Pottle's  Bay  the 
following  morning,  as  the  whole  day  would 
be  needed  to  cross  the  neck  of  land  to  Pot- 
tle's Bay  and  the  nearest  shelter  beyond. 

Tom  is  a  prosperous  and  ambitious 
hunter,  and  is  fairly  well-to-do  as  it  goes 
on  the  Labrador.  His  one-room  cabin  was 
very  comfortable,  and  he  treated  us  to  un- 
wonted luxuries,  such  as  butter,  marma- 
lade, and  sugar  for  our  tea. 

During  the  evening  he  displayed  to  me 
the  skin  of  a  large  wolf  which  he  had  killed 
a  few  days  before,  and  told  us  the  story 
of  the  killing. 

"1  were  away,  sir,"  related  he,  "wi'  th' 
dogs,  savin'  one  which  I  leaves  to  home, 


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'tendin'  my  fox  traps.  The  woman  (mean- 
ing his  wife)  were  alone  wi'  the  young  ones. 
In  the  evenin*  (afternoon)  her  hears  a 
fightin'  of  dogs  outside,  an'  thin  kin'  one  of 
the  team  was  broke  loose  an'  run  home,  she 
starts  to  go  out  to  beat  the  beasts  an'  put 
a  stop  to  the  fightin'.  But  lookin'  out 
first  before  she  goes,  what  does  she  see  but 
the  wolf  that  owned  that  skin,  and  right 
handy  to  the  door  he  were,  too.  He  were 
a  big  divil,  as  you  sees,  sir.  She  were 
scared.  Her  tries  to  take  down  the  rifle — 
the  one  as  is  there  on  the  pegs,  sir.  The 
wolf  and  the  dog  be  now  fightin'  agin'  the 
door,  and  she  thinks  they's  handy  to 
breakin'  in,  and  it  makes  her  a  bit  shaky 
in  the  hands,  and  she  makes  a  slip  and  the 
rifle  he  goes  off  bang!  makin'  that  hole 
there  marrin'  the  timber  above  the  windy. 
Then  the  wolf  he  goes  off  too.  He  be 
scared  at  the  shootin'.  When  I  comes 
home  she  tells  me,  and  I  lays  fur  the  beast. 
Twere  the  next  day  and  I  were  in  the 
house  when  I  hears  the  dogs  fightin'  and  I 
peers  out  the  windy,  and  there  I  sees  the 
wolf  fightin'  wi'  the  dogs,  quite  handy  by 
the  house.  Well,  sir,  I  just  gits  the  rifle 
down  and  goes  out,  and  when  the  dogs 
sees  me  they  runs  and  leaves  the  wolf,  and 
I  up  and  knocks  he  over  wi'  a  bullet,  and 
there's  his  skin,  worth  a  good  four  dollars, 
for  he  be  an  extra  fine  one,  sir." 

The  next  morning  was  leaden  gray,  and 
promised  snow.  With  the  hope  of  reach- 
ing Pottle's  Bay  before  dark  we  started 
forward  early,  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  were  in  the  soft  snow  of  the 
spruce  covered  neck.  Traveling  was  very 
bad  and  progress  so  slow  that  darkness 
found  us  still  amongst  the  scrubby  firs. 
Martin  and  I  walked  ahead  of  the  dogs, 
making  a  path  and  cutting  away  the 
growth  where  it  was  too  thick  to  permit 
the  passage  of  the  teams.  Martin  was 
guiding  us  by  so  circuitous  a  path  that 
finally  I  began  to  suspect  he  had  lost  his 
way,  and  calling  a  halt  suggested  that  we 
had  better  make  a  shelter  and  stop  until 
daylight,  particularly  as  the  snow  was  now 
falling.  When  you  are  lost  in  the  bush  it 
is  a  good  rule  to  stop  where  you  are  until 
you  make  certain  of  your  course.  Martin, 
in  this  instance,  however,  seemed  very 
positive  that  we  were  going  in  the  right 
direction,  though  off  the  usual  trail,  and 
he  said  that  in  another  hour  or  so  we  would 


certainly  come  out  and  find  the  salt  water 
ice  of  Hamilton  inlet.  So  after  an  argu- 
ment I  agreed  to  proceed  and  trust  in  his 
assurances. 

Easton,  who  was  driving  the  rear  team, 
was  completely  tired  out  with  the  exer- 
tion of  steering  the  komatik  through  the 
brush  and  untangling  the  dc^s,  which 
seemed  to  take  a  delight  in  spreading  out 
and  getting  their  traces  fast  around  the 
numerous  small  trees,  and  I  went  to  the  rear 
to  relieve  him  for  a  time  from  the  exhaust- 
ing work. 

1 1  was  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  we  at  length  came  upon  the  ice  of 
a  brook  which  Martin  admitted  he  had 
never  seen  before  and  confessed  that  he 
was  completely  lost.  I  ordered  a  halt  at 
once  until  daylight.  We  drank  some  cold 
water,  ate  some  hardtack  and  then  stretched 
our  sleeping-bags  upon  the  snow  and,  all 
of  us  weary,  lay  down  to  let  the  drift  cover 
us  while  we  slept. 

At  dawn  we  were  up,  and  with  a  bit  of 
jerked  venison  in  my  hand  to  serve  for 
breakfast  I  left  the  others  to  lash  the  load 
on  the  komatiks  and  follow  me  and  started 
on  ahead.  1  had  walked  but  half  a  mile 
when  I  came  upon  the  rough  hummocks 
of  the  Inlet  ice.  Before  noon  we  found 
shelter  from  the  now  heavily  driving  snow- 
storm in  a  livyere's  hut  and  here  remained 
until  the  following  morning. 

Just  beyond  this  point,  in  crossing  a 
neck  of  land,  we  came  upon  a  small  hut  and, 
as  is  usual  on  the  Labrador,  stopped  for  a 
moment.  The  people  of  the  coast  always 
expect  travelers  to  stop  and  have  a  cup  of 
tea  with  them,  and  feel  that  they  have  been 
slighted  if  this  is  not  done.  Here  I  found 
a  widow  named  Newell,  whom  I  knew,  and 
her  two  or  three  small  children.  It  was  a 
miserable  hut,  Without  even  the  ordinary 
comforts  of  the  poorer  coast  cabins;  only 
one  side  of  the  earthen  floor  partially 
covered  with  rough  boards,  and  the  people 
destitute  ot  food.  Mrs.  Newell  told  me 
that  the  other  livyeres  were  giving  her 
what  little  she  had  to  eat,  and  had  saved 
them  during  the  winter  from  actual  starva- 
tion. I  had  some  hardtack  and  tea  in  my 
"grub  bag,"  and  these  i  left  with  her. 

Two  days  later  we  pulled  in  at  Rigolet 
and  were  greeted  by  my  friend  Fraser.  It 
was  almost  like  getting  home  again,  for  now 
I  was  on  old,  familiar  ground.    A  good 


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budget  of  letters  that  had  come  during  the 
previous  summer  awaited  us,  and  how 
eagerly  we  read  them!  This  was  the  first 
communication  we  had  received  from  our 
home  folks  since  the  previous  June  and  it 
was  now  February  twenty-first. 

We  rested  with  Fraser  until  the  twenty- 
third  and  then  with  Mark  Pallesser,  a  Gros- 
water  Bay  Eskimo,  turned  in  to  Northwest 
River  where  Stanton,  upon  coming  from 
the  interior,  had  remained  to  wait  for  our 
return  and  join  us  for  the  balance  of 
the  journey  out.  The  going  was  fearful, 
and  snowshoeing  in  the  heavy  snow  tire- 
some. It  required  two  days  to  reach  Mul- 
ligan Bight  where  we  spent  the  night  with 
skipper  Tom  Blake,  one  of  my  good  old 
friends,  and  at  Tom's  we  feasted  on  the 
first  fresh  venison  we  had  had  since  leaving 
the  Ungava  district.  In  the  whole  dis- 
tance from  Whale  River  not  a  caribou  had 
been  killed  during  the  winter  by  any  one, 
while  in  the  previous  winter  a  single  hunter 
at  Davis  Inlet  shot  in  one  day  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  and  only  ceased  then  because 
he  had  no  more  ammunition.  Tom  had 
killed  three  or  four,  and  south  of  this  point 
I  learned  of  a  hunter  now  and  then  getting 
one. 

Northwest  River  was  reached  on  Mon- 
day, February  twenty-sixth,  and  we  took 
Cotter  by  complete  surprise,  for  he  had  not 
expected  us  for  another  month. 

The  day  after  our  arrival  Stanton  came 
to  the  Post  from  a  cabin  three  miles  above, 
where  he  had  been  living  alone,  and  he  was 
delighted  to  see  us. 

The  lumbermen  at  Muddy  Lake,  twenty 
miles  away,  heard  of  our  arrival  and  sent 
down  a  special  messenger  with  a  large  ad- 
dition to  the  mail,  which  I  was  carrying 
out  and  which  had  been  growing  steadily 
in  bulk  with  its  accumulations  at  every 
station. 

This  is  the  stormiest  season  of  the  year 
in  Labrador,  and  weather  conditions  were 
such  that  it  was  not  until  March  sixth  that 
we  were  permitted  to  resume  our  journey 
homeward. 

XXI 

THE    LONG   TRAIL    IS    ENDED 

The  storm  left  the  ice  covered  with  a 
depth  of  soft  snow  into  which  the  dogs  sank 
deep  and  hauled  the  komatik  with  diffi- 


culty. Snowshoeing,  too,  was  unusually 
hard.  The  day  we  left  Northwest  River 
(Tuesday,  March  sixth)  the  temperature 
rose  above  the  freezing  point,  and  when 
it  froze  that  night  a  thin  crust  formed, 
through  which  our  snowshoes  broke,  add- 
ing very  materially  to  the  labor  of  walk- 
ing— and  of  course  it  was  all  walking. 

As  the  days  lengthened  and  the  sun, 
asserting  his  power,  pushed  higher  and 
higher  above  the  horizon,  the  glare  upon 
the  white  expanse  of  snow  dazzled  our 
eyes,  and  we  had  to  put  on  smoked  glasses 
to  protect  ourselves  from  snow-blindness. 
Even  with  the  glasses  our  driver,  Mark, 
became  partially  snow-blind,  and  when, 
on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  after  leav- 
ing Northwest  River,  we  reached  his  home 
at  Karwalla,  an  Eskimo  settlement  a  few 
miles  west  of  Rigolet,  it  became  necessary 
for  us  to  halt  until  his  eyes  would  enable 
him  to  travel  again. 

Here  we  met  some  of  the  Eskimos  that 
had  been  connected  with  the  Eskimo  vil- 
lage at  the  Worid's  Fair  at  Chicago  in  1893. 
Mary,  Mark's  wife,  was  one  of  the  number. 
She  told  me  of  having  been  exhibited  as  far 
west  as  Portland,  Oregon,  and  I  asked: 

"Mary,  aren't  you  discontented  here, 
after  seeing  so  much  of  the  world? 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  back  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  she  artswered.  "'Tis  fine 
here,  where  I  has  plenty  of  company.  'Tis 
too  lonesome  in  the  States,  sir." 

"But  you  can't  get  the  good  things  to 
eat  here — the  fruits  and  other  things,"  I 
insisted. 

"I  likes  the  oranges  and  apples  fine,  sir — 
but  they  has  no  seal  meat  or  deer's  meat 
in  the  States." 

It  was  not  until  Tuesday,  March  thir- 
teenth, three  days  after  our  arrival  at 
Karwalla,  that  Mark  thought  himself 
quite  able  to  proceed.  The  brief  "mild" 
gave  place  to  intense  cold  and  the  blustery, 
snowy  weather  continued.  We  pushed 
on  toward  West  Bay  on  the  outer  coast 
by  the  "Backway,"  an  arm  of  Hamilton 
Inlet  that  extends  almost  due  east  from 
Karwalla. 

At  West  Bay  I  secured  fresh  dogs  to 
carry  us  on  to  Cartwright,  which  I  hoped 
to  reach  in  one  day  more.  But  the  going 
was  fearfully  poor,  soft  snow  was  drifted 
deep  in  the  trail  over  Cape  Porcupine,  the 
ice  in  Traymore  was  broken  up  by  the 


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gales,  and  this  necessitated  a  long  detour, 
so  it  was  nearly  dark  and  snowing  hard 
when  we  at  last  reached  the  house  of  James 
Williams  at  North  River,  just  across  Sand- 
wich Bay  from  Cartwright  Post.  The 
greeting  I  received  was  so  kindly  that  I  was 
not  altogether  disappointed  at  having  to 
spend  the  night  here. 

"We've  been  expectin'  you  all  winter, 
sir,"  said  Mrs.  Williams.  "When  you 
stopped  two  years  ago  you  said  you'd  come 
some  other  time,  and  we  knew  you  would. 
Tis  fine  to  see  you  again,  sir." 

On  the  afternoon  of  March  seventeenth 
we  reached  Cartwright  Post  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  and  my  friend  Swaf- 
field,  the  agent,  and  Mrs.  Swaffield,  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  me  on  my  former  trip, 
gave  us  a  cordial  welcome.  Here  also  I 
met  Dr.  Mumford,  the  resident  physician 
at  Dr.  Grenfell's  mission  hospital  at  Battle 
Harbor,  who  was  on  a  trip  along  the  coast 
visiting  the  sick. 

Another  four  days'  delay  was  necessary 
at  Cartwright  before  dogs  could  be  found 
to  carry  us  on,  but  with  Swaffield's  aid  I 
finally  secured  teams  and  we  resumed  our 
journey,  stopping  at  night  at  the  native 
cabins  along  the  route. 

Much  bad  weather  was  encountered  to 
retard  us,  and  I  had  difficulty  now  and 
again  in  securing  dogs  and  drivers.  Many 
of  the  men  that  I  had  on  my  previous  trip, 
when  I  brought  Hubbard's  body  out  to 
Battle  Harbor,  were  absent  hunting,  but 
whenever  I  could  find  them  they  invari- 
ably engaged  with  me  again  to  help  me  a 
stage  upon  the  journeyi* 

From  Long  Pond  the  men  I  had  did  not 
know  the  way.  When  I  traveled  the  coast 
before  my  drivers  took  a  route  outside  of 
Long  Pond,  so  that  night,  with  no  one  to 
set  us  right,  we  wandered  about  upon  the 
ice  until  long  after  dark,  looking  for  a  hut 
at  Whale  Bight,  which  was  finally  located 
by  the  dogs  smelling  smoke  and  going  to  it. 

A  little  beyond  Whale  Bight  we  came 
upon  a  bay  that  I  recognized,  and  from 
that  point  I  knew  the  trail  and  headed  di- 
rectly to  Williams  Harbor,  where  I  found 
John  and  James  Russell,  two  of  my  old 
drivers,  ready  to  take  us  on  to  Battle  Har- 
bor. 

At  last  on  the  afternoon  of  March 
twenty-sixth  we  reached  the  hospital,  and 
how  good  it  seemed  to  be  back  almost 


within  touch  of  civilization!  It  was  here 
that  I  ended  my  long  and  dreary  sledge 
journey. 

Mrs.  Mumford  made  us  most  welcome, 
and  entertained  me  in  the  doctor's  house, 
and  was  as  good  and  kind  as  she  could 
be. 

I  must  again  express  my  appreciation  of 
the  truly  wonderful  work  that  Dr.  Grenfell 
and  his  brave  associates  are  carrying  on 
amongst  the  people  of  this  dreary  coast. 
Year  after  year  they  brave  the  hardships 
and  dangers  of  sea  and  fog  and  winter 
storms  that  they  may  minister  to  the  lowly 
and  needy  in  the  Master's  name.  It  is  a 
saying  on  the  coast  that  "even  the  dogs 
know  Dr.  Grenfell,"  and  it  is  literally  true, 
for  his  activities  carry  him  everywhere,  and 
God  knows  what  would  become  of  some  of 
the  people  if  he  were  not  there  to  look  after 
them.  His  practice  extends  over  a  larger 
territory  than  that  of  any  other  physician 
in  the  world,  but  the  only  fee  he  ever  col- 
lects is  the  pleasure  that  comes  with  th** 
knowledge  of  work  well  done. 

At  Battle  Harbor  I  was  told  by  a  trader 
that  it  would  be  difficult  if  not  impossible 
to  procure  dogs  to  carry  us  up  the  Straits 
toward  Quebec,  and  I  was  strongly  advised 
to  end  my  snowshoe  and  dog  journey  here 
and  wait  for  a  steamer  that  was  expected 
to  come  in  April  to  the  whaling  station  at 
Cape  Charles,  twelve  miles  away.  This 
seemed  good  advice,  for  if  we  could  get  a 
steamer  here  within  three  weeks  or  so  that 
would  take  us  to  St.  John's  we  should  reach 
home  probably  earlier  than  we  possibly 
could  by  going  to  Quebec. 

There  is  a  government  coast  telegraph 
line  that  follows  the  noith  shore  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  from  Quebec  to  Chateau  Bay, 
but  the  nearest  office  open  at  this  time  was 
at  Red  Bay,  sixty-five  miles  from  Battle 
Harbor,  and  I  determined  to  go  there  and 
get  into  communication  with  home  and  at 
the  same  time  telegraph  to  Bowring 
Brothers  in  St.  John's  and  ascertain  from 
them  exactly  when  I  might  expect  the 
whaling  steamer. 

William  Murphy  offered  to  carry  me 
over  with  his  team,  and  leaving  Stanton 
and  Easton  comfortably  housed  at  Battle 
Harbor  and  both  of  them  quite  content  to 
end  their  dog  traveling  here,  on  the  morn- 
ing after  my  arrival  we  made  an  early  start 
for  Red  Bay. 


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A  typical  hut  near  Fox  Harbor. 


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Except  in  the  more  sheltered  places  the 
bay  ice  had  broken  away  along  the  straits 
and  we  had  to  follow  the  rough  ice  barri- 
cades, sometimes  working  inland  up  and 
down  the  rocky  hills  and  steep  grades. 
Before  noon  we  passed  Henley  Harbor  and 
the  Devil's  Dining  Table — a  basaltic  rock 
formation — and  a  little  later  reached 
Chateau  Bay  and  had  dinner  in  a  native 
house.  Beyond  this  point  there  are  cabins 
built  at  intervals  of  a  few  miles  as  shelter 
for  the  linemen  when  making  repairs  to  the 
wire.  We  passed  one  of  these  at  Wreck 
G)ve  toward  evening,  but  as  a  storm  was 
threatening  pushed  on  to  the  next  one  at 
Green  Bay,  fifty-five  miles  from  Battle 
Harbor.  It  was  dark  before  we  got  there, 
and  to  reach  the  Bay  we  had  to  descend  a 
steep  hill.  I  shall  never  forget  the  ride 
down  that  hill.  It  is  very  well  to  go  over 
places  like  that  when  you  know  the  way, 
and  what  you  are  likely  to  bring  up  against, 
but  I  did  not  know  the  way  and  had  to 
pin  my  faith  blindly  on  Murphy,  who  had 
taken  me  over  rotten  ice  during  the  day — 
ice  that  waved  up  and  down  with  our 
weight  and  sometimes  broke  behind  us. 
My  opinion  of  him  was  that  he  was  a  reck- 
less devil,  and  when  we  began  to  descend 
that  hill  five  hundred  feet  to  the  bay  ice 
this  opinion  was  strengthened.  I  would 
have  said  uncomplimentary  things  to  him 
had  time  permitted.  I  expected  anything 
to  happen.  It  looked  in  the  night  as 
though  a  sheer  precipice  with  a  bottomless 
pit  below  was  in  front  of  us.  Two  drags 
were  thrown  over  the  komatik  runners  to 
hold  us  back,  but  in  spite  of  them  we  went 
like  a  shot  out  of  a  gun,  he  on  one  side,  I 
on  the  other,  sticking  our  heels  into  the 
hard  snow  as  we  extended  our  legs  ahead, 
trying  our  best  to  hold  back  and  stop  our 
wild  progress.  But,  much  to  my  surprise, 
when  we  got  there,  and  I  verily  believe  to 
Murphy's  surprise  also,  we  landed  right  side 
up  at  the  bottom,  with  no  bones  broken. 
There  were  three  men  camped  in  the  shack 
here,  and  we  spent  the  night  with  them. 

Early  the  next  day  we  reached  Red  Bay 
and  the  telegraph  office.  There  are  no 
words  in  the  English  language  adequate  to 
express  my  feelings  of  gratification  when  I 
heard  the  instruments  clicking  off  the  mes- 
sages. It  had  been  seventeen  years  since 
I  had  handled  a  telegraph  key — when  I 
was  a  railroad  telegrapher  down  in  New 


England — and  how  I  fondled  that  key,  and 
what  music  the  click  of  the  sounder  was  to 
my  ears! 

My  messages  were  soon  sent,  and  then 
I  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  replies. 

The  office  was  in  the  house  of  Thomas 
Moors,  and  he  was  good  enough  to  invite 
me  to  stop  with  him  while  in  Red  Bay. 
His  daughter  was  the  telegraph  operator. 

The  next  day  the  answers  to  my  tele- 
grams came,  and  many  messages  from 
friends,  and  one  from  Bowring  &  Company 
stating  that  no  steamer  would  be  sent  to 
Cape  Charles.  I  had  been  making  in- 
quiries here,  however,  in  the  meantime, 
and  learned  that  it  was  quite  possible  to 
secure  dogs  and  continue  the  journey  up 
the  north  shore,  so  I  was  not  greatly  dis- 
appointed. I  despatched  Murphy  at  once 
to  Battle  Harbor  to  bring  on  the  other 
men,  waiting  myself  at  Red  Bay  for  their 
coming,  and  holding  teams  in  readiness  for 
an  immediate  departure  when  they  should 
arrive. 

They  drove  in  at  two  o'clock  on  April 
fourth,  and  we  left  at  once.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  sixth  we  passed  through  Blanc 
Sablon,  the  boundary  line  between  New- 
foundland and  Canadian  territory,  and 
here  I  left  the  Newfoundland  letters  from 
my  mail  bag. 

At  Brador  Bay  I  stopped  to  telegraph. 
No  operator  was  there,  so  I  sent  the  message 
myself,  left  the  money  on  the  desk,  and 
proceeded. 

Three  days  more  took  us  to  St.  Augus- 
tine Post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company, 
where  we  arrived  in  the  morning  and  ac- 
cepted the  hospitality  of  Burgess,  the 
Agent. 

Our  old  friends,  the  Indians  whom  we 
met  on  our  inland  trip  at  Northwest  River, 
were  here,  and  John,  who  had  eaten  supper 
with  us  at  our  camp  on  the  hill  on  the 
first  portage,  expressed  great  pleasure  at 
meeting  us  and  had  many  questions  to  ask 
about  the  country.  They  had  failed  in 
their  deer  hunt,  and  had  come  out  from 
the  interior  half  starved  a  week  or  so  before. 

We  did  fifty  miles  on  the  eleventh,  chang- 
ing dogs  at  Harrington  at  noon  and  run- 
ning on  to  Sealnet  Cove  that  night,  where 
we  met  several  Indians  who  had  just  come, 
half  starved,  from  the  interior,  having 
failed  to  get  caribou,  as  had  the  Indians  at 
St.  Augustine. 


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Two  days  later  we  reached  the  Post  at 
Romain,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  April 
seventeenth  reached  Natashquan  and  open 
water.  Here  I  engaged  passage  on  a  small 
schooner — the  first  afloat  in  the  St.  Law- 
rence— to  take  us  on  to  Eskimo  Point, 
seventy  miles  farther,  where  the  Quebec 
steamer.  King  Edward,  was  expected  to 
arrive  in  a  week  or  so.  That  night  we 
boarded  the  schooner  and  sailed  at  once. 
I  threw  the  clothes  I  had  been  wearing  into 
the  sea  and  donned  fresh  ones.  What  a 
relief  it  was  to  be  clear  of  the  innumerable 
horde  *'o'  wee  sma'  beasties"  that  had  been 
my  close  companions  all  the  way  down 
from  the  Eskimo  igloos  in  the  north.  I 
have  wondered  many  times  since  whether 
those  clothes  swam  ashore,  and  if  they  did 
what  happened  to  them. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  be  upon  the 
water  again,  and  see  the  shore  slip  past, 
and  feel  that  no  more  snow-storms,  no 
more  bitter  northern  blasts,  no  more  hun- 
gry days  and  nights  were  to  be  faced. 

Since  June  twenty-fifth,  the  day  we 
dipped  our  paddles  into  the  water  of  North- 
west River  and  turned  northward  into  the 
wastes  of  the  great  unknown  wilderness, 
eight  hundred  miles  had  been  traversed 
in  reaching  Fort  Chimo,  and  on  our  return 
journey  with  dogs  and  komatik  and  snow- 
shoes,  two  thousand  more. 

We  came  to  anchor  at  Eskimo  Point  on 


April  twentieth,  and  that  very  day  a  rain 
began  that  turned  the  world  into  a  sea  of 
slush.  I  was  glad  indeed  that  our  komatik 
work  was  finished,  for  it  would  now  have 
been  very  difficult  if  not  impossible  to 
travel  farther  with  dogs. 

I  at  once  deposited  in  the  post  office  the 
bag  of  letters  that  I  had  carried  all  the  way 
from  far-off  Ungava.  This  was  the  first 
mail  that  any  single  messenger  had  ever 
carried  by  dog  train  from  that  distant 
point,  and  I  felt  quite  puffed  up  with  the 
honor  of  it. 

The  week  that  we  waited  here  for  the 
King  Edward  was  a  dismal  one,  and  when 
the  ship  finally  arrived  we  lost  no  time  in 
getting  ourselves  and  our  belongings 
aboard.  It  was  a  mighty  satisfaction  to 
feel  the  pulse  of  the  engines  that  with 
every  revolution  took  us  nearer  home,  and 
when  at  last  we  tied  up  at  the  steamer's 
wharf  in  Quebec,  I  heaved  a  big  sigh  of 
relief. 

On  April  thirtieth,  after  an  absence  of- 
just  eleven  months,  we  found  ourselves 
again  in  the  whirl  and  racket  of  New  York. 
The  portages  and  rapids  and  camp  fires, 
the  Indian  wigwams  and  Eskimo  igloos 
and  the  great,  silent  white  world  of  the 
North  that  we  had  so  recently  left  were 
now  only  memories.  We  had  reached  the 
end  of  The  Long  Trail. 

The  compact  with  Hubbard  was  fulfilled. 


THE    END 


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THE  AMERICAN    HORSE   IN 
PORTRAITURE 

A   SERIES   OF   COPYRIGHTED   PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY   N.   W.    PENFIELD 


DAN   PATCH 
Champion  pacer  of  the  world  (time  1-55). 


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LOU   DILLON 

The  trotiinjjj  phenomenon  that  is  credited  with  the  world's  record  ni!Ic  of  1.5SJ  made 

behind  a  wind  shield. 


344 

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SYSONBY 

A  marvelous  runner  that  beat  every  rival  without  being  extended ;  the  undoubted  champion 

of  the  modern  American  turf. 


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KKTKIBUTION 
A  famous  old  hunter  that  followed  the  hounds  until  he  was  twenty  years  old. 

348 

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PONY 
A  fire  horse  attached  to  Company  65  of  the  N.  Y.  Fire  Department. 


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LITTLE   OUTDOOR   STORIES 


A    BUSY   MAN'S   VACA- 
TION 

BY  CHARLES   EMMETT  BARNES 

IT  was  only  a  string  of  fish.  Who  can 
*•  explain  its  strange  fascination,  the 
witchery,  the  mysterious  something  that 
attracts  to  it? 

The  happy-go-lucky  boy  stood  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  my  office  with  a  fine 
catch  of  perch  and  blue  gills  strung  upon  a 
willow  branch.  It  was  a  magnet  that  drew 
to  him  every  person  who  passed,  and  his 
expression  showed  how  pleased  he  was  at 
the  attention.  It  was  a  compliment  to  his 
skill  as  an  angler.  Each  man,  from  the  day 
laborer  to  the  aristocratic  banker,  as  he 
paused,  asked  the  boy  where  he  caught 
them.  That  string  of  fish  made  them  all 
democratic.  It  was  not  strange  that  the 
drayman  came  over  to  look  at  them,  but 
what  was  it  that  appealed  to  Banker  Jones, 
who  never  recognized  or  spoke  to  any  one; 
who  never  looked  right  or  left  as  he  walked 
along  the  street,  always  meditating?  This 
self-absorbed  man  actually  saw  the  fish  and 
came  to  a  standstill.  It  made  even  him 
akin  to  all  the  other  onlookers.  For  that 
string  of  fish  brought  to  memory  happy, 
free-from-care  "other  days,"  before  the 
strenuous  business  life  had  confined  one 
everlastingly  to  the  office  without  a  vaca- 
tk>n;  a  mental  kaleidoscope  that  vividly 
pictured  green  fiehds,  sylvan  scenes,  running 
brooks,  placid  lakes,  sunshine,  fresh  air; 
thoughts  of  a  time  of  ifreedom  from  care  and 
business,  and  hope  of  holidays. 

An  outing!  Let's  see!  1  have  not  had  a 
vacation  from  the  office  in  ten  years.  I 
must 

"Been  out  of  copy  for  half  an  hour," 
exclaimed  the  foreman  in  a  vexatious  voice 
as  he  rushed  into  my  sanctum.  To  appease 
him  I  gave  him  an  obituary  of  Smith  that 
1  had  just  finished  writing  when  the  boy 


came  along  with  the  string  of  fish  that  had 
caused  my  meditations. 

Smith's  obituary  set  me  to  musing  again. 
Smith  was  a  successful  business  man  and 
died  worth  1 100,000.  Almost  every  week 
he  had  confidentially  told  me  that  next 
year  he  intended  to  retire  from  business  and 
enjoy  life.  Next  year  came  and  he  repeat- 
edly told  me  the  same  thing.  It  was  al- 
ways next  year.  By-and-by  he  would 
enjoy  life.  Yes,  by-and-by.  But  Smith 
died  with  apoplexy,  and  by-and-by  never 
came  to  him  on  this  earth,  as  it  seldom  does 
to  any  other  business  or  professional  man. 
He  had  worked  like  a  slave,  always  antici- 
pating that  "good  time"  by-and-by. 

Well,  every  other  business  man  has  the 
same  dream  of  happiness,  in  the  future, 
when  he  "quits  business."  As  I  mused,  a 
forcible  realization  of  the  fact  came  to  me 
that  I,  too,  never  took  a  vacation.  The 
conclusion  came  quickly,  that  if  a  person 
did  not  enjoy  life  in  the  present,  from  day 
to  day,  he  never  would.  It  could  not  be 
deferred  to  be  realized  all  in  a  lump — his 
pleasure  must  be  tiaw, 

I  had  always  been  a  great  lover  of  nature, 
but  the  communion  that  I  had  established 
in  boyhood  had  been  rudely  broken  by  the 
cold,  ruthless,  selfish  demands  of  business 
in  later  life.  To  see  more  of,  and  to  study 
nature;  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with 
birds  and  flowers;  to  get  the  fresh  air  that 
was  my  natural  inheritance,  and  hereafter 
to  take  an  outing  at  least  once  a  week, 
was  a  decision  quickly  and  wisely  made.  1 
would  consecrate  Sundays  to  nature  study 
and  to  the  recuperation  of  the  mental 
faculties  and  physical  system  by  outdoor 
life. 

For  several  years  I  have  kept  this  cov- 
enant, taking  an  all-day  outing  on  the 
Sabbath  whenever  the  weather  would 
permit.  I  have  tramped  along  every  river 
and  brook,  and  around  about  thirty  lakes 
in  the  vicinity  of  my  city — traversed  hills 
and  dales;    strolled  through  woods  and 


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fields;  studied  birds,  flowers,  insects,  trees 
and  shrubs,  and  got  more  satisfaction  and 
enjoyment  and  more  physical  benefit  out 
of  it  than  from  any  other  recreation  or 
physical  exercise  I  had  ever  before  indulged 
in. 

In  company  with  my  young  son  I  began 
my  outings.  Other  friends  were  attracted 
to  the  novel  one-day-at-a-time  vacation 
idea  by  my  enthusiasm,  and  asked  to  ac- 
company us;  so  that  three,  then  five,  then 
a  dozen  nature  students,  in  time,  made  up 
the  party.  The  first  season's  outings  were 
such  a  success  and  so  beneficial  physically, 
socially  and  intellectually,  that  when  winter 
came  the  memory  of  the  pleasant  excursion 
days  resulted  in  the  organization  of  a 
"Nature  Club."  Every  winter  since  then 
meetings  of  the  club  were  held  weekly  and 
a  study  was  made  of  natural  history.  The 
club  now  numbers  eighty  business,  profes- 
sional, and  working  men — is  thoroughly 
democratic,  the  only  qualification  for  mem- 
bership being  a  love  of  nature.  When 
spring  comes  the  "call  of  the  wild"  is  heard 
and  the  members  cease  to  be  indoor  natur- 
alists and  become  outdoor  nature  students, 
taking  tramps  in  groups  on  Sundays  during 
the  spring  and  summer  and  until  late  in 
the  fall.  The  work  of  the  club  has  had  its 
influence  upon  nature  students  in  other 
cities.  An  outing  was  held  at  Gull  Lake 
with  the  students  from  the  Michigan  Nor- 
mal School  at  Kalamazoo,  and  the  Kala- 
mazoo River  Valley  Nature  Club  organized, 
to  comprise  all  of  the  cities  in  the  valley 
of  that  river. 

My  personal  record  for  one  year  was 
twenty- two  Sunday  outings.  Memorial  Day, 
Fourth  of  July  and  Labor  Day — making  a 
total  of  twenty-five  days'  vacation  without 
loss  of  time  from  business.  During  the 
long  summer  evenings  many  outings  were 
taken  after  five  o'clock,  going  direct  from 
the  office  and  carrying  lunch  along  so  that 
a  r.^tum  was  not  necessary  until  after  dark. 
Djes  this  not  appeal  to  the  man  who  loves 
outdoor  life,  but  can  never  get  away  from 
business?  This  is  what  I  would  call  the 
busy  man's  vacation  or  poor  man's  outing. 

Our  home  city  is  very  favorably  situated 
for  enjoyable  outings.  Running  twenty- 
five  miles  to  the  west  is  an  interurban  line 
along  the  valley  of  the  beautiful  Kalamazoo 
River,  into  which  flows  several  picturesque 
brooks.    One  branch  runs  to  Gull  Lake,  the 


largest  inland  lake  in  southern  Michigan. 
Another  line  runs  to  Lake  Goguac,  the 
queen  of  Michigan  lakes.  Still  another  runs 
eastward  for  forty-five  miles.  In  this 
county  are  sixty-seven  lakes  bearing  names, 
with  numerous  small  ones  that  are  name- 
less. These,  with  many  picturesque  brooks 
and  two  rivers,  make  it  a  paradise  for  the 
nature  lover. 

The  nature  students,  each  Sunday,  now 
divided  up  into  several  parties,  take  one  of 
the  interurbans,  drop  off  the  car  at  some 
new  point  and  spend  all  day  tramping, 
following  the  river  or  creek  bottoms  or 
visiting  some  lake.  The  visiting  of  a  new 
place  on  each  outing  is  essential  in  keep- 
ing up  the  interest.  It  gives  variety  and 
change,  and  arouses  anticipation  for  the 
next  trip. 

Unless  there  is  an  interest  in  research  an 
outing  develops  into  a  mere  cross-country 
tramp,  which  soon  tires  and  becomes  unin- 
teresting, as  it  has  its  limit.  When  on  an 
outing  attention  is  directed  to  objects 
animate  or  inanimate,  the  mind  is  aroused 
and  the  stroller  "wants  to  know."  Just  as 
soon  as  this  desire  manifests  itself  his  fate 
is  sealed.  He  is  converted  into  a  modem 
gypsy.  He  will  become  a  confirmed 
"tramp"  and  an  enthusiastic  nature  stu- 
dent. He  has  got  into  the  spirit  of  it. 
Each  outing  develops  the  power  of  observa- 
tion to  a  wonderful  degree.  He  is  con- 
stantly on  the  lookout  for  something  that 
he  never  saw  before.  Nature  is  full  of  sur- 
prises. He  finds  a  new  flower,  a  vine,  a 
shrub,  a  tree,  a  berry,  a  nut,  an  insect,  a 
bird,  or  some  freak  in  nature;  discovers 
some  fact  in  woodcraft  or  forestry,  or  a 
geological  specimen.  He  soon  learns  that 
the  study  of  nature  is  inexhaustible,  with- 
out end.  Each  flower  or  bird  identified 
gives  zest  to  the  tramp,  and  the  next  Sun- 
day's outing  is  looked  forward  to  eagerly  in 
anticipation  of  new  discoveries. 

A  business  man  or  professional  man 
cannot  be  a  specialist.  He  does  not  have 
the  time  or  desire.  He  wants  to  enjoy 
nature  and  get  the  fresh  air  that  the  open 
brings  to  him.  To  do  this  all  that  is  neces- 
sary is  just  a  sufficient  knowledge,  to  com- 
mence on,  of  the  several  branches  of  natural 
history,  so  that  he  can  learn  the  names  of 
things.  When  he  sees  a  tree  with  a  bird 
in  the  branches,  a  flower  with  an  insect 
upon  it,  or  picks  up  a  geological  specimen. 


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355 


the  name  of  each  is  what  he  is  seeking.  He 
will  become  so  enthusiastic  over  this  desire 
to  know  and  to  find  that  he  will  recklessly 
invade  slimy  marshes,  muddy  river  bot- 
toms and  snake-infested  tamarack  swamps, 
to  find  a  rare  flower,  bird,  or  nest,  and  is 
thrilled  with  delight  when  he  finds  it. 
Each  member  of  the  club  has  a  nature 
library,  and  on  the  return  home,  the  quest 
in  books  for  information  begins  in  earnest. 
All  things  unidentified  upon  the  trip  are 
searched  out  in  eagerness,  and — Eureka! 
He  exults  in  the  discovery.  1 1  is  surprising 
what  enthusiasm  is  aroused  in  the  efforts 
to  become  acquainted  with  nature. 

During  the  past  year  photographing 
from  nature  has  been  added  to  the  regu- 
lar attractions.  This  has  increased  the 
interest  and  brought  into  the  club  the 
photographers  of  the  city. 

The  gun  is  barred.  No  firearms  are 
allowed  and  no  birds  or  harmless  animals 
are  ever  killed.  There  is  harmony  upon 
all  questions  except  one.  Shall  snakes  be 
killed?  This  has  been  the  subject  of  many 
an  excited  debate,  and  no  unity  of  action  . 
has  yet  been  attained. 

The  great  need  of  this  strenuous  age, 
when  there  is  such  a  waste  of  vital  forces, 
is  more  fresh  air  and  outdoor  life  for  men 
and  women,  for  a  restoration  of  the  physi- 
cal and  mental  equilibrium.  Nature  ex- 
cursions will  do  this.  The  mounting  of 
wire  fences,  the  jumping  of  ditches,  the 
crossing  of  brooks  and  climbing  of  hills, 
will  bring  all  of  the  physical  benefits  to  be 
derived  from  golf  and  kindred  pastimes, 
and  in  addition  the  nature  lover  increases 
his  knowledge  on  every  trip — it  is  a  con- 
tinuous education. 

A  feature  of  the  outing  is  the  enjoyable 
time  that  the  dinner  hour  brings,  when  the 
lunch  is  eaten  by  the  side  of  some  swift 
brook  or  cold  spring,  with  the  grass  for 
linen.  The  previous  exercise  brings  a 
relish  that  makes  the  sylvan  banquet  most 
appetizing,  and  the  social  spirit  reigns 
supreme,  while  the  birds  charm  with  their 
sweet  melody. 

As  a  climax  the  members  of  the  club 
have  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there  is 
beauty,  picturesqueness,  and  even  grandeur 
right  at  their  own  door  and  all  about  them; 
that  the  ordinary  is  extraordinary;  that 
common  things  are  interesting;  that  there 
is  beauty  in  familiar  things. 


A   FEW   DOG  STORIES 

BY  RALPH   NEVILLE 

^JO  one  can  fathom  a  dog's  reasoning. 
*^  From  Addison  in  the  Spectator, 
through  the  flight  of  years  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  on  down  to  present-day  writers, 
one  hears  of  properly  authenticated  cases 
of  the  remarkable  reasoning  of  dogs.  There 
are  records  of  talking  dogs,  but  these  are 
somewhat  open  to  doubt;  tales  of  thinking 
dogs  are  therefore  much  more  acceptable. 
The  knowing  dogs  so  frequently  mentioned 
in  the  old  Spectator  did  so  many  wonderful 
things  that  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
the  writers  of  some  of  these  racy  essays 
drew  the  long  bow.  So  veracious  a  man  as 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  however,  had  a  "wise" 
dog,  a  bull  terrier.  Said  the  novelist  once: 
"  I  taught  him  to  understand  a  great  many 
words,  inasmuch  that  I  am  positive  that 
the  communication  betwixt  the  canine 
species  and  ourselves  might  be  greatly  en- 
larged. Camp  once  bit  the  baker,  who  was 
bringing  bread  to  the  family.  I  beat  him, 
and  explained  the  enormity  of  his  offense, 
after  which,  to  the  last  moments  of  his  life, 
he  never  heard  the  least  allusion  to  the 
story,  in  whatever  tone  of  voice  it  was 
mentioned,  without  getting  up  and  retiring 
into  the  darkest  comer  of  the  room,  with 
great  appearance  of  distress.  Then  if  you 
said,  'the  baker  was  well  paid,'  or  'the 
baker  was  not  hurt  after  all,'  Camp  came 
forth  from  his  hiding  place,  capered  and 
barked  and  rejoiced." 

This  same  Camp  certainly  possessed  a 
singular  knowledge  of  spoken  language. 
After  he  was  unable,  toward  the  end  of  his 
life,  to  attend  when  Sir  Walter  rode  on 
horseback,  he  used  to  watch  for  his  mas- 
ter's return;  then  if  the  servant  should  tell 
him  his  master  was  coming  down  the  hill, 
or  through  the  moor,  although  using  no 
gesture  to  explain  his  meaning.  Camp  was 
never  known  to  mistake  him,  but  either 
went  out  at  the  front  to  go  up  the  hill,  or  at 
the  back  to  get  down  to  the  moor-side. 

But  to  come  to  more  modem  instances: 
sporting  dogs  have  a  wonderful  way  of 
understanding  the  phrases  of  the  human 
voice.  The  owner  of  a  spaniel  made  up  his 
mind  to  give  him  to  a  man  who  lived  fifteen 
miles  away.  He  spent  a  day  in  taking  the 
dog  by  train  to  his  friend's  place. 


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The  next  morning  when  he  opened  his 
front  door  in  walked  "  Ben"  looking  for  all 
the  world  as  if  he  expected  a  welcome. 
But  the  owner  was  not  to  be  done. 

He  put  him  in  charge  of  a  guard  on  a 
through  train,  with  instructions  not  to  let 
him  escape.  A  month  went  by,  and  the 
family  concluded  that  they  had  at  last  got 
rid  of  the  dog,  when  one  day  the  head  of  the 
house,  standing  on  his  front  porch,  saw  a 
thin,  worn-out  liver  and  white  spaniel 
trotting  up  the  walk. 

The  dog  gave  a  bark  of  joy  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  master,  who  gazed  on  him  with 
amazement  and  then  exclaimed: 

" Great  Jehosaphat !    Are  you  back  ?  " 

The  animal  paused  when  he  heard  these 
anappreciative  words,  and,  looking  crushed 
and  miserable,  sneaked  around  the  house. 
No  amount  of  coaxing  could  persuade  the 
dog  to  pay  attention  to  his  conscience- 
stricken  owner,  but  he  lavished  all  his 
affections  on  the  lady  of  the  house,  who  took 
the  old  fellow  back  to  her  good  graces. 

In  the  window  of  a  cigar  store  in  New 
York  a  dog  sits  looking  out  upon  passers-by 
and  smoking  a  pipe  or  cigar  with  a  relish 
that  makes  a  man's  mouth  water.  Now 
and  then  he  blows  a  ring  of  smoke  toward 
the  ceiling  and  gazes  out  at  newsboys  and 
pedestrians  in  a  self-satisfied,  contented 
manner  that  simply  compels  all  who  have 
the  tobacco  habit  to  step  inside  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  purchase.  "Cap,"  as 
this  money-making  dog  is  familiarly  known, 
has  all  the  characteristics  of  a  fox  terrier 
except  the  contour  of  his  face,  which  be- 
trays the  bulldog  blood  that  is  in  him. 
John  D.  Dalton,  his  owner,  found  him 
roaming  the  streets  when  he  was  a  puppy 
about  five  weeks  old,  and  the  dog  has  been 
showing  his  gratitude  ever  since  in  a  most 
substantial  way.  "Cap "  learned  to  smoke 
when  still  a  puppy,  and  is  now  a  confirmed 
slave  to  the  Lady  Nicotine. 

Dogs  frequently  become  proud  when 
dressed  in  special  -  uniforms.  One  has 
noticed  this  at  shows  and  at  dog  races, 
where  some  of  the  most  extravagant 
clothes  and  muzzles  are  to  be  seen.  The 
police  dogs  of  Ghent^-much  of  the  type  of 
the  sheep  dog — wear  for  their  uniform  a 
leather  collar  strongly  bound  with  steel  and 
armed  with  sharp  points.  From  this  hangs 
a  medal  showing  the  dog's  name  and  quar- 
ters and  age.     In  bad  weather  they  have 


their  mackintosh  capes.  The  Belgian  dog 
must  obviously  be  well  endowed  with  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation.  He  is  taught 
to  attack,  to  seize,  and  to  hold  a  man. 
Dummies  are  at  first  used  for  training  pur- 
poses, and  woe  betide  any  one  the  police 
dog  finds  in  a  crouching  position,  it  having 
been  driven  into  its  mind  that  a  man  en- 
deavoring to  conceal  himself  is  up  to  no 
good.  Gradually  the  dog  is  broken  off  a 
dummy  and  a  living  model  is  used — and  in 
four  months  the  animal's  education  in  the 
matter  of  saving  life  from  drowning,  scaling 
walls,  and  burglar  catching  is  complete. 
Then  he  goes  out  with  the  town  "bobbies." 
Ghent  possesses  sixteen  dog  policemen. 

In  England  we  recently  had  afforded  us 
an  excellent  example  of  a  black  retriever's 
heroism.  During  the  height  of  a  gale  a 
bark  was  seen  at  Fraserburgh  to  be  help- 
lessly driven  before  the  wind,  and  the 
greatest  excitement  prevailed  among  the 
anxious  watchers  on  the  headland  when  it 
was  seen  that  the  vessel  was  making  for 
the  rocks  at  Rosehearty.  The  Fraserburgh 
Life  Saving  Brigade  was  summoned  by 
telephone,  but  before  they  could  arrive  the 
vessel  was  among  the  breakers,  with  great 
seas  sweeping  over  her.  There  w'jis  no 
possibility  of  launching  a  boat,  owing  to 
the  rocks  and  the  violence  of  the  waves. 
The  crew  were  seen  clinging  to  the  trail- 
board,  expecting  every  moment  to  be  en- 
gulfed. So  great  was  their  danger  that 
they  tied  a  rope  to  a  piece  of  wood,  in  the 
hope  that  it  would  drift  ashore. 

Then  it  was  that  Mr.  Shirran,  a  Rose- 
hearty  banker,  relieved  their  anxiety.  He 
had  a  fine  black  retriever,  which  he  or- 
dered off  for  the  stick.  The  noble  ani- 
mal at  once  obeyed.  Plunging  among  the 
breakers  he  made  for  the  ship.  The  waves 
were  too  much  for  him,  however,  and  he 
returned.  Again  he  was  sent  off,  and 
many  times  he  was  completely  lost  to  view. 
Once  more  he  returned  without  accomplish- 
ing his  object.  It  was  pitiable  to  see  the 
anxious  sailors  watching  their  only  present 
hope  of  rescue.  The  dog  was  again  sent  off, 
but  without  avail.  Yet  a  fourth  time  the 
animal  breasted  the  billows,  and,  after  a 
heroic  struggle,  he  reached  the  stick.  The 
swim  back,  handicapped  with  the  weight  of 
a  heavy  rope,  was  a  great  task.  Several 
times  the  dog  was  overwhelmed,  and  hope 
was  abandoned,  but  at  last  the  victory  was 


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obtained,  and  the  weary  animal  fell  panting 
on  the  shore,  dropping  the  stick  at  his 
master's  feet.  Communication  was  thus 
established  between  the  vessel  and  the 
shore.  Immediately  after  the  brigade  ar- 
rived, and  with  the  life-saving  apparatus 
saved  the  crew. 

In  1829  a  peasant  was  found  murdered 
in  a  wood  in  the  Department  of  the  Loire, 
France,  with  his  dog  sitting  near  the  body. 
No  clew  could  at  first  be  gained  as  to  the 
perpetrators  of  the  crime,  and  the  victim's 
widow  continued  to  live  in  the  same 
cottage,  accompanied  always  by  the  faith- 
ful dog.  In  February,  1837,  two  men, 
apparently  travelers,  stopped  at  the  house, 
requesting  shelter  from  the  storm,  which 
was  granted;  but  no  sooner  had  the  dog 
seen  them  than  he  flew  at  them  with  great 
fury,  and  would  not  be  pacified.  As  they 
were  quitting  the  house  one  of  them  said  to 
the  other:  "That  rascally  dog  has  not  for- 
gotten us!"  This  raised  the  suspicion  of 
the  widow  who  overheard  it,  and  she  ap- 
plied to  the  gendarmes  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  followed  and  arrested  the  men. 
After  a  long  examination  one  of  the  crimi- 
nals confessed. 

There  is  a  strong  trait  of  jealousy  in  a 
dog's  nature.  A  story  is  told  of  a  Birming- 
ham dog  that  had  been  a  great  pat  in  the 
family  until  the  baby  came.  There  was 
suspicion  that  he  was  jealous,  but  he  could 
not  be  detected  in  any  disrespect  to  the 
newcomer.  It  always  happened,  however, 
that  when  the  dog  was  left  alone  with  the 
baby  the  baby  began  to  cry.  No  signs  of 
trouble  were  ever  to  be  seen  upon  entering 
the  room,  and  the  dog  was  always  found 
sleeping  peacefully  before  the  fire.  Finally 
one  day  a  peep  through  the  keyhole  dis- 
closed the  canine  rubbing  his  cold  wet  nose 
up  and  down  the  baby's  back. 

There  is  a  common  rumor  to  the  effect 
that  a  dog  at  Berlin  was  taught  to  say  the 
word  "  Elizabeth  "  most  distinctly.  A  more 
generally  authenticated  statement  is  to 
the  effect  that  Sir  William  Cell  had  a 
dog  which  could  repeat  some  words, 
though  he  could  only  do  this  when  his 
master  held  his  jaws  in  a  certain  manner. 

Southey,  in  his  "Omniani,"  tells  us  that 
he  knew  of  a  dog  which  was  brought  up 
by  a  Catholic,  and  afterward  sold  to  a 
Protestant,  but  still  refused  meat  on  a 
Friday. 


BRANNIGAN'S   NERVE 
BY   NORMAN  CROWELL 

WALLOPIN'  Tom  Geery  was  in  the 
final  stages  of  a  harrowing  narrative 
when  William  P.  Brannigan,  puncher  on  the 
X  L  diggings,  pounded  in  under  a  full  head 
of  steam  and  leaned  over  the  bar  with  a 
familiarity  that  jarred  the  place.  While 
Bill  threw  in  a  single,  a  double  header  and 
repeat  without  swallowing,  the  hair-raising 
yam  drew  to  a  hurried  and  untimely  close. 
After  methodically  combing  the  froth  off 
his  mule-tails,  the  new  arrival  advanced 
toward  the  group  about  the  stove  with 
menace  in  his  eye. 

"Purty  dam  good  remarks,  them  was, 
Wallopin'.  Don't  believe  I  could  have 
ekalled  that  feat  you  was  tellin'  of  even  in 
my  best  days.  Do  I  ketch  ye  right  in 
thinkin'  it  was  you  what  kidnaped  that 
Injun  chief's  darter  under  that  parfect  hail 
er  arrers?" 

Wallopin'  looked  a  trifle  weary  but 
admitted  blushingly  that  it  was  none  else. 
"Well  now,  son,  that  was  nervy — blame 
nervy!  But  tellin'  about  it  was  jest  about 
as  nervy  or  maybe  a  leetle  more  so,"  said 
Bill  as  he  aimed  himself  at  a  chair  and  sat 
down  heavily. 

After  whipping  out  a  copious  plug  of 
tobacco  and  disconnecting  a  cheekful  from 
a  prominent  comer  he  drew  a  deep  inspira- 
tion and  glanced  at  the  faces  round  about. 
"  Boys,"  said  he,  as  he  made  a  mysterious 
pass  wherein  the  plug  faded  forever  from 
human  eye,  "after  ye've  knowed  this  here 
Wallopin'  person  th'  time  I  have  ye'll  git 
onto  th'  fact  that  he  loves  th'  tmth  jest 
as  severe  as  he  is  infatuated  with  work. 
He'd  do  first  class  if  he  wa'n't  some  cross- 
eyed on  th'  fundermental  principles  o'  th' 
business." 

Following  the  approving  chuckles  the 
speaker  hitched  a  1^  across  its  mate  and 
resumed. 

"Speakin'  about  nerve  makes  me  recall 
a  leetle  something  that  happened  to  me  a 
few  years  ago.  I  was  driftin'  around  th' 
streets  o'  'Frisco  broke  clear  in  two  an' 
with  cramps  in  th'  float  in'  ribs  from  ridin' 
brake-beams.  Feller  run  agin  me  one  day 
an'  he  says: 
"'  Lookin'  for  work,  pard?' 
"Course  he  ketched  me  off  my  guard 


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some  an',  like  a  fool,  I  pervaricated  an'  said 
that  I  was.  • 

"'Any  petikelar  line?'  he  says. 

•"Not  that  I  knows  of/  says  I. 

'"Jest  so  there's  money  comin',  eh?* 

"'How'd  you  guess  it?"  I  says. 

"Then  this  feller  took  me  by  th'  hand 
and  pulled  me  to  one  side  and  begun 
whisperin'  a  few  bundles  of  information 
into  me.  By  th'  time  he'd  got  through  my 
wool  was  stickin'  up  so's  you  could  have 
druv  it  in  with  a  mallet. 

"But,  bein'  game,  I  agreed,  as  I  was 
needin'  th'  money  bad.  He  took  me  down 
to  a  big  buildin'  on  th'  aidge  of  town  an' 
interduced  me  to  four  of  th'  toughest 
humans  I  ever  see  collected  into  one  bunch. 
One  of  'em  hands  me  a  long  knife,  ground 
sharp  as  a  razor,  an'  I  see  right  off  I  was  in 
for  it  to  th'  eyelids.  Then  they  led  me 
into  a  long,  thin  room  an'  begun  rollin'  up 
their  sleeves.  I  rolled  mine  up,  too.  Then 
I  looked  down  an'  see  fresh  blood  on  th' 
floor  an'  while  I  was  lookin'  at  it  one  feller 
pulled  his  watch  an'  said  we'd  better  begin. 

"Jest  about  that  time  o'  day  Bill  Bran- 
nigan  was  a-sayin'  what  few  prayers  he 
knowed,  but  I  kept  my  grip  onto  that 
knife,  callatin'  on  a  desprit  attempt  if  th' 
wust  come  to  th'  wust.  Then  I  heard  a 
noise — a  sorter  wailin'  an^  shriekin' — it 
was  enough  to  make  your  blood  back  up  to 
hear  them  groans,  but  th'  fellers  only 
gritted  their  teeth  an'  told  me  to  git  pre- 
pared. 

"  I  heard  men's  voices — hollerin' — but  I 
knowed  they  was  too  far  off  to  help  any- 
way, so  I  jest  stood  there  waitin'  fer  them 
there  pore  critters  what  was  comin'  to 
their  doom. 


"Well,  fellers " 

Here  the  speaker  tossed  his  cud  into  the 
farthest  spittoon  and  drew  out  the  plug. 
The  listeners  were  sitting  in  breathless 
silence,  intent  upon  every  word  of  the  mar- 
row-freezing tale.  Suddenly  Bill  leaned 
forward  in  his  chair  and  held  up  a  finger. 

"Boys " 

Deep  pathos  was  apparent  in  his  tone  as 
he  paused  and  glanced  hurriedly  for  the 
spittoon,  into  which  he  spat  with  a  power 
and  precision  that  elicited  the  admiration 
of  the  audience. 

"It  was  awful.  I've  been  in  skirmishes 
where  men  was  killed — but  them  was  fair 
fights — no  murderin'.  Each  man  took  his 
chances  then — but  here  them  miserable 
critters  came  in  onarmed  an'  onsuspectin' 
an'  before  they'd  get  their  bearin's  their 
throats  would  be  cut.  There's  no  use  a- 
denyin',  fellers,  it  was  jest  butchery,  pure 
an'  simple.  I  can't  get  around  that — it 
was  butchery." 

The  barkeeper's  peg-leg  came  down  with 
a  thump  that  roused  half  the  hearers  with  a 
gasp. 

"  But— but "  began  Wallopin',  hesi- 
tatingly. 

Bill  gazed  into  the  fire  and  shuddered. 

"Wh— what— was  it?"  finished  Wal- 
lopin'. 

"Well,  boys,  th'  only  explanation  I  can 
give  ye  is  what  I  jest  said — it  was  butchery 
— ^jest  butchery — it  was  in  a  packin'  house." 

A  dense,  violet-scented  silence  reigned 
for  a  brief  instant.  Then  a  noise  that 
sounded  like  a  run  on  the  bank  ensued  and 
the  entire  crowd  drew  up  in  line  against  the 
bar,  while  William  Brannigan  gazed  into 
the  stove  and  chuckled  hoarsely. 


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Thomas  JeflFerson's 
birthday  was  cele- 
brated in  New  York 
the  other  night  by  two 
simultaneously  given 
dinners  held  by  the  derelict  local  factions 
of  the  long-suffering  Democratic  party.  At 
one  Hearst  occupied  the  head  of  the  table; 
at  the  other  "Boss"  Charley  Murphy,  Andy 
Freedman,  and  "Little  Tim"  Sullivan — 
owners  of  New  York — Augustus  Van  Wyck, 
a  one-time  mayor,  and  Charley  Harvey  of 
pugilistic-ring  fame,  divided  attention. 

At  the  Hearst  feed  five  dollars  a  plate 
was  the  price  asked,  and  Hearst  did  pretty 
much  all  of  the  speech  making.  At  the 
feast  of  "Boss"  Murphy  et  al  ten  dollars  a 
plate  was  the  fee  exacted,  and  each  spoke 
the  little  piece  he  had  prepared  for  the 
occasion.  At  both  gatherings  most  every- 
body, except  Hearst,  threw  rocks  at  every- 
body else  not  at  the  party. 


Let  us  enjoy  the  closing 
paragraph  of  one  of  the  ten- 
dollar-a-plate  speeches: 


Goodness 
Gracious 

I«  it  ■■  "Is  there  no  courage  left 

Bad  as  That?       in  us?  Must  time-honored  De- 
mocracy follow  the  Republi- 
can  party  in  voluntary  sub- 
mission?   Is  there  not  somewhere  to  be  found 
inspiration  to  tear  down  the  conglomeration  of 


shreds  and  patches  now  waved  insultingly  in 
our  faces,  and  raise,  whether  for  success  or 
failure,  but  everlastingly  for  the  right,  the  flag 
of  the  fathers  of  the  republic?  May  not  one 
final  attempt  be  made  to  join  hands  with  the 
conservative  South  and  blaze  the  way  for  the 
entrance  of  living  truth  and  real  sincerity  to 
supplant  the  hollow  sham  and  glaring  hypocrisy 
before  which  now  in  shame  we  bow  our  heads? 
If  government  by  the  people  must  perish  and 
the  pendulum  be  swung  back  to  autocracy,  then 
woe,. indeed,  to  the  land!  But  let  us  at  least  go 
down  with  our  faces  to  the  front,  tramplmg 
expediency  under  foot,  spurning  compromise, 
defying  mobs,  following  the  fixed  star  of  undy- 
ing principle,  and  trusting  to  the  return  to  reason 
of  tne  American  people  and  the  working  of  God's 
immutable  laws  for  a  resurrection  that  shall  be 
glorious  because  deserved ! " 

This  peroration  was  not  borrowed  from 
some  Fourth  of  July  oration  of  Col.  Delphin 
Delmas,  but  probably  was  writte»i  by  that 
other  colonel  of  equally  distinguished  mili- 
tary record — G.  B.  M.  Harvey,  who  de- 
livered it  at  the  close  of  the  night's  bom- 
bardment with  obvious  mental  anguish  and 
much  impressive  gesture. 


Theodore 
Roosevelt 


To  throw  bricks  at  Theodore 
Roosevelt  has  become  an  ob- 
session among  "little  Ameri- 
cans" and  those  impelled  by 
corporate  or  other  selfish  in- 
terests.   Lacking  the  creative  they  use  their 
only  quality   in   stock  —  the   destructive; 
359  "  O 


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after  all,  it  relieves  their  "pent-up"  feel- 
ings, and  does  no  harm  to  the  President, 
who  is  as  far  above  them  in  genuine 
Americanism  as  he  is  in  the  esteem  of  the 
people. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  being  human, 
makes  mistakes,  but  he  makes  them  while 
engaged  in  creative  work,  and  he  stands  for 
the  best  interests  of  all  the  people  all  of 
the  time;  and  he  is  honest — that  is  why  he 
is  indorsed  by  every  citizen  who  really 
cares  for  Old  Glory. 

The  good  roads  movement 
ooAd  UomAm  "lovcs.  and  very  gener- 
STement  ^'y-  »>«hough  it  is  meeting 

j^^    .  many  obstacles,   and   we 

Y  must  learn  by  experience 

New  York  .^  ^^^  different  states  how 

to  overcome  them.  New 
York's  experience  is  vexatious,  and  per- 
haps unique,  and  for  that  reason  and  for 
the  lesson  it  conveys,  I  give  it  rather  fully 
as  set  forth  by  Mr.  White,  the  highway 
superintendent. 

Ever  since  the  two  state  aid  statutes  of 
1898  were  placed  in  operation  in  New  York, 
there  has  been  an  insistent  reference  to  the 
fact  that  while  they  were  both  fair  on  their 
face,  in  practice  they  did  an  injustice  to  the 
poor  towns,  in  that  the  distribution  of  state 
aid  under  both  statutes  is  based  on  the 
assessed  valuation  of  the  community  liable 
to  highway  taxes. 

This  enables  the  rich  communities  with 
a  low  tax  rate  to  obtain  funds  from  the 
state  treasury,  with  comparatively  no 
burden  of  taxation,  while  the  poor  com- 
munities, burdened  by  their  tax  rates,  are 
practically  barred  from  receiving  aid  in  the 
construction  of  their  highways.  This  is 
more  readily  understood  when  one  con- 
siders two  towns  of  equal  size  and  equal 
mileage  with  equal  conditions,  in  regard  to 
the  cost  and  maintenance  of  their  high- 
ways. 

One  is  assessed  for  |i  ,000,- 
000  and  the  other  assessed 
for  1 1 00,000  for  highway 
purposes.  The  care  of  the 
roads  in  each  town  calls 
for  the  raising  of  |6,ooo  for  road  mainte- 
nance. This  makes  a  tax  rate  for  highway 
purposes  in  the  rich  town  of  sixty  cents 
on  a  farm  assessed  for  1 1,000.  In  the 
oor  town  it  makes  a  tax  rate  of  six  dol- 


Hard  on  the 
Poor  Towns 


lars  on  the  1 1,000.  In  the  rich  town  the 
tax  rate  is  no  burden.  In  the  poor  town 
the  tax  rate  is  an  excessive  burden  upon 
all  ol  its  citizens. 

Our  highway  law  comes  direct  from  Eng- 
land, just  as  the  old  English  system  was  in 
existence,  and  before  Napoleon  forced  Eng- 
land into  realizing  the  fact  that  the  main 
highways  should  be  built  and  maintained 
at  national  expense;  for  it  was  the  fear  of 
the  all-conquering  Napoleon  that  brought 
the  main  highways  of  England  promptly 
into  construction  and  existence,  to  carr} 
the  English  forces  down  to  the  Chan- 
nel to  repel  the  expected  invasion  from 
France. 

The  following  tables  show  how  great  is 
the  unequal  burden  of  taxation  in  the  town 
tax  rates,  and  why  the  poor  town.*;  cannot 
obtain  improvement  on  their  main  or 
lateral  highways  under  the  present  acts. 
The  tables  take  as  a  basis  any  ten  towns 
assessed  from  1 100,000  up  to  1 1,000,000, 
and  show  the  burden  of  taxation  on  a 
1 1, 000  farm  for  each  of  the  respective 
towns,  figuring  that  each  town  is  to  receive 
a  mile  of  highway  at  a  cost  of  |8,ooo  a 
mile,  and  then  increasing  the  number  of 
miles  in  each  town  up  to  ten  miles  at  the 
same  cost. 

The  first  group  of  figures  show  increased 
tax  levy  on  a  town,  to  be  raised  for  the 
improvement  of  from  one  mile  of  highway 
in  the  town  at  a  cost  of  |8,ooo  a  mile  up 
to  ten  miles. 

A  road  costing  |8,ooo  a  mile  under  the 
bond  issue  is  paid  for  as  follows: 


Maxtmum  Annual  Tax  Levy 

sinking  fund  of 
5  per  cent,  on 

State,  so  per  cent 

$300 

$4,000 

County.  35  per  cent 

Town,  IS  percent 

140 
60 

a.8oo 
1, 300 

$400 

$8,000 

INCREASED  TOWl 

Increased 

taxleiry 

I  mile  X  $60  »  $  60 

9  mile  X    60  —     lao 

3  mUe  X    60  -     180 

4  mile  X    60  —     240 

5  mile  X    60  —    300 

SI  TAX   PE 

6  mile 

7  mile 

8  mile 

9  mile 
10  mile 

R  MILE. 

Increased 
tax  lery 

X  $60  -  $360 
X     60  =     420 
X     60  -     480 
X    60  -     540 
X    60  -     600 

On  the  next  page  is  a  table  showing 
burden  of  taxation  on  towns  from  |ioo,ooo 
to  |i, 000,000  according  to  the  mileage 
improved  in  each  town,  each  mile  to  cost 
|8,ooo. 


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hmamtd     . 
Valuation 
of 
Town 

Increased  Co. 
tax  on  $t.ooo 
assessed  valu- 
ation for  1  m. 
ofhl|fh*»ay. 

1 

a 
% 

i 

a 

1 

1 

a 

1 

1 

1 

1 

Si 

1 
E 

S 

J 

S 

Nine  milet. 

1 

$  100,000.  .  .  . 

.60 

i.ao 

X.80 

a. 40 

3.00 

3.60 

4.ao 

4.0 

5.40 

6.00 

900,000.  .  .  . 

.30 

.60 

.90 

i.ao 

1.50 

x.8o 

a. 10 

a.  40 

a.  70 

3.00 

300,000 

.30 

.60 

.80 

x.oo 

I.ao 

1.40 

1.60 

1.80 

a. 00 

400.000 

.15 

.45 

.60 

.75 

.90 

'•25 

I.ao 

V.il 

1.50 

500.000 

.  la 

.J6 

.48 

.60 

.7a 

.84 

.96 

I.ao 

600.000.  .  .  . 

.  10 

.36 

.40 

.50 

.60 

.70 

.80 

.90 

1. 00 

700.000.  .  .  . 
800.000 

.085 

.as 

.34 

.425 

.51 

595 

.68 

.765 

.8s 

•07S 

.aa 

.30 

.375 

.45 

.5*5 

.60 

.675 

.75 

900,000 

.066 

•'2 

.a6 

.33 

.39 

.46a 

H 

.594 

.66 

1.000,000 

.06 

.18 

.34 

.30 

.36 

.4a 

.48 

.54 

.60 

Road  Benefits 
Should  be 
Widely 
Distributed 


This  shows  clearly  that 
the  New  York  law  as 
drafted  gives  to  the  rich 
communities  which  are 
able  to  care  for  themselves 
road  improvement  with- 
out a  burdensome  tax 
rate,  while  the  burden  of  taxation  for  the 
same  character  of  improvement  is  so  heavy 
in  the  poor  towns  that  they  cannot  accept 
the  benefit.  This  places  squarely  in  front 
of  the  state  the  question  of  which  is  the 
better  policy,  the  building  of  poor  roads  in 
the  poor  parts  of  the  state  at  state,  county 
and  town  expense,  or  the  building  of  expen- 
sive roads  of  equal  strength  and  durability 
in  all  parts  of  the  state,  the  state  assuming 
and  paying  the  entire  cost  of  construction. 
One  argument  is  that  to  him  that  hath 
little,  little  shall  be  given.  And  that  the 
more  remote  the  town,  and  the  greater 
the  distance  it  is  away  from  canals,  rail- 
roads and  cities,  the  less  it  should  expect, 
and  should  be  satisfied  with  inexpensive 
highways  according  to  its  present  needs. 

The  other  side  of  the  argument  is,  that 
with  roads  of  equal  strength  and  durability 
built  throughout  the  state,  without  creat- 
ing a  burdensome  local  or  state  tax  rate, 
the  back  country,  which  is  now  cheap, 
would  be  increased  in  value,  and  that  back 
farms  and  quarries,  the  mines,  the  timber 
districts,  the  mineral  sections,  with  their 
wealth,  would  all  be  made  accessible  over 
the  improved  highway  system,  and  by 
bringing  their  neglected  products  to  the 
present  shipping  centers,  great  values 
would  be  created.  Would  not  a  short- 
sighted policy  continue  to  leave  the  state 
imdevdoped,  where  a  large  and  liberal 
{lolicy  would  create  in  the  state,  outside  of 
the  incorporated  cities  and  villages,  tax- 


able assets  that  within  a  short  period  of 
time  would  become  almost  stupendous  in 
their  amounts? 


Peary 
the  Man 
to  Find  It 


Commander  Robert  E.  Peary 
is  to  make  another  attempt 
to  reach  the  North  Pole;  he 
is  trying  to  raise  the  1 100,000 
needed  for  this,  his  sixth, 
expeditkm.  It  is  not  to  the 
credit  of  America  that  Peary  should  have 
difficulty  in  securing  financial  support.  In 
any  other  country  than  America  the  gov- 
ernment would  take  entire  charge  of  such 
exploring  work — and  it  ought  to  do  so  in 
America. 

The  Roosevelt,  which  served  him  so  well 
last  year,  is  being  repaired,  and  if  the 
money  is  forthcoming  Peary  will  start  be- 
fore mid-summer.  This  would  put  him  in 
position,  he  expects,  to  make  his  final 
dash  in  the  early  part  of  1908.  May  it  be 
a  successful  "dash"  and  may  he  survive  to 
bring  us  the  news  of  his  achievement! 

Certainly  if  the  Pole  is  ever  to  be  found, 
Peary  is  the  man  suited  to  the  honor;  he 
has  knowledge,  experience,  judgment — the 
three  most  essential  qualities  when  the 
adventurer  cuts  adrift  from  his  base  of 
supplies  and  plunges  dead  ahead  into  the 
unknown — a  brave  heart  and  firm  determi- 
nation. No  explorer  ever  went  forth  so 
well  equipped;  in  fact  Peary  is  the  only 
American  to  have  entered  upon  this  haz- 
ardous voyage  with  adequate  equipment. 

And  yet  there  is  one  element  of  that 
terrible  last  struggle  for  the  "Farthest 
North,"  which  neither  experience  nor  pro- 
vision is  competent  to  provide  against — 
and  that  is  the  "open  lead,"  which  cannot 
be  presaged.  It  has  closed  the  career  of 
other  expeditions  and  it  all  but  cut  off 

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The  Outing  Magazine 


Peary's  retreat  last  year.  None  may  know 
whence  it  comes  or  when,  but  it  appears 
to  be  inevitable  and  is  to  be  reckoned 
with. 

The  first  explorer  with  sufficient  pro- 
vision who  is  so  lucky  as  to  escape  an  en- 
counter with  an  open  lead  and  therefore 
find  foothold  as  he  travels  will  reach  the 
Pole — assuming  it  to  be  an  ice  cap. 

Here's  hoping  that  man  will  be  Peary. 


Hot 
Air 


With  the  loyal  object  of  hanging 
upon  the  Pole  the  beautiful  Aero 
Club  flag  with  which,  at  a  New 
York  love  feast  recently  he  was 
presented,  Walter  Wellman  is  pre- 
paring to  float  northward.  Mr.  Wellman 
is  of  a  hopeful  nature;  with  a  sand  bag  or  so, 
a  few  personal  belongings,  and,  let  us  pray, 
something  material  to  cheer  the  journey 
through  the  light,  hot  air,  he  will  take  seat 
beneath  his  huge  gas  bag  and  trust  for  the 
best.  Since  he  will  have  very  little  more 
control  over  the  direction  of  his  balloon 
than  either  you  or  I  sitting  comfortably 
on  earth,  it  is  well  his  nature  is  thus 
hopeful. 

To  the  less  spectacular,  if  more  practical, 
mind  a  trip  across  the*Atlantic  or  even 
across  New  Jersey  might  suggest  itself — 
especially  since  chance  of  reaching  the  Pole 
would  seem  to  be  equally  as  good  from  that 
starting  point  as  Spitzbergen.  Of  course 
there  might  not  be  so  much  advertising  in 
it — and  we  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Wellman 
get  all  the  notoriety  he  courts — and  return 
to  enjoy  it. 

For  the  rest,  we  cannot  take  Wellman 
and  his  gas  bag  seriously;  atrial  navigation 
has  not  yet  advanced  beyond  the  mere  toy 
stage  with  the  longest  of  its  flights  still 
within  eye  range.  As  for  sending  up  a 
balloon  to  be  blown  whither  the  wind 
listeth — well,  I  hope  Wellman  is  pro- 
vided with  a  stout  drag  and  a  long  rope. 

Do  not  be  mislead  into  believing 
-  the  newspaper  stories  that  a  one 

jy..  hundred  thousand  dollar  appro- 
priation is  to  be  asked  of  Congress 
for  the  purpose  of  defraying  the 
expenses  of  the  team  of  athletes  who  will 
represent  America  in  July,  1908,  at  the 
London  Olympic  Games.  The  yam  was 
bom  in  the  imagination  of  a  poor  soul  on 
the  lookout  for  a  job;  he  started  a  similar 


story  on  its  rounds  through  the  press  last 
year  at  the  time  an  American  team  was 
organizing  for  entry  in  the  Olympic  Games 
at  Athens.  There  was  no  truth  in  the 
story  last  year,  and  there  is  as  little  troth 
in  it  this  year. 

The  American  end  of  the  Ijondon  Olym- 
pic Games  iswithout  restriction  in  the  hands 
of  a  home  committee  which  collectively 
and  individually^fTicially  and  unofficially 
— has  no  thought  of  permitting  such  a 
request  to  be  made.  This  Committee  has 
not  asked,  will  not  ask  for,  and  does  not 
wish  public  money.  The  money  to  help 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  American  team 
will  be  raised  as  heretofore — ^from  the  clubs 
having  athletic  affiliations,  from  the  organi- 
zatbns  having  the  care  of  various  sports 
in  their  keeping,  and  from  individual 
sportsmen  having  enough  interest  in  seeing 
America  well  represented  to  impel  them  to 
put  their  hand  in  pocket  and  help. 


Timber 
Supply 
and  Demund 


Every  person  in  the  United 
States  is  using  over  six 
times  as  much  wood  as  he 
would  use  if  he  were  in 
Europe.  The  country  as  a 
whole  consumes  every  year 
between  three  and  four  times  as  much  wood 
as  all  of  the  forests  of  the  United  States 
grow  in  the  meantime.  The  average  acre 
of  forest  lays  up  a  store  of  only  10  cubic 
feet  annually,  whereas  it  ought  to  be  laying 
up  at  least  30  cubic  feet  in  order  to  fumish 
the  products  taken  out  of  it.  Since  1880 
more  than  700,000,000,000  feet  of  timber 
have  been  cut  for  lumber  alone,  including 
80,000,000,000  feet  of  coniferous  timber  in 
excess  of  the  total  coniferous  stumpage 
estimate  of  the  Census  in  1880. 

These  are  some  of  the  remarkable  state- 
ments made  in  Circular  97  of  the  Forest 
Service,  which  deals  with  the  timber  supply 
of  the  United  States  and  reviews  the  stump- 
age  estimates  made  by  all  the  important 
authorities.  A  study  of  the  circular  must 
lead  directly  to  the  conclusion  that  the  rate 
at  which  forest  products  in  the  United 
States  have  been  and  are  being  consumed, 
is  far  too  lavish,  and  that  only  one  result 
can  follow  unless  steps  are  promptly  taken 
to  prevent  waste  in  use  and  to  increase  the 
growth  rate  of  every  acre  of  forest  in  the 
United  States.  This  result  is  a  timber 
famine. 


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America 

Behind 

Europe 


This  country  is  to-day  in  the 
same  position  with  regard  to 
forest  resources  as  was  Ger- 
many 150  years  ago.  During 
this  period  of  150  years  such 
German  States  as  Saxony  and 
Prussia,  particularly  the  latter,  have  ap- 
plied a  policy  of  government  control  and 
regulation  which  has  immensely  increased 
the  productivity  of  their  forests.  The 
same  policy  will  achieve  even  better  results 
in  the  United  States,  because  we  have  the 
advantage  of  all  the  lessons  which  Europe 
has  learned  and  paid  for  in  the  course  of  a 
century  of  theory  and  practice. 

Lest  it  might  be  assumed  that  the  rapid 
and  gaining  depletion  of  American  forest 
resources  is  sufficiently  accounted  for  by 
the  increase  of  population,  it  is  pointed  out 
in  the  circular  that  the  increase  in  popula- 
tion since  1880  is  barely  more  than  half  the 
increase  in  lumber  cut  in  the  same  period. 
Two  areas  supplying  timber  have  already 
reached  and  passed  their  maximum  pro- 
duction— the  Northeastern  States  in  1870 
and  the  Lake  States  in  1890.  To-day 
the  Southern  States,  which  cut  yellow 
pine  amounting  to  one-third  the  total 
annual  lumber  cut  of  the  country,  are 


Federal 
Control 
Only  Hope 


undoubtedly  near  their  maximum.  The 
Pacific  States  will  soon  take  the  ascen- 
dency. The  State  of  Washington  within  a 
few  years  has  come  to  the  front  and  now 
ranks  first  of  all  individual  states  in  volume 
of  cut. 

At  present  but  one-fifth  of 
the  total  forest  area  of  the 
United  States  is  embraced 
in  national  forests.  The  re- 
maining four-fifths  have  al- 
ready passed  or  are  most 
likely  to  pass  into  private  hands.  The 
average  age  of  the  trees  felled  for  lumber 
this  year  is  not  less  than  150  years.  In 
other  words,  if  he  is  to  secure  a  second  crop 
of  trees  of  the  same  size,  the  lumberman  or 
private  forest  owner  must  wait,  say,  at 
least  one  hundred  years  for  the  second  crop 
to  grow.  As  a  rule,  such  long-time  invest- 
ments as  this  waiting  would  involve  do  not 
commend  themselves  to  business  men  who 
are  accustomed  to  quick  returns.  But  the 
states  and  the  nation  can  look  much 
farther  ahead.  The  larger,  then,  the  area 
of  national  and  state  control  over  wood- 
lands, the  greater  is  the  likelihood  that  the 
forests  of  the  country  will  be  kept  perma- 
nently productive. 


A  Fifty. Million  Dollar  Picture. 


Byoooilety  of  "The  New  York  Henld." 


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CARE  OF    DOGS    IN    SUMMER* 

BY   JOSEPH   A.   GRAHAM 


SUMMER  is  the  trying  season  on  dogs, 
especially  on  sporting  dogs.  They 
suffer  constantly  from  heat,  from  flies  and 
fleas,  from  ill-judged  feeding,  from  skin 
diseases  and  from  excessive  exertion. 
Perhaps  the  leading  topic  of  the  kennel  at 
this  time  of  3rear  is  the  "dip,"  or  wash,  to 
be  used.  A  perfect  wash  would  cleanse  the 
hair  and  skin,  drive  away  insects,  cure 
mange,  smell  sweet,  be  non-irritant  and 
improve  the  coat,  while  costing  Httle  and 
giving  the  attendant  the  least  trouble.  In 
the  warmest  weather  a  dog  should  be 
dipped  or  sponged  every  day. 

None  is  quite  ideal.  All  in  all,  the  best 
is  the  sulphur,  or  Gleason,  dip.  I  do  not 
know  whether  Andy  Gleason,  the  trainer, 
invented  the  compound,  but  he  introduced 
it  to  the  large  kennels.  It  is  cheap,  easily 
obtained,  and  effective.  The  preparation 
is  worth  a  detailed  description.  Get  two 
boxes  of  concentrated  lye  (Lewis*),  empty 
the  contents  into  a  pail  or  jar,  being  careful 
that  the  caustic  does  not  get  on  your  hands. 
Have  ready  about  five  pounds  of  sulphur. 
Pour  a  pint  of  water  on  the  Ijre  and  stir  it  a 
little.  Add  the  sulphur,  stirring  vigorously 
all  the  time,  because  the  usefmness  of  the 
mixture  depends  on  the  thoroughness  with 
which  the  lye  takes  up  the  sulphur.  As  it 
mixes,  the  stuff  will  turn  reddish  brown. 
Keep  stirring  until  no  particles  of  sulphur 
can  be  seen,  and  the  mixture  has  the  con- 
sistency of  cream.  'Maybe  it  will  take  a 
half  hour.  Meanwhile  you  will  have  filled 
with  soft  water,  to  about  three-fourths  of 
its  capacity,  a  coal  oil  or  whiskey  or  any 
other  barrel  which  will  hold  water.  Put  in 
the  mixture  and  stir.  If  the  sulphur  has 
not  been  taken  up  thoroughly  by  the  lye'it 
will  be  precipitated  to  the  bottom  of  the 
barrel.  No  great  loss  is  suffered  thereby, 
as  the  sulphur  will  still  be  of  some  benefit, 
though  it  will  never  be  dissolved.  To  dip 
the  dog,  stick  his  hind  legs  down  into  the 
barrel  and  "slosh"  the  stiS  over  him  well. 
It  will  not  hurt  his  eyes  if  a  drop  or  two 
falls  that  way.  If  mange  is  present  or 
suspected,  rub  and  scratch  until  you  are 
sure  the  dip  has  reached  the  skin.  If 
nothing  is  the  matter  just  put  the  dog  in 
and  tsSae  him  out,  merely  seeing  that  the 
Hquid  reaches  his  ears  with  your  hand. 

The  disadvantages  of  this  recipe  are  that 
it  calls  for  a  little  trouble  in  mixing,  that 
the  smell  is  something  dire,  and  that  it  will 
hardly  cure  a  bad  case  of  mange.  The 
smell,  however,  disappears  in  a  few  minutes 


from  the  dog  and  your  person.  All  coal 
tar,  carbolic  acid  and  oil  applications  have 
some  advantage  in  odor  at  first,  but  are  far 
more  persistent  and  disagreeable  in  the  end. 
The  advantages  of  the  sulphur  dip  are  that 
it  is  non-irritant,  wonderfully  healthful  and 
beautifying  for  the  hair  as  well  as  for  the 
skin,  cheap  and  cleansing. 

For  a  bad  case  of  mange,  the  very  best 
treatment  is  kerosene.  The  way  to  use  is 
to  dilute  one  part  of  coal  oil  with  six  of 
sweet  oil  or  anjr  other  available  and  cheap 
oil.  Rub  on  with  the  hand,  remembering 
that  only  a  small  part  of  the  body  should 
be  treated  any  one  day.  One  of  the  most 
successful  veterinarians  of  my  aojuaintance 
always  uses  for  mange  carbolic  acid  in 
glycerine — one  dram  of  medical  carbolic 
acid  to  one  ounce  of  glycerine,  diluted  with 
from  two  to  four  ounces  of  water.  The 
mange  parasite  gets  under  the  epidermis  in 
severe  cases.  Glycerine  is  very  penetrat- 
ing and  seems  to  carry  deeply  the  curative 
properties  of  the  carbolic  acid.  Either 
kerosene  or  carbolic  acid  must  be  kept 
away  from  the  eyes.  If  mange  appears 
around  or  near  the  eyes,  as  it  is  likely  to 
do,  use  the  sweet  oil  without  the  kerosene. 

All  carbolic  or  coal  tar  washes  are  excel- 
lent. There  are  many  of  them  and  all  are, 
or  ought  to  be,  very  cheap.  They  come  in 
concentrated  form,  to  be  diluted  with  from 
twenty  to  forty  times  their  bulk  of  water. 
The  drawbacks  are  the  persistent  odor,  the 
irritating  quality,  unless  much  diluted,  and 
the  rather  bad  effect  on  the  hair. 

In  the  case  of  a  house  dog  or  a  single  dog 
about  the  premises,  a  regular  dip  in  a  barrel 
or  tank  may  be  too  troublesome  and  an 
insecticide  soap  may  suit  better.  Still,  a 
washing  with  soap  is  a  lot  of  trouble  and 
in  flea  season  is  needed  every  day.  Fleas 
come  back  in  an  hour  during  August. 
Even  for  one  little  dog,  a  smaOl  tank  or 
barrel  would  please  me  better.*  Soap  of 
any  kind  does  not  help  the  hair. 

In  behalf  of  the  sulphur  dip  there  is  no 
harm  in  stating  the  nomely  information 
that  it  is  highly  beneficial  to  the  human 
skin  and  hair.  Once  I  overheard  a  charm- 
ing lady  whispering  to  a  kennelman  a  re- 
c^uest  for  a  bottle  of  his  decoction  the  next 
time  he  mixed  it — ^before  the  dogs  had 
reached  the  tank.  It  appeared  that  she 
was  annoyed  at  times  with  a  feverish  scalp 
and  dandruff.  Observing  the  coats  of  the 
dogs,  she  secretly  tried  the  dip  and  found  a 
rehef  she  had  not  obtained  from  a  hair- 


.  *  Th€  Editor  wtU  b^  glad  to  r^cHve  from  rtadert  any  w^Mtiotu  within  tfu  field  of  this  article.  While  4t  may 
oe  impracticable  te  anmuer  them  all,  yet  $uch  inquiriet  uhU  undoubtedly  iuggest  the  icope  of  future  contributions 
to  the  department.     Letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  magastne. 


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dreaser's  attention.  Needless  to  say,  she 
made  the  application  in  the  privacy  of  her 
boudoir  at  night  and  passed  through  the 
odorous  stage  before  she  appeared  to  her 
friends.  Food  in  summer  should  be  cut  down 
to  small  quantities.  The  kind  may  be  any- 
thing of  tine  dog  dietary.  Water  should  be 
abundant  and  fresh.  If  there  is  no  brook 
or  pond  around,  see  whether  you  cannot 
sink  a  tub  or  box  near  the  pump,  where  a 
cool  bath  may  be  taken  two  or  three  times 
a  day.  Do  not  let  a  sporting  dog  take  on 
fat.  To  get  rid  of  adipose  is  a  tedious  and 
somewhat  risky  proposition  in  the  warm 
earl3r  fall.  Normallv,  meat  is  the  most 
nutritious  food  for  oogs.     In  summer,  for 


that  very  reason,  it  is  better  to  feed  on 
plain  bread,  and  not  much  of  that,  as  long 
as  the  animal's  vigor  is  not  weakened. 

Lots  of  carbolic  acid  or  kerosene  may  be 
with  benefit  freely  applied  to  the  floors  and 
fences  of  a  kennel.  One  greyhound  kennel 
of  fifty  dogs  used  to  reek  with  kerosene  the 
year  around.  But  that  form  of  precaution 
IS  of  little  importance  if  the  dogs  them- 
selves are  frequently  dipped  or  washed  in 
antiseptic  and  germicide  fluids.  It  should 
never  be  forgotten  that,  added  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  dogs,  there  is  an  interest  to  the 
owner.  The  hair  of  all  animals  is  a  vehicle 
of  germs.  So  are  fleas,  lice  and  flies. 
Drive  the  whole  army  away  daily. 


PUTTING   THE  COUNTRY   HOME 

IN    ORDER 

BY   EBEN   E.  REXFORD 


THB   BOYS     ROOM 

I  HAVE  advised  fitting  up  home  work- 
shops in  which  the  boys  of  the  family 
can  learn  the  use  of  tools,  and  in  encourag- 
ing them  to  make  themselves  proficient 
with  them.  This  is  training  of  a  very  prac- 
tical sort,  and  it  is  a  trainmg  from  which 
most  boys  will  derive  a  good  deal  of  pleas- 
ure as  well  as  profit.  But  I  recognize  the 
fact  that  **  all  work  and  no  play  m^es  Jack 
a  dull  boy,"  and  I  want  to  urge  the  advis- 
ability 01  fitting  up  a  place  in  which  the 
boys  can  amuse  tnemselves  when  so  in- 
clined. In  most  houses,  the  attic  can  be 
made  into  a  boys'  room  with  but  little 
trouble.  Provide  it  with  such  appliances 
as  will  delight  the  bov  with  a  hking  for 
athletic  exercise.  MaKe  a  gynmasium  of 
it,  in  fact.  But  don't  make  the  mistake  of 
arranging  it  for  him.  Let  him  do  that. 
He  will  take  pride  in  it,  and  he  will  do  it 
much  better  than  you  can,  because  he  is 
the  one  who  is  going  to  use  it,  and  he  knows 
just  how  he  wants  it  to  be. 

With  such  a  room  in  the  house — or  the 
bam,  if  there  is  no  place  in  the  house  for  it 
■ — ^the  average  boy  will  devote  a  great  deal 
more  time  ^  good  physical  exercise  than 
he  would  be  likely  to  without  it,  because  of 
the  convenience  afforded  for  really  scientific 
training.  He  may  get  plenty  of  exercise  of 
a  kind  in  work  about  the  place,  but  the 
thorough  development  of  brawn  and  mus- 
cle calk  for  special  appliances  for  which 
there  is  no  good  substitute.  Give  the  boy 
a  choice  to  make  the  most  of  himsett, 
physically,  at  the  i>eriod  when  his  muscular 
system  is  developing.  Encourage  him  to 
give  as  much  attention  to  the  development 


of  his  body  as  to  his  mind,  and  you  will  find 
that  mental  development  is  greatly  bene- 
fited by  the  practice.  There  s  a  world  of 
truth  in  the  old  sayine  of  a  sound  body  for 
a  sotmd  mind  We  nave  laid  too  much 
stress  on  mental  training,  and  neglected  the 
physical.  The  two  shotdd  go  on  together. 
The  result  will  be  an  aU-aroimd  man, 
ready  for  work  in  almost  any  avenue  of  life. 
Bojrs  are  at  a  disadvantage  in  the  average 
family.  The  girls  have  rooms  of  their  own, 
but  the  boys  can  "get  along  almost  any 
way."  But  because  it  has  not  been 
thought  worth  while  to  fit  up  a  place  for 
them  to  spend  their  spare  time  in,  and  in- 
vite their  boy  friends  too,  isn't  proof  that 
they  would  not  appreciate  such  a  place  if 
it  were  offered  to  them.  Suggest  it  to 
them  and  see  if  they  do  not  fall  in  with  the 
idea  enthusiastically.  The  fact  is,  we  treat 
our  boys  as  if  they  weren't  of  much  ac- 
count, too  often,  and  it  isn't  to  be  wondered 
at  that  they  accept  our  apparent  estimate 
of  them  as  a  correct  one  after  a  time.  To 
encourage  a  boy  to  make  the  most  of  him- 
self treat  him  as  well  as  you  treat  the  girls 
of  the  family.  Treat  him  as  a  man  on  a 
small  scale — a  man  in  the  making — and  he 
will  respond  to  your  treatment  in  a  way 
that  will  surprise  and  delight  yon.  There  s 
nothing  too  good  for  the  boys. 

NBATNBSS  ABOUT  THE  HOME 

Neatness  about  the  home  place  should  be 
the  rule,  always.  The  writer  of  this  article 
doesn't  believe  in  an  annual  "cleaning- 
up,"  after  which  nothing  more  is  done  in  the 
way  of  keeping  the  place  tidy  until  another 
year  rolls  arotmd.     He  believes  in  doing 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


whatever  is  necessary  to  be  done  to  keep 
the  place  looking  well  as  soon  as  the 
necessity  for  it  is  seen.  If  this  is  made  the 
rule,  and  the  rule  is  lived  up  to,  all  about 
the  home  will  always  look  well,  and  the 
dreaded  "cleaning-up  time"  will  be  done 
away  with.     Clean  up  as  you  go  along. 

MAKE    REPAIRS   WHEN    NEEDED 

The  preceding  paragraph  reminds  me  to 
say  a  word  about  repairs  to  fences,  gates, 
buildings,  and  everything  about  the  ^ace 
that  is  likely  to  get  out  of  order.  When 
the  need  of  repair  is  seen  attend  to  it 
promptly.  It  will  be  money  in  your  pocket 
to  do  so.  And  it  will  add  wonderfully  to 
the  appearance  of  the  place.  If  one  hinge 
of  the  gate  is  broken,  it  can  easily  be  re- 
placed, and  the  gate  wiU  be  as  serviceable 
as  ever,  but  neglect  it  and  the  chances  are 
that  you  will  soon  have  a  new  gate  to  make, 
or  an  old  one  to  patch  up  to  such  an  extent 
that  it  will  be  a  most  unsightly  affair.  It 
is  the  same  with  anything  else  that  needs 
attention.  The  longer  it  ^oes  without  get- 
ting it  the  worse  its  condition,  and  the  more 
work  and  expense  will  be  required  to  put  it 
in  proper  shape.  Do  what  needs  doing  now. 

RUGS   vs.   CARPETS 

I  do  not  believe  in  carpets.  Anjrthing 
more  tmhygienic  it  is  impossible  to  imagine. 
They  breed  and  harbor  more  filth  and 
disease  gj^rms  than  anything  else  about  the 
place.  They  are  hard  to  take  up  and  put 
down,  and  because  of  this  they  are  often 
neglected.  If  rugs  could  be  substituted 
for  them,  our  rooms  could  be  kept  clean 
with  but  very  little  trouble,  for  it  is  an 
easy  matter  to  take  a  rug  out  of  doors  once 
a  week  and  give  it  a  thorough  beating  and 
airinjg.  One  will  be  surprised  to  see  how 
much  dust  comes  out  of  it,  once  a  week,  but 
with  the  old-fashioned  carpet  most  of  this 
dust  would  go  into  the  fabric,  or  tmder  it, 
and  remain  m  the  room  for  months.  Many 
floors  are  being  improved  by  running  a 
strip  of  hardwood  carpeting  about  the 
edges  of  the  room.  This  carpet  comes  in 
many  styles,  and  in  a  wide  range  of  prices. 
It  can  be  put  in  place  with  but  little 
trouble,  and  is  as  pleasing  in  appearance  as 
it  is  durable,  and  dust-proof.  It  is  so  laid 
as  to  become  a  part  of  the  floor.  This 
leaves  the  center  of  the  room  free  for  the 
use  of  rugs.  If  floors  are  of  sound  wood, 
and  well  laid,  they  can  be  stained  to  a 
depth  of  two  or  three  feet  about  the  sides  of 
the  room  ^th  but  slight  expense.  This 
will  not  look  as  well  as  the  parquetry  car- 
peting, but  it  will  be  a  great  improvement 
on  the  old  floor  covered  with  a  carpet.  If 
there  are  wide  cracks  between  the  floor- 
boards, fij]  them  with  putty  before  staining. 

GASOLINE   STOVES 

The  gasoline  cook  stove  is  to  the  kitchen 
what  the  low-pressuxe  system  of  lighting  is 
to  the  rest  of  the  house,  one  of  the  great 
improvements  of  the  age.     The  up-to-date 


gasoline  stove  is  quite  as  convenient  and  effi- 
cient as  thegas  stove  so  extensively  used  in 
the  city.  Inere  is  no  need  to  generate  heat 
with  alcohol  or  gasoline  before  the  burners 
can  be  lighted.  With  the  modem  gasoline 
stove  all  one  has  to  do  to  put  it  in  operation 
is  to  turn  a  valve,  let  on  the  fuel,  and  apply 
a  match  to  the  burner,  and  you  are  ready 
for  business.  Intense  heat  is  afforded  at 
the  place  where  heat  is  required,  but  the 
temperature  of  the  room  is  scarcely  affected 
by  it  in  the  hottest  weather.  Such  a  stove 
is  a  convenience  which  any  woman  who  has 
roasted  herself  over  the  ordinary  coal  or 
wood  range  will  heartily  appreciate.  In 
buying,  it  is  wisdom  to  get  a  good-sized 
one,  for  with  such  a  stove  quite  as  much 
can  be  done  as  on  the  ordinary  range. 
These  stoves  are  wonderfully  quick  in 
operation,  are  easily  managed,  and  I  con- 
sider them  perfectly  safe  ii  the  directions 
for  operating  them  are  followed.  Most 
housewives  who  give  them  one  season's 
trial  generally  have  a  range  for  sale. 

PAINT   vs.    PAPER 

I  am  not  an  advocate  of  wall  paper.  It 
is  almost  as  unhygienic  as  the  carpet.  The 
ideal  wall  finish  is  paint,  applied  directly  to 
the  plaster.  Give  two  good  coats  of  it  and 
you  nave  a  surface  that  can  be  washed  with 
entire  safety.  Dust  will  not  cling  to  it. 
Germs  cannot  find  a  lodging  place  in  it. 
If  care  is  taken  in  the  selection  of  color,  the 
wall  will  look  better  than  it  would  if  htmg 
with  an  expensive  paper,  especially  if  it  is 
to  serve  as  a  background  for  pictures.  If 
the  coloring  does  not  prove  satisfactory, 
paint  of  another  color  can  be  applied  at  any 
time.  If  it  is  not  thought  advisable  to  use 
paint,  alabastine  can  be  substituted.  This 
makes  a  hygienic  finish,  costs  but  little,  and 
looks  well.  An3rthing  is  better  than  paper 
with  its  musty  paste  and  general  unsani- 
tariness. 

ANSWERS   TO   CORRESPONDENTS 

Renovating  the  Lawn.  (H.  D.  F.)— If 
there  are  dead  spots  in  your  lawn,  go  over 
the  surface  of  the  soil  with  an  iron-toothed 
rake  and  make  it  fine  and  mellow.  Then 
scatter  lawn-grass  seed  over  it,  using  it 
very  liberally,  and  press  the  soil  down 
firmly  to  keep  it  moist  until  germination 
takes  place.  In  this  way  you  can  secure  a 
thick  growth  of  grass  in  a  short  time.  You 
will  find  this  much  more  satisfactory  than 
the  use  of  sward,  as  you  suegest. 

Screens  for  Porches.  (C.  (^  A. ) — You  can 
make  your  porches  insect-proof  with  but 
little  trouble,  and  the  expense  wiM  not  be 
great.  Get  a  carpenter  to  come  and  look 
them  over,  and  tell  him  that  you  want 

rels  made  to  fit  the  sides  and  ends.  If 
understands  his  business  he  will  find 
little  difficulty  in  fitting  frames  to  each 
space.  These  frames  should  be  covered 
with  a  fine  wire  netting.  Mark  each  panel 
as  it  is  put  in  place,  so  that  there  will  be  no 
mistaking  where  it   belongs  next  season. 


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These  can  be  attached  with  screws  to  the 
woodwork  of  the  veranda.  If  a  good  job  is 
done,  you  will  be  enabled  to  make  use  of 
your  veranda  at  all  hours  of  the  day  with- 
out being  annoyed  bv  flies  and  mosquitoes. 
Storing  Stoves  for  the  Summer,  (A.  A. ) — 
I  have  seen  the  olacking  you  ask  for,  but  I 
do  not  know  what  its  name  is.  I  presume 
almost  any  hardware  dealer  can  furnish  it. 
I  think  it  answers  its  purpose  well  in  pre- 
venting stoves  from  rusting,  when  stored 
away  for  the  sununer,  but  I  would  prefer 

fiving  them  a  coat  of  ordinary  linseed  oil. 
his  furnishes  all  the  protection  necessary, 
is  easily  applied,  and  will  not  bum  off  next 
fall  with  the  very  disagreeable  odor  which 
results  from  the  use  of  the  liquid  blacking 
you  have  in  mind.  Always  put  your 
stoves  in  a  dry  room,  and  wrap  them  in 
thick  paper  if  you  do  not  give  them  a  coat 
of  oil  or  an  application  of  blacking. 

Vine  for  Veranda.  (Mrs.  W.  E.  R.)— 
This  correspondent  asks  for  a  rapid-growing 
vine  suitable  for  use  on  an  upper  veranda 
or  balcony.  I  would  advise  the  Madeira 
vine.  This  grows  very  rapidly,  is  luxuriant 
in  its  production  of  branches,  has  verv 
pleasing  foliage,  and  soon  affords  a  thick 
shade.  It  is  grown  from  tubers,  which 
should  be  planted  in  a  rich  and  sandy  loam. 
Use  five  or  six  of  them  to  a  box  a  foot  wide 
and  deep  and  four  or  five  feet  long.  The 
vines  can  be  trained  on  strings,  but  wire 
netting  is  better.  This  plant  blooms  pro- 
fusely in  fall.  Its  flowers  are  white,  and 
very  sweet-scented.  It  is  seldom  attacked 
by  msects. 

Perennials  from  Spring  Sowing.  (C.  N.) 
— ^You  will  not  get  flowers  from  perennials 
grown  from  seed  this  season.  They  will 
bloom  next  year.  For  immediate  effect, 
buy  plants  of  last  year's  starting.  Plant 
your  hollyhocks  in  groups,  rather  than 
singly.  Siet  at  least  half  a  dozen  in  a  place. 
If  you  prefer  to  grow  your  own  seedlings, 
do  not  sow  seed  until  the  middle  of  sum- 
mer. When  the  plants  have  made  con- 
siderable growth,  set  them  where  you  want 
them  to  flower. 

Tin  Roofs  (A.  F.  G.) — A  tin  roof  is 
satisfactory  if  you  use  good  material  and  it 
is  put  on  properly,  ffut  the  ordinary  tin 
sold  about  the  country  is  short-lived,  unless 
given  a  good  coat  of  paint  every  year,  and 
the  ordinarjr  workman  cannot  do  a  good 
job  in  putting  it  on.  You  will  find  it 
money  m  your  pocket  to  go  to  a  good 
tinner  and  find  out  what  kind  of  tin  to  use, 
and  let  him  put  it  on  for  you. 

What  Kind  of  a  House  to  Build.  (S.)— 
This  correspondent  is  going  to  build  a  house 
this  sim:uner,  and  he  asks  what  kind  of  a 
house  I  would  advise.  This  is  a  question 
more  easily  asked  than  answered.  I  don't 
know  anything  about  his  tastes  in  the 
architectural  hne.  I  can  only  tell  him 
what  I  would  build  if  I  were  going  to  make 
a  house  for  myself,  I  would  select  a  plan 
that  has  a  substantial  look  about  it,  and 
very  little  flummery.     The  days  of  the 


"Queen  Anne"  house  are  ended.  Nowa- 
days we  see  comfortable  houses  rather  than 
showy  ones.  Don't  pay  so  much  attention 
to  the  outside  of  the  nouse  as  you  do  to  th/e 
inside.  That  is,  n:iake  sure  of  a  convenient 
arrangement  of  the  rooms,  and  fit  the  house 
to  them  rather  than  plan  from  the  outside, 
and  let  the  rooms  take  their  chances,  as  is 
so  often  the  case.  The  trouble  with  us  has 
been,  we  have  built  our  houses  for  looks 
rather  than  convenience,  heretofore.  We 
are  getting  to  be  more  sensible,  and  the 
modem  house  is  constructed  more  with 
regard  to  the  convenience  of  the  family 
than  to  the  opinions  of  our  neighbors.  1 
would  advise  you  to  consult  the  advertising 
pages  of  the  magazines.  You  will  find  the 
advertisements  of  many  architects  in  them, 
and  from  their  books  of  plans  you  can  most 
likely  find  something  that  is  about  what 
you  want.  If  not  quite  satisfactory,  your 
builder  can  make  such  changes  as  seem 
advisable. 

Fern  for  Window.  (S.  J.)— This  cor- 
respondent asks  for  the  best  fern  to  grow  in 
a  large  window,  where  but  oneplant  will  be 
kept.  I  would  advise  the  Rerson  fern. 
This  is  a  sport  from  the  Boston  fern,  one  of 
our  most  poptdar  plants  for  several  years 
past.  The  sport  has  its  leaflets  divided  in 
such  a  manner  that  each  one  of  them  be- 
comes a  miniature  frond,  and  this  gives  the 
large  frond  a  rich,  heavy  look  which  is 
greatly  admired  by  all  who  grow  the  plant. 
Give  it  a  soil  of  loam  and  sand,  with  good 
drainage.  Shift  it  to  pots  of  larger  size  as 
its  roots  fill  the  old  pot,  until  you  have  it  in 
a  ten  or  twelve  inch  pot.  This  ought  to  be 
large  enough  for  a  fuUy  developed  plant. 
Water  well,  and  keep  the  plant  out  of 
strong  sunshine.  A  fine  specimen  will  ap- 
pear to  much  better  advantage  when  kept 
by  itself  than  when  crowded  in  among 
other  plants. 

How  to  Treat  Hybrid  Perpetual  Roses. 
(Mrs.  T.  H.) — ^This  correspondent  writes 
that  she  bought  several  plants  of  hybrid 
perpetual  roses  which  were  warranted  to 
bloom  all  summer.  She  has  had  them  three 
years.  They  bloom  quite  well  early  in  the 
season,  but  she  has  not  had  a  dozen  roses 
from  them  after  the  first  crop.  What's 
the  trouble?  The  fact  is,  the  term  "per- 
petual** is  a  misleading  one.  These  roses 
will  bloom  occasionally  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  season  if  given  the  nght  kind  of 
treatment,  but  they  will  seldom  bloom  at 
all  after  June  or  July,  with  ordinary  treat- 
ment. They  produce  their  flowers  on  new 
branches,  and  in  order  to  get  flowers  the 
bushes  must  be  kept  growing.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  cut  back  the  old  branches  after  each 
penod  of  flowering,  and  to  manure  the 
plants  so  heavily  that  they  are  constantly 
spurred  on  to  new  growth.  If  this  is  done, 
it  is  possible  to  secure  bloom  in  small  quan- 
tities up  to  the  coming  of  cold  weather. 
But  if  the  bushes  are  not  pruned  severely 
after  the  summer-flowering  period, and  are 
not  well  fed,  they  will  refuse  to  bloom. 


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YACHT   MEASUREMENT 
AND   RACING   RULES* 

BY  C   SHERMAN    HOYT 


THE  modem  trend  toward  organization 
and  standardization  is  becoming  more 
and  more  strongly  marked  among  yachts- 
men, and  yacht  racing,  like  all  other  sports, 
with  the  increased  keenness  in  competition, 
must  be  conducted  on  more  busmesslike 
principles,  or  the  regatta  committees  are 
confronted  with  a  falling  off  in  their  entry 
lists.  The  formidable  sheaf  of  literature 
and  instructions  which  are  nowadays 
handed  to  skippers  of  competing  crait, 
would  have  staggered  any  of  the  old  school 
racing  men  of  a  few  years  ago,  and  even 
now  the  different  methods  of  si^^naling 
courses,  etc.,  in  vogue  among  the  different 
clubs,  cause  many  anxious  moments.  The 
last  eighteen  months,  however,  have  seen 
the  adoption  by  all  the  leading  yachting 
communities  in  this  country  of  a  imiform 
measurement  rule  and  a  standard  set  of 
rules  governing  the  right  of  way,  while  in 
Europe  all  countries  interested  in  yacht 
racing  have  entered  into  a  ten  years'  agree- 
ment to  abide  by  a  certain  measurement 
formula  which,  unfortunately,  is  not  the 
same  as  ours. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  sport  the  neces- 
sity for  measurement  rules  as  a  basis  for 
time  allowance  was  soon  realized;  likewise 
the  need  of  special  rules  to  determine  which 
of  the  participating  craft  should  have  the 
right  of  way  in  the  various  complicated 
relative  positions  in  which  they  were  liable 
to  find  themselves  during  the  course  of  the 
races.  Different  rules  were  adopted  for 
varying  periods  of  time  by  different  clubs 
in  different  locaUties;  some  based  upon 
displacement,  or  tonnage,  and  others  upon 
sail.  It  was  always  found  that  after  a  few 
years  the  newer  boats  took  advantage  of 
the  untaxed  elements,  and  in  this  country 
was  evolved  the  broad  and  shallow  center- 
board,  or  so-called  skimming  dish  type; 
while  in  England,  where  length  and  depth 
were  little  penalized  in  comparison  with 
beam,  the  long  narrow  plank  on  edge  cutter 
was  the  most  successful  racing  craft,  or  rule 
evader. 

During  the  eighties  the  ''length  and  sail 
area  "  or  Seawanhaka  rule  was  formulated, 
and  by  1890  may  practically  be  said  to  have 
been  universally  adopted  both  in  this 
coimtry  and  abroad.  It  worked  well  for 
many  years  until  the  introduction  of  fin- 
keels,  long  overhangs  and  Ught  construc- 
tion produced  a  type  of  yacht  which  was 


all  above  and  Httle  below  the  water  line, 
which  while  very  fast  in  average  conditions, 
were  anxious  craft  to  be  caught  in  a  heavy 
sea  and  blow.  They  pounded  fearfully  and 
were  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  heave  to, 
on  account  of  their  short  lateral  planes, 
lacking  any  forefoot ;  the  position  of  their 
rudders,  near  the  pivotal  point,  and  their 
long  overhangs  which  presented  large  areas 
to  the  wind  and  sea.  They  were  just  as 
bad  when  put  before  the  wind,  and  seemed 
possessed  of  the  strongest  desire  to  broach 
to  and  look  at  their  own  wakes.  Moreover, 
save  in  the  large  classes,  owing  to  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  displacement,  and  the  loss  in  the 
depth  of  the  hull  proper,  it  was  very  diffi- 
cult to  get  comfortable  head  room  without 
excessive  freeboard,  except  by  means  of 
unsightly  trunk  cabin  houses,  or  a  plentiful 
sprinkling  of  hatches  and  skyHghts.  Con- 
struction was  so  pared  down  that  straining 
and  distortion  of  lorm  was  common  in  most 
racing  craft,  especially  among  the  smaller 
classes.  A  first-class  racer,  extremely  ex- 
pensive initially,  was  usually  outbuilt  and 
outclassed  in  the  following  season  or  so  by 
another  craft,  a  little  more  extreme,  so  that 
her  days  of  utility  were  usually  Umited 
pretty  well  to  one  or  two  season's  racing. 
After  this  brief  racing  career,  even  if  she 
still  held  together,  she  was  ill-adapted  for 
cruising  and  perfectly  useless  for  the  fishing 
or  merchant  trades,  within  which  so  many 
of  the  stanch  old  schooners  of  earlier  days 
have  or  are  still  working  out  useful  ends. 

The  natural  result  was  a  falling  off  in 
racing,  save  in  one  design,  restricted,  or 
very  small  classes  (phases  of  the  present 
yachting  situation  which  will  be  discussed 
with  some  other  points  in  another  article), 
and  lai^e  class  racing  received  a  setback 
from  which  it  has  not  as  yet  been  able  to 
recuperate,  save  spasmodically  at  times  of 
international  events.  The  dissatisfaction 
was  general,  but  it  took  a  struggle  to  over- 
come the  opposition  of  vested  interest  in 
the  form  of  owners  of  successful  boats,  be- 
fore a  new  rule  could  be  enacted. 

In  England  came  the  first  break  away; 
there  the  Yacht  Racing  Association  em- 
barked on  a  series  of  rules  leading  up  to  one 
that  remained  in  force  for  five  or  six  years, 
until  the  present  time  when  the  new 
Eiiropean  Universal  Rule  goes  into  effect 
this  coming  season.  The  English,  ^ter 
abandoning  the  old  Seawanhaka  rule,  tax- 


♦  The  Editor  will  be  glad  to  receitm  from  readers  any  awatumg  within  the  field  of  thie  article.  WhUe  it  may 
be  impracticable  to  answer  them  all,  yet  e^ich  tnguiries  will  undoubtedly  suggest  the  scope  of  future  contrHtmionM 
to  the  department.    Letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  magasine. 


368 


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369 


ing  as  has  been  stated  simply  sail  area  and 
length  water  line,  introduced  into  their 
formula  the  additional  factors  of  beam, 
chain  girth  of  section  (that  is  the  girth  as 
measured  by  a  taut  chain, Tope  or  tape  line, 
stretched  around  underneath  the  keel  from 
the  water  line  on  one  side  to  the  water  line 
at  the  other  side  at  a  specified  cross  sec- 
tion), and  girth  difference.  The  last  factor 
was  the  difference  between  the  chain  girth 
and  the  actual  girth  at  the  same  section. 
This  ** girth  difference"  was  heavily  penal- 
ized and  was  aimed  at  the  then  prevalent 
fin-keel  type,  two  of  the  most  successful 
exponents  of  which,  the  Herreshoff  designed 
Dakota  and  Niagara,  were  at  that  time 
sweeping  all  before  them  in  their  respective 
classes  in  British  waters. 

It  will  be  readily  seen  that  if  the  section 
where  the  girth  was  measured  was  a  triangle 
in  form  there  would  be  no  "girth  differ- 
ence." Now  fin-keels  of  the  Niagara  type 
were  anything  but  triangular  in  section, 
and  although  m  Niagara* s  case  by  filling  in 
the  comer  between  the  fin-keel  and  the 
bottom  of  the  hull,  and  if  I  remember  cor- 
rectly, by  reducing  her  draft  slightly,  it  was 
possible  to  keep  her  within  the  class  limit 
and  to  still  win  races  for  one  more  season, 
yet  in  due  course  of  time  the  fin-keels  were 
driven  to  the  wall  and  the  British  nile  in  its 
later  years  evolved  a  distinct  type  of  its 
own.  Personally,  in  the  larger  classes  at 
least,  I  think  the  type  was  not  such  a  bad 
one ;  certainly  it  was  far  ahead  of  the  latest 
developments  under  the  old  Seawanhaka 
rule,  with  the  all-important  exception  of 
speed.  However,  in  the  smaller  classes,  it 
was  a  distinct  failure  as  far  as  internal 
accommodation  was  concerned,  and  boats 
of  thirty  feet  and  more  water  line  length 
were  bmlt  with  open  cockpit  and  practically 
without  cabins  of  any  sort,  an  extreme 
which  we  have  never  reached  in  such  large 
sizes.  Owing  to  the  exigencies  of  British 
winds  and  steep,  short  seas  they  were  well 
decked  in,  however,  and  were  seaworthy 
enough  from  a  racing  standpoint  provided 
that  their  construction  was  sufficiently 
heavy,  which  alas,  could  not  always  be 
claimed.  All,  whether  large  or  small,  were 
inclined  to  be  rather  narrow,  and  with 
profiles  well  cut  away  forward,  sweeping 
down  to  the  deepest  draft  at  heel  of  the 
rudder  post,  which  usually  showed  an  ex- 
cessive rake.  The  large  racing  cutters 
ceased  to  exist,  and  the  only  really  active 
pure  racing  class  of  any  size,  for  the  last 
four  years  at  least,  has  been  composed  of 
fifty-two  raters,  the  outgrowth  of  the  old 
twenties  such  as  Niagara.  Such  was  the 
condition  of  affairs  in  the  fall  of  1905  when, 
helped  by  aptation  first  started  in  Germany, 
representatives  from  all  yachting  countries 
almost  all  of  whom  had  different  rules 
were  invited  by  the  Yacht  Racing  Associa- 
tion of  Great  Britain  to  join  in  a  conference 
to  fix  upon  some  common  rule. 

With  us,  when  the  break  away  from  the 
old  rule  came,  a  perfect  state  of  chaos  ex- 


isted, as  clubs  and  racing  associations 
thrashed  about  in  their  efforts  to  hit  upon 
the  perfect  formula.  The  object  of  all  was 
of  course  to  encourage  a  more  wholesome 
type,  by  putting  a  premium  on  displace- 
ment to  develop  bigger  bodied  craft,  and  to 
hit  upon  some  way  of  taxing  the  excessive 
overhangs  and  the  scow  forms  of  the  then 
successful  racing  fleet.  Some  of  the  rules 
evolved  seemed  to  work  well  and  some 
poorly;  none  perhaps  were  given  a  thor- 
ough trial,  as  the  changes  were  frequent 
and  owners  showed  slight  desire  to  build  to 
rules  which  bid  fair  to  be  altered  in  the  near 
future,  and  would  leave  them  with  a  craft 
which  might  or  might  not  rate  very  badly 
under  the  next  change.  The  confusion  was 
so  great  that  during  the  winter  of  1 904-5 
the  clubs  and  associations  in  and  around 
New  York  decided  that  something  must  be 
done,  and  after  much  discussion  a  nile  was 
adopted  by  all  in  that  neighborhood. 

A  vear  later  this  rule  was  also  accepted 
by  the  eastern  clubs  around  Boston,  and 
once  again  we  have  a  measurement  rule 
which  IS  practically  universal  throughout 
all  the  principal  clubs  and  organizations  of 
the  Atlantic  Coast.  This,  of  course,  is  a 
tremendous  gain  in  the  saving  of  time  and 
expense  both  to  the  owners  and  to  the  race 
committees.  A  yacht  now,  furnished  with 
a  certificate  of  measurement  by  her  own 
particular  club  measurer,  can  compete  in 
the  regattas  of  other  clubs  without  any  re- 
measxirement.  During  the  previous  few 
years,  however,  she  frequently  had  to  have 
two  or  even  three  different  racing  lengths, 
due  to  the  various  club  rules  in  force  in  the 
same  locality,  and  we  were  confronted  with 
the  peculiar  condition  of  seeing  boats  giving 
time  to  certain  others  of  their  own  class  in  a 
race  in  one  yacht  club,  and  receiving  time 
from  these  same  ones  when  racing  under 
another  club's  rules.  This  state  of  affairs 
naturally  caused  great  confusion  and  dis- 
satisfaction among  all  hands,  and  while 
many  are  not  in  full  sympathy  with  the 
form  of  the  present  rule  it  is  freely  admitted 
that  its  imiversal  adoption  is  ^tremendous 
advantage. 

It  is  rather  soon  to  judge  whether  the 
present  American  rule  is  all  the  success 
that  some  claim.  The  principle  is  correct 
enough,  as  it  taxes  sail  area  and  length,  the 
two  speed-giving  factors,  and  puts  a  pre- 
mium on  displacement.  As  to  whether 
these  three  factors  are  properly  propor- 
tioned, time  must  prove.  The  length 
taxed  is  not  the  load-water-line  length  in 
the  upright  position,  but  it  is  what  may  be 
assumea  to  be  the  approximate  lengtn  of 
the  boat  when  sailing  on  the  wind  in  aver- 
age conditions.  It  is,  unfortimately,  very 
difficult  to  measure  this  length  with  any 
great  degree  of  accuracy,  taken  as  it  is  at 
one-quarter  of  the  load-water  line  beam 
from  the  center-Hne,  and  one-tenth  of  the  - 
beam  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Moreover  it  is  left  to  the  discretion  of  the 
measurer  as  to  whether  he  shall  measure 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


this  length  himself,  in  some  way  or  another 
which  he  may  devise,  or  whetner  he  shall 
take  the  designer's  word  for  it.  It  is  the 
same  with  the  displacement,  and  the  conse- 
quence is  that  no  two  club  measurers 
pursue  the  same  methods  in  arriving  at 
their  fi^^ures  for  length  and  displacement, 
and  it  is  very  much  to  be  doubted  if  two 
different  measurers  would  get  the  same 
final  racing  length  for  a  given  boat. 

The  new  rule,  of  course,  has  worked 
havoc  with  vested  interests,  and  there  was 
some  complaining  on  the  part  of  owners  of 
existing  boats  who  found  themselves  com- 
pelled to  give  time  to  others,  formerly 
rated  much  higher,  and  which,  boat  for 
boat,  were  larger.  Such  conditions  are 
boimd  to  occur  with  any  change  of  rule  and 
are  scarcely  arguments  worth  considering 
for  or  against.  Certainly  thus  far  the 
boats  built  to  the  rule  may  be  said  to  be 
large,  roomy  and  able,  compared  to  the  old 
boats  racing  in  their  classes,  and  as  a  rule 
have  been  successful  in  the  majority  of 
their  races  against  old  rule  boats.  This 
extra  speed  with  greatly  increased  size,  of 
course,  has  been  brought  up  as  a  great 
argument  in  favor  of  the  new  rule,  but  it 
must  not  be  lost  sight  of  that  a  boat  built 
to  the  new  rule  for  a  certain  class,  is  really 
of  about  the  same  length  water  line,  and 
the  same  sail  area,  as  the  old  boats  in 
the  class  next  above,  and  not  as  fast,  and 
that  it  is  simply  by  means  of  slight  modi- 
fications in  tne  form  and  length  of  the 
overhangs,  with  a  little  increase  in  the  dis- 
placement, that  the  new  boat  is  enabled  to 
be  classified  with,  and  to  beat  old  boats, 
which  are  really  a  class  below  her  in  size 
judging  the  latter  by  the  speed  giving  fac- 
tors of  length  and  power,  as  represented 
by  water-line  length  and  sail  area.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  new  boat  is  certainly  a 
more  wholesome  craft  than  either  her  old 
class  sisters  or  the  old  boats  of  her  same 
length  in  the  class  above.  So  far,  in  the 
yachts  built  under  the  new  rule,  httle  need 
has  appeared  for  any  scantHng  regulations, 
such  as  cropped  up  in  the  English  rule. 
Designers,  in  most  cases,  seemingly  have 
not  sacrificed  any  needed  strength  of  con- 
struction to  utilize  the  weight  saved  in 
additional  lead,  and  the  proportion  of  lead 
weight  to  total  displacement  has  kept 
within  reasonable  limits. 

As  the  draft,  under  the  rule,  is  limited 
rather  severely  by  the  leng^th  it  is  open  to 
the  designer  to  increase  tne  displacement 
by  adding  to  the  length  of  the  hull.  This 
length,  of  course,  is  taxed,  but  he  is  enabled 
at  the  same  time  to  increase  his  draft,  and 
to  compensate  for  the  tax  on  the  added 
length  by  the  premium  on  the  increased 
displacement,  without  departing  to  any 
great  degree  from  the  canoe -shaped  hull 
and  usual  midship  section  of  the  last  few 
years,  save  in  the  finer  Unes  at  the  ends. 
It  will  be  extremely  interesting  to  see  if  the 
rule  will  tend  to  produce  boats  of  such  a 
type,  or  whether  it  will  be  successful  in  the 


encouragement  of  the  fuller  and  deeper 
bodied  craft  desired  by  the  formulators. 

The  new  boats  have  been  pretty  well 
divided  between  these  two  types  up  to  this 
time.  Among  the  larger  ones  Herreshoff, 
with  the  very  successf  m  Queen  and  the  very 
unsuccessful  (so  far  as  ability  to  win  races 
is  concerned)  IrolUa,  has  produced  yachts 
with  rather  deep  bodies  and  good  head 
room.  Both  are  able  and  very  roomy 
craft  of  ample  strength  with  a  very  distinct 
value  aside  from  racing  purposes.  Queen 
has  shown  remarkable  speed,  especially  in  a 
breeze,  but  has  not  had  to  compete*  with 
any  craft  in  her  own  class  built  purely  and 
simply  with  the  present  rule  in  view. 
IrotUa  on  the  other  hand  met  it  in  Effort, 
the  highest  development  of  the  racing 
machine  as  yet  built  under  the  new  rule; 
a  craft  with  inferior  accommodations  com- 
pared to  Iroliia,  very  much  disputed 
strength,  and  the  greatest  turn  of  speed  to 
windward  in  a  fresh  breeze  probably  yet 
reached  in  a  boat  of  her  length.  Her  mid- 
ship section,  however,  below  the  wf  i,er  line 
is  distinctly  of  the  same  type  as  that  pro- 
duced under  the  old  rule.  Among  the 
smaller  fry  in  the  twenty-two  foot  rating 
class,  for  example,  cdl  active  members  of 
which  are  boats  built  to  the  rule,  the 
lightest  boat  of  the  lot,  the  Boston  Orestes^ 
in  a  series  of  races  under  varying  conditions 
succeeded  in  lowering  the  colors  of  the 
heavier  and  deeper  bodied  New  York 
crack  Soya, 

From  present  appearances  our  rule  will 
be  allowed  to  stand  for  some  time  without 
any  radical  change  in  its  form,  although  an 
addition  to  it  in  the  form  of  scantling 
restrictions  will  doubtless  shortly  be 
adopted,  and  it  is  probably  very  wise  to 
put  these  in  force  before  any  urgent  need 
for  them  has  arisen.  Of  course  there  are 
many  changes  being  advocated,  some  like 
Mr.  Herreshoff  wishing  to  reduce  the  pro- 
portion of  sail  area  to  length  as  allowed  at 
present,  while  Mr.  Gardner  thinks  there 
should  be  some  limit  placed  upon  displace- 
ment, and  others  like  the  writer  are  anxious 
to  have  more  definite  and  simpler  instruc- 
tions issued  to  measurers  when  computing 
a  yacht's  rating.  On  the  whole  the  situa- 
tion may  be  said  to  give  reasonable  satis- 
faction to  the  majority,  and  we  are  better 
off  than  the  European  yachtsmen  with  their 
ten  years*  agreement. 

As  mentioned  before,  a  conference  was 
called  in  England  in  the  winter  of  1905-6, 
to  which  all  yachting  countries  sent  dele- 
gates with  the  exception  of  our  own. 
Those  in  charge  on  this  side  wrote  that 
they  could,  under  no  circumstances,  ad- 
vocate another  change  in  our  rules  so  soon 
after  the  long  desired  adoption  of  a  uni- 
form rule  here,  and  while  they  strongly 
recommended  our  own  formula  to  the  con- 
ference they  sent  no  delegates,  probably 
feeling  that  they  would  have  little  chance 
of  swinging  the  others  into  line  for  our 
practically  untried  rule.     As  a  matter  of 


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fact  this  rule  was  seriously  discussed,  but 
was  dismissed  owing  to  what  seemed  to  the 
conference  to  be  unsurmountable  difficul- 
ties in  making  accurate  measurements  of 
boats  under  the  rule  in  its  present  form. 
The  French  delegation  especially  was 
strong  in  its  support  of  a  modified,  and 
more  easily  appued  form  of  the  American 
rule,  and  protested  to  the  end  against  the 
one  finally  adopted,  which  is  a  combination 
of  the  previous  EngUsh  and  German-Scan- 
dinavian rules,  and  in  the  end»  when 
referred  back  to  the  French  clubs  and 
associations  for  ratification,  they  refused 
to  adopt  it  for  the  smaller  classes,  in  which 
the  bulk  of  their  yacht  racing  is  done.  On 
paper  the  new  European  rule  presents  a 
formidable  appearance,  involving  the  seven 
elements  of  length  water  line,  fullness  of 
overhangs,  beam,  chain  girth,  girth  differ- 
ence, sa2  area  and  freeboard,  a  premium 
being  put  upon  the  latter.  Actually  it  is 
far  easier  to  apply  than  our  own,  and  is  very 
clear  in  its  directions  as  to  how  measure- 
ments are  to  be  made.  It  goes  into  effect 
this  coming  season  and  is  to  remain  in  force 
unchanged  in  form  for  ten  years.  Cer- 
tainly it  should  be  well  tested  by  then,  but 
I  should  consider  it  a  safe  gamble  to  say 
that  it  will  prove  even  more  unsatisfactory 
in  the  small  classes  than  the  previous  Eng- 
lish rule.  Beam  is  singled  out  for  severe 
penaUzation,  taxed  as  it  is  directly  once 
and  indirectly  three  times  in  combmation 
with  other  elements,  and  how  it  will  be 
possible  to  get  more  than  dog  kennel  ac- 
commodation in  the  smaller  boats  I  fail  to 
see.  Three  interesting  points  about  this 
rule  are  that  there  are  scantling  restrictions 
in  connection  with  it;  that  all  measure- 
ments are  to.be  made  by  the  metric  system; 
and  last,  but  not  least  in  interest  to  this 
country,  there  is  a  call  for  the  black  bands 
on  the  spars  marking  the  limits  to  which 
sails  may  be  stretched,  as  has  been  stipu- 
lated in  our  rules  for  some  time  and  wmch 
we  rather  seldom  comply  with.  But 
enough  of  measurement  rules,  we  have  at 
least  reached  a  point  where  there  are  only 
two  different  formulas  in  all  the  main 
yachting  communities  of  the  world,  with 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  separating  the  two. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  best  will  win  out  and 
that  the  next  decade  will  see  the  same  in 
force  on  both  sides  of  the  pond. 

The  other  point  which  has  caused  great 
confusion  up  to  the  past  season  has  been 
the  slight  variations  in  the  rules  of  the 
right  of  way  as  enforced  in  different  clubs 
and  localities.  In  the  main  they  were 
much  alike,  but  skippers  were  confronted 
with  many  minor  discrepancies  which 
caused  great  confusion,  many  protests,  and 
some  hard  feeling.  It  was  difficult  to  sail 
ordinarily  under  one  set  of  rules,  and  then 
occasionally  another  race  where  in  identi- 
cally the  same  positions  the  right-of-way 
would  be  reversed.  Unless  one  was  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  these  variations,  in 
the  sudden  contingencies  of  a  closely  fought 


match  the  tendency  was  to  pursue  the 
most  accustomed  course  of  action  which  in 
this  particular  case  might  be  quite  wrong 
and  cause  the  loss  of  the  race  through  a 
foul.  It  was  a  much  simpler  matter  to 
arrive  at  an  agreement  among  the  various 
clubs  on  these  points  of  right-of-way  than 
it  had  been  to  bring  alx>ut  a  common 
measurement  rule,  and  the  conmiittee  ap- 
pointed to  consider  this  matter  in  the 
winter  of  1905-6  were  successful  in  their 
efforts  to  'give  us  standard  rules  here  also. 
The  most  serious  difference  which  con- 
fronted them,  aside  from  the  various  word- 
ing of  practically  the  same  rules,  which 
were  easily  made  identical  in  all  cases,  were 
the  rules  which  pertained  to  overtakinsj, 
luffing  and  bearing  away.  The  New  Yonc 
Yacht  Club  rules,  for  instance,  on  this  point 
differed  radically  from  those  in  force  in  the 
Y.  R.  A.  of  Long  Island  Sound.  The 
former  rule,  which  was  adopted,  is  the  one  in 
general  use  in  England  and  Europe  and  has 
the  great  advantage  that  a  yacht  may  still 
luff  to  prevent  another  boat  passing  ner  to 
windward  after  an  overlap  has  been  estab- 
lished. The  original  rule  in  use  here  forbids 
such  luffing  after  the  establishment  of  an 
overlap,  and  race  committees  were  con- 
stantly called  upon  to  decide  whether  it 
did  or  did  not  exist  at  the  time  luffing 
commenced.  This  is  an  extremely  difl&cult 
question  and  has  caused  much  hard  feeling, 
as  it  is  very  easy  for  one  party  to  be  sure 
that  there  was  no  overlap,  while  the  other 
with  equally  ^ood  faith  is  ready  to  swear 
that  it  did  exist.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
New  York  Yacht  Club  rule  has  rather  dan- 
gerous possibilities,  as  the  overtaken  boat, 
if  in  unscrupulous  hands,  might  not  luff 
until  the  other  boat  was  close  aboard  and 
nearly  by,  when  she,  if  luffed  sharply, 
would  cause  the  weather  boat  great  difn- 
culty  to  keep  clear  and  avoid  a  foul.  This 
rule  caused  considerable  debate  before 
some  associations  agreed  to  adopt  the 
recommendations  of  the  committee  in 
charge  of  the  unification,  especially  as  the 
rule  as  worded  is  inapplicable  to  cat-boats, 
but  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  after  its 
adoption  so  far  as  I  know  no  protest  was 
handed  in  to  any  regatta  committee  in  the 
neighborhood  ot  New  York,  based  on  fouls 
or  alleged  fouls  incurred  in  luffing  matches, 
while  m  previous  years  a  large  proportion 
of  the  protests  considered  mvolved  this 
question.  There  were  some  amusing  in- 
cidents at  first  before  all  hands  became 
acquainted  with  the  change,  and  there  was 
one  case  within  my  knowledge  in  a  private 
match  race  in  which  the  contesting  boats 
came  together  pretty  hard  through  the 
overtaking  boat  in  the  excitement  of  a 
down  wind  jibing  match  placing  herself  so 
near  the  overtaken  boat  that  when  the 
latter  luffed  with  extraordinary  smartness 
the  former  had  no  possible  way  of  avoiding 
a  collision.  She  had  no  right,  of  course,  to 
be  so  close,  but  the  temptation  is  often 
great;  and  here  lies  the  great  danger  in  the 


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rule,  if  as  before  stated  the  overtaken  boat 
happens  to  be  in  unscrupulous  hands.  In 
this  case  there  was  no  such  question  in- 
volved and  the  two  craft  after  some  words 
and  considerable  untangling  of  sails  and 
gear  proceeded  with  their  test  of  speed 
without  entering  protests.  One  shudders, 
however,  at  the  damage  which  mi^ht  be 
caused  by  two  ninety-footers,  say,  m  the 
same  predicament  where,  with  such  a  stake 
as  the  America's  Cup  in  the  balance,  the 
overtaken  boat,  foreseeing  defeat  might 
feel  justified  in  trying  to  win  b)r  such  a  foul, 
in  which  she  would  be  technically  right. 
This  is,  of  course,  a  remote  possibility  and 
no  such  regrettable  incident  has  yet  occurred 
in  the  many  years  in  which  the  rule  has 
been  in  force  abroad. 

These  imiform  rules  of  the  road,  with  the 
general  measurements  rule,  the  permanent 


racing  numbers  now  usually  assi^ed  to 
each  craft,  and  the  effort  which  is  being 
made  to  issue  racing  instructions  of  a 
similar  form  regarding  courses,  starting 
signals,  etc.,  by  the  clubs  in  the  same 
localities,  have  greatly  simplified  the 
troubles  and  worries  of  all  those  connected 
with  the  fine  sport  of  yacht  racing,  and 
with  the  prospect  that  the  present  rating 
rule  will  remain  in  force  unchanged  in  its 
present  form  for  a  considerable  period, 
should  greatly  encourage  the  building  of 
new  boats.  On  the  whole  it  may  be  said 
that  the  prospects  are  better  than  they  have 
been  for  some  time  for  an  owner  to  get  more 
satisfactory  use  out  of  the  money  spent  in 
building  a  new  craft,  and  that  he  should  be 
able  to  realize  at  the  end  of  a  few  years 
much  more  nearly  his  original  investment 
than  has  been  possible  for  some  time  past. 


THE   RACQUET   SEASON   OF    1907 

BY  GEORGE   H.   BROOKE 


THE  season  in  racquets  just  past  has 
been  notable  for  two  thmgs:  first,  the 
presence  of  more  players  in  the  field,  and 
second,  the  showing  of  a  higher  average  of 
skill  in  the  game. 

That  there  are  more  good  players  in  the 
field  to-day  than  ever  before,  is  shown  by 
the  great  imcertainty  of  these  tournaments. 
No  one  ever  seems  to  be  able  to  pick  a 
winner  beforehand  out  of  the  six  or  seven 
good  men  named  as  having  even  chances  for 
first  honors.  These  men  and  a  few  dark 
horses  fight  it  out  among  themselves  in  the 
hardest  kind  of  battles  before  the  finals  are 
reached.  For  this  reason  the  tournaments 
are  every  year  becoming  of  greater  interest 
with  new  experts  coming  into  the  field,  and 
enthusiasm  runs  high  among  the  racqueters 
themselves  and  the  clubmen  who  follow 
the  game. 

In  point  of  average  skill  the  game  has 
gone  so  far  ahead  of  what  it  was,  say  six 
years  ago,  that  any  comparison  is  really 
almost  laughable.  For  instance,  go  back 
six  years  and  imagine  putting  the  bsst  four 
English  amateurs  agamst  our  best  four  in 
singles.  The  result  would  have  been  a 
walkover.  Arrange  the  same  matches  in 
1908,  and  see  what  happens.  Although 
the  Englishmen  would  probably  win,  yet 
there  would  be  a  chance  tor  a  wager  at  odds 
at  least.  In  this  country  no  one  ever 
leam9  racouets,  for  various  reasons,  imtiJ 
he  attains  his  majority.  In  England  they 
learn  it  as  schoolboys.  But  where  we  lose 
in  this  particular,  we  gain  in  our  strenuous 


and  concentrated  efforts  in  going  at  a  game 
to  master  it. 

Racc|uets  is  a  tremendously  swift  game, 
a  quality  that  is  attractive  and  adapted  to 
Americans.  In  the  last  year  or  two  our  play- 
ers have  caught  up  with  the  real  speed  of 
the  game.  They  volley  and  half  volley  much 
oftener  and  harder,  mstead  of  waiting  for 
lone  boimds,  or  for  the  ball  to  take  the 
bacK  wall.  As  compared  with  the  English 
schoolboy  method  of  learning  racquets, 
our  nearest  approach,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the 
course  of  development  which  this  year 
made  R.  R.  Fincke  our  singles  champion. 
Mr.  Fincke  learned  to  play  tennis  as  a  boy, 
and  is  now  an  expert  at  that  ^ame.  After 
tennis  he  took  up  squash,  wmch  is  a  mild 
form  of  racquets,  and  is  a  splendid  teacher 
of  form.  Then,  when  a  couple  of  years  ago 
Mr.  Fincke  went  into  the  racquet  court  he 
took  to  the  game  naturally  and  correctly 
and  thus  was  enabled  this  year  to  play  as 
well  as  he  did. 

Robert  D.  Wrenn,  the  ex-tennis  cham- 
pion, took  up  racquets  about  three  years 
ago.  and  has  mastered  the  game  very  well. 
In  fact  so  well  that,  partnered  with  Fincke, 
he  won  the  doubles  cnampionship  this  year.- 
Mr.  Wrenn  did  not  go  through  a  course  of 
squash,  however,  Hke  Fincke,  and  his  form 
shows  the  lack  of  this  training  and  therefore 
is  not  so  easy  and  natural  as  that  of  the 
present  champion. 

One  of  the  best  natural  players  the 
writer  has  ever  seen  was  F.  M.  Rhodes  of 
Philadelphia,  who  learned  to  handle  his 


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racquet  as  a  schoolboy  at  St.  Paul's,  where 
they  have  a  hardwooa  court.  It  is  a  ereat 
pity  that  more  of  our  schools  do  not  have 
courts  and  more  bo3rs  take  up  the  game. 

Clarence  li^ackay  is  perhaps  the  most 
striking  example  oi  our  American  course  of 
development.  His  skill  and  finesse  are 
remarkable  for  one  who  did  not  learn  the 
game  as  a  schoolboy,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  be  fully  able  to  take  care  of  him- 
self in  competition  with  the  best  English 
amatetirs.  Mr.  Mackay  went  to  school  in 
England,  but  did  not  play  there  as  a  boy. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  simplicity  about 
the  game  of  racquets,  but  it  is  so  fast  that 
one  has  to  move  into  position  rapidly,  hit 
rapidly,  and  recover  rapidly.  Tne  move- 
ments of  a  player  mtist  oe  almost  instinct- 
ive. This  IS  the  reason  why  those  who 
learn  the  game  very  yotm^  have  better 
prospects.  The  greatest  nustake  of  men 
who  take  up  racquets  in  this  country  is 
that  they  often  learn  bad  form  at  the  start, 
which  only  the  most  careful  practice  will 
enable  them  to  ever  overcome.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  a  good  many  of  our  players 
do  not  care  to  take  the  time  for  such  prac- 
tice. Bad  foot  work  and  a  poor  wrist  are 
the  cause  of  the  downfall  of  nearly  all  of  our 
second  and  third  class  players.  Plenty  of 
men,  physically  well-equipped  for  the  most 
strenuous  racquets,  will  peg  along  for  years, 
and  never  learn  the  game  properly,  smiply 
because  they  began  badly,  and  either  have 
never  taken  the  trouble,  or  do  not  know 
how  to  correct  their  faults.  In  praise  of 
our  advancement  it  can  be  said  that  no  one 
now  need  hope  to  get  the  championship  of 
America  without  clever  foot  work,  a  fost- 
class  wrist  and  a  fairly  easy  style.  It  is  an 
interesting  fact  to  note  tnat  most  of  our 
past  racquet  champions  have  been  clever 
all-round  athletes.  This  may  be  partly 
due  to  the  fact  that  our  form  has  been  so 
bad  and  strained,  and  with  such  hard  work 
about  it,  that  only  the  most  seasoned 
athlete  could  stand  the  pace  of  a  long 
tournament.  Racc^uets,  as  played  by  the 
best  professionals,  is  a  beautifully  easy  and 
graceful  game,  and  these  men  can  go  nine 
or  ten  games  at  almost  top  speed  without 
greatly  feeling  it. 

The  tournament  at  Tuxedo  this  year 
showed  very  clearly  the  superiority  of 
easy,  graceful  racquets  over  the  cruder 
smashing  game.  Both  Mackay,  who  won 
the  gold  racquet  at  Tuxedo,  and  Fincke, 
the  National  Champion,  are  easy,  graceful 
players,  who  hit  freely  and  properly,  and 
who  are  nearly  always  in  position  for  their 
stroke.  The  bat  used  m  racquets  is  a 
delicate  instrument,  which  breaks  very 
easily.  When  a  man  is  in  best  form  he  is 
not  particularly  hard  on  his  bats,  which  is 
shown  by  the  play  of  professionals.  Bad 
form  tells  the  tale  in  dollars  and  cents.  In 
1887,  when  the  New  York  racquet  court 
was  in  West  Twenty-sixth  Street,  there  was 
a  player  named  Miller,  who  struck  with 
such  vigor  that  the  ball  broke  the  gut  and 


wedged  itself  in  between  the  strings  and 
the  wood  on  the  racquet.  In  the  Racquet 
Club  in  Philadelphia  this  year,  a  player  hit 
a  ball  so  hard  that  it  lodged  in  the  middle 
of  the  racquet  tight  in  the  strings.  He  had 
hit  the  bat  with  a  full  face,  instead  of  with 
the  slope  for  a  proper  cut.  The  rules  do 
not  provide  for  sucn  a  contingency. 

We  have  a  number  of  players  in  this 
coimtry  who  handle  themselves  in  the 
racquet  court  in  beautiful  form,  but  yet 
who  do  not  seem  to  be  very  effective  in 
winning  tournaments.  A  notable  instance 
of  this  is  Clarence  Dinsmore  of  Tuxedo. 
When  Dinsmore  is  at  the  top  of  his  game 
his  style  is  nearer  to  perfection  than  that 
of  any  amateur  in  this  country,  and  when 
he  is  on  his  game,  about  the  only  thing  to  do 
is  to  stand  by  and  watch  him  go  through. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  some  very 
awkward  players  who  never  seem  to  have 
their  feet  in  position,  but  who  hit  out 
tremendously  and  are  very  effective  in 
tournaments,  and  always  dangerous.  If 
England  sent  her  best  amateurs  to  play 
our  best,  one  would  probably  see  the 
Britishers  hitting  volleys  and  half  volleys 
off  the  side  walls  with  far  more  skill  than 
we  do.  These  shots  practically  have  to  be 
prejudged;  in  other  words,  the  player  has 
to  aim  his  bat  and  start  it  before  the  ball 
has  reached  him,  for  he  cannot  see  it  in  the 
last  part  of  its  flight.  Nothing  but  years 
of  practice  can  teach  a  man  to  handle  his 
bat  with  such  instinctive  skill. 

I  was  sitting  beside  a  veteran  racauet 
player  in  the  galleries  of  the  New  York 
courts,  watching  an  exciting  match  in  the 
recent  championships,  and  was  much  in- 
terested to  hear  him  say  that  our  racquets 
in  this  coimtry  is  improving  each  year. 

"One  soon  tires,"  ne  said,  *'of  the  heavy 
smashing  kind  of  game.  We  old-timers 
want  to  see  real  racquets;  the  clever  nurs- 
ing of  the  ball,  good  length  on  the  side 
walls,  and  hard  low  hitting;  none  of  this 
freak  racquets,  when  the  ball  is  smashed 
all  round  and  over  the  court  without 
regard  to  anything  but  hitting  it  hard.  It 
is  like  football  was  under  the  old  rules 
when  it  was  smash  bang  into  everything 
with  little  of  the  skill  and  finesse  that  we 
all  love  to  see." 

The  courts  have  improved  very  greatly 
in  this  country.  New  York,  Tuxe<£>,  and 
Boston  have  the  hard  wall  Bickley  courts, 
and  Philadelphia  will  soon  have  them  in 
the  new  club  home  now  being  built,  and 
which  is  to  be  occupied  early  next  fall. 
Out  in  St.  Louis  a  new  racquet  club  has 
been  formed,  and  the  courts  will  have 
the  imiform  Bickley  cement.  There  is  a 
similar  club  in  Detroit.  Chicago  seems 
to  have  pretty  much  dropped  out  of  rac- 
quets, for  at  the  Chicago  Athletic  Club 
they  have  turned  the  racquet  courts  into 
bowling  alleys,  or  some  such  thing.  Harold 
McCormick  of  Chicago  at  one  time  gave 
promise  of  being  a  champion,  but  he  has 
dropped  out  of  the  game,  and  since  this 


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they  seem  to  have  lost  all  interest  out 
there. 

The  Bickley  courts  have  made  our  game 
in  this  country  much  faster,  and  serving  to 
a  hard  front  wall  is  a  different  proposition 
from  serving  against  one  of  our  old  cement 
walls.  To  bring  the  ball  down  effectively, 
takes  a  much  cleverer  wrist.  In  the  old 
courts  in  Philadelphia,  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  smash  into  the  wall  as  hard  as  you 
can  with  a  heavy  cut,  and  you  can  bring  it 
ri^ht  down  into  the  comer.  If  you  try 
this  on  a  Bickley  wall,  you  probably  will 
land  the  ball  in  the  gallery,  for  the  hard 
stuiace  prevents  the  cut  from  taking  hold 
and  reducing  the  angle  of  deflection.  The 
service,  therefore,  in  the  best  coiirts  is  a 
nicer  piece  of  work,  for  you  cannot  depend 
so  much  on  speed  and  cut,  but  must  vary 
speed  and  length  more  according  to  the 
moves  of  the  receiver. 

The  best  two  courts  at  present  are  Bos- 
ton and  Tuxedo.  The  New  York  court, 
while  very  fast,  is  somewhat  tricky  and 
tmcertain,  especially  the  back  wall,  and  the 
front  wall  is  so  hard  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  serve  a  ball  with  any  cut  to  it. 

The  gold  racquet  singles  at  Ttixedo  was 
won  for  the  third  time  by  Clarence  Mackay, 
playing  in  his  usual  consistent  and  brilUant 
form.  His  opponent  in  the  finals  was 
Brooke  of  Philadelphia.  The  winner  took 
three  straight  games,  and  his  all-round-the- 
court  play  was  very  pretty,  the  nursing  of 
comer  shots  for  easy  kills  being  es|)ecially 
deadly.  Mackay  has  no  equal  in  the 
country  on  these  comer  shots  and  they  are 
immensely  effective  in  nmning  an  opponent 
off  his  feet.  Brooke's  service,  which  had 
been  very  largely  instnmiental  in  carrying 
him  through  the  tournament,  was  easily 
handled  by  Mackay,  who  is  an  adept  at 
volleying  and  half  volleying  service  off  the 
backhand  side  wall.  The  latter  had  his 
service  imder  perfect  control  and  varied  to 
perfection  and  throu|g;hout  i>layed  the 
finished  fi[ame  of  which  he  is  capable. 
Brooke's  foot  work  in  such  a  fast  game  was 
poor,  and  the  rapid  pace  made  his  shots 
uncertain.  Mackay  pulled  himself  out  of 
several  tight  places  by  clever  boasting  on 
the  forehand  wall,  the  ball  often  carrying 
to  the  far  left  hand  comer  for  a  kill. 
Mackay  uses  a  fuller  swing  in  hitting  the 
ball  than  any  other  American  player,  even 
including  tne  professionals.  The  great 
quickness  required  in  swinging  freely  and 
accurately  on  the  fastest  balls  is  one  of  the 
best  qualities  of  his  game.  His  foot  work 
is  better  than  any  other  player,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  Fincke,  and  he  almost 
invariably  hits  low  and  hard.  In  fact  he 
has  a  tendency  to  keep  the  ball  too  low, 
losing  shots  in  the  tell  tale.  A  professional 
allows  himself  a  foot  or  two  on  the  tell  tale 
and  depends  more  on  \ength  and  speed. 

Among  the  other  entries  in  this  tourna- 
ment were  Payne  Whitney,  Milton  Barger, 
Lawrence  Waterbury,  Robert  and  George 
L.  Wrenn,  Erskine  Hewitt,  W.  B.  Dins- 


more,  and  Charles  Sands.  Some  of  the 
matches  were  very  good  indeed.  Barker 
played  beautifully  in  his  match  with 
Waterbury,  which  he  took  three  games  to 
one. 

It  is  very  hard  to  criticise  any  one's  play 
when  the  other  man  is  on  top  of  his  game 
and  winning  easily.  With  a  few  exceptions 
reversals  of  form  are  so  common  among 
many  of  our  best  amateurs  that  it  seems 
their  games  must  be  iudged  by  their  aver- 
age of  play;  Waterbury,  who  was  cham- 
pion in  1905,  was  off  his  game  all  through 
this  year.  His  form  is  very  pretty  and  he 
has  been  noted  for  his  good  eye  and  activity. 
This  year  he  hit  too  many  balls  into  the 
tell  tale  and  misjudged  pace  badly  at  times, 
hitting  either  too  soon  or  too  late.  There 
was  a  deadly  certainty  about  Barger's  play 
in  his  match  with  Waterbury  that  left  no 
room  for  doubt  as  to  the  victor.  Barger 
like  Whitney  has  a  terrific  forehand  stroke 
and  is  a  remarkable  * 'getter. "  Neither  of 
these  first-class  men,  however,  play  their 
backhand  strokes  quite  correctly,  and  an 
opponent  who  knows  this  weakness  will 
keep  the  ball  as  much  to  the  backhand  as 
possible.  Both  of  these  players  use  the 
forehand  above  the  shoulder  service  and 
hit  with  tremendous  force  and  cut.  On  the 
second  dayof  the  Tuxedo  tournament  they 
met  and  Whitney  won  from  Barger  just  as 
easily  as  the  latter  had  won  from  Water- 
bury. There  was  a  falling  off  in  Barger's 
work  as  compared  with  the  day  before  and 
he  only  made  15  points  to  Whitney's  45 
points.  The  loser  s  play  was  lackmg  in 
accuracy  and  his  service  was  ineffective. 
When  lx>th  these  men  are  at  top  form  they 
put  a  terrific  battle  against  each  other  with 
the  outcome  uncertain.  Neither  one  of 
them,  however,  ever  attempts  the  delicate 
comer  nursing  used  by  Mackay,  Fincke, 
and  Percy  Haughton.  The  next  day  after 
this  match  Whitney  went  down  easily  be- 
fore Brooke  and  seemed  utterly  imable  to 
handle  the  latter's  service  or  break  it  up  as 
Mackay  later  on  succeeded  in  doing.  Wnen 
Whitney  did  get  the  ball  up  it  was  usually 
with  an  easy  kill  left  to  his  opponent. 

R.  D.  Wrenn  put  out  the  brilliant  but 
erratic  Dinsmore  and  G.  L.  Wrenn  beat 
George  Clarke.  Both  of  the  Wrenn 
brothers  played  hard  and  consistent  rac- 
quets and  forced  their  opponents  so  hard 
that  neither  Clarke  nor  Dinsmore  were 
seen  at  their  best.  R.  D.  Wrenn  using  a 
heavy  cut  left-handed  serve  won  from  Dins- 
more three  sets  to  one  set.  In  the  semi- 
finals he  defaulted  to  his  brother  George 
L.  Wrenn. 

Brooke  won  from  Sands,  who  put  up  a 
remarkably  rapid  game.  Sands  is  more  of 
a  tennis  than  racauet  player,  but  he  handles 
his  bat  like  a  proiessional.  His  play  in  the 
volleys  excelled  that  of  his  opponent.  He 
half  volleyed  the  most  difficult  shots  with 
deadly  accuracy  into  the  comers.  Brooke 
won  on  his  service  which  he  dropped  dead 
in  the  forehand  court  and  varied  in  the 


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backhand  court.  Sands  allowed  Brooke  to 
volley  his  service,  otherwise  the  final  out- 
come might  have  been  different. 

In  the  tournament  finals  Brooke  won 
easily  from  G.  L.  Wrenn,  the  latter  seeming 
nonplussed  by  the  service.     G.  L.  Wrenn 

fives  great  promise  of  becoming  a  very 
rilliant  player.  All  he  needs  is  experience 
at  the  game  and  a  knack  of  killing  the  easy 
shots.  The  Mackay-Brooke  match  has 
been  discussed. 

A  week  later,  in  the  courts  of  the  New 
York  RacQuet  Club,  the  National  Singles 
Championship  was  played  off  ^  There  were 
originally  twenty-six  entries  in  this  tourna- 
ment, but  ten  withdrew,  leaving  sixteen 
who  were  drawn  in  the  Bagnall- Wilde  sys- 
tem. Percy  Haughton  of  Boston,  last 
year's  champion,  and  one  of  our  most  easy 
and  graceful  players,  tmforttmately  had  to 
default.  Also  Qtmicy  A.  Shaw  who  used 
to  win  the  championship  regularly. 

Haughton  was  a  dark  horse  in  the  cham- 
pionships last  year  like  Fincke  was  this 
year.  These  two  men  play  very  much  in 
the  same  form,  only  Fincke  is  more  active 
on  his  feet  and  a  trifle  more  severe  in  his 
hitting.  Haughton  plays  an  easy,  shifty 
and  graceful  game  and  uses  a  deadly  "nick 
service.     Next  year  when  the  singles  cham- 

gionships  are  held  in  Boston  both  he  and 
haw  will  doubtless  compete  and  add 
greatly  to  the  interest.  Shaw  when  at  his 
best  is  a  remarkable  player.  He  hits  the 
ball  more  like  a  professional  than  any  of 
our  players  and  gets  terrific  speed.  It 
might  be  said  that  he  cuts  his  game  too 
fine  in  attempting  to  kill  every  ball  and 
lands  in  the  tell  tale  too  often. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  tournament  R.  D. 
Wrenn  put  out  H.  D.  Scott  of  Boston,  last 
year's  national  doubles  champion,  and 
Brooke  put  out  Waterbury.  On  the 
second  day's  play,  Mackay,  owing  to  sick- 
ness, defaulted  to  Clarke.  This  was  greatly 
regretted,  as  Mackay  has  not  been  in  a 
singles  championship  since  he  won  the 
title  several  years  ago.  A  match  between 
Fincke  and  Mackay  would  have  been 
tremendously  interesting.  The  latter  won 
in  their  match  in  the  club  tournament  but 
it  was  a  close  affair  and  Fincke  was  improv- 
ing every  day.  These  two  men  are  the 
most  consistent  of  our  players.  The 
Tuxedo  tournament  was  remarkable  for  the 
inconsistency  displayed.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  both  these  players  have  easy  and 
correct  form  that  they  maintain  their  best 
form  in  all  matches.  If  Mackay  had 
remained  in  the  tournament  he  would  have 
met  Brooke  in  the  semi-finals. 

The  Whitney-Wrenn  match  on  this  day 
proved  to  be  a  very  exciting  affair,  and  the 
lormer,  contrary  to  expectations,  won  in 
three  straight  games,  playing  almost  the 
best  racquets  of  his  career.  From  the 
start  Whitney  went  in  to  volley  Wrenn's 
hard  service,  and  when  he  turned  on  the 
wide  ones  he  nearly  always  killed  with 
strokes  to  the  forehand  comer.     In  the  last 


set  at  14  all  Wrenn  displayed  the  fight- 
ing ability  that  used  to  make  him  cham- 
pion on  the  tennis  courts,  and  each  hand 
went  out  about  five  times  at  this  point. 

Fincke  beat  O.  W.  Bird  easily,  and 
Brooke  went  through  Dinsmore.  In  the 
semi-finals  Fincke  took  Whitney  into  camp 
in  the  best  match  of  the  tournament  by 
three  games  to  two  games.  With  the 
score  II — 8  against  him  in  the  deciding 
game  Fincke's  tireless  energy  began  to  tell 
against  his  veteran  opponent,  and  he  won 
out  in  brilliant  form.  Whitney  used 
splendid  generalship  and  forced  Fincke  so 
hard  that  the  latter  was  imable  to  play  as 
much  to  Whitney's  weak  backhand  as  he 
evidently  desired  to  do.  Whitney  dug  out 
some  perfect  gets  right  off  the  backhand 
side  wall.  Fincke  played  with  the  utmost 
coolness  and  took  chances  on  nursed  comer 
shots  at  all  times,  knowing  full  well  that  it 
would  pay  to  run  his  heavier  opponent  as 
much  as  possible. 

Fincke  in  his  final  match  with  Brooke 
played  the  same  cool-headed  game,  and 
when  Brooke  began  to  tire  he  began  to  hit 
the  ball  away  out  from  the  back  wall  to 
run  his  opponent  hard.  Fincke  took  the 
first  game  easily  and  Brooke  took  the 
second  in  just  as  easy  form.  In  the  third 
with  the  score  ii — 5  against  him  Brooke 
ran  to  14 — 11  in  his  favor.  At  this  point 
Brooke  missed  a  kill  for  game  by  a  narrow 
margin  and  his  last  chance  went.  Brooke 
was  at  his  best,  but  Fincke  set  such  a  fast 
pace  that  he  ran  him  off  his  feet  and  made 
him  force  his  strokes,  especially  in  the  last 
game  which  Fincke  won  easily.  Fincke 
volleyed,  half-volleyed  and  hit  from  every 
conceivable  position  with  seemingly  equal 
ease  and  certainty,  and  won  not  only  this 
match  but  the  tournament  strictly  on  his 
merits.  His  game  displayed  few  weaknesses 
and  considering  his  short  experience  he 
should  improve  steadily. 

Next  season  promises  to  be  the  banner 
one  in  racquets  in  this  country,  with  a 
great  many  events.  The  Philadelphia 
Racquet  Club  will  open  new  courts  with  a 
big  tournament;  the  St.  Louis  Racquet 
Club  will  also  open  its  new  courts  with  a 
tournament,  invitations  to  which  several 
of  the  eastern  cracks  have  already  ac- 
cepted. Then  there  will  be  the  usual 
inter-city  doubles  between  Philadelphia 
and  New  York  and  Philadelphia  and  Bos- 
ton; also  the  Tuxedo  gold  racauet  cham- 
pionship for  Clarence  Mackay,  who  is  going 
to  offer  another  trophy  similar  to  the  one 
which  he  won  this  year.  Then  there  will 
be  singles  and  doubles  championships. 
Mr.  Mackay  has  suggested  another  event 
for  which  he  will  offer  a  handsome  trophy. 
This  is  a  double  championship  in  whicn  no 
team  shall  be  composed  of  two  members 
from  the  same  club.  For  instance,  any 
New  York  man  would  have  to  choose  his 
partner  from  Boston,  Philadelphia,  or 
somewhere  else.  W.  R.  Fumess  of  Phila- 
delphia has  suggested  still  anoUier  event, 


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to  be  called  the  junior  championship.  It 
would  be  a  tournament  in  singles,  in  which 
no  player  who  has  ever  won  a  national 
doubles  or  singles  championship  will  be 
allowed  to  compete.  The  idea  of  this  is  to 
encourage  yoimger  players,  and  it  should 
imdoubtedly  prove  successful. 

Probably  nothing  could  be  done  to  boom 
racquets  in  this  coxmtry  better  than  to 
secure  a  racquets  team  from  England  to 
visit  us  here,  exactly  the  same  way  that 
our  tennis  team  goes  to  England.  The 
idea  should  be  perfectly  feasible;  four  or 
five  men  to  be  selected  for  both  teams,  to 
meet  in  both  singles  and  doubles.  Mackay 
and  Fincke  womd  undoubtedly  be  chosen 
for   America,    the   other   three   members 


would  have  to  be  selected  from  seven  or 
eight  men.  Very  often  men  who  play 
singles  well,  are  not  at  all  good  at  doubles, 
and  vice  versa.  Fincke,  however,  won  not 
only  the  singles  but  was  one  of  the  doubles 
chajnpions,  a  record  which  has  not  been 
equaled  for  some  years.  H.  D.  Scott  when 
in  good  form  is  the  best  doubles  player  in 
this  country,  and  would  be  selected  as 
one  of  our  doubles  team  to  meet  England. 
Such  an  international  contest  wovud  be 
extremely  interesting  not  only  from  the 
standpoint  of  great  rivalry  but  to  show  a 
comparison  of  style  and  form.  It  would 
be  our  dash  and  aggressiveness  versus  the 
more  finished  form  of  the  school  bred 
Britisher. 


CULTIVATING   FISHES    IN   YOUR 

OWN    POND* 

BY   C   H.   TOWNSENDt 


IT  would  seem  that  notwithstanding  the 
abimdant  literature  relative  to  pub- 
lic fish-culture,  which  has  been  distributed 
freely  in  this  country,  there  has  been  left 
almost  unconsidered  a  field  of  pond  culture 
simpler  and  cheaper  than  that  connected 
with  our  admirable  system  of  stocking 
public  waters,  and  with  possibilities  greater 
than  have  been  realized.  Wholesale  meth- 
ods in  fish-culture,  requiring  artificial  fer- 
tilization of  eggs,  hatcnery  buildings,  and 
series  of  rearing  ponds,  are  seldom  appli- 
cable to  the  farm  and  the  private  estate. 

The  writer  devoted  considerable  time  to 
the  study  of  small,  natural  and  artificial 
lakes  in  the  region  about  New  York,  with 
a  view  to  ascertaining  their  possibilities  for 
producing  the  commoner  kinds  of  fishes 
with  a  moderate  amount  of  expense  and 
care.  It  is  hoped  that  the  present  paper, 
relating  merely  to  the  actual  requirements 
for  success  in  nome  fish  raising,  will  be  of 
interest  not  only  to  members  of  the  New 
York  ZoOlo^cal  Society,  but  to  the  out-of- 
town  public  in  general.  It  is  presented  as  a 
primer  on  the  subject,  not  as  a  general 
treatise.  Its  publication  will  at  least  serve 
the  original  purpose  of  the  writer — that  of 
facilitating  the  handling  of  a  portion  of 
the  correspondence  of  the  Aquarium.  As 
a  good  many  years  have  passed  since  he 
served  an  apprenticeship  at  a  government 
fish-hatchery,  recent  publications  on  fish- 
culture  have  been  used  freely. 

POND  CULTURE  IN  GENERAL 

It  should  be  made  clear  that  the  instruc- 
tions which  follow  will  be  of  little  use  to 
those  who  suppose  that  the  pond  can  be 


filled  with  fishes  and  left  to  take  care  of 
itself.  To  be  made  productive  it  will  re- 
quire intelligent  care  and  considerable 
work.  Those  who  are  not  interested  to 
that  extent  may  as  well  abandon  the  idea 
of  raising  fish  and  save  the  expense  of 
stocking  the  pond. 

For  the  encouragement  of  those  who  are 
disposed  to  make  a  trial  it  may  be  stated 
witn  perfect  fairness  that  food  fishes  can  be 
raised  with  no  more  difficulty  than  chickens 
or  vegetables.  All  persons  who  have  ex- 
perimented with  the  poultry  yard  and  the 
garden  Jcnow  that  they  demand  attention. 
A  neglected  fish  pond  mav  be  compared  to 
a  neglected  garden,  ana  will  eventually 
reach  the  same  gone-to-seed  condition. 

The  raising  of  trout  is  not  considered  in 
this  connection.  Trout  require  special  con- 
ditions of  water  suppl>r  and  temperature, 
and  there  are  already  in  existence  many 
volumes  on  the  subject  of  trout  breeding. 
While  it  is  a  fish  that  most  owners  of  ponds 
hope  to  cultivate,  it  is  essentially  one  that 
cannot  be  managed  except  under  naturally 
favorable  conditions,  and  it  demands  more 
attention  than  it  is  likely  to  receive  at  the 
hands  of  the  amateur.  Trout  culture  is  in 
active  progress  all  over  the  land,  and  there 
are  num2rous  commercial  trout  culturists 
from  whom  fry  and  yearlings  may  be  pur- 
chased. Brown  trout  and  rainbow  trout, 
it  should  be  stated,  are  more  suitable  for 
small  lakes  than  brook  trout,  and  will 
stand  warmer  water  and  grow  considerably 

♦By  permission  of  the  New  York  2^1ogical 
Society. 

"(•  Director  of  the  New  York  Aquarium,  formerly 
Chief  Division  of  Fisheries,  U.  S.  Fish  Commission. 


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377 


larger.  The  brook  trout  does  not  natur- 
ally inhabit  waters  having  a  temperature 
much  above  sixty  degrees. 

With  the  ordinary  run  of  ponds  in  the 
New  York  region,  where  the  water  becomes 
rather  warm  in  summer,  it  is  necessary  to 
restrict  the  list  of  available  fishes  to  the 
basses,  perches,  and  sunfishes  to  which 
they  are  adapted.  This  paper,  therefore, 
deals  with  the  commoner  fishes  only. 

There  are  few  sections  of  the  country  so 
lacking  in  native  fishes  that  enough  black 
bass,  rock  bass,  yellow  perch,  white  perch, 
crappie,  blue-gill  sunfish,  long-earea  sun- 
fish,  or  catfish  cannot  be  procured  for  the 
purpose  of  stocking. 

State  fish  commissions  cannot  usually 
furnish  fishes  for  private  waters,  and  mucn 
of  the  fish  stock  supplied  by  the  national 
commission  for  private  waters  has,  through 
ignorance  on  tne  part  of  the  recipient, 
l^n  lost,  washed  away  by  floods  into 
public  waters,  or  consumed  when  mature, 
without  the  conditions  necessary  to  propa- 
gation having  been  supplied. 

Some  of  the  above-named  pond  fishes 
occur  in  almost  every  covmty,  and  are  to  be 
found  in  the  streams,  lakes  and  ponds  of 
the  region  about  New  York  City  and  on 
Long  Island.  A  little  preliminary  personal 
effort  in  fish  catching  and  transporting  on 
the  part  of  the  pond  owner,  will  help  to  in- 
crease his  interest  and  knowledge,  and  thus 
increase  the  chances  of  the  pond  getting 
some  necessary  attention  later  on. 

Fishes  alreaay  accHmatized  are  safer  for 
stocking  than  those  brought  from  distant 
points  in  the  North  or  South.  In  transport- 
ing fishes  all  necessary  changes  in  tempera- 
ture should  be  made  gradually.  Changing 
to  a  lower  temperature  is  safer  than  to  a 
higher. 

State  fish  commissioners  are  usually  able 
to  inform  correspondents  where  desirable 
kinds  of  pond  fisnes  occur  in  each  state. 

In  applying  to  the  Fisheries  Bureau  at 
Washington  for  fishes,  it  is  necessary  to 
send  full  information  respecting  the  extent, 
depth,  simimer  temperature,  etc.,  of  the 
waters  to  be  stocked,  and  to  do  the  same 
through  local  representatives  in  Congress. 
Fishes  will  not  be  sent  at  once  to  a  single 
applicant,  but  only  after  enough  applica- 
tions have  been  filed  to  warrant  large 
shipments  to  each  state.  Long  delays  are 
therefore  liable  to  happen. 

It  is  possible  to  procure  the  fry  of  bass 
and  some  other  species  from  dealers.  If 
they  cannot  be  purchased  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  procure  them  from  the  nearest 
lake  or  stream,  which  can  be  done,  if  neces- 
sary, with  ordinary  fishing  tackle.  For 
transportation  a  couple  of  milk  cans  of  the 
pattern  used  by  dairymen  will  be  most  con- 
venient and  the  cans  will  be  almost  indis- 
pensable in  handhng  the  fishes  from  the 
pond  later  on. 

The  fishes  need  not  be  injured  by  the 
hook,  if  they  are  unhooked  carefully,  and 
they  will  stand  the  trip  in  wagon  or  bag- 


gage car  very  well,  if  they  are  not  crowded, 
and  the  temperature  of  the  water  is  kept 
down  with  a  little  ice. 

If  a  fisherman  who  has  a  seine  can  be 
hired,  so  much  the  better  for  the  fish.  The 
fishes  wanted  may  very  likely  be  found  in 
one's  own  neighborhood,  and  it  may  only 
be  necessary  to  subsidize  the  barefoot  boy, 
who  won't  take  long  to  find  some  stock  for 
the  pond.  Beware,  however,  of  the  com- 
mon sunfish,  which  is  usually  too  small  to 
be  worth  saving  and  becomes  a  positive 
annoyance  when  one  is  angling  for  some- 
thing larger.  Other  species  which  it  is 
well  to  avoid  are  the  pike  and  pickerel  on 
account  of  their  voracity  and  destructive- 
ness  to  other  species. 

Practice  teaches  one  rapidly,  but  it  is 
unwise  to  try  to  get  along  without  study 
when  helpful  books  may  be  had.  If  fisn 
raisixig  is  to  be  merely  a  passing  fancy  it  is 
just  as  well  not  to  attempt  it,  but  interest 
in  most  things  cpmes  with  learning  about 
them,  so  the  books  should  be  read  at  the 
beginning — not  after  failures  have  led  to 
discouragement . 

NATURAL   PONDS   OR   LAKB8 

It  is  assumed  that  the  position  of  the 
natural  pond  is  such  that  no  arrangement 
can  be  made  for  drawing  off  the  water.  Its 
possibilities  will  therefore  have  to  be  con- 
sidered separately.  Its  fish  life,  moreover, 
can  never  be  brought  under  complete 
control. 

If  the  character  and  abtmdance  of  the 
fish  life  in  the  pond  are  not  known  it  is 
desirable  that  it  be  ascertained  as  far  as 
possible  by  fishing  or  netting.  If  the  pond 
IS  without  any  fishes  it  should,  of  course, 
be  stocked  at  once,  and  the  selection  of 
fishes  made  with  due  regard  to  its  naturid 
conditions.  The  extreme  depth,  mid-sum- 
mer temperature,  plant  life  and  character 
of  the  bottom  of  the  pond  should  all  be 
ascertained.  The  summer  bottom  tem- 
perature of  deep  ponds  should  be  known. 
It  can  be  taken  by  lowering  the  thermome- 
ter in  a  pail  and  allowing  it  to  remain  some 
time.  If  pulled  up  rapidly  the  tempera- 
ture will  not  have  time  to  rise  materially. 
A  series  of  bottom  temperatures  will  serve 
to  indicate  the  presence  of  bottom  springs. 

A*  wide  area  of  shallow  water  in  a  pond 
not  well  supplied  by  springs  or  rivulets 
usually  means  great  warmth  in  summer. 
If  sucn  a  pond  can  be  temporarily  lowered 
and  deepened  in  places,  its  conditions  for 
fish  life  would  oe  greatly  improved,  as 
there  is  a  decided  cnfference  in  tempera- 
ture between  surface  and  bottom  waters. 
Below  six  or  eight  feet  the  temperature  de- 
creases at  the  rate  of  about  two  degrees  for 
each  foot  of  depth.  Increased  depth  would 
also  give  fishes  an  additional  cnance  for 
life  in  winter  when  heavy  ice  cuts  off  their 
supply  of  air. 

A  small  pond,  supplied  chiefly  by  rain- 
fall, may  be  increased  somewhat  in  water 


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supply  by  leading  to  it  ditches  from  ad- 
jacent fields;  while  its  depth  may  admit 
of  some  increase  by  embankments.  If 
water  can  be  had  bv  boring,  an  artesian  well 
may  make  just  the  difference  between  a 
poor  pond  and  a  good  one.  Fish  ponds 
should  have  water  plants  to  afford  snelter 
for  young  fishes  and  harbor  the  various 
forms  of  aquatic  life  on  which  they  feed. 
Several  kinds  of  conmion  pond-weeds  will 
serve  for  this  purpose.  The  broad  leaves 
of  water-lilies  afford  shelter  in  summer  for 
the  larger  fishes  and  should  be  introduced. 
If  the  pond  be  very  small  and  tuishaded» 
some  floating  boards  will  afford  shelter. 
Too  ras^yr  large  fishes  in  the  pond  are  detri- 
mental, since  they  are  consuming  the  food 
supply  and  are  themselves  going  to  waste. 
Wnen  such  fishes  cannot  be  taken  with 
the  hook,  as  sometimes  happens,  the^ 
should  be  removed  with  a  seine  if  it  is 
possible  to  do  so,  and  marketed.  It  is  im- 
portant that  the  mature  fish  crop  of  a  pond 
be  utilized  and  the  young  of  tne  year  be 
given  a  chance  to  develop.  The  accumula- 
tion of  large  fishes  serves  no  useful  purpose, 
but  results  in  overstocking,  exhaustion  of 
the  food  supply,  cannibalism,  and  stunted 
growth. 

If  a  natural  lake  or  pond  is  already 
stocked  with  carp,  which  are  not  desired 
and  cannot  be  entirely  removed,  their 
further  increase  may  be  checked  by  the 
introduction  of  black  bass,  which  feed  freely 
on  young  carp.  Black  bass  will  also  keep 
other  species  in  check  by  devouring  their 
young,  and  thrive  amazingly  in  the  pro- 
cess. 

If  the  waters  contain  black  bass,  or  other 
fishes  which  have  become  stunted  from 
overcrowding  and  the  exhaustion  of  the 
natural  food  supply,  it  is  important  to  re- 
duce their  niunber  by  any  methods  of  fish 
catching  that  will  prove  effective  and  to 
restore  the  food  supply  by  introducing 
other  species. 

If  numerous  adult  yellow  perch  are 
added  their  yoimg  will  contribute  to  the 
food  of  the  bass  and  other  large  species. 
Experiments  have  shown  that  fishes 
sttmted  from  overcrowding  are  not  neces- 
sarily permanent  dwarfs,  but  will  attain 
a  larger  size  if  well  fed  or  removed  to  more 
favorable  waters.  No  fishes  could  »be 
more  stunted  and  worthless  than  those 
now  swarming  in  the  lakes  of  Ceiltral  Park, 
yet  we  have  succeeded  in  doubling  the  size 
of  such  fishes  in  two  years.  Stunted  Euro- 
pean rudd,  transferred  from  Central  Park 
to  Prospect  Park,  began  developing,  and 
later,  wnen  we  seined  them  out  for  exhi- 
bition at  the  Aquarium,  it  was  found  that 
their  size  compared  favorably  with  that 
which  they  attain  in  Europe. 

It  has  been  shown  at  government  fish 
cultural  stations  and  elsewhere  that  a  few 
adult  carp  placed  in  waters  overstocked 
with  bass  do  not  increase  in  number,  their 
young  being  wholly  consumed  each  season. 


It  is  well  to  introduce  only  a  limited  num- 
ber of  carp,  since  too  many  of  them,  owing 
to  their  rooting  habits,  will  not  only  destroy 
the  water  plants,  but  also  make  the  water 
too  roily.  It  has  been  found  that  the  in- 
troduction of  carp  for  feeding  fishes  is  also 
favorable  in  ponds  containing  crappie,  the 
slight  roiling  of  the  water,  whicn  they 
cause,  being  beneficial  to  the  fatter  rather 
than  otherwise.  It  should  not,  however, 
be  introduced  into  overstocked  bass  waters 
as  a  food  supply  until  yellow  perch  or  other 
species  have  been  tried. 

All  ponds,  whether  natural  or  artificial, 
containing  food  fishes  should  be  stocked 
with  brook-minnows,  shiners,  chubs,  fresh- 
water killifish  and  other  small  species  to 
constitute  a  food  supply.  The  killifish  and 
other  small  species,  it  may  be  noticed  in 
passing,  are  useful  in  small  ornamental 
ponds  in  destroying  the  larvae  of  mosqui- 
toes. 

The  full  use  of  the  fish  crop  of  a  large 
natural  pond  or  lake  can  seldom  be  secured 
by  ordinary  fishing.  It  is  necessary  that 
seines  and  trap-nets  be  used.  Experience 
has  proved  that  such  ponds  usually  contain 
many  large  fishes  which  will  not  take  the 
hook. 

A  deep  sprine-fed  lake  on  Long  Island 
had  for  years  furnished  only  moderately 
good  bass  fishing  and  no  one  imagined  its 
wealth  of  fishes  until  the  embankment 
which  formed  it  gave  way  and  distributed 
hundreds  of  good-sized  black  bass  on  the 
flats  below,  many  of  them  weighing  from 
four  to  six  pounds.  It  is  possible  that 
these  fishes  were  so  well  fed  on  the  small 
fry  of  their  own  kind,  as  well  as  other 
species  coming  over  the  dam  from  the  pond 
above,  that  what  the  angler  could  offer 
did  not  tempt  them. 

The  introduction  of  new  adult  stock  may 
be  desirable  in  an  old  pond  where  there 
has  been  in-breeding,  but  overstocking  is 
the  main  trouble,  the  remedies  for  which 
are  thinning-out  and  re-establishing  the 
food  supply. 

Owing  to  the  customary  preference  for 
*'game  fishes,"  many  excellent  pond 
species,  such  as  rock  bass,  calico  bass,  yel- 
low perch,  white  perch,  long-eared  and 
blue-gilled  simfish  and  catfish,  have  been 
overlooked.  Other  kinds,  such  as  the  war- 
mouth  or  the  white  bass,  inhabiting  waters 
of  the  south  or  middle  west,  are  equally 
desirable.  All  of  these  fishes  increase 
rapidly,  take  the  hook  readily,  and  are  good 
food  fishes.  They  will  multiply  in  favor- 
able waters  with  less  care  than  probably 
any  other  native  fishes.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  catfish,  they  will  take  the  arti- 
ficial fly  and  afford  good  sport.  They  are 
of  considerable  commercial  importance 
since,  according  to  government  statistics, 
the  quantity  annually  sent  to  market  ex- 
ceeds twenty-eight  million  pounds.  Nearly 
all  of  them  are  known  to  attain  weights 
exceeding  two  pounds. 


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PONDS   MADB   BY   DAMMING   STRBAMS 

Ponds  created  in  this  way  should  on  no 
account  be  completed  without  the  placing 
of  drain-pipes  and  penstocks,  so  that  the 
water  can  be  lowered  and  the  fish  life  con- 
trolled. There  are  marketable  fishes  going 
to  waste  in  ponds  everywhere  for  lack  of 
simple  facilities  for  getting  at  them.  The 
deepest  portion  of  tne  pond  should  be  at 
the  lower  end,  where  the  fish  will  gjather 
when  the  water  is  drained  down.  Ditches 
dug  in  the  bottom  of  the  pond,  leading  to 
the  deep  hole  or  '"kettle,"  will  greatly 
facilitate  the  concentration  of  the  fi&es  at 
that  time. 

Two  or  three  ponds  will  be  found  to  be 
much  more  satisfactory  than  one,  since 
they  will  permit  of  the  sorting  of  fishes  ac- 
cording to  size.  Angling  or  other  fish 
catching  would  then  naturally  be  confined 
to  the  pond  containing  the  la^e  fishes.  If 
properly  managed,  a  series  of  fSh  ponds  will 
naturally  yield  a  surplus  for  the  market. 

It  is  dangerous  to  construct  a  fish  pond 
in  a  narrow  ravine  as  the  dam  is  liable  to  be 
broken  during  spring  freshets  or  excep- 
tionally heavy  rains,  and  the  pond  will 
gradually  fill  up  with  silt.  Even  if  the 
embankment  is  not  broken  during  hieh 
water  it  is  difficult  to  screen  it  so  that  the 
fishes  will  not  escape.  A  safe  plan  is  to 
make  the  pond  at  one  side  of  the  stream,  by 
excavation  and  embankments,  leading  the 
water  to  it  through  a  ditch,  and  damming 
the  stream  sufficiently  at  the  ditch-head  to 
divert  a  portion  of  its  flow.  In  case  of 
freshets,  the  deep  pool  formed  in  the 
stream  by  the  dam  at  the  ditch-head 
naturally  receives  the  silt  brought  down 
stream,  thus  guarding  against  the  filling 
up  of  the  fish  pond.  The  ditch  itseff 
should  be  screened  at  both  ends  to  prevent 
the  ascent  of  fishes  to  the  stream,  and  keep 
floating  drift  out  of  the  ditch. 

If  the  pond  can  be  excavated  in  marshy 
groimd  so  much  the  better.  A  layer  of 
clay  on  the  bottom  will  render  it  more 
watertight  than  it  would  be  otherwise. 
The  embankment  should  be  broad,  and 
before  it  is  thrown  up  aU  sod  should  be  re- 
moved so  that  there  will  be  no  subsequent 
seepage  caused  by  the  decay  of  vegetable 
matter.  The  earth  used  for  the  embank- 
ment should  also  be  free  from  sods  or  other 
matter  liable  to  decay.  The  ground 
cleared  for  the  embankment  should  nave  a 
ditch  extending  its  full  length  into  which 
the  new  earth  will  settle,  thus  increasing 
the  stability  of  the  dam. 

The  embankment  of  the  dam  if  it  is  to 
be  6  feet  high  should  be  lo  or  12  feet  wide 
at  the  base  and  4  feet  broad  on  top.  The 
earth  used  in  its  construction  will  natur- 
ally be  derived  from  the  bottom  of  the 
proposed  pond,  which  will,  of  course,  serve 
to  increase  its  depth. 

The  overflow  should  be  large  enough  to 
carry  off  the  surplus,  when  the  water  is 
high,  without  danger  to  the  dam  and  the 


outlets  in  general  should  be  screened  with 
wire  netting  to  prevent  the  escape  of  fishes. 
The  drain  for  drawing  off  the  water  should, 
of  course,  be  put  in  place  before  the  dam 
is  thrown  up.  Earthen  drain-pipes  are 
risky,  as  no  matter  how  closely  the  joints 
may  be  set  and  cemented,  plant  roots  will 
eventually  find  their  way  mside  and  clog 
them  up.  Iron  pipe  of  not  less  than  four 
inches  diameter,  with  the  joints  well  sol- 
dered, is  more  reliable.  A  hollow  log  will 
serve  as  a  drain-pipe,  and  wear  well. 

If  the  drain  or  bottom  outlet  is  built  of 
concrete  and  large  enough  to  be  conveni- 
ently cleared,  it  would  be  more  effective  in 
lowering  a  large  area  of  water.  The  upper 
end  of  the  drain  should  fit  tightly  into  the 
foot  of  the  upright  penstock  in  the  pond. 

The  penstock  itself  is  merely  an  upright 
drain  or  sluice  of  planks  or  concrete,  having 
about  the  same  capacity  as  the  drain-pipe 
itself.  It  is  fitted  on  one  side  with  short 
"water  boards"  sliding  in  grooves  which 
can  be  removed  one  after  another  to  per- 
mit the  escape  of  the  water.  A  heavy 
plank  should  connect  the  head  of  the  pen- 
stock with  the  top  of  the  dam. 

Before  the  new  pond  is  filled,  all  roots, 
stumps,  rocks  and  everything  else  that 
would  prevent  the  free  sweep  of  a  net  along 
the  bottom,  should  be  removed. 

All  ponds,  whether  natural  or  artificial, 
accumulate  debris  of  which  they  cannot  be 
cleared  except  when  empty.  A  muddy 
pond  will  give  the  fish  a  muddy  flavor. 
When  the  pond  is  being  cleaned  it  is  neces- 
sary to  remove  the  &hes  from  the  deep 
hole  or  kettle.  Any  attempt  to  remove 
decayed  matter  and  sediment,  while 
fishes  still  occupy  the  deeper  portions  of  a 
pond,  may  be  fatal  to  them,  as  dangerous 
gases  are  then  liberated  among  the  crowded 
nshes.  If  the  pond  is  very  &ul  it  should 
be  only  partially  lowered  at  first  and  the 
fishes  removed  with  a  seine. 

With  a  reserve  pond  or  two,  it  is  possible 
not  only  to  thoroughly  clean  a  pond,  but 
to  "winter"  it:  that  is,  leave  the  bottom 
exposed  for  a  time  to  the  action  of  the  sim 
and  frost.  It  destroys  excessive  plant 
growth  and  kills  out  destructive  water 
beetles  and  other  enemies  of  young  fishes 
and  is  approved  by  most  professional  fish 
culturists.  With  a  series  of  ponds  con- 
structed at  different  levels,  the  overflow 
of  the  upper  ponds  will  serve  to  feed  those 
below.  The  more  fall  there  is  to  the  water 
the  better  will  be  its  aeration — a  matter  of 
great  importance  to  small  ponds. 

It  is  desirable  that  surface  water  caused 
by  rainstorms  be  kept  out  of  small  ponds 
by  banking  up  or  ditching. 

WATBR   SUPPLY 

The  water  supply  of  the  fish  pond  is  the 
most  important  thing  to  be  considered.  It 
must  in  fact  be  taken  into  consideration 
before  the  artificial  pond  is  made.  The 
flow  of  water  should  be  abundant.     About 


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twice  as  much  will  usually  be  required  as 
the  beginner  thinks  is  necessary. 

Ponds  fed  by  strong  springs  are  excel- 
lent and  are  not  subject  to  the  dangers  to 
which  stream-fed  ponds  are  exposed.  Their 
temperatxire  is  naturally  more  equable 
throughout  the  year  and  they  are  less 
liable  to  heavy  freezing  in  winter.  In 
warm  weather  and  in  the  winter  time, 
pond  fishes  avoid  extreme  temperature  by 
frequenting  the  vicinity  of  bottom  springs. 
Spring  water,  however,  contains  less  life 
available  as  fish  food,  and  less  air  than 
that  from  brooks.  Its  value  for  pond  sup- 
ply will  be  improved,  if  it  can  be  led  some 
distance  in  rivulets. 

Fish-life  in  small  ponds  with  limited 
water  supply  will  suffer  from  heavy  ice  in 
winter.  The  ice  should  be  broken  daily, 
and  masses  of  brush  and  branches  placed 
partly  in  the  water  will  aid  in  keeping  air 
holes  open,  especially  if  moved  by  tne  wind. 

BXTBNT   AND   DEPTH    OP   PONDS 

The  extent  and  depth  of  ponds  made  by 
damming  streams,  will  be  governed  some- 
what by  the  nature  <^  the  situation  avail- 
able. 

A  pond  of  an  acre  or  more  in  extent,  and 
with  8  or  lo  feet  of  water  in  the  deepest 
part,  will,  if  properly  managed,  give  ex- 
cellent results.  It  may  be  necessary  to 
make  it  less  than  one-quarter  of  an  acre  in 
extent,  but  a  small  pond  should  have  an 
extreme  depth  of  not  less  than  6  feet,  al- 
though it  is  quite  possible  with  a  strong 
water  supply  to  raise  fishes  in  very  small 
and  shallow  ponds.  This,  however,  means 
active  cultivation,  with  daily  feeding  of 
the  fishes,  numerous  ponds  to  permit  of 
sorting,  and  all  the  details  of  a  fish-culttiral 
establishment.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  nearly 
all  of  the  extensive  fish  breeding  carried  on 
by  the  National  and  State  fish  commissions 
has  been  done  in  ponds  pf  rectangular 
shape,  averaging  perhaps  less  than  loo  feet 
in  length  and  25  feet  in  width,  having 
depths  of  only  3  or  4  feet.  Such  ponds 
are  worked  in  series,  as  niu-sery  and  rearing 
ponds,  and  there  are  generally  two  or  more 
ponds  of  large  size  in  which  fishes  of  dif- 
ferent growths  can  be  held. 

The  following  extract  from  the  report  of 
the  fish  commissioner  of  Indiana  for  1903-4, 
is  worth  inserting  in  this  connection: 

"Mr.  Carl  H.  Thompson,  of  Warren, 
Indiana,  has  a  fish  pond  60  x  120  feet  in 
surface  dimensions,  and  from  4  to  6  feet 
deep.  In  May,  1895,  he  placed  in  this 
pond  four  pairs  of  small-mouthed  black 
bass.  Fifteen  months  later  he  seined  the 
pond  and  took  therefrom,  by  actual  count, 
1,017  black  bass  averaging  one  pound  each. 
In  addition  to  the  above  he  took  between 
six  and  seven  hundred  yellow  perch, 
weighing,  according  to  his  statement,  *not 
less  th^  250  pounds.'  This  makes  the 
production  of  the  pond  amount  to  1,267 
pounds  for  a  period  of  fifteen  months." 


Ponds  to  be  used  for  black  bass  and  in 
fact  most  other  fishes,  ought  to  be  several 
acres- in  extent  and  quite  deep.  In  gen- 
eral, fishes  kept  in  small  ponds  do  not 
attain  the  size  of  those  in  large  ponds 
since  their  range  and  food  supply  are  re- 
stricted. 

PBBDING 

If  voung  fishes  are  removed  for  safety  to 
smaller  ponds  where  they  may  exhaust  the 
natural  food  supplv,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
feed  them.  If  they  are  put  in  small 
''nursery  ponds"  where  they  are  crowded, 
feeding  is  imperative.  The  principal  nat- 
ural food  of  fishes  is  fish^  which  should 
be  perfectly  fresh.  For  young  fishes  it 
must  be  cut  and  boned,  th^  rubbed 
through  a  fine  wire  screen.  Fresh  meat  or 
liver  must  be  prepared  in  the  same  way. 
For  the  details  respecting  the  feeding  of 
voimg  fishes  the  reader  is  referred  to  the 
Manual  of  Fish  Culture,  or  some  other 
work  on  the  subject. 

Adult  fishes  kept  in  restricted  quarters 
will  also  require  feeding.  They  may  be  fed 
largely  on  live  minnows.  Among  the 
fish  foods  used  at  the  New  York  A(]uar- 
ium,  are  live  minnows,  live  shrimps, 
chopped  fish,  beef,  liver,  and  clams. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  fishes  do 
not  recjuire  an  abundance  of  food.  They 
may  live  without  it  but  cannot  grow. 

WATER    PLANTS 

About  one-quarter  of  the  ordinary  pond 
should  be  as  shallow  as  10  or  12  inches  and 
planted  with  pond-weeds,  such  as  Pota- 
mogeton,  parrot  *s-feather  (Myriophyllum), 
water-celery  (Vallisneria),  horn  wort  (Cera- 
tophyUttm)  and  Cabomba.  Thev  may  be 
planted  by  tying  to  stones  and  dropping 
them  from  a  boat,  or  set  in  the  ground  after 
the  water  has  been  partially  lowered.  The 
slightlv  greater  depths— from  i  to  3  feet 
may  be  planted  with  water-lilies,  while 
the  more  extensive  and  deeper  portions 
should  be  kept  clear  of  vegetation.  If  the 
vegetation  becomes  too  thick  it  can  usually 
be  pulled  out  with  a  rake,  but  it  is  some- 
times necessary  to  cut  it  with  the  scythe. 
Willow  and  other  trees  should  be  planted 
at  some  points  to  furnish  shade. 

Aquatic  insects,  crustaceans  and  mol- 
lusks,  bred  among  pond- weeds,  constitute 
no  small  feature  of  the  pond's  food  sup- 
ly.  It  is  recorded  in  the  American  Fish 
'ulturist  that  an  electric  light  over  a  cer- 
tain pond  was  found  to  attract  insects 
which  fell  in  the  water  in  such  numbers 
as  to  supply  an  important  quantity  of  fish 
food.  If  the  pond-weeds,  together  with 
the  brook-minnows,  frogs,  crustaceans  and 
other  small  fry  which  are  to  establish  the 
natural  supply  of  food,  can  be  introduced 
a  year  before  the  stock  fish  are  put  in, 
the  conditions  for  success  will  be  greatly 
improved. 


?! 

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SPAWNING    PLACBS 

Pish  ponds  should  be  supplied  with 
spawning  conditions  suitable  to  the  fishes 
occupying  them.  Small-mouthed  black  bass, 
which  make  their  nests  in  gravel,  will 
require  gravelly  bottom.  Large-mouthed 
black  bass,  which  nest  among  the  roots  of 
plants,  will  find  the  conditions  they  require 
among  the  weeds  of  the  pond.  Yellow 
perch,  which  spawn  among  twigs  imder 
water,  are  easuy  accommodateof — ^pieces 
of  brush  may  be  set  firmly  in  the  bottom 
where  the  water  is  shallow,  in  the  branches 
of  which  they  will  deposit  large  whitish 
masses  of  spawn.  If  the  brush  tops  extend 
several  inches  above  the  surface  of  the 
water,  so  that  they  will  be  swayed  by  the 
wind  and  kept  free  of  sediment,  the  hatch- 
ing of  masses  of  spawn  will  be  greatly  facil- 
itated. 

Rock  bass  and  the  various  species  of  sun- 
fish  which,  like  the  small-mouthed  black 
bass,  make  their  nests  in  gravelly  places, 
will  absolutely  require  places  of  that  char- 
acter if  they  are  expected  to  increase  and  a 
few  cartloads  of  gravel  dumped  arotmd  the 
lake  in  water  about  two  feet  in  depth  will 
furnish  the  necessary  conditions. 

Since  ponds,  to  be  successful,  must  have 
proper  spawning  conditions,  some  study  of 
the  habits  of  pond  fishes  is  important,  and 
there  are  numerous  helpful  books  available. 
It  is  now  the  custom  with  professional  fish 
culturists  to  supply  artificial  spawning 
nests  in  ponds  containing  small-mouthed 
black  bass.  These  are  sniall  shallow  boxes 
about  two  feet  square  filled  with  mixed 
gravel  and  sand,  which  early  in  the  spring 
are  placed  everywhere  in  shallow  water 
around  the  pond.  They  are  at  once  appro- 
priated bypairs  of  basses  seeking  spawning 
places.  The  boxes  have  boards  nailed  on 
two  sides  at  adjoining  comers,  which  ex- 
tend about  a  foot  higher,  affording  shelter 
for  the  basses  similar  to  that  which  they 
naturally  seek  imder  the  shelter  of  sub- 
merged logs. 

Basses  guard  their  nests  for  several  dajrs 
after  the  spawn  has  been  deposited,  and  it 
is  the  custom  at  fish-cultural  establishments 
to  place  over  nests  before  the  young  fishes 
leave  them,  a  light  circular  frame  of  iron 
covered  with  cheese  cloth,  one  end  of  which 
protrudes  above  the  water.  This  prevents 
the  young  fishes  from  wandering  away 
from  the  nest,  and  makes  it  possible  for 
them  to  be  removed  with  the  dip  net  to 
nursery  ponds,  where  they  are  safe  from 


their  enemies  and  the  cannibalistic  ten- 
dencies of  their  parents. 

NUMBER   OP    FISHES    REQUIRED 

In  stocking  waters  it  is  not  necessary  to 
have  a  large  number  of  adult  fishes.  For 
a  pond  of  about  an  acre  in  extent,  twenty 
pairs  of  black  bass  will  be  sufficient,  and 
perhaps  fifty  pairs  of  any  of  the  other  kinds 
of  fishes  mentioned.  These  numbers  will 
in  fact  suffice  for  still  larger  ponds  and 
should  be  reduced  for  smaller  ponds.  When 
the  conditions  are  right  the  progeny  of  the 
first  year  will  usually  stock  tne  pond  to  the 
limit  of  its  natural  food  supply.  It  should 
be  borne  in  mind  that  heavy  stocking  serves 
no  useful  purpose,  tmless  it  is  the  intention 
to  catch  some  of  the  adults  the  first  3rear. 
It  is  just  as  well  to  stock  with  two  or  three 
kinds  of  fishes  and  time  will  show  which 
species  are  the  best  adapted  to  that  partic- 
ular body  of  water.  With  black  bass  the 
yellow  perch  may  be  placed  with  safety, 
not  only  on  accotmt  of  the  food  it  supplies 
to  the  former,  but  also  on  account  of  its  own 
value  as  a  food  fish.  It  is  remarkably  pro- 
lific, and  with  a  good  start  can  usually  take 
care  of  itself.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
the  catfish.  It  is  harmless,  since  the  basses 
and  sunfishes  are  active  in  guarding  their 
own  nests.  The  yellow  perch  and  the  cat- 
fish may  also  be  introduced  into  ponds  con- 
taining rock  bass  or  calico  bass.  There  is 
no  reason  why  black  bass,  rock  bass,  and 
calico  bass  should  not  be  kept  together  if 
the  pond  is  of  considerable  size. 

COMMERCIAL    IMPORTANCE    OP    CERTAIN 
BASSES,   PERCHES,    ETC. 

The  following  figures  relative  to  the  an- 
nual catch  and  value  of  the  fishes  named, 
are  derived  from  recent  Government  sta- 
tistics and  show  only  the  quantity  and 
value  of  fishes  marketed.  There  are  no 
means  of  ascertaining  the  catch  of  the 
same  species  made  by  anglers  and  other 
non-professional  fishermen,  although  the 
aggregate  must  be  very  great.  The  catch 
is  of  course  made  in  public  waters. 

Pounds.  Value. 

Black  Bass x.939.57i  $i5o,47x 

Yellow  Perch 7,071,320  181.504 

White  Perch 1,397.306  i6x.i88 

Crappie and  Strawberry  Bass    a.686.930  xdz.iaa 

Suxmsh  (all  kinds) 3,094,946  53,846 

Catfish  (all  kinds) 13,103.706  534.435 

Total 28,393,979     $i.x4Z,556 


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CHOICE  AND  CARE  OF  SADDLES 
AND    BRIDLES 

BY   F.   M.   WARE 


THE  fit,  comfort,  and  "feel"  of  the 
saddle  has  everything  to  do  not  only 
with  the  sensation  ot  security  afforded  to 
the  rider  (of  either  sex);  but  to  his  actual 
retention  of  a  seat.  The  same  features 
apply  not  only  to  the  equestrian  himself 
but  to  the  ammal  he  bestrides,  and  it  is 
perfectly  amazing  to  the  uninitiated,  to 
whom  any  saddle  or  bridle  seems  appro- 
priate for  use  if  only  it  is  strong  and 
whole,  what  a  difference  in  gait,  mouth  and 
manners  these  equipments  make  if  the  one 
exactly  fits,  and  the  other  is  not  only 
equally  comfortable  but  exactly  suitable 
as  to  bits  and  their  placings,  to  the  mouth. 
The  best  investment  any  one  who  rides  can 
make  is  a  first-class  saddle  and  bridle  which 
not  only  suit  his  ideas  of  con:ifort  and  ap- 
pearance perfectly,  but  neatly  and  becom- 
mgly  fit  and  decorate  his  horse.  Better 
far  to  economize  in  horse  fiesh  than  in 
saddlery,  for  one's  pleasure  is  thereby  more 
surely  enhanced,  and  nothing  looks  so  work- 
manlike as  fastidious  care  and  neatness  in 
the  matter  of  material,  shape  and  fit,  while 
for  feminine  use  especially  the  whole  outfit 
should  be  ultra-smart  in  every  detail. 

The  heavy  man  should  be  most  par- 
ticular about  his  saddle,  and  that  it  ^all 
be  not  only  broad-seated  but  long  in  the 
tree  that  his  weight  may  be  distributed  over 
as  large  a  surface  on  the  horse's  back  as 
possible,  and  should  exercise  great  care  that 
not  only  is  it  well  stuffed,  especially  about 
the  withers,  but  that  the  stuffing  is  con- 
stantly worked  light,  and  kept  from  caking 
or  beixMning  lumpy  anywnere.  Neglect 
of  these  precautions  will  inevitably  lead  to 
chafing  and  bruising;  of  the  back,  or  painful 
pinching  and  bruismg  of  the  withers;  this 
latter  injury  leading  very  possibly  to 
further  complications  in  the  way  of  fistula, 
etc.,  which  may  result  in  permanent  and 
very  severe  complications.  The  individual 
of  lighter  weight  is  more  fortunate  in  these 
respects,  as  he  is  not  so  likely  to  injure  his 
mount  severely  by  the  mere  amount  of 
weight  he  represents,  but  even  he  must  be 
duly  careful  not  only  upon  the  grounds  of 
self-interest,  but  upon  those  of  ordinary 
humanity. 

No  matter  how  well  the  saddle  fits  or 
how  expensive  it  was  originally  it  will  not 
protect  the  animal's  bacK  from  harm  for 
very  long  unless  its  user  sits  in  the  middle 
of  it  as  he  should  do.  The  majority  of 
equestrians  from  heedless  metnods  sit 
jammed  back  against  the  cantle  of  their 
saddles,  causing  these  to  tip  up,  as  it  were. 


and  to  grind  the  backbone  and  the  skin 
beneath  at  every  step,  forming  frequently 
obstinate  sores,  and  quite  ouen  leaving 
lumps  ("sitfasts"  as  they  are  called)  c3 
more  or  less  size,  which  make  a  permanent 
blemish,  and  serve  to  remind  the  horse 
each  time  he  is  mounted  of  the  fact  that  his 
back  was  once  hurt,  caused  him  much 
suffering,  and  may  be  about  to  be  damaged 
again;  wherefore  he  flinches  and  crouches 
in  an  effort  to  escape  harm  as  soon  as  he 
feels  his  rider's  weight  on  the  stirrup.  This 
apprehension  it  is  which  causes  so  many 
of  our  American  saddle  horses  to  cringe 
and  squat  at  mounting;  most  of  these 
are  animals  from  the  West  and  South, 
where  the  very  short-seated  saddle  and  the 
seat  back  on  the  cantle  are  most  in  vogue. 

It  is  most  sinp^ar  in  view  of  this  that 
dealers  and  trainers  who  fit  such  ani- 
mals for  market  do  not  adopt  a  more 
sensible  style  of  saddle,  and  a  more  nearly 
balanced  seat.  No  horse  can  use  himseu 
properly  anyway  when  the  weight  is  thus 
far  back  over  the  loins,  and  a  change  in 
attitude  makes  all  the  difference  in  his 
agility,  balance  and  carriage — merely  be- 
cause he  is  comfortable  and  at  liberty  to 
handle  the  weight  of  his  rider  in  the  fashion 
that  makes  it  least  inconvenient.  Women 
are  not  so  likely  to  chafe  r.  horse  at  the  rear 
of  the  saddle,  because  theirs  are  usually  so 
long  that  the  weight  is  not  at  the  extreme 
end.  They  do,  however,  needlessly  grind 
a  saddle  about  upon  an  animal's  back  when 
learning,  or  after  they  become  fatigued. 
Injuries  are  worked  upon  the  withers,  gen- 
erally,upon  the  off  side;  and  it  is  an  open 
question  which  shaped  horse  suffers  the 
most  from  this  cause — ^the  high-withered 
animal  which  carries  a  saddle  well  in  place, 
or  the  flat-withered  beast  which  provides  a 
precarious  resting  place  for  the  side  saddle, 
and  must  be  more  tightly  girthed  than  the 
other  with  the  result  that  once  the  saddle 
shifts  to  the  left  (as  it  almost  always  does 
imder  the  average  horsewoman)  it  cannot 
return  to  its  square  position  as  in  the  case 
of  the  slacker-girthed,  good-withered  horse, 
but  must  grind  and  dig  into  sensitive  skin 
until  the  worst  happens.  The  days  of  the 
side  saddle,  however,  are  numbered,  and 
when  the  time  comes  that  all  women  ride 
astride  we  shall  wonder  that  the  fashion 
has  been  so  long  in  arriving,  while  neighs 
of  thanksgiving  will  ascend  from  every  rid- 
ingschool  and  stable  in  the  land. 

While  fashion  and  practice  decree 
against   the   use  of  the   saddle   cloth  or 


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Choice  and  Care  of  Saddles  and  Bridles 


383 


numnah  (as  it  is  called)  it  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  the  objection  is  well  fotmded; 
nor  is  a  properly  cut,  fitted  and  fastened 
cloth  or  felt  an  objection  or  even  noticeable ; 
while  it  is  so  easily  and  thoroughly  dried 
when  wet,  and  renewed  when  worn,  that  as 
a   thoroughly   practical   economy   it   has 
much   v^e;    this   is  further  practic^y 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  saddles  thus 
equipped  will  fit  the  horse  fairly  well,  and 
are  therefore  just  so  much  more  useful; 
nor  will  even  the  sharpest-withered  horse 
be  bruised  by  such  a  one.     The  cloth,  if 
used,  should  be  of  thick  felt  with  loops 
through  which  the  girth-points  may  pass  to 
keep  it  in  place,  and  a  further  attachment 
at  uie  cantle  is  of  value  as  maintaining  it 
unwrinkled  when  in  use,   and  holding  it 
better  in  place  when  the  saddle  is  removed. 
If  the  full  cloth  is  not  used  a  pommel 
pad  of  felt  or  thick  knit  woolen  material 
IS    a    great    protection    to    the    sensitive 
withers,  and  some  such  arrangement  will 
come  in  use  with  any  horse  in  hard  work; 
for  if  the  saddle  fits  nim  properly  when  he 
is  fresh  and  fat,  and  the  article  is  new,  it 
will  surely  fail  to  do  once  its  padding  is 
flattened    by   use   and    his  flesh   shrmks 
through    the    same    cause.     Indeed    an 
ordinary  English  saddle  from  which  the 
panels  nave  been  removed,  leaving  a  mere 
leather   and   iron    framework,    and   then 
placed  upon  a  very  thick  felt  numnah, 
affords  a  most  excellent  arrangemeht,  even 
if  unconventional,  and  chives  a  closeness  of 
seat  to  the  man,  and  a  thoroughly  comfort- 
able surface  to  the  horse  which  cannot  be 
improved.     For  a  woman's  saddle  the  cloth 
or  numnah  is  very  valuable,  almost  in- 
dispensable if  properly  arranged,   where 
much  long-continued  nding  is  to  be  done 
upon   horses    of    various    shapes.     When 
teaching  riding,  as  the  writer  did  for  about 
six  years,  he  derived  great  satisfaction  from 
the  use  of  such  a  cloth,  girthed  on  separately 
independent  of  the  saddle  itself.     When 
the  horses  had  been  dressed  over  in  the 
morning  the  saddle  cloths  were  put  on  and 
girthed  in  place,  and  throughout  the  day, 
even  though  the  animal  might  be — as  he 
always  was — sent   into   the   ring  several 
times — ^the  cloth  was  never  taken  off,  but 
the  saddles  were  put  on  above  it  as  re- 
quired, and  at  night,  when  work  was  done, 
tne    cloths    were   taken    off,    dried,    and 
thoroughly  beaten,   while  the   back  was 
well  sponged  with  a  cold  astringent  lotion. 
By  this  means  if  the  saddle  shifted   it 
turned,  not  upon  the  unprotected  back,  but 
upon   the  thick  pad   which   was   tightly 
girthed   about   the   body   when   in   work 
(loosened    when    idle).     By    this    means, 
while  working  from  twenty  to  fifty  horses 
very  hard,  a  sore  or  bruised  back  or  withei-s 
was  almost  unknown,  nor  was  any  special 
attention  paid  to  the  padding  or  nt  of  the 
saddle  so  long  as  it  was  not  too  narrow  in 
the  gullet  to  allow  for  the  thick  felt  protec- 
tion.    No  more  satisfactory  arrangement 
or  more  economical  one  can  be  made  for 


any  horse;  and  while  the  fastidious  may 
imagine  that  it  is  not  "smart"  enough  in 
effect,  the  details  are  unnoticeable,  as  the 
cloth  is  cut  to  the  shape  of  the  saddle  and 
shows  nowhere  except  on  the  near  side  of  a 
lady's  horse  where  it  shields  her  habit 
from  defilement  by  sweat  and  dirt. 

Leather  panels  are  in  vogue  with  some 
people,  and  for  brief  rides  they  do  very 
well,  but  in  the  writer's  experience  witn 
them  they  have  appeared  to  blister  the 
back  tmduly,  and  to  **draw"  it,  as  it  were, 
like  a  rubber  boot,  nor  is  it  probable  that 
any  substance  which  does  not  freely  absorb 
perspiration  will  give  satisfaction  for  such 
purposes.  The  polo  saddles  made  in  this 
way  are  shaded  off  on  the  skirts  to  almost 
nothing  so  far  as  panels  go,  and  are  sup- 
posed to  give  a  closer  grip  of  thigh  and 
knee,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  the  difference  is 
appreciable  enough  to  make  it  of  value  as 
an  extensive  innovation. 

For  most  people  the  saddle  cannot  be  too 
long  and  flat  in  the  seat,  or,  if  curved,  the 
curve  should  be  very  slight,  and  the  seat 
not  nearly  so  deep  as  many  saddlers  con- 
struct it.  A  very  large  and  long  saddle 
may  be  in  reality  very  short  seated  if  the 
slope  is  abrupt,  as  the  occupant  will  either 
by  inattention,  or  by  accident  when  fa- 
tigued, sink  down  into  the  middle  of  it 
wnere  he  belongs,  and  find  his  own  level, 
like  water;  while  on  the  contrary  a  level- 
seated  saddle  may  be  in  effect  long, 
although  it  is  quite  short-seated.  Par- 
ticularly should  the  lady's  saddle  be  long 
and  flat  of  seat,  for  if  thus  made  it  will  fit 
every  one  from  a  child  of  seven  to  a  very 
tall  and  long-legged  woman,  and  all  size's 
will  find  comfortable  and  safe  accommoda- 
tion upon  it.  Saddlers  do  not  advocate 
this  because  the  different  sizes  and  lengths 
make  better  business  for  them  and  the 
varied  curves  must  be  changed,  as  one  in- 
creases in  growth,  to  newer  models;  where- 
as the  flat  shape  will  last  a  woman  from 
infancy  to  old  age  if  given  ordinary  care. 
Riding  without  stirrups  will  give  the  proper 
seat,  and  find  the  rignt  place  in  the  saddle 
for  one  to  rest  comfortablv — the  actual 
middle — as  nothing  else  will,  and  the  flat 
seat  enables  any  length  of  limb  to  be  ac- 
commodated. 

Additional  closeness  of  the  thigh  to  the 
horse's  side  will  be  gained  if  the  girth 
points  on  each  side  are  moved,  the  one  as 
lar  back  and  the  other  as  far  forward  as 
possible,  and  the  two  girths  crossed  in 
Duckling,  the  front  girth  on  the  rear  point 
off  side,  and  vice  versa.  Thus  crossing  they 
bind,  and  the  animal  will  not  (for  a  man  s 
use)  be  nearly  as  tightly  girthed  as  when 
they  are  fastened  m  tne  ordinary  way, 
while  the  buckles,  etc.,  are  removed  from 
their  usual  position  beneath  the  thigh  to 
points  before  and  behind  it.  Even  in  the 
lady's  saddle  this  is  practical,  and  not  only 
allows  a  trifling  amount  of  extra  freedom  to 
the  horse  for  the  play  of  his  ribs,  in  breath- 
ing,  but  also   steacues  the  saddle  as  the 


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points  are  so  far  apart.  The  writer  has 
also  had  considerable  satisfaction  in  the 
use  of  very  short  girths  and  very  long 
points  which  brought  the  buckles  well  be- 
low the  rider's  legs,  although  this  was 
noticeable  as  an  innovation  from  the  fact 
that  the  buckles  and  the  ends  of  the  points 
showed  on  the  horse's  sides.  The  inner 
girth-flap  majr  also  be  cut  away  to  further 
assist  connection. 

Nearly  every  horse  has  a  sore  or  at  least 
a  sensitive  back  where  the  surcingle  rests, 
from  the  fact  that  nine  times  in  ten  his 
groom  girths  him  far  too  tightly  with  the 
intention  of  keeping  his  clothing  in  place. 
The  gristly  and  sharp  spines  of  the  back- 
bone were  never  meant  directly  to  support 
weight,  pressure,  or  to  sustain  friction,  and 
any  of  the  three  causes  is  enough  to  cause 
irritation  there,  and  pain  at  a  touch.  The 
average  surcingle  when  tightly  girthed 
freauently  causes  so  much  pain,  especially 
in  norses  already  light  in  flesh,  tnat  the 
animal  will  not  lie  down,  and  is  nervous 
and  irritable  to  a  degree.  The  padding  of 
the  saddle  and  of  the  surcingle  should  be 
stuffed  so  that  no  pressure  may  ever  rest 
here  where  the  least  motion  of  the  ribs  in 
breathing  causes  discomfort  if, not  actual 
pain. 

The  blankets,  which  are  so  common 
and  practical  nowadays,  dispensing  with 
surcingles  entirely,  may  not  be  as  conven- 
tionally smart  in  appearance  as  the  sur- 
cingle, etc.,  but  they  are  far  more  practical, 
not  only  for  this  reason,  but  because  they 
stay  im  c  much  better;  their  only  objec- 
tion Y  that  they  work  back  until  the 
front  u^^inst  the  chest,  and  may  pos- 
sibly, in  horses  fed  from  the  floor,  cause  the 
Aiair  to  break  and  to  wear  away  slightly  on 
the  shoulder  points. 

The  cantle  and  the  pommel  of  the  man's 
saddle  cannot,  in  the  writer's  opinion,  be 
too  low,  and  the  usual  sharp  elevations  are 
extremely  dangerous,  both  in  case  of  a  fall, 
and  in  event  of  being  thrown  on  to  the 
pommel,  beside  which  the  unduly  elevated 
wear  away  very  soon  along  their  edges  and 
top  surfaces,  and  soon  need  repairs, 
especially  in  the  cantle,  where  the  saddle 
is  so  often  carelessly  dropped  about  upon 
its  seat  surface. 

There  has  never  seemed  any  good  reason 
for  the  double  stirrup  leathers,  and  a  single 
strap  adds  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  the 
rider.  Of  course  this  will  not  answer  if 
many  different  people  are  to  use  the  saddle; 
but  for  one  individual's  use,  where  no 
alterations  of  more  than  a  hole  or  two  will 
ever  be  necessary,  the  writer,  has  derived 
much  satisfaction  from  the  single  leather. 
This  is  arranged  so  that  the  buckle  is  about 
four  inches  from  the  end  of  the  stirrup 
strap  where  it  attaches  to  the  saddle,  ana 
the  leather  is  buckled  in  a  small  loop  which 


can  be  altered  by  two  holes  each  way.  If 
so  arranged  that  it  has  five  holes,  and  that 
the  usual  riding  hole  is  the  one  in  the 
middle,  it  will  admit  of  lengthening  or 
shortening  two  holes  each  way,  whidi  is 
about  all  that  one  will  need  in  order  to  suit 
all  the  various  sizes  and  shapes  of  horses. 
Of  course  the  leather  should  be  thoroughly 
stretched  first  by  hanging  very  heavy 
weights  from  it  for  twenty-four  hours  after 
it  is  cut  and  before  it  is  measured  and  fin- 
ished for  use.  Another  arrangement  has  a 
loop  to  aflix  it  to  the  saddle,  and  at  the 
stirrup  end  a  double  buckle  without  billets, 
which  holds  by  gripping  upon  the  leather, 
and  may  be  shortened  to  any  extent.  This 
is  not  so  smart  in  appearance,  but  is  very 
practical,  and  may  be  shortened  to  any 
traction  of  an  inch. 

The  plain-flapped  saddle  has  almost 
entirely  superseded  the  knee  roll  in  all  first- 
class  estaolishments.  There  never  was 
any  real  reason  for  the  knee  roll  except  that 
it  gave  the  rider  imaginary  security.  On 
the  contrary  it  had  drawbacks^ — as  for  in- 
stance in  hunting  at  a  drop  fence,  or  when  a 
horse  bucked  and  plunged  so  that  the 
rider's  knee  slid  forward — ^for  it  could  not 
as  easily  slide  back.  The  cflfect  of  the 
knee  roll  may  be  secured  to  those  who 
fancy  it  by  having  the  panel-edge  under- 
neath slightly  (or  considerably)  thickened, 
and  being  sure  that  the  saddle  skirts  are  of 
very  pliant  leather.  After  a  day  or  two 
usaffe  this  gives  precisely  the  same  **feer* 
to  the  rider  as  the  roll,  while  preserving  the 
smart  appearance  of  the  plain  flapped 
saddle.  Flaps  that  are  quite  well  curved 
are  most  in  favor,  and  certainly  look  better 
than  those  whose  outline  is  too  straight  in 
front.  For  a  fine-fronted,  good-shouldered 
horse,  which  carries  his  saddle  well — and 
"bridles  well,"  as  it  is  called — there  is 
nothing  yet  made  smarter  than  a  low- 
pommeled,  low-cantled,  straight-seated, 
curved  flap  and  plain  flap  saddle  put  just 
in  the  right  place. 

To  add  to  the  appearance  of  smartness, 
and  to  further  avoid  the  possibility  of 
bruising  withers  that  are  sharp,  the  man's 
saddle  may  be  cut  back  at  the  pommel, 
nor  will  this  alteration  in  shape  affect  its 
strength  if  the  article  is  made  of  first-class 
material,  and  by  a  high-grade  maker.  In 
the  same  fashion  the  lady's  saddle  may  be 
cut  away,  in  which  case  tne  near  flap  of  the 
saddle  continues  over  the  withers  in  a  sort 
of  thick  pad  which  arranges  for  the  leveling 
of  the  rider's  seat  as  if  the  article  were  of 
conventional  shape,  while  avoiding  any 
possibility  of  bruising  the  withers.  The 
gullet  plate  under  the  pommel  is  not  in- 
frequently made  rather  narrow,  and 
especially  so  for  our  native  horses  which 
are  not  all  as  finely  finished  there  as  could 
be  wished. 


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iJrawin^:  for  "  I  lit-  I'lmtiiivr  of  a  Nation" 
rr^  •   1     X'  .   .  •  T  II  '•>  Stanley  M.  Arthurs. 

Two  women  came  with  Newport  to  starving  Jamestown,  and  the 
first  Anglo-Saxon  homes  were  established  in  the  New  World. 


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THE 

O    UcTaJ 


N  G 


)      J 


A    RIDE   TO    FEZ 


THE   SULLEN    LAND   OF  THE  MOORS 


BY   HAROLD   F.  SHEETS 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE   AUTHOR 


T    many    months    ago 
he  western  world  was 
luttering    with    excite- 
nent  at  the  possibility 
>f  an  armed  conflict  be- 
ween  France  and  Ger- 
nany  over  the  question 
of  supremacy  in  Morocco.     But  at  length 
mutual  differences  were  settled,  and  certain 
rules  and   regulations  were  drawn  up  in 
treaty  form,  defining  the  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  each  of  the  signatory  powers  and 
conferring  upon  specially  designated  gov- 
ernments the  duty  of  policing  and  main- 
taining   order    throughout    the    Sultan's 
domain.     This  treaty  or  concordat  was 
given  to  the  Italian  Minister  who,  in  turn, 
was  to  present  it  to  the  unwilling  Sultan 
for  signature,  and  accordingly  with  great 
pomp  and  a  spectacular  military  escort,  the 
Italian  Mission  proceeded  to  Fez. 

Two  weeks  after  their  arrival,  I,  with  a 
companion  and  caravan,  set  out  from 
Tangier  for  the  capital.  We  went  by  boat 
to  Larache,  a  small  seaport  on  the  Atlantic 
coast  of  Morocco,  thus  avoiding  passing 
over  the  "Red  Mountain"  and  through  the 


territory  of  Rasuli,  the  captor  of  Pericardis. 
The  general  impression  pictures  the  na- 
tive of  this  land  as  a  Moor,  dressed  in 
flowing  robe,  with  shaven  head  and  large 
turban,  wearing  heavy  earrings,  savage 
and  immobile  of  countenance.  In  reality, 
the  Moor,  ethnologically  speaking,  is  only 
one  of  four  general  types  that  go  to  make 
up  the  population  of  Morocco,  which  in 
1905  was  estimated  at  nine  million  people. 
The  "  Berbers"  form  over  two-thirds  of  the 
total.  They  are  a  warlike,  industrious,  but 
indomitable  race  who  for  over  fifteen  cen- 
turies, have  successfully  resisted  the  inva- 
sions of  the  armies  of  the  North.  Neither 
the  Carthaginians  nor  the  Romans,  the 
Vandals  nor  the  Goths,  nor  even  the 
Spanish  or  Portuguese,  have  succeeded  in 
subduing  them.  To  be  sure,  they  have 
constantly  retreated  inland  with  each  suc- 
cessive invasion  until  to-day  they  occupy 
the  mountainous  and  inaccessible  regions 
of  the  interior  to  the  south  and  east  of  Fez. 
They  recognize  no  government  and  only 
submit  to  the  Sultan  in  so  far  as  he  is  the 
"Islam"  or  High  Priest  of  the  Mohamme- 
dan religion  in  Morocco.     As  a  race,  the 


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"  Berbers"  are  hardy,  stalwart,  prolific,  and 
industrious.  Their  complexion  is  a  dark 
brown.  It  has  not  yet  been  found  safe  for 
foreigners  to  travel  among  them. 

Next  in  importance  and  numbers  are  the 
Arabs,  who  occupy  the  valleys  and  fertile 
regions  from  Fez  to  the  coast.  They  are  of 
medium  stature,  of  light  brown  complexion, 
and  nomadic.  They  cultivate  fields  of 
wheat  and  oats,  but  seem  unable  to  remain 
in  one  place,  moving  from  district  to  dis- 
trict as  the  spirit  and  their  needs  impel 
them.   They  number  in  all  about  i  ,200,000. 

The  Moors,  commonly  speaking,  are  the 
remnants  of  the  race  which  formerly  oc- 
cupied the  Spanish  peninsula  and  who  were 
subsequently  driven  out  by  the  Spaniards 
and  Portuguese.  They  live  to-day  in  the 
cities,  and  from  among  their  ranks  are 
drawn  the  great  merchants  as  well  as  the 
ruling  classes.  They  dominate  the  coun- 
try mentally,  socially  and  financially,  and 
to  them  is  due  any  progress  toward  western 
customs  which  may  have  been  made.  Their 
numbers  are  estimated  at  a  million. 

The  Jews,  so  conspicuous  to  the  traveler, 
number  only  about  two  hundred  thousand, 
and  are  simply  endured  by  the  Moors,  who 
regard  them  much  as  we  regard  vermin. 
For  mutual  protection  they  have  grouped 
together  in  certain  quarters  of  the  cities, 
Fez  and  Tangier,  and  have  built  up  their 
own  state,  based  naturally  upon  their 
religion  and  subject  always  to  the  dictates 
and  impositions  of  the  Moorish  rulers.  The 
only  real  schools  are  found  among  them, 
as  well  as  the  only  approach  to  a  home. 

Lastly,  we  find  the  negroes  who  have 
been  almost  entirely  imported  from  the 
Soudan  as  slaves  or  mistresses.  The  slave 
market  in  Fez  still  exists  to-day  and  you 
can  buy  a  young  girl  for  five  hundred 
francs  and  an  old  woman  for  seventy-five 
francs.  The  negro's  position  in  the  state 
is  about  that  of  a  dog,  except  where  by 
marriage  they  have  grafted  their  blood 
on  the  old  Moorish  stock.  There  are  about 
two  hundred  thousand  in  the  kingdom. 

The  *'  Berbers"  have  their  own  language, 
but  this  is  gradually  being  replaced  by  Ara- 
bic as  spoken  by  the  Moors  and  the  Jews. 
My  observations  concerning  the  customs 
of  the  country,  in  so  far  as  they  treat  of 
people,  refer  only  to  the  Arabs  and  Moors. 
I  did  not  go  into  the  country  of  the  "  Ber- 
bers," as  that  lies  to  the  other  side  of  Fez. 


A  trip  into  the  interior  of  Morocco  is  of 
necessity  an  arduous  undertaking.  One 
must  be  prepared  to  meet  with  all  possible 
discomforts  from  poor  food  to  numberless 
vermin.  As  there  are  no  roads,  the  journey 
must  perforce  be  made  on  mule  or  horse- 
back, and  as  there  are  no  towns,  with  one 
exception,  for  over  one  hundred  and  five 
miles,  it  is  necessary  to  provide  oneself 
with  supplies  of  all  kinds.  We  carried 
canned  meats,  canned  vegetables,  tins  of 
crackers,  soups,  etc.,  as  well  as  a  complete 
cooking  outfit.  It  was  even  necessary  to 
carry  charcoal,  as  there  are  no  forests  in 
which  to  obtain  wood.  As  we  subsequently 
learned  one  should  take  a  full  supply  of 
bottled  water,  for  we  were  forced  often  to 
drink  the  most  revolting  and  filthy  com- 
pound which  ever  passed  under  that  name. 

Larache  prepared  us  for  anything.  It  is 
a  city  of  tortuous,  narrow,  ill-smelling,  un- 
paved  streets,  into  which  all  the  refuse  is 
thrown.  Some  enterprising  Frenchman 
had  set  up  a  hotel.  He  called  it  the 
''International."  My  friend  and  1  sought 
rooms  there,  and  in  order  to  accommodate 
us  it  was  necessary  to  dislodge  the  dirt  of 
a  year's  accumulation.  We  found  that 
the  dining  room  was  located  alongside  the 
lavatory,  which  emitted  the  most  unhealth- 
ful  and  germ-breeding  odors  that  a  sane 
mind  can  imagine.  Finally  we  were  forced 
to  get  out  of  our  beds  at  one  a.m.,  dress, 
pack,  and  leave  the  hotel.  We  walked  the 
streets  until  dawn,  vainly  striving  to  forget 
the  overcoming  hospitality  of  the  Hotel 
International.  On  this  midnight  walk  we 
were  stopped  at  almost  every  step  by  the 
prostrate  form  of  some  Arab  stretched  full 
length  across  the  street,  or  rolled  up  on 
some  doorstep.  A  chill  night  and  thick 
dew  had  no  terrors  for  these  hardy  sons  of 
Mohammed. 

At  dawn  our  caravan  was  ready  to  start. 
We  numbered  in  all  nine  men  and  eleven 
animals,  three  being  horses  and  the  re- 
mainder pack  mules.  In  order  to  leave  the 
city  before  daybreak  we  had  to  obtain 
special  permission  from  the  Governor,  whc 
sent  a  man  to  unlock  the  great  gates  for  us. 
He  carried  in  his  girdle  keys  which  re- 
sembled sledge  hammers  and  must  have 
been  forged  by  Vulcan,  centuries  before. 
As  the  great  gates,  released,  swung  back 
we  were  greeted  by  a  deafening  noise.  It 
seemed  as  though  all  the  hosts  of  darkness 


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The  gates  of  the  town  of  Larache. 

'      .  Digitized  by  VjOOQ  16 


A  Moorish  hut,  surmounted  by  the  customary  stork's  nest. 


had  broken  loose  into  a  howl  which  would 
wake  the  dead.  Suddenly  candles  and 
diminutive  oliveoil  lamps  appeared,  and  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  center  of  a  great 
caravan  which  had  arrived  during  the  night 
and  pitched  camp  at  the  walls  of  Larache. 
The  hosts  of  darkness  were  only  mongrel 
dogs.  To  count  them  was  impossible,  for 
they  flitted  here  and  there  in  the  dusk  like 
so  many  wolves,  and  we  could  only  follow 
them  by  their  dismal  howls.  About  us 
on  all  sides  were  camels,  some  sleeping, 
others  moodily  chewing  their  cuds  and 
blinking  blearily  at  the  lights  which  we 
bore.  All  were  lying  down.  As  we  passed 
by  them,  one  would  rise  here  and  there  and 
we  could  then  distinguish  their  gaunt  lines, 
their  long  necks,  flat  ugly  heads,  and  un- 
gainly legs.  Although  the  load  had  been 
removed  the  pack  saddles  remained  fas- 
tened to  their  backs.  1  later  learned  that 
this  was  the  universal  custom,  not  alone 
for  camels,  but  also  for  mules  and  horses. 
As  we  climbed  the  hill  to  the  rear  of 
Larache,  and  slowly  picked  our  way  up  the 
stony  path,  we  could  hear  behind  us  the 
weird  barking  of  the  dogs,  seeming  to  warn 
us  of  still  stranger  experiences  and  untold 

388 


troubles  to  come.  As  the  sun  rose  over  the 
silver  walls  of  the  sleeping  city,  and  here 
and  there  white-robed  figures  silently 
passed  us,  we  forgot  ill  omens,  and  were 
intent  only  upon  the  panorama  which 
gradually  unrolled.  We  had  left  western 
civilization  behind.  We  were  bound  for 
the  culmination  of  Oriental  *'unchange- 
ableness." 

Part  of  our  first  day's  journey  was 
through  a  wonderful  cork  forest,  some  ten 
miles  long  and  five  miles  wide,  untouched 
by  the  hand  of  man.  It  will  certainly  be  a 
"bonanza"  to  whoever  obtains  a  conces- 
sion from  the  Sultan  to  take  out  the  cork. 

There  are  no  roads  in  Morocco.  We 
consequently  followed  the  principal  cara- 
van trail  across  the  open  prairies.  The 
passing  of  countless  hundreds  of  camels, 
horses,  and  mules  has  marked  the  prairie 
with  these  endless  paths  which  wind  in  and 
out  like  the  intricate  meshes  of  a  great  net. 

We  pitched  camp  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  having  ridden  ten  hours  on 
horseback,  with  a  rest  of  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  at  noon.  The  Sultan,  for  the 
safety  of  foreigners,  has  designated  certain 
small  villages  on  the  caravan  routes  which 


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A  Ride  to  Fez 


389 


shall  afford  protection  to  the  traveler;  we 
pitched  our  camp  in  one  of  these.  It  was  a 
queer  place.  The  huts  were  constn^cted  of 
thatched  straw  and  dried  out  cactus  leaves 
and  resembled  water  jugs  more  than  any- 
thing else;  that  is,  the  bottom,  or  living 
part,  was  large,  tapering  to  a  small  circle  at 
the  top,  then  enlarging  again  to  form  a 
nest  for  the  storks  which  are  deemed  to  be 
birds  of  good  omen,  and  consequently 
sacred.  It  is  very  strange,  indeed,  to  see 
these  large  birds  flying  about  in  such  num- 
bers, and  yet  so  tame.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  people  would  have  assaulted  us 
had  we  killed  one  in  their  presence. 

For  the  most  part  the  villages  through 
which  we  passed  were  all  temporary,  that 
is  to  say,  each  tribe  or  clan  led  a  nomad 
life,  building  its  summer  home  and  its 
winter  home,  according  as  the  winter  was 
warm  or  cold,  rainy  or  dry.  The  food  of 
these  people,  so  far  as  we  could  ascertain, 
consists  almost  entirely  of  wheat  cakes 
made  out  of  a  coarse  flour  which  is  obtained 
by  grinding  the  wheat  between  two  large 
stones.     With  this  wheat  bread  they  have 


butter  and  buttermilk,  occasionally  indulg- 
ing in  eggs.  The  meat  diet  is  unknown  to 
them.  This  is  largely  due,  however,  to  the 
Mohammedan  religion. 

The  country  after  the  first  day's  journey 
was  somewhat  wilder,  and  although  pre- 
senting every  appearance  of  fertility  and 
richness  was  only  cultivated  in  rare  in- 
stances. Just  before  arriving  at  Fez  we 
passed  over  a  series  of  foothills  and  came 
into  a  large  valley,  which,  for  picturesque- 
ness  and  agricultural  value,  I  have  never 
seen  surpassed.  On  aU  sides,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  could  be  seen  waving 
grain,  green  grass,  and  in  some  parts  large 
orchards  of  apricot  trees  and  olives.  In 
fact  I  was  more  than  ever  impressed  with 
the  idea  that  this  country  could,  if  properly 
cultivated  and  exploited  with  modem 
machinery  and  western  methods  of  sowing 
and  reaping,  supply  all  the  wheat  for 
neighboring  southern  Europe.  There  are 
immense  tracts  of  land  of  black  earth,  red 
earth,  and  sandy  loam  which,  at  the  present 
time,  are  unused  except  for  grazing  pur- 
poses.    As  in  certain  regions  of  the  west- 


Environs  of  the  city  of  Fez. 


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em  part  of  the  United  States,  there  are  no 
trees,  and  consequently  no  means  of  caus- 
ing the  rain  clouds  which  go  over  the  Atlas 
Mountains  to  deposit  their  moisture  with 
any  degree  of  certainty. 

Our  first  view  of  Fez — the  "Tombeau  du 
D^sespoir"  as  the  Moorish  legends  have  it 
— was  an  experience  never  to  be  forgotten. 
We  had  made  of  our  last  day's  journey  a 
forced  march;  leaving  our  caravan  behind 
us  we  covered  the  last  thirty  miles  in  five 
hours,  reaching  the  hills  which  dominate 
Fez  and  the  valley  in  which  it  lies  about 
six-thirty.  A  turn  in  the  road  suddenly 
disclosed  to  us  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage. 
1 1  lay  at  our  feet,  an  immense  mass  of  white 
buildings,  surrounded  by  high,  gray  and 
ruined  battlements.  The  golden  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  seemed  to  bring  out  in  strong 
relief  the  minarets  of  the  mosques  and  to 
bathe  in  a  flood  of  light  that  great  monu- 
ment of  Moroccan  life.  There,  before  us, 
silent,  isolated  and  ancient,  lay  the  highest 
example  of  Moorish  civilization.  And  yet 
no  paved  roads  led  up  to  it.  No  carts  or 
wagons  disturbed    the   death-like   silence 


which  covered  the  city.  No  shrieks  of 
engines,  no  hum  of  harvesters,  no  smoke  of 
factories,  no  signs  of  life,  pulsating,  mov- 
ing, producing  western  life,  were  in  evi- 
dence. We  gazed  long  and  fondly  upon 
the  picture  before  us  and  reluctantly  fol- 
lowed our  guide  along  the  road  to  the  gates 
of  the  city.  Our  illusions  of  beauty  and 
charm  were  soon  dispelled!  Outside  the 
walls  we  passed  innumerable  camps  of 
traders  who  had  come  from  the  four  comers 
of  Morocco  to  dispose  of  their  merchandise. 
At  the  very  gates  we  found  great  numbers 
of  dead  animals,  camels,  mules,  horses, 
dogs  and  donkeys,  abandoned  by  their 
owners  to  rot  and  pollute  the  air  with  the 
fearful  odor  of  their  decomposition. 

The  gates  through  which  we  entered  the 
city  opened  on  to  a  market  place.  Here  was 
assembled  a  motley  array  of  vari-colored 
humanity  which  would  have  done  credit  to 
the  "streets  of  Cairo."  Negroes,  Arabs, 
*'  Berbers,"  Jews,  Moors — brown,  white  and 
black — were  squatting  side  by  side  on  the 
edge  of  the  road,  while  others,  on  mule  or 
horse,  slowly  passed  between  them.     Beg- 


Moorish  women  harvesters  in  the  fields. 


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The  little  nurses  of  Morocco — a  familiar  street  type. 


gars,  half  naked  water-carriers  with  pigskin 
bags,  shoemakers,  scavenger-mongers,  vege- 
table venders,  horse  traders,  mingled  indis- 
criminately. The  din  of  the  voices  made 
conversation  impossible,  while  the  odors  of 
decomposingvegetable  and  animal  filth  were 
overpowering.  We  made  our  way  through 
this  crowd  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

1  was  indeed  surprised  to  note  the  ap- 
parent indifference  of  the  people  to  us. 
Recently  there  have  been  so  many  missions 
of  foreigners,  or  "Christians"  as  they  call 
us,  that  to-day  their  entrance  or  exit  causes 
no  undue  interest.  We  passed  through  the 
main  street, known  as  the** Soto,"  about  ten 
feet  wide  at  the  widest  part.  The  pave- 
ment consists  of  a  few  cobblestones  with  a 
drain  in  the  center  into  which  is  thrown  all 
the  filth  and  dirt  of  the  merchants  whose 
small  shops  line  the  street.  Each  shop  is 
built  exclusively  for  one  kind  of  goods. 
One  merchant  sells  cereals;  another, 
fruits;  another,  paraffme  candles;  another, 
Manchester  cloth;  another,  vegetables,  and 
so  on.  The  shop  fronts  are  raised  during 
office  hours,  forming  thereby  a  sort  of 
awning  for  the  inmates.  Owing  to  these 
projecting  doorways,  the  street  was  almost 


in  total  darkness,  so  that  as  we  rode 
through  at  seven  o'clock  at  night  we  had 
to  pick  our  way  with  great  care.  Very 
often  the  street  would  pass  through  and 
under  some  large  building  and  become 
completely  obscure.  No  attempts  at  street 
lighting  were  made.  We  finally  reached 
our  destination,  having  traversed  the  entire 
length  of  the  city,  which  at  once  impressed 
us  with  its  size,  its  secretiveness,  its  lack  of 
harmony  in  structure,  and  above  all  with 
its  supreme  disregard  for  all  the  laws  of 
sanitary  and  hygienic  regulation.  Through 
it  flows  a  large  river  which  at  one  and  the 
same  time  serves  to  supply  all  the  water  and 
to  carry  off  the  filth.  This  river  passes 
through  the  heart  of  the  city,  under  and 
through  buildings,  and  is  tapped  in  a 
thousand  places  by  canals  which  carry  the 
water  to  every  point  of  the  town;  so  won- 
derful is  the  system  of  canalization  that  it 
is  possible  to  flood  at  a  moment's  notice 
any  particular  district,  or  any  garden  or 
court.  This  running  water  should  render 
the  city  healthy,  did  it  not  serve  as  a 
sewer  to  carry  off  the  filth  of  the  popula- 
tion and  a  well  to  supply  them  with  drink- 
ing water.     As   a   result    Fez    is   to-day 


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'  A  typical  residence  street  in  Fez. 


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A  market  street  in  the  capital  city. 

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suffering  from  an  epidemic  of  typhoid 
fever  which  carries  off  from  three  hundred 
to  three  hundred  and  fifty  people  daily,  and 
to  which,  at  this  writing,  the  English  mili- 
tary attach^  to  the  Sultan  has  succumbed. 

Fortunately,  the  Sultan  has  supplied  the 
majority  of  the  foreigners  with  houses, 
nearly  all  of  which  have  wells  independent 
of  the  canals.  We  were  fortunate  enough 
to  share  the  English  instructor's  house. 

Inasmuch  as  the  Italian  Mission  was  in 
Fez  at  the  time  of  our  arrival,  our  host  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  obtaining  fresh 
meats,  eggs,  and  vegetables  for  our  table. 
The  Sultan  supplies  gratuitously  the  pro- 
visions for  all  official  missions  and  his  buy- 
ers literally  comer  the  market  for  fresh 
meats,  forcing  prices  sky-high,  and  in  many 
instances  seizing  all  the  available  supply. 

We  were  unable  to  see  the  mosques,  or 
religious  temples  of  the  Mohammedans. 
We  were  given  to  understand  that  all  the 
art  of  the  Moor  so  wonderfully  manifested 
in  the  Alcazar  of  Seville,  the  Mosque  of 
Cordova,  and  the  Alhambra  of  Granada  has 
been  lavished  upon  the  interior  decoration 
of  these  Mohammedan  temples  in  Fez.  From 
the  exterior,  however,  one  sees  absolutely 
no  signs  of  artistic  decoration  or  Moorish 
architecture  in  any  of  the  buildings. 

It  would  surprise  the  European  govern- 
ments and  diplomats  to  learn  how  little 
effect  and  impression  the  Algecirian  Con- 
ference has  had  in  the  interior.  Not  one 
per  cent,  of  the  population  knows  anything 
about  it,  and  these  care  less.  The  supreme 
ambition  of  the  Moor  is  to  be  left  to  him- 
self, to  exclude  the  Christian  from  his  lands, 
and  to  fight  out  his  own  existence  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his  religion  and  of  his 
ancestors.  It  is  this  religious  structure, 
this  ever-present  idea  of  a  deity  to  whom 
they  can  appeal  for  help  in  the  smallest 
of  their  tasks,  this  conception  of  a  power 
that  is  capable  of  doing  no  wrong  and 
of  protecting  and  guiding  its  followers, 
which  accounts  for  the  peculiar  disregard 
of  physical  punishment,  and  even  of  death, 
so  characteristic  of  the  Moors.  I  remember 
one  morning  as  we  were  passing  through 
the  country  hearing  a  man  on  one  of  the 
hillsides  crying  out  in  a  loud  voice.  He 
had  with  him  some  ten  or  twelve  dogs. 
Our  guide  informed  us  that  he  was  praying 
to  Mohammed  to  help  him  catch  a  jackal 
vhich  he  was  hunting. 


Twice  we  heard  laborers  cry  to  us  that 
they  were  going  to  pray  to  Mohammed  to 
give  them  a  Sultan  who  would  exclude  the 
Christians,  and  what  we  heard  twice  seems 
to  be  the  universal  cry  throughout  the 
entire  Moroccan  kingdom.  The  Sultan  is 
a  prisoner  in  his  own  palace;  he  never  goes 
out,  he  never  rides  the  streets,  he  dare  not 
lead  his  own  troops;  in  fact,  he  is  a  figure- 
head whom  the  people  still  recognize  as 
Sultan,  but  whom  they  would  readily 
depose  were  it  possible  to  bring  in  the 
pretender.  As  a  ruler  he  only  exercises  his 
authority  over  the  coast,  the  large  cities, 
and  the  plains  from  whence  his  troops  are 
drawn.  Over  the  rest  of  the  country  he  is 
simply  the  chief,  the  representative  of 
Islam  in  the  west.  He  cannot  exact 
tribute  or  taxes,  and  only  in  case  of  a  holy 
war  can  he  call  for  troops.  The  army 
which  he  has  drawn  about  him  and  which 
is  his  only  visible  claim  to  power  is  a  bizarre 
amalgamation  of  recruits  from  the  four 
corners  of  his  kingdom,  armed  indiscrimi- 
nately with  every  model  of  rifle  from  the 
old  blunderbuss  to  the  modem  Mauser. 
To  picture  accurately  a  company  of  these 
soldiers  with  their  weird  uniforms  would 
require  a  skilled  bmsh;  red  predominates 
in  everything,  in  the  great  saddles  formed 
of  an  infinite  number  of  folded  blankets,  in 
the  baggy  zouave  trousers,  in  the  Fezes, 
and  even  in   the  holsters  for  their  rifles. 

There  is  no  education,  as  we  understand 
it,  among  the  Moors.  There  are  no  clocks, 
and  it  is  estimated  by  one  who  knew  that 
not  fifteen  per  cent,  of  the  population  are 
able  to  reckon  the  time  of  day.  As  the 
sun  crosses  the  ^  meridian  at  seventeen 
minutes  past  twelve,  a  flag  is  run  up  on  the 
tower  of  the  principal  mosque,  and  immedi- 
ately other  flags  appear  upon  the  towers  of 
the  other  mosques  throughout  the  city. 
This  is  noon .  At  half-past  one  another  flag 
is  run  up,  and  at  sunset  the  evening  gun 
is  fired.  This  is  the  extent  of  the  Moorish 
idea  of  time.  Only  a  few  of  the  better 
class  have  books,  or  can  read  or  write. 

The  mails  are  carried  by  mnners  who  go 
from  Tangiers  to  Fez  in  two  days.  They 
carry  a  loaf  of  coarse  wheaten  bread  which, 
together  with  an  occasional  drink  of  butter- 
milk, serves  as  their  only  sustenance. 

The  women  are  treated  as  slaves,  not 
companions,  and  the  marriage  ceremony  is 
a  mere  formality.    Throughout  the  coun- 


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A  Ride  to  Fez 


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try  children  are  considered  as  merchandise 
to  be  sold  and  exploited  by  their  parents. 
We  had  this  brought  to  our  attention  very 
forcibly.  Upon  stopping  at  a  village  to  ask 
for  milk,  an  old  lady  with  her  daughter 
brought  it  out  to  us.  Out  of  curiosity  we 
asked  her  what  she  would  take  for  her 
daughter,  a  girl  of  about  twelve  years  of 
age  and  of  an  exceptionally  clean  and 
healthy  appearance.  She  replied  that  if 
we  would  fill  with  silver  the  small  tin  in 
which  she  had  brought  the  milk,  we  could 
have  the  girl.  We  then  offered  her  a  gold- 
plated  watch  for  the  girl,  and  she  said  that 
she  would  accept  it;  what  this  woman 
would  have  done  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  others  are  daily  doing,  for  the  Moorish 
woman,  like  the  squaw  of  the  American 
Indian,  is  but  a  slave  to  perform  the  man- 
ual labor  of  the  home  and  the  field. 

The  strongest  impression  which  Fez  left 
with  me  was  the  apparent  hopelessness 
which  characterizes  the  Moor's  life.  He 
seems  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  better  in 
store  for  him,  and  consequently  he  is  be- 
come a  fatalist  and  regards  death  and 
physical  tribulation  without  fear.  As  a 
type  of  physical  manhood  he  is  equal  to 
the  Dane  or  Russian,  and  more  warlike 
than  our  Indian.  Were  the  Moors  through- 
out Morocco  to  declare  a  religious  war  of 
extermination  and  of  rebellion  against  the 
Christians  it  would  be  almost  an  impossi- 
bility to  conquer  them. 

Our  return  journey  from  Fez  was  un- 
eventful up  to  the  third  day.  On  that 
night  we  pitched  our  camp  some  forty 
minutes  from  Al-Kazar,  a  large  walled  city 
on  the  road  from  Larache  to  Fez.  We  did 
not  take  the  precaution  to  seek  out  a 
village  under  the  Sultan's  protection,  as  we 
had  always  done  heretofore,  but  hired  four 
guards  from  among  the  villagers,  two  of 
whom  were  armed  with  antique  rifles. 
Subsequent  events  justified  this. 

It  seems  that  a  band  of  about  twenty- 
five  native  bandits  had  been  following 
us  hoping  to  capture  our  horses.  At  about 
eleven  o'clock  they  passed  up  through  the 
village,  dividing  into  two  bands,  one  of 
which  passed  behind  our  tents  and  the 
other  some  distance  in  front.  As  they 
came,  the  second  group  drove  off  all  the 
cattle  they  could  find,  while  the  others 
continued  until  they  came  to  our  tents. 
H^re  our  guards  spied  them  and  two  of 


them  rushed  out,  the  others  remaining  to 
protect  us  and  the  horses.  The  two  who 
went  out  were  instantly  shot,  as  well  as  a 
third  man  who  had  come  from  the  village. 
A  woman  was  stabbed  who  had  rushed  out 
to  beg  mercy  from  them  for  her  husband. 
For  about  ten  minutes  the  firing  kept  up 
and  we  were  constantly  in  danger  of  being 
hit,  our  tents  being  shot  through  in  several 
places.  Then  the  bandits  passed  on  down 
the  hill  and,  according  to  some  of  the  vil- 
lagers who  followed  them,  entered  the  gates 
of  Al-Kazar  with  the  cattle  which  they  had 
driven  off.  It  is  probable  that  when  they 
saw  our  horses  tethered  in  front  of  the 
tents  and  when  our  guards  fired  on  them, 
they  desisted,  believing  that  we  were  well 
armed  and  that  our  horses  were  saddled, 
thereby  enabling  us  to  follow  them. 

Our  experience  was  not  an  uncommon 
occurrence.  We  realized  more  fully  than 
ever  the  savage  state  of  lawlessness  which 
prevails  throughout  Morocco.  The  tribes- 
men and  peaceful  farmers  are  constantly 
subject  to  raids  from  armed  bandits  against 
whom  the  government  takes  no  effective 
steps  for  repression. 

The  following  morning  we  continued  our 
journey  to  Larache,  arriving  there  at  twelve 
o'clock,  having  come  from  Fez  in  three 
days  and  six  hours,  a  record  for  Europeans. 
When  we  arrived  and  found  that  there  were 
no  steamers  in  the  port,  and  none  expected, 
we  made  arrangements  with  a  Moor  to  take 
us  to  Tangier  for  thirty  dollars  Moorish 
money — about  fifteen  American  gold.  He 
owned  a  small  open  sailboat  without  deck 
or  covering  of  any  kind.  Into  her  we  put 
all  our  baggage,  sending  tents,  provisions, 
etc.,  overland.  After  spending  sixteen 
hours  at  sea,  constantly  in  danger  of  cap- 
sizing, forced  one  night  to  make  fast  to  a 
salvage  boat  off  Cape  Spartel,  without  sleep 
for  forty-eight  hours,  we  reached  Tangier. 

Our  expedition  began  on  June  7th  and 
ended  on  June  i8th.  During  this  time  we 
had  ridden  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  on 
horseback  across  open  country,  sleeping  in 
tents  which  at  dawn  were  pulled  down 
over  our  heads  by  our  zealous  muleteers. 
We  remained  three  days  in  Fez,  all  of 
which  were  Sabbaths,  for  the  Moorish  or 
Mohammedan  day  of  rest  is  Friday,  the 
Jewish  Saturday,  and  the  Christian  Sun- 
day. And  we  were  ready  to  return  once 
again  to  European  civilization. 


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LANDING    HER    FIRST   CATCH    OF   THE   SEASON  Drawing  by  Hy.  s.  watson. 

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THE   PLANTING   OF   A    NATION 


BY    LYNN    TEW   SPRAGUE 


HE  planting  of  the  first 
successful  Anglo-Saxon 
colony  on  the  mainland 
of  North  America  was 
an  event  in  the  history 
of  the  New  World  sec- 
ond in  importance  only 
to  its  discovery.  As  all 
our  readers  know  the  three  hundredth 
anniversary  of  that  event  is  being  cele- 
brated by  an  exposition  on  the  waters  and 
shores  of  Hampton  Roads,  Virginia,  during 
the  pleasant  months  of  1907.  The  situa- 
tion is  about  twenty  miles  below  the 
ghostly  remains  of  that  old  town  of  James- 
town which  is  sacred,  as  are  few  places  in 
the  limits  of  our  republic,  to  tragedies  dark 
and  grim  and  agonies  long-drawn-out. 

To  speak  of  old  Jamestown  as  the  "cradle 
of  the  republic"  and  of  the  men  who  built 
their  rude  cabins  there  as  "the  seeds  of  the 
American  people"  is,  of  course,  to  use  very 
figurative  language.  As  world  conditions 
were  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century  the  people  of  Great  Britain  were  the 
one  race  fitted  to  prevail  in  the  limits  of  our 
nation,  and  there  were  other  centers  of 
English  colonization  equally  potent  in  re- 
sults of  which  we  are  patriotically  proud. 
But  the  strangely  assorted  colony  on  the 
banks  of  the  James  was  at  least  the  founda- 
tion of  that  Old  Dominion  which  for  cen- 
turies was  all-important  in  shaping  the 
destinies  of  our  race,  and  the  men  who  first 
landed  there  should  appeal  greatly  to 
public  interest. 

We  may  pass  over  the  commercial  and 
political  history  of  the  Lx>ndon  Company 
which  in  1606,  after  much  effort,  equipped 
an  expedition  to  form  the  first  Virginia 
colony.  On  the  19th  of  December  of  that 
year  the  expedition  sailed  from  Blackwall, 
England,  in  three  small  ships,  the  largest 


399 


being  of  only  one  hundred  tons  burden,  the 
second  ship  of  forty  tons  burden  and  the 
smallest  a  mere  pinnace  of  only  twenty  tons 
burden.  The  number  of  men  who  em- 
barked was  but  one  hundred  and  five,  and 
so  ignorant  was  every  one  engaged  in  the 
enterprise,  from  the  highest  official  of  the 
London  Company  to  the  lowest  servant,  of 
the  conditions  to  be  met  in  the  new  world, 
that  the  personnel  of  the  intended  colony 
excites  wonder  in  the  modem  mind.  The 
London  Company  dreamed,  as  all  early 
adventurers  to  the  new  world  did,  of  gold 
mines  and  of  nations  of  barbaric  splendor 
to  be  traflTicked  with,  and  of  that  long- 
cherished  delusion  of  a  sea  passage  to  the 
wealth  of  the  East  Indies.  The  exploits  of 
Cortez  and  Pizarro  were  intoxicating  the 
fancy  of  Europe  and  a  credulous  and  ignor- 
ant age  looked  to  the  new  world  for  any 
miracle.  Instead  of  sturdy  yeomen  with 
families,  nearly  h^lf  of  the  voyagers  were 
gentlemen,  bent  on  mending  their  fortunes, 
who  looked  on  physical  labor  as  a  degrada- 
tion. Many  were  servants.  There  was 
not  an  agriculturist  nor  a  huntsman  in  the 
party.  There  were  only  twelve  laborers 
and  four  carpenters,  but  there  were  gold- 
smiths and  even  a  perfumer  for  the  subdu- 
ing of  a  wilderness.  There  was  probably 
little  patriotic  thought  of  winning  new 
territory  for  England  and  St.  George  on  the 
part  of  any  one  concerned.  Personal  gain 
was  the  motive  of  each  and  all. 

James  I.  had  graciously  composed  the 
worst  form  of  government  for  the  London 
Company,  and  consistent  with  the  teinper 
of  the  Stuart  dynasty  all  power  lay  in  the 
pedant  monarch  himself.  But  of  necessity 
a  local  council  was  to  govern  in  far  away 
Virginia,  and  it  pleased  the  King  to  put  the 
names  of  this  council  in  a  sealed  box  which 
was  not  to  be  opened  until  the  arrival  of  the 

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expedition  in  Virginia.  As  a  consequence 
there  was  much  jealous  bickering  among 
the  gentlemen  during  the  long  voyage  as  to 
who  was  in  authority.  A  bragging  soldier 
of  fortune  named  John  Smith  was,  in  par- 
ticular, so  oflfensive  with  his  claims  that 
before  the  voyage  was  done  he  was  put 
under  arrest  as  a  mutineer. 

Sailing  by  the  old  West  Indian  route,  and 
so  wasting  supplies,  the  three  frail  ships  did 
not  arrive  on  the  coast  of  Virginia  until 
April  26th.  The  site  of  Raleigh's  lost 
colony  on  the  isle  of  Roanoke  is  supposed  to 
have  been  aimed  at,  but  a  storm  drove 
Captain  Christopher  Newport  and  his  ships 
into  the  Chesapeake  Bay.  Old  Point 
Comfort  was  so  designated  in  a  spirit  of 
gratitude,  and  as  loyal  subjects  the  new 
river  which  soon  oj>ened  before  the  colo- 
nists^ was  called  the  James  River,  and  the 
two  capes  at  its  mouth  were  named  after 
the  royal  princes,  Charles  and  Henry.  The 
colonists  spent  some  days  in  haphazard 
explorations  on  shore.  Once  a  landing 
party  was  greeted  by  a  cloud  of  arrows  from 
hidden  Indians  and  two  of  the  explorers 
were  wounded.  Another  party  met  a  more 
amicable  band  of  savages  with  whom  they 
could  not  converse,  but  by  whom  they 
were  introduced  to  that  deifying  plant, 
tobacco,  which  was  to  play  such  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  making  of  the  Old 
Dominion.  The  colonists  now  ascended 
the  river  about  thirty  miles  through  a 
country  which  "heaven  and  earth  seemed 
never  to  have  agreed  better  to  frame  as  a 
place  for  man's  commodious  and  delightful 
habitation.*'  The  worst  possible  site  on  a 
low  peninsula  was  selected  for  a  settlement, 
and  there  the  ill-fated  colony,  loyally 
named  Jamestown  after  the  bigoted  king, 
was  fixed. 

A  more  incompetent  party  for  the  found- 
ing of  an  empire  and  facing  the  needs, 
hardships,  and  perils  of  the  new  world  can 
scarcely  be  conceived  of.  They  differed 
from  the  trained,  hardy  American-born 
pioneers  whom  Boone,  Robertson,  and 
others  during  the  last  of  the  following  cen- 
tury were  to  lead  into  the  West  about  as 
helpless  sheep  differ  from  cunning  foxes, 
and  when  we  inquire  what  manner  of  men 
they  really  were  for  the  purpose  in  hand, 
and  how  they  lived  in  the  wilderness,  the 
brief  answer  is  that  they  were,  to  our  view, 
mere  children,   and   that   most  of  them 


straightway  died.  Yet  the  panegyrics  of 
patriotic  writers  and  popular  orators  are 
not  wholly  undeserved,  for  there  lay  in 
some  of  these  men  a  determined,  if  mis- 
guided and  inexperienced  heroism,  and  the 
seeds  of  that  inflexible  pluck  which  was  to 
make  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  the  master  of 
the  world. 

On  the  13th  of  May,  1607,  they  disem- 
barked, and  then,  according  to  Smith's 
account,  "falleth  every  man  to  worke;  the 
councell  contrived  the  forte,  the  rest  cut 
down  trees  to  make  place  to  pitch  their 
tents,  etc." — and  so  was  gained  the  first 
foothold  which  the  English  were  to  main- 
tain in  the  new  world  at  a  cost  so  frightful 
that  the  mere  story  is  painful.  In  the  first 
few  days  everything  went  well  enough.  A 
thankful  spirit  at  the  deliverance  from  the 
long  voyage  with  ships  in  which  a  modem 
yachtsman  would  scarcely  dare  to  cross 
the  harbor,  promoted  good-will  and  in- 
duced some  energy.  The  sealed  box  had 
been  opened  in  the  Chesapeake,  and  Smith 
was  found  to  be  of  the  council.  According 
to  his  own  story  he  demanded  a  trial,  was 
acquitted,  and  his  accusers  fined — the  fine 
being  turned  by  Smith  into  the  common 
fund.  The  others  named  of  the  council 
were  Bartholomew  Gosnold,  Edward  Wing- 
field,  John  RadclifT,  George  Kendall,  John 
Martin,  and  the  old  navigator  Christopher 
Newport,  with  Wingfield  as  president.  The 
names  are  memorable.  It  was  perhaps 
prophetic  of  the  republic  that  never  were 
few  men  so  torn  and  distracted  by  rancor- 
ous politics,  and  indeed  petty  bickerings 
were  about  the  only  occupation  of  the 
colony.  Of  industry,  frugality,  fore- 
thought, there  seems  to  have  been  scarcely 
a  trace  after  the  first  burst  of  pent-up 
energy. 

Gentlemen  of  that  age  could  not  be  sup- 
posed to  work,  but  they  spent  their  time 
roaming  the  woods  in  search  of  rubies  and 
sapphires,  or  diving  in  the  stream  for 
pearls,  while  the  idle  gang  of  servants 
searched  the  sands  for  gold.  The  most 
fantastic  beliefs  regarding  the  wealth  of  the 
new  world  seem  to  have  filled  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  soberest.  Some  few  miserable 
cabins  were  erected  by  the  carpenters,  and 
remembering  the  hostile  reception  accorded 
by  one  of  the  Indian  bands,  some  trees  were 
felled  across  the  little  isthmus  as  a  fort. 
All  the  settlers  were  ignorant  of  sanitation, 

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and  knew  as  little  of  woodcraft  as  of 
microbes.  Not  one  of  them  seems  to  have 
had  any  guess  of  the  awful  trials  just  ahead. 
The  provisions  that  were  brought  from 
England  were  as  recklessly  used  as  though 
the  mother  country  lay  across  the  James, 
and  all  acted  as  though  the  business  in 
hand  was  a  holiday  picnic  rather  than  the 
conquering  of  a  continent.  The  one  great 
desideratum  was  a  trained  and  forceful 
leader — a  master  of  woodcraft,  and  even 
now  one  cannot  read  the  pitiable  tales  that 
a  few  weeks  were  to  unfold  without  a  sad 
regret  that  these  vain,  shiftless  adventurers 
had  not  among  them  one  of  those  masterful 
pioneers  like  Kenton  or  Sevier  that  a  later 
age  was  to  develop  from  the  race  of  which 
they  were  the  seed. 

Captain  Newport  after  landing  the  colo- 
nists was  to  return  to  England  with  two  of 
the  ships,  leaving  the  little  pinnace  with  the 
settlement.  A  week  after  putting  them 
ashore  he  started  up  the  river  on  an  explor- 
ing expedition  in  the  hope  of  finding  that 
stream  a  passage  to  the  south  seas,  or  of 
discovering  a  wealthy  and  barbaric  city. 
Nothing  is  stranger  than  the  persistence 
with  which  all  the  earlier  explorers  be- 
lieved the  North  American  continent  a 
narrow  strip  of  land  beyond  which  lay  the 
Pacific  and  fabled  Cathay.  Newport  with 
"five  gentlemen,  four  maryners,  fourteen 
saylours,  with  a  perfect  resolution  not  to 
retume,  but  either  to  find  the  head  of  the 
river,  the  laake  mentyoned  by  others  here- 
tofore, the  sea  againe,  the  mountaynes 
Apalatai  or  some  issue,"  ascended  the 
river  till  he  came  to  the  falls  where  Rich- 
mond now  stands,  meeting  many  friendly 
and  curious  Indians.  Then  he  returned 
without  finding  any  "issue"  of  moment, 
but  a  waste  of  much  energy  and  provisions. 
The  gentlemen  of  his  party  looked  upon 
everything  with  European  and  feudal  eyes, 
regarding  the  Indian  chiefs  as  nobles,  the 
head  chiefs  as  kings,  and  old  Powhatan,  of 
whom  they  now  heard,  as  a  mighty  emperor. 
As  their  boats  descended  the  river  the 
Indians  grew  more  and  more  unfriendly  and 
finally  hostile,  and  when  they  reached 
Jamestown  they  found  that  the  camp  had 
been  attacked — a  boy  had  been  killed  and 
several  men  wounded,  and  President  Wing- 
field  himself  had  narrowly  escaped  death. 
But  the  Indians  had  been  terrorized  by  the 
discharge  of  firearms,  and  so  the  almost 


defenseless  colony  had  escaped  destruction. 
Newport  stayed  two  weeks  longer,  the 
sailors  helping  to  consume  the  scanty  pro- 
visions, and  then  he  sailed  for  England. 

Scarcely  was  his  ship  out  of  sight  before 
the  bitterest  quarrels  broke  out.  The 
doughty  old  mariner,  who  seems  to  have 
been  a  brave  and  peaceful,  if  somewhat 
visionary,  old  soul,  had  tried  to  reconcile 
the  council,  and  quiet  what  he  calls  "a 
murmur  and  grudg  against  certayne  pre- 
posterous proceedings  and  inconvenyent 
courses,"  and  by  his  "fervent  perswayson" 
bring  them  to  "a  faythfull  love  one  to 
another."  He  did  indeed  bring  about  a 
kind  of  peace  that  lasted  until  his  ships 
were  out  of  sight,  and  it  was  during  this 
brief  space  of  good-will  that  Smith  was 
restored  to  his  seat  in  the  council.  But  the 
trying  conditions  proved  too  much  for  the 
undisciplined  wranglers  and  visionary 
idlers.  It  was  found  that  what  was  left  of 
the  provisions  was  almost  spoiled  by  damp- 
ness. The  hot  and  humid  climate  of  the 
marshy  land  soon  debilitated  all  the  colo- 
nists; there  was  no  proper  shelter  from  con- 
tinuous rains  and  the  poisonous  exhalation 
of  the  soil  soon  did  deadly  work.  All  trace 
of  discipline  and  order  vanished.  Of 
energy  and  effort  toward  betterment  there 
never  had  been  more  than  a  trace.  The 
liquors  were  now  consumed  in  the  hope  of 
v/arding  off  sickness,  and  the  food  ran  so 
low  that  starvation  set  in.  By  mid-July 
there  was  not  a  well  man  in  the  settlement. 
The  suffering  from  disease  and  starvation 
was  horrible.  Two  or  three  of  the  settlers 
went  mad;  one  dramatically  threw  his 
Bible  in  the  fire  and  declared  that  God  had 
forsaken  them.  "Our  food,"  wrote  Percy, 
one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  colony,  "was 
but  a  small  can  of  barley  sod  in  water  to 
five  men  a  day.  Our  drynk  cold  water 
taken  out  of  the  river  which  was  at  flood 
very  salt,  at  low  tyde  full  of  slyme  and 
fylth,  which  was  the  destruction  of  many 
of  our  men,"  and  he  adds :  "  Some  departed 
suddenly,  but  for  the  most  part  they  died 
of  mere  famyne.  There  were  never  English- 
men left  in  such  misery  as  we  were  in  this 
newly  discovered  Virginia."  Among  those 
who  died  during  that  awful  summer  was 
Gosnold,  the  original  promoter  of  the  Lon- 
don Company  and  of  the  expedition,  a 
valiant,  able,  and  sensible  gentleman  who 
had  made  a  previous  voyage  to  America 


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and  whom  all  respected,  but  who,  like  the 
rest,  had  little  knowledge  of  the  needs  of  a 
pioneer.  The  miserable  survivors  crawled 
about  the  settlement  in  the  most  abject 
condition,  quarreling  and  thieving  from  one 
another.  Before  fall  nearly  one-half  of 
them  were  dead.  It  would  seem  that  only 
the  contempt  which  the  Indians  felt,  and 
their  dread  of  guns  prevented  the  extirpa- 
tion of  settlers  who  were  reduced  to  begging 
abjectly  of  them.  But,  strange  to  say, 
amid  all  this  misery  the  bitterest  wrangling 
still  continued.  Wingfield,  who  appears  to 
have  been  well  intentioned,  if  inadequate 
for  leadership,  was  deposed.  Kendall  was 
deposed  also,  and  a  little  later  was  killed 
in  a  revolt.  Others  of  the  council  had  died. 
It  is  useless  to  try  to  trace  the  bitter  quar- 
rels and  impossible  to  know  the  truth.  On 
one  point  all  accounts  are  agreed — that  the 
condition  of  all  was  as  wretched  as  could  be 
endured.  Such  was  the  first  miserable  be- 
ginning of  permanent  English  colonization 
in  the  new  world. 

We  are  prone  to  read  into  the  past  our 
own  knowledge — the  wisdom,  experience, 
and  environment  that  that  past  has  be- 
queathed to  us,  but  it  should  be  borne  in 
mind  that  the  men  who  planted  the  first 
English  colony  were  the  creatures  of  the 
manners,  traditions,  and  beliefs  of  three 
centuries  ago — an  ageof  servility,  credulity, 
and  superstition.  Yet  if  the  first  settlers 
were  unfitted  for  the  momentous  task  fate 
had  called  them  to,  they  had  one  advantage 
of  which  later  colonists  were  deprived.  The 
savages  were  as  yet  in  awe  of  this  new  pale 
race  in  strange  dress  coming  out  of  the  sun- 
rise on  the  backs  of  great  white-winged  sea 
fowls,  and  though  now  and  then  their  native 
savagery  broke  out,  they  were  as  yet  re- 
strained by  superstitious  dread,  and 
especially  by  their  terror  of  firearms,  from 
destroying  a  settlement  that  was  too  weak 
to  make  resistance.  The  Indians  with 
whom  they  first  came  in  contact  appear  to 
have  been  of  the  Algonquin  race,  and  the 
great  overchief  of  the  tribes  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  James  and  the  York  was  an  able 
warrior  known  to  history  as  The  Powhatan, 
or  Powhatan.  He  was  a  most  powerful, 
wily,  and  sagacious  chief,  a  sort  of  early 
Pontiac,  who  had  given  his  common  name 
to  the  confederation  of  tribes  of  which  he 
had  made  himself  the  head.  But,  fortu- 
nately for  the  new  settlers,  he  was  now  very 


old  and  indisposed  to  war  and  trouble;  yet 
his  cunning  and  treachery  were  still  keen 
and  active,  and  were  often  to  outwit  the 
simple  English. 

It  was  during  the  bitter  first  starvation 
time  that  Captain  John  Smith  rose  to 
leadership.  He  left  various  accounts  of 
the  hardships  and  sufferings  of  those  first 
years  of  the  colony,  and  for  something  more 
than  two  centuries  these  were  followed  by 
all  historians.  Yet  he  was  a  very  robust 
liar,  as  other  contemporary  accounts,  which 
have  come  to  light  in  comparatively  recent 
times,  conclusively  prove.  Indeed  the 
pure  romance  of  much  that  he  wrote  is  evi- 
denced by  the  knowledge  we  now  possess 
of  the  Indian,  and  the  utter  disagreement 
of  his  own  writings,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
miraculous  incidents  he  gravely  relates. 
Yet  Smith  remains,  in  spite  of  all,  the  most 
romantic  figure  in  our  earliest  history,  and 
such  is  the  fascination  of  his  individuality 
that  many  scholarly  historians  still  main- 
tain the  essential  truth  of  his  narratives. 
He  appears  to  have  been  a  sort  of  early 
Andrew  Jackson,  without  Old  Hickory's 
chivalry,  but  with  a  superior  gift  for  men- 
dacious narrative — an  explosive,  domineer- 
ing, intolerant,  opinionated  old  fire-eater 
of  indefatigable  energy  and  enterprise,  cap- 
able of  neither  fatigue  nor  fear.  He  was 
the  one  man  who  seems  to  have  profited  by 
experience  in  the  new  world  and  to  have 
learned  lessons  from  the  wilderness,  and 
alone  of  all  the  band  he  possessed  the  re- 
source and  common  sense  for  leadership 
that  characterized  our  own  later  pioneers. 

We  need  not  follow  Smith's  doubtful  ad- 
ventures with  the  Indians  or  his  accounts 
of  hjs  own  personal  wisdom,  courage,  and 
prowess.  But  we  cannot  resign  without 
regret  his  picture  of  Pocahontas,  and  his 
story  of  her  intercession  for  his  life.  Yet 
his  pretty  tales  in  relation  to  her  are  in  all 
probability  for  the  most  part  pure  figments 
of  Smith's  prolific  fancy.  Far  from  being 
the  beautiful,  gentle,  and  humane  princess 
that  Smith  depicts,  she  could  have  been  at 
first  in  the  nature  of  things  only  a  privileged 
young  squaw,  barbarous,  ignorant,  and  un- 
cleanly, whose  range  of  ideas  was  that  of 
her  people.  Wingfield  in  his  detailed  ac- 
count of  affairs  records  Smith's  capture, 
but  makes  no  mention  of  Pocahontas  saving 
Smith's  life,  nor  does  Hamor  or  other  writ- 
ers of  the  time.     Strachey  wha^rrived  m 

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Virginia  in  1610  speaks  of  Pocahontas  as 
"A  well  featured  but  wanton  young  girl, 
Powhatan's  daughter,  sometymes  resorting 
to  our  forte,  of  the  age  then  of  eleven  or 
twelve  yeares.  She  would  get  the  boys 
forth  with  her  into  the  market-place  and 
make  them  wheel,  falling  on  their  hands 
and  turning  up  their  heeles  upwards,  whom 
she  would  followe,  and  wheele  so  herself, 
naked  as  she  was,  all  the  forte  over." 

Death  and  deposition  had  soon  left,  as 
we  have  already  shown,  but  three  men  of 
the  council — Ratcliff,  who  became  gover- 
nor, Martin,  and  Smith.  Suffering  and 
sickness  had  broken  the  spirit  of  the  first 
two  incompetents,  and  the  more  sagacious 
of  the  settlers  soon  came  to  look  to  Smith 
for  all  direction.  The  resolute,  tempestu- 
ous and  vain  captain  was  not  slow  in  mak- 
ing himself  complete  master.  It  was  in 
fact  a  sort  of  natural  selection  of  the  fittest 
to  command.  But  it  is  difficult  to  see  how 
any  one's  command  could  have  rescued  the 
perishing  settlers  that  first  summer  but  for 
a  strange  and  providential  act  on  the  part 
of  the  Indians  toward  a  race  that  was  in 
a  few  years  almost  to  exterminate  them. 
When  the  last  of  the  provisions  were  ex- 
hausted, and  four-fifths  of  the  colonists  too 
weak  to  stand,  and  hope  dead  in  every 
heart  save  that  of  the  irrepressible  Smith, 
a  band  of  Indians,  among  whom  was 
Pocahontas,  walked  into  the  despairing 
town  loaded  with  fruits  and  com.  It  was 
one  of  those  capricious  acts  of  which  sav- 
ages and  children  are  sometimes  capable. 
Smith  looked  upon  it  as  a  divine  favor.  It 
is  certain  that  his  unfailing  faith  in  him- 
self did  much  to  revive  the  spirits  of  his 
followers. 

Strengthened  by  food,  things  now  wore 
a  brighter  aspect  in  the  town.  The 
doughty  captain,  by  his  own  example  and 
the  sternness  of  his  rule,  soon  brought 
about  some  order.  He  built  better  shelter, 
cleared  and  drained  the  ground  about  the 
town,  and  soon  had  his  followers  comfort- 
ably lodged.  He  labored  vigorously  him- 
self. "Who  will  not  work  shall  not  eat" 
was  his  wise  command.  When  food  began 
to  run  low  he  went  up  the  river  in  the 
pinnace  and  obtained  more  com  and  meat 
from  the  Indians.  When  he  could  trade 
for  supplies  he  did  so,  but  as  often  he  re- 
sorted to  cunning  or  threats.  He  had  one 
or  two  brushes  with  the  savages.     Much  of 


his  self-glorification  relates  to  this  time. 
He  boasts  loudly  enough  of  his  deeds  of 
valor  and  of  his  wisdom,  and  it  is  quite 
possible,  however  false  his  related  exploits 
may  be,  that  at  this  period  he  saved  his 
followers  from  perishing. 

At  length  there  was  an  end  to  the  colo- 
nists' worst  sufferings.  The  terrible  sum- 
mer wore  away;  the  cool  September  wind 
brought  new  health;  wild  ducks  alighted 
on  their  southern  flight;  flocks  of  pigeons 
darkened  the  sky  and  settled  in  the  woods 
where  berries  and  wild  fruits  were  now 
ripening.    The  first  starving  time  was  over. 

By  all  accounts  Smith,  while  master, 
made  several  expeditions  into  the  Indian 
country.  On  one  occasion  while  he  was 
absent,  Kendall  and  the  disgraced  and 
broken  Wingfield  hatched  a  conspiracy  to 
steal  the  pinnace  and  desert  their  starving 
brothers.  But  Smith  returned  just  as  the 
little  vessel  was  weighing  anchor,  and,  train- 
ing his  cannon  on  the  deserters,  brought 
them  to  terms,  but  not  until  after  Kendall 
was  killed.  On  another  occasion  while 
foraging  and  exploring  Smith  was  taken 
prisoner.  But  his  marvelous  accounts  of 
himself  seem  to  have  awed  Powhatan,  and 
that  chief.  Smith  says  in  his  first  account, 
"having  with  all  kindness  he  could  devise 
sought  to  content  me,  he  sent  me  home 
with  four  men,  etc."  When  home  in  Eng- 
land with  leisure  for  his  fancy  to  mn  riot 
Smith  tells  the  new  and  exciting  version  of 
his  captivity,  how  he  was  fattened  for  a 
feast  for  the  savages,  how  his  head  was  upon 
the  block  (after  the  manner  of  English 
executions),  and  how  the  executioners 
stood  over  him  with  raised  clubs,  when  the 
beautiful  Pocahontas  threw  herself  upon 
his  prostrate  form  and  successfully  begged 
his  life.  When  Smith  returned  to  James- 
town after  each  absence  he  always  found 
waste  and  disorder,  if  he  may  be  believed. 
Yet  the  ungrateful  people  seem  little  to 
have  appreciated  his  extraordinary  serv- 
ices since  shortly  after  the  return  from  his 
captivity  he  was  arrested  and  tried  for  his 
life,  and  according  to  Wingfield  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged,  and  only  spared 
because  of  the  intercession  of  Captain  New- 
port who  just  at  this  time  arrived  from 
England  with  supplies.  It  is  in  truth  a 
very  muddled  and  perplexed  period,  not 
from  lack  of  evidence,  but  by  reason  of  the 
contradiction  of  contemperair  acaounts, 

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and  all  we  may  be  certain  of  are  the  miser- 
able bickerings,  starvation,  and  terrible 
suffering,  which  possibly  half  crazed  them 
all. 

With  Newport's  second  arrival  all  differ- 
ences seem  for  a  time  to  have  been  settled. 
Among  these  children  of  another  age  sup- 
plies and  news  from  home  gave  birth  to 
new  hope.  But  it  was  a  most  heartrend- 
ing condition  that  the  old  mariner  found. 
Only  forty  of  the  original  settlers  were  now 
alive,  and  the  woes  of  the  nine  months  since 
he  had  sailed  away  argued  ill  for  the  future. 
Newport  remained  some  time  in  the  colony, 
loaded  his  ship  with  yellow  sand  which  he 
supposed  to  contain  gold,  and  then  sailed 
away  for  England  again,  leaving  Smith  in 
charge.  The  boastful  and  impetuous  sol- 
dier during  the  summer  of  1608  did  make 
two  wonderfully  daring  explorations  of  the 
Chesapeake  and  prepared  a  map  which,  all 
things  considered,  was  wonderfully  ac- 
curate. This  second  summer  and  fall  were 
seasons  of  comparative  comfort,  though 
not  without  suffering.  But  at  the  close  of 
the  year  Newport  came  again  and  brought 
new  supplies  and  more  settlers,  who  were 
mostly  broken  gentlemen,  adventurers  and 
libertines,  and  as  pioneers  a  much  more 
worthless  lot  than  the  first.  Again  there 
was  not  a  trained  huntsman  nor  an  agri- 
culturist nor  a  farmer  among  them,  but 
two  women  came  with  Newport,  and  the 
first  of  real  Anglo-Saxon  homes  was  soon 
established  in  the  new  world.  Smith, 
who  had  by  this  time  learned  the  Indian 
tongue  and  something  of  woodcraft  and  the 
real  needs  of  colonization,  was  justly  in- 
censed at  the  material  sent,  and  wrote  the 
London  G)mpany  that  the  need  was  for 
"carpenters,  husbandmen,  gardners,  fisher- 
men, blacksmiths,  masons  and  diggers  up 
of  tree  roots." 

But  the  London  G)mpany  was  by  this 
time  discouraged  with  the  ill  success  of  the 
venture  from  a  financial  and  commercial 
standpoint.  There  was  a  reorganization 
of  the  corporation,  and  colonization  was 
attempted  on  a  more  extensive  scale.  Nine 
ships  containing  five  hundred  passengers 
sailed  in  May,  1609,  for  Virginia.  The  fleet 
was  dispersed  by  a  storm.  In  August, 
seven  small  shattered  vessels  with  most 
of  the  new  colonists  and  supplies  gained 
the  Chesapeake,  but  the  Sea  Adventurer,  on 
oard  of  which  was  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  who 


was  to  be  the  new  resident  governor,  was 
wrecked  on  the  Bermudas.  This  vessel 
carried  the  new  council,  and  their  adven- 
tures are  among  the  most  romantic  of 
historic  sea  tales.  The  wife  of  one  John 
Rolf,  the  future  husband  of  Pocahontas, 
died  on  the  islands.  The  wrecked  voyagers 
succeeded  in  rebuilding  their  ship,  and 
reached  the  Chesapeake  Sept.  6,  1610. 

Captain  Newport  on  his  second  return 
with  supplies  had  brought  royal  robes  and 
messages  from  James  to  Powhatan,  and 
after  ludicrous  negotiations  and  much  un- 
willingness on  the  part  of  the  old  chief,  who 
was  not  without  his  savage  dignity,  there 
was  the  mummery  of  a  coronation  by 
which  the  old  Powhatan  became  a  feudal 
king  with  James  as  his  liege  lord,  a  position, 
it  is  needless  to  say,  quite  without  the  pale 
of  the  old  warrior's  understanding.  It  is 
curious  and  characteristic  that  the  early 
English  persisted  in  the  old  shams  and 
forms  of  mediaevalism  after  the  real  char- 
acter and  condition  of  the  savages  were 
known.  When,  for  instance,  in  161 3  Rolf 
married  Pocahontas  there  was  much  rejoic- 
ing in  the  colony,  and  many  high  phrases 
about  the  welding  of  great  nations,  but 
needless  to  say  the  amiable  relations  of  the 
races  were  neither  very  real  nor  very  last- 
ing. Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  the 
example  was  new.  Gentlemen  rascals  had 
before  then  taken  dusky  girls  to  wife  with 
scant  ceremony,  and  one  is  glad  to  know 
that  a  subsequent  and  very  able  governor. 
Sir  Thomas  Dale,  while  possessed  of  a  wife 
in  England,  made  overtures  to  Powhatan 
for  the  hand  of  Pocahontas'  sister  and  was 
rejected.  Presumably  he  had  bid  too  low. 
Yet  such  were  the  feudal  notions  of  the 
time  that  James  I.  was  disposed  to  think 
Rolf  guilty  of  treason  in  presuming  to 
espouse  a  royal  princess  without  the  con- 
sent of  his  sovereign.  Previous  to  marry- 
ing Rolf,  Pocahontas  had  been  much  in  the 
settlement.  Rolf  had  the  pleasing  task  of 
teaching  her  English,  and  converting  her  to 
Christianity,  and  when  he  took  her  to  Eng- 
land three  years  after  she  became  his  wife, 
and  she  was  received  at  court,  she  appears 
not  to  have  behaved  amiss.  Pocahontas 
was  accompanied  by  one  of  her  father's  sub- 
chiefs  who  carried  with  him  a  bundle  of 
sticks  on  which  he  meant  to  make  tally  by 
niches  of  the  number  of  English.  This 
warrior  was  very  much  surprised>to  find  1 

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King  James  no  bigger  than  an  ordinary 
man,  but  he  was  especially  angry  because 
no  one  would  show  him  where  God  lived. 
Pocahontas  fell  a  victim  to  the  chill  damp- 
ness of  the  English  climate  in  a  little  less 
than  a  year,  but  she  left  a  son  from  whom 
many  distinguished  Virginians  claim  de- 
scent. 

After  the  departure  of  Captain  Newport, 
and  before  the  arrival  of  Sir  Thomas  Gates, 
things  were  far  from  pleasant  at  James- 
town. Though  Smith  had  induced  some 
order  and  compelled  a  degree  of  industry 
among  the  colonists  who  arrived  in  August, 
he  constantly  quarreled  with  a  new  faction, 
and  discontent  ran  high.  There  were  con- 
spiracies and  one  or  two  inchoate  rebellions. 
An  attempt  was  made  to  murder  Smith  in 
his  bed,  but  the  fiery  captain  succeeded  in 
keeping  the  upper  hand,  and  despite  all 
opposition  declared  that  he  would  not 
resign  the  leadership  until  Gates  himself 
arrived.  At  length,  however,  before  the 
new  governor  reached  the  Chesapeake, 
Smith  met  with  an  accident  from  the  ex- 
plosion of  gunpowder,  and  returned  to 
England  never  again  to  visit  Virginia. 
George  Percy  became  the  governor,  pend- 
ing the  arrival  of  Gates.  But  Percy  was 
ill  and  could  do  nothing  to  discipline  the 
"lewd  company  wherein  were  many  unruly 
gallants  packed  hither  by  their  friends  to 
escape  ill  destiny."  The  settlers  gambled, 
drank  up  their  liquors,  played  fast  and 
loose  with  native  red  beauties,  and  utterly 
lost  the  friendship  of  the  Indians.  They 
would  not  work,  and  their  intemperance 
and  the  trying  climate  to  which  they  were 
not  inured  brought  disease  and  death. 
Soon  a  new  starving  time  was  upon  the 
colony.  When  Gates  arrived  after  his  own 
desperate  voyage  he  found  alive  of  the  five 
hundred  whom  Smith  had  left  Percy  to 
govern  only  fifty  men.  Desolation  was 
everywhere.  The  colonists  were  mere 
skeletons.  Many  buildings  had  been  torn 
down  for  firewood.  The  Palisades  were  in 
ruin.  The  Indians,  too,  were  in  open 
hostility,  and  nothing  but  their  terror  of 
firearms  kept  them  from  massacring  the 
colonists.  Valiant  and  iron-willed  Gates 
had  already  proved  himself  to  be,  but  he 
was  almost  without  supplies  himself,  and 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  resolved  to  abandon 
Jamestown  and  sail  to  New  Foundland, 
where  there  was  an  English  fishing  settle- 


ment that  might  afford  relief.  His  four 
ships  were  accordingly  laden  and  the 
anchors  weighed.  Jamestown,  after  all 
the  frightful  cost,  was  to  be  abandoned. 
The  settlers  wanted  to  burn  down  the  town 
that  had  been  the  scene  of  so  much  horror 
and  suffering,  but  this  Gates  would  not 
permit.  By  his  resistance  he  possibly 
effected  the  destiny  of  our  race,  for  next 
day  as  the  vessels  lay  at  anchor  in  the  river 
waiting  for  the  tide,  there  sailed  into  the 
bay  three  English  ships  under  Lord  De  La 
Ware,  or  Delaware,  and  the  despairing 
colonists  were  forced  by  that  energetic 
nobleman  to  disembark. 

Delaware  brought  new  colonists  and  a 
large  supply  of  food,  and  though  his 
settlers  were  still  of  a  wretched  type,  here 
at  last  there  seems  to  have  been  a  man 
gifted  with  the  qualities  of  a  leader.  His 
birth,  too,  gave  him  in  the  eyes  of  men  of 
that  time  high  authority.  He  upbraided 
the  old  colonists  for  their  vices  and  lazi- 
ness, and  though  he  established  a  miniature 
court,  he  ruled  with  an  iron  discipline, 
punished  crime  with  frightful  severity,  and 
compelled  all  to  work.  He  succeeded  in 
establishing  friendly  relations  with  the  In- 
dians again,  and  made  them  trade  their  corn 
for  his  trinkets.  He  built  three  forts  near 
the  mouth  of  the  James,  and  some  signs 
of  prosperity  b^an  to  show  themselves. 
But  the  health  of  this  too  energetic  noble- 
man soon  failed*  and  he  returned  to  Eng- 
land leaving  poor  Percy  governor  a  second 
time.  Again  distress  followed,  but  in  the 
spring  a  new  governor.  Sir  Thomas  Dale, 
arrived  with  new  supplies  and  more  colo- 
nists. He  was  another  man  of  ability.  He 
abandoned  the  community  system,  gave 
each  settler  a  small  tract  of  land,  and  ruled 
with  an  iron  will.  From  this  time  there 
was  never  any  danger  of  abandoning  the 
colony.  New  settlements  such  as  Smith 
had  attempted  were  made  in  more  health- 
ful localities,  and  as  hope  of  gold  discoveries 
were  relinquished,  the  fertility  of  the  soil 
and  the  value  of  the  timber  and  of  native 
crops  began  to  be  appreciated.  But  the 
character  of  new  settlers  continued  in  the 
main  to  be  so  bad  that  Dale  was  forced  to 
be  a  tyrant,  and  his  rule  seems  utterly  bar- 
barous in  these  days.  He  and  some  of  the 
governors  who  followed  him  surrounded 
themselves  with  a  guard.  A  religious  in- 
tolerance was  in  vogue  and  capital  punish- 

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ment  was  inflicted  for  trifling  offenses. 
Husbandmen,  builders,  and  bakers  were 
publicly  whipped  if  idle  or  slack  in  their 
work,  tradesmen  who  neglected  business 
were  sent  to  the  galleys,  profanity  was 
punished  by  a  bodkin  being  run  through 
the  tongue,  and  for  slight  crimes  men  were 
broken  on  the  wheel  or  chained  to  trees  to 
perish  of  starvation,  or  flogged  to  death. 
Our  land  of  freedom  had  a  tyrannous 
birth.  No  waste  was  permitted;  the  colo- 
nists were  not  allowed  to  kill  even  their 
own  domestic  animals  without  permission. 

The  quality  of  the  colonists,  however, 
continued  to  be  in  the  main  the  mere  refuse 
of  England.  With  a  few  yeomen  and  fewer 
gentlemen  who  came  as  proprietors,  arrived 
shiploads  of  paupers,  felons,  and  bonded 
servants — often  wretched  people  kidnaped 
in  the  streets  of  English  towns  and  shipped 
to  the  colony  to  get  rid  of  them.  They 
perished  in  those  first  decades  by  thousands 
and  their  degenerate  offspring  are  the  poor 
whites  of  this  day  in  that  section.  Thus 
the  people  of  the  South  became  divided 
early  by  rigid  lines  of  caste,  and  Virginia 
developed  an  aristocracy  of  planters. 

The  first  half  century  of  the  colonization 
of  Virginia  is  rich  in  exciting  and  tragic 
happenings,  but  before  the  year  1620,  when 
a  different  type  of  Englishmen  were  plant- 
ing in  the  north  the  colony  that  gave  New 
England  its  grim  and  thrifty  character, 
three  things  of  vast  importance  in  the  shap- 
ing of  the  life  of  the  Old  Dominion  had 
occurred.  Tobacco  had  become  the  staple 
production  of  the  colony  as  early  as  1617, 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  its  wealth.  In 
1619  the  first  assembly  of  the  Virginia 
burgesses  met  at  Jamestown,  and  so  was 
bom  representative  government  in  Amer- 
ica. In  that  year,  too,  a  Dutch  trader 
brought  to  Jamestown  a  cargo  of  Guinea 
negroes  and  sold  them  to  the  planters  for 
slaves.  It  was  a  momentous  year  that 
gave  birth  at  once  to  democracy  and  slav- 
ery in  the  new  world. 

We  have  shown  that  the  first  seeds  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  people  that  were  sown  in  the 
new  world  were  not  such  as  to  excite  our 
pride  of  race.  But  for  all  that,  the  taunts 
of  English  and  even  some  American  writers 


are  without  truth.  For  in  the  wilderness 
in  that  early  time  an  inexorable  law  of 
natural  selection  soon  weeded  out  the  most 
vile  and  worthless.  Later  came  sober  yeo- 
men and  their  families,  and  thrifty  Scots 
and  hardy  Irish,  and,  as  a  rule,  it  was  the 
better  class  that  throve  and  prospered* 

The  quarrel  about  the  original  stock  of 
the  Old  Dominion  runs  high,  and  like  the 
dispute  over  the  tales  of  John  Smith,  will 
not  admit  of  compromise.  We  may  admit 
that  during  the  first  half  of  the  first  century 
of  the  colony  the  majority  of  the  settlers 
were  the  scum  of  England;  that  the  middle 
class  proportion  was  much  ^**ss,  and  the 
cavalier  element  very  small.  A  hundred 
years  previous  to  the  Revolution  the  char- 
acter of  the  immigrants,  coming  now  of 
their  own  free  will,  was  probably  much 
above  the  average  English.  The  task  of 
making  a  home  in  the  new  world  would 
appeal  only  to  men  of  resolution,  courage, 
and  adventurous  spirit.  And  with  every 
generation  the  tide  of  immigration  increased 
in  volume  and  improved  in  quality.  In 
1 61 6  there  were  still  less  than  five  hundred 
Englishmen  in  Virginia;  in  1622  there  were 
four  thousand.  By  1650  there  were  fifteen 
thousand  whites,  with  three  hundred  slaves, 
and  it  is  at  least  some  evidence  for  those 
contending  for  a  large  influx  of  cavalier 
blood  during  the  English  G>mmonwealth, 
that  in  1670  the  population  had  increased 
to  forty  thousand.  Still  it  took  longer  to 
people  Virginia  west  to  the  Alleghany 
Mountains  than  it  did  the  rest  of  our 
national  domain  to  the  Pacific.  By  the 
time  independence  was  declared  Virginia 
was  without  any  colonial  taint  from  her 
felon  class.  No  colony  gave  so  large  a 
band  of  patriots  to  the  cause  of  liberty  or 
one  that  was  so  highly  distinguished  for 
honor  and  every  gentlemanly  virtue. 

With  the  burning  of  Old  Jamestown  by 
Nathaniel  Bacon  in  1676  during  the 
rebellion  that  bears  his  name,  her  annals 
came  to  an  end,  and  to-day  on  the  site  of 
the  first  settlement  of  our  race  there  re- 
mains as  fitting  witness  to  that  colony's 
tragic  and  solemn  history  only  some  few 
broken  gravestones  and  the  ruins  of  an  old 
stone  church  tower. 


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LITTLE   OUTDOOR   STORIES 


THE    FIGUREHEAD  OF 
THE    FRONTIER 

BY  JAMES   W.    STEELE 

HE  head  of  the  bull  buf- 
falo is  very  imposing. 
Bearded  and  big,  there 
is  about  it  as  well  a 
look  of  platonic  maj- 
esty that  has  placed  it 
as  a  kind  of  escutcheon, 
an  armorial  emblem,  a 
figurehead,  wherever  such  a  thing  has  been 
turned  to  the  uses  of  business,  even  down 
to  a  land-advertising  billboard  beside  a 
country  road. 

Yet  so  far  as  being  the  representative 
animal  of  the  vast  region  beyond  the 
Missouri  is  in  question,  that  animal  seems 
not  to  have  been  the  bison.  There  is  a 
little  beast  which  has  been  the  outcast  of 
the  western  frontier  from  the  days  of  Lewis 
and  Clark  and  the  plains  experiences  of 
Washington  Irving  down  to  the  times  when 
the  man  with  the  plow  came,  and  immedi- 
ately accused  him  of  stealing  his  chickens. 
He  has  the  universal  reputation  of  being  a 
sneak-thief,  a  scavenger,  an  arrant  coward. 
He  is  the  ideal  animal  vagabond;  a  wan- 
derer o*  nights  and  a  lier-by  by  day;  a 
scalawag  in  whose  character  there  is  not  a 
redeeming  trait.  With  an  extensive  con- 
nection but  no  family,  he  is  an  Esau  among 
the  tribes  of  the  desert.  He  is  disowned 
by  the  dogs  and  not  recognized  by  the 
foxes,  yet  is  a  near  relative  of  both  of  them. 
Nearer  than  the  buffalo  he  comes  to  being 
the  figurehead  of  the  great  West. 

This  is  the  coyote:  Co-yo-tay,  with  all 
the  syllables,  to  the  Mexican  who  named 
him;  "Kiote"  merely  to  the  American 
wanderer  who  has  come  and  gone  so  often 
that  he  at  last  regards  himself  a  resident 
stockman  and  farmer.  It  is  this  little 
beast's  triangular  visage,  his  sharp  nose 
fitted  for  the  easy  investigation  of  other 


407 


people's  affairs,  his  oblique  green  eyes  with 
their  squint  of  cowardice  and  perpetual 
hunger,  that  should  have  a  place  in  the 
adornment  of  escutcheons.  It  is  notorious 
that  the  vicissitudes  of  his  belly  never  bring 
to  him  the  fate  upon  whose  verge  he  always 
lives,  and  that  nothing  but  strychnine,  and 
not  always  that,  will  bring  an  end  to  his 
forlorn  career.  As  his  gray  back  moves 
slowly  along  above  the  reeds  and  coarse 
grass,  and  he  turns  his  head  to  look  at  you, 
he  knows  at  once  whether  or  not  you  have 
with  you  a  gun,  and  you  cannot  know  how 
he  knows.  Once  satisfied  that  you  are 
unarmed,  he  will  remain  near  in  spite  of 
any  vocal  remonstrances,  and  by-and-by 
may  proceed  to  interview  you  in  a  way 
that  for  unobtrusiveness  might  be  taken 
as  a  model  of  the  art.  Lie  down  on  the 
thick  brown  carpet  of  the  wilderness  and 
be  still  for  twenty  minutes,  and  watching 
him  from  the  comer  of  your  eye  you  will 
see  that  he  has  been  joined  by  others  of  his 
brethren  hitherto  unseen.  He  seems  to  be 
curious  to  know,  first,  if  you  are  dead,  and, 
second,  if  by  any  chance — and  he  lives  upon 
chances — there  is  anything  else  in  your 
neighborhood  that  he  might  find  eatable. 
If  you  pass  on  with  indifference,  which  is 
the  usual  way,  he  will  sit  himself  down  upon 
his  tail  on  the  nearest  knoll,  and  loll  his  red 
tongue,  and  leer  at  you  as  one  with  whom 
he  is  half-inclined  to  claim  acquaintance. 
He  looks  and  acts  then  so  much  like  a  gray 
dog  that  one  is  inclined  to  whistle  to  him. 
Make  any  hostile  demonstration  and  he 
will  move  a  little  farther  and  sit  down 
again.  If  by  any  means  you  manage  to 
offend  him  deeply  at  this  juncture  the 
chances  are  that  he  and  his  comrades  may 
retire  still  farther,  and  then  bark  cease- 
lessly until  they  have  hooted  you  out  of  the 
neighborhood.  That  night  he  and  some  of 
his  companions  may  come  and  steal  the 
straps  from  your  saddle,  the  meat  from  the 
frying  pan — and  politely  clean  the  pan — 
and  even  the  boots  from  beside  your  lowly 
bed. 

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The  coyote's  business  in  life  is  not  essen- 
tially different  from  that  of  most  of  us, 
namely,  to  find  and  get  his  daily  meat. 
He  looks  for  this  with  assiduity  and  single- 
ness of  purpose,  and  with  a  scent  so  keen 
that  it  includes  and  recognizes  everything 
that  ever  had  relation  to  any  form  of  ani- 
mal life.  Nothing  comes  amiss  to  his 
phenomenal  omnivorousness.  The  dis- 
position to  gnaw  something,  to  have  some- 
thing rancid  between  his  teeth,  to  delight 
in  the  by-ways  and  obscurities  of  wilder- 
ness life,  has  never  left  him  and  is  long  in- 
grained in  his  nature.  Withal,  there  is  no 
more  formidable  array  of  ivory  than  his, 
and  that  which  even  his  neighbor,  the 
skunk,  rejects  as  unavailable,  he  with  un- 
tiring industry  reduces  to  a  pulp  that  is 
available  for  the  always  immediate  neces- 
sities of  his  stomach. 

Yet  no  one  ever  saw  a  starved  coyote, 
notwithstanding  the  problem  how  a  beast 
so  wanting  in  ferocity  and  so  slow  of  foot 
can  obtain  a  livelihood  from  nature.  On 
all  the  wide  plains  that  stretch  away  for 
hundreds  of  miles,  in  all  the  foothills  of 
New  Mexico  and  Colorado,  he  lived  and 
still  lives  in  almost  countless  numbers. 
It  is  a  barren  land.  Even  the  dead  things 
are  casual  and  far  between.  His  com- 
panions in  the  solitude  are  the  jackass 
rabbit,  the  wee  little  cottontail  as  big  as  a 
kitten  that  dodges  from  rock  to  rock,  the 
mountain  quail,  and  countless  multitudes 
of  the  preposterous  lizards  that  are  called 
homed  toads.  In  his  wanderings,  which 
were  ceaseless  and  long  over  a  country  of 
limitless  extent  and  all  alike,  he  must  have 
occasionally  met  the  chaparral  cock,  or 
road-runner,  a  queer  bird  that  is  built  like 
a  heron  but  that  cannot  fly,  whose  powers 
of  locomotion  are  capable  of  saving  him  in 
almost  any  emergency.  Then  there  is  the 
raven,  who  in  the  far  southwest  is  merely  a 
larger  crow,  living  in  the  same  way  but 
with  a  crow's  usual  resources  so  circum- 
scribed that  he  and  the  coyote  must  share 
the  same  poverty-stricken  field  as  scav- 
engers. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  resources.  The 
coyote  follows  the  quail  to  the  bundle  of 
twigs  that  serves  her  for  a  nest,  and  laps 
the  sweets  of  her  dozen  c^s,  and  retires 
licking  his  chops.  In  the  night  watches  he 
creeps  upon  the  covey  resting  in  some 
obscure  nook  of  the  chaparral,  their  tails 


together  and  their  heads  beneath  their 
wings,  and  throwing  his  sprawling  paws 
over  as  many  as  he  can  leaves  the  others  to 
whirr  screaming  away  in  the  darkness. 
The  jackass  rabbit — a  hare  in  nature  and 
habits,  except  that  the  average  American 
does  not  choose  to  know  anything  about 
hares — ^frequently  falls  a  victim  to  this 
gray  wanderer,  notwithstanding  he  is  the 
swiftest  runner  and  the  longest  jumper  of 
all  the  beasts  of  the  wilderness;  Under  all 
ordinary  circumstances  he  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  able  to  sit  upon  his  hinder  l^s 
and  derisively  smile  at  all  his  natural 
enemies.  But  he  is  sometimes  tempted  by 
a  damp  and  shady  nook  to  lie  upon  his  back 
like  a  squirrel,  and,  with  his  enormous  ears 
conveniently  doubled  under  him  and  his 
long  legs  in  the  air,  too  soundly  slumber. 
Then  the  coyote  creeps  upon  him,  as  quiet 
as  to  voice  as  though  he  had  never  waked 
the  echoes  while  others  tried  to  sleep.  He 
may  spend  a  long  time  in  the  task,  but 
finally  he  makes  a  spring,  not  the  less 
effective  because  it  is  awkward,  and  there 
is  one  rabbit  less  and  one  dinner  more, 
and  no  retributive  justice  in  the  case. 

All  these  things  require  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  patience:  the  animal  patience  that 
so  far  excels  the  virtue  known  by  that 
name  in  men  and  women.  He  fails  hun- 
dreds of  times  in  the  things  in  which  he 
must  succeed  to  live.  There  was,  of  course, 
always  final  success  in  his  endeavors  with 
the  bison  on  the  plains  farther  to  the  east. 
1 1  was  an  instance  of  perpetual  yapping  by 
relays.  Death  finally  ensued  in  all  cases, 
and  then  there  was  a  general  fight  about 
the  question  of  an  inequitable  sharing  of 
the  gaunt  remains  among  the  horde  of 
vagabonds  who  had  made  common  cause, 
a  gray  assassin  on  every  hand. 

Yet  even  here  on  the  high  plains  all  the 
other  modes  of  obtaining  a  livelihood  were 
mere  by-play  to  the  chief  business  of  the 
coyote's  life,  which  was  stealing.  In  the 
exercise  of  a  preternatural  talent  for  sly 
appropriation  he  excelled  all  the  night- 
wanderers  beside.  He  understood  in- 
stantly all  the  appliances  of  civilization  so 
far  as  using  them  in  his  way  was  concerned. 
He  had  a  penchant  for  harness,  rawhide  and 
boots.  He  would  gnaw  the  lariat  from  the 
pony's  neck,  and  bodily  drag  away  the 
saddle  and  chew  it  until  it  looked  like 
something  else.    He  would  steal  the  leather 


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accouterments  from  beside  the  soldier's 
bed  and  the  shoes  from  under  his  head. 
He  ^^uld  walk  backward  and  draw  after 
him  a  dry  rawhide,  hard  and  juiceless  as  a 
board,  a  mile  from  where  he  found  it.  Old 
hoofs  and  shriveled  horns  he  had  always 
by  him.  He  was  largely  endowed  with  the 
sense  of  smell,  and  the  savory  odors  of  the 
camp-fire  frying  pan  would  cause  him  to  lift 
his  pointed  nose  to  heaven  and  bark  so  far 
away  that  one  could  hardly  hear  even  that 
far-carrying  cry.  With  drooping  head  he 
came  nearer  and  nearer — he  and  all  his 
friends — his  appearance  in  the  starlight  the 
picture  of  hungry  treachery.  He  could  not 
be  driven  far,  and  would  sit  down  and  wait 
a  hundred  yards  away,  and  lick  his  chops 
and  faintly  whine.  Every  camp  was  regu- 
larly besieged  by  a  cordon  of  patient,  harm- 
less, annoying,  famine-stricken  mendicants, 
who  waited  and  longed  and  faintly  whined 
until  the  sun  rose. 

These  were  the  times,  and  only  these, 
when  the  coyote  was  almost  silent.  Upon 
all  other  times  and  occasions  his  voice  was 
the  principal  part  of  him  in  the  opinion  of 
all  the  human  wanderers  in  his  vast  domain. 
This  vox  et  pntUria  nihil  was  his  pride  and 
joy,  and  he  threw  back  his  head  in  an 
ecstasy  of  discord  and  gave  it  to  the  wind 
and  the  silence  in  a  succession  of  staccato 
yelps  that  made  two  of  him  seem  like  two 
hundred.  Nobody  ever  knew  why  he  did. 
it,  the  common  opinion  being  that  it  was 
for  amusement;  not  for  others  but  for  him- 
self, like  a  man  practicing  upon  a  brass 
horn.  This  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wil- 
derness was  the  standing  bane  of  existence- 
there  to  all  but  the  hardened.  To  the 
newcomer  sleep  was  impossible,  and  when 
the  little  fire  died  out  and  the  discord- 
burdened  hours  slowly  passed,  he  lay  and 
recalled  all  the  childhood  stories  about 
Russian  wolves,  and  passed  the  night 
watches  in  wondering  why  he  was  there, 
and  in  longing  for  sunrise  and  peace. 

There  is  one  item  in  which  this  gray- 
coated  western  vagabond  made  a  near  ap- 
proach to  respectability,  and  only  one. 
He  was  a  creature  of  family,  for  which  the 
mother  carefully  provided.  Any  morning 
in  early  spring  upon  the  side  of  some  dry 
knoll  one  might  see  three  or  four  brown- 
colored,  stupid-looking  puppies,  lazily  en- 
joying the  eariy  sunshine  and  clumsily 
chewing  each  other's  l^s  and  ears.    At  the 


slightest  alarm  they  tumbled  with  much 
more  alacrity  than  gracefulness  into  the 
open  hole  in  which  they  were  bom.  It 
slanted  deep  and  far  into  the  hillside,  and 
much  patient  digging  would  not  unearth 
them.  Always  might  be  seen  the  mother, 
not  far  away  and  watching  the  intruder's 
footsteps,  and  with  a  near  approach  to 
fierceness  in  her  slanting  green  eyes.  But 
there  were  no  picked  bones  there,  or  any 
tufts  of  hair  or  dilapidated  feathers.  The 
adolescent  coyote  subsists  entirely  upon 
his  mother's  scanty  udders  until  he  has 
attained  his  teeth  and  his  voice,  when  he  is 
launched  upon  the  world  as  fully  equipped 
as  he  will  ever  be  to  follow  in  the  ways  of 
all  his  ancestors,  to  eat  what  he  may  find 
and  nothing  more,  and  to  practice  all  the 
variations  of  theft  and  cacophony  to  the 
end  of  his  career. 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  this  little  beast 
owned,  and  still  owns,  the  wilderness.  In 
the  old  times  before  the  cattle-men  came 
he  had  colonies  that  were  located  upon  the 
southern  side  of  some  lonely  hillock,  and 
where  a  village  of  a  dozen  dens,  each  with  a 
little  hardened  heap  of  yellow  earth  before 
it,  was  occupied  from  year  to  year.  Sitting 
upon  these  platforms  like  a  dog  on  the  front 
porch,  he  calmly  surveyed  the  wide  and 
silent  world  that  lay  below  him.  When 
one  came  too  near  he  disappeared  into  the 
den  behind  him,  to  come  forth  a  moment 
later  and  bark  at  the  retreating  figure, 
like  one  upon  whose  demesne  a  trespass 
had  been  committed  that  could  not  be  so 
easily  condoned.  A  strange  thing  it  is  that 
in  captivity  he  learned  to  know  his  master, 
and  chained  to  a  stake  around  which  he 
walked  in  his  wretchedness  like  the  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon,  he  would  wag  his  tail  like  a 
dog  at  the  approach  of  the  man  he  knew. 
Such  little  things  proclaim  the  outcast's 
near  relationship  to  that  beloved  beast 
who  is  mankind's  most  devoted  friend. 

The  invasion  of  the  coyote's  domain  by 
white  men  did  not  result  in  his  extinction. 
The  Indian  and  he  had,  passively  at  least, 
been  friends.  The  coyote's  hide  is  the  only 
part  of  him  that  is  of  any  value  for  savage 
uses,  and  the  meat  yielded  by  his  attenu- 
ated carcass  would  be  starvation  rations 
even  for  the  mountain  Apache.  The  white 
man  has  been  at  enmity  with  him  from  the 
beginning,  and  the  white  man  has  long- 
range  guns,   and   many   cartridges,   and 


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strychnine,  and  dead  animals  for  bait,  and 
immediately  upon  the  organization  of  his 
inchoate  counties  and  the  survey  of  his  sec- 
tions offered  a  bounty  for  the  outcast's 
scalp.  The  intention  was  that  he  should 
not  survive.     He  did. 

His  eastern  boundary  had  been  the  Mis- 
souri River.  As  settlers  came  he  retired 
westward  and  was  rarely  to  be  seen  on  the 
plains,  now  almost  a  continuous  farm  in 
eastern  and  central  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 
Later  his  high-plains  domain  was  also  in- 
vaded to  a  degree  that  must  have  seriously 
interfered  with  his  notions  of  comfort  and 
the  getting  of  an  honest  living,  and  he 
began  to  return  to  the  country  he  had 
abandoned.  The  vernacular  expresses  this 
return  as  being  a  "sneak/*  and  it  has  been 
frequently  mentioned  with  an  adornment 
of  adjectives  more  or  less  suitable  to  the 
case. 

But  the  strange  thing  about  his  coming 
back  was  the  change  of  life  and  habit  it 
involved.  He  had  been  an  animal  who 
lived  always  in  the  open  plain,  content  to 
be  hidden  by  rocks,  ravines,  and  little  hills, 
and  making  his  burrow  high  and  dry  upon 
a  slope.  One  does  not  find  those  dug-outs 
now,  and  the  coyote  has  become  a  resident 
of  the  thick  growth  of  creek-banks,  and  the 
little  woody  copses  that  shelter  themselves 
at  the  heads  of  prairie  ravines.  The  smell 
of  something  eatable  no  longer  impels  him 
to  the  lifting  of  his  voice  in  discordant 
song.  The  dogs  hear  him  and  the  farmer 
pauses  in  the  furrow  to  listen,  and  brings 
his  gun  when  he  comes  back  from  the  noon- 
day meal.  Like  a  weird  gray  shadow,  al- 
most indistinguishable  from  the  tall  grass 
of  the  yellowing  pasturage,  he  lopes  across 
the  field  looking  furtively  behind  him, 
and  leaves  a  wisp  of  hair  from  his  back 
where  he  has  crept  under  the  barbed-wire 
fence. 

He  has  grown  more  predatory  than  he 
ever  was  before,  because  there  is  more  to 
prey  upon.  Young  pigs  are  especially  to 
his  liking,  and  wandering  fowls,  and  the 
chicken  that  insists  upon  roosting  on  the 
fence,  and  the  very  young  calves  that  lie 
perdue  where  their  mothers  have  hidden 
them  at  birth  in  a  far  comer  of  the  pasture. 
Yet  his  vigils  for  small  things  he  still  keeps. 
All  day  he  stands  at  the  edge  of  some 
towering  hayrick  in  a  far  field,  waiting 
while  the  wind  blows  and  the  snow  flies  for 


the  casual  appearance  of  the  little  field 
mouse  who  has  made  her  winter  nest  be- 
neath the  mass.  Molly  Cottontail  and  her 
bead-eyed  progeny  are  still  his  lawful  prey, 
and  nobody  cares.  The  dead  thing,  where- 
ever  it  lies,  still  remains  his  choicest  feast. 
A  creature  without  a  friend,  an  Ishmaelite 
whom  men  and  animals  have  combined  in 
despising,  the  ideal  thief  and  vagabond  of 
the  animal  world,  this  gray,  gaunt  figure- 
head of  the  western  world  still  survives,  as 
much  the  owner  of  his  empire  as  he  was  in 
the  days  when  his  ancestors  looked  with 
cock-eared  astonishment  and  staccato  ex- 
clamations upon  the  expedition  of  Lewis 
and  Clark  feeling  its  way  slowly  across 
that  trans-Missouri  wilderness  whose  futuro 
was  then  undreamed. 


BOGGS   ON    FISH 

BY   NORMAN   H.   CROWELL 

TTHERE  was  tense  silence  in  the  gro- 
*  eery  store  as  Uncle  Ezra  worried  a 
chunk  off  the  salt  cod  and  conveyed  it 
to  his  mouth.  After  a  brief  preliminary 
mastication  he  removed  the  morsel  and 
critically  selected  three  fine  bones  there- 
from which  he  cast  scornfully  aside. 
Having  seen  the  cod  returned  to  its  hiding 
place,  the  assemblage  drew  a  deep  breath 
fervent  with  hope. 

"Fish,"  remarked  Ezra,  thoughtfully 
stroking  his  cheek,  "are  peculiar  critters. 
They're  smart,  considerin'  they  ain't 
troubled  with  brains  to  speak  of.  I've 
seen  fish  that  was  blame  nigh  as  intelligent 
as  1  be,  if  that  ain't  puttin'  it  too  strong." 

He  paused  and  glanced  truculently  at 
the  row  of  listeners. 

"Recollect  once  seein'  Bill  Pikes  get 
hooked  to  a  big  trout  over  back  of  Keva- 
ney's  Point.  Weighed  about  nine  pounds, 
that  fish  did,  an'  he  did  give  us  an  ever- 
lastin'  swift  time  of  it. 

"Soon's  Bill  got  the  strike  he  dropped  to 
'is  knees  in  th'  boat  an'  begun  yellin'  for  me 
to  grab  holt.  But  I  was  too  busy  hangin' 
on,  for  that  dem  twenty-two  pound  pickerel 
was  towin'  us  round  in  circles  so  fast  it 
made  me  plumb  dizzy.  In  a  minute  or  so 
th'  critter  jerked  Bill  overboard,  but  I 
jumped  an'  ketched  'is  heels  an'  hung  on 
for  all  I  was  wuth,  but  what  chance  had  1 


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'  I  see  I'd  hooked  Bill  in  the  collar." 


agin  that  there  thirty-nine  pound  pike  with 
'is  dander  up? 

"Had  to  let  Bill  go,  o*  course,  an'  then  I 
wore  my  hands  to  a  blister  rowin'  to  keep 
in  sight  of  'im.  After  a  while  that  fish  took 
a  notion  to  harass  Bill  some  an'  he  doubled 
on  'is  trail  an'  drug  poor  Bill  right  under 
th'  boat. 

"'Hang  to  'im.  Bill,'  says  I,  when  1  see 
'is  head  pop  up  on  th'  far  $ide. 

"  Bill  blowed  about  a  quart  of  dirty  river 
water  all  over  me  an'  told  me  he'd  make  me 
resemble  a  dropped  custard  soon's  he'd 
landed  that  whale. 

"Jest  then  he  faded  away  an'  was  under 
quite  a  long  time.  When  he  come  up  he 
was  still  hangin'  to  th'  pole,  though,  an'  1 
says: 

"' Kin  you  hold 'im.  Bill?' 

"'Hold  'iml'  yells  Bill,  'you  jest  bet 
your — oomp!'     He  went  under  jest  then. 

"While  Bill  was  down  below  1  got  a 
wonderful  fine  strike  on  my  line  an'  grabbed 
it  jest  in  time.  Whew!  How  that  fish  did 
weigh!  I  looked  around  to  see  if  Bill  was 
in  sight  so  1  could  tell  him  to  let  go  his  fish 


an*  help  me  land  mine.  Couldn't  see  Bill, 
though,  an'  1  jest  laid  right  back  an'  sawed 
for  dear  life.  Purty  soon  1  felt  'im  weaken- 
in'  an'  knowed  he  was  comin'  to  th*  top. 
Sure  enough,  up  he  come — an'  he  hadn't  no 
more'n  got  in  sight  afore  he  let  out  a  yell 
that  nearly  paralyzed  me.  I  took  one  look 
an'  see  I'd  hooked  Bill  in  th'  collar  an'  was 
chokin'  'im  to  death. 

"  1  let  go,  an'  after  gurglin'  a  time  or  two 
Bill  located  me  an'  begun.  Have  ye  ever 
had  a  real  mad  individual  of  Bill  Fikes' 
powers  o'  conversation  tell  ye  all  about 
yourself,  beginnin'  from  th'  landin'  at 
Plymouth  Rock  down  to  th'  layin'  o'  th' 
cornerstone  o'  th'  new  Methodist  church? 
That's  what  Bill  done  for  me  an'  I  guess  he 
wa'n't  far  wrong. 

"1  aidged  th'  boat  up  alongside  o'  Bill 
an'  asked  'im  if  he  felt  like  climbin'  in. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  ramble  home 
afoot,  you  wall-eyed,  pockmarked,  hide- 
bound ol'  goriller,"  he  says. 

"1  dragged  Bill  in  an'  he  set  there 
a-tricklin'  into  th'  bottom  o'  th'  boat  an' 
lookin'  holes  right  through  me.     Bill  was 

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mad  enough  to  eat  hay  an'  1  kep'  pretty 
shet,  you  bet  ye. 

"We  got  home  without  any  bloodshed, 
but  I  never  mentioned  fish  to  Bill  for  over 
six  weeks  until  one  night  down  to  th'  store 
I  asked  'im  if  he  been  fishin'  recently  an' 
th'  poor  cuss  choked  on  a  prune.  When 
he  come  to  it  took  five  men  to  keep  us 
apart." 

Uncle  Ezra  paused  and  looked  earnestly 
toward  the  cider  barrel.  The  proprietor 
slid  a  glass  under  the  spigot  and  shoved  the 
handle  deftly  to  the  left.  The  satisfying 
gurgle  of  apple  juice  echoed  through  the 
stillness. 

After  Ezra  had  taken  a  long  look  at  the 
ceiling  through  the  bottom  of  the  glass  he 
hand^  it  back  with  a  sigh  of  untarnished 
joy. 

"By  gum,"  he  said,  "that's  th'  same 
stuff  me'n  Bill  had  on  that  fishin'  trip— th' 
identical  stuff." 

And  he  dropped  a  casual  hand  into  the 
raisin  box. 

THE  PEDESTRIAN  GOES 

OUT   AND   FINDS 

SOMETHING 

BY  DR.  ALFRED  C.  STOKES 

IT  has  been  a  wearying  trudge  over  the 
^  city's  ugly  pavements,  and  between  the 
citizens'  ugly  walls  with  their  endless  rows 
of  windows,  screened  and  curtained  into  a 
privacy  which  I  have  no  desire  to  invade. 
Electric  cars  shake  the  earth,  their  gongs 
rend  the  air;  the  peanut  vender's  whistle 
shrieks  on  the  comer;  small  boys  yell  and 
curse;  drays  rattle  over  the  cobblestones; 
"devil  wagons"  leap  through  the  streets, 
hissing  and  thumping,  and  leaving  behind 
them  the  stench  of  Antiochus  who  came  out 
of  Persia.  The  east  wind  that  has  been 
loitering  about  the  oil-cloth  factory  bears 
on  its  wings  the  vapor  of  boiled  oil,  and  the 
sickened  pedestrian  sighs  for  that  "lodge" 
which  b  off  yonder  in  the  "vast  wilderness," 
but  a  long  way  off;  still  it  is  there. 

Right  here,  just  at  this  point,  is  where  I 
fall  on  my  knees  to  crawl  under  the  fence 
among  the  blackberry  vines  and  the  poison 
ivy,  and  stop  midway  for  a  moment,  with  a 
prickle  in  my  hand,  to  feel  thankful  that 


the  wilderness  is  in  sight,  with  nothing 
above  but  the  dome  of  heaven;  nothing 
below  but  the  daisies  and  the  bloom  of  the 
"blue-eyed  grass";  nothing  to  assail  me 
but  the  dainty  fragrance  of  the  wild  roses, 
and  the  trill  of  a  bird  beneath  a  cloud—and 
all  we  good  friends,  brothers  out  of  the 
same  soil,  are  alone.  Alone?  Indeed  not. 
As  I  lift  my  face  toward  the  sky,  and  my 
soul  to  the  throne  of  God,  the  peace  un- 
speakable fills  my  heart,  and  I  am  not  alone. 

How  still  it  is!  How  delightfully  still. 
Only  the  snap  of  the  daisy's  stem  as  I 
pluck  it,  the  swish  of  my  steps  through  the 
grass,  the  soft  murmur  of  the  wind,  and  a 
voice  singing  faintly  in  the  distance. 

To  be  in  the  open  fields  with  no  human 
companion,  to  be  embraced  by  the  sun- 
light, and  to  see  only  the  flowers  beneath 
and  the  sky  above,  is  what  the  soul  and 
body  of  every  mortal  man  must  have,  if  the 
man  would  not  lose  his  mind.  An  amateur 
naturalist  immured  within  prison  walls, 
without  a  Picciola  to  cheer  him,  or  a  spider 
on  the  ceiling  to  amuse  him,  or  a  mouse  to 
run  from  its  hole  to  lighten  his  mind,  would 
soon  become  hopelessly  insane.  Every 
state  prisoner  welcomes  the  weekly  bouquet 
that  the  good  women  put  in  his  cell.  Pic- 
ciola between  the  stones  of  the  French 
prison  yard,  Bruce's  industrious  spider,  and 
all  the  other  captive  plants  and  animals 
that  have  graced  our  literature,  are  some- 
thing more  than  the  visions  of  a  writer's 
imagination.  They  voice  the  longing  that 
we  all  feel,  not  only  for  the  companionship 
of  some  of  creation's  humble  subjects  to 
while  away  a  dreary  solitude,  and  which 
every  one  of  us  tries  to  satisfy  with  a  pet 
dog,  or  the  "harmless,  necessary  cat,"  with 
a  parrot  or  a  canary  bird,  but  they  are  the 
expression,  imperfect  at  its  best,  of  that 
liking  for  nature  concealed  within  every 
mans  soul — although  there  are  some  who 
seem  to  be  ashamed  to  confess  that  affec- 
tion. It  is,  as  some  one  has  said,  the 
recollection  of  the  moccasin  which  our 
ancestors  wore,  and  we  are  really  contented 
only  when  we  can  press  our  own  foot  into 
the  faint  traces  left  in  the  fields.  Although 
some  of  us  seem  to  have  made  Macbeth 's 
bargain,  yet  we  have  an  innate  longing, 
hesitate  to  admit  it  as  we  may,  for  out-of- 
doors,  for  what  the  child  calls  a  walk,  the 
naturalist  styles  a  tramp,  or  a  pond-hunt, 
or  a  field-day;  what  the  botanist  dignifies 

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by  calling  a  botanical  tour.  It  is  the  same 
in  the  end.  The  boy  frolics  along  the 
country  road  to  the  lake  and  pretends  to 
fish,  until  with  a  spasmodic  wriggle  he  sheds 
his  clothes  and  becomes  a  swimming, 
shrieking,  splashing  animal.  The  adult 
man's  Sunday  afternoon  stroll  is  express- 
ive of  a  similar  desire,  but  one  that  soon 
becomes  perfunctory  and  stupid,  if  it 
have  no  special  object. 

To  roam  the  fields  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  pass  the  hours  in  gossip  with  an 
inane  companion,  speedily  grows  unprofit- 
able and  irksome  if  one's  skull  be  filled  with 
anything  else  than  boiled  rice  or  tapioca 
pudding.  To  be  spiritually  inspiring  or 
bodily  stimulating,  the  walk  must  have  a 
purpose.  The  incidents  that  may  occur 
are  only  the  ornaments  that  embellish  the 
experience,  as  the  prisms  of  the  dew  illu- 
minate the  dusky  hollows  of  the  turf.  The 
artist  knows  why  he  escapes  from  the  town. 
The  driver  of  the  "devil  wagon"  may  have 
an  object  better  than  the  making  of  a  dust 
and  a  stench,  and  the  exhibiting  of  his  own 
insolence — be  charitable  and  hope  so.  The 
amateur  naturalist  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a 
reason.  The  botanist  may  almost  any- 
where wade  knee-deep  in  a  sea  of  floral 
wealth.  He  may  reap  a  lichenous  harvest 
from  any  old  fence-rail,  and  find  rarities  in 
the  swamp;  while  to  the  student  of  micro- 
scopical botany  an  old  stump  in  a  damp 
spinney  may  be  better  than  the  treasure- 
house  of  the  Incas;  the  moist  ground  be- 
neath the  trees  may  become  a  mine  of 
instruction  and  of  entertainment. 

I  thought  that  some  mischievous  boy 
had  been  hurrying  along  under  the  maples 
that  form  an  avenue  of  shade  and  an  arch 
of  leafy  boughs  above  that  suburban  path, 
and  had  spilled  splashes  of  green  paint 
around  the  projecting  roots,  and  I  amused 
myself  by  trying  to  imagine  what  would  be 
his  experience  when  he  reached  the  authori- 
ties at  home.  The  boy  appeared  to  have 
gone  about  his  sport  in  a  methodical  man- 
ner, for  the  splashes  were  frequent. 

A  sluggish  policeman  strolling  that  way 
through  the  city's  suburbs,  looked  with  ill- 
concealed  disdain,  and  paused  in  languid 
surprise,  when  a  full-grown  man  with  a 
gray  mustache  bowed  before  a  tree  in  the 
attitude  of  worship  and  scraped  the  earth 
with  a  penknife. 

Whatever  the  cause  of  the  appearance 


might  be,  1  by  this  time  knew  that  no  boy 
had  been  wasting  his  paint,  but  that  the 
green  stain  had  been  placed  there  by  the 
fingers  of  nature;  for  a  closer  look  revealed 
minute  growths  standing  upright  in  little 
mats  of  microscopic  velvet,  and  doing  all 
in  their  power  to  tell  me  what  they  were. 
I  carried  them  home  in  the  palm  of  my 
hand,  and  the  microscope  narrated  their 
story,  a  tale  as  beautiful,  as  wonderful,  as 
entrancing  as  fairy  romance  ever  was  in 
our  youth.  They  were  a  collection  of  fresh- 
water seaweed  growing  on  the  ground.  A 
terrestrial  Alga.  1 1  was  amazing.  1 1  might 
have  aroused  even  the  sleepy  policeman. 

I  fled  to  the  bookcase,  and  crouched 
before  the  books,  and  dashed  them  open — 
and  the  flame  of  the  lamp  on  the  floor 
beside  me  trembled,  flashed  up,  and  went 
out.  Of  course.  It  always  happens  in 
that  way.    But  I  identified  the  plant. 

1  have  been  over  the  path  many  a  time 
and  oft,  but  I  discover  something  new  and 
beautiful  whenever  I  pass  this  way.  The 
unripe  blackberries  look  acrid  and  irritat- 
ing, but  they  are  plentiful,  and  I  am 
tempted  to  experiment  internally  with  a 
few.  A  coatless,  barefoot  boy  is  sitting 
under  the  fence,  his  shirt-front  bulging 
with  its  hidden  load  of  apples,  which  he  is 
carrying  there  against  his  skin.  They  are 
surely  as  big  as  walnuts. 

"Are  you  eating  those  green  apples?"  1 
said. 

"Yep.     Have  one?" 

"Don't  you  know  where  they  will  give 
you  a  pain?" 

"  Yep.    Got  it  there  now." 

The  delicate  perfume  of  the  magnolias 
comes  undulating  in  spicy  waves  on  the 
quivering  wind.  The  swamp  must  be 
starred  with  the  blossoms,  for  every  puff 
of  the  warm  breeze  brings  their  aromatic 
breath  in  ripples  and  eddies  across  the 
road.  Would  the  delicious  odor  have  been 
wasted  if  the  boy  and  I  had  not  wandered 
along  there?  Do  the  birds  and  the  "  bugs  " 
observe  it? 

We  humans  pass  through  life  enveloped 
by  a  cloud  of  ignorance,  with  here  and 
there  a  little  aperture  out  of  which  we  peer 
for  a  moment  before  the  cloud  closes,  and 
we  feel  that  we  have  learned  something. 
Perhaps  we  have.  The  momentary  glimpse 
may  enlarge  and  widen  and  deepen,  when 
we  and  the  "bugs"  and  the  magnolias 

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meet  again  in  another  life.  But  even  here 
the  glimpse  is  worth  having. 

The  path  grows  narrower  and  less  evi- 
dent. The  boy  found  me  a  stupid  com- 
panion. He  has  gone.  The  bushes  and  the 
brambles  are  wilder.  They  are  rampant 
over  the  rotting  fences.  A  lone  magnolia 
leans  beyond  the  thicket.  In  the  sunlight 
the  ground  is  sprinkled  with  bits  of  blue 
that  might  have  dropped  from  the  sky 
above.  They  swung  and  swayed  as  I  stood 
at  a  distance  and  looked  at  them  with  my- 
opic eyes.  "The  footpath  way"  had  burst 
into  bloom  with  what  seemed  to  be  the 
wild  blue  toad-flax  {Linaria  Canadensis). 

With  one  hand  full  of  the  dainty  blos- 
soms, and  with  a  pocket-lens  in  the  other, 
I  leaned  against  a  scrub-oak  and  forgot  my 
weary  muscles,  for  here  was  an  amazing 
thing.  From  the  root  up  to  the  blossom, 
each  one  of  this  handful  of  plants  was  exactly 
similar  to  every  other  one.  At  the  flower 
there  was  a  sudden  and  astounding  change. 

Blue  linaria  is  graceful  and  delicate,  but 
it  is  crooked.  The  five  parts  of  the  corolla 
are  uneven,  irr^ular,  oblique;  while  below 
hangs  a  single  spur,  one-sided,  unbalanced, 
blunt  and  queer.  Many  of  these  specimens 
were  true  to  these  characteristics.  They 
were  old  friends.  Many  others  were  so 
different  that  I  put  them  in  my  pocket  as 
botanical  specimens  to  which  I  must  have 
an  introduction.  At  the  tip  of  the  stem 
stood  a  little  blue  bowl,  evenly  rounded, 
sky  blue  and  delightful  to  look  at.  Its 
margin  was  cut  into  five  rounded,  regular 
lobes,  each  revolute  outward  in  an  arch. 
Five  even  stamens  stood  upright  within  the 
cup,  and  from  its  lower  convexity  depended 
at  regular  intervals  (an  astonishing  sight) 
five  straight,  delicate  and  dainty  spurs.  A 
regular  blossom  on  a  linaria  plant,  with 
rounded  lobes  and  five  spurs!  It  was  not 
surprising  that  1  scrambled  to  my  feet  so 
hurriedly  that  1  brushed  against  a  nest 
swinging  at  the  tip  of  the  oak  branch,  and 
so  near  the  ground  that  1  stood  without 
stooping,  and  looked  into  it  at  my  con- 
venience. Two  speckled  eggs  and  a 
struggling,  panting,  naked  bird  not  many 
hours  in  this  cold  world,  were  there  alone. 
The  anxious  mother  fluttered  from  tree  to 
fence.  But  the  plant  in  my  pocket?  What 
could  it  be?    Get  along  home  and  find  out ! 

It  was  not  in  the  books.  Turn  them 
over  again.     It  is  not  there.     It  must  be. 


Go  over  them  once  more.  Ransack  them. 
Tear  them  to  pieces;  never  mind  the 
loosening  covers,  find  the  plant.  Now, 
once  more,  carefully  and  slowly. 

1 1  is  not  there.  Try  the  "  Analytical  Key 
to  the  Orders  of  All  the  Plants  Described 
in  This  Work."  Not  there?  Oh,  it  must 
be!  Perhaps  the  Free  Public  Library — 
why,  certainly,  the  very  spot. 

The  Librarian  looked  at  me  suspiciously. 

"  Do  you  want  them  all?  "  he  said. 

"Yes.  Give  me  every  botanical  book 
you  have  in  the  house." 

It  was  not  there. 

A  week  died  into  the  past.  By  day  that 
puzzling  plant  floated  before  my  vision  and 
urged  me  to  desperate  remedies;  by  night 
it  pricked  my  mind  until  1  sat  up  in  bed 
and  resolved  to  do  something  decisive  to- 
morrow. 1  remembered,  hopelessly — it 
could  be  of  no  use;  I  had  ransacked  every- 
thing over  and  over  again,  and  once  more. 
The  plant  belonged  to  an  Undescribed 
Genus,  and  I  had  made  a  discovery.  That 
explained  it.  But  I  remembered,  hope- 
lessly, that 

"  Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail. 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail.  .  . 
Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound — 
'The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found.'  " 

And  in  my  castle  1  found  my  plant.  You 
can  find  anything  exactly  here  in  the  spot 
where  you  now  are.  Reach  out  your  hand 
and  take  it. 

The  book  in  my  own  library  says — Oh, 
it  was  amazing,  after  all!  That  book  had 
stood  for  years  on  the  shelf  next  to  the  door 
of  my  castle,  and  my  elbow  had  touched  it 
forty  times  a  day  perhaps — but  the  book 
in  my  own  library  says: 

"A  monster  of  the  toad-flax  is  occa- 
sionally found,  in  which  the  four  remaining 
petals  of  the  five  which  enter  into  its  com- 
position affect  the  same  irregularity,  and 
so  bring  back  the  flower  to  a  singular 
abnormal  state  of  regularity.  This  was 
called  by  Linnaeus  Peloria;  a  name  which  is 
now  used  to  designate  the  same  sort  of 
monstrosity  in  different  flowers." 

"The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found." 

That  bird?  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
know.  With  Peloria  in  my  hand,  I  couldn't 
stay  for  a  mere  bird.  It  was  the  king- 
bird, 1  think.  You  may  go  and  see  for 
yourself.  1  will  at  any  time  show  you  the 
way.     It  is  a  pleasant  walk. 

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THE   REAL   BOYS'   CAMP 


BY   ROBERT    DUNN 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    E.    S.    WILSON 


E^#^^ 

■E^' 

^±t      AM 

i 

T 

H  E  "old  boy"  comes  late 
to  writing  of  summer 
camps,  feeling  that  his 
youth  has  been  slighted. 
The  man  who  runs 
boys'  camps,  and  the 
school  teacher  that 
would,  have  labored 
mountainously  to  laud  them,  and  as  far  as 
go  our  enchanted  memories  of  summer 
eons  at  the  lake  beside  the  wilderness, 
have  brought  forth  only  the  mole  of  truth 
and  feeling.  We  think  it  high  time  that  the 
inside  story  were  told.  And  that  tale  con- 
cerns not  the  physical  and  moral  benefits 
of  organized  outdoor  living  for  the  young, 
"the  revolt  from  the  growing  tension  of 
city  life,"  "opportunity  for  nature  study." 
We  look  back  down  a  different  perspective, 
and  hold  that  we  have  a  psychic  and  a 
human  story.  Fine  those  ideas!  of  sleeping 
in  long  plasterless  shanties  in  the  woods  on 
woven  wire  cots  without  sheets  or  mattres- 
ses; of  one  "soak"  a  day  till  we  swam  a 
mile  and  could  sail  alone;  of  so  very  plain 
food  and  no  studies;  but  we  knew  how  to 
get  two  soaks  a  day : 

If  you  want  a  sight  bewitchin' 
Catch  the  counsel  in  the  kitchen — 
There's  a  sandy  little  cove 
Where  the  counsel  never  rove — 

knew  how  to  duck  aquaphobiacs  down  to 
bottom,  "seeing  Susie";  won  the  fritter- 
eating  contests,  and  fought  battles  with 
watermelon  rinds. 

We  did  not  go  to  camp  as  we  went  to 
boarding-school.  School  was  only  the  next 
square  on  the  long  calendar  of  boyhood,  a 
region  mapped  and  explored,  firmly  tra- 
ditioned  by  older  boys  and  parents  even, 
with  Mede-and-Persian  rules  for  facing  each 
new  venture,  and  '* Gallia  est  omnis'* 
blighting  all.    School  gave  no  key  to  the 


fjords  of  a  new  planet.  Camp- did.  Camp 
lay  at  the  back  of  beyond,  and  the  boy 
going  there  was  viewed  with  the  timid  envy 
of  whomever  saw  John  Cabot's  sailors  start 
for  Labrador  three  hundred  years  ago. 

Which  was  the  first  boys'  camp?  Squam 
Lake,  New  Hampshire,  is  their  native 
heath,  at  any  rate.  Here  Camp  Chocorua 
was  founded  by  Ernest  Balch  in  1882.  1 
think  that  it  was  the  first  to  exist  anywhere. 
It  closed  in  about  1889,  and  the  boys 
jointly  bought  up  the  island,  returning 
there  regularly  for  a  fortnight  every  sum- 
mer until  the  late  nineties;  the  open  air 
chapel  on  Chocorua  Island,  its  wooded  acre 
of  sand  and  laurel,  white  birch  cross  and 
stone  altars,  being  regularly  consecrated  in 
the  Episcopal  Diocese,  still  holds  services 
throughout  the  summer.  In  1891  I  first 
went  to  Camp  Asquam,  which  had  moved 
to  Squam  in  1887,  from  Rindge,  N.  H., 
where  it  was  founded  by  the  present  Bishop 
Nichols  of  Nebraska.  At  that  time,  when 
Camp  Chocorua  was  out  of  existence,  we 
called  Asquam  the  second  oldest  in  the 
country,  having  the  impression  that  a 
camp  somewhere  in  New  York  State  ante- 
dated us,  but  not  Chocorua.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  Balch  camp's  slang  and  customs 
exist  in  every  one  I  have  ever  seen — 
"soak"  for  swim,  "counselor"  for  what  is 
called  "master"  at  school.  And  I  know  of 
at  least  three  camps  which  are  direct  off- 
springs of  Asquam.  To-day,  five  dot  the 
lake,  which  is  but  seven  miles  long. 

Boyhood  is  perverse.  Reared  by  the 
ocean,  marshaled  each  Sunday  along  the 
combered  beach  and  told  to  hark  the  wild 
waves'  voices,  1  grew  to  hate  the  melan- 
choly dunes,  flat  sandy  inlands,  the  feel  of 
your  skin  roughened  by  salt  water.  So 
that  memorable  day  as  our  train  first  roared 
north  to  camp,  the  first  Miiff  of  ijpland 
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odors,  pine  and  sweet-fern  mellowed  by  the 
heat  and  hay  of  river  intervals  and  blown 
by  night  winds  laden  with  fireflies,  visited 
us  with  all  the  childish  mysteries  that 
ocean  had  withheld.  North  we  roared 
through  the  first  forests  of  existence,  lurid 
from  the  engine's  open  firebox,  along  ivory 
beaches  curved  perfectly  against  still  water, 
and  giant  hills — ^we  had  never  seen  a 
mountain! — ^wavering  blue  and  vague  be- 
yond. From  Meredith  station,  old  Mr. 
Cox,  the  moonlight  silvering  his  bald  and 
shiny  pate,  drove  the  thirty  of  us  in  his 
teams  to  the  shanties  six  miles  away  on  the 
hill  above  the  lake.  Came  our  trunks  in 
hayricks;  confusion  unfolding  beds  in 
Patrician  Palace  and  Aristocracy  Hall,  the 
two  sleeping  shanties,  and  drawing  lots  for 
where  to  sleep;  older  boys  talked  with 
assurance  of  how  we  did  it  last  year,  and 
faces  and  clothes,  distinctive  of  schools  and 
homes  the  country  over,  grew  uniform  in 
our  red-striped  gray  knickers  and  black 
jersey  with  the  crimson  "A."  At  supper 
(hulled  com  and  milk)  off  granite  cloth  at 
the  long  table  in  the  dining  shanty,  we  new 
boys  listened  with  reverence  to  the  Doctor's 
lordly  speech  about  how  with  the  proper 
spirit  the  summer  would  work  out  so  fine; 
and  then  we  flayed  under  the  flagpole  that 
game  with  a  football  and  a  hole  in  the 
ground — I  have  never  seen  it  elsewhere — in 
the  excitement  of  tentative  acquaintance. 
The  white  horn  of  Mt.  Chocorua,  across 
the  myriad  islands  of  the  lake,  pierced  a 
sky  so  dark  and  evanescent  you  hardly 
dared  to  look  there. 

Living  next  day  began  very  early  as  we 
read  the  orders  (for  we  did  all  camp  work 
except  cook)  posted  outside  headquarters, 
the  little  shack  where  the  Doctor  lived. 
The  tasks  were  stationary,  and  our  names 
moved  in  procession  from  one  to  another. 
Three  boys  waited  on  table,  three  wiped 
dishes  (a  counselor  always  washed  them, 
was  "in  the  sink"  as  we  said,  and  Table  IV 
cleared  off  each  meal);  three  got  brush  for 
the  campfire  on  the  hill  at  night;  three 
swept  out  the  shanties— "Police"  boys; 
"Galley"  boys  peeled  potatoes,  picked 
beans  in  the  garden  and  on  Sundays  turned 
the  ice  cream  freezer  and  ate  what  stuck  in 
the  cover;  "Boats"  bailed  the  small  fleet 
and  carried  down  the  lamp  that  shone  on 
the  beach  at  night.  You  did  not  have  one 
duty  three  days  in  succession,  but  passed 


from  the  first  to  the  second  series,  and 
through  countless  other  tasks,  till  you 
reached  G.  U.  at  the  bottom — "general 
utility" — and  might  have  to  dig  stones  out 
of  the  boathouse  path  or  pick  blueberries, 
before  heading  the  list  and  starting  down. 

At  ten  o'clock  most  of  this  manual 
seriousness  was  over,  and  we  soaked  in  the 
lake,  which  was  the  climax  of  the  day. 
Regularly  from  nine  o'clock  on  the  row- 
boat  fleet  was  manned,  each  craft  by  one 
impatient  brownie,  balancing  with  a  paddle 
on  the  stem  thwart  and  raising  sun  blisters 
on  his  back;  or  in  an  outrageous  lapstreak 
with  a  galvanized  centerboard  that  shut  up 
like  a  fan,  sailing  straight  out  to  Perch 
Island  and  straight  back  again,  for  pointing 
free  we  should  never  have  reached  home, 
and  beating  to  windward  was  impossible. 
Times  have  changed  I  hear;  the  fleet  has 
been  "improved";  now,  when  the  camp 
starts  to  climb  Mt.  Chocoma,  it  goes  to  the 
head  of  the  lake  in  a  twenty-horse-power 
motor  boat,  instead  of  pulling  out  its  young 
arms  rowing  that  six-mile  stretch;  the  four- 
oared  shells  with  sliding  seats,  that  we  held 
regattas  in,  have  given  way  to  big  war 
canoes;  the  single  scull  in  which  it  was  such 
a  feat  to  cross  to  the  hotel  without  having 
to  swim  in  your  best  clothes,  has  been  re- 
placed by  new-fangled  aluminum  crafts,  so 
like  sardine  boxes  that  you  have  to  take  a 
can  opener  along  to  get  ashore  in  a  strong 
blow. 

At  last  the  "counselor  of  the  day"  ap- 
pears on  the  beach,  toots  the  bugle,  and  the 
water  is  streaked  with  bits  of  nakedness 
aimed  at  the  swimming  raft  and  its  ten- 
foot  diving  standard,  while  the  boats  take 
care  of  themselves.  That  was,  unless  you 
had  forfeited  your  soak,  perhaps  for  days 
on  end,  for  sweeping  dirt  under  the  beds 
while  Police  II,  or  throwing  food  at  table. 
This  was  the  only  sort  of  camp  discipline, 
except  "meditating,"  which  meant  sitting 
on  the  dining  shanty  steps  if  you  were  late 
to  meals,  and  being  guyed  by  every  one,  and 
vain  enough  it  was,  for  every  hot  afternoon 
we  found  that  sandy  cove  where  no  coun- 
selor ever  ventured.  Authorized  second 
soaks  were  as  rare  as  peaches  in  February 
for  some  hygienic  reason  which  we  never 
understood,  until  one  year  the  whole  camp 
was  afflicted  with  deafness  from  swimming 
on  the  sly  too  much. 

We  believe  that  we  invented^he  game 

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of  water  baseball,  playing  with  a  girls'  size 
bat  and  a  tennis  ball.  Batter  and  pitcher 
stood  on  the  raft,  catcher  treading  water  at 
one  end,  and  the  basemen  and  fielders,  as 
many  as  you  wanted,  ready  aloft  on  the  top 
of  the  high  dive;  except  first  base,  who 
trod  at  his  buoy  in  the  water.  At  a  hit,  the 
batter  dives  for  first,  and  the  crowd  on  the 
standard  dive  for  the  ball.  It  is  very 
simple,  much  more  fun  and  neither  so 
dangerous  nor  exhausting  as  water  polo. 
Or  in  that  twenty  minutes  we  dove  to 
bottom  for  china  cups,  deeper  and  deeper 
till  our  eardrums  nearly  crashed  in;  or 
settled  old  scores  by  sending  boys  down  to 
Susie,  pushing  their  heads  under  with  our 
hands  till  we  got  a  foothold  on  their 
shoulders,  and  gave  a  froglike  jump.  Susie 
herself,  though  1  never  understood  just 
why  the  bottom  of  the  lake  was  named  for 
her,  was  the  red-haired  daughter  of  the 
farmer  who  supplied  the  camp  with  milk — 
a  magnificent  creature  weighing  two  hun- 
dred pounds  at  the  age  of  thirteen.  Per- 
haps bottom  was  so  named  because  of  our 
superstition  that  the  lake  would  go  dry  if 
ever  Susie  soaked  in  it.  Or  shiny  with  oil, 
we  tagged  after  a  counselor  in  a  rowboat, 
swimming  to  Perch,  three-quarters  of  a 
mile,  or  Mooney's  Point,  over  reefs  on 
which  it  was  sometimes  suspected  we 
rested,  a  mile  and  a  quarter;  or  played 
baby  walrus,  and  made  poo-poo  smiles. 

The  all-out  bugle  was  loiteringly  dis- 
obeyed till  several  next  days'  soaks  were 
lost;  then,  scattered  in  the  hot  sand  on  our 
stomachs,  we  talked  of  all  a  kid's  cabbages 
and  kings,  acquiring  that  healthy,  sunned 
weariness,  and  such  burns  that  for  weeks  a 
hand  pressed  on  any  shoulder  was  greeted 
with  a  howl.  Sometimes  we  had  scabs 
four  inches  long  across  our  backs,  which 
absorbed  all  the  witch  hazel  and  sour  milk 
in  camp,  and  peeled  off  toward  the  end  of 
the  summer,  showing  a  pink-mottled  leop- 
ard skin  beneath.  Then  dinner,  cooked 
by  Mr.  Lee  of  the  Hampton  Institute — 
beef,  and  twice  a  week  fish  which  was  often 
very  suspicious,  and  bravely  eaten  by 
Russel,  the  Doctor's  brother,  to  set  a  good 
example  and  save  face.  And  of  the  meat, 
too  often  we  sang: 

Every  little  piece  of  meat 
Has  a  hundred  thousand  feet, 
And  goes  running  out  to  meet 
Mister  Lee. 


All  aquatics  culminated  in  our  "wataw 
sports,"  as  the  Doctor  called  them,  the  first 
week  in  August.  Before  parents  and  the 
population  of  the  whole  lake  assembled,  we. 
competed  for  silver  medals  in  grouped 
events,  and  a  gold  one  for  general  excel- 
lence. 

Though  we  let  out  our  belts  seven  holes 
after  the  supper  which  followed,  the  water 
sports  had  thek  drawbacks.  We  had  to 
wear  jerseys  on  the  raft,  as  our  names 
were  called,  and  one  by  one  we  mounted 
the  standard,  before  hundreds  of  alien 
eyes.  It  was  very  chilly  waiting  around 
out  there,  silent  and  burning-breasted, 
oily,  and  swathed  in  blankets.  They 
would  feed  us  soup  then  from  a  water 
bucket.  One  year,  the  Doctor  transmuted 
into  that  soup  a  two-foot-in-diameter 
snapping  turtle  we  had  caught,  which  took 
a  breath  once  in  fifteen  minutes  by  stop- 
watch. We  tasted  it,  and  nearly  mutinied. 
Once  it  was  considered  a  very  winning  stunt 
in  the  fancy  swim  to  disappear  under  the 
raft  for  your  five  allotted  minutes.  The  idea 
was,  that  the  judges  would  think  you  had 
batrachian  respiratories,  and  tumble  over 
themselves  to  give  you  a  hundred  points. 
The  fact  was,  you  stuck  your  nose  under 
the  raft  joists  and  breathed  the  upper  air. 
After  the  first  smartie  had  been  under  there 
two  minutes,  several  spectators  of  the 
gentler  sex — "fairies"  in  camp  argo — be- 
came hysterical;  a  relief  expedition  was 
organized,  and  the  clever  child  brought 
forth  to  confess  the  trick,  so  rattled  was  he 
by  the  excitement,  and  get  no  points  at  all. 
The  same  day,  1  think,  we  jumped  into  the 
boat  of  one  of  our  counselors  who  was  also 
a  judge  and  had  given  an  unpopular 
decision,  and  overturned  him  in  the 
watery  arena,  so  he  swam  ashore  red 
ribbons  and  all,  and  before  a  pair  of  fairy 
eyes  which  we  imagined  he  admired  unduly. 
In  after  years,, the  same  man  turned  up  as  a 
sort  of  Atropos  of  our  thread  of  existence 
at  college,  and  to  his  credit  be  it  said  he 
never  got  even  by  severing  it. 

Land  sports,  likewise,  on  the  same  plan, 
closed  camp  early  in  September.  1  remem- 
ber that  hundred-yard  track,  so  con- 
veniently down  hill  that  the  record  of  ten 
seconds  was  easy  for  any  one.  And  the 
Kafoozelum  pantomime  we  would  give 
afterward,  dancing  out  each  line  with 
turkey  red  cotton  bloomers  and  tin  sword' 

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the  female  heroine  being  the  camp's  pretty 
boy  in  a  long  pale  blue  skirt  and  a  bridal 
veil  of  mosquito  netting.  Russel  scoured 
swamp  and  forest  to  decorate  the  shanties, 
standing  bulrushes  and  full-grown  birch 
trees  in  the  comers,  and  so  loading  the 
supper  tables  with  greenery  you  often  ate 
nasturtiums  in  your  soup.  All  athletic 
records  were  painted  with  your  name  on 
varnished  boards  under  proper  year  dates, 
and  perched  up  on  the  rafters  in  the  dining 
shanty.  Beside  them,  roosted  the  fritter- 
eating  records,  and  it  was  more  of  a  dis- 
tinction to  win  there  with  a  score  of  sixteen, 
than  to  excel  in  the  broad  jump.  You  see, 
jumping  could  be  done  any  old  time,  but 
fritters — not  on  your  life  oftener  than  once 
a  month.  Hardtack  eating  contests  were 
popular  for  a  time,  till  it  was  discovered 
that  all  previous  records  could  be  broken 
by  drinking  milk  while  you  ate.  One  kid 
put  away  eighteen,  swelled  up  like  a  bull- 
frog, passed  two  agonized  days  in  bed — 
and  kept  the  record. 

But  1  neglect  the  soul  of  those  summers; 
the  mountains  we  climbed,  the  first  twi- 
lights of  boyhood  on  the  trail  in  the  woods. 
What  in  life  do  you  recall  more  vividly  than 
the  first  night  you  slept  out  of  a  bed? 
Nothing — if  you  were  lucky  enough  to 
escape  from  a  roof  before  your  age  was 
fourteen.  If  after  that,  various  mean  first 
experiences  will  persist  more  strongly; 
such  as  when  first  you  lost  sight  of  land  at 
sea,  or  when  on  that  primal  day  in  a  great 
city  you  saw  its  stream  of  life  from  a  high 
window,  and  it  struck  you  suddenly  that 
every  face  was  bound  to  a  certain  point, 
each  with  a  varying  purpose. 

The  night  before  the  camp  would  start 
to  climb  Black  Mountain,  or  Chocorua,  or 
Whiteface,  I  could  never  sleep.  I  would 
rather  have  seen  my  best  friend  a-dying 
than  heard  a  gust  of  rain,  which  would  have 
checked  a  start.  Momently  I  would  sneak 
out  of  the  shanty  to  watch  the  clouds  scud 
across  the  moon,  dreading  an  east  wind  or 
fatal  softening  of  the  air.  Then  back  to 
my  blankets,  quivering  from  crown  to  toe, 
cold  perspiration  starting  out  all  over. 
Fear  or  apprehension?  Never!  Thirst, 
indeed — for  an  alien  dawn,  from  a  height 
over  an  undiscovered  country.  It  is  hope- 
less to  tell  how  dream  and  passion  mingled 
at  such  times  in  a  kind  of  bitter  intoxica- 
tion;   how  anticipated  loneliness,  daring, 


enchanted  heights,  blue  and  unplumbed 
distances,  wood  smells,  thrush  sounds,  and, 
in  the  very  names  of  the  region  to  be 
visited,  a  certain  almost  visual  symbolism 
of  supernal  glories  would  stir  me.  It  took 
the  entities  themselves,  1  found  in  later 
years  with  awed  astonishment,  to  rouse  the 
poet: 

.     .     .     "The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion;  the  tall  rock, 
The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colors  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 
An  appetite."     .     .     . 

Since  no  real  mountain  was  nearer  than 
twenty  miles,  we  would  row  across  the  lake 
to  get  started  on  the  Sandwich  road,  ''in 
the  cool  of  the  morning,"  the  Doctor  would 
say,  though  that  road  at  any  hour  is  the 
Shadrack  furnace  of  New  Hampshire. 
Those  early  passages  of  the  forty  mist- 
haunted  islands  wooded  to  the  water,  loons 
calling  from  bays  enwraithed!  To-day 
when  1  revisit  the  lake,  its  mystery  returns 
with  a  faint  and  bitter  recoil,  most  often 
after  sunset,  in  the  queer  neuter  odor  of 
smooth  fresh  water  on  the  pale  beaches 
where  the  tupelo  tree  overhangs;  in  those 
vital,  changeful  New  England  cloud 
shadows,  shifting  delicately  in  the  gap  be- 
tween Mt.  Passaconaway  and  Whiteface; 
in  the  charge  of  a  thunderstorm  mingling 
the  lights  and  angles  of  the  islands  like  the 
glass  bits  of  a  kaleidoscope,  advancing  the 
gray  shield  of  rain  on  the  water  as  it  were 
an  army  of  locusts.  But  the  uplifting 
sweetness  of  those  lost  delirious  hours  is 
gone  forever.  Gone,  too,  is  their  sharp 
distress,  which  made  me  seek  and  feat 
them,  as  a  savage  seeks  a  love  for  its  danger, 
a  saint  a  pain  for  its  mystery.  Life  and 
manhood  impending  were  then  my  love  and 
pain.  Now — with  freshness  sapped  by 
years  of  minor,  multitudinous  sensations, 
by  failure,  1  feel  only  an  empty  remorse  for 
these  ungrateful  years. 

But  here's  that  first  night  toward  Cho- 
corua Mountain.  The  details  are  very 
homely.  Eighteen  miles  had  we  walked 
that  Sandwich  road,  squandering  our 
twenty-five  cents  a  week  allowance  on  pie 
at  farmhouses,  where  it  would  be  asked 
were  we  an  orphan  asylum  on  an  outing, 
or  a  traveling  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  outfit? 
Out  we  strung  into  twos  and  threes, 
blankets  rolled  and  slung  crosswise  about 
hip  and  shoulder  as  you  see  in  Civil  War 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


drawings,  bare  brown  arms  swinging  with 
childish  limpness,  loose  gray  knickers 
slapping  bravely  on  bare  legs.  Have  you 
ever  noticed  well  the  half-naked  lope  of  a 
ten-year-old  along  a  burning  sandy  road  ? 
That  set  smile,  the  rough  determination  of 
the  man  on  his  face,  manhood  will  never 
make  intenser.  For  then  the  bolt  of  self- 
reliance  springs  with  initial  violence,  with 
all  the  vigor  and  mystery  of  sex,  and  you 
first  do  hit  the  world. 

Every  well-sweep,  hayrick,  sap-house 
took  on  a  vital  character  as  outpost- 
castles  of  a  world  where  life  was  life  indeed. 
Night  fell  into  the  impelling  shadow  of  the 
great  mountain.  Again  and  again  the 
road  forked  confusingly,  and  we  lit  matches 
at  white  signboards,  noting  deceptive  dis- 
tances, and  names  of  towns  hitherto  as 
distant  as  Egypt  or  Asia;  inquired  the 
way  at  farms,  whose  inmates  lived  lives  as 
unknown.  We  crossed  a  roaring  white 
stream,  and  the  road  ended  in  a  squalid 
barnyard;  Durrell's — can  I  ever  forget? — 
so  near  the  mountain  that  one  step  more 
and  we  might  tumble  into  its  apocalypse, 
as  you  fall  from  a  precipice.  Yet  its  thin 
female  guardian  with  gray  hair  and  no 
teeth  very  peevishly  refused  us  food  at  any 
price,  except  cold  potatoes,  and  forbade 
lanterns  in  the  bam  where  we  slept. 

Sleep?  Who  could  sleep  that  night? 
And  not-  the  bell  on  the  old  Aldemey,  that 
clanged  till  a  midnight  posse  cut  the  wire, 
nor  the  bucket  that  just  after  clattered 
down  the  hag's  well  as  some  hero  groped 
out  for  a  drink,  nor  one  Winoky,  finding 
his  head  in  a  hen's  nest,  and  plunking  eggs 
at  us  from  the  mow,  kept  us  sleepless. 

And  no  human  lips  bugled  reveille  at 
dawn.  No  eating,  foWing  blankets,  noth- 
ing do  1  remember,  till  all  alone  and  leading 
the  thirty  of  us  up  that  snaky  trail  my 
heart  thundered  on,  my  footsteps  loosed 
from  volition.  As  well  1  might  have  been 
walking  through  forests  under  sea.  In- 
deed, just  thus,  when  first  you  read 
"Water  Babies/'  did  you  imagine  the  little 
chimney-sweep  felt,  falling  into  the  salmon 
river.  Thus  might  the  crew  of  a  submarine, 
escaping  from  a  suffocating  cockpit,  dis- 
cover that  they  could  live  and  wander  at 
ease  on  the  ocean  floor.  No  mystery 
became  tangible,  no  juggernaut  of  the 
Chocorua-spirit  lurked  among  the  spruces. 
Only  wonderful  at  this  moment  was  it  that 


all  things  were  so  real;  it  was  no  use  to 
pinch  your  ear.  And,  of  course,  time  had 
ceased  to  be. 

Tree-line  turned  the  screw.  On  Cho- 
corua,  you  rise  suddenly  from  forest  to  a 
plain  of  small  birch  and  blueberry  bushes, 
curving  upward  into  stark  granite;  at  a 
far  comer  the  peak  leaps  up  like  a  Titan's 
helmet.  Suddenly,  over  a  lip  of  the  gneiss,  * 
it  pitched  and  rolled  forward,  in  all  the 
vague  and  tricky  refractions  of  dawn.  The 
black  sun-stains  of  its  cliffs  danced  like 
water-spiders  on  a  pool,  and  1  grasped  a 
bush,  and  stood  as  you  might  await  the 
van  of  a  flood,  despising  panic  and  all  the 
fuss  of  life.  That  was  true  fear,  terror  of 
Nature,  rarest  and  noblest  of  pangs,  the 
reward  of  all. 

Th^  sun  transfigured  it,  surging  like  a 
burning  tun-head  out  of  the  golden-rimmed 
intervales  of  Fryeburg,  curdling  mists  into 
ponds,  ponds  into  farmhouses,  on  that 
eyrie  expanse,  wider  than  the  seven  dream 
horizons  of  boyhood.  And  real  above  all, 
real,  the  calm  giant  hills  curved  north  and 
west,  more  baffling,  potent,  intricate,  and — 
friendly.  Simply  in  that  moment  I  was 
long  years  older.  Disillusioned?  Yes,  but 
less  than  ever  since  in  realizing  a  vision. 

And  always  reaction.  Mine  was — only 
stomach.  E)own  to  the  intervales  we 
plunged  and  held  up  an  amiable  farmhouse 
which  cooked  us  hot  soda  biscuit  (eaten  on 
the  mountain  we  should  have  dropped  like 
a  plummet)  that  we  interlarded  with  rasp- 
berries; so  that  afternoon  as  we  gathered 
in  the  town  of  Tamworth,  1  was  guilty  of  a 
great  pollution  of  the  Bearcamp  River. 
And  I  was  furious  that  the  Doctor  made  me 
ride  on  a  hayrick  to  the  six-mile  covered 
bridge,  and  to  wake  next  moming,  after 
one  of  those  rare  ten-hour  sleeps  in  which 
you  swing  down  below  all  earth  and  hell,  in 
bed  with  him,  under  his  cart,  his  gold 
watch  ticking  from  a  wheel-spoke. 

The  same  year  we  tackled  Mt.  Moosilauke 
on  the  "long  trip,"  which  is  a  camp  insti- 
tution. You  walk  and  climb  for  a  week, 
food  and  blankets  trundling  by  the  roads 
in  teams  driven  by  Pa  Jones  perched  by 
his  hard-cider  keg. 

1  remember  that  it  rained  the  night 
under  this  mountain's  shadow,  and  f\\e  of 
us  slept  under  a  tent-fly,  flopping  our  rears 
in  water,  snuggling  closer,  trembling  and 
laughing  with  the  long  thoughts  of  night  in 


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the  open.  Twenty  hot  miles,  and  five 
o'clock  found  sunlight  and  icy  water 
flashing  on  our  naked  brownness  in  the  big 
pool  of  a  waterfall.  "  Boys,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, marching  solemnly  toward  us,  "the 
moon  will  be  up  at  eight  o'clock.  We  will 
eat  a  light  supper  now,  start  up  the  moun- 
tain at  seven,  reaching  tree-line  about 
eleven,  sleep,  and  see  the  sun  rise." 

The  Doctor  refers  to  that  climb  as  the 
one  event  of  camp — except  when  that  boy 
was  drowned  at  the  lake — which  he  re- 
gretted, and  he  was  a  man  who  habitually 
held  his  acts  perfect.  One  lantern  headed 
the  thirty,  fighting  up  that  nine-mile  trail 
which  hadn't  been  cleared  for  years,  up 
that  mountain  which  was  too  wet  and 
holey  to  be  a  sponge.  The  moon  might 
as  well  have  been  a  slow  match  hid  in  the 
forest.  Every  other  tree  was  fallen,  and 
"tooth-pick!  tooth-pick!"  as  we  scrambled 
over,  echoed  from  the  faint  dancing  light, 
down  the  long  line,  with  glee,  courage, 
anger,  and  sleepiness,  to  the  lame  boy  at  the 
end.  After  that  weary  day,  sleep  struck 
us  like  pestilence.  As  the  lantern  halted 
and  vanished  oftener,  hunting  trail,  boys 
fell  asleep,  and  had  almost  to  be  cuffed  to 
their  feet.  Only  this  senselessness  with- 
held a  mutiny.  At  last,  a  white  signboard 
hung  overhead:  "Mt.  Watemomee."  So 
we  were  on  the  wrong  mountain,  lost, 
glorious  calamity! 

I  found  myself  ahead  with  the  Doctor 
alone,  the  thirty  sleeping  in  attitudes  of 
death  behind.  He  took  out  the  same  gold 
watch,  resting  the  big  tin  hamper  of  stale 
bread  soaked  with  coffee  which  he  carried 
on  his  back.  One  o'clock!  He  told  me  to 
keep  on  with  him,  flattering  my  endurance 
(with  a  trustless  glance  through  the  dark 
at  my  weak  stomach — but  I  could  not  see). 
Off  we  marched,  dipping  down  into  a  wood- 
rotted  darkness.  1  heard  him  groan. 
"Mt.  Blue"  glimmered  a  board  overhead. 
So  these  were  spurs  of  the  main  mountain, 
I  hated  to  believe.  By  a  trickle  of  water 
he  threw  down  the  hamper,  muttering  as 
if  he  thought  I  could  not  hear,  "Wish  I'd 
never  done  it,  never  done  it,  never  should 
have  tried  it ! "  There  he  told  me  to  wait, 
starting  back  to  his  derelicts.  "This  is  the 
Jobilldunk  Ravine,"  said  he,  gulping.  "  So 
named,  because  three  men,  Joseph,  Will- 
iam, and  Duncan  once  wandered  down 
here,  were  lost  and  died."    And  I  believed 


him,  sitting  there  alone,  on  high,  at  night's 
least  vital  hour.  You  may  think  that's 
nothing,  even  at  twelve  years,  with  the 
apex  of  all  their  dreams  lost  on  ahead,  your 
comrades  all  caved  in  behind. 

Dawn  returned  him,  with  light  that 
bared  in  ghastly  truth  all  apprehensive 
outlines.  The  peak  itself  wavered  bare  and 
refracted  above,  like  a  lone  Ande.  Three 
boys  back  there  had  fainted,  the  Doctor 
said,  O,  pitiful!  and  the  cripple  was  being 
borne  on  a  counselor's  back;  but  they'd 
make  it.  What  matter? — though  since, 
and  with  less  awe,  I  have  heard  men  fresh 
from  battle  speak.  At  touch  of  our  feet, 
the  summit's  immensity  vanished  as  a 
cloud  might  have.  This  boyish  victory 
secure  at  last,  I  sank  into  blankets  in  the 
scrub  spruce,  and  sleep  created  a  pale,  un- 
utterable light,  which  in  turn  reared  with 
new  features,  kindlier  and  vaster,  the  same 
blue  heights  I  had  seen  beyond  Chocorua. 

Boys'  camps  have  changed,  they  tell  me; 
of  course  they  have,  for  us  aged  satyrs. 
Now  two  cycle  engines  flush  the  camp  wash- 
room from  the  lake,  and  that  hand-pump 
and  that  well,  blasted  out  with  gunpowder 
so  it  tasted  like  a  potash  gargle — when  it 
wasn't  sheltering  a  skunk — are  alas  no 
more.  Now  I  hear  your  milk  is  sent 
through  separators,  which  separates  the 
taste  from  the  milk.  Camps  seem  to  be 
run  by  more  elderly  men,  with  a  Rev. 
Hugh  O.  Pentecost  look,  and  long  Roy- 
croftie  hair,  and  the  counselors  are  ath- 
letes from  college  no  more,  but  grinds. 
"Educators,"  whatever  they  may  be — in 
our  day  a  kind  of  cracker — are  getting  very 
busy  with  boys  camps,  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.'s, 
too,  mercy  on  us! 

But  wc  have  no  grudge,  provided  that 
trireme  in  the  art  gallery  of  Nate's  ice 
cream  parlor  still  sails  along  in  a  dead  calm 
at  ten  knots,  and  if  she  who  used  to  deal 
us  out  the  pure  cows',  and  robust  and  pink 
cheeked  rather  fulfilled  our  ideal  of  what  a 
chorus  giri  should  be,  has  put  to  handy  us? 
the  case  of  baby  food  that  Tracy  Farnam 
gave  her  when  she  up  and  married.  As 
for  the  Doctor,  the  last  I  heard  of  him 
was  from  old  man  Huntress — half  in  the 
next  world,  always,  since  "our  folks," 
meaning  his  wife,  went  and  di^d.  "Yes, 
the  Doctor,"  said  he.  "Oh,  he's  still 
out  of  hell,  and  on  prayin'  ground,  1 
calc'late!" 


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THE   SHAKE-UP  AT    THE   Y-BAR-T 


BY    BEN    BLOW 


DRAWING    BY  J.   N.   MARCHAND 


HE  Foreman  of  the  Jack 
Hall  outfit  lit  a  cigar — 
one  of  the  huge  Madu- 
ros  that  he  smokes  when 
peace  and  plenty  are 
upon  him — and  smiled. 
The  smoke  curled  up 
into  fantastic  pictures,  mountains,  gleam- 
capped,  and  valleys;  snow  water  streams 
with  whirls  where  lurk  the  trout.  The 
smile  revealed  content. 

"Out  there,"  he  said, "the  man  inside  the 
clothes  wuz  all  that  counted  in  the  general 
round-up  an'  the  feller  that  tried  to  run 
a  blazer  most  always  got  a  call.  Tve  seen  a 
heap  o'  men  come  out  there  from  a  heap  o' 
different  places,  an'  some  o'  them  found  out 
that  they  wuz  mighty  far  from  home,  but 
now  an'  then  one  drifted  in  and  found  his 
place  a-waitin',  an'  it  wuz  thataway  with  Van 
Renzler  of  the  Y-  Bar-T.  He'd  come  out  for 
the  company  which  owned  the  outfit,  people 
back  East  that  wouldn't  know  a  pinto  from 
a  Rocky  Mountain  goat,  but  which  had  sense 
enough  not  to  throw  away  their  money  like 
they  wuz  pourin'  water  in  a  rat  hole,  which 
they  wuz  sure  a-doin',  for  their  foreman 
wuz  as  crooked  as  a  sack  of  snakes. 

"Van  Renzler  comes  a-ridin'  up  to  Jack 
Hall  one  noon  when  things  ain't  none  too 
busy  with  us,  an'  when  he  slides  off  from 
his  horse  an'  makes  hisself  acquainted  I 
says  to  myself,  *  he  sure  is  green,  but  what 
he  don't  know  he's  soon  a-goin'  to  learn, 
for  he's  got  a  square  jaw  an'  he  kind  o'  bites 
his  words  off  when  he  speaks  like  he  knows 
that  what  he  says  is  what  he  meant  to  say.' 
'  My  name's  Van  Renzler,'  he  says,  'an'  I'm 
a-lookin'  for  the  foreman  of  the  Jack  Hall 
outfit.' 

"'Which  is  named  Bill  Winters,'  I  says, 
a-wishin'  to  be  polite  an'  friendly.  'Set 
down  an'  make  yourself  at  home.' 


"  He  grins  wide  an'  shows  a  heap  o'  teeth 
an'  stretches  out  his  hand  an'  we  shakes, 
an'  from  the  feel  of  his  grip  I  knows  plumb 
well  that  he's  a  square,  white  man.  He 
don't  give  me  none  o'  these  clammy- 
handed -limp -finger -just -from- the-grave 
hand  shakes  nor  none  o'  these  shake-quick- 
an'-get  -done  -  with  -  it  -  or-you'll  -  get  -  your- 
hands-dirty  kind,  but  he  grabs  my  hand 
plumb  honest  an'  open  an'  holds  it  tight  an' 
steady  an'  looks  me  straight  in  the  eyes 
when  he  does  it,  an'  I  says  to  myself  with- 
out no  further  consultation  that  him  an' 
me  is  goin'  to  be  friends. 

"'Delighted,'  he  says,  'that's  what  I 
wanted  to  hear,  but  I  ought  to  put  my  horse 
away  before  I  rests  myself,  bein'  as  we've 
rode  over  from  Buenavista  this  mornin'.' 

"'Plumb  right  you  are,'  I  says,  'you've 
learned  lessons  number  one  to  forty-seven  in 
the  cow  business,  I  kin  see  that.' 

"  He  grins  again. 

"  *  A  man  that  don't  take  care  of  his  horse 
ain't  entitled  to  a  horse,  accordin'  to  my  way 
o'  thinkin','  he  says,  'an'  I  like  horses  too 
well  to  be  without  one,'  an'  then  he  gets  up 
an'  uncinches  an'  hangs  up  his  saddle,  which 
is  a  Mayne  an'  Winchester,  plumb  stylish, 
with  hawk-bill  taps  an'  silver  conchas,  an' 
then  we  goes  back  to  the  house  an'  intro- 
duces Cook,  which  puffs  up  like  a  hop- toad, 
proud  an'  happy  to  meet  up  with  him. 

" '  Everything  tastes  mighty  good,'  said 
Van  Renzler,  seein'  Gx)k  kind  o'  lookin' 
anxious;  which  ain't  no  lie,  judgin'  by  the 
way  he  eats.  'I'm  beginnin'  to  think  I'll 
get  reel  heavy  if  I  stay  out  here  long  enough, 
an'  from  the  looks  o'  things  I've  got  to 
camp  here  quite  a  while.' 

"'You  ain't  ben  here  long,  then?'  says 
Cook,  kind  o'  inquisitive  like. 

""Bout  a  week,'  says  Van  Renzler  'an' 
in  that  time  I've  found  that  what  1  don't 


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know  about  the  cattle  business  *d  make  a 
large  thick  book.' 

"'That's  a  good  sign/  I  says,  'you  kin 
learn  it  plenty  soon.  If  you  get  started 
right  it's  hop-scotch,  but  you  bog  quick  if 
you  set  off  on  the  wrong  trail.' 

**  'Which  ain't  no  lie,'  says  Cook.  'Any- 
thing that  Bill  tells  you  is  thick  woolen 
goods  three  foot  wide,  as  me  an'  Bull  kin 
true  swear  to,  bein'  intimate  acquainted 
with  him  an'  sure  conscious  of  his  good 
points.  If  you  want  to  learn  anything 
about  the  cattle  business  all  you  got  to  do 
is  ask  Bill  Winters  an'  he'll  sure  head  you 
right  an'  give  you  a  boost  to  start  with.' 

"'Gx)k,'  I  says,  bein'  some  took  aback 
before  a  stranger.  '  You  reminds  me  of  a 
man  from  Kansas  which  1  use  to  know  which 
stepped  so  high  that  he  had  to  walk  back- 
ward to  keep  from  put  tin'  his  feet  plumb 
into  his  own  mouth;  can't  you  go  fry  some 
cakes  an'  hush  your  talk?'  Then  Van 
Renzler  laughs  like  he  wuz  tickled  to  death 
an!  sticks  his  hand  out  an*  says,  'Shake! 
You're  the  man  I'm  lookin'  for.' 

"  I  kind  o'  felt  upset  a  little  by  the  way 
Cook  'd  let  his  tongue  run  off,  but  we  shook, 
an'  fhen  when  we  gets  through  we  goes 
outside  an'  lights  our  pipes. 

" '  I  come  out  here  to  kind  o'  look  things 
over  at  the  Y-Bar-T  outfit,'  he  says,  wadin' 
in  waist  deep  at  the  first  jump,  'an'  if  I 
ain't  away  off  from  the  truth  we've  got  a 
foreman  that's  got  a  deeper  interest  in  his- 
self  than  is  right.' 

"'Maybe  so,*  I  says,  'an'  maybe  not, 
but  thinkin'  a  thing  an'  provin*  it  is  differ- 
ent some.' 

" ' Right  you  are,*  he  says,  'but  if  they's 
anything  wrong  I'm  a-goin*  to  find  it 
sooner  or  later,  an'  when  I  find  it  out  I'm  a- 
goin'  to  get  a  square  deal  or  know  the  rea- 
son why.'  When  he  says  this  he  kind  o' 
shakes  his  head  an'  bites  the  words  off 
sharp  an'  spits  them  out,  an'  1  says  to  my- 
self that  the  Y-Bar-T  outfit  is  goin'  to  be 
plumb  shook  up  to  the  roots,  for  1  knows 
that  the  foreman  is  as  crooked  as  a  snake 
track  on  a  dusty  trail.  'We  own  twenty- 
five  hundred  acres,'  he  says,  'an'  we've  got 
close  to  twenty  thousand  o'  Government 
land  under  lease  an'  fence.  A  couple  o' 
years  ago  we  bought  thirty-five  hundred 
head  o'  cattle,  range  delivery,  which,  al- 
lowin'  for  a  five  per  cent,  loss,  'd  make  us 
have  close  on  to  thirty-three.' 


" '  Five  per  cent,  ain't  enough,'  I  says  to 
him;   'if  you  got  'em  from  Texas  in  the 
shape  1  heard  you  did  fifteen  wouldn't  be  . 
none  extravagant,  maybe  too  little  if  you 
count  'em  up.' 

"'Well,  then,  fifteen,'  he  says,  'which  'd 
make  three  thousand  not  countin'  in  the 
increase,  an'  if  we've  got  a  "cow"  over  two 
thousand  I'm  dead  wrong  an'  ain't  no 
judge.' 

"'From  what  I  hear  you  ain't  none 
wrong,*  I  says,  'not  that  it's  any  of  my 
funeral,  but  I  don't  believe  in  bein*  crooked 
myself  an'  if  they's  any  way  I  kin  help  you 
get  things  straightened  out  I'm  a-goin*  to 
do  it.  If  I  wuz  in  your  place  I'd  have  a 
round-up  an'  count  the  cattle  an'  satisfy 
myself  just  how  bad  things  had  got  to  be, 
an'  then  when  1  wuz  dead  sure  I'd  located 
the  guilty  party  I'd  hop  on  him  so  hard 
that  he'd  think  the  moon  'd  worked  loose  an' 
fell  on  his  head.  But  I'd  be  mighty  care- 
ful how  I  talked,  for  like  as  not  they's  more 
than  one  mixed  up  if  stealin*  's  goin'  on.' 

"  'That's  right,'  he  says,  'speak  low,  step 
soft,  an'  carry  a  great  big  stick  an'  you  kin 
travel  far,'  which  is  sure  good  sense  an' 
mighty  good  advice. 

" '  Round  your  cattle  up,'  I  says,  'throw 
'em  and  brand  'em  if  you  ain't  got  a  corral; 
run  *em  through  a  chute  an'  mark  them  if 
you  has,  an'  let  your  boys  sweep  the  range 
up  pretty  clean  an'  the  count,  if  made 
honest,  '11  come  close  to  showin'  exactly 
what  you've  got  on  hand.' 

'"VVe  paid  taxes  on  thirty-six  fifty  last 
year,'  he  says,  kind  o'  studyin'  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind. 

"*ln  which  cases,'  1  says,  'the  State  of 
Colraydo,  an'  more  particular  Chaffee 
County,  owes  the  Y-Bar-T  a  drawback  of 
close  to  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar  by  the 
'rithmatics  that  use  to  be  my  school  books 
when  1  wuz  a  boy,  an'  if  1  kin  help  you  in 
any  way  you  go  ahead  an'  holler.* 

"'Well,'  he  says,  'the  way  to  do  a  thing 
is  to  go  ahead  an'  do  it ;  if  you'll  let  me  have 
a  couple  of  good  square  boys  to  kind  o'  over- 
look the  count  Til  see  they  don't  lose  any- 
thing by  it,  an'  if  you  feel  that  you  kin 
spare  the  time  to  come  along  and  sort  o' 
act  as  a  board  o*  directors  an'  give  me  a  bit 
of  advice  when  I  need  it  I'll  be  delighted, 
an'  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Winters ' 

"'Mister  be  damned,'  I  says,  'so  fur  as 
I'm  concerned  titles  an'  nightshirts  ain't 


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none  needed  out  in  this  country;  my 
friends  kin  call  me  Bill  an'  them  that  ain't 
my  friends  don't  need  to  waste  their 
breath  on  me.' 

" '  All  right,  Bill/  he  says,  'that's  the  way 
I  feel  about  it;  Bill  it  is,  an'  you  an'  me  '11 
set  things  straight  at- Y-Bar-T  before  a  bear 
kin  wag  his  tail.'"  The  Foreman  paused 
and  blew  a  cloud  of  blue-tinged  smoke  and 
smiled. 

"He  sure  wuz  hell  on  bears,"  he  said, 
"  but  that  wuz  him.  Ready  to  size  a  man 
up  quick  an'  take  or  leave  him;  slow  to 
think  bad  of  anybody  an'  square  enough 
to  see  that  even  the  devil  got  his  due." 

"'Well,'  I  says,  'that  bein' settled,  what's 
the  first  step  in  the  clean-up?' 

'"How'm  I  goin'  to  start?'  he  says,  reel 
thoughtful.  '  I'm  a-goin'  to  fire  that  damned 
foreman,  that's  how  I'm  goin'  to  start.' 

"'You're  hollerin'  out  loud  when  you 
states  that,'  I  says;  'that's  the  medicine 
the  Y-Bar-T  needs  to  set  it  straight;  give 
the  head  rustler  the  grand  bounce  an'  the 
little  taggers-on-after  'II  trot  up  to  you 
waggin'  their  tails.  Then  if  you  kin  prove 
they's  anything  crooked  you  kin  blame 
soon  get  a  square  deal,  for  if  this  country 
is  kindo'  rough  an'  tumbly,  the  right  is  the 
right  an'  it's  spelled  with  a  big  R.' 

"'Shake,'  he  says;  'you  make  me  sure 
I've  met  a  man  that'll  do  to  tie  up  with,' 
an'  we  shakes. 

"  'Mr.  Van  Renzler,'  I  says,  but  he  chops 
me  off  short  an'  gives  me  a  slap  on  the 
shoulder  that  drove  my  boot  heels  a  inch 
an'  a  half  into  the  solid  ground,  an'  grins 
till  he  shows  a  gold  back  tooth. 

'"Mister  be  damned,'  he  says,  'here's 
where  I  get  even.  On  nightshirts  I  differs 
with  you,  but  on  titles  you  called  the  turn.' 

"'Van,'  I  say^, '  I've  got  a  bottle  of  dog 
bite  in  the  house  that's  ten  years  old  an'  so 
thick  that  you  c'd  blow  soap  bubbles  with 
it  if  you  wanted;  let's  licker  an'  then  I'll 
call  in  Short  Leg  Dwyer  an'  one  o'  my  other 
best  boys,  which  we  calls  Ugly  Anderson 
becuz  he's  so  blame  good-lookin'  that  the 
girls  won't  give  him  no  peace.  Them  boys 
kin  round  up  an'  tally-brand  a  bunch  be- 
fore a  flea  kin  hop  out  o'  danger,  an'  that's 
some  less  than  two  years.' 

"Then  we  goes  into  the  house  an  lickers 
plum  sedate  an'  joyful,  an'  at  supper  when 
the  boys  comes  in  they  cottons  to  Van  an' 
we  gets  to  talkin'  about  huntin',  which  sure 


pleases  an'  delights  him,  an'  when  we  rolls 
in  for  the  night  he  sets  on  the  edge  of  his 
bunk  an'  looks  at  me  an'  says,  '  Bill,  when 
this  here  Y-Bar-T  matter  is  all  settled  you 
an'  me  is  goin'  to  load  a  camp  kit  on  a 
couple  o*  pack  horses  an'  we're  goin'  way 
up  toward  the  Elk  mountins  an'  get  a 
grizzly  bear  skin  if  they's  any  one  a-walkin' 
so  heavy  that  he  leaves  a  track.' 

"Well,  when  mornin'  come  I  calls  up 
Short  Leg  an'  Ugly  an'  tells  'em  how  the 
land  lays  over  at  the  Y-Bar-T,  an'  them  an' 
me  an'  Van  rides  over  thataway  an'  when 
we  gets  there  Van  calls  the  foreman  in  an' 
says  he's  goin'  to  let  him  out  becuz  he  kind 
o*  thinks  he'll  take  things  in  charge  hisself. 

"The  foreman,  which  is  a  ugly  critter 
named  Wilkins,  with  little  near-set  eyes, 
begins  to  kick  a  rumpus  an'  in  the  end  gets 
fired  off  the  place  an'  goes,  an'  then  we 
starts  the  tally,  an'  havin'  a  corral  we  fixes 
up  a  chute  an'  tally-brands  them  quick  an' 
easy,  an'  in  the  end  we  finds  that  all  we 
counts  is  something  over  eighteen  hundred 
head.  There  sure  has  been  some  reckless 
stealin'  goin'  on,  an'  we  gets  plumb  indus- 
trious an'  finds  that  Wilkins  is  been  runnin' 
off  the  calves  an'  brandin'  them  with  his 
own  mark,  which  is  a  B.  T.  branded  on  the 
side,  an'  if  they's  anyway  o'  stealin'  that 
he  ain't  tried  it's  becuz  he  ain't  had  brains 
enough  to  think  it  up. 

*"It's  a  dirty  mix-up,'  Van  says  to  me 
when  we  gets  most  of  Wilkins*  tracks  un- 
covered; 'we've  treated  him  too  white, 
lettin'  him  use  the  range  for  a  herd  o'  his 
own,  which  most  like  he's  stole  from  us. 
But  anyway,'  he  says, '  I'm  a-goin'  to  keep 
them  to  kind  o'  square  things  up,'  which  is 
sure  wise  an'  just  what  I'd  a  done.  We 
rounds  up  somethin'  over  a  hundred  head 
an'  puts  them  up  where  no  one  can't  bother 
them  an'  then  sets  down  an'  waits  for  Wil- 
kins to  deal  the  cards,  hearin'  that  he's 
a-goin'  round  the  country  makin'  brags 
that  he's  goin'  to  get  even  with  the  Y-Bar-T 
if  he  has  to  burn  some  buildin's. 

"  But  Van  stands  pat  an'  when  we  gets 
things  fixed  I  sends  Short  Leg  an'  Ugly 
back  to  Jack  Hall,  givin'  them  good  advice 
an'  tellin'  them  that  they  better  ride  back 
home  a-lookin'  at  their  horses'  ears  an'  not 
get  festive  or  cut  up  becuz  they  has  a  little 
money  picked  kind  o'  easy  on  the  side,  an' 
I  stays  on  at  Y-Bar-T  to  kind  o'  see  that 
Van  gets  things  runnin'  right,  the, which 
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it's  well  I  does,  forWilkins  comes  back  with 
the  two  rustlers  that's  been  let  out  an'  tries 
to  run  a  sandy  on  Van  so  that  he  kin  get 
the  cattle  which  he  claims,  but  which  ain't 
his  by  common  sense  or  law. 

'**I  ain't  anxious  for  no  lawsuits,'  says 
Van,  'nor  I  ain't  borrowin' trouble,  but  you 
ain't  dealt  fair  with  this  outfit  an'  I'm  a- 
goin'  to  keep  the  cattle  to  kind  o'  square 
us  up.'  Which  sure  is  right,  only  I  says  to 
Van  the  cheapest  way  is  to  let  this  here 
Wilkins  party  know  he's  gettin'  off  mighty 
easy,  which  Van  does  an'  tells  him  to  get  a 
move  on  an'  never  come  back.  Wilkins 
is  kind  o'  surly  an'  if  he  had  the  sand  to 
push  his  blaze  reel  hard  they'd  been  some 
shootin'  on  the  spot,  but  he  backs  down  an* 
starts  away,  but  stops  down  at  the  bunk 
house  an'  goes  inside  to  try  'n  raise  some 
trouble  with  the  boys,  which  makes  Van 
mad  for  sure,  an'  as  I  looks  at  him  1  says 
that  Wilkins  'd  be  heaps  better  off  if  he'd 
a  rode  on  off  the  place  an'  not  delayed. 

'"I'm  a-goin'  down  there,'  says  Van,  'an' 
end  this  thing  right  now.' 

"'I'll  come  along,'  I  says,  'to  kind  o' 
help  if  things  gets  smoky.'  Which  I  does, 
an'  we  walks  down  to  the  bunk  house  an' 
finds  Wilkins  an'  his  two  rustlers  in  there 
tryin'  to  win  away  the  boys,  but  when  he 
sees  us  he  gets  kind  o'  shaky  an'  starts  to 
leave,  but  we  shuts  the  door  an*  I  kin  see 
that  Van  is  mad  clean  through.  His  face  is 
turkey  red,  an'  he  kind  o'  squints  an'  his 
mustache  is  reel  bristly  an'  I  kin  see  a  little 
spot  in  the  side  of  his  neck  beatin'  hke  his 
blood  is  runnin'  fast.  He  goes  up  close  to 
Wilkins,  which  gets  kind  o'  pale.  '  I've  told 
you  to  keep  off  this  place  twice  now,'  he 
says,  an'  bites  the  words  off  worse  than  ever, 
an'  I  sees  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  hold  in  much 
longer  an'  prepares  to  burn  some  powder 
on  the  Wilkins  party  if  they  gives  me  a 
chance.  'You've  run  this  thing  to  suit 
yourself  too  long  an'  now  I've  said  the  last 
I'm  goin'  to  say,  you  thief.' 

"As  he  says  this  I  see  Wilkins  kind  o' 
move  his  hand  toward  his  gun,  but  before 
you'd  a  thought  it  could  be  did  I  sees  the 
muscles  on  Van's  back  knot  up  an'  then 
uncoil  an'  he  reaches  around  short-armed 
an'  hits  Wilkins  on  the  side  of  his  face,  an' 
1  ain't  a-lyin'  none  when  I  says  it  sounded 
like  a  mule  kickin'  an  oak  post.  Down 
^es  Wilkins  like  a  brickfallin'off  achimley, 
1  produces  my  gun  an'  says  'hands  up' 


to  the  two  rustlers,  which  they  does,  not 
wan  tin*  to  bat  an  eye  or  breathe  for  fear 
the  boys  '11  hop  them.  When  Wilkins 
drops  he  loses  his  gun,  which  Van  gets,  an' 
as  his  head  has  whacked  the  boards  con- 
siderable when  he  fell  he  goes  to  sleep 
plumb  peaceful  on  the  floor. 

'"Is  he  dead?'  1  says, 'which  I  hope  he 
is,  the  low-down  pup,  tryin'  to  smoke  this 
room  up.' 

"Van  shakes  his  head.  'No,  he  ain't 
dead,'  he  says,  'only  shook  up;  he'll  come 
aroiind  all  right.* 

"An'  while  we're  waitin'  the  boys  gets 
the  guns  of  the  two  I'm  holdin'  up  an'  then 
we  sets  them  over  against  the  wall  on  a 
bench  an'  tells  them  to  be  quiet,  an'  then 
Wilkins  kind  o'  rolls  uneasy  from  side  to 
side  a  couple  o'  times  like  a  seasick  ship 
an'  opens  his  eyes  an'  sets  up,  kind  o'  won- 
derin'  if  he's  the  only  survivor  left. ' 

'"You  low-lived  pup,'  I  says  to  him, 
plumb  mad.  'Tryin'  to  follow  up  your 
blazer  with  a  gun  play,  you  cattle-stealin* 
son-of-a-gun,'  an*  then  1  calls  him  all  the 
names  1  kin  remember  an'  cusses  him  till 
it  looks  to  me  like  1  ain't  left  no  room  for 
.  any  more,  an'  when  I  gets  through  an'  stops 
to  kind  o'  breathe  Van  gets  a  hold  of  Wil- 
kins an'  jerks  him  up  an'  slaps  him  across 
the  face,  flat-handed,  so  good  an'  hard  it 
popped. 

'"That's  the  way  we  does  things  back 
East,'  he  says,  'you  thief.  If  Bill's  forgot 
to  call  you  anything,  you're  it.'  An'  I 
looks  at  him  an'  I  sees  that  he's  got  over 
bein'  mad  an'  is  beginnin'  to  grin,  but  Wil- 
kins never  peeps  an'  we  takes  the  three  an' 
loads  them  on  their  horses  an'  shoos  them 
off,  but  has  some  trouble  a-holdin'  down 
the  boys,  which  wants  to  shoot  them  up  to 
show  they're  glad  they're  gone.  An'  then 
I  says:  'Van,  why  in  the  name  of  Cotopaxi 
didn't  you  plug  him  or  let  me  plug  him; 
reachin'  for  a  gun  in  this  country  is  dis- 
turbin'  the  peace  an'  quiet  of  the  neighbors 
an'  the  state.' 

"  He  kind  o'  laughs.  '  Bill,'  he  says,  '  I 
hit  that  feller  a  half  a  ton  worth  on  the 
jaw  an'  it  '11  be  at  least  a  day  or  two  before 
he  kin  smile  without  the  earache.  No 
good  a-killin'  him;  we've  fixed  him  so  he's 
goin'  to  stay  away  from  here  for  good.'  An 
blame  me  if  every  puncher  in  the  lot  didn't 
take  sides  with  him  against  me,  which  wuz 
a  sign  that  the  Y-Bar-T  has  got  a^boss  at 

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»*  He  stands  up  there  and  dares  them  to  come  and  take  the  man  ^'"^'^  ^^  ^-  ^-  M«chand. 

away  from  him." 


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last  that  the  boys  'II  ride  their  best  horse 
gant  fur. 

" '  Bill/  he  says,  when  we  gets  up  to  the 
house,  'how  about  that  bear  hunt,  it's 
gettin'  close,  ain't  it?' 

"'It's  none  too  dose,'  1  says.  'It  '11 
snow  in  a  couple  of  days  if  1  know  the  sign, 
an'  when  it  does  we'll  have  to  wait  a  while, 
but  sooner  or  later  we'll  go  out  an'  assassi- 
nate the  biggest  rooster  of  a  grizzly  that  you 
ever  heard  of.' 

"'That's  what,'  he  says, '  I'm  a-goin'  to 
get  some  trophies  before  I  get  done  with  it.' 

"'You've  got  a  starter,'  I  says;  'these 
here  three  guns  which  we've  just  took  so 
ladylike  an'  peaceable  '11  do  to  build  on,  an' 
if  you're  thataway  inclined  you  ought  to 
get  a  right  smart  lot  o'  things.'  Which  he 
allows  is  true,  tickled  to  death  an'  plumb 
delighted,  which  he  says. 

"Well,  the  next  day  it  sets  in  to  snow, 
an'  we  builds  up  a  roarin'  big  fire  to  go  to 
bed  by  an'  in  the  night  I  has  a  dream  that 
I'm  a-gettin'  close  to  hell,  which  it  turns 
out  to  be  that  the  house  has  caught  on  fire, 
an'  dum  me  if  it  don't  bum  plumb  level 
with  the  ground.  We  saves  what  we  kin, 
which  is  a  good  deal  considerin',  an'  Van 
gets  his  three  guns,  which  he  is  tickled  over 
doin'.  There's  considerable  whisperin' 
around  that  night  an'  the  boys  seems  to 
have  been  made  restless  by  the  fire  an' 
kind  o'  excited  about  somethin',  an'  the 
next  momin'  they  gets  out  plumb  early,  an' 
when  we  misses  them  it  strikes  me  that 
they  has  remembered  what  Wilkins  said 
about  there  goin'  to  be  some  bumin'  an' 
is  goin'  to  ride  over  an'  see  if  they  couldn't 
hold  an  inquest  on  his  worthless  skin. 

"'Van,'  I  says,  'I  kind  o' smell  a  lynchin' 
in  the  air.' 

"  *  By  God,'  he  says,  'we've  got  to  stop 
i\.  Wilkins  ain't  guilty;  there  wasn't  a 
track  around  the  house  after  it  burned,  an* 
if  he'd  been  there  the  snow  'd  showed  it. 
Where  d'you  reckon  we  can  find  the  boys 
in  time  to  put  a  stop  to  them?' 

"'Let  'em  go  ahead  an' hold  their  party,' 
I  says.  '  If  this  here  Wilkins  don't  need  it 
now  it's  likely  that  he'll  get  it  later,  so  let 
'em  go.' 

"'Bill,'  he  says,  'if  you're  the  friend  I 
think  you  are  you'll  help  me  stop  the  boys. 
1  believe  in  livin'  by  the  law  an'  ain't  a- 
goin'  to  see  it  broke  if  I  kin  help  it.' 


"'You're  right.'  I  says.  An'  he  wuz 
right,  but  it  wouldn't  a  done  no  harm  in  the 
least  to  hang  Wilkins.  'You  saddle  up 
quick,'  I  says,  'an'  we'll  ride  over  Harvard 
Mountin  way,  where  the  critter's  got  a  kind 
of  house,  an'  most  like  unless  we  proceed 
over  there  hell  bent  for  election  we'll  get 
there  after  the  party  is  over,  which  'd  be 
a  kwful  shame,  for  if  they  do  lift  him  I 
sure  'd  like  to  see  the  way  he  acts.'  But 
we  don't,  we  gets  there  in  time  to  see  the 
Y-Bar-T  punchers  draggin'  Wilkins  around 
plumb  crazy  with  a  rope  around  his  neck, 
huntin'  for  a  tree  to  swing  him  from,  which 
it's  a  good  thing  for  him  is  some  diffi- 
cult to  find  close  by,  an'  if  ever  I  see  a  full- 
growed  man  or  heard  one  talk  I  heard 
one  when  Van  busts  right  into  the  middle 
of  the  crowd  an'  grabs  a  hold  o'  Wilkins, 
which  is  cry  in'  an'  prayin'  like  most 
crooked  people  does  when  things  gets  wild. 
He  takes  the  rope  off  Wilkins'  neck  an' 
grabs  a  hold  of  him  an'  the  way  he  talks 
to  them  boys  on  law  an'  order  an'  argues 
with  them  an'  shows  them  that  Wilkins  is 
low-down  enough  to  bum  a  house  but  lacks 
the  sand,  an'  then  he  kind.o'  gets  excited 
an'  stands  up  there  before  them  an'  dares 
them  to  come  an'  take  the  man  away  from 
him,  which  gets  the  boys,  who  sure  goes 
plumb  crazy  from  joy  at  havin'  a  reel  man 
talk  to  them,  an'  they  can't  yell  loud 
enough  for  him. 

"An'  then  we  goes  on  home,  an'  blame 
me  if  Van  ain't  swung  on  to  the  rope,  which 
wuz  Wilkins'  own,  for  another  trophy,  an' 
I'm  a  son-of-a-gun  if  we  don't  get  the  bear 
hunt,  an'  he  kills  the  granddaddy  of  all  the 
bears  in  the  Elk  mountins,  if  he  don't  I'm 
a  lyin'  pup;  an'  right  now  he's  got  the  skin 
made  up  into  a  rug  an'  sets  with  his  feet  on 
it  like  as  not  an'  thinks  about  the  time  he 
use  to  be  at  Y-Bar-T  in  the  good  old  days. 
An'  the  last  time  he  come  out  there  I  wuz 
about  the  first  one  he  made  tracks  for,  an' 
he  wuz  the  same  old  Van,  even  if  he  is  a 
big  man  now,  an'  when  I  calls  him  Mister 
he  says,  '  Bill,  what  wuz  that  you  use  to 
say  about  nightshirts  an*  titles?'  an'  I 
says,  'Van,  do  you  remember  that  ten- 
year-old  dog  bite?'  an'  he  laughs  an'  grabs 
my  hand  an'  squeezes  it,  a-showin'  that 
he  ain't  lost  his  grip  none,  an'  says,  'Lcrd 
bless  you,  Bill.  I  wish  I  could  live  cut  here 
right  now.'" 


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MONTANA 

A  SERIES   OF   PHOTOGRAPHS 


'*Far  in  ttc  ^A^cst  .   .   .   w^Lcrc  ttc  mountains* 
Lift^  tLrougk  perpetual  snoivs,  tLeir  lofty 

and  luminous  summits^ 
Doivn  from  their  Jagged^  deep  ravines,  ivLere 

tke  gorge,  like  a  gateivay. 
Opens  a  passage  rude  to  tLe  w^keels  of  tLe 

emigrant  s  ^w^agon  ... 
Numberless  torrents,  -with  ceaseless  sound, 

descend  to  tLe  ocean. 
Like  tLe  great  cLords  of  a  Larp,  in  loud  and 

solemn  vibrations. 
Spreading  Letw^een  tLese  streams  are  tLe 

ivondrous,  beautiful  praines, 
Billoivy  Lays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  sLado'w 

and  sunsLine, 
BrigLt  ivitL  luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and 

purple  amorpLas  .   .   . 
Here  and  tLere  rise  groves  from  tLe  margins 

of  swift  running  nvers. 
And  over  all  is  tLe  sky,  tLe  clear  and 

crystalline  Leaven, 
Like  tLe  protecting  Land  of  God  invested 

above  tLem/^ 


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HUNTING   THE   MUSKRAT    WITH 

A  CAMERA 

BY   BONNYCASTLE   DALE 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


ICATTERED  broadcast 
all  over  the  "drowned 
land"  country  that  sur- 
rounds the  Kawartha 
Lakes — dotting  it  like  so 
many  haystacks — are 
the  wild  rice  and  flag- 
built  homes  of  the  colonies  of  the  muskrats. 
Fully  half  of  these  shy,  elusive  animals 
build  both  their  spring  and  winter  houses 
in  these  overflowed  lands.  The  remainder 
are  bank  dwellers.  These  make  an  en- 
trance below  water  several  feet  from  the 
edge  of  lake  or  river  shore  and  burrow  up- 
ward into  the  bank  until  two  feet  above 
high-water  mark  is  reached.  A  comfort- 
able, straw-lined  nest  is  then  formed  in 
this  dark  chamber,  and  here  the  numerous 
litters  of  "kittens"  are  raised.  In  this 
quiet  nursery  the  young  seem  quite  secure, 
for  man  cannot  find  them  except  after  aim- 
less digging.  But  the  lithe,  clever  mink, 
driven  by  hunger  and  fastidious  tastes, 
readily  discovers  the  entrance  hole  be- 
neath the  water.  He  selects  the  youngest 
of  the  brood  and,  tearing  it  open,  devours 
the  heart  and  lungs  and  daintiest  portions. 
The  marsh  dwellers  also  have  the  en- 
trance to  their  houses  below  water.  This 
entrance  leads  straight  up  to  the  chamber 
they  use  for  nesting,  so  that  the  instant 
they  are  disturbed  they  can  plunge  into  the 
"diving-hole."  The  nest  is  well  built  of 
clean  wild  rice  straw,  or  from  wild  oats, 
and  is  always  pure  and  scentless. 

For  years  my  field  studies  have  lain 
amid  the  scenes  of  this  latitude,  mainly 
on  the  shores  of  this  great  Canadian 
game-breeding  ground  of  Rice  Lake,  and 
after  hundreds  of  plates  and  films  have 


been  exposed,  we  have  secured  a  fair 
dozen. 

In  the  month  of  March,  before  the  rivers 
have  opened,  on  the  snow  around  the  heads 
of  the  creeks  and  about  the  air-holes  in  the 
thick  ice  may  be  seen  the  curious  trail  of 
the  muskrat.  It  can  readily  be  recognized 
by  the  firmly  planted  footmarks,  heavily 
and  slowly  impressed,  and  the  sharp  after- 
drag  of  the  long,  scaly,  blade-like  tail. 
All  through  the  cold  winter  months  these 
heavily  furred  animals  have  lived  warm 
and  comfortable  in  their  well-constructed 
houses,  rearing  their  third  and  last  litter. 
One  house  erected  about  September  seemed 
planned  with  almost  human  foresight. 
Here  with  their  long  sharp  teeth  and 
strong,  inch-long  claws  they  had  cut  and 
cleared  wide  paths  through  all  the  marshes 
— paths  so  deep  that  three  feet  of  ice  did 
not  close  them,  so  wide  that  we  have  often 
paddled  along  them,  marveling  at  the 
great  floating  masses  of  tom-up  aquatic 
vegetation.  These  paths  were  a  hundred 
yards  long  and  four  feet  wide  and  were  cut 
through  a  mass  of  tangled  cover  high 
enough  in  most  places  to  thoroughly  con- 
ceal a  duck  hunter  and  his  canoe.  In  the 
winter  months  the  muskrats  can  easily 
dive  from  their  houses  into  these  under-ice 
channels,  and  the  whole  marsh  is  before 
them  to  choose  their  meal  from.  The  long 
yellow  roots  of  the  flag  and  the  juicy  tubers 
of  the  wild  onion  (the  muskrat  apple  is  the 
more  poetic  Ojibway)  hang  exposed  before 
them,  or  are  readily  torn  out. 

Carefully  searching  these  snow-drifted 
wastes  on  the  watch  for  "subjects"  we 
came  across  what  is  known  as  a  "shove-up," 
showing  where  the  muskrats  had  pushed 


436 


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'  lie  scrambled  half  erect  and  ate  the  red  berries  hanging  there." 

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"Here  before  our  waiting  cameras  were  the  lovers." 


the  fcx)d  up  through  an  air-hole.  They 
cannot  eat  under  water,  and  had,  as  we 
guessed  by  the  criss-crossed  tracks,  de- 
voured the  food  with  many  a  running  fight. 
Next  evening  the  cameras  were  con- 
cealed in  a  snow  and  weed  covered  "hide," 
and  we  waited,  shivering,  a  hundred  yards 
off,  hidden  by  a  spreading  cedar.  Not 
until  the  sun  set  did  the  muskrat  put  in  an 
appearance.  Then  its  brown  head  and 
bright  eyes  peeped  from  the  air-hole,  and 
soon  the  sleek  brown  animal  was  sitting 
before  us,  holding  a  wild  onion  in  its  front 
paws — much  as  a  squirrel  would — and 
nibbling  contentedly.  For  several  nights 
we  were  unable  to  get  a  picture;  all  had 
turned  out,  when  developed,  as  a  mass  of 
cloudy  chaos.  But  "all  things  come  to 
him  who  waits."  One  night  we  heard  a 
slight  rustling  at  the  air-hole,  and  out  came 
the  bewhiskered  face  of  the  muskrat.  At 
first  it  sniffed  the  air  for  an  enemy.  Then 
it  dragged  itself  out  and  surveyed  the 
scene,  much  as  a  man  gazes  about  him  on 
stepping  out  of  doors.  A  light,  pleasant 
scent  of  musk  filled  the  air.  Then  the  ani- 
mal scrambled  half  erect  on  an  old  log  and 

438 


sniffed  again  and  ate  the  red  berries  hang- 
ing there.  With  a  metallic  clang  the  shut- 
ters of  our  cameras  announced  another 
series  started,  and  the  alarmed  muskrat 
dived  beneath  like  a  flash. 

Again,  after  days  of  fruitless  waiting, 
just  as  a  watery  glimmer  of  sunshine 
sparkled  on  the  now  op>en  Otonabee,  a  big, 
handsome  muskrat,  as  dry  as  if  it  had 
never  touched  the  water  with  its  dark, 
shining  coat,  stepped  right  into  the  focus 
of  the  waiting  cameras.  The  light  glittered 
from  its  long,  smooth  fur.  A  handful  of 
air  was  grasped  and  sent  on  its  mission,  the 
merry  clamor  of  the  machines  resulting, 
and  with  a  convulsive  bound  the  muskrat 
struck  the  surface  and  dived  beneath. 

With  the  warm  weather  came  the  spring 
rains  that  sent  torrents  of  water  into  the 
marshes.  It  honeycombed  the  ice  and 
forced  its  way  through  many  a  crack,  and 
the  muskrats  followed  it.  One  day,  when 
the  snow  was  retreating  over  the  warm 
grasses,  shrinking  before  the  bright  March 
sun,  a  bog  hole  threw  off  its  covering  of  ice, 
and  soon  mimic  waves  rippled  the  tiny 
surface.     As  we  speculated  on   this  wee 


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Hunting  the  Muskrat  with  a  Camera 


439 


pond  its  surface  was  opened,  as  it  were, 
and  out  stepped  a  muskrat,  a  female.  She 
was  immediately  followed  by  her  mate,  a 
large,  full-fed  male.  The  spring  mating 
season  was  on,  and  here  right  before  our 
waiting  cameras  were  the  lovers. 

We  had  learned  that  these  nocturnal 
feeders  choose  only  the  sweetest,  freshest 
food,  never  leaving  a  pur:  vegetarian  diet 
except  for  an  occasional  clam.  We  could 
tell  by  the  well-pressed  paths  that  inter- 
sected the  bogs  and  drowned  lands  that 
they  were  great  ramblers.  We  have  seen 
them  drag  out  their  bodies  and  sitting  erect 
on  an  old,  water-soaked  log  wash  their 
faces  and  literally  comb  all  their  hair.  We 
have  watched  a  Mississuaga  skinning  one 
of  these  animals,  and  after  removing  the 
muskbags  from  near  the  thigh,  have  had 
him  hand  us  the  carcass  s2Ly'ing*' Menaun- 
jega  (smell)!"  Now,  although  these  musk- 
bags are  powerful  enough  often  to  bring  on 
a  violent  coughing,  and  are  almost  unbear- 
able when  cut,  it  is  impossible  to  find  the 
slightest  odor  in  the  clean  meat  of  the 
thigh  from  which  they  were  cut.     When 


pressed  for  food  we  have  eaten  with  relish 
of  the  meat  of  this  extremely  clean  animal. 
"Muskrats**  we  call  them.  Are  they  any 
sweeter  by  the  name  of  "Georgia  rabbits," 
when  served  on  some  southern  hotel  table? 

Soon  the  Otonabee  was  in  full  flood,  and 
the  Indians'  cruel  traps  were  concealed  on 
every  log,  bog  and  "  draw-up."  (Draw-ups 
are  piles  of  weeds  pulled  up  by  the  animals 
to  afford  them  a  resting  place  while  eating; 
it  is  remarkable  what  an  amount  of  weeds 
one  will  rapidly  gather.)  Day  after  day 
we  saw  hundreds  of  the  dead  muskrats 
removed  from  the  traps,  and  my  assistant 
Fritz  naturally  asked  me  if  they  would 
catch  them  all.  But  it  seems  impossible 
to  exterminate  them.  It  is  agreed  by 
authorities  that  each  adult  female  is  cap- 
able of  reproducing  to  the  extent  of  thirty- 
two  each  year,  as  the  first  litter  of  kittens 
themselves  have  young  the  first  year. 

All  night  long  the  marshes  resounded 
with  the  squealing  cries  of  fighting  males. 
Unfortunately  they  emerged  so  late  that 
it  was  impossible  to  picture  many  an  odd 
position   that   we   sat    intently   studying. 


"Annoyed  at  her  lover's  attentions." 


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*  She  climbed  up  on  the  heap  of  flotsam  she  called  home  and  gave  it  a  few  finishing  touches." 

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'  Up  came  a  big  muskrat  right  into  focus." 

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Yet  after  many  failures  and — whisp>er  it — 
some  loss  of  temper,  we  succeeded  in  pic- 
turing another  pair.  They  were  running 
through  the  beaver  grass  along  a  path  our 
tree-held  camera  guarded.  The  male  was 
following  the  female's  every  movement, 
dodging,  leaping,  running  closely  along- 
side. And  just  as  she  backed  off,  evi- 
dently annoyed  at  her  lover's  too  arduous 
attentions,  we  pictured  them. 

We  had  watched  hundreds  before  we 
found  out  the  simple  fact  that  in  swimming 
they  use  the  front  and  hind  feet  alternately, 
the  same  as  in  walking.  Usually  while 
swimming  the  front  feet  are  held  almost 
clasped,  always  ready  to  grasp  floating 
food  or  attack  a  passing  neighbor.  When 
the  waders  and  birds  of  prey  passed  over 
the  marshes  we  have  oft:n  noticed  that  the 
muskrats  would  stop  feeding  or  making 
love  to  watch  with  something  like  appre- 
hension the  big  winged  bird  above.  But 
never  once  for  any  cause  did  we  see  them 
stop  fighting. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  the  pelts  were 
brown  almost  to  blackness,  fully  prime, 
and  when  stripped  from  the  carcass  and 
turned  inside  out  on  the  red  willow  boughs, 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  black  or  discolora- 
tion to  the  "saddle,"  as  they  call  the  fatty 
membrane  immediately  below  the  skin. 
Many  of  the  pelts  were  slashed  by  long, 
knife-like  cuts,  the  result  of  many  a  con- 
flict— as  the  long,  sharp  teeth  will  rend  a 
foe's  skin  almost  from  end  to  end  at  one 
long,  scratching  drag. 

We  saw  one  peculiar  sight,  rare  enough 
truly.  As  we  were  studying  the  ponds 
that  held  the  muskrats,  the  muskellonge 
came  in  to  spawn.  They  swam  through  all 
these  ponds.  It  was  wonderful  indeed  to 
see  a  plump  muskrat  sitting  erect  on  an  old 
water-soaked  log  intently  eying  a  passing 
muskellonge,  a  great  female  that  had 
spawned  here  for  possibly  half  a  century. 
Time  had  taught  the  animal  that  the  fish 
was  not  an  enemy,  but  when  a  great 
snapping-turtle  clambered  on  to  the  now 
trembling  log,  the  muskrat  lost  patience 
and  dived  gracefully  into  the  water. 

In  May  all  the  males  of  the  colonies  con- 
gregate far  back  in  the  most  secluded 
places  and  the  busy  females — alone  and 
unaided,  so  far  as  our  observations  have 
gone — each  builds  her  own  spring  house. 
There  was  an  old  ash  stump,  fifty  yards 


back  from  the  river,  that  showed  by  its 
flag  and  rice  straw  covered  top  that  a 
spring  muskrat  house  was  in  course  of 
erection.  Hour  after  hour  we  watched 
with  our  cameras  uselessly  concealed.  Day 
after  day  we  found  it  growing  larger  and 
nearer  completion.  The  dome-like  pile 
was  higher  each  morning,  and  the  floating 
masses  of  cut-up  and  chewed-off  reed  rice 
and  flags  had  been  gathered  in  greater 
quantities.  But  the  busy  builder  would 
not  come  out  until  the  light  was  almost 
gone.  We  had  made  a  float,  a  raft-like 
structure,  to  hold  our  cameras.  This  we 
had  staked  down  firmly,  and  draped  with 
floating  debris.  One  night  my  assistant 
thoughtlessly  included  a  wild  onion  in  the 
drapery.  A  passing  muskrat  espied  the 
tempting  morsel,  displayed  like  fruit  on  a 
huckster's  stall,  and  instantly  evinced  a 
desire  to  sample  it.  Rapidly  as  it  swam 
for  the  float  I  managed  to  get  my  .32  into 
action  quicker  and  whizzed  a  bullet  over 
its  head  just  in  time  to  save  the  machine 
from  an  untimely  bath.  Before  the  smoke 
had  cleared  away  the  brown  head  and 
bright  eyes  of  the  female  housebuilder 
popped  out  of  the  water  close  beside  the 
unfinished  house.  She  searched  intently 
for  the  source  of  the  unusual  sound.  Then 
she  climbed  up  the  heap  of  marsh  flotsam 
she  called  home  and  gave  it  a  few  finishing 
touches — a  stamp  here,  a  push  with  her 
nose  there.  Then  she  slid  rapidly  into  the 
water  and  seizing  some  loose  straw  started 
to  drag  it  up.  She  ascended  backward 
with  her  load,  and  just  as  she  hung  some  of 
it  over  the  side,  the  machines  clanged  out, 
and  she  fell  into  the  water  instantly. 

The  waters  were  falling  now.  The 
houses  reared  themselves  abroad  like  so 
many  rushy  islands.  The  receding  water 
showed  the  old  houses  also,  showed  where 
unlawful  trappers  had  cut  into  them,  had 
cut  deep  into  the  living  chamber  to  place  a 
trap  there,  catching  one  of  the  family  and 
causing  the  rest  to  seek  shelter  under  logs, 
roots,  anywhere  for  a  warm  spot  far  from 
the  torn  house.  It  is  impossible  for  these 
animals  to  repair  any  injury  done  to  their 
houses  in  the  winter,  as  all  their  building 
material  is  sealed  hard  and  fast  by  the 
frost. 

The  "signs"  around  one  of  these  opened 
houses  convinced  us  that  a  lone  male  was 
living  there,  while  his  busy  mate  was  bring- 


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**A  lone  male  lived  there.' 


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*A  very  clean  baby  indeed." 


ing  forth  the  next  litter  in  an  adjacent 
spring  house.  Once  more  we  staked  the 
float  in  place,  the  cameras  hidden  thereon. 
The  only  link  showing  was  the  white  tube 
which  connected  our  canoe  in  the  bog  near 
by.  It  happened  that  a  great  blue  heron, 
passing  overhead,  saw  what  appeared  to 
him  to  be  a  lengthy  white  worm.  A 
swoop!  a  backward  sweep  of  the  great 
wings!  and  he  alighted  within  ten  yards  of 
us  to  gravely  examine  his  find.  Thin  and 
palatable  the  worm  looked,  truly,  as  he 
raised  about  three  yards  of  it  in  his  long 
bill.  As  our  tube  seemed  in  imminent 
danger  of  being  digested  we  "Coo-ee-d!" 
With  a  mighty  spring  and  a  hoarse  croak 
the  great  bird  flapped  away  on  his  heavy 
wings.  Bitterns,  too,  stood  with  slanted 
eyes  and  curiously  stiffened  necks  gazing 
long  and  fondly  at  this  strange  white  coil. 

But  at  last — splash!  Up  came  a  big 
muskrat  right  into  focus.  There  was  a 
merry  clamor  of  actions  and  curtains,  and 
we  had  him. 

All  night  long  the  splashing  noise  and 
querulouf  cry  of  the  fighting  males  would 

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come  into  our  "shanty"  windows,  and  day 
by  day  we  haunted  the  deepest  bays  and 
swamps,  hoping  to  get  a  picture  of  a 
combat. 

At  last  chance  gave  us  the  opportunity. 
We  had  managed  to  get  a  fair  picture  of  a 
male  muskrat  as  he  came  swimming  up- 
stream, and  we  still  stood  watching  him. 
He  was  so  close  to  us  that  we  could  see  his 
*' hands"  held  together  at  his  breast,  just 
in  the  churn  of  the  water,  and  his  legs 
.  kicking  out  very  much  after  the  manner  of 
a  frog  when  swimming.  Suddenly  he 
dived  down  through  the  clean  water  to  a 
tiny  sandbar  and  picked  up  a  clam  with 
his  hands.  It  was  fully  two  minutes  by 
our  watch  before  he  came  to  the  surface 
again.  He  sat  within  fifty  feet  of  us  turn- 
ing the  clam  over  and  over.  Then  he  in- 
cised it  with  his  strong  teeth  and  tore  it 
open.  He  had  only  just  swallowed  the 
juicy  bivalve  when  another  muskrat,  intent 
on  stealing  it,  dashed  across  the  bay. 

There  was  a  sharp,  chattering  cry.  A 
low,  plaintive  whine  followed,  and  with 
hair  bristling  and  eyes  flashing  they  stoodj 

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erect  and  tore  at  each  other.  Biting, 
scratching,  tearing,  they  rolled  around,  but 
the  spot  was  too  distant  for  us  to  focus  it. 
Finally,  however,  locked  in  each  other's 
paws,  they  fell  into  the  stream.  Still  tear- 
ing savagely  at  each  other  they  fought 
their  way  past  us,  unnoticing.  They  had 
given  us  a  unique  picture. 

By  the  end  of  May  the  first  batch  of 
kittens  lay  squealing  in  the  houses,  and  as 
the  water  was  rising  again  we  were  treated 
to  the  rare  sight  of  a  female  carrying  her 
young  from  a  drowned-out  house  to  a 
swiftly  built  draw-up.  One  at  a  time  she 
carried  the  little  gray  chaps — blind,  pink- 
legged,  silky-coated — holding  them  upside 


down  to  the  clear  light,  the  first  that  had 
ever  warmed  their  small  blind  eyes. 
Squealing  and  kicking,  firmly  yet  softly 
held  by  the  long  sharp  teeth  of  the  mother, 
we  watched  them  pass,  until  all  were  laid 
on  the  draw-up  in  the  warm  sun.  They 
remained  patiently  there  when  their  mother 
left  them,  but  as  we  paddled  up  they  im- 
mediately scrambled  off  into  the  water, 
though  they  could  neither  see  nor  hear  us. 
Later  we  found  one  in  a  nest.  It  was  a 
very  clean  baby  indeed.  No  doubt  the 
bright  eyes  of  the  mother  were  watching  us 
as  we  paddled  homewards  with  the  last 
picture  of  the  set,  and  left  the  little  one 
squealing  on  the  dry  straw. 


"They  fought  their  way  past  us,  unnoticing." 


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TALES   OF   A  COLLECTOR   OF 
WHISKERS 

BY  J.ARCHIBALD  McKACKNEY,MUS.DOC.,F.R.G.S.,ETC. 
(EDITED   BY   RALPH    D.   PAINE) 


ILLUSTRATED    BY   WALLACE    MORGAN 


II.— THE  BEARDED  PEASANT'S  REVENGE 


I  HEN  the  twenty-four 
members  of  the  Hirsute 
Orchestra  filed  into  my 
library  on  the  morning 
named  for  the  first  re- 
hearsal, I  surveyed  their 
varied  assortment  of 
whiskers  with  a  good  deal  of  pride  and 
satisfaction.  It  had  been  no  easy  task 
to  find  and  assemble  this  animated  key- 
board with  which  I  proposed  to  test  my 
new  theory  of  musical  vibration.  But 
before  attempting  to  extract  harmony 
from  their  whiskers  I  had  to  contend  with 
annoying  discords  of  individual  temp>era- 
ment,  for  my  assistant.  Hank  Wilkins,  had 
selected  these  gentlemen  for  their  whiskers 
alone.  Here  on  the  eve  of  the  first  re- 
hearsal old  Captain  Rust  showed  a  quarrel- 
some mood.  He  had  been  picked  up  on 
the  Boston  water-front  because  his  snowy 
and  majestic  beard  promised  to  supply  a 
musical  note  of  rare  power  and  resonance, 
and  I  had  been  very  patient  with  his  in- 
firmities of  temper.  But  as  he  entered 
the  library  at  the  head  of  the  three  octaves, 
he  bellowed  at  me  in  a  stormy  voice: 

"I  ain't  going  to  be  treated  in  this  ri- 
dickilus  fashion.  I  '11  take  my  whiskers  and 
go  home.  I  didn't  expect  to  be  herded 
with  a  passel  of  looneytics,  and  used  as  a 
gosh-whanged  /Eolian  harp." 

My  most  tactful  efforts  finally  subdued 
him,  and  I  mention  the  incident  only  to 
show  the  kind  of  trials  I  had  to  contend 
with  at  this  time.  As  simply  as  possible  I 
explained  to  the  company  the  theory  of 
sound  vibration  and  the  application  of 
these  proven  facts  to  the  Human  Whisker. 


At  length  I  led  them  upstairs  and  after 
me  trooped  Boston  club-man,  deep-water 
skipper,  sea-cook,  physician,  artist,  and 
lawyer,  all  of  them  eager  to  know  more 
about  the  reason  for  my  interest  in  them. 
I  ushered  them  into  my  ''workshop,"  and 
directed  them  to  be  seated  at  random  on 
three  rows  of  chairs  which  wer^  arranged 
on  a  platform  at  one  end  of  the  spacious 
room.  They  stared  with  amazement  at 
the  seeming  chaos  of  intricate  machinery 
in  the  place  and  I  hastened  to  explain: 

"We  will  set  to  work,  gentlemen,  ac- 
cording to  my  tentative  diagrams  of  the 
respective  tonal  qualities  of  your  whiskers. 
Captain  Rust  is  placed  at  the  lowest  note 
of  the  scale  to  begin  with." 

The  old  gentleman  rebelled  at  being  put 
lower  in  the  scale  than  the  Portuguese  sea- 
cook  and  swore  that  he  out-ranked  the 
"putty-faced  son  of  a  tea-kettle."  The 
more  intelligent  members  of  the  orchestra 
grasped  the  fact,  however,  that  the  longer 
and  more  luxuriant  the  whisker  the  lower 
must  be  the  pitch  of  the  resultant  musical 
note,  and  that  I  had  mastered  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  /Eolian  harp  in  a  novel  and 
startling  manner.  One  by  one  the  "notes" 
of  this  singular  scale  were  given  their  proper 
positions  according  to  my  carefully  pre- 
pared diagrams.  1 1  was  more  or  less  guess- 
work until  1  could  begin  to  tune  these 
picturesque  and  delicate  vibratory  media. 

At  last  I  was  ready  to  seat  myself  in 
front  of  the  electric  switchboard  which 
operated  the  automatic  series  of  bellows, 
and  I  applied  to  my  ears  the  receivers  of  the 
microphone  batteries.  Wilkins,  my  assist- 
ant, had  fastened  the  head  of  each  be- 


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whiskered  gentleman  in  a  cushioned  clamp 
and  adjusted  a  polished  sound  reflector  just 
behind  him.  I  have  been  accused  of  lack- 
ing a  sense  of  humor,  and  1  confess  I  could 
see  no  cause  for  the  suppressed  hilarity 
which  seemed  to  be  shaking  Wilkins  to  his 
foundations.  The  aspect  of  these  solemn 
rows  of  strangers  pinned  in  position  like 
so  many  luxuriant  botanical  specimens 
was  of  course  odd  and  unusual.  From  the 
pained  expressions  of  their  features  I 
judged  that  they  expected  me  to  electro- 
cute them  to  a  man.  But  my  trained, 
artistic  eye  was  busy  with  admiring  the 
beautiful  regularity  with  which  the  serried 
whiskers  grew  shorter  and  shorter  as  they 
ascended  the  scale  of  three  octaves. 

At  length  I  pressed  a  key  and  my  fingers 
were  tremulous  with  excitement.  The  bel- 
lows directly  in  front  of  old  Captain  Rust 
drove  a  swift  blast  of  air  on  his  face  and  his 
beard  played  to  and  fro  like  a  miniature 
cascade.  I  waited  an  instant  and  again 
turned  on  the  air  current.    The  bellows 


next  in  line  responded  to  an  electric  im- 
pulse and  the  flowing  "Dundreary's"  of  a 
Salvation  Army  derelict  waggled  percep- 
tibly. I  turned  to  my  tuning  forks  and 
almost  stopped  breathing.  I  had  heard  the 
first  note  struck  from  the  vibrations  of 
Captain  Rust's  magnificent  beard  and  now 
I  found  that  the  next  ascending  note  was 
no  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  tone  off  the 
key.  My  fondest  dreams  were  coming 
true,  and  my  emotions  were  beyond  words. 
Step  by  step  my  marvelous  mechanism 
stirred  the  sensitive  vibratory  impulses  of 
this  human  scale  into  sounds  too  fine  to 
be  heard  by  the  human  ear.  Up,  up,  the 
scale  1  tried  each  note  until  at  last  the 
needle-like  mustaches  and  spiked  goatee 
of  the  Portuguese  sea-cook  were  trilling  a 
faint,  sweet  chord;  yes,  a  genuine  chord 
of  three  notes,  not  quite  in  key,  but  mag- 
nificently promising.  I  was  so  carried 
away  with  joy  and  excitement  that  I 
played  furiously  up  and  down  the  scale, 
oblivious  to  the  false  notes  and  discords, 


"Now  a  fraction  off  the  bottom.     The  tone  is  almost  perfect. 'V 

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The  Outing  Magazine 


now  caressing  the  harmonious  whiskers 
with  a  pianissimo  breeze,  again  fetching 
great  booming  notes  from  the  beard  of 
Rust  with  cyclonic  fortissimo  gusts. 

My  instruments  were  of  course  eager  to 
hear  for  themselves,  and  one  by  one  I  al- 
lowed them  to  use  the  microphone  receivers 
and  listen  to  the  music  of  each  other's 
whiskers.  At  last  I  had  to  tear  them  away 
from  this  fascinating  diversion,  and  an- 
nounced that  the  tuning  process  would 
begin  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

I  was  fidgeting  with  anxiety  until  they 
had  reassembled.  As  soon  as  affairs  were 
in  readiness  I  instructed  the  phlegmatic 
German  barber  as  follows: 

*'  You  must  be  sure  to  do  exactly  as  I  tell 
you.  When  I  am  prepared  to  test  the  first 
note  (that  old  gentleman  on  the  lower 
right),  you  are  to  trim  him  as  directed. 
Be  sure  to  preserve  the  most  perfect  symme- 
try. If  you  cut  on  one  side,  the  other 
must  match  it  to  a  hair's  breadth. 

The  barber  was  a  person  of  discretion 
and  made  no  comment  beyond  a  muttered, 
"Mein  Gott,  vat  it  is?"  He  wore  a  beard 
of  Teutonic  cut  over  which  I  made  him  slip 
a  small  silk  bag  lest  it  might  be  set  vibrating 
with  inharmonious  effect.  As  soon  as  the 
knight  of  the  shears  knelt  beside  Captain 
Rust,  I  found  the  pitch  of  the  note  with  a 
tuning  fork,  while  I  told  the  barber: 

*'Clip  a  little  off  the  left  side.  Now  the 
same  off  the  right.  Ah,  that  is  better.  It 
is  still  a  shade  too  low.  Now  a  fraction  off 
the  bottom.  The  tone  is  almost  perfect. 
Clip  the  merest  strand  from  under  his  chin. 
There,  he  is  absolutely  in  tune." 

With  deft  shears  the  bewildered  barber 
altered,  curtailed,  and  harmonized  the  con- 
trasting types  of  whiskers  that  were  dis- 
played along  the  ornate  sequence  of  three 
octaves.  By  shortening  the  vibratory 
media  the  tones  were  easily  raised,  but 
when  I  found  three  sets  of  whiskers  pitched 
too  high,  I  was  compelled  to  ask  their 
owners  to  withdraw  from  rehearsals  until 
the  natural  growth  should  lower  their  pitch. 

I  sent  for  him  that  evening  and  confided 
my  cherished  purpose.  In  another  fort- 
night I  hoped  to  be  ready  to  play  simple 
airs  in  the  key  of  C  Natural  on  the 
McKackney  Hirsute  Orchestra.  Then  I 
intended  to  invite  to  a  private  concert  or 
exhibition  a  score  of  the  leading  musicians 
and  scientists  of  the  East,  including  the 


head  of  the  Musical  Department  of  Har- 
vard University.  My  bold  crusade  in  be- 
half of  the  Human  Whisker  as  a  field  for 
Nature  Study  had  won  me  some  small 
reputation  in  the  intellectual  world,  and  I 
had  reason  to  believe  that  my  invitations 
would  be  respectfully  entertained. 

The  rehearsals  were  conducted  day  and 
night,  and  so  far  advanced  were  my  plans 
three  days  before  the  date  of  the  concert 
that  I  had  the  superb  pleasure  of  listening 
to  a  programme  of  no  less  than  eight 
popular  airs  played  with  notable  beauty  of 
expression.  I  had  become  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  and  had  lost  all  interest  in  other 
affairs.  I  therefore  paid  little  attention  to 
•Hank  Wilkins  when  he  read  me  the  follow- 
ing cablegram  from  Berlin : 

"Bearded  peasant  shipped  per  instructions. 
Arrive  Steamer  Bremen.  Stein  bach." 

"Bearded  i>easant?"  I  echoed  blankly. 
"What  the  deuce  is  that?  Some  curio? 
Do  you  know  anything  about  it,  Wilkins?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  "don't  you  recall 
Steinbach's  sending  you  word  that  he  had 
found  a  peasant  near  Hanover  with  a  beard 
six  feet  four  and  a  half  inches  long,  which 
he  braided  and  wore  in  three  half  hitches 
around  his  neck?  You  wanted  to  add  him 
to  your  collection,  sir,  and  we  were  on  the 
point  of  starting  for  Germany  when  you  ran 
afoul  of  your  musical  vibration  theory  and 
chucked  everything  else  in  the  discard." 

Then  I  remembered  the  bearded  peasant. 
I  had  cabled  Steinbach  to  ship  him  to  me 
and  to  ask  Lloyds  to  insure  his  whiskers  for 
the  voyage.  But  I  had  no  time  to  bother 
with  my  collections  now,  for  the  concert 
was  only  two  days  away.  1  asked  Wilkins 
to  run  down  to  New  York  and  fetch  the 
trophy  home  and  find  quarters  for  him. 

Wilkins  met  the  steamer  as  directed 
and  brought  the  hairy  exile  home  with 
him,  while  curious  crowds  followed  them 
to  my  gates.  The  bearded  one,  Hans 
Bumphauser  by  name,  turned  out  to  be  a 
vain  and  stupid  yokel  who  had  been  vastly 
puffed  up  by  the  invitation  of  the  "great 
American  nobleman."  His  whiskered  emi- 
nence had  won  him  a  certain  notoriety  in 
his  own  village  and  he  had  come  to  conquer 
new  and  glittering  worlds.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  be  received  by  me  in  p>erson  and 
the  ends  of  his  beard  were  bound  with 
gaudy  fillets  of  tinsel  by  way  of  a  festal 
toilet.     It  disgruntled  him  to  find  that  the 

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"nobleman"  was 
too  busy  to  no- 
tice him. 

The  humiliated 
objet  d'art  sent 
numerous  mes- 
sages to  the  man- 
sion demanding  an 
audience  with  me, 
between  whiles 
combing  and  ^ 
braiding  his  beard  ' 
with  praiseworthy 
diligence  and  hold- 
ing himself  ready 
for  the  summons 
that  never  came. 

It  seems  that  in 
his  gloomy  excur- 
sions over  the  es- 
tate the  bearded 
peasant  had  no- 
ticed the  unusual 
number  of  whis- 
kered gentlemen 
who  seemed  to  be 

welcome  guests  at  the  mansion.  He  saw 
them  going  to  and  fro  in  groups  and 
squads,  and  the  sensational  beard  of  Hank 
Wilkins  also  helped  to  confirm  the  black 
suspicion  of  Hans  Bumphauser  that  these 
strangers  had  crowded  him  out  of  favor  with 
the  Lord  of  the  Manor.  He  was  overheard 
to  mutter,  "  Himmel,  are  these  second-rate 
whiskers  to  make  me  forgotten  already?" 

Jealousy  was  flaming  his  grief  into  slow 
and  sullen  anger  and  he  began  to  hunger 
for  revenge.  His  thick  wits  could  devise 
no  way  of  harming  the  neglectful  and 
fickle  Herr  McKackney  until  in  an  evil 
moment  he  happened  to  meet  my  orchestral 
barber  in  the  village  tavern.  To  his  fellow- 
countryman  the  peasant  unfolded  his  tale 
of  deception  and  heartache.  They  lin- 
gered over  many  glasses  of  h^r  and  the 
barber  became  confidential. 

The  bearded  one  listened  with  more  in- 
terest and  fairly  pricked  up  his  ears  when 
the  barber  became  loquacious  enough  to 
tell  him,  "every  day  I  must  trim  the  whis- 
kers of  the  twenty-four  visiting  gentlemen 
exactly  just  so  or  there  will  be  ten  thousand 
devils  to  pay.' ' 

Hans  Bumphauser  objected  that  it  was 
a  sin  to  trim  the  whiskers  at  all,  and  that 
no  sane  man  would  ever  lay  hand  upon  a 


Wilkins- brought  the  hairy  exile  home  with  him 


whisker  except  in 
kindness.  But  the 
barber  sighed: 
"Ach,  but  it  is  the 
music.  I  have  not 
heard  the  wonder- 
ful music,  but  I 
have  seen  it  every 
day." 

Of  course  the 
misguided  peasant 
was  keenly  inter- 
ested by  this  time, 
and  he  had  heard 
enough  to  make 
him  thirst  for  more 
informatk)n.  The 
German  farm- 
hand with  whom 
he  lodged  had 
been  previously 
summoned  to  the 
music-room  to  help 
move  some  heavy 
machinery,  and  he 
had  watched  the 
barber  at  work  with  his  tuning.  By  per- 
sistent questioning  Hans  Bumphauser  be- 
gan to  piece  together  a  working  theory. 

Ignorant  of  any  menacing  danger  I  was 
preparing  to  welcome  the  distinguished 
company  of  scientists  and  musicians.  They 
were  to  arrive  for  dinner  Saturday  night. 
In  the  evening  I  planned  to  deliver  a  lec- 
ture to  pave  the  way  for  the  demonstration. 
Fearing  to  expose  myself  to  baseless  ridi- 
cule I  had  so  worded  my  invitations  that 
my  guests  should  not  learn  the  nature  of 
my  discovery  until  I  had  a  chance  to  ex- 
plain it  on  scientific  grounds. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  they  came  in 
mingled  moods  of  doubt  and  curiosity,  but 
I  flatter  myself  that  before  the  dinner  was 
over  they  had  begun  to  consider  the  jour- 
ney well  worth  while.  After  coffee  and 
cigars  in  the  library  I  requested  their  at- 
tention and  began  to  read  from  a  roll  of 
manuscript.  The  savants  were  interested 
from  the  start.  The  originality  of  my 
views  made  them  breathless,  but  I  took 
them  step  by  step  from  one  unassailable 
premise  to  an  equally  sound  conclusion. 
The  first  mention  of  "Whiskers"  evoked  a 
ripple  of  levity,  but  this  was  soon  smoth- 
ered in  hearty  applause  as  I  began  to 
describe  the  experiments  which  had  led 


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'*  He  was  sore  about  something  and  ran  amuck  with  a  big  pair  of  scissors." 


to  the  assembling  of  the  Hirsute  Orchestra. 
Then  I  laid  my  manuscript  aside  and  an- 
nounced in  ringing  tones: 

"You  may  think  me  a  madman,  gentle- 
men. But  to-morrow  morning  you  shall 
listen  to  the  music  which  I  have  tried  to 
describe.  You  shall  hear  for  yourselves 
and  be  convinced.  You  have  been  very 
patient,  and  your  reward  shall  be  in  propor- 
tion. Gentlemen,  the  Hirsute  Orchestra 
is  an  accomplished  fact  and " 

There  was  a  sound  of  clattering  footsteps 
in  the  hall.  I  paused  and  waited,  and  an 
instant  later  Hank  Wilkins  burst  into  the 
library  like  a  tornado.  He  was  breathless 
from  running,  and  his  eyes  were  fairly  pop- 
ping from  his  head.  I  had  never  seen  him  so 
agitated  and  I  knew  that  he  bore  some  dread- 
ful tidings.  Even  after  ten  years  my  memory 
is  stamped  with  the  words  which  he  hoarse- 
ly stammered :  "  The  Hirsute  Orchestra  is 
busied  all  to  Hell,  Commodore!  There* s  no 
repairifC  damages!    It's  a  total  wreck!" 

The  guests  rose  in  confusion  while  I 
swayed  in  my  tracks  and  could  only  mur- 
mur in  a  far-away  voice  that  I  scarcely 
recognized  as  my  own : 

"Explain  yourself,  Wilkins.  For  Heav- 
en's sake,  pull  yourself  together!" 


My  devoted  assistant  snatched  a  decan- 
ter from  a  table  and  hurried  to  my  side: 

"Throw  in  a  stiff  one,  sir.  You'll  need 
it.  It  was  the  prize  Dutchman,  sir,  the 
Bumphauser  lad  that  came  by  cable.  He 
was  sore  about  something  and  he  ran 
amuck  with  a  big  pair  of  scissors — ^just 
now — in  the  dormitory.  Some  of  the  /Eo- 
lians  had  turned  in  early  and  was  asleep. 
The  devastation  was  appalling.  Great 
handfuls  chopped  out  of  'em.  Then  he 
broke  into  the  smoking-room.  Four  of 
the  priceless  Middle  Octaves  was  playing 
poker.  Before  they  could  get  steerage- 
way  the  whiskers  of  two  was  in  ghastly 
ruins." 

1  could  not  find  speech,  and  while  the 
company  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  floor 
Wilkins  concluded: 

"And  while  I  was  running  to  the  scene 
I  met  old  man  Rust  and  Peter  O'Dwyer 
staggerin'  home  from  the  village.  Their 
whiskers  had  gone  by  the  board,  decks 
swept  as  clean  as  the  back  of  my  hand,  sir. 
The  Bumphauser  pirate  had  loaded  them 
up  with  booze  and  gashed  their  whiskers 
off  in  the  back  room  of  the  tavern.  There 
ain't  an  Octave  left,  and  the  HirstUe  Orches- 
tra is  fit  jar  nothing  hut  the  junk-shop!" 


( The  third  Tale  of  a  Collector  of  Whiskers  will  deal  with  an  adventure  of  Mr.  McKackney  on  the  high 
seas,  under  the  title  of  **Tbe  Sentimental  Anarchist.*') 


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THE  WAY   OF  A   MAN 


BY   EMERSON    HOUGH 


CHAPTER  IV 

RUMORS  OF  WAR 

sent  our  carriage  down 
to  Wallingford  that  even- 
ing, and  had  my  new 
friend,  Mr.  Orme,  out  to 
Cowles  Farms  for  that 
night.  He  was  a  stranger 
in  the  land,  and  that 
was  enough.  Both  my  parents  accepted 
him  for  what  he  then  purported  to  be,  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  and  any  singularity 
of  his  conduct  which  they  may  have  noticed 
they  ascribed  to  his  education  in  com- 
munities different  from  our  quiet  one.  I 
remember  no  acrimonious  speech  during 
his  visit  with  us,  although  the  doctrine 
which  he  had  pronounced  and  which  now 
and  again,  in  one  form  or  another,  he 
reviewed,  was  not  in  accord  with  ours.  I 
recall  very  well  the  discussions  they  had, 
and  remember  how  formally  my  mother 
would  begin  her  little  arguments — "  Friend, 
I  am  moved  to  say  to  thee," — and  then  she 
would  go  on  to  tell  him  gently  that  all  men 
should  be  brothers,  and  that  there  should 
be  peace  on  earth,  and  that  no  man  should 
oppress  his  brother  in  any  way,  and  that 
slavery  ought  not  to  exist. 

And  so  they  went  on,  hour  after  hour, 
not  bitterly,  but  hotly,  as  was  the  fashion 
all  over  the  land  at  that  time.  My  father 
remamed  a  Whig,  which  put  him  in  line, 
sometimes,  with  the  Northern  men  then 
coming  into  prominence,  such  as  Morrill  of 
New  England,  and  young  Sherman  from 
across  the  mountains,  who  believed  in  the 
tariff  in  spite  of  what  England  might  say  to 
us.  This  set  him  against  the  Jefferson 
clans  of  our  state,  who  feared  not  a  war 
with  the  North  so  much  as  one  with 
Europe.    Already  England  was  pronounce 

45 


ing  her  course;  yet  those  were  not  days  of 
triumphant  conclusions,  but  of  doubtful 
weighing  and  hard  judgment,  as  we  in  old 
Virginia  could  have  told  you,  who  saw 
neighbors  set  against  each  other,  and  even 
families  divided  among  themselves.  For 
six  years  the  war  talk  had  been  growing 
stronger.  Those  of  the  South  recoiled 
from  the  word  treason — ^it  had  a  hateful 
sound  to  them,  nor  have  they  to  this  day 
justified  its  application  to  them.  I  myself 
believe  to-day  that  war  was  quite  as  much 
one  of  geography  and  of  lack  of  transpor- 
tation as  it  ever  was  a  war  between  loyalty 
and  disloyalty  to  the  flag.  In  our  inno- 
cent Virginia  souls  we  did  not  know  that 
New  Orleans  had  a  cotton  lobby  with 
millions  at  its  back.  We  did  not  know 
that  the  unscrupulous  kings  of  the  cotton 
world,  here  and  abroad,  were  making 
deliberate  propaganda  of  secession  all 
over  the  South;  it  was  not  these  rich  and 
arrogant  planters,  even,  men  like  our  kin 
in  the  Carolinas,  men  like  those  of  the 
Sheraton  family,  who  were  the  pillars  of  the 
Confederacy,  or  rather  of  the  secession 
idea.  Back  of  them,  enshrouded  forever 
in  darkness  and  in  mystery,  and  now  in 
oblivion  which  cannot  be  broken — ^were 
certain  great  figures  of  the  commercial 
world  in  this  land  and  in  other  lands. 
These  made  a  victim  of  our  country  at  that 
time;  even  as  a  few  great  commercial 
figures  seek  to  do  to-day.  And  we,  poor 
innocent  fools,  flew  at  each  others'  throats, 
and  fought,  and  slew  and  laid  waste  a  land, 
for  no  real  principle  and  to  no  gain  to  our- 
selves. Nothing  is  so  easy  to  deceive,  to 
hoodwink,  to  blind  and  betray,  as  a  great 
and  innocent  people  that  in  its  heart  loves 
justice  and  fair  play. 

I  fear,  however,  that  while  much  of  this 
talk  was  going  on  upon  the  galleries  at 

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Cowles  Farms,  I  myself  was  busier  with  the 
training  of  my  pointer  than  I  was  with 
matters  of  politics.  I  was  not  displeased 
when  my  mother  came  to  me  presently 
that  afternoon  and  suggested  that  we 
should  all  make  a  visit  to  Dixiana  Farm, 
to  call  upon  our  neighbors,  the  Sheratons. 

"Mr.  Orme  says  he  would  like  to  meet 
Colonel  Sheraton,"  she  explained, "  and  thee 
knows  that  we  have  not  been  to  see  our 
neighbors  for  some  time  now.  I  thought 
that  perhaps  Colonel  Sheraton  might  be 
moved  to  listen  to  me  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Orme, 
if  I  should  speak  of  peace — not  in  argu- 
ment, as  thee  knows,  but  as  his  neighbor." 

She  looked  at  me  a  moment,  her  hand 
dusting  at  my  coat.  "Thee  knows  the 
Sheratons  and  the  Cowles  have  sometimes 
been  friends  and  sometimes  enemies — I 
would  rather  we  were  friends.  And,  Jack, 
Miss  Grace  is  quite  thy  equal — if  any  may 
be  the  equal  of  my  boy.  And  some  day 
thee  must  be  thinking,  thee  knows " 

"I  was  already  thinking,  mother,"  said 
I  gravely,  and  so,  indeed,  I  was,  though 
perhaps  not  quite  as  she  imagined. 

At  least  that  is  how  we  happened  to  ride 
to  the  Sheratons  that  afternoon,  in  our 
greater  carriage,  my  father  and  Mr.  Orme 
by  the  side  of  my  mother,  and  I  alongside 
on  horseback. 

Colonel  Sheraton  met  us  at  his  lawn, 
and  as  the  day  was  somewhat  warm,  asked 
us  at  first  to  be  seated  in  the  chairs  beneath 
the  oaks.  Here  Miss  Grace  joined  us  pres- 
ently, and  Orme  was  presented  to  her,  as 
well  as  to  Mrs.  Sheraton,  tall,  dark,  and 
lace-draped,  who  also  joined  us  in  response 
to  Colonel  Sheraton's  request.  I  could  not 
fail  to  notice  the  quick  glance  with  which 
Orme  took  in  the  face  and  figure  of  Grace 
Sheraton,  and,  indeed,  he  had  been  a 
critical  man  who  would  not  have  called 
her  fair  to  look  upon,  in  the  tall,  dark 
Sheraton  way. 

The  elder  members  of  the  party  fell  to 
conversing  in  their  rocking-chairs  there  on 
the  lawn,  and  I  was  selfish  enough  to  with- 
draw Miss  Grace  to  the  gallery  steps,  where 
we  sat  for  a  time,  laughing  and  talking, 
while  I  pulled  the  ears  of  their  hunting  dog, 
and  rolled  under  foot  a  puppy  or  two, 
which  were  my  friends.  I  say,  none  could 
have  failed  to  call  Grace  Sheraton  fair.  It 
pleased  me  better  to  sit  there  on  the  gallery 
steps  and  talk  with  her  than  to  listen  once 


more  to  the  arguments  over  slavery  and 
secession.  1  could  hear  Colonel  Sheraton's 
deep  voice  every  now  and  then  emphatic- 
ally coinciding  with  some  statement  made 
by  Orme.  I  could  see  the  clean-cut  head 
and  features  of  the  latter,  and  his  gestures, 
strongly  but  not  flamboyantly  made.  As 
for  us  two,  the  language  that  goes  without 
speech  between  a  young  man  and  a  maid 
passed  between  us.  I  rejoiced  to  mock  at 
her  always,  and  did  so  now,  declaring  again 
my  purpose  to  treat  her  simply  as  my 
neighbor  and  not  as  a  young  lady  finished 
at  the  best  schools  of  Philadelphia.  But, 
presently,  in  some  way,  I  scarce  can  say 
by  whose  first  motion,  we  arose  and  strolled 
together  around  the  comer  of  the  house  and 
out  into  the  orchard. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MADNESS  OF   MUCH    KISSING 

"That  was  a  very  noble  thing  of  you," 
Miss  Grace  Sheraton  was  saying  to  me,  as 
we  passed  slowly  among  the  big  trees  of  the 
Sheraton  apple  orchard.  Her  eyes  were 
rather  soft  and  a  slight  color  lay  upon  her 
cheeks,  whose  ivory  hue  was  rarely 
heightened  in  this  way. 

"  I  am  in  ignorance.  Miss  Grace,"  I  said 
to  her. 

"Fie!  You  know  very  well  what  I 
mean — about  yesterday." 

"Oh,  that,"  said  I,  and  went  rather  red 
of  the  face  myself,  for  I  thought  she  meant 
my  salutation  at  the  gate. 

She,  redder  now  than  myself,  needed  no 
explanation  as  to  what  I  meant.  "No,  not 
that,"  she  began  hastily,  "that  was  not 
noble,  but  vile  of  you!  I  mean  at  the 
tavern,  where  you  took  my  part " 

So  then  I  saw  that  word  in  some  way  had 
come  to  her  of  the  little  brawl  between 
Harry-Singleton  and  myself.  Then  indeed 
my  face  grew  scarlet.  "It  was  nothing," 
said  I,  "simply  nothing  at  all."  But  to 
this  she  would  not  listen. 

"To  protect  an  absent  woman  is  always 
manly,"  she  said.  (It  was  the  women  of 
the  South  who  set  us  all  foolish  about 
chivalry.)  "  I  thank  you  for  caring  for  my 
name." 

Now  I  should  have  grown  warmer  in  the 
face  and  in  the  heart  at  this,  but  the  very 
truth  is  that  I  felt  a  chill  come^er  me,  as 

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though  I  were  getting  deeper  into  cold 
water.  I  guessed  her  mind.  Now  how 
was  1,  who  had  kissed  her  at  the  lane,  who 
had  defended  her  when  absent — ^who  called 
now  in  state  with  his  father  and  mother  in 
the  family  carriage — how  was  I  to  say  I 
was  not  of  the  same  mind  as  she?  I  pulled 
the  ears  of  the  hunting  dog  until  he  yelped 
in  pain. 

We  were  deep  in  the  great  Sheraton 
orchard,  across  the  fence  which  divided  it 
from  the  house  grounds,  so  far  that  only 
the  great  chimney  of  the  house  showed 
above  the  trees.  The  shade  was  gracious, 
the  fragrance  alluring.  At  a  distance  the 
voices  of  singing  negroes  came  to  us. 
Presently  we  came  to  a  fallen  apple  tree,  a 
giant  perhaps  planted  there  by  some  Fair- 
fax man  generations  before.  We  seated 
ourselves  here,  and  we  should  have  been 
happy,  for  we  were  young,  and  all  about  us 
was  sweet  and  comforting.  Yet,  on  my 
honor,  I  would  rather  at  that  moment  have 
been  talking  to  my  mother  than  to  Grace 
Sheraton.    I  did  not  know  why. 

For  some  time  we  sat  there,  pulling  at 
apple  blossoms  and  grass  stems,  and  talking 
of  many  things  quite  beside  the  real  ques- 
tion, but  at  last  there  came  an  interruption. 
1  heard  the  sound  of  a  low,  rumbling  bellow 
approaching  through  the  trees,  and  as  I 
looked  up  saw,  coming  forward  with  a 
certain  confidence.  Sir  Jonas,  the  red 
Sheraton  bull,  with  a  ring  in  his  nose,  and 
in  his  carriage  an  intense  haughtiness  for 
one  so  young.  1  knew  all  about  Sir  Jonas, 
for  we  had  bred  him  on  our  farm,  and  sold 
him  not  long  since  to  the  Sheratons. 

Miss  Grace  gathered  her  skirts  for  in- 
stant flight,  but  1  quickly  pushed  her  down. 
I  knew  the  nature  of  Sir  Jonas  very  well, 
and  saw  that  flight  would  mean  disaster 
long  before  she  could  reach  any  place  of 
safety. 

"Keep  quiet,"  I  said  to  her  in  a  low 
voice.  "Cton't  make  any  quick  motions, 
or  he'll  charge.  Come  with  me,  slowly 
now." 

Very  pale,  and  with  eyes  staring  at  the 
intruder,  she  arose  as  I  bade  her  and  slowly 
moved  toward  the  tree  which  I  had  in 
mind.  "Now — quick!"  I  said,  and  catch- 
ing her  beneath  the  arms,  I  swung  her  up 
into  the  low  branches.  Her  light  lawn 
gown  caught  on  a  knotty  limb,  somewhat 
to  her  perturbation,  and  ere  I  could  adjust 


it  and  get  her  safe  aloft.  Sir  Jonas  had  made 
up  his  mind.  He  came  on  with  head  down, 
in  a  short,  savage  rush,  and  his  horn  missed 
my  trouser  leg  by  no  more  than  an  inch  as 
I  dodged  around  the  tree.  At  this  I 
laughed,  but  Miss  Grace  screamed,  until 
between  my  hasty  actions  I  called  to  her 
to  keep  quiet. 

Sir  Jonas  seemed  to  have  forgotten  my 
voice,  and  though  I  commanded  him  to  be 
gone,  he  only  shook  his  curly  front  and 
came  again  with  head  low  and  short  legs 
working  very  fast.  Once  more  he  nearly 
caught  me  with  a  side  lunge  of  his  wicked 
horns  as  he  whirled.  He  tossed  up  his 
head  then  and  bolted  for  the  tree,  where 
Miss  Grace  had  her  refuge.  Then  I  saw 
it  was  the  red  lining  of  her  Parisian  parasol 
which  had  enraged  him.  "Throw  it  down!" 
I  called  out  to  her.  She  could  not  find  it  in 
her  heart  to  toss  it  straight  down  to  Sir 
Jonas,  who  would  have  trampled  it  at  once, 
so  she  cast  it  sidelong  toward  me,  and  by 
an  inch  I  beat  Sir  Jonas  in  the  race  to  it. 
Then  I  resolved  that  he  should  not  have 
it  at  all,  and  so  tossed  it  into  the  branches 
of  another  tree  as  I  ran. 

"Come,"  called  the  girl  to  me,  "Jump! 
Get  up  into  a  tree.  He  can't  catch  you 
there." 

But  I  was  in  no  mind  to  take  to  a  tree, 
and  wait  for  some  inglorious  discovery  by 
a  Fescue  party  from  the  house.  I  found 
my  fighting  blood  rising,  and  became  of 
the  mind  to  show  Sir  Jonas  who  was  his 
master,  regardless  of  who  might  be  his 
owner. 

His  youth  kept  him  in  good  wind  still, 
and  he  charged  me  again  and  again,  keep- 
ing me  hard  put  to  it  to  find  trees  enough, 
even  in  an  orchard  full  of  trees.  Once  he 
ripped  the  bark  half  off  a  big  trunk  as  I 
sprang  behind  it,  and  he  stood  with  his 
head  still  pressed  there,  not  two  feet  from 
where  I  was,  with  my  hand  against  the 
tree,  braced  for  a  sudden  spring.  His 
front  foot  dug  in  the  sod,  his  eyes  were  red, 
and  between  his  grumbles  his  breath  came 
in  puffs  and  snorts  of  anger.  Evidently  he 
meant  me  ill;  and  this  thought  offended 
me. 

Near  by  me  on  the  ground  lay  a  ragged 
limb,  cut  from  some  tree  by  the  pruners, 
now  dry,  tough  and  not  ill-shaped  for  a 
club.  I  reached  back  with  my  foot  and 
pulled  it  within  reach,  thenX^op^d  quickly 

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and  got  it  in  hand,  breaking  off  a  few  of 
the  lesser  branches  with  one  foot,  as  we 
still  stood  there  eyeing  each  other.  "  Now, 
sir,"  said  I  to  Sir  Jonas  at  last,  "  I  shall 
show  you  that  no  little  bult  two  years  old 
can  make  me  a  laughing  stock."  Then  I 
sprang  out  and  carried  the  war  into  Africa 
forthwith. 

Sir  Jonas  was  surprised  when  I  came 
from  behind  the  tree  and  swung  a  hard 
blow  to  the  side  of  his  tender  nose;  and 
as  I  repeated  this,  he  grunted,  blew  out  his 
breath  and  turned  his  head  to  one  side  with 
closed  eyes,  raising  his  muzzle  aloft  in  pain. 
Once  more  I  struck  him  fair  on  the  muzzle, 
and  this  time  he  bawled  loudly  in  surprise 
and  anguish,  and  so  turned  to  run.  This 
act  of  his  offered  me  fair  hold  upon  his  tail, 
and  so  affixed  to  him,  1  followed,  smiting 
him  upon  the  back  with  blows  which  I 
think  cut  through  his  hide  where  the 
pointed  knots  struck.  Thus  with  loud 
orders  and  with  a  voice  which  he  ought 
better  to  have  remembered,  I  brought  him 
to  his  senses  and  pursued  him  entirely  out 
of  the  orchard,  so  that  he  had  no  mind 
whatever  to  come  back.  After  which,  with 
what  dignity  I  could  summon,  I  returned  to 
the  tree  where  Grace  Sheraton  was  still 
perched  aloft.  Drawing  my  riding  gloves 
from  my  pocket,  I  reached  up  my  hands, 
somewhat  soiled  with  the  encounter,  and 
so  helped  her  down  to  earth  once  more. 
And  once  more  her  gaze,  soft  and  not  easily 
to  be  mistaken,  rested  upon  me. 

"Tell  me.  Jack  Cowles,"  she  said,  "is 
there  anything  in  the  world  you  are  afraid 
to  do?" 

"At  least  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  little  Sir 
Jonas  that  has  forgot  his  manners,"  1  re- 
plied. "But  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt  in 
any  way?"  She  shook  her  head,  smooth- 
ing out  her  gown,  and  again  raised  her  eyes 
to  mine. 

We  seated  ourselves  again  upon  our 
fallen  apple  tree.  Her  hand  fell  upon  my 
coat  sleeve.  We  raised  our  eyes.  They 
met.  Our  lips  met  also — I  do  not  know 
how. 

I  do  not  hold  myself  either  guilty  or  guilt- 
less. I  am  only  a  man  now.  I  was  only 
a  boy  then.  But  even  then  I  had  my 
notions,  right  or  wrong,  as  to  what  a 
gentleman  should  be  and  do.  At  least 
this  is  how  Grace  Sheraton*  and  1  became 
engaged. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A   SAD  LOVER 


I  shall  never  forget  the  scene  there  under 
the  oaks  of  the  Sheraton  front  yard,  which 
met  my  gaze  when  Miss  Grace  and  I  came 
about  the  comer  of  the  house. 

Before  us,  and  facing  each  other,  stood 
the  masters  of  our  houses,  my  father  and 
Colonel  Sheraton,  the  former  standing 
straight  and  tall,  Colonel  Sheraton  with 
tightly  clenched  hand  resting  on  his  stick, 
his  white  hair  thrown  back,  his  shaggy 
brows  contracted.  My  mother  sat  in  the 
low  rocker  which  had  been  brought  to  her, 
and  opposite  her,  leaning  forward,  was 
Mrs.  Sheraton,  tall,  thin,  her  black  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  men.  Orme,  also  standing, 
his  hands  behind  him,  regarded  the  two 
older  men  intently.  Near  at  hand  was  the 
Sheratoii's  Jim,  his  face  also  fixed  upon 
them,  and  such  was  his  own  emotion  that 
he  had  tipped  his  silver  tray  and  dropped 
one  of  the  Sheraton  cut  glass  julep  glasses 
to  the  sod. 

It  was  mid  afternoon,  or  evening,  as  we 
call  it  in  Virginia,  and  the  light  was  still 
frank  and  strong,  though  the  wind  was 
softening  among  the  great  oaks,  and  the 
flowers  were  sweet  all  about.  It  was  a 
scene  of  peace;  but  it  was  not  peace  which 
occupied  those  who  made  its  central 
figures. 

"  I  tell  you,  Cowles,"  said  Colonel  Sher- 
aton, grinding  his  stick  into  the  turf,  "you 
do  not  talk  like  a  Virginian.  If  the  North 
keeps  on  this  course,  then  we  Southerners 
must  start  a  country  of  our  own.  Look, 
man — "  he  swept  about  him  an  arm  which 
included  his  own  wide  acres  and  ours,  lying 
there  shimmering  clear  to  the  thin  line  of 
the  old  Blue  Ridge— "We  must  fight  for 
these  homes!" 

My  mother  stirred  in  her  rocker,  but  she 
made  no  speech,  only  looked  at  my  father. 

"You  forget,  Colonel,"  said  my  father  in 
his  low,  deep  voice,  "that  this  man  Lincoln 
has  not  yet  been  elected,  and  that  even  if 
elected  he  may  prove  a  greater  figure  than 
we  think.  He  has  not  yet  had  chance  to 
learn  the  South." 

Sheraton's  own  face  was  sad  as  he  went 
on  with  the  old  justification.  "Jefferson 
would  turn  over  in  his  grave  if  he  saw  Vir- 
ginia divided  as  it  is.  Why,  Cowles,  we've 
all  the  world  we  need  here.    We  can  live 


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alone  here,  each  on  his  own  acres,  a  gentle- 
man, and  'all  he  needs  of  government  is 
protection  and  fair  laws.  Calhoun  was 
right.  Better  give  us  two  peaceful  coun- 
tries, each  living  happily  and  content,  than 
one  at  war  with  itself.  Clay. was  a  great 
man,  but  both  he  and  Webster  were  fight- 
ing against  the  inevitable." 

"That  is  true,"  interrupted  Orme,  "un- 
questionably true.  Texas  came  near  be- 
coming a  colony  of  England  because  this 
country  would  not  take  her.  She  declared 
for  slavery,  and  had  that  right.  The  Span- 
iards had  made  California  a  slave  state,  but 
the  gold  seekers  by  vote  declared  her  free. 
They  had  that  right  to  govern  themselves. 
As  to  the  new  lands  conning  in,  it  is  their 
right  also  to  vote  upon  the  question  of 
slavery,  each  new  state  for  itself." 

"The  war  has  already  begun  on  the 
border,"  said  my  father.  "My  friend  and 
partner.  Colonel  Meriwether  of  Albemarle, 
who  is  with  the  Army  in  the  West,  says  that 
white  men  are  killing  white  men  all  across 
the  Indian  lands  west  of  the  Missouri.  But 
tell  me,  would  men  go  from  Ohio  and  Iowa 
and  all  the  East  to  keep  slavery  from  Kan- 
sas, were  they  not  moved  by  some  deep 
principle?" 

"May  not  our  men  have  the  same  prin- 
ciples who  go  from  Missouri  and  fight  them 
for  the  old  principle  of  free  choice?" 

"But  if  the  Government  takes  action?" 
suggested  Orme. 

Sheraton  whirled  quickly.  "Then  war! 
war!"  he  cried.  "War  till  each  Virginian 
is  dead  on  his  own  doorstep,  and  each 
woman  starved  at  her  fireside.  John 
Cowles,  you  and  I  will  fight — 1  knew  that 
you  will  fight." 

"Yes,"  said  my  father,  "I  will  fight." 

"And  with  us!" 

"No,"  said  my  father,  sighing,  "No,  my 
friend;  against  you."  I  saw  my  mother 
look  at  him  and  sink  back  in  her  chair.  I 
saw  Orme  also  gaze  at  him  sharply,  with  a 
peculiar  look  upon  his  face. 

But  so,  at  least,  this  argument  ended  for 
the  time.  The  two  men,  old  neighbors, 
took  each  other  solemnly  by  the  hand;  and 
presently,  after  talk  of  more  pleasant  sort 
on  lesser  matters,  the  servants  brought  our 
carriage  and  we  started  back  for  Cowles 
Farms.  There  had  been  no  opportunity 
for  me  to  mention  to  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Sheraton  something  that  was  upon  my 


mind.  I  had  small  chance  for  farewell  to 
Miss  Grace,  and  if  I  shall  admit  the  truth* 
this  pleased  me  quite  as  well  as  not. 

We  rode  in  silence  for  a  time,  my  father 
musing,  my  mother  silent  also.  It  was 
Ormrf  who  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Cowles,"  he  said,  "you 
spoke  of  Colonel  Meriwether  of  Albemarle 
County.  Is  he  away  in  the  West?  It 
chances  that  I  have  letters  to  him,  and  I 
was  purposing  going  into  that  country 
before  long." 

"Indeed,  sir,"  replied  my  father.  "I 
am  delighted  to  know  that  you  are  to  meet 
my  friend.  As  it  chances,  he  is  my  asso- 
ciate in  a  considerable  business  enter- 
prise— a  splendid  man,  a  splendid  man, 
Meriwether.  I  will,  if  you  do  not  mind, 
add  my  letter  to  others  you  may  have,  and 
I  trust  you  will  carry  him  our  best  wishes 
from  this  side  of  the  mountains." 

That  was  like  my  father — innocent,  un- 
suspicious, ever  ready  to  accept  other  men 
as  worthy  of  his  trust,  and  ever  ready  to 
help  a  stranger  as  he  might.  For  myself, 
I  admit  I  was  more  suspicious.  Some- 
thing about  Orme  set  me  on  edge,  I  knew 
not  what. 

My  little  personal  affairs  were  at  that 
time  so  close  to  me  that  they  obscured  clear 
vision  of  larger  ones.  I  did  not  hear  all 
the  talk  in  the  carriage,  but  pulled  my 
horse  in  behind  and  so  rode  on  moodily, 
gazing  out  across  the  pleasant  lands  to  the 
foot  of  old  Catoctin  and  the  dim  Blue 
Ridge. 

Before  we  separated  at  the  door  of 
our  house,  I  motioned  to  my  mother,  and 
we  drew  apart  and  seated  ourselves  be- 
neath our  own  oaks  in  the  front  yard  of 
Cowles  Farms.  Then  I  told  her  what  had 
happened  between  Miss  Grace  and  myself, 
and  asked  her  if  she  was  pleased. 

"  I  am  well  content  with  this."  she  an- 
swered, slowly,  musingly.  "Thee  must 
think  of  settling,  Jack,  and  Miss  Grace  is  a 
worthy  girl.  1  hope  it  will  bring  peace 
between  our  families  always."  I  saw  a 
film  cross  her  clear,  dark  eye.  "Peace!" 
she  whispered  to  herself.  "I  wish  that 
it  might  be." 

But  peace  was  not  in  my  heart.  Leav- 
ing her  presently,  I  once  more  swung  leg 
over  saddle  and  rode  off  across  our  fields,  as 
sad  a  lover  as  ever  closed  the  first  day  of 
his  engagement  to  be  wed^^^ 

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CHAPTER  VII 

WHAT  COMETH    IN   THE   NIGHT 

When  I  rode  up  our  lane  in  the  dusk,  I 
found  my  father  and  mother  sitting  in  the 
cool  of  the  front  gallery,  and  giving  my  rein 
to  one  of  our  boys,  I  flung  myself  down  on 
the  steps  near  by,  and  now  and  again 
joined  in  their  conversation. 

I  was  much  surprised  to  learn  that  our 
whilom  guest,  Gordon  Orme,  had  taken 
sudden  departure  during  my  absence,  he 
having  been  summoned  by  a  messenger 
from  the  village,  who  brought  him  word, 
so  he  informed  us,  that  he  must  forthwith 
be  on  his  way  to  Albemarle.  He  had  asked 
my  father  if  he  cared  to  sell  the  black  horse, 
Satan,  to  which  he  had  taken  a  fancy,  but 
this  had  been  declined.  Then  it  seems 
there  had  come  up  something  of  our  late 
meeting  at  the  village,  and  Orme,  laughing, 
had  told  of  our  horse  breaking  and  wrest- 
ling in  a  way  which  it  seemed  had  not  de- 
tracted from  my  standing  in  my  parents' 
eyes,  although  it  surely  had  aided  his 
own.  None  of  us  three  was  willing  to 
criticise  our  guest,  yet  I  doubt  if  any  one 
of  us  failed  to  entertain  a  certain  wonder, 
not  to  say  suspicion,  regarding  him.  At 
least  he  was  gone. 

Our  talk  now  gradually  resolved  itself 
to  one  on  business  matters.  1  ought  to 
have  said  that  my  father  was  an  ambitious 
man  and  one  of  wide  plans.  I  think  that 
even  then  he  forsaw  the  day  when  the  half 
patriarchial  life  of  our  state  would  pass 
away  before  one  of  wider  horizons  of  com- 
mercial sort.  He  was  anxious  to  hand 
down  his  family  fortune  much  increased, 
and  foreseeing  troublous  times  ahead  as  to 
the  institution  of  slavery  in  the  South,  he 
had  of  late  been  taking  large  risks  to  assure 
success  in  spite  of  any  change  of  times. 
Now,  moved  by  some  strange  reasons  which 
he  himself  perhaps  did  not  recognize,  he 
began  for  the  first  time,  contrary  to  his 
usual  reticence,  to  explain  to  my  mother 
and  me  something  of  these  matters.  He 
told  us  that  in  connection  with  his  friend. 
Colonel  Wm.  Meriwether,  of  Albemarle,  he 
had  invested  heavily  in  coal  lands  in  the 
western  part  of  the  state,  in  what  is  now 
West  Virginia.  This  requiring  very  large 
sums  of  money,  he  for  his  part  had  en- 
cumbered not  only  the  lands  themselves, 
■•ut  these  lands  of  Cowles  Farms  to  secure 


the  payment.  The  holder  of  these  mort- 
gages was  a  banking  firm  in  Fredericksburg. 
The  interest  was  one  which  in  these  times 
would  be  considered  a  cruel  one,  and  in- 
deed the  whole  enterprise  was  one  which 
required  a  sanguine  courage  precisely  such 
as  his;  for  I  have  said  that  risk  he  always 
held  as  challenge  and  invitation. 

"Ctoes  thee  think  that  in  these  times 
thee  should  go  so  deeply  in  debt?"  asked 
my  mother  of  him,  troubled. 

"Lizzie,"  he  said,  "that  is  why  I  have 
gone  in  debt.  Two  years  from  now,  and 
the  value  of  these  farms  here  may  have  been 
cut  in  half.  Ten  years  from  now  the  coal 
lands  yonder  will  be  worth  ten  times  what 
they  are  to-day." 

"John,"  she  said  to  him  suddenly,  turn- 
ing in  the  dusk,  "sell  those  coal  lands,  or  a 
part  of  them." 

"Now  that  I  could  not  do,"  he  answered, 
"for  half  their  value.  The  country  now  is 
fuller  of  war  than  of  investment.  But 
come  peace,  come  war,  there  lies  a  fortune 
for  us  all.  For  my  share  there  remain  but 
few  payments;  as  Meriwether  is  away,  it  is 
with  me  to  attend  to  this  business  now." 

And  so,  with  this  prelude,  I  may  as  well 
tell  without  more  delay,  what  evil  fortune 
was  in  store  for  us.  That  coming  day  my 
father  rode  abroad  as  he  had  planned,  tak- 
ing black  Satan  for  his  mount,  since  he 
needed  to  travel  far.  He  had  collected 
from  various  sources,  as  his  account  book 
later  showed,  a  sum  of  over  five  thousand 
dollars,  which  he  must  have  had  in  gold 
and  negotiable  papers  in  his  saddle  bags. 
During  his  return  home,  he  came  down  the 
deep  trough  road  which  ran  in  front  of 
the  Sheraton  farms  and  ours.  He  passed 
near  to  a  certain  clump  of  bushes  at  the 
road  side.  And  there  that  happened  which 
brought  to  a  sudden  end  all  the  peace  and 
comfort  of  our  lives,  and  which  made  me 
old  before  my  time. 

I  heard  the  horse  Satan  whinny  at  our 
lane  gate,  wildly,  as  though  in  fright;  and 
even  as  I  went  out,  my  heart  stopped  with 
sudden  fear.  He  had  leaped  the  gate  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  lane.  His  bridle  rein  was 
broken,  and  caught  at  his  feet  as  he  moved 
about,  throwing  up  his  head  in  fright  as 
much  as  viciousness.  I  hastily  looked  at 
the  saddle,  but  it  bore  no  mark  of  anything 
unusual.  Not  pausing  to  look  farther,  I 
caught  the  broken  reins  in  my  hand,  and 

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sprung  into  the  saddle,  spurring  the  horse 
down  the  lane  and  over  the  gate  again, 
and  back  up  the  road  which  1  knew  my 
father  must  have  taken. 

There,  at  the  side  of  the  road,  near  the 
clump  of  blackberry  vines  and  sumach 
growth,  lay  my  father,  a  long  dark  blot, 
motionless,  awesome,  as  I  could  see  by  the 
light  of  the  moon,  now  just  rising  in  a  gap 
of  the  distant  mountains.  1  sprang  down 
and  ran  to  him,  lifted  his  head,  called  to 
him  in  a  voice  so  hoarse  1  did  not  recognize 
it.  I  told  him  that  it  was  his  son  had  come 
to  him,  and  that  he  must  speak.  So  at 
last,  as  though  by  sheer  will  he  had  held  on 
to  this  time,  he  turned  his  gray  face  toward 
me,  and  as  a  dead  man,  spoke: 

"Tell  your  mother,"  he  said.  "Tell 
Meriwether — must  protect — good-bye." 

Then  he  said,  "Lizzie!"  and  opened  wide 
his  arms.  "There,  there!"  he  said,  as 
though  he  patted  her  head. 

Presently  he  said,  "Jack,  lay  my  head 
down,  please."  I  did  so.  He  was  dead, 
there  in  the  moonlight. 

I  straightened  him,  and  put  my  coat 
across  his  face,  and  spurred  back  down  the 
road  again  and  over  the  gate.  But  my 
mother  already  knew.  She  met  me  at  the 
hall,  and  her  face  was  white. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "I  know!" 

Then  the  servants  came,  and  we  brought 
him  home,  and  laid  him  in  his  own  great 
room,  as  the  master  of  the  house  should  lie 
when  the  end  comes,  and  arrayed  him  like 
the  gentleman  he  was. 

Now  came  that  old  wire-hair.  Dr.  Thomas 
Bond,  his  mane  standing  stiff  and  gray  over 
a  gray  face,  down  which  tears  rolled — the 
first  time  known  of  any  man.  He  sent  my 
mother  away  and  called  me  to  him.  And 
then  he  told  me  that  in  my  father's  back 
were  three  or  four  pierced  wounds,  no 
doubt  received  from  the  sharp  stubs  of 
underbushes  when  he  fell.  Also,  there 
was  a  scalp  bruise  upon  the  head.  But 
this,  he  said,  could  hardly  have  been  the 
cause  of  death.  He  admitted  that  the 
matter  seemed  mysterious  to  him. 

Up  to  this  time  we  had  not  thought  of 
the  cause  of  this  disaster,  nor  pondered 
upon  motives,  were  it  worse  than  accident. 
Now  we  began  to  think.  Dr.  Bond  felt  in 
the  pockets  of  my  father's  coat;  and  now 
for  the  first  time  we  found  his  account  book 
and  his  wallets.    Dr.  Bond  and  1  at  once 


went  out  and  searched  the  saddle  pockets 
my  father  had  carried.  They  were  quite 
empty.  All  this  of  course  proved  nothing 
to  us.  The  most  that  we  could  argue  was 
that  the  horse  in  some  way  had  thrown 
his  rider«  and  that  the  fall  had  proved  fatal; 
and  that  perhaps  some  wandering  negro 
had  committed  the  theft.  These  con- 
clusions were  the  next  day  bad  for  the  horse 
Satan,  whom  1  whipped  and  spurred,  and 
rode  till  he  trembled,  meting  out  to  him 
what  had  been  given  old  Klingwalla,  his 
sire,  for  another  murdering  deed  like  this. 
In  my  brutal  rage  1  hated  all  the  world. 
Like  the  savage  1  was,  1  must  be  avenged 
on  something.  I  could  not  believe  that 
my  father  was  gone,  the  man  who  had  been 
my  model,  my  friend,  my  companion  all  my 
life. 

But  in  time  we  laid  him  away  in  the  sunny 
little  graveyard  of  the  Society  of  Friends, 
back  of  the  little  stone  church  at  Walling- 
ford.  We  put  a  small,  narrow,  rough  slab 
of  sandstone  at  his  head,  and  cut  into 
it  his  name  and  the  dates  of  his  birth  and 
death;  this  being  all  that  the  simple  man- 
ners of  the  Society  of  Friends  thought  fit. 
"His  temple  is  in  my  heart,"  said  my 
mother;  and  from  that  day  to  her  death 
she  offered  tribute  to  him. 

Thus,  I  say,  it  was,  that  I  changed  from 
a  boy  into  a  man.  But  not  the  man  my 
father  had  been.  Life  and  business  mat- 
ters had  hitherto  been  much  a  sealed  book 
for  me.  I  was  seized  of  consternation 
when  a  man  came  riding  over  from  the 
little  Wallingford  bank,  asking  attention  to 
word  from  Abrams  &  Halliday,  bankers,  of 
Fredericksburg.  I  understood  vaguely  of 
notes  overdue,  and  somewhat  of  mortgages 
on  our  lands,  our  house,  our  crops.  1  ex- 
plained our  present  troubles  and  confusion ; 
but  the  messenger  shook  his  head  with  a 
coldness  on  his  face  1  had  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  worn  by  any  at  Cowles  Farms. 
Sweat  stood  on  my  face  when  I  saw  that  we 
owed  over  twenty  thousand  dollars — a  large 
sum  in  those  simple  days — and  that  more 
would  presently  follow,  remainder  on  a 
purchase  price  of  over  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  for  lands  I  had  never  seen. 

In  the  chaotic  state  of  affairs  then  exist- 
ing, with  the  hurrah  of  a  turbulent  election 
approaching,  it  may  be  supposed  that  all 
commercial  matters  were  much  unsettled. 
None  knew  what  might  be  the  condition  of 
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the  country  after  the  fall  elections;  but  all 
agreed  that  now  was  no  time  to  advance 
money  upon  any  sort  of  credit.  As  to 
further  pledges,  with  view  to  raising  these 
sums  now  due,  I  found  the  matter  hope- 
less. Colonel  Sheraton  might,  perhaps,  have 
aided  us,  but  him  I  would  not  ask.  Before 
this  time  we  had  acquainted  him  of  my 
mtentions  in  regard  to  his  daughter;  and 
now  I  went  to  him  and  placed  the  matter 
before  him,  explaining  to  him  the  nature 
of  our  affairs  and  announcing  my  intention 
to  make  a  quick  journey  to  the  West,  in 
order  to  obtain  assistance  from  my  father's 
partner,  of  whom  I  hoped  to  find  instant 
solution  of  the  financial  problems,  at  least. 
It  seemed  wise  for  me  to  place  before  Miss 
Grace's  father  the  question  of  advisability 
of  allowing  her  to  remain  pledged  to  a  man 
whose  fortunes  were  in  so  sad  a  state.  I 
asked  him  what  was  right  for  me  to  do. 
His  face  was  very  grave  as  he  pondered, 
but  he  said,  "  If  my  girl's  word  has  been 
passed,  we  will  wait.  We  will  wait,  sir." 
And  that  was  all  I  knew  when  I  made  my 
hurried  preparations  for  the  longest  jour- 
ney I  had  at  that  time  ever  known. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

BEGINNING    ADVENTURES    IN    NEW    LANDS 

In  those  days  travel  was  not  so  easy  as  it 
is  now.  I  went  by  carriage  to  Washington, 
and  thence  by  stage  to  the  village  of  York 
in  Pennsylvania,  and  again  by  stage  thence 
to  Carlisle  Barracks,  a  good  road  offering 
thence  into  the  western  countries.  In 
spite  of  all  my  grief,  I  was  a  young  man, 
and  i  was  conscious  of  a  keen  exhilaration 
in  these  my  earliest  travels.  I  was  to  go 
toward  that  great  West,  which  then  was 
on  the  tongue  of  all  the  South,  and  indeed 
all  the  East.  I  found  Pennsylvania  old 
for  a  hundred  years.  The  men  of  western 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  and  New  York  were 
passing  westward  in  swarms  like  feeding 
pigeons.  Illinois  and  Iowa  were  filling  up, 
and  men  from  Kentucky  were  passing  north 
across  the  Ohio.  The  great  rivers  of  the 
West  were  then  leading  out  their  thou- 
sands of  settlers.  Presently  I  was  to  see 
those  great  trains  of  white-topped,  west- 
bound wagons  which  at  that  time  made  a 
distinguishing  feature  of  American  life, 
and  to  catch  the  thrill  of  that  mighty 


land  there  on  the  American  frontier.  In 
time  1  took  boat  from  Pittsburg  down 
the  Ohio  River,  then  up  the  Mississippi. 
So  after  many  days  of  weary  travel  finally 
we  pushed  in  at  the  vast  busy  levee  of  the 
western  military  capital,  St.  Louis,  where  I 
hoped  to  find  Colonel  Wm.  Meriwether  of 
the  Army,  my  father's  friend  and  partner. 

At  that  time  Jefferson  Barracks  made 
the  central  depot  of  Army  operations  in 
the  West.  Here  recruits  and  supplies  were 
received  and  readjusted  to  the  needs  of  the 
scattered  outposts  in  the  Indian  lands. 
Still  1  was  not  in  the  West,  for  St.  Louis 
also  was  old,  almost  as  old  as  our  pleasant 
valley  back  in  Virginia.  I  heard  of  lands 
still  more  remote,  a  thousand  miles  still  to 
the  West,  heard  of  great  rivers  leading  to 
the  mountains,  and  of  the  vast,  mysterious 
plains,  of  which  even  yet  men  spoke  in  awe. 
Shall  I  admit  it — in  spite  of  grief  and 
trouble,  my  heart  leaped  at  these  thoughts. 
I  wished  nothing  so  much  as  that  I  might 
join  this  eager,  hurrying,  keen-faced  throng 
of  the  west-bound  Americans. 

With  all  my  heart  and  soul  a-tangle  with 
confusing  problems,  I  say,  I  felt  the  vast 
appeal  of  a  new  land  beyond.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  heard  the  voice  of  youth  and  life 
beyond.  Youth  was  blotted  out  behind 
me  in  the  blue  Virginia  hills. 

I  inquired  for  Colonel  Meriwether  about 
my  hotel  in  the  city,  but  was  unable  to  get 
definite  word  regarding  his  whereabouts, 
although  the  impression  was  that  he  was 
somewhere  in  the  farther  West.  This  made 
it  necessary  for  me  to  ride  at  once  to  Jeffer- 
son Barracks.  I  had  at  least  one  acquaint- 
ance there.  Captain  Matthew  Stevenson 
of  the  6th  Cavalry,  a  Maryland  man  whom 
we  formerly  met  frequently  when  he  was 
paying  suit  to  Kitty  Dillingham,  of  the 
Shenandoah  country.  After  their  marriage 
they  had  been  stationed  practically  all  of 
the  time  in  western  posts. 

1  made  my  compliments  at  Number  i6 
of  Officers'  Row,  their  present  quarters  at 
Jefferson.  I  found  Kitty  quite  as  she  had 
been  in  her  youth  at  home,  as  careless  and 
wild,  as  disorderly  and  as  full  of  good  heart- 
edness.  Even  my  story,  sad  as  it  was, 
failed  to  trouble  her  long,  and  as  was  her 
fashion,  she  set  about  comforting  me,  upon 
her  usual  principle  that  whatever  threat- 
ened, it  were  best  to  be  blithe  to-day. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "we'll  put  you  up 

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with  us,  right  here.  Johnson,  take  Mr. 
G>wles'  things;  and  go  down  to  the  city  at 
once  for  his  bags." 

"But  my  dear  Mrs.  Kitty,"  I  protested, 
"  I  can't.  I  really  must  be  getting  on.  I'm 
here  on  business  with  Colonel  Meriwether." 

"Never  mind  about  Colonel  Meriwether," 
rejoined  my  hostess,  "we'll  find  him  later 
—-he's  up  the  river  somewhere.  Always 
take  care  of  the  important  things  first. 
The  most  important  thing  in  the  whole 
world  just  now  is  the  officers'  ball  to-night. 
Don't  you  see  them  fixing  up  the  dancing 
platform  on  Parade?  It's  just  as  well  the 
K.  O.'s  away,  because  to-night  the  mice 
certainly  are  going  to  play." 

It  seemed  good  to  hear  the  voice  of 
friends  again,  and  I  was  nothing  loath  to  put 
aside  business  matters  for  the  time  and 
listen  to  Kitty  Stevenson's  chatter.  So 
while  I  hesitat^,  Johnson,  Captain  Steven- 
son's striker,  had  my  hat  and  stick. 

The  city  of  St.  Louis,  I  repeat,  was  then 
the  richest  and  gayest  capital  of  the  West, 
the  center  of  the  commercial  and  social  life 
of  West  and  South  alike.  Some  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  of  the  world  dwelt 
there,  and  never,  I  imagine,  had  belles 
bolder  suitors  than  these  who  passed 
through  or  tarried  with  the  Army.  What 
wonder  the  saying  that  no  Army  man  ever 
passed  St.  Louis  without  leaving  a  heart,  or 
taking  one  with  him?  What  wonder  that 
these  gay  young  beauties  emptied  many 
an  Army  pocket  for  flowers  and  gems,  and 
only  filled  many  an  Army  heart  with  de- 
spondency in  return?  Sackcloth  lay  be- 
yond, on  the  frontier.  Ball  followed  ball, 
one  packed  reception  another.  Dinings 
and  sendings  of  flowers,  and  evening  love 
makings — these  for  the  time  seemed  the 
main  business  of  Jefferson  Barracks. 
Social  exemptions  are  always  made  for 
Army  men,  ever  more  gallant  than  affluent, 
and  St,  Louis  entertained  these  gentlemen 
mightily  with  no  expectation  of  equiva- 
lent ;  yet  occasionally  the  sons  of  Mars  gave 
return  entertainments  to  the  limits,  or 
more  than  the  limits,  of  their  purses.  The 
officers'  balls  at  these  barracks  were  the 
envy  of  all  the  Army;  and  I  doubt  if  any 
regimental  bands  in  the  service  had  reason 
for  more  proficiency  in  waltz  time. 

Of  some  of  these  things  my  hostess  ad- 
vised me  as  we  sat,  for  the  sake  of  the  shade 
on  the  gallery  of  Number  i6,  where  Ste- 


venson's man  of  all  work  had  brought  a 
glass-topped  table  and  some  glasses.  Here 
Captain  Stevenson  presently  joined  us; 
and  after  that,  escape  was  impossible. 

"Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Cowles  is  en- 
gaged?" asked  Kitty  of  her  husband  im- 
personally, and  apropos  of  nothing  that 
I  could  see. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  He  looks  too  deuced 
comfortable,"  drawled  Stevenson.  I 
smiled. 

"  If  he  isn't  he  will  be  before  morning," 
remarked  Kitty,  smiling  at  me.  "  I  mean, 
he'll  be  engaged." 

"Indeed,  and  to  whom,  pray?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"How  should  I  know?  Indeed,  how 
should  you  know?  Any  one  of  a  dozen — 
first  one  you  see — ^first  one  who  sees  you; 
because  you  are  tall,  and  can  dance." 

"  I  hardly  think  1  shall  dance,  you  know 
the  nature  of  my  affairs." 

"Yes,  poor  lx)y,  we  do.  But  in  the 
Army  we  must  forget  death.  We  must  be 
brave  and  stand  eyes  right.  Of  course 
you  will  dance." 

"  I  have  no  clothes,"  1  protested. 

"Johnson  will  have  your  boxes  out  in 
time.  But  you  don't  want  your  own 
clothes.  This  is  bal  masque,  of  course,  and 
you  want  some  sort  of  disguise.  1  think 
you'd  look  well  in  one  of  Matt's  uniforms." 

"That's  so,"  said  Stevenson,  "we're 
about  of  a  size.  Good  disguise,  too,  espe- 
cially since  you've  never  been  here.  They'll 
wonder  who  the  new  officer  is,  and  where 
he  comes  from.  I  say,  Kitty,  what  an 
awfully  good  joke  it  would  be  to  put  him 
up  against  two  or  three  of  those  heartless 
flirts  you  call  your  friends — Ellen,  for  in- 
stance." 

"There  won't  be  a  button  left  on  the  uni- 
form by  morning,"  said  Kitty  contempla- 
tively.   To-night  the  Army  entertains." 

"And  conquers?"  1  suggested. 

"Sometimes.  But  at  the  officers'  ball 
it  mostly  surrenders.  The  casualty  list, 
after  one  of  these  balls,  is  something  awful. 
After  all.  Jack,  all  these  modem  improve- 
ments in  arms  have  not  superseded  the  old 
bow  and  arrow."  She  smiled  at  me  with 
white  teeth  and  lazy  eyes.  A  handsome 
woman,  Kitty. 

"And  who  is  that  dangerous  flirt  you 
were  talking  about  a  moment  ago?"  I  asked 
her,  interested  in  spite  of  rag^self. 

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"  I  lose  my  mess  number  if  I  dare  to  tell. 
Oh,  they'll  all  be  here  to-night,  both  Army 
and  civilians.  There's  Sadie  Galloway  of 
the  8th,  and  Toodie  Devlin  of  Kentucky, 
and  the  Evans  girl  from  up  North,  and 
Mrs.  Willie  Weiland " 

"And  Mrs.  Matthew  Stevenson." 

"Yes,  myself,  of  course;  and  then  be- 
sides, Ellen." 

"Ellen  who?" 

"Never  mind.  She  is  the  most  danger- 
ous creature  now  at  large  in  the  western 
country.  Avoid  her!  Pass  not  by  her! 
She  stalketh  by  night.  She'll  get  you  sure, 
my  son.  She  has  a  string  of  hearts  at  her 
girdle  as  long  as  from  here  to  the  red 
bam." 

"I  shall  dance  to-night!"  I  said. 

"Yes?"  she  raised  her  eyebrows. 
"You've  a  nice  conceit  at  least.  But  then, 
I  don't  like  modest  men." 

"Listen  at  that,"  chuckled  Stevenson, 
"and  yet  she  married  me!  But  what  she 
says  is  true,  Cowles.  It  will  be  worse  than 
Chapultepec  in  the  crowd  anywhere  around 
Ellen  to-night.  You  might  lose  a  leg  or  an 
arm  in  the  crush,  and  if  you  got  through, 
you'd  only  lose  your  heart.  Better  leave 
her  alone." 

"Lord,  what  a  night  it'll  be  for  the  ball," 
said  Kitty,  sweeping  an  idle  arm  toward 
Parade,  which  was  now  filling  up  with 
strings  of  carriages  from  the  city.  We 
could  see  men  now  putting  down  the  danc- 
ing floor.  The  sun  was  sinking.  From 
somewhere  came  the  faint  sound  of  band 
music,  muffled  behind  the  buildings. 

"Evening  gun!"  said  Stevenson  pres- 
ently; and  we  arose  and  saluted  as  the 
jet  of  smoke  burst  from  a  field  piece  and 
the  roar  of  the  report  brought  the  flag 
fluttering  down.  Then  came  strains  of  a 
regimental  band,  breaking  out  into  the 
national  air;  after  which  the  music  slid 
into  a  hurrying  medley,  and  presently 
closed  in  the  sweet  refrain  of  "Robin 
Adair,"  crooning  in  brass  and  reeds  as 
though  miles  away.  Twilight  began  to 
fall,  and  the  lamps  winked  out  here  and 
there.  The  sound  of  wheels  and  hoofs 
upon  the  gravel  came  more  often.  Here 
and  there  a  bird  twittered  gently  in  the 
trees  along  the  walks;  and  after  a  time 
music  came  again  and  again,  for  four  bands 
now  were  stationed  at  the  four  comers  of 
the  Parade.    And  always  the  music  began 


of  war  and  deeds,  and  always  it  ended  in 
some  soft  love  strain.  Groups  gathered 
now  upon  the  balconies  near  the  marquees 
which  rose  upon  the  Parade.  Couples 
strolled  arm  in  arm.  The  scene  spoke 
little  enough  of  war's  alarms  or  of  life's 
battles  and  its  sadness. 

A  carriage  passed  with  two  gentlemen 
and  drew  up  at  the  Officers'  Club.  "  Billy 
Williams,  Adjutant,"  commented  Captain 
Stevenson  lazily.    "Who's  the  other?" 

"Yes,  who's  the  tall  one?"  asked  Kitty, 
as  the  gentlemen  descended  from  the  car- 
riage. "Good  figure,  anyhow;  wonder  if 
he  dances?" 

"Coming  over,  I  believe,"  said  Stevenson 
as  now  the  two  tumed  our  way.  Steven- 
son rose  to  greet  his  fellow  officer,  and  as 
the  latter  approached  our  stoop,  I  caught 
a  glance  at  his  companion. 

It  was  Gordon  Orme! 

Orme  was  a^  much  surprised  on  his  own 
part.  After  the  presentation  all  around, 
he  tumed  to  me  with  Kitty  Stevenson. 
"My  dear  Madam,"  he  said,  "you  have 
given  me  the  great  pleasure  of  meeting 
again  my  shadow,  Mr.  Cowles,  of  Virginia. 
There  is  where  I  supposed  him  now." 

"  1  should  expect  to  meet  Mr.  Orme  if  I 
landed  on  the  moon,"  I  replied.  "I'd  not 
the  slightest  notion  of  his  being  in  St. 
Louis.  He  was  bound  only  across  the 
ridge  into  Albemarle— were  you  not,  Mr. 
Orme?" 

"Er — Captain  Orme,"  murmured  Adju- 
tant Williams  to  me  gently. 

So  then  my  preacher  had  tumed  captain, 
since  I  saw  him  last! 

"  You  see,  Stevenson,"  went  on  Williams 
easily,  "Captain  Orme  was  formerly  with 
the  British  Army.  He  is  traveling  in  this 
country  for  a  little  sport,  but  the  old  ways 
hang  to  him.  He  brings  letters  to  our 
Colonel,  who's  off  up  river,  and  meantime, 
1  'm  trying  to  show  him  what  1  can  of  our 
service." 

"So  good  of  you  to  bring  Captain  Orme 
here.  Major.  I'm  sure  he  will  join  us  to- 
night?" Kitty  motioned  toward  the  danc- 
ing pavilion,  now  well  under  way.  Orme 
smiled  and  bowed,  and  declared  himself 
most  happy.  Thus  in  a  few  moments  he 
was  of  our  party.  I  could  not  avoid  the 
feeling  that  it  was  some  strange  fate  which 
thus  brought  us  two  together. 

"The  army's  rotting  for  want  of  serv- 

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ice/'  grumbled  Williams,  following  out 
his  own  pet  hobby.  "Nothing  in  the 
world  to  do  for  our  fellows  here.  Sport? 
Why,  Captain  Orme,  we  couldn't  show  you 
a  horse  race  where  Td  advise  you  to  bet 
a  dollar.  The  fishing  doesn't  carry,  and 
the  shooting  is  pretty  much  gone,  even  if  it 
were  the  season.  Outside  of  a  pigeon 
match  or  so,  this  Post  is  stagnant.  We 
dance,  and  that's  all.     BahT' 

"Why,  Major,  you  old  ingrate,"  reproved 
Kitty  Stevenson.  "  If  you  talk  that  way 
we'll  not  let  you  on  the  floor  to-night." 

"You  spoke  of  pigeon  races,"  said  Orme. 
*'Blue  rocks,  I  imagine?" 

"No,"  said  Williams,  "natives— we  use 
the  wild  birds.  Thousands  of  them  around 
here,  you  know.  Ever  do  anything  at 
it?" 

"Not  in  this  country,"  replied  Orme. 
"Sometimes  I  have  taken  on  a  match  at 
Hurlingham;  and  we  found  the  Egyptian 
pigeons  around  Cairo  not  bad." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  little  match 
at  our  birds?" 

"I  shouldn't  mind." 

"Oh,  you'll  be  welcome!  We'll  take 
your  money  away  from  you.  There  is  Bar- 
dine — or  say.  Major  Westover.  Haskins 
of  the  6th  got  eighty-five  out  of  his  last 
hundred.  Once  he  made  it  ninety-two,  but 
that's  above  average,  of  course." 

"You  interest  me,"  said  Orme  lazily. 
"  For  the  honor  of  my  country  I  shouldn't 
mind  a  go  with  one  of  your  gentlemen. 
Make  it  at  a  hundred,  for  what  wagers  you 
like?" 

"And  when?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon,  if  you  say.  I'm 
not  stopping  long,  I  am  afraid.  I'm  off  up 
river  soon." 

"  Let's  see,"  mused  Williams.  "  Haskins 
b  away,  and  I  doubt  if  Westover  could 
come,  for  he's  Officer  of  the  Day,  head- 
cook  and  bottle-washer.    And " 

"How  about  my  friend  Mr.  Cowles?" 
asked  Orme.  "My  acquaintance  with  him 
makes  me  think  he'd  take  on  any  sort  of 
sporting  proposition.     Do  you  shoot,  sir?" 

"All  Virginians  do,"  1  answered.  And 
so  I  did  in  the  field,  although  I  had  never 
shot  or  seen  a  pigeon  match  in  all  my  life. 

"Precisely.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  will  you 
allow  this  sort  of  talk?" 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  said  Kitty.  I'll  have 
something    up    myself    on    Mr.    Cowles. 


("Don't  let  him  scare  you.  Jack,"  she  whis- 
pered to  me  aside.) 

That  was  a  foolish  speech  of  hers,  and  a 
foolish  act  of  mine.  But  for  my  part,  I 
continually  found  myself  doing  things  I 
should  not  do. 

Orme  passed  his  cigarette  case.  "In 
view  of  my  possibly  greater  experience," 
he  said,  "I'd  allow  Mr.  Cowles  six  in  the 
hundred." 

"  1  am  not  looking  for  matches,"  said  I, 
my  blood  kindling  at  his  accustomed  inso- 
lence; "but  if  I  shot  it  would  be  both  men 
at  scratch." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  smiled  Orme.  "And 
should  we  make  a  little  wager  about  it — 1 
ask  your  consent,  Mrs.  Stevenson?" 

"America  forever!"  said  Kitty.  "Go  on, 
if  you  think  you  can  scare  a  Virginian  or 
a  Cowles." 

What  could  I  do  after  that?  But  all  at 
once  I  thought  of  my  scanty  purse  and  of 
the  many  troubles  that  beset  me,  and  the 
strange  unfitness  in  my  engaging  in  any 
such  talk.  In  spite  of  that,  my  stubborn 
blood  had  its  way  as  usual. 

"My  war  chest  is  light,"  I  answered, 
"as  I  am  farther  away  from  home  than  I 
had  planned.  But  you  know  my  black 
horse,  Mr.  Orme,  that  you  fancied?" 

"Oh,  by  Jove!  I'll  stake  you  anything 
you  like  against  him — a  thousand  pounds 
if  you  like."     He  S]X)ke  with  eagerness. 

"The  odds  must  be  even,"  I  said,  "and 
the  only  question  is  as  to  the  worth  of  the 
horse.  That  you  may  not  think  I  over- 
value him,  however,  make  it  half  that  sum, 
or  less,  if  these  gentlemen  think  the  horse 
has  not  that  value." 

"A  son  of  old  Klingwalla  is  worth  three 
times  that,"  insisted  Orme.  "  If  you  don't 
mind,  and  care  to  close  it,  we'll  shoot  to- 
morrow, if  Major  Williams  will  arrange 
it." 

"Certainly,"  said  that  gentleman. 

"Very  well,"  I  said. 

"And  we  will  be  so  discourteous  to  the 
stranger  within  our  gates,"  said  the  vivac- 
ious Kitty,  "as  to  give  you  a  jolly  good 
beating,  Mr.  Orme.  We'll  turn  out  the 
Post  to  see  the  match.  But  now  we  must 
be  making  ready  for  the  serious  matters 
of  the  evening.  Mr.  Orme,  you  dance,  of 
course.  Are  you  a  married  man — but 
what  a  question  for  me  to  ask — of  course 
you're  not." 

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Oiine  smiled,  showing  his  long,  narrow 
teeth.  "I've  been  a  bit  busy  for  that/'  he 
said;  "but  perhaps  my  time  has  come." 

"It  surely  has,"  said  Kitty  Stevenson. 
"  I've  oifered  to  wager  Mr.  Cowles  anything 
he  liked  that  he'd  be  engaged  before 
twelve  o'clock." 

CHAPTER  IX 

THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  HEART 

"  But  now  as  to  this  Ellen?"  I  asked  of 
my  hostess.  "  How  shall  I  know  her  when 
I  see  her?" 

"You  will  not  know  her  at  all." 

"G)uldn't  you  tell  me  something  of  how 
she  will  look?" 

"No,  I've  not  the  slightest  idea.  Ellen 
doesn't  repeat  herself.  There'll  be  a  row 
of  a  dozen  beauties,  the  most  dangerous 
girls  in  all  St.  Louis.  You  shall  meet  them 
all,  and  have  your  guess  as  to  which  is 
Ellen." 

"And  shall  I  never  know,  in  all  the 
world?" 

"Never,  in  all  the  world.  But  grieve 
not.  To-night  joy  is  unconfined.  And 
there  is  no  to-morrow." 

"And  one  may  make  mad  love  to  any 
girl  one  meets?" 

"To  any  girl  one  madly  loves,  of  course, 
not  to  twelve  at  once.  But  see,  isn't  it 
fine?" 

Indeed,  the  scene  on  Parade  was  now 
gayer  than  ever.  Laughter  and  chatter 
came  from  the  crowded  galleries  all  about 
the  square,  whose  houses  seemed  literally 
full  to  overflowing.  Music  mingled  with 
the  sound  of  merry  voices,  and,  forsooth,  we 
heard  now  and  again  the  faint  popping  of 
corks  along  Officers'  Row.  The  Army 
entertained. 

All  at  once,  from  somewhere  on  Parade, 
there  came  the  clear  note  of  a  bugle,  which 
seemed  to  draw  the  attention  of  all.  We 
could  see,  ascending  the  great  flagstaff  at 
the  end  of  its  halyard,  the  broad  folds  of 
the  flag.  Following  this  was  hoisted  a 
hoop  or  rim  of  torches,  which  paused  in 
such  position  that  the  folds  of  the  flag  were 
well  illuminated.  A  moment  of  silence 
came  at  last,  and  then  a  clapping  of  hands 
from  all  about  the  Parade,  as  the  banner 
floated  out,  and  the  voices  of  men,  deep- 
throated,  greeting  the  flag.  Again  the 
bands  broke  into  the  strains  of  the  national 


anthem,  but  immediately  they  swung  into 
a  rollicking  cavalry  air.  As  they  played, 
all  four  of  the  bands  marched  toward  the 
center  of  the  Parade,  and  halted  at  the 
dancing  pavilion,  where  the  lighter  instru- 
ments selected  for  the  orchestra  took  their 
places  at  the  head  of  the  floor. 

The  throngs  at  the  galleries  began  to 
lessen,  and  from  every  available  roof  of  the 
Post  there  poured  out  incredible  numbers 
of  gayly  dressed  ladies  and  men  in  uniform 
or  evening  garb,  each  one  masked,  and  all 
given  over  fully  to  the  spirit  of  the  hour. 
My  hostess  and  I  joined  these,  she  in  pink 
flowered  silk,  I  in  a  discarded  uniform  of 
her  husband,  a  trifle  tight  across  the  back, 
and  both  in  dominos. 

There  moved  before  us  a  kaleidoscope  of 
gay  colors,  over  which  breathed  the  fra- 
grance of  soft  music.  Music,  the  sight  of 
sweet  flowers,  the  sound  of  pleasant  waters, 
the  presence  of  things  beautiful — these 
have  ever  had  their  effect  on  me.  I  felt 
come  upon  me  a  soft  content.  I  turned  to 
speak  to  my  hostess,  but  she  was  gone  on 
business  of  her  own.  So  there  I  stood  for 
half  an  hour,  biting  my  thumb.  Presently 
I  felt  a  tug  at  my  sleeve. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Kitty.  We 
passed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  dancing 
floor,  and  halted  at  the  front  of  a  wide 
marquee,  whose  flaps  were  spread  to  cover 
a  long  row^f  seats. 

"Count  them,"  said  Kitty,  "there  are 
twelve." 

And  so  indeed  there  were,  twelve  beauti- 
ful young  girls,  as  one  might  pronounce, 
even  though  all  were  masked  with  half  face 
dominos.  Half  of  them  were  clad  in  white 
and  half  in  black,  and  they  alternated  down 
the  row.  Twelve  hands  handled  divers 
fans.  Twelve  pairs  of  eyes  looked  out, 
eyes  merry  or  challenging  or  mysterious. 

"Is  she  here,  Mrs.  Kitty?"  I  asked, satto 
voce. 

"You  shall  guess.  Come."  And  so  as 
occasion  offered  I  was  put  through  the 
ordeal  of  a  twelve-fold  introduction,  by  no 
means  an  easy  one.  At  each  fair  charmer, 
as  1  bowed,  I  looked  with  what  intentness  I 
dared,  to  see  if  I  might  penetrate  the  mask 
and  so  foil  Kitty  in  her  amiable  intentions 
of  mysteriousness.  This  occupation  caused 
me  promptly  to  forget  most  of  the  names 
which  I  doubt  not  were  all  fictitious.  As 
we  passed  out  at  the  foot  of^e  row 


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recalled  that  1  had  not  heard  the  name 
of  Ellen. 

"Now,  then,  which  one  is  she?"  I  queried. 

"Silly,  do  you  want  me  to  put  your  hand 
in  hers?  You  are  now  on  your  own  re- 
sources." The  next  moment  she  again  was 
gone. 

1  had  opportunity  without  rudeness  in 
the  crowd  pressing  in  behind  me,  to  glance 
once  more  up  the  line.  I  saw,  or  thought  I 
saw,  just  a  chance  glance  toward  where  I 
stood,  near  the  foot  of  the  Row  of  Mystery, 
as  they  called  it.  I  looked  a  second  time, 
and  then  all  doubt  whatever  vanished,  at 
least  as  to  my  guess  in  the  matter. 

I  began  to  edge  through  the  ranks  of 
young  men  who  gathered  there,  laugh- 
ing, beseeching,  imploring,  claiming.  The 
sparkle  of  the  scene  was  in  my  veins.  The 
breath  of  the  human  herd  assembled,  sex 
and  sex  each  challenging  the  other.  I  did 
not  walk,  the  music  carried  me  before  her. 
And  so  I  bowed  and  said  to  her:  "I  have 
waited  hours  for  my  hostess  to  present  me 
to  Miss  Ellen"  (I  mumbled  the  rest  of  some 
imaginary  name,  since  I  had  heard  none). 

The  girl  pressed  the  tip  of  her  fan  against 
her  teeth  and  looked  at  me  meditatively. 

"If  I  couldonly  remember  all  thenames," 
she  began  hesitatingly. 

"I  was  introduced  as  Jack  Somebody — 
I  don't  remember  who — of  Virginia." 

"We  name  no  names  to-night,"  she 
answered.  "  But  I  was  just  thinking,  there 
is  no  Jack  C.  in  the  Gazette  who  comes  from 
Virginia  and  who  wears  a  captain's  straps. 
I  do  not  know  who  you  are." 

"At  least  the  game  then  is  fair,"  said  I. 

I  looked  down  at  her  as  I  stood,  and  a 
certain  madness  of  youth  seized  hold  upon 
me.  I  knew  that  when  she  stood  she 
would  be  just  tall  enough;  that  she  would 
be  round  and  full  and  a  perfect  woman  in 
every  line  of  her  figure;  that  her  hair  would 
be  some  sort  of  dark  brown  in  the  daylight ; 
that  her  eyes  would  be  some  sort  of  dark- 
ness, I  knew  not  what,  for  I  could  not  see 
them  fully  through  the  domino.  1  could 
see  the  hair  piled  back  from  the  nape  of  as 
lovely  a  neck  as  ever  caught  a  kiss.  I 
could  see  at  the  edge  of  the  mask  that  her 
ear  was  small  and  close  to  the  head;  could 
see  that  her  nose  must  be  straight,  and  that 
it  sprang  from  the  brow  strongly,  with  no 
weak  indentation.  The  sweep  of  a  strong, 
clean  chin  was  not  to  be  disguised,  and  at 


the  edge  of  the  mask  I  caught  now  and 
then  as  she  toyed  with  her  fan  the  gleam 
of  white  even  teeth  and  the  mocking  smile 
of  curved  lips,  hid  at  the  very  moment 
when  I  was  about  to  fix  them  in  my  mem- 
ory, so  that  1  might  see  again  and  know. 
Nineteen,  perhaps  twenty,  1  considered  her 
age  to  be;  gentle  and  yet  strong,  with 
character  and  yet  with  tenderness,  1  made 
estimate  that  she  must  be;  and  that  she  had 
more  brains  than  to  be  merely  a  lay  figure 
I  held  sure,  because  there  was  some- 
thing, that  indefinable  magnetism,  what 
you  like  to  call  it,  which  is  not  to  be  denied, 
which  assured  me  that  here  was  a  woman 
not  likely  to  accept,  nor  likely  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

"My  hostess  said  it  would  be  a  lottery  to- 
night in  this  Row  of  Mystery,"  I  went  on. 
"  But  come.    This  waltz  is  made  for  us." 

As  I  live,  she  rose  and  put  her  hand  upon 
my  arm  with  no  farther  argument,  why  I 
cannot  say,  perhaps  because  I  had  allowed 
no  other  man  to  stand  thus  near  her. 

She  danced  as  she  stood,  with  the  grace 
of  a  perfect  womanhood,  and  the  ease  of  a 
perfect  culture.  I  was  of  no  mind  to  look 
further.  If  this  was  not  Ellen,  then  there 
was  no  Ellen  there  for  me.  Around  and 
around  we  passed,  borne  on  the  Danube's 
stream  of  the  waltz  music,  as  melancholy 
as  it  was  joyous,  music  that  was  young;  for 
youth  is  ever  full  of  melancholy  and  wonder 
and  of  mystery.  We  danced.  Now  and 
again  I  saw  her  little  feet  peep  out.  I  felt  her 
weight  rest  light  against  my  arm,  I  caught 
the  indescribable  fragrance  of  her  hair.  A 
gem  in  the  gold  comb  now  and  then  flashed 
out,  and  now  and  again  I  saw  her  eyes  half 
raised.  I  could  have  sworn  I  saw  a  dimple 
in  her  cheek  through  the  mask,  and  a  smile 
of  mockery  on  her  face. 

I  have  said  that  her  gown  was  dark, 
black  laces  draping  over  a  close  fitted  under 
bodice,  and  there  was  no  relief  to  this 
sombemess  excepting  that  in  the  front  of 
the  bodice  were  many  folds  of  lacy  lawn, 
falling  in  many  sheer  pleats,  edge  to  edge, 
gathered  at  the  waist  by  a  girdle  which  was 
confined  by  a  simple  buckle  of  gold.  Now 
as  I  danced  I  became  conscious  dimly  of  a 
faint  outline  of  some  figure  in  color,  deep 
in  these  filmy  folds,  an  evanescent  spot  or 
blur  of  red,  which,  to  my  imagination, 
assumed  the  outline  of  a  veritable  heart,  as 
though    indeed    her    heart^quite    siione 

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through!  If  this  were  a  trick  1  could  not 
say,  but  for  a  long  time  1  resisted  it. 
Meantime,  as  chance  offered  in  the  dance — 
to  which  she  resigned  herself  utterly — I 
went  on  with  such  foolish  words  as  men 
employ. 

"I  dreamed  1  saw  a  red  heart/'  said  1. 
"  But  that  cannot  have  been,  for  I  see  you 
have  no  heart." 

"No,"  she  laughed.    "  It  was  a  dream." 

"To-night,  then,  we  only  dream." 

She  was  silent  at  this.  "1  knew  you 
from  the  very  first,"  I  reiterated. 

"What,  has  Kitty  talked?" 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh.  "Ah,  ha,"  I 
said.  "I  thought  that  no  names  were  to 
be  mentioned.  At  least  if  Kitty  has 
talked  I  shall  not  betray  her.  But  I  knew 
you  directly  as  the  most  beautiful  girl  in 
all  the  city." 

"Oh,  thank  thee,  kind  sir!" 

"Then  you  knew  I  was  a  Quaker.  I  had 
forgotten  it  to-night,  and  indeed  forgotten 
that  Quakers  do  not  dance.  1  am  glad 
my  father  overruled  my  mother  in  these 
matters.  To-night  I  hardly  know  who  I 
am." 

"Officer  and  gentleman,"  she  smiled, 
"of  course.  You  dance  well,  sir.  But 
now  I  must  go.  There  are  very  many  to 
whom  I  am  promised." 

Reluctantly  I  moved  away  from  the 
merry  throng  upon  the  pavilion  floor.  At 
the  edge  of  the  better  lighted  circle  she 
paused  for  a  moment,  standing  straight  and 
drawing  a  full,  deep  breath.  If  that  were 
coquetry  it  was  perfect.  I  swear  1  caught 
the  full  outline  of  the  red,  red  heart  upon 
her  corsage! 

"You  are  Ellen!"  I  whispered  hotly. 
"You  are  Ellen,  and  you  have  a  heart. 
At  half-past  ten  1  shall  come  again." 

At  half-past  ten  1  had  kept  my  word, 
and  I  stood  once  more  at  the  Row  of 
Mystery.  But  all  the  chairs  were  vacant, 
the  blue  coats  had  wrought  havoc  there. 


"Buck  up.  Jack,"  1  heard  a  voice  at  my 
side.    "Did  she  run  away  from  you?" 

I  feigned  ignorance  to  Kitty.  "They 
are  all  alike,"  said  I  indifferently.  "All 
dressed  alike " 

"And  I  doubt  not  they  all  acted  alike." 

"1  saw  but  one,"  I  admitted,  "the  one 
with  a  red  heart  on  her  corsage." 

Kitty  laughed  a  merry  peal.  "There 
were  twelve  hearts,  had  you  only  known  it," 
she  said.  "All  there  and  all  offered  to  any 
who  might  take  them.  Silly,  silly!  Now 
I  wonder  if  indeed  you  did  meet  Ellen. 
Come,  ril  introduce  you  to  a  hundred  more 
of  the  nicest  girls  you  ever  saw." 

"Then  it  was  Ellen?" 

"How  should  I  know?  I  did  not  see 
you.  1  was  too  busy .  flirting  with  my 
husband — ^for  after  a  while  I  found  that  it 
was  Matt,  of  course.  1 1  seems  some  sort  of 
fate  that  I  never  see  a  handsome  man  who 
doesn't  turn  out  to  be  Matt." 

"  I  must  have  one  more  dance,"  I  said. 

"Then  select  some  other  partner.  It  is 
too  late  to  find  Ellen  now,  or  to  get  a  word 
with  her  if  we  did.  There'll  be  fifty  men, 
all  crazy  as  yourself  for  Ellen.  I  '11  tell  you. 
Jack,  you'd  better  banish  Ellen.  Just  take 
my  advice  and  run  over  home  and  go  to 
bed.  You  forget  you've  the  match  on  for 
to-morrow,  and  I  must  say,  not  wanting  to 
disturb  you  in  the  least,  I  believe  you're 
going  to  need  all  your  nerve.  There's 
Scotch  on  the  sideboard.  Don't  drink 
champagne." 

"Bless  you,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  I,  "what 
an  angel  you  are.  And  how  shall  I  thank 
you  for  to-night?" 

But  when  presently  I  strolled  over  to 
Number  16  and  got  Johnson  to  show  me 
my  little  room,  I  did  very  little  at  the  busi- 
ness of  sleeping,  and  when  I  slept  I  saw  a 
long  row  of  figures  in  alternate  black  and 
white,  and  of  these  one  wore  a  red  rose  and 
a  gold  comb  with  a  jewel  in  it,  and  her  hair 
was  very  fragrant. 


(To  be  continued.) 


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DOWN    THE   MAURICE    RIVER 


BY   LLOYD   ROBERTS 


PHOTOGRAPHS   BY    WM.    R.    S.    MILLER 


I H  E  photographs  were 
beautiful,  and  because  of 
that  and  the  nearness 
of  the  river  fitting  in 
with  the  couple  of  days 
at  our  disposal,  we  de- 
cided to  add  its  name  to 
the  long  list  of  those  we  had  conquered 
in  the  past.  We  had  never  heard  of 
any  one  but  the  intrepid  explorer,  whose 
photographs  we  were  lucky  enough  to 
find,  who  had  seen  or  even  heard  tell  of 
such  a  bit  of  water  as  the  Maurice,  and  it 
was  only  after  careful  perusal  of  an  ex- 
tensive map  of  New  Jersey  that  the  stream 
was  discovered  starting  a  few  miles  south 
of  Philadelphia  and  ending  in  Delaware 
Bay.  We  shipped  our  canoe  ahead  to 
Franklinville,  which  appeared  to  be  about 
the  head  of  navigation,  and  next  day  fol- 
lowed via  the  Quaker  City. 

It  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
station  to  the  Maurice  River,  and  we  car- 
ried the  canoe  across  on  our  shoulders  while 
a  few  stray  farmers  trailed  along  behind. 
The  voyage  was  begun  on  what  would  be 
hyperbole  to  call  a  river.  Ditch  would  be 
better — only  it  contained  most  animated 
water.  It  was  all  of  four  feet  wide  and 
wound  between  hanging  bushes  on  the  left 
and  a  luxuriant  meadow  on  the  right,  with 
our  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  tops  of  the 
grasses.  From  there  to  where  it  ceased  to 
have  a  will  of  its  own  and  became  a  tidal 
river,  thirty  miles  from  its  mouth,  it  had 
two  peculiarities  that  made  it  distinctive 
from  the  usual  run  of  streams — its  water 
was  the  color  of  strong  tea,  and  from  its 
very  infancy  its  depth  was  suited  to  a  small 
rowboat  and  never  ran  out  into  shoals. 

We  soon  left  the  bright  meadow  with  its 
flowers  and  sunlight  and  passed  into  the 


gloomy  shadow  of  an  alder  swamp.  As 
we  drifted  along  on  the  sturdy  current  we 
pulled  off  our  collars — the  insignia  of  re- 
spectability— and  knotted  handkerchiefs 
in  their  place,  and  felt  more  in  keeping 
with  our  surroundings. 

The  scenery  (all  this  time)  could  hardly 
be  called  inspiring,  and  we  began  to  wonder 
if  our  predecessor  of  the  camera  had  been 
confused  in  his  geography  when  he  wrote 
''Maurice  River"  on  the  backs  of  his  nega- 
tives. 1 1  seemed  as  if  we  were  working  our 
way  through  an  endless  gloomy  cave  that 
never  by  any  chance  ran  more  than  fifty 
feet  in  one  direction.  On  either  side  the 
black  water  stood  in  pools  between  the 
alder  trunks,  and  the  only  dry  footing  in 
sight  was  the  floor  of  our  canoe.  A  few 
stray  catbirds  rasped  harshly  from  time  to 
time — but  the  life  that  was  always  with  us, 
that  we  saw  and  left  and  could  not  evade, 
was  a  countless  horde  of  great  ash-gray 
spiders.  They  were  the  real  inhabitants  of 
the  swamp.  They  spun  their  tough  gray 
webs  low  down  across  the  stream,  con- 
nected every  leaf  and  twig  with  innumer- 
able bridges,  and  waited  in  the  shelter  of 
curled-up  leaves  to  pounce  out  upon  their 
entangled  prey.  Though  we  were  larger 
fish  than  their  nets  would  hold,  either  by 
accident  or  design  they  would  insist  on  get- 
ting upon  us.  We  would  brush  them  from 
our  hair,  our  faces,  and  our  clothes  with 
undignified  haste.  One  huge  fellow  must 
have  spread  four  inches  between  the  ex- 
tremities of  the  back  and  front  legs. 

About  one  o'clock  the  river  doubled  in 
size  as  a  brown  rush  of  waters  joined  the 
main  stream,  and  a  little  later  we  slipped 
out  into  the  sunlight  at  the  foot  of  a 
pasture-lot,  and  paused  to  lazy  over  a 
miniature  lunch. 

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"Through  meadows  of  arrow-heads  and  rafts  of  lily-pads. " 

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**We  slipped  out  into  the  sunlight  at  the  foot  of  a  pasture-lot.'* 

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We  had  left  our  strange  solemn  cavern 
of  spidered  alders  and  now  our  going  was 
swifter,  with  few  wind-falls  that  could  not 
be  passed  under  or  around,  while  the  scen- 
ery became  far  more  beautiful  even  than 
we  had  expected.  The  trees  were  tall  and 
slim,  standing  up  from  a  tangled  luxuriance 
of  briars  and  grasses  and  great  masses  of 
the  pale  purple  milkweed.  Here  and  there 
we  could  see  one  lonely  spike  of  crimson 
salvia,  glowing  like  a  tiny  flame  in  the 
tangle.  In  little  pockets  of  the  river  lily- 
pads  overlaid  the  surface  of  the  water  and 
sometimes  a  belated  perfect  blossom 
floated  fragrant  and  white.  A  month  be- 
fore and  these  places  must  have  looked  like 
drifted  snow. 

About  three  the  current  slowed  down  and 
we  wound  out  through  meadows  of  arrow- 
heads and  rafts  of  lily-pads  on  to  a  large 
artificial  pond.  We  knew  Millville  stood 
at  the  foot  of  such  a  pond  and  carelessly 
took  for  granted  that  we  had  arrived  at  our 
destination.  Thus  a  precious  hour  was 
wasted  while  we  tried  in  vain,  with  frog  and 
minnow  and  mouse,  to  lure  some  hidden 
pike.  And  then,  floating  lazily  down  to 
the  dam  below  discovered  our  blunder  from 
the  first  person  we  accosted.  This  was 
Willow  Grove. 

No,  he  didn't  know  how  far  away  Mill- 
ville was,  but  he  showed  us  where  to  make 
our  portage  around  the  dam.  Three  small 
children  stood  on  the  bridge  across  the 
millrace  and  we  put  the  question  to  them; 
but  they  only  murmured  shyly,  "Don- 
know."  And  then  one  youngster,  gaining 
courage,  blurted  out: 

"You  won't  git  there  'for'  nine." 

We  smiled  with  amusement  at  his  words, 
for  were  we  not  planning  to  get  there  in 
ample  time  for  a  dinner  that  would  repay 
us  for  our  going  supperless  to  bed  the  pre- 
vious night  and  our  slender  luncheon  that 
day?  And  we  never  thought  of  the  adage : 
"Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes,  etc." 

Pete,  my  companion,  had  suddenly  be- 
come pessimistic.  "What  blamed  fools 
we  were,"  he  scolded,  for  not  bringing  a 
road-map.  "It'll  not  be  much  comfort 
running  a  strange  river  after  dark  with  the 
chance  of  butting  our  faces  into  fallen  trees 
and  being  swept  under  the  banks." 

"We'll  get  out  in  time,"  1  answered 
cheerfully,  "but  we  had  better  put  muscle 
into  our  strokes."    We  didn't  say  much 


after  that,  but  slogged  in  earnest.  Under 
such  strenuous  handling  the  canoe  was  not 
slow  to  respond  and  we  would  whirl  broad- 
side to  the  stream,  rounding  the  bend  on 
our  beam  ends  with  the  flood  yelping  in  a 
yellow  foam  almost  to  the  gunwales.  It 
was  like  the  slewing  of  a  speeding  toboggan ; 
but  before  the  sideways  movement  carried 
us  into  the  opposite  wall  of  green  we  would 
be  digging  our  way  down  the  next  lap. 

Sometimes  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
prevent  being  swept  under  the  low-hanging 
trunks  and  jagged  bayonet-like  branches, 
and  only  deft  use  of  the  paddles  combined 
with  sharp  ducking  of  heads  saved  us  from 
accident.  But  however  hard  we  strained 
at  our  tough  blades  and  how  incessantly 
our  eyes  were  strained  to  pick  the  course 
past  obstacles  that  swung  round  the  points, 
our  senses  were  ever  aware  of  the  warm 
beauty  of  it  all,  the  wide  gradation  of 
greens,  the  bright  and  solitary  flowers  and 
the  more  brilliant  berries,  the  thin  winds 
in  the  little  leaves,  and  the  fluffs  of  white 
cloud  in  the  wide,  clean  blue  above  us  all. 

Then  slowly  daylight  melted  away  and 
twilight  came,  and  darkness  crept  softly 
out  from  the  eastern  wall  of  foliage  and 
hung  along  the  stream  and  moved  into  the 
forest  on  our  right  toward  where  the  low- 
ered sun  threw  a  fountain  of  crimson  blood 
upon  the  sky.  And  then,  because  we  must, 
our  speed  slackened  and  the  bowman  bent 
all  his  energies  on  spying  snags  and  wind- 
falls through  the  failing  light.  But  still, 
what  with  the  urging  current  and  the  stern 
paddle,  we  moved  with  dangerous  haste, 
anticipating  sight  of  our  destination  around 
every  bend.  A  collision  that  we  eased  but 
could  not  evade  with  a  low-lying  rampike, 
drove  more  caution  into  our  actions,  know- 
ing that  it  was  due  more  to  luck  than  skill 
that  the  encounter  had  no  ill  results.  After 
that  1  reversed  my  stroke  every  few  seconds 
gauging  my  movements  to  some  extent  by 
the  tree-tops  sliding  black  against  the  sky. 

A  few  stray  stars  blew  into  flame. 
Though  there  was  no  moon  it  seemed 
cheerfully  light  up  there  way  above  our 
heads  by  contrast  with  the  density  of 
blackness  that  crowded  on  the  swamp. 

For  many  seconds  at  a  time  we  would  be 
as  blind  as  if  a  bandage  had  been  wrapped 
across  our  eyes.  Then  we  could  but 
drift  with  the  current,  while  Pete  waved 
his  paddle  as  far  out  beyond  him  as  he 

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could  reach,  feeling  for  the  objects  that 
would  take  this  opportunity  to  stretch 
across  our  course. 

Sometimes  the  current,  snarling  and  con- 
tending with  a  snag,  would  warn  us  away 
from  danger — till  a  faint  gleam  of  light  re- 
flected from  above  would  hint  our  river 
swung  to  right  or  left,  and  seizing  the  ad- 
vantage eagerly  we  would  twist  sharply 
before  we  could  drive  into  the  barrier.  A 
kind  of  instinct  seemed  to  come  to  our  aid. 
We  would  feel  the  presence  of  an  obstacle 
before  we  actually  touched  it.  Perhaps 
Pete  would  pull  the  bow  sharply  to  the 
right  and  two  feet  farther  on  a  bare,  jagged 
limb  would  graze  our  cheeks;  or  I  would 
swing  the  canoe  around  to  the  left  in  the 
inky  darkness  and  discover  afterward  that 
another  yard  and  we  would  have  been 
sucked  under  the  bank.  However,  this 
instinct  could  not  be  depended  upon,  and 
at  last  we  jarred  upon  a  trunk  that 
stretched  half-submerged  across  our  path. 
The  smoky  flare  of  a  newspaper  torch 
showed  us  one  of  the  few  patches  of  firm 
ground  in  the  day's  adventuring  and  we 
dragged  the  canoe  on  to  it.  Then  with 
much  patience  we  stumbled  about  our 
little  island,  with  ever  imminent  danger  of 
walking  off  into  watery  space,  and  gath- 
ered handfuls  of  semi-dry  twigs.  The  Lil- 
liputian fire  that  finally  crackled  between 
us  drove  discomfort  and  gloom  back  on 
their  heels.  A  cosy  home  was  bom  in  the 
wilderness,  and  for  the  manyeth  time  we 
realized  that  the  comfort  and  friendliness 
of  a  camp-fire  is  past  all  understanding. 

We  were  naturally  hungry — strenuous 
paddling  from  noon  to  nine  on  a  light  lunch 
is  apt  to  stir  the  most  sluggish  appetite. 
Our  larder  contained  four  soda  crackers 


left  over  from  the  night  before  and  which 
with  prophetic  foresight  had  been  saved, 
and  one  apple — the  remains  of  lunch.  We 
put  two  crackers  aside  for  breakfast  and 
divided  the  rest.  We  talk  of  the  comforts 
of  cities.  Comfort  does  not  come  from 
without  but  from  within.  We  had  left 
New  York  only  the  day  before,  and  here 
we  were  stranded  in  a  swamp,  almost  sup- 
perless,  dressed  for  Broadway,  and  with- 
out blankets — the  upturned  canoe  as  a 
roof  and  a  handful  of  leaves  as  a  bed,  and 
yet  all  through  our  weary  limbs  stole  a 
sense  of  such  perfect  comfort  and  peace  as 
the  city  cannot  give.  Then  we  knocked 
out  our  pipes  and  closed  our  eyes  to  the 
cheerful  play  of  firelight  on  the  leaves. 

Wisps  of  night  still  clung  to  the  western 
sky  when  we  renewed  our  journey.  With 
daylight  our  course  was  perfectly  easy,  and 
for  two  hours  we  glided  down  a  river  that 
had  grown  most  marvelously  beautiful. 
A  wild  luxuriance  of  growth  covered  both 
shores.  Shrubs  and  trees  were  matted 
with  wild  grapevines,  while  bushes  of 
crimson  berries  brought  memories  of  mis- 
tletoe and  Christmas.  And  then  through 
all  the  profusion  of  trunk  and  vine  and 
shrub  and  tall  pale  grasses  and  trailing 
spider-webs  hung  a  thin  rosy  mist  of  low- 
lying  sunlight,  that  softened  and  suffused 
everything  together  into  perfect  harmony 
and  beauty.  Empty  stomachs  did  not 
blind  our  eyes. 

Once  more  the  river  eased  its  pace  and 
swung  into  wide  marshes  of  arrowheads 
and  finally  bulged  out  into  a  huge  artificial 
lake.  At  the  farther  end  a  number  of 
towering  chimneys  gazed  above  the  tree 
tops,  signaling  to  us  that  the  navigation 
of  the  Maurice  was  accomplished. 


THE    SUMMER   VACATION 

BY   WILLIAM  TALBOTT   CHILDS 


40 

10 

I 

I 
52 


weeks'  anticipation, 

of  bustling  preparation, 

to  pack  and  reach  the  station; 

of  final  realization. 


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•-1 
c 
o 

o 
u 

u: 
X 


> 

Q 
O 

o 


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CLAMMING   ALONG   THE 
MISSISSIPPI 

BY"T.'P.,GIDDINGS 

PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR  AND  OTHERS 


TO  pearl  fishing  is  done  on 
the  Mississippi  River  and 
its«  tributaries — only 
"clammin*."  The  form- 
er name  with  all  its 
implied  poetry  of  dusky 
ia3  natives  diving  from 
"long,  low,  rakish  craft"  and  returning  to 
the  surface  with  both  hands  full  of  the  pre- 
cious gems,  is  unknown  on  the  river.  No,  it 
is  done  in  a  far  more  prosaic  way.  For 
many  years  pearls  have  been  found  in  the 
clams  and  mussels  that  are  so  numerous  in 
the  lakes  and  streams  of  Wisconsin,  Illinois, 
Minnesota,  and  in  fact  all  of  the  states  of  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  In  some  of  the  Indian 
mounds  in  Ohio  and  Indiana  were  found 
stores  of  pearls,  one  mound  yielding  as 
many  as  three  bushels.  The  long  burial 
had  spoiled  many  of  them,  but  some  of  the 
largest  were  "peeled"  and  found  to  be  still 
lustrous. 

Twenty  years  ago  a  pearl  craze  started  in 
Wisconsin.  Every  one  dug  clams.  Mills 
stopped  and  the  water  was  drawn  from  the 
mill  ponds  that  the  people  might  get  the 
mussels  more  easily.  Previous  to  1895, 
according  to  the  government  report, 
$300,000  worth  of  pearls  were  found  in 
Wisconsin — Sugar  River  alone  yielding 
$10,000  before  becoming  exhausted.  At 
that  time  river  pearls  were  not  valued  as 
highly  as  "Orientals,"  but  now  they  are 
eagerly  bought  by  jewelers. 

Several  years  ago  button  factories  were 
established  at  various  points  on  the  Missis- 
sippi River.  Men  collected  clams  and 
sold  the  shells  to  these  factories  to  be  made 
into  pearl  buttons.  Some  pearls  were 
found   and   another  craze   soon   started. 


Men  flocked  to  the  river  from  all  walks  of 
life.  White  men,  red  men,  black  men, 
brown  men  and  women,  all  came,  though 
after  a  month  of  sun,  wind,  and  river-water 
coffee,  racial  characteristics  were  not 
conspicuous. 

In  the  summer  of  1902  it  was  said  that 
20,000  men  were  clamming  on  the  Missis- 
sippi and  its  tributaries.  In  the  spring  of 
the  next  year  the  rush  was  even  greater, 
but  this  did  not  last  long.  Owing  to 
the  overfishing  of  the  previous  season  the 
market  was  already  overstocked  and  the 
pr.ce  of  shells  had  dropped  so  low  that  by 
July  comparatively  few  boats  were  at 
work.  Many  enormous  beds  that  were 
thought  inexhaustible  had  given  out,  the 
shell  buyers  rejected  so  many  shells  (only 
about  a  quarter  of  those  caught  were  sal- 
able even  at  the  low  prices  then  prevailing) 
that  in  the  latter  part  of  the  season  the 
river  was  almost  deserted. 

The  price  of  shells  has  since  risen  to 
several  times  what  it  was  then,  and  all 
kinds  are  bought,  but  the  beds  do  not 
yield  as  they  used  to  owing  to  the  wasteful 
method  of  catching  the  clams,  which  kills 
fully  as  many  as  are  caught.  The  govern- 
ment should  take  immediate  and  effective 
steps  to  protect  these  valuable  bivalves,  or 
soon  our  river  bottoms,  which  should  not 
only  furnish  jewels  to  bedizen  those 
clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen  but  buttons 
enough  to  keep  the  raiment  of  the  world  in 
place  for  all  time  to  come,  will  be  as  value- 
less as  the  sands  of  the  Sahara,  and  the 
clam  will  have  joined  the  bison  and  the 
wild  pigeon  in  the  list  of  the  has-bccns. 

Many  valuable  pearls  have  been  found  in 
the  last  five  years.    One  found  near  Lans- 


473 


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The  home  of  the  fresh-water  clammer. 


ing,  Iowa,  in  1902,  was  sold  in  Boston  for 
$65,000.  It  was  nearly  an  inch  in  diam- 
eter, flawless,  and  of  the  regular  "pearl' 
color.  The  "Queen  Mary,"  found  the 
same  year  and  in  nearly  the  same  place,  is 
now  owned  by  a  Chicago  lady  and  cost  her 
150,000.  It  is  of  a  lovely  pink  color  and  is 
somewhat  the  shape  of  a  cranberry.  It 
was  nearly  lost  to  the  world,  however,  as 
the  tired  clammer  overlooked  it  when  he 
was  sorting  over  his  shells  just  before  his 
late  evening  meal.  His  wife,  waiting  more 
or  less  impatiently  for  him  to  finish  while 
the  supper  cooled  in  the  near-by  tent, 
seated  herself  upon  a  pile  of  "culls,"  and 
while  idly  tossing  them  about  she  noticed 
something  sticking  to  one  of  them.  A 
close  examination  revealed  an  enormous 
pearl  partially  imbedded  in  the  shell.  In 
his  joy  at  the  recovery  of  the  fortune  he 
had  so  carelessly  thrown  away  he  declared 
she  must  keep  and  wear  the  beautiful  jewel, 
'>ut  when  a  buyer  appeared  the  same  even- 
ng  and  offered  her  the  price  of  a  good 
farm,  a  house  in  town,  and  enough  besides 
to  keep  them  both  running,  they  came  to 


the  conclusion  that  while  the  jewel  might 
look  out  of  place  with  her  calico  dress  the 
farm  wouldn't. 

Those  who  find  these  jewels  do  not  have 
to  hunt  for  a  market,  as  buyers  from  the 
eastern  jewelry  houses  patrol  the  river 
banks  continually,  and  report  of  a  good 
find  brings  numbers  of  them  at  once. 

The  element  of  chance  in  pearl  fishing 
makes  it  fascinating  in  spite  of  the  arduous 
labor.  One  may  open  a  shell  and  find  a 
fortune,  and  then  again  he  may  not.  If 
one  is  willing  to  work  he  can  make  good 
wages  from  the  sale  of  shells,  while  the 
added  gain  from  pearls  and  slugs,  some- 
times, not  often,  increases  his  income  very 
materially.  The  clams  are  found  in  beds 
in  the  channel  where  the  water  is  from  five 
to  sixty  feet  deep.  These  beds  vary  in  size 
from  a  few  to  hundreds  of  feet  in  width  and 
from  a  hundred  feet  to  five  miles  in  length. 
In  the  upper  river  clam  beds  are  very 
numerous  and  the  supply  should  be  prac- 
tically inexhaustible.  The  New  Boston 
beds  have  been  fished  for  years  and  the 
clams  "bite"  yet. 


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A  clammer's  outfit  is  inexpensive  and 
his  wants  are  few.  His  necessities  are  a 
clamming  scow,  a  pair  of  "bars,"  boiler, 
tent  or  houseboat,  a  cast-iron  spine,  un- 
limited hope  and  patience,  an  integument 
impervious  to  heat,  cold,  moisture,  mos- 
quito, or  invective.  He  should  also  possess 
a  penetrating  voice  and  a  large  and  com- 
prehensive vocabulary  ever  ready  and 
not  liable  to  derangement  under  sudden 
pressure,  for  the  advent  of  a  new  clammer 
upon  a  bed  previously  occupied  is  not 
hailed  with  delight  by  those  already  there. 
As  the  river  and  banks  to  high-water 
mark  are  free  to  all,  the  newcomer  can 
only  be  dislodged  by  diplomacy  or  vituper- 
ation. At  first  he  is  told  that  "this  is  the 
poorest  bed  on  the  river."  "Worked  here 
all  summer  and  never  seen  a  pearl." 
"  Four  miles  up  they've  found  lots  of  'em." 
If  this  fails  and  he  doesn't  appear  too 
belligerent,  reflections  are  made  upon  his 
outfit,  personal  appearance,  and  probable 
mental  capacity.  Should  the  tenderfoot 
still  display  good  staying  qualities  and  an 
ability  to  hold  his  own  vocally,  he  is  re- 
ceived into  good  and  regular  standing  and 
pearls  are  freely  shown  him. 

The  clam  scow  is  a  flatboat  sixteen  to 
twenty  feet  long  and  four  wide — not  a 
rapid  craft  by  any  means  nor  an  easy  one 


to  row.  Nailed  to  each  side  of  it  are  two 
upright  forked  stakes  four  feet  high,  and  a 
gas  pipe  ten  to  fifteen  feet  long  rests  in 
these  forks.  At  intervals  of  four  or  six 
inches  strings  or  chains  two  or  three  feet 
long  depend  from  these  pipes.  At  equal 
distances  along  these  chains  or  strings  are 
three  or  four  small  grappling  hooks  made 
of  common  telegraph  wire,  having  four 
flukes,  each  as  large  as  a  large  fish  hook. 
These  are  called  "crow  feet"  and  though  a 
primitive  device,  no  better  way  has  been 
found  to  capture  the  festive  clam.  Two 
of  these  patience-trying  snarls  of  hooks 
called  "bars"  belong  to  each  boat,  one  on 
each  side,  and  the  number  of  ways  in 
which  these  hooks  may  become  tangled  is 
beyond  human  computation.  Bars  and 
boat  can  be  made  for  ten  dollars  or  less. 
The  boiler  is  simply  a  large  box  with  a 
sheet-iron  bottom  placed  over  a  trench  in 
the  top  of  the  river  bank.  The  cost  is 
trifling,  as  only  the  sheet  iron  and  two 
joints  of  stovepipe  need  be  purchased. 
The  lumber  can  usually  be  annexed  and 
the  hole  in  the  ground  is  already  there  if 
you  only  dig  the  dirt  out  of  it. 

It  is  morning  and  the  first  faint  flush  of 
dawn  is  just  visible  over  the  crests  of  the 
towering  bluffs  and  the  merry  mosquito 
has  sought  his  lair.    The  sound  of  oars 


Back  with  a  good  catch. 


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A  cooking  out — "Hold  your  nose  firmly!*' 


breaks  the  silence  and  out  from  the  shadow 
of  the  tent-lined  shore  glide  the  clam  boats, 
their  chains  and  hooks  making  them  look 
like  huge  centipedes.  It  is  cold  and  damp. 
Our  boat  reaches  the  head  of  the  clam  bed. 
Splash!  goes  a  bar  and  its  myriad  of 
hooks  to  the  bottom.  The  rope  runs  out, 
forty  feet  of  it,  for  here  the  water  is 
deep.  The  hooks  catch  the  gravel,  the  boat 
swings  around  sidewise  to  the  current;  a 
practiced  hand  is  laid  upon  the  rope  to  see 
if  the  hooks  are  dragging  properly.  If  too 
slow  the  "mule" — a  canvas  arrangement 
— is  thrown  overboard  to  catch  the  force 
of  the  water  and  so  help  us  downstream. 
If  the  boat  goes  too  fast  an  anchor  and  line 
are  used.  In  dragging  along  the  bottom 
the  hook  enters  the  ever-open  mouth  of  the 
clam  as  he  sits  upright  in  the  sand.  He 
promptly  closes  the  narrow  opening  be- 
tween his  shells  in  a  vice-like  grip  and  is 
dragged  from  his  resting  place.  The  boat 
drifts  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet,  the  muscular 
clammer  lays  hold  of  the  vibrating  rope 
and  hauls  the  seventy-five  pound  tangle 
of  hooks,  clams,  and  maybe  a  few  snags, 
*o  the  surface  and  lays  the  iron  bar  in 


the  notched  upright  sticks.  Out  goes  the 
other  bar  and  the  boat  swings  around,  the 
other  side  upstream.  A  good  catch.  Pull 
them  from  the  hooks  and  sort  them  out. 
Pull  hard,  too,  for  some  of  these  veterans 
have  strong  jaws  and  it  is  a  poor  idea  to  put 
a  finger  or  toe  between  them,  as  many  a 
swimming  urchin  has  discovered.  Throw 
the  "nigger  heads"  into  one  end  of  the 
boat,  the  "buck  horns"  in  the  middle,  and 
the  "muckets,"  "razor  backs,"  and  the 
rest  of  the  culls  into  the  other  end. 

Verily,  this  is  toil,  and  yet  when  these 
shells  are  opened,  mayhap  jewels  of  price 
will  be  revealed.  Another  trip  and  home 
to  breakfast.  Two  more  and  it  is  so  hot 
the  water  sizzles  when  it  strikes  the  boat. 
Then  home  again  to  cook  the  clams. 
Shovel  them  into  the  basket,  carry  them 
up  the  bank  and  dump  them  into  the  boiler 
under  the  big  tree.  It  takes  half  a  ton  to 
fill  it.  Fourteen  bushels!  Fourteen  trips 
up  the  bank  in  this  broiling  sun!  Pour  in  a 
little  water — not  too  much  or  you  will  over- 
work getting  wood,  and  steam  cooks  better 
than  water  anyway. 

What  frightful  odor  is  this?    "  Have  you 

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Clamming  Along  the  Mississippi 


479 


never  smelled  a  warm  clam  before?  No? 
Well,  you  have  something  yet  to  live  for." 
Feed  the  fire  often.  Hold  your  nose  firmly 
and  lift  the  cover.  Yes,  see  them  lie  open. 
They  are  done.  Shovel  them  out  on  the 
sorting  table,  and  while  they  are  cooling 
draw  off  the  water  and  search  the  bottom 
of  the  boiler  for  "stuff."  Sort  out  the 
shells  and  throw  the  nigger  heads  into  a 
heap.  When  the  shell  buyer  comes  along 
with  his  steamer  and  scows  these  will  bring 
twenty  dollars  a  ton;  the  buck  horns 
twice  as  much  if  you  have  enough  to  count. 
Throw  the  culls  away  if  there  are  no  pearls 
or  slugs  sticking  to  them.  Now  look  over 
the  "meats."  How  familiar  they  look! 
When  we  get  back  to  town  can  we  ever 
look  an  oyster  in  the  countenance  again? 
Doubtful.  Well,  here  they  are,  three 
bushels  of  boiled  clams  as  tough  as  leather, 
to  be  looked  over  carefully  one  by  one. 
The  slugs  and  pearls,  if  any,  to  be  picked 
from  the  outside  and  the  clam  itself  care- 
fully pinched  to  see  if  anything  precious  is 
concealed  within.  Your  fingers  close  upon 
something  hard  and  round  and  your  eyes 
glitter  with  greed.  Out  it  comes.  It  lies 
in  your  hand,  dull  and  worthless,  a  "dead" 
pearl,  larger  than  the  largest  pea  you  ever 
saw.  Brown  and  lusterless  as  a  pebble. 
Why  isn't  it  "alive"  and  then  one  could 


have  taken  a  trip  to  Europe  and  "she" 
could  have  had  a  sealskin  coat  beside. 

The  meats  are  done,  and  behold  the 
result.  A  very  small  handful  of  ill-shaped 
pieces  of  pearl  called  "slugs"  and  maybe  a 
small  "shiner."  The  slugs  will  bring 
twenty  cents  to  five  dollars  an  ounce 
according  to  size  and  quality.  Take  the 
clams  and  throw  them  off  the  wing-dam 
for  the  fish  who  will  eat  them  greedily  and 
then  hang  around  waiting  to  be  caught. 
After  supper  fish  a  while.  You  can  defend 
yourself  from  mosquitoes  with  the  other 
hand  if  you  are  spry.  Also  decide  whose 
turn  it  is  to  replenish  the  supply  of  grub. 
You  can  walk  to  town — it  is  only  four 
miles  by  land,  or  you  ca:'  ;ow — it  is  six 
miles  by  water  and  only  one  way  is  up- 
stream. Then  to  bed.  There  are  no  gay 
bonfires  for  the  tired  clammer,  nor  is  there 
visiting  to  and  fro.  When  night  falls  he 
is  as  prompt  as  the  chickens  in  going  to 
roost. 

Silence  reigns.  The  long  hard  day  is 
ended  and  night  throws  her  sable  mantle 
over  river,  camp,  and  cliff.  The  moon 
rises  full  and  round,  till  the  familiar  banks 
and  bluffs  disappear  and  fairyland  comes 
instead.  Calm,  beautiful  silence!  but  there 
is  none  to  see  and  admire. 

We  must  clam  again  to-morrow. 


The  cribs  where  shells  are  stored. 


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Drawing  for  •'Mansvelt  the  Bluffer" '  by  N.  C  Wyeth. 

To  the  last  he  would  pose  and  swagger." 


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MANSVELT   THE   BLUFFER 

BY  JOHN   R.  SPEARS 


DRAWING  BY  N.   C.  WYBTH  . 


ITH  the  story  of  Mansvelt 
we  come  to  an  account  of 
the  first  of  the  raids  which 
the  buccaneers  made  on 
the  Isthmus  of  Panama. 
When  Mansvelt  led  his 
band  to  the  Isthmus  he 
made  his  landing  near  a  river  that  flowed 
into  the  sea  at  a  point  west  of  the  modem 
canal  route.  It  was  on  the  coast  which 
G)lumbus  had  discovered  in  October,  1 502, 
and  which,  because  of  the  extraordinary 
amount  of  gold  found  among  the  Indians, 
and  in  placer  diggings,  was  named  Castilla 
del  Oro — Golden  Castile.  Bartholomew 
Columbus,  brother  of  Christopher,  having 
been  sent  prospecting  in  the  valleys  of  the 
Cordilleras,  reported  that  "for  many  miles 
he  found  the  soil  richly  impr^nated  with 
gold." 

The  explorations  made  after  Vasco  Nunez 
de  Balboa  led  a  band  of  Spanish  settlers  to 
the  west  coast  of  the  Gulf  of  Darien,  where 
a  town  was  built,  fully  confirmed  the  opin- 
ion which  Columbus  had  formed  of  the 
wealth  of  the  Isthmian  placer  diggings. 
Gold  in  wrought  ornaments  and  in  dust 
was  obtained  from  the  Indians  by  the 
hundredweight.  An  expedition  that  did 
not  bring  into  the  settlement  10,000  pesos 
de  oro  in  jewelry  and  dust  was,  at  one 
time,  considered  unlucky — a  peso  de  oro 
being  a  coin  worth  I2.56.  Not  a  few  of  the 
little  bands  of  Spanish  rovers  came  in  with 
so  much  gold  that  they  were  unable  to 
carry  it.  The  Indians  whom  they  had 
conquered  were  brought  along  as  carriers, 
and  on  reaching  the  town,  were  sold  as 
slaves. 

The  story  of  one  of  the  Spanish  explora- 
tions is  of  special  interest  here  because  we 
may  suppose  that  Mansvelt  was  incited 
thereby  to  make  his  raid  on  the  Isthmus. 


481 


In  March,  1515,  Gonzalo  de  Badajos  sailed 
from  Antigua,  the  settlement  on  the  Gulf  of 
Darien,  and  landed  at  a  port  called  Nombre 
de  Dk>s,  which  is  found  a  few  leagues  to  the 
eastward  of  the  modem  Colon.  He  was 
under  orders  to  cross  the  Isthmus  at  that 
point,  take  possession  of  the  territories  he 
might  discover,  and  gather  in  as  much  gold 
as  possible  at  the  same  time.  The  whole 
Isthmus  was  divided  into  small  districts, 
each  of  which  was  mled  by  a  chief  usually 
called  a  cacique.  On  entering  the  moun- 
tains, Badajos  met  and  overcame  a  chief 
named  Totonagua  from  whom  he  extorted 
6,000  pesos  of  gold.  A  chief  named 
Tatarachembi,  found  a  little  further  on  the 
way,  yielded  8,000  pesos,  and  then  under 
the  pain  of  the  rack  told  Badajos  that  the 
chief  Nat  a,  whose  domain  was  on  a  stream 
emptying  into  the  extreme  western  side  of 
the  Gulf  of  Panama,  had  more  gold  than 
any  Indian  on  the  Isthmus. 

Thereupon  Badajos  sent  Alonzo  Perez  de 
Rua  to  "pacify"  Nata — pacify  being  the 
term  used  by  the  Spaniards  when  referring 
to  their  methods  of  conquering  and  robbing 
the  Indians.  With  thirty  men,  Rua 
marched  through  the  country  and  arrived 
at  Nata's  village  just  at  the  break  of  day. 
But  instead  of  finding  a  single  small  village, 
as  he  had  expected,  he  saw  the  houses  of  the 
Indians  spread  out  on  every  hand.  The 
population  mled  by  Nata  was  sufficient  to 
wipe  out  the  little  band  of  Spaniards  by 
sheer  weight  of  numbers.  But  acting  on  a 
trick  that  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  had  taught  the 
Spaniards  in  Santo  Domingo,  Rua  and  his 
men  charged  on  the  dwelling  of  the  chief 
(always  a  conspicuous  stmcture  in  those 
villages)  and  captured  Nata  alive.  The 
warriors  of  the  tribe  soon  gathered  in  an 
overwhelming  force,  but  Nata  with  9  sword 
at  his  throat  ordered  them  to  make  peac«, 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC 


482 


The  Outing  Magazine 


and  this  they  did  by  giving  the  Spaniards 
15,000  pesoj  deoro. 

Escoria,  a  chief  who  lived  ten  leagues  to 
the  south  of  Nata,  paid  9,000  pesos  for 
freedom  from  attack.  Of  Biruquete,  a 
chief  living  a  few  leagues  to  the  west,  gold 
to  the  value  of  6,000  pesos  was  obtained. 
Other  chiefs  of  the  region,  being  less 
wealthy,  paid  smaller  sums. 

This  gold,  it  should  be  understood,  had 
been  picked  out  of  the  streams  by  the 
Indians  simply  because  it  was  pleasing  to 
the  eye  as  a  bright  pebble  might  have  been, 
and  having  found  it  malleable  they  had 
worked  it  into  shapes  that  seemed  to  them 
to  be  ornamental.  Gold,  being  everywhere 
abundant  in  the  region,  was  valued  by  the 
Indians  merely  as  a  substance  that  could 
be  wrought  into  pleasing  jewelry;  they 
were  wholly  unable  to  grasp  the  white 
man's  attitude  toward  the  metal. 

In  the  meantime  Badajos  had  been  work- 
ing his  way  toward  Nata's  district  by  a 
different  route  from  that  followed  by  Rua, 
and  when  the  two  forces  were  united  it  was 
found  that  gold  worth  80,000  pesos  had 
been  collected. 

Badajos  then  marched  to  the  village  of  a 
chief  named  Paraizo  Pariba,  some  distance 
to  the  north  and  west  of  Nata's  domain. 
Pariba  was  warned  and  fled,  but  to  placate 
the  Spaniards  he  sent  what  he  called  "a 
present  from  my  women."  The  gift  con- 
sisted of  a  quantity  of  gold  ornaments  that 
filled  several  baskets  each  of  which  was  one 
and  a  half  by  two  feet  broad,  and  three 
inches  deep.  The  total  value  of  the  gold 
amounted  to  40,000  pesos  de  oro.  But  in- 
stead of  feeling  satisfied  with  the  gold  sent 
them,  the  Spaniards  became  only  the  more 
greedy,  and  going  in  pursuit  of  Pariba  they 
made  him  give  up  another  lot  of  gold 
worth  40,000  pesos. 

In  this  one  expedition  the  Spaniards 
secured  gold  worth  no  less  than  160,000 
pesos,  or  $400,000.  The  equivalent  in 
modem  times  by  the  usual  estimate  of  ten 
to  one  would  be  $4,000,000. 

Finding  the  region  so  full  of  gold,  and 
withal  a  healthful  and  pleasant  land  to  live 
in,  the  Spaniards  formed  a  settlement  on 
the  stream  where  Nata  had  ruled,  and  they 
called  it  Nata,  after  the  conquered  cacique. 

In  modem  times  Nata  is  but  a  small 
hamlet,  but  in  the  early  days  the  placer 
diggings  round  about  made  it  one  of  the 


richest  centers  of  population  on  the  Isth- 
mus. The  story  of  the  gold  which  the 
Spaniards  secured  from  the  redmen,  and 
of  that  which  they  gathered  from  the 
streams  of  Nata's  district  spread  over  the 
world.  It  was  very  well  known  to  the  buc- 
caneers— and  the  town  was  but  thirty 
leagues  from  the  north  coast  of  the  Isth- 
mus. A  hardy  band  of  woodsmen  ought 
to  be  able  to  cover  that  distance,  make  a 
purchase  of  the  riches  of  the  town,  and 
return  to  the  north  coast  within  ten  days, 
and  "never  tum  a  hair"  in  the  doing  of  it. 

It  was  the  buccaneer  Mansvelt  who  first 
proposed  to  go  to  Nata,  and  it  is  in  connec- 
tion with  the  expedition  that  he  organized 
for  the  purpose  that  we  find  about  all  that 
is  known  of  his  career.  1 1  is  a  curious  fact 
that  while  both  Mansvelt  and  Montbar  are 
called  noted  leaders  by  their  contempo- 
raries, very  few  details  of  their  adventures 
are  to  be  found. 

Nevertheless  one  can  form  from  such 
material  as  remains  a  not  inaccurate  if 
somewhat  misty  picture  of  the  man  as  he 
was — black-whiskered  and  frowning  be- 
yond question;  aggressive,  positive,  and 
even  browbeating  in  bearing  and  speech; 
quite  as  ready  to  argue  by  stroke  of  sword 
or  pistol  shot  as  by  word  of  mouth;  pomp- 
ous and  vain;  but  withal  somewhat  obese 
where  another — a  Morgan,  for  instance — 
was  lean;  wordy  where  a  Morgan  was 
silent;  and  with  jaws  that  worked  uneasily 
where  those  of  a  Morgan  shut  together  like 
an  otter  trap. 

That  he  was  a  man  of  ideas,  even  of  great 
ideas,  is  not  to  be  denied.  He  had  to  be 
that  if  he  were  to  command  a  ship,  let  alone 
a  fleet,  among  the  buccaneers.  One  can 
imagine  with  what  hilarious  enthusiasm  the 
buccaneers  jeered  the  proposals  of  worth- 
less would-be  leaders,  and  how,  with  their 
hands  on  their  chins,  and  with  eyes  that 
tumed  from  one  to  another,  they  pondered 
a  scheme  that  seemed  to  have  something 
in  it.  There  was  but  one  way  in  which  the 
buccaneers  could  be  deluded  into  follow- 
ing an  unable  leader.  They  were  such  a 
swaggering,  roystering  crew  that  a  swagger- 
ing bully,  who  always  made  good  in  per- 
sonal combat,  was  a  hero  in  their  eyes,  and 
him  they  would  follow  not  once  only,  but 
twice  and  even  thrice  in  spite  of  failures. 

Esquemeling  says  that  before  proposing 
the  Nata  expedition  Mansvelt  had  led  an 

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Mansvelt  the  Bluffer 


483 


expedition  that  crossed  Granada  to  the 
South  Sea,  from  which  adventure  he  re- 
turned with  increased  reputation,  in  spite 
of  the  not  creditable  fact  that  he  turned 
back  because  of  a  lack  of  provisions. 

It  was  when  he  had  reached  Port  Royal, 
after  his  Granada  expedition,  that  Mansvelt 
began  to  gather  recruits  for  the  purchase 
of  the  wealth  of  Nata,  and  he  had  secured 
what  Esquemeling  calls  a  "considerable 
fleet"  when  Henry  Morgan  came  sailing 
into  port  from  a  voyage  to  the  coast  of 
Campeche. 

Morgan  had  gone  forth  with  a  single 
ship — ^his  first — and  now  with  all  flags  fly- 
ing, and  with  every  cannon  booming,  here 
he  came,  with  "several  ships" — plundered 
galleons — in  the  wake  of  his  own.  At  the 
sound  of  his  guns  half  the  population  of 
Port  Royal,  men,  women,  and  children — 
especially  women — came  flocking  to  the 
beach,  shouting  and  screaming  a  most 
boisterous  welcome.  For  the  hour  Morgan 
was  the  hero  of  that  most  intense  commu- 
nity. And  yet  when  he  had  landed  and 
was  told  that  Mansvelt  was  organizing  an 
expedition  for  the  purchase  of  the  wealth 
of  Nata,  he  promptly  agreed  to  go  along 
as  second  in  command.  Since  Morgan  was 
taken  in  by  him  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Mans- 
velt was  the  ablest  bluffer  known  to  the 
annals  of  the  buccaneers. 

As  a  study  of  what  may  be  called  a  mob 
leader  the  expedition  of  Mansvelt  to  the 
Isthmus  of  Panama  is  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting ever  written.  The  fleet  numbered 
no  less  than  fifteen  ships.  Leaving  Port 
Royal  with  a  grand  flourish,  in  the  summer 
of  1664,  the  fleet  sailed  down  to  an  island 
called  by  the  Spaniards  Santa  Catalina  and 
well  known  to  modem  cocoanut  buyers  as 
Old  Providence.  The  island  was  used  as  a 
penal  settlement  by  the  government  of 
Castilla  del  Oro,  and  Mansvelt  was  of  the 
opinion  that  he  would  find  among  the  con- 
victs a  number  of  men  able  and  willing  to 
guide  his  expedition  across  the  Isthmus  to 
Nata. 

Though  well  fortified  the  island  was 
easily  captured,  and  the  needed  guides 
were  found.  Then,  considering  that  it 
would  make  a  good  base  of  supplies,  Mans- 
velt placed  the  Sieur  Simon  to  defend  it 
with  one  hundred  buccaneers  and  a  number 
of  slaves  taken  from  the  Spaniards.  The 
next  movement  was  to  sail  over  to  the 


neighborhood  of  Porto  Bello  and  land  the 
garrison  taken  from  Old  Providence.  This 
was  manifestly  an  act  of  characteristic 
bravado,  for  Porto  Bello  was  the  port  from 
which  the  plate  fleet  sailed  every  year,  and 
a  cart  road  ran  thence  to  Panama.  The 
landed  garrison  was  certain  to  make  all 
speed  to  Panama  and  turn  out  all  the 
forces  the  Spaniards  could  raise  to  destroy 
the  invaders. 

Having  thus  defied  the  Spanish,  Mans- 
velt sailed  westward  to  the  mouth  of  the 
G>lla  River,  where  he  landed  and  started 
inland.  But  /now  when  the  courage  of 
endurance  was  needed  Mansvelt's  chin 
began  to  quiver.  The  route  was  hard  and 
provisions  were  scarce  among  the  moun- 
tains. With  fatigue  and  want  came  irreso- 
lution, and  then  word  was  received  that  the 
Governor  of  Panama  had  assembled  a  host 
of  overwhelming  strength  to  fall  upon  the 
buccaneers  as  they  issued  from  the  moun- 
tain passes. 

At  this  Mansvelt  lost  all  the  aggressive 
spirit  that  had  remained  in  his  heart.  For- 
gotten was  the  gold  of  Nata,  and  any  excuse 
for  turning  back  would  satisfy  him.  As  it 
happened  an  excuse  was  found  that  would 
satisfy  his  followers  also.  Among  the  con- 
victs who  had  been  taken  from  the  penal 
settlement  was  one  who  said  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  Costa  Rica,  and  that  an 
easily  followed  trail  led  from  the  north  coast 
through  the  Cordilleras  to  the  rich  and  un- 
defended capital  city  of  Caratgo.  If  the 
buccaneers  would  but  go  to  Costa  Rica  they 
could  march  to  Cartago  with  such  speed 
that  they  would  be  wholly  unmolested  on 
the  way,  and  by  surprising  the  city  in  the 
night  they  would  make  the  easiest  pur- 
chase of  the  wealth  of  the  Spaniards  that 
had  been  known  since  Pierre  le  Grande 
captured  the  vice-admiral  of  the  plate 
fleet  with  an  open  boat. 

Mansvelt  grasped  quickly  at  this  proposi- 
tion and  the  rest  joined  in.  Returning  to 
the  ships,  the  fleet  sailed  back  to  Old 
Providence  for  supplies.  Not  only  was  the 
island  found  in  "a  very  good  posture  of 
defense,"  but  with  the  instinct  common 
among  the  buccaneers  the  Sieur  Simon  had 
planted  a  variety  of  seeds.  These  had 
produced  such  abundant  crops  that  he 
could  not  only  supply  the  present  needs  of 
the  fleet,  but  he  could  continue  to  supply 
them  for  an  indefinite  period. 

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At  the  sight  of  this  abundance  of  v^e- 
tables  and  fruit  Mansvelt  conceived  the 
idea  of  retaining  possession  of  Old  Provi- 
dence permanently.  His  thought  was  to 
make  there  a  buccaneer  community — even 
a  buccaneer  nation.  And  as  the  bucca- 
neers were  in  a  crude  way  republicans  it 
is  not  wholly  incredible  that  Mansvelt  had 
a  dim  idea  of  an  American  republic. 

But  leaving  the  Sieur  Simon  to  work  the 
plantations,  Mansvelt  sailed  over  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Platina  River,  that  empties 
into  the  sea  a  short  distance  west  of  the 
modem  port  of  Limon,  and  landed  a  force 
that  is  variously  estimated  at  from  six  hun- 
dred to  twelve  hundred  men.  With  these 
he  started  inland,  and  until  the  Cordilleras 
were  reached  he  found  the  trail  easy  enough. 
But  in  the  mountains  trouble  came;  the 
road  was  difficult;  provisions  were  scarce; 
worse  yet  the  expedition  was  made  up  of 
Frenchmen  and  Englishmen,  and  the  two 
peoples  had  been  together  long  enough  to 
develop  the  race  prejudices  that  at  first  had 
been  held  in  check.  Only  by  the  strongest 
efforts  of  both  Morgan  and  Mansvelt  were 
the  two  parties  kept  from  open  battle  once 
the  hardships  of  the  trail  were  felt.  In  this 
condition  the  expedition  reached  the  pic- 
turesque little  mountain  hamlet  of  Turialba 
and  camped  for  the  night  in  and  around 
its  thatched  huts.  They  awoke  the  next 
morning  to  see  the  Spanish  flag  flying  from 
the  crest  of  a  ridge  that  commanded  their 
camp,  and  they  were  told  by  the  people  of 
the  hamlet  that  a  force  of  soldiers  sent  by 
the  Governor  of  Cartago  was  entrenched 
there. 

On  hearing  this  news  the  advantages  of 
establishing  a  buccaneer  community  in  Old 
Providence  seemed  to  outweigh  immensely 
the  wealth  that  might  be  found  in  Cartago 
— at  least  in  Mansvelt's  mind.  The  Span- 
ish force  on  the  hill  had  doubtless  been 
sent  by  an  all-wise  Providence  to  turn  him 
back  to  this  great  work  in  Old  Providence! 
To  the  last  he  would  pose  and  swagger;  it 
was  not  fear  of  the  Spanish  host  on  the  hill 
that  bade  him  pause;  it  was  the  importance 
of  the  work  of  establishing  a  buccaneer 
community  at  Old  Providence. 

Therefore,  without  so  much  as  sending  a 
scout  to  look  into  the  Spanish  camp  from 
an  adjoining  hill,  Mansvelt  ordered  a  re- 


treat, and  the  disheartened  buccaneers 
turned  back  snarling  and  growling  to  the 
sea  once  more,  and  all  but  two  of  them 
reached  the  ships  in  safety.  These  two, 
being  too  footsore  to  keep  up  with  their 
shipmates,  loitered  behind  so  far  they  were 
captured  by  the  Spanish  host  that  had  come 
to  oppose  the  invading  buccaneers — and  it 
was  the  most  remarkable  Spanish  host  that 
ever  gathered  for  such  a  purpose.  The 
commanding  oflficer.  Major  Alonzo  de 
Bonilla,  having  disarmed  his  prisoners, 
asked  them  why  the  buccaneers  had  re- 
treated. They  replied  that  on  turning  out 
that  morning  they  had  seen  a  great  army  on 
the  mountains  above  them.  At  that  the 
Major  paraded  his  men  before  the  two 
prisoners,  whose  feelings  we  may  imagine 
as  they  counted  and  found  that  the  Spanish 
"army"  numbered  just  eight  men.  A 
band  of  not  less  than  six  hundred  buc- 
caneers had  fled  from  nine  armed  Span- 
iards. There  is  no  other  story  like  this  in 
the  annals  of  the  buccaneers. 

Unaware  of  the  ridiculous  figure  he  was 
to  make  in  the  buccaneer  world,  Mansvelt 
sailed  to  Old  Providence,  where  he  found 
the  crops  as  abundant  as  he  had  hoped,  and 
then  he  went  on  to  Jamaica  and  asked  aid 
of  the  Governor  to  make  the  holding  of  the 
island  certain.  But  Mansvelt's  day  was 
near  its  close.  He  had  failed  to  bring  any 
plunder,  and  he  had  not  even  made  a  good 
fight.  On  the  ground  that  it  would  not  do 
for  a  British  governor  to  take  lands  from 
the  Spaniards  in  time  of  peace  all  help  was 
refused.  Then  Mansvelt  went  to  Tortuga, 
where  the  French  governor  gave  him  some 
encouragement,  but  before  anything  of 
importance  was  done,  Mansvelt  was  taken 
sick  and  died. 

In  August,  1665,  the  Spaniards  recap- 
tured Old  Providence,  after  a  battle  in 
which  the  Sieur  Simon  fired  pipes  from  the 
church  organ  at  them  for  want  of  better 
projectiles.  But  while  Simon  made  a  good 
fight  he  cut  a  sorry  figure  after  he  sur- 
rendered, for  he  helped  to  decoy  an  English 
ship  to  the  anchorage,  hoping  thereby  to 
gain  favor  with  the  Spaniards.  But  he  was 
sent  to  the  Isthmus  along  with  his  fellow 
prisoners  where  all  of  them  were  enslaved, 
and  with  that  we  come  to  the  end  of  his 
career. 


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Peary 
ReUef 
Expedition 


Peary's  difficulties  in  reach- 
ing the  North  Pole  are,  I'll 
wager,  only  a  little  more 
wearing  than  his  difficulties 
in  raising  the  money  with 
which  to  outfit  for  the  at- 
tempt. Despite  the  splendid  record  which 
should  entitle  him  to  spontaneous  support, 
despite  the  efforts  of  those  who  wish  to  see 
the  American  flag  the  one  finally  placed  at 
this  goal  of  world  adventurers,  money  has 
cofne  in  so  slowly  that  unless  a  very  con- 
siderable increase  is  made  within  the  next 
ten  days  it  is  likely  Commander  Peary 
will  be  compelled  to  abandon  the  plans 
making  for  a  start  of  the  expedition  this 
summer. 

Of  course  if  he  cannot  get  away  in  July 
he  will  not  be  able  to  push  as  far  north  with 
his  ship  as  is  necessary  in  order  to  get  into 
position  for  the  dash  for  the  pole  in  Febru- 
ary, 1908:  in  a  word  unless  he  can  set  sail 
from  New  York  in  July  he  will  lose  an  en- 
tire year. 

Certainly  it  is  surprising  that  in  this  rich 
and  prosperous  country,  where  the  adven- 
ture-speculative spirit  dominates,  there 
should  be  great  obstacles  to  securing 
|i 00,000  for  such  a  project  and  by  a  man 
who  has  proved  his  worth.    No  doubt  the 


wild  plans  and  the  unsuccessful  attempts 
of  visionary  explorers  have  had  a  tend- 
ency to  give  a  kind  of  personal  exploitation 
air  to  north  polar  exploration,  and  thus 
lessen  public  interest.  Perhaps  some  of 
the  comparatively  recent  sallies  into  the 
Far  North  gave  the  public  ample  reason  for 
indiflFerence;  yet  it  is  incredible  that  no 
livelier  concern  should  be  taken  in  Peary, 
whose  serious  and  practicable  plans  are 
universally  approved  by  those  qualified  to 
pass  judgment,  and  who  has  earned  for 
himself  the  respect  and  the  confidence  of 
the  scientific  worid.  There  is  still  needing 
something  like  twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars to  enable  Peary  to  start  north  this  July 
— surely  that  amount  can  be  raised  by 
popular  subscription!  This  magazine  will 
receive  one -hundred -dollar  subscriptions 
for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  five-thousand- 
dollar  fund  to  be  handed  to  Peary  in  case  he 
is  able  to  secure  the  remainder  of  the 
amount  necessary;  donations  made  to  this 
fund  through  this  magazine  will  be  con- 
tingent on  the  entire  fiwt  thousand  dollars 
being  subscribed,  otherwise  the  hundred- 
dollar  subscriptions  will  be  returned  to  the 
individual  contributors. 

If  relief  is  to  be  timely,  it  must  be  offered 
quickly. 


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Unhappily,  the  Englishman 

...  on  forei^  shores  or  in  deal- 

njur  .      '^\i^  tj^g  sports  of  the 

foreigner  is  forever  putting 
his  worst  foot  forward. 
The  following  communication    to   the* 

New  York  Herald  is  strikingly  illustrative 

of  this  mania:  / 

To  THE  Editor  6f  the  Herald— 

I  see  that  the  Irish-American,  Croker,  who 
is  not.  in  the  genuine  British  sense,  a  gentle- 
man, has  won  our  great  and  classic  Derby.  I 
cannot  for  the  life  of  me  understand  why  the 
Epsom  stewards  received  his  entry,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  they  will  never  do  so  again.  It 
rests  with  us  to  keep  British  sport  pure  and  to 
set  a  peirpetual  example  which  otner  nations, 
would  do  well  to  imitate. 

Henley  has  already  taught  foreigners  a  valu- 
able lesson.  The  fellows,  Ten  Eyck  and  Titus, 
have  been  ruled  out,  and  since  the  Belgians 
won  the  Grand  Challenge  Cup  last  year  a  wise 
movement  has  been  set  on  toot  to  bar  all  for- 
eign crews  whatever  from  Henley.  I  sincerely 
trust  that  the  movement  will  be  successful. 
Only  the  British  people  should  be  the  custodi- 
ans of  those  famous  sporting  trophies  of  turif, 
track,  and  stream. 

I  jrnake  these  statements  in  all  kindness, 
trusting  that  they  will  be  received  in  the  same 
spirit.  The  American  people,  as  I  have  ob- 
served from  a  three  months'  stay  amon^  you, 
are  not  without  good  qualities  which  I  hasten 
to  acknowledge;  but,  after  all,  it  takes  many 
generations  to  make  real  gentlemen  of  the  kin^ 
that  all  the  wortd  knows  to  be  expressed  in  the 
adjecrive  "  British."  I  have  the  honor  to  be 
yours  sincerely,  H.  Linton-Calthorpe. 
Hotel  Netherland,  New  York,  June  5,  1907. 

There  is  at  bottom  in  almost  every  son  of 
Albion  a  certain  smug  self-serenity  which, 
if  uncovered,  is  irritating  beyond  words  to 
describe.  The  best  type  of  Englishman 
keeps  this  national  trait  under  strict  sur- 

)j;eillance,  especially  when  he  is  abroad;  but 
ower  grades  of  him  and  the  sporting  press 
of  England  appear  utterly  unable  to  con- 
trol it  when  America,  for  any  kind  of  reason, 
any  old  reason  will  answer,  is  a  subject  of 
comment.  And  the  character  and  the  bias 
of  that  comment  is  responsible  for  a  great 
deal  of  our  mutual  misunderstanding;  for 
when  that  trait  comes  to  the  surface  at  its 
best  strength — well,  nothing  can  appease 
— you  cannot  argue,  you  cannot  recede, 
you  cannot  accept,  you  want  simply  to 
reach  for  a  club,  a  big,  strong,  enduring 
club,  locust  wood  preferred. 

Half  of  this  display  of  the  British  sport- 
ing mind  is  prejudice,  one  quarter  is 
ignorance,  and  the  remaining  quarter  is 


stupidity;  it  appears  never  able,  or  shall  I 
say  willing,  to  discriminate  as  to  things 
American.  For  example,  a  little  while  ago 
some  representative  of  the  Jamestown  Fair 
went  over  to  England  with  the  large  idea 
of  getting  the  crews  of  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge to  come  over  and  row  at  the  Fair. 
It  was  an  amusing  idea,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son than  because  it  showed  such  ignorance 
of  the  English  institution — but  there  are  no 
flights  too  lofty  for  the  American  press  or 
vaudeville  agent  when  bent  on  securing  a 
"drawing  card."  So  the  Jamestown  agent 
togged  himself  out  in  frock  coat  and  silk 
hat  and,  with  that  indifference  to  cost  with 
which  we  are  accredited,  made  his  offer 
to  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  university 
authorities,  agreeing  to  pay  all  their  ex- 
penses from  start  to  finish  and  from  soup  to 
nuts  every  day  of  the  entire  junket.  No 
doubt  if  money  had  been  easier  with  the 
Jamestown  Fair  projectors  his  offer  also 
would  have  included  the  parents  of  the 
university  oarsmen.  It  was  a  scheme 
worthy  of  the  American  press  agent  and 
did  his  imaginative  mind  infinite  credit. 

Now  any  one  (except  an  Englishman) 
would  have  seen  the  humor  of  it,  or,  if  the 
humor  sense  was  out  of  repair,  would  at 
least  have  discerned  the  nature  and  origin 
of  the  proposition  and  let  it  go  at  that;  but 
not  in  England.  Hard  on  the  proposal  of 
the  Fair  agent  came  editorial  writing,  and 
letter-writing  to  the  press  from  indignant 
and  outraged  (so  the  letters  said)  readers 
who  threatened  to  discontinue  their  sub- 
scription if  the  editor  did  not  lay  bare  the 
heinous  customs  of  the  Americans.  In 
fact  English  vials  were  turned  bottom  side 
up  in  the  effort  to  flay  American  sporting 
methods,  etc.,  etc.  The  Field,  sponsor  for 
Dun  raven,  and  the  most  rabid  in  its  in- 
justice to  sporting  America,  pulling  up  the 
blind  of  that  smug  serenity  to  which  I  have 
alluded  wrote: 

**  The  late  offer  by  an  American  syndicate  to 
frank  British  university  crews  for  an  American 
regatta  suggests  of  itself  that  the  genuine  ama- 
teur status  IS  by  no  means  fully  realized  across 
the  ocean." 

Of  course  the  fact  was,  as  every  American 
would  know  without  being  told,  and  as 
every  Englishman  should  have  enough  in- 
telligence to  know,  that  American  colleges 
or  clubs  or  sporting  organizations  had  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  the  project,  and 


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knew  of  it  only  so  much  as  they  read  in  the 
press.  The  Jamestown  Exhibition  Com- 
pany sent  its  agent  after  these  English 
crews  in  the  same  commercial  spirit  that 
they  sent  another  out  to  the  Far  West  to 
collect  Indians  and  another  into  the  Far 
East  to  gather  maidens  of  the  Orient  for  the 
All-World  and  Greatest  Ever,  See-it-now- 
and-Die-Happy  Vaudeville  Show.  To  be 
sure  the  G)mpany  should  have  known  Eng- 
land better,  and  for  that  failure  may  be 
criticised,  perhaps,  but  that  shortcoming 
does  not  give  the  press  of  England  license 
to  slur  American  amateur  sport,  or  excuse 
failure  to  discern  business  enterprise  from 
Intimate  sporting  effort,  or  a  "politician" 
from  a  sportsman. 

And  there  is  something  to  be 

Q.  said  for  the  Company,  too,  or 

--  for  whoever  suggested  the  offer 

ouses       ^^  ^^^  Oxford  and  Cambridge 

crews.  No  doubt  the  history  of 
the  several  junketing  trips  of  the  English 
cricket  elevens  to  this  country  were  famil- 
iar to  the  Jamestown  people,  and  it  was 
natural  for  them  to  have  concluded  that  if 
English  gentlemen  cricketers  had  no  objec- 
tion to  having  all  their  expenses  paid, 
indeed,  were  so  pleased  with  such  arrange- 
ment as  to  unexpectedly  mulct  Philadel- 
phia angels  for  their  drinks  and  their 
laundry  as  well — then  it  was  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  English  gentlemen  oarsmen 
might  also  be  as  friendly  disposed  to  a  trip 
to  America  at  no  cost  to  themselves  and 
with  a  little  sport  thrown  in  to  give  the 
junket  color. 

Perhaps  here  again  the  Jamestown  peo- 
ple are  to  be  criticised  for  not  knowing 
England  more  thoroughly,  yet  1  am  in- 
clined to  feel  that  it  is  not  reasonable  to 
expect  familiarity  with  English  sporting 
inconsistency  from  those  who  have  not  had 
the  somewhat  mixed  pleasure  of  coming 
in  contact  with  its  intricate  working. 
How  were  these  square  toed  business  peo- 
ple of  Jamestown  to  know  that  the  England 
which  smiles  upon  the  gentleman  cricketer 
who  is  given  his  board  and  lodging,  and,  if 
he  is  good  enough  at  the  wickets,  other 
things  more  remunerative  during  the  play- 
ing season,  would  fall  in  a  fit  of  horrors  at 
their  mere  suggestion  of  paying  the  travel- 
ing and  visiting  expenses  of  its  gentlemen 
oarsmen! 


And  such  a  funny  little  bluff  it  is!  Eng- 
land does  not  so  easily  become  horror- 
stricken — nor  is  America  so  easily  fooled. 
The  incident,  harmless  enough  as  properly 
understood,  was  seized  upon  by  the  English 
•sporting  press  as  an  excuse,  and  all  that 
came  of  it  seems  to  me  not  to  be  worth 
while. 

A  little  more  intelligence  and  a  little  less 
gall  will  give  our  dear  friends  of  the  "blood 
thicker  than  water"  l^end  clearer  vision 
and  further  more  happily  international 
sport.  We  each  of  us  have  our  faults 
and  our  troubles.  Why  not  view  one  an- 
other's weaknesses,  if  you  so  please  to  call 
them,  in  more  helpful  and  kindly  spirit. 


Heart 

in  the 
Right 
Place 


And  before  I  leave  this  subject  let 
me  give  a  tip  to  that  class  of 
American  who,  knowing  very 
little  about  the  sport  traditions 
and  troubles  and  endeavors  of 
his  own  country,  is  forever  and  on 
every  occasion  dragging  them  into 
the  mire  while  he  harangues  about  the 
purity  of  England,  of  which  he  knows  noth- 
ing except  what  he  sees  on  the  surface. 
Surface  showing  is  deceptive  in  England  as 
it  is  elsewhere,  but  in  the  matter  of  sport 
you  may  trust  the  surface  in  America  more 
safely  than  you  can  the  surface  in  England. 
I  hope  some  of  these  men  who  are  forever 
prating  about  the  purity  of  sporting  Eng- 
land at  the  expense  of  America  will  paste 
this  comment  of  mine  in  their  hat  where 
they  can  see  it  frequently.  There  is  a  lot 
of  palaver  and  guff  exchanged  on  this  sub- 
ject, and  it  is  just  as  well  to  have  a  jolt  now 
and  again  to  bring  us  back  to  earth. 

The  American  sportsman  has  nothing  to 
learn  from  the  English  sportsman;  in  facf 
you  may  travel  around  the  world  as  I  have 
done  and  conclude  as  I  have,  that  the 
American  sportsman  represents  the  highest 
expression  of  the  type,  and  you  will  also 
wish  as  I  do,  that  there  were  more  of  them 
in  America.  This  is  by  no  means  to  be 
taken  as  unfriendly  comment  on  English 
sportsmen  or  on  things  English,  for  1  am  an 
admirer  of  the  stalwart  qualities  of  the  best 
type  on  that  tight  little  island,  but  1  do 
rebel  at  the  unqualified  exaltation  of  things 
English  (in  a  sporting  way)  at  the  expense 
of  things  American.  Class  for  class  there 
is  fully  as  much  of  the  genuine  spirit  of  fair 
play  in  America  as  there  is  in  England;  in 


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from 


some  directions  it  is  true,  there  is  not  so 
much  of  the  form  of  sportsmanship,  but 
you  may  depend  upon  it  that  so  far  as  the 
essentials  are  concerned  your  chances  in 
the  running  will  in  America  be  not  menaced 
on  that  account. 

In  a  word  you  would  get  a  square  deal, 
even  though  there  was  not  much  talk  about 
it — and  no  tea  drinking. 

The  American  temperament, 

xmru  .«.F  which  is  intolerant  of  any 
What  We  i    •     ^l  u  _-.     r 

mark  m  the  race,  short  of 

victory,  and  impels  a  pro- 

E    land  fessional     thoroughness    in 

^  preparing  even  for  the  play 

of  our  collie  days,  causes 
much  misunderstanding  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  and  occasions  heartburnings  in 
America  and  criticism  in  England.  It  is 
not  sportsmanly  instinct  that  we  need,  for 
that  is  inherent  in  well-bom  Americans; 
what  we  do  need,  however,  is  a  restraining 
hand  upon  our  athletic  energy  which  shall 
reach  forth  and  put  our  games  where  they 
belong  on  the  playground. 

In  respect  to  taking  their  play  fittingly 
and  in  proper  spirit  as  play,  the  English, 
indeed,  set  us  a  worthy  example;  whether 
or  no  our  young  men  are  being  properly 
prepared  so  as  to  follow  it  sympathetically, 
I  very  much  question.  The  place  for  such 
preparation  is  at  the  schools  and  at  the  col- 
leges, and  while  there  is  periodically  much 
talk  about  what  should  be  done  to  lessen 
the  seriousness  with  which  the  American 
boy  takes  his  sport,  yet  the  core  of  the 
trouble  remains  untouched;  and  the  core 
is  in  the  training  house. 

The  difference  between  our  expressed 
thought  and  our  literal  act  on  this  question 
of  college  athletics  reminds  me  of  the 
illogical  attitude  of  some  of  the  prohibition 
states  which  refuse  a  license  to  the  saloon 
but  place  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the 
breweries  or  the  distilleries.  So  we  talk 
earnestly  of  the  desirability  of  doing  some- 
thing to  make  our  boys  and  young  men 
view  their  play  more  as  play  and  less  as  a 
means  to  the  end  of  beating  some  one; 
and,  as  1  say,  we  have  made  some  few 
casual  corrections  for  that  purpose.  But 
it  has  all  been  immaterial,  just  as  the  pro- 
hibitory laws  in  some  of  the  states  are  im- 
material, so  far  as  achieved  the  results 
sought.    So  long  as  the  brewery  makes 


good  beer  the  people  in  that  state  will  get 
it  whether  the  saloons  are  closed  or  open; 
and  so  long  as  schools  and  colleges  pay 
men  to  build  winning  crews  and  baseball 
and  football  and  other  athletic  teams,  just 
so  long  will  the  young  men  feel  that 
winning  is  the  main  purpose  of  their  play. 

And  is  it  not  entirely  natural  that,  with 
such  a  schooling,  the  desire  to  win  should 
remain  paramount  over  all  considerations 
of  mere  sport  for  sport's  sake?  In  respect 
to  play  for  the  pure  love  of  the  play,  the 
Englishman  can  supply  us  with  much 
wholesome  lesson.  But  the  unpleasant 
truth  is  that  we  really  require  no  lesson; 
we  know  well  what  our  ailment,  and  its 
only  cure;  and  we  do  not  apply  it  because 
of  the  frenzy  to  win  which  so  possesses  us, 
as  to  warp  our  judgment  and,  in  the  matter 
of  the  coach  question,  to  make  moral 
cowards  of  the  college  faculties.  Yale  sets 
up  a  professional  rowing  coach  in  the  un- 
realized hope  of  improving  her  standard, 
and  Harvard  does  likewise  for  the  avowed 
purpose  of  bettering  her  chances  to  win 
from  Yale.  Such  is  the  result  of  the  frenzy 
— and  the  faculties  have  not  the  courage 
to  lift  the  spirit  of  play  for  play's  sake 
above  the  game  for  the  sake  of  winning, 
as  they  could  do  by  cutting  out  in  one 
swoop  all  coaches,  except  the  captain  and 
such  few  unpaid  alumni  as  may  happen 
along  to  give  him  a  little  advice  now  and 
then. 

Here  is  where  we  can  follow  the  example 
of  England  with  great  profit. 

The  track  athletic  champion- 
Buildiof  ^'^'P^  ^^  ^^^  Intercoll^ate  As- 
on  S  (1  sociation,  held  in  the  Harvard 
Stadium  June  ist,  crowned  a 
season  which  already  had  been 
lifted  above  the  average  by  its  number  of 
notable  performances.  It  was  the  thirty- 
second  annual  meet  of  this  Association,  and 
furnished  more  new  records  than  any  other 
one  year  of  its  history;  in  fact  it  must  be 
written  down  as  the  most  brilliant  games 
we  have  ever  witnessed.  Then,  too,  it 
furnished  a  decided  change  from  the  order 
of  things  for  the  last  dozen  years  by  pro- 
ducing a  winner  which  relied  on  its  few 
stars  rather  than  on  a  well-balanced  team 
with  a  large  number  of  point  winners. 

Four  men  earned  the  six  firsts  that  gave 
Pennsylvania   thirty  of  the   thirty-three 


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points  with  which  the  championship  was 
won;  six  men  did  the  point  winning  for 
Michigan*  that  captured  second  place  with 
twenty-nine  points,  and  of  these  one  man 
— ^John  C.  Garrels — answered  for  nearly 
half  of  the  total,  or  thirteen  points.  All 
of  which  is  remarkable  from  the  individual 
view-point,  but  appears  to  me  to  reflect 
only  incidental  glory  upon  the  colleges. 
Nor  does  it  seem  to  be  a  wise  policy  for  the 
colleges  concerned;  it  is  the  professional 
trainers'  policy,  however,  because  it  is 
much  easier  to  bring  out  a  half  dozen  stars 
than  a  dozen  or  so  of  fairly  sure  point 
winners — ^besides,  the  star  always  is  spec- 
tacular and  sheds  light  upon  the  trainer — 
but  it  is  building  the  athletic  house  on  sand. 
Once  before  in  her  athletic  history,  if  my 
memory  does  not  fail  me,  Pennsylvania 
had  the  experience  of  a  star  team,  which 
carried  off  all  the  honors  of  the  day,  and 
subsequently  left  the  university  somewhat 
barren  of  point  winning  material.  But 
the  Pennsylvania  stars  of  1907  certainly 
form  a  sparkling  group. 

Taking  everything  into  consideration, 
Yale's  showing  with  the  material  it  had 
was  excellent,  it  secured  more  points  than 
might  have  been  expected  in  such  stellar 
company,  although  Yale  herself  had  a  star 
in  W.  R.  Dray,  who  established  a  new 
record  for  the  pole  vault.  On  the  other 
hand  the  few  points  which  Harvard  (that 
had  beaten  Yale  in  their  dual  meet  shortly 
before)  succeeded  in  getting  was  one  of  the 
surprising  revelations  of  the  day. 

The  number  of  points  scored  were:  Pennsylvania, 
33;  Michigan,  ag;  Yale.  33;  Cornell  (ex-chainpion), 
is;  Princeton,  lo;  Syracuse.  8;  Harvardj?:  Swarth- 
more,  6;  Dartmouth,  5;  Amherst,  4;  Williams,  a; 
Johns  Hopkins,  x. 

Of  first  places  Pennsylvania  won  6;  Michigan,  3; 
Yale,  a;  Syracuse,  i;  Swarthmore.  i. 

The  men  who  earned  the  title  of  champion  and  by 
their  brilliant  performance  made  this  perhaps  the 
most  remarkable  meet  of  the  many  remarkable  ones 
which  have  been  given  in  this  country  are  as  follows: 

N.  J.  Cartmell,  Pennsylvania  (xoo-yard  and  aao- 
yard  dashes  in  xo  and  ai  4-5  seconds). 

J.  B.  Taylor.  Pennsylvania  (440-yard  dash  in  48  4-5 
seconds — new  record). 

Guy  Hasldns,  Pennsylvania  (half  and  one  mile 
nms  in  x  min.  57  4-5  sec.  and  4  min.  ao  3-5  sec. — the 
latter  a  new  record). 

Floyd  R.  Rowe,  Michigan  (two- mile  run  in  9  min., 
34  4-5  aec  J. 

Joim  C.  Garrels,  Michigan  (lao  and  aao-yard 
hurdles  in  15  1-5  and  a4  seconds). 

W.  P.  Ktetiger,  Swarthmore  (16  lb.  shot  put  with 
46  ft.,  5  i-a  in. — new  record). 

W.  R.  Dray,  Yale  (pole  vault  x  x  ft.,  x  x  3-4  in. — new 
record). 

T.  lloffit,  Pennsylvania  (ruxming  high  jump  6  ft., 
3  1-4  in. — new  record). 

N.  F.  Horr,  Syracuse  (x6  lb.  hammer  throw  150  ft.. 
I  i-s  in.). 

W.  R.  Knox,  Yale  (nmning  broad  jump  as  ft., 
xein.). 


Of  individuals,  Haskins,  Cartmell,  and 
Garrels  stand  out  among  the  brilliant  per- 
formers with  their  two  wins  each;  and  of 
these  Garrels  is  entitled  to  an  especial  word 
because  of  his  time  in  the  high  hurdles, 
which  is  not  bracketed  with  the  world's 
record  on  account  of  a  following  wind,  but 
in  which  Garrels  showed  his  high  quality 
by  defeating  a  scant  yard,  Shaw  of  Dart- 
mouth, who  is  credited  with  having  nego- 
tiated the  event  in  fifteen  seconds,  and  who 
was  believed  in  the  East  to  be  invincible. 
Garrels  also  won  second  place  in  the  shot 
with  a  put  of  forty-five  feet  and  two  inches, 
which  suggests  his  all-round  ability;  and 
his  manner  at  all  times  was  workmanlike 
and  modest  as  befits  a  sportsman. 

I  shall  be  misinterpreted,  I  am 
p        .  sure,  by  the  unthinking  west- 

„  em  college  man,  but  I  cannot 

M  k  ta  dismiss  comment  on  this  bril- 
liant athletic  day  without 
expressing  regret  that  Michi- 
gan should  not  devote  her  great  athletic 
ability  and  her  energy  to  building  up  teams 
and  stirring  anew  popular  interest  in  her 
home  field  instead  of  chasing  over  the 
country  for  championships.  1  do  not  know 
why  certain  western  institutions  should 
forever  have  the  eastern  championship  bee 
in  their  athletic  bonnet,  but  1  do  know  that 
it  does  more  harm  than  good  to  the  indi- 
vidual chaser  as  well  as  to  the  local  re- 
sources upon  which  he  must  depend.  Both 
Michigan  and  Wisconsin  are  doing  more 
harm  than  good  to  their  own  athletics  and 
rowing  by  neglecting  their  natural  field  of 
competition,  and  the  one  which  needs  and 
should  have  their  support. 

As  for  the  question  of  athletic  supremacy 
between  East  and  West— what  does  it 
matter?  The  restless  ones  of  the  West 
ought  to  find  sufficient  answer  to  that  ques- 
tion in  the  fact  that  among  the  best  athletes 
of  our  eastern  colleges,  baseball,  football, 
and  other  teams,  the  West  has  always  a 
majority  percentage. 

It  would  certainly  be  very  interesting, 
and  perhaps  instructive,  to  a  certain  type 
of  provincial  eastern  mind  to  bring  the 
East  and  West  together  now  and  then  in 
sport;  and  track  athletics  seem  to* furnish 
about  the  only  medium  practicable,  be- 
cause the  two  sections  are  never  at  the 
same  stage  of  baseball  or  football  develop- 


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ment,  owing  to  local  rivalries  which  domi- 
nate the  schedule  and  are  regarded  too 
affectionately  by  the  eastern  undergradu- 
ates to  permit  of  readjustment.  But  on 
the  track  a  meeting  is  possible  through  the 
winners  of  the  eastern  intercollegiate  event 
meeting  the  winners  of  the  western  cor- 
responding body,  which  Michigan  ought 
to  be  supporting,  instead  of  running  off 
one  thousand  miles  from  home  for  the  pur- 
pose, at  least  so  it  looks,  of  advertising. 

As  the  eastern  and  western  meetings  are 
held  on  the  same  day,  a  meeting  one  week' 
later  for  the  two  winning  teams  would  be 
entirely  feasible.  I  hope  we  may  see  some- 
thing of  the  kind  brought  about;  it  would 
benefit  both  East  and  West. 


Give 
Them 
the  Gate 


There  is  no  exhibition  of  un- 
sportsmanly  behavior  quite  so 
unpardonable  or  so  illustrative 
of  the  cad  as  a  driver  publicly 
refusing,  with  a  flout,  a  red 
ribbon  because  he  or  she  hap- 
pens to  feel  that  the  entry  is  entitled  to  a 
blue  ribbon.  A  single  act  of  this  character, 
whether  by  man  or  by  woman,  should  bar 
the  offender  from  all  show  rings  for  a 
season.  It  has  become  somewhat  of  a 
habit  with  several  eastern  exhibitors, 
notably  one  woman,  and  they  should  be 
given  the  gate. 

Some  of  the  "conservative" 

—-        .         members  of  the  body  politic 
There  is    •  ,  ,  ,  •^, /: 

„  have,  I  see,  been  grumbhng  m 

opem        ^j^^.^  beards  over  the  recent 
**^*  Panama      excursion,      which 

"Uncle  Joe"  Cannon,  Speaker 
of  the  House,  organized  for  a  select  number 
of  his  party  confreres.  Instead  of  growling 
they  ought  to  give  utterance  to  a  prayer 
of  thanksgiving  that  our  distinguishedly 
untraveled  law  makers  are  beginning  to 
wander  afield.  By  all  means  let  them 
wander,  the  farther  the  better,  even  if  it 
leads  to  nothing  more  important  than  fall- 
ing afoul  of  the  quarantine  regulations 
which  keep  our  northern  ports  free  of  that 
assortment  of  microbes  which  rejoice  the 
countries  to  the  far  south  of  us. 

I  have  always  believed  that  it  would  be 
money  m  pocket  for  the  American  citizen 
if  we  established  a  sinking  fund  for  the 
travel  of  our  national  representatives  who 
for  a  large  share  of  their  stay  in  Washing- 


ton give  evidence  of  sad  deficiency.  Judg- 
ing by  the  exhibition  of  the  last  session,  if 
there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  that 
our  average  Congressman  needs,  it  is  a 
broadening  of  mind — and  travel  is  a  won- 
derful educator.  Therefore,  hist,  ye  grum- 
blers, and  let  Uncle  Joe  junket;  perhaps  it 
may  develop  him  out  of  the  narrow  and 
inimical  position  he  took  on  the  Appalach- 
ian bill  for  saving  the  forest  and  the  water 
and  farming  land  of  a  large  section. 


••Old  Men' 
of  Golf 


The  old  men  in  golf  appear 
to  be  holding  their  own  bet- 
ter in  Great  Britain  than  in 
our  more  impetuous  if  more 
vigorous  clime.  Only  the 
other  day  John  Ball.  Jun.,  won  the  English 
amateur  championship  over  the  St.  An- 
drews links,  and  this  makes  the  sixth  time, 
if  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  that  he  has 
secured  this  honor  in  the  face  of  a  laige 
field  and  adversaries  of  the  highest  class. 
He  has  also  the  further  distinction  of  being, 
together  with  Mr.  H.  H.  Hilton,  his  Hoy- 
lake  Club  mate,  the  only  amateurs  who 
have  ever  succeeded  in  winning  the  British 
Open  Championship.  Then  there  is  Hor- 
ace Hutchinson,  a  veteran  of  veterans,  who 
this  last  summer  gave  a  handsome  trounc- 
ing to  one  of  the  first  flighters  of  much 
fewer  years. 

Over  here  our  "old  men  "  are  young  men, 
but  they  appear  not  to  be  able,  as  a  rule,  to 
hold  their  place  for  very  long  at  any  stage 
of  the  game;  the  two  exceptions  to  this 
general  statement  have  been  Travis  and 
C.  B.  MacDonald,  and  considering  the 
comparative  infrequency  of  his  play  the 
record  of  the  latter  is  the  more  noteworthy. 
Mr.  MacDonald  does  not  appear  very  often, 
but  when  he  does  he  may  be  depended  upon 
to  give  a  good  account  of  himself  in  the 
fastest  company.  Travis  held  his  position 
at  the  front  for  a  considerable  period,  but 
seems  this  season  to  be  falling  away;  he 
has  however  his  place  in  American  golf 
and  in  the  matter  of  performance  it  is  a 
notable  one.  He  is  the  only  man  rep- 
resenting America  (Travis  is  really  an 
Australian),  who  has  yet  won  the  British 
amateur  championship,  and  there  appears 
to  be  no  one  in  sight  at  the  moment  who 
is  likely  to  duplicate  his  performance  for 
some  time  to  come.  Thus  far  the  younger 
class  seems  to  have  the  modem  ailment  of 


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"nerves"  and  to  be  erratic  in  consequence 
in  their  play.  For  several  years  now  we 
have  been  represented  by  some  one  or 
another  of  our  first  class  in  the  English 
tournaments,  but  nothing  worth  mention- 
ing has  happened. 


way  of  it  are  imaginary  and  fade  away  in 
the  light  of  common  sense. 


We  Are 


a  Little 
Wiser 


Our  American  public  grows  a 
little  older  every  day  and  per- 
haps  time  in  passing  leaves  a 
•  T  j*°f  corresponding  accession  of  wis- 
dom. Certainly  in  one  way  we 
are  a  wiser  folk.  Every  year 
sees  us  living  more  out  of  doors. 
Not  that  the  American  summer  resort  is 
an  institution  of  recent  growth;  popular 
mountain  and  watering  places  have  thriven 
since  colonial  times,  with  Dame  Fashion 
decreeing  their  choice  and  their  seasons. 
But  it  is  rather  that  the  man-in-the-street, 
and  hot  polloi,  and  all  the  rest  of  us  are 
getting  to  be  nature-lovers,  with  a  fig  for 
what  Fashion  may  have  to  say  about  it. 
"Are  you  taking  a  vacation  this  year?" 
says  one  tired-looking  office  man  to  an- 
other. "Yes,  Tm  off  to  the  woods  for  a 
week  now,  and  another  in  the  fall," or  "  I'm 
going  to  join  the  wife  and  kids  in  camp,"  or 
it  may  be  a  cruise  or  a  walking  trip  accord- 
ing to  the  speaker's  means  and  energy. 
The  transportation  lines  are  swamped  with 
them,  the  "woods  are  full  of  them,"  and 
weather,  not  Fashion,  decrees  place  and 
season. 

Yes,  we  are  getting  the  habit. 
-     Q  We  are  said  to  be  a  nerve- 

.  racked,  money-seeking  people, 

Q  but  it  seems  likely  that  our 

^*"  tireless  energy  is  developing  its 

antidote.  We  have  discovered 
our  own  outdoors  and  we  are  b^inning  to 
"work  it  for  all  it  is  worth."  Yet  un- 
doubtedly the  movement  has  only  half 
begun.  Ev^ry  busy  city  man  needs  his 
fortnight  at  least,  in  the  solitudes;  the 
island  camp  or  a  cruise  for  the  inland  man, 
the  woods  for  him  of  the  seaboard  city. 
None  can  plead  expense  in  this  day  of  easy 
access  to  everywhere,  and  none  has  the 
moral  right  to  plead  lack  of  time.  For  the 
solitudes  are  not  a  fad  to  the  American  man 
of  business,  they  are  a  duty;  a  duty  he 
owes  his  body,  his  mind  and  his  soul. 
Week-ends  are  better  than  nothing,  but  an 
actual  vacation  is  best,  and  1  make  bold 
to  state  that  most  excuses  standing  in  the 


A  New 


In    the    April    number    I 

earnestly  urged  our  read- 

--  .      .    .  ers  to  join  The  American 

Subscription        „•        c     •  *        !_•  u 

•^  Bison  Society,  which  some 

Heljsave  ?"'!k'*°   *""   organized 

th   Biao  express  purpose  of 

saving  our  national  animal 
from  extinction.  Many 
have  responded  to  this  appeal,  I  am  happy 
to  say,  but  there  are  others,  who,  while 
wishing  to  give  generously,  desire  to  do  so 
only  on  condition  that  a  certain  definite 
sum  is  assured.  For  example  one  cor- 
respondent writes:  "Would  it  not  be 
effective  to  suggest  a  subscription  list  of 
one  hundred  dollars  from  each  subscriber, 
conditional  upon  a  certain  number  being 
secured.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  The 
Outing  Magazine  would  open  a  list  of 
that  kind,  it  could  secure  a  great  many 
names.  I f  you  choose,  you  can  add  mine  on 
that  basis  to  such  a  list  if  you  start  one." 
We  consider  this  an  excellent  suggestion, 
and  with  the  approval  of  The  American 
Bison  Society,  we  accept  it.  From  now 
until  further  notice,  I  will  receive  subscrip- 
tions of  one  hundred  dollars  or  more  for 
the  above  cause,  to  be  paid  only  on  condi- 
tion that  at  least  two  thousand  dollars  is 
guaranteed.  As  soon  as  this  or  a  larger 
sum  is  subscribed,  it  is  understood  that  it 
shall  be  turned  over  to  The  American  Bison 
Society  (of  which  each  subscriber  will  then, 
of  course,  be  a  life  member)  for  the  pur- 
chase of  a  nucleus  herd  of  pure-blood 
buffaloes,  from  one  or  more  of  the  private 
herds  still  remaining.  As  soon  as  proper 
arrangements  can  be  made,  these  buffaloes 
will  be  presented  to  the  United  States 
Government,  to  be  maintained  and  pre- 
served on  some  suitable  range  or  ranges 
which  the  Government  and  The  American 
Bison  Society  shall  agree  upon. 

The  little  herd  presented  by  The  New 
York  Zoological  Society,  will  soon  be  on  its 
way  to  the  Wichita  Forest  and  Game  Pre- 
serve in  Oklahoma,  where  the  Government 
has  already  provided  for  its  maintenance 
on  a  suitable  fenced  range  of  some  seven 
thousand  acres.  With  half  a  dozen  such 
herds  distributed  over  the  country,  the 
future  of  the  buffalo  would  be  assured. 
Here  then,  is  a  practical  working  plan 


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for  saving  our  finest  native  animal;  let  us 

work  together  and  carry  it  out. 
The  first  subscriber  on  this  basis  is: 
W.  S.  McCrea,  Chicago.    J»ioo. 

Of  course  the  opening  of  this  new  kind 
of  subscription  list  is  only  part  of  the  gen- 
eral plan  for  the  preservation  of  the  buffalo, 
and  should  in  no  wise  interfere  with  those 
who  desire  to  contribute  smaller  sums  to 
the  cause.  The  Society  needs  every  dollar 
it  can  get,  and  all  sums  less  than  one  hun- 
dred dollars  may  be  sent  direct  to  the  Presi- 
dent, Mr.  William  T.  Hornaday,  Director 
of  the  New  York  Zoological  Park;  to  the 
Treasurer,  Mr.  Clark  Williams,  care  of 
Columbia  Trust  Co.,  New  York,  or  to  the 
Secretary,  Mr.  Ernest  Harold  Baynes,  Meri- 
den,  N.  H.,  from  whom  information  con- 
cerning the  Society  may  be  had  at  any  time. 

The  record  of  legislation 

^^^^^^  for  the  protection  of  game 

T   -1 1  ^  made  by  the  recently  ad- 

7^  joumed  second  session  of 

-^.  -,  the  50th  Congress  is  in 

59th  Congress  .       ^^       ^      f  *    *i.  ..    x 

strong  contrast  to  that  of 

the  first  session.  When 
the  first  session  adjourned  on  June  30, 1906, 
four  bills  had  become  laws  while  seven  were 
awaiting  action.  The  four  bills  which 
passed  provided  for  the  establishment  of  a 
bison  range  in  South  Dakota,  for  the  pro- 
tection of  birds  on  bird  preserves,  for  the 
establishment  of  a  game  refuge  in  the 
Grand  Cai^on  Forest  Reserve  in  Arizona, 
and  for  greater  protection  of  birds  in  the 
District  of  Columbia.  At  the  last  session 
only  two  additional  measures  were  intro- 
duced: a  bill  for  the  protection  of  game  in 
the  Black  Hills  Forest  Reserve  in  South 
Dakota,  which  was  introduced  on  January 
15,  1907,  but  which  apparently  was  never 
reported  from  committee,  and  a  bill  for  the 
protection  of  game  in  Alaska  which  passed 
the  House  on  February  4th,  and  failed  in 
the  Senate  ten  minutes  before  final  ad- 
journment. 


None  of  the  bills  remaining  from  the  first 
session  became  law,  and  only  one,  the  bill 
for  the  protection  of  game  in  the  Olympic 
Forest  Reserve  in  Washington,  made  any 
real  progress. 

The  agricultural  appropriation  bill  as  re- 
ported by  the  House  Committee  on  Agri- 
culture made  no  provision  for  the  Biological 
Survey,  thus  eliminating  all  the  work  on 
geographic  distribution,  economic  relations 
of  mammals  and  birds,  and  game  protection 
carried  on  by  that  department.  During 
the  passage  of  the  measure  through  the 
House  the  main  part  of  the  appropriation 
was,  however,  restored.  In  the  Senate  the 
bureau  organization  and  salary  roll  were 
likewise  restored  and  an  increase  of  twenty- 
five  per  cent,  made  in  the  total  appropria- 
tion for  the  bureau.  This  increase  was 
subsequently  lost  in  conference,  so  that 
when  the  bill  became  a  law  the  Biological 
Survey,  one  of  the  most  active  departments 
in  the  farmer's  interest,  remained  on  the 
same  basis  and  with  the  same  appropria- 
tion as  last  year. 

The  agricultural  appropriation  bill  also 
provided  for  the  Forest  Service  "  to  trans- 
port and  care  for  fish  and  game  supplied  to 
stock  the  national  forests  or  the  waters 
therein."  This  seems  to  have  been  the  only 
actual  advance  for  game  protection  made 
at  the  second  session. 

Thus,  as  a  result  of  efforts  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  game  refuges  during  the  past 
two  years,  the  59th  Congress  added  one 
refuge  in  Arizona  but  failed  to  pass  any  of 
the  measures  for  the  proposed  refuges  in 
California,  South  Dakota,  Washington,  and 
other  states.  The  Olympic  bill  passed  the 
House,  was  favorably  reported  in  the 
Senate,  and  but  for  a  slight  objection  would 
have  become  law;  the  California  bill  was 
reported  in  the  House  and  in  the  Senate, 
but  met  objection  in  both  branches;  while 
the  general  bill,  authorizing  the  establish- 
ment of  forest  reserves  by  the  President, 
was  favorably  reported  by  the  House  Com- 
mittee, but  made  no  further  progress. 


Recently  there  has  been  a  revival  of  the  so-called  "fake  natural  history"  discussion 
—and  with  a  thought  of  adding  at  least  my  mite  to  the  gayety  of  nations,  1  had  in- 
tended touching  on  the  subject  in  this  number.  But  lack  of  space  compels  post- 
ponement to  a  later  issue.    The  subject  is  one  which  will  not  suffer  by  keeping. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


VACATION   ANGLING   FOR   THE 

FAMILY* 

BY  LOUIS   RHEAD 


DURING  the  hot  months  of  July  and 
August  thousands  of  kind  and  indul- 
gent fathers  residing  in  large  cities  arrange 
to  pack  off  their  families  to  the  mountains 
or  seashore — some  perhaps  to  snug  retreats 
of  their  own,  but  mostly  to  board  at  a  farm 
or  hotel — ^then  at  each  week  end,  manage 
in  some  way  to  tear  themselves  awa^  from 
business  cares  and  have  a  romp  with  the 
children  in  a  good  old-fashioned  way.  The 
family  provider  will  throw  aside  nis  city 
manners  and  become,  as  it  were,  a  boy 
again. 

And,  after  all,  he  is  the  best  possible 
companion  for  his  boys,  as  well  as  tne  most 
popular.  What  prospective  diversion  can 
hold  a  candle  to  the  chance  of  a  day's  fish- 
ing with  ••  Dad  "?  "  Father  is  here!  "  is  a 
glad  shout  that  will  draw  the  children  from 
every  comer  of  the  farm.  It  is  for  him  to 
suggest  occupation  during  their  days  to- 
gether. They  are  content  to  follow  *where 
he  leads. 

Nearly  always  the  greatest  fun  to  be 
enjoyed  is  on  or  near  tne  water;  the  chil- 
dren are  barred  from  boating  without  a 
protector,  but  he  is  the  all-powerful — and 
pretty  near  anything  can  be  undertaken 
under  his  wonderful  guidance.  If  it  is  a 
little  meandering  brook,  he  will  row  them 
alon^  the  shores,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
sly  httle  mink,  or  find  a  wood-duck's  nest 
and  gather  brookside  flowers;  or  it  may  be 
on  a  lake,  to  pick  the  snow-white  lilies,  and 
watch  the  nest  of  the  bass  and  sunfish 
throueh  the  clear  water  at  the  bottom. 
But  the  boys  (and  girls,  too)  are  not  con- 
tent till  he  begins  to  fish  and  lets  them  see 
what  an  expert  he  is  to  land  the  wriggling 
denizens  from  their  element.  The  writer 
proposes  here  to  eive  a  few  hints  on  how  to 
do  It  for  those  who  know  not  how.  More 
detailed  instructions  on  this  subject  can  be 
acquired  from  the  writer's  book,  entitled 
**Bait  Angling  for  Common  Fishes,"  pub- 
lished by  Outing  Publishing  Co.  The  fishes 
most  suited  to  young  folks  are  certainly 
the  most  common  and  easiest  to  catch,  and 
include  sunfish,  perch,  catfish,  eels,  dace, 
chub,  carp,  pickerel,  sometimes  brook 
trout.  Except  for  the  two  last  mentioned, 
all  writers  nave  entirely  ignored  these 
more  plebeian  fish  in  their  enthusiasm  for 
gamey  species.  Yet  I  venture  to  assert  the 
little  five-inch  "sunny"  caught  by  the 
same  means,  vis.,  on  the  fly,  will  give  as 


good  an  account  of  itself  in  eame  qualities 
according  to  its  size,  as  the  lordly  salmon. 

Assummg  the  children  are  not  provided 
with  means  to  catch  fish,  the  father  can 
saunter  into  one  of  the  city  tackle  shops 
and  for  a  very  small  sum  invest  in  neces- 
sary tackle  that  will  give  many  times  its 
cost  in  pleasure.  First,  a  rod  sufficiently 
good  for  the  purpose,  at  seventy-five  cents 
up  to  any  price  he  likes  to  pay ;  then  a  small 
but  strong  click  reel  (for  children  love  to 
hear  a  reel  sing)  and  a  fine  oiled  silk  line,  as 
well  as  the  all-important  float  or  bob; 
lastly,  a  small  hand  net,  which  will  give 
even  the  voungest  child  a  chance  to  take  a 
hand  in  the  game.  To,  complete  the  outfit 
a  couple  of  dozen  snelled  Aberdeen  hooks. 
No.  7  or  8 ;  half  a  dozen  three-foot  leaders 
of  reasonably  fine  gut,  with  a  few  split 
shots  for  sinkers,  the  total  cost  being 
under  five  dollars.  Regarding  the  bait  to 
lure  the  above  mentioned  fish,  all  that  is 
required  is  the  small,  common  garden 
worm.  Every  one  of  these  fish  will  take 
the  worm  ravenously,  any  time  during  the 
day,  and  at  any  season.  The  choicest  kind 
of  worms  are  dug  up  in  rich  garden  soil, 
potato  or  com  patches.  They  are  of  a  red- 
dish color,  small  in  size,  with  a  knot  near 
the  middle.  They  should  be  placed  in  a 
can  with  damp  moss  and  kept  cool. 

In  fishing  ponds  or  lakes,  most  fish  are 
found  from  ten  to  twenty  feet  from  the 
shore,  where  the  bottom  is  grass  covered; 
the  boat  should  be  kept  so  that  it  will 
lie  just  on  the  edge  of  the  long  grass  or 
lily  pads.  If  the  wind  is  too  strong  for 
the  boat  to  keep  still  while  it  lies  among 
the  weeds,  let  out  an  anchor  or  large  heavy 
stone,  drop  it  quietly  overboard  and  have 
the  rope  lust  long  enough  to  reach  the 
bottom.  If  the  rope  is  too  long  the  boat 
drifts  from  side  to  side.  Now  that  the  boat 
is  fast  and  all  is  quiet  the  first  thing  to  do 
is  to  find  the  proper  depth  to  adjust  the 
float,  making  the  bait  hang  but  six  inches 
from  the  bottom.  This  distance  will  do  for 
all  the  fish  except  catfish  and  eels;  for  these 
two  it  is  best  to  have  the  bait  resting  on  the 
bottom,  for  they  spend  most  of  their  time 
nosing  in  the  mud  for  food  and  for  that 
reason  are  apt  to  miss  the  bait  not  on  the 
ground.  The  best  way  to  bait  the  hook  is 
to  have  the  point  go  simply  through  the 
skin,  not  through  the  entire  body  of  the 
worm,   which   stops  it  from   acting  in  a 


*  Thg  Editor  witt  be  glad  to  receiiv  from  readert  any  qitgstumt  within  the  field  of  this  article.  While  it  may 
be  impracticable  to  answer  them  all,  yet  such  inquiries  will  undoubtedly  suggest  the  scope  of  future  contributions 
to  the  department.     Letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  magazine.  y-^  j 

4Q3  Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


494 


The  Outing  Magazine 


natural  manner.  The  worm  should  wriggle 
around  in  the  water  exactly  as  if  it  were 
free — if  hooked  through  the  skin  it  does  so. 

Now  drop  the  bait  lightly  in  some  open 
space  between  the  wee<&,  a  minute  or  two 
is  enough,  if  no.  strike  is  made,  then  place  it 
elsewhere  without  moving  the  boat.  If 
the  float  goes  quickly  under  nearly  out  of 
sight,  it  is  in  all  probability  a  good  sized 
fish,  perch,  chub  or  pickerel.  Be  in  no 
hurry  unless  it  is  going  for  the  weeds  to 
hide.  If  such  be  the  case,  raise  the  rod  tip 
^adually,  not  a  sudden  jerk  or  yank,  but 
just  enough  to  retard  progress,  and  reel  in, 
guiding  the  fish  to  the  boat's  edge;  should 
the  fish  want  to  play  or  run  around  or  even 
go  back  to  the  bottom,  allow  it  to  do  so,  if 
the  weeds  and  lily  stalks  are  not  too  near. 
In  that  way  its  strength  is  weakened.  It 
is  impossible  to  ^ank  a  large  perch, 
pickerel  or  chub  right  out  of  the  water 
when  just  hooked.  They  are  sure  to  get 
awav,  perhaps  with  part  of  the  tackle. 
With  a  little  patience  and  skill  the  unwilling 
fish  can  be  reeled  in  near  to  the  edge  of  the 
boat,  so  that  one  of  the  youngsters  may 
net  it.  To  do  so,  the  net  should  be  placed 
facing  the  head  of  the  fish,  not  the  tail,  and 
the  net  should  be  lower  and  deeper  in  the 
water  than  the  fish,  then  with  a  qurck 
upward  movement,  lifted,  with  the  larger 
part  of  the  body  in  the  net  and  all  will  be 
well.  During  this  time  the  line  should  be 
kept  taut  and  held  firm  by  the  rod  tip 
bemg  raised  high  and  the  finger  on  the 
reel.  As  soon  as  the  fish  is  boated,  give  it 
a  few  sharp  raps  on  the  head  with  some 
blunt  instrument,  so  that  it  won't  jump 
back  to  freedom.  Be  careful  how  the  fish 
is  handled,  for  both  perch  and  pickerel  have 
sharp  teeth  that  make  nasty  wounds.  The 
hook  can  be  extracted  without  difficulty  if 
the  fish  is  quiet. 

The  hooK  can  now  be  rebaited  with  a 
fresh  worm  and  similar  proceedings  may  be 
gone  over.  If  the  worm  is  taken  by  a 
sunfish  the  float  will  go  under  about  a  toot 
or  so,  moving  rapidly  to  and  fro.  The  rod 
tip  should  be  raised  gently  but  firmly,  not 
yanked  into  the  sky,  but  just  enough  to 
nook  the  fish,  then  lead  it  gently  toward 
the  net,  and  pursue  the  same  method. 
Every  fish  hooked  should  be  netted,  then 
none  will  be  lost.  Both  sunfish,  perch,  like- 
wise chub  and  dace,  run  in  large  schools, 
so  that  very  often  a  great  number  may  be 
caught  right  in  one  spot,  though  this  is 
only  possible  when  quiet  business-like 
methods  are  used.  All  fish  are  shy  and 
easily  frightened  by  undue  excitement  and 
movement;  and  tnough  they  cannot  hear 
noises,  they  have  very  sharp  eyes. 

In  fishing  the  bottom  for  catfish  the  net 
is  not  required,  for  they  swallow  the  hook 
far  down  their  throat,  making  it  impossible 
for  them  to  escape;  but  if  the  catfish  is  a 
large  one,  it  is  safer  to  lift  it  out  with  the 
net,  giving  no  chances  for  the  tackle  to 

gart  and  so  lose  the  fish.     To  extract  the 
ook  the  only  way  to  get  it  is  to  placfe  the 


foot  on  the  fish  and  with  a  sharp  knife  cut 
away  the  gills.  They  have  terribly  sharp 
spines  on  their  fins,  making  it  impossible  to 
handle  them  without  severe  wounds  to  the 
hand. 

With  the  eel  it  is  different;  having  no 
spines,  they  may  be  handled,  but  they  are 
such  sUppery  rascals  that  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  hold  them.  When  it  takes  the 
worm  it  should  be  brought  to  the  net 
quickly;  if  allowed  to  run  along  the  bot- 
tom it  hides  behind  large  stones  or  old 
tree  stumps,  often  winding  the  line  around 
weeds  and  other  impediments.  When 
brought  to  the  surface  it  very  soon  entan- 
gles the  Une  in  indescribable  ways,  so  that 
quick  work  needs  be  done  to  get  it  boated. 
Like  the  catfish  it  swallows  the  hook  far 
down  its  throat,  making  it  necessary  to 
cut  the  gills  to  extract  it. 

In  fishing  for  chub  and  dace  the  method 
is  much  the  same  as  for  brook  trout.  The 
worm  must  be  always  alive  and  dropped  in 
the  water  with  as  little  splash  as  ix)ssible. 
Just  as  soon  as  the  float  shows  any  agita- 
tion, immediately  ^ive  a  quick,  short 
movement  of  the  wnst  that  will  suddenly 
raise  the  rod  tip  about  six  inches.  This 
delicate  movement,  if  well  done,  will  hook 
the  fish,  if  not,  will  jerk  it  away.  Both 
chub  and  dace  are  very  clever  in  getting 
the  worm  without  the  hook,  though  brooE 
trout  invariably  dash  at  it,  taking  the 
entire  thing,  starting  swiftly  away.  They 
all  three  play  about  the  same  in  quiet 
waters,  making  numerous  rushes  back  and 
forth,  up  and  down,  within  a  radius  of  ten 
feet.  They  should  be  gradually  controlled, 
reeled  in,  and  the  net  placed  underneath 
them.  In  case  it  should  happen  that  a  fish 
gets  entangled  in  the  weeds,  a  wise  plan  is 
to  let  out  some  extra  line  to  enable  him 
again  to  start  away.  Then  it  is  time  to 
work  the  rod  and  line  free  from  the  im- 
pediments. 

While  carp  are  plentiful  in  some  of  the 
great  lakes  and  rivers  they  are  not  common 
in  small  lakes  and  ponds;  they  are  at  all 
times  exceedingly  shy,  and  due  care  must 
be  observed  while  fishing  that  all  is  quiet; 
when  once  alarmed  they  will  not  return. 
The  same  method  is  used  in  angling  for 
carp  as  for  catfish ;  they  are  at  the  bottom, 
where  they  spend  their  time  nosing  around 
aquatic  plants. 

For  angling  in  quiet,  deep-running  water, 
more  sinkers  should  be  placed  on  the  leader 
to  keep  it  down  from  the  surface.  But  if 
angling  in  a  quick-rimning  brook  or  river 
for  chub,  dace,  or  brook  trout,  the  float  and 
sinkers  should  be  removed,  and  the  bait 
allowed  to  run  in  front  of  the  angler  wher- 
ever it  wills  on  the  surface  by  the  action  of 
the  current,  which  takes  it  naturally  just 
as  nature  does  their  general  food.  The 
perch,  pickerel  and  sunfish  are  hardly  ever 
to  be  found  in  swift -moving  water.  They 
prefer  quiet,  deep,  weedy  places,  running 
out  at  times  in  the  swift  current  for  food, 
returning  at  once  with  their  pr^^o  gon 
Digitized  by  VjOO> 


Bench  vs.  Field  in  Setter-Breeding 


495 


in  quiet  water.  Eels  may  be  caught  in 
swift  water,  but  at  the  bottom  the  current 
is  less  strong.  This  article  being  confined 
entirely  to  worm  fishing  does  not  touch  on 
minnow  or  frog  baits  l^ause  of  the  extra 
difficulty  in  procuring  them,  and  although 
mention  is  made  of  only  one  kind  of  angling 


there  is  no  reason  why  a  whole  family 
should  not  fish  together  from  the  shore  or 
boat.  It  sometimes  happens  that  the  more 
rods  in  use,  the  more  fish  appear.  For 
healthy  diversion  there  are  few  pastimes 
so  agreeable  in  the  coimtry  as  bait  fishing 
with  a  worm. 


BENCH 


vs.  FIELD    IN    SETTER- 
BREEDING* 


BY   JOSEPH    A.   GRAHAM 


BENCH  shows  and  field  trials  do  not 
ordinarily  come  close  to  the  average 
sportsman.  Few  attend  field  trials,  or  ever 
will ;  the  distance  and  inconvenience  being 
enough  to  deter  most  men,  while  for  al- 
most all  it  would  mean  a  surrender  of  the 
cherished  shooting  trips  which  are  the  best 
parts  of  autumn  vacations.  Bench  shows 
attract  more  of  them,  but  they  find  there 
no  great  satisfaction.  There  is  the  sus- 
picion that  the  winning  field  dogs  at  these 
shows  are  not  much  for  actual  work;  that 
there  is  httle  to  be  learned  from  the 
awards. 

For  sportsmen  the  most  important  bench 
show  of  the  past  season  was  that  of 
the  English  Setter  Club.  The  club  is  a 
new  organization,  chiefly  of  Philadelphians, 
whose  object  is  to  discover  a  type  of  setter 
which  will  have  as  much  beauty  as  possible 
combined  with  the  best  ability  in  the  field. 
They  believe  that  bench  shows  have  de- 
veloped one  extreme  type  and  field  trials 
anotner,  neither  being  tne  dog  which  the 
amateur  shooting  man  desires. 

In  a  measure  they  are  right,  though  it 
must  inevitably  be  the  case  that  bench 
shows,  which  judge  dogs  on  looks  alone, 
will  specialize  outward  appearance,  at  any 
sacrifice  of  field  character;  and  that  field, 
trials  wiU  place  dogs  according  to  per- 
formance, regardless  of  looks.  If  the  club 
is  able  to  keep  the  extremes  from  winning 
it  will  be  a  wonder. 

The  sportsman  likes  looks.  He  likes 
what  might  be  called  "breakability"  or 
susceptibility  to  comparatively  easy  train- 
ing. The  Pointer  Club  has  been  making  an 
effort  to  reach  a  style  of  dog  which  unites 
these  quaUties  with  a  fair  degree  of  speed 
and  gameness.  The  English  Setter  Club 
has  tne  same  ideal. 

Among  the  LlewelUn  setter  men  at  the 
show  in  question  there  was  deep  disa|> 
pointment.  They  had  hoped — perhaps 
confidently     expected — that     the     setters 


which  have  been  winning  at  the  bench 
shows  would  be  turned  down  and  the  prac- 
tical shooting  dogs  put  to  the  front.  After 
a  fashion  the  club  could  have  done  some- 
thing ©f  the  sort,  but  it  perferred  to  go 
cautiously  at  first,  changing  the  official 
standard  only  by  giving  greater  value  to 
running  gear  and  less  to  head.  It  is  an- 
nounced that  changes  will  be  made  from 
time  to  time  as  they  seem  to  be  indicated 
by  experience.  The  club  will  also  hold  a 
field  trial  in  the  fall,  in  which  the  members 
will  endeavor  to  make  rules  which  will 
bring  out  intelligence  and  effectiveness  on 
birds  instead  of  the  extreme  value  put  by 
most  field  trials  on  speed  and  range.  We 
shall  see  how  the  experiment  comes  out. 
Mr.    Bleistein's    setters    won    the    high 

S laces  at  Philadelphia — Meg  O'Leck,  Moll 
>*Leck,  Bloomfieid  Rap  and  Bloomfield 
Racket,  all  representing  the  bench  show 
specialized  dogs  of  England,  with  the  long 
heads,  fine  coats  and  general  elegance  of 
that  type.  In  the  ring  they  score  high  at 
all  points,  except  that  to  an  American 
shooting  man  their  shoulders  are  too  deep 
for  lightness  of  movement.  Charles  Gibbs 
Carter  of  Pittsburg  sent  two,  Avon  Ensign 
and  Avon  Bobs,  which  are  more  compact 
and  of  better  body  and  back  outline  but  a 
shade  short  and  thick  in  head.  For  my 
own  fancy,  Mr.  Carter's  dogs  are  better 
than  Mr.  Bleistein's.  But,  as  long  as  the 
standard  speaks  of  head  as  an  **  eminent 
characteristic"  and  demands  that  skull  and 
muzzle  be  long  and  narrow,  a  judge  who 
agrees  to  accept  the  standard  and  officiate 
at  the  club's  shows  must,  in  common 
honesty,  apply  it  to  the  animals  before 
him. 

The  trouble  about  setters  of  the  Ameri- 
can, or  Llewellin,  breeding  is  that  they  pre-^ 
sent  no  type  which  can  be  defined  at  a 
bench  show.  As  far  as  I  know,  there  is  not 
one  living  which  has  not  some  glaring  de- 
fect when  scored  under  any  standard  ever 


♦  Th€  Editor  wilt  be  glad  to  receive  from  readers  any  questiom  within  the  field  of  thit  article.  While  it  may 
be  impracticable  to  answer  them  all,  yet  such  inquiries  will  undoubtedly  iuggeet  the  scope  of  futnre  contributions 
to  the  department.     Letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  magazine. 


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written.  I  have  been  accused  of  being  a 
Llewellin  man,  and,  in  a  sense,  I  am.  Be- 
tween a  strain  of  dogs  which  have  a  high 
average  of  field  ability  and  irregular  looks 
and  a  strain  which  have  beauty  and  weak 
huntine  ability,  I  certainly  choose  the  for- 
mer. Yet,  when  one  deals  with  a  standard 
of  looks,  he  must  be  guided  by  looks. 

How  can  we  combine  the  two  in  setters 
and  pointers?  There  are  several  solutions 
of  tne  problem.  One  is  to  say  in  the 
standard  that  the  judge  must  give  special 
weight  to  texture  and  qualit}^  of  bone  and 
muscle,  placing  a  high  numerical  valuation 
on  that  attribute — say,  at  least  twelve 
points.  It  would  nearly  wipe  out  the 
fancy  bench  show  specimens  and  give 
higher  places  to  the  working  dogs.  Another 
way  would  be  to  require  every  exhibitor  to 
present  an  affidavit  that  his  dogs  were 
trained  and  used  for  shooting  and  Imd  been 
worked  and  shot  over  by  either  trainer  or 
owner  forty  days  in  the  last  shooting  sea- 
son. Still  another  way,  rather  unsatis- 
factory to  jealous  owners  and  admirers,  but 
possibly  effective,  would  be  to  select  some 
actual  pointer  or  setter  as  a  standard, 
have  him  exhaustively  measured,  weighed, 
photographed  and  tested  in  the  field  by  a 
committee,  and  then,  having  placedU  all 
these  results  on  record,  to  instruct  judges 
to  follow  the  tjrpe. 

Most  shooting  men  will  agree  that  an 
ideal  pointer  would  weigh  about  fifty 
pounds,  be  symmetrical  in  contour,  active 
on  his  feet,  fast  and  quick  in  action,  keen  as 
well  as  sure  on  birds,  biddable  in  disposi- 
tion and  well  marked  liver  and  white  or 
black  and  white  in  color. 

Where  is  the  dog?  One  man  would  say 
Hard  Cash ;  another  would  answer  that  he 
is  too  light  and  bitchy.  So  with  every 
other  actual  dog  you  might  suggest. 

An  ideal  Engbsh  setter  would  have  all 
the  above  practical  qualities,  be  blue  belton 
or  orange  belton  in  color,  weigh  forty-five 

Esunds  and  carry  a  low,  merry  tail.  A 
lewellin  man  would  jump  up  and  assert 
that  white,  black  and  tan  is  the  best 
color  and  that  the  best  dogs  carry  a  high 
tail. 

Differences  of  opinion  would  p>ersist. 
Maybe  it  must  happen  that  the  specialized 
dogs  which  score  nigh  in  the  ring  must  go 
one  way,  the  racing,  ranging  field  trial  dogs 
another,  and  a  third  way  be  invented  by 
the  shooting  men  who  do  not  care  a  rap  for 
field  trials  and  bench  shows  but  want 
handsome  dogs  which  can  find  birds  in  any 


cover  and  not  demand  a  year's  training 
before  being  decent  to  shoot  over. 

Some  man  will  breed  a  recognized  strain 
to  please  this  third  and  largest  class  oi 
sportsmen.  It  can  be  done  by  anybody 
who  will  ignore  prize- winning  fashions  and 
stick  to  his  object.  Such  a  man  must 
watch  for  the  brains,  looks  and  action  of 
dogs  and  breed  to  the  best.  And  he  must 
resolve  not  to  sell,  give  away  or  keep  the 
defective  ones  which  will,  for  a  genera- 
tion or  two,  form  a  majority  of  his  young 
ones.  Drown  them  and  identify  the  strain 
only  with  definite  excellence. 

What  would  be  the  foundation  of  such  a 
strain?  In  pointers  the  task  is  easier,  be- 
cause they  are  not  judged  in  bench  shows 
or  bred  tor  that  purpose,  as  closely  as 
setters  and  offer  more  latitude  of  looks 
without  inflaming  disagreements.  In  Eng- 
lish setters,  I  should  guess  that  the  best 
?lan  would  be  to  get  from  Mr.  Thomas  of 
Philadelphia,  Mr.  Carter  of  Pittsburg,  or 
Mr.  Cole  of  Kansas  City,  specimens  of  some 
beauty  and  elegance  with  hunting  and 
finding  ability.  All  of  these  breeders  have 
such  dogs,  at  least  occasionally. 

Either  select  the  best  specimens  as  you 
breed,  and  keep  within  your  original  blood, 
or  cross  carefully  on  dogs  of  the  Llewellin 
blood — not  worrying  over  the  **pure*'  fad 
— like  Count  Whitestone,  Robert  Count 
Gladstone  or  McKinley.  With  good  luck, 
you  may  get  all  the  beauty  and  "swell" 
look  of  the  bench  show  fancy,  and  the  light 
shoulders,  tough  texture  and  keenness  on 
birds  which  the  best  Llewellins  possess.  I 
am  about  to  try  the  experiment  by  crossing 
a  bench  show  winning  bitch  on  one  of  the 
best  Llewellin  sires,  and  a  pure  Llewellin 
dog  on  a  bench  show  dam.  The  dog  last 
mentioned  has  a  snipey  head  and  long  legs. 
He  has  correct  body  outline  and  is  a  game, 
wide  ranger.  My  bench  bitch  has  a  won- 
derful head,  but  is  a  bit  wide  in  front  and 
long  in  the  back.  I  may  get  something, 
because  she,  while  not  electric  in  speed, 

foes  well  and  is  a  bom  bird  finder.  Then 
shall  cross  my  pure  Llewellin  son  of 
Count  Whitestone  dog,  of  bench  type  good 
enough  to  have  won  a  fair  place,  on  a 
bitch  of  the  Thomas  or  Cole  style. 

If  anybody  else  is  trying  either  of  these 
experiments — picking  Thomas  dogs  which 
are  real  bird  dogs  and  sticking  to  that 
blood,  or  crossing  Thomas  or  Cole  or  Carter 
dogs  on  Llewellins — it  would  be  useful  if 
we  could  compare  results  a  year  hence  and 
find  out  where  we  stand. 


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LONG   OR   SHORT   GOLF   CLUBS 


BY  HORACE  S.  HUTCHINSON 


THE  last  decade  has  witnessed  a  change  of 
view,  both  extremely  remarkable  and 
remarkably  extreme,  on  the  part  of  the 
expert  golfer  of  Great  Britain  in  regard  to 
the  length  of  his  clubs.  Be  it  said  at  once 
that  this  is  written  of  the  driving  clubs 
only — ^the  exceptions,  that  is  to  say  those 
players  that  use  very  long  clubs  throughout 
the  set,  being  of  the  kind  that  prove  the 
rule.  Within  the  short  space  of  ten  years 
we  have  seen  the  majority  of  expert  golfers 
passing  from  clubs  of  medium  length  of 
shaft  to  clubs  of  very  short  shafts,  thence 
to  shafts  of  extravagantly  great  length,  and 
at  the  present  moment,  there  is  a  tendency 
to  return  to  that  medium  which  it  is  the 
fashion  to  call  blessed.  I  do  not  iind  my 
own  bliss  in  that  particular  medium  (the 
personal  view  is,  of  course,  the  view  that 
seems  to  matter),  but  in  this  regard,  as  in 
others,  that  which  is  one  man's  bliss  is 
another's  curse.  I  have  been  a  faithful 
follower  of  the  changing  fashions  up  to  the 
adoption  of  the  very  long  clubs,  but  from 
that  extreme  point  I  have  not  receded.  I 
have  not  b^n  of  that  majority  that  has 
abandoned  the  '*  fishing  rods,"  as  the 
ribald  miscall  the  lengthy  clubs;  my  own 
long  driver  is  longer  than  the  driver  of  any 
other  man  that  I  have  met,  and  certainly  I 
have  no  present  intention  of  shortening  it. 
One  should  talk  of  drivers,  as  of  men  and 
women,  as  one  has  found  them.  I  have 
found  this  long  driver  a  good  friend  to  me 
and  I  shall  stick  to  it.  Ot  course  it  has  its 
moods,  like  other  friends.  It  is  not 
monotonously  the  same  in  its  service,  but 
on  the  whole  it  is  of  steady  value.  I  must 
be  egotistical  in  this  story;  I  adopted  that 
long  driver  after  the  amateur  champion- 
ship of  1903.  I  did  pretty  well  in  that 
championship,  but  was  beaten  severely  by 
Mr.  Maxwell  in  the  final,  and  found  that 
with  my  clubs  of  the  moderate  length  I  was 
out-driven  by  enoufi;h  yards  to  make  a  dif- 
ference. Something  had  to  be  done,  so  I  had 
made  a  driver  of  a  length  which  I  thought 
at  the  time  ridiculously  and  unmanageably 
long,  and  so  thought  everybody  else  that 
handled  it.  But  after  a  few  strokes  I 
found  I  could  hit  the  ball  with  it  quite  as 
well  as  with  a  club  more  than  six  inches 
shorter,  and  that  it  sent  the  ball  the  best 
part  of  twenty  yards — perhaps  all  that 
distance — further.  It  was  a  gain  worth 
getting.  I  have  not  lost  it  since.  And  I 
find  it  quite  as  easy  to  drive  crookedly 
with  short  clubs  as  with  long  ones. 

It  may  seem  curious  that  if  one  man 
finds  this  benefit  from  the  use  of  a  club 
considerably  longer  than  the  average — its 


length  from  the  top  of  the  shaft  to  the  heel 
is  four  feet  three  inches — the  majority 
should  find  themselves  so  bothered  by  a 
club  of  say  four  feet  lone;,  that  they  find  it 
better  for  their  golfing  health  to  go  back 
to  clubs  of  nearly,  if  not  quite  six  inches 
shorter  than  four  feet.  But,  as  I  said  before, 
what  is  one  man's  poison  is  another's  meat, 
and  it  is  not  impossible  to  see  some  connec- 
tion between  the  character  of  a  man's 
swing  and  his  ability,  or  the  reverse,  to 
make  use  of  an  extra  long  club.  Of  the 
advantage  in  length  of  drive  to  be  obtained 
by  the  use  of  an  extra  long  club  there  can 
be,  I  think,  no  question,  other  things  being 
equal — ^that  is  to  say,  the  hitting  being 
eaually  accurate.  That  is  the  thing 
wherem  the  ineauality  generally  occurs. 
A  large  number  ot  men  find  it  more  easy  to 
hit  accurately  with  the  ^ort  club  than  the 
long.  There  is  one  constant  inequality, 
which  must  be  noticed  now,  namely,  that 
you  cannot  have  a  heavy  head  at  the  end 
of  a  long  shaft.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
work  out  the  formula  (I  have  never  tried 
very  hard)  by  which  you  might  make  an 
equation  between  ounces  of  the  head  and 
inches  of  the  shaft,  but  it  is  certain  that  as 
you  lengthen  the  club  so  you  must  Ughten 
the  head.  You  are,  of  course,  accustomed 
to  a  club  which  seems  to  have  a  certain 
weight  (which  you  probably  have  not 
worked  out  into  figures)  in  your  hand,  and 
you  cannot  depart  from  that  apparent 
weight  without  upsetting  your  game.  You 
ought,  therefore,  when  you  lengthen  your 
club,  so  to  lighten  the  head  that  if  you  take 
up  the  two — the  short,  heavy  club  and  the 
light,  long  club — in  the  dark,  you  will  not 
be  able  to  tell,  by  the  weight  as  it  feels  to 
your  hand  (when  you  hold  each  club  by 
the  grip)  which  it  is  that  you  are  handling. 
That,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  practical 
equation. 

As  for  the  difference  in  the  mode  of 
swing,  by  virtue  of  which  one  man  is  able 
and  another  is  unable  to  use  a  **  fishing 
rod,"  I  believe  it  to  consist  in  this,  that  if  a 
man  have  the  kind  of  swing  which  properly 
deserves  that  name  (that  is  to  say  if  it  is  a 
constantly  accelerated  movement  up  to  the 
moment  of  the  meeting  of  club  and  ball, 
and  if  there  are  no  jerky  movements — no 
moments  of  sudden  hurry),  then  I  believe 
that  he  can  use  the  long  clubs.  If,  on  the 
contrary,  his  so-called  swing  is  of  that  char- 
acter that  it  were  better  called  a  hit,  then 
I  do  not  think  that  it  is  possible  for  him  to 
use  the  extra  long  clut^  with  advantage. 
Of  course  the  swine,  properly  so  called,  is 
the  golfing  ideal.     On  the  other  hand  there 


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are  many  of  the  very  finest  golfers — Harry 
Vardon  nimself  is  an  illustration — who  hit, 
rather  than  swing.  It  does  not  seem  to 
me  possible  that  these  hard  hitters  could 
use  a  club  of  the  long-shafted  species.  If 
they  could,  there  womd  be  no  limit  to  their 
driving.  For  the  dynamical  advantage  of 
the  long  club  is  easy  to  see,  following  some 
such  course  of  reasoning  as  this — supposing 
that  you  were  to  swing  once  with  a  club 
of  three  feet  long,  and  again  with  a  club  of 
six-feet  long,  and  that  in  each  instance 
your  hands  were  moving  at  the  same  pace, 
it  is  evident  that  in  the  second  case  the 
head  at  the  end  of  the  six-foot  shaft  must 
have  traveled  a  great  deal  faster  than  the 
head  at  the  end  of  the  three-foot  shaft, 
with  which  you  made  the  first  swing,  be- 
cause the  head  at  the  end  of  the  longer 
shaft  has  made  so  much  longer  a  journey 
in  the  same  space  of  time.  Without  being 
much  of  a  mechanician  it  seems  possible 
to  imderstand  this — impossible,  pernaps  to 
misunderstand  it.  And  as  it  is  to  be  sup- 
posed that  the  distance  of  the  drive  de- 
pends mainly  (other  things,  such  as  the 
accuracy  of  the  hitting,  being  equal)  on 
the  pace  at  which  the  nead  of  the  club  is 
moving  at  the  moment  of  its  impact  with 
the  ball,  the  advantage  of  the  long  shaft  is 
obvious.  And  it  is  quite  evident,  to  me  at 
least,  that  one  gains  more  advantage  by 
the  greater  length  that  one  can  give  to 
the  shaft  of  a  light-headed  club  than  by  the 
greater  weight  that  one  can  give  to  the 
head  of  a  short-shafted  one.  Clearly  one 
must  have  a  certain  concentration  of  weight 
in  the  head.  However  fast  one  induced 
the  end  of  a  mere  walking-stick  to  travel 
at  its  moment  of  impact,  it  would  not 
drive  the  ball.  It  seems  as  if  one  wanted 
a  certain  weight  to  counteract  the  weight, 
the  vis  ineriicB,  of  the  ball.  But  one  does 
not  seem  to  want  much  more  than  this,  and 
the  weight  of  head  that  is  quite  manageable 
on  a  four-foot  three-inch  shaft  is  weU  out- 
side the  minimum. 

If  a  man  has  the  kind  of  swing  which 
enables  him  to  use  a  long  club,  he  will,  I 
think,  gain  other  advantages  from  its  use 
besides  the  extra  length  of  drive  that  it 
will  give  him  when  he  hits  the  ball  cor- 
rectly with  it.  It  will  also,  I  think,  make 
him  more  likely  to  hit  the  ball  correctl)^; 
it  is  likely  to  improve  his  swing.  It  is 
likely  to  ao  this  in  the  first  place  because, 
especially  when  he  is  commencing  his  work 
with  the  extra  long  club,  he  is  bound  to 
swing  rather  more  quietly  with  it  than  his 
wont.  After  a  while,  as  he  gains  confidence, 
and  as  the  strange  club  grows  familiar  to 
his  hand,  he  will  work  it  more  quickly  and 
probably  come  back  to  his  former  speed  of 
swing  again.  But,  beside  the  speed,  the 
direction  of  the  swing  will  also  be  affected 
by  the  extra  length  of  shaft.  Clearly,  with 
a  long  club  a  man  must  stand  further  from 
the  ball  than  with  a  short  one.  Clearly, 
in  the  movements  of  the  swing  the  head 
at  the  end  of  a  long  shaft  will  describe  a 


bigger  circle,  with  a  less  quickly  bending 
circumference,  than  will  tne  head  at  the 
end  of  a  short  shaft.  That  is  to  say,  the 
direction  of  the  head's  movement  will  be 
flatter,  in  consequence  of  being  at  the  end 
of  the  longer  shaft;  it  will  follow  during  a 
longer  space  of  its  travel  the  line  of  the 
ball's  flight  (or  a  backward  prolongation, 
back  through  the  ball,  of  that  line),  and  so 
it  will,  in  fact,  be  tending  toward  that 
which  has  always  been  held  up  before  us 
as  the  ideal  standard.  And  as  the  head, 
in  describing  this  flat-circumferenced  circle 
(or,  better,  section  of  an  ellipse),  follows  on 
in  the  direction  of  the  ball's  flight,  so  it 
must  of  necessity  draw  out  the  arms  of  the 
player  to  follow  after  the  ball,  according 
to  all  the  maxims  of  all  the  wise  men. 
And  this,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  find  it  to 
do,  both  in  my  own  case  and  in  that  of  all 
those  who  have  succeeded  in  making  any- 
thing good  out  of  the  extra  long  clul^. 
They  follow  on  after  the  ball  remarkably 
well. 

The  flat  movement  of  the  head  of  the 
club  is  quite  in  accordance  with  the  best 
doctrine.  One  of  the  most  common 
causes  of  feeble  driving  is  an  up  and  down 
swing,  with  arms  too  close  in  by  the  sides. 
But  the  value  of  the  flat  movement  has  its 
limitations.  The  golfer  is  not  equipped 
at  all  points  who  cannot  vary  it.  Ob- 
viously, the  flat  travel  of  the  club  head 
over  tne  ground  is  only  suited  to  hit  a  ball 
that  is  lying  well  up  on  the  surface  of  the 
turf,  or  teed  up  above  it.  It  is  a  method 
that  does  not  adapt  itself  to  the  ball  in  a 
cupped  lie.  For  this  we  want  other  clubs 
and  other  manners.  And  this  is  the  reason 
that,  though  I  think  the  long  club  to  be  so 
excellent  for  the  driving  shots,  for  those 
that  can  use  it,  I  do  not  think  it  is  well  to 
have  brasseys  and  cleeks,  and  so  on,  very 
long  in  the  shaft.  The  great  purpose  of 
these  excellent  clubs  is  to  moderate  the 
distance  of  sending  the  ball,  or  else  to  take 
the  ball  out  of  a  cupped  or  heavy  lie.  The 
flat  movement  of  the  club-head  over  the 
ground  is  not  suited  to  the  latter  occasion, 
and  you  are  not  asking  these  clubs  to  take 
the  ball  very  far.  Therefore,  on  all  counts, 
it  is  as  well  to  have  them  fairly  short,  and 
on  some  counts  it  is  far  better  to  have  them 
short.  The  jerk  shot — down  into  the 
ground,  to  make  the  ball  start  away  well 
out  of  a  cup — is  hardly  possible  with  the 
very  long-snafted  clubs.  They  have,  of 
necessity,  some  of  the  defects  of  their 
qualities,  but  as  driving  clubs,  if  a  man  is 
able  to  use  them,  the  quaUties  far  out- 
weigh the  defects. 

A  trouble  that  some  people  apprehend 
from  the  use  of  long  clubs  as  dnvers  and 
relatively  short  clubs  as  brasseys — namely, 
that  the  use  of  the  one  puts  your  hand  out  of 
gear  for  the  use  of  the  other — I  do  not  find 
to  exist,  in  my  own  experience,  nor  in  the 
experience  of  others  wno  have  given  these 
"mixed  packs"  a  fair  trial. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  was  an  advocate 


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The  Ethics  of  American  Rowing 


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of  the  short  clubs.  Ben  Sayers,  the  North 
Berwick  professional,  who  used  to  play 
with  very  long  clubs  fifteen  years  ago,  telb 
me  that  at  that  time  I  laugned  him  out  of 
the  use  of  them — ^and  now  I  am  using 
longer  than  he  ever  thought  of!  I  confess 
it,  I  have  already  confessed  it,  that  up  to  a 
point — ^to  the  point  where  the  very  long 
clubs  had  theu:  recent  vogue — I  was  a 
pious  follower  of  the  common  fashions. 
And  I  confess,  without  shame,  that  I  have 
changed  my  opinion.  If  a  man  never 
changes  he  can  never  improve,  and  the 
progress  of  a  golfer  has  to  be  like  that  of  an 
uphiU-going  donkey — zig-zag.  The  young 
man  with  the  ** Excelsior"  banner  went 
Uke    that.     The   one   that    ought    to    be 


ashamed  is  Sayers,  that  he  should  have  let 
himself  be  laughed  out  of  any  length  of 
club.  For  that,  after  all,  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  whole  matter — the  long  and  the 
short  of  it — ^that  a  man  should  play  with 
the  club  that  he  finds  to  suit  him  best.  If 
a  man  finds  that  a  long  club  suits  him  as 
well  as  a  short  one — that  is,  that  he  can 
hit  the  ball  equally  truly  with  it — then  I 
believe  that  it  will  suit  him  better,  for  it 
will  hit  the  ball  farther.  And  let  him, 
then,  take  to  himself  such  a  club  as  his 
constant  friend.  But  if  a  man  finds  that 
he  cannot  play  with  a  long  club,  let  him 
eschew  it,  lor  it  is  better  to  hit  the  ball 
with  a  short  club  than  to  miss  it  with  a 
long. 


THE   ETHICS   OF  AMERICAN 
ROWING 


BY  SAMUEL  CROWTHER,  JR. 


THE  general  ethical  condition  of  Ameri- 
can rowing  has  been  receiving  a 
deal  of  criticism  lately,  especially  in  Eng- 
land, where  the  unfortunate  ending  of  the 
Vesper  Boat  Club's  sally  on  the  Grand 
Challenge  Cup  gave  great  encouragement 
to  the  anti- American  section  of  British 
oarsmen.  The  result  was  a  rule  of  the 
stewards  closing  the  Henley  Regatta  to 
American  club  oarsmen  until  the  National 
Association  of  Amateur  Oarsmen  should 
make  some  agreement  with  the  English 
Association  such  as  the  foreign  rowing 
organizations  have  effected.  This  section 
of  the  stewards  has  caused  but  little  com- 
ment in  this  country,  partly  because  the 
American  people,  since  the  Belgian  crew 
took  the  '"Grand,"  have  rather  weakened 
in  their  interest  in  this  really  great  regatta 
and  partly  because  of  the  widespread  idea 
that  American  oarsmen  are  not  wanted  in 
England  and  no  one  cares  to  intrude. 

1  personally  do  not  believe  that  Ameri- 
can oarsmen  of  the  right  sort  are  not 
desired  in  England,  and  I  think  that  the 
feeling  that  almost  amounts  to  a  mutual 
distrust  is  entirely  due  to  a  strange  inability 
of  the  parties  to  understand  each  other. 
The  English  and  the  Americans  are  so  alike 
in  their  fundamentals  that  they  cannot 
quite  appreciate  differences  in  manner  and 
are  apt  to  call  each  other  names  in  the 
firm  conviction  that  thereby  the  other  will 
change  his  ways.  Either  could  manage 
splendidly  with  a  foreigner,  but  a  man  with 
practically  the  same  birth  and  speaking 
the  same  language,  yet  having  a  different 
point  of  view — impossible! 

Much  that  we  say  about  the  English  is 


untrue,  and  much  that  they  say  about  us 
is  equally  untrue,  yet  at  the  same  time 
there  is  a  mutual  benefit  to  be  derived 
from  this  criticism  if  it  is  only  taken  in 
good  part.  And  many  things  that  have 
been  said  about  our  club  rowing  are  very 
pertinent:  the  Vesper  Club  was  particularly 
unhappy  in  the  general  management  of  its 
trip  to  Henley,  but  I  am  of  the  opinion  that 
the  greater  part,  if  not  all,  the  offenses 
which  they  undoubtedly  committed  were 
the  result  of  ignorance  and  not  willful. 
And  this  is  the  great  need  in  American 
rowing — a  better  appreciation  among  the 
masses  of  the  ethics  of*  sport.  We  have 
few  ethical  missionaries  to  the  boat  clubs. 
The  spirit  of  fairness — of  the  broader 
sportsmanship,  is  absolute  and  admirable, 
but  at  times  the  gentler  feelings  are  sadly 
lacking. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  go  abroad  to 
find  our  own  diseases,  but  the  bitter  com- 
ments on  the  Vespers  should  serve  to  draw 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  ethics  of 
American  rowing  need  revision  and  that  it 
is  high  time  to  consider  them.  Excepting 
tennis,  golf,  and  several  minor  sports,  row- 
ing is  the  only  non-collegiate  sport  that  is 
worthy  of  the  name.  Club  track,  football 
or  baseball  teams  are  too  notorious  to  need 
discussion ;  rowing  is  on  a  different  footing. 
Among  the  rowing  men  are  many  solid 
sportsmen,  but  it  sometimes  appears  that 
the  better  element  is  not  in  control,  or  an 
incident  like  the  Vespers  would  have  been 
impossible.  Our  champion  scullers,  our 
best  crews,  are  often  representative  only  of 
rowing  speed,  and  the  result  is  that  one 
finds  rowing  in  the  hands  oL4gnorant,T  if 
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not  willful  ] 

all  sorts  of  abstir8 


,  who  blissfully  commit 


These  remarks  apply  particularly  to  club 
rowing :  college  rowmg  would  be  tne  better 
for  the  elimmation  of  the  professional 
coach,  who  has  grown  to  such  a  size  that 
the  crew  itself  appears  only  as  a  necessary 
but  quite  impersonal  adjunct.  But  sharp 
methods  or  prof  essionaliism  among  the  men 
are  fortunately  lacking.  The  conduct  of 
college  rowing  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be 
truly  gentlenianly ;  there  is  quite  too'  much 
secrecy  and  childishness  both  at  New 
London  and  Pou^hkeepsie,  but  nothing  of 
unfair  dealing  with  the  exception  of  the 
Syracuse  freshmen  at  Poughkeepsfe  last 
June.  Coach  Ten  Eyck,  a  few  days  before 
the  race,  reported  that  his  young  son,  the 
stroke,  was  ill ;  he  kept  him  out  of  the  boat 
for  several  rows  and  then  put  him  in  to  win 
the  race.  All  of  which  was  an  unpardon- 
able ruse  to  obtain  bets.  One  becomes 
accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing  in  football 
and  track,  but  rowing  is  fairer. 

The  type  of  man  who  rows  for  his  uni- 
versity IS  admirable,  the  hard  training  and 
the  small  amount  of  advertising  form  no 
inducement  to  the  mercenary  athlete ;  the 
training  and  the  contests  are  not  always 
entirely  in  keeping  with  the  personality 
of  the  men  engaged.  But,  for  some  rea- 
son, the  club  oarsmen  seem  deficient  in  the 
comprehension  of  the  amateur.  I  believe 
that  few  clubmen  wittingly  violate  ethical 
rules,  but  I  do  know  that  many  belong  to 
a  class  which  believes  in  professional  sport 
and  has  a  hazy  notion  tnat  amateur  and 
professional  are  only  technical  terms  at 
the  best  and  are  not  at  all  fundamental 
differences.  In  short,  we  have  too  many 
'  *  amachoors  * '  in  rowing — good-heartea, 
well-meaning,  but  hopelessly  lacking  in 
sportsmanly  schooling. 

It  is  not  always  safe  to  point  to  England 
for  examples  ot  sportsmanship;  in  many 
county  and  club  sports,  especially  county 
football  and  cricket,  England  is  wonder- 
fully back  in  a  proper  application  of  ama- 
teur rules.  Many  a  county  cricketer  is  a 
grafter  on  a  scale  that  would  shame  the 
most  inveterate  changeling  among  our 
college  athletes.  But  rowing  is  the  best 
sport  in  England — no  sport  anywhere  is  on 
a  level  with  British  amateur  rowing,  and 
its  followers  are  ever  anxious  to  preserve 
its  standing.  Of  course  they  have  odd 
ideas  about  our  rowing,  but  often  they  are 
nearly  right.  And  at  the  last  Henley,  the 
British  opinions  were  pretty  well  aired  as 
the  '*  Blues,"  with  the  Vespers  as  a  text, 
debated  on  what  could  be  done  for  the 
singular  type  of  barbarian  rampant  as  the 
American  oarsman. 

Henley  is  a  querulous  place;  mixed  with 
as  sound  sportsmanship  as  the  world  may 
see  is  a  leaven  of  cant  stirred  in  by  a  few 
ubiquitous  oarsmen  of  former  decades. 
For  instance,  the  dear  old  Saturday  Review, 
in  reviewing  a  recent  book  on  American 
rowing,  came  across  an  old  Yale  class  race 


between  a  dug-out  and  a  racing  bailee;  the 
boys  in  the  log  craft  had  been  twitted  about 
their  queer  boat  and,  before  the  race,  they 
thoughtfully  fastened  a  great  rock  to  the 
keel  of  the  barge  and  thus  managed  to  win. 
The  race  was  entirely  ridiculous,  but  the 
English  commentator  passed  the  joke  and 
gravely  censured  the  author  for  recording 
the  incident  with  unholy  glee  and  intimated 
that  no  American  university  was  complete 
without  a  full  set  of  appliances  for  retarding 
opponents*  boats.  But  the  sayings  of  the 
broader  men,  such  as  W.  A.  L.  Fletcher 
and  Theodore  A.  Cook  are  sound  and 
pertinent. 

It  happens  that  most  of  the  club  crews 
and  sctmers  that  have  gone  from  here  to 
England  have  been  poor  representatives. 
Back  in  '79,  the  Snoe- wae-cae-mettes 
made  the  initial  invasion  together  with  the 
Columbia  College  four,  and  Lee,  the 
sculler.  The  '* Shoes"  were  a  rough  lot  of 
French-Canadians  from  the  Great  Lakes — 
untamed  as  nature — and  they  cut  an  out- 
landish figure.  Then  came  Cornell,  shirt- 
less and  mysterious;  and  later  Ten  Eyck 
with  his  professional  friends  and  ways; 
and  finally  the  Vespers,  disowned  and  ois- 
graced  by  those  who  had  sent  them.  The 
college  crews — Harvard,  Columbia,  Yale, 
and  Pennsylvania — were  of  good  class. 
But  examine  the  careers  of  the  scullers — 
George  W.  Lee,  Dr.  McDowell,  Ten  Eyck, 
Titus,  Juvenal,  and  West.  Lee  and  Ten 
Eyck  became  professionals,  and  Titus*  entry 
was  refused  by  the  Henley  stewards  and 
the  stewards  ot  the  American  Rowing  Asso- 
ciation. That  is — three  out  of  six  cared 
nothing  for  amateur  principles. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  Eng- 
lish and  American  rowing;  in  England  it  is 
the  sport  of  the  well-to-do;  here  we  have 
all  kinds.  The  rules  of  the  Henley  Regatta 
are  not  unique  in  England;  the  quahfica- 
tions  are  only  those  of  the  English  Amateur 
Association,  and  no  man  may  row  as  an 
amateur  who  has  ever  been  in  manual 
labor  for  hire.  There  such  a  clause  is  an 
essential,  but  here  it  has  nothing  to  com- 
mend it,  though  it  does  safeguard  the  sport 
from  the  class  of  men,  who,  some  years  ago, 
threatened  to  kill  American  rowing  and 
who  are  still  too  numerous.  It  is  not  the 
labor  that  tends  to  render  a  man  undesir- 
able, but  the  fact  that  the  person  so  em- 
ployed is  hardly  likely  to  be  able  to  pay 
dues  and  give  time  to  training  without 
remuneration  of  some  solid  sort.  The 
second  diverging  rule  is  that  which  pro- 
hibits the  paying  of  railroad  and  hotel 
expenses  upon  tnps;  no  English  oarsman 
may  receive  a  penny  for  expenses. 

The  expense  question  is  tne  most  difficult 
one  in  all  sport  to  solve ;  no  one  doubts  but 
that  the  pleasing  solution  is  the  English, 
in  which  every  man  pays  his  own  way,  but 
here  such  a  system  seems  impossible,  and 
it  would  also  l>e  impossible  in  England  were 
the  conditions  the  same  as  in  America. 
No  English  team  of  any  kind>has  evp* 
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visited  America  without  receiving  all  their 
expenses,  and  the  cricketers  have  often 
been-  disgracefully  mercenary.  The  dis- 
tances to  regattas  in  America  are  usuallv 
great,  and  not  all  the  men  in  any  crew  can  al- 
ways afford  the  outlay,  and  especially  in  trips 
abroad.  There  is  no  good  reason  why  m 
such  cases  the  club  should  not  help  out  to 
some  extent  with  a  proper  care  that  no 
money  over  the  actual  and  necessary  ex- 
penses is  paid;  this  is  the  course,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  that  has  always  been  fol- 
lowed both  in  college  and  club  rowing,  and 
when  fairly  followed  there  can  be  no  objec- 
tion; the  cases  of  overpayment  are  very 
rare.  Of  course  the  club  or  college  whicn 
sends  a  crew  or  an  individual  should  be  the 
source  of  the  money;  pubUc  subscriptions 
are  not  in  keeping  with  amateur  sport — 
they  savor  too  much  of  RoUersville  sending 
its  **  Pride  "  to  fight  the  *'  Boilertown  Black- 
smith" for  the  championship  of  the  county, 
and  serves  to  place  the  whole  attention, 
in  a  most  commercial  way,  upon  the  result 
and  not  the  competition.  This  business- 
like method  of  many  of  our  Henley  com- 
Sititors  has  been  the  real  reason  that 
enley  does  not  always  appreciate  an 
American  invasion;  our  athletes  come 
grim-faced  to  take  the  cups  and  cause  the 
Englishmen  to  train  more  severely  than 
they  like  for  a  regatta  that  has  alwajrs 
been  in  the  way  of  a  recreation.  And  Ameri- 
can oarsmen,  having  incurred  considerable 
expense  both  to  themselves  and  to  their 
supporters,  cannot  view  their  races  as  an 
outmg,  but  must  strive  to  achieve  the  pur- 
Plpse  of  their  voyage;  it  is  usually  impos- 
sible for  an  American  crew  to  visit  England 
in  the  sporting  spirit  of  the  Harvard  men 
last  fall.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between 
traveling  a  few  miles  to  simply  have  a 
"try"  for  a  cup — ^as  both  American  and 
English  oarsmen  do  in  their  own  coimtries — 
and  going  abroad  with  a  fixed  purpose. 
Therefore  it  would  be  far  more  satisfactory 
to  all  concerned  if  a  truly  international 
trophy  were  arranged  and  Henley  allowed 
to  preserve  its  own  ideas. 

All  of  this  seems  in  the  way  of  a  digres- 
sion from  the  subject  in  hand,  but  it  serves 
to  show  the  reason  that  Englishmen  believe 
we  do  not  go  into  sport  for  the  joy  of 
competition  but  merely  to  win.  They 
have  gained  their  idea  because  they  always 
see  us  under  pressure.  Any  one  who  sees 
our  own  regattas  knows  that  the  majority 
of  the  men  go  in  for  the  struggle  and  then 
the  hope  of  beating  their  fellows — and  this 
is  sport. 

The  amateur  idea  is  scarcely  a  half 
century  old;  it  is  not  so  long  ago  that 
"amateur"  and  "professional"  were  only 
terms  to  indicate  grades  of  skill  and  amount 
of  training.  The  early  college  crews  rowed 
against  professional  watermen  for  money 
prizes,  and  no  one  thought  the  less  of  them. 
And  to-day,  though  the  ethical  side  of  club 
rowing  has  wonderfully  advanced,  yet  it 
cannot  be  expected  that  all  will  understand 


its  finer  shades.  It  is  not  many  years  back 
when  the  "amachoor"  flourished  with  his 
backers,  when  prizes  had  to  have  a  fixed 
convertible  value  or  the  regatta  was  not 
successful;  when  prizes  foimd  their  way 
to  the  pawnshop  with  surprising  speed. 
Conditions  have  oecome  much  better,  but 
the  best  t3rpe  of.  amateur  is  not  yet  pre- 
dominant. About  New  York  and  in  the 
West  affairs  are  especially  bad,  and  the 
easy  passage  of  the  amateur  to  the  class  of 
the  paid  coach  is  instructive;  this  should 
be  a  ^reat  step,  but  with  many  of  our  oars- 
men It  means  little — they  are  already  pro- 
fessionals in  spirit. 

The  temptations  of  oarsmen  are  not  so 
great;  a  fast  sculler  is  a  more  valuable 
advertisement  for  his  club;  a  likely  candi- 
date for  the  national  championship  makes 
almost  a  business  of  sculling.  Not  one 
national  champion  can  be  pointed  out  who 
indulges  in  the  sport  entirely  for  its  own 
sake — there  is  always  the  suspicion  of  paid 
club  dues  and  various  odds  and  ends.  And 
this  will  continue  so  long  as  the  man  who 
is  not  a  gentleman  helps  to  control  Ameri- 
can rowmg — which,  to  put  the  matter 
plainly,  is  the  condition  to-day. 

The  word  gentleman,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  is  particularly  obnoxious  to  the 
average  American.  He  associates  the 
term  with  snobbery  and  other  ungentle- 
manly  qualities.  But  the  expression  here 
must  be  taken  to  mean  the  manly  sort  of 
man  who  rows  for  recreation  and  races 
because  he  finds  fun  in  it — and  for  no  other 
reason. 

Specific  charges  are  easy  to  make,  but 
hara  to  prove.  I  know  one  leading  sculler 
who  asked  that  a  medal  contain  a  certain 
amount  of  gold,  and  of  an  oarsman,  who 
had  openly  played  professional  football, 
rowing  for  an  amateur  club.  These  are 
merely  random  cases  of  what  can  happen; 
without  going  into  the  subject  of  profes- 
sionalism in  fact ;  the  professional  attitude 
is  too  apparent.  It  is  not  considered  an 
insult  to  offer  a  paid  coaching  position  to 
the  amateur  of  the  semi-waterman  type, 
and  he  accepts  or  declines  with  no  regard 
for  the  ethics  of  the  question — it  is  merely 
a  matter  of  expediency.  Actual  money 
inducements  are  almost  absent,  but  the 
"amachoor"  still  closely  examines  the  size 
and  composition  of  prizes,  and  I  have  heard 
many  oarsmen  speak  of  the  excellent 
American  Rowing  Association  with  con- 
tempt because  "they  only  give  pewter 
mugs."  Some  enterprising  regatta  com- 
mittees go  so  far  as  to  state  the  nature  of 
the  prizes  on  their  announcements. 

Some  years  ago,  American  rowing  had 
gone  so  low  that  sportsmen  could  not 
possibly  compete.  The  contestants  were 
mostly  rowdies  and  the  whole  atmosphere 
was  that  of  money.  Men  won  by  fair 
means  or  foul;  they  were  betting  proposi- 
tions and  crooked  at  that.  They  did  not 
hesitate  to  "throw"  races  and  the  hoodlum 
element  was  in  fuU  control;   every  promi- 


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nent  sculler  became  a  professional  if  the 
money  were  in  sight. 

Thmgs  are  better  now;  the  rowdies  are 
tamer,  but  they  have  not  vanished.  One 
need  only  look  over  the  contestants  at  a 
National  Regatta  to  find  them.  The 
Harlem  Regatta  in  New  York  is  almost 
entireljr  in  charge  of  this  element.  Com- 
pare this  regatta  with  that  of  the  American 
Rowing  Association  and  the  needs  of  our 
rowing  will  be  apparent. 

The  whole  matter,  in  a  word,  is  that 
rowing  is  not  on  a  proper  plane.  In  a 
desire  to  be  democratic,  tne  governors  have 
opened  the  doors  too  wide  and  have  failed 
to  bar  those  who  lend  an  unwholesome 
atmosphere  to  the  sport. 

It  IS  a  delicate  question;  the  social 
status  of  the  oarsman  is  not  important 
except  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  his  ethics. 
American  sport  always  has  and  must  al- 
ways be  open  to  all  who  show  that  they 
are  (qualified ;  no  snobbery  can  be  toleratea, 
yet  It  is  very  important  to  realize  that  a 
certain  class  of  men,  non-amateur  in  spirit 
and  action,  however  well-meaning,  must 
either  be  educated  or  barred.  I  have  no- 
ticed •  that  the  ethical  principles  have 
become  well  recognized  everywhere,  very 
generally  understood  and  usually  followed. 
This  is  particularly  true  alxjut  Philadelphia 
and  Boston  where  there  are  large  bodies  of 
genuine  sportsmen. 


The  regatta  most  lacking  in  ethics  is  the 
National,  which  should  be  the  model  for  all 
others,  and  this,  I  believe,  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  members  of  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee of  the  N.  A.  A.  O.  devote  them- 
selves more  largely  to  side  issues  and  to 
politics  than  they  ao  to  the  personnel  of  the 
oarsmen  over  whom  they  are  presumed  to 
have  a  supervision.  A  strong  and  healthy 
element  exists  in  this  committee,  but  they 
have  not  fully  reorganized  and  still  tend  to 
lock  the  stable  after  the  horse  has  been 
stolen.  The  body  is  not  sufficiently  inde- 
pendent; the  members  are  amenable  to 
pressure  from  without  and  fear  to  offend 
their  constituents.  A  far  better  organiza- 
tion is  the  American  Rowing  Association, 
which  is  qtiite  independent;  the  stewards 
elect  their  own  members  and  scrutinize  the 
entries  for  the  annual  regatta  carefully  and 
honestly;  the  result  is  that  competitors  in 
the  A.  R.  A.  regatta  are  of  distinctly  high 
class,  and  they  are  every  year  increasing 
in  number,  which  is  the  test  possible  evi- 
dence that  the  body  of  American  oarsmen 
care  for  ethics  and  would  rather  compete 
with  the  assurance  that  their  opponents 
are  true  amateurs. 

The  outlook  is  encouraging.  We  have 
rules  enough;  sport  is  not  made  by 
rules  but  by  firm,  single-purposed  men — 
and  this  is  the  class  that  is  gaining  con- 
trol. 


HOW   TO   RAISE   BLACK    BASS 


BY   C    H.   TOWNSEND* 


THE  propagation  of  the  black  bass,  the 
pluckiest  of  game  fishes,  is  a  matter 
of  importance  to  all  who  are  interested  in 
angling  and  fish  culture. 

The  latest  Government  statistics  respect- 
ing the  quantity  of  black  bass  marketed  in 
this  country  show  that  the  annual  catch, 
exclusive  oi  the  New  England  and  Pacific 
Coast  regions,  amounts  to  1,846,071 
pounds,  valued  at  $147,561.  It  is  well 
Known,  however,  that  these  figures  do  not, 
by  any  means,  represent  the  real  value  of 
such  fishes  to  the  country,  since  the  num- 
bers taken  by  anelers  are  not  accounted 
for.  The  catch  of  black  bass  for  sport  is 
very  large,  and  the  value  to  some  of  our 
northern  states  of  good  bass  waters  for 
strictly  angling  purposes  is  recognized. 

The  report  of  the  fishery  commission  of 
Maine  for  1902,  states  that  in  that  year 
more  than  133,000  persons  visited  the 
state  on  vacation,  to  fish  or  to  htmt. 
These  summer  visitors  brought  into  Maine 


from  six  to  twelve  millions  of  dollars,  or 
more  than  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  total 
value  of  all  farm  crops  raised  in  Maine  in 
1800 — the  last  year  reported. 

Many  of  the  northern  states,  notably 
Michigan,  are  visited  in  summer  by  tourists, 
largely  on  account  of  the  good  angling  to 
be  had  in  their  waters,  and  the  lakes  of  the 
country  far  and  wide  have  become  summer 
resorts  for  an  important  proportion  of  the 
people.  Railways,  hotel  keepers  and  real 
estate  firms  recognize  this  and  widely 
advertise  the  fishing  waters  with  which 
they  are  directly  concerned.  In  fact  most 
railroads  fumisn  free  transportation  to  the 
National  and  State  fish  commissions  when 
fish  fry  are  being  transported  for  stocking 
public  waters.  Next  to  trout  waters,  those 
inhabited  by  black  bass  are  probably  the 
most  extensively  advertised.  Where  trout 
cannot  be  raised,   the  black  bass  is  the 

•Director  of  the  N.  Y.  Aquarium,  formerly  Chief 
of  Fisheries  Division  U.  S.  Pish  Commission. 


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503 


species  most  desired  for  stocking  waters 
privately  owned  or  controlled,  and  many 
sportsmen's  associations  and  country  clubs 
consider  the  bass  fishing  privilege  the  most 
attractive  inducement  they  can  offer  for 
membership. 

The  fishery  conmiissions  everywhere  are 
engaged  in  bass  distribution,  either  in  the 
form  of  yearlings  or  small  fry.  The 
United  States  Fisheries  Bureau  maintains 
several  stations  devoted  chiefly  to  its  cul- 
ture, and  the  fish  commission  of  Mich- 
igan is  doing  excellent  work  of  the  same 
character. 

The  number  distributed  by  the  U.  S. 
Bureau  of  Fisheries  during  the  year  1905 
was  904,776,  all  of  which  had  been  reared 
to  the  yearling  size  or  larger. 

The  Potomac  River,  one  of  the  best  bass 
streams  in  the  country,  was  stocked  in 
1865  with  black  bass  from  the  Ohio  Valley 
carried  across  the  mountains,  in  the  tender 
of  a  locomotive. 

During  the  past  forty  or  fifty  years, 
however,  it  has  been  widely  distributed  by 
artificial  means,  so  that  it  is  now  more  or 
less  common  throughout  the  country,  and 
the  number  of  persons  angling  for  it  is 
greater  than  those  fishing  for  trout. 

Owing  to  the  difficulty  of  fertilizing  the 
eggs  artificially,  the  increase  of  the  species 
by  pond  cultivation  has  naturally  been 
slow,  the  most  successful  methods  having 
been  worked  out  during  the  past  ten  or 
twelve  years  only.  Progress  during  the 
last  six  years  has,  however,  been  rapid. 

The  breeding  and  food  habits  of  bass  in 
ponds  have  of  late  been  carefully  studied 
with  a  view  to  eliminating  unfavorable 
conditions  and  providing,  as  ta.T  as  possible, 
those  ascertained  to  be  beneficial.  Fishes 
are  kept  in  ponds  of  such  size  as  to  permit 
of  their  control,  and  especially  the  control 
of  the  youn^  after  they  leave  the  nest, 
with  the  object  of  protecting  them  from 
their  naturally  numerous  enemies,  and 
thus  securing  the  greatest  number  possible 
for  distribution  into  other  waters.  A  few 
excellent  papers  on  the  details  of  bass 
culture  have  been  published.  These  have 
not  been  as  accessible  to  the  public  as 
might  be  desired,  and  it  is  the  object  of 
this  article  to  state  what  has  recently  been 
accomplished,  with  a  view  to  stimulating 
interest  in  private  bass  culture. 

The  spawning  habits  of  the  black  bass 
in  ponds,  briefly  stated,  are  as  follows: 

The  small-mouthed  species  resorts  in  the 
spring  to  shallow  water  where  the  male  fish 
excavates  a  saucer-like  depression  among 
coarse  gravel,  carefully  brushing  away  all 
sediment  by  the  action  of  the  fins  and  tail. 
The  gravel  is  more  or  less  rooted  with  the 
snout  and  made  perfectly  clean.  After  the 
preparation  of  the  nest  the  male  goes  in 
search  of  a  female,  which,  after  spawning, 
deserts  the  nest  entirely,  the  male  remain- 
ing on  guard,  gently  fanning  away  sedi- 
ment from  the  eggs,  by  the  action  of  the 
fins,  and  fiercely  driving  off  all  intruding 


fishes.  This  duty  lasts  about  ten  days  before 
the  eggs  are  hatched  and  about  eight  days 
more  before  the  yolk  sac  is  absorbed  and 
theyoung  fishes  rise  from  the  gravel. 

When  able  to  leave  the  nest,  some  days 
later,  they  are  accompanied  by  the  male 
who  remains  their  active  protector  until 
they  are  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch 
long  and  begin  to  scatter  among  the  water 
plants  to  lead  independent  lives.  They 
mature  in  two  or  three  years. 

The  nests  of  the  large-mouthed  bass  are 
made  preferably  among  fibrous  roots  of 
water  plants,  and  the  eggs  hatch  out  more 
rapidly,  that  is  in  three  or  four  days.  As 
in  the  case  of  the  small-mouthed  bass,  the 
nests  are  made  and  the  eggs  and  young 
guarded  by  the  male  fish.  The  spawning 
period  with  both  species  lasts  from  late  in 
April  to  early  in  July,  according  to  latitude 
and  the  temperature  of  the  water.  As  a 
rule,  spawning  does  not  begin  until  the 
temperature  is  between  62  and  65  degrees 
F.,  although  the  building  of  the  nest  may 
commence  when  it  is  somewhat  lower. 
Changes  of  water  temperature  may  affect 
the  spawning  and  a  sudden  fall  drive  the 
nesting  fishes  back  into  deep  water,  when 
the  eggs  will  be  lost.  During  cold  weather 
the  water  supply  of  ponds  is  sometimes 
cut  off  at  night. 

Under  present  methods  of  culture,  the 
increase  of  both  species  is  accomplished 
chiefly  through  the  protection  of  the  young, 
soon  after  they  rise  from  the  nest.  Young 
bass,  and  indeed  most  young  fishes,  left  to 
their  own  devices  at  this  period,  are 
destroyed  in  great  numbers  by  larger  fishes 
of  their  own  and  other  species. 

The  protection  and  control  of  the  young 
bass  is  accomplished  in  two  ways:  Either 
by  removing  the  adults  after  spawning,  and 
allowing  the  young  to  develop  in  the  pond, 
or,  as  is  the  custom  with  most  professional 
fish  culturists,  by  inclosing  each  nest  with 
a  cylindrical  screen  of  cheese  cloth  sup- 
ported by  an  iron  frame,  from  which  the 
young  fish  are  removed  with  a  cloth  dip 
net  when  they  rise  from  the  gravel,  and 
transferred  to  other  ponds  or  placed  in 
transportation  cans  for  distribution.  If 
they  are  to  be  kept  for  further  growth  be- 
fore being  distributed,  they  are  placed  in 
shallow  ponds  where  there  is  plant  life  and 
where  they  may  find  small  Crustacea,  such 
as  Clodocera  and  Copepoda,  together  with 
larvae  of  aquatic  insects,  and  small  snails 
on  which  they  feed. 

The  system  of  cultivation  is  one,  there- 
fore, of  active  pond  culture.  The  ponds 
in  use  are  of  comparatively  small  size,  vary- 
ing in  dimensions  from  50  by  80  to  1 50  by 
200  feet,  and  several  ponds  are  employea. 

They  have  a  depth,  in  some  portions,  of 
about  six  feet,  with  a  considerable  area  of 
shallow  water  along  the  shores  about  two 
feet  deep.  Their  contours  are  similar  to 
those  of  natural  ponds.  The  tendency  at 
present  is  toward  still  larger  ponds,  and  a 
closer  approach  to  natur^  conditions. 


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Bass  ponds  require  a  strong 
supply  of  water,  and  a  consid- 
erable growth  of  water  plants  in 
their  shallower  portions  is  neces- 
sary. The  ponds  are  partially 
lowered  in  tne  autumn  and  their 
shallow  sections  cleaned  of  all 
sediment,  much  of  the  heavy 
plant  growth  being  removed. 

Small  shallow  ponds  are  some- 
times constructed  in  connection 
with  the  deep  ponds,  as  spawning  places, 
but  it  has  been  found  that  this  leads  to 
fighting  among  the  males  which  may  result 
in  the  destruction  of  the  nests. 

Since  the  area  of  the  pond  is  usually 
limited,  and  the  adult  nshes  numerous, 
daily  feeding  is  necessary.  They  have 
heretofore  been  fed  largely  on  chopped 
liver,  but  it  has  been  found  that  such  food 
may  lower  the  vitaUty  of  the  fishes  so  that 
the  eggs  do  not  all  natch.  Feeding  with 
brook  minnows  has  given  better  results,  and 
these  are  usually  allowed  to  die  before  being 
thrown  into  the  pond,  as  their  presence 
alive  might  be  detrimental  to  bass  eggs  at 
the  spawning  season. 

As  small-mouthed  bass  do  not  feed  in 
winter,  quantities  of  minnows  are  placed  in 
the  ponds  about  the  time  they  freeze  over, 
so  that  the  fishes  may  find  a  supply  of  food 
when  they  begin  feeding  in  the  spri^;.  It 
was  lormerly  the  practice  to  screen  on  some 
portion  of  the  bass  pond  with  woodwork  or 
wire  netting,  impassable  to  the  adults,  but 
through  which  a  portion  of  the  young  could 
pass  and  thus  escape  the  dangers  which 
surrounded  them  among  larger  fishes. 

This  method  of  isolating  the  young 
has,  however,  been  largely  abandoned,  and 
artificial  nests  and  screens  adopted  to 
accomplish  the  same  result.  Artificial 
nest  frames  are  made  of  wood  and  filled 
with  gravel,  which,  being  set  in  shallow 
water  about  the  pond,  are  promptly 
adopted  by  the  fishes  as  nesting  places. 
For  the  use  of  the  large-mouthed  species, 
the  nests  are  supplied  with  some  kind  of 
fibrous  material, 
such  as  fine  rootlets, 
or  the  Spanish  moss 
used  by  upholster- 
ers; it  is  attached  to 
the  bottom  of  the 
frames  by  means  of 
cement. 

Just  before  the 
eggs  hatch,  the 
screens,  or  fry  retain- 
ers as  they  are  called, 
are  placed  around 
Nest  Frame.  the    nests    to    keep 

the  young  fishes 
from  wandering  away  and  from  which  they 
may  be  readily  removed  without  disturb- 
ance of  the  adult  bass. 

The  efficiency  of  this  method  of  control 
has  been  proved,  as  a  greater  number  of 
young  have  been  obtained  and  the  amount 
of  la^r  in  handling  them  reduced. 


Bottomless  Nest. 


Late  in  March  or  early  in  April 
the  ponds  are  drawn  down  a 
couple  of  feet  so  as  to  expose 
the  shallower  portions,  and  per- 
mit of  the  artificial  nests  being 
put  in  position.  The  nest  frames 
are  made  of  inch  lumber  two 
feet  square  and  four  inches  high, 
two  adjoining  sides  being  built 
twelve  inches  higher  for  the  pur- 
pose of  sheltering  the  nest,  since 
bass  naturally  nest  in  the  shelter  of  rocks 
or  logs  where  such  can  be  found. 

The  frames  are  filled  with  gravel  and 
sand,  and  the  built-up  sides  covered  with  a 
board,  which  is  weighted  with  a  stone  to 
hold  the  nest  frame  in  position  when  the 
pond  is  flooded.  They  are  placed  so  that 
the  open  sides  of  the  nest  frame  face 
toward  the  deep  water.  As  the  males  are 
less  liable  to  observe  each  other  when  on 
the  shielded  nest,  this  protection  serves  to 
lessen  the  amount  of  fignting  among  them. 
The  frames  are  placed  in  rows  about 
twenty-five  feet  apart,  and  if  there  is  an 
inner  row  of  frames,  they  are  placed  so  as 
to  alternate  with  the  outer  row. 

The  fry  retainers  are  put  in  place  from 
a  boat,  when  the  young  are  ready  to  rise 
from  the  nest.  The  nest  frame  is  first 
lifted  out  of  the  way  and,  its  bottom  being 
open,  the  gravel  remains  undisturbed. 

The  fry  retainer  is  formed  of  two  iron 
hoops,  each  two  and  a  half  feet  in  diameter, 
held  together  by  four  straight  pieces  of 
strap  iron,  so  that  the  whole  forms  a 
cylinder  two  and  a  half  feet  long  with  the 
hoops  at  the  ends.  The  cheese  cloth 
cover  is  put  around  and  fastened  to  the 
rings. 

During  the  few  days  that  the  young  fish 
remain  m  the  fry  retainer  they  usually 
find  enough  small  Crustacea  to  supply 
themselves  with  food,  but  it  is  sometimes 
necessary  to  collect  more  from  the  pond 
outside  with  a  tow  net. 

A  combined  nest  and  fry  retainer  has 
recentljr  been  devised, 
in  which  the  nest 
frame  is  boxed  up  on 
three  sides,  a  sliding 
screen  being  put  into 
the  fourth  side,  when 
the  time  comes  to 
drive  out  the  male 
fishes  and  retain  the 
fry.  Such  nest  frames 
are  made  with  bot- 
toms and  are  not 
lifted  until  the  spawn- 
ing season  is  over.  It 
is  also  unnecessary  to 
cover  and  weight 
them.  Nests  of  this  tjrpe,  as  well  as  fry 
retainers,  are  constructed  high  enough  to 
project  above  the  surface  of  the  water  when 
the  pond  is  full.  Mr.  Beeman  of  New 
Preston,  Conn.,  is  successfully  raising  small- 
mouthed  black  bass  by  using  artificial  nests 
and  fry  retainers. 


Fry  Retainer. 


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Controlling  the  San  Jos^  Scale 


SOS 


One  of  the  difficulties  in  pond  culture 
which  remains  to  be  overcome  is  the  death 
of  eggs  before  hatchine.  This  is  believed 
to  TC  due  chiefly  to  a  Tack  of  vigor  in  the 
breeding  stock,  which  may  be  avoided  by 
the  introduction  of  new  stock  from  outside 
waters.  It  may  also  be  found  desirable  to 
employ  larger  ana  deeper  ponds  and  a 
stronger  supply  of  water.  Deeper  ponds 
are  s^er  for  the  fishes  in  winter  when  they 
freeze  over. 

Murky  water  is  dangerous  to  the  eggs 
and  fry  and  is  overcome  by  careful  atten- 
tion to  the  water  supply.  At  some  stations 
it  is  possible  to  cut  off  the  supply  of  brook 
water  when  it  becomes  roily  and  supply 
the  ponds  temporarily  with  clear  spnng 
water.  Supply  pipes  are  screened,  or 
raised  sufficiently  above  the  surface  to 
prevent  the  fishes  from  passing  up  stream. 

Brood  fish  may  be  procured  either  from 
wild  or  artificially  raised  stock.  If  placed 
in  the  ponds  in  the  fall  they  should  breed 


the  following  spring,  but  may  not  do  so  if 
handled  immediately  before  the  spawning 


The  number  of  brood  fishes  to  each  acre 
of  water  is  usually  less  than  three  htmdred, 
this  area  and  number  being  divided  into 
several  ponds.  The  fishes  are  not  fed 
during  the  spawning  season.  As  there  is 
considerable  fighting  among  the  male 
fishes  at  this  time,  it  is  important  that  the 
number  of  males  does  not  exceed  that  of 
the  females,  while  more  than  one  female 
may  spawn  in  the  same  nest  if  there  is  an 
excess  of  the  latter. 

The  writer  has  made  free  use  of  recent 

Eapers  on  bass  culture  by  Reighard, 
-ydell,  and  Bower  of  Michigan  and  of 
documents  issued  by  the  U.  S.  Btu'eau  of 
Fisheries. 

Bass  raisine  by  pond  culture  is  reaching 
a  high  state  of  efficiency ,  and  we  may  expect 
an  important  increase  in  the  numtier  to  be 
distributed  hereafter. 


CONTROLLING   THE   SAN   JOS6 

SCALE   IN   ORCHARD 

AND   GARDEN 


BY  S.   L   DE   FABRY 


nr\D  control  the  San  Jos^  scale  is  possible — 
1  to  exterminate  U  whenever  once  estab- 
lished, impossible.  There  are  different 
methods  of  checking  its  ravages,  but  only 
one  to  exterminate  it,  that  is  to  dig  up  and 
bum  the  infected  trees. 

The  proper  recognition  of  the  scale  is 
probably  of  as  much  importance  as  the 
remedy  itself.  Many  amateur  owners  of 
fruit  trees  detect  the  presence  of  the  insect 
only  by  the  fact  that  their  trees  die. 

In  winter,  while  trees  are  in  their  dor- 
mant state,  the  San  Jos^  scale  can  readily  be 
recognized  on  the  smooth  bark  of  the  trunk 
and  twigs  by  its  grayish,  slightly  roughened 
scurfy  appearance.  The  natural  reddish 
color  of  tne  young  limbs  of  peach,  pear, 
plum  and  cherry  trees  is  changed  and  looks 
as  if  coated  with  ashes.  When  crushed  a 
yellow  oily  liquid  appears,  resulting  from 
mashing  tne  soft  insects  beneath  the  scales. 
If  the  smooth  bark  of  badly  infected  twigs 
is  scratched  the  underlying  wood  is  stained 
purplish,  and  if  the  scale  manifests  itself 
only  in  scattered,  grayish  pin  dots,  forming 
a  slight  infection,  then  purplish  circling 
rings  will  be  noticed  unoer  the  removea 
bark.  From  June  to  September  the  live 
scale — a  minute,  orange- ydlow,  oval-bodied 


larvae — ^will  be  found  crawling  on  the 
leaves,  twifi;s  and  fruit. 

As  usual,  the  most  expensive  method, 
reouiring  the  most  labor,  gives  the  best  and 
only  thorough  satisfaction.  Potash  con- 
taining whale-oil  soap,  commonly  called 
Caustic  Fish  Soap,  will  under  all  conditions 
check  the  scale  it  properly  applied,  without 
any  injury  to  the  trees. 

To  be  successful  the  action  of  the  potash, 
contained  in  the  fish  soap,  on  the  scale, 
must  be  clear  to  the  operator.  It  acts 
precisely  the  same  way  as  ordinary  soap 
does  on  dirty  hands.  The  potash  in  the 
soap  dissolves  the  hard  crust  formed  by 
the  dormant  scale,  and  by  proper  applica- 
tion the  gray  ashy  surface  wifl  disappear 
and  the  reddish,  rich  color  of  the  healthy 
smooth  bark  appear  again.  One  spraying 
will  not  suffice.  The  amount  necessary 
depends  on  how  badly  the  trees  are  in- 
fested. The  only  safe  practical  method  is 
to  follow  a  routine  for  all  trees  every  sea- 
son, not  varying  even  if  some  trees  seem  to 
be  free  from  infection.  If  this  is  followed 
a  positive  success  under  all  conditions, 
climate,  weather  or  local  is  assured. 

To  begin  with,  in  February  all  badlv  in- 
fected limbs  of  each  tree  are  amputated  and 


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burned.  Judgment  has  to  be  used  not  to 
ruin  the  balance  of  the  tree  and  to  allow 
young  shoots  to  form  into  new  branches 
whenever  the  old  ones  are  removed.  This 
is  important,  as  it  is  cheaper  and  safer  to 
free  the  tree  from  a  badly  infected  limb 
than  to  try  to  remedy  it.  Proper  pruning 
and  removing  all  tmnecessary  or  overlying 
wood  growth  must  follow — tne  thinnedout 
tree  will  then  be  reduced  to  its  proper 
formation  for  the  winter  treatment. 

After  the  trees  are  pruned  as  above,  the 
trunk  and  larger  branches  are  painted  with 
a  solution  of  two  pounds  of  caustic  whale- 
oil  soap  to  one  gallon  of  water.  If  a  gal- 
vanized metal  pail  holding  two  gallons  is 
filled  with  boiling  water  and  four  pounds  of 
the  fish  soap  is  dissolved  in  it  and  well 
stirred,  the  wash  is  ready  to  go  on  the 
tree. 

An  ordinary  flat  brush  is  used,  and  with 
it  the  entire  trunk  and  all  the  larger 
branches  are  painted,  using  on  some  badly 
infected  spots,  especially  at  limb-forks, 
some  force  or  friction  in  applying  the  well- 
saturated  brush — this  will  facilitate  the 
dissolving  of  the  ashy  crust,  and  soon  after 
the  soap  has  dried  the  reddish  healthy 
color  of  the  smooth  bark  will  show,  where 
formerly  the  dangerous  gray  predominated. 

Two  weeks  later  a  second  application 
should  be  made.  The  scales  will  be  found 
now  in  scattered  form.  Some  parts  of 
especial  deep  infecture  will  show  as  a  proof 
that  one  coat  of  the  fluid  was  not  sufficiently 
strong  to  dissolve  the  heavy  crust.  The 
second  painting  will  take  a  great  deal  less 
time  and  labor,  as  only  the  scattered  layers 
need  to  receive  attention  now.  Painting 
the  trees  before  spraying  is  essential.  The 
cost  is  nearly  all  labor,  as  the  material  used 
is  small.  Unskilled  labor,  even  boys,  glad 
to  get  light  work  in  winter,  can  be  employed, 
and  under  proper  supervision  can  do  the 
work  eff^ectively. 

Late  in  March,  when  the  buds  show 
signs  of  swelling,  the  tree  is  ready  for  the 
final  winter  treatment  and  the  spray 
pumps. 

Where  a  number  of  trees  have  to  be 
sprayed  in  orchards,  a  barrel  spray  pump 
is  used.  There  are  different  makes  on  the 
market,  but  a  good  barrel  spray  pump, 
including  barrel,  truck,  force  pump  and 
fifty  feet  of  one-half -inch  hose  with  rod  and 
nozzle  can  be  purchased  for  twenty  to 
twenty-five  dollars.  The  Vermorel  nozzle 
gives  the  best  satisfaction — the  spray  is 
fine,  and  covers  a  sufficient  radius  effec- 
tively; beside  it  is  easily  cleaned  and  kept 


in  order.  A  barrel  truck  with  iron  wheels 
generally  comes  with  such  pumps,  but  the 
work  is  more  effective  if  the  barrel  with 
pump  is  placed  on  a  wagon.  The  iron  rod, 
some  ten  feet  in  length  with  a  stopper, 
enabling  the  operator  to  shut  off  the  spray 
while  walking  from  onp  tree  to  the  other, 
is  fastened  on  the  hose,  and  on  the  far  end 
of  the  rod  the  muzzle  is  attached.  In  the 
home  garden  where  only  a  few  trees  need 
attention  a  bucket  or  knapsack  pump  hold- 
ing from  five  to  ten  gallons  can  be  used. 

It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the 
soap  should  contain  potash.  Good  caustic 
whale-oil  soap  can  be  purchased  for  four 
and  one-half  cents  per  pound  in  one  hun- 
dred-pound barrels,  and  as  low  as  three  and 
one-half  cents  in  barrels  of  about  four  hun- 
dred-pound weight. 

For  the  winter  treatment,  painting  as 
well  as  spraying,  two  pounds  of  fish  soap 
to  one  gallon  of  water  is  used,  as  mentioned 
before.  To  make  the  solution,  the  required 
weight  of  soap — according  to  the  size  of 
the  barrel — is  placed  in  the  barrel,  then  six 
to  eight  gallons  of  boiling  water  is  added 
and  thoroughly  stirred,  until  the  soap  has 
dissolved,  leaving  no  sediment.  Then 
with  constant  stirring,  lukewarm  water  is 
added  until  the  barrd  is  filled. 

This  will  finish  the  winter  treatment,  but 
to  be  successful  it  should  be  followed  up 
with  at  least  one  spraying  in  the  summer. 
If  only  one  spraying  is  applied,  the  middle 
of  September  is  the  oest  time;  if  two  treat- 
ments are  anticipated,  July  and  Septem- 
ber should  be  the  months.  At  that  period 
the  scales  are  alive,  and  a  very  weak  solu- 
tion, not  interfering  with  the  foliage  or 
setting  fruit,  will  suffice  to  kill  them,  if  hit 
by  the  spray. 

For  summer  spraying  the  weaker  solu- 
tion of  one  pound  of  soap  to  two  and  one- 
half  gallons  of  water  will  suffice.  This  will 
be  found  entirely  harmless  to  the  foliage 
and  will  aid  to  free  the  tree  from  all  sap- 
sucking  insects  beside  the  scale. 

The  same  pump  hose  and  nozzle  can  be 
used  as  for  the  winter  spray.  Summer 
spraying  is  of  importance,  as  it  will  check 
the  rapid  reproduction  of  the  live  insect 
not  exterminated  by  the  winter  treatment. 

The  cost  of  the  winter  and  summer  spray- 
ing combined  will  be  from  twenty-five  to 
forty  cents  per  tree,  according  to  quality  of 
soap  used  and  the  kind  of  labor  employed. 

This  expense  is  not  excessive  if  good 
crops  are  realized,  and  the  trees  of  the 
garden  and  orchard  are  saved  from  final 
destruction. 


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PREPARING   THE  GARDEN   FOR 

SUMMER* 

BY   EBEN   E.  REXFORD 


THE    HOME-FOLKS     OUTING 

THE  editor  of  this  department  believes  in 
outings  for  the  home-folks  who  cannot 
get  away  to  the  mountains  or  seashore. 
To  every  one  of  them  he  wants  to  say — 
make  up  your  mind  that  you  are  going  to 
drop  work  and  worry  for  a  week  at  least, 
arrange  for  some  one  to  come  and  "see  to 
things'*  while  you're  gone,  pack  up  the  few 
necessities  of  the  trip,  load  the  entire  family 
into  a  big,  springy  wagon,  and  set  out. 
Don't  tire  yourself  out  making  preparation 
for  it.  Just  get  ready  and  go.  You  need 
not  go  far  from  home  to  find  the  change 
you  are  looking  for.  Avoid  the  towns. 
Get  into  the  places  where  everything  is  as 
primitive  as  possible.  Don't  make  the 
mistake  of  arranging  for  a  house  to  stay  in. 
By  all  means  camp  out.  A  tent  to  sleep 
in  is  half  the  charm  of  a  genuine  outing. 
I  know  of  nothing  pleasanter  than  lounging 
on  a  bed  of  boughs  in  the  stillness  of  the 
evening,  with  the  black  shadows  of  the 
woods  all  about  you,  and  a  great  fire  blazing 
before  the  open  tent.  That  is  recreation 
in  the  ideal  to  the  man  or  woman  who  gives 
him  or  her  self  up  wholly  to  the  mood  and 
the  moment. 

Don't  make  it  a  dress  affair.  To  do  that 
is  to  spoil  everything.  Wear  clothes  that 
will  stand  hard  usage,  and  needn't  be 
worried  about.  Don  t  bother  with  un- 
necessary things  in  the  shape  of  luggage. 
A  few  tin  plates  and  cups,  some  knives  and 
forks  and  spoons,  a  kettle,  and  two  or  three 
pails,  and  a  frying-pan  will  be  quite  suffi- 
cient. The  pails  will  answer  for  water,  and 
for  making  tea  and  coffee.  Leave  break- 
able things  at  home.  Be  sure  to  provide 
liberally  in  the  line  of  eatables.  Let  these 
be  of  tne  substantial  kind.  You  will  have 
such  appetites  by  the  time  you  get  to  your 
camping-place  that  you  can  eat  almost 
anything  and  relish  it.  You  will  be 
hungry  all  the  time,  and  it  will  take  a  good 
deal  to  satisfy  you.  Take  along  plenty  of 
good  bread,  salt  pork  and  bacon,  baked 
Deans,  canned  vegetables  and  fruit,  tea  and 
coffee,  butter,  and  salt  and  pepper.  Leave 
fancy  cakes  and  pies  at  home.  They'll  be 
so  mussed  up  by  the  time  you  get  where 
you're  going  that  quite  likely  you  11  have  to 
throw  them  away.  You  won  t  want  them, 
anyway,  for  you'll  have  an  appetite  for 
stronger,    healthier    food.     A    pailful — or 


more— of  nice  doughnuts,  with  cheese  to 
go  with  it,  may  be  added  to  advantage,  to 
lunch  on  between  meals.  Have  a  good 
supply  of  towels,  and  soap,  and  a  bottle  of 
armca  or  Pond's  Extract,  for  possible 
bruises,  and  probable  insect  bites.  It  is  a 
good  plan  to  take  along  two  or  three 
hammocks  to  encourage  the  lounging  and 
laziness  which  makes  an  outing  successful 
as  a  resting-spell.  Swing  these  up  under 
the  trees,  and  see  how  much  more  pleasure 
you  get  out  of  them  in  "the  forest  prime- 
val" than  you  ever  did  at  home. 

Don't  make  any  plans.  Just  let  things 
happen  to  suit  themselves.  Make  it  your 
solitary  aim  to  get  as  much  good  out  of 
your  week  off  as  possible.  Relax.  No 
(ioubt  good  old  Walt  Whitman  had  an 
outing  of  this  kind  in  mind  when  he  spoke 
about  loafing  and  inviting  his  soul.  There 
will  be  things  happening  constantly  to 
interest  and  amuse  you.  That's  one  of  the 
charms  of  an  outing.  You  don't  know 
what  to  expect,  and  everything  that  hap- 
pens comes  as  a  pleasant  surprise. 

It's  a  good  plan  to  take  a  few  good  books 
along.  John  Burroughs'  books  mean  a 
great  deal  more  when  read  under  the  trees, 
or  by  the  light  of  a  camp-fire  than  they 
do  when  read  at  home.  They  need  the 
atmosphere  of  the  open,  the  environment 
of  the  forest,  the  sound  of  wind  and  the 
chatter  of  a  brook  to  bring  out  fully  the 
charm  that  is  in  them. 

You'll  come  back  home  from  such  an 
outing  with  ten  times  the  amount  of  vital- 
ity you  took  away.  Work  will  seem  like 
play  to  you.  You'll  make  up  your  mind 
that  instead  of  asking  yourself  the  ques- 
tion, next  year,  "Can  I  afford  to  take  an 
outing?"  the  question  to  be  asked  will  be, 
"Can  I  afford  not  to  take  one?" 

REMODELING   THE    HOME 

There  are  few  homes  in  which  changes 
are  not  made  from  time  to  time.  Use 
shows  us  where  mistakes  were  made  in  the 
original  plan.  I  have  recently  seen  a  home 
in  which  a  very  radical  change  was  made, 
and  the  result  was  so  pleasing  that  I  want 
to  tell  about  it,  thinking  that  others  may 
take  a  hint  from  it.  There  was  a  front  and 
a  back  parlor.  The  rooms  were  of  fairly 
good  size,  but  they  did  not  seem  large 
enough  to  accommodate  the  furniture  that 


♦  The  Editor  will  be  glad  to  receive  from  readers  any  quextions  within  the  field  cj  this  article.  While  it  may 
he  impracticable  to  answer  them  all,  yet  such  inquiries  will  undoubtedly  suggest  the  scope  of  future  contributions 
to  the  department.     LeUers  should  be  addressed  to  the  magazine. 


507 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


was  in  them,  and  allow  for  freedom  of 
movement.  The  woman  of  the  family 
studied  the  matter  over,  and  decided  to 
have  the  wall  between  them  taken  out,  and 
the  two  made  into  one  large  room.  This 
was  done.  The  result  was  extremely  satis- 
factory. Now  the  furniture  can  be  ar- 
ranged in  such  a  manner  as  to  look  well, 
and  the  room  never  seems  cluttered  or 
crowded.  Pictures  appear  to  much  better 
advantage  on  the  walls  than  before. 
Visitors  form  themselves  into  little  groups 
without  intruding  on  their  neighbors,  as 
formerly.  What  seemed,  at  first,  to  be 
almost  bam-like  space  compared  with  the 
size  of  the  rooms  in  their  oripjinal  arrange- 
ment, now  seems  just  the  right  thing  for 
family  use.  The  large  room  has  a  dignity 
that  no  small  room — no  room  of  ordinary 
size — can  ever  have.  What  do  we  need 
of  a  "parlor"?  I  hold  that  wHat  is  good 
enough  for  me  and  my  family  is  quite  good 
enough  for  my  visitors.  Let  us  make  our- 
selves living-rooms,  and  put  into  them  all 
the  beautiful  things  we  can  afford,  and 
enjoy  them  every  day.  Sacrifice  the 
"parlor"  for  this  purpose,  if  necessary. 
You  won't  be  sorry  for  having  done  it. 

CONCRBTB    FLOORS 

Provide  cellar  and  woodshed  with  con- 
crete floors.  They  are  superior  to  wood,  in 
every  way,  and  ao  not  cost  much,  if  any, 
more  in  these  days  of  high-priced  lumber. 
Once  in  place  they  are  good  for  a  lifetime. 
With  such  a  floor  in  the  cellar,  and  the  walls 
finished  with  the  same  material,  it  is  an 
easy  matter  to  keep  it  as  clean  as  any 
other  part  of  the  house. 

SUMMER   WORK   IN   THB   GARDBN 

Keep  the  hoe  and  cultivator  going,  even 
if  the  season  is  a  dry  one.  That  is  just  one 
reason  why  vou  should  make  constant  use 
of  it.  A  soil  that  is  stirred  frequently,  and 
kept  open  and  mellow,  will  absorb  every 
least  bit  of  moisture  that  happens  alonp^, 
while  a  soil  that  is  crusted  over  can  take  m 
none  of  it.  Use  the  cultivator  daily,  then, 
when  the  ground  suffers  from  lack  of  rain. 

Thin  out  the  beds  and  rows.  Never 
allow  plants  to  crowd  each  other.  Give 
plenty  of  room  for  development  if  you  want 
tine  specimens. 

See  that  the  pea-vines  are  given  proper 
support.  If  the  tall  growing  kinds  are  not 
kept  off  the  ground  you  need  not  expect 
much  of  a  crop  from  them. 

Train  your  tomatoes  on  trellises.  This 
gives  the  sun  a  better  chance  to  get  at  the 
fruit,  and  there  will  be  no  danger  of  rot. 
If  you  want  early  fruit,  nip  off  tne  ends  of 
the  vines  as  soon  as  there  is  a  setting,  and 
throw  all  the  strength  of  the  branch  into 
the  development  of  the  few  tomatoes 
clustered  there,  rather  than  fritter  it  away 
on  all  that  will  set  if  the  plant  is  allowed  to 
manage  itself. 


Spray  the  currants  and  gooseberries  if 
the  worm  threatens  to  do  mjury.  Paris 
green  is  largely  used  for  tnis  purpose. 
There  is  no  danger  in  its  use,  as  the  first 
shower  that  comes  along  washes  it  all  off. 
If  blight  and  fungus  attack  the  plants, 
apply  Bordeaux  mixture.  It  may  be  well 
to  use  this  on  other  small  fruits  if  tney  show 
yellowing  foliage,  or  have  somethii^  of  a 
rusty  look. 

IN   THB    PLOWBR   GARDBN 

Go  over  such  plants  as  sweet  peas  and 
petunias  and  cut  away  old  and  fading 
flowers.  Do  this  daily,  to  prevent  the 
formation  of  seed.  If  seed  is  allowed  to 
develop,  you  will  have  but  few  blossoms 
after  that.  This  treatment  is  advised  for 
all  plants  that  bear  seed  freely. 

Ii  the  season  is  a  dry  one,  don't  neglect 
to  mulch  your  plants.  Spread  grass- 
clippings  from  the  lawn  about  them  to  the 
depth  of  two  or  three  inches.  This  will 
keep  the  soil  from  parting  rapidly  with 
whatever  moisture  there  is  in  it,  as  it  would 
if  fully  exposed  to  the  sim.  When  the 
clippings  turn  black,  and  begin  to  decay, 
work  them  into  the  soil  about  the  roots  of 
the  plants,  and  apply  fresh  ones. 

Tea  roses  shouM  receive  about  the  same 
treatment  as  hybrid  perpetuals.  Feed 
them  well,  to  keep  them  growing,  and  cut 
back  their  branches  at  least  naif  their 
length,  after  each  period  of  bloom.  As 
long  as  new  branches  are  produced  you  wjU 
have  flowers  from  them. 

If  you  have  beds  of  coleus  or  other  plants 
whose  foliage  is  depended  on  as  their  chief 
attraction,  go  over  them  daily  and  remove 
every  dyin^  leaf,  and  nip  out  every  bud 
that  shows  itself.  If  any  branches  attempt 
to  outgrow  others,  cut  them  back  at  once. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  shear  your  plants  to 
keep  them  even  and  symmetrical.  Unless 
well  cared  for,  they  will  soon  take  on  a 
straggling  look,  which  robs  them  of  the 
beauty  they  have  when  given  proper 
attention. 

Look  over  the  shrubs.  Most  of  them 
will  be  making  their  annual  growth  now. 
If  you  find  branches  growing  where  none 
are  needed,  remove  them  at  once.  Never 
allow  a  buish  to  waste  its  vitality  on  un- 
necessary growth. 

See  that  the  chiysanthemums  are  kept 
going  steadily  ahead.  Shift  to  larger  pots 
now,  if  the  old  ones  are  filled  with  roots. 
Give  a  very  rich  soil,  and  be  sure  that  the 
plants  never  suffer  from  lack  of  water.  If 
a  chrysanthemum  gets  dry  at  its  roots,  or 
is  not  given  sufficient  root  room,  it  will 
receive  a  check  from  which  it  will  not  be 
likely  to  recover  in  time  to  give  a  good  crop 
of  flowers.  It  is  well  worth  one's  while  to 
give  them  careful  attention  at  this  season. 

ANSWBRS  TO   CORRBSPONDENTS 

Plants  for  Winter.  (Mrs.  W.  E.  D.)— 
This  correspondent   asks  me  to  name  a 


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Preparing  the  Garden  for  Summer 


509 


dozen  plants  suitable  for  use  in  the  win- 
ter window  garden,  and  wants  to  know 
whether  to  get  them  now,  or  to  wait  until 
later  in  the  season.  I  would  advise  getting 
them  as  soon  as  possible.  In  order  to  ^ve 
satisfaction,  they  should  be  good-sized 
specimens,  and  it  will  take  several  months 
for  them  to  develop.  I  would  suggest  a 
scarlet  geranium,  a  white  one,  and  a  pink 
one,  among  the  flowering  varieties  of  this 
family.  I  would  add  a  rose  geranium  for 
its  foliage  and  fragrance.  Among  begonias 
there  are  none  better  than  rubra,  with 
coral-red  flowers,  and  manicata  aurea,  with 
richly  variegated  foliage.  This  variety  has 
very  pretty  flowers  in  late  winter  and  early 
spring.  From  the  ferns  I  would  select 
Bostoniensis,  with  very  long  fronds,  and 
Piersonii,  with  shorter,  broader  fronds — 
both  of  easy  culture,  and  both  very  fine. 
I  would  have  either  a  pink  or  scarlet 
carnation — or  both — a  pot  of  primula 
obconica,  and  either  a  Chinese  primrose  or 
a  single  petunia.  Prom  such  a  collection 
one  can  have  flowers  throughout  the  win- 
ter, and  plenty  of  foliage  for  cutting. 

Dog  With  Fits,  (C.  B.  N.)— It  is  impos- 
sible to  give  definite  advice  to  this  cor- 
respondent because  he  fails  to  give  any 
particulars  upon  which  to  base  an  opinion. 
He  mentions,  incidentally,  that  the  dog 
refuses  to  eat  rich  food,  from  which  I  infer 
that  he  has  been  in  the  habit  of  getting  this. 
Withdraw  it.  Peed  on  oatmeal,  and  milk, 
and  give  the  animal  bones,  on  which  there 
is  very  little  meat,  to  gnaw.  Very  fre- 
quently overfed  dogs  are  subject  to  fits,  and 
a  plainer  diet  is  all  that  is  needed  to  remove 
the  trouble.  If  worms  are  suspected,  go  to 
your  druggist  and  ask  him  to  put  you  up 
half  a  dozen  santonine  powders.  Give 
these  at  intervals  of  two  or  three  days. 

Watering  Palms.  (Mrs.  S.  G.  P.)— This 
correspondent  writes:  **I  have  just  read 
that  a  prominent  florist  advises  watering 
palms  every  other  day.  If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, this  does  not  tally  with  your  advice. 
How  is  it?"  I  don't  believe  any  florist 
who  understands  his  business  ever  gave 
any  such  advice.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
just  how  often  any  plant  shall  be  waterea, 
because  conditions  vary  to  such  an  extent 
that  what  answers  for  some  will  not  apply 
to  others.  The  time  to  water  any  plant  is 
when  it  is  so  dry  that  more  moisture  is 
needed  at  its  roots,  and  this  must  be 
decided  by  the  appearance  of  the  soil. 
The  only  rule  to  go  by  is  this :  When  the 
surface  of  the  soil  has  a  dry  look,  water,  and 
water  so  liberally  that  some  runs  out  at  the 
bottom  of  the  pot.  Then  wait  for  the  dry 
look  before  applying  more. 

KiUing  Weeds  on  Lawn.  (B.  S.)— Yes.  I 
know  some  dealers  advertise  preparations 
warranted  to  kill  weeds  on  the  lawn.  Very 
likely  they  will,  if  you  apply  them  directly 
to  the  weed,  but  it  stanos  to  reason  that  if 
they  are  strong  enough  to  do  this,  they 
must  injure  the  sward  if  they  come  in  con- 
tact with  it,   as  they  must,   if  scattered 


broadcast.  It  is  about  as  much  work  to 
make  an  application  to  each  plant  as  it  is  to 
root  up  that  plant,  and  a  plant  uprooted  is 
a  plant  effectually  disposed  of.  There  is  a 
weed-puller  on  the  market  which  does  very 
good  work  among  dandelions,  and  plants  of 
that  character  which  it  is  difficult  to  get  at 
with  the  fingers.  It  has  two  teeth  which 
enter  the  soil  on  each  side  of  the  plant  to 
be  pulled.  By  pressing  down  on  a  little 
lever  operated  by  the  foot  these  teeth  clasp 
the  plant  snugly,  and  by  rotating  the 
machine  the  weed  is  loosened  and  lifted  out 
of  the  soil. 

Fastening  for  Vines,  (P.) — I  have  found 
nothing  better  than  screw-hooks,  which 
you  can  buy  very  cheaply  at  any  hardware 
store.  If  tne  vines  you  want  to  fasten  up 
are  large  ones,  with  heavy  foliage,  get 
hooks  at  least  two  inches  in  length.  Inch 
hooks  will  do  for  smaller  ones.  Screw  the 
hook  into  the  wood  until  there  is  just  space 
enough  between  the  tip  and  the  wall  for 
the  vines  to  pass.  Drop  them  into  place, 
and  then  give  the  hook  an  upward  bend  by 
hitting  it  from  below  with  a  hammer.  This 
will  bring  its  tip  so  close  to  the  wall  that 
the  vine  cannot  pass  it.  Vines  fastened  in 
this  manner  never  tear  loose  from  the  wall 
after  a  heavy  storm,  or  a  sudden  wind. 

Summer  Furniture,  (N.  N.  M.) — I  would 
not  advise  "mission"  furniture  for  the 
summer  room.  It  is  much  too  heavy  and 
clumsy.  There  is  nothing  better  than 
rattan  or  reed.  It  looks  well,  lasts  well, 
and  is  very  cool  and  comfortable.  It  is 
also  very  light  and  portable — a  prime 
reouisite  of  summer  furniture. 

Hanging  Pictures.  (Young  Housekeeper.) 
— My  plan  is  this:  I  decide  just  where  the 
picture  is  to  hang  on  the  wall.  Then  I 
measure  across  the  back  of  the  frame  from 
the  places  where  screw-eyes  are  to  be  in- 
serted in  the  wood.  Let  this  measurement 
be  carefully  taken.  Then  measure  off  the 
same  space  on  the  wall,  and  insert  hooks 
over  which  the  screw-eyes  are  to  slip.  If 
this  work  is  done  accurately,  the  picture 
will  hang  well.  If  it  is  not  done  well,  your 
picture  will  hang  askew,  and  you  wiU  have 
to  do  your  work  over  until  the  difficulty  is 
remedied.  This  does  away  with  all  un- 
sightly cord,  and  prevents  disarrangement 
in  dusting,  and  is  safer  than  any  other 
method  I  nave  any  knowledge  of. 

WaU  Finish.  (B.  B.  S.)— I  would  much 
prefer  a  rough  finish  on  plastered  waUs  to  a 
smooth  one.  '  *  Hard  finish, ' *  as  the  smooth 
coat  is  called,  has  a  glossy  look,  and  is  too 
suggestive  of  marble  to  be  pleasing.  A 
rough  coat  gives  a  soft  effect  as  there  is  no 
shine  about  it.  Hard-finished  walls  are 
often  treated  to  a  coat  or  two  of  paint,  to 
get  the  color  wanted,  and  the  last  coat  is 
"stippled,"  when  about  half  dry,  by  going 
over  It  with  a  brush  and  roughening  its 
surface.  With  a  rough  plaster  wall  you 
get  a  finer  effect,  whether  painted  or 
calcimined.  as  the  roughness  is  part  of  the 
wall  and  not  simply  on  its  surface. 


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DIRECTING  THE  SADDLE  HORSE 


BY  F.  M.  WARE 


THE  various  "airs"  of  la  haute  dcole  are 
used  only  to  exhibit  the  perfection  of 
lightness  and  balance  to  which  the  subject 
has  been  brought,  and  as  a  sort  of  equine 
gymnastics  to  develop  certain  portions 
of  the  muscular  system.  The  principles 
upon  which  the  art  is  foimded,  however, 
are  so  practical,  sensible,  and  simple  that 
every  saddle  horse  should  be  perfected  in, 
and  every  equestrian  familiar  with,  them. 
Thus  trained  the  animal  is  ready  instantly 
to  go  forward  and  at  any  gait,  to  move  to 
either  side,  or  to  go  backward,  and  of  these 
four  modes  of  motion  that  of  hacking  is 
the  only  one  unnatural  to  him,  and  difficult 
for  him,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  once  he 
becomes  adept,  no  discipline  so  assists  his 
general  agility,  his  nimbleness,  and  sureness 
of  motion  in  all  directions.  No  movement 
should  ever  be  required  of  the  animal  until 
he  has  been  previously  warned,  and  in  how- 
ever crude  a  fashion,  collected  for  the 
effort.  It  is  not  fair  to  him  to  neglect  this, 
nor  is  it  to  haul  him  backward  by  main 
strength,  or  to  ask  advance  by  suddenly 
kicking  him  in  the  ribs  with  the  heels,  or 
jerking  his  mouth  with  the  bits,  customary 
as  are  these  performances;  nor  should  he 
be  turned  only  by  hauhne  upon  one 
rein  until  his  Dody  must  follow  his  head 
and  neck,  or  he  must  fall  down.  Strictly 
speaking,  all  the  movements  are  best 
taught  when  the  man  is  on  foot — collected 
advance,  free  straight  backing,  traversing 
to  either  hand — and  results  are  always 
more  certain  thus  taught.  However,  many 
riders  do  not  care  to  thus  exert  themselves, 
nor  have  they  at  hand  a  school  or  other 
small  inclosurc — it  may  be  said  here  that 
any  inclosed  space,  even  a  large  box  stall, 
carriage  house,  or  stable  gangway,  is  a  great 
help  in  such  work — the  circumscribed  space 
tending  to  make  the  subject  more  "bidda- 
ble" and  easily  collected  than  when  he  has 
'*all  outdoors"  to  stretch  in;  while  one 
may  thus  concentrate  the  creature's  atten- 
tion upon  the  matter  at  hand.  Once 
mounted,  then,  the  rider  will  close  his  legs, 
accompanying  this  with  a  gradual  tighten- 
ing of  the  reins  until  the  animal's  attitude 
is  such  that  collected  movement  is  possible. 
If  then  the  leg  pressure  is  the  stronger,  the 
horse  advances;  if  bit  force  is  greater  he 
(if  trained)  moves  backward,  etc.,  etc.  The 
walk — the  most  imi>ortant  and  most 
neglected  pace  the  animal  uses — may  be 
greatly  improved  by  constant  care  as  to 
nimbleness,  style,  and  speed — the  trot  and 


gallop  can  rarely  be  changed  in  any  ma- 
terial way.  The  animal  must  be  riddvn  at 
the  walk  as  at  all  paces;  made  to  carry  his 
forehand  lightly  (bridoon  reins);  to  arch 
the  neck  and  to  maintain  the  face  per- 
pendicularly (ctirb  reins);  to  step  in 
cadence  and  freely  (legs,  or  blunt  spurs  at 
first  if  sluggish);  "to  go  where  he  looks, 
and  to  look  where  he  goes."  The  same 
lightness  and  directness  must  obtain  in  the 
trot  by  the  same  methods,  and  a  regular 
cadence  maintained  by  proper  use  of  the 
heels  and  the  hands,  care  being  taken  never 
to  allow  the  horse  to  hitch  or  nop,  which  he 
will  do  to  ease  himself  if  ridden  beyond  his 
rate  of  speed,  or  if  tired.  A  long  stride 
may  be  greatly  modified  by  enforcing  the 
perpendicular  carriage  of  the  face,  because 
a  horse  never  puts  his  foot  down  beyond 
his  own  nose,  and  because  this  attitude 
compels  a  stronger  play  of  the  hocks  and 
stiffles,  which  serves  to  shorten  the  stride, 
and  to  this,  riding  in  circles  and  "  figures  of 
eight,"  give  much  assistance.  The  canter 
must  never  degenerate  into  the  hand 
gallop— a  true  canter  is  rarely  seen  upon 
our  bridle  paths — and  again  the  heels  and 
hands  urge  and  restrain  with  just  the  right 
power  to  bring  about  the  desired  result. 
The  canter  itselft,  as  explained  before,  is  the 
result  of  the  diagonal  effect  of  the  leg,  i.e.,  to 
*'lead  right'';  tne  pressure  of  the  left  leg 
carries  the  croup  to  the  right,  and  the  right 
side  of  the  mouth  being  just  touched,  the 
animal  swings  off  into  his  stride.  It  is  very 
convenient  to  ride  parallel  to  a  wall  or 
fence,  when  teaching  a  horse  this  gait,  as 
he  may  be  swung  sharply  and  diagonally 
toward  it,  the  proper  leg  or  spur  applied, 
when,  to  ease  himself  from  running  into 
the  obstruction  he  involuntarily  leads  off 
with  the  proper  leg,  and  quickly  associates 
the  signal  and  the  reason.  Any  horse  may 
be  taught  the  proper  leads  in  half  an  hour, 
and  in  the  same  way,  to  change  his  leads  by 
bringing  him  head  on  to  the  obstacle  upon 
one  lead  when  he  must  swerve  and  change 
as'he  does  so,  your  signal  with  the  prof>er 
leg,  preceding  his  change,  or  applied  just 
as  you  feel  him  falter  in  uncertainty. 
Obstacles  may  be  thus  used  to  great  ad- 
vantage, and  they  vastly  expedite  mat- 
ters. Thus  in  teaching  a  recalcitrant  to 
back,  a  door  or  gate  which  swings  toward 
him  gives  him  a  reason  for  complying,  just 
as,  when  standing  sideways  to  it,  it  will 
make  him  traverse  a  few  steps  to  escape 
it  as  it  swings.     In  the  same  way  he  learns 


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Directing  the  Saddle  Horse 


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to  halt  quickly,  and  at  signal  from  being 
ridden  straight  at  a  wall,  at  first  slowly,  and 
finally  at  a  lair  speed — nor  will  he  actively 
rebel  where  he  tnus,  step  by  step,  under- 
stands the  reasons  for  the  action  required 
of  him.  He  also  learns  the  meaning  of  the 
heel  and  leg  pressure  much  more  quickly — 
and  this  he  should  learn  from  the  first — if 
he  is  ridden,  head  on,  into  an  angle  of  the 
ring,  etc.,  and  then,  by  light  spur  pressure, 
made  to  revolve  his  croup  around  his  fore- 
head (half  reverse-pirouette)  until  he  is 
facing  the  other  side  of  the  school.  Let 
him  stand  a  moment,  and  then  by  the 
other  leg,  etc.,  make  him  resume  his 
original  position — maneuvers  which  he 
will  quickly  learn  to  nimbly  xjerform  be- 
cause he  cannot  advance  (tne  wall  angles 
prevent),  and  movement  to  escape  the  spur 
or  leg  is  possible  only  in  the  two  side  direc- 
tions. In  the  same  way  he  may  be  stopped 
in  the  comer  with  his  hind  quarters  to  the 
barrier,  and  made  to  reverse  direction,  and 
return;  and  he  is  then  more  than  half 
trained  to  traverse  (i.e.,  progress  sidelong) 
a  movement  which  any  horse  should  readily 
perform  at  a  walk,  or  on  any  pace. 

Caress  must  promptly  reward  perform- 
ance, and  the  voice  be  never  used — the 
horse  does  not  imderstand  your  words,  and 
if  you  are  an^y  your  tones  will  only  further 
disconcert  him — while  if  you  are  eternally 
talking  to  him,  you  simply  render  him  care- 
less and  inattentive.  Caress  the  spot  you 
have  just  addressed,  nor  think  that  he  unaer- 
stands  a  pat  on  the  neck,  as  reward  for 
something  he  has  just  done  with  his  hind 
quarters.  Go  direct  to  the  spot,  and  where 
two  parts  have  been  addressed,  caress  them 
both,  as  in  backing,  the  hind  quarters,  and 
the  sides  where  tne  legs  came,  etc.,  etc. — 
and  the  same  thing  in  bitting — do  not  pat 
the  neck  if  you  asked  him  to  yield  his  jaw. 
**  Don't  reward  your  daughter  for  vour  son's 
'successful  geography  lesson" — tnat  is  the 
idea  in  a  nutshell.  The  traverse  is  a  side- 
ways movement  in  either  direction  (right 
or  left)  in  which  the  horse  proceeds  with  the 
forehand  about  two  short  steps  in  advance 
of  the  backhand ;  the  neck  will  bend,  and  the 
face  be  following  the  line  of  progress.  The 
forehand  is  thus  a  trifle  in  advance  to  enable 
the  legs  conveniently  to  pass  each  other. 
Both  legs  will  be  needed  in  this  movement, 
the  office  of  the  second  being  to  keep  the 
horse  up  to  his  work,  and  to  prevent  the 
backhand  from  advancing  too  far  as  it 
proceeds.  These  various  movements,  the 
walk,  trot,  canter,  hand-gallop,  back, 
traverse  to  either  hand,  are  all  that  any 
saddle  horse  need  know,  but  not  one  in  a 
thousand  of  them  can  perform  any  one  of 
the  feats  to  the  best  advantage,  or  to  the 
extent  of  his  powers.  If  one  adds  to  these 
accomplishments  another — more  valuable 
in  earlier  days  when  one  was  constantly 
openine,  passing  through,  and  shutting  all 
sorts  of  gates,  but  now  rarely  needed,  one 
will  possess  a  remarkably  accomplished 
animal.     This  is  the  reverse-pirouette — ^a 


revolution  (in  such  cases  a  half  revolution) 
of  the  hind  quarters  about  the  forehand. 
When  the  horse  stands  diagonally  beside 
the  gate,  the  rider  swings  it  open,  passes, 
holding  the  gate-head,  and  shuts  it  as 
the  horse  faces  the  other  way.  This  detail 
is  unnecessary,  however — the  others  are 
useful  every  day — and  here  again  the  ob- 
stacle is  a  valuable  assistant  in  instruc- 
tion. The  traverse  may  finally  be  performed 
at  either  the  walk,  trot,  or  canter,  while 
to  successfully  accomplish  any  of  these 
feats  presupposes  a  fight  and  sensitive 
mouth,  a  properly  carried  head  and  neck, 
and  a  generally  collected  carriage;  these 
attributes  are  not  essential,  nor,  did  they 
exist,  would  they  under  the  manipulation 
of  our  average  equestrians,  be  likely  long 
to  so  remain.  It  is  notorious  among  all 
saddle-horse  purveyors  that  to  finely 
mouth,  balance  ana  finish  a  hack  is  not 
only  time  wasted,  but  a  positive  detriment 
to  the  value  of  the  animal.  That  horse 
whose  mouth  may  be  mauled  about  by  any 
double-fisted,  heavy  novice  is  the  horse 
that  sells,  and  we  see,  in  any  cavalry  troop, 
that  these  maneuvers  may  be  easily 
taught  despite  all  the  obstacles  of  poor 
seats,  utter  absence  of  hands  (or  "hand" 
as  one  only  is  available),  and  the  harshest 
and  most  crude  of  bits  which  compel  the 
unfortunate  gee-gees  to  carry  their  ears  in 
their  riders*  teeth  for  the  most  part,  and 
while  thus  handicapped,  perform  all  these 
evolutions  at  all  paces.  Where  the  public 
demand  that  they  be  "taught  riding  in 
twenty  lessons  of  one  hour  each"  what  can 
we  expect,  and  if  that  public  is  satisfied 
with  merely  escaping  accident  or  death 
every  time  it  rides,  who  are  we  to  carp  at 
such  self-satisfaction?  The  old  huntsman 
argued  that  the  fox  liked  being  hunted — 
perhaps  our  latter-day  hacks  admire  the 
performances  of  their  riders.  One  great 
advantage  in  attempting  to  teach  one's 
horse  these  most  simple  feats  is  that  one  is 
thereby  taken  out  of  oneself,  loses  self- 
consciousness,  and  by  so  much  as  he 
relaxes  stiffness  and  resistance  of  his  own 
muscles  by  that  much  does  he  better  his 
own  balance  and  seat  and  by  that  same 
ratio  does  he  become  a  better  rider.  It  is 
this  muscle  resistance  that  so  fatigues  peo- 
ple in  learning  to  ride — it  is  not  the  exercise 
they  take  but  the  unconscious  exertions 
they  make  to  prevent  taking  it  which  uses 
them  up,  and  a  thoroughly  tired  man,  who 
will  listen  to  instruction,  will  make  more 
advance  in  that  lesson  than  in  any  two 
which  precede  it.  Riding  may  be  taught 
from  books,  etc.,  but  no  book  can  enforce 
the  practice  that  must  accompany  the 
study ;  and  furthermore,  but  little  is  really 
learned  except  through  mistakes.  As 
argued  in  a  recent  article  the  secret  of 
managing  the  saddle  horse  Ues  in  the  con- 
trol of  the  hind  quarters,  and  for  that 
reason  also,  any  animal  who  is  thus  pro- 
ficient is  half  mouthed  at  once,  and  as  we 
frequently  see  in  various  circus  perform- 


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ances,  may  leam  some  brilliant  ** stunts'* 
without  any  "mouth"  at  all.  These 
*' stunts/'  however,  are  as  valueless  as  the 
finished  "airs*'  of  the  most  proficient 
kaiUe  icole  graduate,  so  far  as  practical 
work  goes — but  the  rudiments  are  the  same 
all  the  time. 

If  one  cares  to  train  the  horse  to  the 
various  movements  of  backing,  traversing, 
etc.,  etc.,  while  he,  the  instructor,  is  on 
foot,  the  whip  takes  the  place  of  the  legs 
and  heels,  and  collection  is  enforced  by 
whip  tax>s  upon  the  croup  which  promote 
an  attempt  to  go  forward,  to  be  met  and 
counteracted  bv  the  hand  upon  the  two 
curb  reins,  hela  about  six  inches  from  the 
bit  and  which  act  causes  the  horse  to  carry 
the  neck  and  head  as  desired — well  bent  in 
the  one  case,  perpendicular  in  the  other. 
Thus  the  animal  is  collected  at  a  stand, 
eased,  led  on  a  few  steps,  and  collected 
again  and  again  before  he  is  allowed  to 
advance  at  a  walk  while  tmder  collection. 
Thus  he  learns  to  "make"  and  bend  him- 
self even  when  at  rest  and  to  assume  the 
poise  he  must  afterward  wear.  Such 
work  should  never  be  too  long  continued 
lest  the  horse  become  restive,  and  possibly 
successfully  rebellious.  Once  the  posture  is 
fairly  well  gained,  and  taken  readily  the 
animal  should  be  induced  to  advance  by 
slightly  more  severe  whip  taps  and  a 
yielding  of  the  hand  which  will  allow  that 
without  permitting  too  much  change  in  the 
I>08ture  of  the  nec^  and  head.  A  step  at  a 
time  is  enough,  very  slow  and  especial 
attention  given  to  the  style  of  carriage,  and 
after  a  few  successful  steps — say  ten  to 
twenty — the  horse  should  be  eased  and  led 
to  another  point  where  the  same  rehearsal 
may  continue.  When  fairly  proficient  the 
whip  taps  are  transferred  from  the  croup  to 
the  spot  where  the  Ifeg  and  heel  pressure  is 
appUed  upon  the  side,  and  thus  the  animal 
prepared  to  understand  and  respond  in- 
telligently to  leg  indications  when  mounted. 
The  same  gradual  methods  apply  to  teach- 
ing to  back,  to  traverse,  etc. —  little  and 
often"  is  the  receipt,  and  a  step  or  two  cor- 
rectly performed  always  followed  by  an  un- 
hampered advance  for  several  yards.  No 
greater  error  can  be  made  than  to  force  a 
willing  horse  to  back  long  distances,  or  to 
do  any  other  work  to  the  point  of  fatigue 
or  annoyance — nothing  is  gained,  everj^- 
thing  may  be  lost.  Correct  "form"  is 
what  we  are  after  and  if  the  neophyte  will 
cover  five  steps  properly  the  graduate  will 
go  one  hundred  yards  if  you  ask  him. 
Traversing  is  taught  in  the  same  fashion 
simply  by  tapping  with  the  whip  until  the 
pupil  travels  sideways  upon  two  paths,  the 
forehand  always  being  a  step  in  advance, 
the  neck  bent  and  the  face  toward  the  line 
of  progress — the  ring- wall  or  the  barnyard 
fence  preventing  direct  advance;  follow- 
ing this  whip  tuition  the  legs  meet  with 
prompt  obedience  when  the  animal  is 
mounted. 

Any  one  who  will  essay  these  methods, 


however  skeptical  as  to  their  value  or 
necessity,  wul  find  his  hands  growing 
U^hter  m  proportion  as  his  animal  makes 
himself;  will  be  brought  close  to  his 
charge's  mouth  when  it  is  in  action  and 
must  notice  not  only  the  effects  upon  it  of 
the  two  bits,  and  the  pose  of  the  neck,  and 
body  therefrom,  but  will  have  a  chance  to 
reahze  what  a  marvelous  structure  that 
lower  jaw  is;  what  a  wonderful  blending  of 
tissue  paper  skin  and  most  delicate  nerves 
and  blood  vessels;  what  great  muscular 
power  lies  in  the  lips  and  tongue;  how  we 
really  bit  not  the  horse's  motUh  at  all  but 
his  tongue;  will  notice  the  reasons  for  such 
and  such  fit  of  the  bits  and  of  the  head- 
stall; can  study  closely  the  effects  of  the 
two  bits  upon  tne  lower  jaw  and  the  neck; 
note  their  different  values;  will  see  how 
certain  conformation  cannot  yield  or  ac- 
quire certain  carriage ;  will  note  the  change 
of  expression  in  eyes  and  those  eaually 
sensitive  members,  the  ears;  will  find  that 
a  "dry  mouth"  i.e.,  dry  and  free  from 
saliva  in  lip  angles  and  on  lower  lips  is 
always  a  dead  and  non-progressive  mouth, 
and  that  moisture  is  promoted  and  saUva 
kept  flowing  by  the  delicate  manipulations 
and  vibration  which  filially  becomes  in  the 
expert,  automatic;  will  in  short  get  closer 
to  the  "real  horse"  in  one  week  on  foot 
than  he  has  ever  done  in  all  the  previous 
years  perched  upon  the  creature's  back — 
and  if  he  learns  nothing  else,  will  never  again 
dare  to  jerk,  maul,  saw,  or  other  than  most 
tenderly  handle  that  marvelous  arrange- 
ment upon  which  the  bits  rest — ^the  horse's 
lower  jaw. 

It  is  almost  certain — perfectly  sure  in 
fact — that  if  any  amateur  takes  the 
trouble  to  proceed  thus  far  with  his  saddle 
horse  or  norses  he  will  be  tempted  to 
further  flights  into  the  art,  and  will  wish  to 
essay,  in  however  crude  fashion,  these 
performances  which  are  regarded  as  the " 
development  of  the  "high  school.'*  If  he 
does  he  will  fail  direfviUy,  and  certainly 
spoil  a  horse  or  two.  Ride  he  ever  so  well 
he  has  not  the  seat,  and  he  won't  acquire 
it  unless  he  forgets  all  he  thinks  he  knows 
and  starts  afresh  with  a  clean-wiped  mind. 
There  is  probably  not  in  all  America  one 
single  amateur  who  possesses  the  seat, 
ba&nce,  attitude  of  upper  body,  position 
of  leg,  pliancy  of  pose,  consequent  exquisite 
"hands,"  patience,  calmness,  courage,  and 
intuition  necessar)^  to  acquire  proficiency 
of  the  first-class  in  this  most  misunder- 
stood and  least  appreciated  art — whence 
one  will  do  well  and  ease  many  sleepless 
hours,  and  much  keen  disappointment  if 
he  will  stick  to  the  A  B  C  of  it  and  leave  the 
rest  of  the  alphabet  for  those  whose  discre- 
tion is  less  well-developed. 

Lack  of  space  must,  in  magazine  articles, 
always  sadly  hamper  one.  Readers  are 
besought  to  remember  the  difficulties  under 
which,  for  this  reason,  the  writer  labors,  and 
to  read  not  the  article  only,  but  the  vast 
amotmt  of  matter  "between  the  lines.'* 


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*Hie  away,  hie  away! 
Over  bank  and  over  brae. 
Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheene^t. 
Where  the  lady  fern  grows  strongest. 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest. 
Where  the  blackcock  sweetest  sips  it. 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it. 
Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen. 
Lovely,  lonesome,   cool,  and  green. 
Over  bank  and  over  brae. 
Hie  away,   hie  away.^* 


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THE  SAND-DUNES. 

•  How  candid  and  simple  and  nothini^-withholdini;  nntL.frcc    ,  ,     (  tOOoIp 
Ye  publish  yourselves  to  the  sky  and  offer  yourselves  OTfi^^jRyi^^^^^"^^ 


THE 


O  U  TU  N  G 


BLACK    BEAR    HONKING    IN    THE 
VALLEY   OF    KASHMIR 

BY   J.   C   GREW 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY   THE   AUTHOR 


NE  crisp  and  cloudless 
August  morning  in  1903 
I  stood  at  the  summit  of 
the  Tragbal  Pass  in  Bal- 
tistan,  looking  down  for 
,  the  first  time  in  several 
months  on  the  great  val- 
ley of  Kashmir,  spread  like  a  map  in  the 
morning  haze  far  below.  Behind  towered 
the  vast  ranges  and  snow-clad  spurs  of 
the  Himalayas,  culminating  far  in  the  dis- 
tance in  the  peak  of  Nunga  Parbat,  which 
rose  like  a  giant  among  its  fellows,  catch- 
ing and  reflecting  the  newly  risen  sun. 

Kadera,  my  worthy  shikari,  stood  near 
by,  looking  down  intently  at  the  scene 
below;  he  was  not  given  to  soliloquizing 
on  the  scenery  and  when  he  gazed  in  that 
meditative  fashion,  it  was  fairly  certain 
that  something  important  was  on  his  mind. 
I  asked  him  the  cause. 

"Atcha  bhalu  jagah.  Sahib,"  he  softly 
replied.  I  followed  his  gaze  and  saw  a 
mass  of  dark  green  wooded  foothills  across 
the  valley  very  far  below.  "Good  bear 
country" — ah,  that  was  tempting.  I 
knew  to  what   he   referred.     It  was  the 


height  of  the  fruit  season:  the  mulberries 
were  lying  thick  and  luscious  just  along 
those  ridges  and  the  wild  apricots  below 
were  ripening  to  the  heat  of  midsummer. 
The  black  bear  would  have  left  the  heights 
and  be  passing  the  days  in  the  clefts  and 
nullahs  of  those  wooded  hills,  coming  out 
at  night  to  feast  on  his  favorite  delicacies. 
I  had  heard  much  about  the  sport  of  beating 
or  "honking"  these  nullahs  in  the  foothills, 
sport  rendered  more  exciting  by  the  fact  that 
unlike  our  American  black  bear,  the  Kash- 
mir animal  (ursus  tarquatus)  is  not  a  coward. 
Here  was  a  chance  for  consolation,  and  al- 
though I  was  due  shortly  in  Calcutta,  the 
opportunity  was  too  tempting  to  let  slip  by. 
Kashmir  was  no  longer  the  green  and 
fertile  valley  I  had  left  it.  News  had  come 
to  me  while  in  Baltistan  of  a  terrible  flood 
which  had  completely  inundated  the  coun- 
try, wrecking  homes,  destroying  farms,  and 
resulting  even  in  much  loss  of  human  life. 
Now  below  me  extended  a  vast  lake  as  far 
as  one  could  see,  with  only  an  occasional  tree 
or  housetop  to  mark  where  cultivated 
farms  and  dwellings  had  formerly  stood. 
At  Bandipur  on  the  edge  of  the  flood  we 


Copyrighted,  1907.  by  the  Outino  Publishing  Company. 


All  rights  reserved^ 

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Black  Bear  Honking  in  the  Valley  of  Kashmir      517 


camped  for  the  night,  and  here  an  event  oc- 
curred which  made  me  sanguine  of  success. 

Kadera  came  into  my  tent  toward  sun- 
down to  inform  me  that  two  large  black 
bears  had  recently  been  seen  in  the  hills 
directly  behind  the  village,  and  suggested 
that  we  go  back  a  few  miles  on  the  chance 
of  running  across  one.  We  accordingly  set 
out  with  a  "gam  wallah"  or  local  guide, 
who  led  us  up  into  the  hills  and  placed  us  at 
the  foot  of  a  long  slope  covered  with  low 
furze  bush,  where  we  crouched  for  a  couple 
of  hours.  Toward  dark  my  eye  was 
caught  by  a  large  object  moving  across 
the  open  hilltop  some  three  hundred  yards 
from  our  position.  Its  apparently  enor- 
mous size  made  me  think  at  first  that  it 
must  be  a  stray  bullock  and  the  fact  that 
the  shikaris,  usually  so  quick  to  sight  game, 
remained  motionless  almost  kept  me  from 
calling  attention  to  it.  Yet  bullocks  are 
seldom  black,  and  there  was  that  about 
the  gait  of  this  animal  which  told  me  it 
was  something  quite  different.  I  touched 
Kadera  on  the  shoulder  and  pointed.  The 
result  was  startling;  Kadera  dropped  on 
his  stomach  as  if  shot,  while  the  gam  wallah 
did  the  same,  causing  me  to  realize  that  the 
fast-disappearing  object  above  us  was  one 
of  the  largest  black  bears  I  probably  should 
ever  have  the  fortune  to  run  across.  As  we 
were  about  to  stalk,  a  peasant  came  toward 
us  in  hot  haste  from  the  opposite  direction 
and  explained  in  some  excitement  that  a 
bullock  had  been  killed  within  the  hour,  not 
far  from  where  we  were,  and  that  a  bear  was 
still  at  the  carcass.  As  it  was  now  much 
too  dark  to  stalk  the  other  successfully,  we 
quickly  shed  all  unnecessary  garments  and 
prepared  to  follow  our  new  guide  through  a 
terrible  tangle  of  underbrush.  We  were 
on  our  hands  and  knees  most  of  the  way 
and  as  we  came  toward  the  spot  indicated 
by  the  peasant,  our  efforts  to  move  silently 
were  trying  in  the  extreme.  By  the  time 
we  reached  it  the  moon  was  shining 
through  the  undergrowth,  making  every 
stump  exhibit  such  remarkably  bear-like 
characteristics  that  more  than  one  of  them 
was  in  imminent  danger  of  being  shot. 

The  bear,  however,  must  have  heard  our 
approach,  for  he  was  not  with  the  body  of 
the  bullock,  nor  did  he  venture  back  to 
reward  our  long  night's  silent  vigil. 

Unfortunately  there  were  no  nullahs 
about  here  small  enough  to  beat,  and  since 


Kadera  assured  me  that  at  the  head  of  the 
valley  we  should  find  several  bears  for 
every  one  we  gave  up  here,  I  agreed  on  the 
following  morning  to  start  along. 

The  country  through  which  we  passed  on 
this  ride  showed  Kashmir  at  her  loveliest 
and  best.  One  felt  as  if  one  were  continu- 
ously crossing  the  well-kept  grounds  of  a 
huge  private  estate  and  any  moment 
would  come  on  the  towers  and  chimneys  of 
some  lordly  mansion.  There  was  no  road : 
one  passed  over  the  greenest  grass,  smooth 
and  fresh  as  any  lawn,  extending  as  far  as 
one  could  see,  except  where  groves  of  wide 
spreading  chenar  trees  cast  their  shade  like 
oaks  on  a  country  park.  Roses,  not  our 
wild  ones,  but  such  roses  as  at  home  are 
brought  to  flower  only  under  hothouse 
panes,  and  wild  flowers  of  all  colors  and 
species,  grew  along  our  way  and  filled  the 
air  with  fragrance.  In  the  midst  of  such 
surroundings,  to  come  suddenly  upon  the 
dirty  little  hovels  of  a  native  village,  with 
the  fresh  lawn  extending  to  its  very  door 
and  the  chenar  trees  growing  around, 
seemed  indeed  incongruous. 

The  beaters  arrived  at  camp  the  follow- 
ing morning.  They  began  to  come  in  twos 
and  threes,  then  in  fives  and  sixes,  and 
finally  in  dozens,  so  that  by  the  time  break- 
fast was  over,  the  entire  male  population  of 
some  three  villages  were  grouped  about  my 
tent.  With  the  help  of  the  shikaris,  fifty  of 
these  were  selected  and  each  given  a  slip 
of  paper  bearing  my  signature,  for  when 
they  came  for  their  wages  at  the  end  of  the 
day,  I  did  not  wish  the  friends  and  rela- 
tives of  the  beaters  as  well  as  the  beaters 
themselves  turning  up  for  payment. 

The  din  these  fifty  souls  succeed  in  mak- 
ing as  they  move  in  a  long  line  up  the  base 
and  two  sides  of  a  wooded  nullah  shrieking, 
howling,  cat-calling,  setting  off  fire  crackers 
and  beating  tum-tums,  is  enough  to  drive 
any  self-respecting  bear  out  of  his  seven 
senses.  An  army  of  battle-shouting  der- 
vishes could  hardly  create  a  greater  amount 
of  uproar,  nor  is  it  at  all  surprising  that  the 
bear  should  find  a  pressing  engagement 
elsewhere  at  the  earliest  possible  moment 
after  finding  his  nullah  thus  rudely  in- 
vaded. If  he  turns  down  the  nullah,  he 
encounters  the  invading  army;  if  he  tries 
to  escape  by  the  sides,  he  is  met  and  driven 
back  by  beaters  already  posted.  There- 
fore he  does  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 


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Black  Bear  Honking  in  the  Valley  of  Kashmir      521 


world  by  fleeing  up  the  center  of  the  nullah, 
directly  away  from  the  oncoming  din.  At 
the  top  of  the  cleft  stands  the  sportsman. 
The  undergrowth  probably  prevents  the 
sportsman's  seeing  the  bear  or  the  bear 
seeing  him  until  they  actually  meet. 

1  regret  to  say,  in  spite  of  Kadera's  asser- 
tion that  bears  would  be  so  thick  in  this 
country  as  practically  to  necessitate  our 
looking  carefully  where  we  walked  lest  we 
stumble  over  them,  it  was  not  until  after 
we  had  unsuccessfully  honked  nine  sepa- 
rate nullahs,  and  I  was  beginning  to  think 
bear  beating  a  snare  and  a  delusion,  that 
our  first  sport  came. 

The  bear  appeared  on  the  scene  of  action 
so  suddenly  as  to  completely  take  my 
breath  away.  The  beaters  ha4  been  mov- 
ing listlessly  up  a  cleft,  thickly  wooded  both 
with  trees  and  undergrowth;  this  was  to  be 
the  last  honk  of  the  day  and  two  days  un- 
successful searching  had  so  plainly  reacted 
on  the  spirits  of  the  men  as  to  change  the 
dervish  battle-shout  into  the  mournful 
muttering  of  an  Arab  funeral  procession. 
The  line  of  beaters  had  almost  reached  me, 
my  shikari  with  a  last  disgusted  look  had 
turned  to  go,  when,  all  at  once,  the  beaters 
who  had  been  posted  on  the  side  of  the 
nullah  above  where  I  was  standing,  set  up  a 
tremendous  shouting,  "  Bhalu,  Sahib,  bhalu 
hai!" — "Bear,  Sahib,  bear  coming!" 

Now  it  is  one  thing  to  have  a  bear  driven 
up  to  you  from  below,  with  plenty  of  warn- 
ing that  he  is  coming  and  time  to  choose  an 
advantageous  spot  from  which  to  shoot. 
It  is  quite  another  to  find  suddenly  that  the 
bear  has  somehow  got  above  you,  is  being 
driven  directly  down  upon  you  with  all  the 
impetus  a  steep  hillside  gives,  and  with  the 
undergrowth  extending  to  your  very  feet. 
I  had  barely  time  to  wheel  around  when  the 
bear  came  down  the  hillside  aimed  directly 
at  the  little  clearing  in  which  I  was 
standing.  A  moment's  glimpse  of  his  back 
in  the  jungle  did  not  afford  me  time  to 
shoot.  He  disappeared  into  the  under- 
growth, but  was  still  coming  toward  me  as 
I  could  tell  by  the  short  yelps  of  excitement 
which  he  uttered,  like  a  frightened  dog,  as 
the  beaters  closed  in.  Immediately  as  he 
emerged  from  the  bushes  he  was  met  by 
both  barrels  of  my  .450  cordite-powder  ex- 
press, which,  aimed  and  fired  so  suddenly 
from  my  hip  at  close  range  of  less  than  two 
yards,  seems  to  have  missed  him  altogether. 


though  the  report  turned  and  sent  him 
lumbering  down  on  the  beaters  below. 

As  the  natives  closed  in,  the  bear  went 
frantically  around  in  a  circle  trying  to 
break  through  the  line.  I  ran  down  to  the 
foot  of  the  hillside  where  an  occasional 
view  of  his  back  in  the  underbrush  showed 
me'that  he  had  not  escaped,  though  I  dared 
not  fire  lest  I  should  hit  a  beater.  The 
fifty  coolies  were  yelling  like  so  many 
demons,  the  shikaris  were  out  of  their  heads 
with  excitement,  and  the  bear,  who  was 
doubtless  the  most  excited  of  all,  continued 
his  circular  course  inside  the  line  of  beaters 
as  regularly  as  a  planet  on  its  usual  orb. 

1  was  now  afraid  that  unless  I  stopped 
him  he  might  escape  through  the  line,  and 
working  up  a  little  nearer  fired  several 
shots  as  he  appeared  from  time  to  time, 
each  of  which  I  afterward  found  took  effect. 
The  bear  was  now  thoroughly  maddened 
and  suddenly  changing  his  course,  came 
lumbering  down  the  nullah  directly  toward 
me.  The  shikaris  shouted  to  look  out 
while  the  beaters  doubled  their  cries  and 
added  to  the  confusion  and  my  fear  of 
shooting  wild,  by  following  the  animal 
down  hill.  The  thick  underbrush  annoyed 
me  greatly,  for  though  I  could  catch  an 
occasional  glimpse  of  his  back,  it  was  al- 
most impossible  when  I  saw  him  to  fire 
quickly  enough,  and  I  knew  that  in  a  mo- 
ment he  would  be  on  me.  He  was  within 
four  yards  when  a  final  shot  brought  him 
rolling  almost  to  my  feet,  quite  dead. 

My  faith  in  the  .450  express  was  distinctly 
diminished  when  eleven  holes  were  found 
in  his  skin.  He  was  shot  through  and 
through,  five  shots  at  least  having  passed 
completely  through  and  out  of  his  body. 
The  last,  which  finished  him,  had  struck  the 
shoulder  fair.     A  bear  certainly  is  game. 

We  had  a  triumphal  procession  on  the 
way  back  to  camp:  first  the  two  tum-tums, 
banging  away  like  a  regimental  drum 
corps;  secondly  the  bear,  slung  on  a  pole 
supported  on  the  backs  of  two  coolies; 
thirdly  the  sportsman,  trying  modestly  to 
suppress  an  irrepressible  grin;  fourthly  the 
shikaris,  and  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  the 
fifty  honkers,  all  discussing  the  event  like 
so  many  crows.  As  we  passed  through  the 
village  of  Kaipora,  the  women  and  children 
— we  had  exhausted  the  place  of  men — 
turned  out  en  masse  to  see  the  bear,  and  the 
occasion  was  all  that  could  be  desired. 


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RUNNING   THE   RIPS 


BY   THOMAS   FLEMING   DAY 


DRAWINGS    BY   WARREN    SHEPARD 


CAN  remember  when 
one  night  lying  to  the 
southward  of  the  Vine- 
yard some  forty  miles, 
it  fell  calm  and  left 
us  rolling  about  until, 
growing  disgusted  with 
the  slatting  of  the  cloth  and  the  clattering 
of  the  sheet-blocks,  I  lowered  everything 
and  tied  all  fast.  Then,  rousing  out  my 
mate,  who  had  turned  in  after  supper, 
I  went  below  to  sleep.  At  half -past  three, 
just  as  dawn  was*showing,  the  watch  came 
below  and  woke  me. 

"It  looks  dirty,"  he  said,  "and  the  glass 
is  falling  rapidly." 
"Any  wind?"  I  asked. 
"Light  air,  'bout  south;    we  are  just 
moving  with  it.     What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

Having  turned  in  all  standing,  that  is, 
with  everything  on  except  my  hat,  I  was 
quickly  on  deck.  Rubbing  the  gravy  out 
of  my  eyes,  I  cast  a  squint  around  the  circle. 
The  mate  was  right;  it  did  look  dirty.  The 
whole  horizon  from  northeast  clear  round 
to  northwest  was  stuffed  full  of  muddy- 
gray,  greasy-looking  vapors,  over  the 
ruffled  heads  of  which  the  faint  light  of 
dawn  was  shivering  up.  The  sea  was  gray, 
oily  and  moving  uneasily,  the  swell  pushing 
in,  not  rolling.  This  movement  is  the  sure 
sign  of  a  coming  and  not  of  a  passing  gale. 
Distinctly  heard,  and  yet  unheard,  unde- 
finable,  unlocateable,  yet  unquestionably 
existing,  was  that  ghostly  sound,  the  sea- 
wam,  the  moan  of  the  gale-dreading 
waters.  It  is  a  sound  that  once  heard  is 
never  forgotten.  They  say  men  hear  the 
same  in  the  great  deserts.  It  is  the  ex- 
pression of  disturbed  vastness;  perhaps  the 
faint  echo  of  that  ghostly  cry  which  haunts 
**-"  hopeless  stretches  of  the  universe. 


One  glance  round  the  horizon  was 
enough.  It  was  going  to  blow;  already 
the  clouds  were  spitting  a  scattering  of  fine 
drops,  and  the  wind  was  cat's-pawing  in 
irregular  streaks.  There  was  no  percepti- 
ble movement  to  the  higher  clouds,  but  it 
could  be  seen  the  mass  was  growing  from 
below,  and  that  it  would  soon  fill  the  whole 
vault.  Forty  miles  from  port,  eight  hours 
with  a  good  breeze,  with  all  she  could  carry, 
say  six  hours.  The  gale  would  come  in 
gradually  and  be  a  laster,  probably  thirty- 
six  hours  before  its  back  was  broken. 
Would  it  pay  to  lay-to  and  ride  it  out,  or 
run  for  port?    Question,  how  is  the  tide? 

But  why  the  tide,  you  will  ask.  What 
has  that  to  do  with  it?  Listen.  In  order 
to  get  shelter  we  had  to  pass  between  the 
islands  through  comparatively  narrow  fair- 
ways, having  to  run  past  Gay  Head  and 
into  Vineyard  Sound,  or  through  Muske- 
get  Channel  and  into  Nantucket  Sound. 
Through  these  passages  the  tide  runs  with 
a  high  velocity,  especially  when  ebbing. 
If  when  rushing  out  it  meets  the  wind  and 
swell  coming  in,  charging  against  it,  it 
makes  up  a  high  and  confused  sea  or  rip, 
impassable  at  times  for  a  small  boat.  If 
you  have  ever  been  in  a  rip.  it  is  unneces- 
sary for  me  to  say  more;  if  you  haven't, 
make  for  yourself  a  mental  picture  out  of 
the  expression,  a  "hell  of  water."  But 
more  of  this  anon. 

It  was  now  close  on  four  o'clock;  the  tide 
made  ebb  at  one  hour  and  thirty-four 
minutes  p.m.  at  Cross  Rip  Light  vessel,  so 
allowing  for  difference  of  distance  it  would 
change  in  the  channel  mouth  at  one. 
Therefore,  if  we  could  get  there  at  or  before 
one,  we  would  have  comparatively  smooth 
water,  nothing  worse  than  the  natural 
nastiness  of  the  sea  going  in  over  shoaling 
stretches;  but  if  delayed  and  caught  by  the 


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ebb,  well,  I  hated  to  think  of  it.  With  a 
gale  behind,  there  would  be  no  turning 
back;  it  would  be  either  the  channel  or  the 
beach — a  throw  with  death  either  place. 
But  no  danger,  no  fun,  so  head  her  north 
a  half  east,  my  boy,  while  I  go  below  and 
get  some  breakfast  ready  before  it  begins 
to  blow.  Breakfast  eaten,  the  next  move 
is  to  make  all  snug  below.  Everything 
that  can  possibly  get  adrift  is  lashed  or 
wedged,  so  as  to  stay  put  no  matter  how 
she  cuts  up;  then  the  bilge  is  dried  out  to 
keep  the  water  from  splashing  about,  and 
the  ports  looked  to  and  locked  fast.  This 
done,  all  hands  on  deck.  The  wind  is  now 
blowing  a  fresh  breeze  and  the  sea  rising. 
The  mate  is  standing  with  one  eye  on  the 
card  and  the  other  on  his  mainsail,  helming 
her  carefully,  with  everything  drawing  ex- 
cept the  jib,  which  only  gets  a  draught 
when  she  yaws  and  rolls.  His  slicker  and 
sou'wester  are  shining  with  wet,  and  a 
stream  of  drops  runs  off  his  sleeves  and 
trickles  from  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  his 
tiller  hand  to  the  floor  of  the  cockpit. 

"If  I  could  hold  her  up  another  point, 
she'd  do  better,"  he  says,  taking  his  eye  off 
the  compass  for  a  quick  glance  at  the  sail. 
"The  wind  is  right  on  the  end  of  the  main 
boom." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"South  by  east,  and  seems  to  e  easting 
slowly." 

"Well,  let  her  come  up.  How's  the 
sheet?" 

"Might  get  a  little  aft,  she'll  steer 
easier." 

"How's  that?" 

"All  right." 

"1  think  I'd  better  stick  a  reef  in  the 
mizzen  in  case  we  need  it;  not  doing  much 
good  now,  and  by  and  by  if  it  keeps  on 
breezing,  we'll  reef  the  main." 

The  mate  nods  his  assent  to  the  plan,  and 
with  a  steady  eye  ahead  keeps  working  his 
helm  up  and  down  as  she  ascends  and 
shoots  the  following  seas. 

Now  if  you  have  never  reefed  a  mizzen 
or  jigger,  as  we  generally  call  it,  on  a  small 
boat  running  off  under  a  press  of  sail  in  a 
seaway,  you  have  never  done  an  acrobatic 
stunt  that  knocks  out  the  most  thrilling 
feats  of  the  arena.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  lay- 
ing out  on  the  headspar  to  shift  a  jib,  be- 
cause the  wet  is  left  out,  and  therefore  it  is 
a  job  not  so  detested  by  seamen.     Working 


on  the  bowsprit  is  most  dreaded  of  all  sea 
jobs.  More  men  lose  their  lives  off  that 
spar  than  from  all  other  parts  of  the  ship 
together.  Driving  along  she  takes  a 
plunge  into  it,  at  the  same  time  the  heavy 
foot  of  the  sail  bangs  across,  knocking  off 
your  hold,  and  overboard  you  go,  to  be 
swept  under  and  trodden  upon  by  the  swift 
rushing  forefoot.  A  dark  night  on  a  jib- 
boom,  with  a  half-muzzled  sail  storming 
about,  and  the  spar  end  pitching,  bucking, 
and  forking  the  brine  at  every  plunge — 
there  may  be  nastier  places;  if  so,  they 
have  never  crossed  my  hawse.  A  yacht's 
bowsprit  is  worse  than  a  merchantman's, 
because  it  has  little  or  no  steeve,  conse- 
quently it  dives  oftener,  goes  deeper,  and 
stays  under  longer.  All  seagoing  yachts 
with  head  spars  over  six  feet  outboard 
should  have  them  made  so  as  to  reef.  A 
reefing  bowsprit  is  one  made  to  haul  in  and 
out.  On  the  lee  side  of  the  western  ocean, 
where  they  have  heavier  water  than  we  do, 
most  of  their  boats  are  rigged  in  this  way. 
But  the  modem  practice  on  all  classes  of 
sailing  vessels  is  to  so  arrange  the  sail  as  to 
curtail  the  bowsprit,  and  on  many  yachts 
the  whole  head-rig  is  abaft  the  stem  head. 
One  thing  you  have  to  learn  before  you 
can  write  sailor  after  your  name,  and  that  is 
to  master  a  sail.  Brute  force  is  of  no  ac- 
.  count.  To  use  brute  force  with  a  sail  is  like 
employing  it  to  capture  an  elephant  or  run 
down  an  untamed  steed.  Mastering  a  sail 
is  a  game  of  strategy,  fineness,  diplomacy, 
flattery,  persuasion,  and  perseverance,  With 
fierce  energy  flashed  in  at  the  right  instant. 
You  must  know  your  sail.  Sails  are  not  all 
alike.  What  will  work  with  a  jib  will  fail 
if  applied  to  a  mainsail  or  topsail.  When 
once  a  man  has  become  skilled  at  this  game 
he  can  do  more  at  it  than  three  lubbers. 
I've  seen  three  men  tackle  a  jib  and  come 
back  on  the  head  baffled  and  beaten  after  a 
fifteen  minute  fight,  and  then  a  fellow  not  a 
quarter  their  combined  weight  go  out  and 
conquer  the  sail,  binding  it  captive  in  ten 
minutes.  A  sail  master  has  five  hands — 
two  on  his  arms,  two  on  his  legs,  and  his 
teeth.  Besides,  he  has  knees,  his  elbows, 
the  grip  of  his  thighs,  his  neck,  and  his 
whole  body.  He  must  be  an  octopus,  a 
boa-constrictor,  and  a  monkey,  combining 
with  their  qualities  the  patience  of  an  ox, 
the  quickness  of  a  tiger,  and  the  subtlety 
of  a  fox. 


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Sometimes  a  sail  is  only  playful,  and 
willful  at  the  worst,  and  after  a  slight  show 
of  resistance  will  succumb  to  your  arts,  but 
at  times  they  get  malignant  and  cruel. 
They  will  fight  you  fiercely,  hitting  back 
viciously,  spitefully  battling  for  every  inch, 
taking  most  treacherous  advantage  of  any 
relapse  of  alertness  or  looseness  of  clutch. 
When  a  canvas  has  got  that  devil  in  it,  look 
out  for  yourself.  That  is  when  it  fights  to 
kill.  That  is  when  it  hurls  men  off  yard 
and  boom  to  their  death.     At  times  you 


This,  except  for  the  unsteadiness  of  the 
hull  is  comparatively  an  easy  job.  To  be 
sure  she  throws  her  tail  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  but  with  the  sheet  fast  and  a 
good  leglock  you  can  use  both  hands.  But 
first  slip  off  your  long  oil  coat.  You  will 
work  twice  as  quickly  without  it.  Oilers 
and  seaboots  are  fine  things,  but  out  of  ten 
men  lost  at  sea,  they  drown  seven.  You 
might  better  go  over  with  a  millstone  round 
your  neck  than  a  pair  of  seaboots  on  your 
feet.     A  fisherman  isn't  happy  out  of  his 


Cape  Cod  Fishermen  off  Highland  Light — Twilight. 


Drawing  by  Warren  Shepoird. 


can  only  conquer  after  a  steady  and  well- 
generaled  fight.  At  other  times  a  bit  of 
trickery  will  succeed.  1  have  cursed  a  sail 
and  turned  away  pretendingly  beaten,  when, 
thrown  for  a  moment  off  guard  by  my  ap- 
paren  t  carelessness,  i  t  has  opened  its  defense. 
A  tiger  spring,  a  turn  of  rope,  and  the 
victory  is  won.  But  1  tell  you  it  makes  a 
man  of  you,  a  fight  to  the  finish  with  a  sail. 
Every  nerve  tingling,  every  vein  flushed 
with  blood,  you  take  the  last  turn,  and  with 
a  "damn  you,  you're  fast  now,"  go  aft  and 
report  all  snug.     But  to  reef  the  mizzen. 


seaboots,  and  they  take  him  to  Davy  Jones. 
But  what's  the  odds,  there  are  more  boots 
and  more  men.  I  never  wear  boots  in  bad 
weather  on  a  small  vessel. 

Having  reefed  the  mizzen  I  pulled  on 
my  coat  and  relieved  the  mate  at  the  helm. 

"North,"  he  says,  as  he  hands  over  the 
stick,  and  turns  to  go  below,  shaking  off 
his  sou'wester  before  opening  the  slide. 
Soon  through  the  half-drawn  door  I  see 
him  peering  over  the  chart.  "What's  she 
doing?"  he  asks. 

I   glance  over  the  side,   watering  th& 

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flakes  of  foam  swirl  by.  "About  six/'  1 
call  back. 

"That  gives  her  fifteen,  and  it's  nine 
o'clock;  twenty-five  more  to  do  in  four 
hours;  six  and  a  quarter,  she  ought  to  do 
that." 

"I  should  think  so,"  I  reply.  "How 
does  this  course  bring  her?" 

"'Bout  half  a  mile  west  of  the  point  of 
Tuckeruuck.  The  flood  ought  tb  carry  us 
up  enough." 

"Well,  if  it  don't,  the  leeway  will.     Let 


inches  thick,  what  will  happen?  Why, 
when  the  six  inches  of  water  gets  to  the 
stone,  it  can  pass  only  the  upper  three  inches, 
but  the  lower  three  can't  stop,  so  they 
crowd  up  and  force  the  upper  layer  over 
the  stone,  making  a  wave  or  ripple.  That 
is  what  a  rip  is.  The  tide  running  out 
thirty  feet  deep  meets  a  ten-foot  shoal, 
and  the  twenty  feet  of  water  is  obliged  to 
crowd  up  and  over.  If  the  sea  be  calm, 
this  movement  simply  forms  three  waves. 
These  waves  are  not  like  ordir/ary  waves. 


Monomy  Point — A  welcome  sight  to  the  mariQer. 


Drawing  by  Warren  Shepard. 


US  hope  we  get  a  sight  of  something  before 
too  close  in." 

"Hope  so;  I'm  going  to  lie  down.  Call 
me  if  you  want  anything,"  and  the  mate 
takes  to  his  bunk. 

Now  while  we  are  hurrying  inshore,  rac- 
ing with  the  tide  for  a  safe  passage  over  the 
shoals,  let  me  explain  to  you  what  a  rip  is. 

If,  let  us  say,  six  inches  of  water  is 
flowing  through  a  sluice,  and  the  bottom 
of  the  sluice  is  perfectly  level,  it  will 
stream  through  with  a  smooth  surface,  but 
if  you  drop  in  the  sluice  a  flat  stone  three 


progressive.  They  remain  in  the  same 
place,  their  bases  moving  with  the  tide  and 
their  heads  against  it,  consequently  they 
stand  still,  uplifting  on  their  hind  legs  and 
pawing  the  air  like  savage  horses.  At 
such  times  they  are  harmless.  You  see 
the  same  waves  in  rivers,  where  they  are 
called  rapids.  Another  form  of  rip  is 
made  by  two  currents  meeting  or  crossing, 
or  by  rough  water  coming  against  calm. 
This  latter  form  is  frequently  seen  on  the 
leeward  side  of  high  islands,  especially 
those  lying  in  the  track  of  the  trade  winds. 

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The  border  of  the  calm  space  is  fringed 
with  breakers,  into  which  a  ship  plunges 
and  dives,  at  the  same  time  losing  the 
wind,  and  is  knocked  about  helpless  until 
she  drifts  clear.  Another  form  of  rip  is 
found  at  the  mouths  of  rivers,  where  the 
outpouring  fresh  water  meets  and  breasts 
the  salt  flood. 

When  the  sea  is  calm,  these  rips  are  dis- 
agreeable but  harmless,  but  let  the  wind 
blow,  and  a  sea  or  swell  make  and  they  be- 
come, next  to  breakers,  the  most  fearful 
thing  a  small  boat  can  face.  If  the  tide  is 
going  with  the  wind  and  swell  the  rip  is 
rough  but  not  dangerous,  but  let  those 
forces  be  arrayed  against  it  and  all  hell  is 
afling  in  its  fury.  The  swell  rolls  in  and, 
crowding  over  the  shoal,  is  brought  to  a 
standstill  by  the  tide's  rush.  Maddened  by 
this  check  it  rears  up  and  throws  its  length 
into  the  air,  then  topples  and  thunders  into 
a  host  of  broken,  leaping,  pyramid-shaped 
masses,  huriing  their  forms  against  each 
other.  No  words  can  picture  the  result — 
a  hissing,  roaring,  leaping,  tumbling,  boil- 
ing, swirling  acre  of  liquid  madness. 

To  a  steam  vessel  these  rips  are  not  so 
dangerous,  as  she  can  be  driven  through 
them,  and  as  they  are  never  wide,  the 
ordeal  is  soon  over;  but  a  sailing  vessel  is 
often  forced  to  remain  in  their  clutches 
until  a  happy  chance  delivers  her.  The 
motion  is  so  violent  and  directless  that 
the  wind  is  completely  shaken  out  of  the 
canvas,  and  losing  way  she  is  held  by  the 
tide,  or,  worse  still,  driven  stem  foremost 
against  the  inrushing  swell.  If  a  small 
vessel  is  caught  in  this  way,  unless  she  is 
decked  in  she  is  likely  to  be  swamped  and 
sunk.  No  open  boat  has  any  business  in 
the  rips,  except  in  light  weather. 

While  there  are  lots  of  stories  knocking 
round  of  boats  having  been  lost  in  these 
rips,  I  never  could  nail  one  of  them  to  the 
doorpost  of  the  man  who  saw  or  suffered  it. 
I've  been  into  them  myself,  in  all  kinds  of 
summer  weather,  going  in  purposely  to  see 
what  they  would  do,  and  only  once  did  I, 
with  the  exception  of  this  time,  come  near 
a  catastrophe.  One  time  the  boat  was 
badly  pooped,  the  rip  falling  on  her  stem 
and  sweeping  clear  over  from  end  to  end. 
If  she  had  been  an  undecked  boat  she 
would  have  surely  sunk. 

The  "rubes"  who  navigate  around  the 
islands,  fishing  and  sailing  parties,  have  a 


wholesome  fear  of  these  rips,  and  if  they 
can  possibly  help  will  never  go  near  one  in 
bad  weather.  For  this  you  can't  blame 
them,  their  craft  are  not  suitable  for  the 
performance,  being  shoal-draught,  broad 
centerboard  cats,  with  an  open  cockpit 
that  takes  up  the  after  half  of  the  boat. 
If  they  once  shipped  a  sea  and  filled  the 
pit,  they  would  go  down  like  a  shell-loaded 
oysterman. 

At  ten  I  called  the  crew  and  ordered 
the  mainsail  reefed,  as  it  was  blowing 
harder  and  harder,  and  when  the  job  was 
done  passed  over  the  helm  to  the  mate  and 
went  below  to  prepare  a  meal.  By  eleven 
this  was  ready,  consisting  of  soup,  bread 
and  butter,  and  hot  cocoa. 

This*  being  securely  stowed  away,  the 
fire  was  put  out,  the  pipe  removed,  the  lid 
screwed  on  and  everything  battened  down 
and  locked  fast.  The  next  thing  was  to 
ascertain  as  near  as  possible  our  position. 
The  wind  at  this  time  had  hauled  south- 
east, and  we  were  running  on  a  north  by 
east  course. 

At  1 1 :  30  we  slowed  up  for  a  sounding.  I 
didn't  care  to  round  her  up  to  the  wind, 
as  the  sea  was  running  nasty,  so  the  mizzen 
being  furled  kept  her  about  two-thirds  off 
and  spilled  the  mainsail.  The  mate  hove 
the  lead.  The  lead  is  a  chunk  of  that 
metal  weighing  ten  pounds,  made  fast  to 
the  end  of  a  line  on  which  six  feet  or 
fathom  lengths  are  marked.  You  cast  it 
by  throwing  it  ahead  as  far  as  possible,  and 
then  the  line  runs  through  your  hand. 
When  the  weight  hits  bottom,  the  line 
stops  and  slacks.  If  it  hits  directly  under 
where  you  stand,  you  get  what  sailors  call 
an  up-and-down  or  proper  cast.  When  all 
is  ready  I  shout:  "Let  her  go,  my  boy!" 

The  mate  gives  the  chunk  a  couple  of 
swings  around  his  head  and  lets  go.  Too 
much  way  on,  and  the  boat  moves  over  the 
spot  before  the  lead  gets  to  bottom. 

"No  bottom!"  says  the  mate,  hauling  in. 
I  slack  off  more  sheet  and  check  her  all  I 
dare.  Away  goes  the  lead  again.  This 
time  he  gets  a  feel. 

"All  right!"  he  sings  out,  hauling  in, 
and  at  last,  almost  breathless,  announces, 
"twenty-one  fathoms." 

"Now  jump  below,"  I  say,  "and  see 
where  that  puts  us." 

While  the  mate  is  going  over  the  chart 
let  me  explain  to  you  what  a  sounding  is. 


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and  how  it  gives  you  your  position.  Let  us 
suppose  that  we  have  a  pond  shaped 
exactly  hke  a  wash  hand-basin,  that  is 
deepest  in  the  middle  and  gradually  sloping 
up  at  the  sides.  Now  if  we  start  from  the 
edge  and  sail  toward  the  middle,  we  shall 
find  the  water  deepens  as  we  go  out.  At 
say  200  feet  from  the  edge  it  is  five  feet 
deep,  at  300  feet  ten  feet,  and  so  on.  The 
ocean  is  built  on  a  plan  similar  to  this  sup- 
posed pond,  its  bottom  sloping  off  gradu- 
ally, the  water  getting  deeper  as  you  go 
out,  until  you  get  to  what  is  called  "off 
soundings."  But,  unlike  this  supposed 
pond,  the  slope  is  not  regular,  being  some- 
times ridged  and  other  times  full  of  holes 
more  or  less  deep.  All  these  depths  of 
water  are  marked  in  on  a  chart,  which  is  a 
map  of  the  sea  bed.  Let  us  suppose  at  a 
particular  place  the  sea  at  five  miles  from 
the  shore  is  ten  fathoms  deep,  at  ten  miles 
twenty,  and  at  twenty  miles  forty.  These 
distances  are  marked  on  the  chart  by 
drawing  a  line  through  all  the  ten-fathom 
places,  and  this  line  is  known  as  the  ten- 
fathom  curve.  Inside  it,  and  nearer  to  the 
land,  the  water  is  less  than  sixty  feet  deep; 
outside,  it  is  more  than  sixty  feet  deep. 
Consequently,  if  I  take  a  cast  of  the  lead 
and  find  that  there  is  only  nine  fathoms, 
fifty-four  feet,  at  the  spot,  I  know  my 
vessel  is  less  than  five  miles  from  the  land. 
Taking  the  chart,  I  look  at  it  at  a  place 
about  five  miles  from  shore  and  find  a  spot 
marked  nine  fathoms,  but  there  are  several 
places  marked  with  the  same  number,  and 
my  boat  may  be  over  any  one  of  them. 
But  close  to  the  nine  fathoms  and  in  the 
direction  I  am  sailing  is  a  spot  marked  six, 
so  when  the  boat  has  sailed  far  enough  I 
take  a  second  cast  and  get  six  fathoms. 
By  this  second  cast  I  know  where  my  boat 
is,  or  her  position,  as  we  say  at  sea,  the 
second  cast  confirming  the  first. 

After  a  close  inspection  the  mate  sings 
out:  "Right  on  the  course  fifteen  miles 
from  Skiff  Island.  There's  several  twenty- 
ones  together  right  here;  three  miles  north 
is  a  nineteen." 

"Right  you  are;  come  on  deck;  we'll 
run  another  hour  and  then  try  again." 

Fifteen  miles  and  two  hours  to  do  it  in, 
is  cutting  things  pretty  close,  but  still  we 
were  undoubtedly  doing  six  through  the 
water,  and  would  have  the  last  of  the 
flood  tide.     We  might  be  a  half-hour  late, 


by  that  time  the  tide  would  not  be  ebbmg 
very  strong.  Anyhow  it  was  push  her,  so 
I  ordered  the  mizzen  set.  The  wind  was 
getting  vicious.  So  long  as  it  pushes  you 
with  its  fingers  or  shoves  you  with  its  fist 
it  is  all  right,  but  look  out  when  it  begins 
to  slap  with  the  flat  of  its  hand.  When  it 
hauls  back  and  lets  you  have  it  in  quick, 
vixen-like  slaps,  that  is  a  nasty  time,  and 
makes  the  helmsman  sweat  to  keep  his 
course.  The  sea  under  the  rushes  of  air 
was  beginning  to  act  dirty.  It  was  break- 
ing and  throwing  its  heads.  Altogether  I 
did  not  like  the  look  of  things. 

After  running  an  hour  I  tried  to  get 
another  cast,  but  the  sea  being  heavy  and 
dangerous  I  did  not  like  to  check  her,  so  we 
failed  to  get  a  sound,  but  from  the  drag 
estimated  it  to  be  about  seventeen  fathoms. 
If  this  was  so,  we  were  close  to  the  ten- 
fathom  curve,  which  runs  close  in  here 
about  fwe  miles  off  land.  Now  came  the 
anxious  time,  the  most  anxious  of  all  times 
to  a  man  in  charge  of  a  vessel — running 
in  on  a  lee  shore,  with  a  gale  of  wind  behind 
and  a  narrow  opening  to  make,  with  almost 
certain  disaster  if  he  misses  it.  If  we  could 
get  our  bearing  in  time  we  could  haul  up 
if  not  dead  on  the  channel;  but  if  we  saw 
the  land  late,  when  too  close  in  to  haul 
off,  the  jig  would  be  up.  I  had  hopes  from 
the  first  sound  confirming  our  supposed 
track  that  we  would  make  the  channel 
mouth  exactly,  but  the  next  thirty  minutes 
were  about  as  cruel  a  thirty  as  1  ever  spent. 

The  land  hereabouts  on  both  sides  of  the 
channel  is  low,  and  there  are  only  one  or 
two  buildings  that  show  above  it,  so  that 
in  good  weather  it  can  be  seen  not  more 
than  six  miles  off.  One  of  these  buildings 
is  an  abandoned  hotel  with  a  peculiar 
tower.  For  this  I  searched  diligently  and 
anxiously,  but  through  the  thickness 
nothing  could  be  seen.  Our  time  was 
running  out  fast,  and  we  were  driving 
rapidly  in.  At  ten  minutes  to  one  I  esti- 
mated her  to  be  about  three  miles  off  Skiff 
Island.  At  this  time  it  was  blowing  so 
hard  that  in  order  to  steer  we  dropped  the 
mizzen. 

At  one  o'clock,  much  to  our  disgust  and 
dread,  a  rain  squall  blew  in  and  hid  every- 
thing for  a  few  minutes;  then,  like  it  often 
does,  it  got  quite  clear  for  a  short  spell  in 
its  wake,  and  we  sighted  a  mass  of  breakers 
off  the  port  bow,  and  at  the  same  time  a 


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buoy.  A  cry  of  joy  broke  from  both  our 
lips  at  this  sight — the  outer  channel  buoy 
almost  dead  ahead.  I  felt  like  doing  a  jig. 
The  gale  and  sea  were  forgotten,  we  no 
longer  had  any  dread  of  them;  four  miles 
more  and  smooth  water. 

It  is  nonsense  to  say  that  men  do  not 
know  fear  when  placed  in  danger.  A  man 
absolutely  devoid  of  fear  never  existed, 
unless  he  was  an  idiot  or  insane.  Certainly 
no  person  with  a  normal  intellect  is  without 
fear.  When  a  man  tells  you  that  in  a 
situation  facing  bodily  harm  or  death  he 
felt  no  fear  he  lies.  Of  course  there  are 
times  when  a  man  is  close  to  death  and  does 
not  realize  it,  and  at  such  times  he  feels  no 
fear  because  he  has  no  dread. 

But  nothing  becomes  so  quickly  familiar 
as  danger.  The  horror  that  appalled  you 
Monday  you  will  nurse  in  your  lap  Tues- 
day. A  threatened  death  that  sent  chills 
along  your  spine  one  day  is  the  source  of 
jest  the  next.  That  is  a  thing  I  believe 
peculiar  to  our  race,  the  habit  of  jesting  in 
the  face  of  danger.  Like  the  Jacobite 
lords,  we  must  crack  a  joke  at  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold.  At  sea  to  grow  lachrymose 
over  danger  is  considered  a  gross  breach  of 
ocean  etiquette. 

One  day  we  got  becalmed  and  tide- 
bound  and  anchored  off  the  shore,  with  a 
stony  bar  between  us  and  the  beach.  At 
night,  suddenly,  a  heavy  northerly  wind 
broke  on  us.  The  chain  on  the  heavy 
anchor  snapped,  and  we  hung  to  about 
sixty  fathoms  of  good  hawser  and  our 
second  hook.  If  the  hawser  parted  we 
went  on  the  bar,  she  having  dragged  too 
close  for  any  chance  of  working  off.  One 
of  the  boys  on  board  I  could  see  was  sick  to 
faintness  with  fright,  so  to  pull  him  out  we 
began  joking  about  our  appearances  as  ob- 
jects of  interest  for  the  coroner.  The  next 
day  I  heard  him  telling  somebody  that  he 
thought  we  were  in  great  danger  until  he 
heard  us  guying  and  jollying  each  other. 
Well,  that  lad  that  night  was  about  as  near 
death  as  he  probably  will  ever  be  until  his 
watch  gets  the  call.  Nothing  but  three 
inches  of  good  manila  stood  between  him 
and  a  watery  grave. 


My  stock  subject  to  relieve  my  anxiety 
at  such  times  is  solicitude  for  my  spare 
pair  of  socks.  When  I  begin  to  worry  as 
to  their  situation  and  prospects  of  keeping 
dry,  you  may  know  I  am  anxious.  I  will 
go  anywhere  or  do  anything  if  assured  of  a 
pair  of  dry  socks  after  the  battle.  I  don't 
mind  being  drowned,  but  object  to  catching 
cold.  My  companion's  worry  this  day  was 
over  a  new  straw  hat  which  he  uninten- 
tionally brought  on  board,  and  which  had 
narrowly  escaped  several  shipwrecks.  As  we 
dashed  into  the  sea  at  the  mouth  of  the  chan- 
nel we  discussed  the  probable  condition  of 
the  hat  and  socks  after  we  had  run  the  rips. 

Over  Skiff  Island  the  sea  was  breaking 
heavily,  and  across  from  it  as  far  as  you 
could  see  toward  Nantucket  the  channel 
was  a  mass  of  seething  white  water.  I 
shall  never  forget  those  next  few  minutes. 
They  seemed  like  hours.  Lashed  fast  to  a 
cleat,  I  stood  at  the  helm,  but  it  was  nearly 
useless  in  my  hands.  The  movements  of 
the  boat  are  indescribable.  She  seemed 
to  leap  ten  different  directions  at  once. 
She  was  thrown,  pitched,  heeled,  reared, 
and  knocked  about.  The  water  came  in 
over  the  bow,  sides,  and  stem.  She  would 
start  to  rise  the  sea  ahead,  when  suddenly 
the  one  under  her  stern  pulled  out  and  she 
fell  ino  a  pit  of  lashing,  broken  heads  that 
buffeted  and  flooded  her.  The  drift  and 
spume  blew  over  and  thrashed  the  sails  and 
deck.  You  could  see  nothing.  Twice  she 
nearly  pitch-poled,  and  once  rolled  right 
down  so  the  mainsail  lay  on  the  seas. 
These  more  dangerous  moves  were  left 
impressed  on  my  mind,  but  the  rest  is  a 
turmoil,  the  one  principal  retention  being 
the  ceaseless  roar.  A  roar  without  varia- 
tion, a  toneless,  boundless  sound,  a  bath 
of  liquid  thunder.  It  haunted  the  alleys 
of  my  brain  for  days  after. 

What  a  blessed  release  when  she  pulled 
clear  and  drove  into  the  smooth.  We  both 
turned  and  looked  silently  back,  then  be- 
gan to  shake  ourselves  like  dogs  come  out 
of  the  sea.  1  saw  my  companion's  lips 
move  as  he  turned  from  contemplating  the 
hell  of  water  astern.  I  don't  know  what 
he  said,  but  I  said  "Thank  God!" 


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THE   BONDAGE   OF   THE   RIVER 

BY   L.   D.   SHERMAN 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


HIS  is  how  it  is:  some- 
times you  return  from 
a  camping  trip  in  a  more 
or  less  weary  and  fraz- 
zled-out  condition. 
Most  emphatically  you 
state: 
*'Vm  satisfied!  No 
more  for  me!  The  Lord  never  intended 
me  to  go  and  live  in  the  woods,  and  slave 
from  morning  till  the  next  morning  and 
repeat  it  every  day  of  the  trip.  Here's 
where  I  quit!" 

You  do  not  care  to  look  at  a  pack  strap 
or  a  canoe  for  a  long,  long  time.  Enough 
is — too  much.  You  rustle  around  and 
develop  the  films,  though,  just  to  see  if  the 
fellow  who  photographed  you  jumping  that 
six-foot  dam  squeezed  the  bulb  at  the  pre- 
conceived moment,  and  if  the  pictures 
made  on  the  day  you  spent  running  rapids 
-e  of  any  use. 


"There  was  a  day,  wasn't  it.  Bill?" 
"  You  bet ! "  returns  your  partner.  "  Re- 
member that  long  rapid  with  the  bow-knot 
at  the  finish?  I  was  too  tired  to  take  a 
deep  breath  after  that  one."  So  the  talk 
goes  on.  It  is  always  the  hard  knocks,  the 
trying  moments,  the  surmounted  difficul- 
ties that  linger  longest  in  your  memory, 
never  the  soft  spots.  The  oft-repeated 
tale  of  your  trip  gradually  evolves  into 
what  seems  like  a  hard-luck  story  to  some 
of  your  friends.  This  may  work  for  your 
disadvantage.  When  you  approach  them 
with  plans  for  a  canoe  trip  they  are  not  so 
free  to  commit  themselves. 

The  year  rolls  around,  and  each  day  takes 
with  it  a  little  of  your  fancied  dislike  for 
camp  life.  The  warm  spring  days  op^n 
your  ears  to  the  whisperings  of  the  red 
gods.  Louder  and  more  insistent  grow 
their  voices  until  one  morning  comes  the 
final  call.     You  throw  up  your  hands. 


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"Come  on!  where'Il  we  go?"  says  you. 

"The  Skipper*'  looked  at  me  doubtfully 
when  I  first  broached  the  subject. 

"  How  many  miles  a  day  do  you  intend 
to  travel?"  he  demanded.  "Is  this  a 
pleasure  trip  or  a  free-for-all  race?  I'm 
out  for  fun." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  the  fun,"  I  as- 
sured him.  "The  Pemigewasset  and  Mer- 
rimack make  about  a  ten  days'  trip.  We'll 
spend  it  all  in  the  upper  waters  if  you  say 
so — just  paddle  and  camp  where  we 
please." 

"I'll  go  you,"  he  returned.  "That 
ought  to  make  a  nice  trip  for  the  time  we 
have." 

It  rained  the  morning  we  started,  but 
gradually  cleared  as  we  traveled  north- 
ward up  the  valleys  of  the  Merrimack  and 
Pemigewasset  rivers.  At  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  we  left  the  train  at  North 
Woodstock,  and  by  the  appearance  of  the 
river  we  decided  that  we  had  come  far 
enough.  It  was  little  more  than  a  brook 
and  did  not  promise  much  for  canoeing. 
It  looked  so  much  like  a  storm  that  I 
hustled  up  to  the  village  for  supplies  while 
the  skipper  unpacked  the  canoe.  Before 
I  had  returned  it  began  raining  heavily. 
Everything  was  wet.  The  groceries  gradu- 
ally melted.  We  turned  the  canoe  over 
them  and  held  a  pow-wow.  Doubtless 
there  were  hotels  in  the  village,  but  hotels 
did  not  appeal  to  us.  We  had  intended  to 
make  a  start  and  camp  at  the  first  suitable 
spot.     The  outlook  was  not  encouraging. 

"I'll  take  a  run  across  this  railroad 
bridge."  said  I.  "It  doesn't  look  so  bad 
over  there  in  the  woods."     And  it  wasn't. 

We  made  our  first  portage  then  and 
there,  and  started  pitching  camp.  The 
tent  was  erected  to  save  as  dry  a  spot  as 
possible  to  sleep  on,  and  all  the  duffle, 
together  with  a  little  dry  wood,  was 
thrown  inside.  Then  we  hunted  out  some 
spruce,  and  cut  browse  for  a  bed. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  tent  we  drove 
some  stakes  slantingly  into  the  ground. 
Against  these  we  piled  logs,  one  upon  an- 
other. A  smaller  "fore-stick"  was  laid 
parallel  to  the  bottom  log.  In  this  trench 
we  built  a  rousing  fire.  It  reflected  into 
the  tent  and  thoroughly  dried  it  out. 

1 1  was  neariy  dark  by  now,  but  over  in  the 
west  a  red  streak  flamed  for  an  instant  in 
the  sky,  holding  forth  good  promise  for  the 


morrow.  It  soon  stopped  raining.  We 
changed  to  dry  clothes  and  hung  our  wet 
ones  in  front  of  the  fire.  We  cooked  and 
ate  supper.    Things  were  looking  up. 

The  skipper  searched  through  a  pocket 
and  drew  forth  two  long,  thin  cigars. 

"Here,"  I  said,  "whatever  else  this  may 
be,  it's  no  cigar  trip.  How  many  of  those 
'stogies'  have  you?" 

"These  two,"  he  answered  mournfully. 

"We'll  put  a  stop  to  this  right  here,"  I 
observed,  as  he  threw  me  one  of  them. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  with  the 
sun  and  made  all  preparations  possible  for 
a  long,  wet  day.  It  was  well  we  did.  We 
had  started  on  the  east  branch  and  for  a 
mile  or  so  it  averaged  about  six  inches  in 
depth.  Then  it  joined  with  the  Pemige- 
wasset proper  and  Moosilauke  Brook. 
Even  so,  we  had  plenty  of  wading — and 
such  wading!  There  is  a  paper  mill  a  few 
miles  up  the  east  branch  at  Lincoln.  They 
make  paper  pulp  by  the  "sulphite  pro- 
cess," which  means  that  the  wood  fiber 
is  separated  by  cooking  in  sulphurous  acid. 
The  waste  liquor  is  then  neutralized  and 
flows  into  the  river.  The  rocks — round 
as  billiard  balls  they  are — were  covered 
with  a  slimy  skin  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
thick,  as  slippery  as  any  grease  you  ever 
heard  of.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  do: 
wade  as  close  to  the  canoe  as  possible,  and 
when  we  slipped,  fall  into  it.  A  large 
sponge  is  of  value  under  these  conditions. 
We  had  thoughtfully  brought  one  with  us, 
and  it  was  most  useful  in  clearing  the  canoe 
of  the  water  which  we  constantly  took  in 
whenever  the  depth  was  sufficient  to  allow 
us  to  get  aboard  and  paddle. 

Just  below  here  was  an  immense  rocky 
ledge.  The  river  circled  in  beneath  it,  and 
narrowed  up  until  it  was  not  more  than  ten 
feet  wide  in  places.  It  had  enough  depth, 
however,  and  enough  fall  to  make  a  beau- 
tiful rapid.  We  looked  it  over,  and  de- 
termined to  photograph  ourselves  running 
through. 

The  camera  was  set  up  on  a  sandy  beach; 
the  case  being  filled  with  stones  and 
strapped  to  the  tripod,  to  hold  it  down. 
We  now  tied  a  stone  to  a  linen  thread  and 
threw  it  across  the  river.  Then  we  paddled 
over  to  fasten  it  in  some  way.  It  proved 
quite  a  task.  The  rock  dropped  sheer  to 
about  a  foot  above  the  stream,  and  then 
shelved  off  in  a  broad  apron  into  the  water. 

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It  was  necessary  to  walk  along  this  apron 
until  I  reached  a  certain  crack  in  the  face 
of  the  rock.  After  several  false  starts  and 
numerous  slips  I  made  it,  and  drove  a 
wedge  into  the  crack.  We  recrossed  the 
river  and  attached  the  other  end  of  the 
thread  to  the  shutter  in  such  a  way  that  it 
hung  suspended  about  a  foot  above  the 
surface  of  the  water.  When  we  came  down 
through  we  released  the  shutter  by  break- 
ing the  thread.     It  worked  finely. 

This  was  our  busy  day.  Just  below  here 
we  ran  on  to  some  log  jams.  Some  of 
them  we  worked  through  by  pushing  aside 
the  logs,  others  necessitated  dragging  or 
lifting  the  canoe  across.  Near  Woodstock 
we  found  a  dam,  beside  which  a  new 
paper  mill  was  being  erected.  The  dam 
was  built  with  a  long  apron  extending  from 
just  below  the  crest  to  the  surface  of  the 
water  beneath.  This  for  the  benefit  of 
future  log  drives.  We  roped  the  canoe 
down  the  apron  and  dragged  her  over  a 
shallow  pitch  of  water  below.  Then  we 
ran  into  our  first  dead  water.  Off  to  the 
right  we  heard  the  care-free  croak  of  an 
old  "jug-o'-rum." 

"Frogs'  legs  appeal  to  me,"  said  the 
skipper. 

I  fished  out  the  little  long-barreled  .22. 
We  paddled  quietly  into  the  weeds.  I 
stood  up,  aimed  and  pulled  the  trigger. 

The  skipper  laughed  at  me. 

"What's  the  trouble;  did  you  close  your 
eyes  and  trust  in  God  that  time?  There  he 
is  again,"  he  went  on,  "right  beside  that 
stub.  Raise  your  sights  this  time;  he's 
almost  ten  feet  away.  Don't  hurry;  he's  a 
quiet  old  boss.  Wait  a  minute,"  he  called, 
working  the  canoe  around  sideways.  "Now 
shoot,  and  if  you  don't  hit  him,  I'll  bat  him 
over  the  head  with  a  paddle." 

"I  got  him!"  I  yelled. 

"You  bet  you  did!"  the  skipper  ex- 
claimed. "But  look  at  his  legs!  You've 
shot  to  pieces  what  we  were  going  to  eat." 

Well,  to  spare  my  further  blushes,  we 
succeeded  in  shooting,  clubbing,  and  scar- 
ing to  death  enough  frogs  for  a  meal.  They 
weren't  so  bad. 

About  three  o'clock  we  began  looking  for 
a  camping  spot,  and,  in  the  course  of  two 
hours  we  found  one  that  came  up  to  our 
rather  particular  requirements.  It  was  in 
a  hemlock  grove,  on  a  bluff  high  enough  to 
be  free  of  mosquitoes.     We  dispensed  with 


the  tent  for  this  night,  spreading  our 
blankets  on  a  bed  of  hemlock  browse.  The 
map  showed  a  total  distance  of  nine  miles 
for  the  day. 

The  next  morning  dawned  clear  as  a  bell, 
and  gave  promise  of  a  hot  day.  Having 
no  incentive  for  any  great  distance  pad- 
dling, we  slowly  collected  the  duffle  and 
packed  it  away  in  its  allotted  place.  At 
eight  o'clock  we  pushed  out  into  the  cur- 
rent. In  two  minutes  we  were  overboard 
wading,  and  for  several  miles  we  kept  it  up; 
except  at  rare  intervals,  when  the  water 
was  deep  enough  to  float  the  entire  outfit. 
The  Pemigewasset  River  exhibits  a  great 
propensity  for  splitting  up  into  several 
small  channels,  in  consequence  of  which, 
islands  and  sandbars  are  innumerable. 
The  choosing  of  the  right  channel  became 
quite  an  interesting  problem.  It  was,  of 
course,  easy  to  determine  which  branch 
flowed  the  greater  volume  of  water,  but 
impossible  to  know  if  that  branch  did  not 
again  split  up  into  smaller  ones.  We  did 
not  do  much  investigating,  but  picked  the 
channel  that  looked  best  at  the  start.  If 
it  shoaled  up,  we  waded.  It  isn't  all  of 
canoeing  to  paddle! 

At  one  o'clock,  just  above  the  mouth  of 
Mad  River,  we  stopped,  with  the  intention 
of  camping  over  a  day.  We  were  then 
twelve  miles  below  our  last  night's  camp, 
and  there  were  several  things  we  wanted  to 
do.  For  one  thing,  the  canoe  needed  a 
patch.  Then,  too,  we  had  brought  along 
an  aluminum  folding  baker,  or  reflecting 
oven,  that  we  meant  to  experiment  with. 

The  chosen  camping  spot  was  ideal.  A 
dozen  feet  above  the  river  level  some  giant 
spade  had  dug  out  a  triangular  shelf,  of 
perhaps  half  an  acre,  in  the  face  of  a  high 
bluff.  It  was  carpeted  with  sweet  fern, 
moss,  and  soft  grass,  and  shaded  by  yellow 
birch  and  hemlock  trees.  A  wind-thrown 
paper  birch  furnished  us  with  fire  wood,  as 
well  as  a  fireplace.  The  skipper  was  frying 
chicken  when  they  turned  the  heavenly 
hose  on  us.  I  tossed  him  a  rubber  blanket. 
When  the  chicken  was  reduced  to  a  chew- 
able  condition,  we  huddled  into  the  tent. 
How  it  rained  I  The  fire  made  one  frantic 
gasp  and  drowned.  The  lightning  fairly 
burned  our  eyeballs  with  its  razzle-dazzle 
flashes  in  the  suddenly  fallen  darkness. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  eat. 

The  next  morning  we  patched  the  canoe 


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we  hung  things  up  in  the  sun  to  dry  and 
air,  and  finally  we  baked  biscuit  and 
johnny-cake  in  the  reflecting  oven  almost 
as  good  as  mother's.  Then  there  was 
boiled  rice  with  raisins,  part  of  which  we 
saved  for  our  midday  luncheon — and  I 
might  add  that  boiled  rice  formed  our 
staple  dinner  for  the  rest  of  the  trip.  It 
certainly  sticks  to  one's  ribs! 

We  broke  camp  at  half-past  ten.  The 
next  four  miles  proved  to  be  a  repetition 
of  yesterday's   shallow   rapids,    until   we 


and  make  a  friendly  call.  It  is  just  as  well 
that  our  friend  was  not  at  home.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  pair  of  khaki  trousers  after  about 
four  days'  wear  in  the  woods?  No?  Per- 
haps you  did  not  recognize  what  they  were. 

Four  miles  below  Plymouth,  near  Bridg- 
water, we  discovered  a  good  carnping  spot 
and  stopped  at  five  o'clock,  having  come 
eleven  miles. 

If  there  was  ever  a  hot  day  the  next  one 
was  it,  but  the  river  was  beautiful  about 
here  and  we  loafed  along  with  the  current. 


Meeting  a  log- jam — "This  was  our  busy  day." 


Struck  the  dead  water  above  the  dam  at 
Livermore  Falls.  We  made  ourselves  un- 
necessary work  here  by  carrying  around  the 
dam  and  over  a  high  bridge  down  on  to  a 
sandy  beach.  We  should  have  followed 
the  railway  track  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
and  then  gone  directly  down  the  steep  bank 
to  the  river.  Just  below  here  is  the  worst 
tangle  of  rocks  I  ever  saw  in  a  rapid. 
There  was  nothing  to  it  but  wade. 

At  Plymouth  we  beached  the  canoe  and 
went  up  to  the  village  to  buy  some  groceries 


Just  after  we  started  we  scared  up  a  flock 
of  shelldrake  from  a  little  cove.  They  did 
not  take  wing,  but  paddled  away  down 
stream.  How  they  made  the  water  fly! 
We  knew  from  experience  that  it  was  use- 
less to  try  and  overtake  them,  but  we 
started  them  up  again  at  every  bend. 
Finally  the  river  split  on  an  island. 

"Here's  where  we  fool  them,"  said  the 
skipper.  "My  money  says  they  are  back 
of  that  island." 

We  swung  the  canoe  intothe  little  chan- 
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nel  and  "fanned" 
her  along  without 
taking  the  paddles 
from  the  water. 
Over  at  the  left  was 
a  partially  sunken 
log,  behind  which 
the  water  had  eaten 
in  under  the  grass 
roots,  making  a  little 
cave.  They  were  all 
in  there.  We  pad- 
dled by  within 
twenty  feet.  They 
remained  motionless 
until  we  were  near- 
ly past,  and  then 
seemed  to  float  out 
and  up  stream  like 
feathers  in  a  gentle 
breeze.  We  backed 
and  swung  the 
canoe.  Instantly 
there  was  something 
doing.  They  could 
not  get  away  quick 
enough,  but  they 
finally  did.  These 
were  the  Hooded 
Mergansers. 

Just  below,  near 
the  ruins  of  an  old 

bridge  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ashland  River, 
we  came  to  a  fall  that  might  possibly  be 
run  at  high  water.  We  could  not  figure  it 
out  at  the  present  stage,  however,  and 
lifted  the  canoe  over  the  ledge  about 
twenty-five  feet  to  the  water  below. 

We  had  paddled  over  the  next  ten  miles 
of  river  the  year  before,  and  knew  that  we 
had  our  work  cut  out  for  us,  as  it  was  prac- 
tically all  heavy  rapids.  The  first  one  was 
nearly  a  mile  long,  and  shallow  and  rocky. 
This  is  the  worst  kind  of  swift  water  as  it 
is  impossible  to  keep  off  the  rocks.  After 
this  the  water  gradually  deepened  and  we 
were  enabled  to  run  every  pitch.  This 
was  sport  indeed.  Only  once  were  we  near 
disaster.  We  had  run  part  way  through 
one  heavy  fall,  and  stopped  beside  a  rock 
to  reconnoiter  the  last  drop.  It  looked 
safe  enough  and  we  pushed  away.  Ten 
feet  out  in  the  current  a  monster  bowlder 
reared  its  head.  1  supposed  that  we  would 
go  inside  the  rock.  The  skipper,  who  was 
in  the  bow,  understood  that  we  would  go 


Frogs'  legs  for  dinner. 


around  the  outside, 
and  held  the  bow 
across  the  current 
waiting  for  me  to 
provide  the  motive 
power.  I  wondered 
why  he  didn't  let 
her  swing  down  and 
yelled.  He  only 
paddled  the  harder. 
The  stem  began  to 
drop  down  stream. 
My  mind  instantly 
focused  on  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dol- 
lars* worth  of  cam- 
eras that  were  lying 
unprotected  under 
my  feet.  Then  I  did 
yell.  We  washed 
broadside  into  the 
rock.  The  canoe 
careened  and  began 
to  fill.  I  jumped 
overboard  to  save 
a  spill.  Between 
us,  we  worked  the 
canoe  around  into 
the  current.  The 
water  was  up  to  my 
armpits,  and  its 
force  so  great  that  it 
nearly  pulled  the  canoe  out  of  my  grasp, 
even  though  I  was  jammed  against  the 
rock.  I  had  to  let  go  or  else  go  along  with 
it.  I  decided  to  go  along,  and  for  a  dozen 
feet  played  the  part  of  an  animated  rudder; 
finally  getting  aboard  just  as  we  shot  over 
the  last  heavy  pitch. 

Below  Bristol  we  ran  the  last  heavy 
fall,  and  camped  shortly  after,  having 
paddled  fourteen  miles. 

The  canoe  was  in  bad  shape,  and  we  at- 
tended to  its  needs  early  the  next  morning. 
And  now,  notwithstanding  our  good  reso- 
lutions, there  awoke  in  us  the  lust  for 
travel.  There  was  some  excuse,  however, 
for  the  rest  of  the  river  was  not  so  interest- 
ing as  heretofore.  There  was  nothing 
much  to  do  except  paddle.  It  was  Thurs- 
day, and  we  were  close  to  a  hundred  miles 
from  home.  We  decided  that  Monday  was 
as  good  a  day  as  any  to  get  there,  and 
lengthened  our  stroke.  We  made  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  carry  around  an  excelsior  mill 
at  Franklin,  ran  two  rapids  just  below  the 

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dam,  and  four  more  after  we  had  passed 
the  mouth  of  the  Winnipesauke  River; 
then  it  was  a  straight  away  grind  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  We  camped  late,  about 
two  miles  above  Sewell's  Falls;  good  and 
tired  after  a  twenty-eight  mile  paddle.  At 
one  town  above  we  had  purchased  a  small 
bean-pot,  and  after  supper  we  resurrected 
the  reflecting  oven.  We  dug  a  hole  in  the 
sand,  lined  it  with  stones  and  in  it  built  our 
fire.  The  skipper  manufactured  some 
johnny-cake.  I  made  ginger-bread — at 
least  I  would  have,  if  the  pan  had  not 
slipped  out  of  the  reflector  and  fallen 
"butter-side  down "  in  the  dirt.  That  was 
the  one  and  only  real  hardship  of  the  trip. 
When  we  had  sufficiently  recovered  our 
spirits,  we  scraped  the  coals  out  of  the 
bean-hole,  and  placed  the  filled  pot  therein. 
We  now  shoveled  the  coals  in  around  it  and 
covered  the  whole  with  dirt.  When  we 
opened  them  in  the  morning,  they  were 
piping  hot  and  most  delicious. 

The  next  was  our  hardest  day's  work. 
We  paddled  nearly  thirty  miles,  making 
three  portages  around  dams  at  Sewell's 
Falls,  at  Garvin's  Falls  and  at  the  Hookset 
dam.  To  add  to  our  burdens,  the  water 
was  dead,  the  wind  was  against  us  and  it 
rained  most  of  the  afternoon.  When  we 
stopped  at  noon  we  merely  beached  the 
canoe,  and  climbed  a  bank  to  eat  our 
dinner  under  some  pines.  In  the  course  of 
five  minutes,  I  happened  to  glance  at  the 
river  and  failed  to  see  the  canoe.  The 
wind  had  rocked  it  away  from  shore  and  it 
was  now  part  way  across  the  river,  and 
traveling  fast.  I  think  a  photograph  of 
what  happened  next  would  be  interesting. 
The  skipper  and  I  mutally  arose  to  our 
feet,  and  started  running  down  the  bank, 
shedding  garments  at  every  jump.  When 
the  skipper  reached  the  water  he  was  re- 
duced to  his  underclothes,  and  plunged  in 
as  he  was.  It  looked  so  easy  that  I  stopped 
and  watched  him.  Nevertheless  I  stripped 
to  the  buff  and  waded  out.  The  canoe 
was  traveling  about  as  fast  as  he  could 
swim.  He  made  a  last  frantic  spurt  and 
nearly  grasped  her,  when  a  gust  of  wind 
came  rollicking  along  and  flirted  the  canoe 
out  of  his  reach.     I  can  fully  appreciate 


how  he  felt,  being  half  way  across  the  river 
and  utterly  exhausted.  I  ran  up  the  bank, 
swam  out  and  met  the  canoe  as  it  came 
along.    The  moral  is  obvious. ' 

At  Manchester  we  were  royally  enter- 
tained at  the  Cygnet  Canoe  Club  while  we 
telephoned  and  waited  for  a  truck  team  to 
cart  us  below  the  dam  and  across  the  city. 
We  camped  immediately  below. 

Saturday  morning  we  made  a  six  o'clock 
start,  and  found  bad  water  for  six  miles. 
There  are  several  pitches,  perfectly  easy 
to  run  at  a  good  depth  of  water,  but 
particularly  nasty  so  early  in  the  morning, 
because  of  the  closing  of  the  gates  in  the 
big  Amoskeag  dam  during  the  night.  The 
worst  pitch,  known  as  Goff's  Falls,  is  rather 
dangerous  at  any  time,  and  we  had  to 
make  a  short  carry  here. 

"It's  forty  miles  home,"  said  the  skip- 
per. "Shall  we  try  and  make  if  to- 
night?" 

"If  we  reach  Lowell  by  dark,  I'll  paddle 
it  out  with  you,"  I  answered. 

We  ate  our  boiled  rice  and  raisins  just 
below  Nashua.  During  the  afternoon  the 
wind  freshened  and  blew  against  us.  We 
paddled  doggedly  ahead  without  conversa- 
tion. Nothing  is  so  maddening  as  a  head 
wind!  Your  back  sets  up  an  ache  between 
the  shoulder  blades;  you  twist  and  slide 
around  on  the  seat  to  try  and  find  a  more 
comfortable  position;  the  outside  of  your 
knees  get  sore  from  bracing  them  against 
the  canoe;  your  hands  blister  and  stiffen 
about  the  paddle;  and  finally,  the  strength 
suddenly  leaves  them,  until  you  can 
scarcely  grip  at  all.  Your  whole  being 
seems  to  focus  upon  the  monotonous  dip 
and  swish  of  the  blade  that  gets  heavier 
with  every  stroke. 

At  three  o'clock  we  reached  Lowell, 
where  a  team  carry  through  the  city  set  us 
back  an  hour  and  a  half.  We  ran  our  last 
rapid  just  below.  Then  we  began  to 
chirk  up.  The  remaining  eight  miles  was 
familiar  water.  As  the  six  o'clock  whistles 
blew  we  stepped  out  on  to  the  Lawrence 
Canoe  Club  float.  We  had  averaged  four 
miles  an  hour  for  ten  hours'  paddling. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  end,"  the  skipper 
chuckled.     "  It  is  good  to  get  home!" 


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THE   OLD   SWIMMIN'    HOLE— One  could  never  undress  quick  enough. 


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"  Last  feller  in  knows  what  he'll  get  I  *' 


Photograph  by  F.  C.  Oarke. 


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The  Widow  McLean — •*  Herniitess." 


THE    FEMALE    HERMIT   OF 
OKALOACOOCHEE   SLOUGH 


BY    DAVID    HILL 


PHOTOGRAPH    BY  THE    AUTHOR 


NO  more  dreary,  lonesome,  sunken 
belt  of  tangled  brush,  water,  and 
heavy  moss-laden  trees  is  seen  in 
all  Florida  than  Okaloacoochee  Slough.  It 
starts  somewhere  in  the  big  saw  grass 
country  south  of  Lake  Okeechobee,  and 
trails  in  a  southwesterly  course  down 
through  Lee  O^unty,  until  its  waters  are 
finally  swallowed  up  in  the  waters  of  the 
Gulf.  It  is  virtually  the  border  line  be- 
tween the  pine  woods  and  great  cypress 
swamps.  In  places  it  is  narrow  and  in 
others  extremely  wide.  Quail,  turkey,  and 
wild  deer  are  quite  numerous,  while  >vild 
cats,  bears  and,  now  and  then,  a  panther 
lurks  in  the  hidden  labyrinths  of  the  woods. 
Numerous  kinds  of  birds  are  found  in  abun- 
dance and  at  night  the  air  is  filled  with  the 


sound  of  their  whirring  wings.  Alligators 
haunt  the  |xx)ls,  while  rattlesnakes  and 
moccasins,  especially  the  latter,  swarm  in 
abundance. 

It  was  in  this  uncanny  place,  on  a  hum- 
mock once  the  site  of  Fort  Simon  Drum, 
built  during  the  last  Indian  war,  but  now 
with  nothing  left  to  show  for  it  but  a 
mound  of  earth,  that  I  found  the  Widow 
McLean,  the  hermit  of  Okaloacoochee 
Slough.  The  garden  to  her  shack  reaching 
down  into  the  edge  of  the  Slough,  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  fence,  and  in  front  of  the 
door  was  a  bed  of  blossoming  flowers.  The 
widow,  calling  off"  the  dogs  which  had 
barred  our  progress,  allowed  us  to  ap- 
proach. Once  in  her  presence  I  gazed  upon 
her  in   astonishment.     She  was  over  six 


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feet  in  height,  broad-shouldered,  sinewy 
and  masculine  looking,  and  with  a  weight 
that  would  tip  the  scales  at  two  hundred 
pounds.  A  perfect  giantess,  dressed  in  long, 
loose  calico  garment,  stockingless  shoes,  and 
large  sunbonnet  covering  her  head.  Several 
cats,  hens,  and  pigs  surrounded  her  the  mo- 
ment she  appeared  upon  the  steps.  My 
"cracker"  guide  asked  for  her  husband. 
She  laughed  and  said  she  was  not  blessed 
with  that  luxury,  but  wanted  one  real  bad. 

"What!  you'un  don't  live  alone?"  my 
guide  asked,  equally  as  surprised  as  myself. 

"  R'  reckon  as  to  how  r  do,"  she  replied; 
"at  least,  so  far  as  human  beings  is  con- 
cerned." 

"Well,  r'  swear  to  man — think  o'  a 
woman  living  alone  in  sech  a  slough  of 
despwnd  as  this.  Am't  you'un  ever 
afraid?"  he  again  asked. 

"Never  have  been,  and  r*  reckon  it's  too 
late  to  begin  now,"  she  answered,  with  a 
broad  grin ;  and  her  over  six  feet  of  bone 
and  muscle  would  indicate  she  had  no  rea- 
son to  be,  so  far  as  ordinary  mortals  were 
concerned. 

She  invited  us  to  remain  over  night, 
offering  the  best  her  shack  could  afford, 
but  as  we  were  en  route  for  the  Everglades, 
and  anxious  to  cover  as  much  ground  as 
possible  before  darkness  set  in,  we  declined 
her  kind  offer,  made  a  few  purchases,  and 
continued  upon  our  course. 

Inquiry  among  the  few  squatters  we  met 
proved  the  widow  to  be  a  strange  character. 
The  more  timorous  ones  were  afraid  of  her. 
Some  said  she  was  a  hermaphrodite. 
Others  said  she  was  a  man  dressed  in 
woman's  clothes.  All  believed  that  "he" 
or  "she"  had  committed  murder,  and  had 
hidden  away  in  Okaloacoochee  Slough  to 
escape  the  law.  They  believed  her  crazy, 
or  that  she  pretended  to  be,  and  was  capa- 
ble of  committing  any  crime.  Armed  with 
long-barreled  gun  she  would  wander  the 
swamps  at  night,  and  it  was  no  uncom- 
mon thing  for  her  to  enter  a  camp  miles 
from  home,  and  after  a  short  visit,  again 
go  wandering  off  into  the  shadows  of  the 
woods.  Mysterious  disappearances  were 
hinted  at,  and  it  was  said  the  swamp  sur- 
rounding her  was  haunted. 

On  our  return  from  the  Everglades  we 
camped  on  an  island  in  the  center  of  the 
Slough.  This  was  preferred  in  preference 
to  the  hogs,  cats  and  dogs,  and  hens  in  the 


widow's  front  yard.  Late  in  the  evening, 
while  cooking  supper,  we  were  startled  by 
strange  sounds  issuing  from  her  abode. 
Prolonged  "o-o-o-oop!  o-o-o-oop!  0-0-0- 
oop's'"  were  heard,  heavy  and  low,  and 
which,  like  the  whistle  of  a  sound  steamer, 
penetrated  far  into  the  shadows  of  the 
night.  We  marveled  at  the  sounds  and 
what  they  were  intended  to  convey. 
Finally,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Slough 
was  heard,  faintly  at  first,  and  then  increas- 
ing in  volume,  the  tinkling  of  little  bells. 
These  grew  near  and  nearer,  until,  in  the 
water  track  leading  past  us  a  long  line  of 
black  figures  could  just  be  discovered,  ap- 
parently following  the  bell  leader  in  front. 
My  guide  caught  a  brand  from  the  fire, 
stepped  forward,  held  it  above  his  head, 
and  looked  down.  "Black  hogs  —  by 
mighty!"  he  exclaimed,  and  returned  to  the 
fire.  And  so  they  were.  A  long  line  of 
black  hogs,  marching  in  single  file,  without 
a  sound,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  all  led  onward  by  the  widow's  peculiar 
and  mournful  call. .  When  they  had  filed 
past  us  out  of  sight,  and  the  tinkling  bells 
signified  that  they  had  reached  the  yard, 
the  doleful  "o-o-o-ooping!"  stopped,  and 
the  swamp  was  still. 

Between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  we  were 
startled  by  another  sound.  This  time  it 
was  a  weird  kind  of  singing — not  in  the 
form  of  words,  but  a  series  of  prolonged 
notes,  starting  on  a  low  key,  then  slowly 
increasing  in  volume,  rising  higher  and 
higher,  until  the  black  depths  of  the  dismal 
Slough  fairly  echoed  with  the  discordant 
sounds.  No  wonder  the  natives  thought 
the  place  was  haunted.  High  and  higher 
rose  the  notes,  loud  and  long  and  shrill, 
until,  when  the  highest  possible  point  was 
reached,  and  the  notes  sounded  like  a  pro- 
longed shriek,  they  gradually  began  to  sink 
down,  and  down,  and  down,  until  they 
ended  in  a  sort  of  dismal  wail.  Wallace, 
my  guide,  gave  the  fire  a  poke,  and  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"Hill,"  said  he,  "r'  was  homed  and 
raised  in  this  here  kentry  an'  thowt  as  t' 
how  T*  knowed  it  by  heart;  but,  God-a- 
mighty!  r'  never  heard  anything  like  that 
afore.  Shore  an'  r'm  half  a  mind  to  be 
skeered." 

"You  do  not  appreciate  the  widow's 
evening  hymn,"  I  said,  feeling  a  little 
"creepy"  myself. 


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"Shore  an'  if  that's  a  hymn,  jess  deliver 
me  from  attending  prayers  at  the  same 
place.  R've  no  desire  to  go  to  sl^ep,"  and 
he  gave  the  fire  another  poke. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  after  the  weird 
singing  when  our  attention  was  attracted 
to  a  slosh!  slosh!  slosh!  in  the  water  of  the 
track  leading  through  the  Slough.  In- 
stinctively we  turned  toward  it,  peered  out 
into  the  darkness,  and  were  not  surprised 
when  the  gigantic  figure  of  the  woman,  with 
gun  across  her  shoulder,  loomed  up  be- 
fore us. 

''R'  heam  the  sound  o'  your  axe  an* 
knowed  you  had  returned,"  she  said,  ap- 
proaching the  fire.  "R'  come  over  to 
invite  you  to  the  house." 

I  framed  an  excuse  on  the  plea  that  we 
were  already  in  camp,  and  then  invited  her 
to  sit  down.  For  over  an  hour  we  talked, 
and,  by  considerable  questioning,  dis- 
covered some  points  relating  to  her  strange 
life.  She  said  her  name  was  Sarah  McLean 
and  that  she  was  a  genuine  Georgia 
"cracker."  She  came  to  Florida  with  her 
sister  in  a  mule  team,  with  no  particular 
point  in  view  but  the  big  cypress  woods  of 
which  she  had  read.  This  was  some  years 
before.  They  traveled  a  distance  of  five 
hundred  miles,  camping  along  the  route. 
At  places,  attracting  attention,  their  pic- 
tures were  taken,  and  at  one  town  they 
were  written  up  for  the  press.  She  finally 
settled  at  Okaloacoochee  Slough.  Her 
sister  soon  sickened  of  the  place,  returned 
home,  and  left  the  gigantic  Sarah  to  run 
the  ranch  alone.  She  did  her  own  plow- 
ing, chopping,  raising  sugar  cane,  making 
molasses,  and  all  other  kinds  of  outdoor 
work.  During  her  conversation  she  ad- 
mitted that  her  husband  had  been  hung  for 
murder  in  Georgia,  but  did  not  state  when, 
or  the  kind  of  murder  he  had  committed. 
In  talking  this  strange  woman  had  the 
faculty  of  looking  into  vacancy,  frequently 
pausing  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  and 
after  a  little,  branching  off  on  to  some  other 
subject.  There  was  a  wild  look  in  her  eyes 
which  convinced  me  she  might  not  be 
responsible  for  all  she  said.  She  told  us 
how  alligators  bothered  her  at  times,  com- 
ing into  the  yard  at   night   and   stealing 


pigs.  One  night  hearing  one  squeal  in  the 
swamp,  and  thinking  a  'gaitor  had  it,  she 
took  a  lantern  and  axe,  waded  down  into  the 
slough,  and  finding  it  caught  between  two 
trees,  chopped  it  out  and  carried  it  home. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Wallace,  "don't 
'gaitors  skeer  you  at  all?" 

The  widow  laughed.  "The  'gaitors  shun 
me  same  as  the  men,"  she  answered. 
"Both  on  'em  run  at  first  sight.  But  r'm 
harmless,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "an' 
if  r'  had  a  good  man  r'd  only  kill  him  with 
kindness  and  mince  pie." 

No  mention  was  made  of  her  song,  and 
after  making  arrangements  for  a  deer  hunt 
the  next  day,  and  an  alligator  hunt  the 
following  night,  she  took  her  departure, 
disappearing  in  the  blackness  of  the  swamp. 

"Shore  an'  r'm  glad  she  called,"  re- 
marked my  guide,  after  the  widow  was  out 
of  hearing,  "for  it  sort  o'  kills  the  devilish- 
ness  o'  that  evening  hymn.  R'now  reckon 
as  to  how  r'  kin  go  to  sleep." 

The  next  day  the  widow  went  hunting 
with  us,  but  no  deer  was  shot.  One  was 
run  into  a  corner,  at  which  time  the  widow 
suddenly  fired  two  shots,  a  signal  for  calling 
off  the  dogs,  and  the  deer  escaped.  She 
gave  no  explanation  for  doing  this,  and 
my  guide  said,  considering  the  size  of  the 
woman,  he  did  not  ask.  One  turkey  was 
shot,  and  making  her  a  present  of  it,  we 
returned  to  camp. 

That  night  we  again  listened  to  the  "hog- 
calling"  notes,  the  "evening  hymn"  and 
later  to  the  "slosh!  slosh!"  followed  by  the 
widow  bringing  us  a  portion  of  the  turkey 
nicely  dressed.  The  alligator  hunt  was 
given  up  on  account  of  a  leaky  boat.  Her 
visit  was  short,  and  the  following  morning 
we  crossed  to  her  shack,  where  I  took  her 
picture  sitting  upon  her  horse. 

While  my  guide  believes  the  Widow  Mc- 
Lean to  be  a  man,  I  hardly  agree  with  him. 
I  scout  the  crimes  laid  at  her  door,  or  that 
she  is  a  criminal  hiding  from  justice,  for 
she  was  too  anxious  to  have  her  picture 
taken.  But  "she"  or  "he"  is  a  strange 
character,  living  in  a  strange  locality;  her 
parting  words  were,  "Jes'  send  me  a  gccd 
man  an'  my  cup  o'  happiness  will  be  com- 
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WE   GO    BERRYING 

BY   E.    P.    POWELL 

HAVE  had  my  experi- 
ences, and  they  are  laid 
away  in  the  sandalwood 
chest  of  memory.  Some 
of  them  I  will  never  bring 
out,  but  this  one  of  berry- 
ing I  will  tell  you,  for  it 
IS  one  of  the  lost  arts.  Since  science  has 
made  huge  berries  to  grow  in  our  gar- 
dens— sixteen  to  a  quart — romance  has  left 
the  world.  Yes,  indeed,  my  Cynthia,  but  it 
took  four  hundred  to  a  quart  when  we  met 
at  the  bars,  at  daylight,  and  went  through 
the  Harding  meadows,  and  among  the 
knolls  and  glens,  hunting  strawberries.  I 
can  smell  those  odors  yet!  The  pepper- 
mint and  the  spearmint  and  the  white 
clover,  and  the  delicate  flavor  of  the 
berries  themselves,  all  pearled  with  dew. 
The  stems  were  six  to  eight  inches  long,  and 
there  were  sometimes  seven  berries  to  a 
stalk — and  some  of  the  biggest  went  over  to 
your  basket,  Cynthia,  do  you  remember 
that?  Indeed,  but  I  would  do  it  again,  for 
the  look  that  you  gave  me,  and  the  some- 
thing in  your  eyes  that  I  shall  never  forget. 
Very  few  are  now  living  who  ever  went 
strawberrying  outside  a  plowed  garden, 
so  that  a  very  few  of  us  have  all  the  remem- 
bering to  do.  It  was  the  illumination  of 
childhood;  the  joy  of  middle  life.  Mothers 
laid  away  their  dishes  after  dinner,  and 
strolled  through  neighboring  orchards, 
sitting  a  while  on  the  big  blocks  of  lime- 
stone, and  then  came  home  to  crown  the 
supper  table  with  bowls  of  scarlet.  But  we 
children  went  at  daybreak.  Out  of  the 
yard  where  the  lilacs  grew,  around  the  bam 
where  the  pie  plant  lifted  its  great  leaves, 
down  the  little  orchard  lane,  through  the 
cherry  trees;  all  along  the  way  bobbed  out 
here  a  bonnet  or  a  cap — till  the  baskets 
were  at  least  a  dozen.  Every  girl  wore  a 
dress  with  tucks,  and  you  could  tell  how 


old  each  one  was  by  the  number  of  tucks, 
for  in  those  days  a  calico  dress  was  not 
meant  for  six  months,  but  for  six  years.  It 
was  put  on  when  the  girl  was  seven  years 
old,  and  a  tuck  was  let  out  each  year.  At 
twelve  years  of  age  the  dress,  a  little  faded, 
but  "as  good  as  new"  was  tuckless  and 
turned.  Only  no  dress  went  below  the 
ankles,  for  must  not  the  berry  hunter  get 
down  on  her  knees  and  scrabble?  And  as 
for  us  boys  we  all  wore  frocks  of  bedticking, 
that  no  one  could  tear.  Do  I  not  know,  for 
have  I  not,  while  climbing  for  hens'  nests 
about  the  old  barn,  been  caught  on  a  nail, 
and  hung  in  the  air  for  two  hours?  Oh^ 
the  delicious  prattle!  just  like  a  brook,  a 
sweet  summer  brook  running  among  the 
wild  plants  and  kissing  every  one  of  them — 
the  prattle  of  a  dozen  children's  voices, 
going  berrying,  and  the  patter  of  the  feet 
along  the  twisted  pathway.  Why  need  we 
wear  out  shoes  where  conventionalism  has 
no  power?  We  boasted  that  we  could  run 
barefooted  through  a  thistle  patch — and 
we  did  it.  You  will  find  among  a  dozen 
children  more  beautiful  toes  than  noses. 
And  when  we  came  to  a  brook  we  always 
splashed  about  a  while,  with  our  naked  feet 
among  the  stones  and  fishes. 

Go  ahead!  dear  ones  of  old!  sweethearts 
of  the  past!  I  can  no  longer  go  with  you! 
Your  road  runs  through  the  Anderson  lane, 
the  Abbott  woods,  and  then  all  up  and  down 
the  slopes  of  the  Miller  pastures.  You  will 
sit  down  on  a  shady  bank  under  the  big 
basswoods  and  you  will  come  strolling  home 
at  noon,  tired  and  hungry,  but  happy  and 
proud,  and  Susan,  who  is  now  only  eighty- 
five,  will  have  the  fullest  basket;  for,  in- 
deed, Susan  was  economical,  and  not  at  all 
greedy.  Those  strawberries  were  really  no 
sweeter  than  these  which  we  now  grow  in 
our  gardens.  The  flavor  of  Sharpless  and 
Bubach  and  Kitty  Rice  is  indeed  far  supe- 
rior. But  it  was  the  romance  of  it — the 
creeping  about  together  in  the  hepaticas, 
and  the  forget-me-nots,  and  in  the  clover 
fields,  and  here  and  there  on  the  little 


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knolls  where  pigeon  berries  also  grew. 
What  possible  romance  can  there  be  in 
these  big  baskets  full  of  Senator  Dunlap, 
President  Roosevelt,  and  Mark  Hanna? 

I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  found  even  more 
pleasure  in  hunting  the  red  and  the  black 
raspberries.  Especially  the  black  ones 
grew  in  very  unexpected  places,  and  while 
your  mates  were  hunting  in  vain,  you 
might  be  filling  your  basket  from  a  huge 
bush,  sown  by  some  bird  in  a  fence  comer. 
You  need  not  suppose,  however,  that  such 
a  berry  field  will  be  left  altogether  for  your 
pleasure.  The  birds  are  here,  with  pre- 
empted rights.  Catbirds  do  not  sing  to 
you  out  here  as  they  do  around  your  farm- 
house, but  they  scold  you  as  an  interloper. 
All  sorts  of  sparrows  are  about,  and  even 
the  earliest  goldfinches  are  flitting  like  bits 
of  a  golden  sunset  through  the  bushes; 
yes,  and  the  indigo  birds — bluest  of  blue. 
They  not  only  eat  their  full  share,  but  they 
sow  seeds  all  over  the  country,  increasing 
the  bushes  about  the  fences  and  orchards. 
For  years  I  have  not  planted  a  single  black 
raspberry  bush,  but  have  found  enough 
coming  up  in  my  vineyards.  I  let  the  best 
grow  with  the  grapes — tied  to  the  trestles, 
and  so  I  get  some  fine  new  sorts.  Among 
the  most  welcome  of  these  birds  is  the 
song  sparrow,  who  stops  eating  every  few 
minutes,  jumps  on  a  limb,  and  pours  out  his 
gratitude  in  a  hymn  of  joy.  What  a  bird 
he  is!    What  trills  of  melody! 

The  black  raspberry  surpasses  even  the 
big  blackberry  in  milk,  and  I  advise  you  to 
let  many  of  them  grow  around  your  fields. 
There  is  in  all  the  world  no  finer  flavor — 
only  instead  of  bread  I  would  use  cold 
boiled  rolled  wheat.  Such  a  dish!  A  blue 
bowl,  full!  It  should  be  carried  jealously 
out  of  the  house  and  away  from  all  com- 
panionship, to  a  shaded  scat,,  under  the 
maples  or  evergreens,  and  eaten  alone. 
Yes,  it  is  a  solitary  food!  Take  it  as  you 
try  a  new  piece  of  music.  Repeat,  and 
repeat,  and  then  once  more,  until  the  whole 
round  meal  is  absorbed,  and  you  are  con- 
scious that  those  perfect  flavors  are  really 
a  part  of  yourself,  and  are  being  digested 
by  your  soul  as  well  as  your  stomach. 
Then  it  is  that  one  knows  what  God  has 
done  for  him — making  a  poem  of  him  as 
well  as  a  machine. 

As  for  blackberrying,  although  it  is  not 

hat  it  once  was,  it  is  not  a  lost  art.     I 


hold  that  it  should  always  be  done  alone, 
except  for  your  faithful  dog.  A  dog  can 
understand  blackberrying,  but  he  despises 
strawberrying.  Here  was  how  it  was: 
under  a  lounge  was  a  special  suit  of  clothes, 
so  picked  and  pulled  by  the  bushes,  that  it 
would  serve  nowhere  in  the  world  but  in  a 
blackberry  field.  When  Ranger  saw  me 
lift  the  curtain  and  pull  out  that  suit,  he 
knew,  and  no  one  need  say  a  word  about  it. 
He  jumped  all  over  me  in  his  gladness,  and 
his  sharp  barks,  like  exclamation  points, 
said  :  '*Now!  now!  for  a  time!  We  will 
make  a  day  of  it!"  And  then  he  did  not 
wait,  but  started  on  ahead.  I  found  him 
occasionally,  picking  up  adventures  enough 
for  a  Quiller  Couch  novel.  We  went  half 
a  mile  right  across  glens  and  through 
wood  lots,  until  we  came  to  a  big  broad 
gulch,  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  top  to  top, 
and  so  impenetrable  that  horses  could  not 
pull  out  the  fallen  logs.  But  way  down  at 
the  bottom,  a  sweet  lonely  brook  went 
purling  its  quiet  way  over  pebbles,  and 
doing  its  little  stunts  to  please  the  little 
fishes.  Sometimes  it  spread  out  wide,  and 
overhead  was  the  most  delicious  shade 
from  dark  hemlocks.  I  would  like  to  sit 
there  to-day,  on  the  same  big  log,  and  toss 
crumbs  once  more  to  the  fishes. 

Only,  at  this  rate,  we  shall  never  fill  our 
baskets  with  berries — they  are  as  big  as 
your  thumb,  and  hanging  in  every  direc- 
tion over  your  head  and  around  your  legs. 
You  may  look  away  up  the  twisted  sides  of 
the  gullies  and  there  is  nothing  anywhere 
in  sight  but  blackberry  bushes,  and  black- 
berries— bushels  of  them.  Here  all  day  we 
climb,  and  slide,  and  pick,  and  dream,  and 
are  happy.  Ranger  comes  about  once  in 
each  half  hour,  to  see  if  you  are  all  right, 
and  touch  you  with  his  nose — as  if  to  say, 
"Bully,  ain't  it?"  Then  he  sits  down  by 
you  on  his  haunches,  under  the  big  bush, 
draws  his  lips  apart,  and  with  his  teeth 
carefully  picks  a  few  berries.  I  wish  I 
knew  what  skirmishes  he  had  all  day,  and 
what  dog  poems  were  in  his  brains.  But 
for  me,  I  know  that  I  shall  never  forget 
those  days,  nor  indeed  the  homeward  walk 
at  night,  with  twenty  quarts  of  berries  in 
my  baskets.  We  sit  down  on  the  steps  of 
the  old  farmhouse  just  as  the  shades  begin 
to  thicken,  and  the  big  pails  of  frothing 
milk  come  in  from  the  bam. 

Blessed  and  simple  above  all  conjuga- 


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tions  is  this  of  berries  and  milk !  Have  you 
ever  eaten  a  big  bowl  of  fresb  milk?  It 
should  be  warm  from  the  cow,  then  filled 
just  one-third  full  of  dead  ripe  black- 
berries, and  another  third  of  farm-made 
bread.  What  a  terrible  thing  it  is  to  live 
away  from  the  farm.  The  best  city  loaf 
has  a  conventional  smell,  and  then  it  looks 
just  like  every  other  city  loaf.  But  in  the 
farmer's  kitchen  the  dough  is  kneaded  by 
Gladys'  inspiring  arms,  and  I  tell  you,  that 
into  that  dough  she  puts  something  beside 
oxygen;  it  is  her  own  healthy  soul — sick 
souls  and  folk  heart-sore  ought  never  to 
touch  our  food.  And  the  milk,  it  is  not 
that  white  liquid  which  you  pour  out  of 
big  tin  cans,  and  label  milk!  but  it  is  that 
which  bubbles  in  the  pail,  and  in  which  the 
cream  comes  rushing  to  the  top. 

A  blackberry  pie  is  an  invention  that 
ranks  with  those  of  Morse  and  Fulton  and 
Edison.  It  is  rarely  tasted  in  these  days; 
the  art  is  almost  lost.  I  think  the  recipe 
runs:  Two  inches  deep  of  the  ripest  berries, 
with  just  enough  flour  sprinkled  all  through 
to  make  a  fine  pulp  with  the  juice;  Mem., 
but  this  must  be  done  with  brains.  As  for 
strawberries,  if  they  do  not  fully  satisfy 
you  with  cream,  I  advise  a  shortcake.  It 
is  a  berry  not  easily  spoiled;  only  one  must 
not  buy  nubs  and  knots  and  suppose  them 
to  be  strawberries.  I  confess  that  for 
years  I  could  not  eat  red  raspberries,  and 
even  now  I  do  not  prefer  them,  yet  for 
some  reason.  Nature  has  put  into  this 
berry  a  vast  amount  of  evolution.  Of  all 
berries  this  is  the  one  that  rules  the  market, 
and  the  price  is  going  up  every  year.  I 
think  the  real  secret  is  that  no  other  berry 
takes  so  well  to  the  art  of  canning.  House- 
wives are  proud  of  their  canned  goods,  and 
like  to  look  at  them,  in  rows  on  the  store- 
room shelves.  They  buy  the  berry  that 
will  look  brightest  after  being  partly 
cooked.  Now  let  me  tell  you  a  secret,  that 
no  two  sorts  of  red  raspberries  taste  alike 
when  cooked,  and  by  all  odds  the  best  is  a 
dark  purple,  which  we  call  Shaffer's 
G)lossal — a  huge  berry,  but  homely  in  the 
can.  However,  why  tell  of  it;  no  one  will 
buy  it  the  more.  The  flavorless  Cuthbert 
will  still  draw  the  dollars,  because  of  its 
beauty.  It  is  the  same  way  with  the 
currants,  for  the  red  will  sell  while  the 
white  are  by  all  odds  the  sweetest  and 
best.    I  would  like  nothing  just  now  better 


than  a  dish  of  White  Grape  currants,  and 
a  sprinkling  of  white  granulated  sugar. 
Better  yet,  to  sit  under  a  bush,  and  in  a 
neighboriy  way  help  to  unload  it.  I  have 
a  seedling  that  stands  seven  feet  high,  and 
one  may  sit  in  its  shade  while  he  royally 
feasts.  The  fruit  is  red,  but  I  hope  some 
day  to  have  as  big  and  fine  a  tree  bearing 
white  fruit.  One  should  not  live  for 
nothing.  He  should  make  the  world  better 
off,  and  he  should  have  his  ideals. 

Burbank  is  not  at  all  a  wizard.  The 
wonder  is  we  have  not  one  hundred  times 
as  rapid  progress  in  fruit  improvement.  A 
great  deal  of  progress  is  lost  because  we  are 
not  educated  to  see  it,  when  Nature  puts 
it  under  our  eyes.  Unfortunately,  our 
schools  have  more  to  say  about  iambics 
than  about  strawberries.  I  am  sure  that, 
within  ten  years,  we  shall  have  strawberries 
as  big  as  Seckel  pears,  and  on  stems,  or 
stalks  two  feet  high.  Raspberries  will  ap- 
proach two  inches  in  diameter,  but  black- 
berries are  perfection  already — just  right, 
all  but  the  thorns.  Who  will  get  rid  of 
them  for  us?  A  berry  garden  is  the  sum- 
mation of  modern  science,  applied  to  com- 
mon life.  It  is  the  mellowest  soil,  just 
flanking  the  apple  orchard,  and  it  is  as 
much  loved  by  the  bees  as  by  folk.  The 
best  ten  strawberries  in  the  worid  are 
Bubach,  Brandywine,  Cardinal,  Kitty 
Rice,  Sample,  Wm.  Belt,  Senator  Dunlap, 
Glen  Mary,  Mark  Hanna,  and  Gandy.  But, 
bless  me!  Before  I  can  tell  you  this,  there 
will  be  half  a  dozen  greater  and  sweeter 
ones.  The  three  best  garden  raspberries, 
for  home  use  or  market,  are  Cuthbert, 
Golden  Queen,  and  Shaffer's  Colossal;  but 
the  best  black  sorts  are  Cumberland  and 
Kansas.  As  for  blackberries  you  will  find 
nothing  finer  than  Eldorado  and  King 
Phillip.  For  gooseberries,  you  can  be  happy 
with  Industry  Joselyn  and  Crown  Bob^ 
but  there  are  more  just  as  good,  and  the 
Yankee  housewife  is  learning  the  goodness 
of  gooseberry  jam  and  gooseberry  pie. 

Berrying  in  the  garden,  with  an  eye  to 
market,  and  the  thermometer  at  ninety, 
needs  the  amelioration  of  quick  sales,  at 
high  prices.  But  as  a  family  affair  it  has  a 
wonderful  charm.  The  packing  of  crates 
and  the  rivalry  among  the  pickers  makes 
the  midday  less  intolerable,  while  the  shady 
hours  become  something  very  romantic. 
A  currant  patch  gives  us  the  real  comfort 


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of  berry  gardening.   We  sit  on  stools, 
and  carry  them  from  bush  to  bush. 
We  pick  into  four-quart  baskets,  and 
these,  up  and  down  the  rows,  are  a 
beautiful    sight.     A   six-foot    bush, 
loaded  with  Fays,  or  White  Grape, 
or  Powell's  Giant,  is  a  sight  to  be- 
hold.    The  little  mother  comes  out 
for  her  race  with  the  boys,  and  I  am 
myself  not  yet  eighty  when  picking 
currants.     Country  life  is  not  play; 
it  is  work,  yet  one  may  make  it  very 
beautiful — as  easily  as  he  can  spoil 
it  all  with  poor  planning  and  bad 
habits.     Everything  that  you  touch 
is  a  stage  of  evolution.     Nature  is 
Burbanking  the  world,  and  has  been 
at  it  this  long  while.     Burbank  him- 
self is  only  one  of  her  by-products 
in  bringing  about  betterment.     She 
has  always  been  crossing  and  recross- 
ing  her  fruits  and  flowers,  and  every 
little  while  she  secures  a  remarkable 
novelty.     One  day  on  the  slope  of 
the  harvest  hills,  in  the  corner  of       w 
a  rail  fence,  I  found  a  gooseberry, 
red  as  a  currant,  and  ripe  on  the 
fourth  of  July.   A  robin  had  eaten  a  berry  in 
some  farmer's  garden,  that  held  a  natural 
cross,  and  then  she  had  dropped  the  seed 
upon   the  hillside — careless  enough — only 
that  I  happened  along  when  that  seed  had 
grown  into  a  plant,  and  was  bearing  the 
reddest  and  the  earliest  of  all  gooseberries. 
I  have  it  now,  multiplied,  and  growing  in 
my  garden.   Go  carefully,  and  observingly, 
and  you  will  somewhere  find  in  the  bushes 
one  of  these  fine  new  productions,  waiting 
for  you  to  care  for  it.     So  it  is  that  home 
becomes  a  garden,  and  the  garden  is  full  of 
evolution,  and  it  is  there  we  go  berrying. 

MORMON  MURPHY'S  MIS- 
PLACED  CONFIDENCE 

BY   C.    M.    RUSSELL 

'X'HE  line  camp  was  jammed  to  her  fif- 
^  teen-by- twenty-foot  log  walls.  It 
was  winter  and  the  storm  had  driven  many 
homeless  punchers  to  shelter.  Both  bunks 
were  loaded  with  loungers,  and  as  cow 
people  never  sit  when  there  is  a  chance  to 
^  j-.vn,  the  blankets  on  the  floor  in  their 
1  covers  held  their  share  of  cigar- 


hat  looks  crooked  to  me  is  that  his  quirt  hangs 
on  his  right  wrist. 

ette  smoking  forms.  Talk  drifted  from 
one  subject  to  another — riding,  roping,  and 
general  range  chat,  finally  falling  to  the 
proper  and  handy  way  to  carry  a  rifle. 

"  I  used  ter  pack  my  gun  in  a  sling,"  said 
old  Dad  Lane,  the  wolfer.  "They  ain't 
used  these  days  since  men's  got  ter  usin' 
scabbards  'n  hangin'  them  under  their  legs. 
Them  old-fashioned  slings  was  used  by  all 
prairie  and  mountain  men.  If  you  never 
seed  one  they  was  made  of  buckskin  or 
sometimes  boot  leather,  cut  in  what  I'd 
call  a  long  circle  with  a  hole  in  each  end 
that  slipped  over  the  saddle  horn.  The 
gun  stuck  through  acrost  in  front  of  ye. 

**In  them  same  times  men  used  gun- 
covers  made  of  skin  or  blanket.  As  I  said 
before,  I  used  one  of  them  slings  till  I  near 
got  caught  with  hobbles  on;  since  then  I 
like  my  weepon  loose  'n  handy.  I'll  tell 
you  how  the  play  comes  up. 

"It's  back  in  '77,  the  same^ear  that 
Joseph's  at  war  agin  the  whites.  Me'n 
Mormon  Murphy's  comin'  up  from  Buford 
follerin'  the  Missouri,  trappin'  the  streams 
'n  headin'  toward  Benton.  This  Murphy 
ain't  no  real  Mormon.  He's  what  we'd 
call  a  jack-Mormon;  that  is  he'd  wintered 
down  with   Brigham   'n  played  Mormon 


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a  while.  He's  the  best-natured  man  I  ever 
knowed,  always  wearin'  a  smile  'n  lookin' 
at  the  bright  side  of  things.  We'd  wood- 
hawked,  hunted  'n  trapped  together  for 
maybe  four  years,  'n  I  never  heered  him 
kick  on  nothin'.  He  claims  when  a  man's 
got  his  health  he's  got  no  license  to  belly- 
aphe.  Murphy's  good-hearted  till  he's 
foolish  'n  so  honest  he  thinks  everybody 
else  is  on  the  square.  He  says  if  you  treat 
folks  right  nobody'll  bother  you.  It's  a 
nice  system  to  play,  but  I  arger  it  won't  do 
to  gamble  on.  There  is  men  that'll  tell  ye 
when  ye've  tipped  yer  whole  card,  but 
they're  long  rides  apart.  This  same  con- 
fidence in  humans  is  what  gets  the  Mormon 
killed  off. 

"Well,  as  I  said  before,  we're  trappin' 
along  'n  takin'  it  easy.  In  them  days  all  a 
man  needs  is  a  shootin'  iron  'n  a  sack  o' 
salt  to  live.  There's  nothin'  to  worry  us. 
We're  in  the  Gros  Ventre's  country,  but 
they  ain't  hoss-tile  'n  we're  never  out  o' 
sight  o'  meat — the  country's  lousy  with 
game. 

"One  mom  in'  we're  joggin'  along  at  a 
good  gait.  It's  late  in  the  fall,  'n  ye  know 
cool  weather  makes  bosses  travel  up  good, 
when  ol'  Blue,  one  of  the  pack  bosses, 
throws  his  head  up,  'n  straightens  his  ears 
like  he  see's  something,  'n  when  a  boss  does 
this  ye  can  tap  yerself  he  ain't  lyin'.  So  I 
go  to  watchin'  the  country  ahead  where 
he's  lookin'. 

"Sure  enough,  pretty  soon  there's  a 
rider  looms  up  out  of  a  draw  'bout  half  a 
mile  off.  It's  an  Injun — I  can  tell  that  by 
the  way  he  swings  his  quirt  'ns'  diggin'  his 
heels  in  his  pony's  belly  at  every  step. 
There's  a  skift  of  snow  on  the  country  'n  he 
shows  up  plain  agin  the  white.  When  he 
gits  clost  enough  he  throws  up  his  hand  'n 
signs  he's  a  friend.  Then  I  notice  he's  left 
handed — anyhow  he's  packin'  his  gun  that- 
a-way. 

"It's  in  a  skin  cover  stuck  through  his 
belt  Injun  fashion  with  the  stock  to  the 
left,  but  what  looks  crooked  to  me  after 
sizin'  him  up  is  that  his  quirt  hangs  on  his 
right  wrist. 

"With  hand  talk  I  ask  him  what  he  is; 
he  signs  back  Gros  Ventre.  This  Injun 
looks  like  any  other  savage;  he's  wearin'  a 
white  blanket  capote  with  blue  leggin's  of 
the  same  goods.  From  the  copper  rim-fire 
cattridges  in  his  belt,  I  guess  his  weepon's 


a  Henry.  Now  what  makes  me  think  he's 
lyin'  is  his  pony.  He's  ridin'  a  good  lookin' 
but  leg-weary  Appalusy,  'n  as  I  know, 
these  bosses  ain't  bred  by  no  Injuns  east 
o'  the  Rockies.  Course  all  Injuns  is  good 
boss  thieves,  *n  there's  plenty  o'  chance  he 
got  him  that-a-way,  but  the  Umatilla 
camp's  a  long  way  off,  'n  these  peculiar 
spotted  ponies  comes  from  either  there  or 
Nez  Perce  stock. 

"Well,  he  rides  up,  'n  instead  o'  comin' 
to  my  right  'n  facin'  me,  he  goes  roun'  one 
of  the  pack  bosses,  'n  comes  quarterin'  be- 
hind me  to  the  left,  his  boss  pintin'  the 
same  as  mine,  'n  holdin'  out  his  hand  says, 
'How,'  with  one  o'  them  wooden  smiles. 
Ye  know  ye  can't  tell  what  an  Injun's  got 
in  the  hole  by  readin'  his  countenance; 
winner  or  loser  he  looks  the  same.  I 
shake  my  head — some  way  I  don't  like  this 
maneuver;  I  don't  know  what  his  game 
is,  but  ain't  takin'  no  chances. 

"  He  looks  at  me  like  his  feelin's  is  hurt, 
swings  around  behind  my  boss  'n  goes  to 
Murphy  the  same  way.  Then  I  am 
suspicious  'njiollers  to  Murphy. 

"'Don't  shake  with  that  savage,'  says  I. 

"'What  are  ye  afeared  of,'  says  he, 
holdin'  out  his  hand  'n  smilin'  good- 
natured,  'he  won't  hurt  nobody.'  Them's 
the  last  words  the  Mormon  ever  speaks. 

"It's  the  quickest  trick  I  ever  see'd 
turned;  when  they  grip  hands,  that  damn, 
snake  pulls  Murphy  toward  him,  at  the 
same  time  kickin'  the  Mormon's  boss  in 
the  belly.  Naturally  the  animal  lunges 
forward,  makin'  Murphy  as  helpless  as  a 
man  with  no  arms.  Like  a  flash  the  In- 
jun's left  hand  goes  under  his  gun-cover  to 
the  trigger.  There's  a  crack  'n  a  smell  of 
burnt  leather  'n  cloth. 

"Murphy  ain't  hit  the  ground  before 
that  Injun  quits  his  boss,  'n  when  he  lands, 
he  lands  singin'.  I  savvy  what  that  means 
— it's  his  death  song,  'n  I'm  workin'  like 
a  beaver  to  loosen  my  gun  from  that 
damn  sling.  Maybe  it  ain't  a  second, 
but  it  seems  to  me  like  an  hour  before 
it's  loose  'n  I'm  playin'  an  accompani- 
ment to  his  little  ditty.  This  solo  don't 
last  long  till  I  got  him  as  quiet  as  he  made 
the  Mormon. 

"When  this  Injun  rides  up,  he  fig- 
ures on  downin'  me  fust.  He's  a  mind 
reader  'n  the  smilin'  Mormon  looks  easy. 
Seein'  his  game  blocked  he  takes  a  fightin' 


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chance.  He'd  a'  got  me,  tcx),  but  the  lever 
on  his  Henry  g^ts  foul  of  the  fringe  on  the 
cover,  'n  I  got  him  on  a  limb. 

"Yes,  I  plants  my  pard  alright,  but  as  I 
ain't  got  nothin'  to  dig  a  grave  with  bigger 
'n  a  skinnin'  knife,  I  wrops  him  in  his 
blanket  'n  packs  him  down  a  washout  'n 
caves  a  bank  in  on  him.  When  I  takes  a 
last  look  at  him  he  seems  to  be  smilin'  like 
he  forgives  everybody.  I  tell  ye  fellers.  I 
don't  know  when  I  cried  it's  been  so  long 
ago,  'n  I  didn't  shed  no  tears  then,  but 
I  damn  nigh  choked  to  death  at  that 
funeral. 

"I've  helped  pl^mt  a  whole  lot  of  men 
one  time  'n  another  in  my  career,  but  this 
is  the  only  time  I  did  it  single  handed  'n 
lonesome.  It's  just  me  'n  the  bosses,  but 
I'll  tell  ye  I'm  damn  glad  to  have  them. 
When  ye  ain't  got  humans  ye'll  find  ani- 
mals good  company. 

"No,  there  ain't  no  prayers  said;  I 
ain't  used  none  since  I  was  weaned,  'n 
I've  even  forgot  the  little  one  my  mammy 
learnt  me,  but  I  figure  it  out  this  way, 
there  ain't  no  use  an  ol'  cayote  like  me 
makin'  a  squarin'  talk  fer  a  man  as  good 
as  Mormon  Murphy.  So  I  stand  for  a 
minit  with  my  head  bowed  an'  hat  off 
like  whites  do  at  funerals.  It's  the 
best  I  can  do  for  him.  Then  I  go  to  the 
bosses  astandin'  there  with  their  heads 
down  like  they're  helpin'  out  as  mourners. 
'Specially  Murphy's  with  the  empty  saddle 
'n  the  gun  still  in  the  sling  pulled  'way  off 
to  one  side  where  the  helpless  Mormon 
makes  his  last  grab. 

"I  don't  scalp  the  Injun — not  that  I 
wouldn't  like  to,  but  I  ain't  got  time  to 
gather  no  souvenirs  'n  I'm  afeared  to  hang 
'round,  cause  Injuns  ain't  lonesome  ani- 
mals; they  band  up  'n  it's  safe  bettin' 
when  ye  see  one  there's  more  near  by.  If 
I'd  a'  had  my  leisure,  the  way  1  feel  toward 
this  painted  snake,  I'd  a'  tuk  a  head  'n  tail 
robe  off'n  him.  I'd  a'  peeled  him  to  his 
dew  claws,  but  as  it  is  I'm  nervous  'n 
hurried,  'n  all  I  got's  his  boss  'n  gun  'n  four 
pair  o'  new  moccasins  I  found  under  his 
belt. 

"Guess  this  Injun  a  Nez  Perce  all  right, 
because  a  short  time  after  the  killin'  of 
Murphy  there's  a  bull-train  jumped  'n 
burned  on  Cow  Creek  'n  it  ain't  long  till 
Joseph  surrenders  to  Miles  over  on  the 
Snake." 


A  FACT  OR  A  FAKE  SUB- 
MITTED TO  MR.  JOHN 
BURROUGHS 

BY  LORENZO   P.   GIBSON 

\JiR.  JOHN  BURROUGHS  appears  to 
^^'*'  have  assumed  the  r6le  of  censor  of 
all  natural  history  stories  published  in 
American  magazines.  He  scathingly  de- 
nounces that  which  he  is  so  unkind  as  to 
call  "Fake  Natural  History."  This  is  a 
fair  example  of  what  nature  lovers  and 
nature  observers  have  been  meekly  suffer- 
ing on  account  of  his  unsparing  criticism 
of  articles  written  by  those  who  have  en- 
deavored to  record  faithfully  that  which 
their  senses  have  revealed  to  their  mental 
organs. 

Mr.  Burroughs  assumes  that  because  he 
is  a  professional,  amateurs  see  with  astig- 
matic eyes,  hear  with  unatuned  ears,  and 
feel  with  paresthetic  fingers  the  things 
which  they  study  and  which,  according  to 
him,  with  biased  intellect  they  report  for 
the  magazines. 

Many  of  the  stories  he  condemns  are  the 
simple  report  of  careful  observation  made 
upon  the  spot;  observations  of  nature  lov- 
ing students  who  would  not  intentionally 
do  the  smallest  injustice  to  bird,  beast, 
reptile,  fish,  editor,  reader,  or  professional 
naturalist.  Yet  Mr.  Burroughs  hauls  them 
over  the  bed  of  coals  of  his  criticism  in  ap- 
parent fiendish  glee  that  he  is  able  to  "fry 
the  fat"  (I  had  almost  written  fake)  out  of 
their  tales. 

Now,  who  shall  be  believed?  The  man 
who  has  seen  and  heard  and  felt  some  par- 
ticular experience,  or  the  critic  who  was 
miles  away  when  this  experience  occurred? 

The  foregoing  is  only  prefatory  to  the 
occurrence  I  am  about  to  relate,  not  as  a 
contribution  to  literature  or  science,  but  as 
a  test  case  to  be  submitted  to  the  Court  of 
Last  Resort — Mr.  Burroughs — ^for  a  final 
decree  as  to  whether  any  but  naturalists 
holding  a  license  from  him  are  to  be 
credited. 

The  teller  of  this  story  is  a  plain,  un- 
assuming, studious,  honest,  closely  observ- 
ant country  gentleman.  His  whole  life, 
save  when  he  was  at  school,  was  spent  on  a 
farm,  and  his  circumstances  have  been 
such  that  he  has  been  able  to  devote  most 


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of  his  time  to  hunting,  fishing,  trapping, 
botany  and  natural  history,  and  all  for 
sport  and  study.  He  does  not  pose  as  a 
nature  lover.  He  is  just  a  plain,  blunt, 
kindly  man,  a  keen  observer  and  a  faithful 
recorder. 

This  story  was  related  to  his  friends  in 
camp — his  comrades  with  whom  he  had 
hunted  and  fished  and  camped  for  years — 
not  one  of  them  ever  having  had  cause  to 
doubt  even  the  minutest  detail  of  anything 
he  had  ever  told  them. 

As  was  usual  in  our  camp  we  had  been 
discussing  everything  from  the  Star  of 
Bethlehem  to  free  silver.  The  conversa- 
tion finally  drifted  to  dog-lore,  when  the 
farmer-  hunter-  fisher-  trapper-  naturalist 
told  this  story,  which  is  faithfully  tran- 
scribed in  the  exact  words  of  the  narrator: 

'*I  owned  the  best  setter  I  ever  saw  or 
heard  of.  I  don't  know  her  pedigree,  but 
I  feel  sure  she  must  have  come  from  the 
finest  stock  because  she  did  so  many 
intelligent  things  and  displayed  such  an 
affectionate  disposition — especially  toward 
children.  She  did  many  remarkable  things 
in  hunting,  some  of  which  I  would  hesitate 
to  tell  even  to  you  who  have  never  had  any 
cause  to  doubt  either  my  ability  to  observe 
or  veracity  in  relating.  But  she  did  one 
thing  that  I  feel,  in  justice  to  her  memory 
and  to  dog-kind  in  general,  ought  to  be 
preserved.  I  would  not  tell  it  to  strangers, 
or  even  acquaintances,  but  I  tell  it  to  you, 
my  comrades,  who  know  1  have  never 
deviated  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
of  scientific  truth. 

"As  I  said.  Flora  (that  was  her  name) 
was  the  constant  companion  of  my  children 
in  all  their  plays  and  rompings.  She 
played  hide-and-seek  with  them,  and  when 
she  was  "//"  she  would  put  her  forefeet  up 
against  the  tree  and  place  her  head  between 
her  forelegs  until  she  heard  the  cry  of 
"All  eyes  open,"  when,  having  the  advan- 
tage of  keen  scent,  she  would  quickly  find 
and  bring  in  the  hidden  children,  leading 
each  by  the  sleeve  or  skirt. 

"  Well,  she  played  dolls  with  the  children, 
too,  until  she  seemed  to  know  the  dolls  as 
well  as  did  the  children,  and  judging  by  the 
way  she  was  always  carrying  one  in  her 


mouth  or  tossing  it  up  and  catching  it,  her 
joy  was  apparently  as  great  as  that  of  any 
of  her  child  playmates. 

"Things  went  on  about  this  way  until 
F- lora  whelped  a  litter  of  pups.  She  had  a 
good  kennel  and  had  taken  much  pains  to 
make  a  comfortable  bed.  When  I  first 
laid  eyes  upon  the  new  born,  it  was  appar- 
ent, sad  to  say,  that  they  were  of  a  mixed 
breed,  entirely  too  plebeian  to  be  reared 
by  such  an  aristocratic  mother,  so  I  forth- 
with hired  a  darky  to  take  them  away  and 
drown  them. 

"When  Flora  missed  her  puppies  she 
searched  every  nook  and  comer  on  my 
plantation,  displaying  all  the  while  the 
most  extreme  anxiety.  She  whined  and 
moaned,  and  as  plainly  as  a  brute  could, 
implored  every  one  she  could  find  to  tell  her 
of  her  lost  ones.  Her  grief  was  apparently 
as  inconsolable  as  that  of  any  human 
mother  I  ever  saw,  and  I  have  seen  my 
share  of  affliction  too. 

"^ After  she  had  searched  and  searched 
and  all  in  vain,  she  began  to  gather  up 
those  dilapidated  dolls  that  belonged  to  the 
children,  and  carried  every  one  of  them  to 
her  bed  in  the  kennel.  When  she  had 
gathered  them  all  in  they  presented  a 
motley  litter.  Some  had  an  arm  off  at  the 
elbow,  some  at  the  shoulder,  another  had 
part  of  a  leg  gone,  there  was  a  large  slice  of 
head  lacking  in  another;  in  fact,  there  was 
not  a  whole  doll  in  the  entire  lot. 

"As  soon  as  Flora  had  assembled  them  in 
her  bed  her  grief  was  apparently  assuaged, 
and  she  devoted  the  same  care  and  atten- 
tion to  and  bestowed  as  much  affection 
upon  those  poor  orphan  dolls  as  any  canine 
could  show  for  her  real  offspring.  She 
fondled  and  toyed  with  them,  carried  them 
about  in  her  mouth,  and  played  with  them 
constantly,  and  when  any  of  the  children 
mischievously  kidnaped  one  of  them,  she 
would  not  rest  until  she  had  found  it  and 
brought  it  back  to  her  bed.  In  fact,  she 
treated  them  just  like  her  own  pups, 
nursed  them  from  her  own  fountains  of 
milk,  and  cared  for  them  affectionately  and 
faithfully  until  they  grew  to  be  great  big 
dolls  and  were  able  to  run  about  over  the 
place  and  to  take  care  of  themselves!" 


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TALES   OF   A   COLLECTOR   OF 
WHISKERS 

BY  J.ARCHIBALD  McKACKNEY,  MUS.  DOC,  F.R.G.S.,  ETC. 

(EDITED    BY    RALPH    D.    PAINE) 


DRAWINGS  BY  WALLACE  MORGAN 


III.— THE   SENTIMENTAL   ANARCHIST 


THE  Atlantic  liner  Hoch  der  Kaiser 
was  two  days  out  from  New  York 
when  my  indefatigable  assistant, 
Hank  Wilkins,  appeared  in  the  smoking- 
room  door  and  beckoned  to  me  to  join  him 
on  deck.  I  shook  my  head  in  a  negative 
manner,  for  I  was  playing  poker  with 
several  American  trust  magnates  who  had 
shown  themselves  to  be  a  jovial  company 
of  philanthropists  and  most  congenial  com- 
panions. After  gaining  control  of  most  of 
the  food  supply  and  transportation  systems 
of  their  own  country,  they  were  en  route 
for  Europe  to  attempt  the  formation  of 
world-wide  monopolies  in  pickles,  beer, 
coffms,  flour,  and  so  on. 

Presently  Wilkins  returned  to  the  door- 
way and  beckoned  with  more  emphasis 
than  before.  He  was  fidgeting  with  im- 
patience and  knowing  that  he  would  not 
venture  to  call  me  for  a  trifling  matter,  I 
left  the  game  and  followed  him  on  deck. 
He  begged  my  pardon  and  said : 

"You  might  regret  it  if  I  didn't  tell  you 
at  once,  sir.  But  you  have  been  after  it  for 
three  years,  and  I  never  saw  a  finer " 

"Not  the  Full-blooming  Aurora  pat- 
tern?" I  gasped  with  a  flash  of  intuition. 
"You  don't  mean  that  you  have  dis- 
covered a  speciment  of  the  rarest  of 
varieties  of  the  Human  Whisker?" 

"I  haven't  examined  them  close,"  he 
replied,  "but  it  looks  that  way,  sir.  You 
recall  that  imperfect  imitation  you  have 
at  home,  sir,  the  Hall  Caine  portrait  in  the 
billiard  room?  Well,  that  looks  like  a  deck 
swab  beside  what  I've  found." 

I  was  overjoyed  and  declared  that  I 
must  see  it   at  once.     Wilkins  chuckled 


with  pleasure  at  my  eagerness  and  as  he 
led  me  aft  he  explained  that  the  whiskers 
belonged  to  a  second-cabin  passenger,  who 
looked  like  a  Russian.  Wilkins  had  tried 
in  vain  to  scrape  his  acquaintance,  for  the 
fellow  seemed  so  nervous  and  wild-eyed 
that  he  fled  from  all  overtures.  In  fact,  so 
Wilkins  informed  me,  "he  flocked  by  him- 
self as  if  he  was  afraid  of  something."  We 
lingered  at  the  rail  that  barred  the  passage 
to  the  second  cabin,  and  scanned  the  long 
row  of  steamer  chairs.  Wilkins  was  con- 
fident that  the  Russian  would  take  a  turn 
on  deck  before  dinner,  and  said  that  when 
he  walked  it  was  with  a  headlong  gait  and 
incoherent  mutterings  to  himself. 

A  little  later  a  man  of  singular  appear- 
ance emerged  from  the  deck  house  aJft  and 
crossing  to  the  vessel's  side  stood  glaring 
at  the  interminable  carpet  of  blue  water. 
His  figure  was  slender  and  slouching,  his 
attire  well  cared  for  but  shabby,  and  that 
which  made  his  otherwise  commonplace 
aspect  conspicuous  was  the  framing  of 
his  features.  Beard,  whiskers,  mustache, 
there  were  no  lines  of  demarcation.  The 
luxuriant  and  rayonnant  growth  encircled 
and  fairly  obscured  his  lineaments.  It  was 
almost  as  if  he  wore  a  mask,  but  stub  a  mask. 
As  the  sunset  glow  became  enmeshed  in 
this  peerless  decoration,  its  forest  of  tend- 
rils was  illumined  and  the  man's  face 
loomed  in  a  kind  of  golden  aurora. 

I  silently  shook  the  hand  of  Wilkins  and 
told  him  that  if  Hall  Caine  could  behold 
this  peerless  specimen  he  would  shave  for 
very  humiliation.  There  was  only  one  thing 
to  do.  I  must  have  the  Russian's  portrait 
painted  by  the  finest  artisLi|i  Europe. 
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The  coveted  stranger  had  fallen  in  love  with  an  English 
girl  in  the  second  cabin. 


"We'll  land 
him  if  we  can 
get  near enough 
to  put  salt  on 
his  whiskers," 
was  Wilkins' 
gloomy  com- 
ment. "  He's  a 
d — n  shy  bird." 

I  told  Wil- 
kins that  he 
simply  must 
scrape  some 
kind  of  an  ac- 
quaintance in 
order  to  pave 
the  way  for  me. 
If  necessary,  I 
would  have  his 
berth  shifted  to 
the  second 
cabin.  He  was 
to  stick  to  the 
Full-blooming  Aurora  by  night  and  day. 
The  man  could  not  run  away  on  shipboard 
and  Wilkins  had  never  failed  me.  Late  that 
night  he  reported  that  the  coveted  stranger 
had  suddenly  and  violently  fallen  in  love 
with  a  pretty  English  girl  in  the  second 
cabin.  He  had  forsaken  his  eccentric 
solitude  and  had  been  in  the  charmer's 
company  for  several  hours.  Wilkins  ad- 
vanced the  theory  that  this  sentimental 
attack  might  have  been  responsible  for  his 
singular  actions;  that  while  talking  to 
himself  and  waving  his  arms  he  had  been 
trying  to  screw  his  courage  up  to  the  point 
of  declaring  his  passion.  Wilkins  had  not 
talked  to  him  but  he  explained: 

"I  made  a  date  with  the  girl  to  play 
shuffle-board  in  the  morning.  I  can  make 
easier  sailing  with  the  petticoats,  sir." 

Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  of  the  Titian  beard 
had  a  way  with  him,  and  at  noon  next  day 
he  was  snugly  tucked  in  a  steamer  chair  by 
the  side  of  the  rosy  English  girl.  He  had 
artfully  lured  her  to  a  secluded  comer 
where  they  were  screened  from  observation 
behind  a  huge  ventilator.  His  attractive 
companion  seemed  to  welcome  this  isola- 
tion, and  was  frank  enough  to  say  after 
listening  to  the  conversation  of  the  versatile 
Wilkins: 

"It's  a  relief  to  get  away  from  that 
dotty  person  with  the  blond  fringes,  I'm 
sure.     Fancy,    he   flopped    down    on    his 


knees  to  me 
this  morning, 
right  on  deck. 
He  almost 
frightens  me." 
Wilkins  gal- 
lantly assured 
her  that  this 
kind  of  evi- 
dence would 
convince  any 
jury  of  the  Rus- 
sian's sanity, 
but  she  went 
on  to  say:  "He 
talks  odd  and 
violent  most  of 
the  time;  and 
keeps  on  hint- 
ing about  some 
awful  disaster 
that  is  almost 
due  to  happen." 
Wilkins  expressed  the  fervent  hope  that 
the  disaster  might  not  involve  his  whiskers, 
and  the  girl  became  more  confidential: 

"When  he  spoke  to  me  lawst  night  I  felt 
like  screamin'.  But  I  didn't  dare  not  to  be 
nice  to  him,  you  know.  He  is  an  anarchist 
by  trade.  He  told  me  so.  Fawncy  me  an 
anarchist's  bride.  And  he  proposed  to  me 
twice  this  morning.  I'm  sure  he  has  some- 
thing dreadful  on  his  mind.  He  passed  me 
to-day  muttering,  'too  late,  too  late.    My 

God,  I  never  dreamed '     I  missed  the 

rest  of  it,  but  it  was  right  out  of  a  melo- 
drama." 

Just  then  the  anarchist  stepped  from  be- 
yond the  ventilator  and  shot  a  murderous 
glance  at  Wilkins  as  he  slouched  past. 
Wilkins  swore  to  me  that  he  could  hear  the 
man's  teeth  grinding  like  a  coffee  mill  and 
that  his  pockets  were  full  of  bombs  destined 
to  be  hurled  at  his  dashing  rival.  When 
these  reports  were  conveyed  to  me  I  per- 
ceived that  the  demon  of  jealousy  had 
stepped  in  to  thwart  any  plans  that  Wilkins 
might  have  for  capturing  the  Full-blooming 
Aurora  trophy.  I  decided  to  make  the 
attempt  on  my  own  account,  and  deeming 
all  weapons  fair  with  such  a  prize  at  stake, 
I  was  ready  to  confess  myself  a  brother 
anarchist  on  the  instant.  At  the  first  op- 
portunity I  strolled  aft  with  Wilkins.  We 
leaned  against  the  rail  within  earshot  of  the 
glowering  Russian,  whose  tragic  pose  was 


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evidently  intended  to  impress  the  English 
girl.  She  was  playing  deck-quoits  with  sev- 
eral passengers  and  her  outlandish  adorer 
had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  listen  to 
me  as  I  vehemently  addressed  Wilkins: 

"  Monstrous !  Criminal !  The  predatory 
rich,  the  fat-headed  princelings  on  tinsel 
thrones,  in  short,  all  human  parasites  ought 
to  be  obliterated.  Lxx>k  at  that  bloated 
group  of  trust  kings  in  the  smoking  room. 
My  dear  sir,  we  are  their  serfs.  All  govern- 
ment is  a  crime.     All  health  is " 

Wilkins  smote  the  rail  with  his  fist  and 
burst  out : 

"  Yes,  siree.  Three  fingers  of  gun  cotton 
with  a  chaser  of  dynamite  'ud  do  the  Kaiser 
a  whole  lot  of  good.  And  as  for  King 
Edward,  somebody  ought  to  jolt  him  clean 
off  his  perch.  And  them  dog-robbin'  trust 
barons  aboard,  why,  for  two  cents  Td 
bump  them  off  to  glory  myself." 

The  Russian  had  turned  and  was  listen- 
ing to  this  heated  dialogue  with  open  satis- 
faction. Wilkins  found  an  errand  forward, 
and  left  me  to  stare  at  the  sea  in  a  gloomy 
reverie  while  the  stranger  was  edging  nearer. 
After  a  time,  Wilkins  from  afar  off,  beheld 
us  two  desperate  characters  addressing 
each  other  with  animated  gestures.  In 
this  fashion  I  became  an  acquaintance  of 
the  Russian,  and  learned  that  his  name 
was  Pebotsky.  We  passed  most  of  the 
afternoon  together.  I  accepted  his  invita- 
tion to  dine  with  him  in  the  second  cabin. 
By  this  time  he  was  calling  me  his  friend. 

In  the  evening  we  sat  in  a  lonely  comer 
of  the  deck,  and  I  had  totally  forgotten  his 
whiskers,  ]of  PehoUky  was  a  maddened  fiend 
in  human  form.  I  dared  not  leave  him 
until  his  tale  was  done.  This  shabby, 
wild-eyed  anarchist  whom  I  had  laughed  at 
from  afar  was  become  a  hideous  menace,  a 
factor  of  life  and  death.  And  he  had  em- 
braced me  as  a  comrade!  To  such  awful 
depths  had  the  love  of  art  led  me! 

I  am  sure  that  my  ruddy  cheek  must 
have  become  a  mottled  gray  before  he  was 
done  with  me.  I  know  that  when  I  started 
for  my  room  my  knees  were  trembling 
violently  and  my  breathing  was  no  more 
than  a  series  of  gasps.  We  had  been  talk- 
ing for  hours  when  he  decided  to  make  me 
his  confidant.  Heaven  knows  why  he  did 
not  keep  his  infernal  secret  to  himself.  I 
surmised  that  he  was  almost  insane  from 
mental  torture  and  could  not  hold  in.     I 


had  lied  and  perjured  myself  to  such  an 
extent  that  he  had  accepted  me  as  one  of 
the  blood-stained  elect  of  all  besotted 
anarchists.  When  he  asked  me  if  I  valued 
my  life,  I  snapped  my  fmgers  and  told  him 
not  a  tinker's  damn,  and  that  I  would 
gladly  be  blown  up  in  sections  if  it  were  in 
company  with  a  crowned  head  or  a  capital- 
ist. In  fact,  I  believe  1  swore  I  was  thirst- 
ing for  just  such  a  chance.  It  was  all  for 
the  sake  of  his  whiskers,  may  Heaven  for- 
give me. 

To  pass  over  this  painful  recollection  as 
hastily  as  possible,  I  won  the  madman's 
implicit  confidence.  It  seems  that  while 
ashore  he  got  wind  of  the  intended  sailing 
of  Jordan  and  Packard,  and  the  rest  of  the 
trust  outfit  aboard.  As  he  figured  it,  here 
was  the  chance  of  the  age  to  bag  most  of  the 
arch-demons  of  commercial  oppression  at 
one  fell  swoop.  Nothing  like  it  was  likely 
ever  to  come  his  way  again.  He  had  invent- 
ed a  most  damnably  clever  infernal  machine, 
and  somehow  he  managed  to  smuggle  two 
of  them  into  the  holds  of  the  ship,  concealed 
in  harmless  looking  packages  of  freight.  Try 
to  picture  my  emotions  when  Pebotsky 
calmly  informed  me  that  both  machines 
were  timed  to  explode  on  the  morrow. 

His  own  presence  on  board  led  me  to 
think  him  a  colossal  and  picturesque  liar, 
but  Pebotsky  snatched  this  hope  of  escape 
from  me.  He  protested  that  he  was  not 
only  anxious  but  eager  to  become  a  martyr 
and  that  the  removal  of  six  trust  magnates 
in  one  operation  would  be  such  a  glorious 
monument  that  it  would  be  wicked  to  let 
the  chance  slip.  Beside,  he  wanted  to  see 
how  his  infernal  machines  worked.  The 
inconceivable  ass  did  not  have  an  atom  of 
common  sense.  Up  to  this  period  of  the 
voyage  matters  had  been  running  smoothly 
for  Pebotsky.  Then  he  fell  in  love  with 
the  pretty  English  girl  and  she  knocked 
all  his  calculations  into  a  cocked  hat. 

Pebotsky  was  fairly  wild  to  save  the 
ship,  but  he  could  not.  //  was  ico  late. 
These  two  infernal  machines  of  his  had  been 
stowed  somewhere  at  the  bottom  of  thou- 
sands of  tons  of  miscellaneous  cargo.  He 
wouldn't  know  the  boxes  if  he  saw  them. 
A  friend  of  his  had  looked  after  shipping 
them.  He  was  responsible  only  for  their 
confounded  insides.  Even  if  the  crew 
should  be  set  to  work  to  dump  every 
package  of  cargo  into  the  sea  they  could 


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not  have  half  of  it  out  of  the  doomed  ship  in 
the  next  twenty-four  hours.  And  the  first 
machine  had  been  timed  to  go  off  at  noon 
sharp.  He  said  that  they  exploded  them- 
selves by  means  of  chronometer  attach- 
ments. 

I  listened  to  this  awful  narrative  in 
speechless  horror  while  Pebotsky  raved  and 
tore  his  hair  and  tried  to  think  of  some  way 
of  saving  Miss  Fletcher  and  himself. 

As  soon  as  I  had  left  him  I  determined  to 
seek  the  captain  of  the  ship.  I  was  ready 
to  betray  Pebotsky,  for  it  made  no  differ- 
ence whether  we  all  knew  it  or  not.  1  could 
see  no  way  out  of  the  incredibly  harrowing 
situation.  1  got  as  far  as  Wilkins'  state- 
room and  then  my  strength  left  me.  I 
roused  him  and  tottered  inside  and  col- 
lapsed on  his  divan.  He  heard  me  out 
with  his  unfailing  sang-froid  and  took  it 
upon  himself  to  find  the  captain. 

It  required  much  argument  before  the 
officer  on  deck  could  be  persuaded  to 
waken  Captain  Zimmer.  The  commander 
of  the  Hoch  der  Kaiser  was  short-tempered 
and  irritable  when  he  confronted  Wilkins 
who  stood  by  his  guns,  however,  until  the 
amazing  tale  was  done. 

**Send  to  the  second  cabin  and  fetch  me 
a  passenger  named  Pebotsky,"  roared  the 
captain  through  a  speaking  tube  to  the 
officer  on  the  bridge.  "If  he  don't  come 
put  the  irons  on  him.  Mein  Gott,  man,  do 
you  know  vat  you  vas  saying  just  now?  I 
should  lock  you  up  as  a  lunatic,  but  I  know 
your  boss,  Herr  McKackney.  1  have  been 
at  his  house  in  America.  He  is  sensible 
only  for  this  whisker  business  of  his.  So 
we  blow  up  twice  to-morrow?  Once  was 
enough." 

When  the  anarchist  was  dragged  into  the 
captain's  cabin  he  brushed  his  rude-fisted 
escort  aside  and  struck  a  heroic  attitude 
as  he  shouted: 

"Ha!  Ha!  It  is  all  true.  I  am  glad  my 
fat  friend  has  betrayed  me.  I  glory  in 
your  anguish.  It  is  I  that  makes  you 
suffer.  It  is  the  last  night  on  earth  for  you 
and " 

"Dot  is  plenty  from  you,  Pebotsky," 
thundered  the  captain.  "If  you  don't 
own  up  quick  dot  you  vas  a  crazy  liar  I  vill 
nave  you  chucked  overboard." 

Thereupon  this  devil  of  a  fellow  fairly 
begged  the  captain  to  throw  him  overboard. 
It  hastened  the  glorious  end  by  only  a  few 


hours,  and  all  he  asked  was  a  chance  to 
say  farewell  to  his  "soul's  affinity."  The 
seamen  who  lugged  Pebotsky  from  below 
overheard  his  ravings.  They  told  their 
comrades,  who  in  turn  passed  the  dreadful 
secret  along  to  the  stewards,  and  thence  it 
leaked  among  a  few  of  the  passengers. 

Before  breakfast  next  morning  the 
several  presidents  of  the  most  powerful 
American  trusts  waited  upon  the  captain. 
Their  spokesman  declared  in  a  shaky  voice 
(as  overheard  by  Wilkins): 

"If  this  ship  is  to  be  blown  up  at  noon 
to-day,  we  are  prepared  to  buy  the  cargo 
outright,  provided  it  can  be  thrown  over- 
board in  time." 

Another  of  the  group  exclaimed: 

"We  have  subscribed  a  purse  of  a  million 
dollars  to  bribe  the  anarchist  to  call  it  off." 

A  third  broke  in  to  say: 

"And  we  will  buy  the  ship  on  the  spot 
and  give  you  command  of  her.  And  then 
we  will  order  you  to  desert  her  with  the 
passengers  and  crew  as  quickly  as  the  Lord 
will  let  you." 

Captain  Zimmer  set  his  jaw  hard  and 
told  the  magnates: 

"It  vas  you  gentlemen  that  started  the 
performance.  Why  didn't  you  stay  ashore 
before  you  come  aboard  to  make  this 
anarchist  go  crazy.  Now  your  money  will 
buy  you  nothings  from  me.  The  ship  is 
being  searched,  all  suspicious  cargo  hoisted 
on  deck,  and  I  can  do  nothing  more.  It  is 
unheard  of,  gentlemen,  that  a  vessel  in 
perfect  order  should  be  abandoned  at  sea. 
My  men  have  been  working  in  the  holds 
since  midnight.  Maybe  your  jackpots  will 
be  raised  through  the  skylight  at  noon,  eh?" 

As  the  morning  wore  on,  the  excitement, 
confusion,  and  painful  suspense  on  deck 
baffled  description.  The  captain  of  the 
Hoch  der  Kaiser  had  no  more  time  for  his 
passengers.  His  crew  was  on  the  edge  of  a 
panic-stricken  mutiny,  and  the  officers 
were  ordered  to  shoot  the  first  deserter 
from  his  post.  Men  and  women  fought 
their  way  to  the  captain's  deck  to  plead 
that  he  take  to  the  life-boats. 

I  had  made  my  will  before  sailing,  be- 
queathing the  McKackney  Whisker  Col- 
lection to  the  American  Society  for  the 
Promotion  of  Curious  Science.  Other 
passengers  with  less  forethought  were 
flocking  around  a  lawyer  in  the  dining- 
saloon  who  was  rapidly  writing  wills  ?.nd 


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sealing  them  up  in  bottles  to  be  tossed 
overboard  at  the  last  moment. 

As  the  time  crept  nearer  and  nearer  noon, 
the  grimy  men  from  the  engine  and  fire 
rooms  began  to  pour  on  deck.  They  could 
not  be  kept  under,  and  it  was  all  the  officers 
could  do  to  head  off  their  rush  for  the 
boats.  The  jarring  thud  of  the  screws 
ceased.  The  Hoch  der  Kaiser  rolled  idly 
on  the  long  swell  as  if  waiting  for  the  un- 
speakable moment. 

Exactly  on  the  hour  the  huge  vessel 
shivered  from  stem  to  stem  as  if  she  had 
run  on  a  reef.  There  was  a  dull,  muffled 
sound  from  somewhere  under  the  forward 
hatch,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  flying 
fragments  of  timber  and  shattered  cargo. 
An  instant  later  it  seemed  to  rain  cans  of 
corned  beef,  tongue,  and  deviled  ham.  Then 
followed  a  torrent  of  potatoes,  showers  of 
them,  hurled  aloft  with  their  splintered 
barrels,  and  in  their  descent  fairly  bom- 
barding the  fear-stricken  and  cowering  pas- 
sengers. 1  was  struck  on  the  head  by  a 
juicy  missile  and  sent  reeling  to  the  deck, 
and  as  in  a  dream  I  heard  Hank  Wilkins 
observe  with  his  customary  heartiness: 

"It's  what  you   might   call   an  earth- 


quake accompanied  by  violent  showers  of 
corn-beef  hash." 

He  assisted  me  forward  where  we  peered 
down  the  devastated  hatchway.  A  squad 
of  seamen  was  already  hurrying  into  the 
hold  with  lines  of  hose,  the  captain  at 
their  head.  Before  long  he  sent  the  first 
officer  to  report  that  no  lives  had  been 
lost.  A  hole  was  blown  in  the  ship's  bot- 
tom, but  her  bulkheads  were  still  intact, 
and  there  was  no  danger  of  her  sinking. 
The  force  of  the  explosion  had  been 
broken  by  a  thousand  barrels  of  potatoes 
and  several  hundred  tons  of  canned  meats 
that  must  have  been  piled  on  top  of  the  first 
infernal  machine.  The  joyful  passengers 
flocking  about  the  trust  magnates,  cheered 
as  they  singled  out  the  respective  presi- 
dents of  the  beef  and  potato  monopolies. 

"You  have  saved  our  lives,"  they 
chorused.     **  Hurrah  for  the  trusts." 

Pebotsky  was  led  past  them  just  then,  a 
sailor  clutching  him  by  the  ear.  An  ex- 
pression of  poignant  anguish  convulsed  the 
pallid  features  of  the  anarchist.  I  heard 
him  hiss  between  his  teeth: 

"I  would  destroy  these  monsters  of 
capital,  and  I  have  made  heroes  of  them. 
Now  I  wish  to  die.     But  there  will  be  vet 


The  Anarchist  struck  a  heroic  attitude,  as  he  shouted  "Ha,  ha!  It  is  all  truel" 

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This   escape    from 
destruction    had  put 
new   heart   into    the 
ship's       company. 
With  furious  exertion 
they    toiled    in    the 
af terholds,    risking 
their  h'ves   like  men 
with   the  hangman's  1 
rope    around    their' 
necks.     Fifteen  min- 
utes before  the  second 
explosion  was  sched- 
uled to  occur,  a  hoarse 
cheer  rose  from  the 
open  hatch  abaft  the 
first-class   smoking   ro 
lustily  echoed  on  deck, 
and  men  not  so  stroi 
tears  and  were  unashai 
were   hysterical  with 
braced  utter  strangers 
dren  scampered  to  and 
and  gladsome  shouts. 
eJ  for  a  report  from 

roar  of  exultation  coul 

ing  less  than  the  discovery  of  the 
second  infernal  machine. 

A  few  minutes  later,  while  all  hands 
waited  with  incredibly  painful  emotions,  a 
cargo  boom  slowly  hoisted  from  the  depths  of 
the  hold  a  heavy  packing-case  hastily  wrap- 
ped and  cushioned  with  pieces  of  burlap. 
It  swayed  skyward,  and  then  swung  to  and 
fro  and  refused  to  budge.  The  wire  cables 
had  somehow  jammed  in  their  sheaves. 

Groans  burst  from  the  paling  lips  of 
those  who  stood  and  watched  the  dreadful 
menace  suspended  above  the  deck;  but 
there  was  no  hoisting  or  lowering  the 
packing-case.  The  seamen  dared  not  cut 
away  the  fastenings.  It  seemed  impossible 
to  avert  a  disaster  as  unlooked-for  as  it  was 
imminent.  The  frenzied  onlookers  fancied 
they  could  hear  the  inexorable  ticking  of 
the  mechanism  in  the  packing-case.  Men 
stood  as  if  rooted  in  their  tracks,  fascinated, 
hypnotized  with  horror. 

Then  the  ropes  began  slowly  to  slip 
through  the  sheaves.  Inch  by  inch  the 
infernal  machine  descended  toward  the 
vessel's  rail.  Twenty  men  rushed  to  be 
ready  to  cast  it  loose.  As  it  swung  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  deck,  a  slender  slouching 
man  broke  away  from  his  captors  with  a 


\-.' 


/ 


shrill  cry.  Before 
they  could  overtake 
him  he  had  reached 
the  side  of  the  deck, 
and  leaped  upon  the 
rail  with  arms  out- 
\  stretched  toward  the 
r  swaying  packing- 
'  case.  The  singular 
abundance  of  his 
golden  whiskers  part- 
ly hid  the  expression 
of  his  face,  but  those 
who  were  nearest  him 
said  that  he  was 
weeping.  The  labor- 
ing seamen  were  ab- 
sorbed in  a  frenzy  of 
haste.  They  paid  no 
heed  to  this  strange 
figure  on  the  rail. 
With  a  mighty  heave 
they  pushed  the  pack- 
ing-case clear  of  the 
vessel's  side. 

I  sprang  forward, 
forgetting  my  own 
peril,  for  the  anarchist 
was  waving  farewell 
to  the  pretty  English  girl  with  a  gesture  of 
tragic  despair.  1  was  bent  upon  saving  the 
Full-blooming  Aurora  from  the  sea.  But 
as  the  infernal  machine  surged  from  its 
fastenings,  the  sentimental  anarchist  leaped 
forward  and  plunged  headlong,  so  nearly  in 
company  with  his  diabolical  device  that 
they  made  but  one  splash. 

I  glanced  at  my  watch.  It  was  one 
o'clock  to  the  second.  A  huge  column  of 
water  shot  from  the  surface  of  the  ocean 
and  fell  back  in  jeweled  cascades.  A  sub- 
dued roar  came  from  the  depths  and  the 
steamer  trembled.  As  if  to  testify  to  the 
genius  of  its  creator,  the  second  infernal  ma- 
chine had  exploded  at  the  time  appointed. 
I  was  filled  with  the  most  profound 
gratitude  and  thanksgiving  for  our  merciful 
preservation.  But  as  1  stared  over  the  side 
and  viewed  the  foaming  whirlpool  into 
which  Pebotsky  had  vanished,  I  felt  that 
there  was  one  bitter  drop  in  my  cup.  His 
whiskers  had  perished  with  him  and  I 
mourned  the  loss  of  the  noblest  specimen 
of  the  Full-blooming  Aurora  pattern  that 
in  all  probability  existed  on  earth. 


It  seemed  to  rain  cans   of 

corned  beef,  tongue,  and 

deviled  ham. 


(The  fourth  tale  of  a  Cdlecior  of  Whiskers  will  descrihe  the  adventure  oj  "The  Wandering  Book  Case.*') 


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THE 
SAND    DUNES 

A  SERIES  OF   PHOTOGRAPHS 

WITH  LINES  FROM  A  POEM 

BY   SIDNEY   LANIER 


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A   NIGHT   WITH   A  JERSEY 
"SKUNKER" 

BY   WILLIAM    H.   KITCHELL 


shunned 
border 


among 
on    the 


"HE  trade  of  the  skunk- 
hunter  is  one  of  the  few 
occupations  of  the  pres- 
ent that  is  not  over- 
crowded. Nor  is  it  likely 
to  be.  The  animal  bears 
a  bad  name,  and  is 
men  for  reasons  which 
supernatural.  No  fire- 
breathing  dragon  was  ever  gifted  by  popu- 
lar superstition  with  more  terror-inspiring 
powers  of  defense  than  this  little  pariah  of 
the  wilderness.  Indeed,  with  due  regard 
to  the  fitness  of  the  appellation,  one  may 
term  the  skunk  the  Mephistopheles  of 
the  four-legged  world.  And  devil-chasers 
are  as  scarce,  nowadays,  as  they  were  in  the 
days  of  legend. 

The  average  farmer  will  drive  miles  out 
of  his  way  to  avoid  a  close  encounter  with 
the  "varmint,"  not  only  because  he  fears 
its  effective  means  of  defense,  but  more  be- 
cause tradition  has  endowed  the  animal 
with  powers  of  almost  preternatural  magni- 
tude, and,  in  the  absence  of  proof  to  the 
contrary,  tradition  keeps  the  whip-hand 
over  common  sense.  Superstition  was 
ever  hard  to  overturn. 

Because  of  the  backing  given  by  men  of 
good  repute,  it  is  still  a  general  belief  that 
the  bite  of  a  skunk  will  result  in  a  terrible 
death  from  hydrophobia.  It  is  said  that 
the  pungent  liquid  of  defense  secreted  by 
the  skunk  will,  if  a  drop  touch  the  eye, 
cause  instant  and  permanent  blindness. 
These  are  but  two  of  the  many  supersti- 
tions concerning  the  animal  which  are  prev- 
alent throughout  the  Western  Hemisphere 
to-day,  but  the  two  are  sufficient.  Were 
they  true,  or  even  half-true,  the  jet-black 
furs  that  are  sold  by  the  furrier  under  the 
pleasanter  alias  of  "Alaska  sable,"  would 
be  worn  at  the  cost  of  many  lives,  and  the 


blind-asylums  would  be  filled  with  un- 
fortunate skunk-hunters  doomed  to  end 
their  days  in  reading  "The  Simple  Life" 
in  raised  print.  Also,  if  the  superstitions 
were  plain  matter-of-fact,  the  present 
article  would  have  had  an  even  more  tragi- 
cal ending,  as  will  be  explained  later  on. 

It  was  after  digesting  an  overdose  of 
literature  written  by  these  back-window 
naturalists — every  sample  being  full  of 
nightmare-breeding  chunks  of  information 
concerning  the  genus  MephiUz — that 
the  writer  went  skunk-hunting  with  an 
old  trapper  in  New  Jersey. 

This  optimistic  individual  pronounced 
the  night  an  ideal  one  for  business.  It 
may  have  been — ^for  a  "hold-up"  job,  or 
a  convention  of  Russian  revolutionists. 
To  Jones — nom-de-guerre  for  the  city  man, 
who  would  have  liked  to  back  out  at  the 
start — the  weather  was  most  unpropitious. 
It  was  cold  and  dismal,  for  a  raw  fog  was 
creeping  up  the  Raritan  valley  from  Sandy 
Hook  and  covering  all  Somerset  G)unty 
with  a  chilling  blanket  of  mist.  Then,  too, 
it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  moon  not  due 
until  midnight;  and  the  prospect  of 
stumbling  for  many  hours  through  the 
fields  and  woodlands  of  central  New  Jersey 
was  not  a  cheerful  one  to  contemplate. 
As  a  mocking  contrast,  the  dark  clouds 
hanging  thirty  miles  away  above  the  east- 
em  horizon  were  edged  underneath  with 
the  reflected  glory  of  Broadway.  Some- 
where in  the  Koran  it  is  asserted,  meta- 
phorically, of  course,  that  Hades  is  but  the 
distance  of  a  mustard  seed  from  the  gate 
of  Paradise.  During  these  first  shivering 
moments  of  indecision,  Jones  changed  the 
estimate  to  thirty  miles.  This  was  while 
the  skunk  expert  was  in  the  bam  untying 
the  dog. 

Fritz  was  a   fox-terrier,  lop-eared  and 


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as  homely  as  sin.     He  was  a  dirty-white 
canine,  with  a  black  patch  across  one  eye 
which  gave  him  a  most  diabolical  cast  of 
features,  and  his  hide  exhaled  the  odor  of  a 
chemical  laboratory  gone  wrong.     He  was 
ready  for  a  night  of  warfare,  and  his  two- 
inch  stump  tail  waggled  emphatic  approval 
during  the  prelimina- 
ries of  getting  under 
way.     Fritz  knew  he 
was  leaving  the  solid 
comfort  of  a  soft  bed 
in  the  hay,  with  the 
sole  object  of   chas- 
ing  little  black-and- 
white    devils    armed 
with     liquid     brim- 
stone, yet  he  flew  out 
of  the  bam  door  as  if 
there  was  a  cat-wor- 
rying performance 
scheduled  outside  and 
he  was   late   for   his 
cue.     He  was  a  brave 
dog,  but  rash  beyond 
human     comprehen- 
sion. 

However,  after  the 
expedition  had 
started  out  into  the 
fog,    and    picked    its 
way,  tandem-fashion, 
through  a  barb- wire 
fence    or    two,    and 
across   an   apple  or- 
chard into  the  mountain  wood-road,  Jones' 
Inferno  grew  lighter  with  every  moment. 
As  the  eye  became  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness the  sky  brightened  into  iron-gray,  and 
a  few  stars  flickered  dimly  above  the  mist. 
Walking,  too,  changed  from  a  torture  into 
a    pleasurable    exercise    after   Jones    had 
found  his  footing,  and  made  the  discovery 
that    side-hill    clearings    are   more   easily 
traversed  by  walking  around  the  stumps 
than  by  stumbling  over  them. 

There  is  nothing  impressive  about  the 
outfit  of  the  "skunker."  In  full  regalia 
he  would  be  taken  for  a  tramp,  anywhere, 
and  the  present  example  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule.  His  clothes  were  a  hetero- 
geneous collection  of  cast-off  garments 
which,  because  of  previous  wear  on  similar 
expeditions,  gave  forth  an  automobile-like 
odor  that  was  overpowering  at  first.  The 
outfit  proper  consisted  of  a  stout  club,  two 


He  seemed  to  regard  the  act  of  killing  a  skunk 
as  a  pleasant  detail  of  the  business. 


buriap  bags  to  hold  the  kill,  and  the  above- 
mentioned  dog. 

The  experienced  pelt  hunter  who  goes 
after  small  game  alone  has  no  use  for  fire- 
arms.    A  stray  shot  mark  will  ruin  a  valu- 
able pelt  and  render  it  unmarketable  at 
any  price,  while  a  well-aimed  blow  with  a 
stick  will   finish   the 
business  with    the 
same     dispatch    and 
with  a   minimum  of 
noise.     And  noise  is 
an    undesirable    ele- 
ment in  the  hunting 
of  skunks.    To  track 
a    skunk   under    the 
floor  of    a   chicken- 
house  belonging  to  a 
nervous  and  irascible 
farmer,  say  an  hour 
after   midnight — and 
to  get  that  skunk — is 
an  operation  requir- 
ing great  nerve  and 
delicate  attention  to 
details.   The  pleasant 
task  of  picking  bird- 
shot  out   of   various 
parts  of  one's  anat- 
omy for  months  after- 
ward would  be,  like 
enough,  the  net  result 
of  the  attempt,  and 
the  average  skunker 
would  "pass "on  that 
proposition  with  no  loss  of  self-respect.   But, 
given  a  club  and  an  intelligent  skunk-dog, 
an  artist  like  Bill  Evans  would  get  the  pelt 
without  waking  even  the  animal  inside. 

"  You  see,"  explained  Bill,  after  he  had 
stopped  to  light  his  pipe  and  the  expedi- 
tion was  again  on  the  move,  "this  is  the 
kind  of  a  night  when  a  sensible  skunk  ought 
to  keep  indoors.  Mebbe  you've  noticed  in 
the  city  that  on  a  foggy  night  like  this, 
with  no  wind  stirrirtg,  you  can't  smell 
nothing  much  but  fog.  Even  the  smoke 
from  a  gas  factory  won't  carry  far.  Well, 
it's  the  same  with  our  scent.  1  caught 
eighteen  skunks  on  a  night  like  this,  once, 
and  1  could  have  killed  as  many  more  only 
1  was  tired  out.  You  see,  the  skunk,  like 
most  four-legged  animals,  relies  on  its  nose 
to  detect  the  approach  of  an  enemy,  and  on 
a  thick  night  this  sense  of  scent  is  useless. 
Why,  once " 


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A  Night  With  a  Jersey  "Skunker" 


563 


"What's  that?"  asked  Jones  suddenly, 
pointing  ahead  to  a  dark  object  in  the  road. 
It  was  a  small,  black  beast  of  uncertain  di- 
nxensions,  and  it  was  trotting  along  as 
though  it  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of 
trouble  ahead — or  behind. 

"It's  our  first  skunk,"  muttered  the 
trapper,  "and  that  darn  dog  is  off  after  a 
cotton-tail  again.  Don't  come  too  close, 
because  you  might  get  stunk  up  a  bit." 

Jones  looked  on  from  th^  family-circle. 

But  the  first  kill  proved  to  be  rather 
a  tame  performance.  Bill  tiptoed  softly 
toward  the  animal,  and  managed  to  get 
within  striking  distance  before  his  pres- 
ence was  even  suspected.  Suddenly  he 
stepped  upon  a  dry  twig  which  crackled 
loudly  under  his  weight.  The  unlucky 
skunk  gave  an  unearthly  squeal  of  terror 
and  turned,  with  a  quick  jump,  to  get  into 
action.  But  Bill  had  the  drop.  Before 
the  skunk  had  time  to  point  its  business- 
end  at  something  tangible,  his  club  dropped 
with  a  thud,  and  there  was  a  dead  skunk 
lying  in  the  road  at  his  feet. 

It  was  about  the  size  of  a  full-grown  cat; 
jet-black,  with  a  thin  white  streak  running 
lengthwise  along  the  backbone  from  tip  to 
Stern.  The  tail  was  long  and  bushy,  with 
coarse  hairs  that  hung  in  a  plume,  like  an 
ostrich  feather.  It  was  such  a  pretty  little 
animal  that  it  seemed  to  Jones  a  sacrilege 
had  been  committed.  He  sniffed  the  air, 
incredulously. 

Bill  chuckled  proudly.  "Don't  seem 
possible,  does  it?"  he  said.  "But  it  was 
only  good  luck  that  kept  the  air  sweet. 
Generally,  when  I  catch  the  critters  in  the 
open,  like  this,  there  'II  be  yellow  streaks 
flying  around,  and  the  place  will  smell  of 
skunk  oil  for  months  afterward." 

The  bag  had  now  begun  to  receive  its 
load  but  was  still  as  inoffensive  as  a  sack 
of  potatoes.  Indeed,  there  are  few  more 
fastidious  animals*  than  the  much-maligned 
skunk.  It  is  at  all  times  sparing  of  its  am- 
munition, and  will  seldom  shoot  unless  the 
strategic  position  of  an  enemy  is  to  its 
liking.  When  it  does  fire  it  is  as  careful  not 
to  soil  its  fur  with  the  fluid  as  the  rattle- 
snake is  not  to  injure  itself  with  its  venom. 
As  proof,  the  five  skunks  killed  by  the 
trapper  before  midnight  exhaled  no  odor 
after  being  dispatched.  On  second  thought, 
there  was  one  exception. 

This   was  one   ill-fated   specimen    that 


had  only  been  stunned  by  the  blow  from 
Bill's  club.  It  woke  up  during  the  walk 
home  and,  probably  not  liking  the  mixed 
company  contained  in  the  sack,  "let  fly" 
on  general  principles.  This  made  trouble 
for  Bill,  because  the  rest  of  the  pelts  be- 
came saturated  with  the  liquid,  requiring 
burial  underground  for  several  days. 

By  twelve  o'clock  the  trip  had  covered 
about  ten  miles  of  ground;  mostly  cross- 
country travel  through  rough  pasture, 
stump-clearings  and  the  stony  peach  or- 
chards which  form  a  conspicuous  feature  in 
the  Somerset  landscape.  The  sack  now  held 
five  skunks,  two  raccoons,  and  one  opos- 
sum, and  the  lot  were  gaining  weight  with 
every  moment.  Jones  was  suffering  in- 
tensely with  the  distaste  for  exertion  which 
comes  to  most  city  men  after  an  hour's 
ramble  with  a  lawn-mower.  The  expedi- 
tion had  simmered  down,  in  his  opinion, 
from  a  dragon  hunt  into  a  mere  cat-slaugh- 
tering affair.  It  was  all  so  pitifully  easy. 
Jones  had  murdered  a  mangy  kitten,  once, 
in  cold  blood  and  a  pail  of  water,  and  the 
memory  of  that  foul  deed  was  coming  to 
light  again.  Skunk-killing  seemed  to  be 
about  on  the  same  level. 

Not  but  what  there  were  extenuating 
features  of  interest.  To  begin  with.  Bill's 
good  luck  only  held  out  until  midnight. 
After  that,  Fritz  took  a  lively  share  in  the 
proceedings,  and  the  result  was  chaos. 
This  is  what  usually  happened.  The  ex- 
pedition would  be  straggling  through  the 
underbrush,  most  likely  in  a  blackberry 
thicket,  when  suddenly  Fritz's  tenor  bark 
would  pierce  the  fog.  Fritz  had  a  special, 
"call-out-all-the-engines"  alarm,  which  he 
used  whenever  he  found  a  skunk.  It  was 
a  succession  of  sharp,  agonizing  yelps, 
which  indicated  that  the  joy  of  combat, 
inherent  in  dog-nature,  was  finding  an  out- 
let, also  that  he  didn't  want  to  finish  the 
job  alone.  Often,  he  was  so  far  away  that 
when  reinforcements  arrived,  he  had  tired 
of  the  sport,  and  had  allowed  the  skunk  to 
escape.  But  as  a  rule  the  terrier  pluckily 
corralled  his  game  in  a  fence  comer  or  a 
clump  of  bushes,  and  here  Bill  would  find 
him  dancing  madly  around  the  spot,  and 
reeking  with  delight  and  skunk-perfumery. 
His  master  had  trained  him  to  keep  his  dis- 
tance from  the  enemy.  Fritz's  teeth  were 
sharp,  and  the  marks  would  ruin  a  pelt  as 
surely  as  the  hole  left  by  a  revolver  bullet. 

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When  Bill  came  up,  the  dog  seemed  to 
understand  that  his  part  in  the  perform- 
ance was  done,  and  he  would  either  stand 
back  and  criticize  Bill's  work  or  start  off 
after  more  game.  Possibly,  too,  he  had  a 
wholesome  dread  of  the  trapper's  club. 

As  for  Bill,  he  seemed  to  regard  the  act  of 
killing  a  skunk  as  a  pleasant  detail  of  the 
business.  With  the  extra  burlap  bag 
spread  across  his  left  arm  as  his  sole  pro- 
tection against  skunk-ammunition,  he 
would  walk  calmly  into  the  mel^.  It 
would  be  a  short  fight.  The  skunk  depends 
almost  entirely  upon  its  "spraying-liquid" 
^or  its  defense  against  an  enemy,  and 
seems  to  lose  its  nerve  when  attacked  at 
close  quarters.  It  will  bite  at  the  grass 
and  apparently  go  mad  with  rage,  but 
these  paroxysms  are  but  harmless  evi- 
dences of  fright.  At  least.  Bill  seemed  to 
care  nothing  for  them.  If  the  animal  was 
"shooting-mad,"  Bill  would  shelter  his  face 
behind  the  burlap  bag,  and  wait  until  the 
c  ruption  was  finished.  If  not,  so  much  the 
better  for  Bill.  He  would  wait  patiently 
for  the  right  moment,  and  then — crack! — 
down  fell  the  heavy  club  on  the  skunk's 
backbone,  and  Jones  would  have  another 
addition  to  his  game-sack. 

As  before  intimated,  Jones  found  that 
three  hours  of  the  sport  was  about  his 
limit.  He  had  not  walked  so  farat  once  in 
years,  and  he  was  fast  becoming  a  physical 
wreck.  Jones  mentioned  his  symptoms  to 
his  companion. 

"Fact  is,"  answered  Bill,  sympatheti- 
cally, "we  switched  for  home  half  an  hour 
ago.  1  saw  you  weren't  enjoying  yourself 
over-and-above  much,  and  I  don't  blame 
you  for  giving  in,  for  it  comes  natural.  As 
the  saying  goes,  'what's  one  man's  meat  is 
another  man's  poison.'  Take  a  man  off 
the  farm  and  put  him  on  your  city  pave- 
ments for  a  few  hours.  It's  ten  to  one  that 
he  will  go  back  all  crippled  up,  and  he 
won't  be  able  to  turn  a  furrow  for  six  weeks 
afterward.  I've  been  there,  myself.  But 
Tm  sorry  you  ain't  had  your  money's 
worth  of  excitement.  Skunk-killing  ain't 
exactly  an  amusement,  but  it  livens  up  a 
bit,  sometimes,  and  then  it's  a  three-ring 
circus.     We  may  have  a  scrimmage,  yet." 

Evans  was  a  remarkable  foreteller  of 
events. 

It  was  but  a  few  seconds  later  when 
"^ritz's  bark  was  heard.     I     was  not  far 


away,  and  it  boded  trouble.  Also,  into 
the  fog  arose  the  dense,  suffocating  odor, 
like  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  the  per- 
fume exhaled  from  an  enraged  skunk. 

Bill  breathed  in  the  aroma  with  the 
delight  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  I  reckon  as  how  we  are  going  to  get  a 
little  excitement,  after  all,"  he  said,  chuck- 
ling. "That  blamed  dog  has  scared  a 
skunk  into  a  fit  down  in  Jim  Snyder's 
ditch,  and  he's  afraid  to  go  down  after  it 
alone.  Come  on,  if  you  ain't  too  tired  to 
see  the  fireworks." 

The  ditch  was  really  an  open  land-drain 
between  t>yo  peach  orchards.  1 1  was  about 
fivii  feet  deep,  by  the  same  in  width  at  the 
top.  Over  it  hung  a  dense  tangle  of  sassa- 
fras bushes  and  wild-grape  vines,  while 
the  sides  were  covered  with  a  slippery 
swamp  grass,  the  more  slippery  because  of 
the  moist  atmosphere.  Fritz  was  at  the 
edge  of  this,  barking  lustily,  and  he  was 
nearly  frantic  with  anxiety  when  reinforce- 
ments came  up.  Jones  would  not  have 
gone  down  into  that  pit  of  brimstone  for  a 
season  ticket  into  the  Polo  Grounds. 

"Surely  you  don't  think  of  getting  that 
skunk?"  he  asked.  His  companion  had 
put  on  a  pair  of  enormous  goggles,  and 
was  otherwise  preparing  himself  for  an 
affray  at  close  quarters. 

"You  bet  1  am!  Can't  make  a  dollar- 
'n-a-half  any  easier,  can  I?  Hear  the 
critter  cough?  Sounds  like  a  feller  in 
church  who  wants  to  blow  his  nose,  and 
ain't  brought  along  any  handkerchief.  A 
skunk  never  makes  that  noise  until  it  is 
about  frightened  to  a  standstill,  and  I'll 
have  to  hurry  or  it  '11  fly  the  coop.  Keep 
Fritz  on  the  bank,  because  there  won't  be 
foom  for  both  of  us  down  below." 

Jones  grabbed  the  terrier,  who  was  ready 
enough  to  follow  his  master,  while  the 
trapper  slid  to  the  bottom.  He  struck  a 
loose  stone  on  the  way  down,  and  landed 
— as  he  admitted  afterward — "consider- 
ably promiscuous." 

"Darn  the  luck!"  he  muttered,  "I've 
lost  my  spectacles."  And,  without  think- 
ing of  his  danger,  he  lit  a  match. 

Jones,  who  was  peering  through  a  sassa- 
fras bush,  fell  back,  half  stifled.  He  had 
seen  a  little  black-and-white-striped  beast 
snapping  at  the  grass  and  twisting  itself 
into  uncanny  writhings  of  rage,  a  most  at 
Bill's  feet.    The  next    instant    he  saw  a 


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Streak  of  yellow  lightning  playing  in  a 
phosphorescent  stream  about  the  face  of 
the  trapper.  Then  he  heard  the  dull  thud 
of  a  club,  striking  home. 

Bill  scrambled  out  of  the  pit  on  all-fours, 
spluttering  and  staggering  like  a  man  gone 
mad.  He  had  the  skunk  by  the  tail,  and 
he  flung  the  limp  body  far  into  the  orchard. 
"Quick!"  he  shouted,  as  soon  as  he  could 
talk,  "I'm  blind!  Get  some  water  some- 
where, so's  I  can  get 
the  hell-fire  out  of  my 
eyes." 

Luckily,  Jones  was 
equal    to    the    emer- 
gency.   There   was    a 
swamp  near  by,  where 
running  water  was 
plentiful,   and   to  this 
swamp     he     led     the 
trapper.     Bill  had  re- 
ceived   a   charge   of 
sk  u  n  k-a  m  m  u  n  i  t  i  o  n 
square    in    the    eyes, 
and  the  pain,  while  it 
lasted,  must  have  been 
intense.    But  repeated 
bathing  with  water 
soon  cured  the  agony. 
Indeed,  Bill  averred  he 
had  become  so  used  to 
the  "injections"  as  to 
regard  them  as  beneficial  to  sharp  eyesight, 
and  that  he  made  the  "fuss"  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  alarming  the  city  man.     This 
was  an  obvious  exaggeration,  to  say  the 
least.     He  was  totally  blinded  for  several 
minutes,  and  his  eyes  remained  bloodshot 
for  days  afterward.    However,  as  the  worst 
result  of  the  episode,  he  was  compelled, 
for  sanitary  reasons,  to  sleep  in  the  barn 
with  Fritz  during  the  next  week. 

He  was  over-anxious  to  make  light  of 
the  incident.  "  Fact  is,"  he  remarked,  on 
the  way  home,  "the  stuff  is  powerfully 
strong,  but  it  wouldn't  blind  a  mosquito. 
As  for  a  bite  from  the  critter  giving  a  man 
the  hydrophobia,  the  idea's  plumb  non- 
sense. I've  been  bit  more  times  than  I 
can  remember,  myself,  and  Fritz  gets  so 
cut-up  sometimes  that,  if  I  didn't  know  it 
was  from  skunk-bite,  I'd  honestly  believe 
he  had  been  chasing  rats  in  a  threshing- 
machine.  Dogs  and  foxes  go  mad,  at 
times,  and  the  skunk  may  be  liable  to  the 
same  disease,  but  it  ain't  a  natural  habit 


Bill  breathed  in  the  aroma  with  the  delij^ht 
of  a  connoisseur. 


with  the  animal.  Even  the  perfumery  is 
made  too  much  of.  Between  a  skunk  and 
one  of  them  gasoline  automobiles  there 
ain't  much  choice  in  stinks.  And  for  a 
child  to  monkey  with,  I'd  give  mine  a 
skunk,  every  time." 

But  although,  as  Bill  intimates,  one  may 
get   so   accustomed    to   the  odor    as   to 
enjoy  it,  it  is  best  inhaled  at  a  distance. 
When  experienced  at  close  range  there  are 
no   words   sufficiently 
vigorous  to  give  even 
a  faint   impression  of 
its  strength.     As  men- 
tioned before,  it  is  dif- 
fused in  a  yellow,  phos- 
phorescent    stream, 
which,  if  the  wind  be 
high,  scx)n  breaks  and 
.  drifts  away  in  a  golden 
mist,  strikingly  beau- 
tiful on  a  dark  night. 
Otherwise,  it  will   hit 
a    one-inch   bull's-eye 
at  twenty  feet.      But 
an  east  wind  from  a 
fertilizer  factory,  or  a 
whiff  of  state  politics — 
no   particular  state — 
is  as  the  breath  of  a 
rose  garden  compared 
with   the  penetrating, 
suffocating  odor  of  an  infuriated  skunk. 
However,  Bill  may  b2  allowed  his  preju- 
dice, for  "every  man  to  his  trade." 

For  the  sake  of  variety,  Jones  deter- 
mined to  round-up  the  night's  work  by 
killing  a  skunk  himself.  The  trapper  had 
had  enough  "business"  for  one  evening 
at  least,  and  he  handed  over  the  club  and 
t(x>k  charge  of  the  game-sack  with  a  readi- 
ness that  was  most  suspicious.  It  was 
really  a  case  of  misery  aching  for  company. 
Evans  admitted  as  much.  "Just  like  a 
city  man,"  he  said,  grinning  cheerfully. 
"You  ain't  satisfied  with  seeing  a  free  cir- 
cus, but  want  to  jump  in  and  play  the 
clown  yourself.  Well,  I'll  sit  on  the  fence 
next  time  the  show  comes  around,  and 
watch  you  stir  up  the  animals" 

The  weather  had  cleared  shortly  after 
midnight,  and  the  moon  was  playing 
strange  pranks  with  the  landscape.  Swift- 
flying  wisps  of  fog  swept  by,  and  every 
wisp  had  its  counterpart  in  shadow  on  the 
fields.     There   were   also  other 


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that  were  bewildering. 
When  every  stone  be- 
comes metamorphosed 
by  moonlight  and  a 
strong  imagination  into 
the  form  of  a  skunk,  the 
consequences  are  ex- 
ceedingly interesting. 
Jones  was  a  victim  of 
this  hallucination  until 
his  brain  gave  way. 
Then  he  rested  on  the 
top  rail  of  the  next  fence 
and  waited  for  Evans 
to  come  up  with  the 
dog.  There  seemed  to 
be  something  wrong 
with  a  clump  of  stones 
in  the  field  beyond. 

This  was  another 
peach  orchard,  newly 
plowed  for  spring  wheat. 
When  Jones  recovered 
his  nerve,  he  saw  that  at  the  foot  of  the 
nearest  tree  were  four  skunks — a  mother 
and  three  young  ones.  It  was  a  larger 
contract  than  was  anticipated  by  the  city 
man,  but  to  show  the  white  feather  would 
never  do.  So  he  stepped  gingerly  oflF  the 
fence — on  the  skunk  side,  and  tiptoed 
upon  the  enemy. 

But  it  was  Fritz  who  forced  the  issue. 
He  came  meandering  along  under  the 
fence  with  his  nose  glued  to  the  ground. 
Every  professional  instinct  was  alert.  He 
had'  discovered  a  fresh  skunk-track,  and 
he  evidently  expected  to  find  his  game 
somewhere  in  the  next  county,  for  he  over- 
shot the  mark.  In  fact,  he  ran  straight 
into  that  family  of  skunks. 

It  was  a  complete  surprise  to  both 
forces.  Mother  skunk  was  the  first  to 
grasp  the  situation,  and  her  mode  of  ob- 
taining a  strategical  advantage  was  ingeni- 
ous. In  an  instant  her  teeth  had  gripped 
deep  into  the  dog's  two-inch  tail,  and  the 
contact  must  have  been  most  unpleasant. 
Fritz  yelped  his  opinion  loudly  in  an  out- 


The  next  day  he  burned  his  second  best 
suit  of  clothes. 


pouring  of  dog  billings- 
gate, and  tried  gamely 
to  get  a  like  hold  on 
the  enemy.  Luckily 
for  himself,  he  failed. 

It  was  lime  for  rein- 
forcements, and  Jones 
made  a  flank  movement 
so  as  to  get  into  the 
fracas  unobserved.  The 
skunk  babies  had  wisely 
lit  out  for  cover  at  the 
beginning,  and  the  field 
was  open.  The  skunk 
saw  Jones  coming  and 
tried  to  back  away,  still 
keeping  her  hold  on  the 
agonized  dog.  She 
backed  into  the  peach 
tree,  and  —  probably 
thinking  it  was  a  new 
attacking  force  at  the 
rear — she  let  go  her 
hold  of  the  real  enemy.  Snarling  with 
rage,  she  let  fly  with  her  battery  of  liquid 
brimstone.  Jones  was  in  the  vortex  of  the 
atmospheric  disturbance,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  earth  had  dropped  away,  and 
he  had  landed  somewhere  in  hell.  But  the 
battery  turned,  end-on,  toward  Fritz,  and 
before  that  unfortunate  canine  had  time  to 
get  out  of  range,  he,  too,  received  his 
deserts.  He  went  out  of  commission  im- 
mediately and,  howling  dismally,  made  a 
quick  retreat  from  the  battle-field.  As  for 
Jones,  he  took  the  better  part  of  valor,  and 
jumped  the  fence. 

The  trapper  claimed  to  have  "busted" 
three  suspender  buttons  during  the  en- 
gagement, but  it  didn't  seem  at  all  funny 
to  the  city  man.  At  least,  not  until  the 
next  day,  when  he  had  removed  a  little  of 
the  odor  with  a  brisk  application  of  elbow- 
grease,  and  had  burned  his  second-best 
suit  of  clothes.  By  that  time  he  had 
regained  what  was  left  of  his  reason,  and 
was  even  glad  that  the  skunk  had  got 
away. 


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THE   WAY   OF   A   MAN 


BY   EMERSON    HOUGH 


DRAWING    BY    GEORGE   WRIGHT 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   SUPREME   COURT 

HE  grounds  for  the  pigeon 
match  had  been  arranged 
at  the  usual  place,  near 
totheedgeof  the  military 
reservation,  and  here,  a 
half  hour  before  the  hour 
set,  there  began  to  gather 
practically  all  of  the  young  officers  about 
the  post,  such  enlisted  men  as  could  get 
leave,  with  cooks,  strikers,  laundresses,  all 
the  scattered  personnel  of  the  barracks. 
There  came  as  well  many  civilians  from 
the  city,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  a  line 
of  carriages,  with  many  ladies,  drawn  up 
back  of  the  score.  Evidently  our  little 
matter  was  to  be  made  a  semi-fashion- 
able affair,  and  used  as  an  expedient  to 
while  away  ennui-ridden  army  time. 

My  opponent,  accompanied  by  Major 
Williams,  arrived  at  about  the  same  time 
that  our  party  reached  the  grounds. 
Orme  shook  hands  with  me  heartily,  and 
declared  that  he  was  feeling  well,  although 
Williams  laughingly  announced  that  he 
had  not  been  able  to  make  his  man  go  to 
bed  for  more  than  an  hour  that  morning, 
or  to  keep  him  from  eating  and  drinking 
everything  he  could  lay  his  hands  upon. 
Yet  now  his  eye  was  bright,  his  skin  firm, 
his  step  light  and  easy.  That  the  man 
had  a  superb  constitution  was  evident,  and 
I  knew  that  my  work  was  cut  out  for  me. 
"Don't  understand  me  to  wish  to  urge 
anything,"  said  Orme  politely,  "but  is 
there  any  one  who  wishes  to  back  me,  per- 
haps, or  to  back  Mr.  Cowles?  Sometimes 
at  our  English  club  we  shoot  at  a  guinea  a 
bird,  or  five,  or  ten." 

Stevenson  shook  his  head.     "Too  gaited 
for  me  at  this  time  of  the  month,"  he  said. 


"but  I'll  lay  you  a  hundred  dollars  on  the 
issue." 

"  Five,  if  you  like,  on  the  Virginian,  sir," 
said  young  Lieutenant  Belknap  to  Orme. 

"  Done,  and  done,  gentlemen.  Let  it  be 
dollars  and  not  guineas,  if  you  like.  Would 
any  one  else  like  to  lay  a  little  something? 
You  see  I'm  a  stranger  here,  but  1  wish  to 
do  what  will  make  it  interesting  for  any  of 
you  who  wish." 

A  few  more  wagers  were  laid,  and  the 
civilian  element  began  to  plunge  a  bit  on 
Orme,  word  having  passed  that  he  was  an 
old  hand  at  the  game,  whereas  I  was  but  a 
novice.  Orme  took  some  of  these  wagers 
carelessly. 

"Now  as  to  our  referee.  Captain,"  said 
Stevenson.  "We  wish  your  acquaintance 
were  greater,  so  that  you  might  name  some 
one  who  would  suit  you." 

"I'm  indifferent,"  said  Orme  politely. 
"Any  one  Mr.  Cowles  will  name  will  please 
me." 

His  conduct  was  handsome  throughout, 
and  his  sporting  attitude  made  him  many 
friends  among  us. 

"I  see  Judge  Reeves,  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  over  there  in  a  car- 
riage," suggested  Major  Williams.  "I've 
very  much  a  notion  to  go  and  ask  him  to 
act  as  our  referee." 

"God  bless  my  soul,"  said  Orme,  "this  is 
an  extraordinary  country  I  What!  a  Judge 
of  the  Supreme  Court?" 

Williams  laughed.  "You  don't  know 
this  country,  Captain,  and  you  don't  know 
Judge  Reeves.  He's  a  trifle  old,  but  game 
as  a  fighting  cock,  and  not  to  mention  a 
few  duels  in  his  time,  he  knows  more  about 
guns  and  dogs  to-day  than  he  does  about 
law.  He'll  not  be  offended  if  1  ask  him, 
and  here  goes." 

He  edged  off  through  the  crowd,  and  we 


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saw  him  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 
To  our  surprise  and  amusement,  we  ob- 
served the-  Judge  to  climb  hastily  down  out 
of  his  carriage  ant!  take  Major  Williams' 
arm;  a  tall,  thin  man,  whose  long  hair  and 
beard  were  silvery  white,  yet  with  stature 
erect  and  vigorous.  His  keen  blue  eye 
kindled  as  he  saw  our  preparations. 

"Is  the  case  ready  for  argument?" 
asked  he  presently.  Williams  and  Steven- 
son both  replied:  "All  ready." 

Judge  Reeves  felt  in  his  pockets. 
"Ahem,  gentlemen,"  he  resumed,  "will 
some  one  be  so  good  as  to  lend  the  Court  a 
silver  coin.  Thank  you — "  to  Williams 
— "and  now,  gentlemen,  will  you  toss  for 
the  order  of  precedence?" 

We  threw  the  coin,  and  I  lost  the  toss. 
Orme  sent  me  to  the  score  first,  with  the 
purpose,  as  I  knew,  of  studying  his  man. 

I  loaded  at  the  open  bowls,  and  adjusted 
the  caps  as  I  stepped  to  the  score.  I  was 
perhaps  a  bit  too  tense  and  eager,  although 
my  health  and  youth  had  never  allowed 
me  to  be  victim  of  what  is  known  as  nerv- 
ousness. Our  birds  were  to  be  flown  by 
hand  from  behind  a  screen,  and  my  first 
bird  started  off  a  trifle  low,  but  fast,  and  1 
knew  I  was  not  on  with  the  first  barrel.  I 
killed  it  with  the  second,  but  it  struggled 
over  the  tape. 

"Lost  bird,"  called  out  Judge  Reeves 
sharply  and  distinctly,  and  it  was  evident 
that  now  he  would  be  as  decisive  as  he  had 
hitherto  been  deliberate. 

We  shot  along  for  ten  birds,  and  Orme 
was  straight,  to  my  nine  killed.  Stevenson 
whispered  to  me  once  more.  "Take  it 
easy,  and  don't  be  worried  about  it.  It's  a 
long  road  to  a  hundred.  Don't  think 
about  your  next  bird,  and  don't  worry 
whether  he  kills  his  or  not.  Just  you  kill 
*em  one  at  a  time,  and  kill  each  one  dead." 

Orme  went  on  as  though  he  could  kill  a 
hundred  straight.  His  time  was  perfect, 
and  his  style  at  the  score  beautiful.  He 
shot  carelessly,  but  with  absolute  confi- 
dence, and  more  than  half  the  time  he  did 
not  use  his  second  barrel. 

"Old  Virginia  never  tires,"  whispered 
Stevenson.  "He'll  come  back  to  you  be- 
fore long,  never  fear." 

But  ()rme  made  it  twenty  straight  be- 
fore he  came  back.  Then  he  caught  a 
strong  right  quarterer,  which  escaped  al- 
together, apparently  but  lightly  hit.     No 


one  spoke  a  word  of  S3rmpathy  or  exulta- 
tion, but  I  caught  the  glint  of  Stevenson's 
eye.  Orme,  however,  was  not  in  the  least 
disturbed. 

We  were  now  tied,  but  luck  ran  against 
us  both  for  a  time,  since  out  of  the  next  five 
I  missed  three  and  Orme  two,  and  the  odds 
again  were  against  me.  It  stood  the  same 
at  thirty,  and  at  thirty-five.  At  forty  the 
fortune  of  war  once  more  favored  me,  for 
although  Orme  shot  like  a  machine,  with  a 
grace  and  beauty  of  delivery  I  have  never 
seen  surpassed,  he  lost  one  bird  stone  dead 
over  the  line,  carried  out  by  a  slant  of  the 
rising  wind,  which  blew  from  left  to  right 
across  the  field.  Five  birds  farther  on,  yet 
another  struggled  over  for  him.  At  sixty- 
five  1  had  him  back  of  me  two  birds.  The 
interest  all  along  the  line  was  now  intense. 
Stevenson  later  told  me  that  they  had 
never  seen  such  shooting  as  we  were  doing. 

We  went  on  slowly,  as  such  a  match  with 
muzzle-loaders  must  occasionally,  pausing 
*  to  cool  our  barrels,  and  taking  full  time 
with  the  loading.  The  heap  of  dead  birds, 
some  of  them  still  fluttering  in  their  last 
gasps,  now  grew  larger  at  the»side  of  the 
referee,  and  the  gatherers  were  perhaps 
growing  less  careful  to  wring  the  necks  of 
the  birds  as  they  gathered  them.  Occa- 
sionally a  bird  was  tossed  in  such  a  way  as 
to  leave  a  fluttering  wing.  Wild  pigeons 
decoy  readily  to  any  such  sign,  and  I 
noticed  that  several  birds,  tossed  in  such 
way  that  they  headed  toward  the  score 
would  be  an  incomer,  and  very  fast.  My 
seventieth  bird  was  such,  and  it  came 
straight  and  swift  as  an  arrow,  swooping 
down  and  curving  about  with  the  great 
speed  of  these  birds  when  fairly  on  the 
wing.  I  covered  it,  lost  it,  then  suddenly 
realized  that  I  must  fire  quickly  if  1  was  to 
reach  it  before  it  crossed  the  score.  It  was 
so  close  when  I  fired  that  the  charge  cut 
away  the  end  of  the  wing.  It  fell,  just 
inside  the  line,  with  its  head  up,  and  my 
gatherer  pounced  upon  it  like  a  cat.  The 
decision  of  the  referee  was  prompt,  but 
even  so,  it  was  almost  lost  in  the  sudden 
stir  and  murmur  which  arose  behind  us. 

Some  one  came  pushing  through  the 
crowd,  evidently  having  sprung  down 
from  one  of  the  carriages.  I  turned  to  see  a 
young  girl,  clad  in  white  lawn,  a  veil  drawn 
tight  under  her  chin,  who  now  pushed  for- 
ward through  the  men,  and  ran  up  to  the 


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black  boy  who  stood  with  the  bird  in  his 
hand,  hanging  by  one  wing.  She  caught 
it  from  him,  and  held  it  against  her  breast, 
where  its  blood  drabbled  her  gown  and 
hands.  1  remember  I  saw  one  drop  of 
blood  at  its  beak,  and  remember  how  glad 
I  was  that  the  bird  was  in  effect  dead,  so 
that  a  trying  scene  would  soon  be  ended. 

"Stop  this  at  once!"  cried  the  girl,  raising 
an  imperative  hand,  "aren't  you  ashamed, 
all  of  you?  Look,  look  at  this."  She 
held  out  the  dying  bird  in  her  hand. 
"Judge  Reeves,"  she  cried,  "what  are  you 
doing  there?" 

Our  decisive  referee  grew  suddenly 
abashed.  "Ah — ah,  my  dear  young  lady 
— my  very  dear  young  lady,"  he  began. 

"Captain  Stevenson,"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  whirling  suddenly  on  my  second, 
"stop  this  at  once.     I'm  ashamed  of  you." 

"Now,  now,  my  dear  girl,"  began  Steven- 
son, "can't  you  be  a  good  fellow  and  run 
back  home?  We're  off  the  reservation, 
and  really,  though  1  don't  want  to  be  im- 
polite, I  don't  believe  the  military  has 
jurisdiction  over  the  Supreme  Court,"  mo- 
tioning toward  Judge  Reeves,  who  looked 
suddenly  uncomfortable. 

"The  law,  my  dear  young  lady,"  began 
Judge  Reeves,  clearing  his  throat,  "allows 
the  reducing  to  possession  of  animals  fera 
naiura,  that  is  to  say,  of  wild  nature." 

"They  were  already  reduced,"  she 
flashed.  "The  sport  was  in  getting  them 
the  first  time,  not  in  butchering  them,  and 
taking  their  lives  away." 

Her  eyes,  wide  and  dark,  were  as  sad  as 
they  were  angry.  Fearless,  eager,  she  had, 
without  thought,  intruded  where  the  aver- 
age woman  would  not  have  ventured,  and 
she  stood  now  intent  only  ujx)n  having  the 
way  of  what  she  felt  was  right  and  justice. 
There  came  to  me  as  I  looked  at  her  a 
curious  sense  that  I  and  all  my  friends  were 
very  insignificant  creatures,  and  it  was  so, 
I  think  in  sooth,  she  held  us. 

"Captain  Orme,"  said  I  to  my  opponent, 
"you  observe  the  Supreme  Court  in  Amer- 
ica." He  bowed  to  me,  with  a  questioning 
raising  of  his  eyebrows,  as  though  he  did 
not  like  to  go  on  under  the  circumstances. 

"I  am  unfortunate  to  lead  by  a  bird," 
said  1  tentatively.  For  some  reason  the 
sport  had  lost  its  zest  to  me. 

"And  I  being  the  loser  as  it  stands," 
replied  Orme,  "do  not  see  how  I  can  beg 


off."  I  thought  him  as  little  eager  to  go  on 
as  I  myself. 

"Miss  Ellen,"  said  Judge  Reeves,  remov- 
ing the  hat  from  his  white  hair,  "these 
gentlemen  desire  to  be  sportsmen  as  among 
themselves,  but  of  course  always  gentlemen 
as  regards  the  wish  of  ladies.  Under  these 
circumstances,  appeal  is  taken  from  this 
Court" — and  he  bowed  very  low — "to 
what  my  young  friend  very  justly  calls  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  Miss 
Ellen,  it  is  for  you  to  say  whether  we  shall 
resume  or  discontinue." 

Tears  stood  in  the  girl's  eyes  it  seemed 
to  me,  but  if  so,  they  dried  in  what  seemed 
as  much  contempt  as  anger.  She  bowed  to 
Judge  Reeves,  and  then  swept  a  sudden 
hand  toward  Stevenson  and  Williams. 
"Go  home,  all  of  you,"  she  said,  as  though, 
indeed,  the  matter  was  for  her  to  decide. 
And  so,  in  sooth,  much  shamefaced,  we  did 
go  home:  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
officers  of  the  Army,  and  all,  as  though  we 
had  been  caught  doing  some  ignoble  thing. 
For  my  part,  although  I  hope  mawkishness 
no  more  marks  me  than  another,  and  al- 
though I  made  neither  then  nor  at  any  time 
a  resolution  to  discontinue  s|X)rts  of  the 
field,  I  have  never  since  then  shot  in  a 
pigeon  match,  nor  cared  to  see  others  do  so. 

"Now  wasn't  that  like  Ellen!"  exclaimed 
Kitty,  when  finally  we  found  her.  "Just 
wasn't  it  like  that  girl!  To  fly  in  the  face 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State,  and  all 
the  laws  of  sport  as  well.  Oh,  won't  I  talk 
to  her  when  I  see  her!" 

"So  that  was  Ellen,"  I  said  to  Kitty. 

CHAPTER   XI 

THE   MORNING   AFTER 

Events  had  somewhat  hurried  me  in  the 
two  days  since  my  arrival  at  Jefferson 
Barracks,  but  on  the  morning  following  the 
awkward  ending  of  my  match  with  Orme,  I 
had  both  opportunity  and  occasion  to  take 
stock  of  myself  and  of  my  plans.  The 
mails  brought  me  two  letters,  posted  at 
Wallingford  soon  after  my  departure:  one 
from  Grace  Sheraton  and  one  from  my 
mother.  The  first  one  -  what  shall  I  say? 
Better  perhaps  that  I  should  say  nothing, 
save  that  it  was  like  Grace  Sheraton  her- 
self, formal,  correct,  and  cold. 

The  second  letter  was  from  my  mother 

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and  it  left  me  still  more  disconcerted  than 
sad.  "Jack,"  it  said,  "I  grieve  unspeak- 
ably. Come  back  the  first  day  thee  can  to 
thy  sorrowing  mother." 

Yet  here  was  I  with  my  errand- not  yet 
well  begun,  for  Captain  Stevenson  told  me 
this  morning  that  the  Post  Adjutant  had 
received  word  from  Colonel  Meriwether 
saying  that  he  would  be  gone  for  some  days 
or  weeks  on  the  upper  frontier.  The  sum 
of  all  which  was  that  if  I  wished  to  meet 
Colonel  Meriwether  and  lay  before  him 
this  business  of  ours,  I  would  be  obliged  to 
seek  for  him  far  to  the  west,  in  all  likeli- 
hood as  far  as  Fort  Leavenworth.  There 
was  no  option  about  it,  so  therefore  1  wrote 
at  once  both  to  my  fianc^  and  to  my 
mother  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  return  at  the  time,  nor  at  any  positive 
future  time  then  determinable.  1  bade  a 
hasty  good-bye  to  my  host  and  hostess  and 
before  noon  was  off  for  the  city.  That 
night  1  took  passage  on  the  River  Belle,  2i 
boat  bound  up  the  river. 

Thus,  somewhat  against  my  will,  1  found 
myself  a  part  of  that  motley  throng  of  keen- 
faced,  fearless  American  life  then  pushing 
out  over  the  frontiers.  About  me  were 
men  bound  for  Oregon,  for  California,  for 
the  Plains,  and  not  a  few  whose  purpose  1 
took  to  be  partisanship  in  the  border  fight- 
ing between  slavery  and  free  soil.  It  was 
in  the  West,  and  on  the  new  soils,  that  the 
question  of  slavery  was  really  to  be  de- 
bated  and   settled   finally. 

I  made  friends  with  many  of  these 
strange  travelers  and  was  attracted  es- 
pecially by  one,  a  reticent  man  of  perhaps 
sixty-odd  years,  in  western  garb,  full  of 
beard  and  with  long  hair  on  his  shoulders. 
He  had  the  face  of  an  old  Teuton  war  chief 
I  had  once  seen  depicted  in  a  canvas  show- 
ing a  raid  in  some  European  forest  in  years 
long  before  a  Christian  civilization  was 
known — a  face  fierce  and  eager,  aquiline  in 
nose,  blue  of  eye,  and  a  figure  stalwart, 
muscular,  whose  every  movement  spoke  a 
ruthless  courage  and  self-confidence.  Au- 
berry  was  his  name,  and  as  I  talked  with 
him  he  told  me  of  days  past  with  my 
heroes,  Fremont,  Carson,  Ashley,  Bill 
Williams,  Jim  Bridger,  or  even  the  negro 
ruffian  Beckwourth— all  men  of  the  border 
of  whose  deeds  I  had  read.  Auberry  had 
trapped  from  the  St.  Mary's  to  the  sources 
of  the  Red  and  his  tales,  told  in  simple  and 


matter-of-fact  terms,  set  my  very  blood 
atingle.  He  was  bound,  as  he  informed 
me,  for  Laramie,  always  provided  that  the 
Sioux,  now  grown  exceedingly  restless  over 
the  many  wagon-trains  pushing  up  the 
Platte  to  all  the  swiftly-opening  West,  had 
not  by  this  time  swooped  down  and  closed 
all  the  trails.  Among  the  skin-clad  trap- 
pers, hunters,  and  long-haij-ed  plainsmen,  I 
saw  but  one  woman,  and  she  certainly  was 
fit  to  bear  them  company.  I  should  say 
that  she  was  at  least  sixty  years  of  age  and 
nearly  six  feet  in  height,  thin,  angular, 
wrinkled,  and  sinewy.  She  wore  a  sun- 
bonnet  of  enormous  projection,  dipped 
snuff  vigorously  each  few  moments,  and 
never  allowed  from  her  hands  the  long 
squirrel  rifle  which  made  a  part  of  her 
equipage.  She  was  accompanied  by  her 
son,  a  tall,  thin,  ague-smitten  youth  of 
perhaps  seventeen  years  and  of  a  height 
about  as  great  as  her  own.  Of  the  two  the 
mother  was  evidently  the  controlling 
spirit,  and  in  her  case  all  motherly  love 
seemed  to  have  been  replaced  by  a  vast 
contempt  for  the  inefficiency  and  general 
lack  of  male  qualities  in  her  offspring. 

When  I  first  saw  this  oddly  assorted  pair 
the  woman  was  driving  her  son  before  her 
to  a  spot  where  an  opening  offered  near 
the  bow  of  the  boat,  in  full  sight  of  all 
the  passengers,  of  whose  attention  she  was 
quite  oblivious. 

"Git  up  there.  Bill,"  she  said,  "and  don't 
ye  stop  no  more  or  I'll  take  a  hack  at  you, 
shore.     Stan'  up  there." 

The  boy,  his  long  legs  braiding  under 
him,  his  peaked  face  still  more  pale,  did  as 
he  was  bid.  He  had  no  sooner  taken  his 
position  than  to  my  surprise  I  saw  his 
mother  cover  him  with  the  long  barrel  of  a 
dragoon  revolver. 

"Pull  your  gun,  you  lown  coward  of  a 
man  purp,"  she  said  in  tones  that  might 
have  been  overheard  for  half  the  length  of 
the  boat.  Reluctantly  the  boy  complied, 
his  own  revolver  trembling  in  his  unready 
hand. 

"Now,  whut'd  you  do  if  a  man  was  to 
kivveryou  like  I'm  adoin'  now?"  demanded 
his  mother. 

*Tj-g-g-Gawd,  maw,  I  dunno.  1  think 
I'd  j-j-j-jump  off  in  the  river,"  confessed 
the  boy. 

"Shore  you  would,  and  good  luck  to 
everybody  if  you'd  git  plumb  drownded. 


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You  low  down  white  livered  son  of  misery, 
whatever  in  Gawd  A'mighty  world  you 
was  horned  for  certainly  is  more'n  I  can 
tell — and  I  your  maw  at  that  that  orto 
know  if  anybody  could." 

"Madam,"  1  interrupted,  astonished  at 
this  discourse,  "what  do  you  mean  by  such 
talk  to  your  son — for  I  presume  he  is  your 
son.  Why  do  you  abuse  him  in  this  way?" 
1  was  sorry  for  the  shivering  wretch  whom 
she  had  made  the  object  of  her  wrath. 

"Shut  up,  and  mind  your  own  business," 
answered  the  virago,  swiftly  turning  the 
barrel  of  her  weapon  upon  me.  "Whut 
business  is  this  here  of  yores?" 

"None,  madam,"  1  bowed,  "but  1  was 
only  curious." 

"You  keep  your  own  cur'osity  to  your- 
self ef  you're  goin'  to  travel  in  these  parts. 
That's  a  mighty  good  thing  for  you  to 
learn." 

"Very  true,  madam,"  said  I,  gently  dis- 
engaging the  revolver  barrel  from  the  line 
of  my  waist,  "but  won't  you  tell  me  why 
you  do  these  things  with  your  son." 

"  It's  none  of  your  damned  business,"  she 
answered,  "but  I  don't  mind  telling  you. 
I'm  trying  to  make  a  man  out  o'  him." 

"And  this  is  part  of  the  drill,  is  it  then?" 

"Part  of  it,  yes.  You,  Bill,  stick  your 
pistol  up  agin  your  head  the  way  1  tol' 
you.  Now  snap  it,  damn  you.  Keep  on 
a-snappin'.  Quit  that  jumpin'  I  tell  you. 
Snap  it  till  you  git  through  bein'  scared  of 
it.  Do  it  now,  or  by  Gawd,  I'll  chase  you 
over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  feed  you  to 
catfish,  you  low-down  imitation  of  a  he 
thing.  Mister,"  she  turned  to  me  again, 
"will  you  please  tell  me  how  come  me  to  be 
the  mother  of  a  thing  like  this,  me  a  woman 
cf  ole  Missoury,  and  a  cousin  of  ole  Simon 
Kenton  of  Kentucky?" 

"My  good  woman,"  said  I,  somewhat 
amused  by  her  methods  of  action  and 
speech,  "do  you  mind  telling  me  what  is 
your  name?" 

"Name's  Mandy  McGovern,  and  I  come 
from  Pike,"  almost  before  the  words  were 
out  of  my  mouth.  "I've  been  merried 
three  times  and  my  first  two  husbands  died 
a-fighting  like  gentlemen  in  difficulties 
with  their  friends.  Then  along  come  this 
Danny  Calkins,  that  taken  up  some  land 
nigh  to  me  in  the  bottoms— low-downest 
coward  of  a  man  that  ever  disgraced  the 
sile  of  yearth — and  then  I  merried  him." 


"  Is  he  dead,  my  good  woman?"  I  asked. 

"  Don't  you  'good  woman'  me,  I  ain't 
free  to  merry  agin  yit,"  said  she.  "  Naw,  he 
ain't  dead,  and  I  ain't  deevorced  either. 
I  just  done  left  him.  Why,  every  man  in 
Pike  has  whupped  Danny  Calkins  one  time 
or  other.  When  a  man  couldn't  git  no 
reputation  any  other  way,  he  come  and 
whupped  my  husband.  I  got  right  tired 
of  it." 

"I  should  think  you  would,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  and  me  the  wife  of  two  real  men 
befo'  then. 

"If  ever  a  woman  had  hard  luck  the 
same  is  me,"  she  went  on.  "  I  had  eight 
chillen  by  two  husbands  that  was  real  men, 
and  every  one  of  them  died,  or  got  killed 
like  a  man,  or  went  West  like  a  man — 
exceptin'  this  thing  here,  the  son  of  that 
there  Danny  Calkins.  Why,  he's  afraid  to 
go  coon  huntin'  at  night  for  fear  the  cats'll 
get  him.  He  don't  like  to  melk  a  keow 
for  fear  she'll  kick  him.  He's  afraid  to 
court  a  gal  lessen  she'll  laugh  at  him — and 
'fore  Gawd  I  think  they  shore  would.  He 
kain't  shoot,  he  kain't  chop,  he  kain't  do 
nothin'.  I'm  takin'  him  out  West  to  begin 
over  again  where  the  plowin's  easier  and 
whiles  we  go  along,  I'm  givin'  him  a 
'casional  dose  of  immanuel  trainin',  to  see 
if  I  can't  make  him  part  way  into  a  man. 
I  dunno." 

Mrs.  McGovern  dipped  snuff  vigorously 
and  looked  at  me  carefully.  "Say,  Mister," 
said  she,  "how  tall  are  you?" 

"About  six  feet,  I  think." 

"Hum!  That's  just  about  how  tall  my 
first  husband  was.  You  look  some  like 
him  in  the  face,  too.  Say,  he  was  the 
fightin'est  man  in  Pike." 

"You  compliment  me  very  much,  Mrs. 
McGovern,"  I  said. 

"Um-hum!"  she  added,  vaguely.  "Say, 
Mister,  is  that  your  wife  back  there  in  the 
kebbin  in  the  middle  of  the  boat?" 

"No,  indeed." 

"You  ain't  merried  yit?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

"Well,  if  you  git  a  chanct,  you  take  a 
look  at  that  gal." 

Opportunity  did  not  offer,  however,  to 
accept  Mrs.  McGovern's  kindly  counsel,  and 
occupied  with  my  own  somewhat  unhappy 
reflections,  I  resigned  myself  to  the  mo- 
notony of  the  voyage  up  the  Missouri. 

A  sort  of  shuddering  self-reproach  now 

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overcame  me.  I  wondered  whether  or  not 
I  was  less  coarse,  less  a  th  ng  polygamous 
than  these  crowding  Mormons  hurrying 
out  to  their  sodden  temples  in  the  West; 
because  now,  I  must  admit,  in  the  hours  of 
dusk  I  found  myself  dreaming  not  of  my 
fiancee  back  in  old  Virginia,  but  of  other 
women  seen  more  recently. 

We  were  running  that  night  in  the  dark, 
before  the  rising  of  the  moon,  a  thing  which 
cautious  steamboatmen  would  not  have 
ventured,  although  our  pilot  was  confident 
that  no  harm  could  come  to  him.  Against 
assurance  such  as  this  the  dangerous  Mis- 
souri with  its  bars  and  snags  purposed  a 
present  revenge.  Our  whistle  awakened 
the  echoes  along  the  shores  as  we  plowed 
on  up  the  yellow  flood,  hour  after  hour. 
Then,  some  time  toward  midnight,  while 
most  of  the  passengers  were  attempting 
some  sort  of  rest,  wrapped  in  their  blankets 
along  the  deck,  there  came  a  slight  shock, 
a  grating  slide,  and  a  rasping  crash  of  wood. 
With  a  forward  churning  of  her  paddles 
which  sent  water  h  gh  along  the  rail,  the 
River  Belle  shuddered  and  lay  still,  her 
engines  throbbing  and  groaning. 

In  an  instant  every  one  on  the  boat  was 
on  his  feet  and  running  to  the  side.  I 
j  Dined  the  rush  to  the  bows  and  leaning 
over,  saw  that  we  were  hard  aground  at  the 
1  jwer  end  of  a  sand  bar.  Imbedded  in  this 
bar  was  a  long  white  snag,  whose  naked 
arms  had  literally  impafed  us.  The  upper 
woodwork  of  the  boat  was  pierced  quite 
through.  For  all  that  one  could  tell  at  the 
moment,  the  hull  below  the  line  was  in  all 
likelihood  similarly  crushed  through.  We 
hung  and  gently  swung,  apparently  at  the 
mercy  of  the  tawny  flood  of  old  Missouri. 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE    FACE    IN   THE    FIRELIGHT 

For  the  first  instant  after  the  shock  of  the 
boat  upon  the  impaling  snag  I  stood  irreso- 
lute; the  next  I  was  busy  with  plans  for 
escape.  Running  down  the  companion- 
way,  I  found  myself  among  a  crowd  of 
excited  deck  hands,  most  of  whom,  with 
many  of  the  passengers,  were  pushing 
toward  the^starboard  rail,  whence  could  be 
seen  the  gloom  of  the  forest  alongshore. 
The  gangway  door  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  boat  was  open,  and  as  I  looked  out  I 


could  see  the  long  white  arms  of  the  giani 
snag  reaching  down  alongside  of  the  boat. 
Without  much  plan  or  premeditation  I 
sprang  out,  and  making  good  my  hold  upon 
the  nearest  limb,  found  myself,  to  my  sur- 
prise, standing  in  not  more  than  four  feet  of 
water.  The  foot  of  the  bar  evidently  ran 
down  well  under  the  boat. 

As  I  turned  to  call  to  others  on  the  boat, 
I  saw  the  tall  figure  of  my  plainsman,  Au- 
berry,  appear  at  the  doorway,  and  he  tak- 
ing sudden  stock  of  the  situation,  with 
smaller  deliberation  than  my  own,  took  a 
flying  leap,  and  joined  me  on  the  snag. 
"It's  better  here  than  there,"  he  said, 
"she'll  like  enough  sink,  or  blow  up." 

As  we  pulled  ourselves  up  into  the  fork 
of  the  long  naked  branch,  we  heard  a 
voice,  and  looking  up,  saw  the  face  of  a 
woman  leaning  over  the  rail  of  the  upper 
deck.  I  recognized  my  whilom  friend, 
Mandy  McGovem.  "What  are  you  all 
doing  down  there?"  she  called.  Then  her 
gaze  seemed  to  grasp  the  situation.  "Wait 
a  minute,"  she  exclaimed,  "I'm  comin', 
too."  A  moment  later  she  appeared  at  the 
opening  of  the  lower  deck  and  craned  out 
her  long  neck,  from  which  the  strings  of  her 
sunbonnet  hung  down,  as  she  took  further 
stock  of  the  situation.  I  then  saw  at  her 
side  the  figure  of  a  young  woman,  her  hair 
fallen  from  its  coils,  her  feet  bare,  her  body 
wrapped  apparently  only  in  some  light 
dressing  robe,  thrown  al>ove  her  filmy 
night  wear.  She,  too,  looked  out  into  the 
darkness,  but  shrank  back. 

"Here,  you,"  called  out  Mandy  Mc- 
Govem. "Git  hold  of  the  end  of  this 
rope." 

She  tossed  me  the  end  of  the  gang-plank 
rope,  by  which  the  sliding  stage  was  drawn 
out  and  in  at  the  boat  landings.  1  caught 
this  and  passed  it  over  a  projection  on  the 
snag. 

"Now,  haul  it  out,"  commanded  Mrs. 
McGovem,  and  as  we  pulled,  she  pushed, 
so  that  presently  indeed,  we  found  that  the 
end  reached  the  edge  of  the  limb  on  which 
we  sat.  Without  any  concem,  Mrs.  Mc- 
Govem stepped  out  on  the  swaying  bridge, 
sunbonnet  hanging  down  her  back,  her 
long  rifle  under  one  arm,  while  by  the 
other  hand  she  dragged  her  tall  son, 
Andrew  Jackson,  who  now  was  blubbering 
in  terror.  The  bridge,  however,  proved 
insecure,  for  as  Mandy  gave  Andrew  Jack- 


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son  a  final  yank  at  its  farther  end,  the 
latter  stumbled,  anJ  in  his  struggles  to  lay 
hold  upon  the  snag,  pushed  the  end  of  the 
planks  off  their  support.  His  mother's 
sinewy  arm  thrust  him  into  safety,  and  she 
herself  clambered  up,  wet,  and  voluble  in 
her  imprecations  on  his  clumsiness. 

"Thar,  now,  look  what  ye  did,  ye  low- 
down  coward,"  she  said,  "like  to  'a* 
drownded  both  of  us,  and  left  the  gal  back 
there  on  the  boat." 

The  gang-plank,  confined  by  the  rope, 
n  )w  swung  in  the  current  alongside  the 
snag.  The  girl  cowered  against  the  side  of 
the  deck  opening,  undecided.  "Wait,"  I 
called  out  to  her,  and  so  slipping  down  into 
the  water  again,  1  waded  as  close  as  1  could 
to  the  door,  the  water  then  catching  me 
close  to  the  shoulders. 

"Jump!"  I  said  to  her,  holding  out  my 
arms. 

"I  can't — I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  I  called  out,  in  no 
gentle  tones,  I  fear.     "Jump,  at  once." 

She  stooped  and  sprang,  and  as  I  caught 
her  weight  with  my  arms  under  hers,  she 
was  for  the  moment  almost  immersed,  but 
I  staggered  backward  and  managed  to 
hold  my  footing  till  Auberry's  arms  reached 
us  from  the  snag,  up  which  we  clambered, 
the  girl  catching  her  breath  sobbingly  in 
terror,  but  making  no  outcry. 

"That's  right,"  said  Mandy  McGovern, 
calmly.  "Now  here  we  be,  all  of  us. 
Now  you  men  git  hold  of  this  here  rope  and 
haul  up  them  boards  and  make  a  seat  for 
us." 

Auberry  and  I  found  it  difficult  to 
execute  this  order,  for  the  current  of  old 
Missouri,  thrusting  against  so  large  an 
object,  was  incredibly  strong,  but  at  last 
we  succeeded,  and  so,  little  by  little  edging 
the  heavy  staging  up  over  the  limb  of  the 
snag,  we  got  its  end  upon  another  fork  and 
made  a  ticklish  support,  half  in  and  half 
out  of  the  water. 

"That's  better,"  said  Mandy,  climbing 
upon  it.  "Now  come  here,  you  pore  child. 
You're  powerful  cold."  She  gathered  the 
girl  between  her  knees  as  she  sat.  "  Here, 
you  man,  give  me  your  coat,"  she  said  to 
me,  and  I  complied  gladly,  by  that  time 
having  it  half  off. 

None  on  the  boat  seemed  to  have  any 
notion  of  what  was  going  on  upon  our  side 


of  the  vessel.  We  heard  many  shouts  and 
orders,  much  trampling  of  feet,  but  for  the 
most  part  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  boat. 
Then  at  once  we  heard  the  engnes  reverse, 
and  were  nearly  swept  from  our  insecure 
hold  upon  the  snag  by  the  surges  kicked 
up  under  the  wheel.  The  current  caught 
the  long  under  body  of  the  boat  as  she 
swung  under  the  engines.  We  heard  some- 
thing rip  and  splinter  and  grate,  and  then 
the  boat,  backing  free  from  the  snag, 
gradually  slipped  down  from  the  bar  and 
swung  into  the  current,  again  under  her 
own  steam. 

Not  so  lucky  ourselves,  for  this  wrench- 
ing free  of  the  boat  had  torn  loose  the  long 
imbedded  roots  of  the  giant  snag,  and  the 
plowing  current  getting  under  the  vast  flat 
back  of  matted  roots,  now  slowly  forced  it, 
grinding  and  shuddering,  down  from  the 
toe  of  the  bar.  With  a  sullen  roll  it  settled 
down  into  new  lines  as  it  reached  the 
deeper  water.  Then  the  hiss  of  the  water 
among  the  branches  ceased.  Dipping  and 
swaying,  we  were  going  with  the  current, 
fully  afloat  on  the  yellow  flood  of  the 
Missouri! 

Looking  across  the  stream  I  could  see 
the  lights  of  the  River  Belle  swing  gradually 
into  a  longer  line,  and  presently  heard  the 
clanging  of  her  bells  as  she  came  to  a  full 
stop,  apparently  tied  up  along  shore.  We 
ourselves  had  traveled  perhaps  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile,  when  I  noticed  the  dim 
loom  of  trees  on  our  side  of  the  stream,  and 
saw  that  we  were  approaching  a  long  point 
which  ran  out  below  us.  When  we  were 
within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  of  the  point, 
we  felt  a  long  shuddering  scrape  under  us, 
and  after  a  series  of  slips  and  jerks,  our 
old  snag  came  to  anchor  again,  its  roots 
having  once  more  laid  hold  upon  a  bar, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  deflected  out 
toward  the  current  by  the  projecting  mass 
of  a  heap  of  driftwood,  which  1  now  saw 
opposite  to  us,  its  long  white  arms  reach- 
ing out  toward  those  of  our  floating  craft. 
Once  more  the  hissing  of  the  water  began 
among  the  buried  limbs,  and  once  more  the 
snag  rolled  ominously,  and  then  lay  still, 
its  giant  naked  trunk,  white  and  half  sub- 
merged, reaching  up  stream  fifty  feet  above 
us.  We  were  apparently  as  far  from  safety 
as  ever,  although  almost  within  touch  of 
the  shore. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  as  I  had  been  able 


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to  touch  bottom  on  the  other  bar,  I  might 
do  so  here.  I  crawled  back  along  the 
trunk  of  the  snag  to  a  place  as  near  the 
roots  as  I  could  reach,  and  letting  myself 
down  gently  as  1  could,  found  that  1  could 
keep  my  footing  on  the  sand. 

Little  by  little  I  edged  up  the  stream,  and 
found  presently  that  the  water  shoaled 
toward  the  heap  of  driftwood.  Standing 
no  more  than  waist  deep,  I  could  reach  the 
outer  limbs  of  the  drift  and  saw  that  they 
would  support  my  weight.  After  that  I 
waded  back  to  the  snag  carefully,  and  once 
more  ordered  the  young  woman  to  come 
to  me. 

She  crawled  back  along  the  naked  and 
slippery  trunk  of  the  snag,  pulling  herself 
along  by  her  hands,  her  bare  feet  and 
limbs  deep  in  the  water  alongside. 

"Come,"  I  said,  as  she  finally  reached 
the  mass  of  the  roots.  More  dead  than 
alive,  she  fell  once  more  into  my  arms.  I 
felt  her  grasp  tighten  about  my  neck,  and 
her  firm  body  crowd  against  me  as  we  both 
sank  down  for  an  instant.  Then  I  caught 
my  feet  and  straightened.  Little  by  little 
I  edged  up  on  the  bar,  quite  conscious  of 
her  very  gracious  weight. 

"  Put  me  down,"  she  said  at  length,  as  she 
saw  the  water  shoaling.  It  was  hip  deep 
to  me,  but  waist  deep  to  her,  and  I  felt 
her  shudder  again  as  she  caught  its  chill. 

By  this  time  the  others  had  also  de- 
scended from  the  snag.  1  saw  old  Auberry 
plunging  methodically  along,  at  his  side 
Mrs.  McGovern,  clasping  the  hand  of  her 
son.  "G)me  on  here,  you  boy,"  she  said. 
"  What  ye  skeered  of?  Tall  as  you  air,  you 
could  wade  the  whole  Missouri  without 
your  hair  gettin'  wet." 

'*Get  up,  Auberry,"  I  said  to  him  as  he 
approached,  and  motioned  to  the  long, 
overhanging  branches  from  the  driftwood. 
He  swung  up,  breaking  off  the  more  in- 
secure boughs,  and  after  taking  stock,  was 
of  the  belief  that  we  could  get  across  the 
deep  inshore  channel  in  that  way.  As  he 
reached  down,  I  swung  the  young  woman 
up  to  him,  and  she  clambered  on  as  best 
she  could.  In  this  way,  I  scarce  know  how, 
we  all  managed  to  reach  the  solid  drift,  and 
so  presently  found  ourselves  ashore,  on  a 
narrow,  sandy  beach,  hedged  on  the  back 
by  a  heavy  growth  of  willows. 

"Now  then,  you  men,"  ordered  Mandy 
McGovern,  "get  some  wood  out  and  start  a 


fire  right  away.  This  here  girl  is  shaking 
the  teeth  plumb  out'n  her  head." 

Auberry  and  I  dragged  some  wood  from 
the  edge  of  the  drift  and  pulled  it  into  a 
heap  near  by,  before  we  realized  that 
neither  of  us  had  matches. 

"Humph!"  snorted  our  leader,  feeling  in 
her  pockets.  She  drew  forth  two  flasks, 
each  stoppered  with  a  bit  of  corn  cob.  The 
one  held  sulphur  matches,  thus  kept  quite 
dry,  and  this  she  passed  to  me.  The  other 
she  handed  to  the  young  woman. 

"Here,"  ^id  she,  "take  a  drink  of  that. 
It'll  do  you  good." 

Presently  we  had  a  roaring  blaze  started, 
which  added  much  to  the  comfort  of  all, 
for  the  chill  of  night  was  over  the  river, 
despite  the  fact  that  this  was  in  the  spring 
time.  I  could  not  help  pitying  the  young 
woman  who  crouched  near  her  at  the  fire- 
side, still  shivering.  She  seemed  so  young, 
helpless,  and  out  of  place  in  such  surround- 
ings. As  presently  the  heat  of  the  flame 
made  her  more  comfortable,  she  began  to 
tuck  back  the  tumbled  locks  of  her  hair, 
which  1  could  see  was  dark,  as  were  appar- 
ently her  eyes.  The  firelight  showed  in 
silhouette  the  outlines  of  her  face.  I  had 
never  seen  one  more  beautiful.  I  remem- 
bered the  round  firmness  of  her  body  in  my 
arms,  the  clasp  of  her  hands  about  my 
neck,  her  hair  blown  across  my  cheek. 
Yes,  I  adroit  that  even  once  more  the 
appeal  of  this  presence  of  woman,  the  great 
enigma  of  young  men,  and  of  old  men  as 
well. 

As  she  stood  at  the  fire,  innocent  of  its 
defining  light,  1  saw  that  she  was  a  beau- 
tiful creature,  apparently  about  twenty 
years  of  age.  Given  proper  surroundings,  I 
fancied,  here  was  a  girl  who  might  make 
trouble  for  a  man.  She  stooped  and 
spread  out  her  hands  before  the  flames.  I 
could  see  that  they  were  small  and  well 
formed,  could  see  the  firelight  shine  pink 
at  the  inner  edges  of  her  fingers.  On  one 
finger,  as  1  could  not  avoid  noticing,  was  a 
curious  ring  of  plain  gold,  all  save  the 
setting,  which,  also  of  gold,  was  deeply  cut 
into  the  figure  of  a  rose.  1  recalled  that  I 
had  never  seen  a  ring  just  similar.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  to  me  as  1  stole  a  furtive  glance 
at  her  now  and  then,  I  had  never  seen  a  girl 
just  similar.  Who  this  young  lady  was, 
and  how  she  came  to  be  traveling  alone  up 
the  river  one  could  not  ask. 


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We  had  waited  perhaps  not  over  an  hour 
at  our  fireside,  undecided  what  to  do,  when 
Auberry  raised  a  hand.  "  Listen,"  he  said. 
"There's  a  boat  coming."  Presently  we 
all  heard  the  splash  of  oars.  Our  fire  had 
been  seen  by  one  of  the  boats  of  the  River 
Belle,  out  picking  up  such  stragglers  as 
could  be  found. 

"Hello,  there,"  called  a  rough  voice,  as 
the  boat  grated  at  our  beach.  Auberry 
and  I  walked  over  and  found  that  it  was 
the  mate  of  the  steamer,  with  a  pair  of 
oarsmen  in  a  narrow  river  skiff. 

"How  many  of  you?"  asked  the  mate. 
"Five?     I  can't  take  you  all." 

"All  right,"  said  Auberry,  "this  gentle- 
man and  1  will  walk  up  to  the  town  on  this 
side.  You  take  the  women  and  the  boy. 
We'll  send  down  for  our  things  in  the  morn- 
ing, if  you  don't  come  up." 

So  our  little  bivouac  on  the  beach  came 
to  an  end.  I  confess  a  strange,  irrational 
sinking  of  the  heart  as  1  saw  the  passengers 
embarked. 

"A  moment,  sir,"  exclaimed  our  friend 
of  the  fireside,  rising  and  stepping  toward 
me  as  I  stood  alongside  the  boat.  "You 
are  forgetting  your  coat."  She  would  have 
taken  it  from  her  shoulders,  but  I  forbade 
it.  She  hesitated,  and  finally  said, "  I  thank 
you  so  much,"  holding  out  her  hand.  I  took 
it.  It  was  a  small  hand,  with  round  fin- 
gers, firm  of  clasp.  I  hate  a  hard-handed 
woman,  or  one  with  mushy  fingers,  but  this, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  hand  very  good 
to  hold  in  one's  own — warm  now  and  no 
longer  trembling  in  the  terrors  of  the  night. 

"I  do  not  know  your  name,  sir,"  she 
said,  "but  I  should  like  my  father  to  thank 
you  some  day." 

"All  ready,"  cried  the  mate. 

"My  name  is  Cowles,"  1  began,  "and 
sometime,  perhaps " 

"All  aboard!"  cried  the  mate,  and  so  the 
oars  gave  way. 

So  1  did  not  get  the  name  of  the  girl  I 
had  seen  there  in  the  firelight.  What  did 
remain — and  that  not  wholly  to  my  pleas- 
ure, so  distinct  it  seemed,  was  the  picture 
of  her  high-bred  profile,  shown  in  chiar- 
oscuro at  the  fireside;  the  line  of  her  chin 
and  neck,  the  tumbled  masses  of  her  hair. 
These  were  things  I  did  not  care  to  remem- 
ber, most  of  all  some  vague,  irresolute, 
unsatisfied  and  curious  longing.  I  hated 
myself  as  a  soft-hearted  fool. 


"Son,"  said  old  Auberry  to  me,  after  a 
time,  as  we  trudged  along  up  the  bank, 
stumbling  over  roots  and  braided  grasses, 
"that  was  a  almighty  fine  lookin'  gal  that 
we  brung  along  with  us  there." 

"I  didn't  notice,"  said  I. 

"No,"  said  Auberry  solemnly,  "1  no- 
ticed that  you  didn't  take  no  notice;  so 
you  can  just  take  my  judgment  on  it,  which 
I  allow  is  safe." 

I  glanced  up  at  the  heavens,  studded 
thick  with  stars.  It  seemed  to  me  that  1 
saw  gazing  down  directly  at  me  one  cold, 
bright,  reproving  star,  staring  straight  into 
my  soul,  accusing  me  of  being  nothing  more 
than  a  savage,  no  better  than  a  man. 

CHAPTER  XI II 

AU    LARGE 

At  our  little  village  on  the  following 
morning.  Auberry  and  I  learned  that  the 
River  Bflle  would  lie  up  indefinitely  for 
repairs,  and  that  perhaps  several  days 
would  elapse  before  she  resumed  her  jour- 
ney up  stream.  This  suited  neither  of  us, 
so  we  sent  a  negro  down  with  a  skiff,  and 
had  him  bring  up  our  rifles,  Auberry's 
bedding,  my  portmanteaus,  and  so  forth,  it 
being  our  intention  to  take  the  stage  up  to 
Leavenworth. 

By  noon  our  plans  were  changed  again. 
A  young  army  officer  came  down  from  that 
post  with  the  information  that  Colonel 
Meriwether  had  been  ordered  out  to  the 
posts  up  the  Platte  River,  had  been  gone 
for  three  weeks,  and  no  one  could  tell  what 
time  he  would  return.  Possibly  he  might 
be  back  at  Leavenworth  within  the  week, 
possibly  not  for  a  month,  or  even  more. 

This  was  desperate  news  for  me.  I 
knew  that  I  ought  to  be  starting  home  at 
that  very  time,  instead  of  pushing  farther 
westward.  Should  I  wait  here,  or  at 
Leavenworth,  or  should  I  go  on?  Auberry 
decided  that  for  me. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  he  said. 
"We  can  outfit  here,  and  take  the  Cut-ofi" 
trail  to  the  Platte,  across  the  Kaw  and  the 
Big  and  Little  Blue— that'll  bring  us  in  far 
enough  east  to  catch  the  Colonel  if  he's 
comin'  down  the  valley.  You'd  just  as 
well  be  travelin'  as  loafin',  and  that's  like 
enough  the  quickest  way  to  find  him." 

The  counsel  seemed  good  to  me,  and  I 


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took  it.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  two  more 
letters  home,  once  more  stating  that  I  was 
going  still  farther  west.  This  done,  I  tried 
to  persuade  myself  to  feel  no  further  un- 
easiness, but  to  amtent  my  mind  with  the 
sense  of  duty  done,  although  in  truth  I  was 
little  easy  in  my  mind.  Some  strange, 
unsettled  thing  seemed  to  have  come  into 
my  soul. 

"The  settlements  for  them  that  likes 
em,"  said  Auberry.  "For  me,  there  is 
nothing  like  the  time  when  1  start  West, 
with  a  horse  under  me,  and  run  au  lorge, 
as  the  French  traders  say.  You'll  get  a 
chance  now  to  see  the  Plams,  my  son." 

At  first  we  saw  rather  the  prairies  than 
the  Plains  proper,  following  a  plainly 
marked  trail,  which  wound  in  and  out 
among  low  rolling  hills.  Bleached  bones 
of  the  buffalo  we  saw  here  and  there,  but 
there  was  little  game.  Gradually  shaking 
down  into  better  organization,  we  fared  on 
and  on  for  days,  until  the  grass  grew 
shorter  and  the  hills  flatter,  as  we  ap- 
proached the  Platte. 

We  had  been  out  scarce  two  weeks,  when 
finally  we  reached  the  great  valley  along 
which  lay  the  western  highway  of  the  old 
Oregon  Trail,  now  worn  deep  and  dusty  by 
countless  wheels.  We  were  on  the  main 
western  line  of  travel.  I  saw  the  road  of 
the  old  fur  traders,  of  Ashley,  of  Sublette 
and  Bridger,  of  Carson  and  Fremont,  of 
Kearney  and  Sibley,  and  Marcy — one 
knew  not  how  many  army  men  who  had 
for  years  been  fighting  back  the  tribes  and 
making  ready  this  country  for  the  whites' 
(Kcupation.  As  I  looked  at  this  wild,  wide 
region,  treeless,  .fruitless,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  none  could  ever  want  it.  The  next 
thought  was  the  impression  that,  no  matter 
how  many  might  covet  it,  it  was  exhaust- 
less,  it  must  last  forever.  This  land,  this 
West,  was  then  unbelieveably  large  and 
limitless. 

We  pushed  up  the  Platte  but  a  short  dis- 
tance that  night,  keeping  out  an  eye  for 
grazmg  ground  for  our  horses.  Auberry 
knew  all  the  country  perfectly. 

"About  five  or  s'x  miles  above  here,"  he 
said,  "there's  a  stage  station,  if  the  com- 
pany's still  running  through  here  now. 
Used  to  be  two  or  three  fellers  and  some 
horses  stayed  there." 

W^e  looked  forward  to  meeting  human 
faces  with  some  pleasure,  but  an  hour  or  so 


later,  as  we  rode  on,  1  saw  Auberry  pull  up 
his  horse,  with  a  strange  tightening  of  his 
lips.  "Boys,"  said  he,  ** there  s  where  it 
was," 

His  pointing  finger  showed  nothing  more 
than  a  low  line  of  ruins,  bits  of  broken 
fencing,  a  heap  of  half  charred  timbers. 

"They've  been  here,"  said  Auberry. 
"Who'd  have  thought  the  Sioux  would 
come  this  far  east?" 

He  circled  his  horse  out  across  the 
valky,  riding  with  head  bent  down.  "  Four 
days  ago  at  least,"  he  said.  "A  bunch  of 
fifty  or  more  at  least.  Come  on,  men." 
We  rode  up  to  the  station,  guessing  what 
we  would  see. 

The  buildings  lay  waste  and  white  in 
ashes.  The  front  of  the  dugout  was  torn 
down,  the  wood  of  its  doors  and  windows 
burned.  The  door  of  the  larger  dugout, 
where  the  horses  had  been  stabled,  was  also 
torn  away.  Five  dead  horses  lay  near  by, 
a  part  of  the  stage  stock  kept  there.  We 
kept  our  eyes  as  long  as  we  could  from  what 
we  knew  must  next  be  seen — the  bodies  of 
the  agent  and  his  two  stable  men,  mutilated 
and  half  consumed,  under  the  half  burned 
timbers.  I  say  the  bodies;  for  the  lower 
limbs  of  all  three  had  been  dismembered 
and  cast  in  a  heap  near  where  the  bodies 
of  the  horses  lay. 

"Sioux,"  said  Auberry,  looking  down 
as  he  leaned  on  his  long  rifle.  "Not  a 
wheel  has  crossed  their  trail.  I  reckon  the 
trail's  blocked  both  east  and  west." 

"The  boys  put  up  a  fght,"  he  added 
slowly.  He  led  us  here  and  there,  and 
showed  us  dried  blotches  on  the  soil,  half 
buried  now  in  the  shifting  sand;  showed 
us  the  bodies  of  a  half  dozen  ponies  killed  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  from  the  door  of 
the  dugout. 

"They  must  have  shot  in  at  the  front 
till  they  killed  the  boys.  And  they  was  so 
mad  they  stabbed  the  horses  for  revenge, 
the  way  they  do  sometimes.  Yes,  our 
fellers  paid  their  way  when  I  hey  went,  I 
reckon." 

We  stood  now  in  a  silent  group,  and 
what  was  best  to  do  none  at  first  could  tell. 
Two  of  our  party  were  for  turning  back 
down  the  valley,  but  Auberry  said  he  could 
see  no  advantage  in  that. 

"Which  way  they've  gone  above  here  no 
one  can  tell,"  he  said.  "They're  less  likely 
to  come  here  now,  so  it  seems  to  me  the 


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best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  lay  up  here  and 
wait  for  some  teams  comin'  up  west. 
There'll  be  news  of  some  kind  come  along 
one  way  or  the  other,  before  so  very  long." 

So  now  we,  the  living,  took  up  our  places 
almost  upon  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  after 
giving  these  the  best  interment  possible. 
We  hobbled  and  side-lined  our  horses,  and 
kept  out  guards  both  day  and  night,  and  so 
we  lay  here  for  three  long  days. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Auberry, 
coming  in  from  one  of  his  several  short 
scouts  about  the  camp.  "There  was 
women  and  children  along  with  that  bunch 
of  Sioux,  and  it  looks  like  some  hunting 
party  working  on  south.  Still,  if  the  trail 
ain't  cut  by  war  parties  on  both  sides  of 
us,  there  ought  to  a'  been  somebody  along 
here  before  now." 

But  that  day  passed  until  the  sun  sank 
toward  the  sand  dunes,  and  cast  a  long 
path  of  light  across  the  rippling  shallows 
among  the  sand  bars  of  the  stream,  and 
still  no  traveler  came.  Evening  was  ap- 
proaching when  we  heard  the  sound  of  a 
distant  shot,  and  saw  our  horse  guard,  who 
had  been  stationed  at  the  top  of  a  bluflf 
near  by,  start  down  the  slope,  running. 
He  pointed,  and  as  we  looked  down  the 
valley,  surely  enough,  we  saw  a  faint  cloud 
of  dust  coming  toward  us,  whether  of 
vehicles  or  horsemen  we  could  not  tell. 

Auberry  thought  that  it  was  perhaps 
some  west-bound  wagons,  or  perhaps  a 
stage  with  belated  mails.  "Stay  here, 
boys,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  ride  down  and 
see." 

He  galloped  off,  a  distance  of  half  a 
mile  or  so,  and  then  we  saw  him  pause, 
throw  up  his  hand,  and  ride  forward  at  full 
speed.  By  that  time  we  could  see  the 
travelers  topping  a  slight  rise  in  the  floor 
of  the  valley,  and  could  tell  that  they  were 
horsemen,  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  in  all. 
Following  them  came  the  dust  whitened 
top  of  an  army  ambulance,  and  a  camp 
wagon  or  so,  to  the  best  of  our  figuring  at 
that  distance.  With  no  more  hesitation, 
we  mounted  our  own  horses  and  rode  full 
speed  toward  them.  Auberry  met  us, 
coming  back. 

"Troop  of  dragoons,  bound  for  Laramie," 
he  called.  "No  Indians  back  of  them,  but 
orders  are  out  for  all  of  the  wagons  and 
stages  to  hold  up.  This  party's  going 
through.     I    told    them    to    camp    down 


there,"  he  said  to  me  aside,  "because 
they've  got  women  with  'em.  I  didn't 
want  them  to  see  what's  happened  up 
here."  He  pointed  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder. 

By  the  time  we  approached  these  new 
arrivals,  they  had  their  plans  for  encamp- 
ment under  way  with  the  celerity  of  old 
campaigners.  Their  horses  were  hobbled, 
their  cook  fires  lighted,  their  wagons  backed 
into  a  rude  stockade,  and  the  guards  were 
moving  out  with  the  horses  to  the  grazing 
ground.  They  were  a  seasoned  lot  of 
Kearney's  frontier  fighters,  grimed  and 
grizzled,  their  hats,  boots,  and  clothing 
gray  with  dust,  but  all  their  weapons 
bright.  Their  leader  was  a  young  lieuten- 
ant, who  approached  me  when  I  rode  up. 
It  seemed  to  me  I  remembered  his  blue 
eyes  and  his  light  mustache,  curled  up- 
ward. 

"Why,  Mr.  Cowles!"  he  exclaimed. 
"How  on  earth  did  you  get  here?  I'm 
Belknap.  I'd  money  on  you  in  the  pigeon 
match,  you  know.  More's  the  pity  it  didn't 
finish." 

"But  how  did  you  get  here — ^you  were 
not  on  my  boat." 

"  I  was  ordered  up  the  day  after  you  left 
Jefferson  barracks,  and  took  the  /4sia.  We 
got  into  St.  Joe  the  same  day  with  the 
River  Belle,  and  heard  about  your  accident 
down  river.  I  suppose  you  came  out  on 
the  old  Cut-off  trail." 

"  Yes,  and  you  took  the  main  trail  west 
from  Leavenworth?" 

He  nodded.  "Orders  to  take  this  de- 
tachment out  to  Laramie,"  he  said,  "and 
meet  Colonel  Meriwether  there." 

"He'll  not  be  back?"  I  exclaimed  in 
consternation.  "  I  was  hoping  to  meet  him 
coming  east." 

"No,"  said  Belknap,  "you'll  have  to  go 
on  with  us  if  you  must  see  him.  I  'm  afraid 
the  Sioux  are  bad  on  beyond.  Horrible 
thing  your  man  tells  me  about  up  there," 
he  motioned  toward  the  ruined  station. 
"I'm  taking  his  advice  and  going  into 
camp  here,  for  I  imagine  it's  not  a  nice 
thing  for  a  girl  to  see." 

He  motioned  in  turn  toward  the  ambu- 
lance, and  I  turned.  There  stood  near  it  a 
tall,  angular  figure,  with  head  enshrouded 
in  an  enormous  sunbonnet,  a  personality 
which  it  seemed  to  me  I  also  recognized. 

"Why,    that's   my   friend    Mandy   Mc- 


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Govern,"  said  I.  "Came  out  from  Leaven- 
worth with  you,  I  suppose?'* 

"That  isn't  the  one  I  meant,"  said  Bel- 
knap. "No,  I  don't  fancy  that  sister  Mc- 
Govem  would  cut  up  much  worse  than  the 
rest  of  us  over  that  matter  up  there,  but 
the  other  one " 

At  that  moment  I  saw,  descending  at  the 
rear  of  the  ambulance,  none  less  than  the 
other  one! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HER    INFINITE   VARIETY 

The  young  woman  left  the  step  of  the 
ambulance  and  stood  for  a  moment  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  looking  out 
over  the  shimmering  expanse  of  the  broad 
river.  All  at  once  all  the  world  was 
changed.  It  was  not  the  desert,  but  civili- 
zation which  swept  about  us.  The  trans- 
figuration was  made  by  this  one  figure,  a 
woman  fair  to  look  upon. 

Yet  I  could  see  that,  though  wholly 
civilized  and  sophisticated,  this  was  no 
new-comer  in  the  world  of  the  out-of-doors. 
She  was  turned  out  in  very  workmanlike 
fashion,  although  wholly  feminine.  Her 
skirt  was  short,  of  good  gray  cloth,  and  she 
wore  a  rather  mannish  coat  over  a  loose 
blue  woolen  shirt  or  blouse.  Her  hands 
were  covered  with  long  gauntlets,  and  her 
hat  was  a  soft  gray  felt,  tied  under  the  chin 
with  a  leather  string,  while  a  soft  gray  veil 
was  knotted  carelessly  about  her  neck  as 
kerchief.  Her  face  for  the  time  was  turned 
from  us,  but  I  could  see  that  her  hair  was 
dark  and  heavy;  could  see,  in  spite  of  the 
loose  garb,  that  her  figure  was  straight, 
round,  and  slender. 

Thieving  more  than  one  glance  at  this 
unconscious  beauty,  I  was  content  until 
all  at  once  I  saw  something  which  utterly 
changed  my  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  The 
tall  figure  of  a  man  came  from  beyond  the 
line  of  wagons — a  man  clad  in  well-fitting 
tweeds,  cut  for  riding.  His  gloves  seemed 
neat,  his  boots  equally  neat,  and  indeed  his 
general  appearance  was  immaculate  as 
that  of  the  young  lady  whom  he  ap- 
proached. In  swift  male  jealousy  I  be- 
came conscious  of  my  own  travel-stained 
garb.     I  turned  at  Belknap's  voice. 

"Yes,  there  is  your  friend,  the  English- 
man," said  he,  rather  bitterly. 


"I  meet  him  everywhere,"  I  answered. 
"The  thing  is  simply  uncanny.  What  is 
he  doing  here?" 

"We  are  taking  him  out  to  Laramie 
with  us.  He  has  letters  to  Colonel  Meri- 
wether, it  seems.  Cowles,  what  do  you 
know  about  that  man?" 

"Nothing,"  said  I,  "except  that  he  pur- 
ports to  come  from  the  English  Army,  and 
that  I  meet  him  and  seem  to  run  counter 
of  him  wherever  I  go." 

"I  wish  that  he  had  stayed  in  the  Eng- 
lish Army,  and  not  come  bothering  about 
ours.  He's  prowling  about  every  military 
post  he  can  get  into."  He  spoke  morosely, 
I  fancied  not  with  a  wholly  military  con- 
cern. 

As  Orme  stood  chatting  with  the  young 
woman,  both  Belknap  and  I  turned  away, 
that  we  might  not  seem  rude.  As  I  did  so, 
I  confronted  my  former  friend,  Mandy  Mc- 
Govem,  who  stopped  chewing  tobacco  in 
her  surprise,  and  quickly  came  to  shake  ir.e 
by  the  hand. 

"Well,  I  dee-dare  to  gracious!"  she  be- 
gan, "if  here  ain't  the  man  whose  life  I 
saved  on  the  boat!  How'd  you  git  away 
out  here  ahead  of  us?  Have  you  saw  airy 
buflf'ler?  I'm  gettin'  plumb  wolfish  fer 
something  to  shoot  at.  Where-all  you 
goin',  any  how?  And  what  you  doin'  out 
here?" 

What  I  was  doing  at  that  precise  mo- 
ment, as  I  must  confess,  was  taking  one 
more  half  unconscious  look  toward  the  tail 
of  the  ambulance,  where  Orme  and  the 
young  woman  stood  chatting.  But  we 
passed  on,  Mandy  voluble.  A  few  mo- 
ments later,  Orme  left  his  companion  and 
came  rapidly  forward,  apparently  having 
spied  me  at  a  distance. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "here  you  are 
again!  Am  I  your  shadow,  Mr.  Cowles,  or 
are  you  mine?  It  is  really  singular  how 
we  meet.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  meet  you, 
although  I  don't  in  the  least  see  how  you've 
managed  to  get  here  ahead  of  us." 

1  explained  to  him  the  changes  of  my 
plans  which  had  been  brought  about  by  the 
accident  to  the  River  Belle.  "Lieutenant 
Belknap  tells  me  you  are  going  through  to 
Laramie  with  him,"  I  added.  "As  it 
chances,  we  have  the  same  errand — it  is 
my  purpose  also  to  call  on  Colonel  Meri- 
wether there,  in  case  we  do  not  meet  him 
coming  down." 

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"How  extraordinary!  Then  we'll  all  be 
fellow  travelers  for  a  time.  Of  course, 
you'll  eat  at  our  mess  to-night?  That's 
our  fire  just  over  there,  and  I'm  thinking 
the  cook  is  nearly  ready." 

It  may  be  seen  that  the  confusion  of 
these  varied  meetings  had  kept  me  from 
learning  the  name  or  identity  of  the  attrac- 
tive passenger  of  the  ambula^ice.  I  pre- 
sume both  Orme  and  Belknap  supposed 
that  we  had  all  met  before  we  took  our 
places  on  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  the 
blanket  which  served  as  a  table.  The 
young  woman  was  seated  there  as  I  ap- 
proached, and  her  face  was  turned  aside 
as  she  spoke  to  the  camp  cook,  with  whom 
she  seemed  on  the  best  of  terms.  *' Hurry, 
Daniel,"  she  called  out.  "I'm  absolutely 
starved  to  death."  She  rapped  gayly  on 
the  blanket  with  her  empty  tin  cup.  At  the 
time,  life  seemed  much  worth  living  for  us 
all.  a  matter  joyous,  care  free,  full  of  zest. 
The  wine  of  the  desert  air  was  in  our  blood. 

But  there  was  something  in  the  girl's 
voice  which  sounded  familiar  to  me.  I 
sought  a  glance  at  her  face,  which  the  next 
instant  was  hid  by  the  rim  of  her  hat,  as 
she  looked  down,  removing  her  long  gloves. 
At  least  I  saw  her  hands — small  hands,  sun- 
browned  now.  On  one  finger  was  a  plain 
gold  ring,  with  a  peculiar  setting — the 
figure  of  a  rose,  curved  deep  into  the  gold. 

"After  all,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "there 
are  some  things  which  cannot  be  dupli- 
cated, among  these,  hair  like  this,  a  profile 
like  this,  a  figure  like  this."  So  I  sat  and 
wondered,  and,  I  imagine,  gazed. 

Belknap  caught  the  slight  restraint  as 
the  girl  and  I  both  raised  our  eyes.  "Oh, 
I  say,  why,  what  in  the  world — Mr.  Cowles, 
didn't  you^that  is,  haven't  you *' 

"No,"  said  I.  "I  haven't  and  didn't,  I 
think.     But  I  think  also " 

The  girl's  face  was  a  trifle  flushed,  but 
her  eyes  were  merry.  "Yes,"  said  she 
demurely,  "  I  think  Mr.  Cowles  and  I  have 
met  once  before."  She  slightly  emphasized 
the  word  "once,"  as  I  noticed. 

"But  now  that  I  may  remind  you  all, 
gentlemen.  I  have  not  even  yet  really  heard 
this  lady's  name.  I  am  only  guessing,  of 
course,  that  it  is  Miss  Fllen  Meriwether, 
whom  you  are  taking  out  to  Laramie." 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Belknap,  and 
"of  course,"  echoed  everybody  else. 

"  Yes,"  she  confirmed,  "  I'm  going  on  out 


to  join  my  father  on  the  front.  This  is  my 
second  time  across.  Is  it  your  first,  Mr. 
Cowles?" 

"  My  first,  and  I  am  very  lucky.  Do  you 
know,  I  also  am  going  out  to  meet  your 
father.  Miss  Meriwether?" 

"How  singular!  So  are  we  all!"  She 
put  down  her  tin  cup  of  coffee  on  the 
blanket,  gazing  from  one  of  us  to  the  other. 

"My  father  was  ^n  associate  of  Colonel 
Meriwether  in  some  business  matters  back 
in  Virginia "  I  began. 

"Oh,  certainly,  I  know — it's  about  the 
coal  lands  that  are  going  to  make  us  all  rich 
some  day.  Yes,  I  know  about  that,  though 
I  think  your  father  rarely  came  over  into 
Albemarle." 

Under  the  circumstances  I  did  not  care 
to  intrude  my  personal  matters,  so  I  did 
not  explain  the  sad  nature  of  my  mission 
in  the  West.  "I  suppose  that  you  rarely 
came  into  Fairfax  either,  but  went  down 
the  Shenandoah  when  you  journeyed  to 
Washington,"  I  said  simply. 

All  this  sudden  acquaintance  and  some- 
what intimate  relation  between  us  two 
seemed  to  afford  no  real  pleasure  either  to 
Belknap  or  Orme.  For  my  part,  with  no 
clear  reason  in  the  world,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  both  Belknap  and  Orme  were  very 
detestable  persons.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
all  these  wide  gray  plains,  faintly  tinged  in 
the  hollows  with  green,  and  all  this  sweep- 
ing sky  of  blue,  and  all  this  sparkling  river 
had  properly  been  made  just  for  this  girl 
and  me,  ourselves  and  no  one  else. 

My  opportunity  came  in  due  course.  As 
we  rose  from  the  ground  at  the  conclusion 
of  our  meal,  the  girl  dropped  one  of  her 
gloves,  and  I  hastened  to  pick  it  up,  walk- 
ing with  her  a  few  paces  afterward. 

"The  next  time,"  said  I,  "I  shall  leave 
you  on  the  boat.  You  do  not  know  your 
friends." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  dimpled 
again  mischievously. 

"And  yet  I  knew  you  at  once.  I  saw 
the  ring  on  your  hand,  and  recognized  it — 
it  is  the  same  I  saw  in  the  firelight  on  the 
river  bank  the  night  we  left  the  Belle." 

"  How  brilliant  of  you.  At  least  you  can 
remember  a  ring!" 

"I  remember  seeing  this  veil  once  before 
— it  might  have  been  this  very  one  you 
wore,  at  a  certain  little  meeting  between 
Mr.  Orme  and  myself." 

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"You  seem  to  have  been  a  haberdasher 
in  your  time,  Mr.  G)wles!  Your  memory 
of  a  lady's  wearing  apparel  is  most  exact. 
One  should  feel  flattered  at  so  good  a  check 
list — though  really,  I  have  other  veils." 

She  was  pulling  on  her  glove  as  she 
spoke.  I  saw  embroidered  on  the  gauntlet 
the  figure  of  a  red  heart. 

"My  memory  is  still  more  exact,"  I  went 
on.  "Miss  Meriwether,  is  this  your  em- 
blem indeed — this  red  heart?  It  seems  to 
me  I  have  seen  it  also  somewhere  before 
nowl" 

"When  Columbus  found  America,"  she 
answered,  "it  is  said  that  the  savages 
looked  up  and  remarked  to  him;  'Ah,  we 
see  we  are  discovered. '  " 

**Yes/'  said  I,  "you  are  now  discovered 
— each  of  you — all  of  you,  all  three  or  four 
of  you.  Miss  Ellen  Meriwether!"  I  smiled 
straight  at  her  now.  She  was  very  sweet, 
with  this  red  upon  her  cheek. 

"But  you  did  not  know  it  until  now — 
until  this  very  moment.  You  did  not  know 
me — could  not  remember  me.  Oh, stupid!" 

"I  have  done  nothing  else  but  remember 
you  " 

"How  long  will  you  remember  me  this 
time— me  or  my  clothes,  Mr.  Cowles? 
Until  you  meet  another?*' 

''All  my  life,"  1  said,  "or  until  I  meet 
you  again,  in  some  other  infinite  variety. 
Each  last  time  that  I  see  you  makes  me 
forget  all  the  others,  but  never  once  have  I 
forgotten  you." 

"In  my  experience,"  commented  Ellen 
Meriwether  sagely,  "all  men  talk  very 
much  alike." 

"I  told  you  at  the  mask  ball,"  said  I, 
"that  some  time  I  would  see  you,  masks 
off.  Was  it  not  true?  I  did  not  know  you 
when  you  broke  up  my  pigeon  match  with 
Orme,  but  I  swore  that  some  time  1  would 
know  the  girl  who  did  that.  And  when  I 
saw  you  that  night  on  the  river,  it  seemed 
to  me  I  certainly  must  have  met  you  before 
— have  known  you  always.  And  now  once 
more " 

"  Having  had  time  to  study  my  rings  and 
clothing,  you  now  identify  me  with  my- 
self?" 

"My  experience  with  men,"  calmly  went 
on  this  young  person,  "leads  me  to  believe 
that  they  are  the  stupidest  of  all  created 
creatures.     Theu^e  was  never  once,  there  is 


never  once,  when  a  girl  does  not  notice  a 
man  who  is — well,  who  is  noticing." 

"Very  well,  then,"  I  broke  out,  "I  ad- 
mit it.  I  did  take  notice,  of  four  different 
girls,  one  after  the  other,  because  each  of 
them  was  fit  to  wipe  out  the  image  of  all  the 
others — and  of  all  the  others  in  the  world. 
If  you  noticed  that,  I  am  both  glad  and 
careless  of  it." 

This  was  going  far,  but  I  seemed  cut  off 
from  all  my  earlier  life.  I  was  only  set 
down  here  in  a  wide  new  world,  in  the  cen- 
ter of  which  was  this  tantalizing  sphinx, 
woman,  the  enigma,  the  desire  of  the 
world.  I  was  a  young  man.  So  now  I 
urge  no  more  excuse  than  this. 

The  girl  looked  about  gladly,  I  thought, 
at  the  sound  of  a  shuffling  step  approach- 
ing. "You,  Aunt  Mandy?"  she  called  out. 
And  to  me,  "  I  must  say  good-night,  sir." 

That  night  I  rolled  into  my  blankets,  but 
I  could  not  sleep.  The  stars  were  too 
bright,  the  wind  too  full  of  words,  the 
sweep  of  the  sky  too  strong.  I  shifted  the 
saddle  under  my  head,  and  turned  and 
turned,  but  I  could  not  rest.  I  looked  up 
again  into  the  eye  of  my  cold,  reproving 
star. 

I  fought  with  myself.  I  tried  to  banish 
her  face  from  my  heart.  I  called  up  to 
mind  my  promises,  my  duties,  my  honor. 
I  tried  to  forget  the  fragrance  of  her  hair, 
the  sweetness  of  her  body  once  held  in  my 
arms.  But  I  could  not  forget.  A  rage 
filled  me  against  all  the  other  men  in  the 
world.  I  longed  to  rise  and  roar  in  my 
throat,  challenging  all  the  other  men  in  the 
world.  It  was  my  wish  to  stride  over 
there,  just  beyond  into  the  darkness,  to 
take  her  by  the  shoulders  and  tell  her  what 
was  in  my  blood  and  in  my  heart— though 
I  must  tell  her  even  in  bitterness  and  self- 
reproach,  and  helplessness  and  despair  at 
losing  her. 

For  it  was  not  the  girl  to  whom  I  was 
pledged  and  plighted,  not  she  to  whom  I 
was  bound  in  honor — that  was  not  the  one 
with  the  fragrant  hair  and  the  eyes  of 
night,  and  the  clear-cyt  face,  and  the 
round,  straight  figure,  and  the  witchery 
that  set  me  mad — that  was  not  the  one! 
It  was  another,  of  infinite  variety,  the 
sweeter  and  hence  the  more  terrible  with 
each  change,  that  had  set  on  this  combat 
between  me  and  my  own  self. 


{To  he  continued.) 


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TEN   YEARS   OF  ARCTIC   AND 
ANTARCTIC   EXPLORATION 

BY   HERBERT   L.   BRIDGMAN 

WITH    PHOTOGRAPHS 


EN   Years  of    Polar 

Work  was  finished,  the 

books   of    1906  closed, 

•^^    I  X  and  all  hope  of  further 

iJr    ^ __^    news   from    the    north 

'^  -Ti*— Z^  abandoned,  when  this 
telegram  upset  all  cal- 
culations, shattered  maps,  and  made  a 
new  record  for  the  world : 

HoPEDALE,  Labrador, 

yia  TwiUingate,  Nfld, 
Peary  Arctic  Club: 

Roosevelt  wintered  north  coast  Grant  Land, 
somewhat  north  Alert's  winter  quarters.  Went 
north  with  sledges  February  via  Hecla  and 
Columbia,  delayed  by  open  water  between  84 
and  85  degrees.  Beyond  8s  degrees  six  days* 
gale  disrupted  ice,  destroyed  caches,  cut  off 
communication  with  supporting  parties,  and 
drifted  me  east.  Reached  87  degrees,  6  min- 
utes, N.  latitude,  over  ice  drifting  steadily  east- 
ward. Returning,  ate  dogs,  drifted  eastward. 
Delayed  by  open  water;  reached  North  Coast, 
Greenland,  in  straitened  conditions,  killed 
muskoxen,  and  returned  along  Greenland  coast 
to  ship.  Two  supporting  parties  driven  on 
north  coast  Greenland;  one  rescued  by  me  in 
starving  condition.  After  one  week's  recupera- 
tion on  Roosevelt,  sledged  west,  completing 
north  coast  Grant  Land,  and  reached  other  land 
near  looth  meridian.  Homeward  voyage  in- 
cessant battle  with  ice,  storms,  and  head  winds. 
Roosevelt  magnificent  ice-fighter  and  sea-boat. 
No  deaths  or  illness  in  expedition. 

(Sd)         Peary. 

Not  since  "we  have  met  the  enemy,  and 
they  are  ours,"  has  a  dispatch  from  the 
front  more  thoroughly  stirred  the  American 
people,  and  not  his  countrymen  only,  but 
discoverers,  explorers,  and  men  of  science 
from  over  sea,  vied  with  each  other  in  wel- 
come and  congratulations  to  the  American 
explorer.  This  is  not  the  time  nor  the 
place  to  review  the  year  of  the  Roosevelt, 


most  memorable  in  Arctic  annals.  That 
is  Peary's  story,  and  none  can  tell  it  so  well. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  will  include  the 
highest  north,  restoring  the  American  flag 
to  the  van  in  this  age-long,  international 
race  for  the  Pole;  add  many  miles  of  en- 
tirely new  coast  line  to  the  westward,  clos- 
ing the  last  gap  on  the  north  coast  of  the 
North  American  archipelago,  with  still 
further  land  seen  low  in  the  northwest,  and, 
most  important  of  all,  will  demonstrate 
wholly  new  facts  and  laws  relative  to  the 
formation  and  drift  of  the  ice  of  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  knowledge  of  which  immensely 
enhances  the  prospects  of  early  attainment 
of  the  Pole  itself.  Peary's  experience 
makes  the  complete  success  of  the  next 
attempt  with  adequate  support  and  equip- 
ment and  competent  leadership  almost  a 
moral  certainty.  No  more  fruitful  and 
rewarding  expedition  has  ever  returned 
from  the  north  than  that  of  1905-06,  and 
with  the  only  fit  ship  still  in  commission 
and  the  ablest  and  most  successful  leader 
still  available,  and  both  better  than  ever, 
it  is  their  duty  to  go  forward  and  pluck  the 
prize  of  the  centuries  which  is  at  last  within 
grasp. 

The  recent  International  Polar  Congress 
at  Brussels,  marking  an  epoch  in  our 
knowledge  of  the  forbidden  zones,  renders 
timely  and  appropriate  a  review  of  what 
has  been  accomplished  during  the  last 
ten  years.  The  conclusions  of  the  Con- 
gress were,  and  inevitably  so,  purely  tenta- 
tive and  provisional.  No  man  or  body  of 
men  holds  the  keys  to  the  poles,  and  no 
constitution  on  paper  at  Brussels  can 
daunt  or  deter  the  explorer  determined  to 
see  and  do  for  himself.  Yet  the  idea,  an 
after-thought  or  by-product  of  the  Inter- 


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national  G)mmercial  Congress  at  Mons,  in 
1905,  is  sound  and  auspicious.  Honestly 
and  intelligently  prosecuted,  another  ex- 
pression of  the  common  spirit  of  the  age 
will  be  of  advantage  to  science,  a  definite 
gain  to  human  knowledge,  and  a  positive 
force  in  the  general  advance  of  civilization. 
Great  Britain  and  its  Royal  Geographical 
Society  have  in  the  situation  an  opportu- 
nity not  to  be  neglected  to  repair  the  mis- 
take of  their  absence  from  the  Congress  and 
to  set  an  example  for  other  powers  and 
societies.  The  International  Congress  was 
convoked  and  the  polar  council  formed  for 
"the  study  of  the  polar  regions,"  not  for 
the  attainment  of  that  geographical  point 
on  the  map  where  may  be  the  imaginary 
end  of  the  supposed  axis  of  the  earth,  and 
not  once  during  all  the  Brussels  discussion 
was  heard  that  popular,  but  utterly  mean- 
ingless phrase,  "A  dash  for  the  Pole." 

But  whatever  be  the  outward  and  in- 
formal result  of  the  Congress,  the  personal 
presence  and  contact  of  the  explorers,  the 
interchange  of  opinions,  the  awakening  and 
renewing  of  personal  confidence  and  friend- 
ship, the  development  of  reciprocal  interest 
and  enthusiasm,  all  these,  and  what  must 
follow  in  their  train,  justify  the  Congress 
many  times  over,  and  are  worth  much 
more  than  it  cost  in  time,  money,  labor, 
and  most  of  all,  in  patient  thought  and 
preparation.  No  gathering  of  real  explorers, 
like  that  daily  assembled  in  the  Palace  of 
the  Academies,  or  greeting  Prince  Albert, 
future  King  of  Belgium,  and  the  Royal 
Belgian  Geographical  Society  in  the  old 
Flemish  theater,  has  ever  before  taken 
place,  and  it  was  both  inspiring  and  gratify- 
ing to  see  the  generous  pride  and  interest 
each  took  in  the  others'  achievements  and 
aspirations.  Easily  first  of  this  distin- 
guished group  should  be  named  De  Ger- 
lache,  Lecointe,  and  Arctowski,  the  trio  of 
the  Belgica,  to  whom  was  due  not  only 
the  revival,  nine  years  ago,  of  interest  in 
Antarctic  exploration,  but,  to-day,  the 
International  Congress  itself;  the  sturdy 
German,  Drygalski,  whose  Gauss  now  sails 
the  north  waters  under  the  Canadian  Ber- 
nier  as  the /Arctic;  the  placid,  imperturbable 
Nordenskjold,  whose  Antarctic,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Southern  Ocean,  will  sail  the 
seas  no  more;  Brown  and  Mossman  of 
Bruce's  Scotia  expeditions,  the  former 
physically  a  striking  alter  ego  of  our  own 


Peary,  and  the  fiery  Charcot;  all  these, 
with  their  comrades,  and  Baron  Speelman 
of  Holland's  William  Barentz's  expedition, 
thirty  years  ago  to  Franz  Josef  Land,  made 
a  memorable  and  interesting  company. 
The  regret  of  the  hour  was  that  America 
and  Peary  were  represented  only  by  proxy 
and  Great  Britain,  Scott  and  the  Discovery, 
not  at  all. 

The  record  of  the  past  decade  io  polar 
explorations  is  both  inspiring  and  signifi- 
cant. Compared  with  all  that  has  been 
done  and  known  before,  the  achievements 
of  the  last  ten  years  bulk  larger  than  those 
of  centuries,  larger  almost  than  the  sum 
total  of  the  entire  past.  The  world  reckons 
the  disappearance  of  the  Spanish  flag  from 
the  western  hemisphere,  the  partitioning 
of  Africa  and  the  European-Asiatic  struggle 
on  the  plains  of  Manchuria,  as  among  the 
milestones  of  the  last  decade.  Yet,  in  the 
polar  zones,  and  so  far  as  polar  exploration 
and  discovery  go,  events  of  greater  relative 
and  ultimate  importance  have  transpired. 
For  in  the  decade  now  closing,  the  victory 
in  the  age-long  struggle  has  been  won,  the 
polar  mystery  solved,  and  the  terra  incog- 
nita of  all  former  time  practically  eliminated 
from  the  map.  Credit  must  be  appor- 
tioned among  several,  each  deserving 
liberal  praise,  and  it  is  also  due  to  many, 
who  indirectly  and  unconsciously,  by  ex- 
periment and  researches  primarily  for  other 
purposes,  contributed  to  make  the  present 
situation  possible. 

Reviewing  in  some  detail  the  record  of 
the  past  ten  years  in  the  Arctic,  merit  and 
patriotism  coincide  in  giving  first  place  to 
the  American.  Peary,  of  blood  and  iron, 
was  not  in  1896  resting  on  his  oars  (he 
never  does  that),  but  having  completed  his 
first  campaign  and  definitely  determined 
the  insularity  of  Greenland  by  two  traverses 
across  its  great  white  Sahara,  the  desert  of 
the  inland  ice,  he  was  forming  plans  and 
gathering  resources  for  the  first  definite 
American  advance  on  the  Pole  itself.  In 
London,  in  the  winter  of  1896-7,  Peary 
received  the  gold  medal  from  the  Royal 
Geographical  Societies;  later.  Sir  Alfred 
Harmsworth,  knowing  the  man  with  whom 
he  had  to  deal,  presented  to  him  the  Wind- 
ward.oi  undoubted  age  and  doubtful  utility, 
and  in  January,  1898,  having  received  the 
McCullum  gold  medal,  the  first  award  by 
the  American  Geographical  Society,  Peary 


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publicly  declared  his  plans  for  attaining 
the  Pole.  IVindward  and  Hope,  her  auxili- 
ary, left  for  the  north  in  July,  parted  off 
Etah  August  12th,  and  for  more  than  a 
year  nothing  was  heard.  In  the  mean- 
time the  Peary  Arctic  Club  was  organized, 
Morris  K.  Jesup  elected  its  president,  and 
the  inspiration  and  capital  were  provided 
which  have  continued  unabated  until  the 
present  time,  and  without  which  the  enter- 
prise would  have  been  an  early  and  hopeless 
failure.  Diana  brought  home  news  in  '89 
of  Windward's  imprisonment  near  Cape 
Hawks;  of  Peary's  midnight,  midwinter 
march  through  Fort  Conger  and  his  narrow 
escape  from  complete  disablement  by  the 
loss  of  seven  toes;  of  his  reconnoissance  to 
the  west  coast  of  Grinnell  Land,  and  left 
him  abundantly  provisioned  and  equipped 
for  the  great  advance  which  he  hoped  to 
make  in  the  spring  of  1900.  H^'indward 
went  north  that  summer  but  did  not  return, 
and  in  1901,  Erik  was  dispatched  for  in- 
formation of  the  past  two  years.  And  she 
found  it  in  abundance.  Peary  in  the 
spring  of  1900  had  rounded  the  northern 
coast  of  Greenland,  determining  definitely 
its  northern  and  eastern  limit,  had  dis- 
covered the  highest  northern  land  on  the 
globe,  to  which  he  had  given  the  name  of 
Cape  Morris  K.  Jesup,  and  on  which  he  in 
a  cairn  had  deposited  the  flag  of  his  coun- 
try, and  more  important  in  the  larger  sense 
of  the  situation,  had  definitely  eliminated 
Greenland  as  a  possible  route  to  the  Pole 
and  removed  the  difficult  and  dangerous 
crossing  of  Lincoln  Sea  from  the  obstacle 
to  be  overcome.  The  spoil  of  the  expedi- 
tion included  the  sextant  abandoned  at 
Cape  Britannia  by  Lieutenant,  now  Ad- 
miral, Sir  Lewis  Beaumont,  R.  N.,  of  the 
Nares-Markham  1876-7  expedition;  Lock- 
wood  and  Brainard's original  record  in  their 
highest  north  cairn  and  all  the  personal 
effects,  diaries,  photographs,  and  souvenirs 
of  the  members  of  the  Lady  Franklin  Bay 
expedition  left  at  Fort  Conger,  all  of  which 
without  exception  were  returned  to  their 
rightful  owners  by  the  Peary  Arctic  Club. 
In  1902,  Peary,  having  wintered  at  Cape 
Sabine,  made  another  attempt  on  the  Pole, 
directly  north  from  Cape  Hecla,  and  at- 
tained the  highest — 84  degrees,  17  minutes 
— ever  reached  on  the  western  hemisphere, 
the  highest  ever  reached  by  America,  but 
the  ice  pressure  ridges  proved  absolutely 


impassable.  Barriers,  often  a  hundred 
feet  or  more  in  height,  blocked  the  way,  and 
rather  than  imperil  life  in  a  hopeless  effort 
Peary  retraced  his  steps  in  good  order  and, 
met  at  Cape  Sabine  by  the  rebuilt  IVind- 
ward, arrived  at  Sydney,  September  12th, 
after  an  absence  of  over  four  years. 

Hardly  was  he  on  his  native  heath  again, 
however,  than  the  master  spirit  reasserted 
itself.  In  September,  1903,  leave  of  absence 
for  five  years  was  granted  by  Acting  Secre- 
tary Darling;  the  Roosevelt  was  launched 
at  Bucksport,  Me.,  March,  1905,  and  she 
sailed  from  New  York  July  17th,  the  best 
built  craft  that  ever  crossed  the  Arctic 
circle.  His  last  words  to  the  secretary  of 
the  Peary  Arctic  Club  dated  Etah,  North 
Greenland,  August  15,  1905,  were  "We  go 
out  in  a  few  hours  to  tackle  the  proposition 
you  know  so  well.  Take  care  of  yourself." 
Three  days  later,  the  auxiliary  Erik  put 
out  of  Foulke  Fjord,  homeward  bound, 
having  first  sent  a  party  to  climb  the  lofty 
hills,  circling  it  on  the  east,  who  returned 
reporting  that  as  far  as  they  could  see  to 
the  north  well  into  the  Kane  Basin  and 
across  Smith  Sound  to  Cape  Hawks  in  the 
northwest,  there  was  nothing  of  the  Roose- 
velt, neither  smoke  nor  spars  against  the 
sky,  which  hope  and  desire  interpreted  to 
mean  that  she  was  successfully  making 
her  way  northward  to  Lady  Franklin  Bay. 

Nansen  left  Christiana,  Norway,  August 
10,  1893,  in  the  Fram,  designed  and  built 
to  demonstrate  the  drift  of  Arctic  currents, 
and  returned  in  September,  1896,  having 
effected  this  purpose.  The  results  of  the 
three  years  in  the  ice  are  even  yet  coming 
from  the  press,  and  form  one  of  the  most 
valuable  contributions  to  the  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  zone.  For  Nansen  is 
first  a  scientist,  a  naturalist,  then  an  ex- 
plorer, and  lately  a  diplomat,  whose  merit 
both  his  sovereign  and  his  country  delight 
to  recognize.  1  ncidentally ,  of  course,  Nan- 
sen had  designs  on  the  Pole,  and  when,  in 
the  spring  of  1904,  it  began  to  be  obvious 
that  the  apex  of  the  globe  would  not  be 
reached  by  drift,  he  left  the  Fram  and  ac- 
companied by  Lieutenant  Johansen  with 
dogs  and  sledges,  traveled  twenty  days 
northward  to  within  two  hundred  and 
seventy-nine  miles  of  the  Pole,  a  point  to 
within  eighteen  miles  of  which,  however, 
the  Fram,  by  a  strange  and  not  altogether 
agreeable  coincidence,  subsequently  drifted. 

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Captain  Roald  Amundsen. 

Nansen  and  Johansen  made  a  plucky  and 
perilous  retreat,  part  of  the  way  in  sledges 
and  part  in  boats;  wintered  on  the  north 
of  the  Franz  Josef  Archipelago  in  a  hut 
built  by  themselves,  often  sleeping  twenty- 
two  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  and  in 
the  following  May  fell  into  the  fortunate 
and  hospitable  hands  of  Mr.  Jackson,  finish- 
ing his  third  year  at  Cape  Flora,  under  the 
patronage  of  Sir  Alfred  Harmsworth.  As 
the  circumstances  of  that  strange  meeting 
have  never  been  published,  possibly  this 
may  be  a  good  place.  Armitage,  second  in 
command,  and  holding  a  like  commission 
under  Scott,  in  the  Discovery,  was  looking 
aimlessly  with  the  glasses  one  morning  up 
and  down  the  coast  line,  when  he  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  a  black,  moving  object  and 
a  little  later  believed  he  could  make  out 
two.  Reporting  to  Mr.  Jackson  that  he 
thought  he  saw  men  in  the  distance,  the 
commander  laughed  at  him  and  scouted 
the  idea.  By  and  by,  however,  the  fact 
that  the  objects  moved  and  were  approach- 
ing became  indisputable,  and  then  Armi- 
tage asked  permission  to  go  and  meet  the 
strangers,  a  courtesy  belonging  to  him  by 
right  of  discoVviry,  but  was  peremptorily 
refused. 


Hardly  had  Nansen's  arrival  at  Hammer- 
fest  been  reported,  when  by  one  of  those 
dramatic  coincidences  always  happening  in 
polar  work,  the  sturdy  Fram  and  her  ever- 
faithful  navigator,  Sverdrup,  steamed  into 
Tronjhem  harbor,  and  the  comrades  of 
three  years,  after  more  than  twelve  months' 
separation,  were  reunited,  and  the  most 
brilliant  Arctic  voyage  of  these  days  con- 
cluded. The  joy  and  the  honors  at  the 
public  reception  a  few  days  later  at  Chris- 
tiana were  justly  divided  between  Nansen 
and  his  navigator,  to  whose  skill,  patience 
and  daring  the  safety. of  the  Fram,  and 
particularly  the  final  extraction  from  the 
ice,  were  largely  due.  Nansen  had  demon- 
strated his  theory  of  the  Arctic  drift  from 
east  to  west,  and  the  contribution  to 
human  knowledge  concerning  the  laws  of 
nature  in  the  north  was  important  and 
conclusive.  Every  man  of  Nansen's  party 
returned,  and  the  expedition  enjoyed  al- 
most perfect  immunity  from  illness  or 
accident. 

Prince  Luigi  of  Savoy,  Duke  of  the 
Abruzzi,  who  earned  his  spurs  as  an  Alpin- 
ist by  coming  to  America  and  climbing  Mt. 
St.  Elias  in  Alaska  in  1896,  and  who  last 
summer  repeated  in  the  tropics  his  exploits 


Captain  Otto  Sverdrrn. 

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of  the  Arctic  by  ascending  the  highest  peak 
of  Ruwenzori,  the  fabled  equatorial  Moun- 
tains of  the  Moon,  landed  in  Teplitz  Bay, 
Franz  Josef  Land,  1899;  his  ship,  the 
Stella  Polare — a  Norwegian  whaler  refitted 
for  the  work,  not  long  after  followed  him 
ashore,  and  lay  high  and  dry  on  the  beach 
all  winter.  With  the  leader  were  Savoyard 
guides  and  comrades  of  the  service,  some 
of  whom  had  been  with  him  in  Alaska.  In 
the  spring  of  1900  Captain  Umberto  Cagni 
was  made  leader  of  the  Northern  Advance 
Party — an  injury  to  his  hand  having  par- 
tially disabled  the  Duke — and  on  May  19th 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  recording  86  de- 
grees, 33  minutes  north,  which  for  six 
years  was  the  highest  attained.  One  party 
of  three  perished  on  the  return,  and  the 
main  body,  losing  its  way,  narrowly 
escaped  death  from  starvation. 

Otto  Sverdrup,  Nansen's  navigator,  took 
out  the  Fram  in  1898,  in  a  polar  quest  by 
the  Smith  Sound  route,  and  wintering  in 
Rice  Strait,  just  west  of  Bedford  Pin  Is- 
land, turned  south  and  westward  into 
Jones  Sound  in  the  fall  of  1899.  In  1902 
he  returned  with  a  rich  tale  of  discovery, 
hundreds  of  miles  of  new  coasts,  important 
islands-charted — all  the  result  of  hard  and 
faithful  work,  an  expedition  which  has  re- 
ceived less  recognition  than  it  merits,  but 
which  for  actual  results,  both  in  loyal  co- 
operation of  every  member  with  the  leader 
and  with  each  other,  and  in  solid  achieve- 
ments of  real  value,  sets  a  standard  which 
may  well  be  emulated  and  will  not  soon  be 
duplicated. 

Second  to  none  in  daring  is  the  North- 
west Passage  of  Roald  Amundsen  and  his 
seventy- ton  Gjoa  in  three  years  from 
Christiana,  Norway,  having  demonstrated 
that  for  which  Henry  Hudson  gave  his 
life.  But  the  Northwest  Passage  was  only 
a  part  and  the  smaller  part  of  Amund- 
sen's undertaking.  Navigator  of  the  Bel- 
gian Antarctic  expedition,  in  which  he 
proved  himself  most  competent,  Amund- 
sen immediately  upon  its  return  took  in 
the  Hamburg  observatory  a  course  of 
thorough  study  in  magnetism — prepara- 
tion for  an  attempt  to  rediscover  and 
definitely  locate  the  north  magnetic  pole. 
This  scientific  errand  was  the  main  object 
of  his  expedition,  with  the  Northwest 
Passage  as  an  ultimate  possibility.  It  was, 
therefore,  doubly  gratifying  in  December, 


1905,  to  have  Amundsen  wire  from  Eagle 
City,  Alaska,  the  news  of  his  arrival  over- 
land from  Herschel  Island,  where  he  had 
left  the  Gjoa  in  winter  quarters,  and  in- 
clude also  the  welcome  confirmation  of  an 
earlier  report  that  his  quest  of  the  north 
magnetic  pole  has  been  completely  success- 
ful. Publication  of  the  scientific  results  of 
Amundsen's  expedition  await  his  return 
to  Christiana. 

Other  Arctic  expeditions  of  the  last  ten 
years  which  deserve  mention,  but  which  for 
one  reason  or  another  have  proved  disap- 
pointing or  unfruitful,  are  Andre's  attempt 
in  1897  ^^  reach  the  Pole  by  balloon  from 
Spitzbergen — neither  he  nor  his  two  com- 
panions having  again  been  heard  of;  ex- 
plorations of  the  New  Siberian  islands  by 
Baron  Tell,  the  Russian,  which  likewise 
cost  him  his  life,  and  the  two  Ziegler  ex- 
peditions to  Franz  Josef  Land — that  of 
1 90 1  led  by  Baldwin,  and  of  1903-5  by 
Fiala. 

To  complete  the  record,  mention  should 
be  made  of  the  American  Well  man's  Franz 
Josef  Land  (1899)  and  of  the  three  East 
Greenland  expeditions;  the  Swedish  Nath- 
orst  and  the  Danish  Amdrup  in  1899  and 
the  French  Duke  of  Orleans  in  1905,  the 
last  of  which  carried  the  known  coast  to 
the  north  of  Cape  Bismarck — which  is 
probably  an  island — to  a  new  headland, 
named  in  honor  of  the  royal  house.  Cape 
Bourbon. 

Three  expeditions  are  now  in  the  Arctic, 
each  in  new  fields,  of  which  it  is,  of  course, 
too  early  to  speak,  except  in  anticipation. 
North  of  Alaska  is  a  great  unknown  sea, 
confidently  believed  to  contain  an  import- 
ant land  mass.  Ejnar  Mikkelson,  lieuten- 
ant in  the  Danish  Navy,  a  member  of  the 
Ziegler- Baldwin  expedition,  with  funds 
from  the  Royal  and  American  Geographical 
Societies  and  the  English  Duchess  of  Bed- 
ford— in  honor  of  whom  his  ship  is  named — 
with  two  American  comrades  will  attempt 
to  explore  this  area,  and  if  all  goes  well  to 
return  in  the  spring  of  1908  by  way  of 
Wrangel  Island  and  Baring  Strait,  with  a 
definite  solution  of  the  greatest  uncharted 
area  of  the  north.  To  the  eastward,  but 
with  designs  to  the  northward  in  Mikkel- 
sen's  field,  is  Mr.  A.  H.  Harrison,  who  last 
year  made  a  long  journey  along  the  coast 
east  from  the  Mackenzie  delta,  and  who 
aims  to  clear  up  much  that  is  unknown 


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Ten  Years  of  Arctic  and  Antarctic  Exploration      589 


Dr.  Jean  Charcot. 

concerning  the  sub-Arctic  Canadian  Archi- 
pelago while  on  the  east  coast  of  Greenland, 
and  Mylius  Erichsen  has  established  a  sta- 
tion from  which  he  expects  to  map  all  the 
coast  yet  unexplored  between  Cape  Bour- 
bon and  Peary's  Independence  Bay,  with 
ultimate  designs  on  the  Pole  and  a  traverse 
of  the  Greenland  ice  cap  south  of  Peary's 
track  and  in  the  opposite  direction,  i.e., 
from  the  east  to  some  of  the  Danish  settle- 
ments on  the  west  coast. 

Turning  now  from  north  to  south,  from 
Arctic  to  Antarctic,  a  great  and  auspicious 
change  is  apparent.  Expeditions,  financed, 
managed,  and  led  by  individual  tests  of 
endurance  and  quests  of  adventure  are 
contrasted  with  those  enjoying  protection 
of  the  foremost  geographical  and  scientific 
societies,  recognized  by  governments  and 
by  royalty  and  in  one  or  two  instances 
aided  by  definite  grants  of  the  public  funds. 
Great  Britain  and  France  have  advanced 
in  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century 
the  outposts  of  Ross  and  D'Urville  of  the 
first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth,  and  Sweden, 
Germany,  and  Scotland  have  won  first  and 
high  honors  in  the  Antarctic,  while  Argen- 
tina leads  all  the  republics  of  her  continent 
in  work  in  the  southern  polar  field.    The 


change  in  the  situation  is  essential — really 
deeper  than  it  appears  on  the  surface.  The 
day  of  individuals  and  personal  demonstra- 
tion has  been  succeeded  by  that  of  system 
and  organization — that  of  alliance  and  co- 
operation, which  prevails  the  world  over  in 
every  department  of  scientific  research  and 
extension  of  exact  knowledge. 

To  De  Gerlache,  the  Belgian,  must  un- 
questionably be  given  the  honor  of  the  Ant- 
arctic renaissance.  The  Royal  Geographi- 
cal Society,  like  other  large  bodies,  moves 
slowly,  and  though  Sir  Clements  Markham, 
its  president,  and  president  of  the  Inter- 
national Geographical  Congress  in  London 
in  1895,  speaking  under  the  influence  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  Borchgrevink's  liberal  story 
of  his  landing  on  the  Antarctic  continent 
the  year  before,  urged  that  an  expedition 
should  be  dispatched  to  the  south,  it  was 
the  zealous,  patient,  indefatigable  Belgian 
who  finally  got  off  his  little  Belgica  from 
Antwerp  in  August,  1897,  with  a  slender 
equipment  and  a  small  scientific  staff, 
joined  at  Rio  Janeiro  two  months  later  by 
an  American  surgeon.  Nearly  two  years 
after,  De  Gerlache  and  all  but  Danco  of 
his  staff,  returned  richly  laden  both  with 
experience  and  scientific  material.     First  of 


Otto  Nordenskjold. 

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men,  the  party  had  endured  the  Antarctic 
winter  night;  thirteen  months  imprisoned 
in  the  pack  they  had  drifted  helplessly. 


tion  and  character  of  the  great  Antarctic 
continent  could  be  almost  positively  de- 
monstrated.   The  track  of  the  Belgica  was 


Chart  of  North  Polar  Expeditions. 


discovering  much  new  land  and  correcting 
the  location  of  many  ports  and  islands,  and 
bringing  home  data  from  which  the  posi- 


to  the  southward  of  Cape  Horn,  and  its 
final  extraction  from  the  imprisoning  floes, 
by  the  unremitting  toil  of  six  weeks  at  the 

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Dr.  Fritjof  Nansen  and  his  eldest  son. 


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saws,  escaping  both  ice  and  impending 
starvation,  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling 
chapters  of  polar  experience. 

TTie  example  of  De  Gerlache,  Lecointe 
and  the  others  of  the  Belgica  speedily  bore 
fruit,  and  two  years  later  Antarctic  ex- 
ploration attained  high-water  mark.  The 
Royal  Geographical  Society,  having  re- 
ceived Mr.  Longstaif's  (150,000,  dispatched 


new  polar  council  will  seek  further  to  ap- 
ply. To  Captain  Scott  and  the  Discovery 
were  assigned  the  territory  already  visited 
by  Ross  and  the  later  explorers  directly 
south  of  New  Zealand,  and  the  prosecu- 
tions of  explorations  on  land,  study  of 
the  inland  ice,  definition  of  coast  line,  of 
mountain-elevation  and  outlines,  together 
with  incidental  studies  of  meteorology  and 


( 


Chart  of  South  Polar  Expeditions. 


a  new  Discovery;  Germany  built,  equipped, 
and  sent  under  Drygalski  the  Gauss;  and 
latest  of  all  Nordenskjold  left  Sweden  in 
the  Antarctic,  months  afterward  to  leave 
her  bones  on  the  floor  of  the  southern 
seas.  Each  expedition,  though  autono- 
mous, had  definite  and  recognized  relations 
with  the  other,  not  only  as  to  the  fields, 
but  as  to  the  character  of  the  work,  the 
first  application  of  the  principle  which  the 


magnetism;  to  the  westward,  Drygalski 
would  push  studies  and  observations  of  the 
sea,  its  bottom,  its  life,  its  character,  its  cur- 
rents, with  similar  observation  of  weather 
and  magnetism;  while  still  further  to  the 
westward  on  the  land,  which  the  Belgica 
and  the  earlier  Norw^ian  whalers  and 
American  sealers  had  demonstrated,  Nor- 
denskjold and  his  Swedes  would  give  special 
attention  to  geology  ^  t 

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In  two  years,  all  three  were  home,  richly 
freighted  with  results.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  year,  Q)lbeck,  in  the  auxiliary,  Morn- 
ing, had  brought  back  news  of  Scott's 
success  and  good  promise,  but  when  the 
Discovery  herself  arrived  at  Lyttleton  she 
brought  the.  best  news  which  ever  came 
out  of  the  south.  Scctt,  with  Lieutenant 
Shackleton,  later  invalided  home,  and  Sur- 
geon Wilson  had  attained  82  degrees  and 
17  minutes  south,  many  miles  beyond  any 
preceding  human  foot,  while  further  they 
had  sight  of  lofty  mountains,  so  that  the 
extension  of  the  land  mass  to  the  Pole 
itself  was  as  good  as  demonstrated;  Arm- 
itage,  the  navigator,  a  Jackson- Harms- 
worth  veteran,  had  made  a  long  journey 
over  an  ice-free  plateau  to  the  southwest- 
ward,  and  Scott,  on  a  second  journey,  had 
further  pushed  his  quest  westward  into 
the  high  interior  table-lands.  Two  winters 
had  been  passed  in  comparative  comfort, 
only  one  casualty  and  that  by  accident 
had  occurred.  Just  before  leaving  the 
scene  of  two  winter  quarters,  the  Discovery 
cruised  to  the  eastward,  extending  the  coast 
line  and  enabling  Scott  to  write  "King 
Edward  VIl.  Land'*  on  the  map;  it  was 
no  wonder  that  the  Discovery,  officers  and 
men  received  a  royal  welcome,  that  honors 
and  promotions  were  distributed  with  a 
generous  hand. 

Drygalski  and  Gauss  came  back  in  due 
time  safely  and  with  a  much  more  monoto- 
nous, but  none  the  less  valuable,  narrative 
so  far  as  scientific  results  were  concerned. 
Unable  to  make  land,  though  within  sight 
of  it,  the  ship  had  wintered  to  the  west- 
ward of  the  British  expedition,  protected 
by  a  cordon  of  grounded  bergs  from  the 
drifting  floes  and  the  grinding  pack,  and 
here  had  prosecuted  a  series  of  observa- 
tions which  never  had  superior  in  respect 
of  refinement  and  accuracy.  Much  most 
valuable  knowledge  concerning  the  charac- 
ter of  the  sea,  its  constituents  and  currents, 
of  the  formation  and  drift  of  the  ice  and  all 
the  physical  phenomena  of  the  Antarctic 
were  gathered  by  the  German  scientists, 
and  their  results,  when  worked  out  and 
published,  will  go  far  to  settle  finally  many 
points  concerning  which  little  or  nothing 
has  been  known.  "Gaussberg"  they  called 
the  distant  mountain,  which  in  fine 
weather  they  could  see,  but  which  they 
could  not  reach  over  the  rugged  sea  and 


broken  ice;  nor  were  they  able  without 
dogs  or  sledges  to  attempt  exploration  of 
the  dimly  outlined  coasts  and  still  more 
remote  interior. 

Most  dramatic  in  its  experience  of  all  the 
1901  expeditions,  hardly  surpassed  by  any 
crossing  either  circle,  was  that  of  the  Swedes 
under  Nordenskjold.  Landed  at  Snow 
Hill  on  Seymour  Island,  Nordenskjold,  and 
his  party  bade  good-bye  to  Captain  Larsen 
and  the  Antarctic,  built  them  a  house  and 
settled  down  to  scientific  work  for  the 
summer,  and  as  it  turned  out  for  the  win- 
ter. Larsen's  instructions  were  to  refit  at 
the  Falkland  Islands,  to  give  the  zoologists 
of  the  party  a  chance  at  Tierra  del  Fuego, 
and  to  come  back  to  Snow  Hill  in  the 
summer  of  1902.  That  summer  and  the 
next  winter  passed  and  Nordenskjold  and 
his  comrades  saw  nothing  of  Larsen  or  of 
the  Antarctic.  One  day  they  saw  coming 
over  the  ice  and  rocks  two  objects  which 
every  one  at  first  asserted  were  emperor 
penguins,  but  on  coming  nearer  proved  to 
be  Duse  and  Andersen,  who,  landed  the 
year  before  by  Larsen  and  cut  off  by  open 
water  from  their  proposed  journey  over- 
land to  Snow  Hill,  had  spent  nine  months 
in  a  hut  built  of  the  stones  which  they 
could  collect,  and  subsisting  on  the  scanty 
supplies  left  with  them,  but  chiefly  on  the 
penguins  and  seals  they  had  been  able  to 
kill.  Men  were  never  more  warmly  wel- 
comed than  these  two,  wintering  unknown 
within  twenty  miles  of  comrades  and  head- 
quarters. Finally,  as  hope  was  almost 
departing  and  the  summer  drawing  fast 
to  a  close,  one  fine  day  Captain  I.rizar, 
commander^  of  the  cruiser  dispatched  by 
Argentine,  called  at  Snow  Hill  and  bade 
Nordenskjold  and  his  reunited  party  make 
ready  to  leave  for  home.  The  welcome 
summons  was,  of  course,  willingly  obeyed, 
but  "if  Larsen  were  only  here,'*  said  the 
released  and  relieved  Swedes;  and  the  very 
next  day,  whom  do  they  see  tramping 
across  the  floe  but  Larsen  and  five  sturdy 
sailors  from  Paulet's  Island,  where  they 
had  wintered  after  the  Antarctic  had  been 
crushed  and  sunk  by  the  ice,  following  a 
gallant  fight  of  weeks  to  keep  her  afloat 
and  bring  off  the  party  from  the  rock?  of 
Snow  Hill.  The  world  rejoiced  at  Norden- 
skjold's  rescue,  and  the  more  when  the 
scientific  results  of  his  long  isolation  were 
found  to  be  of  the  highest  impo** 


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A   DEVIATION    OF   COURSE 


BY   HENRY   C   ROWLAND 


DRAWINGS    BY    E.  V.  NADHERNY 


R.  ALLAN  McINTYRE 
walked  smartly  up  and 
down  the  snowy  deck  of 
his  newly  purchased  sea- 
going schooner  yacht. 
A  long  protracted  calm 
had  tautened  the  highly 
strung  nerves  of  the  financier  to  the  point 
of  snapping,  and  the  sleepy  slatting  of  the 
sails  and  lazy  creaking  of  gear  augmented 
his  impatience  to  the  point  of  frenzy. 

Near  the  rail  his  daughter,  a  very  pretty 
girl  with  exceedingly  blue  eyes,  was  curled 
up  in  a  wicker  chair,  dreamily  watching 
the  long,  oily  rollers  as  they  heaved  up  out 
of  the  gray  distance.  Her  face  was  partly 
turned  from  her  father,  who  at  every  turn 
in  his  walk  glanced  at  her  sharply.  Soon 
he  paused  and  looked  down  upon  her  with 
an  expression  of  irritated  anxiety. 

"Where's  Fitzroy  now?"  he  asked. 

Elsa  nodded  toward  the  companionway. 
"  He  is  down  below  taking  a  nap." 

"H'mph!"  muttered  Mr.  Mclntyre.  *'So 
he  asked  you  to  marry  him,  did  he?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Elsa,  "last  night.  He 
was  going  to  ask  you  first,  but  I  saw  what 
was  in  his  mind  and  told  him  that  in 
America  the  consent  of  the  father  was  a 
minor  consideration." 

"  H'mph!  You  did,  eh?  What  did  you 
tell  him?" 

Elsa  thrust  her  pretty  chin  upward.  "  I 
have  consented,"  she  replied  with  dignity, 
"to  become  Lady  Fitzroy." 

Mclntyre  took  a  few  more  hasty  steps, 
then  paused  again  before  his  daughter. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I've  not  consented 
yet,  and  what  is  more  I  won't!" 

"Yes,  you  will,  papa  dear,"  replied  his 
daughter  placidly.  "You  would  not  con- 
sent to  anything  just  now  because  this 
calm  has  made  you  nervous." 


595 


"There's  no  denying  that,"  answered 
Mclntyre,  "but  just  the  same  you  can't 
marry  Fitzroy.  Why,  hang  it  all,  we  can't 
afford  it." 

The  color  rose  in  Elsa's  piquant  face. 

"Lord  Fitzroy  does  not  wish  to  marry 
me  for  my  money,  papa,"  she  said  with 
dignity,  "nor  do  I  wish  to  marry  him  for 
his  title." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  moving  past 
her  father  as  though  he  had  been  freshly 
painted,  swept  toward  the  companionway. 
As  she  was  about  to  descend  there  ap- 
peared the  blond  head  and  very  broad 
shoulders  of  a  ruddy  young  man  whose 
cheerful  face  brightened  at  seeing  her. 

"Hello!"  he  said.  "I  was  just  coming 
up  to  read  to  you.  Found  an  awfully 
jolly  story;  all  about  lynchin's  and  hold- 
ups." 

Mclntyre,  with  a  snort  of  disgust,  turned 
and  walked  forward  to  speak  to  his  cap- 
tain, a  bronzed  young  man,  who  was 
staring  anxiously  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  hoped  the  breeze  might  come. 

"  How  long  before  we  will  get  a  breeze, 
captain?"  demanded  the  owner  in  the  voice 
of  one  who  having  bought  a  vessel  was 
being  defrauded  of  his  due  allowance  of 
propelling  force. 

"  I  hope  the  breeze  may  spring  up  with 
the  turn  of  the  tide,  sir,"  answered  the 
captain  evasively. 

"  How  soon  will  that  be?" 

"In  about  three  hours,  sir." 

"Three  hours!"  cried  Mclntyre  in  horror. 
"Heavens  and  earth,  man,  three  more 
hours  of  this  will  drive  me  crazy." 

The  captain  refrained  from  observing 
that  from  present  indications  three  hours 
was  a  too  generous  limit  to  his  owner's 
arrival  at  this  unfortunate  condition.  The 
dhawling  voice  of  Lord  Fitzroy,  somewhat 

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raised  against  the  slatting  of  the  sails, 
reached  them  indistinctly. 

"...  like  to  get  becalmed,  rather; 
one  is  so  glad  when  the  breeze  springs  up 
again     .     .     ." 

Mclntyre  gritted  his  teeth  and  turned 
savagely  upon  his  skipper. 

**  How  far  are  we  from  the  land?" 

''We're  about  thirty  miles  due  west  of 
Yarmouth,  Nova  Scotia,  sir,  'cordin'  to  my 
reckonin'." 

"Thirty  miles!  Is  that  all?  Then  lower 
the  launch." 

"What's  that,  sir?" 

"Lower  the  launch." 

The  captain  turned  to  his  owner  in 
amazement. 

"You're  not  thinkin'  of  tryin'  to  make 
it  in  a  launch,  sir!" 

"Why  not?"  snapped  Mclntyre.  "She 
can  do  fifteen,  can't  she?  That's  two 
hour's  run,  and  you  say  that  there  will  not 
be  any  wind  for  three;  that's  a  whole  hour 
saved." 

The  somewhat  fishy  eyes  of  the  captain 
grew  quite  round  with  horror  at  the 
thought  of  a  life  reputed  to  be  worth  over  a 
million  dollars  being  exposed  to  thirty 
miles  of  open  sea  in  a  small  launch.  The 
shock  deprived  him  for  the  moment  of 
speech  and  in  the  pause  the  voice  of  Lord 
Fitzroy  reached  them  drawlingly. 

".  .  .  used  to  cruise  with  a  chap 
who  would  almost  go  mad  if  he  got  be- 
calmed. No  repose  of  manner  .  .  . 
not  a  bit.  Now  I'm  not  that  way  .  .  . 
/  like  it,  rather.     ..." 

Again  Mclntyre  gritted  his  teeth  and 
for  a  moment  his  keen  features  wore 
the  expression  of  one  hanging  in  the 
balance  between  homicidal  and  suicidal 
frenzy. 

"If  that  chump  knew  that  I  was  long 
about  fifty  thousand  shares,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "and  an  underwriter  in  one  of 
the  biggest  pools  ever  financed,  I'll  bet 
he  wouldn't  like  it.  Well,  captain,"  he 
said  sharply,  "how  about  that  launch?" 

The  captain  threw  out  both  hands  in 
expostulation. 

"You  ain't  a  sea-farin'  man,  Mr.  Mc- 
lntyre," said  he,  "and  you  don't  un- 
derstand the  risk.  Why,  it  would  be 
down-right  crim'nal  for  me  to  let  you  go 
in  from  thirty  miles  off  shore  in  that 
little  autymobyle  contraption    ...    an' 


in   this  onsettled  weather.    Why,   s'pose 
she  was  to  buck  on  you?" 

"Put  a  man  in  her  that  won't  let  her 
buck,"  said  Mclntyre  curtly.  "Come, 
drop  her  in.  It's  all  your  own  fault  any 
way.  You  told  me  that  I  could  count  on 
reaching  Bar  Harbor  yesterday  morning 
at  the  outside.  I  tell  you  man,  this  delay 
may  cost  me  a  million  dollars." 

"What  are  you  doing,  papa,"  called 
Elsa,  "ordering  a  breeze?" 

"There's  going  to  be  a  gasoline  gale  in 
that  launch  in  a  minute,  "  replied  Mclntyre. 
with  emphasis. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I'm  going  ashore.  My 
time  is  worth  too  much  money  to  fritter 
away  on  calms." 

"  But  I  don't  understand." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Fitzroy.  "How  are 
you  going  ashore,  ye  know,  when  there 
ain't  any  shore  to  go  to?" 

"If  you  are  really  going  ashore,"  ob- 
served Elsa,  who  knew  her  father's  capabil- 
ities, "  I  am  going  with  you." 

"No,  you're  not,"  said  her  father.  "The 
captain  says  it's  dangerous." 

"Then  I  am  certainly  going.  I  have  not 
been  in  any  danger  for  three  days,  and  I 
am  getting  quite  stale." 

"Just  the  same,"  said  Mclntyre,  "you 
can't  go." 

"I  say,"  said  Fitzroy,  "if  you  two  are 
really  going,  you  can't  leave  me,  ye  know." 

"She's  not  going,"  said  Mclntyre,  dog- 
gedly. Like  many  another  foolish  Ameri- 
can father  he  was  self-deluded  by  the  belief 
that  because  he  could  control  the  actions 
of  syndicates  he  could  also  control  the 
actions  of  an  eighteen-year-old  girl. 

Flsa  turned  to  Fitzroy.  "Please  touch 
the  bell,"  she  said. 

Lord  Fitzroy,  who  had  grown  somewhat 
practiced  in  the  maneuver,  obeyed,  and  a 
steward  appeared  in  the  companionway. 

"Tell  Celeste,"  said  Elsa,  "to  pack  some 
things  for  overnight  in  my  kit  bag — and 
bring  some  whiskey  for  Lord  Fitzroy." 

Mclntyre  compressed  his  lips  and  went 
below  to  pack  his  own  bag.  When  a  few 
minutes  later  he  came  on  deck  the  launch 
was  at  the  gangway  and  the  captain  was 
wailing  out  his  woes  to  the  mate. 

"S'pose  she  was  to  buck  on  ye,  Mr.  Mc- 
lntyre?" he  protested. 

"I'd  sooner  take  my  <;hanc^  on  her 


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The  drawling  voice  of  Lord  Fitzroy  reached  them  as  he  read.     Mclntyre  gritted  his 
teeth  and  turned  savagely  upon  his  skipper. 


bucking  than  on  being  out  of  communica- 
tion with  my  office  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning/'  answered  Mclntyre  m  the  voice 
of  unquestionable  finality. 

Mclntyre  was  about  to  descend  into  the 
launch  when  Elsa,  followed  by  Fitzroy. 
came  on  deck  and  walked  calmly  toward 
the  gangway.  Behind  came  the  steward 
with  luggage. 

"  You  have  had  your  trouble  for  nothing, 
my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mclntyre.  **I  told  you 
that  you  could  not  go  with  me." 

"Put  them  under  the  seats  where  they 
will  not  get  wet,  James,"  said  Elsa  to  the 
steward.     "What  did  you  say,  papa?" 

"I  said  that  you  are  to  stay  on  the 
yacht,"  snapped  Mclntyre. 

"What!"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  tone  of 
dismay.  "Without  any  chaperon?  Why, 
what  are  you  thinking  of,  papa  dear?" 

Mclntyre  tugged  at  his  gray  mustache. 
"H'mph "  he  said,  and  then,  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  failing  him  for  the 
instant  he  added  *'H'mphr 

Elsa   descended   tranquilly   and   seated 


herself,  the  only  hands  raised  being  for  her 
assistance. 

"  If  we  are  going  to  start,"  she  observed 
placidly,  "don't  you  think  you  had  better 
get  aboard?" 

Mclntyre  scowled,  looked  helplessly 
about  him,  then  descended.  Fitzroy. 
pausing  to  cram  mto  his  pocket  a  few  of  his 
host's  excellent  cigars  which  were  lying  on 
a  transom,  followed  him. 

"Shove  off,"  said  Mclntyre  grimly. 

Mclntyre  took  the  little  wheel  and  headed 
the  launch  due  east  which  was  the  course 
given  him  by  the  captain.  The  change 
from  the  utter  inertia  of  the  schooner 
to  the  quivering  energy  of  the  little  ves- 
sel was  a  delightful  relaxation  to  his 
nerves  and  he  leaned  back  and  smoked 
contentedly  while  keeping  his  eye  on  the 
dial  of  the  compass.  Elsa  opened  a  box 
of  bonbons,  thoughtfully  supplied  by  the 
steward,  while  Fitzroy  watched  with  inter- 
est the  manipulations  of  Olsen  the  Swedish 
launchman,  who  was  carefully  going  over 
the  little  engine. 

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There  was  a  thin  haze  in  the  air  which 
before  long  blotted  out  the  schooner;  no 
land  was  in  sight  and  all  about  them  the 
oily  water  heaved  in  slow  undulations.  At 
first  Elsa  chatted  with  Fitzroy  while  Mc- 
Intyre  contributed  an  occasional  staccato 
observation,  but  there  was  an  odd,  dispirit- 
ing effect  to  the  flat  tone  of  their  voices  in 
the  great  void  of  monotonous  sea  and  sky. 

Presently  Olsen  looked  up  from  his 
engine. 

"Dere  comes  some  fog,  sir." 

"H'mph,"  said  Mclntyre. 

"  Bother,'*  said  Fitzroy. 
'  The  fog  came  slithering  in,  soft,  insidious, 
a  few  puffs  of  thin,  streaky  vapor  which 
soon  thickened  to  a  humid  blanket.  It 
slid  along  the  oily  water  completely 
enveloping  the  little  launch. 

"H'mph,"  said  Mclntyre,  "that's  bad." 

"Jolly  unpleasant,"  said  Fitzroy,  "but 
we  must  be  half  way  there  by  now." 

Elsa  shivered.  "Only  I  wish  we  were 
at  the  end  of  the  last  half  instead  of  the 
first,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  but  then  we'd  be  all  the  way  and 
not  half,  you  know,"  said  Fitzroy,  in  a 
puzzled  voice,  and  Elsa's  laugh  sounded 
muffled  in  the  fog. 

Mclntyre  was  about  to  speak  when  sud- 
denly the  little  engine  sighed,  groaned,  and 
stopped. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Mclntyre 
sharply. 

"  I  dhink  der  engine  have  stopped,  sir," 
said  Olsen.  He  cranked  it  vigorously,  but 
was  unable  to  turn  the  fly-wheel. 

"Try  reversing  her,"  said  Mclntyre. 
Olsen  obeyed  and  succeeded  in  getting  two 
revolutions  when  the  engine  stopped  again. 
Mclntyre,  who  was  something  of  a  me- 
chanic, took  a  heavy  monkey-wrench  from 
a  sack  beneath  a  thwart  and  was  about  to 
start  aft  to  investigate  when  Olsen  ob- 
served: 

"  Der  propeller  vas  yammed,  sir." 

Mclntyre  laid  his  wrench  on  the  half- 
deck  beside  the  compass  and  clambering 
aft  looked  over  the  stern.  Just  beneath 
the  surface  he  saw  a  clog  of  wood  painted 
a  brilliant  red  and  white. 

"What  the  dickens  is  that  thing?"  he 
asked.  Olsen  thrust  his  shock  head  over 
the  stern. 

"Yo!"  said  he.  "Ve  haf  vound  up  a 
lobster-pot  on  der  wheel." 


For  half  an  hour  the  millionaire  and  the 
Swede,  lying  side  by  side,  face  downward, 
on  the  narrow  stem,  tugged,  hacking  and 
hauling  at  the  fouled  line,  while  Lord  Fitz- 
roy started  and  stopped  and  reversed  the 
engine  at  their  bidding.  At  length  the  line 
was  cleared  and  Mclntyre  returned  to  the 
wheel.  The  monkey-wrench  was  still  lying 
beside  the  compass,  but  in  his  haste  he  did 
not  take  the  trouble  to  remove  it. 

"We'll  have  to  hurry  now,"  said  he,  "to 
get  in  before  dark.  Open  her  up  to  the 
top  notch,  Olsen." 

"Think  what  jolly  good  appetites  we 
will  have  for  dinner,"  cheerfully  observed 
Fitzroy,  lighting  one  of  the  cigars  with 
which  he  had  so  thoughtfully  provided 
himself. 

For  some  time  they  slid  along  in  silence, 
straining  their  eyes  to  penetrate  the  fog. 
Olsen  alone,  gave  evidence  of  the  disquiet 
which  all  felt. 

"Vas  you  on  your  course,  sir?"  he  asked 
doubtfully.  "  Der  swell  vas  comin'  astern 
und  she  vas  now  abeam." 

"I'm  heading  east,"  replied  Mclntyre 
testily. 

The  fog  began  to  thin  a  trifle,  but  their 
vision  was  still  limited  to  less  than  a  mile. 
Mclntyre  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"We  have  been  actually  going  ahead 
for  almost  three  hours,"  he  said,  "and  it 
would  not  surprise  me  if  we  had  overshot 
the  place  and  were  heading  up  into  the 
Bay.  I  believe  that  I  will  swing  her  a 
little  to  the  south." 

He  changed  his  course  abruptly,  thereby 
adding  to  the  deviation  error  already  pro- 
duced on  the  sensitive  needle  by  the  steel 
monkey-wrench,  and  heading  for  some 
spot  on  the  African  coast,  looked  eagerly 
ahead  in  an  effort  to  sight  the  land  some 
five  thousand  miles  away. 

Mr.  Mclntyre  wearily  hauled  in  his  oar 
and  raised  his  blistered  hands  to  his  fore- 
head. A  fresh  nor 'wester  had  swept  away 
the  fog  and  already  the  squally  gusts  were 
whipping  the  crests  from  the  short  waves. 
A  vivid  glow  was  lighting  the  eastern 
sky. 

Olsen,  who  had  finished  his  trick  at  an 
oar,  was  directing  their  sluggish  course 
with  the  little  wheel.  Behind  his  host 
the  young  Englishman  was  tugging  away 
sturdily  at  an  oar  and  on  the  flooring  of  the 

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launch,  snuggly  wrapped  in  steamer  rugs, 
Elsa  was  sleeping  like  a  baby.  Mclntyre's 
face  grew  even  more  haggard  as  he  glanced 
down  at  her. 

"It's  no  use,  Fitzroy,"  he  said,  wearily 
hauling  in  his  oar.  "We're  only  wearing 
ourselves  out  and  not  making  any  progress 
against  this  wind.     See  any  land,  Olsen?" 

"No,  sir.  Der  light  on  Cape  Sable  has 
gone  oud  und  I  see  noddings." 

Lord  Fitzroy  brought  in  his  oar  with  a 
jaunty  snap,  lighted  a  cigar  and  looked 
cheerfully  toward  the  crimsoning  east. 

"  Beautiful  sight,  a  sunrise,"  he  observed. 
"Long  time  since  I've  seen  one.  It  is 
going  to  be  a  lovely  day,"  he  continued  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  plans  for  an  outing. 
"Glad  the  fog's  gone.  Beastly  thing,  fog. 
Makes  one  feel  so  helpless." 

"I'd  rather  have  fog  than  a  hard  off 
shore  breeze,  and  that's  what  we're  going 
to  get  to-day,"  muttered  Mclntyre  de- 
jectedly. "We're  in  a  bad  fix,  Fitzroy, 
and  it's  all  my  fault." 

"Oh,  stuff!"  replied  Lord  Fitzroy,  "any 
man  might  have  done  the  same.  Besides 
we're  not  so  badly  off,  you  know.  We 
shan't  starve  and  we're  sure  to  be  picked 
up  to-day.  There's  a  lot  of  traffic  here- 
abouts, isn't  there,  Olsen?" 

"Yes — no — maybe  so — I  don't  dhink  so 
— perhaps,"  answered  Olsen  a  trifle  am- 
biguously. 

"You're  a  good  fellow,  Fitzroy,"  said 
Mclntyre.  "Most  men  would  be  calling 
me  all  kinds  of  a  fool  for  laying  that 
monkey-wrench  beside  the  compass." 

The  bundle  of  rugs  stirred  and  Elsa 
raised  her  sleepy  and  somewhat  disheveled 
head  and  looked  about,  her  blue  eyes 
heavy-lidded  with  sleep. 

"Oh,  what  a  lot  of  water!"  she  exclaimed. 
Her  glance  fell  on  Fitzroy  who  was  placidly 
smoking,  his  sleeves  rolled  back  on  his 
athletic  arms,  and  she  laughed.  A  gust  of 
the  rising  wind  caught  her  loosened  hair 
and  blew  it  about  her  face. 

"How  did  we  get  way  out  here?"  she 
asked.  "  I  don't  believe  our  captain  knew 
where  he  was  at  all." 

"Don't  blame  it  on  the  captain,"  said 
Mclntyre  bitterly,  "it  was  all  due  to  my 
foolishness." 

Elsa  leaned  forward  and  patted  his  hand. 
"Never  mind,  papa,"  she  said.  "We 
can't  be  verv  far  from  the  land." 


"Dere  is  a  sail,"  cried  Olsen,  who  had 
been  searching  the  horizon  in  the  growing 
light  of  the  sunrise.  He  pointed  toward 
the  northeast. 

The  wind  was  rapidly  gaining  weight  and 
already  the  little  launch  tumbled  about  as 
she  drifted  out  to  sea.  Far  upon  the 
horizon  they  saw  a  white  pyramid  which 
grew  rapidly  as  they  watched. 

"Dere  is  anodder,"  said  Olsen,  "und 
anodder.  I  dhink  dey  are  fishermen  rac- 
ing home  from  der  Banks." 

The  vessel  first  sighted  bore  down  upon 
them  rapidly;  she  was  making  a  broad 
reach  of  the  hard  nor'wester,  and  Olsen, 
seeing  that  she  would  pass  them  close 
aboard,  lashed  their  ensign,  inverted,  to 
the  boat-hook  and  waved  it  back  and 
forth.  Presently  they  saw  that  they  had 
been  sighted,  for  the  schooner  altered  her 
course  to  pass  them  to  leeward. 

Down  she  rushed,  the  white  seas  roaring 
beneath  her  bows  and  her  towering  spars 
straining  under  their  weight  of  canvas. 
When  almost  upon  them  her  head  fell 
away  from  the  wind  and  her  long,  black 
hull  shot  silently  past.  There  came  a 
shout  from  the  wheel  and  a  knot  of  men  in 
the  waist  quickly  clewed  up  the  fore-top- 
sail; next,  with  a  jingling  rattle  the  jib  and 
jib-topsail  slid  scraping  down  their  stays. 
There  was  another  shouted  order  and  all 
hands  ran  aft  and  a  moment  later  there 
came  the  creaking  of  the  heavy  sheaves  as 
the  crew  hauled  the  main-sheet.  Down 
went  the  helm,  the  two  men  at  the  wheel 
throwing  all  of  their  weight  upon  the 
spokes;  the  long  hull  swung  in  its  course 
and  with  a  roaring  aloft  and  a  thundering 
beneath  her  bows  the  big  schooner  swung 
to  meet  the  wind.  Over  she  went,  heeling 
until  her  lee  deck  was  awash  as  the  hard 
nor'wester  struck  full  on  her  close-hauled 
mainsail,  then  up  she  came  again,  and  with 
her  great  sails  volleying  like  thunder  shot 
dead  into  the  wind  and  forged  ahead  fling- 
ing wide  the  short  seas  on  either  bow. 

Heavy-laden  as  she  was  her  way  carried 
her  past  and  to  windward  of  the  launch; 
then  slowly  she  paid  off,  and  with  head- 
way lost  swung  in  toward  them,  her  hull 
forming  a  lee. 

"Ketch  a  line.  Square-head!"  called  a 

har^ih  — 2—    —-'a  snaky  rope  uncoiled 

i  inch.     Olsen  snatched 

^e  chock  and  caught  a 

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turn;  a  crowd  of  fishermen  hauled  away 
and  the  launch  came  rubbing  along  the 
schooner's  lee  rail.  A  moment  later  they 
were  on  the  vessel's  deck. 

Instantly  there  came  from  the  wheel  a 
harsh,  impatient  voice. 

"Git  a  move  now.  Hook  on  to  that 
there  launch  and  h'ist  her  in.  H'ist  the 
jib,  some  o*  ye.     H'ist  yer  fore-tops'l." 

The  fishermen  sprang  to  the  ropes,  no 
one  appearing  for  the  moment  to  notice 
the  castaways.  As  the  men  hauled  away 
they  glanced  back  toward  a  big  schooner 
which  was  tearing  up  astern  of  them. 

Wearied  as  they  were  the  contagion  of 
excitement  spread  to  the  party. 

''Awfully  jolly  this,"  cried  Fitzroy  to 
Elsa.     "These  chaps  are  racing." 

"That's  what,"  cried  a  grimy  youngster, 
holding  a  turn  on  the  bitts  beside  them. 
"We're  racin'  fer  the  market." 

"Jib  tawps'I,"  came  a  harsh  roar  from 
the  wheel.  The  order  was  echoed  by  the 
crew  who  sprang  for  the  halliards. 

The  sail  went  quickly  up  and  the  sheet 
was  trimmed  and  belayed.  One  or  two  of 
the  fishermen  glanced  curiously  at  Elsa, 
but  the  eyes  of  most  were  fastened  on  the 
vessels  rushing  up  astern. 

"Gawd  all  sufficiency!"  cried  a  grizzled 
man.  "Fritz  '11  bust  that  old  fish  crate 
wide  open  ef  he  don't  watch  out." 

"He's  gittin'  the  jib-tawps'l  on  'er," 
cried  another.  "  Betcher  there's  four  steer- 
in'  an'  six  a-pumpin*." 

A  tall,  muscular  man  who  had  been  at 
the  wheel  when  the  launch  was  picked  up 
walked  to  the  foot  of  the  mainmast  and 
glanced  critically  aloft,  then  stared  across 
the  water  at  his  towering  adversary. 

"Reckon  the'soverhaulin'  any?"  said  he. 

"Not  now,"  replied  a  fisherman. 

"Yes,  she  is — the  least  mite,"  said  an- 
other. "She  ain't  so  deep  as  what  we 
are." 

The  tall  man  who  appeared  to  be  the 
schooner's  captain  studied  the  distance 
between  the  vessels  carefully. 

"Set  the  ring-tail,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Set  the  ring-tail!"  echoed  the  crew. 
A  chorus  of  shouts  arose,  yet  the  men  went 
swiftly  about  their  work. 

"Holy  mackr'l!  Tom  must  want  to  lug 
the  whole  dam*  trolley-pole  out  'f  'er. 
We'll  show  the  Dutchman  how  to  carry 
sail.    Carry  sail  hellf    Tom'll  carry  the 


sticks  out  'f  'er — you  see  now — that  dam' 
foremast  ain't  what  it  oughter  be." 

The  schooner's  captain  walked  up  to  the 
people  whom  he  had  just  rescued.  He 
nodded  genially  and  with  a  good  deal  the 
air  of  one  who  had  met  an  acquaintance  on 
the  street.  He  was  a  powerfully  built  man 
with  a  stem,  but  kindly  face  and  very 
clear,  deep-set  blue  eyes  which  held  the 
intentness  of  expression  often  to  be  seen 
in  sailors  and  plainsmen.  Unlike  his  crew 
who  were  mostly  clad  in  oilers,  the  captain 
wore  a  full-dress  muslin  shirt,  a  bit  the 
worse  for  wear,  black  cloth  trousers,  a 
black  waistcoat  and  a  brown  derby  hat. 
On  his  feet  were  a  pair  of  felt  slippers, 
which  gave  him  a  somewhat  shuffling  gait. 

"Morning,"  he  said,  with  a  nod  in  the 
direction  of  Elsa.  "Git  blowed  off  shore?" 
Without  waiting  for  the  answer  to  an  ap- 
parently obvious  question  he  continued, 
with  a  glance  aloft  at  his  straining  masts. 

"It's  a  turr'ble  tax  on  them  dead  trees, 
ain't  it?  I  wish  I  had  a  leetle  more  con- 
fidence in  that  forem'st;  she's  workin' 
overtime  now,  but  it  won't  do  to  git  beat 
by  that  Dutchman."  He  nodded  astern. 
"How  long  you  been  adrift?" 

"Since  yesterday  afternoon,"  answered 
Mclntyre. 

"Don't  say!  Well,  well,  I'm  mighty 
glad  we  come  joggin'  along  jes'  when  we 
did.  The  cook  is  gettin'  something  hot 
for  you  an'  meantime  jes'  go  below  and 
make  yourselves  at  home." 

His  keen  eyes  had  never  left  his  spars 
while  speaking  and  suddenly  he  leaped 
forward  and  gave  some  directions  to  a 
group  of  men  who  were  rigging  an  extra 
preventer  backstay.  His  guests  observed 
with  some  surprise  that  his  crew  addressed 
their  skipper  as  "Tom,"  but  in  spite  of 
this  familiarity  there  was  nothing  slack 
about  the  discipline. 

The  schooner  foamed  along  and  by  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  had  dropped  her 
rival  several  miles  astern.  Captain  Snell 
told  Mclntyre  that  if  the  breeze  held  he 
would  be  able  to  land  him  in  Boston  by  six 
o'clock  the  following  morning,  a  Saturday. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  breeze  fresh- 
ened and  a  shade  of  anxiety  became  ap- 
parent upon  the  lean  features  of  the 
skipper. 

"This  one  is  able,  but  she's  old,"  he  said 
to  Fitzroy,  "an'  I've  got  a  sort  o'  hunch 

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"  The  schooner,  deep-laden  as  she  was,  yielded  scarcely  an  inch ;  there 
came  the  tearing  noise  of  splintering  wood  and  rending  iron." 


Drawing  by  E.  V.  Nadherny. 


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that  her  spars  ain't  all  thet  they  ought  to 
be.  I'd  hate  to  bust  'em  off  jes'  when 
I'm  scootin'  for  home  with  a  good  trip  o' 
fish." 

"But  I  say,"  replied  the  nobleman,  "if 
you  are  not  sure  of  your  spars,  why  don't 
you  shorten  sail?  We  would  go  quite  fast 
enough  without  that  big  staysail,  don't  you 
think?" 

Captain  Snell's  blue  eyes  twinkled.  "In 
this  business,"  said  he,  "a  man  ain't  ever 
goin'  fast  enough  when  there's  anybody 
else  goin'  faster.  It's  different  with  you 
people  over  there  in  England  who  house 
your  topm'sts  an  lash  down  your  main- 
booms  when  you  go  to  sea.  With  us,  some 
galoot  gets  him  a  flyin'  machine  trailin' 
through  the  water  half  in  an'  half  out  like 
a  scairt  hell-diver  an'  the  rest  of  us  have 
got  to  go  and  do  the  same  thing  or  jine  the 
'has-been'  society." 

Lord  Fitzroy's  patrician  features  were 
clouded  with  a  puzzled  expression  which 
presently  cleared. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  he  cried,  "I  believe  you're 
chaffing." 

Captain  Snell  laughed  and  walked  for- 
ward. Fitzroy,  a  trifle  bewildered,  turned 
to  Elsa. 

"  Extr'ordinary  folk,  your  fishermen. 
This  man  talks  as  if  he  rather  expected  to 
carry  away  his  masts,  yet  he  won't  hear  of 
shortening  sail." 

Elsa  laughed.  "That  is  the  last  thing 
that  an  American  ever  learns  to  do,"  she 
answered,  "either  at  sea  or  ashore." 

Lord  Fitzroy  stared,  at  which  Elsa 
laughed  even  more.  Much  puzzled  the 
young  Englishman  walked  forward  where 
he  presently  joined  in  conversation  with 
a  knot  of  fishermen  who  proceeded  to 
mystify  him  even  further.  When  he  went 
aft  again  Captain  Snell  was  talking  to  Elsa 
and  Mclntyre. 

"We  ought  to  sight  the  twin  lights  on 
Thatcher's  a  little  after  dark,  ma'am,"  he 
was  saying.  "The  Halifax  steamer  is 
comin'  up  ahead  of  us  right  now."  He 
glanced  to  windward.  "Seems  to  be 
breezin'  up  a  mite  and  backin'  a  little 
ahead." 

Something  aloft  appeared  to  catch  his 
eye,  for  he  stepped  back,  gripped  a  runner 
and  looked  up;  at  the  same  moment  a 
fresher  gust  of  wind  struck  the  straining 
canvas.    The  schooner,  deep-laden  as  she 


was  yielded  scarcely  an  inch,  and  then, 
suddenly,  the  air  was  riven  by  a  loud, 
musical  sound  like  the  strum  of  a  giant 
harp.  With  it  came  the  tearing  noise  of 
splintering  wood  and  rending  iron;  the 
schooner  lurched  to  windward  and  there 
followed  a  second  crash  more  strident  than 
the  first.  The  towering  masts  with  their 
clouds  of  canvas  swayed  gently  outward 
and  the  bellying  sails  flapped  once  or  twice 
like  the  wings  of  some  huge,  prehistoric 
bird.  The  air  was  filled  with  writhing 
shapes  which  coiled  like  serpents,  striking 
into  the  air,  and  then,  with  the  roar  of  a 
water-spout  the  pyramid  aloft  fell  crashing 
into  the  sea. 

Captain  Snell  shoved  his  dented  derby 
back  on  his  head  and  surveyed  the  wreck 
with  a  comprehensive  eye.  The  hard 
beam  wind  had  carried  everything  to  lee- 
ward, and  as  soon  as  the  crew  had  hacked 
through  the  lanyards  of  the  shrouds,  the 
sheet-ropes,  halliards,  and  all  that  held  the 
spars  to  the  hull,  the  schooner  drifted  head 
to  sea  riding  to  the  mass  of  wreckage  as  to 
a  sea  anchor. 

"Dismasted,  by  gorry!"  said  Captain 
Snell.  "My  jedgment  about  them  spars 
was  about  c'rrect." 

Close  aboard,  the  Halifax  steamer  which 
had  witnessed  the  catastrophe,  was  coming 
up  slowly,  her  lee  boats  swung  out  and  her 
rail  crowded  with  passengers.  Captain 
Snell  turned  to  Mclntyre: 

"Sorry  I  can't  put  you  ashore  in  Boston 
to-night  like  I  promised,"  he  said,  and 
there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  deep-set  eyes, 
"  but  the  programme  has  been  altered  owin' 
to  unforeseen  events — not  so  dam  unfore- 
seen, either,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  at 
the  stump  of  the  foremast.  "  If  you  don't 
mind  transshippin'  again,  I  can  put  you 
aboard  this  steamer.  A  dismasted  fisher- 
man ain't  no  sort  of  place  for  a  lady;  be- 
side, all  fishin'  vessels  'r  a  mite  stuffy 
down  below  to  folks  that  ain't  accustomed 
to  *em." 

Mclntyre  thanked  him  and  a  dory  was 
quickly  dropped  into  the  water.  The 
steamer  had  come  nosing  up  as  close  as 
was  safe,  and  in  answer  to  a  hail  from 
Captain  Snell  dropped  a  sea-ladder  to 
receive  the  passengers. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked 
Fitzroy  of  Captain  Snell. 

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A  Deviation  of  Course 


603 


•*Oh,  we  are  all  right.  These  fellers 
comin*  up  astern  will  report  us  and  our 
comp'ny  will  send  a  tug  out  to  drag  us  in." 

Saying  good-bye  to  their  rescuer  they 
were  somewhat  precariously  transshipped 
to  the  steamer  which  immediately  pro- 
ceeded upon  her  course.  Elsa  retired  to 
the  room  assigned  to  her,  while  Fitzroy 
went  in  search  of  a  barber  and  a  bath,  but 
Mc  In  tyre,  having  secured  a  morning  paper, 
eluded  the  curious  passengers  who  sur- 
rounded him  and  fmding  a  quiet  corner  of 
the  smoking-room,  threw  the  sheet  open 
at  the  financial  page. 

A  single  glance  at  the  list  of  quotations 
of  the  previous  day  showed  him  that  the 
blow  of  which  he  had  been  in  dread  had 
fallen,  and  for  the  moment  he  leaned  back 
against  the  cushions,  faint  and  sick.  The 
raid  on  the  market  had  taken  place  and  as 
he  pulled  himself  together  and  read  the 
financial  column  he  discovered  that  even 
if  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  in  communi- 
cation with  Wall  Street  on  the  previous 
day,  he  could  only  have  cleared  himself  at 
a  very  heavy  loss.  The  chances  were  that 
even  as  he  read,  the  last  vestiges  of  his  big 
account  were  being  swept  away;  only  a 
miracle  could  save  the  situation,  and  Mc- 
Intyre  did  not  believe  in  miracles.  The 
day  following  would  be  a  Saturday  and  he 
could  not  hope  to  land  before  noon;  the 
ship  was  not  equipped  with  a  wireless  sys- 
tem, so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
accept  the  issue. 

Mclntyre  had  been  a  plunger  all  of  his 
life;  financial  crashes  were  not  new  to  him, 
so  after  the  first  shock  he  pulled  himself 
together,  lit  a  cigar  and  went  on  deck. 

The  breeze  fell  at  sunset  and  during  the 
night  the  fog  came  in  so  thick  that  the 
steamer  was  slowed  to  half  speed.  The 
weather  cleared  in  the  morning  and  they 
ran  smoothly  over  a  sea  as  still  as  ice. 
While  the  passengers  were  breakfasting,  a 
steward  stepped  to  Mclntyre  and  said  that 
the  captain  wished  to  see  him  on  the  bridge. 

Mclntyre  found  the  captain  studying 
through  his  glasses  a  vessel  directly  in 
their  course. 

"There's  a  schooner  yacht  dead  ahead, 
Mr.  Mclntyre,"  said  he,  *'and  I  thought 
that  possibly  she  might  be  yours." 

Mclntyre  took  the  glasses;  his  first 
glance  showed  him  that  the  schooner  was 
the  Elsa. 


"That's  my  boat,"  he  said.  "No  doubt 
the  captain  is  looking  for  us,  poor  chap. 
He's  had  time  enough  to  get  into  Yar- 
mouth and  find  that  nothing  has  been 
heard  of  us." 

"  I  will  put  you  aboard  if  you  wish,"  said 
the  captain  of  the  steamer. 

Mclntyre  laughed.  "That  would  rather 
complete  the  performance.  After  all,  there 
is  no  reason  for  our  going  on  to  Halifax  if 
it  is  not  asking  too  much  of  you  to  stop 
again." 

The  captain  of  the  Elsa  observed  that 
the  steamer  had  altered  her  course  and 
scarcely  daring  to  guess  her  design,  he 
nevertheless  had  a  boat  in  the  water  as  she 
drew  near.  He  gave  a  shout  of  joy  as  a 
ladder  dropped  over  the  liner's  side  and  a 
moment  later  Fitzroy  hailed  him  through 
the  megaphone.  Little  time  was  lost,  as 
the  yacht's  boat  was  alongside  before  the 
steamer  had  stopped. 

"My  word!"  said  Fitzroy,  as  their  two 
grinning  sailors  pulled  them  back  to  the 
schooner.  "Fortune  has  been  hauling  us 
about  by  the  lugs  a  good  deaf  as  a  nipper 
exhibits  a  tame  hare.  What  next  I  won- 
der!" 

"I  am  getting  so  accustomed  to  rowing 
around  on  the  ocean,"  said  Elsa,  "that! 
am  afraid  that  I  shall  find  it  very  dull, 
remaining  on  the  same  boat.  Really,  one 
should  have  three  or  four  yachts  and  then 
visit  them  in  turns." 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  observed 
Mr.  Mclntyre,  "you  are  quite  welcome  to 
my  share." 

That  evening,  after  Elsa  had  retired, 
Fitzroy,  his  florid  features  glowing  a  dusky 
red,  rapped  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Mclntyre's 
cabin.  His  host  was  engaged  in  a  few 
calculations,  the  results  of  which  were  far 
from  gratifying. 

"Come  in,"  said  Mclntyre  genially. 
His  feelings  toward  the  young  nobleman 
had  undergone  a  change  during  the  last 
twenty-four  hours. 

Fitzroy  entered,  and  at  his  host's  request, 
seated  himself.  His  cheerful  features  wore 
a  somewhat  dogged  expression. 

"Have  a  cigar,"  said  Mclntyre  hospit- 
ably. 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Fitzroy.  "Fact  is, 
Mr.  Mclntyre,"  he  blurted,  "I've  come  to 
ask  your  permission  to  marry  your  daugh- 


ter. 


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Mclntyre  glanced  involuntarily  at  the 
paper  which  he  had  just  covered  with 
figures  and  the  lines  of  his  face  deepened. 

**  Before  you  make  that  request  official/' 
said  he,  *'Iet  me  put  you  in  possession  of  a 
few  facts." 

Fitzroy  looked  puzzled.  "Very  well," 
he  said  doubtfully,  "but  it's  official  just 
the  same." 

"Lord  Fitzroy,"  said  Mclntyre,  "you 
probably  wondered  at  my  being  such  a 
fool  as  to  risk  thirty  miles  of  open  sea  in  a 
small  launch.  I  never  would  have  done 
so  if  I  had  not  been  in  danger  of  losing 
my  entire  fortune  through  certain  events 
which  I  thought  might  occur  in  Wall  Street 
yesterday,  and  which  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
did  occur  the  day  previous.  My  captain 
told  me  that  we  could  count  on  sailing 
from  Halifax  to  Bar  Harbor  in  two  days  at 
the  very  outside;  it  is  only  a  matter  of  a 
couple  of  hundred  miles,  you  know." 

"Then  do  you  mean  to  say,"  exclaimed 
Fitzroy,  "that  you  have  lost  a  lot  of 
money?" 

"I  have*lost,"  said  Mclntyre  slowly, 
"as  nearly  as  I  can  calculate  what  you  see 
here.  Nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could 
have  prevented  the  panic  which  must  have 
occurred  to-day,  and  I  do  not  believe  in 
miracles."  He  handed  the  Englishman  the 
slip  of  paper  on  his  desk.  Fitzroy  glanced 
at  it  and  his  blue  eyes  opened  very  wide. 

"Oh,  I  say.  you  know,"  he  cried,  "but 
that's  an  awful  lot  of  money." 

"The  bulk  of  my  fortune,'  said  Mcln- 
tyre calmly. 

Fiztroy  glanced  at  him  with  undisguised 
admiration 

"By  Jove,  but  you  take  it  coolly,"  he 
cried,  then  added  earnestly,  and  with  some 
awkwardness  while  the  color  rose  up  in  his 
cheeks:  "I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am 
for  you,  and  all  that,  you  know." 

Mclntyre  eyed  him  keenly.  "I'm  not 
sorry  for  myself,"  he  said,  "my  sympathy 
is  all  for  my  little  girl." 

Fitzroy's  color  grew  deeper.  "  But  it 
really  needn't  affect  her,"  he  said.  "Let 
her  think  that  she's  well  dowered.  I've 
got  all  the  money  she's  ever  likely  to  need." 

Mclntyre  turned  in  his  chair  and  re- 
garded his  guest  with  such  genuine  and 
unconcealed  surprise  that  the  nobleman's 
high  color  deepened  to  the  dusky  hue  of 
resentment. 


"Look  here,"  said  he,  "did  you  think 
that  the  loss  of  your  beastly  money  was 
going  to  make  me  feel  differently  about 
marrying  Elsa?" 

Mclntyre  dropped  his  lean  fist  on  the 
desk. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "to  tell  the  truth  I 
did.     I  beg  your  pardon." 

That  night  the  east  wind  blew  freshly 
and  before  eight  bells  in  the  morning  the 
Elsas  anchor  splashed  behind  the  Porcu- 
pines. 

Mclntyre,  sleeping  late,  was  roused  by 
his  steward,  who  entered  the  room  softly  to 
lay  a  packet  of  mail  and  newspapers  upon 
his  desk. 

He  turned  in  his  bunk  and  reached  out 
lazily  for  the  paper;  then  as  he  ripped 
it  open  at  the  financial  page,  something 
caught  his  eye  and  with  a  quick  breath 
he  sprang  up  in  his  bunk  and  snapped 
back  the  green  curtain  of  the  scuttle 
overhead.  For  several  moments  his  eyes 
flashed  down  the  column  while  his  breath 
came  quickly  and  his  face  was  whiter  than 
it  had  been  on  reading  the  news  of  his 
heavy  loss. 

"Gods  of  war!"  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth,  "and  to  think  that  if  I'd  been  able 
to  get  ashore  I'd  have  thrown  the  whole 
thing!" 

Mclntyre  no  longer  disbelieved  in  mir- 
acles. The  financial  catastrophe  had  been 
nipped  in  the  bud.  Practically  the  only 
losers  were  those  who  had  been  frightened 
and  let  go  at  the  first  attack. 

Mclntyre  read  the  account  carefully 
through,  then  threw  down  the  paper  and 
with  cheeks  flushed  and  his  gray  eyes 
shining,  he  slipped  out  of  bed,  threw  on  his 
dressing  gown  and  stepping  to  Elsa's  door 
rapped  softly. 

"What  is  it?"  called  a  drowsy  voice. 

Mclntyre  entered  softly;  he  leaned  over 
his  daughter's  bed  and  his  gray  mustache 
brushed  her  cheek  lightly. 

"Papa!"  she  cried,  for  Mclntyre,  al- 
though an  affectionate  father,  was  seldom 
demonstrative. 

"It's  all  right,  darling,"  he  answered 
softly.  "Fitzroy's  a  fine  chap.  He's  won 
me  entirely  to  your  way  of  thinking." 

FIsa's  blue  eyes  opened  wide;  she 
reached  up  her  arms  and  clasped  her 
parent's  neck  in  a  rapturous  hug. 

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Pbotognph  by  F.  C.  Clarke. 

IN  THE  DAISY  FIELD 


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GENERAL    JAMES    ROBERTSON, 
THE   FATHER   OF    TENNESSEE 

BY   LYNN    TEW   SPRAGUE 

DRAWING    BY    STANLEY    M.    ARTHURS 


HE  pioneers  of  Kentucky 
are  justly  famous  in  his- 
toric story,  but  the 
names  of  those  who  laid 
the  foundations  of  the 
neighboring  state  of  Ten- 
nessee are  for  some  in- 
explicable reason  less  familiar  to  the  public 
mind.  Yet  their  achievements  deserve  an 
equal  fame.  There  are  no  more  heroic  fig- 
ures in  the  history  of  border  warfare  than 
those  of  the  two  friends  Sevier  and  Robert- 
son. Perhaps  it  would  not  be  unjust  to 
pronounce  John  Sevier  the  most  persistent- 
ly successful  of  all  our  early  Indian  fighters, 
while  it  is  certain  that  no  man  in  frontier 
annals  withstood  so  long  and  so  valiantly 
and  with  such  indomitable  spirit  the  cease- 
less shock  of  savage  battle  as  James  Robert- 
son, the  founder  of  the  settlements  on  the 
Watauga  and  the  Cumberland.  Boone  and 
Kenton  are  picturesque  characters  and  their 
careers  are  full  of  thrilling  and  romantic 
episodes,  but  measured  by  services  to  the 
nation  and  to  civilization,  only  one  Ken- 
tucky pioneer  can  rank  with  Robertson  and 
Sevier.  The  first  of  these  early  Tennessee 
heroes  invites  our  attention  now;  of  the 
brilliant,  amiable,  and  valiant  Sevier  we 
hope  to  speak  more  at  length  in  a  later 
paper. 

There  was  nothing  in  James  Robertson's 
antecedents  and  early  environment  to  pre- 
sage his  future  greatness.  As  the  old 
annalist  Haywood,  who  knew  Robertson 
well,  grandiloquently  puts  it,  "He  had  not 
a  noble  lineage  to  boast  of,  nor  the  escutch- 
eoned  armorials  of  a  splendid  ancestry." 
Like  Kenton  he  came  of  the  most  obscure 
stock,  but  unlike  that  simple,  careless,  and 
foolhardy    hero,    he    derived    from    some 


remote  ancestral  source  a  temper  as  stem 
and  grim  and  unbending  as  those  of  the 
heroes  whom  Cromwell  led  against  the 
cavaliers  at  Marston  Moor.  He  was  a 
native  of  Virginia  and  was  born  in  Bruns- 
wick County  on  the  28th  of  June,  1742. 
He  had  no  childhood  schooling,  and  his 
rigid  nature  found  no  sport  in  the  loose  and 
cruel  pastimes  of  his  station.  He  listened 
to  itinerant  preachers,  found  life  full  of 
solemn  and  serious  purpose  and  grew  into  a 
stem.  God-fearing  Calvinist.  Yet  he  was 
as  courageous  and  spirited  as  he  was  up- 
right and  truthful,  and  his  earnest  and 
correct  life  won  him  universal  respect. 
Industrious,  frugal,  ambitious,  he  got  on  in 
the  world,  and  before,  he  was  of  age  he 
married  above  his  rank  and  settled  in 
western  North  Carolina.  His  wife  taught 
him  to  read  and  write  and  his  natural  gifts 
unfolded.  Like  so  many  of  our  early 
pioneers,  he  possessed  wonderful  physical 
strength,  was  above  six  feet  tall,  spare  but 
big  of  frame.  His  presence  was  command- 
ing, his  blue-gray  eyes  keen,  his  heart  un- 
daunted, and  by  every  group  of  his  fellows 
he  was  at  once  recognized  as  a  leader  of 
men.  He  achieved  fame  as  a  hunter  in  his 
youth,  and  is  said  to  have  joined  Boone  in 
one  of  that  remarkable  man's  expeditions. 
He  listened  with  keen  relish  to  the  tales  of 
adventure  of  all  those  who  had  crossed  the 
mountains  to  the  west.  Their  description 
of  lands,  beautiful,  fertile,  and  abounding 
in  game,  stirred  his  ambitious  and  adven- 
turous nature,  and  at  twenty-five  he  set 
out  alone  on  horseback  to  find  a  new 
domain,  and  if  possible  to  preempt  for  him- 
self a  tract  of  rich  land.  Living  upon 
parched  corn  that  he  carried,  and  the  game 
that  he  shot,  he  reached  the  high  valleys 
606 


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Dimwfng  Djr  Stanley  M.  Arthun. 

"There  were  crowded  together  in  the  little  fort,  men,  women  and  children, 
compelled  to  with'^tand  a  harrowing  scige  of  three  weeks." 


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on  the  western  slope  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains,  and  was  filled  with  delight. 
Game  was  plentiful,  the  clear  sparkling 
streams  watered  a  rich  soil,  high  peaks 
sheltered  from  extremes  of  temperature  the 
lower  levels,  and  majestic  primeval  forests 
climbed  the  slopes.  The  few  scattered 
hunters  and  settlers  whom  he  met  received 
Robertson  with  rough,  untrammeled  hospi- 
tality, and  their  kindness  strengthened  his 
wish  to  make  his  future  home  among  them. 
Selecting  a  domain  he  planted  a  crop  of 
corn  and  awaited  its  harvest,  hunting  and 
making  friends  the  while  with  his  fellow 
adventurers  and  impressing  them  with  the 
strength  and  force  of  his  character.  In  the 
fall  he  started  on  his  solitary  trip  east  to 
bring  his  family  to  his  new  plantation,  and 
encountered  the  first  of  that  harrowing 
series  of  adventures  of  which  his  subsequent 
career  was  to  be  so  full.  In  the  passes  of 
the  mountains  he  became  confused  and 
finally  lost.  Among  the  rocky  summits  he 
wandered  for  days  without  gaining  any 
clue  as  to  his  whereabouts.  His  horse  be- 
came lean  and  weak,  and  he  was  forced  to 
abandon  it.  Mountain  mists  and  frequent 
rains  spoiled  his  powder,  and  he  was  com- 
pelled to  live  upon  berries  and  nuts. 
Wolves  and  bears  and  the  mountain  cougar 
added  their  terror.  He  became  at  last  so 
ill  and  famished  that  he  could  scarcely 
gather  wood  for  a  fire  or  strike  a  spark 
with  his  flint.  A  less  courageous  and 
determined  man  would  have  lain  down  to 
die,  but  Robertson  crawled  and  staggered 
on.  At  length,  after  unspeakable  hard- 
ships chance  led  him  into  the  path  of  two 
hunters  who  aided  him  to  reach  friends. 

But  this  adventure  did  not  in  the  least 
dampen  the  enthusiasm  of  the  man.  He 
preached  the  beauty  and  fertility  of  the 
new  country  to  his  neighbors,  and  in  the 
spring  of  1771  turned  westward  again, 
leading  a  colony  of  some  fifteen  families 
who  drove  their  stock  and  packed  their  few 
belongings  on  horses.  The  mountains 
were  passed  and  the  banks  of  the  Watauga 
reached  in  safety.  Compared  with  his 
fellow  settlers  in  those  poor  days,  Robert- 
son was  a  man  of  means,  and  on  an  island 
in  the  river  he  built  a  log  house  of  more 
than  ordinary  pretensions  and  at  once 
assumed  the  position  of  a  leader.  The 
year  after  came  that  chivalrous  gentleman, 
John  Sevier,  and  these  two  at  once  became 


the  moral  forces  of  the  nucleus  of  our  great 
empire  in  the  West.  One  of  the  inckt 
careful  and  conscientious  of  historians  has 
declared,  "that  these  two  men  afterward 
proved  themselves  to  be  with  the  exception 
of  George  Rogers  Clark  the  greatest  of  the 
first  generation  of  trans-Alleghany  pio- 
neers." 

The  settlers  on  the  Watauga  were  with- 
out law  or  courts  or  organization,  and  their 
leaders  were  men  who  derived  their  author- 
ity from  intrinsic  merit.  These  men  were 
almost  the  first  to  prove  what  it  lay  in  the 
native  American  to  do.  The  capacity  of 
their  leaders  was  equal  to  the  terrible 
strain  put  upon  it,  and  Robertson  stood 
first  among  them  in  those  early  days  of 
desperate  fortune. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  as  yet  no 
Continental  Congress  had  met,  and  the 
Revolution  had  not  been  fought,  and  it  is 
curious  to  note  and  to  study  here  in  the 
eastern  fringe  of  the  great  western  wilder- 
ness, the  evolution  not  only  of  a  miniature 
democracy  but  the  birth  of  the  basic  idea 
and  morale  of  our  republic.  So  far  as  we 
are  aware  no  historian  has  yet  pointed  out 
the  significance  of  all  this.  There  drifted 
to  the  border  not  only  many  disorderly 
people  who  sought  a  life  of  license,  but 
outlaws  and  criminals  as  well,  and  it  was 
soon  evident  that  unless  law  and  order 
were  established  among  pioneers  who 
dwelt  in  constant  menace  of  Indian  raids, 
utter  dissolution  would  be  bred  from 
within.  Accordingly,  in  the  spring  of  1772 
Robertson  was  the  leader  of  a  movement 
for  the  organization  of  a  system  of  govern- 
ment. A  written  constitution  was  adopted 
which  was  known  as  the  Articles  of  the 
Watauga  Association;  a  court  was  organ- 
ized; officers  were  installed,  and  here  be- 
yond the  mountains,  while  the  eastern 
colonies  were  still  subject  to  Great  Britain, 
was  first  bom  the  idea  of  a  self-governing, 
independent  American  commonwealth.  In 
view  of  all  these  facts  it  is  hardly  extrava- 
gant to  call  James  Robertson  the  father  of 
American  democracy. 

The  land  lying  between  the  Ohio  and 
Tennessee  was  the  permanent  home  of  no 
tribe.  All  that  territory  now  embraced  in 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee  was  a  common 
hunting  ground  for  both  northern  and 
southern  Indians.  Many  tribes  claimed 
title  to  this  or  that  district,  none  dwelt 


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General  James  Robertson,  the  Father  of  Tennessee    609 


constantly  in  any  region.  Savage  inter- 
tribal wars  were  often  fought  there,  and  the 
new  settlements  lying  in  the  valley  east  of 
the  Cumberland  mountains  were  directly 
in  what  came  to  be  known  as  the  war  trail. 
But  the  parent  colonies  and  the  settlers 
themselves  by  virtue  of  treaties  and  pres- 
ents and  the  wisdom  and  skill  of  the  pio- 
neer leaders — especially  Robertson  —  had 
avoided  any  general  conflict  for  the  first 
few  years.  In  the  early  part  of  that  year 
when  the  government  of  Watauga  was 
organized,  the  British  agent  among  the 
Cherokees,  claiming  that  the  settlements 
were  not  in  the  scope  of  the  treaty  made  by 
Virginia,  ordered  the  settlers  to  abandon 
their  land.  This  they  declined  to  do,  and 
gathering  together  the  chiefs  of  the 
Cherokee  tribe  which  claimed  their  terri- 
tory, they  leased  their  plantations  of  the 
Indians  themselves,  and  with  them  made 
a  treaty^  of  peace.  But  in  the  celebration 
of  the  event  an  Indian  was  killed  by  some 
drunken  whites.  At  this  all  the  Indians 
left  the  scene  in  high  dudgeon  and  the 
horrors  of  savage  war  now  threatened  the 
little  settlements.  The  pioneers  at  once 
set  about  fortifying  their  log  homes  and 
building  a  fort.  Robertson  now  took  upon 
himself  a  mission  requiring  the  greatest 
tact  and  skill  as  well  as  the  highest  cour- 
age. Though  warned  that  the  Indians 
would  certainly  take  his  life  in  atonement 
for  the  slain  warrior,  he  set  off  alone 
through  the  wilderness  to  the  Cherokee 
towns.  His  unruffled  bearing,  his  cour- 
tesy, diplomacy,  and  bravery  won  the  ad- 
miration of  the  chiefs,  and  his  earnest 
eloquence  persuaded  them  that  the  murder 
was  not  countenanced  by  the  whites  in 
authority.  He  promised  the  punishment 
of  the  wrongdoers,  and  his  tact  and  fear- 
lessness saved  the  pioneers  in  their  then 
feeble  and  unprepared  condition.  But 
though  thus  postponed,  a  savage  war  was 
inevitable.  The  Indians  had  no  under- 
standing of  the  sanctity  of  obligation  and 
no  respect  for  treaties.  Nor  had  they  any 
wish  to  adopt  the  customs  of  the  whites 
and   live   in    peace   as   farmers. 

In  1774  the  troubles  between  the  settlers 
of  Virginia  and  the  northern  red  races 
brought  on  Lx>rd  Dunmore's  war.  There 
were  differences,  too,  between  Pennsyl- 
vania and  Virginia,  which  nearly  brought 
on  a  conflict  between  those  two  colonies. 


the  settlers  of  the  latter  accusing  those  of 
the  former  of  being  prompted  by  a  com- 
mercial spirit  to  something  more  than  a 
friendly  attitude  toward  the  savages.  The 
Shawnees  and  Mingoes  who,  it  must  be 
confessed,  had  suffered  grievous  wrongs  at 
the  hands  of  the  Virginia  borderers,  took 
the  warpath  and  they  were  joined  by  many 
warriors  from  distant  tribes — Delawares, 
Miamis,  Wyandots  and  even  a  few  Iro- 
quois. The  settlers  along  the  streams  of 
Holston  and  Watauga,  promptly  responded 
to  the  call  of  Virginia,  and  as  a  matter  of 
course,  Robertson  was  one  of  the  first  to 
volunteer.  His  record  here  was  that  of  a 
fearless  and  resolute  fighter,  and  it  is  full 
of  picturesque  and  thrilling  incidents 
which  we  have  no  space  to  relate.  He  was 
present  at  the  furious  and  bloody  fight  of 
the  Great  Kanawha,  when  the  Virginians 
under  Colonel  Lewis  unexpectedly  encoun- 
tered the  savages  under  the  masterful 
Chief  Cornstalk,  perhaps  the  ablest  tacti- 
cian among  Indian  leaders.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  October  lo,  1774,  when  Lewis,  who 
had  with  him  more  than  one  thousand 
men,  was  in  camp  at  Point  Pleasant,  be- 
tween the  Ohio  and  the  Kanawha,  Robert- 
son and  Valentine  Sevier,  a  brother  of  John 
Sevier,  having  pushed  forward  alone  to  kill 
game,  suddenly  encountered  the  van  of  the 
savages.  Trained  pioneers  as  they  were, 
they  made  good  their  escape,  but  certain 
other  less  experienced  woodsmen  who  were  ' 
hunting  in  the  woods  fell  victims  to  the 
advancing  Indians.  Lewis,  thus  warned, 
formed  for  battle,  and  hurried  forward  his 
troops,  and  one  of  the  most  important  and 
sanguinary  Indian  battles  ever  fought  on 
the  continent  resulted.  The  savages  fought 
with  skill  and  fury,  but  they  were  now 
battling  with  frontiersmen  of  equal  craft 
and  courage  and  more  steadiness,  and 
though  from  their  coverts  they  inflicted 
far  more  loss  than  they  suffered — the 
casualties  of  the  Virginians  being  one-fifth 
of  their  whole  army — they  were  finally 
beaten  and  repulsed.  This  battle  was  of 
special  importance  since  by  it  the  spirit  of 
these  savages  was  so  cowed  and  broken  as 
to  insure  for  the  most  part  their  quies- 
cence during  the  first  years  of  the  revolu- 
tionary struggle. 

Robertson  now  returned  to  Watauga 
where  the  changing  conditions  were  soon 
to  demand  his  eminent  abilities.    We  have 


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seen  that  it  was  chiefly  to  his  foresight, 
fearlessness,  and  diplomacy  that  a  war  with 
the  Cherokees  had  been  avoided.  The 
news  of  Lewis'  victory  added  to  the  security 
of  the  pioneers  for  some  months,  but  with 
the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution.  British 
agents,  following  a  nefarious  practice  that 
even  at  this  date  stirs  the  blood  with  hate 
and  horror,  began  to  incite  the  savages 
against  the  settlers  in  all  parts  of  the 
South.  Cherokees,  Creeks,  Choctaws,  and 
Chickasaws,  were  bribed  with  British  gold 
to  enter  upon  a  war  of  extermination,  and 
British  arms  and  ammunition  were  put 
into  the  hands  of  a  merciless  foe  who 
spared  neither  sex  nor  age,  and  whose  de- 
lights were  outrage  and  torture. 

In  June  of  1776  the  Cherokees  took  the 
warpath,  moving  in  several  parties.  The 
Watauga  settlements,  the  most  isolated, 
lying  south  of  the  Holston  and  Kentucky 
colonies,  were  the  first  to  suffer.  Fortu- 
nately warning  had  been  given  to  Robertson 
by  a  friendly  squaw,  yet  many  houses  were 
burned,  many  settlers  killed,  and  much 
stock  driven  off.  Robertson  gathered 
such  settlers  as  were  nearest  into  his  fort, 
and  there  at  dawn,  on  the  20th  of  July,  he 
was  attacked  by  a  large  band  of  braves. 
The  first  rush  of  the  Cherokees  was  stopped 
by  the  long  rifles  of  the  pioneers,  but  there 
were  crowded  together  in  the  little  fort 
men,  women  and  children  who  were  com- 
*  pell'^d  to  withstand  a  harrowing  siege  of 
three  weeks,  during  which  they  saw  their 
hard-earned  homes  destroyed  and  their 
cattle  slaughtered.  But  another  band  of 
savages  had  been  defeated  by  the  settlers 
to  the  north  in  a  desperate  pitched  battle, 
and  about  the  middle  of  August,  as  succor 
approached,  the  savages  who  were  be- 
leaguering Robertson  withdrew.  In  the 
vicinity  of  the  Watauga  eighteen  men  had 
been  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  nearly  a 
hundred  families  made  homeless.  Shortly 
after  this  Colonel  Christian  at  the  head  of 
some  Virginians,  and  the  settlers  from  the 
Holston  and  Watauga  inflicted  a  severe 
punishment  upon  these  upper  or  overhill 
Cherokees.  A  treaty  of  peace  was  now 
concluded,  and  because  of  his  peculiar  fit- 
ness Robertson  was  made  superintendent 
of  Indian  affairs  for  North  Carolina,  and 
for  some  months  by  his  tact  and  address 
kept  the  savages  for  the  most  part  quiet. 
Certain  unruly  warriors  from  several  of  the 


southern  tribes,  however,  were  gathered 
together  by  the  chief  Dragging  Canoe. 
They  were  known  as  Chickamaugas,  and 
continued  to  harass  the  settlers  for  years  to 
come.  But  Robertson  was  to  have  little 
personal  concern  with  their  depredations. 

By  this  time  the  Watauga  settlers  had 
secured  a  firm  footing  and  demonstrated 
their  ability  to  hold  their  own.  Though 
still  dwelling  in  the  midst  of  perils,  a  degree 
of  security,  order,  and  comfort  had  been 
won,  and  no  man  had  contributed  so  much 
to  this  end  as  James  Robertson. 

He  was  now  thirty-seven  years  old,  and 
almost  from  his  birth  his  life  had  been  . 
one  of  strenuous  and  heroic  effort.  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  just  as  he  had  reached 
middle  age  and  a  condition  of  honor  and 
comparative  ease  and  repose,  he  suddenly 
entered  upon  an  undertaking,  the  difficul- 
ties and  dangers  of  which  were  to  make  his 
previous  career  seem  like  a  primrgse  path. 
Hunters  and  explorers  had  for  long  brought 
tales  of  a  more  fertile  and  abundant  region, 
which  lay  a  little  to  the  west  of  central 
Tennessee,  and  there  Robertson  deter- 
mined to  plant  a  new  colony  in  the  great 
bow  of  the  Cumberland  River  at  what  was 
then  known  as  the  French  Lick.  Land 
hunger  and  his  innate  love  of  adventure 
were  doubtless  his  chief  motives,  and  to 
these  may  be  added  a  sui>erstition  of  which 
he  made  no  secret,  that  he  was  a  chosen 
agent  of  God  to  wrest  from  pagan  savages 
this  fair  land.  Perhaps,  too,  though  the 
suspicion  may  be  invidious,  a  little  jealousy 
of  the  growing  popularity  of  the  brilliant 
and  accomplished  Sevier  may  have  added 
something  to  his  discontent.  Whatever 
the  influence,  Robertson,  in  the  spring  of 
1779,  with  a  few  companions,  traversed  the 
wilderness,  visited  the  spot  where  the 
beautiful  city  of  Nashville  now  stands,  and 
there  planted  a  crop  of  com  for  future 
needs.  In  the  fall  at  the  head  of  nearly 
four  hundred  settlers,  he  set  out  to  plant 
his  colony  more  than  three  hundred  miles 
west  of  the  nearest  white  settlement. 
The  horrors  of  that  journey  we  cannot 
tell  in  our  restricted  space.  The  winter 
proved  the  coldest  ever  known  since  the 
western  country  was  discovered.  Part  of 
the  settlers,  including  most  of  the  women 
and  children,  went  by  the  water  route,  and 
encountering  savages,  fought  their  way 
through,  suffering  terrible  distress  and  a 


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General  James  Robertson,  the  Father  of  Tennessee     6 1 1 


loss  of  over  thirty-three  of  their  number. 
Robertson's  own  contingent  underwent 
trying  hardships.  So  difficult  was  the 
journey  that  though  he  reached  the  Licks 
in  December,  1779,  it  was  not  uiitil  April, 
1780,  that  all  the  settlers  were  united  at 
the  chosen  spot.  Robertson  at  once  built 
a  little  stockaded  village  which  he  sub- 
sequently named  Nashboro,  after  a  gov- 
ernor of  North  Carolina.  Two  other 
similar  stations  were  erected,  and  most  of 
the  settlers  reclaimed  land  at  varying  dis- 
tances from  these,  and  built  their  log 
cabins.  Under  Robertson's  lead  a  govern- 
ment was  organized,  modeled  after  that  of 
the  Watauga  settlements.  Though  for  a 
few  weeks  these  pioneers  dwelt  in  com- 
parative peace,  with  abundant  game  all 
about  them,  yet  in  the  early  summer  they 
began  to  be  harassed  by  the  savages,  and 
their  history  thenceforward  is  perhaps 
more  troubled  and  bloody  than  that  of  any 
other  settlers  in  the  west.  For  something 
like  fifteen  years  these  men  were  subjected 
to  an  almost  constant  siege  from  a  foe 
without  heart  or  conscience,  and  their 
annals  illustrate,  as  those  of  no  other  west- 
ern settlers  do,  the  determined  spirit  and 
unflinching  courage  of  a  new  race  of  men. 
It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  savages 
with  whom  they  battled  were  much  abler 
warriors  than  the  pony  Indians  west  of  the 
Mississippi.  Throughout  all  those  first 
years,  ceaseless  vigilance  was  the  price  of 
life  itself,  and  indeed,  fully  one-half  of  the 
first  pioneers  perished  at  the  hands  of  the 
savages.  Robertson  was  the  chief  main- 
stay of  their  perilous  fortunes — a  rock 
against  which  the  savage  storm  beat  in 
vain.  On  more  than  one  occasion  the 
settlements  would  have  been  abandoned, 
but  for  his  invincible  temper.  The  Chicka- 
saws  sorely  beleaguered  the  little  colony 
during  the  first  year;  those  who  plowed 
and  planted  were  obliged  to  do  so  under 
guard.  Some  of  the  families  who  settled 
farthest  from  the  stockade  were  murdered, 
their  houses  burned,  their  stock  run  off. 
At  times  Jhe  savages  carried  their  raids  to 
the  very  stockades.  Some  of  the  pioneers 
gave  up  the  intolerable  struggle  and  went 
north  into  Kentucky  and  the  Illinois 
country.  By  November,  1780,  desertion 
and  Indian  outrages  had  left  of  the  original 
settlers  in  and  about  the  three  stations 
only  one  hundred  and  thirty-four.     But 


these  were  for  hardihood  and  courage  the 
very  flower  of  the  pioneers. 
^  "My  station  is  here  and  here  I  shall  stay 
if  every  one  of  you  deserts  me,"  Robertson 
declared,  and  his  undaunted  soul  put  a  new 
spirit  into  the  loyal  and  fearless  men  who 
remained. 

We  have  no  space  in  which  to  depict 
even  briefly  the  long  struggle,  but  some 
instances  may  be  given  as  illustrating  the 
heroic  stuff  of  which  this  inflexible  man 
was  made. 

The  unhesitating  fearlessness  which  char- 
acterized Robertson  was  shown  on  one 
occasion  that  first  summer  when,  during 
the  night,  a  party  of  over  a  hundred  Indians 
stole  all  the  horses  belonging  to  his  station. 
Promptly  at  dawn  Robertson  took  the  trail 
with  only  thirty  picked  men.  After  fol- 
lowing more  than  forty  miles  he  came  upon 
the  band  as  it  was  making  ready  for  camp. 
So  swift  had  been  his  pursuit  that  the 
crafty  Indians  were  themselves  taken  by 
surprise.  "Give  them  one  fire,  men," 
shouted  Robertson,  "then  club  them  with 
your  rifles,"  and  springing  forward  with 
his  followers  at  his  heels,  the  Indians  were 
scattered  like  leaves  before  a  wind,  leaving 
the  stolen  horses  behind  them,  and  fifteen 
of  their  number  dead  upon  the  ground. 

When  a  little  after  this,  continued  raids 
had  all  but  exhausted  the  ammunition  of 
the  settlers,  and  things  looked  desperately 
hopeless,  Robertson  displayed  his  hardi- 
hood, woodcraft,  and  courage,  and  his  in- 
sensibility to  despair  by  a  most  hazardous 
venture.  Bidding  the  pioneers  to  take 
every  precaution  against  surprise,  he  set 
out  for  the  Kentucky  settlements  with 
three  companions,  one  of  whom  was  his 
oldest  son,  in  the  hope  of  procuring  pow- 
der. Every  mile  of  the  journey  was  one 
of  deadly  peril,  for  the  country  was  infested 
with  prowling  and  murderous  savages. 
But  under  Robertson's  guidance  the 
moccasined  feet  of  his  party  skillfully 
passed  all  dangers  and  reached  Harrod's 
Station.  That  place  was  itself  in  jeopardy 
and  could  spare  no  ammunition.  Robert- 
son pressed  on  to  Boone's  Station,  and  the 
gallant  and  unselfish  Daniel  divided  with 
him  what  ammunition  he  had.  The  return 
trip  was  even  more  perilous,  and  deserves 
itself  to  be  the  subject  of  a  paper.  Robert- 
son crossed  several  Indian  trails  as  he  drew 
near  home,  and  more  than  once  saw  the 


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campfires  of  the  savages.  He  regained  his 
own  station,  however,  and  was  of  course 
welcomed  with  the  wildest  joy  by  men 
who  had  left  only  three  rounds  of  ammu- 
nition each.  Finding  that  his  wife  and 
children  had  gone  to  Freeland's  Station,  a 
little  farther  distant,  without  a  moment's 
rest  Robertson  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
through  the  wilderness  to  that  place,  which 
was  the  shelter  of  ten  families  of  pioneers. 
As  his  wife  was  ill,  he  determined  to  re- 
main at  Freeland's  during  the  night.  All 
the  inmates  of  the  stockade  retired  early, 
but  Robertson  sat  with  his  lady  until  a 
late  hour.  She  had  fallen  asleep  near  mid- 
night, and  as  he  sat  by  her  side,  lost  in 
gloomy  reflections,  his  quick  ear  caught  the 
rattle  of  the  chain  at  the  stockade's  gate. 
He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  peered  through  a 
loophole  to  discover  a  band  of  savages 
entering  the  inclosure.  Snatching  his 
rifle  from  the  wall  he  shot  the  leading 
warrior,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  the  cry 
of  "Indians!"  Soon  every  one  of  the 
pioneers  was  at  his  post  and  a  desperate 
fight  followed.  The  savages  were  finally 
driven  out  with  severe  loss,  though  two  of 
the  inmates  of  the  stockade  were  killed. 
Robertson's  vigilance  alone  saved  the  sta- 
tion, and  his  arrival  had  been  most  timely, 
as  the  place  had  been  almost  entirely  with- 
out powder. 

But  after  this  fight  Robertson's  little 
colony  had  no  further  difficulty  with  the 
Chickasaws.  While  in  Kentucky  Robert- 
son had  met  Clark  and  had  persuaded  him 
to  abandon  a  fort  he  had  built  at  Iron 
Bank  upon  the  Mississippi.  The  Chicka- 
saws had  considered  this  post  a  menace. 
In  consequence  of  this  act  the  tribe  ac- 
cepted overtures  of  peace  made  by  Robert- 
son, and  later  became  firm  friends  of  the 
Cumberland  settlers.  Between  their  chief 
Piomingo  and  Robertson  something  of 
intimacy  sprung  up.  The  revolutionary 
struggle  was  now  raging  and  the  Chicka- 
saws soon  became  the  allies  of  the  settlers 
in  wars  with  other  tribes.  Indeed,  scarcely 
had  they  buried  the  hatchet  and  so  brought 
to  the  pioneers  hope  of  a  surcease  of 
savage  terrors,  before  the  Creeks  and  Chero- 
kees  in  the  south  and  the  more  north- 
erly Shawnees,  Wyandots,  and  Delawares, 
aroused  by  the  despicable  diplomacy  of 
Great  Britain,  took  the  warpath.  In  the 
second  year  of  their  settlement  the  Cumber- 


land pioneers  fought  with  bands  from  many 
tribes.  More  than  once  Robertson  nearly 
lost  his  life,  and  his  station  barely  escaped 
being  wiped  out.  One  morning — April 
2,  1 78 1— just  before  dawn,  a  sentry  on  the 
blockhouse  at  Robertson's  station  spied  an 
Indian  near  the  stockade.  He  promptly 
fired  at  him  but  missed  his  aim.  As  soon 
as  it  was  dawn,  three  or  four  Indians  were 
discovered  in  the  thicket  and  they  in  turn 
fired  at  the  picket.  In  the  early  morning 
light  Robertson  at  the  head  of  twenty-one 
mounted  men  led  a  galloping  charge  into 
the  bush  toward  what  proved  to  be  only 
a  decoy.  At  a  little  distance  from  his 
stockade  he  unexpectedly  came  upon  a 
party  of  over  a  hundred  Indians  who 
sprang  from  ambush  and  fired  upon  his 
little  command.  Several  of  the  whites 
were  wounded,  and  five  or  six  were  killed, 
but  Robertson  did  not  give  way.  He  dis- 
mounted his  men  and  ordering  them  to 
cover,  had  begun  the  unequal  fight,  when 
all  were  surprised  to  hear  the  war  whoop  in 
their  rear,  and  to  discover  that  another  and 
stronger  band  had  cut  off  their  retreat. 
They  gave  themselves  up  for  lost,  but 
determined  to  sell  their  lives  dearly.  At 
this  juncture  the  horses  became  frightened 
and  stampeded,  and  their  love  of  booty 
drew  the  Indians  in  the  rear  into  a  chase 
after  the  steeds.  The  settlers,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  this  unexpected  diversion  began 
a  retreat  for  the  fort  through  the  break  in 
the  Indian  lines.  When  the  savages  dis- 
covered this  move  they  closed  in  again. 
But  by  this  time  the  pioneers  were  close  to 
the  stockade.  The  wife  of  Robertson  was 
now  to  save  what  remained  of  the  com- 
mand. She  stood,  rifle  in  hand,  on  the 
stockade,  and  as  the  savages  were  closing 
in  between  the  retreating  party  and  the 
fort,  she  shouted  to  those  below  to  throw 
open  the  gates  and  let  loose  the  dogs. 
Fifty  large,  savage  hounds  sprang  at  the 
Indians  who  recoiled  before  the  unusual 
onslaught.  The  retreating  pioneers  were 
thus  enabled  to  regain  the  fort,  but  not 
until  after  a  loss  of  one-third  of  their  num- 
ber and  all  their  horses.  It  would  probably 
be  difficult  to  find  in  border  annals  a  more 
melodramatic,  novel,  and  picturesque  affray 
than  this. 

But  these  instances  are,  so  to  speak,  only 
sample  incidents  in  the  bitter  struggle  for 
existence.    The  second  year  proved  more 


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General  James  Robertson,  the  Father  of  Tennessee     613 


terrible  than  the  first.  Unable  to  plant  or 
reap,  or  even  to  hunt,  save  at  great  peril, 
starvation  more  than  once  stared  the 
settlers  in  the  face.  But  Robertson  would 
not  surrender.  Year  followed  year,  and  dis- 
tress from  floods  and  drought,  disease  and 
the  savage  war  bore  hard  upon  the  settle- 
ments— still  nothing  could  break  Rob- 
ertson's determined  spirit.  He  deemed 
himself  the  accredited  agent  of  heaven  to 
reclaim  the  wilderness.  He  feared  God, 
but  no  man,  red  or  white,  and  to  his  rude 
followers  he  used  to  read  and  expound 
the  scriptures,  which  was  almost  the  only 
book  he  knew. 

Robertson's  sagacity  and  unflinching 
courage  brought  his  colony  through  the 
trying  years,  and  at  the  close  of  the  Revo- 
lution the  western  trend  of  immigration 
greatly  strengthened  his  position  and  in- 
creased his  resources.  He  was  soon  able  to 
bring  into  the  field  against  the  southern 
Cherokees  and  Creeks,  whom  the  jealous 
machinations  of  Spain  now  induced  to 
make  war,  several  hundred  men,  and  in 
1787  he  conducted  a  successful  campaign 
against  those  tribes,  in  which  he  proved 
himself  an  able,  resourceful,  and  inventive 
general.  Few  episodes  of  his  life  indeed 
are  more  thrilling  than  his  masterly  sur- 
prise and  destruction  of  the  Indian  villages 
on  the  Tennessee  and  its  tributaries.  As 
Tennessee  grew,  Robertson  grew  in  honor 
and  reputation.  When  she  became  a  state 
he  was  one  of  her  foremost  and  most 
trusted  men.  He  declined  to  succeed  his 
friend  Sevier  as  governor,  but  in  1790  he 
accepted  a  commission  as  Brigadier  Gen- 
eral tendered  him  by  Washington.  As 
Indian  Commissioner  in  the  West  he 
showed  himself  brave,  wise,  and  firm,  where 
the  general  government  was  weak,  vacillat- 
ing, and  stupid.  The  Chickasaws  he  had 
early  made  his  friends  and  their  chiefs 
loved  and  trusted  him  as  long  as  he  lived. 
Later  he  succeeded  in  divorcing  the  Choc- 
taws  from  their  allegiance  with  the  British, 
and  he  finally  negotiated  a  peace,  which 
lasted  many  years,  with  the  Cherokees.  It 
remained  for  the  violent  and  aggressive 
Jackson  to  completely  break  the  power  of 


the  Creeks.  While  on  a  mission  to  his 
friends,  the  Chickasaws,  Robertson  died  in 
their  country,  September  i,  1814,  at  the 
age  of  seventy-two. 

Robertson's  settlements  were  small,  his 
followers  were  rude,  rough  men,  but  the 
future  of  those  little  colonies  was  big  with 
destiny,  and  from  the  loins  of  his  pioneers 
has  descended  a  race  of  men,  who  measured 
by  achievement  are  perhaps  inferior  to 
none  that  ever  trod  the  earth.  The  deeds 
of  the  leader  himself  were  enacted  in  an 
obscure  corner  of  the  world,  but  his  heroism 
was  not  less  than  that  of  other  men  whose 
fame  is  brighter  because  the  theater  of  their 
action  was  more  in  the  gaze  of  the  world. 
His  character  was  of  the  grim,  austere  type 
of  the  Scotch  Covenanters,  from  whom  he 
sprung.  Accepting  for  his  guidance  in  life 
the  gloomy  tenets  of  pure  Calvinism,  and 
applying  its  pitiless  logic  to  all  life's  affairs, 
he  did  his  duty  as  it  was  given  him  to  see 
it  with  unswerving  fidelity.  He  was  loyal 
to  his  friends,  and  if  stem  and  unbending 
toward  his  foes,  could  still  be  generous. 
There  was  something,  too,  of  the  Scot's 
thrift  and  canniness  in  the  makeup  of  this 
heroic  man.  Less  dashing  and  brilliant 
and  accomplished  than  Sevier,  less  aggres- 
sive and  far-seeing  than  Clark,  less  willful 
and  headlong  than  Jackson — he  was  yet 
without  the  weakness  of  any  of  these,  and 
no  one  of  all  our  frontier  fighters  surpassed 
him  in  resolution  and  courage.  "The 
God  of  Nature,"  says  old  Haywood,  "had 
given  him  an  elevated  soul  and  planted  in 
it  the  seeds  of  virtue,  which  made  him  in 
the  midst  of  discouraging  circun]stances 
look  forward  to  better  times."  By  the 
dwellers  in  those  backwoods  communities 
on  the  Cumberland,  Robertson  came  to  be 
looked  up  to  much  as  were  those  old  patri- 
archs who  were  priests,  law-givers,  prophets, 
and  warriors  in  primeval  days. 

Tennessee  has  been  termed  a  Mother 
of  States,  and  as  the  founder  of  the  first 
American  colony  beyond  the  mountains, 
no  one  of  the  determined  frontier  fighters 
who  did  valiant  service  there  deserves  so 
much  as  Robertson  to  be  called  the  Father 
of  Tennessee. 


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THE   FULLNESS   OF    THE   YEAR 


BY   T.   S.   VAN    DYKE 


^GH  breezes  fan  the 
tops  it  is  sultry  be- 
from  moisture  ex- 
id  by  millions  of 
es  into  air  both  still 
hot.  Yet  you  can 
el  everywhere  be- 
cause one  of  the  advantages  of  this  great 
hardwood  forest  of  the  north  is  that  it 
has  less  rain  than  those  farther  south 
and  is  so  rolling  that  when  there  is  too 
much  it  drains  quickly  off,  leaving  little 
green  meadows  of  rich  grass  instead  of 
swamps  and  sparkling  brooks  of  clear  water 
instead  of  sluggish  sloughs.  And  there  is 
more  life  to  an  acre  than  in  a  whole  section 
of  many  pine  woods.  Dragon  flies  in 
crimson  and  green  dart  about  over  the 
watchful  trout  and  every  patch  of  sunshine 
vibrates  with  the  gold  and  blue  of  butter- 
flies. Everywhere  is  the  hum  of  the  bee 
with  the  wings  of  steel  blue  wasps  and 
yellow  banded  hornets  blending  in  happy 
concord,  while  the  cheerful  rattle  of  the 
locust  seems  to  add  nothing  of  discord. 
Black  flies  and  mosquitoes  chime  in,  but 
there  is  nothing  else  to  fear,  though  the 
rattlesnake  is  occasionally  found.  It  is  a 
maxim  that  speckled  trout  and  malaria  are 
never  found  together  and  here  at  least  it 
is  remarkably  true,  for  there  is  no  more 
healthy  place  than  right  here  in  the  steam- 
ing heat  of  midsummer. 

The  luxuriance  of  nature  is  now  at  the 
full  with  a  slight  waning  in  some  of  its 
forms.  The  shades  are  deeper  and  the  tints 
lower  with  the  gloom  of  the  thickets  in- 
creasing, the  gray  limbs  of  the  basswood 
quite  lost  in  its  wealth  of  green,  and  the 
white  branches  of  the  aspen  hidden  by  its 
tremulous  leaves  that  now  hang  almost 
still.  Most  of  the  white  of  June  is  gone 
with  the  blue  of  the  larkspur  deepening 


rather  than  illumining  the  shade,  like  that 
of  the  veronica  or  campanula,  that  now 
begins  to  swing,  or  the  brownish  purple  of 
the  wild  ginger  nodding  low  along  the 
ground.  And  the  song  of  the  wood  robin  is 
waning  fast,  with  the  sprightly  strains  of 
the  warblers  less  frequent,  and  farther  apart 
are  the  outbursts  of  melody  from  the  oriole 
and  more  rare  the  flash  of  the  tanager  or 
gleam  of  the  red  start  through  the  dark- 
ening green.  Less  common,  too,  is  the 
ringing  "chewink"  of  the  towhee,  though 
he  is  still  busy  scratching  the  ground,  and 
more  feeble  the  voice  of  the  highholder 
whose  wings  shed  golden  light  as  he  rises 
and  falls  in  wavy  flight.  And  the  voice  of 
the  whip-poor-will  is  weakening,  with  the 
song  sparrow  having  much  less  to  say, 
while  the  greenlet  is  growing  more  modest; 
and  soon  there  will  be  silence  in  the  maples' 
crown  of  green  and  around  the  toadstool 
spotted  stump  and  by  the  little  bog  where 
the  sweet  purple  of  the  Arethusa  bows. 
But  the  bits  of  meadow  are  never  so  fair  as 
now  with  the  calopogon  beginning  to  glow 
in  richest  purple  above  the  waving  grass, 
with  ferns  of  golden  green  fringing  its  outer 
edges,  and  these  relieved  by  the  yellow 
beams  of  the  star  grass,  and  this  by  the 
deep  blue  of  the  iris  lingering  longer  than  in 
the  outer  world,  the  whole  inclosed  by  trees 
whose  sunlit  green  rises  in  tiers  of  different 
shades. 

Lovely  enough  is  the  mountain  lake  and 
lovelier  still  by  contrast  is  the  lake  of  the 
prairie  as  found  on  these  head-waters  of  the 
Mississippi.  But  the  lake  of  the  woods  has 
still  greater  charms  and  never  is  more  fair 
than  in  midsummer.  Generally  you  may 
look  down  many  feet  through  clear  water 
and  hear  the  canoe  grate  on  a  pebbly  shore. 
Even  the  muddiest  slough  that  connects 
with  the  upper  tributaries  of  this  great 


614 


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The  Fullness  of  the  Year 


615 


river  is  purity  itself  compared  with  those 
farther  south,  while  the  lake  has  all  the 
purity  of  a  mountain  spring.  Some  of  the 
water  line  may  be  hazily  green  with  the  ar- 
rowy spires  of  the  wild  rice,  or  darker 
with  cat-tail  or  flag,  or  the  water  may  sleep 
dark  and  smooth  beneath  the  sweeping 
boughs  of  the  arbor  vitae  or  white  birch. 
And  here  you  may  see  the  wood  duck  lead- 
ing little  scraps  of  energy  that  scatter  in 
yellow  lines  beneath  the  water  when  you 
paddle  too  near,  while  with  dolorous 
squeals  the  mother  vanishes  over  the  clam- 
bering masses  of  fox  grape  that  festoon  the 
overhanging  butternut.  And  along  the 
shore  the  brown  bittern  stands  at  ease, 
while,  the  blue  heron,  that  as  yet  knows  not 
the  plumage  hunter,  neglects  to  take  down 
his  leg.  From  some  dead  limb  near  which 
his  love  is  tending  the  callow  brood  whose 
cries  echo  over  the  waters  the  snowy  egret 
looks  down  with  no  suspicion  of  danger, 
and  the  little  grebe  may  be  drifting  near  its 
nest  under  the  showy  white  of  the  arrow- 
head. More  watchful,  but  still  very  tame, 
the  loon  may  float  about  half  under  water, 
ever  ready  to  dive  deeper  if  necessary,  and 
clouded  water  near  the  shore  may  show 
where  the  deer  left  in  haste  before  you  even 
came  within  sight.  Below  the  snowy 
petals  of  the  water  lily  the  long  pickerel  lies 
basking  in  the  sun;  in  the  depths  of  the 
more  open  water  you  may  note  ths  dark 
back  of  the  bass,  and  out  in  the  deeper  lake 
the  muscalonge  may  try  your  tackle  to  its 
utmost.  And  all  around  it  the  trees  tower 
as  grandly  as  elsewhere,  making  a  setting 
of  green  for  its  silvery  light  that  always 
makes  a  picture  of  itself. 

In  this  great  hardwood  forest  late  sum- 
mer brings  a  host  of  berries  never  seen  else- 
where. In  the  great  windfalls  and  in  the 
track  of  the  fire  raspberries,  red,  yellow, 
and  black,  are  crowding  out  gooseberries 
that  clasp  hands  across  the  logs,  and  black- 
berries that  hug  the  old  stumps,  while 
currants  struggle  through  the  press  with 
huckleberries  darkening  among  them,  flood- 
ing the  woods  with  a  fragrance  that  makes 
the  bee  hum  with  a  happiness  he  never 
knew  even  on  famed  Hymettus.  And  to 
this  is  added  the  breath  of  the  whole  mint 
family  now  out  in  red  and  purple  and  blue. 
For  dittany,  balm  and  bergamot,  with 
calaminth,  melissa  and  thyme,  lavender, 
basil  and  blue  curls  are  all  doing  their  best 


to  maintain  the  rich  flavor  of  wild  honey 
that  now  fills  the  woods.  And  the  wild 
bean  is  helping  with  its  soft  violet  hanging 
over  the  fallen  tree  top  and  the  spiranthes 
with  its  twisted  lines  of  white  flowers. 
And  others  help  keep  up  the  light  in  spite 
of  the  green  cover  above — the  foxglove, 
whose  ringent  gold  beams  from  its  tall  stem, 
the  silene  nodding  in  white  among  the 
deeper  hues,  the  chelone  opening  its  snakish 
mouth  of  pinkish  white  along  the  brook^and 
the  rosebay  glowing  in  purple  among  the 
gold  and  blue  of  the  fireweeds  that  spring  in 
the  track  of  last  year's  fire.  Even  the  old 
stump  is  now  arrayed  in  its  very  best  with 
its  mosses  at  their  greenest,  its  big  toad- 
stools with  their  most  creamy  tints,  and  the 
smaller  ones  in  brightest  scarlet,  and  even 
the  wild  cucumber  that  drapes  it  is  in  its 
brightest  green. 

Along  the  sandy  edges  of  the  brook  you 
may  see  the  tracks  of  the  otter,  the  mink, 
and  the  wolverine,  but  you  never  are 
farther  from  seeing  one  of  them  than  now. 
In  the  little  swale  where  the  maiden  hair 
grows  so  rank  and  the  stiffness  of  the  scour- 
ing rush  bends  beneath  its  own  weight,  you 
can  see  where  the  little  bears  have  rolled 
and  played,  and  the  mother  has  pulled 
down  the  blackberries  for  them.  Possibly 
you  may  find  the  whole  family  at  dinner. 
More  possibly  not.  Quite  certainly  not  if 
you  cherish  the  delusion  that  the  bear  is  a 
big  clumsy  thing,  easy  to  see  and  easy  to 
approach,  because  he  looks  stupid  in  a  cage. 
The  bear  you  are  seeking  will  look  much 
more  like  a  black  shoat  with  ears,  eyes,  and 
nose  almost  as  good  as  those  of  the  deer, 
and  can  skip  through  a  tangle  of  logs  as 
neatly  as  the  shoat  can  between  the  legs  of 
a  boy  trying  to  head  him  off.  Still  less  are 
you  likely  to  see  one  or  any  of  the  larger 
animals  if  you  conclude  from  some  modem 
writers  on  nature  that  to  observe  the  habits 
of  wild  animals  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
observe.  If  it  were  as  easy  as  many  would 
have  us  believe,  they  would  be  no  more 
interesting  than  so  many  cattle  in  a  pas- 
ture. But  the  very  charm  of  their  presence 
in  the  woods  is  in  their  absence,  an  absence 
so  persistent  that  years  in  the  woods  will 
not  enable  one  to  learn  anything  from  see- 
ing them.  The  deer  is  the  most  easy  of  all 
to  get  an  occasional  glimpse  of,  yet  most  all 
our  knowledge  of  him  is  obtained  by  long 
following  of  his  tracks. 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


With  the  waning  of  summer  the  woods 
become  more  silent.  The  melancholy  note 
of  the  cuckoo  dies  away  with  August  and 
the  blue  jay  tunes  his  jingling  pipe  less 
often.  The  ground  robin  still  scratches 
merrily  on  the  ground,  but  gone  is  his 
cheery  greeting  to  the  morning  light,  and 
gone,  too,  the  sweet  good  night  of  the 
woodthrush  when  twilight  deepens  after 
the  evening  shower.  You  may  still  see  the 
vermilion  of  the  cardinal  grosbeak,  yet 
hear  no  more  his  melodious  whistle  from  the 
tangled  thicket,  while  the  black  and  white 
and  carmine  of  his  rose-breasted  cousin 
will  be  still  more  rare  as  his  rich  notes  fail 
in  the  darksome  brake. 

And  suddenly  an  air  of  ripeness  steals 
over  the  great  woods.  The  hop,  pouring 
its  clusters  over  the  ironwood,  has  little 
left  to  do  but  give  the  golden  tinge  of 
autumn,  while  the  black  seeds  that  glisten 
beside  the  gray  bark  of  the  prickly  ash  look 
as  if  the  summer's  work  were  done.  The 
spots  on  the  breast  of  the  young  robin  are 
running  fast  into  red,  the  young  ravens 
glisten  in  the  sun  almost  as  brightly  as  their 
mother,  and  the  young  hawk  that  spreads 
his  wings  against  the  blue  shows  a  tail  as 
broad  as  that  of  the  old  one.  Even  the 
brook  wears  a  more  finished  air.  The 
silver  fern  that  hangs  over  its  edge  looks 
weary  as  the  water  ripples  more  gently. 
The  dragon  fly  comes  out  later  in  the  day 
and  the  little  water  bugs  circle  in  smaller 
orbits,  while  even  the  skaters  seem  in  less 
haste.  The  hum  of  the  bee  is  lighter,  the 
rattle  of  the  locust  milder,  while  the  mourn- 
ful dialogue  of  the  katydid  when  evening 
falls  warns  us  that  summer  is  done.  The 
same  tale  is  told  by  the  drooping  limbs  of 
the  walnut  and  butternut,  by  the  reddening 
of  the  plums  and  yellowing  of  the  crab 
apples  along  the  creek  bottom,  with  purple 
and  crimson  stealing  over  the  little  apples 
of  the  hawthorns.  And  suddenly  you  hear 
something  fall  where  the  oaks  stand  so 
thickly  massed  on  the  ridge— something 
heavier  than  a  crumb  from  the  table  of  the 
squirrel.  And  to-morrow  there  is  another 
and  then  another,  until  in  a  few  days  they 
are  falling  all  around  and  they  are  acorns 
beyond  mistake.  And  in  yonder  maple  is  a 
spot  of  red  too  bright  for  the  coat  of  the  red 
squirrel  and  to-morrow  the  same  in  the  ash 
and  the  poplar  and  the  big  elm.  And  to- 
morrow the  smaller  trees  are  yellowing  fast. 


the  wahoo  in  the  dale  and  the  rock  elm 
by  the  brook,  with  the  shrubs  fast  following 
suit,  the  tall  purple  shaft  of  the  columbo 
flying  golden  banners  and  the  kinnikinick 
flaunting  a  redder  flag. 

And  what  has  been  fighting  this  burning 
bush,  scattering  its  red  arils  and  crimson 
capsules,  twisting  its  smooth  limbs  and 
tearing  its  golden  leaves?  Beside  it  the 
ground  is  scraped  bare  and  in  the  soft  earth 
are  the  prints  of  large  sharp-toed  hoofs. 
But  you  need  not  get  excited  for  you  are 
rarely  farther  from  seeing  a  deer  though 
you  find  tracks  increasing  by  the  day  as  if 
hundreds  were  arriving  from  some  distant 
place.  You  will  also  find  more  tracks  of 
the  bear  as  he  begins  to  feed  on  the  acorns, 
and  amazing  is  the  ease  and  certainty  with 
which  you  can  find  the  exact  spot  where  he 
was  a  few  moments  ago.  But  it  is  more 
easy  to  find  the  rufl'ed  grouse  whose  drum- 
ming is  still  heard  far  into  the  fall  in  spite  of 
the  theory  that  it  has  something  to  do  with 
mating.  Sometimes  a  whole  covey  may 
rise  into  view  above  the  underbrush  to 
speed  like  arrows  down  the  long  colonnades 
of  trunks,  or  with  a  grand  flutter  of  white, 
brown,  and  gray  they  may  go  roaring  into 
the  nearest  tree  where  you  may  strain  your 
eyes  in  the  effort  to  see  them  as  they  sjt 
like  knots  on  the  branches. 

In  the  little  grassy  flats  and  meadows 
summer  reigns  a  few  days  longer.  The 
long  green  leaves  and  purple  flowers  are 
still  bright  on  the  pogonia,  the  soft  blue  of 
the  gentian  is  still  in  the  noon  of  life,  from 
the  snowy  perianth  the  ladies'  tresses  still 
shed  sweet  incense  and  belated  lilies  yet 
linger  where  the  broad  leaves  of  the  clin- 
tonia  may  shine  as  brightly  as  in  spring. 
But  on  the  lake  of  the  woods  the  coming  of 
autumn  is  plain  in  the  weakening  shade  of 
the  overhanging  willow  and  the  reflection 
in  the  water  of  the  yellowing  birch,  in  the 
fading  green  of  the  towering  wild  rice  and 
the  brownish  tinge  on  the  woolly  plumes 
of  the  typha.  It  is  yet  plainer  in  the  sheen 
of  the  full-feathered  wood  duck  whose 
carmine,  chestnut  and  green  beam  in  the 
softened  light,  in  the  heavy  throb  of 
the  wing  of  the  mallard  arriving  from  the 
north  and  in  the  hissing  speed  of  the  blue- 
winged  teal  as  he  cleaves  the  air  on  the 
swiftest  wing  that  wild  fowl  ever  plies. 
One  feels  it  in  the  gentle  peace  that  sleeps 
on  the  face  of  the  water  and  in  the  mellower 


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tint  that  lingers  in  the  sky,  in  the  plaintive 
whistle  of  the  widgeon  soon  heard  above 
where  the  rice  is  whitening,  in  the  strings 
of  gossamer  that  begin  to  ride  the  air,  in 
the  flocks  of  blackbirds  that  roar  among  the 
reeds.  Change  on  the  hill  and  in  the  dale 
save  in  the  few  spots  where  the  shafts  of 
the  tamarack  stand  trim  and  dense  be- 
neath their  denser  heads  or  where  groves  of 
pine  that  run  into  the  hardwood  in  places 
have  dwarfed  all  other  life. 

At  last  the  ground  is  softened  to  your 
tread  by  the  fall  rains,  and  the  trees  are  so 
bare  that  you  can  see  twice  as  far  through 
the  heaviest  timber  as  you  could  before. 
Tracks  of  deer  and  bear  are  even  more 
plenty.  Yet  the  woods  never  seemed  so 
distressingly  short  of  life  as  on  the  damp, 
dismal  morning  that  the  oldest  hunters 
say  is  the  best  time  for  hunting.  The 
grouse  that  yesterday  spread  his  banded 
tail  along  your  path  and  the  big  northern 
hare  that  burst  from  the  dry  leaves  with  a 
racket  that  made  you  tremble  are  no  more 
in  sight,  and  equally  quiet  are  the  squirrels 
that  made  so  many  wavy  lines  of  gray  and 
black  as  they  sprung  from  tree  to  tree. 
Of  course  you  do  not  notice  a  dim  spot  of 
dark  gray  with  two  or  three  peculiar  bits  of 
sticks  above  it  in  a  distant  thicket.  You 
came  here  to  look  for  the  artist's  deer  with 
a  dozen  points  on  his  horns  all  glittering  at 
brickbat  range.  Five  minutes  later  when 
you  find  fresh  tracks  leading  away  from 
that  thicket  in  jumps  fifteen  feet  apart  you 
will  wonder  how  that  deer  could  stand 
there  and  then  run  away  without  your 
seeing  him.  It  will  take  you  longer  to 
learn  that  half  a  dozen  can  do  the  same 
thing  and  many  a  time  deceive  even 
the  expert.  And  this  slippery  nature  of  the 
game  is  what  lures  you  ever  on.  The 
consciousness  that  it  is  all  about  you  and 
you  are  not  keen  enough  to  see  it  makes 
the  charm.  The  fire  that  consumes  your 
vitals  burns  more  brightly  with  each  dis- 
appointment until  you  feel  a  contempt  for 
the  man  who  shot  a  deer  at  the  salt  lick 
made  by  some  settler,  the  man  who  shot  a 
deer  in  the  water  where  it  was  driven  by 
dogs,  while  the  man  who  had  a  moose  called 
to  him  by  an  Indian  who  did  all  the  scien- 
tific part  of  the  hunting,  while  the  white 
man  did  only  the  murder,  makes  you  feel 
positively  savage. 

Who  said  the  woods  were  dead  with  the 


blue  berries  shining  on  the  long  trim  shoots 
of  the  arrowwood,  clusters  of  white  glisten- 
ing on  the  snowberry,  and  red  berries 
lighting  up  the  black  alder  and  the  ncmof)- 
anthes,  with  the  spindle  tree  blazing  in 
scarlet,  the  glossy  blackberries  of  the  ink 
berry  still  in  the  prime  of  bloom,  the  witch 
hazel  closing  the  long  floral  procession  with 
its  long  yellow  petals?  Who  said  the 
woods  were  dead?  Or  rather  who  said 
there  were  any  bear  here?  Yet  you  cannot 
help  blessing  the  evergreens  for  keeping  up 
some  show  of  life.  The  creeping  snow- 
berry,  suggesting  the  wintergreen  in  fra- 
grance as  well  as  in  life,  is  never  so  lovely 
as  on  this  miserable  morning  they  tell  you 
is  so  good  for  hunting  and  there  is  a  special 
charm  in  the  red  berries  of  the  leatherwood 
that  illumine  some  of  the  gloom.  Over  the 
brown  carpet  the  little  ground  pine  trails 
its  long  green  fringe  as  full  of  life  as  in  the 
noon  of  summer,  while  the  broad  leaves  of 
the  kalmia  shine  never  more  brightly  than 
now. 

And  the  little  twin  flower  and  the 
mayflower,  though  they  long  since  folded 
their  fragrant  petals,  are  rarely  more  wel- 
come than  now  when  their  living  green 
relieves  the  brown  of  the  sodden  leaves. 
And  even  the  club  mosses  are  handsome, 
and  the  horsetails  you  despised  in  the 
height  of  summer,  while  the  bracken  ferns 
that  yet  linger  in  the  russet  swale  are 
positively  beautiful.  But  there  is  scarcely 
a  sign  of  animal  life  for  your  untutored  eye, 
though  it  is  the  day  of  all  days  to  see  game 
and  bag  it. 

But  what  a  change  when  the  sun  bright- 
ens the  forest.  As  suddenly  gone  as  if  he 
had  never  existed  as  quickly  is  the  grouse 
at  home  again.  His  drum  sounds  down 
the  drying  glade  and  again  the  leaves 
scatter  beneath  his  uproarious  wing  as  he 
springs  along  your  way.  Again  the  woods 
echo  with  the  squeal  of  the  sapsucker  and 
the  chirp  of  some  belated  chickadee,  and  the 
big  northern  hare  now  shows  himself  more 
than  before  with  his  coat  fast  turning  to 
white;  the  little  snowflake  has  come  down 
on  the  first  blasts  of  the  north  and  his 
white  and  black  and  chestnut  enliven 
much  of  the  somber  gray  and  brown,  and 
the  cardinal  grosbeak  seems  never  so 
bright  as  in  the  thicket  where  the  shining 
scarlet  of  the  inkberries  rivals  his  brilliant 


crimson. 


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Although  we  cannot  call  our- 
selves  a  rowing  people  in  the 
...  sense  in  which  we  apply  the 

^  .  *"  term  to  the  English,  yet  the 
^  season  just  closed  has  been 
none  the  less  an  eventful  one; 
and  certainly  the  boating  spirit  grows 
apace  in  America.  True,  and  unhappily, 
practically  all  the  activity  is  on  the  Atlan- 
tic Coast,  but  better  there  than  nowhere; 
moreover  there  are  indications  of  an  awak- 
ening on  the  Pacific  Coast  as  well  as  some 
slight  symptoms  of  agitation  in  the  great 
Middle  West  where  our  best  athletes  come 
from.  And  that  is  the  trouble — they  come 
away  instead  of  staying  there  to  build 
up  the  home  product.  Once  upon  a  time 
there  was  quite  a  little  rowing  in  the  Miss- 
issippi River  section  straight  down  the 
river  as  far  as  New  Orleans,  where  the  old 
St.  Johns  stood  for  gcK^d  sport  and  excel- 
lent form;  but  that  was  kept  alive  entirely 
by  club  interest,  and  club  interest  is  diffi- 
cult to  keep  alive  beyond  a  rowing  gener- 
ation unless  it  has  one  or  more  colleges 
serving  as  athletic  feeders.  Rowing  failed 
to  thrive  in  those  parts  of  the  West  and 
the  South  because  it  was  denied  support 
from  its  source  of  natural  supply;  very 
few  schools  or  colleges  took  it  up,  and  the 
most  prominent  one  to  do  so  has  been 


chasing  off  every  year  far  away  to  the 
Hudson  River  to  try  conclusions  with 
Eastern  institutions  which  were  in  no  need, 
instead  of  remaining  at  home  in  an  effort 
to  work  up  some  rowing  interest  among  its 
neighbors.  I  refer  of  course  to  Wisconsin, 
which,  like  Michigan,  appears  to  prefer  the 
Eastern  shadow  for  the  Western  substance; 
both  of  them  ought  to  use  their  muscle  and 
money  in  lifting  the  local  standard.  There 
is  no  reason  why  both  Chicago  and  Minne- 
sota universities  should  not  have  crews, 
and  an  annual  race  for  these  great  Western 
colleges  would  mean  something. 

On  the  Pacific  Slope  President  Wheeler 
of  California  has  been  instrumental  in 
arousing  a  little  activity  among  the  stu- 
dents of  his  own  (iniversity,  which  has  led 
to  racing  both  at  Oakland  and  at  Seattle 
with  Stanford,  California,  and  Washing- 
ton universities  as  contenders.  This  year 
Washington  beat  Stanford  about  four 
lengths  on  Lake  Washington  at  Seattle. 
Now  I  hear  there  is  talk  of  next  year's  win- 
ner of  this  triangular  event  being  invited  to 
enter  the  Hudson  River  regatta,  but  I  hope 
the  Coast  university  authorities  will  pre- 
vent their  crews  from  thus  serving  as  mere 
advertising  material  for  the  Poughkeepsie 
boat  races;  for  that  about  fittingly  de- 
scribes the  interest  of  these  Eastern  r^atta 


6i8 


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promoters  in  the  Pacific  Coast  oarsmen. 
It  takes  too  much  time  and  too  much 
money  to  make  these  long  pilgrimages, 
whether  they  start  from  Oakland  or  Madi- 
son, and  at  best  the  junket  is  an  undesirable 
perversion  of  college  sport.  In  addition  it 
tends  rather  to  mar  than  to  benefit  local 
conditions,  as  to  recruits  as  well  as  to  the 
standard  of  competition. 


One  Star 
Does  not  Make 
a  Constellation 


Every  now  and  again 
when  some  Western  col- 
lege happens  to  have  an 
uncommonly  good  crew, 
or  track  team,  or  foot- 
ball eleven,  its  thoughts 
immediately  fly  eastward,  where  scalps  hang 
temptingly;  and  once  in  a  while  a  meeting 
between  East  and  West  is  a  good  preven- 
tive of  cockiness — ^for  East  as  well  as  for 
West.  But  let  us  have  the  main  thought 
where  it  belongs,  1.  e.,  on  the  upbuilding  of 
the  sport  for  the  sport's  sake  in  the  territory 
upon  which  reliance  must  be  placed  for 
the  continued  annual  renewal  of  fighting 
energy.  That  is  the  most  important  con- 
sideration, and  it  ought  to  be  the  first 
thought  of  every  university  seeking  to 
secure  both  prominence  in  the  athletic  field 
and  benefit  to  its  undergraduates.  It  is 
only  exhibiting  common  sense  to  say  that 
no  game  can  be  maintained  at  a  high  or 
at  even  a  uniform  standard  of  excellence 
unless  recruits  are  constantly  enrolled, 
unless  the  substitute  class  is  continuously 
filled  with  the  grade  of  athlete  required.  It 
counts  nothing  in  the  final  analysis  for  a 
place  in  the  athletic  world  that  a  lot  of 
points  were  secured  one  year  entirely 
through  the  single  efforts  of  some  star  per- 
former who  happened  that  year  to  be  in 
attendance.  It  is  keeping  up  a  good  aver- 
age that  counts  in  the  long  run;  more  golf 
matches  are  won  by  consistently  excellent 
putting  than  by  brilliant  driving;  it  is  the 
scrub  team  which  makes  the  star  eleven. 


The  very  best  thing  that 
has  come  to  our  rowing  is 
the  American  Rowing  As- 
sociation, which  is  doing 
a  great  deal  to  foster  the 
sport  among  the  schools 
and  the  collies  and  to 
keep  alive  a  boating  interest  among  univer- 
sity oarsmen  after  they  have  been  graduated. 


American 
Rowing 
Association's 
Good  Work 


The  lack  of  this  interest  always  has  been  the 
weak  spot  in  our  club  rowing,  which  on  that 
account  has  been  obliged  to  get  along  with- 
out the  very  desirable  influence  of  the  uni- 
versity element  on  rowing  as  well  as  on 
social  standards.  The  American  Associ- 
ation was  organized  with  a  view  to  sup- 
plying this  need,  and  it  is  gratifying  to 
record  its  very  fair  measure  of  success.  1  ts 
r^atta  this  year,  wisely  held  as  usual  upon 
the  Schuylkill  River  at  Philadelphia,  was 
quite  the  most  brilliant  of  the  five  it  has 
given — one  for  every  year  of  its  existence 
— because  of  the  entries  from  Yale  and 
Q)mell;  Harvard  also  had  entered,  but 
failed  to  materialize.  Hitherto  the  As.so- 
ciation  has  not  been  given  the  support 
from  the  rowing  colleges  which  it  should 
have  had,  and  I  hope  1907  records  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  and  more  helpful  spirit. 
And  the  truth  is  that  the  rowing  colleges 
need  the  Association  very  nearly  as  much 
as  they  are  needed,  for  more  racing  is  one 
of  the  most  pressing  requirements  of  Amer- 
ican collie  boating,  and  the  annual  regatta 
at  Philadelphia  will  provide  an  opportunity 
where  the  best  crews  may  meet  without 
fear  of  damaging  their  amateur  status. 
Thus  we  are  laying  the  foundation  of  what 
may  finally  develop  into  an  American 
Henley,  and  if  ever  we  do  get  so  far  college 
rowing  and  club  rowing  will  be  that  much 
the  more  benefited,  hence  it  behooves  us 
all  to  give  active,  not  passive,  help  to  this 
Association. 

Meantime,  as  I  say,  because  of  this 
effort  and  others  less  prominent,  the  boat- 
ing spirit  grows  apace. 

In  the  two  rowing  events  con- 
p  fined  to  college  entries,  on  the 

Good  Hudson  River,  at  Poughkeep- 
^  sie,  and  on  the  Thames  at  New 

London,  the  racing  proved  to 
be  the  most  spectacular  that  has 
probably  ever  been  seen  on  either  course, 
although  the  crews,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Columbia,  were  not  above  their 
average  quality,  and  in  one  notable  in- 
stance, Cornell,  were  not  indeed  up  to  the 
high  standard  that  university  has  main- 
tained in  the  last  few  years. 

Earlier  in  the  season  some  of  these  crews 
had  met  over  a  two-mile  course  with  various 
results  upon  comparative  reckoning.  Co- 
lumbia had  absorbed  a  lot  of  encouragement 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


by  beating  the  veteran  Harvard  'varsity  on 
the  Charles  River  (one  mile  and  seven- 
eighths  course);  Cornell  had  emphasized 
the  power  of  her  low  stroke  and  easy 
recover  by  defeating  Harvard  at  Ithaca  in 
a  two-mile  race — the  third  year  the  'varsity 
crews  of  these  universities  have  met  at  the 
same  distance,  and  the  third  time  Harvard 
has  been  defeated — the  newcomer,  An- 
napolis, hadcaused  something  of  a  sensation 
by  winning  from  Columbia  over  two  miles 
of  rough  Severn  water;  Yale's  junior  crew 
at  the  American  Association  regatta  had 
given  some  suggestion  of  the  smooth  work 
likely  to  be  seen  later  in  their  'varsity;  and 
Pennsylvania  at  the  same  r^atta  gave  an 
exhibition  which  the  alumni  of  that  uni- 
versity looked  upon  in  disappointment — 
no  less  than  a  beating  at  the  hands  of  the 
New  York  Athletic  Club  eight,  a  fairly  good 
crew,  but  bearing  no  license  to  deJFeat  a 
college  'varsity  with  its  careful  preparation 
and  long  period  of  training.  Altogether 
the  preliminary  season,  so  to  say,  was 
almost  as  interesting  as  the  week  for  which 
they  were  trimmed,  and  nothing  like  such 
a  season  has  ever  been  seen  in  American 
college  boating.  Let  us  have  just  such 
another  next  year;  match  racing  is  one  of 
the  surest  ways  to  attain  to  a  high  degree 
of  rowing  excellence,  always  presupposing, 
of  course,  that  the  fundamentals  have  not 
been  n^lected. 

There  were  seven  crews  in  the  'varsity 
race  at  Poughkeepsie — Cornell,  Columbia, 
Syracuse,  Pennsylvania,  Georgetown,  Wis- 
consin, and  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy — 
but  only  two  were  first  class — Cornell  and 
Columbia  which  finished  first  and  second 
with  barely  a  quarter  of  a  shell's  length  sepH 
arating  them  after  a  close  struggle  all 
through  the  four  miles,  and  a  desperate 
and  pluckiest  of  spurts  by  Columbia  that 
came  when  it  looked  as  if  they  were 
being  shaken  off.  Both  this  race  and  the 
one  on  the  Thames  rather  jolted  that 
favored  and  much -used  argument  (of 
those  who  seek  to  shorten  the  present 
classic  course  from  four  to  three  miles)  that 
the  last  mile  is  unnecessary  strain  and 
could  be  left  of?  without  damage  to  the 
event,  as  the  crew  leading  at  three  miles  is 
always  the  winner.  Columbia  was  leading 
at  three  miles,  and  Harvard  at  the  three 
mile  flag  and  also  a  half  mile  farther  along, 
if  not  leading  at  least  was  as  near  doing  so 


as  Yale,  so  closely  were  the  rival  crews  to- 
gether. And  two  more  exciting  or  closer 
finishes  than  those  furnished  by  Cornell 
and  Columbia,  and  Harvard  and  Yale  have 
never  been  rowed. 


Wasting 
Opportunity 


It  is  indicative  of  the 
popularity  of  Annapolis, 
and  likewise  suggestive  of 
the  rowing  ignorance  of  the 
average  American,  not  to 
say  critic,  that  Annapolis  should  have  been 
looked  upon  by  so  many  as  the  most  likely 
winner  of  the  race.  The  men  in  the  Navy 
boat  certainly  deserve  high  praise.  The 
impressions  I  carried  away  from  the  race 
were  chiefly  concerned  with — (i)  the 
smooth  work  of  Cornell ;  (2)  the  courageous 
finish  of  Columbia;  and  (3)  the  strength 
and  endurance  of  the  men  in  the  Navy 
shell.  Only  eight  men  of  unusual  quality 
as  to  heart  and  muscle  could  have  pulled 
four  miles  in  20  min.  I3f  sec.,  with  a  stroke 
never  less  than  36  to  the  minute,  and 
for  a  considerable  part  of  the  distance 
as  high  as  38  and  40;  that  Annapolis  did 
this  is  enough  of  praise  to  speak  of  any 
group  of  athletes.  What  those  same  eight 
men  would  have  done  to  the  record  had 
they  been  rowing  the  Cornell  or  even  the 
Columbia  stroke,  can  better  be  imagined 
than  written  down;  it  is  safe  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  they  would  probably  have  made 
a  mark  that  would  stand  for  many  a  season 
to  come.  It  was  a  pity  to  see  such  ma- 
terial wasted  on  such  a  stroke,  yet  it  was 
not  so  irrational  as  that  of  Georgetown. 


Coaching 
Unintelligence 


That  there  were  only  two 
finished  crews  on  the 
Hudson  does  not  reflect 
creditably  upon  the  in- 
telligence of  those coaches 
who  have  been  going  to  Poughkeepsie  an- 
nually to  view  the  high-class  rowing  of 
Cornell — and  to  take  their  yearly  beating; 
it  appears  that  they  have  not  put  in  their 
time  very  profitably.  Year  after  year  we 
witness  the  same  faults  that  are  respon- 
sible for  poor  rowing  and  defeat ;  year  after 
year  the  coaches  stick  obstinately  to  what 
they  call  their  school  of  oarsmanship: 
Pennsylvania  persists  in  putting  practically 
all  their  power  on  the  end  of  the  stroke; 
Wisconsin  continues  to  rush  their  slides 
and  thus  check  the  boat  (although  there  is 


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slight  improvement  here);  Syracuse  still 
adheres  to  the  "get-there"  stroke,  so  does 
Georgetown;  the  Naval  Academy,  where 
surely  we  might  naturally  look  for  intelli- 
gent direction,  condemns  eight  plucky 
young  men  to  a  heart-breaking  stroke  and 
a  four  mile  futile  effort  that  is  more  than 
likely  to  leave  its  mark  on  one  or  another 
of  that  valiant  crew.  If  this  is  to  be  taken 
as  a  sample  of  the  Navy's  capacity  to  diag- 
nose situations  then  America's  only  naval 
need  is  not  battleships. 


judgment,  unbeatable  at  four  miles  on  the 
Hudson,  as  well  as  on  either  the  English  or 
the  American  Thames. 


In  a 

Class 

Alone 


There  was  one  brilliant  exception 
to  the  rule  this  year — Rice,  the 
G)lumbia  professional  coach.  Ap- 
parently he  had  studied  the  Cor- 
nell stroke  with  intelligence,  and 
without  the  prejudice  which  in 
rowing  spells  ignorance;  and  he  had  the 
sense  to  profit  by  the  blunders  of  his  pred- 
ecessors. As  a  result  he  has  in  a  single 
season  lifted  Columbia  rowing  out  of  the 
slough  of  despond  into  which  it  had  all  but 
disappeared.  If  Harvard  gave  Mr.  Leh- 
mann  a  degree  for  turning  out  a  crew  that 
nearly  ruined  itself  by  a  stroke  impossible 
under  the  existing  conditions,  what  should 
Columbia  do  for  Rice? 

The  Columbia  stroke  this  year  was  the 
nearest  to  Cornell's  of  any  seen  in  any  year, 
and  next  year  no  doubt  it  will  be  nearer  by 
becoming  a  little  less  vicious  at  the  catch 
and  therefore  a  little  more  uniform  through- 
out. Therein  lies  the  winning  quality  of 
the  Cornell  stroke,  its  uniformity  which 
makes  for  the  economical  use  of  the  crew's 
energy,  and  its  easy  recovery  that  permits 
the  boat  to  keep  moving  between  strokes 
and  gives  the  oarsmen  an  instant's  respite. 
There  is  no  vicious  smack  at  the  water  on 
the  catch,  no  terrific  lug  at  the  end  of  the 
stroke;  neither  is  there  any  hang;  the  oar 
goes  into  the  water  cleanly  without  a 
second's  hesitation  and  is  taken  out  with 
no  commotion,  but  from  the  time  it  enters 
to  the  time  it  comes  out  it  is  rowing.  Cor- 
nell is  in  a  class  by  itself  in  the  matter  of 
stroke,  and  the  quicker  the  other  college 
coaches  recognize  that  fact  the  more  as- 
sured will  be  their  present  engagements. 
Yale  is  closely  approaching  Cornell  form, 
and  Columbia  made  an  advance  this  season 
which  nearly  overtook  the  not-quite-up-to- 
average  eight  from  Ithaca;  but  a  Cornell 
crew  of  the  first  class  continues,  in  my 


The  Hand 
writing  on 
the  Wall 


Yale's  defeat  of  Harvard  at 
New  London  was  a  triumph 
of  just  that  same  progressive 
and  intelligent  spirit  which 
answered  for  the  rise  of  Co- 
lumbia on  the  Hudson;  the 
stroke  at  New  Haven  has  been  draw- 
ing nearer  to  the  Cornell  pattern,  espec- 
ially in  the  important  element  of  recovery: 
and  recovery  was  more  largely  than  any 
other  part  of  the  stroke  responsible  for 
Yale's  victory.  It  was  a  notable  achieve- 
ment for  Yale  to  make  substantially  a  new 
crew,  and  with  it  beat  a  veteran  eight  that 
had  placed  the  crimson  above  the  blue  the 
year  before.  And  such  an  eight  too,  with 
such  a  captain!  Their  superiors  have 
never  been  seen  on  American  waters.  With 
their  stroke  smoothed  out,  victory  and  a 
new  record  must  have  resulted.  Yet  all 
season  they  have  been  committing  the 
same  error  of  recovering  hard  and  rushing 
their  slides,  and  the  hindrance  to  the  pace 
of  the  boat  caused  by  these  errors  they  have 
sought  to  overcome  by  increased  number 
of  strokes.  Rowing  about  three  strokes 
more  to  the  average  minute  than  Cornell, 
Harvard  was  beaten  almost  a  length  in 
two  miles;  averaging  from  two  to  three 
strokes  the  minute  more  than  Yale,  Har- 
vard lost  by  three  seconds  over  four  miles; 
rowing  a  lower  stroke  than  Columbia,  Har- 
vard was  beaten  half  a  length  in  one  mile 
and  seven-eighths.  With  such  magnificent 
material  in  the  boat  and  on  the  substitute 
list,  that  showing  can  have  but  one  mean- 
ing— and  if  it  is  not  apparent  at  Cambridge 
then  sympathy  is  undeserved. 

It  was  the  most  exciting  race  the  Thames 
has  yet  witnessed;  both  crews  passed  the 
one  mile,  the  two  and  a  half,  the  three,  and 
the  three  and  a  half  mile  flags  together, 
with  the  lead  alternating  no  less  than  six 
times  and  the  winner  always  a  matter  of 
speculation  until  Yile  began  to  pull  away 
almost  in  the  last  furlong. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  retirement 
(illness)  of  her  number  six,  two  days  before 
the  race,  was  an  irreparable  loss  to  Harvard ; 
that  may  be  true,  and  if  it  is  Yale  shares 
the  loss  with  her  rival;  but  I  doubt  if  the 
change  made  any  material  difference  in  the 

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boat's  speed,  for  the  substitute  pulled  one 
of  the  best  oars  in  the  shell  and  finished 
strong,  stronger  than  some  of  the  regulars, 
who  acted  as  if  they  had  been  given  too 
much  work. 

It  wasn't  the  change  in  the  personnel  of 
the  crew  that  affected  Harvard's  chances 
— there  was  material  enough  to  make  two 
'varsity  eights — it  was  the  extravagant 
waste  of  great  natural  power  through  a 
disregard  of  the  cardinal  virtues  that  make 
the  stroke  of  Cornell's  successive  crews 
so  pre-eminently  the  leading  ones  here  in 
America. 


Time 
and  Tide 
Wait  on 
No  Crew 


An  effort  has  been  made,  I 
note,  to  compare  the  times 
made  on  the  Hudson  and  on 
the  Thames  for  the  purpose  of 
rating  the  crews,  but  nothing 
dependable  can  be  gained  by 
that  process,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  the  differing  conditions  of  the 
two  rivers  are  too  considerable.  We  do 
know  for  a  certainty  that  the  Hudson  cur- 
rent is  much  the  faster;  how  much  the 
faster  is  the  question  we  should  like  to  see 
answered,  but  it  must  be  a  great  deal  to 
permit  Pennsylvania's  poor  crew  to  do  four 
lengths  worse  than  the  Navy's  20  min. 
1 3^  sec.  (which  took  third  place)  as  com- 
pared with  Yale's  time  of  21  min.  10  sec. 
There  really  is  no  trustworthy  comparison 
possible;  the  only  line  to  have  been  given 
(and  that  only  suggestive)  was  in  1897, 
when  Cornell  beat  Yale  and  Harvard  in 
20  min.  34  sec.,  all  three  crews  being  below 
the  average,  the  Harvard  and  Yale  eights 
in  fact  being  much  below  in  class  those  that 
represented  these  two  universities  this  year; 
of  Cornell  of  that  year  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  in  the  race  with  Harvard  and  Yale, 
and  subsequently  with  Columbia  and 
Pennsylvania,  both  of  which  she  captured, 
the  winning  times  were  the  poorest  that 
have  ever  been  made  over  the  Poughkeep- 
sie  course.  This  year  Cornell  won  in  20 
min.  2f  sec.,  Columbia  following  so  close 
as  20.04;  there  were  only  three  seconds 
between  Yale  and  Harvard!  And  on  both 
rivers  victory  came  to  the  crew  that 
earned  it  through  superior  skill  and  econ- 
omy of  strength. 

Certainly,  in  the  present  circumstances 
of  the  sport,  no  satisfactory  comparisons 
can  be  made. 


College  baseball  has  not  shown 

-.  -,  in   1Q06  the  advance  in  skill 

Mediocre  ^t.     1     j        ^u   ^ 

-,  among  the  leaders  that  row- 

B^  ^han  *"^  exhibited;  indeed  the  so- 
called  leaders  have  failed  to 
reveal  as  much  advance,  com- 
paratively speaking,  as  the  smaller  lights  in 
the  collie  firmament.  This  was  particu- 
larly noticeable  in  base  running  and  in  bat- 
ting; college  players  seem  in  fact  to  make 
no  advance  at  all  in  batting,  and  are  about 
where  they  were  half  a  dozen  years  ago, 
despite  employment  of  professional  coaches. 
The  truth  is  that  I  cannot  see  any  appreci- 
able improvement  in  any  department  of 
the  game  since  the  faculties  prostrated 
themselves  before  a  professional  guide  in 
response  to  the  "we-must-win"  sophism. 
This  year  individuals  were  about  average, 
but  the  teams  played  in  streaks,  and  some 
of  the  streaks  were  very  bad  indeed;  and 
none  of  them  was  good  enough  or  suffi- 
ciently sustained  to  give  character  to  the 
nine.  Taking  their  work  from  first  to  last 
Princeton  was  the  strongest  team  on  the 
college  diamond,  and  it  is  very  close  be- 
tween Cornell  and  Harvard  for  second, 
with  the  latter  winning  out,  however; 
Yale  next  and  Pennsylvania  fifth;  others 
deserving  mention  being  Pennsylvania 
State,  Navy,  Army,  Wesley  an,  Williams, 
Lafayette,  Lehigh,  Columbia,  Georgetown, 
Virginia,  Dartmouth.  Some  devotees  of 
the  game  say  that  Cornell  should  be  given 
second  if  not  first  honor,  pointing  to  com- 
parative scores  with  outside  teams,  but 
these  enthusiasts  fail  to  take  into  con- 
sideration the  different  time  of  the  season 
the  games  selected  for  comparison  were 
played.  It  is  a  pity  Princeton  and  Cor- 
nell did  not  meet,  as  each  had  strength  in 
the  same  departments  and  the  resulting 
contest  would  have  been  most  interesting. 
Princeton  won  two  straight  from  both 
Harvard  and  Yale;  Harvard  won  two  out 
of  three  from  Yale;  Cornell  beat  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  won  one  and  lost  one  to  Har- 
vard. 

Stupid  errors  in  judgment  and  some 
juggling  were  largely  responsible  for  Yale's 
loss  of  the  deciding  Harvard  game.  Error- 
making  was  general,  Pennsylvania  being 
the  most  frequent  offender  of  those  rated 
here. 

The  only  western  comparison  was  supH 
plied  by  Williams,  which  beat  both  Michi- 


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gan  and  Chicago,  while  Alabama  which 
came  north  heralded  as  the  best  of  its 
section,  was  successively  defeated. 

Of  individual  pitchers,  Heyniger  (Prince- 
ton) and  Deshon  (Cornell)  especially  dis- 
tinguished themselves,  with  Hartford 
(Harvard)  honorably  mentioned.  "Tad" 
Jones  of  Yale  made  the  best  catcher,  and 
Vaugh  (Princeton)  Dana  and  Briggs  (Har- 
vard) and  Kinney  (Yale)  are  entitled  to  a 
word  for  the  manner  in  which  they  filled 
their  respective  positions. 


of  Brown  or  its  nine  in  the  eyes  of  the 
college  and  amateur  world. 


The  Taint 
That  Won't 
Come  Off 


I  have  not  ranked  Brown 
here,  because  Brown  last 
year  surrendered  to  the 
professional  element;  that 
being  the  manner  in  which 
its  faculty  shifted  from 
under  its  responsibility.  1  have  had  a 
number  of  letters  asking  for  an  especial 
ranking  as  between  Princeton  and  Brown, 
and  therefore  say  that  if  1  ranked  Brown 
it  would  be  after  Cornell;  there  is  not 
much  of  a  line  for  comparison,  but  there 
is  enough  in  my  opinion  to  so  decide 
despite  the  further  fact  that  Brown  had  a 
veteran  nine,  half  of  whom  had  enjoyed 
the  extra  practice  of  playing  on  summer 
resort  teams  for  board  and  lodging,  and 
a  shorter  and  easier  schedule  than  any  of 
the  leading  teams. 

That  the  faculty  of  Brown  has  relaxed 
its  laws  so  as  to  indorse  semi-professional- 
ism does  not  alter  the  fact  that  upholding 
this  type  of  athlete  is  violating  the  spirit, 
and  in  most  instances,  the  letter  of  the 
law  which  governs  amateurs  in  their  play; 
nor  does  it  change  the  unenviable  position 


Pack  up 

Your 

**Grip" 


Americans  never  do  a  thing 
half  way.  One  wonders  what 
figures  may  exist  to  show  the 
growth  of  the  tendency  on  the 
part  of  our  business  men  to  get 
into  the  solitudes  for  a  vaca- 
tion. It  certainly  is  no  small  matter  to  the 
railroads  and  steamboat  lines  or  they  would 
not  go  to  the  trouble  and  expense  of  issuing 
tons  upon  tons  of  attractive  literature,  all 
of  it  well  calculated  to  lure  the  busy  man 
from  his  desk  and  send  him  hurrying  to 
the  rod-and-gun-shop  or  the  camp  out- 
fitter. And  what  will  be  its  effect  upon 
our  composite  national  character?  The 
American  girl  shows  the  effect  of  the  new 
outdoor  life  for  women.  Why  will  not  the 
typical  American  man  of  the  future  bear 
some  mark  of  outdoor  living? 

Coming  down  to  the  practical  side  of  the 
whole  matter,  a  word  of  advice  is  appro- 
priate here.  In  the  rush  from  the  desk  to 
the  camp  we  American  men  of  business 
who  do  nothing  half  way  are  prone  to  over- 
estimate our  powers.  One  cannot  enter 
a  race  without  preliminary  training.  Very 
many  treasured  vacations  are  spoiled 
through  overdoing.  A  man  cannot  spend 
fifty  weeks  bending  over  books,  and  two 
weeks  of  strenuous  physical  exercise,  pack- 
ing heavy  kits  or  reefing  stiff  canvas.  Or 
at  least  he  cannot  do  it  with  that  benefit 
to  his  health  which  he  should  gain  from  a 
vacation. 

To  such  a  man  the  proper  vacation- 
motto  is — Loaf! 


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"EE-O-E"  AND   OTHER   FABLES* 


BY  CHARLES   FINLEY 


JUST  why  such  articles  as  "Beyond  the 
Gap"  are  ever  written  is  more  or  less 
of  a  puzzle  to  the  normal  mind. 

The  readers  of  Outing  for  February  will 
remember  the  story,  no  doubt,  as  it  ap- 
peared in  that  number. 

It  purports  to  be  a  correct  and  faithful 
portrayal  of  the  region  and  people  of 
eastern  Kentucky  embraced  in  Harlan, 
Letcher  and  Perry  counties,  and  to  have 
been  written  by  a  man  who,  as  a  member 
of  a  United  States  Geological  Surveying 
corps,  spent  more  than  a  year  in  that  terri- 
tory. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  story  is  a  gro- 
tesque and  hideous  caricature;  its  author 
was  never  a  member  of  a  United  States 
Geological  Survey  and  was  never  in  eastern 
Kentucky  in  his  life. 

Just  here  is  the  puzzle:  What  motive 
could  have  been  strong  enough  to  prompt 
him  to  write  a  story  stigmatizing  all  tne 
people  of  an  entire  region  as  descendants 
of  convicts,  moonshiners,  feudists,  assas- 
sins— savages,  in  short — and  to  impose  upon 
an  editor's  confidence  in  order  to  publish 
the  atrocious  slander  to  the  world — know- 
ing, too,  as  he  must,  that  he  would  cer- 
tamly  be  contradicted  and  exposed  ?  Was 
it  cupidity  and  because  he  needed  the 
money?  Was  it  avid  Falstaffian  longing 
for  fame?  (It  will  be  noticed  that  the 
author  becomes  a  hero  in  even  the  first 
paragraph  of  his  story  and,  modestly  pleads 
the  "rashness  of  youth"  as  an  excuse  for 
making  "a  foot  traverse  alone  through 
Harlan  and  Perry  counties,  one  of  the  few 
dark  spots  on  the  map  of  the  United 
States.^') 

Or  was  it  a  plain,  old-fashioned  case  of 
chronic  and  incurable  Munchausenitis  ? 

Probably  it  does  not  matter  very  much. 
I  am  inclmed  to  think  that  the  motives 
governing  any  individual  capable  of  writ- 
mg  and  publishing  such  an  atrocious 
slander  as  "Beyond  the  Gap,"  are  not 
worth  speculating  about. 

Men  do  not  write  accurate  and  truthful 
portrayals  of  sections  of  country  and  peo- 
ple from  imagination  and  what  they  have 
read  in  frothy,  pot-boiling  novelettes.' 
These  seem  the  sources  of  information  of 
which  the  author  of  "Beyond  the  Gap" 
availed  himself. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  is  that  dur- 
ing my  whole  life  I  have  never  read  a  story 
that  as  persistently  and  consistently  and 
continually  misstates  and  misrepresents 
verities  as  "Beyond  the  Gap"  does. 


From  beginning  to  end  there  is  not  one 
statement  of  importance  to  the  ensemble 
of  the  story  that  is  true. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  country  is  prob- 
ably "the  roughest  in  the  United  States." 
It  is  not  true  that  "in  some  sections  travel 
by  horseback  is  impossible."  It  is  not 
true  that  "wagon  roads  are  almost  un- 
known," nor  that  "until  the  advent  of  the 
Government  surveying  party  no  one  not 
a  resident  of  the  vicinity  had  been  in  this 
part  of  Kentucky  away  from  the  larger 
towns  in  more  than  twentv  years." 

I  was  bom  and  reared  in  Whitley  County, 
southeastern  Kentucky.  I  lived  there  till 
thirty-five  years  of  age. 

I  have  made  numerous  horseback  trips 
through  Harlan,  Letcher,  Perry,  and  other 
adjoining  counties. 

In  the  autumn  of  1899  I  made  a  stump- 
ing tour  through  this  region  in  a  lignt 
t>uggy.  There  were  wagon  roads  in  plenty, 
penetrating  every  part  of  it,  and  they  were 
good  enough  to  permit  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars  worth  of  merchandise 
being  annually  hauled  into  these  counties 
over  them. 

On  my  way  from  Harlan,  Harlan  County, 
to  Whitesburg,  Letcher  County,  I  stayed 
over  night  at  the  same  house  with  a  drum- 
mer for  a  Knoxville  shoe  house  who, 
with  his  trunks  of  samples,  was  driving 
through  this  territory  on  his  regular  trip. 

Communication  between  the  various 
parts  of  these  counties  by  road,  and  be- 
tween them  and  other  counties  and  the 
outside  world  is  as  good  as  in  any  similar 
district  in  the  United  States,  and  much 
better  than  in  many. 

In  addition  to  this  a  man  can  sit  in 
either  county  seat  and  telephone  to  any 
part  of  either  of  the  counties,  to  Knoxville, 
to  Louisville,  or  wherever  he  chooses. 

Commercial  travelers,  lecturers  before 
County  Teachers'  Institutes,  candidates  for 
state  offices,  timber  buyers,  capitalists 
seeking  investment  in  coal  and  timber 
lands,  judicial  officers,  law  vers  with  cases 
in  the  courts  and  many  others  have  regu- 
larly visited  these  counties,  some  of  them 
for  almost  half  a  century. 

Some  as  fine  farming  lands  as  are  in 
Kentucky  lie  along  the  streams  of  these 
counties,  thousands  of  acres  in  extent, 
cultivated  with  modem  machinery  and 
yielding  bountiful  crops  of  com,  oats,  hay, 
etc. 

The  other  day  I  asked  a  friend  of  mine, 
living  in  this  city  now,  but  who,  as  a  tim- 

♦  In  "Outing  Magazine"  for  February  an  article  appeared  entitled  "Beyond  the  Gap."  which,  at  we  now 
learn,  appears  to  have  done  injustice  to  a  certain  section  of  the  South.  The  Editor  therefore  takes  pleasure  in 
giving  space  to  this  reply  by  Mr.  Finley. 


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ber-buyer  from  1883  to  1889,  traveled  into, 
over,  and  through  the  remotest  parts  of 
these  counties,  what  proportion  of  the  com 
produced  there  was  used  for  making 
** moonshine"  whiskev.  He  said,  "About 
ten  bushels  in  a  miUion."  He  also  said 
that  during  all  these  years  of  traveling  over 
these  counties  he  had  never  seen  a  "moon- 
shine" still. 

Such  a  thing  as  making  meal  by  crush- 
ing the  com  in  a  mortar  with  a  pestle  is 
utterly  unknown  there. 

Since  the  author  of  "Beyond  the  Gap" 
was  never  in  eastern  Kentucky  it  follows 
that  the  incidents  in  which  he  claims  to 
have  figured  or  to  have  observed*  never 
happened  to  him  or  in  his  sight.  Now,  I 
undertake  to  say  they  never  happened  to 
anybody  or  in  anybody's  sight. 

The  Bert  Hensley  story,  the  assassina- 
tion of  Hensley's  boy  by  Scott,  the  subse- 
quent shooting  of  Scott  by  Hensley,  the 
whole  story  from  beeinning  to  end  is  a 
fabrication,  judge  M.  J.  Moss  of  Pine- 
ville,  Kentucky,  Circuit  Judge  of  a  dis- 
trict embracing  Harlan,  Letcher,  and  Perry 
counties  for  nine  and  a  half  years,  ending 
six  months  ago,  unites  with  the  county 
officials  of  Harlan  County  in  saying  that 
no  such  thin^  ever  took  place. 

No  such  dish  as  sauer  kraut,  molasses 
and  rancid  grease  was  ever  heard  of  in 
eastern  Kentucky,  much  less  eaten  as  a 
regular  diet. 

No  such  warning  cry  as  "Ee-o-e"  was 
ever  heard  in  that  region. 

The  implication  in  the  Hensley  story 
that  assassination  is  so  well  recognizea, 
long  established,  and  legitimate  a  practice 
that  a  code  similar  to  the  dueling  code 
has  grown  up  around  it — that  the  assassin 
must  "shoot  fair" — must  "holler  afore  he 
shoots,"  and  must  not  fire  on  his  victim 
"nigher  'n  a  hundred  yards"  is  not  only 
ridiculous  but  atrociously  false. 

Murderers  in  eastern  Kentucky  are  much 
like  and  not  more  numerous  than  mur- 
derers everywhere  else,  including  New 
York — they  give  their  intended  victims  as 
little  warnmg  to  escape  or  notice  to  defend 
themselves  as  possible,  whether  it  is  in  a 
roof  garden  or  on  a  lonely  mountain  road. 

The  people  of  Harlan,  Perry,  and  Letcher 
counties — of  all  eastern  Kentucky  for  that 
matter — come  of  a  stock  than  which  there 
is  no  better.  They  are  almost  unmixed 
Scotch,  Irish,  English,  Anglo-Saxon.  Their 
ancestors  came  to  Virginia  and  the  Caro- 
linas  in  early  days.  The  stories  Boone 
and  John  P.  Finley,  who  preceded  Boone 
into  Kentucky  by  two  years,  carried  back 
to  their  old  homes  of  the  richness  of 
the  region  to  the  west  developed  a  crop 
of  pioneers.  These  either  sold  their  plan- 
tations or  left  them  and,  taking  their 
families,  slaves,  live-stock,  tools,  and  seeds, 
followea  their  leaders  westward.  An  an- 
cestor of  the  writer  left  a  fine  farm  in 
Virginia  which  was  sold  after  his  death 
many  years  later  by  his  executor,  and  cast 


his  fortunes  with  many  others  in  the  new 
land. 

They  moved  into  this  region  before  the 
Teuton  and  the  Latin  and  the  Slav  had 
begun  to  come  to  our  shores.  And  when 
they  did  begin  to  come  the  railroad  lines 
over  which  they  must  reach  the  interior 
ran  north  or  south  of,  but  did  not  pene- 
trate this  region. 

So  I  say  their  blood  stream  is  almost  un- 
mixed. It  is  the  same  stock  which  pro- 
duced Henry  Clay  and  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Senator  Shelby  M.  Cullom  of  Illinois  was 
bom  in  eastern  Kentucky.  United  States 
Chief  Justice  Miller  was  bom  in  eastern 
Kentucky.  Ex  -  Governor  Woodson  of 
Missouri,  ex-Congressman  Green  Adams, 
ex-Speaker  of  Congress  John  White — 
names  that  occur  to  me  as  I  write — were 
born  in  eastern  Kentucky.  Convict  blood 
does  not  flower  nor  fruit  like  this. 

Family  names  that  appear  in  eastern 
Kentucky,  still  survive  in  the  British  Isles, 
are  still  found  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas 
and  appear  elsewhere  in  Kentucky  and 
other  western  states,  showing  whence  the 
family  originally  came,  where  it  first  set- 
tled, and  tnat  while  one  branch  of  it  moved 
to  eastern  Kentucky  another  remained 
beside  the  old  roof  tree  while  yet  another 
migrated  to  another  state  or  section. 

There  is  not  and  never  was,  in  the  his- 
tory of  eastern  Kentucky,  a  practice  to 
permit  the  local  preacher  to  sell  whiskey 
at  the  close  of  services  in  lieu  of  a  salary. 
Harlan,  Letcher,  and  Perry  counties  long 
ago  voted  the  legal  sale  of  whiskey  out  of 
their  boundaries.  Judge  Moss  says:  "I 
served  as  Circuit  Judge  of  this  district  for 
nine  years  and  six  months  .  .  .  and 
in  all  these  years  there  never  was  an  open 
saloon  in  either  Harlan,  Letcher,  or  Perry 
county.  There  are  no  saloons  within 
fifty  miles  of  Cumberland  Gap  in  either  of 
the  states  (Virginia,  Kentucky,  Tennessee), 
except  those  located  in  Middlesboro. 

Mr.  F.  T.  Fields,  postmaster,  at  Whites- 
burg,  Ky.,  says:  "The  people  of  the  moun- 
tains are  not  all  Baptists,  but  there  are  three 
sects  that  have  a  good  representation, 
notably  the  Methodists,  Presbyterians  and 
Baptists.  No  man  in  the  mountains  of 
Kentucky  ever  heard  of  such  a  division  of 
the  Baptist  Church  as  'Feet  Washers,* 
*  Muddy  Heads'  or  'Soup  Eaters.*" 

I  am  just  in  receipt  of  a  letter  from  Rev. 
A.  S.  Betrey,  of  Hazard,  Perry  County, 
Kentucky.  He  says:  "I  have  lived  in 
Perry  County  for  the  last  ten  years.  I 
have,  the  most  of  that  time,  been  pastor  of 
the  First  Baptist  Church  of  Hazard  and 
president  of  the  Hazard  Baptist  Institute. 
In  connection  with  this  work  I  have 
traveled  over  all  parts  of  Perry  County 
and  I  confidently  say  that  the  disgraceful 
battle  over  the  dedication  of  a  church 
between  the  'Muddy  Heads'  and  'Feet 
Washers*  as  described  In  Outing  Maga- 
zine is  an  unqualified  falsehood.  It  never 
did  take  place.      The  fashion  of  allowing 


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the  local  preacher  to  sell  whiskey  at  the 
close  of  services  never  existed  in  this 
country." 

There  has  not  been  a  feud  in  either  of 
these  counties  in  almost  twenty  years. 
Such  a  thing  as  a  man  going  about  carrying 
six  revolvers  was  never  seen  nor  heard  of 
even  in  old  feud  days. 

There  is  riot  a  shooting  gallery  in  either 
of  these  counties — either  at  a  cross-roads 
store  or  elsewhere. 

I  sent  an  offer  of  $1000  to  the  author 
of  "Beyond  the  Gap"  something  like  a 
month  aeo  if  he  would  produce  a  man  from 
eastern  Kentucky  or  anywhere  else  who 
could  perform  such  a  feat  as  he  says  he  saw 
Abe  McCoy  do.  Up  to  date  he  has  not 
claimed  the  money.  I  can  get  an  affidavit 
from  McCoy  that  no  such  thing  ever  oc- 
curred. 

There  is  no  "old  Shachelford  who  lives 
at  the  head  of  Poor  Fork  in  Perry  County." 
Poor  Fork  Creek  heads  in  Letcher  and 
Harlan  counties  and  does  not  touch  Perry 
County  anywhere,  and  no  "old  Shachel- 
ford" nor  any  Shachelford  who  has  "a 
record  of  thirty-eight  killings  to  his  credit" 
lives  anywhere  in  this  region. 

Judge  Moss  says:  "On  inquiring  from 
old  settlers  I  find  there  are  some  Shachel- 
fords  in  this  country,  but  that  they  are 
peaceable,  law-abiding^  citizens."  Judge 
Moss  says  further:  "There  are  two  Lige 
Howards  in  Harlan  County  —  both  repu- 
table citizens  and  law-abiding  men.  Neitner 
of  them  ever  killed  a  man,  much  less 
twenty-nine  men.  .  .  .  There  is  no  creek 
in  this  county  called  *Skin  Quarter.'" 

Again:  "As  to  the  Bill  Hensley  of 
Jesse's  Creek  killing  twenty-four  men, 
there  is  no  Bill  Hensley  living  on  Jesse's 
Creek,  nor  any  other  Bill  Hensley  in  this 
county,  who  ever  killed  twenty-four  men 
or  any  other  number  of  men." 

Again:  "The  reference  to  'Shot'  Steve 
Daniel  and  his  family  is  like  the  other 
articles — it  is  a  falsehood  from  beginning 
to  end.  Mr.  Daniel  and  his  wife  and 
children  are  still  living;  he  never  had  any 
trouble  with  squatters  and  owns  his  own 
property.  He  recently  sold  his  property 
.  .  .  and  is  arranging  to  move  to  Virp^mia. 

Again:  "Upon  careful  investigation  we 
have  never  been  able  to  find  any  such  man 
in  this  country  as  Marcus  Howard."  In 
this  connection  I  will  say  that  James  L. 
Howard — accused  of  having  assassinated 
Senator  Goebel — has  no  brother  named 
Marcus. 

Harlan,  Letcher,  and  Perry  counties  are 
divided  into  from  sixty-five  to  one  hundred 
school  districts.  Each  of  these  districts 
has  its  own  schoolhouse  in  which  a  school 
is  held  during  six  months  of  each  year. 

The  teachers  are  usually  native  to  the 
county  where  they  teach.  Their  qualifi- 
cations are  ascertained  by  examining  them 
upon  a  list  of  questions  prepared  for  the 
entire  state  and  submitted  through  the 
proper  county   authorities  to  the  candi- 


dates for  certificates  of  qualification  in  each 
coimty. 

I  tmdectake  to  say  that  as  high  grade 
certificates  »re  awarded  to  applicants  from 
these  counties  as  from  any  other  in  the 
state.  The  highest  honors  ever  awarded 
by  the  State  College  of  Kentucky  were 
won  by  a  young  man  from  eastern  Ken- 
tucky. 

In  addition  to  the  common  schools  in  the 
country  each  county  seat  has  a  graded 
school. 

Mr.  F.  G.  Begley,  postmaster  at  Hazard, 
Perry  Coimty,  says:  "The  Missionary 
Baptist  Church  has 'one  of  the  best  schools 
in  the  country  at  Hazard.  They  have  just 
completed  a  girls'  dormitory  and  their 
school  building  is  up-to-date. 

"The  Presbyterians  have  a  fine  school 
at  Buckhom  in  this  coimty  known  as 
Witherspoon  College.  The  principal  of  the 
Baptist  Institute  at  Hazard  is  a  Perry 
County  boy." 

Mr.  Fields  whom  I  have  before  quoted, 
says :  "The  story  of  the  wholesale  massacre 
of  the  foreign  corporations'  employees 
with  which  the  article  closes  is  indeed  a 
fitting  one  for  the  close,  as  the  climax  of 
his  slanderous  article  is  here  reached.  We 
have  hundreds  of  foreign  corporations 
owning  lands,  timber,  mineral  and  other 
resources  in  this  country  and  not  one  of 
them  will  say  it  was  ever  mistreated  in 
any  respect  or  that  any  of  its  employees 
we're." 

And  so  I  might  go  on  at  length.  I 
might  mention  and  denounce  the  silly 
story  of  Britt  Howard's  tracking  the  author 
of  "Beyond  the  Gap"  as  Australian  bush- 
men  or  our  own  Indians  are  supposed  to  do, 
or  the  equally  silly  story  of  hanging  a  sock 
or  other  garment  over  tne  door  when  going 
away  as  a  token  of  the  time  of  return,  or 
the  moonshine  still  in  a  cave  under  Cum- 
berland Gap,  or  a  score  of  other  state- 
ments, equally  silly  or  outrageous. 

But  what  IS  the  use?  I  can  save  time 
and  space  by  saying  that  in  the  whole  story 
there  are  but  two  statements  that  ap- 
proach the  truth,  and  both  of  them  are 
greatly  exaggerated.  One  is  that  "the 
largest  virgin  deposit  of  coal  in  America 
lies  in  Harlan,  Perry,  and, Fletcher  coun- 
ties, Kentucky";  the  other  that  "the 
best  shots  in  the  world  are  the  Kentucky 
mountaineers."  There  is  no  "Fletcher 
County  in  Kentucky  but  Harlan.  Letcher, 
and  Ferry  counties  are  marvelously  rich 
in  coal,  timber,  and  other  matenal  re- 
sources. 

The  mountain  men  are  good  shots,  but 
they  are  never  "trick"  shots  such  as  "Be- 
yond the  Gap"  pictures  Abe  McCoy.  They 
are  good  shots  because  pure  water,  plenti- 
ful, wholesome  and  nutritious  food,  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air  and  abstinence  from 
those  excesses  which  have  enervated  other 
parts  of  the  race  have  preserved  in  them 
the  robust  health,  the  eagle  eye,  the  strong 
arm  and  the  steady  nerve  which  made  the 


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English  bowmen  the  force  they  were — that 
later  made  the  British  soldiers  and  sailors 
synonyms  for  courage,  endurance,  and 
strength,  and  still  later  made  Kings  Moun- 
tain and  New  Orleans  bloody  memories  to 
our  mother  land. 

But  this  skill  was  not  acquired  at  a 
shooting  gallery  nor  for  a  sinister  purpose. 
These  people  nave,  as  their  forbears  had, 
the  Anglo-Saxon  instinct  for  the  imple- 
ments of  the  world-old  games — the  chase 
and  war. 

Among  the  three  regiments  of  the  Ken- 
tucky State  Guard  the  gold  medal  for 
marksmanship  over  the  rine  range  is  held 
by  a  member  from  Whitesburg,  Letcher 
County.  He  shoots  for  just  the  same 
reason  his  ancestor  twanged  a  bow-string 
— because  it's  an  instinct  in  his  race  and 
blood,  and  not  to  qualify  himself  as  a  '*  bad 
man,"  nor  to  employ  his  skill  in  feud. 

That  there  are  lawless  men  in  Harlan, 
Letcher,  and  Perry  cotmties  is  tmdeniable. 


They  are  everywhere.  But  that  there 
are  more  there  in  proportion  than  elsewhere 
I  do  deny.  The  people  of  these  counties 
are  divided,  just  as  people  are  divided 
everywhere,  into  good,  bad,  and  indifferent. 
And  there,  just  as  everywhere  else,  the 
good  are  in  the  majority,  incredible  as  that 
seems  after  reading  "Beyond  the  Gap." 
The  great  majority  of  them  are  quiet,  hon- 
est, industrious,  peaceable  and  law-abid- 
ing citizens  who  pay  their  taxes,  till  their 
farms,  go  to  church  Sundays,  and  rear  their 
families  in  the  fear  of  God  and  to  believe 
that  it  is  just  as  despicable  to  print  a  slan- 
der of  a  neighbor  as  it  is  to  speak  one. 

They  may  be  poor  as  measured  by  the 
standards  of  piled-up  wealth  elsewhere, 
but  they  always  have  enough  to  divide 
with  the  wayfarer  who  travels  their  way, 
and  that  too  without  compensation  or 
price,  and  they  have  that  wnich  millions 
cannot  buy— content.  All  they  ask  is  to 
be  let  alone. 


CROSS-COUNTRY    RIDING 
IN   AMERICA 

BY  FRANCIS  M.  WARE 


CROSS-COUNTRY  riding  in  America  is 
very  much  more  simple  in  method 
and  conditions  than  is  the  same  sport  in 
any  other  country  where  it  is  in  favor,  for 
the  reason  that  not  only  is  the  variety  of 
fences  likely  to  be  encountered  ver)r  lim- 
ited, but  tnat  they  are  the  same  in  all 
sections;  and  also  tor  the  reason  that  the 
fences  themselves  are  neither  disguised 
by  foliage  which  hides  their  true  propor- 
tions from  the  anxious  gaze  of  an  approach- 
ing horse  and  rider,  nor  as  a  rule  are  there 
ditches  of  any  width  dug  upon  either  side 
of  them.  Custom,  convenience,  and  agri- 
cultural necessities  prevent  any  con- 
siderable amount  of  hunting  at  any  time 
but  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  and  the  violets 
so  offensive  to  the  nose  of  that  ancient 
huntsman  offer  but  a  slight  obstacle  to  the 
olfactories  of  the  hounds  which  pursue 
the  elusive  and  copiously-applied  anise 
seed  trail. 

For  all  practical  purposes  rails,  gates, 
and  stone  walls  comprise  the  fences  found 
in  any  American  country.  An  occa- 
sional brook,  ditch  or  gripe,  of  fair  width 
is  met  with,  but  our  wonderfully  versatile 
native  horse  seems  to  make  no  special  to-do 
over  them,  and  either  jumps  them  clear  or 
goes  "in  and  out"  of  them  the  first  time 
they  cross  his  path  with  utmost  cheerful- 
ness. In  fact  there  has  never  seemed 
to  be  about  American  water  the  lurking 


horror  that  it  possesses  for  man  and  beast 
in  England  and  other  countries,  and  auite 
a  bit  of  a  brook  will  be  "larked  over"  by  a 
young  horse  as  gayly  as  any  other  obstacle 
ne  meets.  True  it  is  that  perhaps  ignor- 
ance is  bliss,  and  that  as  tne  cynic  says, 
"He  who  knows  nothing  fears  nothing," 
but  be  that  as  it  may  results  speak  for  them- 
selves, whether  the  result  of  ignorance  be- 
tween the  girths,  or  rashness  in  the  saddle. 
What  there  is  about  a  possible  wetting,  or 
a  roll  over  beyond  a  clear  brook  one  never 
could  see;  for  no  fall  can  be  safer,  iust  as 
no  fall  is  less  likely  to  happen,  and  of  all 
obstacles  a  ditch  or  brook  of  any  width 
is  the  least  formidable  obstruction  one  is 
likely  to  meet  in  crossing  a  country.  Of 
course  pace  of  fair  quantity  is  necessary  to 
get  over  if  the  width  is  over  five  or  six  feet, 
but  even  if  it  is  twice  that  or  more  there  is 
never  any  call  for  the  express  rate  at  which 
most  people  charge  it,  and  which  always 
seems  an  evidence  that  they  act  in  despe- 
ration and  as  if  fearful  not  only  that  their 
mount  may  change  his  mind  and  refuse  it, 
but  that  the  same  lamentable  result  may 
occur  in  the  case  of  the  plier  of  steel  and 
whipcord.  A  moderate  pace  and  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  collection,  the  one 
continued,  up  to  the  last  few  strides,  the 
other  to  the  very  brink  always  bring  the 
best  results;  the  horse's  hind  legs  well 
under  him,  and  he  in  balance,  not  widely 


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extended  and  going  on  his  shoulders  as  so 
many  hunters  are  allowed  to  do,  a  style 
whicn  brings  on  more  refusals  than  any 
other.  To  "hit  him  and  hold  him"  as 
they  say  in  coaching — to  urge  by  the  pres- 
sure of  the  legs,  yet  restrain  and  lighten  the 
forehand  by  the  eflfect  of  the  bits,  increas- 
ing the  speed  to  a  rate  commensurate  with 
the  widtn  to  be  covered,  yet  never  beyond 
that  where  this  collection  cannot  be  con- 
tinued not  only  brings  you  clear  over,  but 
gives  the  horse  ample  time  to  look  well  at 
what  is  before  him,  to  see  his  take-off  and 
his  landing,  yet  through  his  collected  atti- 
tude between  legs  and  heels  making  it  most 
difficult  for  him  to  refuse.  This  is  very 
different  from  the  usual  style  of  going  flying 
at  the  brook,  head  loose,  and  under  full 
pressure;  but  you  will  see  many  refusals 
m  the  latter  style  and  but  few  in  the 
former,  however  many  times  he  may  jump 
short,  or  even  keep  straight  on  and  slide 
in  without  jumping  at  all.  Horses  need 
rousing  at  water  of  course,  but  there  are 
several  ways  of  accomplishing  that  end, 
and  the  cjuiet  and  resolute  always  works 
out  best  in  the  end. 

One  should  be  very  sure  to  give  plenty 
of  room  at  water  not  only  to  any  one  in 
front,  but  to  those  on  either  side,  and  if 
one  is  riding  a  young  horse,  and  for  edu- 
cational purposes  tollows  another,  he 
should  be  very  careful  to  select  a  very  bold 
and  flippant  fencer  and  a  very  resolute 
rider,  for  the  sight  of  a  refusal  or  a  pull  up, 
or  turn  away  will  affect  a  youngster  for 
life  and  give  him  an  idea  that  should  never 
find  lodgment  in  his  one-idead  mind — that 
all  horses  do  not,  and  therefore  he  need  not, 
invariably  do  their  very  best  without  hesi- 
tation to  clear  any  obstacle  at  which  they 
are  put;  an  idea  which  mav  become  a 
fixture  with  him,  and  which  ne  may  pro- 
ceed to  utilize  himself  at  any  moment  when 
he  decides  that  a  jump  looks  forbidding  or 
that  he  feels  a  trifle  tired  or  loath  to  take 
exertion. 

With  posts  and  rails  or  walls  there  are 
two  styles  of  leaping  employed — the  flying 
in  which  the  horse  "stands  away"  at  his 
fence  and  jumps  in  his  stride,  and  the 
deliberate  in  wnich  the  animal  goes  close 
under  them,  makes  a  marked  pause  as  he 
rises  and  measures  his  effort,  landing  close 
to  the  obstacle  upon  the  other  side.  Both 
styles  have  enthusiastic  supporters,  neither 
of  whom  will  acknowledge  much  good  in 
the  style  of  the  other,  but  like  all  other 
things  a  combination  of  both,  or  a  change 
from  one  to  the  other  is  wisest  and  most 
useful. 

There  is  no  reason  why  a  wealthy  idler 
should  not  do  as  he  likes  with  his  limbs  and 
neck,  but  most  of  us  Americans  who  go 
hunting  are  men  with  work  to  do,  and  we 
are  simply  fools  if  we  do  not  safeguard 
ourselves  m  every  reasonable  way  to  insure 
that  the  incidents  resulting  from  the  pur- 
suit of  our  pleasures  interferes  in  no  w^y 
temporarily  or  permaneatly  with  the  pur- 


suit of  our  business  interests.  Horses  will 
fall  and  men  must  get  broken  bones  if 
thev  ride  or  himt  much,  but  a  temperate 
style  of  crossing  a  country  will  do  more  to 
prevent  this  end  than  any  other  precaution 
which  one  can  take.  There  is  a  theory 
that  the  flying  leaper  throws  his  rider  clear 
of  him  if  he  falls  more  usually  than  his 
more  temperate  brother,  but  observation 
hardly  indorses  this.  True  he  throws  him 
away  generally,  but  he  keep)s  on  rolling 
after  him  half  the  time,  and  not  infre- 
Quently  crumples  him  up.  Beside  which 
tne  best  of  the  rapid  goers,  no  matter  how 
fast  they  come  flying  down  to  a  fence, 
prop  themselves  at  the  moment  of  jimiping, 
and  after  all  perform  the  feat  like  the  de- 
liberate horse;  the  only  difference  in  the 
act  being  that  the  bold  leaper  cannot  or 
will  not  stop  if  discretion  directs.  If  then 
the  actual  clearing  of  the  obstacle  is  p)er- 
formed  in  the  same  fashion  in  both  styles 
of  jumping,  there  appears  no  es|>ecial  value 
in  the  flying  style  save  and  except  in  the 
case  where  there  is  a  gripe  or  ditch  upon 
the  take-off  side  which  makes  the  animal 
stand  away  a  little  as  he  rises.  In  such 
cases  more  speed  is  of  course  advisable,  but 
even  here  the  deliberate  horse  may  be 
hurried  to  the  proper  degree  to  get  the 
extra  imp)etus,  and  still  the  flying  style 
has  no  advantage. 

Furthermore  the  flying  jumper  takes  a 
lot  more  out  of  himself  by  his  flippant  style, 
and  puts  a  vast  amount  of  useless  effort 
into  every  jump,  charging  a  three-foot  rail 
as  though  it  were  five  ^et  high  and  twenty 
feet  wide,  while  the  other  horse  just  **  lobs  ' 
over  it  with  hardly  an  effort.  Surely  in  a 
long  nm  this  must  tell,  and  it  is  believed 
that  we  have  fancied  the  flying  style  in 
America  chiefly  for  the  reason  that  most  of 
our  hunting  is  done  behind  draghounds 
which  are  not  at  work  for  more  than-  an 
hour  at  the  outside,  and  then  go  a  very  fair 
to  fast  pace,  so  that  not  only  does  not  the 
flying  lea|>er  become  exhausted,  but  his 
style  has  not  the  objections  which  would 
show  themselves  were  the  quarry  a  real 
fox  whose  scent  would  almost  surely  be 
very  cold,  and  over  which  hounds  would 
potter  along  at  a  pace  w^hich  would  make 
the  flying  jumper  mad  with  impatience. 
Beside  this  we  imagine  that  the  fast  style 
is  "correct"  and  must  be  English;  whereas 
in  England  a  line  of  our  country  would 
stop  two-thirds  of  any  hard -riding  field 
from  the  mere  fact  that  in  their  usually 
moderate  countries  where  hedges,  ditches, 
banks,  and  brooks  are  the  usual  fences,  a 
few  rails  afford  an  insurmountable  obstacle 
to  horses  and  riders  who  have  never  en- 
countered them  in  their  usual  outings,  and 
to  whom  therefore  they  are  as  a  thing 
unclean  and  wholly  to  be  shunned.  The 
deliberate  horse  has  no  place  in  such  coun- 
try tmless  the  banks  and.  hedges  may  be 
jumped  "on  and  off"  or  crept  througn,  or 
in  a  place  like  Cheshire  where  the  waDs  are 
plenty.    Nothing  more  dissimilar  than  our 


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Cross-Country  Riding  in  America 


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country  to  the  "flying  shires"  can  be  im- 
agined, and  it  demands  a  style  in  crossing 
it  which  shall  meet  its  peculiarities,  and  be 
slavishly  imitative  of  none. 

Your  deliberate  performer  rarely  pulls; 
he  generally  has  a  spare  leg  to  use  in  saving 
his  neck ;  he  can  be  stopped  or  turned ;  he 
can  measure  his  jump  and  clear  height 
much  better  in  his  style ;  he  does  not  bang 
his  knees  about,  and  cut  up  his  shins  at 
the  stone  walls ;  at  gates  or  rails  he  is  much 
more  sure ;  and  on  the  rare  occasions  when 
he  may  have  to  go  through  or  over  water — 
sometning  the  dragman  rarely  tackles,  as  he 
will  have  to  wade  it  if  he  does,  and  where 
he  can  wade  your  horse  easily  can  follow — 
he  gets  over  as  well  as  most,  for  the  reason 
that  he  need  not  extend  his  usual  gallop 
much  to  work  up  the  impetus  necessary. 

There  are  lots  of  occasions  when  you  see 
hounds  swinging  in  your  favor  or  note  that 
they  are  about  to  check,  where  also  you 
may  at  once  pull  such  a  horse  up;  jog 
across  a  field  or  two,  and  even  jump  a  few 
fences  out  of  a  trot — than  which  there  is  no 
safer  way  to  negotiate  any  wall,  gate,  or 
rails.  Altogether,  the  flying  leaper  has 
small  place  in  our  native  huntmg. 

The  modern  hunting  seat  has  a  surpris- 
ing and  alarming  tendency  to  forwardness 
of  attitude.  You  see  men  apparently 
about  to  kiss  their  horses'  foreheads  when 
rising  to  a  fence,  and  absolutely  clear  of  the 
sadcfle  from  the  knees  up,  and  you  wit- 
ness their  miraculous  landing  in  the  same 
position.  What  on  earth  keeps  them  on 
if  a  horse  pecks  or  stumbles  is  always  a 
mystery,  although  that  they  do  remain  on 
deck  we  have  daily  and  plentiful  evidence. 
What  is  gained  by  the  grotesque  position 
would  trouble  them  to  explain.  The 
modem  English  school  rides  long  in  the 
stirrup;  the  thigh  nearly  straight,  or  very 
slightly  bent  at  the  knee ;  the  weight  placed 
in  the  middle  of  the  saddle.  What  the 
gain  can  be  in  suddenly  shifting  this  load 
forward  still  further  is  not  clear,  especially 
as  they  seem  to  go  no  further  or  better  or 
more  easily  to  their  mounts  than  do  those 
who  ride  shorter  and  either  sit  erect  as 
would  seem  logical,  or  lean  far  back  at  ris- 
ing and  landing  in  the  old-school  style. 
Certainly  the  English  do  not  thus  perch 
on  their  horses'  ears,  nor  do  the  horsemen 
of  any  other  country  in  the  world — the 
English,  on  the  contrary,  as  all  their  count- 
less instantaneous  huntmg  and  steeplechas- 
ing  pictures  show,  sitting  very,  very  far 
back  at  even  the  smallest  fences,  their 
feet  far  outstretched  beyond  the  horses' 
shoulders — a  departure  as  far  to  the  other 
extreme  as  is  our  absurd  adaptation  of 
that  of  the  vivacious  Mr.  Sloane,  the  ex- 
jockey.  A  very  slight  stumble,  or  a  quite 
ordinary  bungle  of  some  fence  will  serve 
to  throw  off  or  nearly  unseat  many  of  these 
very  "forward"  riders. 

Our  average  country  is  becoming  so 
cramped  with  wire  fences,  valuable  crops, 
and  the  encroachments  of  the  suburban 


resident  that  what  we  above  all  need,  to  be 
comfortable  out  hunting,  is  a  handy  placid 
mount  which  will  turn  anywhere,  stop  any- 
how, and  go  any  moderate  pace,  and  thus 
mounted,  any  one  will  see  more  fun  than  all 
the  "thrusters  and  busters"  who  go  hurt- 
ling over  the  county  on  wild-eyed,  head- 
strong gee-gees  which  are  neither  to  be 
turned  or  stopped  in  anything  smaller  than 
a  ten-acre  field.  We  are  a  nation  of  busi- 
ness men  with  livings  to  earn,  and  families 
to  keep,  and  it  is  "not  good  enough"  if  we 
must  take  too  many  foolish  risks  in  a  sport 
which  provides,  at  best,  plenty  of  chances 
for  physical  damage.  Hence  the  craze  for 
a  fast  pace  and  a  big  country  which,  for 
a  time,  signalized  hunting  in  America,  was 
but  an  evanescent  feature,  and  that  mas- 
ter was  most  durably  popular  who  paid 
due  attention  to  the  wishes  (even  though 
not  voiced)  of  his  field,  and  gave  them  the 
comfortable  gallops  over  the  moderate  line 
which  all  could  enjoy.  Such  pastimes 
should  not  be  too  sudaenly  and  violently 
graded  up  to  the  ability  of  the  ex|>ert,  but 
kept  within  the  powers  of  the  average  per- 
former, who  may  develop  later  talents 
which  at  first  he  cioes  not  possess,  and  who 
will  abandon  the  pursuit  if  he  finds  himself 
either  a  butt  for  the  jokesmiths  or  too 
frequently  a  subject  for  arnica  and  hot 
fomentations.  Hunting  can  never  be  in 
America  much  more  than  the  means  to  the 
end  of  a  good  gallop,  and  the  drag  fur- 
nishes a  far  more  acceptable  medium  for 
this  purpose  than  the  wild  fox,  who,  if  a 
gray,  gives  almost  as  much  sport  as  a  rab- 
bit ;  if  a  red,  must  be  found  far  away  from 
home,  as  a  rule,  to  get  a  decent  run. 

In  one  feature  of  hunting  we  are  espe- 
cially fortunate,  and  that  is  in  the  clear- 
ness and  plain  outline  of  our  fences  and  the 
ground  approaching  them — matters  which, 
of  course,  in  a  drag-run  may  be  attended 
to  by  the  dragman  in  the  open  and  fair 
line  ne  lays  out.  Therefore  the  novice  has 
little  to  do  but  remain  on  the  quarter-deck 
of  his  conveyance  and  see  all  plain  before 
him — be  it  ever  so  forbidding  in  aspect,  at 
least  undisguised  by  "hairy  hedge  or  grew- 
some  gripe,"  while  the  pace  will  never,  or 
very  rarely,  exceed  that  of  a  comfortable 
gallop.  Thus  conducted  hunting  may  be 
a  sp>ort  for  old  and  young,  male  and  female, 
for  the  bold  and  determined  as  for  the 
weak  and  vacillating;  each  class  reaching 
its  average  of  amusement  at  the  minimum 
of  personal  risk ;  but  if  the  game  becomes  a 
furious  steeplechase  over  the  biggest  and 
stifTest  fences  to  be  found  or  built,  after  a 
pack  which  "tin-cans"  across  country  like 
a  troupe  of  gliding  shadows,  then  the  mas- 
ter, whips,  and  two  or  three  light-weight 
fanatics  will  have  the  sport  (?)  very  ex- 
clusively to  themselves,  and  the  country- 
side, once  they  become  tired  of  paying  large 
assessments  for  silly  expenses,  will  leave 
the  outfit  to  pursue  its  frenzied  course  to 
the  inevitable  smash  which  im|)ends  over 
all  such  non-sporting  ventures. 


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HOW   TO    PACK   A   HORSE 


BY  STEWART   EDWARD   WHITE 


HORSE    PACKS 

ALMOST  anyone  can  put  together  a  com- 
paratively well  made  back  pack,  and 
very  slight  practice  will  enable  a  beginner 
to  load  a  canoe.  But  the  packing  of  a 
horse  or  mule  is  another  matter.  The 
burden  must  be  properly  weighted,  properly 
balanced,  properly  adjusted,  and  properly 
tied  on.  That  means  practice,  and  con- 
siderable knowledge. 

To  the  average  wilderness  traveler  the 
passession  of  a  pack  saddle  and  canvas 
kyacks  simplifies  the  problem  considerably. 
It  you  were  to  engage  in  packing  as  a  busi- 
ness, wherein  probably  you  would  be  called 
on  to  handle  packages  of  all  shapes  and 
sizes,  however,  you  would  be  compelled  to 
discard  your  kyacks  in  favor  of  a  sling 
made  of  ropes.  And  a^ain  it  might  very 
well  happen  that  some  time  or  another  you 
might  be  called  on  to  transf>ort  your  plun- 
der without  appliances,  on  an  animal  caught 
up  from  the  pasture.  For  this  reason  you 
must  further  know  how  to  hitch  a  pack  to 
a  naked  horse. 

In  this  brief  resum^  of  possibilities  you 
can  see  it  is  necessary  that  you  know  at 
least  three  methods  of  throwing  a  lash 
rope — a  hitch  to  hold  your  top  pack  and 
kyacks,  a  sling  to  support  your  ooxes  on 
the  aparejos,  and  a  hitch  for  the  naked 
horse.  But  in  addition  it  will  be  desirable 
to  understand  other  hitches  adapted  to 
different  exigencies  of  bulky  top  packs, 
knobby  kyacks  and  the  like.  One  hitch 
might  hold  these  all  well  enough;  but  the 
especial  hitch  is  better. 

PACK    MODELS 

The  detailment  of  processes  by  diagram 
must  necessariljr  be  rather  dull  reading. 
It  can  be  made  interesting  by  an  attempt 
to  follow  out  in  actual  practice  the  hitches 
described.  For  this  purpose  you  do  not 
need  a  full-size  outfit.  A  pair  of  towels 
folded  compactly,  tied  together,  and 
thrown  one  each  side  over  a  bit  of  stove- 
wood  to  represent  the  horse,  makes  a  good 
pack,  while  a  string  with  a  bent  nail  for 
cinch  hook  will  do  as  lash  rope.  With 
these  you  can  follow  out  each  detail. 

SADDLING   THE    HORSE 

First  of  all  you  must  be  very  careful  to 
get  your  saddle  blankets  on  smooth  and 
without  wrinkles.  Hoist  the  saddle  into 
place,  then  lift  it  slightly  and  loosen  the 


blanket  along  the  leneth  of  the  backbone, 
so  that  the  weight  of  tne  pack  will  not  bind 
the  blanket  tight  across  the  horse's  back. 
In  cinching  up,  be  sure  you  know  your 
animal;  some  puff  themselves  out  so  that 
in  five  minutes  the  cinch  will  hang  loose. 
Fasten  your  latigo  or  cinch  straps  to  the 
lower  ring.  Thus  you  can  get  at  it  even 
when  the  pack  is  in  place. 

PACKING   THE    KYACKS 

Distribute  the  weight  carefully  between 
the  kyacks.  **Heft"  them  again  and 
a^ain.  The  least  preponderance  on  one 
side  will  cause  a  saddle  to  sag  in  that 
direction;  that  in  turn  will  bring  pressure 
to  bear  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  withers, 
and  that  will  surely  chafe  to  a  sore.  Then 
you  are  in  trouble. 

When  you  are  quite  sure  the  kyacks 
weigh  alike,  get  your  companion  to  hang 
one  on  the  pack  saddle,  at  the  same  time 
you  hook  the  straps  of  the  other.  If  you 
try  to  do  it  yourself,  you  must  leave  one 
hanging  while  you  pick  up  the  other,  thus 
running  a  gooa  risk  of  twisting  the  saddle. 

TOP    PACKS 

Your  top  pack  you  will  build  as  the 
occasion  demands.  In  general,  try  to 
make  it  as  lo^  as  possible,  and  to  get 
your  blankets  on  top  where  the  pack  rope 
bites."  The  strap  connecting  the  kyacks 
is  then  buckled.  Over  all  you  will  throw 
the  canvas  tarpaulin  that  you  use  to  sleep 
on.  Tuck  it  in  back  and  front  to  exclude 
dust.     It  is  now  ready  for  the  pack  rope. 

THE   JAM   HITCH 

I.  The  jam  hitch.  All  hitches  ]X)ssess 
one  thing  in  common — the  rope  passes 
around  tne  horse  and  through  the  cinch 
hook.  The  first  pull  is  to  tighten  that 
cinch.  Afterward  other  maneuvers  are  at- 
tempted. Now,  ordinarily  the  packer  pulls 
tight  his  cinch,  and  tlien  in  throwing 
further  the  hitch  he  depends  on  holding  his 
slack.  It  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  do. 
With  the  jam  hitch,  however,  the  necessity 
is  obviated.  The  beauty  of  it  is  that  the 
rope  renders  freely  one  way — the  way  you 
are  pulling — but  will  not  give  a  hair  the 
other — the  direction  of  loosening.  So  you 
may  heave  up  the  cinch  as  tightly  as  you 
please,  then  drop  the  rope  and  go  on  about 
your  packing  perfectly  sure  that  nothing 
is  going  to  slip  back  on  you. 


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How  to  Pack  a  Horse 


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The  rope  passes 
once  arouna  the 
shank  of  the  hook, 
and  then  through 
the  jaw  (see  dia- 
gram). Be  sure  to 
get  it  around  the 
shank  and  not  the 
curve.  SimpUcity 
itself;  and  yet  I 
have  seen  verv  few 
packers  who  know 
of  it. 

THE    DIAMOND 
HITCH 

2.  The  diamond  ^ 
hitch.  I  suppose 
the  diamond  m  one 
form  or  another  is 
more  used  than 
any  other.  Its 
merit  is  its  adapta- 
bility to  different 
shapes  and  sizes 
of  package — in 
fact,  it  is  the  only 
hitch  good  for 
aparejo  packing  —  its  great  flattening 
power,  and  the  fact  that  it  rivets  the  pack 
to  the  horse's  sides.  If  you  are  to  learn 
but  one  hitch,  this  will*  be  the  best  for 
you;  although  certain  others,  as  I  shall 
explain  under  their  proper  captions,  are 
better  adapted  to  certain  circumstances. 

The  diamond  hitch  is  also  much  dis- 
cussed. I  have  heard  more  arguments  over 
it  than  over  the  Japanese  war  or  original 
sin. 

"That  thing  a  diamond  hitch!"  shrieks 
a  son  of  the  foothills  to  a  son  of  the  alkali; 
"Go  to!  Looks  more  like  a  game  of  cat's 
cradle.  Now  this  is  the  real  way  to  throw 
a  diamond." 

Certain   pacifically   inclined   individuals 


The  jam  hitch. 


have  attempted  to  quell  the  trouble  by 
diflerentiation  of  nomenclature.  Thus  one 
can  throw  a  number  of  diamond  hitches, 
provided  one  is  catholically  minded,  such 
as  the  "Colorado  diamond,"  the  "Arizona 
diamond,"  and  others.  The  attempt  at 
peace  has  failed. 

"Oh,  ves."  says  the  son  of  the  alkali,  as 
he  watches  the  attempts  of  the  son  of  the 
foothills,  "that's  the  Colorado  diamond," 
as  one  would  say,  "that  is  a  paste  jewel." 

The  joke  of  it  is  that  the  results  are  about 
the  same.  Most  of  the  variation  consists 
in  the  manner  of  throwing.  It  h  as  though 
the  discussion  were  whether  the  trigger 
should  be  pulled  with  the  fore,  middle,  or 
both  fingers.  After  all,  the  bullet  would 
go  anyway. 

I  descnbe  here  the  single  diamond,  as 
thrown  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas;  and  the 
double  diamond,  as  used  by  government 
freight  flackers  in  many  parts  of  the 
Rockies.  The  former  is  a  handy  one-man 
hitch.  The  latter  can  be  used  by  one  man, 
but  is  easier  with  two. 


THE    SINGLE    DIAMOND 

Throw  the  pack  cinch  (a)  over  the  top 
of  the  pack,  retaining  the  loose  end  of  the 
rope.  If  your  horse  is  bad,  reach  under 
him  with  a  stick  to  draw  the  cinch  within 
reach  of  your  hand  until  you  hold  it  and 
the  loose  end  both  on  the  same  side  of  the 
animal.  Hook  it  through  the  hook  (II-o) 
and  bring  up  along  the  pack.  Thnut 
the  bight  (Ill-a)  of  the  loose  rope  under 
the  rope  (6);  then  back  over,  and  again 
under,  to  form  a  loop.  The  points  (c-c)  at 
which  the  loose  rope  goes  around  the 
pack  rope  can  be  made  wide  apart  or 
close  together  according  to  the  size  of  the 
diamond  required  (V).  With  a  soft  top- 
pack  requiring  flattening,  the  diamond 
should  be  large;  with  heavy  side  pack  it 
should  be  smaller. 


IV 


SiriRlc  diamnnd  hitch. 


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Now  go  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
animal.  Pass  the  loose  end  (Ill-d),  back, 
under  the  alforjas,  forward  and  through 
the  loop  from  below  as  shown  by  the 
arrows  of  direction  in  Fig.  IV. 

You  are  now  ready  to  begin  tightening. 
First  pull  your  cinch  tight  by  means  of 
what  was  the  loose  end  (b)  in  Fig.  II. 
Place  one  foot  against  the  animal  and 
fteave,  good  and  plenty.  Take  up  the  slack 
by  running  over  both  ends  ot  the  loop 
{c-c,  Fig.  III).  When  you  have  done  this, 
go  around  the  other  side.  There  take  up 
the  slack  on  6-6,  Fig.  IV.  With  all  there 
is  in  you  pull  the  loose  end  (c,  Fig.  IV)  in 
the  direction  of  the  horse's  body,  toward 


his  head.  Brace  your  foot  against  the 
kyacks.  It  will  sag  the  whole  hitch  toward 
the  front  of  the  pack,  but  don't  mind  that; 
the  defect  will  be  remedied  in  a  moment. 

Next,  still  holding  the  slack  (Fig.  V), 
carry  the  loose  end  around  the  bottom  of 
the  alforjas  and  under  the  original  main 
pack  rope  (c).  Now  pull  again  along  the 
direction  of  the  horse's  body,  but  this  time 
toward  his  tail.     The  strain  will  bend  the 

Eack  rope  (c),  heretofore  straight  across 
ack  to  form  the  diamond.  It  will  like- 
wise drag  back  to  its  original  position 
amidships  in  the  pack  the  entire  hitch, 
which  you  will  remember,  was  drawn  too 
far  forward  by  your  previous  pull  toward 


Double  diamond  hitch  (see  next  i)a«c). 


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the  horse's  head.  Thus  the  last  pull 
tightens  the  entire  pack,  clamps  it  down, 
secures  it  immovablv,  which  is  the  main 
recommendation  and  beautiful  feature  of 
the  diamond  hitch. 

THE    DOUBLE    DIAMOND 

The  double  diamond  is  a  much  more 
complicated  affair.  Begin  by  throwing 
the  cinch  imder,  not  over  the  horse.  Let 
it  lie  there.  Lay  the  end  of  the  rope  (a) 
lengthwise  of  the  horse  across  one  side  of 
the  top  of  the  pack  (Fig.  I).  Experience 
will  teach  you  just  how  big  to  leave  loop 
(6).     Throw  loop   (6)   over  top  of    pack 


(Fig.  II).  Reverse  loop  (a,  Fig.  II)  by 
turning  it  from  left  to  right  (Fig.  III). 
Pass  loop  (a)  around  front  and  back  of 
kyack,  and  end  of  rope  {d)  over  rope  c,  and 
under  rope  d.  Pass  around  the  horse  and 
hook  the  cinch  hook  in  loop  {e).  This 
forms  another  loop  (a,  Fig.  4),  which  must 
be  extended  to  the  proper  size  and  passed 
around  the  kyack  on  the  other  side  (Fig. 
5).  Now  tighten  the  cinch,  pull  up  the 
slack,  giving  strong  heaves  where  the  hitch 
pulls  forward  or  back  along  the  left  of  the 
horse,  ending  with  a  last  tightener  at  the 
end  (6,  Fig.  5).  The  end  is  then  carried 
back  under  the  kyack  and  fastened,  and 
the  hitch  is  complete  as  shown  in  Fig.  6. 


FEEDING    DOGS   WITH    THE 
LEAST   TROUBLE 

BY  JOSEPH  A.  GRAHAM 


EXCEPT  toys,  everv  breed  of  dogs  pre- 
sents a  perplexity  in  the  food  re- 
quired for  health.  Not  in  the  theorv  of 
feeding,  for  we  all  know  what  is  best,  if  we 
could  provide  the  best  at  a  convenient  out- 
lay ot  trouble  and  money.  The  bother 
comes  to  the  amateur  who  must  think  of 
the  going  out  of  dollars  and  who  has  not 
a  sp^ecial  kennel  and  a  professional  kennel- 
man. 

In  most  things  American  the  stumbling 
block  is  labor.  The  cost  and  difficulty  of 
producing  dogs  and  maintaining  a  dog 
tancy  foUow  the  common  American  ex- 
perience. It  is  hard  to  get  skilled  labor, 
even  if  you  have  the  money,  and  ruinous 
to  do  business  unless  you  reduce  labor  cost 
to  the  minimum. 

Thus  it  comes  that  at  intervals  the  rules 
for  feeding  dogs  must  be  rewritten  to  meet 
the  progress  of  labor-saving  invention. 

In  theory  the  very  best  feed  for  weanling 
puppies  is  milk  and  raw  eggs.  It  is  said 
that  the  eggs  supply  to  cow's  milk  exactly 
the  constituents  required  for  a  substitute 
when  the  dog  mother's  supply  gives  out. 
As  the  weeks  pass  vou  can  gradually  intro- 
duce bread,  dog  biscuit  and  meat.  For 
adult  dogs  at  hard  work,  you  are  not  likely 
to  give  too  much  meat.  The  difficulty  will 
rather  be  to  get  enough.  Raw  scraps  from 
the  butcher  are  acceptable,  when  you  have 
no  facilities  for  cooking.  All  the  manu- 
factured dog  biscuit  are  good,  com  meal  as 
well  as  the  rest,  but  hardly  have  enough 
substance  and,  in  my  judgment,  lack  some 
quality  of  digestive  availability.  It  is  my 
settled  belief,  deduced  from  careful  obser- 
vation, that  no  dog  food  is  quite  good  as 
a  digestible  material  unless  it  contains 
enough  meat  at  least  for  a  distinct  flavor. 


The  explanation  is  probably  not  adequate 
in  dietetic  science,  but  it  has  often  seemed 
to  me  that  there  had  to  be  a  keenness  of 
appetite  and  a  gratification  of  taste  to  set 
the  digestive  processes  at  work  so  that  the 
food  would  be  fully  utilized.  I  have  often 
seen  dogs  thrive  on  com  or  wheat  bread, 
simply  flavored  with  a  little  thin  soup  or 
kitcnen  grease,  when  they  would  weaken 
on  the  bread  alone. 

One  of  the  modem  labor-saving  devices 
is  the  cracklings  or  dried  refuse  irom  the 
packing  houses.  A  noted  handler  has 
recently  published  a  severe  condemnation 
of  this  food.  He  says  that  it  is  offal,  has 
no  nutriment,  and  tends  to  make  bad  blood. 
I  think  that  he  is  mistaken,  and  that  he 
has  not  used  the  material  wisely.  This 
stuff  should  not  be  fed  exclusively  or  in 
large  quantities.  Chip  off  a  pound,  boil 
until  it  is  soft  and  mix  the  resulting  soup 
and  softened  cracklings  with  bread  or  bis- 
cuit, for  six  or  seven  dogs  of  collie  or 
p>ointer  size.  The  dogs  will  find  it  app)e- 
tizing  and  will  do  better  than  if  fed  on  the 
bread  alone.  A  dog  is  a  natural  eater  of 
scraps  and  offal. 

This  handler,  Mr.  Askins,  advances 
several  other  criticisms  and  one  good  sug- 
gestion. He  condemns  the  waste  from  the 
breakfast  food  factories,  and  other  prepared 
dog  foods.  He  is  mistaken  again  there. 
For  purposes  of  digestion  and  nutrition 
these  substances  should  be  flavored  or 
mixed  with  meat,  but  they  are  excellent 
foods,  especially  in  summer,  and  for  idle 
dogs  at  any  time.  It  is  important  to  know 
this  fact,  because  they  are  ready  to  use 
and  save  the  labor  of  preparing  food.  In 
fact,  to  reduce  inconvenience  to  a  mini- 
mum, you  can  do  very  well  with  your  dogs 


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by  using  the  baker's  bread,  com  bread  or 
whatever  other  cereal  you  can  get  most 
easily;  pouring  boiling  water  over  crack- 
lings (chopped  up)  or  whatever  meat  sub- 
stance comes  handy,  and  mixing  the  two. 
It  is  well  to  remember  the  old  story  that 
the  stomach  requires  "filling"  as  well  as 
nutriment.  If  the  bread  or  cereal  is  not 
rich  in  protein  it  helps  out  wonderfully  all 
the  same. 

Mr.  Askins*  good  suggestion  is  that  dog 
men  should  invent  some  way  of  using  beans 
and  peas.  Six  or  seven  years  ago  I  advo- 
cated that  food.  In  a  droughty  summer 
and  autumn  the  farmer  who  had  some  of 
my  dogs  found  himself  without  corn  and 
without  money  but  with  an  abundance  of 
cowpeas.  He  presented  the  case  to  me 
and  I  told  him  to  use  the  peas,  with  care 
as  to  thorough  cooking.  For  two  months 
he  fed  almost  nothing  else.  The  dogs 
never  thrived  better.  Peas  and  beans  are 
theoretically  rich  in  protein,  but  they  must 
be  boiled  long  to  be  assimilable.  .  My 
friend,  the  farmer,  boiled  a  bit  of  pork  with 
his  supply,  and  the  dogs  ate  eagerly.  I 
should  not  ask  a  better  regimen  for  any 
kind  of  dogs  than  this:  One  day  beans 
boiled  with  pork,  one  day  dry  corn  bread 
or  manufactured  dog  biscuit,  one  day 
meat,  either  raw  or  cooked;  then  back  to 
the  beans. 

But  all  this  calls  for  trouble  and  special 
effort.  What  is  the  minimum  for  the 
amateur  who  has  something  on  his  hands 
beside  dogs  ?  He  will  usually  have  a  servant 
to  help  if  he  keeps  his  dogs  at  home,  or 
somebodv  whose  business  it  is  to  feed  if  he 
boards  tnem  out.  The  chances  are  that 
the  servant  or  other  person  is  good-natured 
enough  about  it,  but  will  not  have  much 
zeal  in  the  occupation ;  will  throw  out  food 
every  day  if  it  calls  for  nothing  more, 
but  will  not  carry  out  detailed  instruc- 
tions. The  best  resort  is  the  manufac- 
turer or  the  cannery.  Canned  beef  or  even 
salmon  will  do  as  the  meat  ingredient,  and 
a  very  little  will  do  for  each  dog.  Waste 
breakfast  food,  baker's  bread  or  dog  bis- 
cuit will  furnish  the  rest.  If  your  nearest 
butcher  will  supply  some  of  his  refuse  lean 
meat,  chopped  up  with  the  cleaver,  it  will 
be  an  improvement  twice  a  week.  Let  him 
throw  in  a  few  big  bones  to  be  gnawed.  In 
this  way  cooking  can  be  avoided  altogether. 
The  dog  which  gets  sick  will  nearly  always 
eat  raw  eggs  stirred  up  with  broken  bread. 

It  is  odd  that  all  the  books  have  a  hard 
word  for  com  bread,  while  all  the  country 
owners  use  nothing  else.  And  the  country 
dogs  are  strong  and  healthy.  I  have  no 
doubt  at  all  that  com  bread  is  all  right, 
after  the  dog  stomach  gets  used  to  it.  A 
man  who  fancies  bird  dogs  or  hounds  must 
have  them  kept  in  the  country,  unless  he 
has  his  own  kennel  or  country  place.  He 
can  be  quite  contented  if  they  are  fed  on 
com  bread. 

How  often  should  a  dog  be  fed?  Theo- 
retically, a  small  feed  twice  a  day  is  better 


than  a  big  one  once  a  day.  In  practice 
once  a  day  will  turn  out  better.  With  the 
inattentive  service  you  are  most  likely  to 
get,  the  once-a-day  will  be  the  only  regular 
feeding  you  can  rely  upon,  and  regularity 
is  important.  In  the  working  season  for 
bird  dogs  and  hounds,  you  like  to  begin 
earlv  in  the  morning  at  your  sport.  A  dog 
works  better  on  an  empty  stomach.  It  is 
his  nature  to  get  along  best  with  digestion 
not  too  frequent.  Let  him  be  fed  well  at 
night.  For  other  dogs,  which  seldom 
work  hard  enough  for  exercise,  much  less 
for  fatigue,  the  one-time  method  is  plenty. 

No  other  animal,  perhaps,  is  as  "no- 
tional" about  eating  as  a  sporting  dog.  It 
is  common  to  see  a  hound  or  setter  refuse 
to  eat  for  two  or  three  days  after  he  reaches 
a  new  home.  You  need  not  be  anxious,  un- 
less he  is  evidently  sick.  Let  him  alone, 
doji't  leave  food  lying  around,  and  he  will 
be  himself  shortly.  In  kennels  where 
there  are  a  number  of  dogs  it  is  always  the 
case  that  some  eat  ravenously  and  some 
hold  off,  picking  indifferently  at  the  food. 
It  is  best  for  each  dog  to  be  fed  separately 
in  all  kennels  where  two  or  more  are  kept. 
But  there,  again,  is  the  amateur's  question 
of  time  and  trouble.  At  least  he  must 
charge  himself  with  seeing  that  one  dog 
does  not  gorge  while  another  starves.  The 
easiest  plan,  perhaps,  is  to  hold  out  part 
of  the  food  imtil  the  greedv  ones  get  tneir 
allowance,  send  them  back  to  the  kennel 
and  supply  the  slow  feeders  at  their  leisure. 

Individuality  in  dogs  must  be  considered 
when  using  meat.  The  cranky  ones  will 
often  refuse  other  food  if  they  get  meat 
separately.  This  is  the  more  to  be  expected 
if  the  meat  is  fed  raw.  Raw  meat  is  so  dis- 
tinctly the  natural  food  of  the  dog  kind 
that  an  appetite  once  indulged  will  not  be 
altogether  contented  with  other  supplies. 
The  habit  often  causes  anxiety  because  it 
may  be  that,  for  reasons  of  health  to  the 
dog  or  convenience  to  the  owner,  feeding 
raw  scraps  is  advisable.  Nobody  likes  to 
see  a  dumb  animal  apparently  starving, 
but  sometimes  the  voluntary  starving  may 
do  as  much  good  as  harm.  Gradually  the 
dog  will  learn  to  take  his  rations  of  biscuit 
or  com  bread;  but  you  will  now  and  then 
see  one  which  will  wait  two  days  for  his 
meat,  while  bread  lies  in  front  of  him.  All 
this  can  be  obviated  by  serving  the  meat 
daily  in  a  stew,  mixed  with  cereal  or  bread, 
instead  of  on  separate  days.  At  times  it 
works  well  to  leave  out  the  meat  entirely 
and  compel  the  dog  to  adjust  himself  to 
bread.  Compassion  need  not  be  excited 
when  a  canine  misses  a  meal  or  two.  He 
is  not  to  be  judged  by  mankind's  habits. 
Abstinence  is  rather  in  his  line. 

A  principle  is  that  when  at  daily  hard 
work  in  the  field,  and  the  feed  comes  once 
a  day,  a  dog  can  hardly  eat  too  much; 
when  doing  nothing  in  a  kennel,  certainly 
in  summer,  he  cannot  eat  too  little  volun- 
tarily. 

Sloppy,  soupy  stews  and  mashes  should 


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not  be  fed  continuously.  They  weaken 
digestion.  Meat  or  hard  biscuit  force  a 
little  wholesome  chewing  and  help  to  give 
proper  exercise  to  the  digestion.  Undoubt- 
edly any  animal  gets  more  nutrition  from 
food  if  the  d^estive  process  requires  some 
reasonable  laoor  from  the  stomach  and  in- 
testines. 

Water  admits  no  carelessness.  It  should 
be  always  arotmd,  always  clean,  and  always 
fresh. 

A  recent  authority  says  that  the  cau- 
tion against  bones  for  dogs  is  unnecessary. 
A  dog's  stomach,  he  tells  us,  soon  takes 
off  the  sharp  edges.  In  a  way  he  is  right; 
but  it  is  tne  occasional  bone  that  goes 
wrong. 

As  a  summary  for  the  amateur  who  keeps 
a  few  dogs  but  does  not  care  to  devote 
much  time  to  their  management,  it  is  a 
working  principle  to  let  the  caretaker  do 
what  is  easiest  and  surest  for  him,  with  a 


sprinkle  of  necessary  ready-made  amend- 
ments supplied  by  the  owner.  Keep  on 
hand  a  bag  of  dog  biscuit  or  waste  cereal. 
Try  to  have  the  butcher  send  around  rough 
meat  and  bones,  as  he  accumulates  a  stock. 
A  few  cans  of  the  cheapest  packed  meat  or 
salmon  won't  cost  much.  Without  an- 
noying thought  or  expense,  nowadays,  the 
dogs  can  be  well  enough  fed  by  an >r body. 
All  the  old  customs  of  much  cooking  of 
*•  stirabout"  and  other  mushes  can  be 
safely  discarded.  At  a  pinch  you  can 
defy  the  authorities  altogether  and  rub 
along  with  com  bread  and  "middling" 
meat.  One  caution:  In  changing  sud- 
denly from  a  bread  to  a  meat  diet,  or  vice 
versa,  a  dog  will  often  go  badly  off  in  nose 
or  otherwise  be  affected.  It  you  must 
make  sudden  changes,  give  the  dog  time 
to  get  accustomed.  Either  diet  is  prob- 
ably right  enough  and  only  needs  digestive 
adjustment. 


SEA   TROUT   FISHING   IN 
CANADIAN   WATERS 

BY  ARTHUR  P.  SILVER 


WHEN  the  successful  angler  surveys  a 
four-  or  five-pound  sea  trout  dripH 
ping  fresh  from  the  tidal  waters  of  some 
Canadian  river,  as  he  notes  the  fine  pro- 
portions and  pure  colors  of  the  fish,  the 
graceful  form  of  the  round  broad  back 
curving  to  the  small  well-shaped  head,  the 
flashing  lights  thrown  back  from  the  bril- 
liant silvery  sides,  the  opal  tints  of  the 
lower  parts  of  the  body,  and  the  delicate 
carmine  of  the  stiffening  fins,  he  finds  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  the  sea  trout  is  not 
entitled  to  a  name  of  its  own  for  all  the 
protestations  of  the  naturalists  that  it  is 
nothing  more  or  less  than  the  ordinary 
river  trout,  otherwise  Sal^linus  fontincUis, 
which  has  "suffered  a  sea  change  into 
something  rare  and  strange,"  by  a  habit 
that  has  gradually  been  acquired  of  run- 
ning to  the  ocean,  where  the  bountiful  diet 
of  the  sea  has  brought  about  a  remark- 
able development  in  size  and  beauty. 
Anatomically  considered  there  can  be  no 
structural  difference  whatsoever  discovered 
between  the  two,  sharply  contrasted  as  they 
are  to  all  outward  appearance. 

The  naturalist  has  also  settled  it  that 
there  is  no  specific  difference  between  the 
gamy  ouananiche  (pronounced  wonaneesh 
— a  fish  in  appearance  very  similar  to  the 
well  known  lx>ch  Leven  trout)  which 
haunts  the  inland  Canadian  waters,  and 
the  Atlantic  salmon.     The  opinion  was  for 


a  long  time  held  that  this  interesting  fish 
was  a  "land-locked"  salmon,  by  some 
means  having  formerly  become  imprisoned 
by  natural  barriers  in  remote  upper  waters, 
and  debarred  for  a  long  period  of  time 
from  access  to  the  sea.  Further  investi- 
gation, however,  has  shown  that  the  ouan- 
aniche cannot  possibly  be  considered  a 
land-locked  salmon,  for  wherever  found  it 
can  run  to  sea  if  it  has  the  desire.  Hence 
we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the  re- 
markable conclusion  that  two  varieties  of 
the  finny  tribe  by  which  the  vast  network 
of  Canadian  lakes  and  her  thousands  of 
clear  rapid  rivers  are  tenanted  have  this 
marked  peculiarity  in  common,  that  a  cer- 
tain proportion  ot  individuals  have  devel- 
oped the  habit  of  running  to  the  ocean, 
while  others  of  less  enterprise,  remaining 
all  their  lives  in  the  fresh  water  pools  ana 
rapids,  are  seen  to  be  inferior  in  size  and 
attain  less  magnificent  proportions,  al- 
though it  must  be  admitted  that  in 
strength  and  courage  these  are  in  no  wise 
inferior,  or  in  any  properties  which  go  to 
the  make-up  of  a  noble  game  fish. 

Careless  of  their  classification  on  the 
library  shelf,  however,  early  in  July  shoals 
of  silver-sided  trout  press  in  from  the  sea 
toward  the  mouths  of  all  the  great  rivers 
flowing  over  the  ancient  gneiss  and  granite 
rocks  of  the  interior  of  the  great  Labrador 
peninsula,  rushing  down  the  sides  of  her 


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shaggy  mountains  into  the  cold  Arctic  tide ; 
advancing  also  into  the  myriad  streams 
which  seek  the  channel  of  the  majestic  St. 
Lawrence,  the  noble  rivers  of  New  Bruns- 
wick and  the  short  but  picturescjue  streams 
of  Prince  Edward  Island  and  Nova  Scotia. 
Perhaps  the  best  sea  trout  rivers  of  the 
Dominion  are  two  beautiful  little  streams 
running  into  the  Baj^  of  Chaleur,  the  Nou- 
velle  and  the  Escuminac.  No  satisfactory 
explanation  can  be  given  of  the  remarkable 
fact  that  no  salmon  are  ever  known  to 
ascend  either  of  them.  It  is  impossible 
to  picture  a  more  ideal  specimen  of  a  sea 
trout  river  than  the  Escuminac.  Here 
you  see  a  succession  of  deep  still  pools  over- 
nung  by  steep  shady  banks  with  gentle 
rapids  above  and  long  shelving  tails  where 
the  bi^  fish  love  to  sport  and  feed.  In 
both  nvers  are  found  a  peculiarly  large 
and  fine  breed  of  sea  trout — smart  bold 
rising  fish  which  take  freely  and  play  with 
wonderful  agility.  In  their  general  char- 
acteristics they  approach  the  salmon  more 
nearly  than  any  other  Canadian  sea  trout. 
Thev  choose  the  same  stations  at  the  tails 
of  the  pools,  and  rise  at  the  fly  and  play 
when  hooked  very  like  the  salmon.  The 
water  in  both  tKese  rivers  coming  from 
the  Shick  Shock  Mountains  is  gin-clear, 
so  that  a  pool  fifteen  feet  deep  looks  as  if 
the  bottom  were  merely  glazed  with  a  thin 
sheet  of  plate  glass.  One  can  watch  every 
fish  in  the  pool  and  see  him  leave  his  lair  to 
dash  at  the  fly  like  a  falcon  at  its  quarry. 
Most  fishermen  prefer  not  to  see  their 
game,  notwithstanding  a  weighty  authority 
has  declared, 

"  The  pleasantest  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream." 

It  is  very  exasperating  to  fish  over  a  six-  or 
seven-pound  fish  in  full  view  taking  not  the 
least  heed  of  your  skillful  attempts  at  his 
capture.  I  have  seen  as  many  as  a  dozen 
trout  collected  together  in  the  Escuminac 
behind  a  rock,  and  have  caught  them  all 
one  after  the  other.  After  an  interval  of 
an  hour  or  so  I  have  seen  as  many  more 
come  to  the  same  resting  place  and  all  take 
the  fly  in  turn.  There  is  no  doubt  not  as 
much  amusement  about  this  to  most  anglers 
as  there  is  in  taking  out  of  deep  dark  waters 
a  fish  of  whose  existence  you  were  pre- 
viously totally  imaware;  a  pleasure  which 
Thoreau  considered  somewhat  akin  to 
drawing  the  winning  ticket  in  a  lottery. 

It  may  happen  that  when  angling  for 
sea  trout  one  finds  himself  suddenly  con- 
fronted with  his  big  cousin,  the  salmon, 
as  illustrated  by  the  following  anecdote 
from  the  diary  of  an  old  friend  who,  to 
borrow  Izaak  Walton's  familiar  epitaph, 
was  **a  good  angler  and  now  with  God." 
This  shows  how  the  unexpected  sometimes 
happens  in  sea  trout  fi.shmg. 

Mr.  Baillie,  grand.son  of  the  Old  Fron- 
tier missionary,  was  fishing  the  General's 
Bridge  River  (Annapolis  Co.,  N,  S.)  up- 
stream for  trout,  standing  above  his  knees 
in  water,  with  an  old  negro,  Peter  Prince, 


at  his  elbow.  In  the  very  act  of  casting  a 
trout  fly  he  saw  a  large  salmon  lingering  in 
a  deep  hole  a  few  yards  away  from  his  feet. 
The  sun  favored  him,  throwing  his  shadow 
behind.  To  remain  motionless,  pull  out 
a  spare  hook  and  penknife,  and  with  a 
bit  of  his  old  hat  and  some  of  the  gray  old 
negro's  wool  to  make  a  salmon  By  then 
and  there,  he  and  the  negro  standing  in 
the  nmning  stream,  was  the  work  of  only  a 
few  minutes.  This  fly  must  have  been 
the  original  of  Noms*  famous  killing, 
*' silver  greyt!" 

In  the  early  part  of  the  season  the  sea 
trout,  especially  in  tidal  waters,  prefer 
gaudy  flies  such  as  the  red  hackle  and 
scarlet  ibis,  or  a  bright  claret  body  with 
white  wings.  A  distmction  must  be  made 
in  the  size  and  color  of  flies  for  use  in  the 
rough  rapids,  or  in  dark  pools  covered  as  is 
often  the  case  with  an  inch  or  two  of 
creamy  or  snow-white  flocks  of  foam,  also 
between  those  tied  for  the  dark  water  of 
some  streams  which  have  their  sources 
from  lakes  encumbered  with  beds  of  black 
mud  from  which  shoots  upward  a  rank 
growth  of  water  plants,  and  those  which 
issue  from  clear  mountain  springs.  The 
same  flies  are  not  equally  effective  on  dark 
days  or  when  the  wind  ripples  the  water 
and  when  the  sun  shines  bright  and  clear. 
During  the  fishing  season  there  are  apt  to 
be  far  fewer  cloudy  days  than  bright  ones. 
Frequently  the  sun  rises  and  sets  day 
after  day  in  imclouded  splendor.  There 
are  many  picturesque  trout  pools,  how- 
ever, where  precipitous  cliffs  shade  the 
water  so  as  to  admit  of  a  couple  of  hours 
good  fishing  both  in  the  early  and  late 
hours  of  the  day.  Were  the  sportsman 
comp)elled  to  confine  himself  to  one  fly  for 
both  bright  and  dark  days,  clear  water  or 
turgid,  he  could  not  do  Better  than  select 
the  Parmachene  Belle  which  is  irresistible 
at  almost  all  times  to  a  feeding  trout.  Many 
very  successful  sportsmen  limit  theiV 
range  of  sea  trout  flies  to  bodies  of  claret, 
yellow,  or  orange,  with  wings  of  turkey, 
drake,  teal,  or  woodcock  mingled  with  the 
black  and  white  of  the  jungle  fowl.  The 
very  best  trout  fishing  cannot  be  had  ex- 
cept by  camping  out.  However,  Canadian 
guides  are,  generally  speaking,  expert 
canoemen  and  adepts  in  woodcraft,  and 
one  can  often  hire  good  Indians,  who  are 
agreeable  by  their  wonderful  gift  of  taci- 
turnity to  one  who  wishes  to  do  nothing 
and  tnink  of  nothing  but  fish  and  enjoy 
the  beauties  of  his  usually  romantic  en- 
vironment. 

As  a  canoe  —  whether  of  birch  bark  or 
cedar — is  a  sine  qua  non  in  the  majority 
of  Canadian  rivers,  the  angler  should 
practice  casting  with  a  firmly  balanced 
body  and  hold  his  movements  at  all  times 
well  under  control.  It  is  true  that  the 
little  craft  can  often  be  steadily  held  by 
the  poles  during  the  play  of  a  fish,  but  it  is 
sometimes  necessary  to  nm  free  and  tru.st 
the   skill   of   the   men   in   navigating   the 


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Sea  Trout  Fishing  in  Canadian  Waters 


637 


rapids  while  one  keeps  his  attention 
riveted  on  the  struggling  game  fish.  When- 
ever there  has  been  a  heavy  spate  the  Ca- 
nadian angler  looks  forward  eagerly  to  the 
few  days  during  which  the  water  is  slowly 
subsiding  to  its  normal  average  condition 
as  certam  to  offer  the  best  fishing.  Both 
trout  and  salmon  may  doubtless  have  run 
up  river  during  the  flood,  but  it  requires  the 
dwindling  current  to  settle  them  in  their 
accustomed  pools  and  stations. 

A  favorite  "station"  for  large  trout  in 
a  river  is  an  eddy  behind  some  shelving 
rock  where  flies  and  smaller  fishes  are 
carried  by  the  set  of  the  current.  There 
are  some  such  haunts  never  imoccupied 
when  fish  are  nmning,  for  if  a  trout  is  taken 
out  of  one  of  them  his  place  is  immediately 
supplied  by  another  who  has  deserted  a 
less  desirable  station. 

Should  it  be  near  the  time  of  the  full 
moon,  when  one  run  has  passed  on  its  way, 
there  will  be  no  long  wait  imtil  the  next 
one  arrives,  though  the  fish  will  certainly 
not  average  the  same  size.  There  is  un- 
doubtedly something  about  the  "bright 
regent  of  the  heavens,"  when  in  the  ma- 
jesty of  full  orb  which  determines  the 
flights  of  snipe,  woodcock,  and  other  mi- 
grant birds,  and  which  determines  the  in- 
shore movements  of  anadromous  fish.  In 
the  case  of  the  birds  it  may  be  that  they 
prefer  to  travel  beneath  a  bright  sky.  The 
high  tides  prevailing  at  the  full  of  the 
moon  doubtless  account  for  the  approach 
of  the  fish  to  the  rivers  at  this  time— the 
sand  bars  and  reefs  being  better  covered 
up  and  affording  an  easier  passage  than 
ordinary. 

Whoever  has  had  the  privilege  of  lying 
at  full  length  on  some  mossy  overhanging 
bank  while  watching  a  large  trout  in  his 
lair,  perceives  that  a  true  figure  has  yet  to 
be  drawn  of  him.  Even  photography  can 
give  no  hint  of  the  wavy  circles  from 
the  spotted  dorsal  fin  imciulating  loosely 
athwart  the  broad  back;  of  the  perpetual 
fanning  of  the  pectoral  fins,  of  the  capac- 
ious gills  opening  and  closing,  the  half  open 
roimd  mouth,  the  luminous  brown  eye,  the 
ceaseless  slow  vibration  of  the  powerful 
tail;  nor  can  pen  adequately  describe  the 
startling  suddenness  of  the  dart  at  some 
idle  fly  touching  the  surface,  the  quick 
return  to  the  old  position  and  the  resump- 
tion of  the  poise  with  head  elevated  at  a 
slight  angle,  pectorals  all  tremulous,  and 
floating  watery  circles  emanating  from 
every  slight  motion  of  the  body.  It  is  also 
worth  while  to  watch  a  trout  rush  four  feet 
up  a  perpendicular  fall  of  water,  pause, 
tremble  violently  all  over,  and  in  a  moment 
throw  himself  clear  of  the  stream  and  fall 
into  the  basin  above,  at  an  elevation  of 
about  three  feet  more. 

In  low  water  sea  trout  play  about  near 
the  mouths  of  all  the  rivers,  moving  along 
the  deep  channels  cut  through  the  sand- 


flats  by  the  racing  current  with  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  tide,  awaiting  favorable 
conditions  to  make  their  ascent  in  order 
to  deposit  their  spawn.  Here,  by  taking 
a  boat,  good  sport  may  be  enjoyed. 

It  is  true  there  are  those  who  agree  with 
Scrop>e  when  he  declares,  "The  truth  is  I 
like  no  sea  fishing  whatever,  being  of  opin- 
ion that  it  reqmres  little  skill."  On  the 
other  hand  a  sea  trout  taken  from  the  salt 
water  is  vastly  superior  to  one  that  is 
caught  after  spending  a  couple  of  weeks 
in  the  rivers.  The  change  of  diet,  or  the 
effects  of  the  warmer  fresh  water,  seem  to 
have  a  relaxing  effect  and  speedily  affect 
both  the  appearance  and  flavor  of  the  fish. 

Perhaps  the  most  enjoyable  sea  trout 
fishing  is  to  be  had  in  some  dark  romantic 
pool  tSLT  "up  river"  where  the  fish  will  be 
foimd  at  the  edge  of  lily  pads,  or  some- 
times under  the  broad  leafage  of  the  floating 
water  weeds,  or  hiding  behind  banks  of 
water  fern  or  half  simken  logs.  Such  fish 
are  only  to  be  approached  in  a  light  boat  or 
canoe.  You  must  steal  slowly  and  cir- 
cumspectly up  the  calm  water  ("study- 
ing to  be  quiet"  as  good  old  Izaak  directs), 
showing  no  shadow  imtil  you  have  drawn 
within  reach  of  the  place  where  you  have 
repeatedly  seen  back  fin  and  tail  show  up 
as  a  fly  was  lazily  seized,  or  large  vibrating 
circles  where  his  prey  has  been  struck  at 
with  the  broad  tail.  That  he  is  feeding  is 
evident  from  the  brief  intervals  at  which 
he  keeps  rising.  Now  see  to  it  that  the 
"green  drake"  descends  like  thistle  down. 
There  comes  a  sudden  "boil."  Yes,  you 
have  hooked  him — by  the  quick  tension  of 
the  line  and  the  rod  curved  to  the  butt. 
Give  him  rto  loose  line,  but  hold  him  tight, 
keep  his  head  well  up,  and  guide  him,  if 
you  can,  out  of  the  dangerous  tangle  of  the 
weeds,  away  from  his  lair  where  there  may 
be  another  giant  of  the  river  in  hiding. 
He  plunges  and  fights  with  great  fury,  but 
all  to  no  purpose.  You  slip  the  net  under 
him  and  he  is  yours. 

How  pink  they  are  in  flesh  and  what 
delicious  eating  I  Boiling  is  doubtless  the 
best  mode  of  cooking  the  sea  trout.  How- 
ever in  camp  the  more  expeditious  frying 
pan  is  usually  called  into  service.  Say  that 
the  beech  or  maple  logs  of  the  camp  fire 
have  burnt  low  into  scarlet  glowing  coals — 
burning  without  any  smoke  whatever — 
there  is  your  chance  for  artistic  cooking. 
The  frying  pan  is  laid  on  with  several  slices 
of  the  best  pork  available,  and  when  this 
is  sufficiently  melted  and  the  pan  sputter- 
ing and  crackling  with  the  heat,  then  drop 
in  the  trout  split  and  cleaned  and  lay  the 
thin  brown  slices  of  the  pork  or  bacon  over 
them.  When  the  imderside  is  of  a  bright 
chestnut  hue  then  turn  over  the  bodies 
and  it  will  not  need  the  tingling  air  of 
the  Canadian  forest  to  sharpen  the  appe- 
tite into  an  appreciation  of  the  delicious 
fare. 


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THE  COUNTRY   HOUSE 
INTERIOR 

BY  EBEN  E.  REXFORD 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   WATER-SUPPLY 

COMPARATIVELY  few  country  homes 
have,  as  yet,  a  system  of  water-works 
which  supplies  water  to  all  parts  of  the 
house.  But  we  are  speedily  coming  to 
that.  The  day  isn't  far  off  when  the  pump 
will  no  longer  be  operated  by  hand,  and 
water  will  be  at  our  service  '*up  stairs, 
down  stairs,  and  in  my  lady's  chamber." 
This  is  as  it  should  be,  for  the  nousehold  that 
is  obliged  to  make  many  trips  to  the  pimip 
in  the  yard  daily  wastes  a  good  deal  of 
time  and  labor  that  nught  better  be  ap- 
plied to  other  work.  The  small  gasoline 
engine  is  going  to  solve  the  problem  of 
water-supply  for  the  house  for  us.  It  is 
going  to  do  away  with  the  noisy,  unsightly, 
and  complicatea  wind-mill.  It  can  easily 
be  made  to  pump  from  the  well  or  other 
source  of  water-supply  to  the  attic  of  the 
house,  from  which  it  can  be  distributed 
everywhere  in  pii>es.  Such  a  system  can 
be  put  into  any  house  with  but  very  little 
trouble,  at  any  time,  if  open  plumbing  is 
not  objected  to,  and  nowadays  most  per- 
sons prefer  that  to  the  concealed  system. 
Large  tanks  or  reservoirs  will  not  be  needed, 
for  a  few  minutes'  oi)eration  of  the  engine 
each  day  will  be  sufficient  to  lift  all  the 
water  required  during  twenty-four  hours. 
The  fresher  it  is  the  better.  The  services 
of  a  plumber  will  be  necessary,  of  course,  in 
installing  such  a  system,  but,  this  once 
done,  and  done  well,  there  ought  to  be  very 
little  expense  connected  with  it  thereafter. 
Pipes  leading  to  rooms  in  which  there  is  not 
sufficient  heat,  in  winter,  to  prevent  their 
freezing,  should  *  be  so  arranged  that  the 
water  can  be  shut  off  from  them  by  valves 
near  the  tank.  Should  there  be  any  danger 
of  the  tank's  freezing  in  severely  cold 
weather,  it  can  be  emptied  at  night,  by 
opening  the  valves  of  the  pipes  connected 
with  it,  and  letting  off  the  water  through 
the  pipe  which  carries  it  to  drain  or  outlet. 
The  tank  can  be  refilled  so  easily  and  so 
rapidly  in  the  morning  that  there  need 
be  no  annoyance  because  of  lack  of  water 
for  household  use.  If  "the  man  who  at- 
tends to  things"  starts  the  engine  when 
he  goes  to  the  basement  to  see  to  the  fire, 
there  will  be  plenty  of  water  on  hand  when 
the  people  in  the  kitchen  get  around  to 
rtiake  use  of  it.  The  convenience  of  run- 
ning water  in  each  room  is  never  fully  ap- 
preciated until  one  puts  such  a  system  in 
operation.  Then  he  will  wonder  how  he 
ever  got  along  without  it. 


SMALL    vs.     LARGE    ROOMS SOME    SUGGES- 
TIONS ABOUT  FURNISHING   . 


A  correspondent  writes:  "  We  are  plan- 
ning to  build  a  new  house  this  season.  The 
plan  we  have  about  decided  on  calls  for  a 
parlor  and  living-room.  Neither  can  be 
very  large.  I  have  thought  of  making  a 
change,  and  having  one  large  room  instead 
of  two  ordinary  sized  ones.  Would  you 
advise  this?  How  would  it  do  to  have  an 
archway  of  grille  work  or  spindles  in  the 
center?  What  color  would  you  suggest 
for  the  woodwork,  which  must  be  painted, 
and  for  the  walls?  The  parlor  faces  south. 
The  livine-room  would  not  get  much  direct 
light.  Would  you  advise  mission  furni- 
ture?" 

I  would  advise  one  good-sized  room 
rather  than  two  small  ones.  You  will  find 
it  more  satisfactory  in  every  way.  You 
might  have  an  open-work  arcnway  if 
thought  best,  with  portieres  that  can  be 
drawn  to  give  the  appearance  of  two 
rooms,  as  occasion  may  require.  I  would 
much  prefer  spindles  to  griUe  work.  Spin- 
dle work  is  simpler,  and  has  more  dignity 
about  it,  and  is  more  agreeable  to  the  eye 
than  a  mass  of  intricate  angles  and  designs 
such  as  characterize  most  grille  work. 

As  a  color-scheme  I  would  suggest  ivory 
white  for  woodwork,  and  a  light  sage-green 
for  the  walls,  with  ceiling  a  soft  cream. 
This  ceiling  color  can  be  brought  down  a 
foot  or  eighteen  inches  on  the  sidewalls 
with  fine  effect.  If  old  rose  curtains  are 
used  you  will  have  a  very  pleasing  har- 
mony of  colors.  Have  a  large  rug  rather  than 
a  carpet,  with  olive  ground,  figured  with 
ivory  and  old  rose,  with  a  few  touches  of 
yellow  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  other 
colors.  If  you  conclude  to  have  two 
rooms  connecting  with  a  wide  arch  or  door- 
way, I  would  advise  the  colors  suggested 
above  for  parlor,  and  for  the  living-room 
walls  of  a  very  light  sage  with  an  orange 
tint  in  it.  This  will  give  a  warm,  sunny 
effect  to  the  room,  and  light  up  well,  and 
will  be  found  much  preferable  to  a  color  of 
deeper  tone  for  a  room  that  does  not  get 
much  direct  sunshine.  If  but  one  room 
is  decided  on,  it  can  be  made  very  pleasant 
by  putting  a  fireplace  or  grate  in  the  north 
end,  and  having  a  wide  mullioned  window 
at  the  south.  In  such  a  room  the  north 
end  of  it  can  have  a  rug  with  deeper  tones 
in  it  than  the  one  in  the  south  half.  The 
depth  of  color  will  offset,  to  some  extent, 


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the  lack  of  direct  sunshine,  and  afford  a 
pleasing  variety  in  the  color-scheme. 

I  would  not  advise  mission  furniture. 
This  style  is  all  right  for  some  places,  but 
its  place  is  not  in  the  living-room.  It  has 
the  merit  of  being  substantial,  but  it  is 
clumsy  and  imgraceful  in  its  massiveness. 
It  is  a  fad,  just  now,  but  its  popularity  is 
already  on  the  wane.  There  is  plenty  of 
furniture  in  the  market  that  shows  excel- 
lent taste  in  outline  and  design,  and  this 
will  be  fotmd  more  satisfactory  than  the 
severely  plain,  or  the  over-elaborated,  be- 
cause it  strikes  the  "  happy  medium  "  which 
one  does  not  tire  of  as  he  does  of  either 
extreme.  Don't — oh  don't  I — get  a  "set" 
of  furniture.  Get  the  things  you  need 
without  regard  to  their  being  alixe  in  pat- 
tern. So  long  as  there  is  a  general  har- 
mony between  them,  they  will  be  entirely 
satisfactory,  because  lack  of  sameness  will 
prevent  your  tiring  of  them  as  one  is  sure 
to  of  the  old  regulation  "set,"  which  has 
about  had  its  day.  But  let  whatever  you 
buy  be  genuinely  good  in  material  and 
honestly  made.  That's  wise  econom^y 
always. 

SOME  SUGGESTIONS  ABOUT  PICTURES 

In  buying  engravings  and  etchings  be 
careful  to  see  that  they  do  not  have  a  back- 
ground of  pine  in  which  there  are  knots  or 
pitchy  places.  If  there  are  any  of  these 
they  will  discolor  the  picture  after  a  httle. 
I  had  a  fine  etching  spoiled  in  this  way  last 
year.  I  noticed  that  a  part  of  it  was  turn- 
ing yellow,  and  on  searching  for  the  cause 
I  K)und  that  the  backing  had  several  pitchy 
spots  in  it.  I  took  the  picture  to  a  dealer 
for  renovation,  but  he  failed  to  remove  the 
color.  Therefore  make  sure  that  the  back- 
ing of  the  pictures  you  buy  has  nothing  but 
sound,  clean  wood  in  it. 

Avoid  heavy,  showy  frames  on  pictures 
of  ordinary  size.  The  picture  is  the  main 
thing,  if  it  is  a  good  one,  and  if  it  isn't  good 
you  don't  want  it.  Flat  frames  of  wood  in 
light  colors,  with  a  narrow  inside  molding 
of  gold  are  very  satisfactory  for  most 
water-colors.  So  are  ivory  ana  gold  frames 
if  they  can  have  a  background  of  solid 
color,  like  old  blue,  sage  green,  or  a  mustard 
brown. 

Oil  paintings  look  best  in  frames  whose 
outer  edge  projects  somewhat.  This  seems 
to  detach  the  picture  from  its  surround- 
ings and  focus  the  eye  upon  it  more  effec- 
tively than  a  flat  frame  would.  In  water- 
colors  and  engravings  we  secure  this  effect 
by  surrounding  the  picture  with  a  mat  of 
neutral  color. 

Never  hang  pictures  high  on  the  wall 
and  tilt  them  forward  to  bring  them  on  a 
proper  level  to  fit  the  eye.  Hang  them  on 
a  level  with  the  eye,  and  let  them  incline 
forward  very  slightly,  if  at  all. 

Do  not  arrange  pictures  in  precise  and 
formal  groups.  Hang  them  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  they  will  show  to  the  best  advan- 


tage. Experiment  with  them  until  you 
have  found  the  right  place  for  each  one. 
Many  a  beautiful  picture  is  s|X)iled  by 
careless  hanging.  A  picture  that  seems 
a  failure  in  one  place  may  come  out  charm- 
ingly when  you  hang  it  where  conditions 
are  all  favorable. 

We  neglect  the  comers  of  our  rooms  too 
much.  Fine  effects  can  be  secured  by 
hanging  long  and  narrow  pictures  there. 
Try  this,  and  see  if  I  am  not  right.  Comers 
are  excellent  places  for  upright  flower 
pieces. 

Great  care  must  be  taken  to  hang  pic- 
tures covered  with  glass  in  positions  where 
the  light  will  not  strike  tnem  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  cause  reflections,  as  from  a 
mirror.  All  pictures  under  glass  are  most 
effective  on  walls  which  do  not  face  win- 
dows. 

Never  buy  a  picture  that  doesn't  please 
you  because  a  friend  urges  you  to  do  so. 
You  are  buying  for  yourself,  therefore  let 
your  own  taste  decide  the  matter.  You 
may  not  have  what  is  called  "a  cultivated 
taste,"  but  you  can  tell  when  a  picture 
pleases  you  as  well  as  if  you  had  all  the  cul- 
tivation in  the  world,  and  that's  the  cri- 
terion for  the  purchaser  to  judge  a  picture 
by — does  it  please?  A  picture  need  not 
be  expensive  to  be  good.  Really  fine  ones 
can  be  bought  cheaply.  A  good  picture 
has  as  much  of  a  mission  in  the  family  as  a 
good  book  has.  Books,  pictures,  music 
and  flowers  are  the  four  apostles  of  the 
gospel  of  the  beautiful  in  the  home. 

SOME     HINTS     FOR    THE     PRUIT-CANNER     IN 
THE    HOME 

Before  putting  fruit  in  glass  iars,  wash 
them  in  soap  suds  containing  a  little  soda. 
Then  rinse  well  with  scalding  water,  and 
set  in  the  sun  to  dry. 

If  you  want  the  flavor  of  the  fruit  to 
come  out  well,  do  not  use  an  excess  of  sugar. 

Never  use  poor  fruit  for  canning.  The 
best  is  none  too  good.  Let  it  be  as  fresh  as 
possible,  and  not  over-ripe. 

Handle  it  as  little  as  possible. 

Have  everything  in  readiness  before  you 
begin  operations.  The  woman  who  has 
to  run  to  pantry  or  kitchen  every  time  a 
thing  is  wanted  makes  herself  double  the 
work  that's  necessary. 

Use  the  best  grade  of  sugar.  It  may 
cost  a  little  more  than  the  ordinary,  but  it 
will  make  your  fruit  enough  better  to  pay 
the  difference  in  cost. 

Do  not  stir  your  fruit  when  it  is  cooking. 
If  you  want  to  know  how  it  is  coming  along, 
talce  out  a  piece  of  it  without  disturbing 
the  rest. 

Give  it  a  brisk  boiling.  If  allowed  to 
stand  and  simmer  it  will  not  retain  its 
shape  well. 

When  the  cans  are  ready  for  sealing,  see 
that  the  covers  fit  perfectly.  Never  use 
one  that  does  not  hug  down  tightly  to  the 
shoulder  of  the  jar. 


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^  Never  use  old  rubbers.  They  have  lost 
too  much  of  their  elasticity  to  be  satis- 
factory. 

If  you  are  putting  up  fruit  in  bottles  or 
jugs  which  cannot  be  fitted  with  covers, 
cork  them  well,  and  then  brush  them  over 
with  a  wax  made  as  follows:  Two  ounces 
of  resin,  and  four  otmces  of  beeswax.  Melt 
on  the  back  of  the  stove,  stirring  often  to 
prevent  its  burning.  Put  it  on  the  bottle 
or  jug  while  hot,  and  use  it  liberally. 

ANSWERS   TO   CORRESPONDENTS 

Strawberry  Planting,  (B.  N.) — Straw- 
berries can  be  planted  to  advantage  this 
month  and  next.  If  this  is  done — and  the 
work  is  done  well — the  plants  will  make 
a  vigorous  root-growth  before  the  coming 
of  cold  weather,  and  next  year  ought  to 
give  you  a  good  crop  of  fruit  from  the  bed. 
Make  the  soil  fine  and  rich.  Set  the  plants 
in  rows  at  least  two  feet  apart,  and  eight- 
een inches  apart  in  the  row.  In  settmg, 
spread  the  roots  out  evenly,  and  make  the 
soil  firm  about  them.  Water  well,  two  or 
three  times  a  week,  if  the  season  happens 
to  be  a  dry  one.  In  reply  to  the  request 
for  information  as  to  what  kinds  to  plant, 
I  would  say  that  Brandywine  and  Senator 
Dunlap  are  favorites  with  me,  but  I  would 
hardly  care  to  be  put  on  record  as  saying 
that  they  are  the  best,  because  there  are 
many  other  kinds  on  the  market  which  I 
have  never  grown,  and  some  of  them  may 
be  better  than  the  two  I  name.  Some- 
times a  variety  that  succeeds  in  one 
locality  may  prove  a  partial  failure  in 
another,  because  of  difference  of  soil,  and 
other  conditions.  If  there  are  any  growers 
in  your  neighborhood,  I  would  suggest  that 
vou  consult  them  before  deciding  on  the 
kind  to  plant. 

Care  of  Gold  Fish.  (F.)— Let  the  globe 
in  which  you  keep  your  fish  be  of  good  size. 
Ten  or  twelve  inches  across,  at  least.  Such 
a  vessel  is  desirable  because  it  gives  the 
fish  more  room,  and  the  water  in  it  does 
not  lose  its  freshness  as  soon  as  it  will  in  a 
small  vessel.  Be  sure  to  have  a  growing 
plant  in  it ;  aquarium  moss  is  good.  So  is 
parrot's  feather.  Either  grows  readily 
from  cuttings  broken  from  the  parent 
plants,  if  inserted  in  a  little  sand  until  it 
has  had  a  chance  to  form  roots.  Renew 
the  water  frequently,  especially  in  warm 
weather.  The  old  water  can  be  drawn  off 
by  a  siphon,  without  disturbing  the  fish  or 
the  plants  in  the  globe.  Place  a  handful 
or  two  of  pebbles  about  the  roots  of  the 
plants  to  hold  them  in  place,  and  cover  the 


sand,  of  which  there  should  be  an  inch  or 
two  in  depth.  Never  make  a  habit  of 
feeding  the  fish  with  crumbs.     The  pre- 

Eared  food  sold  by  dealers  in  aquaria  is 
est. 

Engines  for  Farm  Use.  (S.  S.  A.) — Cer- 
tainly I  advise  the  use  of  the  gasoline  en- 
gine on  the  farm.  If  you  can  save  manual 
labor  by  it,  why  not  make  use  of  it?  The 
time  is  coming — ^and  it  isn't  far  off — when 
no  up-to-date  farmer  can  aflford  to  be 
without  one.  In  a  recent  issue  of  Hoard's 
Dairyman  I  find  the  following:  **  Almost 
every  boy  has  a  natural  fonc&ess  for  ma- 
chinery, and  a  gasoline  engine,  by  permit- 
ting him  to  give  play  to  his  ingenuity  in 
rigging  up  machinery  and  oi>erating  it 
about  the  home  may  solve  the  vexed  prob- 
lem of  how  to  keep  the  boy  at  home,  in 
many  cases."  All  of  which  I  heartily  in- 
dorse. 

Building  the  Hen-House.  (W.  E.)— It 
is  not  necessary,  as  you  seem  to  think,  to 
go  to  great  expense  in  building  a  place  in 
which  to  keep  hens.  Nor  is  it  advisable  to 
do  so  until  you  have  tried  your  hand  at  the 
poultry  business,  and  satisfied  yourself  that 
there  is  a  chance  of  success  in  it  for  you. 
Better  experiment  carefully  before  you  put 
much  money  into  the  undertaking.  A 
house  that  is  snug  and  warm  can  be  built 
quite  cheaply.  You  say  you  propose  to 
start  out  with  about  forty  hens.  1  would 
suggest  a  house  about  twenty  feet  square, 
with  a  scratching-shed  in  front  or  at  one 
side.  Let  the  house  be  seven  or  eight  feet 
at  the  front,  with  a  sloping  roof.  If  it  is 
five  feet  high  at  the  rear  it  will  be  just 
about  right.  Build  it  of  boards  covered 
with  two  thicknesses  of  tarred  sheathing 
paper,  and  fiinish  with  matched  lumber. 
Pamt  it  as  soon  as  built  to  prevent  shrink- 
ing. Have  a  wide  window  in  the  part 
facing  the  sun.  Take  pains  to  make  every 
part  of  it  as  snug  as  p>ossible.  Hens  re- 
quire a  warm  place  in  winter.  Arrange 
the  nest,  in  such  a  manner  that  thev  can 
be  got  at  without  entering  the  building. 
This  can  be  done  by  placing  them  along 
the  side,  with  a  little  door  over  each  one, 
in  the  wall.  The  perches  should  be  wide 
and  flat.  Arrange  them  in  such  a  manner 
that  a  fowl  is  never  obliged  to  sit  under 
other  fowls.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  suspend 
them  by  iron  rods.  These  will  hold  them 
rigidly  in  place,  and  will  not  harbor  in- 
sects as  wood  will.  Now  is  a  good  time  to 
build  the  house.  If  vou  wait  until  late  in 
the  season  you  may  hurry  it  along  so  rap- 
idly that  the  work  will  not  be  thoroughly 
done. 


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O  vMl  N  G 


THE  PENT  AND   HUDDLED   EAST 


BY   VANCE    THOMPSON 


PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  GRIBAYEDOFF 


low  the  old  East  End  has 
changed  to  one  who  goes 
back  to  it  after  the 
years!  Always  it  is  drab, 
and  the  mean  streets 
stretch  away,  mirk  miles 
long.  Always  the  low 
squalid  houses  cluster  round  the  dirty 
flagged  squares,  and  out  of  the  desolation 
hideous  piles  of  model  buildings  uplift  their 
prison  walls.  But  how  it  has  changed! 
And  how,  at  every  point,  one's  knowledge 
is  confused  by  a  new  population  in  the 
ancient  streets,  by  the  vanishment  of  old 
haunts  of  riot  and  misery.  Down  Rat- 
cliflfe  Highway  the  drunken  sailormen 
swung  in  bygone  days,  howling;  now  the 
suave,  gesticulating  Orient  chaffers  there. 
The  hooligan  is  almost  an  alien  in  White- 
chapel.  For  Whitechapel  is  the  Ghetto; 
it  is  a  strip  torn  from  Red  Russia. 
Wherein  is  the  great  change? 
In  this:  A  proletariat  of  inferior  quality 
— but  not  at  all  tumultuous — fills  the  mean 
streets.  The  true  natives  of  the  slums  of 
the  East  have  not  wholly  gone.  Still  one 
may  see  and  have  speech  with  the  wicked, 


brawling  little  Englishmen,  but  there  is 
less  and  less  room  for  them.  They  swim, 
gasping  in  the  alien  flood.  And  the  poor 
workmen,  grown  poorer,  have  sunk  deeper. 
From  Poland  and  Galicia  and  Russia  the 
new  proletariat  has  filtered  in,  filling  the 
nooks  and  crannies  of  the  slums.  They 
have  many  virtues,  these  Eastern  Jews; 
they  are  sober;  they  are  thrifty;  they  are 
money-wise;  and,  banded  together  by  an  un- 
releasing  freemasonry  of  race  and  religion, 
they  have  had  little  difficulty  in  supplanting 
the  native  East-Enders,  who  were  brawlers, 
drunkards,  wasters,  inefficient  competitors. 
You  shall  go  down  into  a  Whitechapel 
where  the  only  Gentiles  are  those  who  light 
the  fires  and  turn  the  wheels  for  Israel. 
And  in  Mile  End  Old  Town,  where  there  are 
66,000  inhabitants,  you  will  find  only  one 
Englishman  out  of  six.  A  notable  change. 
None  of  the  grim  and  turbulent  memories 
of  the  "J ack-the-Ripper "period  will  fit  into 
the  present-day  scheme  of  things.  A  grayer 
world,  not  so  striped  with  blood;  a  grayer 
sea  of  poverty,  through  which  the  sharks 
swim  lazily,  and  philanthropy,  a  fat  white 
bulk,  floats  on  the  scum. 

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THE   SECONDARY   MILLIONS 

Oh,  figures  are  grim  and  eloquent  things! 
I  like  to  see  them  file  across  a  page  in  their 
lean,  black  way,  abrupt  and  prophetic  as 
spiders.  After  all  they  are  the  only  un- 
lying  sign-posts  on  the  road  humanity  is 
going.  Their  metallic  arms  obstinately 
refuse  to  point  to  an  optimistic  south  when 
the  road  runs  bleakly  north.  A  few  fig- 
ures, then: 

England  is  rich.  Assume,  by  way  of 
imagery,  that  the  national  wealth  is  a  loaf 
of  bread  at  which  forty  millions  feed  and 
that  the  loaf  is  sliced  into  twelve  parts. 
Now  eleven  slices  go  to  the  uppermost  five 
millions.  The  thirty-five  millions  are  all 
gnawing  at  the  remaining  one  slice.  An 
enormous  and  perturbing  fact.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  one  slice,  since  the  loaf  is  not 
miraculous,  cannot  feed  the  thirty-five 
millions;  quite  evident,  many  get  not  even 
a  crumb.  In  London  last  year  two  hun- 
dred died  in  the  streets  of  starvation;  they 
got  not  a  crumb,  and  year  in  and  year  out 
two  millions  are  on  the  verge  of  starvation. 

(By  night  we  crossed  a  little  bridge  over 
a  slip  by  the  docks;  in  this  deserted  place  a 
policeman  stood  on  duty.  "Why  are  you 
stationed  here?"  "To  keep  the  women 
from  going  over  into  the  water — so  many 
of  'em  went  over  into  the  water  it  got  the 
name  of  Suicide  Bridge.") 

There  are  other  figures,  grimly  eloquent : 
There  is  a  standing  army,  as  the  phrase 
goes,  of  80,000  unemployed;  add,  still, 
30,000  women  very  badly  employed  indeed; 
and  33,000  homeless  adults;  and  35,000 
wandering  children  of  the  slums;  and 
15,000  free  criminals  and  you  have  before 
you  a  statistical  summary  of  the  situation 
in  the  greatest  city  in  Christendom.  Inter- 
esting, is  it  not?  And  with  those  who  do 
not  walk  the  streets  o'  night  things  are 
only  a  degree  better.  It  is  a  fact  that 
ninety  per  cent,  of  the  producers  of  the 
actual  wealth  of  London  have  no  homes 
they  can  call  their  own  beyond  the  week's 
end  and  no  other  possessions  than  the  few 
sticks  of  old  furniture  that  will  go  into  a 
hand-cart  for  trundling  from  lodging  to 
lodging.  And  300,000  people  live  in  one- 
room  tenements,  in  which  decency  is  im- 
possible. Every  night  30,000  Londoners 
sleep  in  four-penny  lodging-houses — the 
four-penny  "  Doss,"  and  every  n'ght  1 1 ,000 


sleep  in  the  casual  wards.  Where  should 
they  sleep,  these  secondary  millions?  In 
London  there  are  1,292,737  workers  who 
get  less  than  five  dollars  a  week  per  family! 
The  week  I  write  of  there  were  99,820 
persons  in  workhouses,  hospitals,  and  pris- 
ons of  the  great  town. 

Figures  when  they  are  melted  up  to- 
gether and  run  into  a  mold,  come  out — 
after  cooling^n  the  shape  of  an  inexorable 
mathematical  law.  Of  these  the  most 
imposing  and  symmetrical  is  the  law  of 
averages.  By  said  law  certain  things  come 
to  pass.  Nine-tenths  of  man's  felicity  de- 
pends upon  being  well-bom;  in  London  a 
bit  more  than  nine-tenths.  In  the  upper 
classes  eighteen  per  cent,  of  the  children 
die  before  reaching  the  age  of  five  years, 
but  in  the  lower  classes — say  of  St.- 
George's-in-the-East — the  average  death 
rate  is  twenty-nine  years  of  age.  So  by 
the  mere  fact  of  being  bom  out  of  the 
nobility  and  gentry  the  Londoner  is 
stripped  of  twenty-seven  years  of  the  life 
that  might  have  been  his.  Oh,  of  other 
th  ngs,  too,  he  is  shorn!  His  short  life  is 
bare  of  comfort  or  delight.  Nor  can  he 
take  pride  in  it — it  is,  at  once,  too  dirty 
and  too  sad;  all  by  that  chance  of  birth 
too  far  eastward.  Pain  and  hunger  and 
helotry — the  empty  belly  and  the  over- 
burdened back — are  his  heritage.  He  and 
his  woman — a  pair  of  lean,  warped  ani- 
mals— slink  together  through  the  grayness 
of  life,  under  the  iron  laws.  And  in  blows 
and  oaths,  they  find  a  certain  joy  in  gin — 
which  is  white  as  water  and  runs  hellishly 
hot  down  the  throat  and  smokes  in  the 
brain;  find,  too,  in  the  pewter  pot  of 
heavy-wet  a  certain  sleep  which  is  better 
than  waking;  go  thus  through  life  till  the 
iron  law  of  averages  knocks  them  on  the 
head  at  twenty-nine. 

An  inexorable  law,  decreeing  that  one  of 
every  four  Londoners  shall  die  in  work- 
house, hospital,  jail,  or  lunatic  asylum — 
one  out  of  four. 

It  was  in  the  Paragon  Buildings  I  think: 
a  workman's  home  of  one  room;  the  man 
was  at  work;  the  woman  was  there  with  her 
four  children — four  boys.  They  were  not 
attractive  boys.  Glum  and  pallid  they 
munched  greasy  bread.  They  were  ragged, 
unclean,  unhandkerchiefed.  But  I  could 
not  keep  my  eyes  off  them — ^for  one  of 
them  I   knew  was  foredoomed  to  die  in 


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T-       -IT-  T-     J      .  J      .    ,  Photojrraph  by  V.  Cribayedolf. 

Typical  East  End  old  clo'  men.  ^ 


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A  Whitechapel  "geezer." 


Fhotocnph  by  V.  Grihajredoff. 


workhouse,  madhouse  or  jail.  Which  one 
of  them,  I  wondered.  Over  which  tousled 
little  head  was  the  grim,  statistical  fate 
impending?  And  nothing  could  deflect  it. 
Upon  one  head  or  the  other  it  must  fall. 

Take  your  Englishman  in  his  club  and 
ask  him  how  he  feels  about  this  state  of 
affairs;  he  will  look  mournful  and  wag  his 
head  and  ask  you  to  have  a  whiskey-and- 
soda.  The  Englishman,  having  no  sensi- 
bility, loves  to  create  round  himself  the 
fiction  that  his  feelings  are  too  deep  for 
words.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  bar  the  pro- 
fessional philanthropists  and  a  few  social- 
ists, the  English  are  quite  content  with 
things  as  they  are.  To  be  sure  they  like  to 
read  "Slum  Stories."  From  Dickens  to 
Morrow  a  host  of  writers  have  made  fortune 
by  beating  the  drum  on  the  empty  bellies 
of  the  poor.     But  most  of  that  literature  is 

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maudlin,  and  through  all  of  it  runs  a  dirty 
thread  of  obsequious  falsehood. 

THE  DOSSER  AND  THE  CASUAL 

A  group  of  dirty  fellows  stands  at  the 
street  corner,  against  the  background  of  a 
public-house.  You  see  that  in  New  York 
and  you  see  it  in  London,  but  you  do  not 
see  it  anywhere  save  in  the  Anglo-Saxon 
world.  The  German  and  the  Latin  idle, 
but  only  those  of  our  breed  loaf,  in  gloomy 
fellowship,  at  street  corners.  These  fel- 
lows of  Brick  Lane  are  typical  of  the  race. 
Their  hands  are  in  their  pockets.  Their 
caps  are  pulled  down  over  their  eyes. 
Their  shoulders  are  hunched  up.  They  are 
mean  and  sullen  and  wicked.  A  bold  girl 
passes.  Her  hair  is  in  curl  papers;  her 
boots  are  broken;  her  skirt  drags  muddily. 
Under  her  arm  is  a  bundle  of  coats,  covered 

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with  a  black  linen  cloth,  which  she  has  just 
finished  machining  for  the  "Sweater." 
One  of  the  loafers  lifts  his  head,  showing  a 
sallow  face — a  face  like  a  bad  dream — and 
drawls  an  insult  at  the  girl. 

"Garn,  ye  petty-larcenist !"  she  says,  and 
goes  her  way. 

An  old  woman  in  cap  and  apron  comes 
from  the  public-house;  she  is  bent  and 
weazened;  she  carries  a  wretched  little 
thing  that  seems  to  belong  to  the  human 
species,  an  idiot,  almost  bald,  that  rattles 


a  sort  of  wooden  ball,  filled  with  nuts  or 
pebbles.  A  man  crosses  the  road.  Like 
all  the  others  he  is  small.  They  breed  the 
Londoner  big  and  tall  and  wholesome  in 
the  West;  here  the  Englishmen  are  little 
and  warped  and  stunted — no  bigger  than 
the  Jews.  This  little  man  slouches  along; 
his  coat  is  foul  with  mud  and  grease;  a 
dirty  brown  neckerchief  hides  his  lack  of  a 
shirt;  his  trousers  are  trodden  rags  about 
his  heels;  he  is  swallowed  by  the  black 
mouth  of  a  lodging-house.     Go  you  in  after 


Photograph  by  V.  GrihayedoflT. 

The  county  council's  new  benches  his  only  luxury. 

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Earning  a  night  s  lodging  and  breakfast  at  the 
casual  ward. 


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him.  There  are  half  a  thousand  such 
places  where  you  may  get  fourpenn'orth 
of  sleep.  Through  a  stone  hall  you  come 
into  the  living-room,  where  at  night  the 
men  sleep  on  the  benches.  At  one  side  an 
iron  sink  with  a  dripping  faucet.  Beyond, 
the  dormitory,  filled  with  beds,  where 
adults  and  children  sleep  together.  A 
woman  squats  on  the  floor,  weaving  the 
mats  she  hawks  from  door  to  door.  Now 
and  then  she  calls  one  of  the  children  over 
to  her  and  cuffs  it;  probably  her  own. 
The  man  who  has  just  come  in  tells  her  of 
his  "luck."  It  has  been  bloody  bad,  he 
says,  and  he  sits  at  a  table  and  eats  fried 
fish  out  of  a  yellow  paper.  As  it  grows 
later  the  lodgers  come  in  by  one  and  two. 
Some  are  well  on  in  drink  and  happy. 
Tobacco  smoke,  the  smell  of  food  and  beer, 
a  rancid  odor  of  stale  humanity  cloud  the 
air.  At  the  fire  the  women  quarrel  for 
room  to  toast  herrings.  In  such  a  den  I 
came  upon  a  merry  fellow  with  a  wooden 
leg — a  Welshman  named  Davies,  who  had 
written  a  book  of  verses,  and  for  half  a 
crown  I  read  .the  "  Lodging  House  Fire," 
which  you  may  read  for  less: 

My  birthday — yesterday, 
Its  hours  were  twenty-four; 
Four  hours  I  lived  luke-warm, 
And  killed  a  score. 

!  woke  eight-chimes,  and  rose, 
Came  to  our  fire  below, 
Then  sat  four  hours  and  watched 
Its  sullen  glow. 

Then  out  four  hours  I  walked. 
The  luke-warm  four  I  live. 
And  felt  no  other  joy 
Than  air  can  give. 

My  mind  durst  know  no  thought, 
It  knew  my  life  too  well; 
Twas  hell  before,  behind. 
And  round  me  hell 

Lower  than  this  hell  is  the  casual  ward; 
there  is  one  only  three  streets  away;  in 
coming  into  a  stone-flagged  room  the 
"casual"  is  stripped  and  put  into  a  bath, 
while  his  clothes  are  "stoved."  Then  he 
gets  supper — unsweetened  "skilly"  and  a 
slice  of  bread;  no  drink — not  even  water 
is  given  him,  a  queer,  cruel  privation.  His 
bed  is  of  planks  in  a  stone  cell.  They  wake 
him  early,  give  him  gruel  and  bread  again, 
and  set  him  to  work.  If  he  comes  oftener 
than  once  in  a  month,  he  must  "stay  in" 


four  days;  in  any  case  he  must  do  a  day's 
work  by  way  of  payment.  He  breaks 
stone  or  picks  oakum.  The  stones  are 
worth  less  when  broken  than  before. 
Oakum  in  these  days  of  iron  ships  is  of  no 
use  or  value.  The  work  is  heart-breaking, 
because  it  is  empty  and  useless.  In  fact, 
the  casual  ward  has  been  designed  for  the 
express  purpose  of  keeping  casuals  away. 
In  all  London  (as  you  know)  only  11,000 
are  desperate  enough  to  accept  this 
hospitality;  there  are  thrice  as  many  who 
prefer  to  walk  the  streets.  They  sleep 
under  the  arches,  by  the  riverside,  against 

a  dark  wall 

And  in  all  the  world  there  are  no  human 
animals  lower  in  degree.  I  know  Naples 
and  the  Genovan  waterside  and  the  slums 
of  Marseilles  and  many  an  old-world  town, 
but  nowhere  have  I  seen  humanity  rotted 
into  such  ignominy.  There  are  things  one 
can't  say,  and  I  saw  them.  Only  the  worst 
are  left  in  this  East  End.  Thousands  upon 
thousands  have  been  crowded  out  by 
the  immense  alien  throngs  of  Israel.  A 
diluvian  immigration.  In  addition  scores 
of  the  old  human  rookeries  have  been  torn 
down,  and  the  slum-dwellers  have  fled, 
making  new  slums  on  the  marshes  of 
Walthamstow,  in  watery  Canning  Town,  at 
Plaistow,  Stratford,  Leyton,  Edmonton, 
always  East.  And  they  who  cannot  get 
away  are  the  weakest  and  worst.  Unable 
to  compete  with  the  sober  and  thrifty  Jews, 
unable  to  fend  for  themselves  in  work  or 
crime,  they  have  got  to  the  bottom  of  life 
— so  low  that  official  charity  cannot  reach 
them — humanity  in  its  last  stage,  fit  only 
to  throw  to  the  lampreys  and  the  eels. 

THE    PAUPERS   AT  THE   GATE 

Petticoat  Lane — no  longer  "the  Lane," 
famous  in  letters;  only  the  old  smells 
survive,  among  the  multiple  barrows  of 
fish  and  stale  vegetables.  The  clothes, 
old  and  new  and  revamped,  overflow  the 
shops  and  sidewalks;  tin  pans  and  blan- 
kets, tawdry  laces  and  pinch-beck  jewelry 
— an  Oriental  bazaar.  The  street  is  ab- 
solutely packed  with  a  chaffering  crowd, 
voluble,  eager,  noisy;  they  are  swarthy, 
these  folk  doubly  of  the  East,  but  already 
their  faces  are  overlaid  with  the  pallor  of 
the  slums.  Go  into  Wentworth  Street; 
another  Ghetto.  Go  where  you  will — 
Watney  Street,  Hessel  Strept;— still  you  are 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


in  the  Ghetto.  You  may  walk  past  miles 
of  Jewish  shops;  you  might  walk  for  hours 
and  hear  no  English  word — unless  you 
spoke  to  a  policeman.  Sober  and  industri- 
ous, they  have  absorbed  all  the  work  that 
supported  the  slum-dwellers  of  old.  Half 
the  clothes  of  England  are  made  in  these 
dingy,  disease-haunted  tenements.  The 
shirt  makers  used  to  make  four  or  five 
shillings  a  week — in  the  wet  cellars  and 
garrets,  and  that  seemed  bad  enough. 
These  poor  Jews  are  content  to  make  half- 
a-crown  a  week  or  three  shillings,  and  the 
work  has  gone  to  them.  At  eleven  o'clock 
at  night  I  saw  them  bending  over  their 
sewing-machines — men  and  women,  cubbed 
up  like  Joseph  (the  story  is  in  the  105th 
Psalm)  in  a  dark  hole.  In  the  slipper- 
maker's  trade  it  is  the  same  thing.  The 
Gentiles  got  fourteen  shillings  a  dozen  for 
men's  patent-leather  slippers;  the  aliens, 
frugal  and  quick-working,  do  the  work  for 
seven  shillings  and  sixpence.  I  went  into 
an  immense  room  where  fifty  of  them 
worked — oh,  the  swift-going,  unceasing 
hands,  capable  as  tools!  In  sweat  and 
filth,  under  blazing  naphtha  lamps,  they 
toiled,  half-naked.  And  a  task-master 
went  to  and  fro,  shouting  orders  in  Yiddish, 
a  clamorous  bully.  It  would  have  been  a 
joy  to  kick  that  man-driver.  He  was  fat 
and  shining  as  a  seal.  But  with  all  one's 
sympathy  for  these  driven  slaves,  the  eco- 
nomic fact  is  the  main  thing — these  fifty 
aliens  have  lowered  the  wage  by  one-half 
and  displaced  one  hundred  English  slipper- 
makers.  What  became  of  them?  Most  of 
them  went  to  the  workhouse,  or  the  jail, 
the  ultimate  refuge  of  one  Londoner  out  of 
four. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  reception  room  of  the 
medical  officer  of  the  hamlet  of  Mile  End 
Old  Town.  A  slim,  upstanding  young 
man,  the  doctor;  keen  gray  eyes;  Saxon 
red  in  his  blond  hair  and  mustache;  world- 
ly-wise and  a  trifle  cynical — having  looked 
into  many  diseased  bodies  and  minds. 
Coming  down  into  the  East,  he  made  a 
study  of  it — that  kind  of  cold,  intense 
study,  which  is  acquired  in  the  dissecting- 
room — withal,  speaking  Yiddish  as  one 
must  in  this  part  of  the  world.  And  all 
morning  the  patients  streamed  in.  A  Jew- 
ess fell  on  her  knees  and  kissed  the  skirt  of 
his  coat.  She  stood  up  gesticulating.  Her 
voice  was  amber.     She  begged  for  money 


and  food — with  a  wild  kind  of  energy. 
The  doctor  gave  her  an  order  on  the  Jewish 
Board  of  Guardians. 

This  is  an  admirable  institution  by  the 
way.  Wherever  I  turned  in  the  East  End 
I  found  it  at  work.  Two  of  its  inspectors 
came  into  a  room — it  was  in  the  Paragon 
Building — where  I  was  talking  to  a  woman. 
They  had  sent  her  husband  to  New  York. 
He  had  proved  to  be  an  honest  fellow  and 
had  returned  the  thirty  dollars  they  had 
given  him  to  show  as  his  own  at  Ellis  Is- 
land. Now  they  were  going  to  send  her 
and  her  five  children  on  to  him.  In  the 
meantime  she  went  daily  for  bread  to  the 
offices  of  the  Jewish  Board  in  Middlesex 
Street.  Thousands  of  penniless  Jews  are 
yearly  helped  over  to  New  York  by  this 
charitable  organization. 

Always  the  patients  came — bearded  men, 
women,  many  young  people.  Two  dis- 
eases were  conspicuous — phthisis  and  ecze- 
ma. Phthisis  is  spreading  rapidly.  The 
Jews  are  very  migratory,  moving  from 
house  to  house  in  the  confines  of  the  quar- 
ter. Thus  one  consumptive  family  poisons 
a  dozen  houses,  often  in  a  year.  And  the 
workshops  are  as  badly  poisoned.  The 
patients  that  day  came  less  for  medical 
care  than  for  relief,  and  one  and  all — ^for 
they  were  of  that  race — the  doctor  sent 
on  to  the  Jewish  Board.  We  were  just 
about  to  go — for  I  was  to  accompany  the 
doctor  in  his  rounds — when  an  old  Gentile 
woman  hobbled  in.  After  that  Oriental 
morning  of  strange  sounds  and  fervid 
gesticulation  it  was  good  to  hear  a  bit  of 
English.  White-haired,  bent,  feeble,  there 
was  still  a  lot  of  pluck  in  the  old  soul. 

"You  don't  mind  work,  eh?"  said  the 
doctor. 

"I'd  like  to  work  if  I  could,  I've  'ad  a 
busy  life  and  don't  like  laziness,"  she  piped, 
and  told  us  her  troubles.  In  a  faraway 
youth  she  had  lived  in  the  country.  It 
took  a  long  time  for  her  to  tell  us  of  Kent 
and  the  rabbits  of  her  youth  and  the  fifty 
years  she  had  been  a  cook  in  London. 
Finally : 

"So  yesterday  I  bawt  some  rabbit  an' 
you  may  believe  I  cooked  it  proper — I  only 
'ad  half  a  pown — two  pieces  awt  of  the 
back — two  beautiful  pieces  awt  of  the 
back,  doctor — an'  in  'alf  an  hour  I  was  in 
hagony.  I  believe  there  was  somefin  bad 
in  that  rabbit." 


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It  was  a  long  peregrination  we  made,  the 
doctor  and  1 ;  here  a  single  room  in  which 
a  whole  family  lived;  there  a  room  into 
which  two  families  crowded.  For  rents 
are  high  in  the  East  End — higher  than  in 
the  West.  A  house  situated  in  Mile  End 
brings  in  more  to  the  slum-lord  than  if  it 
were  in  Kensington.  A  room  rents  rarely 
for  less  than  a  dollar  a  week.  The  usual 
rental  is  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents. 
Now  that  is  a  huge  proportion  of  the  four 
or  five  dollars  a  good  workman  can  earn. 
Almost  everywhere  there  was  dirt;  every- 
where there  were  fast-shut  windows  and 
an  atmosphere  foul  with  heat  and  disease, 
darkness  and  filth.  Once  only  we  came 
upon  a  house-proud  woman — her  little 
home  clean  and  orderly,  and  on  the  walls  a 
brave  show  of  cheap  colored  pictures,  and 
in  a  gilt  frame  a  photograph  of  her  "man," 
as  an  Austrian  soldier.  That  was  the 
rarest  thing  I  found  in  the  slums.  For  the 
Rowton  houses — like  the  Mills  Hotels  of 
New  York — are  a  cut  above  slumdom. 
Think,  then,  a  room  for  seven  pence  a  night ; 
indeed  a  tolerable  way  of  living  for  a 
shilling  a  day.  But  for  that  one  must  be 
unmarried  and,  as  well,  sober  and  respect- 
able— conditions  the  slum-dweller  does  not 


wholly  fulfill.  And  in  fact  Lord  Rowton 's 
charity  has  chiefly  benefited  those  helpless 
creatures,  gentlemen  born  with  a  silver 
spoon  and  left — as  Jerrold  said — with  no 
employment  for  knife  and  fork.  Degraded 
gentlemen,  broken  tradesmen,  thrifty  la- 
borers, these  are  the  inhabitants  of  the 
8oo-roomed  hotels  Lord  Rowton  built  at 
the  cost  of  half  a  million  apiece. 

There  was  a  wise  man  said: 

A  dog  starved  at  its  master's  gate 
Predicts  the  ruin  of  the  state. 

And  the  paupers  who  starve  at  Eng- 
land's gate?  A  monstrous  throng  of  them 
that  increases  at  the  rate  of  nearly  seven- 
teen per  cent,  a  year — that  crawls  along 
the  rotting  highways  toward  the  cities  of 
iron  and  stone;  one  wonders  what  they 
predict  for  the  state.  Already  only  one- 
fifth  of  the  population  dwells  in  the  coun- 
try; the  cities  harbor  the  other  four-fifths 
— 32,000,000  town-dwellers.  More  and 
more  they  come  up  to  London.  That 
hideous  Ghoul  has  but  to  whistle  and  from 
all  the  extremities  of  the  three  kingdoms 
they  flock  to  her  dirty  feet.  And  one  out 
of  four  goes  to  the  slums — the  eternal  inn 
on  the  road  to  the  workhouse  or  the  jail. 


An  East  End  lodging — Good  night. 


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THE   TRUE   LAND 
OF    BUNCO 


CJ 


BY   ERNEST  RUSSELL 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HORACE    TAYLOR 


I  WAS  reading  one  of  those  broad- 
paged  periodicals,  or  the  part  of  it 
that  is  headed  "The  Thought  of  the 
Nation"  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  three- 
inch  strip  of  miscellaneous  advertis- 
ing, when  my  eye  reached  this  dazzling 
caption:  "Can  the  Small  Farmer  Live?" 
Now  I  can't  help  it  that  the  name  of  a 
university  professor  was  gravely  appended 
to  the  dissertation  inspired  by  this  sense- 
less inquiry;  any  person  of  average  sense 
can  see  that  it  isn't  above  the  general 
standard  of  sanity  of  a  five-year-old  child's 
rapid-fire  questioning.  Ask  the  return- 
ing horde  of  summer  sojourners  who  are 
daily  streaming  back  to  the  city,  those 
sunburnt,  mosquito-bitten  shadows  who 
accumulated  whole  libraries  of  summer- 
resort  literature  last  spring  and  later  lost 
their  cheerful  smiles  and  hard-earned 
shekels  in  answering  that  absurd  question 
about  the  small  farmer.  They  will  tell  you 
all  about  it,  and  they'll  tell  you,  with  truth 
breathing  in  every  sad  inflection  of  their 
voices,  that  the  small  farmer  can  live — and 
the  smaller  the  farmer  the  better  he  can 
live — after  his  victims  are  gone. 

Take  my  own  experience.  Before  my 
family  left  for  the  old  homestead  up  among 
the  New  Hampshire  hills  some  pang  of  re- 
morse stirred  in  my  wife's  kind  heart,  born 
of  the  contrast  between  my  lot  and  hers 
and  she  said  to  me:  "Why  can't  you  find 
some  quaint  old  farmhouse  not  too  far 
from  the  city,  kept  by  nice  quiet  people  of 
the  better  sort  and  trolley  out  after  the 
day's  work   is  done,   sleep   in   the  fresh 


country  air,  and  in  the  morning  trolley  in 
again,  refreshed,  to  begin  the  next  hard 
day?  There  ought  to  be  just  such  a  place 
and  just  such  people  if  you  would  look 
about  a  bit — and  I  should  feel  so  much 
easier  in  my  mind  if  I  knew  you  also  were 
getting  some  of  the  same  life  that  the  rest 
of  us  will  be  enjoying." 

Well,  the  thing  did  look  reasonable  and 
inviting,  and  I  spent  several  afternoons 
looking  over  the  various  possibilities  in  the 
near-by  towns.  At  length  I  found  some- 
thing that  had  the  right  look  to  it — a  cozy 
little  farm  upon  the  outskirts  of  a  straggling 
country  village  some  eight  miles  from  the 
city  and  served  by  a  newly  established 
trolley  line.  Half  way  to  the  crest  of  a 
steep  hill,  upon  a  natural  terrace,  lay  the 
house  I  sought,  snuggled  away  among  elms 
and  maples,  a  bit  back  from  the  road,  with 
hollyhocks  in  prim  beauty  beneath  the 
windows  and  the  golden  gleam  of  sun- 
flowers beyond.  White  painted  it  was, 
with  a  spick-and-span  yard  about  it.  and 
thrift  and  careful  management  in  every 
visible  manifestation.  I  fell  in  love  with 
the  place  at  the  first  glance,  and  when  I 
had  been  shown  about  the  house  lost  little 
time  in  striking  a  bargain  with  my  prospec- 
tive landlady,  a  quiet-voiced,  white-haired 
matron  of  some  sixty  years.  The  price 
agreed  upon  struck  me  as  a  trifle  "steep" 
for  country  board,  but  parsimony  seemed 
out  of  place  in  such  surroundings  and  I 
closed  the  compact  without  demur. 

As  I  walked  slowly  down  the  hill  to 
trolley  back  to  the  city,  I  congratulated 


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myself  upon  a  wise  choice.  A  half-dozen 
cows  browsed  lazily  in  the  near-by  pasture, 
hens  cackled  and  roosters  crowed  lustily 
before  the  massive  bam;  a  well-kept 
vegetable  garden  was  visible  beyond  the 
roadside  wall,  and  early  apples,  red  and 
yellow-green,  burdened  the  orchard  trees. 
"Ah!"  said  I  to  myself,  "this  sort  of  thing 
should  be  preached  from  the  pulpits,  cried 
from  the  very  housetops  to  the  sweltering 
multitudes  of  the  city!  Here  are  peace 
and  quiet,  the  air  of  God's  outdoors,  food 
such  as  never  passes  the  lips  of  the  city 
dweller,  the  exquisite  inspiration  of  life 
next  to  Nature,  all  for  the  toiler  at  the 
very  gates  of  a  great  city!  Ah,  blind  in- 
deed are  those  who  will  not  see!" 

I  journeyed  on  to  catch  my  car,  my  mind 
dwelling  ecstatically  on  visions  of  creamy 
milk,  new  potatoes,  green  peas  and  corn, 
of  sunset  glories,  of  blissful  strolls  across 
the  moonlit  pastures  and  the  night  slum- 
bers which  should  follow.  It  mattered  not 
that  my  car  was  late — a  trifle  of  twenty 
minutes  or  so — the  time  passed  lightly  and 
I  reached  home  and  wife  and  children 
enthusiastic  over  my  discovery. 

And  when  the  time  came  for  our  parting 
for  the  summer  I  know  our  mutual  regrets 
were  softened  by  the  consciousness  that 
it  wasn't  to  be  the  usual  one-sided  affair 
with  the  disconsolate  husband  toiling  in 
the  city's  heat,  and  the  wife  and  children 
restfully  absorbing  the  delights  of  country 
life  far  away.  No,  I  was  to  have  my  share 
of  it  after  all. 

I  reached  my  new  abiding  place  on  a 
Thursday  in  time  for  supper — "our  usual 
light  supper"  my  sweet-faced  landlady  in- 
formed me  as  she  helped  me  to  a  modest 
portion  of  canned  salmon  salad,  adding 
apologetically :  "  We  have  to  fall  back  upon 
canned  goods  considerably  out  here,  fresh 
fish  is  so  hard  to  get  in  the  country,  you 
know."  I  hadn't  thought  of  this,  but  it 
seemed  reasonable  enough  and,  at  any  rate, 
"fish  day"  came  only  once  a  week,  so  what 
did  it  matter?  One  mustn't  be  in  a  hurry 
to  find  fault,  right  at  the  outset,  just  be- 
cause one  can't  enthuse  over  canned  sal- 
mon, a  small  dish  of  berries  and  a  slice  of 
pale  cake  as  one's  supper.  So  I  smilingly 
remarked  that  I  wasn't  particularly  hun- 
gry, excused  myself,  and  started  for  a 
twilight  stroll.  The  pleasure  of  this,  how- 
ever, was  speedily  denied  me  by  a  spiteful 


little  thunderstorm  which  caftie  up  out  of 
the  west  with  surprising  celerity  and  sent 
me  scurrying  to  the  house  for  shelter. 

In  the  seclusion  of  my  room  1  Ht  the 
lamp  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  a  pipe  of 
tobacco  and  a  book.  I  had  blown  scarce 
a  dozen  slowly  ascending  whiffs  into  the 
heavy  air  when  a  vigorous  knock  sounded 
at  the  door.  As  1  opened  it  my  landlady's 
face,  wearing  a  composite  expression  of 
apology,  disgust  and  irritation  looked  in 
upon  me.  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mr.  R.," 
she  said,  looking  over  my  shoulder  at  the 
blue  haze  beyond,  "that  we  allow  smoking 
only  on  the  back  piazza.  I  am  affected  by 
it  myself  and  we  find  our  boarders  gener- 
ally dislike  it."  Leaving  me  in  bewildered 
disappointment  she  vanished. 

Here  indeed,  was  a  blow  at  comfort. 
My  morning  and  evening  "pipes"  are  my 
chiefest  solace.  I  cannot  write  without 
my  faithful  brier  between  my  teeth;  it  is 
as  necessary  to  the  flow  of  thought  as  my 
pen  itself,  and  here  I  was  relegated  to  a 
rear  piazza  for  a  study!  And  so  there 
were  other  boarders — and  I  had  fatuously 
imagined  myself  in  solitary  possession  of 
my  Elysium! 

I  went  to  the  window  to  lower  the  cur- 
tain— the  window  looked  upon  the  road, 
it  had  ceased  raining  and  there  might  be 


"We  allow  smoking  only  on  the  back  ^ 

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*•  I  went  to  the  window  to  lower  the  curtain.** 

passersby — and   discovered   there  was  no 
curtain!     So  I  had  to  undress  there  in  the 
lighted  room  and,  at  the  critical  point 
of    decency,    blow  out   the   light   and 
finish  the  operation  in  the  dark. 

My  landlady,  in  showing  me  the 
room,  had  gracefully  waved  her  hand 
in  the  direction  of  the  bed  with  the 
remark,  "a  nice  husk  bed — one  of  our 
treasures."  Now  1  had  heard  of  the 
husk  bed  before — or  had  read  of  it — 
and  in  my  fond  imaginings  it  occupied 
a  place  apart,  as  a  crisp,  a'ry  thing — 
healthful,  restful,  and  a  delight  to  one's 
jaded  body.  It  is,  in  reality,  an  ingen- 
iously contrived  instrument  of  torture 
which  has  the  rack  of  the  Middle  Ages 
beaten  to  a  standstill.  It's  an  inoffen- 
sive thing  to  the  uninitiated;  investi- 
gated, it  proves  to  be  a  compilation 
of  dried  com  husks,  com  cobs,  stove 
wood,  and  nettles.  It's  the  way  they're 
put  together,  the  proportion  of  the 
various  ingredients,  that  does  the  trick. 
It  takes  an  artist  to  make  one  up 
properly. 

By  a  gradual  process  of  continued 
occupancy  the  husks  are  forced  between 
the  interstices  of  the  other  bric-a-brac 
until  the  result  bears  close  resemblance 
to  the  raised  map  of  a  very  mountainous 


country.  You  can't  "renovate"  it.  You 
can't  compromise  with  it.  The  only  alter- 
native is  the  floor,  which  precedent  and 
general  custom  forbid. 

When  I  turned  back  the  bedclothes  and 
crawled  upon  the  corrugated  surface  of  the 
mattress  1  felt — I  could  not  see — that  1 
was  "in  for  it"  in  more  ways  than  one.  I 
don't  know  whether  my  immediate  pred- 
ecessor in  that  bed  was  man  or  woman, 
large  or  small,  fat  or  thin,  one  person  or 
two,  but  whoever  it  was  or  whoever  they 
were  my  sympathy,  or  what  is  left  of  it 
(I've  used  a  considerable  portion  on  my- 
self) goes  out  to  them. 

The  topography  of  it  is  fixed  in  my 
memory  for  all  time.  On  the  side  at 
which  I  had  entered  there  rose  what  I 
termed  "The  Coast  Range."  This  was  a 
long  series  of  minor  eminences  running 
from  the  stingy  little  pillows  at  the  head 
almost  or  quite  to  the  foot  board.  Beyond 
the  Coast  Range  lay  a  little  valley,  not 
quite  wide  enough  to  receive  my  anatomy 
but  possibly  created  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  a  very  young  child.    The  further 


**  As  well  try  to  alter  the  contour  of  the 
everlasting  hills." 


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A^^^^""v 


**We  have  to  fall  back  upon 
canned  goods  considerably." 


side  of  this  little 
valley,  which  I 
christened 
"The  Vale  of 
Innocence," 
rose  abruptly 
to  meet  an  ele- 
vated plateau 
occupying  the 
center  of  the 
bed.  This  I 
named  "The 
Land  of  Little 
Sticks,"  partly 
because  of  the 
little  hillocks 
which  covered  its  entire  surface  and  partly 
because  it  impressed  me  as  perhaps  the  most 
barren  and  desolate  section  of  the  whole 
outfit.  Another  valley,  "The  Valley  of  the 
Shadow,"  lay  beyond  the  Land  of  Little 
Sticks,  and  on  the  further  side  rose  "The 
Rockies,"  almost  majestic  in  their  grandeur. 
The  Rockies  were  of  real  service  to  me  in- 
asmuch as  they  prevented  my  rolling  on  to 
the  floor  in  my  restless  tossing  to  and  fro 
upon  that  veritable  couch  of  horrors. 

But  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  was  the 
ultimate  agony!  When  I  first  discovered 
it  1  felt  relieved.  It  was  evidently  the 
work  of  centuries;  deep,  capacious  and 
inviting.  I  sank  into  its  depths  and  rolled 
over  into  a  comfortable  position,  my  back 
against  the  slope  of  The  Rockies,  my  feet 
extended.  Then  it  asserted  itself.  It  was 
like  the  bed  of  a  prehistoric  torrent  run 
dry.  Bowlders  rose  beneath  me  and 
ground  into  my  tortured  hide,  ledges  pro- 
jected from  the  mountain  side  and  gored 
my  back,  while  miniature  fallen  trees 
thrust  the  jagged  ends  of  broken  limbs  into 
me  at  a  dozen  places.  At  last,  mad  beyond 
endurance  at  the  demoniacal  contrivance,  I 
rose  and  lit  the  lamp,  seized  the  nearest 
weapon  (it  happened  to  be  an  empty  dress 
suit  case),  and  vented  my  anger  in  mad  and 
fruitless  assault.  As  well  try  to  alter  the 
contour  of  the  everlasting  hills! 

Defeated  and  unnerved  I  made  a  make- 
shift couch  upon  the  floor  and  took  my 
sleep  in  fitful  naps  till  morning  broke.  I 
never  slept  upon  that  bed  again. 

That  morning  I  was  the  first  one  at  the 
breakfast  table.  1  was  an  hungered  and  I 
wanted  eggs — fresh  eggs — dropped,  fried, 
scrambled,  in  the  shell  or  out  of  it,  I  cared 


not  which  so  long  as  I  had  eggs.  But  it 
was  not  to  be.  I  raced  through  a  cereal 
atrocity  which  shall  pass  unnamed  and  was 
served,  not  eggs,  but — canned  salmon! 
This  time  it  was  mixed  with  granulated 
potato  and  further  disguised  in  a  lather  of 
white  sauce,  but  the  pink  shone  through 
in  spots  as  if  blushing  at  the  flimsiness  of 
the  deception.  That  evening  when  the 
salmon  appeared  again  in  its  original  rdle 
of  salad,  I  struck — struck  hard  and  im- 
periously for  eggs  and  got  them — two 
diminutive,  unmarketable  pullets'  eggs  to 
satisfy  an  appetite  keyed  to  ostrich  egg 
dimensions! 

Saturday  morning's  breakfast  ushered 
in  two  more  undersized  eggs  and  there  they 
disappeared  from  the  menu.  They  were 
driven  out  of  the  reckoning  at  Saturday's 
supper  by  the  beans — the  brown  baked 
beans  of  New  England — which,  not  content 
with  a  clear  field  at  the  evening  meal,  re- 
appeared as  if  to  an  encore  on  the  Sabbath 
morning  and  again,  cold,  for  a  curtain  call 
at  night.  Ah,  it  was  terrible,  the  steady 
recurrence  of  those  beans! 

Sunday  morning  I  felt  I  must  make  a 
beginning  at  my  literary  work.  It  was  a 
beautiful  day  and  the  fields,  passing  fair 


•  . .     .-^'  ^r^. '     "^ 

'*  I  didn't  know  at  the  time  iust  wh« 
that  happened/^ 

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in  all  their  green  loveliness  and  the  fascinat- 
ing play  of  light  and  shade,  beckoned 
alluringly.  1  chose  a  spot  out  in  the 
pasture  beyond  the  barn,  beneath  a  spread- 
ing oak,  an  idyllic  pastoral  scene  before  me 
and  the  blue  cone  of  a  distant  mountain  ris- 
ing into  the  sky  beyond.  Here  I  felt  would 
be  my  recompense.  Here  I  could  forget 
the  tragedy  of  the  bill  of  fare  and  nestling 
up  against  the  warm  breast  of  Nature  drink 
at  the  very  source  of  outdoor  inspiration. 

1  had  brought  along  a  box,  for  the  grass 
yet  glistened  with  the  dew,  sat  down  upon 
it  with  my  back  against  a  massive  bowlder 
and  swept  into  an  exultant  flow  of  thought- 
expression  that  really  surprised  me. 

I  had  been  writing  for  perhaps  twenty 
minutes  when  something  happened.  I 
didn't  know  at  the  time  just  what  it  was 
that  happened  but  I  do  now.  A  white- 
faced  wasp,  harboring  an  ancient  grudge 
against  mankind,  and  noticing  my  intense 
preoccupation  had  taken  advantage  of  it 
to  insert  about  three  inches  of  the  hottest 
kind  of  "sting"  into  the  under  side  of  the 
fleshy  part  of  my  leg.  Then  he  broke  it 
off.  A  farm  hajid,  strolling  afield  not  far 
off,  heard  my  yell  of  anguish  and  afterward 
told  me  1  jumped  about  eight  feet  in  the  air. 
I  can  well  believe  this.  I  felt  equal  to  it 
at  any  rate.  Then  1  ran — and,  talk  about 
hitting  the  high  places!  1  think  I  hit  but 
precious  few  places  of  any  altitude  in  my 
flight  for  the  house.     1  simply  soared. 

I  spent  the  remainder  of  the  Sabbath  in 
bathing  a  great  red  welt  on  the  under  side 
of  my  leg  with  saleratus  water  and  arnica. 

Monday  morning  I 
rose  early.  I  wanted 
to  witness  the  glory 
of  the  dawn  for  one 
thing  and  I  also  wished 
to  recover  a  foun- 
tain pen,  a  writing 
pad  and  a  hat  I  had 
inadvertently  left  in 
the  back  pasture  the 
previous  day.  I  was 
a  trifle  late  for  the 
dawn — they  start  such 
things  rather  early 
in  the  morning  in 
the  country — but  I 
found  the  other  arti- 
cles, and,  after  thor- 
oughly   wetting    both 


t^ 


Back  to  the  city  to  await  my  fresh  country  eggs. 


feet  in  a  leisurely  stroll  through  the  pas- 
ture, made  my  way  toward  the  house. 

Out  by  the  bam  stood  a  \^'\g  red  fanner's 
wagon  evidently  made  ready  for  a  trip  to 
town.  Its  long  body  glistened  in  the  sun 
and  a  dingy  canvas  rose  like  a  huge  tent 
over  goods  piled  high  within.  Some  one 
was  busily  grooming  a  horse  in  the  dark 
interior  of  the  barn  hard  by  and  I  boldly 
approached  the  wagon  and  lifted  the 
canvas.  Shades  of  Ceres  and  Pomona! 
What  a  sight  I  beheld!  Great  square 
boxes  not  only  filled  the  bottom  of  the 
wagon,  but  were  piled  in  tiers  one  upon  the 
other;  full  to  the  brim  they  were  with 
carefully  arranged  rows  of  corn,  jacketed  in 
brightest  green,  with  peas  whose  pods 
fairly  bulged  in  plumpness,  with  beets  of 
dull  carmine  and  tomatoes  of  a  ravishing 
crimson  hue.  Finally  my  eyes  rested  upon 
the  eggs — dozens  upon  dozens  of  them — 
and  such  eggs! — ^great  buff  and  white  mira- 
cles that  quite  filled  one  of  the  largest 
boxes. 

I  gazed  upon  this  display  of  fresh-gar- 
nered treasure  with  mingled  emotions.     At 
first  a  consuming  rage  sent  the  blood  cours- 
ing to  my  temples  and  1  clenched  my  fists  at 
the  hideous  memory  of  that  canned  salmon. 
And  then  1  smiled — smiled  at  a  sudden 
and  Heaven-sent  conception  of  the  humor 
of  it  all.     I  was  the  victim  of  a  Precon- 
ceived Idea.     In  the  argot  of  the  bunco 
steerers  I  was  the  "come-on,"  the  guileless, 
verdant  one  who,  putting  faith  in   men, 
leaves  his  happy  home  in  the  vain  hope  of 
achieving  material  happiness  at  a  minimum 
outlay  and  meets  dis- 
comfiture in  the  quicker 
wi ts  of  those  whoseeasy 
prey  he  is.     I    sought 
out  my  landlady  and 
^  paid   my    bill,  not   in 
anger  but  in  humilia- 
tion,   with    that    up- 
against-it  feeling  which 
leaves    you    conscious 
only  of  inferiority  and 
the    loser's   portion. 
Then  I  went  back  to  the 
city  and  its  restaurants, 
there  to  await  the  ar- 
rival of  my  fresh  coun- 
try eggs,  my  longed-for 
vegetables  and  my 
peace  of  mind. 


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AN   OASIS   IN    MIDSUMMER 


Photograph  by  W.  M.  Snell. 


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ALONG   THE   COLUMBIA 


BY   CLIFTON   JOHNSON 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


H  E  Columbia  is  one  of  the 
big  rivers  of  this  conti- 
nent, and  in  time  of  flood 
it  has  a  flow  greater  than 
is  ever  attained  by  either 
the  St.  Lawrence  or  the 
i  Mississippi.  Its  lower 
course,  especially,  is  broad  and  impressive 
and  a  great  highway  for  commerce  and 
travel.  At  the  mouth  the  river  is  two 
miles  across.  Here,  a  short  distance  back 
from  the  sea,  John  Jacob  Astor  in  1811 
established  a  trading  post.  He  selected 
a  spot  where  the  south  shore  dipped  in- 
ward a  little  and  a  cove  gave  slight  shelter. 
This  did  very  well  as  a  site  for  a  village 
cluster,  but  for  a  large  town  like  the  pres- 
ent Astoria,  it  has  disadvantages.  The 
shores  nearly  everywhere  rise  from  the 
water's  edge  in  a  steep  slope  and  the  place 
clings  along  this  declivity  for  several  miles. 
Probably  more  than  half  the  town  is  not 
on  the  land  at  all,  but  is  on  the  wharves, 
or  stilted  up  at  the  waterside  with  the 
waves  lapping  about  underneath  at  h'gh 
tide.  The  whole  waterfront  is  a  curious 
labyrinth  of  wharf  streets  and  footways, 
railroad  trestles,  enormous  sawmills  with 
their  great  piles  of  lumber,  the  ware- 
houses of  the  river  steamers  and  the 
ocean-going  ships,  and  the  wide-spreading 
fish  canneries. 

Here,  too,  were  the  fish  wharves  beside 
which  were  hundreds  of  stanch  rowboats 
used  in  fishing.  Some  of  the  boats  had 
gasoline  power,  but  in  most  you  saw  a 
mast  lying  along  the  gunwale,  and  as  soon 
as  the  craft  starts  for  work  and  gets  into 
open  water  the  mast  is  set  in  place  and 
the  sail  spread  to  the  breeze.  Hach  boat 
carries  two  men — a  "captain"  and  an 
"oar-puller."  They  drop  the  net  out  over 
the  stem  and  let  it  drift  with  the  tide. 


Boats  are  coming  and  going  all  the  time, 
but  most  of  them  start  out  at  low  tide, 
toward  evening,  and  do  not  return  till 
morning.  In  the  quiet  weather  of  summer 
they  often  delay  the  start  for  home  until 
the  land  breeze  springs  up,  and  then  come 
flitting  in,  half  a  thousand  or  more,  all 
together. 

After  a  boat  has  delivered  its  salmon  to 
the  cannery  it  goes  to  its  hitching  place 
by  the  wharf,  and  the  wet  net  is  pulled  out 
and  hung  on  rails  that  are  set  on  the 
wharf  for  this  purpose.  Later  it  is  care- 
fully looked  over  and  the  breaks  repaired. 
The  nets  are  both  wide  and  long,  and  cost 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars.  The  cap- 
tain has  two-thirds  of  the  profits  and  he 
may  be  fortunate  enough  to  clear  two 
thousand  dollars  in  the  season  if  he  uses 
good  judgment  and  works  hard.  But  the 
average  is  much  less,  and  some  poor  stupid 
fellows  barely  pay  expenses. 

The  open  season  is  from  April  fifteenth 
to  August  fifteenth.  There  is  no  forecast- 
ing when  the  fish  will  run  in  multitudes. 
One  man  may  come  home  and  go  to  bed 
having  caught  nothing.  Another  may 
come  in  an  hour  later  who  has  drawn  up 
his  net  so  full  that  he  cannot  get  all  his  fish 
into  his  boat,  and  has  to  throw  many 
away.  Often,  the  bulk  of  the  catch  is 
made  within  a  fortnight,  but  again  the 
haul  of  fish  may  be  distributed  somewhat 
unevenly  through  the  entire  four  months. 

Wherever  I  went  along  the  Columbia,  I 
found  the  habitations  sticking  pretty  close 
to  the  waterside,  and  the  stream  and  the 
railway  skirting  it  furnished  nearly  the 
entire  means  of  transportation.  Here  and 
there  were  trails  through  the  woods,  but 
no  roads  worthy  the  name  when  you  got 
away  from  the  villages.  The  country  is 
still  very  rich  in  natural  resources  and  has 


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only  been  scratched  yet.  Go  back  from 
the  river  almost  anywhere,  a  short  dis- 
tance, and  you  are  in  heavy  woodland,  so 
thick  and  luxuriant  that  you  push  along  in 
twilight  gloom.  The  shores  of  the  stream 
abound  in  booms  and  logs,  and  you  see 
frequent  stem-wheel  steamers  plowing  up- 
stream with  a  long  raft  trailing  behind. 

One  of  the  problems  of  the  sawmills  is 
what  to  do  with  the  slabs  and  refuse.  The 
mill  men  would  gladly  dump  it  all  into  the 
river,  but  there  is  a  law  to  protect  the  fish- 
ing which  forbids  the  water  being  thus 
contaminated.  A  good  deal  they  bum. 
Some  mills  make  great  piles  of  the  waste 
material  roundabout  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  and  when  the  floods  come  it  is  a 
relief  if  the  accumulations  go  adrift.  So 
the  shores  of  the  great  river  are  everywhere 
thick-strewn  with  sawed  fragments  and 
sawdust,  and  likewise  with  numberless 
stumps  and  logs.  For  many  families  it  is 
more  convenient  to  get  firewood  from  the 
shore  than  from  the  forest.  If  so,  the 
supply  is  inexhaustible.  Then,  too,  if  a 
man  wants  to  build  a  fence  or  a  shed  he 
can  by  a  little  picking  get  plenty  of  really 
good  timber  and  boards  from  the  drift  to 
meet  all  his  needs. 

The  sawmill  people  are  reckless  regarding 
the  fishing,  and  so  are  the  fishermen  them- 
selves. The  finest  salmon  are  the  Royal 
Chinooks,  for  which  there  is  a  closed  sea- 
son of  eight  months,  but  in  the  smaller 
places  the  fishing  is  almost  continuous. 
The  fishermen  are  supposed  to  set  free  any 
Chinook  that  gets  into  their  nets  out  of 
season,  but  this  they  seldom  do.  They 
dispose  of  such  fish  less  openly,  but  rarely 
are  willing  to  sacrifice  the  immediate  per- 
sonal gain  to  the  future  common  good.  If 
left  entirely  to  their  own  devices,  the 
fishermen  would  in  a  few  seasons  extermi- 
nate the  salmon  and  put  an  end  to  the  very 
industry  by  which  they  make  their  living. 
A  few  years  ago  it  seemed  likely  this  would 
happen,  but  of  late  the  propagation  of  the 
fish  has  received  attention,  and  many 
millions  of  spawn  have  been  put  in  the 
waters.  As  a  result,  the  number  of  fish 
has  apparently  been  largely  increased. 
How  much  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  for  the 
people  interested  in  the  industry  prefer 
there  should  be  an  impression  of  a  short 
catch  in  order  to  bolster  prices. 

To  see  the  river  at  its  best  one  should 


make  the  joumey  from  Portland  to  the 
Dalles,  a  distance  of  nearly  one  hundred 
miles.  The  railroad  is  close  to  the  shore 
much  of  the  way,  and  the  views  from  the 
car  window  are  quite  entrancing,  but  it  is 
only  from  the  river  steamers  that  one  gets 
the  full  beauty  of  the  scenes.  As  you  go  up 
the  river  the  valley  is  at  first  broad  and 
pastoral.  Gradually,  however,  you  come 
into  a  region  of  wooded  bluffs  and  you 
begin  to  see  rocky  precipices  rising  from 
the  water's  edge,  or  lonely  pinnacles  like 
monster  monuments. 

At  intervals  some  little  village  finds  a 
clinging  place  in  a  dell  among  the  rocks, 
and  these  forest  hamlets  looked  very  attrac- 
tive and  Swiss-like  in  their  mountain  en- 
vironment. Perhaps  the  most  pleasing  of 
them  is  Cascade  Locks  at  a  spot  where  the 
river  breaks  into  a  foaming  tumult  of 
rapids  and  the  shores  rise  in  great  rocky 
ranges  on  either  side.  Formerly,  according 
to  an  Indian  legend,  the  river  here  was 
spanned  by  a  mighty  natural  bridge,  be- 
neath which  the  water  flowed  smoothly 
in  an  unbroken  channel,  and  the  redmen 
were  accustomed  to  cross  the  bridge  in 
their  travels  and  local  intercourse.  At  one 
time  there  lived  on  the  Oregon  side  an 
Indian  brave  whom  the  gods  regarded  with 
much  favor.  While  hunting  on  the  Wash- 
ington side  he  met  and  fell  in  love  with 
an  Indian  maiden  of  a  neighboring  tribe. 
Presently  he  married  her  and  they  started 
together  for  his  home.  But  when  about  to 
cross  the  bridge,  disappointed  suitors  and 
others  of  the  maiden's  tribe  leaped  out 
from  an  ambush.  The  two  hastened  on 
across  the  bridge,  and  no  sooner  had  they 
reached  the  Oregon  side  than  they  heard  a 
tremendous  crash,  and  looking  around, 
they  saw  that  the  great  bridge  had  fallen, 
carrying  the  wrathful  pursuers  to  their 
death.  Thus  the  gods  showed  their  love 
for  the  young  brave.  The  fall  of  the  bridge 
formed  the  rapids  which  have  obstructed 
the  white  man's  navigation. 

The  village  came  into  being  as  a  portage 
place,  for  steamers  could  not  get  over  the 
rapids,  and  their  cargoes  had  to  be  trans- 
ferred a  half  mile  across  a  neck  of  land. 
Now  the  government  has  built  locks,  and 
the  steamers  pass  on.  These  locks  have 
cost  three  or  four  million  dollars — an  in- 
vestment entirely  out  of  proportion  to  any 
present  business  done  through  them. 


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In  earlier  days  the  local  fishing  was  an 
important  industry,  but  salmon  are  not  as 
plentiful  here  as  they  were.  Below  the 
locks  are  numerous  fish-wheels  along  the 
shores.  They  are  a  striking  feature  of 
the  landscape,  for  they  are  from  twenty  to 
forty  feet  in  diameter  and  six  or  eight  feet 
across.  Each  pair  of  spokes  is  fitted  with 
a  great  wire-meshed  scoop.  The  wheel  is 
adjusted  in  a  substantial  framework,  and 
the  current  revolves  it  and  keeps  the 
scoops  lifting  from  the  water.  A  stout 
lattice  dam  reaches  out  from  the  wheel 
with  a  sharp  slant  down  stream.  This 
guides  the  fish  to  the  scoops,  and  the  first 
thing  they  know  they  are  hoisted  in  the 
air,  and  fall  into  an  inclined  trough  from 
which  they  flop  down  at  one  side  on  to  a 
platform,  or  into  an  inclosure  of  water 
where  the  fisherman  can  get  them  at  their 
convenience. 

The  chief  resort  for  persons  of  leisure  in 
the  village  was  the  porch  of  a  tiny  butcher's 
shop.  Thence  you  could  look  down  from 
the  hillock  where  the  shop  stood  and  see 
two  or  three  other  small  places  of  business, 
a  hotel  and  the  station.  This  was  the 
heart  of  the  hamlet,  but  there  was  seldom 
enough  transpiring  to  rouse  the  loiterers 
from  their  dreamy  lethargy.  I  had  not 
been  long  a  member  of  the  porch  group 
when  a  brisk,  elderly  man  joined  us  and  as 
he  did  so  regaled  us  with  a  couplet  of  a 
song  which  ran  in  this  wise: 

"Happy  land,  happy  land! 
Breaking  stones  and  wheeling  sand." 

"It's  a  long  time  since  you  been  here," 
said  the  butcher.  "Why  ain't  you  bought 
any  meat  of  me  lately?" 

"  1  ain't  eaten  no  beefsteak  for  a  month," 
replied  the  singer.  "It  don't  agree  with 
me." 

"If  you  stop  eatin'  and  buyin'  meat, 
how'm  1  goin'  to  live?"  the  butcher  asked. 

"Well,"  responded  the  singer,  "that's 
your  lookout.  1  can't  kill  myself  to  make 
the  butcher  live." 

The  newcomer  was  an  old  resident  of 
the  village  and  in  response  to  a  question  I 
asked  about  the  fishing,  he  said:  "The 
salmon  have  been  kind  o'  played  out  here 
the  last  few  years,  but  a  dozen  years  ago 
this  here  river  was  full  of  salmon.  I've 
taken  a  dip  net  and  stood  on  the  shore  and 
thrown  half  a  ton  out  in  a  single  day.    The 


net  was  on  the  end  of  a  sixteen-foot  pole, 
and  I'd  just  let  it  down  and  then  lift  it  up. 
The  water  was  generally  too  riley  for  me 
to  see  the  fish.  There  was  lots  of  fun  and 
excitement  when  they  was  comin'  fast. 
I've  dipped  out  three  bluebacks  to  a  lick, 
and  once  I  got  a  Royal  Chinook  that 
weighed  sixty-eight  pounds.  He  was  a 
whopper,  but  we  didn't  use  to  be  paid  only 
two  cents  a  f)ound." 

While  we  were  chatting,  two  laborers, 
passed,  each  shouldering  a  roll  of  blankets. 
The  butcher  pointed  to  them  and  said: 
"You  see  those  fellers,  don't  you?  Well, 
when  I  first  reached  here  from  the  East  I 
thought  a  man  with  his  bed  on  his  back 
was  the  funniest  thing  I'd  ever  come  across, 
but  a  rancher  in  this  country  won't  take  his 
hired  men  into  his  house.  They've  got  to 
furnish  their  own  blankets  and  usually 
sleep  on  the  hay  in  the  bam.  I  kn  w  a 
feller,  who  when  he'd  just  arrived  and 
didn't  understand  the  ways  they  manage, 
got  a  job  harvest  in'  on  a  big  wheat 
ranch.  The  help  are  apt  to  sleep  in  the 
straw  stacks  then,  and  it's  precious  little 
time  they  get  to  sleep  anywhere.  But  he 
didn't  know  anything  about  that,  and  he 
was  sitting  around  in  the  evening,  and 
he  says  to  the  rancher,  'Where  am  I  goin' 
to  sleep  to-night?' 

"'Why,  /  don't  care  where  you  sleep,' 
says  the  rancher.  'I've  got  960  acres  of 
land  around  here,  and  if  you  can't  find  a 
place  to  sleep  on  that,  I'll  get  my  next 
neighbor  to  lend  me  a  piece  of  his.' 

"It's  only  hoboes  who  travel  without 
blankets.  When  you  see  a  man  knockin' 
around  this  country  empty-handed  and 
'  lookin'  for  work'  you  can  be  dead  sure  he's 
pray  in'  to  God  never  to  find  it." 

One  of  the  occupants  of  the  porch  was  a 
watch  peddler.  He  was  eighty-six  years 
old,  bowed  and  gray,  but  still  brisk  and 
hearty.  "I  been  in  this  country  since 
1870,"  said  he,  "and  1  ain't  got  used  to  it 
yet.  I  took  up  a  claim,  and  I  had  a 
neighbor  on  one  side  of  me  that  was  nick- 
named 'Gassy*  Smith  because  he  talked  so 
much,  and  on  the  other  side  lived  a  man 
called  *Hog'  Jones  who  was  so  stingy  he 
wa'n't  fit  to  live.  1  didn't  stay  there  very 
long  and  1  been  travel  in'  around  mostly 
since.  But  my  son  has  a  farm  out  here. 
His  house  looks  as  if  it  had  stood  where  it 
is  for  sixteen  hundred  vears,  though  1  don'l 


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A  salmon  wheel — Fishing  by  machinery. 


suppose  it  has  for  fifty.  It's  the  darndest 
old  shack  you  ever  saw,  but  that  doesn't 
seem  to  trouble  him  any.  He's  got  the 
Western  habit  of  not  payin'  much  attention 
to  the  home  surroundings.  Another  thing 
— they  rarely  take  the  trouble  to  raise 
vegetables  and  the  like  o'  that.  Have  you 
noticed  how  dry  and  tough  the  beef  is  here? 
The  creatures  are  fed  very  little  corn  and 
they  have  to  do  a  lot  of  tramping  over  the 
range  to  get  enough  to  eat.  So  they're 
small  and  lean.  You  let  a  man  from  here 
see  the  way  cattle  are  given  corn  in  the 
East,  and  his  eyes  would  fall  right  out  of 
his  head  with  surprise. 

"I've  stopped  at  ranches  to  get  dinner 
where  they  wouldn't  furnish  me  anything 
but  bread  and  milk.  Good  Lx>rd!  I've 
been  to  places  where  they  had  any  amount 
o'  cows  and  yet  not  a  mite  of  butter.  The 
people  are  easy-goin'.  They  mostly  own 
their  farms,  but  seldom  have  money  laid 
by.     However,  there  are  men  who  make 


their  fortune  in  some  of  the  enterprises  of 
the  region.  I  know  a  chap  who  came  into 
this  village  with  fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket, 
and  he  became  a  partner  in  the  sawmill. 
A  few  years  later  he  sold  out  his  interest  for 
sixty  thousand  dollars.  He  was  a  smart, 
sharp,  devilish  good  man,  I  tell  yer.  When 
he  got  his  money  he  left.  He  didn't  build 
here  or  spend  any  of  his  cash  here." 

"No,"  said  a  young  fellow  who  with  a 
companion  was  playing  cards  at  the  far 
end  of  the  porch,  "of  course  he  didn't.  A 
man  with  wealth  has  no  business  in  such  a 
hole  as  this.  What  enjoyment  is  there 
here  for  him?  He  goes,  and  he  goes  quick, 
you  bet  cher!" 

No  doubt  the  confines  of  life  in  the  river 
village  were  narrow,  but  I  could  not  feel 
that  it  was  so  blank  as  this  young  man 
claimed.  Certainly  nature  had  done  much 
for  the  place,  and  the  wild  charm  of  moun- 
tains and  forest  and  stream  surrounding 
could  not  easily  be  surpassed. 


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A   DUEL    IN    THE   DARK 


BY   W.   J.  CARNEY   AND   CHAUNCEY   THOMAS 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    WIIL   CRAVFORD 


;VER  at  the  O.  K.  dance 
I  hall,  kept   by  the  noto- 
I  rious   Charlie    Kemp, 
Sam  Mickey  had  his  gam- 
bling outfit.     Sam    was 
one  of  the  slickest  men  in 
Kit  Carson.     He  dressed 
well  and  was  always  clean  shaved,  except  a 
slight  mustache.     His  game  was  known  as 
the  "Horse  Heads,"  a  green  cloth  all  cov- 
ered with  bright  and  different  colored  heads 
of  horses.     He  could  smilingly  look  you  in 
the  eye  and  shoot  you  while  engaged  in  an 
apparently  pleasant  conversation.     It  was 
always  supposed  that  Marshal  Tom  Smith 
was  a  silent  partner  in  the  game.     But  this 
was  not  true.     In  the  same  room,  strung 
all  along  the  sides,  were  thirty  or  more 
tables,  all  presided  over  by  men  who  would 
shoot  at  the  drop  of  a  hat.    A  door  from 
the  main  hall  opened  into  the  keno  room. 
This  room  was  filled  with  men  seated  at 
the  table  playing  keno. 

The  marshal  had  an  interest  in  the  keno 
room,  I  knew,  for  he  told  me  as  much.  At 
that  time  he  was  up  on  the  platform  talking 
to  the  marker,  who  was  inspecting  cards 
and  paying  winners.  The  dance  was  going 
on,  three  sets  on  the  floor,  and  all  the  tables 
were  crowded.  Liquor  was  pouring  over 
the  bar,  the  girls  marching  their  partners 
to  it  for  drinks  at  the  end  of  every  dance. 
Everybody  was  around.  It  was  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  a  beautiful  day. 
Pony  Spencer,  a  dead  game  sport,  had 
just  arrived  in  town  bringing  with  him  six 
Mexican  senoritas  as  dance  girls  for  Kemp. 
Pony  walked  his  dusky  beauties  into  the 
hall  with  as  much  pomp  as  if  he  led  a  regi- 
ment of  victorious  cavalry.  For  a  moment 
the  dancers  stcK)d  still,  the  fiddlers  stopped 
playing,  the  games  ceased,  and  everybody 
stood  up  to  take  a  look  at  the  newcomers. 


One  of  the  girls  was  from  the  Luma 
Padee,  a  small  tov^n  near  Fort  Union.  She 
was  well  kno^^Ti  to  many  personally,  and  to 
all  by  reputation,  as  the  most  desperate 
woman  in  New  Mexico.  At  a  nod  from 
Dick  Gaunt,  the  floor-manager,  the  travel- 
stained  girls  were  shown  into  a  room  pre- 
pared for  them.  Now  there  was  bad  blood 
between  Pony  Spencer  and  Sam  Mickey, 
and  as  Mickey  looked  across  the  hall  a 
sneer  was  on  his  face,  and  he  stooped  down 
and  made  a  remark  to  the  man  seated  by 
him,  at  which  both  laughed.  Pony's  face 
flashed  up  and  every  one  could  see  his 
anger.  As  soon  as  Pony  had  escorted  the 
girls  to  their  door,  he  turned  and  made  for 
Sam's  table.  I  was  standing  near  the  door 
to  the  keno  room  and  was  watching  the 
trouble  between  the  two  men. 

Pony  stopped  opposite  Mickey  and 
looked  across  the  table  into  his  eyes  with 
that  look  so  hard  to  describe,  but  so  easy 
to  understand.  Pony  said  nothing,  but  the 
look  spoke  for  him;  it  meant  "What  do 
you  mean?"  The  other,  true  tp  his  nature, 
looked  up  with  a  smile  and  said  cordially: 
"Well,  Pony,  old  man.  got  back,  eh? 
What  luck?  Had  a  good  trip?  I  hardly 
looked  for  you  so  soon."  Pony  still  looked 
at  the  pale,  smiling  face  before  him,  but 
uttered  no  word.  Then  unable  longer  to 
contain  himself  he  turned  on  his  heel  with  a 
muttered  curse,  his  teeth  set  hard,  strode 
out  of  the  hall  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left.  Mickey  watched  him,  and  I  heard  him 
say  to  his  sitting  friend:  "Ain't  heeled,  I 
guess.  Oh,  but  wasn't  he  raw!  Well, 
he'll  come  back  and  I  suppose  there  will  be 
all  sorts  of  trouble.  What  a  fool  I  was  to 
take  any  notice  of  the  stubby  importer  of 
female  greasers.  I  didn't  think  he  saw 
me— but.  let  er  go.  It's  got  to  come  some 
time,  and  now's  as  good  a  time  as  any." 


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I  saw  him  loosen  his  two  six-shooters. 


Mickey  got  up,  walking  over  to  where  I 
stood.  As  he  passed  me  he  said:  "Well, 
Cap,  what — do — you  think  of  the  Spencer 
circus?  The  white  girls  ought  to  give  him 
a  reception  to-night?" 

"Probably  they  will,"  I  replied. 

"If  Rowdy  Kate  was  in  town  she 
would  give  him  one  at  the  wrong  end  of  a 
six-shooter."  Mickey  laughed.  Then  he 
went  on  out  of  the  double  doors  in  front, 
and  1  passed  out  of  the  back  door  and 
around  the  corner  into  the  People's  Eating 
Saloon.  \  was  determined  to  watch  the 
game  to  a  finish,  for  I  believed,  as  Mickey 
did,  that  the  only  reason  there  was  not 


trouble  in  the  hall  was  that  Pony  was  not 
properly  heeled,  and  the  fact  came  to  him 
as  he  stood  before  his  enemy.  I  had  no 
more  than  taken  my  stand  near  the  win- 
dow when  I  saw  Pony,  his  coat  thrown 
carelessly  over  his  shoulder,  walking  down 
the  sidewalk.  Beside  him  was  Jack 
Brenan.  jack  was  an  old  discharged 
cavalry  man.  He  was  considered  entirely 
fearless,  never  was  known  to  make  trouble, 
and  never  tried  to  shirk  it. 

This  Brenan  was  not  a  gambler,  that  is, 
it  was  not  his  profession,  although  he  was  a 
big  poker  player.  At  the  time  I  write  he 
was  a  Deputy  United  States  Marshal,  be- 

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longing  to  as  brave  a  class  of  men  as  the 
world  has  ever  seen.  In  the  West  at  that 
time,  1870,  there  were  no  untried  men 
wearing  Uncle  Sam's  badge  of  marshal- 
ship.  There  was  no  such  thing  in  those 
days  as  getting  the  appointment  through  a 
political  pull.  While  that  might  be  the 
case  with  the  District  Marshal  himself,  the 
rank  and  file,  the  men  who  did  the  real 
work,  must  come  for  appointment  with  a 
name  for  cool  and  undisputed  courage. 

It  may  have  been  by  accident  that  he 
was  with  Pony,  but  more  likely,  had  been 
requested  by  Pony  to  come  and  see  him 
through  his  intended  call  on  Mickey.  The 
street  was  empty  except  a  few  railroaders 
in  off  the  grade.  There  was  no  one  in  sight 
that  would  be  likely  to  take  any  notice  of 
Mickey,  nor  would  1  if  I  had  not  been  pres- 
ent at  their  meeting  in  the  hall.  Mickey 
leaned  over  beside  the  big  square  post  as  he 
saw  them  coming. 

I  saw  him  loosen  his  two  six-shooters, 
and  as  he  did  he  left  the  buttons  on  the 
flaps  of  his  holster  unclasped.  There  he 
stood  pale  and  cool,  arms  folded,  with 
hands  open,  fingers  drumming  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  the  never-failing  smile  on  his  face. 
Pony  stopped  and  turned  facing  Mickey. 
I  could  not  hear  what  the  men  said.  Then 
Pony  began  slowly  to  back  away  from 
Mickey,  never  removing  his  eyes  from  that 
white  face.  Jack  Brenan  stepped  a  little 
to  one  side.  One  or  two  others  stopped  to 
see  the  trouble.  Mickey  was  saying  some- 
thing and  kept  bobbing  his  head  up  and 
down;  I  could  see  him  stealing  his  hands 
down  toward  his  six-shooters.  Pony  was 
also  slipping  his  hands  along  his  belt 
toward  his  guns.  To  look  at  Mickey's 
smiling  face  from  where  I  stood  one  would 
never  suppose  there  was  anything  disagree- 
able going  on  between  those  two  men ;  yet 
each  was  thirsting  for  the  life  of  the  other 
and  waiting  only  the  first  little  slip  up  of 
the  other  to  b^in  pumping  the  lead  into 
him. 

When  Pony  had  backed  to  the  middle  of 
the  street  all  disguise  was  over;  both  men 
had  their  six-shooters  out  and  blazing 
away.  At  the  same  first  fire  1  saw  Pony 
slap  his  open  right  hand  to  his  side.  The 
six-shooter  fell  to  the  ground,  but  he  did 
not  stop  firing  with  the  one  still  in  the  left 
hand. 

A  young  fellow,  Ned  McNally,  reeling 


drunk,  staggered  between  them  and  re- 
ceived a  bullet  in  the  breast.  Down  he 
went  on  his  face,  quivering  and  biting  the 
dirt.  I  saw  blood  splash  on  Mickey's 
cheek — then  the  form  of  Tom  Smith  rushed 
bet'veen  the  two  men.  The  shooting 
stopped.  Smith  faced  Mickey,  and  the 
wounded  gambler  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  sidewalk  and  with  his  hand  began  to 
brush  the  pouring  blood  from  his  face. 
Pony  was  running  toward  the  lake  on  the 
open  prairie.  Smith  turned  and  started 
on  the  run  after  him.  In  each  hand  the 
marshal  held  a  six  -  shooter.  Walking 
through  the  building  and  coming  out  the 
back  door  1  could  see  thechase,  and  1  heard 
Smith  shout:  '*Halt,  Pony,  halt  or  Til 
shoot."  But  Pony  kept  on  running. 
Smith  took  aim.  "Last  time.  Pony,"  he 
called.     "Now  then — halt." 

Pony  dropped  on  one  knee  and  turned  to 
look  back.  Smith  went  up  to  him,  put  a 
hand  under  Pony's  arm,  helped  him  to  his 
feet,  disarmed  him,  put  the  six-shooter 
back  into  the  holster,  hung  the  belt  over 
his  arm,  and  started  to  the  jail  with  his 
prisoner.  Smith  paid  no  attention  to  the 
other  duelist.  But  jack  Brenan  did  as  the 
marshal  was  passing  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  with  Pony.  Brenan  called  to 
him:  "Say  there.  Smith,  why  don't  you 
arrest  both  men?"  Smith  did  not  answer 
and  Brenan  taunted  him,  saying:  "So  you 
stand  in,  do  you,  Smith?  Is  everybody 
free  from  arrest  if  they  divy  up  with  you? 
What's  your  price?" 

Nothing  a  man  could  say  would  set 
harder  on  Smith  than  this.  He  stopped, 
hesitated  a  moment,  then  went  on  again. 
As  he  did  this  Brenan  laughed  tauntingly, 
walked  down  street  and  into  the  O.  K. 
hall.  The  crowd  was  amazed.  All  that 
heard  the  remarks  knew  that  Kit  Carson 
was  soon  to  see  a  clash  between  two  of  the 
gamest  men  in  the  West.  It  would  be  hard 
to  say  which  was  the  gamer  of  the  two. 
Everyone  knew  that  Brenan  said  what  he 
did  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  bring  on  a 
fight  between  himself  and  the  marshal,  and 
none  knew  better  than  Brenan  himself, 
that,  when  he  accused  Smith  of  taking  tips, 
he  lied.  Smith  was  a  square  man.  Brenan 
also  knew  that  he  was  sure  to  be  accommo- 
dated with  a  fight;  usually  such  an  affair 
was  an  everyday  matter,  but  a  fight  be- 
tween two  such  men  as  the  two  marshals 


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was  not,  even  in  Kit  Carson.  It  could  end 
but  one  way — the  death  of  one  or  both. 
Brenan  acted  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
taken  place,  and  lounged  about  town,  talk- 
ing with  friends,  and  now  and  then  placing 
a  bet  at  one  of  the  tables.  Still  he  well 
knew  that  before  the  day  closed  he  must 
give  an  account  for  his  words.  I  went  up 
to  the  jail  and  there  found  both  Pony  and 
Mickey  sitting  in  the  office.  They  had 
their  wounds  attended  to  and  had  already 
been  before  the  judge  and  paid  the  fine  of 
fifty  dollars  and  costs  for  shooting  inside  the 
town  limits.  There  was  no  charge  for  at- 
tempted murder.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't 
know  how  the  court  would  go  about  trying 
any  one  for  any  charge  that  a  money  pen- 
alty would  not  settle,  for,  if  one  man  killed 
another  and  did  not  do  it  in  the  approved 
style,  that  is,  in  a  fair  fight  or  in  self- 
defense,  it  would  be  promptly  attended  to 
by  Judge  Lynch,  through  the  Vigilance 
Committee. 

But  if  anything  was  approved  by  the 
public  it  was  sure  to  be  approved  by 
the  old  judge,  l^w  had  little  to  do  with 
affairs  in  New  Mexico  thirty  years  ago. 

McNally  was  bleeding  at  the  lungs,  but 
not  yet  dead.  In  fact,  he  did  not  die,  but 
never  regained  his  health.  Smith  was 
sitting  in  the  office  as  pleasant  as  ever, 
with  a  friendly  word  for  all.  To  look  at 
him,  one  would  not  suppose  that  he  had  in 
his  mind  to  demand  an  apology  from  a  man 
he  well  knew  would  not  make  it  and  that  a 
deadly  fight  would  surely  follow.  We  ate 
supper  together.  After  supper  Smith 
made  ready  to  go  down  on  the  street,  and 
as  he  left  the  building  the  old  judge  looked 
after  him  and,  turning  to  the  others  in  the 
office,  said:  ** Tom's  life  is  one  of  strife, 
still  he  don't  seem  to  worry  much.  I  won- 
der if  he  will  come  back  to  this  office  alive. 
Boys,  you  ought  to  go  and  keep  an  eye  on 
him.  Try  and  be  near  so  as  to  save  him 
at  any  cost.  He  would  be  a  great  loss  to 
this  town.  Brenan  means  to  kill  him,  and 
Jack  Brenan  is  the  one  man  in  town  to-day 
I  would  be  afraid  to  pit  Tom  against.  He 
is  just  as  game  and  just  as  cool  as  Tom,  and 
knows  well  the  size  of  the  job  on  hand.  1 
wonder  what  the  trouble  can  be?  It  is 
foolish  to  suppose  that  United  States 
Marshal  Brenan  would  pick  a  quarrel  with 
Town  Marshal  Smith  on  any  other  grounds 
than  an  old  sore.     Be  on  hand,  boys,  and 


prevent  trouble  if  possible,  for  both  are 
good  men — but  of  the  two,  save  Tom.  We 
need  him  most." 

The  judge  voiced  the  opinion  of  the  whole 
town.  As  Smith  was  passing  Black  Jack's 
saloon  he  spied  Brenan  standing  at  the  bar. 
Smith  called  Petie,  the  fruit  boy,  and  sent 
a  message  to  Jack,  who  turned  at  once  and 
walked  out  to  meet  the  marshal. 

"Jack,"  said  Tom,  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  "  1  want  to  know  your  reason  for  the 
insult  you  gave  me  to-day." 

"  I  have  no  explanation  to  make.  You 
know  what  I  said,  and  that  goes,"  was 
Brenan's  answer. 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you,"  said 
Smith.  "  I  am  no  tip-taker,  and  I  don't 
believe  you  think  I  am.  But  1  don't  allow 
any  living  man  to  run  a  bluff  on  me,  and  I 
can't  let  this  pass.  You  know  that.  I 
don't  want  any  trouble  with  you  or  with 
any  man,  but  as  I  am  sure  that  you  are 
doing  this  to  pick  a  row,  I  would  like  to 
know  the  real  cause  of  your  insult.  You 
could  look  for  a  square  deal  from  me,  and 
you  know  it.  and  it  was  not  necessary  for 
you  to  make  an  old  washerwoman  barge 
of  yourself  or  to  tell  a  lie  to  get  a  fight  out 
of  me." 

At  this  Brenan  made  a  blow  at  the 
marshal,  but  was  grabbed  by  mutual 
friends. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  all  of  you,"  said 
Brenan,  "don't  hold  me  and  let  me  be 
killed  without  a  show  for  defense." 

"That,"  said  the  marshal,  "is  another 
insult.  You  know  I  would  never  fire  on  a 
defenseless  man." 

The  two  men's  best  friends  now  did  all 
in  their  power  to  prevent  bloodshed.  All 
Smith  asked  for  was  an  explanation  and  a 
reason  for  Brenan's  hatred,  as  he  was 
sure  there  was  some  misunderstanding  on 
Brenan's  part.  Heretofore  the  men  had 
been  the  best  of  friends.  Brenan  would 
give  no  reason,  but  kept  saying  stubbornly: 
"You  know  what  I  said  to-day?  Well, 
that  goes." 

"Well,"  said  the  marshal,  "I  don't  see 
any  way  out.  1  will  not  stand  to  be  in- 
sulted, and  as  he  will  give  me  no  clew  to  his 
conduct,  he  must  fight  me." 

So  fight  it  was.  Two  friends  of  each 
man  were,  by  consent  of  their  principals, 
appointed  to  decide  on  the  way  of  battle. 
Brenan's  friends  held  ouf^for  a  duel  on 


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horseback.  Their  man  was  an  old  cavalry 
man  and,  being  a  United  States  marshal, 
nearly  all  his  work  was  done  mounted, 
chasing  government  horse-thieves  and  bad 
Indians.  This  would  have  been  unfair  to 
Smith,  as  he  had  little  or  no  skill  on  a  horse. 
The  plan  at  last  agreed  upon  was  charac- 
teristic of  the  times,  the  country,  the  men 
that  planned  it,  and  the  men  that  were  to 
fight.  In  town  was  an  old  freight  shed, 
sixty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide.  At  either 
end  was  a  door.  Each  man  was  to  stand 
by  a  door,  and  at  the  word  they  were  to 
enter  and  open  fire.  The  doors  were  shut, 
and  not  opened  until  the  duel  was  over. 
There  was  to  be  no  light  except  that  made 
by  the  blaze  from  the  muzzles  of  their  six- 
shooters.  They  were  at  liberty  to  fight 
their  own  way.  The  hour  was  midnight. 
It  came  all  too  soon.  At  the  last  moment, 
before  taking  position,  Marshal  Tom  made 
a  last  appeal  to  Jack  to  explain  his  attitude. 
But  the  other  sent  back  another  insult. 
Brenan,  full  of  that  reckless,  foolish  nerve 
so  plentiful  among  frontier  men  of  that 
time,  made  his  entry  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand with  a  lighted  cigar  in  his  mouth. 
Such  foolhardiness  was  suicidal,  as  this 
gave  Smith  a  target.  The  marshal,  as  he 
got  the  word,  bowed  politely  to  his  friends 
and  stepped  quickly  inside  the  door.  It 
was  slammed  behind  him.  Instantly  a 
bullet  struck  it,  then  another,  then  rapid 
firing  began  and  was  kept  up  for  some 
seconds.  After  the  first  eight  or  ten  the 
shots  did  not  come  so  quickly,  but,  from 
the  sound  of  the  reports,  it  was  evident 
that  both  men  were  still  alive  and  shooting. 
After  about  five  minutes  the  shots  seemed 
to  come  all  from  one  direction.  Then  two 
shots  would  come  almost  together  as  if  the 
second  man  were  firing  at  the  blaze  of  the 
other's  gun.  This  stopped,  and  a  step  was 
heard  approaching  our,  or  Smith's  door. 
When  the  step  came  closer  hard  breathing 
was  heard,  and  sounded  as  if  the  man  was 
tired.  We  listened,  expecting  to  hear  a 
call  for  the  door  to  open,  or  a  knock,  but 
although  the  man  inside  walked  close  to  the 
side  and  end  no  word  was  heard.  As  he 
passed  the  door  the  noise  made  by  the  hard 
breathing  was  horrible  and  sickening  to 
hear.  Not  being  able  to  see  the  man  made 
it  all  the  more  dreadful.     We  looked  at 


each  other,  but  no  one  spoke.  Before  the 
man  inside  got  far  away  another  shot  was 
heard,  and,  as  it  could  not  be  fired  by  the 
man  we  had  heard  breathing  we  knew  both 
men  were  still  alive. 

Jimmy  Reed,  the  lightweight  pugilist, 
asked  if  we  had  not  better  try  and  get  them 
to  come  out,  but  before  an  answer  could  be 
given  the  loud,  rattling  breathing  was 
again  heard.  This  time  it  seemed  at  first 
to  be  in  our  outside  party  it  sounded  so 
plain.  We  heard  a  groan,  and  then  came 
a  thick  voice  weakly  calling:  "  Boys,  get  a 
light."  This  meant  '*open  the  door." 
Three  yards  from  the  door  we  found  Brenan 
lying  against  the  wall.  He  was  bleeding 
badly  from  the  mouth  and  was  shot 
through  the  lungs.  He  was  dying  fast. 
His  face  had  the  gray,  ashy  color  that  can 
never  be  mistaken.  Marshal  Tom  was 
seen  at  the  other  end  of  the  shed  walking 
toward  us.  Except  a  slight  scratch  on  his 
WTist  he  was  unhurt,  though  in  his  clothes 
were  two  bullet  holes.  When  he  espied 
Jack's  face  he  hastened  to  his  side,  kneeled 
down  and  begged  him  to  tell  the  cause  of 
it  all. 

Whatever  Jack  said  none  of  us  under- 
stood, but  Smith  did  and  spoke  low  and 
quickly  to  the  dying  man.  Then  his  voice 
raised  and  we,  standing  apart,  heard  him 
say:  ''Oh,  Jack!  you  ought  to  have  told 
me  before.  You  would  have  had  to  go  to 
Denver  to  find  the  man  responsible  for 
that."  Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  the  marshal 
as  he  supported  Brenan's  head  and  tried  to 
soothe  his  last  moments.  Jack  could  not 
last  long  and  was  now  beyond  speaking. 
The  doctor  came,  but  could  do  nothing. 
Twenty  minutes  after  the  door  opened, 
there  in  the  dim  light  of  a  candle,  sur- 
rounded by  the  silent,  uncovered  group  of 
friends,  held  in  his  slayer's  arms.  Jack 
Brenan  breathed  out  his  life.  He  died 
victim  of  his  own  folly  and  hard-headed- 
ness,  a  brave  man  but  a  foolish  one. 

Next  day  all  the  places  closed  during  the 
funeral.  The  whole  town  deplored  his 
death,  but  no  one,  not  even  the  dead  man's 
closest  friends,  blamed  the  little  marshal. 

Brenan  was  the  thirty-seventh  man  we 
lowered  into  the  grave  who  had  died  with 
his  boots  on,  and  Kit  Carson  was  not  yet 
six  months  old. 


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HIT   OR   MISS 

THE  STORY  OF  A  NEW  BRUNSWICK  CARIBOU 
BY   MAXIMILIAN   FOSTER 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    HY.   S.    WATSON 


shots,  and 
by    night 


across 
flowed 


HERE  in  the  forest  came 
a  quick  stillness  and 
the  cold.  One  heard 
the  frost  go  creeping  at 
its  work;  the  trees, 
riven  in  its  grip, 
cracked  like  pistol- 
the  wall  of  the  skies 
the  draperies   of    the 


aurora,  its  pale  glow  adding  to  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  solitudes.  Drifting  on  the 
weather,  the  herds,  one  by  one,  came  down 
to  the  open  barren  grounds;  and  at  their 
heels  went  Tomah  and  I,  following  where 
the  broadened  slots  tracked  a  passage 
through  the  trees.  By  highland  and  bog 
we  made  our  way,  skirting  the  bruU  and 
the  matted  tangles  of  the  cedar  swamps 
that  lay  on  the  Mirimichi  and  bearing 
southward,  as  the  trail  led,  headed  for  that 
line  of  barrens  that  stretched  under  the 
ridges  in  our  front. 

Tomah  went  ahead.  "  Hunh !"  he  grunt- 
ed, making  his  boast,  but  cautiously, 
"mebbe  good  place  for  caribou  pretty  soon. 
Big  barren  best  find  um  when  snow  is 
deep." 

We  struck  the  barren  half  way  down  its 
length  and,  shoving  aside  the  last  of  the 
twigs,  cautiously  looked  forth.  North  and 
south  stretched  the  long  open,  but  as 
far  as  we  could  see  not  a  living  thing 
moved  upon  its  surface.  In  the  east,  the 
light  of  day  grew  broadly,  and  as  we  stood, 
scanning  the  level  plain,  the  red  edge  of 
the  sun  came  peeping  over  the  trees,  and 
showed  us  the  forest  lying  quiet  in  the  dead 
clutch  of  its  winter  sleep. 

But  the  caribou — where  were  they? 
For  a  while  we  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the 
bush,  spying  out  all  the  edges  of  the  bar- 


670 


ren's  bays  and  shore,  but  seeing  nothing 
for  our  pains.  The  whole  vista  before  us 
lay  dead  and  tenantless,  and  as  the  last 
pale  stars  merged  into  the  growing  bril- 
liance of  the  winter  day  Tomah,  crouched 
at  the  barren's  edge,  arose  and  waved  his 
arm  about  him. 

"Hunh!  Caribou  stay  in  trees.  Must 
go  look  for  him." 

"The  wind's  all  right,  Tomah,"  said  I, 
raising  a  bared  hand  to  feel  the  quiet  air, 
"you  go  this  way,  and  I'll  go  the  other. 
We  ought  to  find  caribou  pretty  soon." 

The  silence  of  the  woods  swept  about  me 
as  1  slipped  on  through  the  bush.  Over- 
head the  tops  sighed,  whispering  faintly  as 
the  light  breeze  touched  their  boughs,  and 
that  and  the  crisp  click  of  the  snowshoes 
striking  together  was  all  the  sound  that 
came  to  bear  me  company. 

Crack!  A  twig  snapped  near  at  hand. 
At  the  sound  the  blood  surged  into  my 
breast.  At  the  right  lay  a  little  mound 
swelling  up  from  the  forest's  level  floor, 
and  as  I  stood  on  watch,  the  rifle  thrust 
forward  and  ready,  the  brush  cracked 
again.  In  that  quiet  the  sound  carried 
like  a  rifle-shot — again — then  silence!  The 
keyed-up  suspense  of  waiting  brought  the 
blood  rushing  to  my  ears,  and  every  heart- 
beat sounded  on  itself  like  the  stroke  of 
a  heavy  sledge.  Crack!  There  was  the 
sharp  swish  of  twigs  as  a  heavy  body  forced 
itself  through  the  undergrowth,  and  looking 
across  the  crest  of  that  little  ridge  I  saw 
the  bush  sway  to  and  fro,  and  for  an  instant 
glimpsed  a  flash  of  white  among  the  lat- 
ticed branches. 

There  was  the  chance  to  shoot,  but  I 
waited.  If  my  friend  Tomah  now  had 
stood  there,  he  would  have^^aken  the  shot 
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off-hand,  and  filled  the  thickets  with  lead. 
But  Tomah  hunted  not  for  the  glory  of  the 
thing,  and  only  for  what  it  stood  him  in 
meat.  It  was  meat — only  meat — that 
Tomah  sought — food — the  necessities  of 
life,  scorning  with  the  savage's  contempt 
the  possession  of  a  mere  useless  trophy  like 
horns,  and  in  the  face  of  it  Tomah,  per- 
haps, was  right  and  I  altogether  wrong, 
with  not  a  rag  or  vestige  of  moral  clothing 
left  to  shield  me.  But  each  man  to  his 
own  liking,  and  so  I  stood  there  waiting, 
ready  to  blaze  away  once  I  had  clapped 
my  eyes  to  horns. 

The  bushes  parted  and  out  into  the  clear 
stepped  a  caribou  cow,  fat,  round,  and 
sleek.  All  unconscious  of  man  near  at 
hand  she  stepped  along,  her  nose  thrust 
forward,  and  the  lighter  hide  of  her  under- 
body  gleaming  whitely  in  contrast  to  the 
darker  hues  above.  She  was  fat  and  round, 
indeed — a  barren  cow — and  Tomah's  eyes 
would  have  gleamed  fitly  at  so  much  juicy 
meat  going  unhindered  along  the  forest. 
Sliding  down  the  edge  of  the  hill  the  cow 
turned  abreast  of  me,  and  was  going  on 
when  something  of  a  sudden  halted  her. 
I  or  a  moment  her  head  swung  back,  and 
with  her  short,  stubby  ears  going  like 
vanes,  she  stared  directly  at  me.  Away 
she  went  then,  leaping  among  the  windfalls, 
halted  again,  turned  back  and,  as  a  breath 
of  air  carried  the  taint  along,  crashed 
onward  into  the  depths  of  the  trees. 

Close  to  the  barren's  head  a  broad  trail 
lay  in  the  snow,  each  imprint  clear  and 
crisply  molded  —  the  hour-old  slots  of  a 
herd  of  five  heading  southward  along  the 
barren's  eastern  edge.  Along  that  field  of 
white  one  read  the  trail  as  clearly  as  if 
written  down  on  paper — the  heavy,  broad- 
ening prints  of  three  larger  caribou,  and 
beside  them  the  sharper  marks  of  a  brace 
of  calves.  For  twenty  rods  or  so,  perhaps, 
the  herd  had  kept  to  the  open;  then  the 
bush  tempted  them,  and  at  the  first  cape 
of  trees  they  had  turned  aside  and  slipped 
into  the  tangled  cover.  Tomah,  laying 
out  the  country  for  my  guidance,  had  told 
me  of  a  smaller  barren  half  a  mile  to  the 
eastward,  and  following  the  track  a  while, 
I  made  sure  the  herd  had  gone  that  way. 
So  bearing  off  to  leeward,  I  fixed  my  line 
and  hurried,  for  who  follows  the  moving 
caribou  must  put  his  best  foot  forward  and 
waste  no  time  in  the  going. 


A  half  hour  passed.  In  that  flat  country 
between  the  barrens  the  trees  had  nar- 
rowed in,  dark  thickets  of  cedar  so  closely 
standing  that  the  sunlight  died  in  their 
tops,  and  even  the  snow  could  not  sift  be- 
tween; looking  forward,  I  saw  the  trees 
widening,  and  a  glimpse  of  sky  told  where 
the  forest  opened  into  the  barren  I  was 
hunting. 

The  opening  was  small  and  round — a 
half  mile  across,  perhaps,  and  lying  like  an 
amphitheater  among  the  trees.  In  some 
age  gone  by  a  little  lake  had  spread  there, 
but  now  there  was  only  a  pot-hole  at  the 
center,  deep  with  mud  beneath  its  skim  of 
ice,  and  fringed  about  with  moss  and 
clumps  of  thorn-like  bushes.  Void  and  life- 
less, the  barren  glimmered  in  the  bland  light 
of  a  winter's  day — the  herd  had  either 
crossed  it  or  gone  by  among  the  trees,  and 
with  every  sense  of  disappointment  I  stood 
looking  out  across  the  plain  of  snow. 

But  there !  Once  again  I  heard  a  twig 
snap — a  faint  sound,  but  clear,  in  that 
crisp,  vibrant  air.  I  looked  to  the  right  of 
me,  and  four  hundred  yards  away  was  the 
herd,  streaming  out  into  the  open,  the  cows 
ahead  with  the  calves  frisking  at  their 
sides,  and  in  their  train  the  herd  bull 
slouching  along  in  selfish  unconcern.  Half- 
way out  of  the  cover  he  halted,  and  with  a 
hanging  head,  looked  about  him  carelessly; 
the  way  was  clear,  and  tossing  his  front  he 
tracked  on  after  the  others. 

Half  uncertain,  I  stood  debating  the 
chances.  On  the  edge  of  the  herd  worked 
the  bull,  pawing  at  the  snow,  and  at  every 
mouthful  of  moss  torn  from  its  cover 
throwing  up  his  head  to  scent  the  air. 
Each  stride  took  him  farther  into  the  wind 
and  away  from  me  and,  though  I  had  no 
glasses,  in  the  glare  of  sun  above  the  snow 
I  could  make  out  the  spread  of  his  yellow 
horns,  and  the  rifle  itched  in  my  hands. 

Slipping  back  into  the  cover  I  ran.  It 
was  one  thing  or  the  other — I  must  either 
head  them  off  as  they  worked  forward  to 
the  wall  of  forest  beyond,  or  take  my 
chances  with  a  long  shot  across  the 
open.  And  in  that  dazzling  light,  full  in 
my  eyes,  1  had  little  faith  in  a  shot  at 
such  a  range.  So,  keeping  to  the  trees,  I 
sped  along  as  fast  as  the  cover  would  fet 
me,  and  going  up  into  the  wind  as  far  as 
I  dared,  crawled  to  the  barren's  edge  and 
peeped. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Westward  lay  the  trail,  growing  fresher  as  we  pushed  along. 


There  were  the  caribou,  and  there,  too, 
was  my  friend  Tomah,  running  in  for  a 
shot.  The  moment  I  clapped  my  eyes  to 
the  opening  I  saw  him  sneaking  up  behind 
a  long  point  of  trees,  crouched  like  a 
poacher  and  edging  along  as  swiftly  as  he 
could  shuffle,  his  rifle  thrust  out  before 
him.  Just  between  us  was  the  herd,  and 
the  knowledge  of  how  Tomah,  in  action, 
was  wont  to  fill  all  the  air  with  lead,  made 
me  hug  closer  to  the  snow  and  I  lay  there, 
my  eyes  on  the  drifting  caribou. 

As  it  stood  it  was  toss  and  toss  who  got 
the  shot.  The  minutes  passed;  nearer  and 
nearer  drew  the  herd,  and  by  a  sudden 
shift  bore  down  directly  on  me.  But  no 
sooner  had  they  turned  when  again  they 
swung  to  the  eastward,  and  boring  away 
across  the  barren,  straggled  in  a  broadside 
across  the  front  of  Tomah's  cover. 

Boom!  I  arose  on  my  elbows  and 
peeked.  At  the  roar  of  Tomah's  rifle  the 
five  threw  up  their  heads  and  looked.  A 
puff  of  snow  danced  into  the  air  just  behind 
the  herd — boom! — Tomah  again,  and  I 
ducked!  For  the  herd,  plunging  around 
in  their  tracks,  went  shacking  down  the 


wind,  and  there  I  lay  in  line  with  Tomah's 
fire  and  his  rifle  going  it  like  a  Maxim. 

Boom — boom-boom!  The  bombardment 
ended  at  last,  and  I  looked  out  along  the 
barren.  There  was  Tomah  standing  in  the 
open  with  one  hand  held  to  shade  his  eyes, 
and  there  far  below  us  were  the  caribou, 
padding  like  a  string  of  hackneys  and  the 
snow  flying  from  their  heels. 

1  showed  myself  to  Tomah,  upon  whose 
round,  fat  face  chagrin  was  written  largely. 

"Hunh!"  he  swore,  his  eyes  evading 
mine,  "damn  gun  no  good!" 

Once  more  we  trod  the  forest  hunting  a 
trail  fresh  enough  to  follow,  and  though  we 
found  many  tracks  in  the  bush,  all  were 
too  old  to  make  it  worth  the  while.  Mile 
on  mile  we  marched  along,  and  saw  no 
sign  of  hide  or  hair,  or  any  track  that  was 
less  old  than  overnight,  and  gloom  settled 
anew  on  Tomah,  grumbling  and  profane. 

"Hunh."  he  mumbled,  toeing  the  frozen 
sign  of  a  bull  that  had  gone  by  many  hours 
before,  "damn  caribou  leave  the  place 
again.    No  find  um  caribou  to-day." 

But  I  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  With  the 
snow  closing  down  there  was  no  call,  it 

Digitized  by  GoOgle  68i 


682 


The  Outing  Magazine 


seemed  to  me,  that  should  urge  the  herds 
to  wandering.  For  here  was  food  and 
plenty — food  close  to  the  heavy  shelter 
that  they  liked;  and  unless  these  caribou 
were  routed  out  by  some  other  better  rea- 
son they  would  hang  to  these  plains  for 
many  days  to  come.  Tomah,  all  at  odds, 
would  have  struck  off  in  another  direction, 
but  I  kept  doggedly  along.  And  there,  an 
hour  after  we  had  boiled  the  midday  kettle, 
I  found  the  trail  that  I  hunted. 

"Look,  Tomah!"  I  stopped  and  felt  of 
the  tracks — fresh!  Yes — scarcely  a  half 
hour  old.  Hardly  more  than  that,  or,  at 
all  events,  the  snow  in  the  hoof-marks  had 
not  had  time  to  freeze  again.  Four — five 
— eight!  On  that  untracked  sweep  of 
snow  it  was  not  hard  to  count  their  num- 
ber. Eight  caribou  had  gone  that  way, 
and  from  the  look  of  it  one  was  a  monster 
— a  caribou  with  a  slot  as  big  as  your  hat ! 

Of  course,  in  that  open,  there  was  no 
telling  whether  it  was  bull  or  cow.  G)ws 
1  have  seen  with  an  open  hoof  as  large 
as  any  bull's,  but  these  tracks  presently 
swept  up  into  the  forest  edge,  and  there 
among  the  trees  was  sign  enough  to  tell 
this  was  a  bull,  and  a  pretty  fair-sized  bull 
at  that — yes — a  big  one.  For  I  saw  where 
he  had  picked  his  way  among  the  trunks,  and 
no  small  caribou  would  have  been  so  choice 
in  the  way  he  kept  clear  of  the  tangles. 

With  our  rifles  hanging  low  we  sped  on 
swiftly  at  a  trot.  Westward  lay  the  trail, 
growing  fresher  as  we  pushed  along,  and 
going  straight  into  the  eye  of  the  wind. 
Two  miles  we  made;  my  gait  dropped  to  a 
walk,  and  at  my  heels  grumbled  Tomah, 
urging  a  better  pace,  and  filled  anew  with  all 
the  Indian's  savage  eagerness  of  the  chase. 

"Hunh!  Caribou  walk  pretty  damn 
fast,  I  think,"  said  Tomah,  wiping  his  face, 
and  then  we  turned  a  long  cape  of  woods. 

"Look,  Tomah!" 

There,  a  half  mile  ahead,  was  the  band  of 
caribou.  They  had  crossed  the  open 
leisurely,  but  faster  than  we  had  followed, 
and  we  saw  them  just  entering  the  woods 
beyond.  Tomah  gave  a  hurried  glance. 
"Caribou  go  lie  down  in  trees,"  he  whis- 
pered, and  breaking  ahead  of  me,  swung 
away  into  the  woods  at  my  right. 

I  let  Tomah  go.  It  struck  me  just  then 
that  Tomah's  reasoning  was  a  little  out  of 
kilter,  for  why  should  these  caribou  lie 
down  at  a  time  of  day  like  this.     It  was 


much  better  logic  to  think  they  were  going 
to  feed,  and  why  should  they  plunge  on 
back  into  that  very  bush  they  had  just  but 
left.  Instead  of  following  Tomah  I  swung 
down  along  the  edge  of  the  barren,  going 
fast;  and  to  that — to  that  only,  I  think — I 
owed  the  luck  of  the  day.  One  last  glimpse 
I  had  of  the  Indian  as  he  raced  along,  little 
clouds  of  snow  springing  up  at  the  heels  of 
snowshoes;  then  he  was  gone,  and  I  had 
all  the  world  to  myself. 

Boom !    What  was  that  ?    Boom  ! 

Tomah  has  discovered  his  mistake.  In- 
stead of  swinging  out  further  to  the  right, 
he  had  run  in  toward  the  barren  and 
jumped  them.  Boom!  All  the  forest 
world  took  up  the  thunders  of  that  sound 
— played  it  in  re-echoing  crashes  to  and 
fro,  bandying  it  among  the  illimitable 
distances.  Boom!  Again  Tomah's  rifle 
crashed,  and  as  my  eye  swept  the  cover  in 
front,  leaping  figures  burst  through  the 
screen  of  twigs  and  all  the  forest  edge 
seemed  alive  with  caribou. 

There  in  the  lead  came  a  cow,  wild  with 
fright,  and  galloping  clumsily  at  her  heels 
a  calf  and  a  yearling  bull.  Instinctively 
I  covered  her  shoulder  with  the  sights — 
swung  from  her  to  the  spike-horn — and 
seeing  no  horns  worth  taking,  held  back  the 
shot.  Crash!  The  cover  parted ;  another 
cow  dashed  into  the  open;  then  came  the 
herd  bull,  his  horns  laid  flat  backward  and 
bursting  his  way  violently  through  the 
bush.  Boom!  Tomah  again  was  filling 
all  the  woods  with  lead,  and — boom! — \ 
shuddered  at  a  thought  of  what  carnage  all 
this  shooting  might  mean. 

Bang! — I  began.  At  the  shot  the  big 
bull  stuck  his  feet  in  front  of  him  and 
leaped  aside  like  a  goat.  Bang!  A  crash 
in  the  thicket  answered  back  to  the  shot, 
and  as  I  looked  over  the  sights  I  could  see 
nothing  but  a  blank  wall  of  twigs  standing 
where  the  game  had  been.  Jerking  an- 
other shell  into  the  breech,  I  ran  forward 
after  him,  and  as  I  turned  the  edge  of  the 
little  clump  of  bushes,  there  he  was  scud- 
ding down  a  lane  between  the  trees,  his 
white  scut  gleaming  whitely  against  the 
dark  background  of  timber,  and  hustling 
for  his  life. 

In  that  dim  light  of  waning  day  there 
was  small  chance  to  line  the  sights  together, 
and  one  fired  by  instinct  altogether,  snap- 
ping at  the  game  as  one  squibs  at  a  cock 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Hit  or  Miss 


683 


in  close  cover.  But  again  he  showed — he 
was  in  the  open  now — and  as  I  pulled  at 
the  bull,  the  foresight  bobbing  in  time  to 
his  stride,  I  saw  him  turn  endlong,  head 
over  heels,  stopped  like  a  rabbit  struck 
with  the  dose  of  shot. 

But  the  chase  was  not  yet  done. 
"Whoop!"  I  had  yelled,  calling  to  Tomah, 
and  was  running  forward,  when  new  life 
came  to  the  fallen  quarry.  As  I  threw 
another  cartridge  into  the  chamber  he 
heaved  to  his  feet  again.  Crack! — I 
missed  him  then  and  knew  it,  and  away 
went  my  caribou,  bounding  along  the 
forest  and  untouched  by  an  aimless  bullet 
that  followed  the  dissolving  view  of  him. 

Tomah  joined  me.  With  one  arm  held 
before  me  to  shield  my  face  from  the  twigs 
1  plowed  through  the  bush,  halting  at 
nothing,  for  there  was  the  white  carpet  of 
the  woods  dotted  redly,  and  I  knew  the 
game  was  hit.  Boom!  Tomah  saw  him, 
and  let  go  across  my  shoulder.  "Don't 
shoot!"  I  screamed  back  at  him;  *'he's 
mine!"  And  as  we  swung  out  into  the  open 
there  was  the  bull  humping  it  for  the  forest 
at  the  other  side.  Bang! — and — boom! 
Tc^ether  Tomah  and  1  whaled  away  at  him, 
and  at  the  roar  of  the  two  guns  he  leaped 
aside,  stumbled  heavily  and  was  down. 

"Sartin  shoot  um  now!"  yelled  Tomah, 
gloating,  and  there  was  a  sickening  sense 
of  disappointment  in  my  breast,  as  I 
realized  that  perhaps  Tomah,  indeed,  had 
downed  him  in  the  end.  But  once  again — 
and  we  could  have  sworn  he  was  shot  to 
pieces— the  bull  lurched  to  his  feet,  and 
dodging  sideways  from  the  bullets  flipped 
after  him,  plowed  out  of  sight  into  one 
of  the  little  islets  of  cedar  that  lay  out  from 
the  barren's  shore. 

Standing  off  where  I  could  rake  it  on 
either  side,  1  bade  Tomah  go  in  and  rout 
out  the  wounded  bull.  And  Tomah,  with  a 
grunt,  departed.  "Sartin  /  shoot  um  that 
bull,"  said  he,  grinning;  but  1  had  other 
views  of  the  matter.  In  that  dense  cover 
he  would  jump  again  long  before  Tomah 
could  reach  him,  for  there  was  little  chance 
of  his  lying  down  with  the  enemy  following 
so  close  at  his  heels.  But  while  1  stood 
there,  itching  with  uncertainty — boom! — 
Tomah's  rifle  roared  among  the  cedars,  and 
there  again  across  the  open  streaked  the 
bull,  making  a  gallant  race  of  it. 

He  was  heading  back  now,  straight  for 


the  cover  he  had  just  but  left.  Against  the 
sun,  he  loomed  up  big  and  splendid,  and 
even  in  that  moment's  wild  lust  of  killing 
1  felt  a  pity  for  the  great  beast  that  had 
made  its  struggle  so  bravely.  Gray-white 
and  powerful,  he  urged  himself  along,  the 
last  sunlight  gleaming  on  his  horns,  and  the 
white  hair  of  his  throat  and  belly  as  white 
as  the  snows  beneath  him.  **  Hob — sboot ! " 
screamed  Tomah,  and  drawing  at  the  flat 
broadside  of  the  bull's  shoulder,  I  let  go  at 
him.  And  that  was  the  end  of  it!  I  sup- 
pose we  all  of  us  feel  a  moment's  pang  that 
comes  in  the  reaction  of  the  savage  glee  of 
killing,  and  I  stood  over  him,  wondering 
whether  the  mere  boast  of  slaughter  repaid 
for  such  destruction.  But  Tomah,  coming 
up,  showed  no  submissive  weakness  of 
regrets,  and  with  a  swift  knife  made  sure 
that  the  game  was  ours. 

"Sartin  that  good  caribou.  Plenty 
meat  now." 

Plenty  meat?  That  recalled  to  me 
Tomah's  bombardment  in  the  forest  be- 
yond. "How  many  caribou  did  you  kill 
in  there?"  I  demanded,  and  at  the  question, 
Tomah  looked  abashed.  For  a  moment 
he  scratched  his  fat  chin  awkwardly,  and 
stood  looking  up  at  me. 

"  Hunh !  Damn  gun  no  good  at  all,"  he  an- 
swered slowly,  "see  um  two-four — fi'  cari- 
bous.  Shoot  all  the  time.    KxWum  nothing.'* 

I  laughed,  I  couldn't  help  it.  My  fear 
had  been  that  Tomah,  with  his  usual  greed, 
would  kill  all  there  were  in  sight,  and  out 
of  all  that  shooting  only  nothing  as  the  net 
result ! 

"  Dunno — damn  gun  no  good!"  he  mum- 
bled, and  set  to  work  at  the  bull. 

"Sartin  you  fire  four — seven — eight  shot 
— hey?"  he  asked  suddenly,  looking  up. 

Seven,  I  answered,  and  he  grinned  again. 

"You  see  um  that  leg?"  he  demanded. 
A  shot  had  struck  it  in  the  cannon-bone, 
and  Tomah,  raising  it  from  the  ground, 
flipped  the  leg  to  and  fro.  "Sartin  you  hit 
him  there.  That's  why  caribou  fall  down 
so  much."  Dropping  the  leg,  he  laid  his 
finger  on  the  bullet  hole  at  the  shoulder. 
It  was  my  bullet,  too,  that  had  done  it,  for 
Tomah  had  not  hit  him  at  all.  "  Sartin  you 
hit  him  here,  too.     That  kill  um  caribou." 

It  was  quite  plain. 

"Hunh!"  grunted  Tomah,  and  turned 
away.  "Shoot  um  seven  times  at  caribou. 
Hit  um  only  twice.     Hunhl^  j 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  l6 


TALES   OF   A   COLLECTOR   OF 
WHISKERS 

BY  J.  ARCHIBALD  McKACKNEY.MUS. DOC,  F.R.G.S.,  ETC. 

(EDITED    BY    RALPH    D.    PAINE) 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    WALLACE    MORGAN 


IV.— THE   WANDERING   BOOKCASE 


T  one  time  I  was  keenly 

interested  in  collecting, 

I  as  a   sort  of  side-issue, 

locks  or  clippings  from 

the  whiskers  of  famous 

men.     It  was  a  pursuit 

which  I  later  forsook  in 

favor  of  my  more  valuable  and  elaborate 

collections   of   Whisker  portraits,  but    in 

the  course  of  several  years  1  had  acquired 

fragments  of   the  beards  or  whiskers  of 

nearly  every  man  of  national  importance 

at  home  and  abroad.     Some  were  given 

me  by  their  owners,  others  were  obtained 

by  bribing  their  barbers,  while  a  few  came 

to  me  by  means  not  so  scrupulous. 

I  was  unhappy,  however,  because  my 
collection  lacked  a  souvenir  snipped  from 
the  royal  adornment  of  a  certain  illustrious 
ruler  of  a  European  state  whose  name  I 
must  withhold.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  he 
was  generally  acknowledged  to  wear  one  of 
the  most  magnificent  beards  in  Christen- 
dom. Diplomacy  and  intrigue  had  failed 
me  and  I  had  about  given  up  this  specimen 
as  hopeless. 

While  traveling  on  the  continent  I  was 
one  day  filled  with  excitement  to  behold 
this  illustrious  sovereign  enter  a  first-class 
railway  carriage  in  my  own  train.  He 
was  accompanied  by  a  military  officer  of 
high  rank,  and  I  guessed  that  he  was  mak- 
ing a  journey  incog.  I  could  not  help 
fingering  a  pair  of  folding  scissors  in  my 
waistcoat  pocket,  but  of  course  I  was  not 
mad  enough  to  attempt  an  open  assault 
upon  the  coveted  trophy. 

Presently  the  train  pulled  out  from  the 
station  and  there  I  sat  with  only  the  walls 


of  a  compartment  carriage  between  me  and 
the  prize  that  I  would  have  given  a  hand- 
some fortune  to  possess.  I  racked  my 
brains  to  devise  some  scheme  for  making 
the  acquaintance  of  His  Majesty,  but  my 
mission  was  so  delicate  and  even  insulting 
that  I  could  only  writhe  in  baffled  helpless- 
ness. 

At  length  the  train  halted  at  a  wayside 
station  and  there  seemed  to  be  some 
trouble  on  the  tracks  ahead.  I  summoned 
the  guard  to  unlock  my  door,  and  stepped 
on  the  platform  to  stretch  my  legs.  A 
minute  or  so  later  I  saw  the  illustrious 
potentate  impatiently  throw  up  his  win- 
dow and  poke  his  head  out  to  glare  to  and 
fro  as  if  seeking  the  cause  of  our  detention. 
His  noble  beard  fell  outside  in  a  torrent  and 
waggled  in  an  imposing  manner. 

While  I  was  staring  at  it  with  envious 
eyes,  the  guard  signalled  the  order  to  go 
ahead.  I  was  about  to  hurry  into  my 
compartment  when  a  startling  outcry  arose 
from  the  adjoining  carriage.  I  turned  and 
beheld  a  truly  amazing  spectacle.  While 
His  Majesty  was  withdrawing  his  head 
from  the  open  window  the  sash  had 
dropped  with  great  force.  The  end  of  his 
beard  was  caught  and  held  as  in  a  vise  and 
almost  a  foot  of  it  hung  over  the  window 
sill  outside. 

The  helpless  prisoner  was  roaring  for 
assistance  and  beating  the  glass  with  his 
fists.  I  saw  the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  The 
train  was  in  motion,  and  swinging  myself 
on  the  footboard,  1  whisked  out  my 
scissors,  and  with  a  lightning  sweep  of  the 
arm,  snipped  a  generous  handful  from  the 
end  of  the  captive  beard.     It  was  hideous 


684 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Tales  of  a  Collector  of  Whiskers 


68s 


Use  majestie,  but  my  ardor  reckoned  not 
with  consequences.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  murderous  wrath  that  flamed  in  the 
countenance  of  my  august  prey  as  he 
gnashed  his  teeth  at  me  through  the  win- 
dow. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  second  or  two.  1 
knew  that  the  king's  companion  would  stop 
the  train  if  a  release  were  not  instantly 
effected.  Tucking  my  trophy  in  an  inside 
pocket  I  abandoned  my  luggage  and  ran 
swiftly  across  the  platform,  through  the 
station,  and  into  the  traffic-crowded  street. 
Leaping  into  an  empty  cab  I  threw  a  gold 
piece  at  the  driver,  ordered  him  to  drive 
like  the  devil  for  nowhere  in  particular,  and 
was  borne  swiftly  away  from  the  scene  of 
my  remarkable  achievement. 

I  shall  pass  over  the  incidents  of  my 
flight  and  escape.  Thanks  to  a  lavish  use 
of  money  and  a  frequent  change  of  disguise 
I  sucQeeded  in  passing  the  frontier,  and 
within  three  days  was  crossing  the  English 
Channel.  The  European  newspapers  were 
ringing  with  garbled  reports  of  the  assault 
of  an  anarchist  or  lunatic  up>on  the  person 
of  a  certain  illustrious  ruler,  but  none  of 
them  connected  the  dastardly  incident 
with  the  American  tourist,  J.  Archibald 
McKackney. 

At  that  time  there  was  a  keen  rivalry  in 
this  field  of  collecting  between  a  New  York 
man  named  Pillsover  and  myself.  He  was, 
in  fact,  no  more  than  an  imitator,  and  had 
begun  to  seek  the  whiskers  of  celebrities 
through  hearing  of  my  success.  He  was  a 
friend  of  mine,  in  a  way,  and  I  had  often 
entertained  him  at  my  New  England 
country  place. 

After  my  return  from  abroad  I  asked 
him  down  to  view  the  trophy  shorn  from 
the  chin  of  the  European  ruler  in  the  man- 
ner described.  He  tried  to  conceal  his 
consuming  envy,  but  I  could  see  that  he 
was  wretchedly  unhappy.  His  two  most 
notable  captures  were  totally  eclipsed. 
One  of  them  had  been  purchased  from  the 
barber  of  a  petty  Hapsburg  prince,  and 
the  other  begged  from  an  American  cabinet 
minister. 

We  spent  the  evening  among  my  collec- 
tions in  the  library  and  when  we  were 
ready  to  go  upstairs,  I  went  to  replace  the 
priceless  trophy  in  my  fireproof  vault. 
The  steel  doors  had  been  closed  by  my 
secretary,  however,  who  took  it  for  granted 


Snij)i)ed  a  generous  handful  from  the  end  of  the 
captive  beard. 

that  I  had  finished  my  business  with  it. 
The  time  lock  had  been  set  to  open  next 
morning,  so  that  I  was  barred  out.  1  had 
been  examining  a  volume  of  a  costly  edi- 
tion of  a  standard  author,  and  one  of  the 
books  lay  open  on  the  library  table.  With- 
out more  ado  I  tucked  the  parchment 
envelope  containing  the  royal  strands  of 
whisker  between  the  leaves  of  this  book 
which  I  restored  to  its  case,  intending  to 
look  after  it  in  the  morning. 

My  friend  and  rival,  Pillsover,  was  com- 
pelled to  take  the  midnight  train  to  the 
city  and  we  parted  on  the  best  of  terms. 
Little  did  I  dream  that  when  next  we  met 
it  would  be  as  implacable  enemies. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  was  aroused 
by  a  telegram  demanding  my  immediate 
presence  in  Boston  on  a  matter  of  large 
financial  importance.  The  news  was  so 
disturbing  that  the  recollection  of  the 
trophy  in  the  bookcase  was  wholly  driven 
from  my  thoughts.  In  fact  I  did  not  recall 
it  until  my  return  late  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  following  day.    Then  I  hastened  to  the 


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library,  withdrew  the  volume  which  I  had 
been  reading  two  nights  before,  and 
searched  it  with  some  small  excitement. 

No  one  but  a  collector  can  picture  my 
emotions  when  I  discovered  that  ihf  parch- 
ment envelope  was  missing.  I  ran  through 
every  one  of  the  thirty-odd  volumes  with 
furious  haste.  Tearing  my  hair  and  fairly 
breathless  1  summoned  my  secretary.  His 
tidings  added  fresh  fuel  to  my  wrath  and 
consternation.  1  should  explain  that  this 
subscription  edition  of  books,  with  their 
handsomely  carved  case,  had  been  shipped 
to  me  on  approval.  Through  a  blunder  of 
the  publisher  a  binding  slightly  different 
from  the  style  selected  by  me  had  been 
sent.  I  had  noticed  the  error  and  in- 
tended to  write  about  it  at  my  leisure. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  the  publisher 
discovered  the  error,  and  during  my 
absence  in  Boston  he  had  sent  an  agent  to 
my  house  with  the  other  set  of  books.  My 
secretary  explained  to  me  that  the  agent 
had  taken  the  wrong  edition  back  to  New 
York  with  him,  and  placed  the  new  set  of 
books  in  their  case  in  my  library.  Know- 
ing that  1  desired  to  have  this  change  made, 
my  secretary  had  made  no  objections.  I 
am  afraid  that  my  language  was  shocking, 
but  the  provocation  was  immense.  Here 
was  my  parchment  envelope,  containing 
the  gem  of  my  hirsute  collection,  whisked 
off  to  Heaven  knew  where  by  a  misguided 
wretch  of  a  book  agent ! 

When  I  became  calmer  I  asked  if  any- 
thing else  had  happened  during  my  un- 
lucky absence.  1  was  informed  that  Pills- 
over  had  called  on  the  previous  day,  just  as 
the  publisher's  agent  was  driving  away 
with  the  first  set  of  books.  Pillsover 
recognized  him  as  a  salesman  from  Vellum 
&  Co.  and  had  shown  considerable  curios- 
ity concerning  his  errand. 

"  1  explained  the  circumstances,"  con- 
fessed my  secretary,  "and  Mr.  Pillsover 
asked  me  if  you  knew  of  the  transfer  of 
books.  I  told  him  Jhat  you  had  to  go  to 
Boston  without  a  chance  to  attend  to  any 
business  at  home.  Then  he  wanted  to 
know  whether  you  had  left  me  any  special 
instructions  about  the  collections.  I  told 
him  I  had  not  seen  you  that  morning. 
Then  he  spent  some  little  time  in  the 
library,  made  some  inquiries  about  the 
time  lock  of  the  vault,  and  said  he  was 
thinking  of  getting  one  like  it." 


A  few  more  questions  and  I  had  fath- 
omed the  purpose  of  the  conscienceless 
Pillsover.  He  had  returned  to  try  to 
secure,  by  trade  or  purchase,  the  Sov- 
ereign's Whisker.  A  collector  myself,  I 
could  imagine  him  as  passing  a  restless 
night  tortured  with  the  desire  to  win  me 
from  my  prize.  He  knew  where  I  had 
stowed  the  trophy  overnight,  and  he  was 
able  to  make  a  shrewd  guess  that  it  still 
reposed  in  the  book.  As  soon  as  I  had 
pumped  my  secretary  dry  my  surmise 
amounted  to  a  conviction  that  the  book, 
1  sought,  along  with  its  fellows,  had 
been  carted  away  to  the  publisher  and 
that  Pillsover  had  followed  its  trail  in  hot 
haste. 

I  perceived  at  once  that  if  Pillsover  could 
overtake  the  bookcase,  he  would  abstract 
the  parchment  envelope,  and  that  1  should 
not  be  able  to  prove  his  guilt.  In  fact, 
there  would  be  no  way  of  bringing  home 
the  theft  to  anybody.  Pillsover  had  ob- 
tained the  start  over  me,  but  I  instantly 
called  up  the  New  York  office  of  Vellum 
&  (jo.  on  the  long  distance  'phone  and 
ordered  them  to  hold  the  returned  set  of 
books  until  I  could  make  a  personal  exam- 
ination of  them. 

Their  reply  pained  me  beyond  words. 
The  books  had  been  received,  but  there 
happened  to  be  so  many  orders  on  file  for 
this  particular  edition  that  they  had  been 
reshipped  by  express  within  an  hour  of 
their  arrival.  1  demanded  the  address  of 
the  consignee,  and  was  told  that  four  sets 
of  this  edition  had  been  sent  out  in  the 
afternoon  and  that  it  was  imp>ossible  to 
tell  which  of  the  four  had  been  returned  by 
me.  Here  was  the  very  deuce  to  pay.  I 
insisted  up>on  having  the  four  addresses  of 
the  consignees.  They  were  scattered  from 
Skowhegan,  Maine,  to  Richmond,  Virginia. 
The  publisher  tried  to  console  me  over  the 
'phone  by  adding: 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Pillsover,  was  in  this 
afternoon  and  tried  to  catch  the  books  you 
speak  of.  He  seemed  quite  excited  when 
I  explained  the  circumstances  of  their  re- 
shipment.  He  made  me  give  him  the 
addresses  of  the  four  consignees,  so  we  took 
it  for  granted  that  he  was  acting  in  your 
behalf.  ' 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  could  see  Pillsover 
starting  hot-footed  to  run  down  the  four 
sets  of  books  one  by  one,  even  waiting  for 


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their  arrival  at  the  homes  of  their  pur- 
chasers. It  was  a  desperate  gamble,  with 
odds  of  three  to  one  against  him,  but  the 
stake  was  worth  it.  There  was  nothing  for 
me  to  do  but  to  pursue  the  same  tactics,  to 
chase  the  wandering  bookcases  over  the 
face  of  the  earth  until  I  had  found  the 
right  one  and  pray  that  I  might  overtake 
it  ahead  of  Pillsover. 

It  was  a  most  formidable  task  that  lay 
before  me.  I  shrewdly  guessed  that  Pills- 
over  would  hurry  to  one  of  the  farthest 
points  of  the  circuit  in  the  hope  of  throwing 
me  off  the  scent.  I  therefore  set  out  post- 
haste for  Skowhegan,  in  the  first  stage  of 
the  spectacular  race  for  the  King's  Whisker. 
There  I  learned  that  my  rival  had  reached 
town  ahead  of  me.  The  gentleman  who 
was  expecting  the  box  of  books  told  me 
that  they  had  not  yet  arrived,  but  that  a 
man  calling  himself  an  agent  of  Vellum  & 
Co.  had  been  anxiously  inquiring  after 
them. 

It  seems  that  the  rascally  Pillsover,  wish- 
ing to  hide  his  identity,  had  clapped  on  a 
false  beard  and  was  passing  himself  off  as 
an  agent  with  books  to  sell.  He  had  been 
making  a  pretense  of  a  house-to-house 
canvass,  so  I  was  told.  If  Pillsover  in- 
tended resorting  to  such  despicable  dodges 
as  this  to  hide  his  perfidy,  I  would  fight 
him  with  his  own  weapons.  Q)nsulting  a 
Skowhegan  lawyer  I  was  pleased  to  learn 
that  there  was  a  town  ordinance  forbidding 


all  kinds  of  agents  to  vend  or  peddle  with- 
out paying  a  tax  and  securing  a  license. 
The  authorities  were  promptly  informed  of 
Pillsover's  lawless  operations,  and  he  was 
arrested  and  thrown  into  jail  over  night. 
The  constable  caught  him  red-handed  on  a 
doorstep  with  a  sample  book  in  his  hands 
so  that  I  did  not  have  to  appear  in  the  pro- 
ceedings. I  waited  until  the  box  of  books 
arrived,  was  permitted  to  examine  them, 
and  found  no  missing  whisker.  Leaving 
Pillsover  to  cool  his  heels  in  the  calaboose, 
I  headed  for  Burlington,  Vermont,  to  seek 
the  second  bookcase  on  my  list. 

I  was  delayed  by  missing  my  connec- 
tions, and  Pillsover,  who  was  fined  and 
released  next  morning,  must  have  taken 
another  and  swifter  route.  At  Burlington 
I  found  that  the  second  consignee,  Jonas 
Harding,  was  an  eccentric  old  codger  who 
lived  six  miles  out  in  the  country.  I 
chartered  a  livery  rig  and  sought  his  home 
with  the  greatest  possible  expedition. 
About  half  the  distance  had  been  covered 
when  the  clatter  of  wheels  made  me  look 
behind.  A  buggy  was  fairly  careering 
down  the  long  hill,  the  horse  at  a  gallop. 
Leaning  far  over  the  dashboard  and  plying 
a  whip  was  none  other  than  Pillsover,  red 
in  the  face,  shouting  like  a  madman.  He 
had  thrown  prudence  and  self-respect  to 
the  winds.  He  had  forsaken  his  ambush. 
The  capture  of  the  Royal  Whisker  had 
already  obsessed  him.    Apparently  he  had 


riicii  ihc  u(»«  (Icn-boiionicd  cluiir  caught  me  in  the  small  of  the  back. 

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no  thought  for  the  future.  The  lust  of  the 
chase  had  so  gripped  him  that  he  was 
ready  to  fight  for  the  prize.  I  myself  had 
become  keyed  up  to  such  a  desperate  state 
of  mind  that  I  could  scarcely  blame  him. 

I  give  you  my  word  I  hardly  knew  the 
man.  When  he  recognized  me  he  uttered 
a  yell  that  curdled  my  blood,  and  urged  his 
poor  beast  with  more  fury  than  before.  I 
drew  whip  and  slashed  my  willing  steed. 
I  could  not  let  Pillsover  beat  me  to  the 
second  bookcase.  It  was  a  breakneck 
race  of  almost  three  miles  over  a  rock- 
strewn  country  road,  up  hill  and  down.  I 
could  only  pray  that  my  rig  would  hold 
together,  as  we  bounded  and  caromed 
along  side  by  side,  or  within  two  or  three 
lengths  of  each  other. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  finish  Pillsover 
began  to  draw  ahead.  He  had  the  better 
horse  and  when  he  saw  that  I  could  not 
overtake  him  he  cast  a  look  at  me  over  his 
shoulder  that  was  positively  fiendish.  I 
had  to  watch  him  whirl  into  Mr.  Jonas 
Harding's  dooryard  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  a 
good  hundred  yards  ahead  of  me.  When 
I  leaped  from  my  buggy  he  had  vanished 
through  the  front  door.  As  I  ran  after  him 
an  old  man  bolted  into  my  arms  yelling, 
*'Fire,  thieves,  burglars,  help!  There's 
one  of  'em  in  the  parlor  and  here's  another 
a-hellin^  after  him." 

I  siiouted  reassurances  in  the  old  man's 
ear,  but  he  brushed  me  aside,  caught  up  a 
wooden-bottomed  chair,  and  would  have 
brained  me  on  the  sp>ot  had  I  not  dodged 
through  the  parlor  door.  I  had  time  to 
glimpse  Pillsover  in  the  act  of  yanking 
books  from  a  case  by  the  armful.  Then 
the  wooden-bottomed  chair  caught  me  in 
the  small  of  the  back  and  I  sprawled  head- 
long on  top  of  Pillsover.  As  I  tried  to 
scramble  to  my  knees  my  hand  fell  up>on 
volume  fifteen.  The  gilded  lettering 
gleamed  like  fire.  In  a  flash  I  recognized 
it  as  the  book  I  sought.  Tucking  it  under 
my  arm  I  made  one  spring  for  the  nearest 
open  window.  Not  even  my  coat  tails 
touched  as  I  flew  through  it  like  a  bird. 
Climbing  into  my  buggy  I  drove  pell-mell 
toward  Burlington,  and  as  the  vehicle  spun 
into  the  highway  on  one  wheel  I  heard  the 
sounds  of  battle  raging  in  Mr.  Jonas 
Harding's  parlor. 

While  I  steered  my  galloping  steed  with 
one  hand  I  opened  the  book  between  my 


knees.  Alas,  my  gallant  struggle  had 
been  in  vain :  there  were  no  whiskers  between 
the  leaves!  I  was  reasonably  sure  that 
Pillsover  had  not  examined  this  book  when 
I  fell  upon  it,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  hasten  after  the  third  bookcase. 

Pillsover  was  covering  ground  with 
fairly  infernal  energy,  I  will  say  that  much 
for  him.  In  fact  1  was  in  the  library  of  the 
third  consignee,  in  Harrisburg,  when  I  saw 
him  dash  up  the  front  steps.  My  host  had 
promised  to  say  nothing  of  my  visit  as  I 
wished  to  confuse  my  rival  as  much  as 
possible.  Therefore  I  slipped  behind  a 
portiere  as  Pillsover  was  ushered  into  the 
room  by  a  servant.  He  was  left  alone  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  J  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  tiptoe  to  a  comer  of  the  library 
and  fumble  with  the  glass  door  of  the 
Vellum  &  Cjo.  bookcase.  He  was  in  such 
clumsy  haste  to  get  at  the  books  that  he 
tugged  too  hard  at  the  catch.  The  case 
had  not  been  solidly  placed.  It  toppled 
and  fell  over  on  Pillsover  with  a  terrific 
crash,  ard  several  plaster  statuettes  smote 
him  on  the  head  with  great  force.  I 
paused  only  long  enough  to  view  him 
prostrate  with  a  large  bust  of  Dante  resting 
on  the  back  of  his  neck.  Then  I  fled  to 
catch  a  train  for  Richmond. 

By  a  most  arduous  process  of  elimination 
I  had  been  able  to  determine  beyond  a 
shadow  of  doubt  that  the  parchment 
envelope  was  in  volume  fifteen  of  the 
fourth  consignment  which  had  been  shipped 
to  Micah  P.  Rogers  of  Richmond.  I  found 
him  without  difficulty,  and  Pillsover  had 
not  yet  appeared  on  this  horizon.  Neither 
had  the  bookcase.  It  seems  that  after 
waiting  for  a  reasonable  period,  Mr.  Rogers 
had  notified  the  express  company.  The 
local  agent  was  unable  to  find  any  traces 
of  the  missing  box  of  goods.  More  investi- 
gation convinced  the  parties  interested 
that  it  had  somehow  gone  astray  between 
New  York  and  Richmond.  Every  effort 
was  being  made  to  locate  the  missing 
package,  and  I  had  no  other  course  than  to 
confide  in  Mr.  Rogers  and  ask  him  to  for- 
wr^rd  the  precious  document  to  my  home 
as  soon  as  the  shipment  should  reach  him. 

Wearied  and  disappointed  I  started  to 
•etum  to  New  York.  .My  train  was  not 
i-riore  than  an  hour  beyond  Richmond 
when  it  was  blocked  by  a  wreck.  A  brake- 
man  informed  me  that  the  tracks  could  not 


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The  wretch  was  crawling   toward  the  box  on 
hands  and  knees. 


be  cleared  for  several  hours.  Therefore  I 
walked  ahead  to  watch  the  wrecking  crews 
at  work.  A  number  of  cars  of  merchandise 
were  strewn  about  in  frightful  confusion. 
Fire  had  broken  out  among  the  splintered 
express  cars  and  their  contents,  and  the 
train  crews  were  fighting  it  with  bucket 
brigades. 

Another  passenger  train  coming  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  mine  was  standing 
on  the  other  side  of  the  blockade.  I  ts  peo- 
ple were  also  walking  along  the  track  to 
view  the  interesting  scene  at  close  range. 
Foremost  among  them  I  recognized  Pills- 
over,  evidently  bound  for  Richmond.  His 
head  was  bandaged  and  a  strip  of  plaster 
gleamed  athwart  his  nose.  As  1  drew 
nearer  the  one  side  of  the  blazing  wreckage, 
he  approached  closer  to  the  other  until  we 
were  glaring  across  the  smoking  barrier 
perhaps  a  hundred  feet  apart.  He  could 
see  that  I  was  a  passenger  on  the  train  that 
had  left  Richmond  earlier  in  the  day,  and 
he  was  forced  to  conclude,  of  course,  that 


the  parchment  envelope  and  the  Royal 
Whisker  were  in  my  pocket.  His  emotions 
must  have  been  tormenting  in  the  extreme, 
for  several  times  he  shook  his  fist  at  me. 
I  assumed  as  triumphant  expression  as 
possible  and  stared  at  him  with  haughty 
contempt. 

The  wind  shifting,  I  was  able  to  walk 
nearer  the  wreck  and  presently  my  eye  was 
drawn  to  a  smashed  packing  case  that  had 
been  tossed  down  the  embankment  to  the 
edge  of  the  burning  area.  Where  the 
planking  had  been  ripped  away  I  thought 
I  saw  several  dark  green  books  protruding. 
Moving  closer  I  noticed  that  more  books 
lay  scattered  about  on  the  grass  and  among 
the  lumber  just  beyond. 

My  curiosity  was  aroused.  I  ran  down 
the  slope  as  near  the  wreck  as  the  frightful 
heat  would  permit.  When  a  dozen  feet 
away  I  felt  almost  certain  that  these  were 
books  of  the  same  edition  which  I  sought. 
If  so,  they  must  be  billed  to  Richmond. 
The  chance  of  their  being  the  Rogers  ship- 
ment was  overwhelming. 

While  I  stood  gazing  at  them,  trying  to 
shield  my  face  with  my  coat,  a  yell  rose 
from  beyond  the  wreck.  Pillsover  had 
made  the  same  discovery  and  jumped  at 
the  same  conclusion.  1  must  act  on  the 
instant  or  not  at  all.  The  wretch  was 
crawling  toward  the  box  on  handf>  and 
knees,  coughing  and  choking  for  breath. 
I  pulled  my  coat  over  my  head  and  tried  to 
fght  my  way  along  the  embankment. 
The  gusty  wind  veered  suddenly  and  drove 
a  deadly  sheet  of  flame  between  me  and  the 
box.  Driven  back,  I  watched  the  greedy 
fire  lick  around  the  prize  I  sought.  Dimly 
I  could  see  Pillsover  reeling  back  with  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Baffled,  I  watched  the 
precious  shipment  burst  into  flames. 
'  Presently  a  charred  bit  of  paper  fluttered 
past  me.  I  clutched  at  it,  and  my  fingers 
closed  on  a  bit  of  smoking  parchment.  I 
sniffed  it  eagerly,  and  detected  the  odor  of 
burning  hair.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
the  Royal  Whisker  had  perished  on  this 
imposing  pyre. 


(The  fifth  Tale  of  a  Collector  of  Whiskers  will  narrate  the  singular  adventures  of  "  The  Shipwrecked 

Parent.") 


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THE   FISH    PONDS   OF   CAPE  COD 


BY   JOHN    MURDOCK 


PHOTOGRAPHS    BY   THE    AUTHOR 


most  people,  the  name 
Cape  Cod  brings  up  the 
idea  of  salt-water  fish- 
ing—  the  codfish,  of 
course,  mackerel,  pol- 
lock, bass,  tautog,  scup 
and  squeteague,  not  to 
mention  the  ubiquitous  quahaug,  prized  in 
his  early  youth  as  the  "Little  Neck 
clams,"  substitute  for  the  oyster  at  sum- 
mer dinner-parties. 

There  are  plenty  of  all  these,  to  be  sure, 
but  in  addition,  the  numerous  ponds 
furnish  pickerel  fishing,  which  is  certainly 
not  surpassed,  if  equaled,  anywhere  in 
New  England.  Of  late  years,  too,  many 
of  these  ponds  have  been  stocked  with 
small-mouthed  black  bass,  which  have 
thriven  and  furnish  excellent  sport.  The 
common  eastern  pickerel,  Esox  reiiculatus, 
however,  is  pre-eminently  the  fresh-water 
fish  of  the  Cape,  and  in  some  of  the  ponds 
grows  to  a  remarkable  size. 

The  pleasant  old  town  of  Orleans  is 
essentially  a  region  of  ponds,  and  if  one 
chose  to  go  far  afield,  with  Orleans  as  a 
base,  he  might  fish  a  fresh  pond  every  day 
of  the  season. 

The  largest  neighboring  bit  of  water, 
Linnell's  Pond,  is  no  longer  what  it  was 
thirty-odd  years  ago,  when  the  writer 
visited  Orleans  on  college  vacations.  In 
those  days  the  western  shore  was  a  clean 
sand  beach,  with  only  a  sparse  line  of  lily- 
pads  at  the  edge  of  the  deep  water,  where 
the  shelving  beach  suddenly  dips  down. 
Here  the  big  fish  used  to  lie,  and  by  wading 
out,  and  throwing — casting  is  hardly  the 
word — a  big  spoon  with  the  long  heavy 
pickerel-rod  of  those  days,  one  could  easily 
reach  them,  while  the  clean  sandy  beach 
made  an  ideal  place  to  land  your  fish  with- 
out gaff  or  landing  net.    The  fish  were 


greedy,  too,  and  an  hour's  work  along  that 
little  stretch  of  beach,  not  over  an  eighth 
of  a  mile,  was  sure  to  give  at  least  one  good 
fish,  and  usually  more. 

But  the  pond  is  changed  now.  The  once 
clean  beach  is  foul  with  a  thick  growth  of 
rushes  and  sedge,  and  in  place  of  the  sparse 
line  of  lily-pads  at  the  edge  of  deep  water, 
a  dense  bed  of  lilies  and  floating-heart 
makes  fishing  impossible  except  at  occa- 
sional breaks  in  the  barrier.  Along  the 
western  shore  the  big  fish  still  lurk  in  the 
old  place,  but  they  have  changed  too. 
Whether  from  excessive  fishing,  or  because 
the  pond  is  so  full  of  feed,  especially  of 
young  herrings,  the  fish  have  grown 
sophisticated  and  fastidious.  A  plain 
bare  spoon  no  longer  tempts  them — it 
must  be  baited,  and  even  then  often  fails. 
Sometimes  live  minnows  or  angleworms 
will  do  the  trick,  but  nothing  is  sure. 

A  surer  find  is  "Aunt  Sally  Mayo's" 
Pond,  a  little  gem  nestling  among  the  hills 
close  to  the  salt  water  of  Pleasant  Bay. 
This  is  a  longer  walk,  nearly  two  miles, 
down  past  the  post  office  and  across  the 
hills,  but  one  never  grudges  it,  for  he  is 
always  reasonably  sure  of  a  good  basket. 
It  is  the  only  available  one  of  a  chain  of 
three  lovely  little  ponds,  for  of  the  other 
two,  one  is  private  property  and  preserved, 
and  the  other  so  thickly  beset  with  lilies 
that  fishing  from  the  shore  is  imp>ossible. 
There  is  no  boat  on  "Aunt  Sally's  Pond," 
so  we  must  wade  along  the  shore,  often 
mid-thigh  deep.  But  much  of  it  is  clean 
beach,  and  the  water  plants  are  not  thick 
enough  to  interfere  seriously  with  fishing, 
while  the  fish,  though  not  extremely 
plenty,  run  to  a  good  size,  and  take  the 
bait  with  a  rush  that  often  brings  them 
clean  out  of  water  after  they  have  seized  it. 

In  the  other  direction,  going  toward  the 


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railway  station,  and  about  a  mile  from 
home,  lies  Percival's  Pond.  In  old  times 
this  was  famous,  but  when  the  writer  came 
back  to  the  Cape,  five  or  six  years  ago, 
people  said :  *'  It  is  no  use  fishing  there — the 
fish  have  all  been  killed  out."  One  won- 
ders how  such  beliefs  originate.  The  first 
time  we  tried  the  pond  out  of  curiosity, 
last  season,  we  took  nine  fine  fish.  After 
that  we  went  there  several  times,  and 
never  got  less  than  two  fish,  running  to  two 
p>ounds  weight  and  better;  the  shore  is 
clean,  the  deep  water  easily  reached  by 
wading,  and  the  fish  are  easily  handled. 

But  after  all,  our  favorite  stand-by  is  the 
little  pond,  a  few  minutes'  walk  from  the 
house,  which  we  call  "Frank  Gould's," 
though  Frank  Gould,  the  butcher,  has  been 
long  dead;  on  him,  in  old  times,  before 
the  days  of  Chicago  beef,  and  butcher-carts 
driving  by  two  or  three  times  a  week,  we 
used  to  depend  for  our  only  taste  of  fresh 
meat.  Many  a  happy  hour  we  spend  there 
every  season.  The  fish  are  small — one  of 
a  pound  weight  counts  for  a  big  fish — but 
there  are  lots  of  them,  and  they  are  hungry 
for  anything — spoon,  live  minnow,  frog's 
leg,  pickerel  throat,  or  even  a  bit  of  pork 
rind.  Curiously  enough,  hungry  as  they 
are,  these  fish  never  take  the  bait  with  a 
rush,  like  "Aunt  Sally's"  pickerel.  A 
slight  check  as  your  bait  is  drawn  through 
the  water,  the  eclipse  of  your  gleaming 
spoon  by  a  dark  body,  is  often  your  only 
warning  of  a  strike,  and  it  is  always  neces- 
sary to  wait  for  your  fish  leisurely  to  turn 
the  bait  round  and  take  it  wholly  into  his 
mouth  before  you  hook  him. 

But  what,  after  all,  makes  it  a  sporting 
pond,  is  the  difficulty  of  fishing  it.  The 
cedar  trees  and  the  bushes  grow  close  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  one  has  to  wade 
along  the  shore,  forcing  his  way  through 
the  rushes  and  flags,  casting  into  accessible 
holes  among  the  lily-pads,  where  one  can 
often  see  the  fish  poised  motionless  in  the 
crystal-clear  water,  and  when  once  hooked, 
must  be  coaxed  hurriedly  through  open 
holes,  lest  he  twist  the  line  arourtd  the 
rushes.  Indeed,  he  must  often  be  lifted 
clear  of  the  tops  of  the  rushes,  and  swung 
dexterously  inshore  before  he  has  time  to 
drop  from  the  hook,  and  must  be  handled 
and  basketed  while  you  stand  up  to  mid- 
thigh  in  water.  What  with  rushes,  lily- 
pads  and  bushes,  nearly  as  many  fish  find 


their  way  back  to  the  water  as  get  into  the 
basket.  It  is  a  delightful  little  pond,  and 
possesses  one  great  advantage.  The  fish 
bite  as  well  in  sunshine  as  in  cloudy 
weather. 

The  chain  of  big  ponds,  Great  Cliff, 
Middle  Cliff,  or  Little  Long  Pond,  and 
Lower  Cliff,  or  Higgins'  Pond,  back  in  the 
woods  across  the  Brewster  line,  have  a 
great  reputation  for  big  fish,  but  it  is  a  long 
rough  walk  to  the  nearest,  and  they  do  not 
often  lure  us  away  from  our  favorite  near- 
by haunts.  Beside,  they  are  all  closely 
wooded  to  the  water's  edge,  and  have  sa 
little  beach  that  fishing  from  the  shore  is 
practically  impossible,  especially  when  the 
ponds  are  high,  and  the  only  available 
boats  are  on  Great  Cliff  Pond.  This  pond 
has  given  us  good  sport  with  game  little 
bass,  running  from  half  a  pound  to  two 
pounds,  and  very  large  yellow  perch;  but 
in  four  trips  we  have  only  taken  two 
small  pickerel,  though,  to  be  sure,  we  were 
devoting  ourselves  particularly  to  the  bass 
fishing.  Middle  Cliff  we  tried  once,  but 
the  lilies  were  so  thick  that  we  did  noth- 
ing, while  in  Lower  Cliff  in  seasons  of  low 
water  we  have  found  a  few  fair  fish. 

Hidden  in  the  woods,  not  far  west  of 
the  Cliff  ponds  lies  the  little  Ralph's  Pond 
(pronounced  "Rafe's"  in  the  true  old 
Fnglish  fashion).  It  takes  its  name  from 
old  Micah  Ralph,  the  Indian,  who  in  old 
colony  times  owned  unnumbered  acres  of 
woodland  around  it;  Little  Ralph's  is 
famous  for  its  winter  fishing  through  the 
ice.  We  went  there  once  last  season,  and 
found  it  surprisingly  like  our  favorite 
"Frank  Gould's."  except  that  the  rushes 
are  not  so  bad,  the  woods  not  so  near  the 
water,  and  the  fish,  if  anything,  thicker  and 
greedier.  I  never  saw  pickerel  so  hungry. 
In  less  than  two  hours,  going  once  around 
the  pond,  two  of  us  had  basketed  twenty- 
seven  fish,  all  of  them  small. 

Over  in  Harwich,  an  hour's  drive  from 
our  base,  lies  another  chain  of  ponds,  of 
which  the  largest,  Long  Pond,  or  Pleasant 
Lake,  lying  partly  in  Harwich  and  partly 
in  Brewster,  is  nearly  three  miles  long. 
They  say  there  are  plenty  of  fish  in  this 
pond,  but  it  is  so  big  that  it  is  hard  to  find 
them,  and  the  fishermen,  a  good  many  of 
whom  come  down  from  the  city,  devote 
themselves  to  the  string  of  round  ponds, 
each  some  twenty  or  thirty  acres  in  area. 


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The  Fish  Ponds  of  Cape  Cod 


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and  separated  from  one  another  only  by 
narrow  sand  bars,  which  stretch  away 
from  the  eastern  end  of  the  lake,  evidently 
the  remnants  of  a  larger  lake  of  earlier 
times.  We  did  very  little  fishing  here,  for 
we  could  get  no  boat,  and  the  lily-pads — 
or  "bubbly  stuff,"  as  the  old  sea-captain 
we  talked  with  called  it — prevented  fishing 
from  the  shore,  but  we  saw  a  fine  string 
of  pickerel,  among  them  a  four-pounder, 
which  had  just  been  caught  in  Greenland 
Pond,  the  first  of  these  small  ponds,  where 
bass  ilso  abound. 

Then,  in  the  afternoon,  we  turned  south, 
and  drove  four  or  five  miles  through  East 
Harwich  just  over  the  line  into  Chatham, 
where  we  found  another  cluster  of  ponds 
among  the  bare  grassy  hills,  which  re- 
minded us  strongly  of  "Aunt  Sally  Mayo's" 
Pond,  though  most  of  them  were  larger. 
There  are  pickerel  in  all  of  them,  but  our 
time  was  getting  short,  and  we  only  tried 
one,  which  yielded  seven  small  fish  in  a 
short  time.  Some  day  we  mean  to  fish 
them  thoroughly,  for  they  look  promising. 

Another  day  we  went  exploring  over  in 
Eastham.  Here,  close  to  the  railroad  sta- 
tion, we  found  another  cluster  of  ponds, 
one  of  which.  Cole's  Pond,  is  said  to  be  very 
good,  though  in  the  short  time  we  had.  we 
caught  only  a  few  small  fish.  This  pond 
is  best  fished  by  trolling  a  spoon  from  a 
boat,  for  the  deep  water  is  not  easily 
reached  from  the  shore.  The  yellow  perch, 
too,  are  very  abundant  and  large,  and  the 
little  Depot  Pond,  just  over  the  hill,  is  said 
to  be  full  of  white  perch.  One  of  these 
days  we  mean  to  make  a  trip  down  to 
Wellfleet,  where  there  is  another  cluster  of 
ponds,  from  which  we  hear  great  stories 
of  eight-pound  pickerel. 


East  of  the  Cliff  ponds,  on  the  line  be- 
tween Brewster  and  Orleans,  is  Baker's 
Pond,  a  beautiful  bit  of  water,  and  always 
a  favorite  with  the  fishermen  wh©  stay  in 
Orleans  village,  but  to  fish  it  you  must 
cart  a  boat  in,  for  none  are  kept  there,  and 
fishing  from  the  shore  is  of  no  use.  At 
present  fishing  is  allowed  there  three  days 
only  in  the  week,  for  the  State  Fish  Com- 
mission has  just  stocked  the  pond  with 
trout. 

In  East  Orleans,  almost  over  at  Nauset 
Harbor,  is  still  another  pickerel  pond, 
called  Thatcher's,  where  some  very  good 
fish  have  been  taken,  but  it  is  right  in 
the  midst  of  a  colony  of  "summer  folks/' 
and  consequently  is  fished  very  hard. 

As  to  baits,  we  use  a  variety — live  min- 
nows, when  it  isn't  too  much  trouble  to 
catch  them.  The  fish  take  them  well,  but 
more  often  we  use  cut  baits  of  some  kind — 
perch  bellies  with  the  red  fins,  pickerel 
throats — remember  Dr.  Holmes'  lines: 

There's  a  slice  near  the  pickerel's  pectoral  fins, 
Where   the   thorax  leaves  off   and   the  venter 

begins; 
Which  his  brother,  survivor  of  fish-hooks  and 

lines. 
Though  fond  of  his  family,  never  declines — 

or,  best  of  all,  perhaps,  a  frog's  leg,  skinned. 
We  have  found  all  of  these  cut  baits  far 
more  killing  when  fished  on  a  little  casting 
spoon.  Whether  fishing  with  a  spoon  or 
not,  we  use  a  rather  light  fly  rod,  casting 
and  fishing  with  a  "sink  and  draw." 

Trolling  a  spoon  from  a  boat  has  given 
us  a  few  fish  in  Linnell's  Pond,  but  phan- 
tom minnows  and  such  apparatus  do  no 
good  at  all.  On  the  whole,  the  fresh- 
water fish  of  Cape  Cod  are  simple  in  their 
tastes,  with  few  cultivated  eccentricities. 


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Young  broad-wings,  with  the  down  on. 


THE   ROBBERS   OF   THE   FALLS 


BY    HERBERT   K.   JOB 


PHOTOGRAPHS   BY   THE   AUTHOR 


THIS  beautiful  May  morning  the  falls 
were  glorious.  The  recent  rain 
had  filled  the  mountain  brook  with 
a  rushing  torrent  which  took  its  fifty-foot 
leap  into  the  dark  rocky  gorge  with  an 
unusual  roar.  Thence  it  thundered  down 
a  series  of  cascades  to  join  the  river 
below,  past  the  dark  hemlock  forest  on 
both  sides  which  added  its  dignified  whis- 
perings to  the  tumult  of  the  waters.  Here 
and  there  amid  the  deep  green  of  the 
hemlocks  showed  the  pale  yellows  of  oaks, 
chestnuts,  and  birches  which  were  just 
beginning  to  unfold  their  verdure. 

It  was  warbler-time,  and  as  I  scrambled 
along  half  way  up  the  steep  declivity,  fol- 
lowing up  the  stream  on  its  left  bank,  1 
was  watching  a  flitting  troupe  of  warblers, 
among  which  were  several  beautiful  male 
Blackbumians  and  bay-breasts,  ceaselessly 
active  in  the  upper  branches  of  the  hem- 


699 


locks.  Just  then  I  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing which  made  me  lose  the  warblers. 
Not  far  ahead  of  me  was  an  oak,  in  whose 
second  crotch,  forty  feet  up,  was  a  sizable 
nest  of  sticks,  from  which  projected,  with 
an  upward  slant,  a  stubby  thing  which 
looked  like  a  hawk's  tail.  Was  it  really 
that?  It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  one 
wants  to  see,  and  sometimes  an  old  stub 
will  prove  deceptive.  However,  my  power- 
ful Zeiss  glasses  soon  showed  that  it  was 
surely  a  hawk,  and  I  paused  to  enjoy  the 
pleasant  anticipation.  Then  I  cautiously 
advanced  and  came  nearly  to  the  tree  be- 
fore the  hawk  heard  my  steps  above  the 
din  of  the  waters.  She  stood  up  in  the 
nest,  and  away  she  went,  with  a  shrill 
scream  —  "whee-e-e" — and  alighted  high 
up  in  a  tall  tree,  whence  she  continued  to 
squeal  her  displeasure. 
A  broad-wing!  Not  ^r  commonest 
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The  Outing  Magazine 


hawk  by  any  means.  And  an  obliging 
hawk!  I  had  no  climbing-irons  with  me, 
but,  as  I  examined  the  situation,  it  seemed 
as  though  the  bird  had  considered  my  con- 
venience in  selecting  the  site  for  her  nest. 
About  fifteen  feet  away  was  a  rather  large 
hemlock,  with  step-ladder  branches  be- 
ginning some  fifteen  feet  up,  and  close 
beside  it  a  young  hemlock,  making  another 
ladder  to  the  first  branches  of  the  big  tree. 
To  run  upstairs  was  the  simplest  thing  in 
the  world,  if  one  does  not  mind  an  eleva- 
tion, and  very  soon  I  was  overlooking  the 
nest  with  its  two  sizable  dirty-white  eggs, 
bbtched  with  brown,  lying  on  a  bed  of 
bark  and  twigs,  with  a  few  green  hemlock 
sprays  for  ornament.  It  was  too  nice  up 
there  to  hurry  down.  The  tree  was  on  the 
edge  of  a  steep  declivity,  and  far  below  I 
could  see  the  swirling  waters  which  roared 
away  unceasingly,  almost  loud  enough  to 
drown  the  angry  screams  of  the  1  awk, 
which  was  making  frequent  dashes  at  my 
head,  sheering  off  just  out  of  reach. 

But  it  would  not  do  to  linger  and  lose 
too  many  of  the  golden  moments,  so,  leav- 
ing my  prize  for  a  while,  I  descended, 
crossed  the  brook  and  actually,  within 
sight  of  the  same  falls  on  this  other  side, 
in  a  few  moments  had  found  a  nest  of 
the  Cooper's  hawk  containing  three  eggs. 
This  was  in  a  hemlock  tree,  an  old  nest 
which  I  had  now  examined  for  eight  con- 
secutive seasons  without  result,  but  now,  at 
last,  it  was  occupied.  This  hawk  was  as  shy 
as  the  other  one  was  bold,  for  I  could  hard- 
ly, even  by  the  most  cautious  approach, 
catch  sight  of  her  before  she  left  the  nest. 

Surely  this  wild,  picturesque  spot,  this 
stately  dark  forest  with  its  tumbling, 
roaring  waterfall,  was  a  veritable  den  of 
robbers — at  least  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  humbler  wild  creatures.  Scientists 
have  named  the  class  of  birds  of  prey 
"Raptores,"  or  robbers,  and  they  well 
deserve  the  title.  With  a  dash  and  swoop 
they  are  upon  their  unsuspecting  victims, 
who  pay  the  penalty  with  their  lives.  No 
bird  or  small  mammal  would  for  a  moment 
be  safe  in  that  fearful  forest.  No  doubt 
they  must  feel  as  did  our  ancestors  in  the 
wilderness  surrounded  by  bears  and  prowl- 
ing wolves. 

It  is  well  known  that  robbers  of  this 
class  are  very  jealous  of  competition. 
When  a  pair  of  hawks  occupy  a  tract  of 


woods  they  consider  the  ground  as  theirs, 
and  drive  off  all  other  hawks  which  would 
hunt  upon  their  preserve.  Boundaries  are 
as  clearly  recognized  as  in  human  society, 
so  here  it  is  probable  that  the  mountain 
stream  formed  the  ne  plus  ultra  for  the 
depredations  of  either.  G)uld  we  know 
the  facts,  what  tales  of  violence  and 
tragedy  might  come  from  around  those 
falls.  From  our  standpoint,  the  Cooper's 
hawk  is  the  worst  of  all  this  feathered 
robber  fraternity.  Not  content  with  vic- 
timizing the  woodland  creatures,  it  dashes 
into  the  barnyard  and  carries  oflF  chickens 
right  before  the  eyes  of  the  enraged  but 
helpless  owner.  It  is  also  a  great  destroyer 
of  such  birds  as  men  call  their  rightful 
game.  The  broad-winged  hawk,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  quite  a  harmless  robber, 
from  our  point  of  view.  It  is  a  more 
sluggish  bird,  seldom  visiting  the  farm, 
and  lives  more  on  squirrels,  mice,  frogs  and 
insects,  things  which  do  not  so  vitally  con- 
cern man.  Both  these  species  are  widely 
distributed,  but  the  broad-wing  is  more 
northerly  in  its  breeding  range. 

I  am  wondering  whether  most  of  these 
numerous  mountain  brooks  of  this  pic- 
turesque region  of  western  Connecticut  do 
not  have  their  feathered  robbers.  Only 
two  days  before  this  I  was  descending  the 
gorge  of  another  similar  roaring  stream 
hardly  two  miles  from  here,  when  I  noticed 
a  hawk's  nest  in  an  oak  tree  over  the  water. 
It  was  not  occupied,  and  presently,  as  1 
went  on,  I  came  to  another,  in  the  top  of  a 
tall  dead  birch  tree,  also  over  the  stream. 
It  looked  like  an  old  nest,  but  I  clapped  my 
hands  loudly  to  see  if  anything  might  start, 
and  was  surprised  to  see  a  broad-wing  fly 
from  somewhere  lower  down,  though  not 
from  the  nest.  Assuming  that  she  was 
preparing  to  rebuild  this  nest  and  had  been 
perching  near  it,  I  was  about  to  go  on 
without  climbing,  as  I  had  no  irons  with 
me,  when  I  happened  to  espy  a  neat  new 
nest,  not  half  as  high  as  the  other,  in  a  low 
hemlock,  well  concealed  by  the  branches. 
White  down  clung  to  the  twigs  all  about, 
and  I  understood.  It  was  but  thirty  feet 
up,  with  branches  all  the  way.  Very  soon 
I  was  looking  over  the  edge  and  examining 
the  two  eggs.  Growing  beside  this  tree, 
at  just  the  right  distance  to  set  a  camera, 
a  dozen  feet  or  so,  was  a  slender  but  strong 
young  oak. 


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In  time  past  I  had  photographed  a 
Cooper's  hawk  on  the  nest,  but  never  yet 
the  broad-wing,  so  here  was  a  new  field  to 
conquer.  With  these  two  nicely  situated 
broad- wings'  nests  to  work  on,  there  was 
certainly  a  fine  chance.  Before  beginning 
the  actual  work  of  photography  it  was 
necessary  to  prepare  these  hawks  for  the 
ordeal  that  would  try  their  nerves  and 
courage.  So,  on  my  second  visit,  a  day  or 
two  later,  I  rigged  up  a  dummy  camera  on 
the  convenient  tree  before  each  nest,  at 
about  the  same  level.  These  were  nothing 
but  a  cereal  box  with  a  round  hole  in  the 
end  to  suggest  the  lens,  and  piece  of  burlap 
for  the  focus  cloth.  After  a  day  or  two 
they  accept  it,  unquestioning,  as  a  part  of 
the  natural  surroundings,  and  hardly  notice 
the  substitution  of  the  real  camera.  The 
main  trouble  then,  when  one  sets  the  shut- 
ter and  goes  into  hiding,  is  to  make  them 
believe  that  he  has  really  left  the  woods. 
As  long  as  they  suspect  that  an  intruder 
is  near,  they  will  not  go  to  the  nest. 

My  first  try  was  with  the  broad-wing  at 
the  big  falls.  The  female  was  incubating, 
indifferent  to  the  dummy  strapped  to  the 
branch  of  the  hemlock,  fifteen  feet  from 
her.  It  took  certainly  an  hour  to  set  my 
camera — driving  the  screw-bolt,  clamping 
the  camera  to  it,  focusing,  tying  the  instru- 
ment so  it  could  not  swerve,  inserting  plate, 
attaching  the  spool  of  thread  to  the  shutter 
and  dropping  it  to  the  ground,  and  last  of 
all  setting  the  shutter,  taking  care  not  to 
pull  it  off  as  I  descended.  The  next  thing 
was  to  select  a  hiding  place.  A  fallen  tree 
about  one  hundred  yards  away  was  just 
the  place  I  wanted,  so  I  laid  out  the  thread 
careifully  to  a  convenient  hollow  beneath 
the  trunk,  taking  care  to  keep  it  from 
tangling.  I  had  a  friend  with  me,  and, 
watching  our  chance  when  the  hawk  that 
was  flitting  about  took  a  circuit  away,  we 
ran  for  our  cover  and  crawled  in  under  the 
trunk,  where  the  nest  was  just  visible 
through  a  peek-hole  through  the  branches. 
The  only  thing  to  do  now  was  to  watch  for 
the  hawk's  return  to  the  nest,  and  then, 
when  she  was  quiet,  to  pull  the  thread  care- 
fully so  as  not  to  jar  the  camera  while  the 
shutter  opened  for  the  required  half  second. 
I  was  using  my  single  1 8-inch  lens,  and  the 
bellows  were  so  long  that  in  the  woods, 
even  with  direct  sunlight,  this  was  none 
too  much,  with  the  full  opening. 


We  lay  perfectly  still  and  listened  to  the 
hawk  music.  Both  the  birds  were  now 
flying  around  and  screaming  like  good  ones. 
It  seemed  as  though  they  surely  would 
stop  in  a  few  minutes.  But  after  half  an 
hour  they  appeared  to  feel  as  much  out- 
raged as  ever,  and  our  necks  were  getting 
badly  cramped.  Evidently  they  knew 
we  were  hiding  there,  so  I  had  to  ask  my 
friend  to  withdraw,  reluctantly,  for  it  was 
too  bad  to  have  him  miss  the  fun.  Birds 
are  not  much  on  counting,  and  these  ones 
could  not  even  count  two,  for  as  soon  as 
he  had  gone  they  believed  that  the  coast 
was  clear.  In  a  couple  of  minutes  their 
screaming  ceased.  There  was  dead  silence 
a  while,  and  then  I  saw  a  hawk  alight  in  a 
tree  near  the  nest.  Presently  she  flew  to 
another  branch,  and  then  glided  right  on  to 
the  nest,  where  she  stood  erect,  listening. 
This  was  my  chance,  and  quickly,  yet 
steadily,  I  pulled  the  thread  taut.  The 
hawk  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  the 
shutter,  and  settled  down  to  brood.  I 
gave  her  ten  minutes  to  get  over  her 
alarm,  and  watched  her  through  my  field- 
glass.  Now  and  then  she  would  turn  her 
head,  and  then  settle  back  with  a  sleepy 
air,  just  like  an  old  sitting  hen. 

The  exciting  question  now  was  whether 
or  not  the  shutter  had  sprung,  or  had  the 
thread  got  tangled.  Quietly  I  crawled  out 
from  my  retreat  and  away  from  it,  so  as 
not  to  show  the  hawk  where  I  had  hidden. 
As  soon  as  I  walked  boldly  she  saw  me  and 
flew,  and  I  hurried  to  climb  the  tree.  To 
my  great  joy  the  shutter  was  closed.  I 
changed  the  plate,  set  the  shutter  for 
another  shot,  and  this  time  walked  off 
noisily  beyond  my  hiding  place  and  to  one 
side  of  it.  Then  I  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  crept  back  silently  to  cover  on  hands 
and  knees.  This  time  no  suspicions  were 
aroused.  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  all  was 
quiet.  Then  suddenly  I  saw  a  shadow. 
It  was  the  hawk  gliding  swiftly  through 
the  woods,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  on  the 
nest.  I  let  her  settle  down  before  pulling 
the  thread,  and  got  her  sidewise,  a  fine  clear 
picture. 

The  hawk  was  now  becoming  accus- 
tomed to  my  approaches,  and,  for  that 
matter,  the  broad-wing,  though  very  retir- 
ing, is  not  as  wary  as  most  of  the  hawks. 
It  is  a  near  relative  of  the  so-called  "hen- 
hawks,"  but  a  smaller  bird,  of  medium 


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A  great  horned  owl  incubating  near  the  falls. 

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Go 

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The  Robbers  of  the  Falls 


7°S 


size,  and,  like  its  relatives,  is  rather  sedate 
and  somewhat  heavy  in  its  movements. 
My  friend  was  anxious  to  be  in  the  game, 
so,  as  I  changed  plates  again,  I  called  him, 
and  this  time  we  both  sneaked  to  the 
bower.  The  hawk  soon  returned.  She 
flew  straight  to  the  nest,  and  alighted 
somewhere  close  to  it,  but  behind  a  large 
branch.  For  an  instant  I  was  undecided, 
but  pulled  the  thread,  upon  which  the 
hawk  flew.  \X  was  great  luck  that  1  pulled 
just  then,  for  it  gave  me  the  best  hawk  pic- 
ture I  have  ever  taken.  The  hawk  stands 
on  a  stub  close  to  the  nest  in  a  watchful 
attitude,  carrying  a  piece  of  bark  in  her 
bill,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  trimming 
or  ornamenting  her  nest.  At  other  times 
I  have  seen  hawks  bring  something  in 
returning  to  their  eggs.  Almost  always 
one  finds  a  fresh  green  spray  placed  on  the 
nest,  as  though  each  day  one  or  other  of 
the  hawks  brought  a  bouquet  to  ornament 
their  home.  This  is  one  of  various  sug- 
gestions which  go  to  show  that  animals 
are  not  entirely  destitute  of  aesthetic  sense. 
The  broad-wing  gave  me  three  shots 
more  that  day,  six  in  all,  the  best  day's 
"hawking"  that  I  have  ever  had,  for  all 
the  pictures  were  good.  And  now  there 
was  the  other  robber  to  conquer.  I  did  it 
alone,  and  my  friend  missed  one  of  the 
times  of  his  life.  It  took  two  days,  though, 
to  gain  the  victory.  On  the  first  attempt 
the  hawk  would  not  go  near  the  nest  while 
I  was  in  the  woods,  so  the  next  time  I 
brought  my  little  brown  umbrella  tent  and 
pitched  it  well  down  the  stream  from  the 
nest,  as  far  away  as  I  could  see  when  the 
hawk  returned  to  it.  The  task  of  screwing 
up  the  camera  in  the  slender  oak  opposite 
the  nest  in  the  hemlock  was  a  hard  one. 
There  was  no  support  but  one  slender 
crotch  for  the  right  foot;  for  the  other  the 
spur  of  the  climbing-iron  had  to  suffice. 
It  was  necessary  to  cling  to  the  trunk  while 


using  both  hands  on  the  instrument,  and 
the  pile  of  jagged  rocks  beneath  the  tree 
was  enough  to  incite  one  to  extreme  cau- 
tion. I  was  glad  enough  when  the  ordeal 
was  over  and,  dripping  with  perspiration, 
I  was  again  on  solid  ground. 

Then  I  withdrew  far  down  the  brook, 
and  crept  back  up  the  dark  gorge  and  into 
the  tent.  The  hawk  seemed  suspicious  of 
the  camera,  the  lens  and  shutter  of  which 
flashed  in  the  sun,  and  it  was  only  after 
hours  of  waiting,  with  eyes  at  the  peek- 
hole  and  neck  almost  paralyzed,  that  I 
secured  two  shots  at  the  hawk  on  the  nest. 
After  this  I  took  down  the  camera,  and 
with  the  precious  plates  followed  the  path 
along  the  brook  back  to  the  "  rig." 

From  time  to  time  I  made  the  rounds  of 
these  various  robber  camps,  and  photo- 
graphed the  young  at  various  stages.  The 
broad-wings  by  the  big  falls  hatched  but 
one  of  their  two  eggs,  the  Cooper's  hawks 
two  of  their  three,  while  the  other  broad- 
wings  were  completely  successful.  On  the 
second  day  of  June  I  climbed  to  the  nest  of 
the  latter  pair,  and  heard  the  little  hawks 
chirping  in  the  shells,  through  which  each 
bill  had  already  broken.  Just  a  month 
later,  on  the  second  of  July,  one  of  them 
was  able  to  fly  from  the  nest  as  I  peered 
over  the  edge.  The  other  robber  families 
were  about  ten  days  later  in  their  growth. 
To  provide  food  for  all  these  lusty  car- 
nivora  many  a  tragedy  was  enacted  by 
these  falls. 

The  picturesque  big  fall  was  visited  by 
numerous  summer  picnic  parties,  but  of 
these  probably  not  a  person  was  sharp- 
eyed  enough  to  perceive  that  they  were  in 
a  notable  robbers'  den,  and  that  keen, 
murderous  eyes  were  watching  them  from 
the  shadows  of  the  hemlocks  as  they 
listened  to  the  music  of  the  falls  and 
watched  the  artistic  grace  of  the  leaping 
jets  of  the  silver  spring. 


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LITTLE   OUTDOOR    STORIES 


GRANPOP'S    BIG    BASS 

BY  CARROLL  DEAN  MURPHY 

/^  RAN  POP  carefully  wound  a  rebellious 
^^     Lima  bean  vine  about  its  pole. 

"Queer  how  them  runners  won't  go 
round  but  one  way,"  he  mused;  "sot  in 
their  ways  jest  like  humans.  Time's  been, 
I  was  sot  agin  hoein'  jest  that  stebbom. 
Wall,  it  took  a  plenty  of  hick'ries,  but  now 
I  reckon  I  relish  gardenin'  a  little  in  the 
cool  of  the  mornin'." 

He  glanced  approvingly  at  the  eastern 
sky  and  moved  up  the  row,  cleaning  out 
the  pusley  and  wire  grass  with  slow, 
methodical  strokes. 

"Hey,  Granpop!"  called  a  barefooted 
boy.  as  he  came  running  across  the  corn 
patch;  "Granpop,  me  an'  Bill's  goin' 
fishin*.     Let's  us  dig  some  baits." 

"Wall,  Jimmy,  1  dunno  as  we  can  find 
any,  it's  so  dry,"  quizzed  the  old  man. 

"You  can  always  fmd  dandies,"  said 
Jimmy. 

They  crossed  the  garden  together,  to  a 
shady  spot  by  the  bam.  Granpop  dug 
away,  while  Jimmy  gathered  the  baits 
into  an  old  tin  can.  Then  the  old  man 
shouldered  his  hoe  and  with  the  boy 
trotting  at  his  side  went  toward  the  house. 

"Used  to  keep  my  old  crooked  willow 
right  on  them  same  nails  when  I  was  your 
size,  Jimmy,"  he  said,  seating  himself  on 
the  edge  of  the  porch,  in  the  shade  of  the 
old-fashioned  red  trumpet  flower. 

"That  was  awful  long  ago,  wasn't  it?" 
said  Jimmy.  His  lead  was  loose  and  he 
stopped  to  bite  it  on  to  his  line. 

"Ye-uh — long  ago.  Before  ever  the 
big  Harvey  Sweet  apple  tree  was  planted," 
a^jreed  Granpop  soberly.  He  laid  his  old 
straw  hat  on  the  step  and  rested  his  head 
in  his  hands. 

A  whistle  sounded  from  the  street  and 
Jimmy  answered  it. 

"Wisht  you  didn't  have  the  rhcumatiz 
so  bad.  SOS  you  could  go  'long.  Granpop,'* 


he  said,  as  he  picked  up  his  pole  and  bait 
can.  "  We  always  ketch  more  when  you're 
along."  • 

The  old  man  smiled.  "Wall,  now, 
Jimmy,  we  did  used  to  have  some  luck  on 
our  little  j'ants,  didn't  we?  But  you'll 
have  to  ketch  Granpop's  fish  now.  He's 
gettin'  too  old  to  stomp  around  very  spry." 

"Too  old."  he  mused,  when  Jimmy  had 
gone.  "Older  'n  the  old  Harvey  Sweet 
grandfather  planted.  I  mind  fillin'  my 
pockets,  jest  like  Jimmy  done  a  minute 
ago,  off  the  tree  that  stood  there  afore  that 
un — big,  red  apples  they  was,  and  sweeter 
'n  maple  wax — me  and  Joe  Mullen  and  Acey 
Bartlett.     I  mind  they  called  me  '  Poke.' " 

He  looked  off  into  the  sky  and  watched 
the  gray  curtain  of  cloud  falling  in  shreds 
before  the  sun.  Then  he  rose,  and  going 
into  the  house,  settled  himself  to  read  the 
paper. 

The  sun  had  risen  high  and  the  blinds 
were  drawn  against  the  heat.  A  blue 
bottle  buzzed  at  the  window.  Granpop 
finally  roused  himself  and,  putting  up  his 
spectacles,  sought  a  cool  spot  on  the  vine- 
covered  back  porch. 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  hear  a  whistle — 
Acey's  whistle.  1  wo  boys  with  fishing 
poles  were  leaning  over  the  front  fence. 
He  looked  about — the  apples  on  the  sweet 
apple  tree  were  red! 

"Gee  whiz!"  he  said,  "me  and  Joe  and 
Acey  was  goin*  fishin'  this  morning,  and  I 
forgot  all  about  it." 

He  jumped  on  a  box.  got  down  his 
willow  pole  and  started  out  through  the 
orchard. 

"Got  any  baits?"  he  called. 

"Uh-huh!     Gimme  'n  apple." 

"Aw,  Poke,  y'ain't  fergot  your  best 
friend?" 

And  so.  as  the  boys  went  down  the  road. 
Poke  wormed  three  big  red  apples  out  of 
his  breeches  pockets. 

Poke  felt  the  soft  dust  under  his  bare 
feet,  the  tall  grass  dripping  with  dew,  and 
the  cool  beaten  path  along  the  willows. 


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The  mile  to  the  dam  seemed  as  short  as 
a  circus  parade. 

There  the  crick  was  foaming  from  its 
plunge.  Willows  shaded  the  water,  and 
under  the  mossy  planks  where  the  stream 
fell,  the  big  bass  waved  their  tails  in  sleepy 
comfort. 

Poke  baited  his  hook  with  a  big  fat 
worm,  spit  on  it  for  luck  and  slipped  it  into 
the  water.  Then  the  three  sat  whispering 
and  watching  their  corks.  The  current 
pulled  at  Poke's  and  took  it  half  under.  A 
leaf  came  downstream  and  caught  on  his 
line,  making  curves  that  spread  and  floated 
away.  The  sky  got  deeper  and  bluer  as 
he  looked  up  through  the  limp  willow 
leaves.  It  was  hot  up  there,  but  not  on 
the  old  spile.     Suddenly  his  cork  bobbed. 

Poke  gripped  the  spile  with  his  l^s  and 
waited.  The  cork  wiggled  again,  then 
steadied. 

'*  I  had  a  bite,"  he  whispered. 

"Minnies,"  answered  Joe. 

Poke  pulled  up.  "Minnies  nuthin',"  he 
said  angrily;  "bare  hook." 

He  baited  again  and  dropped  into  the 
same  spot.  The  cork  settled,  bobbed  vig- 
orously, then  went  under.  Poke's  heart 
thumped,  and  he  jerked  up.  Swish,  a  gray 
body  went  over  his  head  into  the  willow 
branches. 

"  Little  sundab,"  said  Acey,  coming  over 
to  look. 

For  a  long  time  everything  was  quiet. 
But  the  fish  wouldn't  bite  any  more,  and 
at  last  Joe  said,  "  Let's  try  'em  with  crabs." 
All  three  set  their  poles  and  went  down  to 
the  riffle. 

'*Gee!  Looky!"  yelled  Joe,  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  poles  again.  Acey's 
was  going  like  a  pump  handle,  and  Joe's 
cork  was  clear  under.  Joe  ran  out  on  the 
log  as  fast  as  he  could  go  and  started  to 
pull  up.  But  just  then  Acey  tried  to  get 
past  him.  They  bumped  together,  and 
Joe  fell  in  clear  over  his  head.  Acey  never 
stopped  till  he  had  pulled  up. 

"0-oh!  Look  what  I  got!"  he  yelled, 
swinging  a  big  mud  turtle  back  and  forth. 

Joe  climbed  out  mad,  and  without  a 
word  yanked  at  his  line.  It  stuck  on  a 
snag.  He  tried  to  poke  it  loose  with  his 
pole,  but  couldn't.  Then  he  got  madder 
than  ever  and  gave  a  big  jerk.  Swish,  the 
line  cut  the  water,  and  then  went  slack. 

"What'd  you  do?"  asked  Poke. 


"  la>st  my  hook.  Aw,  let's  quit.  Taint 
no  fun  fishin'." 

**Huh-uh!"  said  Acey,  whirling  his 
turtle  over  his  head  and  slapping  it  on  the 
water. 

"Aw,  let  up.  You're  scarin*  *em  all 
away,"  growled  Poke. 

"Ho!  You're  jus*  mad  'cause  you  ain't 
got  no  turtle."  Acey  let  it  dive  under  the 
log  and  then  pulled  it  back.  "Look  at 
him  swim  turtle  fashion,"  he  went  on. 

"Wouldn't  have  yer  dog-goned  old 
turtle,"  said  Joe,  still  sulky  over  his  duck- 
ing: "I'd  throw  him  back  'f  he's  mine. 
What  kin  you  do  with  him?" 

"Make  soup,"  said  Acey,  "n'else  I  sell 
him  up  to  the  saloon.  They  give  Chalky 
Simpkin's  brother  a  quarter  fur  one 
onct." 

"Gee!"  said  Joe.  In  silence  he  squirmed 
out  of  his  shirt  and  hung  it  on  a  bush  by 
his  dripping  breeches.  Then  he  jumped 
into  the  sand,  where  he  lay,  sprinkling 
handfuls  over  his  wet  skin. 

Poke  stuck  a  piece  of  crab  on  his  bare 
hook  and  fished  on,  dropping  some  splin- 
ters from  the  spile  for  the  minnies  to  grab 
at.  After  a  while  his  eyes  seemed  to  bore 
right  down,  till  he  could  almost  see  bot- 
tom. There,  way  under  water,  was  a 
muddy  log  and  two  l»ttle  fuzzy  snags. 
Once,  in  the  deepest  part,  a  big  shadow, 
blacker  than  the  water,  slid  by,  and  Poke 
caught  the  faintest  gleam  of  sunlight  on  a 
big,  scaly  side.  He  held  his  breath  and 
watched  his  cork  till  his  eyes  blinked. 
There  was  a  nibble,  or  maybe  just  the  wind 
jerking  his  line.  It  was  blowing  a  little, 
for  the  leaves  above  him  stirred,  and  a 
spider  hanging  by  a  thread  swung  dizzily 
and  backed  up  a  little  for  fear  of  tumbling. 
Then  came  a  sure  enough  nibble,  maybe 
from  that  big  one.  And  then — Splash! 
Joe  had  got  too  hot  in  the  sand  and  had 
dove  oQ  the  dam.  Poke's  cork  stood  still; 
he  was  mad. 

"Aw!  darn  it!"  he  yelled,  "I  thought 
you  kids  was  goin'  to  keep  still.  I  almost 
had  a  great  big  bass — an  awful  big  one.  I 
seen  him." 

"  I  fergot  you's  fishin',"  said  Joe.    Then 
he  went  oiT  up  in  the  wheat  stubble,  and 
everything  was  quiet,  exc«*-"*  '—»■*•-*  *^"s, 
and  Acey  calling  his  tur' 
looked  at  his  bait  and 
again  where 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


breeze  tumbled  the  willow  leaves  and  made 
the  spots  of  sunlight  dance  on  the  water. 
Then  his  cork  went  under.  He  jerked  up 
and  climbed  to  the  bank  again.  But  when 
he  saw  it  was  only  a  horny  chub,  he 
slammed  it  back  in. 

"Now,  what  'd  you  do  that  for?"  de- 
manded Acey.  "Ain't  you  got  no  sense? 
Tain't  no  use  us  fishin*  now;  he'll  tell  all 
the  others." 

"Aw  won't  neither,"  said  Poke.  But 
it  was  true,  though  Poke  had  forgotten 
about  it.  He  set  his  line  carelessly  and 
stared  at  it,  with  his  head  on  his  hand. 
The  sun  had  got  round  to  his  spile.  He 
could  see  it  in  the  crick  and  wished  he  was 
there  too,  for  the  water  splashed  invitingly 
cool.     It  wasn't  any  fun  fishing. 

"Last  one  in  knows  what  he  is,"  yelled 
Poke.  He  jumped  up  and  ran  across  the 
top  of  the  dam,  skinning  his  shirt  as  he 
went.  He  threw  his  clothes  on  the  sand 
and  dove — "Smack!"  Acey  and  Joe  ran 
in  as  he  came  up. 

"0-oh!  What  a  belly-slapper,"  yelled 
Acey.  Poke  didn't  answer,  for  just  then 
Joe  came  up  and  said: 

"I  bet  it's  twice  over  your  head  and 
hands.     I  can't  touch." 

"Ho!  I  can  bring  up,"  shouted  Poke. 
He  let  himself  sink,  and  Acey  watched. 
Suddenly  a  fistful  of  mud  shot  out  of 
the  water.  Poke  slung  the  dirt  over  his 
head  and  started  for  Joe,  swimming  sailor 
fashion.  They  splashed  for  a  minute,  then 
wrestled.  Joe  went  out  choking  and  rub- 
bing his  eyes. 

Just  then,  the  noon  whistle  at  the  shops 
blew.  The  three  splashed  off  the  mud 
stripes  and  ran  for  their  clothes. 

Acey  didn't  have  to  wear  any  under- 
shirt, so  he  got  dressed  first  and  went  to 
pull  up  his  turtle.  It  kicked  hard  and 
snapped  at  the  line. 

Poke,  too,  went  to  wind  up.  His  cork 
was  under  and  his  line  tight.  He  tried  to 
pull  up  and  something  almost  jerked  the 
pole  out  of  his  hands.  //  was  an  awful  big 
one. 

He  drew  the  pole  in  hand  over  hand, 
then  the  line.  A  big  black  fm  cut  the  water 
and  shot  away  with  every  inch  of  slack. 
Poke's  ears  buzzed.  He  didn't  hear  the 
noise  of  the  dam,  nor  the  other  fellow  yell- 
ing. The  tight  line  and  the  swirl  of  water 
were  all  he  saw.     The  cord  cut  his  hands, 


but  he  gritted  his  teeth  and  got  in  the  slack 
again.  The  fish  dove  and  dragged  him 
into  the  shallow  water,  but  he  held  on, 
panting;  brought  it  in  a  foot  at  a  time, 
clutched  it  with  both  arms,  and  ran  way 
back  up  the  bank,  li  was  a  black  bass — a 
whopping  big  one. 

"Golly!  Ain't  he  a  dandy!"  gasped 
Joe. 

"Gee!"  said  Acey,  "bet  he's  bigger  'n  the 
one  Soapy  caught  up  to  the  bridge.  Don't 
you?" 

With  trembling  fingers,  Poke  silently 
strung  it  and  held  it  up  to  view.  The 
stringer  did  look  fine.  The  sundab  just 
made  the  bass  look  bigger.  Poke  almost 
wished  he  had  saved  the  horny  chub,  just 
to  carry  home;  then  again  he  thought 
maybe  the  bass  would  look  better  alone. 

"Want  me  to  carry  him  a  ways?"  asked 
Acey. 

"Huh-uh!  I  ain't  tired,"  said  Poke. 
But  the  stringer  was  heavy,  just  the  same, 
and  had  to  be  carried  'way  up  to  keep  the 
bass'  tail  from  getting  dirty. 

The  way  home  seemed  pretty  short. 
Poke  soon  felt  the  dust  of  the  road  again, 
hot  this  time,  so  that  he  had  to  walk  fast. 
Old  Mr.  Farrar  came  by  on  his  hay 
rigging,  and  stopped: 

"Where  'd  you  ketch  him?"  he  asked. 

"Up  to  the  dam,"  said  Poke  and  Acey 
together,  both  trying  to  talk  offhand. 

"Fine  fish;  weighs  about  four  pounds, 
eh?"  The  farmer  clucked  to  his  raw- 
boned  team. 

"Pert'  near  seven,  I  bet,"  said  Poke, 
hurrying  on.  He  climbed  the  fence,  then 
quickly  put  the  stringer  behind  him,  for 
there  was  mother.  He  knew  what  she'd 
do.     She'd  say,  "Why,  Fred,  I  was  afraid 

you  were  going  to  miss  your  dinner,  or " 

Then  she'd  see  his  wet  clothes,  where  he 
had  waded  in  after  his  bass,  and  ask.  Then 
he'd  show  her  H.  She  was  smiling  now 
and  opening  her  lips. 


"Hey,Granpop!  Look  what  I  caught!" 
The  old  man  started  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 
He  looked  down — his  hands  were  empty. 
He  looked  about.  He  was  sitting  on  the 
old  back  porch.  The  locusts  were  droning 
still.  Jimmy  stood  beside  him.  And  the 
apples  on  the  old  tree  were  yellow. 
"Ain't  he  a  dandy?"  said  Jimmy,  hold- 


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ing  up  a  big  bass.  '*How  much  d'  you 
s'pose  he  weighs.  Granpop?" 

"  Whanger!  Weighs  a  big  three  pounds, 
1  reckon,"  said  Granpop,  "but  he  looked 
bigger  'n  that/' 

"Why,  when  did  you  see  him,  Gran- 
pop?" 

"Me?"  The  old  man  chuckled  softly. 
"Didn't  you  spy  me  round  the  old  dam 
this  mornin',  Jimmy?  Shucks,  rheumatiz 
can't  keep  your  old  Granpop  home  long  as 
he  can  doze  on  the  porch  and  dream  about 
when  he  was  a  boy." 

"Maybe  that's  the  reason  Bill  and  me 
had  luck,"  said  Jimmy  seriously,  letting 
his  bass  loose  in  the  big  tub.  Then  a  soft 
voice  called  and  the  two  went  in.  It  was 
dinner  time,  and  the  smell  of  baked  sweet 
apples  came  out  to  the  virre-covered  back 
porch. 


BILL   FIKES'  FOX    HUNT 

BY   NORMAN    H.    CROWELL 

T  JNCLE  EZRA  did  you  ever  ride  to 
^^  hdunds?"  inquired  the  grocery  clerk 
in  an  attempt  to  draw  attention  from  the 
prune  barrel  into  which  the  upper  third  of 
Boggs  had  disappeared.  At  the  query,  the 
prune-chaser  straightened  up  and  dusted 
the  mold  off  his  vest  front. 

"Eh?  Ride  two  hounds?"  he  repeated 
in  mild  surprise,  "  1  should  hope  not,  son, 
I'm  no  juggler." 

"I  heard  you  were  quite  a  fox  hunter 
once.  Just  thought  I'd  ask,  you  know," 
said  the  clerk,  as  he  put  a  handful  of  desic- 
cated cabbage  leaf  into  the  free  tobacco 
box. 

"Fox  hunter!  Well,  I  calk'late  some 
that  I  was!  Why,  son,  1  was  chasin'  the 
animals  years  before  you  was  born,  an' 
probably  would  be  yet  if  1  hadn't  run  'em 
all  out  o'  th'  country." 

"I  suppose  you've  hunted  foxes  with 
Bill  Fikes?"  asked  Jim  Hallett,  as  he 
peered  around  the  stove. 

"Hunted  with  Lill?  Yes,  once.  1  re- 
member that  time  very  particular — it  fin- 
ished poor  Bill  for  fox  huntin'.  Makes  me 
laugh  every  time  1  recall  Bill  ridin'  that 
slow  suicide  of  a  critter  he  drawed.  And 
that  hunt,  1  could  just  get  down  an'  roll." 

At  this  juncture  the  clerk  clapped  the 


cover  on  the  prune  barrel  and  the  peril  was 
averted. 

"  You  see,  Bill  had  alwaus  swore  he  was 
a  regular  ringmaster  at  hossback  ridin'. 
Even  went  so  far  as  to  let  on  he'd  been 
refusin'  big  offers  once  a  month  for  th'  past 
ten  years  from  circuses  all  over  th'  coun- 
try jest  to  ride  bosses.  I  never  see  'im 
straddle  a  boss,  though,  till  we  went  down 
to  Squire  Eaton's  fox  hunt.  Bill  had  to 
go,  seein'  he  was  some  maple  sugary  on  th' 
Squire's  daughter,  an'  th'  daughter  had 
egged  th'  Squire  on  to  invite  Bill  so's  she 
could  see  how  he  looked  in  high-water 
pants. 

"After  we'd  got  down  there  th'  Squire 
pulled  me  off  to  one  side  an'  says,  in  a 
whisper: 

"*  1  hear  Bill's  an  old  circus  equestrienne, 
an'  I'm  dum  glad  of  it.  I've  got  a  regular 
devil  of  a  boss  for  'im  to  ride,  an'  an  ordi- 
nary man  couldn't  manage  'im.' 

"'Is  that  so?' says  I.  'Well,  I  guess  my 
pardner  is  th'  one  to  make  that  boss  feel 
'is  oats  if  any  one  can.  You'll  enjoy  watch- 
in'  Bill  ride  that  boss.  Squire,'  1  says. 

"'I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  Ez,'  he  says, 
real  relieved.  '1  guess  we  might  as  well 
start  'er  off.' 

"Then  he  turns  around  an'  blowed  a 
blast  on  a  powder-horn  an'  yells: 

"'Ahoy,  boys!  Yoho!  Yoho!  Yoicks! 
Yoho!' 

"This  brought  th'  hull  crowd  of  men  an' 
dogs  an'  bosses  an'  admirin'  females  up  in 
a  knot,  an'  th'  mountin'  begun.  Bill  hung 
back  on  th'  edge  lookin'  like  he'd  swallowed 
a  Jew's  harp  an'  it  was  interferin'  with  'is 
air.  When  th'  stable  bridegroom  led  out 
Bill's  noble  steed  my  poor  pardner  nearly 
fell  down.  So  did  1,  after  one  look  at  that 
nag.  I  see  then  that  Squire  Eaton  was  a 
perfessional  joker  with  capital  letters  a 
foot  high. 

"That  animal  was  so  high  up  from  th' 
earth  it  was  jest  like  lookin'  up  at  th' 
Masonic  Temple.  Away  up  on  th'  roof 
of  'im  he  had  a  backbone  that  looked  like 
th'  map  of  th'  Rocky  Mountains  done  in 
bone.  Bill  run  'is  hand  lovin'ly  over  th' 
critter's  spine  an'  said  he'd  seen  worse,  but 
couldn't  recollect  jest  where. 

"Th'    Squire's   daughter   bein'    present 

prevented  Bill  from  makin'  th'  remarks  he 

wanted  to,  but  th'  looks  he  give  me  made 

me  shiver  as  though  I  'd  had  a  nightmare. 

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**  Most  o'  the  time  IJill  'pearcd  to  he  sailin'  along  in  the  sunshine  jest  like  a  butterfly." 


We  got  'im  aboard  finally  by  usin'  a  step- 
ladder  an'  main  force  an'  th'  Squire  tooted 
th'  cornet  as  a  signal  that  all  was  set. 

"Th'  first  thing  Bill's  boss  done  was  to 
jump  th'  pump  an'  then  hurdle  a  row 
o'  beehives  In  doin'  this  a  half  dozen 
beetle-browed  honey-producers  anchored 
to  Bill  an'  th'  boss  an'  done  a  lively  busi- 
ness. Bill  took  th'  lead — jest  like  1  'd  said 
he  would  an'  he  held  it.  He  showed  us 
some  ridin'  that  you  don't  often  see  even 
in  circus  rings,  too.  I  never  see  a  feller 
ride  so  far  away  from  'is  nag  an'  still  stay 
with  'im.  Most  o'  th'  time  Bill  'peared  to 
be  sailin'  along  in  th'  sunshine  jest  like  a 
butterfly,  touchin'  'is  boss  occasionally  to 
give  'im  a  pointer  where  he  wanted   to 

go- 

"Some  o'  th'  boys  who  got  up  near  Bill 
said  th'  remarks  he  was  castin'  off  was  ekal 
to  any  Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators  they'd 
ever  listened  to.  About  every  third  time 
Bill'd  come  down  he'd  meet  th'  boss  goin' 
up  on  th'  next  jump  an'  th'  sound  was 
similar  to  a  man  poundin'  a  hollow  stump 
with  a  sledge  hammer. 

"In  about  twenty  minutes  Bill's  boss 
had  overtook  th'  dogs  an'  waded  through 
th'  bunch,  puttin'  two  of  em  on  th' 
hospital  list  with  on  jointed  backs.  In  a 
minute  or  so  more  he'd  caught  up  with  th' 
710 


fox,  an',  after  runnin'  'im  neck  an*  neck 
for  half  a  mile,  passed  'im  easy.  Th'  fox 
was  so  disgusted  he  tried  to  bite  Bill  in  th' 
leg  as  he  went  by,  but  Bill  was  too  high  up 
to  be  reached. 

"Th'  Squire  blowed  a  few  toots  on  'is 
foghorn  to  advise  Bill  to  come  back  an*  be 
sociable,  but  we  see  that  boss  jest  tuck  in 
'is  tail  good  an'  careful  an'  stretch  out  like 
a  homesick  jackrabbit.  Bill  was  hangin' 
on  like  a  porous  plaster  to  a  tramp's 
back. 

"We  could  see  'im  haulin'  on  th'  reins, 
but  th'  Squire  said  he'd  give  any  man  two 
hundred  dollars  who  could  bend  that  ani- 
mal's neck,  an'   Bill  didn't  win.     It  was 
made  o'  castiron,  th'  Squire  said. 

"Th'  last  we  see  o'  my  pardner  he  was 
just  toppin'  a  rise  in  th'  far  distance  with 
th'  boss  skinnin'  along  like  a  scairt  cata- 
mount 'bout  five  foot  below.  Th'  Squire 
was  sort  o'  melancholy  for  a  while,  thinkin' 
he  was  a  boss  out.  but  I  told  'im  to  bear 
up  brave  an'  begin  preparin'  to  git  booted 
clear  across  Catawba  County  if  poor  Bill 
never  showed  up  again. 

"  But  next  day  Bill  sent  word  from  a 
town  twenty  miles  oflf  that  he  was  alive  an' 
hungry,  but  that  th'  boss  was  in  difficulty 
through  breakin'  an'  enterin'  a  hotel  office 
an'  attemptin'  to  register.  1  forget  what^T^ 
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711 


it  cost  th'  Squire  to  settle  for  th'  bric-a- 
brac  that  animal  had  maltreated,  but  it 
^as  nolhin'  small.  Bill  walked  like  a  pair 
o'  carpenter's  calipers  for  six  weeks  an' 
threatened  to  sue  th'  Squire  for  permanent 
injuries  to  'is  beauty. 

"That  was  th'  last  foxhunt  I  ever  see  Bill 
Fikes  engage  in — th'  identical  last  one. 
He  sort  o'  lost  'is  hankerin'  for  it,  I  guess." 

The  narrator  paused,  yawned  deeply 
and  drummed  lightly  with  his  fingers  on 
the  cover  of  the  prune  barrel.  Then,  as  a 
sudden  thought  struck  home,  he  gently 
lifted  it  and  slid  an  arm  into  the  depths, 
while  he  eyed  the  clerk  fiercely,  as  one  who 
takes  his  just  dues,  fearing  no  man. 


CORN   AND   GRAPES 

BY   E.    P.    POWELL 

rVURlNG  September  America  belongs 
^^  to  com  and  grapes,  they  are  cosmo- 
politan. Riding  at  forty  miles  an  hour 
on  one  side  of  you,  all  day,  are  vine- 
yards, with  purple  or  white  clusters — only 
to  be  estimated  by  tons;  on  the  other  side 
miles  of  com.  The  air  is  loaded  with  fra- 
grance. These  are  the  two  most  delicious 
foods  in  the  world.  What  a  wonderful 
provider  is  Nature;  for  at  least  one-third 
of  all  this  com  and  these  grapes  will  be 
wasted,  like  the  apples  in  the  orchards, 
through  insects  and  bad  management — 
yet  we  shall  have  enough.  Forty  years 
ago  one  carload  of  grapes  glutted  the  New 
York  market,  but  now  twenty  carloads  in 
a  day  will  drop  out  of  sight.  One  hundred 
years  ago  the  com  crop  was  less  than  one 
million  of  bushels  a  year,  now  it  is  nearly 
three  billions  of  bushels.  Our  fathers 
shelled  the  whole  of  that  crop  by  hand, 
and  they  carried  it  to  mill  on  horseback. 
Sitting  on  a  spade,  the  edge  of  which  lay 
over  a  half  bushel,  they  scraped  oif  the 
kemels.  If  all  the  Chinese  in  the  Celestial 
kingdom  could  now  be  set  at  work  on  our 
annual  harvest,  the  next  crop  would  over- 
take them  with  one-third  of  the  ears  still 
to  shell.  Those  were  days  of  sweet 
romance  and  homefulness;  these  are  the 
days  of  mills,  machinery,  and  elevators. 

This  com  which  now  feeds  a  nation  of 
eighty  millions,  and  is  going  to  feed  half 
the  world,  which   you  call  the  king  of  all 


grains,  do  you  know  that  it  is  the  product 
of  Indian  agriculture?  Originally  it  was 
only  a  maize,  a  very  simple  grass,  and 
some  Indian  Burbank  began  its  develop- 
ment into  a  product  so  different  that 
Nature  had  to  take  the  heavy  ears  away 
from  the  top  and  fit  them  into  the  sockets 
of  the  leaves.  When  white  man  came,  the 
Indian  was  able  to  give  him  not  only  field 
com,  but  a  variety  of  sweet  com.  The 
Iroquois  cultivated  hundreds  of  acres,  and 
all  the  valleys  of  New  York  were  full  of 
com  fields  and  apple  orchards.  I  was  able 
in  one  of  my  horticultural  experiments  to 
carry  this  com  back,  step  by  step,  each 
year  selecting  the  shortest  stalks  and  the 
smallest  kemels,  until  at  the  end  of  six 
years,  I  had  a  stalk  only  two  feet  high, 
with  seed  like  a  spike  of  timothy — and 
once  more  on  top.  I  had  reversed  evolu- 
tion and  found  out  the  origin  of  com. 

However,  these  aborigines  left  enough 
for  us  to  do.  These  com  fields  of  ours 
show  a  steady  evolution,  with  a  suggestion 
of  still  further  achievement  in  the  future. 
New  coms,  far  richer  in  food  values,  have 
been  produced.  Ordinary  com  contains 
but  little  over  four  per  cent,  of  oil,  but  the 
Illinois  Agricultural  College  has  bred  a  new 
sort,  containing  nearly  seven  per  cent. 
There  is  a  difference  of  ten  per  cent,  in  the 
protein  contained  by  other  varieties.  "  The 
Com  Gospel  Train"  is  a  good  symbol  of 
our  age — a  train  of  cars  equipped  with 
professors,  who  go  from  farm  to  farm,  as 
well  as  village  to  village,  teaching  the 
tillers  how  to  create  more  corn  to  the  acre 
and  of  better  quality — less  labor,  more 
com. 

We  have  got  to  get  ready  to  feed  a 
population  of  four  hundred  millions,  and 
that  will  need  at  least  fifty  bushels  of  wheat 
to  the  acre  and  one  hundred  bushels  of 
com.  By  careful  selection  of  seed,  con- 
tinued for  ten  years,  we  expect  to  get  at 
least  fifty  bushels  as  an  average  yield  per 
acre,  instead  of  thirty.  Ahead  of  us  we 
see  com  fields  with  fivt  ears  to  the  stalk, 
and  three  stalks  to  the  hill.  Give  us 
twenty-five  years  and  we  will  raise  the 
average  to  one  hundred  bushels  per  acre. 
With  all  this  we  expect  to  become  so  in- 
timately associated  with  Nature  that  we 
shall  not  exhaust  fertility  by  culture,  but 
shall  increase  it.  We  shall  find  our  fertil- 
izers at  our  own  doors. 

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The  Outing  Magazine 


The  grape  story  is  equally  cheering. 
Grapes  are  nearest  of  all  fruits  to  being  a 
perfect  food.  You  will  do  well  to  eat  one 
meal  a  day  of  nothing  else.  Every  farmer 
will  gain  by  having  at  least  one  acre  of 
Wordens,  Niagaras,  Lindleys,  and  Brigh- 
tons.  These  will  save  him  in  outlay  for 
beef,  and  he  can  market  a  handsome  sur- 
plus. They  will  cut  off  his  doctors'  bills, 
adding  a  dozen  years  to  his  life.  Fifty 
years  ago  no  farmer  had  anything  more 
than  wild  grapes,  or  possibly  an  Isabella 
or  a  Catawba  struggled  for  life  against 
neglect  and  frost.  Then  came  the  Q)n- 
cord  about  the  middle  of  the  century,  with 
Delaware  a  little  later.  Then  Dr.  Grant 
created  the  lona — still  the  most  delicious 
of  all  grapes;  while  Rogers'  seedlings  and 
Ricketts'  seedlings  gave  us  at  least  two 
score  more  of  superb  products.  The  writer 
has  on  his  nine  acre  homestead  over  one 
hundred  sorts,  and  new  ones  constantly 
crowd  for  admission.  The  five  best  grapes 
for  a  country  home  south  of  New  York  are 
Jefferson,  lona,  Moore's  Early,  and  Brigh- 
ton. North  of  New  York  we  may  select 
Moore's  Early,  Niagara,  Lindley>  Brighton, 
and  Worden.  In  Florida  we  grow  out  of 
doors  the  Black  Hamburg,  Muscat  of 
Alexandria,  and  Sweetwater. 

The  com  field  is  always  beautiful,  from 
the  time  that  the  seed  sprouts  until  the 
tall  stalks  stand  in  stooks  for  the  husker; 
beautiful  when  it  waves  its  streamers  in 
June,  or  yields  its  sweet  ears  in  July,  and 
equally  beautiful  when  the  rich  brown  of 
August  creeps  over  it,  or  the  stalk  stands 
ripe  for  the  reaper  in  September — always 
the  handsomest  plant  in  the  republic.  I 
know  the  best  of  them,  both  north  and 
south,  and  I  say  advisedly  that  the  palm 
must  be  given  to  com.  I  like  best  to  walk 
alone  in  a  big  com  field  in  the  earliest 
moming.  Then  I  am  likely  to  meet  a 
woodchuck,  who  has  not  yet  gone  home 
from  his  marauding.  A  gray  squirrel  is 
pretty  sure  to  call  out  from  a  buttemut 
tree,  where  he  is  working  at  a  plucked  ear; 
and  as  likely  as  not  I  walk  into  a  covey  of 
bobwhites.  Let  them  all  alone,  1  say,  for 
they  will  destroy  enough  vermin  to  make 
good  a  small  toll  of  the  com.  I  am  not  so 
sure  of  the  crows,  who  come  in  g»'eat  flocks 
— only  a  crow  is  better  than  a  blackbird. 
These  last  have  need  of  some  better 
apology   for   living    than    I    have    heard. 


Only  of  late,  in  the  Western  States,  they 
are  taking  to  town  life,  and  are  doing 
gotxi  service  as  street  scavengers. 

Roasted  com  is  a  luxury  that  is  now 
nearly  forgotten.  It  was  not  boiled  sweet 
com,  but  really  roasted  ears.  In  my  boy- 
hood, when  we  had  huge  fireplaces,  we  used 
to  lay  it  in  the  hot  ashes — burying  it  well 
— then  heaping  coals  over  it  to  let  it  thor- 
oughly parch.  It  came  out  after  fifteen 
minutes  with  a  fragrance  that  is  lost  en- 
tirely with  the  water-soaked  ears  that  are 
pulled  out  of  a  pot  with  a  long  iron  fork. 

Harriet  Martineau.  in  1835,  touring  our 
Republic,  tells  us  of  her  first  experience 
with  what  she  calls  the  **  most  delicious  of 
vegetables."  "The  greatest  drawback  is 
the  way  in  which  it  is  necessary  to  eat  it. 
The  cob,  eight  or  ten  inches  long,  is  held 
at  both  ends,  and,  having  been  previously 
sprinkled  with  salt,  it  is  nibbled  and 
sucked  from  end  to  end,  till  all  the  grains 
are  got  out.  It  looks  awkward  enough, 
but  what  is  to  be  done?  Surrendering 
such  a  vegetable  from  considerations  of 
grace  is  not  to  be  thought  of."  So  we  all 
thought  in  those  quiet  homely  days. 

Along  the  edges  of  the  com  fields  grew 
the  grapes;  wild  they  were,  but  we  had 
not  yet  tasted  an  Eldorado,  or  a  Hayes,  or  a 
Wapanuka,  or  a  Headlight.  We  could  eat 
Bon  Chretian  pears  in  those  days!  But 
there  really  was  a  difference  in  those  wild 
grapes.  Some  of  them  were  tender  and 
sweet,  and  they  were  appetizing — at  least 
for  boys.  I  remember  one  vine,  a  delicate 
little  thing,  that  held  with  tiny  tendrils  to 
a  rail  fence,  and  it  bore  grapes  that  were 
as  good  as  Delaware — or  1  am  mistaken. 
We  did  not  then  know  how  wise  it  was  to 
preserve  Nature's  more  delicate  children, 
so  the  little  vine  of  natural  evolution  was 
allowed  to  perish.  I  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  find  it,  but  it  was  gone — and  1  was 
ashamed. 

There  will  be  a  husking  to-night.  The 
boys  have  selected  about  thirty  huge  and 
solid  pumpkins  for  seats,  and  the  stooks  of 
com  stand  twenty  feet  thick,  all  around 
outside.  Wires  are  fixed,  on  which  to 
hang  the  lanterns  of  the  workers.  Inside 
the  seats,  the  whole  center  of  the  yard  is 
left  clear  for  the  clean  golden  ears  after 
they  are  stripped.  Josiah  Andrews  and 
Ephraim  Foote  are  the  chief  competitors; 
only  old  man  Dennison  gives  them  a  close 


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race.  It  is  a  curious  and  pretty  piece  of 
business.  At  seven  o'clock  every  seat  is 
occupied  with  laughing,  story-telling  farm- 
ers, farmers*  boys,  and  farmhands.  Grand- 
father Hull  gives  the  signal.  Lifting  a 
stalk  deftly,  so  as  to  bring  the  ear  to  the 
left  hand,  he  strips  the  husks  down  with 
the  right,  and  then  twists  the  golden  spur 
cunningly  out  of  the  stalk  and  the  husks — 
quick  as  a  flash  tossing  the  ear  to  the 
ground.  Soon  there  is  a  pile,  and  each 
man  and  boy  has  his  own  heap.  Now  all 
are  at  work.  The  jokes  grow  fewer,  the 
talk  lags.  Ears  fly  thickly  through  the 
air.  There  will  be  one  hour's  pull,  and 
every  bit  of  it  will  be  farmer's  science. 
With  all  their  inventions  they  have  never 
yet  got  a  better  corn  husker  than  the  two 
human  hands,  with  brains  running  through 
them.  You  will  easily  see  that  it  is  brains 
if  you  watch  the  piles.  Modern  invention 
has  spoiled  mowing  and  reaping,  and  in- 
doors there  is  no  more  sewing  or  knitting 
or  candle  making,  but  com  husking  is,  and 
1  think  it  will  long  remain. 

The  kitchen  is  lighted  with  unusual 
brilliance,  and  there  is  a  hum  of  business 
inside.  Faint  odors  of  doughnuts  come  to 
the  champions.  If  you  could  only  look 
indoors  you  would  see  a  long  row  of 
pumpkin  pies,  and  there  are  seven  jars  of 
honey,  for  these  buskers  are  hearty  eaters. 
Parson  Chase  is  here,  and  Deacon  Hanford, 
and  they  are  doing  work  neither  need  be 
ashamed  of.  After  the  feasting,  when  it 
comes  to  the  dancing,  and  the  champion 
leads  the  girl  of  his  choice,  the  parson  smiles 
and  says  genially :  *'  Folks  do  not  see  things 
as  they  used."  "Bless  the  Lord,  no!" 
says  the  Deacon.  ''There's  no  use  manu- 
facturing sins.  There's  enough  of  them  in 
the  nature  of  things." 

The  hour  is  up;  yes,  a  good  long  hour 
and  a  half.  The  village  clock  strikes  nine 
before  the  buskers  shove  back  from  the 
stooks — what  there  is  left  of  them.  The 
girls  are  coming  from  the  house  with  arms 
full.  Cider  first — a  genuine  brew.  1 
should  like  to  stop  right  here,  to  sing  the 
praise  of  real  cider — September  cider  — 


made  half  and  half  of  Pound  Sweets  and 
Gravensteins.  But  really  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  all  that  I  know,  and  all  that  1  think 
of  this  pure  brewing  of  the  best  fruit  God 
ever  made,  1  should  never  get  to  the  end  of 
the  dancing  and  feasting,  and  we  should 
not  get  home  until  midnight.  Only  this  1 
say,  cider  is  fit  for  mortals  only  when  made 
of  sound  apples,  and  every  one  washed  at 
the  spring.  Coffee  comes  for  those  whose 
blood  goes  slow,  and  are  already  sleeping 
or  nodding.  This  is  one  of  the  fine  things 
about  farm  life,  that  as  soon  as  the  work  is 
done  the  worker  sleeps. 

I  take  it  evolution  will  never  run  us 
away  from  two  things,  grapes  and  Indian 
com.  It  has  picked  them  up  with  us,  and 
in  the  rush  of  steam  and  electricity  it  will 
not  leave  them  behind.  Indeed  we  may 
as  well  own  it  up,  that  if  com  and  grapes 
were  taken  away  we  ourselves  would  have 
to  slow  up,  or  stop  altogether.  The  num- 
ber of  new  coms  now  being  tested  in  the 
United  States  is  among  the  ten  thousands. 
Two  thousand  new  wheats  are  on  trial  in 
one  state,  and  every  year  we  have  new 
apples  fit  to  grow  with  the  Spitzenburg 
and  Spy. 

The  aim  of  our  plant  breeders  is  not 
to  secure  a  single  supremely  good  com,  but 
varieties  adapted  to  different  purposes;  one 
for  muscle  building;  one  for  starch;  one 
with  an  excess  of  protein,  and  another  with 
this  element  largely  eliminated.  Man  and 
animals  alike  depend  on  these  new  depar- 
tures. The  work  behind  is  magnificent; 
that  ahead  stirs  the  imagination,  as  Homer 
stirs  our  martial  blood.  We  have  only 
begun  our  work.  There  are  grapes  ahead 
still  more  vinous,  and  the  foot-long  clusters 
shall  shade  the  poorest  man's  cottage.  A 
corn  producing  one  hundred  bushels  to  the 
acre,  and  a  culture  adequate,  would  revo- 
lutionize the  world.  It  would  enable  us 
to  double  the  population  of  the  globe.  It 
would  give  us  in  place  of  three  billions  of 
bushels,  nearly  or  quite  ten  billions,  and 
we  will  have  it.  Glorious  is  the  agricul- 
ture-of  the  future.  Beautiful  is  September 
with  its  grapes  and  its  com. 


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MOUNTAINEERING    IN    NORTH 

AMERICA 

DEEDS  AND   OPPORTUNITIES   ON  THE  WORLD'S  BEST 
CONTINENT  FOR  CLIMBING 

BY   ROBERT   DUNN 


LPINE    climbing    is    a 
specialized  sport,  highest 
development    though  it 
1  is    of     mountaineering, 
which    is    the    broader 
and   more   human  aim. 
It   attenuates  naturally 
into  rock-climbing,  "stunt"  work.    Next, 
the  art  of  scaling  skyscrapers  on  the  out- 
side might  logically  be  developed — acro- 
bats and   the  variety   stage   ending  the 
perspective. 

So  the  outdoor  world  has  never  taken 
alpining  wholly  to  heart.  It  has  been 
viewed  askance,  midway  between  moun- 
tain-climbing for  love  of  exercise  and 
Nature,  and  Polar  exploring  for  nobody 
knows  quite  what.  And  its  expense  and 
technique  have  evolved  a  type  of  man. 
His  enthusiasm  is  uncommunicable  except 
to  fellow-climbers,  and  toward  all  moun- 
tains on  which  rope,  ice-axe,  and  Swiss 
guides  are  not  needed — and  for  mountain- 
eers untrained  to  such — he  has  a  certain 
condescension. 

Unlike  him,  the  proper  climber  plays  to 
Nature  for  no  more  than  her  infinite 
variety.  He  responds  to  the  hilt  before 
her  simpler  and  more  exquisite  aspects  for 
which  the  trained  fellow  has  been  spoiled. 
He,  jaded  by  gloom  and  chaos,  is  stirred 
only  by  the  hairbreadth,  and  that  imperial 
sense  of  winning  by  strategy  what  is  denied 
you  and  me.  He  overshoots  the  ideal  of 
good  heart,  good  legs,  and  that  world's- 
mine-high-up-in-the-eariy-moming  feeling; 
and,  if  it  must  be  whispered,  1  bet  he  is 
less  happy  ascalping  his  virgin  summit  in 
Chitral  than  you  and  I  may  be  on  old 
Mt.  Washington,  N.  H 

From  the  hill  behind  the  hotel,  you  seem 


to  look  down  upon  the  Matterhom,  and 
thus  the  Swiss-trained  ones  have  beheld 
the  mountains  of  the  world,  though  among 
virgin  ranges  they  follow  the  pioneers' 
wake.  Theirs  is  a  cultivated  heroism. 
They  hate  to  admit  that  peaks  exist  more 
baffling  than  where  their  ropes  have 
raveled.  They  distinguish  alps  from  moun- 
tains arbitrarily,  the  one  being  what  an 
axe-master  has  seen  or  climbed;  inferior 
summits  where  the  amateur  has  tried. 
Even  a  first-class  is  told  oflF  from  a  second- 
class  alp — as  if  wanton  Nature  considered 
angles  of  elevation  or  glacier  mass,  and  had 
designed  Switzerland  to  sit  in  judgment 
on  the  peaks  of  the  worid !  Mountaineer- 
ing for  its  own  sake  marks  civilized  man 
searching  beauty  in  its  countless  guises,  for 
the  savage  climbs  only  to  hunt  and  the 
scientist  for  less  human  reasons;  but  it 
has  been  developed  askew,  through  a  cult 
of  summits,  not  by  the  peaks  of  the  world. 

North  America  has  suffered  shamefully 
from  Alpine  arrogance.  Its  masters  have 
looked  upon  glacierless  Colorado,  the 
ridges  bulging  faintly  above  the  continental 
plateau;  upon  Popocatapetl  and  his  sister 
titans  reaching  isthmusward;  upoq  the 
snowy  dead  craters  of  the  Cascades — and 
pitied  us  Americans  that  our  lands  offered 
mountain  sport  for  none  but  women  and 
old  men.  Volcanoes?  An  inferior  sort  of 
mountain.     The  Appalachians?  Molehills. 

But  on  this  continent  are  fields  for 
climbing,  greater  in  variety,  wider  in  appeal 
to  every  sort  of  mountaineer,  alpinist  in- 
cluded, than  on  any  other  of  the  world's 
six  areas;  and  among  summits  physically 
attainable,  probably  the  hardest  in  the 
worid.  The  Himalayas,  with  greater  real 
elevation,  have  bases  of  attack  jdiscount- , 
714  Digitized  by  VjOOQ  16 


On   the  trail. 


y^T>n*kfrg  by  NIC.  Wyr 

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7i6 


The  Outing  Magazine 


ingly  high,  and  the  accepted  idea  that  thin 
air  prevents  climbing  above  25,000  feet, 
bars  their  tiptops.  If  South  America 
offers  greater  height  and  heroic  weather, 
Alaska  requires  training  in  a  sport  quite 
new — sub-Arctic  alpining,  for  which  you 
must  persist  and  endure  like  a  polar 
traveler,  work  axe  and  rope,  cordel,  or 
pack  cayuses  across  tundra.  Its  ten  or 
more  summits  between  15,000  and  20,300 
feet,  present  the  greatest  effective  height,  the 
longest  snow  and  ice  slopes,  in  the  world. 

All  but  Mts.  St.  Elias  and  Mt.  McKinley, 
20,300  feet,  the  highest  on  the  continent, 
are  virgin.  Mt.  Logan,  19.500  feet  is  the 
world's  remaining  alpine  problem.  Swiss 
training  alone  will  not  win  it.  Climbers 
have  avoided  Alaska,  oftener  accepting 
challenges  from  Asia  and  the  Andes. 
Alpinists  must  succeed  in  this  ultimate 
field,  or  come  to  judgment  for  their  conde- 
scension. Alaska  lacks  only  that  prohibi- 
tive elevation  for  which  you  may  as  well 
train  in  a  laboratory  vacuum. 

In  the  Canadian  Rockies  are  no  peaks  of 
more  than  13,000  feet,  and  the  highest — 
except  Mt.  Robeson,  which  may  be  more 
than  13,000 — are  no  longer  (1906)  virgin. 
But  more  than  is  customary  with  Nature, 
the  region  duplicates  beloved  Switzerland, 
especially  in  structure,  and  to-day  is  the 
best  all-round  mountain  playground  in  the 
world.  If  its  apexes  average  2,000  to 
3,000  feet  less,  bases  of  attack  are  counter- 
vailingly  lower;  and  its  area  is  a  dozen 
times  greater,  multiplying  by  so  much  the 
number  of  high  peaks.  There  trailless, 
chaotic  forests,  mosquitoes,  flooding  rivers, 
will  train  you  in  difficulties,  in  which 
Alaska,  for  instance,  demands  experience, 
and  wherein  Switzerland  as  a  proving 
ground  is  deficient.  And  if  some  dozen 
needle-spurs  have  kept  Europe  guessing  for 
years,  Canada  has  scores,  and  all  untried. 

Northward  into  Alaska  towers  a  unique 
region.  The  Rockies  are  depressed  in 
about  latitude  54^,  the  coast  ranges  ele- 
vated. Thence  through  British  Columbia 
and  the  Alaskan  strip,  summits  nameless 
and  without  number  pitch  up  to  more  than 
10,000  feet  straight  from  salt  water,  a 
greater  New  Zealand.  The  Devil's  Thumb, 
near  Wrangel  Narrows — exceptional  only 
because  named — rears  a  1,700-foot  spire 
from  an  alp  already  topping  the  tide  by 
7,000  feet. 


Grading  into  the  States,  the  Cordilerras 
remain  alpine  even  in  the  most  bigoted 
sense,  but  not  widely.  "Nowhere  south 
of  the  forty-ninth  parallel,"  typically  says"^ 
one  expert,  and  an  American  at  that,  "can 
a  field  be  found  for  genuine  alpinism,  con- 
ditioned upon  the  presence  of  snow  and  ice 
as  a  dominant  feature."  As  if  climbers 
molded  the  earth's  face!  As  a  fact,  the 
adjoining  section  of  Montana,  the  St. 
Mary  River  country — sublimer  in  many 
ways  than  the  Yellowstone  or  Yosemite — 
with  its  glacier  clusters  in  the  Lewis  and 
Livingston  ranges,  still  offers  such  alps  of 
more  than  10,000  feet,  as  Mts.  Cleveland, 
James  and  Jackson,  for  first  ascents.  They 
differ  only  hypercritically  from  summits 
across  the  border.  Ice  and  snow  is  cer- 
tainly a  "dominant"  feature  on  Mts.  Baker, 
Rainier,  Dickerman,  Hood,  and  Adams  in 
Washington  and  Oregon,  and  Shasta  in 
California,  some  of  whose  glaciers  exceed 
those  which  have  gained  fame  in  British 
territory. 

Elsewhere  in  the  States,  except  upon 
isolated  needles,  good  hearts  and  legs  avail 
as  much  as  technique.  Probably  the 
Tetons  of  Wyoming,  the  Olympics  of 
Washington,  and  Cascade  peaks  without 
number  could  all  be  taken  on  the  first  try 
by  experts,  but  having  overlooked  such 
challenges,  they  may  be  denied  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt.  Over  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Grand  Teton,  Wyoming,  a  controversy  has 
raged,  showing  that  most  assaults  upon  it 
failed,  though  made  by  better  mountain- 
eers, in  all  ways  unallied  to  rope  and  axe, 
than  the  victors  of  Canada.  Mt.  Olympus, 
Washington,  an  alp  in  outline  if  one  ever 
was,  and  in  full  view  of  a  city  of  100,000 
souls,  still  remains  to  be  scaled.  For  the 
rest,  the  electric  mountaineer  will  be  satis- 
fied with  the  domes  of  Colorado,  Mt. 
Whitney  and  the  Sierras  thereabout,  or 
the  Wasatch  Range,  where  all  but  the  final 
dash  may  be  made  hands  on  the  bridle. 

In  Mexico,  the  Cordilleras  again  become 
first-class  peaks  in  all  but  alpine  sense. 
Popocatapetl  and  most  of  its  unfamed 
neighbors  of  the  Sierra  Madre  are  easy  for 
any  one  physically  fit,  but  not  so  Ixtac- 
chuatl  and  Orizaba.  Both  bear  true  alpine 
glaciers.  Fully  half  the  tries,  chiefly  by 
scientists  not  without  mountain  experi- 
ence, have  failed  to  gain  the  high  middle 
peak  of  Ixtaccihuatl,  on  whichr^uccesses 

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Mountaineering  in  North  America 


717 


can  be  counted  on  your  fingers.  South- 
ward, most  Central  American  peaks  of 
more  than  10,000  feel,  such  as  G)lima,  are 
volcanoes,  and  so  "inferior,"  and  while 
scientists  and  English  and  American  resi- 
dents have  climbed  many  of  them,  no  strict 
record  of  ascents  exists,  for  such  moun- 
taineers are  more  modest  than  their  alpine 
brothers. 

In  New  York  and  New  England,  the  East 
tempts  with  a  new  field  in  winter  climbing. 
The  Great  Gulf  and  Tuckerman's  ravine  of 
Mt.  Washington,  require  a  full  day's  step- 
cutting  in  ice  and  n^v^.  Blizzards  are 
severer  than  in  the  Alps  or  Canada,  as  the 
deaths  of  Curtis  and  Ormsbee,  experienced 
men,  in  1901  testify.  Desert  climbing  in 
the  West  suggests  possibilities.  There  the 
proper  mountaineer  beloved  of  light  and 
color  might  open  a  magic  region,  now 
sealed  to  all  but  the  prospector,  true 
pioneer  of  America. 

Organized  climbing  in  America  started 
along  the  broadest  lines.  Though  the 
early  clubs  of  New  England  followed  the 
first  popular  interest  in  alpining,  roused  in 
the  sixties  by  attempts  on  the  Matterhom 
and  by  the  London  Alpine  Club,  they 
sprang  more  from  the  nature-loving  tradi- 
tion of  the  Concord  writers.  Most  proved 
still-born,  until  the  Appalachian  Mountain 
Club  came  to  life  in  Boston  in  1876. 
Climbers  the  worid  over,  pausing  in  the 
New  England  hills,  have  laughed  at  its 
school-teacher  and  clergyman  members 
wielding  axes  on  old  lumber  paths  and  dis- 
coursing on  God  and  sunsets;  but  this 
society  is  still  far  and  away  the  most  active 
force  in  American  climbing,  having  prac- 
tically opened  the  Canadian  Rockies  to  the 
world.  The  Sierra  Club  of  San  Francisco 
has  sprung  up  on  the  Pacific  coast,  more 
lately  the  Mazamas  of  Portland,  Oregon, 
and  the  old  Rocky  Mountain  Club  has  been 
revived;  while  the  latest  ambitions  of 
American  climbers  are  represented  by  the 
American  Alpine  Club,  founded  in  Phila- 
delphia in  1902. 

To  begin  on  the  heights  by  latitude  and 
elevation,  the  story  of  Alaskan  climbing  is 
brief.  The  chief  summits  of  Alaska,  i.e., 
mountains  of  more  than  15,000  feet,  which 
is  the  equivalent  of  more  than  20,000  feet 
in  any  other  country,  lie  in  three  areas: 
the  Mt.  McKinley  region,  the  most  remote, 
150  miles  northwest  of  Cook  Inlet,  with 


Mt.  McKinley,  (20,300  feet),  Mt.  Foraker, 
(17,100  feet)  and  Mt.  Hunter (15, 000 feet?) 
the  Wrangel  group,  200  miles  east,  on  the 
left  bank  of  Copper  River,  with  Mts.  San- 
ford  (16,000  feet)  and  Blackburn  (16,140 
feet),  and  the  active  Wrangel  volcano 
(14,500  feet);  and  the  St.  Elias  alps  to  the 
south  and  southeast,  on  the  Pacific  coast, 
with  Mts.  Logan  (19,500  feet),  St.  Elias 
(18,024  feet),  Crillon  (15,900  feet),  Van- 
couver (15,666  feet),  Fairweather  (15,500 
feet),  and  four  or  five  others  more  than 
12,000  feet. 

St.  Elias,  discovered  by  Vitus  Behring 
in  1741,  was  long  thought  to  be  a  volcano, 
from  its  shape  and  the  dust  of  avalanches 
pouring  into  an  amphitheater  on  its  south 
face.  From  a  voyager's  description,  Ten- 
nyson wrote  with  more  art  than  accuracy 
of  the  mountain: 

And  one,  a  foreground  black  with  stones  and 
slags. 
Beyond,  a  line  of  heights,  and  higher 
All  barr'd  with  long  white  cloud  the  scornful 
crags. 
And  highest,  snow  and  fire. 

It  rises  from  the  1,500  square  miles  of 
Malaspina  glacier,  40  miles  from  the  ocean, 
and  marks  an  angle  where  its  chain,  bor- 
dering the  Pacific  for  neariy  800  miles, 
sends  600  miles  of  peaks  westward,  called 
the  Chugatch  range  from  beyond  Copper 
River  to  Cook  Inlet,  and  200  miles,  the 
Fairweather  range,  to  the  south.  St. 
Elias  is  the  center  of  three  ridges  converg- 
ing at  right  angles,  except  from  the  north, 
where  a  fourth  joins  from  the  east  the  main 
e^tstem  ridge.  Parallel  to  it,  20  miles  due 
northeast  rises  another  range,  the  apex  of 
whose  even  crest  is  Mt.  Logan,  the  major 
defiance  of  the  region.  Mts.  Crillon  and 
Fairweather  pitch  directly  into  the  sea  in 
the  range's  southern  arm — maybe  the 
most  magnificent  spectacle  in  the  worid. 
The  remaining  high  peaks  of  the  range, 
Mts.  Augusta,  Cook,  Vancouver,  Newton, 
cluster  about  St.  Elias;  while  of  the  giants 
extending  westward,  over  almost  continu- 
ous glaciation,  only  Mt.  Natazhat,  on  the 
interior  face  of  the  range,  and  invisible 
from  the  ocean,  has  been  named. 

Before  the  ascent  of  St.  Elias  by  the 
Duke  of  Abruzzi  in  1897,  with  twenty-one 
men  at  a  cost  of  $50,000,  previously  dis- 
cussed in  this  Magazine,*  four  attempts  had 


♦  May,  X903. 

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been  made  to  climb  St.  Elias.  The  two 
first  were  abortive:  In  1886,  by  Lieutenant 
Schwatka  and  H.  W.  Seton-Karr,  which 
reached  7,200  feet  on  a  chain  facing  the 
southwestern  slope  of  the  mountain,  while 
W.  H.  and  E.  Topham  and  W.  Williams  in 
1888  reached  11,460  feet  on  the  main 
southern  ridge.  Prof.  I.  C.  Russell,  who 
underwent  the  first  mountain  hardships  in 
Alaska,  saw  that  St.  Elias  was  too  steep  to 
be  ascended  from  the  south.  In  189 1  and 
1892,  he  crossed  countless  spurs  and 
glac'ers,  approaching  the  peak  from  its 
eastern  rear.  On  the  col  connecting  the 
summit  with  its  northern  spur,  and  the  key 
to  the  ascent,  he  reached  10,000  feet  the 
first  year  and  14,500  feet  the  next,  dis- 
covering Mt.  Logan,  and  once  spending  six 
days  of  incessant  storm  alone  at  12,000 
feet.  He  said  that  trained  guides  would 
be  of  little  use  in  Alaska,  and  Abruzzi's 
success  in  no  way  disproves  this,  as  the 
Duke  found  the  last  pull  up  Russell's  arete 
no  harder  than  on  the  Swiss  Breithom. 

The  recorded  winning  of  Mt.  McKinley's 
top  rock  last  year  by  Dr.  F.  A.  Cook,  of 
Brooklyn,  is  fresh  in  all  mountaineers' 
minds.  His  story  is  of  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  snow-climbing  feat  ever  exe- 
cuted— certainly  on  this  hemisphere.  His 
temperatures  down  to  —16°,  often  in  the 
exhausting  air  pressure  of  half  an  atmos- 
phere, endured  for  some  ten  days,  are 
without  parallel  in  the  annals  of  climb- 
ing. Beside  testifying  to  his  extraordi- 
nary persistence,  his  account  vindicates  the 
wisdom  of  "traveling  light,"  rare  among 
Swiss  graduates,  and  the  value  of  polar, 
rather  than  technically  alpine,  experience, 
of  wh'ch  he  had  none.  Having  acknowl- 
edged defeat  after  three  harrowing  months 
in  the  vile  weather  of  Alaskan  swamps 
south  of  the  range,  he  started  on  a  recon- 
noissance  with  a  single  companion,  a 
packer.  Sheer  cliffs  had  blocked  him  on 
the  south  and  east  sides  of  the  mountain. 
Clear  skies,  then  a  glacier,  finally  a  north- 
eastern ridge,  all  unexpectedly  accommo- 
dating, lured  him  on  and  on  to  victory, 
which,  judging  from  his  own  words,  was  as 
hcroc  as  it  was  at  first  unanticipated. 

The  first  attempt  to  climb  McKinley,  in 
1903,  was  described  by  the  writer  in  these 
pages.*  The  same  season  Judge  Wicker- 
sham  reconnoitred  the  mountain,  and  the 

♦  January-May,  1904. 


year  before  Alfred  H.  Brooks  of  the  Geolog- 
ical Survey  reached  about  7,000  feet  on  the 
10,000-foot  range  separating  McKinley 
from  the  tundra  on  the  northwest.  Our 
party  was  stopped  by  hanging  glaciers  and 
a  perpendicular  wall  at  10,800  feet  on  the 
southwest  ridge,  after  two  days'  incessant 
step-cutting,  and  six  weeks'  travel  across 
swamp. 

The  McKinley  peaks  are  the  highest 
point  of  the  semicircular  Alaskan  range, 
where  it  bears  from  northeast  to  south- 
west, between  the  Yukon,  Kuskokwim,  and 
Sushitna  watersheds.  The  mountains  are 
immense  in  mass,  the  summits  ridge-like  or 
dome-shaped,  while  their  ramparts,  the 
chief  obstacle,  have  been  left  almost  per- 
pendicular by  rapidly  shrinking  glaciers, 
the  largest  three  to  four  miles  broad  at  the 
moraine.  Many  are  from  ten  to  forty 
miles  long  before  becoming  alpine  and 
chaotic  with  drift  cones;  foot  travel  is 
hard,  sleds  and  horses  useless,  although 
we  took  packed  cayuses  at  one  point  to 
nearly  7,000  feet.  The  glaciers  on  the 
range's  southern  face,  where  it  has  a 
stra'ght-line  thickness  of  forty  miles, 
spread  like  a  mighty  octopus  through 
peaks  on  which  year  in  and  year  out  is 
not  a  drop  of  running  water,  not  one  liv- 
ing thing.  Weather  conditions  are  trying 
rather  than  dangerous;  blizzards  in  sum- 
mer are  rare,  but  snow  and  rain  in  the 
lowlands  is  often  incessant  for  weeks  at  a 
time,  while  above  8,000  feet  it  may  be 
continually  clear.  Summer  snow  line  on 
the  coast  is  at  2,500  feet,  in  the  interior 
about  5,500  feet. 

For  this  sub-arctic  mountameering  you 
need  both  an  alpine  and  polar  outfit;  in 
the  interior  a  pack-train  as  well,  and  above 
all  the  physical  and  moral  f  tncss  for  each 
way  of  travel — three  subjective  require- 
ments each  poles  apart.  Traveling  inland 
you  must  be  prepared  to  struggle  across 
swamps  with  raging  pack-horses  crazed 
with  horse-flies  and  mosquitoes,  which 
puts  the  determination  and  efficiency  of 
every  individual  member  of  the  party  to  a 
supreme  test.  For  packers  or  porters  you 
must  have  men  drilled  by  the  hardships  of 
the  country,  where  men  who  have  used 
guides  in  Canada  say  that  the  hired  Swiss 
would  collapse  or  revolt.  Yet  a  well-pre- 
pared attempt  to  climb  an  Alaskan  alp  is 
not  a  year  or  so's  undertaking,  a§^it  must 

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be  in  Asia  or  on  the  Andes.  For  a  coast 
peak,  three  or  four  months'  vacation  is 
enough,  though  the  cost  is  not  small. 

Outside  the  St.  Elias  and  McKinley 
regions  attempts  should  be  made  to  climb 
in  the  Wrangel  group,  and  on  Mts.  Crillon 
and  Fairweather.  Though  probably  once 
volcanoes,  Sanford  and  Blackburn  are 
judicially  alpine,  having  southern  faces, 
eroded  by  the  greater  glaciation  there,  with 
a  perpendicular  of  two  and  a  half  miles. 
This  section  is  reached  fairly  easily  from 
Valdes,  by  the  trans-Alaskan  mail  route, 
now  dotted  with  road-houses.  It  has  not 
been  visited  except  by  prospectors  and  the 
Geological  Survey  since  the  writer's  recon- 
noissanceon  Mt.  Wrangel,  seven  years  ago  * 
This  huge  active  volcano  is  at  least  thirty 
miles  long,  with  doubtless  three  lively 
craters.  Volcano  climbing  is  another  over- 
looked sport,  and  Alaska  has  more  fiery 
cones  than  any  other  temperate  region. 
For  twelve  hundred  miles,  from  the  west 
shore  of  Cook  Inlet  to  the  Siberian  coast, 
the  Peninsula  and  Aleutian  Islands  are 
dotted  with  a  steaming  score,  at  the  least. 
Of  these,  Mts.  Redoubt  and  Iliamna  rise  to 
more  than  i2,ooe  feet  each,  straight  from 
the  sea;  eruptions  of  Shishaldin  and  Pav- 
lof  rank  with  Krakatoa  and  P^l^,  while 
the  islands  of  Grewingk  and  Bogoslov 
hissed  into  life  above  Behring  Sea  during 
the  last  century. 

Winning  the  Canadian  Rockies  is  an 
oft  and  overtold  story.  Appalachians 
have  captured  the  hardest  summits, 
though  the  pioneer  climbers  were  English, 
clergymen  notably — the  priest  in  moun- 
tain climbing  being  an  alluring  study.  As 
usual  they  waited  until  the  Canadian 
Pacific  railway  was  finished  in  1885,  and 
now  write  naively  as  discoverers  of  geog- 
raphy and  grandeur  with  which  trap- 
pers since  the  eighteenth  century  were 
intimate.  The  same  fate  awaits  Alaska, 
for  the  credit  in  exploiting  a  region  always 
goes  to  those  who  shallowly  express  what 
has  been  to  its  true  avatars  a  vitalizing 
appetite,  expressed  in  life  itself.  The  first 
authentic  account  of  the  mountains  is  in 
the  diverting  journal  of  Captain  Palliser, 
of  1857-^.  In  the  early  eighties  the 
Canadian  Geological  Survey,  and  later  the 
railway  surveys,  reduced  them  to  maps. 
Finally  the  great  Whymper  has  tottered 

♦  Outing,  December,  190a. 


into  their  easier  valleys,  sealing  them  with 
alpine  approval. 

The  peaks  lie  in  two  groups,  Sel kirks  and 
Rockies.  Both  border  upper  arms  of  the 
Columbia  River,  which  there  twist  north 
and  south.  The  Selkirks  reach  to  the  west, 
are  lower  and  snowier,  and  drain  into 
Fraser  River;  the  Rockies  to  the  east  are 
higher  and  bolder,  lying  on  the  Hudson 
Bay  and  Arctic  watersheds.  The  main 
Rocky  summits  occur  in  two  groups,  one 
north,  one  south  of  the  railway,  and  the 
first  are  slightly  higher,  but  less  precipi- 
tous. Among  these,  Mt.  Columbia,  at  the 
head  of  Saskatchewan  and  Athabasca 
Rivers,  first  located  by  Jean  Habel  in  1901, 
as  "Gamma" — ^good  routine  German — is 
the  highest  peak  in  Canada,  unless  the 
virgin  Mt.  Robeson,  sixty  miles  further 
north,  is  found  to  top  it. 

From  the  first  advertised  Canadian  as- 
cent— of  Mt.  Stephen,  on  the  railway — by 
J.J.  MacArthur  of  the  Topographical  Sur- 
vey in  1887,  to  the  final  climb  of  Mt. 
Assiniboine,  11,800  feet,  by  the  Rev. 
James  Outram  in  1903,  but  one  life  has 
been  lost.  The  mysterious  fall  and  death 
of  Philip  Abbot,  within  sight  of  the  summit 
of  Mt.  Lefroy  in  1896,  ranks  in  Ameri- 
can annals  with  the  historic  Matterhom 
catastrophe  of  the  sixties.  The  top  was 
won  the  next  year  by  his  companions. 
Outram's  dash  to  the  summit  of  Assini- 
boine, the  "American  Matterhom,"  and 
southernmost  high  mountain  of  the  region, 
is  perhaps  the  most  acrobatic  feat.  Two 
separate  parties  had  failed  in  1899  and  1900. 
The  more  difficult  peaks — Goodsir,  Hunga- 
bee,  Deltaform — were  taken  in  1903,  after 
tries  in  previous  years,  by  H.  C.  Parker  and 
Professor  Fay — climbing,  as  one  of  them 
typically  puts  it,  "with  all  haste  and  many 
apprehensive  glances  upward."  In  the 
same  year  Columbia,  Lyell,  Forbes  and 
Bryce,  the  giants  of  the  northern  group, 
fell  to  Messrs.  Outram  and  Collie,  while  the 
year  before  the  English  clergy  had  won  the 
Selkirk  apexes — Dawson,  11,100  feet,  and 
its  neighbors  Deville,  Mitre  and  Wheeler. 

But  the  true  pioneers  are  Tom  Wilson 
and  Bill  Peyto,  packers  and  cayuse- 
rustlers,  of  Banff.  Hardly  one  ice-axe 
fiend  but  was  carried  by  the  pack-train  of 
one  or  both,  who  as  woodsmen  and  prac- 
tical geographers  showed  the  aliens  what 
they  would  climb.     But  ibeir  story,  alas! 

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will  never  be  written.  1  should  like  to 
know,  for  instance,  their  version  of  Collie's 
tale  how  he  bribed  them  with  whiskey  the 
time  they  crossed  the  flooded  head  of 
Saskatchewan  River;  their  comments  on 
tenderfeet  quarrels  and  camp-fire  talk,  as 
their  bosses  opened  canned  turkey  and 
they  spat  Workman  Plug  into  the  ashes; 
what  they  think  of  Habel  and  others  scat- 
tering on  American  peaks  names  of  Swiss 
guides,  and  such  banananyms  as  La 
Rosetta  and  Valfredda.  Outram,  who 
took  to  climbing  for  his  health,  was  the 
star.  Bill  has  told  me,  while  the  immortal 
Whymper  was  that  rantankerous  he  never 
understood  how  the  man  could  have  tied 
so  many  of  the  world's  top-rocks  to  his  belt. 
The  second-class  guides  imported  by  the 
railway  kept  getting  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
Tom  and  Bill  scorned  them  on  the  trail  as 
roundly  as  they  admired  their  "right 
smart"  work  above  tree-line.  The  Banff 
packers  climbed,  as  well,  and  it  was  inspir- 
ing to  see  such  undetached  sons  of  the 
wilderness  honestly  won  by  our  cultivated 
love  of  dawn  and  glory  from  heights  early 
in  the  morning. 

The  railway,  so  apt  in  the  wiles  of  adver- 
tising, only  reluctantly  exploited  the 
region.  Its  officials  looked  upon  climbers 
as  lunatics  long  after  the  woodsmen  were 
converted.  Once  Professor  Collie  was  tell- 
ing Sir  William  Van  Home,  its  president, 
that  the  center  of  the  alpine  region  at  Bear 
Creek,  on  the  Saskatchewan,  where  five 
large  valleys  converge  around  Mt.  Atha- 
basca— the  only  peak  in  the  world  whose 
snows  drain  into  three  oceans — might  be 
boomed  to  rival  the  Grundewald  and 
Chamonix.  The  expatriated  knight  re- 
plied that  he  thought  it  might  be  a  very 
good  thing  for  the  country,  //  a  few  of  these 
climbers  did  get  their  necks  broken.  Abbot 
had  been  killed.  Sir  William  must  have 
known  it.  Anyway  you  look,  the  remark 
was  most  humane.  But,  then,  Abbot 
was  an  American.     .  Even  Jean 

Habel  remained  as  untouched  by  the  spirit 
of  the  land.  On  reaching  a  summit,  and 
putting  names  in  a  cairn,  he  writes:  "As 
my  men  had  behaved  very  well  I  dubbed 
them  'guides  from  Banff.'  My  head  man  " 
(Peyto  or  Wilson?) — "a  very  good  fellow 
(sic!),  suggested.  Tut  Swiss  guides.'  But 
as  both  had  been  born  on  the  plains  of 
America  /  thought  that  such  a  designation 


would  bring  me  into  conflict  with  the  Swiss 
Government,  and  abstained  from  doing  so." 
Only  to  have  seen  Tom  wink  when  he  said, 
"Swiss  guides!" 

But  by  far  the  neatest  tale  of  Canadian 
mountaineering  concerns  Mts.  Brown  and 
Hooker — myths  now  relegated  to  the 
limbo  of  Mt.  Iseran.  In  its  palmy  days 
alchemy  fostered  no  such  credulity  as 
sways  some  scientific  map-makers.  Un- 
existing  Mt.  Tillman,  Alaska,  which  had 
decorated  maps  for  fifteen  years,  where  the 
writer  in  1900  first  found  a  flat  plain,  or  the 
rubbery  height  of  St.  Elias,  which  has 
bobbed  between  12,000  and  20,000  feet 
(even  Russell  cheated  it  by  a  sheer  half 
mile),  are  not  even  good  jokes  beside  the 
17,000  and  16,000  foot  mountains,  which 
from  1827  on  have  been  engraved  on  each 
side  of  the  pass  at  the  head  of  Athabasca 
River,  with  the  "Committee's  Punch 
Bowl "  between.  A  map  might  omit  Great 
Slave  Lake,  but  never  the  "punch  bowl." 
A  kid  at  school  might  pass  for  not  locating 
Fort  Garry,  but  to  the  dunce  stool  he  went 
for  not  knowing  the  colonial  boast  that 
these  peaks  mark  the  apex  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  system.  Now,  as  a  fact,  the 
walls  of  this  pass  are  only  a  few  thousand 
feet  high,  and  the  "punch  bowl"  is  twenty 
yards  wide! 

Neither  the  railway  surveys,  spending 
three  million  dollars,  nor  George  Dawson 
himself  nailed  the  lie.  That  was  done  in  a 
library  by  Collie,  after  two  seasons'  expedi- 
tions and  a  year  of  worry.  Except  the 
maps,  and  a  hint  in  Palliser's  journal  link- 
ing Brown  and  Hooker  with  one  Douglass, 
a  botanist,  of  Douglass  fir  (Oregon  pine) 
fame,  no  mention  of  them  could  be  found 
in  print,  until  Collie  struck  Bancroft's 
History  of  British  Columbia.  There  the 
botanist's  diary  was  cited.  Collie  dug  it 
out.  Douglass  had  crossed  Athabasca 
Pass  from  Vancouver  in  1827,  camping  in 
the  eye  of  the  pass  on  May  ist.  On  the 
north  lay  a  mountain,  he  wrote,  "which 
does  not  appear  to  be  less  than  16,000  or 
17,000  feet  high."  But  this  three-mile- 
sheer  peak,  be  climbed  in  a  single  afternoon 
— "which,"  as  Collie  naively  observes, 
"was  naturally  absurd."  The  chance  say- 
so  of  a  botanist,  but  geographers  ate  it 
alive!  Surely  one  was  with  Douglass,  and 
named  the  "punch  bowl" — after  mixing 
his  keg  in  it.     A  Professor  Coleman  had 


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been  in  the  pass  five  years  before  Collie, 
but  finding  no  Brown  and  Hooker,  and 
seeing  higher  peaks  to  the  west,  imagined 
they  had  been  mislocated.  But  these 
peaks  then  had  names;  the  Brown  and 
Hooker  business  is  no  error,  but  a  hoax. 
During  the  Klondike  rush,  when  the  writer 
was  just  north  of  this  region,  trappers 
smiled  and  shook  their  heads  when  you 
asked  about  Brown  and  Hooker.  They 
knew.     Geographers  are  more  guileless. 

Although  peaks  in  the  States  offer  his- 
tories and  climbing  fields  no  less  diverting, 
space  prevents  detail  further  than  is  shown 
in  the  "Table  of  North  American  Moun- 
tains." Compiled  at  some  effort,  and 
naturally  imperfect,  the  writer  thinks  that 
it  presents  for  the  first  time  our  mountains 
from  the  climber's  point  of  view. 

The  first  mountain  ascent  made  on  this 
hemisphere,  unless  you  insist  on  Balboa's 
glimpse  of  the  Pacific  (it  that  Keats  trans- 
formed into  a  vision),  was  made  by  none 
less  than  Cortez,  while  worrying  the 
Montezuma  household,  in  1519.  Passing 
Popocatapetl,  17,784  feet,  one  day,  he  sent 
up  one  Diego  Ordaz  to  learn  "  the  secret  of 
the  smoke."  Diego  came  back  with  an 
icicle,  and  a  harrowing  tale  of  suffocation, 
for  which  Charles  V.  let  him  put  a  burning 
mountain  on  his  letter-heads.  Humboldt, 
that  scientific  Alexander  the  Great .  and 
arch  sham-sticker,  called  most  of  the 
monks  liars  who  claimed  to  have  climbed 
it  during  the  next  two  centuries.  The 
summit  was  first  won  authentically  by 
F.  and  W.  Glennie,  Englishmen,  in  1827. 
You  climb  now  from  Ameca,  a  town  forty 
miles  southeast  of  Mexico  City,  8,000  feet 
high.  The  heal  pull  begins  at  13,000  feet 
— as  in  all  these  mountains — at  the  Tal- 
macus  ranch.  In  summer  they  are  almost 
snowless,  but  the  weather  is  stormy. 
January  and  February  are  the  best  months 
for  climbing,  when  for  Orizaba  and  Ixtacci- 
huatl,  ropes,  axes  and  a  week's  provisions 
should  be  taken.  Popocatapetl  as  a  vol- 
cano is  in  the  "soltafara"  or  ash  and  gas 
state,  though  no  eruptions  have  been 
known  since  1539,  and  no  records  of  that 
date  are  reliable.  Sulphur  has  been  mined 
from  the  crater  since  the  middle  of  last 
century,  into  which  you  may  be  lowered  by 
a  windlass  for  1,600  feet. 

The  region,  and  especially  Mt.  Orizaba, 
17,879  feet,  its  apex,  have  been  neglected. 


Only  scientists  have  climbed  and  written 
on  these  mountains,  humanizing  the  land- 
scape with  "stately  yellow  flowered  shrubs 
of  the  order  of  compositae."  Ixtaccihuatl 
was  not  successfully  climbed  until  James 
de  Salis  and  H.  Remise  Whitehouse  tackled 
it  in  1889.  Its  top  is  cut  by  two  almost 
impassable  crevices  seventy-five  yards 
from  the  summit,  under  which  Porfirio 
Diaz  Glacier  is  the  largest  in  the  tropics 
of  this  continent. 

TABLE  OF  NORTH  AMERICAN 
MOUNTAINS 

Note — In  comparing  mountains,  actual  relief 
ought  to  be  considered  secondary  to  effective 
height.  But  to  distinguish  thus  would  bewilder 
in  a  list  using  figures.  It  cannot  be  done  in 
detail.  However,  as  far  as  possible,  the  follow- 
ing is  arranged  as  much  in  order  of  difficulty 
as  in  order  of  height.  This  holds  in  Group  I, 
generally,  except  in  the  case  of  the  Mexican 
summits.  For  instance,  Mts.  Fairweather  arid 
Sanford,  although  much  lower,  are  extremely 
difficult;  Orizaba  and  Popocatapetl,  rather  easy. 
Dickerman,  Washington,  is  easier  to  ascend 
than  any  Canadian  peak  named — all  of  which 
are  harder  than  the  far  higher  summits  men- 
tioned in  Group  III. 

Effective  relief  gives  prominence  to  peaks  in 
Montana,  Oregon,  and  Washington,  in  Group 
IV,  over  summits  of  more  than  14.000  feet  in 
California  and  Colorado.  But  in  a  list  at  this 
stage,  isolation  and  fame  must  also  play  a  part; 
so  Shasta,  Whitney,  and  even  Pike's  Peak, 
precede  the  harder  northern  summits.  Many 
Appalachian  summits  are  harder  to  win  than 
some  peaks  in  Colorado  of  more  than  14,000 
feet.  But  here  actual  height  is  great  enough  to 
destroy  any  proportion  which  attempts  to  give 
difficulty  in  climbing  a  precedence. 

In  the  state  groupings,  isolated,  especially 
interesting,  or  well-known  peaks,  are  singled 
out — often  excluding  near-by  summits  of 
slightly  greater  altitude. 

Peats  about  which  some  doubt  as  to  height 
exists — Orizaba,  by  example,  in  comparison  with 
St.  Elias — are  denied  its  tenefit.  Tne  tendency 
is  always  to  overestimate  mountain  heights. 

Summits  known  to  be  virgin  are  starred  (*). 

Croup  I.     Mountains  more  than    is.ooo  feet. 
Fourteen  in  number.    Ten  in  Alaska. 


McKinlcy 

*Logan 

St.  Elias 

Orizaba 

Popocatapetl.  . 

•Foraker 

•Sanford 

•Blackburn.  .  . 
Ixtaccihuatl.  .. 

•Crillon 

Dickerman.  .  . . 
•Vancouver. . . 
•Fairweather.  . 
♦Hunter 


Feet. 

.Alaska ao.464 

Alaska 19.500  (?)t 

Alaska 18,024 

Mexico 17.879  (to  i8,a8o) 

.Mexico 17.784 

Alaska 17,100 

Alaska 16.200 

Alaska 16,140 

Mexico 16.000  (to  17.000) 

.Alaska 15,900 

.Washington 15.766 

Alaska 15.666 

.Alaska 15.S00 

.Alaska 15.000  (?)t 

'  Data  most  unreliable. 


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(Fully  a  dozen  Alaskan  peaks  of  more  than  13.000 
feet  omitted,  some  still  nameless,  arc  as  bafllinK  as 
any  mentioneti  in  Group  II.  Countless  Alaskan 
mountains  of  8.000  feet  and  over  are  harder  than 
almost  all  those  mentioned  in  the  remaining  groups.) 

Group  II.  Principal  Canadian  summits.  Twenty- 
one  of  1 1 ,000  feet  and  over. 

A.      ROCKY    MOUNTAINS. 


Feet. 

•Robson 13.500  (?)t 

Columbia 12.500 

Forbes 12.100 

Lyell 11,950 

Athabasca.  ...11 .900 
Assiniboine.  ..11 .860 

Bryce 1 1 .800 

Goodsir 1 1.671 

Alexandra.  ...  1 1.650 
The  Dome.  ...11 .650 

Temple 11,637 

(More  than  a  score  of  others  exceeding    10,000. 
Some  virgin  peaks  more  than  9.000  feet.) 


Feet. 

Diadem  Peak 11 .500 

Victoria 11 .400 

Hungabee 11 ,305 

Murchison 1 1.300 

Lefroy 11.290 

Hector 11.205 

Consolation  Peak..  1 1 .200 

Victoria 1 1 . 1 50 

Wilson 11.000 

Freshfield 11 ,000 


B.      SELKIRKS 

Feet.  Feet. 

Selwyn 1 1,038  i  Sir  Donald 10,806 

Wheeler 1 1 .023  Mitre 10.700 

Deville.  ; 1 1,000  Fox 10.500 

Dawson 10.962  |  Purity 10,500 

And  more  than  a  dozen  between  9.000  and  10,000 
feet. 

Group   III.      Leading  summits  in   the   United 
States. 

Feet. 

Whitney California M.502 

Shasta California 14.3^ 

Rainier Washington 14.363 

Hood Oregon 11,225 

Baker Washington 10.827 

St.  Helen's Washington 10.000 

(Pike's  Peak Colorado 14.108) 

(Grand  Teton Wyoming 13.671) 

Group    ly.     Northern  Rockies,  Olympics,  and 
lesser  Cascades. 

Feet. 

Cleveland Montana 10.500 

James Montana 10.155 

Jackson Montana 10.023 

Sigeh Montana 10.004 

Blackfoot Montana 9.500 

And  a  half  dozen  others  in  the  St.  Mary  River 
country  9.000  feet  and  thereabouts. 

Feet. 

Olympus Washington 8. 1 50 

And  a  half  dozen  Olympics  from  7.000  to  more 
than  8,000  feet. 

Feet. 

Pitt Oregon 9,760 

And  a  half  dozen  more  than  8.500  feet. 

Group  V.     Remaining  mountains  in  the  United 
States,  by  States. 

A.      CALIFORNIA. 

Feet.  Feet. 

Darwin 14.100     Pinchot 14.000 

Corcoran 14.094     Brewer 13.866 

Humphreys 14.000 

Palisade  range,  for  6  miles  from  Split,  14.200.  to 
South  Jordan,  14,275. 

Kaweah  Crroup.     Four  peaks  more  than  14,000  feet. 

(California  has  twelve  i>eaks  exceeding  14.000  feet; 
twenty-three  exceeding  13.000  feet;  fifty-five  exceed- 
ing 12,000  feet.) 

B.      WYOMING. 

Feet. 

Fremont  Peak 13.790 

Wind  River  Peak 13.499 

Chauvenet 13.000 

(And  sixteen  exceeding  12.000  feet.) 


C.      IDAHO. 

Feet.  Feet. 

Hyndman  Peak.  . .  12,078  ,'  Cache  Peak to.451 

Meade  Peak 10.541  J  Sawtellc  Peak.  .  .  .  10.013 

(No  others  exceeding  10,000  feet.) 

D.      COLORADO. 


Feet. 

Princeton 14.196 

Yale 14.187 

Pike's  Peak 14.108 


Feet. 

Massive 14.424 

Elbert 14.421 

Harvard 14.375 

Gray's  Peak 14.341 

(Colorado  has  thirty-three  mountains  more  than 
14,000  feet;  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  exceeding 
13,000  feet;  two  hundred  and  thirty-three  exceeding 
12,000  feet:  three  hundred  and  ninety-five  exceed- 
ing 11,000  feet,  and  four  hundred  and  seven  exceed- 
ing 10.000  feet.) 

E.      UTAH. 

Feet.  Feet. 

Emmons  Peak.  .  . .  13,624  Tockewanna  Peak.  13.458 

Gilbert  Peak 13.687     Wilson  Peak 13.300 

Hodges 13.500     Peale.. 13.089 

(And  eighteen  mountains  exceeding  12.000  feet.) 


F.      NEVADA. 

Feet. 

Wheeler  Peak 13.058 

(And  thirty-two  exceeding  10,000  feet.) 


G.       NEW    MEXICO 

Feet. 

Truchas  Peak 13.275 

Las  Trucas 13.150 

Taos  Peak 13.145 

(And  thirty-one  exceeding  10,000  feet.) 


Feet. 
.12.794 


San  Francisco 

(And  seven  exceeding  10,000  feet.) 

I.       APPALACHIAN    SYSTEM. 

Feet. 

Mitchell North  Carolina 6.711 

Roan N.  C.  and  Tenn 6,313 

Washington New  Hampshire 6.279 

Marcy New  York 5.344 

Lafayette New  Hampshire 5.269 

Kthadin Maine 5.200 


J.      M 

Feet. 
♦(Zitlaltepetl.  17.371  (?)t 

♦(Cabeza 16,882  (?)  + 

♦(Pies 15.550  (?)f 

Toluca 15,091  (?)t 

Matlalcueytl. .  14.634  (?)  t 
Colima    Ne- 

vado 1 4. 1  20 

Tacana 14.000 

Ccrro  del  Mer- 

cado I  ?.9o6  (?)  t 


Feet. 

Ajusco 13.628 

Chichita 13.519  (?)t 

Cofre 13.388 

Colima  (vol- 
cano)  1 2.747 

Zapotlan 12.743 

C  erro     d  c 

Apisco 12.700 

Palamban.  ..  .  12,302 


K.       GUATEMALA. 

Feet.  Feet. 

Tajumulco 13.814  1  Fucgo 12.655 

Tacana 13. 334     Santa  Maria 12.363 

Acetenango 12,992  1  Agua 12,311 

(And  a  <lozen  peaks  more  than  10,000  feet.) 


COSTA    RICA. 


Feet. 

Turrialba ii.?5o 

Irazu 1 1,000 


Feet. 

Buena  Vista 10.824 

Chiriqui 10.150 


t  Data  most  unreliable. 


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OUTDOOR    MEN    AND   WOMEN 


A  WESTERN  FRIEND  OF  BIG 
GAME 

\jr7E  drove  up  to  the  big  farmhouse  in 
™  the  green  Nebraska  valley  one  morn- 
ing in  the  late  spring.  The  cottonwoods 
were  in  leaf,  the  squirrels  were  playing 
tag,  and  many  kinds  of  birds  were  busy 
home-making  along  the  wooded  banks  of 
the  Turkey  River. 

'*  Hello/'  shouted  the  driver. 

"How  are  ye?"  returned  an  elderly  man 
in  the  doorway.  "Won't  you  get  out  and 
come  in?" 

This  was  Hon.  John  W.  Gilbert,  who  has 
done  more  for  the  preservation  of  game 
in  the  prairie  state  of  Nebraska  than  any 
other  man. 

He  is  a  retired  fanner  who  rents  his  lands 
and  devotes  his  time  to  the  propagation  of 
elk,  black  and  white  tail  deer,  to  which 
collection  he  has  recently  added  a  small 
herd  of  buffalo.  Brant  and  Canadian  wild 
geese  also  swarm  on  the  preserve,  and  make 
their  home  on  the  pond  or  supply  reservoir 
among  the  hills  of  the  estate. 

The  home  lies  in  the  valley;  to  the  south 
and  up  the  slope  to  the  ridge  of  the  divide 
between  the  Turkey  and  Johnson  Creek 
lies  a  beautiful  "eighty"  given  over  entire- 
ly to  shade,  water,  and  nutritious  grasses 
for  the  animals.  A  dividing  fence  cuts  the 
"eighty"  into  two  "forties,"  each  well 
shaded  and  watered.  When  disturbed, 
the  two  herds  of  white  tails  make  for  this 
cover,  some  of  the  fawns  going  with  them 
and  others  being  hidden  in  the  grass  by  the 
does.  The  white  tails  bound  away  at  a 
sound,  but  the  black  tails  halt  a  moment 
to  see  the  danger,  if  any  there  be.  This 
difference  is  characteristic  of  the  species. 

Mr.  Gilbert  founded  the  herd  of  deer  fif- 
teen years  ago.  He  started  in  a  small  way 
and  let  them  breed  naturally,  giving  them 
some  wind-break  in  winter  for  protection, 
and  wild  hay  with  a  little  grain  to  keep 
them  up  in  flesh.  In  the  other  seasons 
they  roam  over  the  "eighty"  and  a  sixty- 


acre  field  well  seeded  and  fenced  that  joins 
the  lands  about  the  farmhouse.  Two 
years  ago  the  herd  of  white  tails  had  in- 
creased to  twenty-five  does,  most  of  the 
bucks  and  a  few  does  being  sold  to  other 
preserves  in  the  state.  Two  seasons  ago 
the  grass  became  very  dry  and  thin,  and 
then  grew  fast  after  heavy  spring  rains. 
The  deer  gorged  themselves  on  this,  and 
about  half  the  herd  were  lost  from  bloating. 
In  all  Mr.  Gilbert's  long  experience  he  had 
never  seen  a  disaster  like  this.  So  many 
fawns  are  always  in  hiding  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  make  an  accurate  count  of  deer 
now  in  the  park. 

A  year  ago,  Mr.  Gilbert  purchased  a 
grand  buck  to  add  to  the  herd.  This  ani- 
mal showed  no  signs  of  uneasiness  for  four 
days,  when  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day 
he  was  missing.  Every  farmer  within  ten 
miles  was  notified.  That  night  he  was  seen 
and  located,  the  message  coming  by  'phone 
to  Mr.  Gilbert,  who  set  out  on  foot  to  re- 
cover him.  You  may  smile  at  the  idea  of 
his  catching  the  buck  by  pursuit  on  foot, 
but  he  did!  He  followed  the  noble  animal 
two  nights  and  two  whole  days,  wearying 
the  buck  completely,  and  on  the  evening 
of  the  second  day  he  drove  him  into  the 
preserve.  The  gate  was  opened  by  some 
one  at  home  who  was  notified  by  'phone  of 
the  coming  of  Mr.  Gilbert  and  the  buck. 
Both  were  "dead  tired,"  but  the  buck  was 
saved  and  has  not  been  out  of  the  park 
since. 

In  a  separate  park  near  the  house  is  a 
pet  deer  named  "  Freddie. "  At  the  call  of 
his  name  he  comes  up  for  gifts  of  grain  and 
tobacco.  This  little  buck  was  once  lord 
of  the  preserve,  but  he  became  crippled  in  a 
tangle  of  barbed  wire,  and  to  save  him  a 
hind  leg  was  amputated  just  below  the 
back  joint.  Freddie  was  very  shy  until 
this  accident,  but  since  then  has  been  a 
spoiled  pet.  With  him  is  a  doe  which  has 
lost  a  front  foot  by  accident.  She  can 
still  run  almost  as  fast  as  a  deer  with  four 
hoofs. 


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Mr.  Gilbert  can  approach  his  whole  herd 
almost  within  arm's  length,  but  they  are 
very  cautious  with  regard  to  strangers,  and 
will  not  tarry  within  earshot  when  their 
master  has  friends  with  him.  All  the 
squirrels  about  the  house  are  chums  with 
this  gentle  friend  of  the  wild  things. 

Shortly  after  the  first  deer  were  put  into 
the  park  Mr.  Gilbert  started  a  herd  of  elk. 
The  original  cows  in  this  herd  died  recently 
aged  fifteen  to  eighteen  years,  the  term  of 
their  natural  life.  To-day  the  herd  num- 
bers about  thirty  head.  Mr.  Gilbert  keeps 
the  best  cows  for  his  own  herd,  and  sells  the 
spare  bulls  to  other  breeders. 

Mr.  Gilbert's  herds  might  have  been 
much  larger,  but  he  has  preferred  to  dis- 
pose of  them  to  others  who  are  helping 
preserve  big  game.  Half  the  pleasure  in 
breeding  these  elk,  deer,  and  other  game  has 
been  found  in  placing  them  in  good  hands. 

Mr.  Gilbert  is  exceptionally  well  fitted 
to  handle  a  preserve,  as  he  understands 
live  stock  thoroughly  and  has  a  genuine 
love  for  the  work.  He  allows  no  shooting 
on  his  farms,  and  therefore  one  sees  more 
prairie  chickens,  grouse,  and  quail  there 
than  in  any  other  part  of  Nebraska.  It 
is  this  type  of  country  gentleman  that 
will  save  the  choicest  types  of  American 
big  game  from  extinction. 

A  GERMAN  GLOBE  TROTTER 

Tew  men  have  seen  more  of  the  outdoor 
•^  world  than  Herr  Oscar  Iden-Zeller,  a 
German  journalist,  who  lately  walked 
around  the  globe  to  gather  material  for 
the  well-known  journal,  the  TagehlaU  of 
Berlin.  He  left  that  city  in  the  early 
part  of  March,  1903,  after  making  a  wager 
that  he  would  tour  the  world  on  foot,  and 
return  to  Berlin  by  April  27,  1907. 

He  had  previously  undertaken  similar 
expeditions  into  Africa  and  Asia,  and  this 
recent  trip  brought  him  to  the  United 
States.  Nome  was  the  first  point  he 
reached  on  the  American  continent.  He 
arrived  there  from  East  Cape,  Siberia, 
after  walking  entirely  across  European  and 
Asiatic  Russia. 

This  adventurous  German  is  six  feet  in 
height,  has  a  robust  frame  and  a  physique 
that  has  become  inured  to  roughing  it 
through  much  varied  experience. 

His  trip  across   European   Russia  was 


luxury  compared  to  what  he  was  com- 
pelled to  undergo  while  crossing  the  snowy 
wastes  of  Northern  Asia.  He  met  with  so 
many  obstacles  because  of  the  Russo- 
Japanese  war  that  he  abandoned  his  in- 
tended route  through  the  more  southerly 
portions  of  Siberia,  which  would  have  been 
far  easier. 

He  knew  that  on  the  northern  plains 
he  would  find  difficulty  even  in  the  summer 
time,  and  that  in  the  winter  such  a  trip 
would  be  out  of  the  question.  As  his 
journey  was  destined  to  find  him  far  out 
upon  the  plains  by  the  dead  of  winter,  he 
saw  that  the  only  method  by  which  he 
could  make  the  journey  would  be  to  fall  in 
with  and  win  the  confidence  of  some  of  the 
bands  of  nomad  natives  who  were  at  that 
season  of  the  year  arriving  at  points  in 
Western  Siberia  from  their  habitats  farther 
to  the  eastward,  for  the  purpose  of  trading 
furs  for  tobacco  and  other  primitive  lux- 
uries. 

He  fell  in  with  one  of  these  bands  when 
it  started  back  on  its  eastward  journey. 
They  traveled  from  sunrise  to  sunset  on 
their  sleds  which  were  hauled  by  rein- 
deer across  the  snows.  To  Iden-Zeller, 
who  must  walk,  fell  the  task  of  leading 
the  head  reindeer,  by  which  service  he 
earned  his  share  of  food.  He  traveled 
for  seventy  days  through  the  intense  cold 
of  the  Siberian  winter  without  seeing  a 
fire  or  wood  with  which  to  kindle  one. 
For  twenty-five  nights  he  slept  in  the 
snow,  and  the  remainder  of  the  time  he 
slept  in  skin  tents. 

Not  even  exploring  parties  of  whites  had 
ever  crossed  the  Thouen  Mountains  over 
which  his  journey  led  him.  He  arrived  at 
East  Cape,  on  the  coast  of  Siberia,  with 
only  the  fur  garments  with  which  he  had 
provided  himself  as  an  outer  protection 
against  the  intense  cold.  He  had  used  his 
underwear  for  bandages  for  himself  and 
the  natives. 

Herr  Iden-Zeller  is  a  graduate  of  the 
Kaiser  Wilhelm  University,  of  Berlin, 
Germany,  and  has  been  connected  with  the 
Berlin  Tagehlatt  for  many  years.  He  is  at 
present  under  contract  to  return  to  Russia 
for  the  purpose  of  exploring,  under  the 
auspices  of  the  government  and  a  geo- 
graphical society,  the  northwest  passage 
of  the  Yenisei,  to  find  a  suitable  basis 
for  future  Arctic  explorations. 


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DERBY    DAY 

A   SERIES   OF   PHOTOGRAPHS   OF  THE   FOREMOST   RACING 

EVENT   OF  THE  WORLD,   WON   THIS   YEAR 

BY  AN  AMERICAN 


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Richard  Croker,  of  Tammany,  who  has  captared  England's 
most  coveted  turf  prize. 


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THE   WAY   OF   A   MAN 


BY   EMERSON    HOUGH 


DRAWING    BY    GEORGE    WRIGHT 


CHAPTER  XV 

buffalo! 

|EFORE  dawn  had  broken, 
the  clear  bugle  notes  of 
reveille  sounded  and  set 
the  camp  astir.  Pres- 
ently the  smokes  of  cook 
fires  arose,  and  in  the 
gray  light  we  could  see 
the  horse  guards  bring'ng  in  the  mounts. 
By  the  time  the  sun  was  faintly  tingeing 
the  edge  of  the  valley,  we  were  drawn  up 
for  our  hot  coffee.  A  half  hour  later  the 
wagon  masters  called  "Roll  out!  Roll 
out!"  The  bugles  again  sounded  for  the 
troopers  to  take  saddle,  and  we  were  under 
way  once  more  up  the  trail. 

Thus  far  we  had  seen  very  little  game 
in  our  westward  journeying,  a  few  antelope, 
occasional  wolves,  but  none  of  the  herds 
of  buffalo  which  then  roamed  the  western 
plains.  The  monotony  of  our  travel  was 
to  be  broken  now.  We  had  hardly  gone 
five  miles  beyond  the  ruined  station  house 
— which  we  passed  at  a  trot  so  that  none 
might  know  what  had  happened  there — 
when  we  saw  our  advance  riders  pull  up 
and  turn.  We  caught  it  also — the  sound 
of  approaching  hoofs.  All  joined  in  the 
cry:  "Buffalo!  Buffalo!"  In  an  instant 
every  horseman  was  plying  whip  and  spur. 
The  thunderous  rolling  sound  ap- 
proached, heavy  as  that  of  artillery  going 
into  action.  We  saw  dust  arise  from  the 
mouth  of  a  little  coulee  on  the  left,  running 
down  toward  the  valley,  and  then,  rolling 
from  its  mouth  with  the  noise  of  a  tornado 
and  the  might  of  a  mountain  torrent,  we 
saw  a  vast,  confused,  dark  mass,  which 
rapidly  spilled  out  across  the  valley  ahead 
of  us.  Half  hid  in  the  dust  of  their  going, 
great  dark  bulks  were  rolling  and  tossing. 


A  blur  of  rumbling  hoof  sounds  backed 
the  blurred  g'ant  picture.  Thus,  close  at 
hand,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  the 
buffalo. 

We  were  almost  at  the  flank  of  the  herd 
before  they  reached  the  river  bank.  We 
were  among  them  when  they  paused 
stupidly  at  the  stream.  The  front  ranks 
rolled  back  upon  those  behind,  which, 
crowded  from  the  rear,  resisted.  The 
whole  front  of  the  mass  wrinkled  up 
mightily,  dark  humps  arising  two  or  three 
deep.  Then  the  whole  line  sensed  the 
danger  all  at  once,  and  with  as  much 
unanimity  as  they  had  lacked  in  their 
late  confusion,  they  wheeled  front  and 
rear,  and  rolled  off  up  the  valley. 

In  such  a  chase  speed  and  courage  of 
one's  horse  ai^e  the  main  essentials.  My 
horse,  luckily  for  me,  was  able  to  lay  me 
alongside  my  game  within  a  few  hundred 
yards.  I  coursed  close  to  a  big  black  bull, 
and  obeying  injunctions  old  Auberry  had 
often  given  me,  did  not  touch  the  trigger 
until  I  found  I  was  holding  well  forward 
and  rather  low.  I  could  scarcely  hear  the 
crack  of  the  rifle,  such  was  the  noise  of 
hoofs,  but  I  saw  the  bull  switch  his  tail  and 
push  on  as  though  unhurt,  in  spite  of  the 
trickle  of  red  which  sprung  on  his  side. 
As  I  followed  on,  fumbling  for  a  pistol  at 
my  holster,  the  bull  suddenly  turned,  head 
down  and  tail  stiffly  erect,  his  mane 
bristling.  My  horse  sprang  aside,  and  the 
herd  passed  on.  The  old  bull,  his  head 
lowered,  presently  stopped,  deliberately 
eying  us,  ard  a  moment  later  he  deliber- 
ately lay  down,  presently  sinking  lower, 
and  at  length  rolling  over  dead. 

I  got  down,  fastening  my  horse  to  one  of 
the  horns  of  the  dead  bull.  As  I  looked  up 
the  valley,  I  could  see  others  dismounted, 
and  many  vast  dark  blotches  on  the  gray. 


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Here  and  there,  where  the  pursuers  still 
hung  on,  1  could  see  blue  smoke  cutting 
through  the  white.  Certainly  we  would 
have  meat  that  day,  enough  and  far  more 
than  enough.  The  valley  was  full  of 
carcasses,  product  of  a  few  moments  of 
our  wasteful  white  man's  hunting. 

I  found  the  great  weight  of  the  bull  diffi- 
cult to  turn,  but  at  length  1  hooked  one 
horn  into  the  ground  and,  laying  hold  of 
the  lower  hind  leg,  I  turned  the  carcass  on 
its  back.  1  was  busy  skinning  when  my 
old  friend  Auberry  rode  up. 

"The  Indians,"  said  Auberry,  "don't 
bother  to  turn  a  bull  over.  They  split  the 
hide  down  the  back  and  skin  both  ways. 
The  best  meat  is  on  top,  anyhow,"  and 
then  he  gave  me  lessons  in  buffalo  values, 
which  later  I  remembered. 

We  had  taken  some  meat  from  my  bull, 
since  I  insisted  upon  it  in  spite  of  better 
beef  from  a  young  cow  Auberry  had  killed 
not  far  above,  when  suddenly  I  heard  the 
sound  of  a  bugle,  sharp  and  clear,  and 
recognized  the  notes  of  the  "recall."  The 
sergeant  of  our  troop,  with  a  small  number 
of  men,  had  been  left  behind  by  Belknap's 
hurried  orders.  Again  and  again  we.  heard 
the  bugle  call,  and  now  we  saw  hurrying 
down  the  valley  all  the  men  of  our  little 
command. 

"What's  up?"  inquired  Auberry,  as  we 
pulled  up  our  galloping  horses  near  the 
wagon  line. 

"Indians,"  was  the  answer.     "Fall  in." 

In  a  moment  most  of  our  men  were 
gathered  at  the  wagons.  We  could  all 
now  see,  coming  down  from  a  little  flat- 
tened coulee  to  the  left,  the  head  of  a 
ragged  line  of  mounted  men,  who  doubtless 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  buffalo  stampede 
which  had  crossed  in  front  of  us.  The 
shouts  of  teamsters  and  the  crack  of 
whips  punctuated  the  crunch  of  wheels  as 
our  wagons  swiftly  swung  into  the  stockade 
of  the  prairies. 

After  all,  there  seemed  no  immediate 
danger.  The  column  of  the  tribesmen 
came  on  toward  us  fearlessly,  as  though 
they  neither  dreaded  us  nor  indeed  recog- 
nized us.  They  made  a  long  cavalcade,  two 
hundred  horses  or  more,  with  many  travaux 
and  dogs  trailing  on  behind.  They  were  all 
clad  in  their  native  finery,  and  each  was 
arrogant  as  a  king.  They  passed  us  con- 
temptuously, with  not  a  sidelong  glance. 


Not  a  word  was  spoken  on  either  side. 
The  course  of  their  column  took  them  to 
the  edge  of  the  water  a  short  distance 
above  us.  They  drove  their  horses  down 
to  drink,  scrambled  up  the  bank  again, 
and  then  quietly  rode  on  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  or  so,  and  pulled  up  at  the  side  of  the 
valley.  They  saw  abundance  of  meat 
lying  there  already  killed,  and  perhaps 
guessed  that  we  could  not  use  all  of  it. 

"Auberry,"  said  Belknap,  "we  must  go 
talk  to  these  people,  and  see  what's  up." 

"Sioux,"  said  Auberry,  "and  like 
enough  the  very  devils  that  cleaned  out 
the  station  down  below." 

Belknap  and  Auberry  took  with  them 
the  sergeant  and  a  dozen  troopers.  I 
pushed  in  with  these,  and  saw  Orme  at 
my  side.  Two  or  three  hundred  yards 
from  the  place  where  the  Indians  halted, 
Auberry  advised  Belknap  to  halt  his  men. 
We  four  rode  forward  a  hundred  yards 
farther,  halted  and  raised  our,  hands  in 
sign  of  peace.  There  rode  out  to  us  four 
of  the  head  men  of  the  Sioux,  beautifully 
dressed,  each  a  stalwart  man.  Both 
parties  laid  down  their  weapons  on  the 
ground,  and  so  approached  each  other. 

"Watch  them  close,  boys,"  whispered 
Auberry,  "they've  got  plenty  of  irons 
around  them  somewhere,  and  plenty  of 
scalps  too,  maybe." 

"Talk  to  them,  Auberry,"  said  Belknap, 
and  as  the  former  was  the  only  one  of  us 
who  understood  the  Sioux  tongue  he  acted 
as  interpreter. 

"What  are  the  Sioux  doing  so  far  east?" 
he  asked  of  their  spokesman,  sternly. 

"Hunting,"  answered  the  Sioux,  as 
Auberry  informed  us.  "The  white  sol- 
diers drive  away  our  buffalo.  The  white 
men  kill  too  many.  Let  them  go.  This  is 
our  country."  It  seemed  to  me  I  could 
see  the  black  eyes  of  the  Sioux  boring 
straight  through  every  one  of  us,  glitter- 
ing, not  in  the  least  afraid. 

"Go  back  to  the  North  and  West,  where 
you  belong,"  said  Auberry.  "You  have 
no  business  here  on  the  wagon  trails." 

"The  Sioux  hunt  where  they  please," 
was  the  grim  answer.  "But  you  see  we 
have  our  women  and  children  with  us, 
the  same  as  you  have" — and  he  pointed 
toward  our  camp,  doubtless  knowing  the 
personnel  of  our  party  as  well  as  we  did 
ourselves. 


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•Are  vou  game— can  you  do  this,  Miss    *  Drawing  by  r.««rge  Wright. 

Meriwether?"  I  heard  Orme  ask. 


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"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  our  in- 
terpreter. 

The  Sioux  waved  his  arm  vaguely. 
"Heap  hunt,"  he  said.  "Where  you  go?" 
he  asked  in  return,  using  broken  English. 

Auberry  was  also  a  diplomat,  and 
answered  that  we  were  going  a  half  sleep 
to  the  west  to  meet  a  big  war  party  com- 
ing down  the  Platte,  the  white  men  from 
Laramie. 

The  Indian  looked  grave  at  this.  "Is 
that  so?"  he  asked  calmly.  "I  had  not 
any  word  from  my  young  men  of  a  war 
party  coming  down  the  river.  Many 
white  tepees  on  wheels  going  up  the  river; 
no  soldiers  coming  down  this  way." 

"We  are  going  on  up  to  meet  our  men," 
said  Auberry  sternly.  "The  Sioux  have 
killed  some  of  our  people  below  here.  We 
shall  meet  our  men  and  come  and  wipe  the 
Sioux  off  the  land  if  they  come  here  into 
the  valley  where  our  road  runs  west." 

"That  is  good,"  said  the  Sioux.  "As 
for  us,  we  hunt  where  we  please.  White 
men  go." 

Auberry  now  turned  and  informed  us  of 
the  nature  of  this  talk.  "I  don't  think 
they  mean  trouble,  Lieutenant,"  he  said, 
"and  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to 
let  them  alone  and  go  on  up  the  valley. 
We're  too  strong  for  them,  and  their 
medicine  don't  seem  to  be  for  war  right 
now." 

Belknap  nodded,  and  Auberry  turned 
again  to  the  four  Sioux,  who  stood,  tall 
and  motionless,  looking  at  us  with  fixed, 
glittering  eyes.  I  shall  remember  the 
actors  in  that  little  scene  so  long  as  I  live. 

"We  have  spoken,"  said  Auberry. 
"That  is  all  we  have  to  say." 

There  is  no  such  word  as  good-bye  in  the 
Indian  tongue,  so  now  both  parties  turned 
and  went  back  to  their  companions. 
Belknap,  Auberry  and  1  had  neariy  reached 
our  waiting  troopers,  when  we  missed 
Orme,  and  turned  back  to  see  where  he  was. 
He  was  standing  close  to  the  four  chiefs, 
who  had  by  this  time  reached  their  horses. 
Orme  was  leading  by  the  bridle  his  own 
horse,  which  was  slightly  lame  from  a 
strain  received  in  the  hunt. 

"Some  buck  '11  slip  an  arrer  into  him,  if 
he  don't  look  out,"  said  Auberry.  "He's 
got  no  business  out  there." 

We  saw  Orme  making  some  sort  of  ges- 
tures, pointing  to  his  horse  and  the  others. 


"Wonder  if  he  wants  to  trade  horses," 
mused  Auberry,  chuckling.  Then  in  the 
same  breath  he  called  out  "  Look  out !  By 
God,  look!" 

We  all  saw  it.  Orme's  arm  shot  out 
straight,  tipped  by  a  blue  puff  of  smoke, 
and  we  heard  the  crack  of  the  dragoon 
pistol.  One  of  the  Sioux,  the  chief  who 
by  this  time  had  mounted  his  horse,  threw 
his  hand  against  his  chest  and  leaned 
slightly  back,  then  straightened  up  slightly 
as  he  sat.  As  he  fell,  or  before  he  fell, 
Orme  pushed  his  body  clear  from  the 
saddle  and  with  a  leap  was  in  the  dead 
man's  place  and  riding  swiftly  toward  us, 
leading  his  own  horse  by  the  rein.  It 
seemed  that  it  was  the  Sioux  who  had  kept 
faith  after  all.  Orme  rode  up  laughing  and 
unconcerned.  "The  beggar  wouldn't  trade 
with  me  at  all,"  he  said.  "  By  Jove,  I  be- 
lieve he'd  have  got  me  if  he'd  had  any 
sort  of  tools  for  it." 

"You  broke  treaty,"  ejaculated  Belknap; 
"you  broke  the  council " 

"Did  that  man  make  the  first  break  at 
you?"  Auberry  blazed  at  him.  "You 
murdered  him.  Do  you  forget  we've 
women  with  us?" 

Orme  only  laughed.  He  could  kill  a 
man  as  lightly  as  a  rabbit,  and  think  no 
more  about  it.  But  none  of  us  ratified  his 
act  by  any  smile. 

"It's  fight  now,"  said  Auberry.  "Back 
to  the  wagons  and  get  your  men  ready, 
Leftenant.  As  soon  as  the  Sioux  get  shut 
of  their  women,  they'll  come  on,  and  come 
a^boilin',  too.  You  damned  fool!"  he  said 
to  Orme.     "You  murdered  that  man!" 

"What's  that,  my  good  fellow,"  said 
Orme  sharply.  "Now,  1  advise  you  to 
keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  or  I'll 
teach  you  some  manners." 

In  answer  old  Auberry  spurred  alongside 
him,  his  rifle  at  a  ready.  "By  God,  man! 
if  you  want  to  teach  me  any  manners,  begin 
it  now.     You  make  your  break." 

Belknap  spurred  in  between  them. 
"Here,  you  men,"  he  cried,  with  swift 
sternness.  "Into  your  places.  I'm  in 
command  here.  I'll  shoot  the  first  man 
who  raises  a  hand.  Mr.  Orme,  take  your 
place  at  the  wagons.  Auberry,  you  keep 
with  me.  We'll  have  fighting  enough 
without  anything  of  this." 

"He  murdered  that  Sioux,  Leftenant," 
reiterated  Auberry. 


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"Damn  it,  sir,  I  know  he  did,  but  this 
is  no  time  to  argue  about  that.  Look 
there!" 

A  long,  ragged,  parti-colored  line,  the 
squaws  and  children  of  the  party,  was 
whipping  up  the  sides  of  the  rough  bluffs 
on  the  left  of  the  valley.  We  heard 
wailing,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  crying 
of  children.  The  men,  remaining  behind, 
were  riding  back  and  forth,  whooping  and 
holding  aloft  their  weapons.  We  heard 
the  note  of  a  dull  war  drum  beating,  the 
clacking  of  their  rattles,  the  shrill  notes  of 
their  war  whistles. 

"They'll  fight,"  said  Auberry,  "Look 
at  'em." 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Belknap  quietly. 

CHAPTER  XVI 

SIOUX 

The  record  of  this  part  of  my  life  comes 
to  me  sometimes  as  a  series  of  vivid  pic- 
tures. 1  can  see  this  picture  now — the 
wide  gray  of  the  flat  valley  edged  with 
green  at  the  coulee  mouths;  the  sandy 
puffs  where  the  wind  worked  at  the  foot  of 
the  banks;  the  dotted  islands  out  in  the 
shimmering,  shallow  river.  1  can  see  again, 
under  the  clear,  sweet,  quiet  sky,  the  pic- 
ture of  those  painted  men — their  waving 
lances,  their  swaying  bodies  as  they 
reached  for  the  quivers  across  their  shoul- 
ders. I  can  see  the  loose  ropes  trailing  at 
the  horses'  noses,  and  see  the  light  leaning 
forward  of  the  red  and  yellow  and  ghastly 
white -striped  and  black -stained  bodies, 
and  the  barred  black  of  the  war  paint. 

"Tell  us  when  to  fire,  Auberry,"  I  heard 
Belknap  say,  for  he  had  practically  given 
over  the  situation  to  the  old  plainsman's 
handling.  At  last  I  heard  the  voice  of 
Auberry,  changed  from  that  of  an  old  man 
into  the  quick,  clean  accents  of  youth, 
sounding  hard  and  clear.  "Ready  now! 
Each  fellow  pick  his  own  man,  and  kill 
him,  d'ye  hear,  kill  him!** 

We  had  no  farther  tactics.  Our  fire 
began  to  patter  and  crackle.  Our  troopers 
were  armed  with  the  incredibly  worthless 
old  Spencer  carbines,  and  I  doubt  if  these 
did  much  execution;  but  there  were  some 
good  Hawken  rifles  and  old  big -bored 
Yagers,  a  few  of  the  new  Sharps'  rifles, 
heavy  and  powerful,  and  buffalo  guns  of 


one  sort  or  another  with  us,  among  the 
plainsmen  and  teamsters,  and  when  these 
spoke  there  came  breaks  in  the  rippling 
horse  line  that  sought  to  circle  us.  The 
Sioux  dropped  behind  their  horses'  bodies, 
firing  as  they  rode.  Most  of  our  work  was 
done  as  they  topped  the  rough  ground 
close  on  our  left,  and  we  saw  here  a  dozen 
bodies  lying  limp  and  flat  and  ragged, 
though  presently  others  came  and  dragged 
them  away. 

The  bow  and  arrow  is  no  match  for  the 
rifle  behind  barricades,  but  when  the 
Sioux  got  behind  us  they  saw  that  our 
barricade  was  open  in  the  rear,  and  at  this 
they  whooped  and  rode  in  closer.  At  a 
hundred  yards  their  arrows  came  close  to 
the  mark,  and  time  and  again  they  spiked 
our  mules  and  horses  with  these  hissing 
shafts  that  quivered  where  they  struck. 
They  came  near  breaking  our  front  in  this 
way,  for  our  men  fell  into  confusion,  the 
horses  and  mules  plunging  and  trying  to 
break  away.  There  were  now  men  leaning 
on  their  elbows,  blood  drippiilg  from  their 
mouths.  There  were  cries,  far  away,  in- 
consequent to  us  still  standing.  The  whir 
of  many  arrows  came,  and  we  could  hear 
them  chuck  into  the  woodwork  of  the 
wagons,  into  the  leather  of  saddle  and 
harness,  and  now  and  again  into  something 
that  gave  out  a  softer,  different  sound. 

I  was  crowding  a  ball  down  my  rifle  with 
a  hickory  rod  when  I  felt  a  shove  at  my 
arm  and  heard  a  voice  at  my  ear.  "Git 
out  of  the  way,  man!  How  can  1  see  to 
shoot  if  you  bob  your  head  acrost  my 
sights  all  the  time?" 

There  stood  old  Mandy  McGovem,  her 
long  brown  rifle  half  raised,  her  finger  lying 
sophisticatedly  along  the  trigger  guard, 
that  she  might  not  prematurely  touch  the 
hair  trigger.  She  was  as  cool  as  any  man 
in  the  line,  and  as  deadly.  As  I  finished 
reloading,  I  saw  her  hard,  gray  face  drop 
as  she  crooked  her  elbow  and  settled  to  the 
sights — saw  her  swing  as  though  she  were 
following  a  running  deer,  and  then  at  tHe 
crack  of  her  piece  I  saw  a  Sioux  drop  out 
of  his  high-peaked  saddle.  Mandy  turned 
to  the  rear. 

"Git  in  here,  git  in  here,  son!"  1  heard 
her  cry.  "Good  shootin'  here!"  And  to 
my  wonder  now  I  saw  the  long,  lean  figure 
of  Andrew  Jackson  McGovem  come  for- 
ward, a  carbine  clutched  in  his  hand,  while 


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from  his  mouth  came  some  sort  of  eerie 
screech  of  incipient  courage,  which  seemed 
to  give  wondrous  comfort  to  his  fierce  dam. 
At  about  this  moment  one  of  the  Sioux, 
mortally  wounded  by  our  fire,  turned  his 
horse  and  rode  straight  toward  us,  hard  as 
he  could  go.  He  knew  that  he  must  die 
and  this  was  his  way — ah,  those  redmen 
knew  how  to  die.  He  got  within  forty 
yards,  reeling  and  swaying,  but  still  trying 
to  fit  an  arrow  to  the  string,  and  as  none 
of  us  would  fire  on  him  now,  seeing  that  he 
was  dead,  for  a  moment  it  looked  as  though 
he  would  ride  directly  into  us,  and  perhaps 
do  some  harm.  Then  I  heard  the  boom  of 
the  boy's  carbine,  and  almost  at  the  in- 
stant, whether  by  accident  or  not  1  could 
not  tell,  1  saw  the  redman  drop  out  of  the 
forks  of  his  saddle  and  roll  on  the  ground 
with  arms  spread  out. 

Perhaps  never  was  metamorphosis  more 
complete  than  that  which  now  took  place. 
Shaking  off  detaining  hands,  Andrew  Jack- 
son sprang  from  our  line,  ran  up  to  the 
fallen  foe,  and  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  began  to 
belabor  and  kick  his  body,  winding  up  by 
catching  him  by  the  hair  and  actually 
dragging  him  some  paces  toward  our  firing 
line!  At  this  an  expression  of  beatitude 
spread  over  the  countenance  of  Mandy 
McGovem.  She  called  out  as  though  he 
were  a  young  dog  at  his  first  fight. 

"Whoopee!  Git  to  him,  boy,  git  to  him ! 
Take  him,  boy!    Whoopee!" 

We  got  Andrew  Jackson  back  into  the 
ranks.  His  mother  stepped  to  him  and 
took  him  by  the  hand,  as  though  for  the 
first  time  she  recognized  him  as  a  man. 

"Now,  son,  that's  somethin'  like!"  She 
turned  to  me.  " Some  says  it's  in  the  paw," 
she  remarked.  "  I  reckon  it's  some  in  the 
maw,  and  a  leetle  in  the  trainin'." 

I  looked  about  me  now  at  the  interior 
of  our  barricade.  I  saw  Ellen  Meriwether 
on  her  knees,  lifting  the  shoulders  of  a 
wounded  man  who  lay  back,  his  hair 
dropping  from  his  forehead,  now  gone 
bluish  gray.  She  pulled  him  to  the  shelter 
of  a  wagon,  where  she  had  drawn  four 
others  of  the  wounded.  I  saw  tears  falling 
from  her  eyes — saw  the  same  pity  on  her 
face  which  I  had  noted  once  before  when 
a  wounded  creature  lay  in  her  hands.  I 
had  been  proud  of  Mandy  McGovem.  I 
was  proud  of  Ellen  Meriwether  now.  They 
were  two  generations  of  our  women,  the 


women  of  America,  whom  may  God  ever 
have  in  his  keeping. 

I  say  I  had  turned  my  head,  but  almost 
as  I  did  so  I  felt  a  sudden  jar,  as  though 
some  one  had  taken  a  board  and  struck  me 
over  the  head  with  all  his  might.  Then,  as 
I  slowly  became  aware,  my  head  was  ut- 
terly and  entirely  detached  from  my  body, 
and  went  sailing  off  slovyly  in  front  of  me. 
1  could  see  it  going  distinctly,  and  yet, 
strangely  enough,  I  could  also  see  a  sudden 
change  come  on  the  face  of  the  girl  who 
was  stooping  before  me,  and  who  at  the 
moment  raised  her  eyes. 

"It  is  singular,"  thought  I,  "but  my 
head,  thus  detached,  is  going  to  pass  di- 
rectly above  her,  right  there."  Then  I 
ceased  to  take  interest  in  anything,  and 
sank  back  into  the  arms  of  that  from 
which  we  come,  taking  hold  of  the  hand  of 
Mystery  very  calmly. 

CHAPTER  XVII 

A   RISK   IN   SURGERY 

I  awoke,  I  knew  not  how  much  later, 
into  a  world  which  at  first  had  a  certain 
languid  luxury  about  it.  Then  I  felt  a 
sharp  wrenching  and  a  great  pain  in  my 
neck,  to  which  it  seemed  my  departed 
head  had,  after  all,  returned.  Stimulated 
by  this  pain,  I  turned  and  looked  up  into 
the  face  of  Auberry.  He  stood  frowning, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  feathered  arrow  shaft 
of  willow,  grooved  along  its  sides  to  let  the 
blood  run  free,  sinew-wrapped  to  hold  its 
feathers  tight — a  typical  arrow  of  the 
buffalo  tribes.  But,  as  I  joined  Auberry's 
gaze,  I  saw  the  arrow  was  headless.  Dully 
I  argued  that,  therefore,  this  head  must  be 
somewhere  in  my  neck.  I  also  saw  that 
the  sun  was  bright.  I  realized  that  there 
must  have  been  a  fight  of  some  sort,  but 
did  not  trouble  to  know  whence  the  arrow 
had  come.  My  mind  could  grasp  nothing 
more  than  simple  things. 

Thus  I  felt  that  my  head  was  not  un- 
comfortable, after  all.  I  looked  again,  and 
saw  that  it  rested  on  Ellen  Meriwether's 
knees.  She  sat  on  the  sand,  gently  strok- 
ing my  head,  pushing  back  the  hair.  She 
had  turned  my  head  so  that  the  wound 
would  not  be  pressed.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  her  voice  sounded  very  far  away. 

"We  are  thinking."  said  she  to  me,     I 


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nodded  as  best  I  could.  "Has  anything 
happened?"  I  asked. 

"They  have  gone/'  said  she.  "We 
whipped  them.  It  was  one  of  the  last  of 
them  that  shot  you.  Ah,  you  were  noble, 
noble,  splendid  men.  1  am  proud  of  you 
all." 

I  heard  some  one  else  say  behind  me: 

"But  we  have  nothing  in  the  world — 
not  even  opium." 

"True,"  said  another  voice,  which  I 
recognized  as  that  of  Orme,  "but  that's 
his  one  chance." 

"What  do  you  know  about  surgery?" 
asked  the  first  voice,  which  1  knew  was 
Belknap's. 

"More  than  most  doctors,"  was  the 
answer,  with  a  laugh.  Their  voices  grew 
less  distinguishable,  but  presently  I  heard 
Orme  say:  "Yes,  I'm  game  to  do  it,  if  the 
man  says  so."  Then  he  came  and  stooped 
down  beside  me. 

"Mr.  Cowles,"  said  he,  "you're  a  bit 
badly  off.  That  arrow  head  ought  to 
come  out,  but  the  risk  of  going  after  it  is 
very  great.  I  am  willing  to  do  what  you 
say.  If  you  decide  that  you  would  like  me 
to  operate  for  it,  I  will  do  what  you  say. 
It's  only  right  for  me  to  tell  you  that  it  lies 
very  close  to  the  carotid  artery,  and  that 
it  will  be  an  extraordinarily  nice  operation 
to  get  it  out  without — ^well,you  know " 

I  looked  up  into  his  face,  that  strange 
face  which  I  was  now  beginning  so  well  to 
know — the  face  of  my  enemy.  I  knew 
then  that  it  was  the  face  of  a  murderer,  a 
man  who  would  have  no  compunction  at 
taking  a  human  life.  My  mind  was 
strangely  lucid. 

1  saw,  as  clearly  as  though  he  had  told 
me,  that  this  man  was  as  deeply  in  love 
with  Ellen  Meriwether  as  I  myself;  that 
he  would  win  her  if  he  could;  that  his 
chance  was  good  as  mine,  even  if  we  were 
both  at  our  best.  I  knew  there  was  noth- 
ing at  which  he  would  hesitate  unless  some 
strange  freak  in  his  nature  might  influence 
him — such  freaks  as  come  to  the  lightning, 
to  the  wild  beast  slaying,  changes  for  no 
reason  ever  known.  Remorse,  mercy,  pity, 
1  knew  did  not  exist  for  him.  But  with  a 
flash  it  came  to  my  mind  that  this  was  all 
the  better,  if  he  must  now  serve  as  my 
surgeon. 

He  looked  into  my  eye,  and  I  returned 
his  gaze,  scorning  to  ask  him  not  to  take 


advantage  of  me,  now  that  I  was  fallen. 
His  own  eye  changed.  It  cynically  in- 
quired of  me,  as  though  actually  he  spoke: 
"Are  you  then  game  to  the  core?  Shall  I 
admire  your  courage,  and  give  you  another 
chance,  or  shall  I  kill  you  now?  Say  yes 
boldly,  and  I  will  do  my  best.  Say  it  half' 
heartedly,  and  you  shall  die!  In  any  case 
— so  spoke  his  eye  to  mine — this  girl  shall 
be  mine,  whether  you  live  or  die." 

I  say  that  I  saw,  felt,  read  all  this  in  his 
mind.  I  looked  into  his  face,  and  said 
thickly: 

"Orme,  you* cannot  kill  me.  I  am  not 
going  to  die.     Soon,  then." 

Suddenly  his  expression  changed.  He 
seemed  interested,  absorbed.  A  sort  of 
sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  as  though  he  felt 
content.  I  do  not  think  it  was  wholly 
because  he  found  his  foe  a  worthy  one.  I 
do  not  think  he  considered  me  either  as  his 
foe  or  his  friend  or  his  patient.  He  was 
simply  about  to  do  something  which  would 
test  his  own  nerve,  his  own  resources; 
something  which,  if  successful,  would  allow 
him  to  approve  his  own  belief  in  himself. 
What  he  was  about  to  do  was  a  form  of 
sport  for  him.  I  knew  he  would  not  turn 
his  hand  to  save  my  life,  but  also  I  knew 
that  he  would  not  cost  it  if  that  could  be 
avoided,  for  that  would  mean  disappoint- 
ment to  himself.  What  he  did  he  did  well. 
In  my  own  soul  I  said  that  I  would  pay 
him  if  he  brought  me  through — pay  him 
in  some  way.  The  Cowles  family  always 
paid  its  debts. 

Presently  1  heard  them  on  the  sand 
again,  and  1  saw  Orme  come  again  and 
bend  over  me.  All  the  instruments  they 
could  find  had  been  a  razor  and  a  keen 
penknife,  and  all  they  could  secure  to 
stanch  the  blood  was  some  water,  nearly 
boiling.  For  forceps  Orme  had  a  pair  of 
bullet  molds,  and  these  he  sterilized  as 
best  he  could  by  dipping  them  into  the 
water. 

"Cowles,"  he  said,  in  a  matter  of  fact 
voice,  "I'm  going  after  it.  But  now  1  tell 
you  one  thing  frankly,  it's  life  or  death,  and 
if  you  move  your  head  it  may  mean  death 
at  once.  That  iron's  laying  against  the  big 
carotid  artery,  and  if  it  hasn't  broken  the 
artery  wall  there's  a  ghost  of  a  chance  we 
can  get  it  out  safely,  in  which  case  you 
would  probably  pull  through.  I've  got  to 
open  the  neck  and  reach  in.     I'll  do  it  fast 


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as  I  can.  Now  I'm  not  going  to  think  of 
you,  and,  gad — if  you  can  help  it — please 
don't  think  of  me." 

The  girl  had  not  spoken.  She  still  held 
my  head  in  her  lap. 

"Are  you  game — can  you  do  this.  Miss 
Meriwether?"  I  heard  Orme  ask.  She 
made  no  answer  that  I  could  hear,  but 
must  have  nodded.  1  felt  her  hands  press 
my  head  more  tightly.  I  turned  my  face 
down  and  kissed  her  hand.  "1  will  not 
move/'  I  said. 

I  saw  a  slender,  naked  wrist  pass  to  my 
face  and  gently  turn  me  into  the  position 
desired,  with  my  face  down  and  a  little  at 
one  side,  resting  in  her  lap  above  her 
knees.  Her  skirt  was  already  wet  with  the 
blood  of  the  wound,  and  where  my  head 
lay  it  was  damp  with  blood.  Belknap  took 
my  hands  and  pulled  them  above  my  head, 
squatting  beyond  me.  Between  Orme's 
legs  as  he  stooped  I  could  see  the  dead 
body  of  a  mule,  I  remember,  and  back  of 
that  the  blue  sky  and  the  sand  dunes.  Un- 
known to  her,  I  kissed  the  hem  of  her 
garment,  and  then  I  said  a  short  appeal 
to  the  Mystery. 

I  felt  the  entrance  of  the  knife  or  razor 
blade,  felt  keenly  the  pain  when  the  edge 
lifted  and  stretched  the  skin  tight  before 
the  tough  hide  of  my  neck  parted  smoothly 
in  a  long  line.  Then  I  felt  something 
warm  flow  and  settle  under  my  cheek  as  I 
lay,  and  I  felt  a  low  shiver,  whether  of  my 
body  or  that  of  the  girl  who  held  me  1 
could  not  tell,  but  her  hands  were  steady. 
I  felt  about  me  an  infinite  kindness  and 
carefulness  and  pity — oh,  then  I  learned 
that  life,  after  all,  is  not  wholly  war — that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  fellow  suffering  and 
loving  kindness  and  a  wish  to  aid  others  to 
survive  in  this  hard  fight  of  living.  I  knew 
that  very  well.  But  I  did  not  gain  it  from 
the  touch  of  my  surgeon's  hands. 

The  immediate  pain  of  this  cutting 
which  laid  open  my  neck  for  some  inches 
along  the  side  muscles  was  less  after  the 
point  of  the  blade  came  through  and 
ceased  to  push  forward.  Deeper  down  I 
did  not  feel  the  blade  so  much,  until  finally 
a  gentle  searching  movement  produced  a 
jar  strangely  large,  something  which  grated 
and  nearly  sent  all  the  world  black  again. 
I  knew  that  the  knife  was  on  the  base  of 
the  arrow  head;  then  I  could  feel  it  move 
softly  and  gently  along  the  side  of  the 


arrow  head — I  could  almost  see  it  creep 
along  in  this  delicate  part  of  the  work. 
Then  all  at  once  I  felt  one  hand  removed 
from  my  neck.  Orme,  half  rising  from  his 
stooping  posture,  but  with  the  fingers  of 
his  left  hand  still  at  the  wound,  said: 
"Belknap,  let  go  one  of  his  hands.  Just 
put  your  hand  on  this  knife  blade  and  feel 
that  artery  throb.    Isn't  it  curious?" 

I  heard  some  muttered  answer,  but  the 
grasp  at  my  wrists  did  not  relax.  "Oh, 
it's  all  right  now,"  calmly  went  on  Orme, 
again  stooping.  "  I  thought  you  might  be 
interested.  It's  all  over  now  but  pulling 
out  the  head." 

I  felt  again  a  shiver  run  through  the 
limbs  of  the  girl.  Perhaps  she  turned 
away  her  head;  I  do  not  know.  Relief 
came,  then  a  dizziness,  and  much  pain.  A 
hand  patted  me  twice  on  the  back  of  the 
neck. 

"All  right,  my  man,"  said  Orme.  "AH 
over,  and  jolly  well  done,  too,  if  I  do  say  it 
myself." 

Belknap  put  his  arm  about  me  and 
helped  me  to  sit  up.  1  saw  Orme  holding 
out  the  stained  arrow  head,  long  and  thin, 
in  his  fingers. 

"Would  you  like  it?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  1,  grinning.  And  I  confess  I 
have  it  now  somewhere  about  my  house. 
I  doubt  if  few  similar  souvenirs  exist  to 
remind  any  one  of  a  scene  exactly  similar. 

"I  say,  you  men,"  remarked  Mandy 
McGovem,  coming  up  with  a  cob-stoppered 
flask  in  her  hand,  half  filled  with  the  pale, 
yellow-white  fluid.  "Ain't  it  about  time 
for  some  of  that  anerthestic  I  heerd  you  all 
talking  about  a  while  ago?" 

"  1  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Orme.  "The 
stitching  hurts  about  as  much  as  anything. 
Au berry,  can't  you  find  me  a  bit  of  sinew 
somewhere,  and  perhaps  a  needle  of  some 
sort?" 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  QUALITY  OF   MERCY 

A  vast  dizziness  and  a  throbbing  of  the 
head  remained  after  they  were  quite  done 
with  me,  but  something  of  this  left  me 
when  finally  I  sat  leaning  back  against  the 
wagon  body  and  looked  about  me.  There 
were  straight,  motionless  figures,  lying 
under  the  blankets  in  the  shade,  and  under 
other  blankets  were  men  who  writhed  and 


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moaned.  More  graves  would  line  the 
great  pathway  into  the  West. 

Again  Ellen  Meriwether  came  and  sat 
by  me.  She  had  now  removed  the  gray 
traveling  gown,  for  reasons  which  1  could 
guess,  and  her  costume  might  have  been 
taken  from  a  collector's  chest  rather  than 
a  woman's  wardrobe.  Slowly  we  all 
seemed  to  be  blending  with  our  surround- 
ings, becoming  savage  as  these  other 
savages.  She  might  almost  have  been 
a  savage  woman.  Her  skirt  was  short, 
made  of  white  tanned  antelope  leather. 
Above  it  fell  the  ragged  edges  of  a  native 
tunic  or  shirt  of  yellow  buck,  ornamented 
with  elk  teeth,  embroidered  in  stained 
quills.  Her  feet  still  wore  a  white  woman's 
shoes,  and  perhaps  she  retained  the  hose, 
although  the  short  skirt  was  enforced  by 
native  leggins,  beaded  and  becylindered  in 
metals  so  that  she  tinkled  as  she  walked. 
Her  hair,  now  becoming  yellower  and  more 
sunburned  at  the  ends,  was  piled  under 
her  felt  hat.  The  brown  of  her  cheeks, 
already  strongly  sunburned,  showed  in 
strange  contrast  to  the  snowy  white  of  her 
neck,  now  first  exposed  by  the  low-necked 
aperture  of  the  Indian  tunic.  Her  gloves, 
still  fairly  fresh,  she  wore  tucked  through 
her  belt,  army  fashion.  I  could  see  the 
red  heart  still,  embroidered  on  the  cuff. 

"How  are  you  coming  on?"  she  said. 
"You  sit  up  nicely " 

"  Yes,  I  can  stand,  or  walk,  or  ride,"  I 
added. 

Her  wide  brown  eyes  were  turned  full  on 
me.  In  the  sunlight  I  could  see  the  dark 
specks  in  their  depths.  1  could  see  every 
shade  of  tan  on  her  face. 

"  You  are  not  to  be  foolish,"  she  said. 

"You  stand  all  this  nobly,"  I  said 
presently. 

"Ah,  you  men — 1  love  you,  you  men!" 
She  said  it  suddenly  and  with  sincerity. 
"I  love  you  all,  you  men — you  are  so 
strong,  so  full  of  the  desire  to  live,  to  win — 
it  is  wonderful,  wonderful.  Just  look  at 
our  poor  boys  there — some  of  them  dying, 
but  they  won't  whimper.  It  is  wonderful, 
wonderful!" 

"It  is  the  Plains,"  1  said.  "They  teach 
how  little  a  thing  is  life." 

"  Yet  it  is  sweet,"  she  said. 

"Very  sweet,"  I  answered.  "I  could 
not  go.  I  have  so  much  life  yet  to  live." 
I  looked  at  her  openly  now. 


"Does  the  wound  hurt  you?"  she  asked. 
"Are  you  in  pain?" 

"Yes,  Ellen  Meriwether,"  I  said.  "I 
am  in  pain.     I  am  in  very  great  pain." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "1  am  sorry!  What 
can  we  do?  What  do  you  wish?  But 
perhaps  it  will  not  be  so  bad  after  a 
while — you  will  be  over  it  soon." 

"No,  Ellen  Meriwether,"  I  said.  "It 
will  not  be  over  soon.  It  will  not  go  away 
at  all." 

We  lay  in  our  hot  camp  on  the  sandy 
valley  for  some  days,  and  buried  two  more 
of  our  men,  and  gloom  sat  on  us  all.  The 
sun  blistered  us,  the  night  froze  us.  Still 
not  a  sign  of  white-topped  wagon  from  the 
East,  nor  any  dust  cloud  of  any  troopers 
from  the  West  served  to  break  the  mo- 
notony of  the  shimmering  waste. 

At  last  we  gathered  our  crippled  party 
together  and  broke  camp,  our  wounded 
men  in  the  wagons,  and  so  slowly  passed 
westward*  up  the  trail.  We  supposed, 
what  later  proved  to  be  true,  that  the 
Sioux  had  raided  in  the  valley  on  both 
sides  of  us,  and  that  the  scattered  portions 
of  the  army  had  all  they  could  do,  while 
all  the  freight  trains  were  held  back  until 
the  road  was  clear. 

I  wearied  of  the  monotony  of  wagon 
travel,  and  weak  as  I  was,  finally^  called 
for  my  horse  and  rode  on  slowly  with  the 
walking  teams.  1  had  gone  some  dis- 
tance when  I  heard  hoofs  on  the  sand 
behind  me. 

"Guess  who  it  is,"  called  a  voice.  "Don't 
turn  your  head." 

"I  can't,"  I  answered,  "but  I  know  who 
it  is." 

She  rode  up  alongside,  where  I  could  see 
her,  and  again  I  felt  my  blood  leap  at  the 
sight  of  her.  Fair  enough  she  was  to  look 
upon.  She  was  thinner  now  with  this 
prairie  life,  browner,  and  the  ends  of  her 
hair  were  still  yellowing,  like  that  of  out- 
doors men.  She  still  was  ^  booted  and 
gloved  after  the  fashion  of  civilization,  and 
still  elsewise  garbed  in  the  aboriginal  cos- 
tume, which  she  honored  graciously. 

"You  ought  not  to  ride,"  she  said. 
"You  are  pale." 

"You  are  beautiful,"  said  I,  "and  1  ride 
because  you  are  beautiful." 

I  saw  a  sidelong  glance.  "I  do  not 
understand  you,"  she  said  finally. 

"  I  could  not  sit  back  there  in  the  wagons 


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and  think,"  said  I,  "I  knew  that  you 
would  be  riding  before  long,  and  I  guessed 
I  might  meet  you  and  talk  with  you." 

She  bit  her  lip  and  half  pulled  up  her 
horse  as  though  to  fall  back.  **That  will 
depend,"  was  her  comment.  But  we  rode 
on,  knee  to  knee. 

Her  voice  awoke  me  from  my  brooding. 
"I  wish,  Mr.  Cowles,"  said  she,  "that  if 
you  are  strong  enough  and  can  do  so  with- 
out discomfort,  you  would  come  and  ride 
with  me  each  day  when  I  ride." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Because,"  she  answered. 

"You  ought  to  tell  me,"  1  said  quietly, 

"Officer  and  gentleman!"  she  said 
smiling  slowly,  although  the  light  in  her 
eye  now  was  not  quite  so  mischievous  as 
that  I  saw  the  night  when  first  I  met  her. 
"Suppose  I  said  1  doubted  Mr.  Gordon 
Orme?" 

I  looked  on  straight  up  the  valley  and 
pondered.  Then  I  put  out  a  ^and  and 
touched  the  fringe  of  her  sleeve. 

"I  am  going  to  try  to  be  a  gentleman," 
said  I.  "But  I  wish  some  fate  would  tell 
me  why  it  is  a  gentleman  can  be  made 
from  nothing  but  a  man." 

After  that  Ellen  Meriwether  and  I  rode 
together  every  day. 

CHAPTER  XIX 
"let  the  best  man  win" 

1  need  not  speak  of  the  long  days  of  our 
slow  travel  up  the  Platte,  but  may  state 
only  that  finally  we  came  to  the  point 
where  that  shallow  stream  stretches  out 
two  arms,  one  running  to  the  mountains 
far  to  the  south,  the  other  still  stretching 
westward  for  a  time,  and  pointing  the  way 
to  the  Pacific.  Before  us  now  lay  two 
alternatives.  We  could  go  on  up  the 
Platte  to  Laramie,  or  we  could  cross  here 
and  take  what  was  then  known  as  the  old 
Ash  Hollow  Trail  on  the  north  side  of  the 
river.  Auberry  thought  this  latter  would 
give  better  feed  and  water,  and  perhaps  be 
safer  as  to  the  Sioux,  whom  he  rightly 
judged  to  be  raiding  all  this  portion  of  the 
valley. 

The  Platte  here  was  a  wide,  treacherous 
stream,  its  sandy  bottom  continuously 
shifting.  At  night  the  melted  floods  from 
the  mountains  came  down  and  rendered  it 


deeper  than  during  the  day,  when  for  the 
most  part  it  averaged  scarcely  more  than 
knee  deep.  Yet  here  and  there  at  any 
time,  undiscoverable  to  the  eye,  were 
watery  pitfalls  where  the  sand  was  washed 
out,  and  in  places  there  was  shifting  quick- 
sand, dangerous  for  man  or  animal. 

"We'll  have  to  boat  across,"  said  Au- 
berry finally.  "We  couldn't  get  the 
wagons  over  loaded."  Wherefore  we  pres- 
ently resorted  to  the  old  Plains  makeshift 
of  calking  the  wagon  bodies  and  turning 
them  into  boats.  By  noon  of  the  following 
day  our  rude  boats  were  ready  and  our 
work  began.  It  required  two  days  and  a 
half  to  transport  our  train.  Our  mounted 
people  happily  got  across  with  no  mis- 
hap, Mandy  McGovem  and  1  taking  Ellen 
Meriwether  between  us,  with  young  Bel- 
knap leading  the  way  over  the  wide  ford- 
ing. By  that  time  the  men  already  over 
had  established  camp  and  begun  their 
wastrel  fires  of  prairie  fuel. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Mandy  McGovem 
having  left  me,  perhaps  for  the  purpose  of 
assisting  her  proteg^  in  the  somewhat 
difficult  art  of  drying  buckskin  clothing, 
I  was  alone  on  the  river  bank,  idly  watch- 
ing the  half-naked  men  out  on  the  bars 
struggling  with  their  teams  and  box  boats. 
Orme  had  crossed  some  time  earlier,  and 
presently  he  joined  me  at  the  edge  of  our 
disordered  camp. 

"How  is  the  patient  getting  along?"  he 
inquired. 

1  replied,  somewhat  surlily  I  fear,  that 
thenceforth  I  intended  to  ride  horseback 
and  to  push  on  west  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  he.  "I 
was  in  hopes  that  you  would  be  disposed 
to  turn  back  down  the  river,  if  Belknap 
would  spare  you  an  escort  east."  He 
smiled  in  his  own  way,  looking  at  me 
fixedly. 

I  looked  at  him  fixedly  in  return.  "1 
don't  in  the  least  understand  why  I  should 
be  going  east,  when  my  business  lies  in 
precisely  the  opposite  direction,"  1  re- 
marked coolly. 

"Very  well,  then  1  will  make  myself 
plain,"  he  went  on,  seating  himself  beside 
me.  "Granted  that  you  will  get  well  di- 
rectly— ^which  is  very  likely,  for  the  equal 
of  this  Plains  air  for  surgery  does  not  exist 
in  the  world — I  may  perhaps  point  out  to 


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you  that  at  least  your  injury  might  serve 
as  an  explanation — as  an  excuse — ^you 
might  put  it  that  way — for  your  return. 
I  thought  perhaps  that  your  duty  lay  there 
as  well." 

"You  become  somewhat  in^rested  in 
my  affairs,  Mr.  Orme?" 

"Very  much  so,  if  you  force  me  to 
say  it." 

"I  think  they  need  trouble  you  no 
farther." 

"  I  thought  that  possibly  you  might  be 
sensible  of  a  certain  obligation  to  me/'  he 
began. 

"I  am  deeply  sensible  of  it.  Are  you 
pleased  to  tell  me  what  will  settle  this 
debt  between  us?" 

He  turned  squarely  toward  me  and 
looked  me  keenly  in  the  eye.  "1  have 
told  you.  Turn  about  and  go  home. 
There  is  every  reason  for  it." 

"I  do  not  pay  my  debts  in  that  way. 
Mr.  Orme.     I  do  not  understand  you." 

"But  I  understand  your  position  per- 
fectly." 

"Meaning?" 

"That  your  affections  are  engaged  with 
a   highly    respectable   young   lady    back 

at  your  home  in  Virginia.    Wait "  he 

raised  his  hand  as  I  turned  toward  him. 
"Meaning  also,"  he  went  on,  "that  your 
affections  are  apparently  somewhat  en- 
gaged with  an  equally  respectable  young 
lady  who  is  not  back  hoipe  in  Virginia. 
Therefore " 

He  caught  my  wrist  in  a  grip  of  steel. 
I  saw  then  that  I  was  still  weak. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  smiling  coldly.  "Wait 
till  you  are  stronger.  Let  us  talk  this 
matter  over  in  some  sensible  way.  I  have 
only  suggested  to  you  that  could  you  agree 
with  me  in  my  point  of  view  our  obligation 
as  it  stands  would  be  quite  settled." 

"Orme,"  said  I,  "your  love  is  a  disgrace 
to  any  woman." 

"Usually,"  he  admitted  calmly,  "but 
not  in  this  case.  I  propose  to  marry  Miss 
Meriwether,  and  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  do 
not  propose  to  have  anything  stand  in  my 
way." 

"Then,  by  God,  sir,"  I  cried,  "take  her, 
if  you  can.  Why  barter  and  dicker  over  a 
woman  with  another  man?  The  field  is 
open." 

"Oh,  certainly,  but  one  needs  all  his 
chances  even  in  an  open  field.     I  thought 


that  I  would  place  it  all  before  you,  know- 
ing your  situation  back  in  Virginia,  and 
ask  you " 

"Orme,"  said  I,  "why  did  you  not  kill 
me  the  other  day  when  you  could?  Your 
tracks  would  then  have  been  covered." 

"I  preferred  it  the  other  way,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  I  was  never  very  subtle,"  1  said  to  him, 
simply. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  you  are  rather 
dull.  I  dared  not  kill  you — it  would  have 
been  a  mistake  in  the  game.  I  would  have 
lost  her  sympathy.  Since  I  did  not,  and 
since,  therefore,  you  owe  me  something  for 
that,  what  do  you  say  about  it  all  yourself, 
my  friend?" 

I  thought  for  a  long  time,  my  head  be- 
tween my  hands,  before  I  answered  him. 
"That  I  shall  pay  you  some  day,  Orme. 
But  that  I  pay  no  debts  in  any  such  way 
as  you  suggest." 

"Then  it  is  to  be  war?"  he  asked  quietly. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  *'You  heard 
me." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied  calmly,  after  a 
while.  "  But  listen.  If  I  do  not  have  my 
pay  in  the  way  I  ask,  I  shall  some  day 
collect  it  in  my  own  fashion." 

"As  you  say.  We'Cowles  men  borrow 
no  fears  very  far  in  advance." 

Orme  rose  and  stood  beside  me,  his 
slender  and  elegant  figure  resembling  less 
that  of  a  man  than  of  some  fierce  creature, 
animated  by  some  uncanny  spirit,  whose 
motives  did  not  parallel  those  of  human 
beings.  "Then,  Mr.  Cowles,  you  do  not 
care  to  return  to  the  girl  in  Virginia?" 

I  smiled  at  him. 

His  long  white  teeth  sl^owed  as  he 
answered.  "Very  well,"  he  said.  "It  is 
the  game.  Let  the  best  man  win.  Shall 
it  then  be  war  between  us?" 

"Let  the  best  man  win,"  I  answered. 
"It  is  war.  " 


CHAPTER  XX 
"forsaking  all  others" 

When  finally  our  entire  party  had  been 
gotten  across  the  Platte,  it  was  for  a  time 
somewhat  disorganized,  and  even  after  we 
had  resumed  our  westward  journey  on  the 
following  day,  the  routine  of  travel  was 
broken.    Our  line  of  march  was  scattered 


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out  more  than  a  mile  across  the  low,  hilly 
country  into  which  we  presently  came. 
For  my  own  part  I  pushed  on  somewhat  in 
advance  of  the  column.  I  wished  to  be 
alone,  and  yet  1  wished  not  to  be  alone. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  I 
heard  her  horse's  feet  coming  up  behind 
me  as  I  rode.  She  passed  me  at  a  gallop, 
laughing  back  as  though  in  challenge,  and 
so  we  raced  on  for  a  time,  until  we  quite 
left  out  of  sight  behind  us  the  remainder 
of  our  party.  Ellen  Meriwether  was  an 
Army  girl,  and  a  Virginia  girl,  so  that  it 
goes  without  saying  that  she  rode  well — 
of  course  in  the  cavalry  saddle  and  with 
the  cross  seat. 

1  noticed  that  she  had  now  discarded  her 
shoes,  and  wore  the  aboriginal  costume 
almost  in  full,  moccasins  r.nd  all.  Her 
gloves  and  hat  alone  remdned  to  distin- 
guish her  as  civilized.  Even  the  long, 
heavy  hoops  which  fashionable  women  at 
that  time  wore  in  their  ears,  and  which 
heretofore  I  had  never  known  her  to  em- 
ploy, she  now  disported.  Brown  as  her 
face  was  now  becoming,  one  might,  at  a 
little  distance,  easily  have  suspected  her 
to  be  rather  daughter  of  the  Plains  than 
belle  of  civilization.  I  made  some  com- 
ment on  this.  She  responded  by  sitting 
the  more  erect  in  her  saddle  and  drawing 
a  long,  deep  breath. 

"1  think  1  shall  throw  away  my  gloves," 
she  said,  "and  hunt  me  up  some  brass 
bracelets.  I  grow  more  savage  every  day. 
Isn't  it  glorious  to  be  absolutely  wild  and 
free — isn't  it  glorious  T' 

It  so  seemed  to  me,  and  I  so  advised  her. 
"The  pity  is  that  1  must  hurry  on  to 
Laramie,"  1  added. 

"Why  must  you  hurry  so?" 

"  I  have  already  told  you  how  necessary 
it  was  for  me  to  see  your  father,  G)lonel 
Meriwether." 

"Yes,  1  remember,  about  the  coal  lands 
business.  But  tell  me,  why  did  not  your 
father  himself  come  out?" 

1  did  not  answer  her  for  a  time.  "My 
father  is  dead,"  1  replied  finally. 

I  saw  her  face  flush  in  quick  trouble  and 
embarrassment.  "Why  did  you  not  tell 
me?  1  am  so  sorry.  I  beg  your  pardon — 
1  did  not  know." 

"No,"  1  answered  quietly,  "we  Quakers 
never  intrude  our  own  griefs.  I  should, 
perhaps,  have  told  you.    We  shall  be  at 


Laramie  now  very  soon.  After  my  errand 
— ^which  my  father  with  his  last  breath 
told  me  to  perform — I  shall  go  back  to 
Virginia." 

"And  that  will  be  your  home?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  bitterly.  "1  shall  settle 
down.  I  shall  be  utterly  cheerless.  I 
have  grown  very  old  in  the  last  few  weeks. 
But  you — ^you  will  never  come  back  to 
quiet  old  Virginia,  where  plodding  fanners 
go  on  as  their  fathers  did  a  hundred  years 
ago. 

She  made  no  immediate  answer,  and 
when  she  did,  apparently  mused  on  other 
things.  "The  Plains,"  she  said,  "is  it  not 
all  wild  and  free?  For  all  one  could  tell, 
there  might  be  lions,  and  tigers,  and  camels, 
and  gazelles  out  there."  She  pointed 
vaguely  toward  the  wide  horizon.  "It 
is  the  desert,"  she  said.  "There  is  no 
law." 

We  rode  on  for  a  time,  still  silent.  I 
began  to  hum  to  myself  the  words  of  the 
old  song,  then  commonly  heard: 

*'0  come  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 
For  thee  the  jungle's  depths  I'll  rove. 
I'll  chase  the  antelope  over  the  plain. 
And  the  timer's  cub  I'll  bind  with  a  chain. 
And  the  wild  gazelle  with  the  silvery  feet 
I'll  give  to  thee  for  a  playmate  sweet." 

She  looked  aside.  I  saw  how  bright  her 
eye  was. 

"Poets,"  said  I,  "can  very  well  sing 
about  such  things;  perhaps  they  could  not 
practice  all  they  sing.    They  always " 

"Hush!"  she  whispered  suddenly,  draw- 
ing her  horse  gently  down  to  a  walk,  and 
finally  to  a  pause.    "Look  over  there." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes  and 
saw,  peering  curiously  down  at  us  from 
beyond  the  top  of  a  little  ridge  something 
like  a  hundred  yards  away,  the  head, 
horns,  and  neck  of  a  prong-horn  buck, 
standing  facing  us,  and  seeming  not  much 
thicker  than  a  knife  blade.  Her  keen  eyes 
had  caught  this  first,  my  own,  I  fancy, 
being  busy  elsewhere. 

At  once  I  slipped  out  of  my  saddle  and 
freed  the  long,  heavy  rifle  from  its  sling. 
!  heard  her  voice,  hard  now  with  eagerness. 
I  caught  a  glance  at  her  face.  She  was  no 
longer  the  girl  weeping  over  spilt  blood, 
but  a  savage  woman,  seeking  to  slay!  I 
caught  my  breath  as  I  looked  at  her. 
Civilization  had  fallen  from  her  as  but  a 
mantle. 


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"Quick!"  she  whispered.    "He'll  run." 

Eager  as  she,  but  deliberately,  1  raised 
the  long  barrel  to  line  and. touched  the  set 
trigger.  I  heard  the  thud  of  the  ball 
against  the  antelope's  shoulder,  and  had 
no  doubt  that  we  should  pick  it  up  dead. 
It  disappeared,  apparently  end  over  end, 
at  the  moment  of  the  shot. 

Springing  into  the  saddle,  I  raced  with 
my  companion  to  the  top  of  the  ridge. 
But  lo!  there  was  the  antelope,  two  hun- 
dred yards  away,  and  going  as  fast  on 
three  legs  as  our  horses  were  on  four. 

"Ride!"  she  called.  "Hurry!"  and  she 
spurred  off  at  breakneck  speed  in  pur- 
suit. 

The  prong-horn,  carrying  lead  as  only 
the  prong-horn  can,  kept  ahead  of  us,  ridge 
after  ridge,  farther  and  farther  away,  mile 
after  mile,  until  our  horses  began  to  blow 
heavily,  and  our  own  faces  were  covered 
with  perspiration.  Still  we  raced  on,  neck 
and  neck,  she  riding  with  hands  low  and 
weight  slightly  forward,  workmanlike  as  a 
jockey.  Now  and  again  I  heard  her  call 
out  in  eagerness. 

We  should  perhaps  have  continued  this 
chase  until  one  or  the  other  of  the  horses 
dropped,  but  now  her  horse  picked  up  a 
pebble  and  went  lame.  She  pulled  up  and 
told  me  to  ride  on  alone.  After  a  pause  1 
slowly  approached  the  top  of  the  next 
ridge,  and  there,  as  1  more  than  half  sus- 
pected, 1  saw  the  antelope  lying  down,  its 
head  turned  back.  Eager  to  finish  the 
chase,  1  sprang  down,  carelessly  neglecting 
to  pull  my  bridle  rein  over  the  horse's  head. 
Dropping  flat,  I  rested  on  my  elbow  and 
fired  carefully  once  more.  This  time  the 
animal  rolled  over  quite  dead.  I  rose, 
tlirowing  up  my  hat  with  a  shout  of  victory, 
and  I  heard  shrilling  to  me  across  the 
distance,  her  cry  of  exultation,  keen  as 
that  of  some  savage  applauding  her  red 
hunter. 

Alas  for  our  joy  of  victory  I  Our  success 
was  our  undoing.  The  very  motion  of  my 
throwing  up  my  hat,  boyish  as  it  was,  gave 
fright  to  my  horse,  already  startled  by  the 
shot.  He  flung  up  his  head  high,  snorted, 
and  was  off,  fast  as  he  could  go.  I  pur- 
sued him  on  foot,  but  he  would  none  of 
that,  and  was  all  for  keeping  away  from 
me  at  a  safe  distance.  This  the  girl  saw, 
and  she  rode  up  now,  springing  down  and 
offering  me  her  horse. 


"Stay  here,"  1  called  to  her,  as  I  got  up. 
"I'll  be  back  directly,"  and  then  with  such 
speed  as  I  could  spur  out  of  my  new  mount, 
I  started  again  after  the  fugitive.   * 

It  was  useless.  Her  horse,  already  lame 
and  weary,  and  further  handicapped  by 
my  weight,  could  not  close  With  the  free 
animal,  and  without  a  rope  to  aid  me  in 
the  capture  it  would  have  been  almost 
impossible  to  have  secured  him,  even  had 
I  been  able  to  come  alongside.  I  headed 
him  time  and  again,  and  turned  him,  but  it 
was  to  no  purpose.  At  last  I  suddenly 
realized  that  I  had  no  idea  how  far  I  had 
gone  or  in  what  direction. 

I  feared  I  had  lost  the  girl,  and  never  was 
more  welcome  sight  than  when  I  saw  her 
at  a  distant  ridge,  waving  her  hat.  I  gave 
up  the  chase  and  returned  to  her.  In  her 
fatigue  she  had  sunk  to  the  ground,  pant- 
ing. She  had  run  far  away  from  the  spot 
where  1  had  left  her. 

"I  was  afraid,"  she  gasped.  "I  fol- 
lowed.   Can't  you  catch  him?" 

"No,"  said  1,  "he's  gone.  He  probably 
will  go  back  to  the  trail." 

I  looked  at  her  in  anxiety.  I  had  read 
all  my  life  of  being  afoot  on  the  Plains. 
Here  was  the  reality. 

" But  you  are  hurt,"  she  cried.  "Look, 
your  wound  is  bleeding." 

I  had  not  known  it,  but  my  neck  was 
wet  with  blood. 

"Get  up  and  ride,"  she  said.  "We 
must  be  going."  But  I  held  the  stirrup 
for  her  instead,  smiling. 

"I  shall  first  lie  down  here  and  die,"  I 
said  grimly.  "Mount!"  And  so  1  put 
her  up,  and  walked  alongside. 

"Shall  we  go  back  to  camp?"  she  asked 
in  perturbation,  forgetting  that  there  was 
no  camp,  that  by  this  time  the  wagons 
would  be  far  on  to  the  west.  For  reasons 
of  my  own  1  thought  it  better  to  go 
back  to  the  dead  antelope,  and  so  told 
her. 

"It  is  over  there,"  she  said,  pointing  in 
the  direction  from  which  she  thought  she 
had  come.  I  differed  with  her,  remember- 
ing 1  had  ridden  with  the  sun  in  my  face 
when  following  it,  and  remembering  the 
shape  of  the  hilltop  near  by.  Finally  my 
guess  proved  correct,  and  we  found  the 
dead  animal,  nearly  a  mile  from  where  she 
had  waited  for  mc.  I  hurried  with  the 
butchering,  cutting  the  saddle  well  for- 

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ward,  and  rolling  it  all  tight  in  the  hide,  I 
bound  the  meat  behind  the  saddle. 

"Now  shall  we  go  bsick?"  she  asked. 
"But  which  way?  These  hills  look  all 
alike." 

"The  river  runs  east  and  west,"  I  said, 
"so  we  might  perhaps  strike  to  the  south- 
ward." 

"But  I  heard  them  say  that  the  river 
bends  far  to  the  south  not  far  from  where 
we  crossed.  We  might  parallel  the  river 
and  not  cross  it  if  we  went  straight  south." 

Our  council  was  of  little  avail,  but  we 
started  southwest  as  nearly  as  we  could 
determine  it.  Grave  anxiety  had  now 
settled  upon  me.  1  realized  that  we  would 
be  most  fortunate  if  we  saw  the  wagons 
again  that  night.  1  had  my  watch  with 
me,  and  with  this  I  made  the  traveler's 
compass,  using  the  dial  and  the  noon  mark 
to  orient  myself,  but  this  was  of  small 
assistance,  for  we  were  not  certain  of  the 
direction  of  the  compass  in  which  the  trail 
lay. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  probable 
that  we  paralleled  both  the  trail  and  the 
river  for  more  than  a  dozen  miles  that 
afternoon.  The  girl's  face  was  very  anxi- 
ous, as  now  and  again  she  watched  me 
walking  or  trotting  alongside  at  such  speed 
as  1  could  muster,  but  she  made  neither 
accusation  nor  complaint,  and  always  she 
smiled  bravely. 

I  looked  for  some  little  rivulet  which  1 
knew  must  lead  us  to  the  Platte,  but  we 
struck  no  running  water  until  late  that 
evening,  and  then  could  not  be  siire  that  we 
had  found  an  actual  water  course.  There 
were  some  pools  of  water  standing  in  a 
coulee,  at  whose  head  grew  a  clump  of 
wild  plum  trees  and  other  straggly  growth. 
At  least  here  was  water  and  some  sort  of 
shelter.  I  hesitated.  In  truth,  I  dared 
go  no  farther.  Over  in  the  west  1  saw  a 
low,  black  bank  of  clouds.  A  film  was 
coming  across  the  sky.  Every  way  I 
looked  I  could  see  no  break,  no  landmark, 
no  trend  of  the  land  which  could  offer 
any  sort  of  guidance.  1  reproached  my- 
self bitterly  that  through  my  clumsi- 
ness I  had  brought  the  girl  into  such  a 
situation. 

"Miss  Meriwether,"  I  said  to  her  finally, 
putting  my  hand  on  the  pommel  of  her 
saddle  as  we  halted,  "it*s  no  use.  We 
might  as  well  admit  it.    We  are  lost." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CLEAVING  ONLY   UNTO   HER 

• 

She  made  no  great  outcry.  I  saw  her 
bend  her  face  forward  into  her  hands. 
Now  for  the  first  time  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  I  to  her  soberly; 
"but  since  there  is  water  here  and  a  little 
shelter,  it  is  my  belief  that  we  ought  to 
stop  here  for  the  night." 

She  looked  out  across  the  gray  monotony 
that  surrounded  us,  toward  the  horizon 
now  grown  ominous.  Her  eyes  were  wide. 
Evidently  she  pondered  certain  matters 
in  her  mind.  At  last  she  turned  to  me 
and  held  out  her  hands.  I  assisted  her  in 
dismounting. 

"John  Cowles,  of  Virginia,"  she  said, 
"I  am  sorry  we  are  lost."  Then  she 
smiled  once  more.  I  understood  all  that 
she  had  not  said.  T  unsaddled  the  horse 
and  hobbled  it  securely  as  1  might  with 
the  bridle  rein.  Then  I  spread  the  saddle 
blanket  for  her  to  sit  upon,  and  hurried 
about  for  Plains  fuel.  Water  we  drank 
from  my  hat.  We  had  food.  We  needed 
only  fire.  But  this,  when  I  came  to  fumble 
in  my  pockets,  seemed  at  first  impossible, 
for  1  found  not  a  match. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  that,"  she  said,  catching 
the  meaning  of  my  look.  "What  shall  we 
do?    We  shall  starve!" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  I  stoutly.  "Wc 
are  Indians  enough  to  make  a  fire,  I 
hope." 

In  my  sheath  was  a  heavy  hunting  knife, 
and  now,  searching  about  us  on  the  side  of 
the  coulee  bank,  1  found  several  flints,  hard 
and  white.  Then  I  tore  out  a  bit  of  my 
c6at  lining  and  moistened  it,  and  saturated 
it  with  powder  from  my  flask,  rubbed  in 
until  it  all  was  dry.  This  niter-soaked 
fabric  I  knew  might  serve  as  tinder.  So 
then  1  struck  flint  and  steel,  and  got  the 
strange  spark,  hidden  in  the  cold  stone, 
ages  and  ages  there  on  the  Plains,  and 
presently  the  spark  was  a  little  flame,  and 
then  a  good  fire.  So  we  were  comfort- 
able, we  two  savages. 

We  roasted  meat  now,  flat  on  the  coals, 
the  best  we  might,  and  so  ate,  with  no  salt 
to  aid  us.  The  girl  became  a  trifle  more 
cheerful,  though  still  distant  and  silent. 
If  I  rose  to  leave  the  fire  for  an  instant 


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I  saw  her  eyes  following  me.  She  was 
afraid. 

We  needed  shelter,  and  we  had  none. 
Night  came  on.  The  great  gray  wolves, 
haunters  of  the  buffalo  herds,  roared  their 
wild  salute  to  us,  savage  enough  to  strike 
terror  to  any  woman's  soul.  The  girl 
edged  close  to  me  as  the  dark  came  down. 
But  now,  worst  of  all,  the  dark  bank  of 
cloud  arose  and  blotted  out  all  the  map  of 
the  stars.  The  sun  scarce  had  sunk  before 
a  cold  breath,  silent,  with  no  motion  in  its 
coming,  swept  across  or  settled  down  upon 
the  Plains.  The  little  grasses  t\o  longer 
stirred  in  the  wind.  The  temperature 
mysteriously  fell  more  and  more,  until  it 
was  cold,  very  cold.  And  those  pale,  heat- 
less  flames,  icy  as  serpent  tongues  played 
along  the  darkening  heavens,  and  mocked 
at  us  who  craved  warmth  and  shelter. 

Even  as  dusk  sank  upon  us,  all  the  lower 
sky  went  black.  An  advancing  roar  came 
upon  our  ears,  and  then  a  blinding  wave  of 
rain  drove  across  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
wiping  out  the  day,  beating  down  with 
remorseless  strength  as  though  it  would 
smother  and  drown  us  twain  in  its  deluge. 

It  caught  us,  that  wave  of  cold  and  dark- 
ness, and  rolled  over  us  and  crushed  us 
down  as  we  cowered.  I  caught  up  the 
blanket  from  the  ground  and  pulled  it 
around  the  girl's  shoulders.  I  drew  her 
tight  to  me  as  1  lay  with  my  own  back  to 
the  storm.  I  pulled  the  saddle  over  her 
shoulders,  with  this  and  my  own  body 
keeping  out  the  tempest  as  much  as  1  could. 
There  was  no  other  fence  for  her.  But  for 
this  she  might  have  died;  1  do  not  know. 
1  felt  her  strain  at  my  arms  first,  then  ^t tie 
back  and  sink  her  head  under  the  saddle 
flap  and  cower  close  like  some  little  school- 
fellow, all  the  curves  of  her  body  craving 
shelter,  comfort,  warmth.  She  shivered 
terribly;  I  heard  her  gasp  and  sob.  Ah, 
how  I  pitied  her! 

Our  fire  was  gone  at  the  first  sweep  of  the 
storm,  which  raged  with  heavy  feet  over 
the  floor  of  the  world.    There  came  other 


fires,  such  blazes  and  explosions  of  pale 
balls  of  electricity  as  1  had  never  dreamed 
might  be,  with  these  such  detonations  of 
pent-up  elemental  wrath  as  I  never  con- 
ceived might  have  existence  under  any 
sky.  Night,  death,  storm,  the  desert,  the 
strength  of  the  elements,  all  the  primeval 
factors  of  the  world  and  life  were  upon  us, 
testing  us,  seeking  to  destroy  us,  beating 
upon  us,  freezing,  choking,  blinding  us, 
leaving  us  scarce  animate,  proving  whether 
we  twain  were  fit  to  survive. 

As  the  rain  lessened,  and  the  cold  in- 
creased, I  knew  that  rigors  would  soon 
come  upon  us. 

"We  must  walk,"  I  said.  "You  shiver, 
you  freeze." 

"You  tremble,"  she  said.  "You  are 
cold.     You  are  very  cold." 

"Walk,  or  we  die,"  1  said  to  her,  and  so  I 
led  her  at  last  lower  down  the  side  of  the 
ravine,  where  the  wind  was  not  so  strong. 

"We  must  run,"  I  said,  "or  we  shall  die." 
I  staggered  as  I  ran.  With  all  my  soul  I 
challenged  my  weakness,  summoning  to 
my  aid  that  reserve  of  strength  I  had 
known  hitherto  each  hour  in  my  life. 
Strangely  I  felt — how  I  cannot  explain — 
that  she  must  be  saved,  that  she  was  I. 
Strange  phrases  ran  through  my  brain.  I 
remembered  one,  "Cleaving  only  unto 
her,"  and  this,  in  my  weakened  frame  of 
body  and  mind,  1  could  not  separate  from 
my  own  stem  prayer  to  my  own  strength, 
now  so  strangely  departing  from  me. 

We  ran  as  we  might,  back  and  forward 
on  the  slippery  mud,  scrambled  up  and 
down,  panting,  until  at  length  our  hearts 
began  to  beat  more  quickly,  and  the  love 
of  life  came  back  more  strongly,  and  the 
unknown,  mysterious  fire  deep  down  some- 
where, inscrutable,  elemental,  began  to 
flicker  up  once  more,  and  we  were  saved. 

Yes,  saved,  we  two  savages,  we  two 
primitive  human  beings,  the  only  ones  left 
alive  after  the  deluge;  left  alive,  to  begin 
the  world  all  over  again  under  the  world's 
ancient  scheme. 


(To  be  continued.) 


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"Truly 
True" 
Animal 
Stories 


I  have  been  drawn  into  that 
tiresome  nature  "fakir"  con- 
troversy, which  recently  had  a 
somewhat  animated  revival,  and 
1  confessed  to  boredom;  not 
because  of  the  unnatural  history 
of  any  of  the  distinguished  gen- 
tlemen of  the  "new  school";  not  that  Dr. 
Long  should  assert  his  wolf  penetrated  with 
one  snap  some  six  inches  or  so  of  flesh  and 
muscle  and  ribs  to  bite  into  the  heart  of  a 
caribou  and  thus  kill  it;  or  that  Dr.  Roberts 
sicked  the  pusillanimous  lynx  on  to  eight 
battling  wolves  to  their  dismay  and  eventual 
rout;  or  that  Thompson-Seton's  ram  was 
obviously  an  advanced  student  in  telep- 
athy. Not  for  any  of  these  things,  as  1 
say,  but  for  the  dear  illusions  they  have 
destroyed  and  the  wondering  doubts  they 
have  raised  through  the  insistence  of  their 
being  "true"  stories.  True  stories!  Of 
course  they  are  true.  Who  of  us  has 
traveled  so  far  on  life's  journey  as  to  have 
forgotten  the  truly  true  stories  of  his  tender 
years?  Who  would  forget  them  if  he 
could?  And  did  anybody  ever  even  think 
of  doubting  them  until  this  "new  school" 
appeared  to  feel  the  necessity  of  labeling  as 
truthful  incidents  the  very  interesting,  not 
to  say  remarkable  true  animal  stories  they 
were  providing  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
rising  generation.  There  always  have  been 
"true  animal  stories,"  and  I  for  one 
earnestly  hope  there  always  will  be.  What 
pray,  would  become  of  our  parental  author- 
ity in  the  house  on  certain  momentous 
occasions,  if  there  were  to  be  no  response  to 
our  hurry  call  for  the  fearsome  wolf  or  the 
big  black  bear  that  stalks  the  nursery  for- 
est, ever  ready  to  pop  out  from  behind  a 
great  tree  and  carry  off  little  boys  and  little 
girls  who  will  not  have  their  faces  washed 
before  going  down  to  see  Aunt  Sarah,  or 
who  have  refused  to  kiss  Uncle  David? 
Why  the  true  animal  story  is  the  perplexed 


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father's  life-saving  station !  And  as  for  the 
truth  of  them — has  any  one  of  you  ever 
read  the  wolf  and  bear  tales  that  hush  into 
ready  obedience  the  terror-stricken  Eu- 
ropean child?  Poor  old  black  bear,  made 
the  scalawag  of  animal  creation  in  juvenile 
eyes  with  shameless  persistence,  and  in 
truth  the  humorist  of  all  animal  kind! 

And  now  comes  this  new  school  and  in- 
sists that  we  take  their  "true"  animal  stories 
seriously  to  the  upheaval  of  all  childhood 
(as  well  as  grown-up)  tradition.  No  one 
takes  the  fish  story  seriously  (I  suppose 
soon  we  shall  have  here  also  a  new  school  of 
proclaimed  naturalists  furnishing  an  affi- 
davit with  every  true  tale  of  the  "one  that 
got  away" — spoiling  all  our  fun);  and  why 
should  we  be  made  to  change  our  wholly 
pleasurable  attitude  toward  the  time-hon- 
ored or  the  new  true  animal  story.  The 
"true"  animal  story  has  equal  rights  with 
the  "true"  fish  story;  the  new  school  pro- 
phets deny  that  hypothesis  and  affirm  that 
there  were  never  any  truly  true  animal 
stories  before  they  began  taking  their  vaca- 
tions in  the  woods,  and  that  the  fish  story 
is  ju5t  a  fish  story  and  not  a  truly  true 
story  at  all  like  the  animal  stories  of  the  new 
school. 

Now  the  founder  of  the  new 
school  and  some  of  his  earlier 
and  less  brilliant  followers 
evinced  sense  of  knowing  when 
to  leave  off  pounding  the  tom- 
toms from  the  (publishing)  house  tops,  but 
others  of  them  persist  in  demanding  that 
we  take  them  seriously;  and  that  is  why  1 
am  bored,  as  I  have  said,  for  why  rob  of 
their  chiefest  charm  the  most  delightful 
nursery  tales  to  have  been  given  children? 
Or  why  take  seriously  statements  which  are 
so  absurdly  improbable  on  the  face  of  them 
as  not  to  menace  even  the  open-eyed  cre- 
dulity of  the  kindergarten?  My  personal 
opinion  is  that  the  laugh  is  on  those  wl^[c 


It  Is 

To  Lmugh 


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have  taken  at  par  the  new  school's  estimate 
of  its  disciples;  certainly  I  have  no  thought 
of  taking  seriously  a  man  who  insults  my 
intelligence  (to  leave  knowledge  out  of  the 
question)  by  assuring  me  a  wolf  can  bite 
through  a  mass  of  matter  which  would  test 
the  long  jaws  of  a  crocodile  backed  by  an 
elephant's  strength.  Yet  that  very  state- 
ment is  received  seriously  and  discussed 
earnestly  because  of  an  extraordinary  gen- 
eral ignorance  concerning  wild  animals,  and 
because,  as  P.  T.  Barnum  so  wisely  said 
years  ago,  the  dear  public,  next  best  to 
being  a  maudlin  sentimentalist,  "loves  to 
be  fooled."  Thus  it  appears  that  the 
statements  of  some  of  the  new  school  had 
to  be  uncovered  because  the  ignorant  senti- 
mentalists on  the  boards  of  education  were 
actually  introducing  these  fake  stories  into 
the  public  schools  as  supplemental  reading 
in  natural  history!  It  seems  hardly  believ- 
able, does  it  not;  and  what  a  commentary 
on  the  fitness  of  the  educational  boards! 

It  was,  therefore,  a  public 

It  p       B  tt        service  and  a  good  service 

ToBrD«^^     J"''"  Burroughs  rendered 

,-  -       several  years  ago  when  he 

^  disclosed   as.  mendacious 

misinformation  the  stuff 
which  certain  of  the  new  school  had  labeled 
natural  history;  it  required  a  naturalist  of 
his  unimpeachable  probity  and  of  his  un- 
disputed rank  as  a  scientist  to  speak  to  the 
public  on  a  subject  of  such  educational  im- 
port. And  it  was  good  public  service,  too, 
that  the  President  did  recently  in  express- 
ing himself  so  positively  on  the  untrust- 
worthiness  of  this  fake  natural  history;  it 
was  gratifying  and  comforting,  as  1  said  at 
the  time,  that  the  voice  of  one  to  which 
every  ear  in  the  land  would  harken,  should 
be  raised  to  condemn  the  preposterous 
trash  which  was  being  put  forth  under  the 
guise  of  natural  history.  I  reiterate  my 
sentiments  here  only  because  my  indiffer- 
ence to  the  sallies  of  the  diligent  press 
agent  appears  to  have  given  him  and  those 
within  the  circumference  of  his  efforts,  the 
idea  that  my  sentiments  on  the  subje^'t  of 
fake  natural  history  and  fakirs  had  under- 
gone a  change.  The  truth  is  that  1  have 
refused  to  take  and  tried  to  keep  out  of  the 
position  of  taking  the  fake  stories  or  their 
creators  seriously;  it  seems  to  me  such  a 
waste  of  time  and  sometimes  of  temper.  I 
must  feel  that  no  intelligent  man  or  woman 


goes  to  books  like  "Wild  Animals  I  Have 
Known."  "Northern  Trails,"  or  "The 
Haunters  of  the  Silences,"  for  exact  in- 
formation as  to  the  habits  of  wild  animals, 
but  rather  to  be  entertained  by  good 
stories;  and  since  they  are  admitedly  good 
stories  for  the  greater  part,  and  thus  serve 
our  purpose,  why  need  we  bother  about 
their  natural  history  mistakes?  The  an- 
swer to  that  query  is — that  we  don't  bother 
until  the  author  oversteps  his  province  as 
an  entertainer  and  essays  the  rdle  of  in- 
structor. And  we  could  easily  overlook  mere 
misstatements,  for  no  one  expects  or  asks 
scientific  knowledge  of  one's  entertainer, 
but  for  the  fact  that  not  only  are  they 
repeated  but  put  forth  as  personal  natural 
history  discoveries.  This  type  of  romancer 
we  designate,  when  we  are  polite,  as  a 
"  nature  fakir,"  who,  of  course,  adheres  to 
his  "discoveries,"  relying  for  support  on 
easily  obtained  affidavits,  which  are  of  no 
value.  Meanwhile  he  bombards  the  press 
with  specious  open  letters,  because,  since 
he  has  no  standing  among  scientists,  his 
salvation  lies  in  mystifying  the  public  and 
in  keeping  up  the  controversy,  for  well  he 
knows  that  it  is  more  lucrative  to  be 
damned  than  to  be  ignored  in  the  nature 
fakir  trade. 


Why 
Animal 
Stories 
Sell 


But  is  it  not  an  outrage  that 
good  animal  stories  should  be 
traduced  into  manufacturing 
natural  history  which  intelligent 
folks  reject  with  derision?  Is 
it  not  a  positive  and  a  regretful 
loss  to  juvenile  literature  that 
where  the  artistic  quality  is  so  generously 
bestowed  the  genuine  fairy  or  fable  like 
character  of  these  stories  should  be  denied 
in  a  venal  endeavor  to  spirit  them  from  off 
the  nursery  book  shelf  where  they  belong 
with  Grimm,  into  the  schoolroom  where 
they  have  no  place!  This  then  is  my  griev- 
ance— that  the  best  of  animal  stories  should 
be  lost  for  indefensibly  distorted  natural 
history;  that  sham  science  should  seek  to 
disturb  our  enjoyment  of  delightful  fiction; 
that  the  author  whom  we  wish  to  remember 
with  gratitude  and  respect  for  the  genuine 
pleasure  he  has  given  us,  should  make  it  so 
difficult  for  us  to  do  so  by  proclaiming  the 
fable  to  be  fact.  We  go  to  him  for  enter- 
tainment, not  for  fact,  and  it  is  unflattering 
to  our  intelligence  that  he  so  underesti- 
mates it.    Facts  as  facts  ar^  not  what  the 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


reading  public  buys  for  entertainment; 
fable  masquerading  as  fact  is  unprofitable 
business;  and  the  reason  the  animal  stories 
of  these  gifted  authors  of  the  new  school 
have  sold  largely  is  because  their  fairy-like 
nature,  which  so  strongly  appeals  to  the 
reader's  imagination,  is  developed  with 
such  irresistible  charm.  The  reader  does 
not  want  natural  history;  he  does  not  ask 
or  care  if  the  story  is  true,  he  wants  merely 
to  be  entertained,  and  of  this  patent  fact 
all  the  members  of  the  new  school  of  animal 
story  tellers  save  only  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Long, 
appear  now  to  be  aware. 

The  rise  of  the  modem  ani- 

^.  mal  story  teller  in  America 

ompton-      ^^  ^^^  bwin  with  Thomp- 

son-Seton  as  many  assume, 
but  he  is  easily  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  them  all  and  has  employed  his 
talent  most  practicably  for  his  own  benefit, 
which  is  entirely  natural,  and  for  the  wel- 
fare of  animal  kind,  which  is  certainly 
creditable.  I  consider  he  should  share  in 
the  credit  given  for  the  more  or  less  intel- 
ligent effort  now  making  rather  generally 
throughout  the  country,  to  study  natural 
history  at  first  hand  and  attain  to  a  sym- 
pathetic understanding  of  animal  life.  The 
masterful  work  for  our  protective  legisla- 
tion, the  initiative  and  the  final  sweep  to 
victory  was  done  by  the  sportsmen  of  the 
land,  but  Thompson-Seton  played  the  sen- 
timental-spectacular part  with  his  human- 
ized trained  animals  which  caught  the 
gallery,  and  without  the  gallery  it  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  make  tenable  laws.  He 
went  well  to  the  limit  in  that  direction  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  but  we  bore  with 
him  patiently  because  he  did  not  grab  us 
by  the  throat  and  insist  that  we  ac- 
cept his  idealization  as  the  real  animal. 
Thompson-Seton  is  the  only  one  of  the  cur- 
rently prominent  animal  story  writers  with 
any  standing  in  the  natural  history  world. 
Although  it  is  true  that  when  his  first  and 
most  popular  animal  story  book — "Wild 
Animals  1  Have  Known" — appeared  about 
ten  years  ago,  he  had  had  no  field  experi- 
ence beyond  the  ranch  land  of  Manitoba; 
he  previously  had  published  a  large  book  on 
the  "Artistic  Anatomy  of  Animals."  which 
showed  the  accuracy  of  the  scientist.  Birds 
had  been  his  chief  est  study,  and  it  was  not 
until  about  1898  or  '99  that  he  made  his 
first  trip  into  the  country  of  the  big  wild 


animals,  where  he  secured  the  "atmos- 
phere" for  his  subsequent  bear,  elk,  and 
sheep  tales.  Although,  as  I  say,  Thompson- 
Seton  has  often  tried  our  patience  to  the 
breaking  point  in  his  humanizing  of  ani- 
mals, yet  it  has  been  without  new  natural 
history  claims,  and  we  have  taken  his  stories 
as  stories  for  what  they  are  worth,  wishing 
all  the  time,  however,  that  he  would 
dissemble  a  little  less  and  put  them  boldly 
forth  for  the  honest  fiction  that  they  are. 

Charles  G.  D.  Roberts,  the 
COD  second  most  popular  of  this 
R  berta  modem  school  of  animal  story 
writers,  has  not  followed 
Thompson-Seton  in  humaniz- 
ing his  animals,  and  on  that  account  I 
prefer  his  animal  fiction  and  believe  it  will 
outlive  the  oftentimes  maudlin  idealization 
of  animals  to  which  Thompson-Seton  is 
addicted.  Roberts,  however,  has  made  the 
natural  history  mistakes  which  were  to  be 
expected  of  his  rather  limited  field  exper- 
ience. We  can  overlook  these  just  so  long 
as  he  does  not  profess  to  experience  that 
which  he  has  never  known  or  heralds  his 
errors  or  the  flights  of  his  imagination  as 
new  fact  in  natural  history. 

If  I  were  called  upon  for  a  friendly  word 
of  advice  to  these  two  delightful  weavers 
of  animal  tales,  1  should  say  to  Thompson- 
Seton — (1)  study  the  actual  habit  and 
disposition  of  your  big  animals  more  closely 
and  (2)  give  us  less  of  the  human  and  more 
of  the  animal  in  all  your  stories;  humaniz- 
ing animals  has  been  worked  out.  To  Rob- 
erts 1  should  say — remain  stanch  against 
the  present  temptation  to  humanize;  don't 
work  the  vein  too  industriously  and  know 
your  animals  better  as  to  their  individual 
temper,  etc.,  as  well  as  to  their  distribution. 

The  third  author  in  point  of 
prominence  in  this  field  is  the 
^I^^""'     Rev.  Dr.  Long,  and  he  is,  to 
^     make  use  of  a  homely  expres- 
sion, the  fly  in  the  animal  story 
jam.     In  humanizing  the  animals  he  goes 
as  far,  if  not  farther  than  Thompson-Seton, 
and  he  makes  more  startling  natural  history 
mistakes  than  Roberts  ever  dreamed;  at 
first  he  permited  his  stories  to  be  taken  on 
their  face  value,  but  now  he  demands  that 
we  take  him  and  all  his  statements  seriously. 
Long  denies  that  his  animal  stories  are  fic- 
tion, like  those  of  Thompson-Seton  and 
Roberts,  but  asserts  that  they  are  true 

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records  of  either  his  personal  observation 
and  experience  afield  or  of  those  on  whose 
word  he  can  depend.  Long  denies  that  the 
extraordinary  things  he  has  written  of  ani- 
mal doings  and  habits,  are  possible  mis- 
takes of  his  eyes  or  his  ears,  but  personal 
discoveries  in  natural  history.  Long  makes 
and  remakes  positive  assertions  as  r^ards 
the  natural  history  of  both  bird  and  animal 
life  which  are  utterly  opposed  to  the  ex- 
perience and  the  observations  of  all  the 
men  who  have  had  experience  and  observa- 
tion enough  to  make  their  opinion  worthy 
of  record.  His  books  contain  statement 
upon  statement  that  prove  unfamiliarity 
with  the  animals  he  uses  as  literary  ma- 
terial. When  he  contends  that  a  wolf 
killed  a  caribou  by  "  one  quick  snap  just 
behind  the  fore  legs,  having  pierced  the 
heart  more  surely  than  a  hunter's  bul- 
let," we  know  that  he  knows  neither  the 
anatomy  of  the  caribou  nor  the  wolf 
habit ;  and  he  piles  up  evidence  of  igno> 
ranee  when  he  makes  his  wolves  diurnal 
and  "white  as  snow,"  and  his  caribou 
(most  sluggish  of  deer)  the  swiftest 
"  thing  on  earth,"  and  his  bear  hibernate 
out  of  season  to  "save  its  strength,"  and 
his  ptarmigan  hide  "<m  the  snow,"  and  his 
lynx  tumble  off  the  tree  because  of  cold 
"benumbed"  feet  and — but  why  multiply 
instances,  it  is  like  arguing  upon  that 
famous  query  as  to  whether  the  tail  wags 
the  dog  or  the  dog  wags  the  tail. 

There  is  .not  one  man  in  the  United 
States  or  in  Eastern  Canada,  where  Long 
has  gone  to  get  the  atmosphere  for  his 
stories,  of  any  scientific  or  of  any  practical 
field  experience,  and  whose  word  would 
carry  conviction,  who  will  come  forward 
and  corroborate  or  indorse  the  statements 
made  by  Long.  The  Rev.  Dr.  is  very  clever 
with  his  pen  and  conducts  an  industrious 
and  widespread  newspaper  campaign,  but 
he  has  yet  to  bring  forth  a  single  individual 
of  standing  who  will  indorse  his  natural 
history;  he  is  long  on  valueless  affidavits 
but  short  on  support  of  his  startling 
natural  history  dogma. 

Naturalists  call  Long  by  a 
Tempera-  short  and  no  gentle  term;  1, 
mental  who  have  followed  him  rather 

Nature  closer  than  he  would  believe, 
Study  and  know  him  to  be  capable 

of  trustworthy  work,  look 
upon  him  as  a  dreamer,  as  by  way  of  being 
a  psychological  phenomenon.    He  goes  in- 


to the  woods  regularly  and  has  for  several 
years,  for  a  few  weeks  every  season  mostly 
in  New  Brunswick,  and  there  he  osten- 
sibly studies  animal  life,  but  in  reality  he 
dreams  stories  that  are  based  on  something 
he  may  have  seen  or  heard  and  woven  into 
alluring  prose  by  his  exquisitely  attuned 
imagination.  Why  the  dreamer  should  mis' 
take  his  visions  for  natural  history  fact  is 
not  to  be  explained  1  am  sure  by  mere  wish 
to  deceive;  there  is  some  psychic  reason 
for  it  beyond  the  grasp  of  most  of  us, 
which  may  one  day  be  revealed.  This  is 
why  I  have  withheld  from  taking  this  dis- 
cussk>n  seriously,  believing  that  the  dreamer 
in  Long  and  his  credulity  in  accepting  the 
highly  colored  yams  of  his  guides  and  the 
Indians,  were  entirely  responsible  for  his 
many  natural  history  misstatements.  It 
is  only  now  when  dreamers  are  beginning 
to  come  to  light  on  our  boards  of  educa- 
tion and  these  fables  of  the  woods  are 
likely  to  be  given  to  our  children  as  "sup- 
plemental reading  in  natural  history"  that 
I  utter  protest.  As  fiction  the  animal 
stories  of  \jong  are  entertaining  and  have 
their  place,  but  as  "supplemental  reading 
in  natural  history,"  they  are  entitled  to 
no  serious  thought. 


Opposed  to 
Fakes 
and  Fakirs 


In  the  "fake  natural  his- 
tory" controversy  into 
which  some  of  us  have  been 
projected  by  the  indefati- 
gable interviewer,  four  have 
been  most  prominently 
placed  before  the  public  as  denouncing  the 
fictitious  statements  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Long; 
these  four  being  President  Roosevelt,  John 
Burroughs,  George  Shiras  3d,  and  the  pres- 
ent writer.  As  1  have  already  told  of  the 
field  experience  of  the  popular  animal  story 
tellers,  perhaps  a  few  words  concerning  the 
qualifications  of  these  four  to  venture  an 
opinion  on  the  subject  may  be  interesting. 

There  has  been  no  literary 

-  ,  development  in  this  country 

•f  .  during   recent   years  which 

Burroughs        ,         P  ^    .    , 

^  has  given  us  more  of  pleasure 

or  of  helpful  understanding 

than  the  popularly  written  papers  about 

nature  and  of  animals,  their  comings  and 

their  goings  and  their  doings,  and  of  those 

who  have  contributed  to  our  happiness  in 

this  respect,  Thoreau  and  Burroughs  stand 

out  as  the  two  leaders  both  in  thought  and 

in  the  printed  word.     For  forty  years  John 


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Burroughs  has  been  writing  and  none  in 
this  field  has  yet  combined  so  much  of 
literary  grace  and  scientific  truth  in  a  spirit 
so  delightful.  Mr.  Burroughs  is  seventy 
years  of  age  and  b^an  the  study  of  natural 
history  while  a  farm  boy,  and,  as  he  said  the 
other  day,  he  is  "still  studying  it."  His  field 
observations  reach  across  this  continent  to 
Alaska  and  were  extended  for  the  study 
of  birds  into  England  and  France,  Bermuda 
and  Jamaica.  He  has  camped  in  Maine 
and  in  Canada,  and  has  indeed  spent  all  his 
long  life  in  the  country  and  in  the  woods. 
He  is  not  a  hunter  and  has  had  little,  if  any, 
experience  with  big  game;  he  is  a  natural- 
ist by  birth  and  by  long  and  intelligent 
study;  the  dean  of  the  American  school 
indeed,  so  far  as  birds  and  the  smaller  ani- 
mals are  concerned. 

President  Roosevelt  is  the 
P  esid  t  closest  and  most  knowing 
-J  ,^       student  of  his  surroundings  of 

Roosevelt  i.     .      i  i.  -.i.  j 

any  hunter  I  have  either  read 

or  talked  with.  He  has  been 
a  game  killer,  but  he  is  also  by  nature  a 
nature  lover  and  a  keen  student  of  animal 
life.  Before  twenty  he  was  past  master  in 
the  birds  of  his  locality,  and  no  one  can 
read  any  of  his  hunting  books  without 
experiencing  delight  in  his  running  and 
sympathetic  and  knowing  comment  on  the 
birds  that  flit  past  him  as  he  makes  his 
stalk  or  perch  near  him  as  he  sits  in 
camp.  He  knows  the  game  animals  of 
this  country  as  few  know  them,  because 
he  is  really  a  thorough  student  of  ani- 
mal life  who  has  pursued  his  quarry  into 
the  southern  cane  brakes,  through  the 
Maine  woods,  and  across  a  large  area  of 
the  Rocky  Mountain  West. 

Mr.  Shiras  began  deer  hunting 
-  when    he  was    thirteen  in  the 

Sh^  north  of  Lake  Superior  region, 
and  has  been  in  the  field  for 
the  last  thirty-seven  consecu- 
tive seasons  following  deer,  caribou,  and 
moose  with  rifle  and  camera.  For  the  last 
fifteen  years  he  has  used  the  camera  almost 
exclusively  and  during  that  period  hundreds 
upon  hundreds  of  days  and  nights  have 
been  devoted  to  watching  for  and  studying 
the  big  game  animals  of  Michigan,  Canada 
and  Newfoundland.  No  man  has  looked 
upon  30  many  of  the  wild  animals  of  this 


America  in  their  native  state  as  Mr.  Shiras; 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say  how  many 
he  has  had  under  close  personal  observa- 
tion in  his  attempts  to  secure  photographs. 
And  with  the  exception  of  Newfoundland 
his  hunting  territory  has  been  always  in 
the  wilderness  whkh  the  gray  or  timber 
wolf  frequents. 

As  for  myself,  I  lay  no  claim 
,p.  to  scientific  knowledge,  but  I 

-  have  been  a  diligent  if  humble 

student  of  Nature's  great  book 

since  about  my  fourteenthjear. 

and  I  have  hunted  and  studied 
in  the  field  all  the  game  birds  and  animals 
of  North  America  (except  the  polar  and 
Kadiak  bears)  from  east  to  west  and  from 
north  to  south.  On  the  same  errand,  i.e., 
to  study,  rather  than  only  to  kill,  1  have 
explored  Mexico,  India,  the  East  Indies, 
the  West  Indies,  South  America,  Malay, 
and  parts  of  Siam,  Japan,  China,  and  Cen- 
tral America.  No  doubt  during  the  thirty 
years  which  cover  these  wilderness  wand- 
erings I  have  studied  as  closely,  and  seen 
and  bagged  as  many  different  kinds  of 
birds  and  animals  as  the  most  advanced 
member  of  the  new  school. 

None  of  these  four  whose  experience, 
as  you  see,  covers  a  considerable  period 
of  time  and  practically  the  whole  world, 
except  Africa,  has  ever  seen  or  heard 
tell,  outside  of  Dr.  Long's  own  account, 
of  the  remarkable  natural  history  freaks 
Dr.  Long  introduces;  moreover  none  of 
us  in  the  years  of  his  study  and  hunting 
has  seen  as  many  wolves  and  lynxes 
(among  the  sliest  of  woodland  creatures), 
as  appear  to  have  revealed  themselves  to 
the  pupils  of  the  new  school  in  as  many 
weeks. 

Take  wolves  for  instance.  President 
Roosevelt  has  seen  about  ten,  Shiras 
twelve.  Burroughs  (who  has  not  been  so 
much  in  the  big  wilderness  as  the  other 
three  of  us)  has  not  seen  one,  and  I  have 
seen  six  or  seven. 

This  is  my  say  on  the  "fake  natural 
history"  subject;  no  doubt  some  hustling 
member  of  the  new  school  will  now  pro- 
ceed to  get  the  last  word  (with  affidavit 
accompaniments)  and  he  is  welcome  to 
it;  no  man  of  real  wild  animal  experience 
and  knowledge  is  going  to  keep  up  this 
fool  controversy. 


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THE     PROFESSIONAL    AND    THE 
AMATEUR   IN   YACHT   RACING 

BY  C.  SHERMAN   HOYT 


AMONG  the  many  interesting  questions 
confronting  tne  yacht  racing  com- 
munity are  the  growth  in  the  sizes  and 
numbers  of  the  one-design  and  restricted 
classes  and  the  professional  skipper  prob- 
lem. At  first  thought  one  might  judge  that 
the  first  two  could  be  grouped  under  the 
same  head,  but  they  are  in  reality  c^uite 
different  in  their  make-up  and  in  their  in- 
fluences on  the  sport.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
all  class  racing  is  restricted  to  a  certain 
extent,  especially  imder  the  later  measure- 
ment rules,  in  that  the  rating  in  each  class 
is  limited  to  a  certain  size  determined  by 
a  combination  of  various  dimensions;  but 
what  is  here  meant  by  restricted  classes 
are  those  which  go  much  further  than 
proscribing  a  rating  limit  and  comprise 
such  as  the  "raceabouts,"  the  *'  21-footers" 
of  the  Great  Lakes  and  others  similarly 
hedged  in  with  limitations  and  penalties. 

One-design  class  racing  came  into  vogue 
a  little  over  ten  years  ago,  although  a  few 
years  earlier,  in  i8q2,  four  small  cat  boats 
were  built  bv  the  Seawanhaka  Corinthian 
Yacht  Club  tor  the  use  of  racing  members 
unfortimate  enough  not  to  own  boats  of 
their  own,  and  for  such  of  the  "rocking- 
chair  fleet"  as  were  sufficiently  ambitious 
to  wish  to  put  their  theories  to  the  practical 
test  of  an  actual  contest.  These  boats 
were  supposedly  identical  in  build  and 
sails,  and  for  many  years  were  assigned  by 
lot  and  raced  every  Saturday  afternoon: 
The  writer's  first  attempts  at  racing,  while 
still  quite  a  small  boy,  were  in  these  cats, 
and  he  has  very  vivid  recollections  of  their 
hardness  of  helm  and  their  general  im- 
reasonableness,  common  to  boats  of  this 
rig;  but  probably  one  of  the  proudest  mo- 
ments of  his  life  was  when  after  two  sea- 
sons of  persistent  but  futile  effort  he  did 
finally  manage  to  win  one  race.  It  was 
to  be  sure  owing  largely  to  a  sudden  shift 
in  the  wind,  but  one's  memory  is  rather 
apt  to  let  slide  little  details  like  that.  It 
was  in  1896  that  the  one-design  class  idea 
really  came  to  stay,  and  this  year  saw  pro- 
duced two  of  the  most  successful  classes 
that  there  have  yet  been,  so  far  as  keen- 
ness of  racing  is  concerned,  and  the  niun- 
ber  of  seasons  in  which  they  remained  on 
the  active  list.  These  two  classes  were  of 
totally  different  types  and  purposes  andf 
were  typical  of  the  two  great  divisions  into 
which  all  one-design  boats  may  be  divided. 


The  first  division  comprises  all  those  built 
purely  and  simply  for  racing  and  speed, 
among  them  no  particular  attempt  has 
been  made  to  cut  down  the  cost  or  to  make 
them  stanch  and  roomy.  They  are  as 
extreme  racing  machines  as  those  built  for 
the  open  classes,  and  their  owners  have 
simply  chosen  to  get  identically  the  same 
boats  to  insure  close  racing  and  to  make 
certain  that  each  one  will  nave  as  good  a 
chance  as  the  next,  and  also,  a  minor  con- 
sideration in  this  division,  for  the  slightly 
reduced  price  charged  by  the  builders  for 
a  number  of  boats  built  just  alike.  In 
the  second  division  speed  is  a  minor  con- 
sideration, since  the  similarity  of  the  boats 
ensures  good  racing  and  usually  a  more 
moderate  type  with  better  accommodation 
and  heavier  construction  has  been  aimed 
at,  although  in  the  desire  to  reduce  the 
cost  the  latter  desideratum  has  in  some 
instances  been  neglected. 

In  the  first  year  we  may  already  see 
these  divisions  plainly  marked.  In  this 
country  there  were  turned  out  by  Herres- 
hoff  for  members  of  the  New  York  Yacht 
Club  about  thirteen  of  the  famous  "New- 
port thirties,"  boats  of  the  most  ideal  type 
for  racing  purposes  solely  that  have  ever 
been  built  in  this  country.  In  them  no 
attempt  was  made  to  provide  any  accom- 
modation, as  they  were  intended  simply 
for  afternoon  racing,  but  they  were  ex- 
tremely fast  in  all  weathers  and  so  able 
that  tney  practically  never  were  reefed. 
Moreover,  uiey  were  beautifully  although 
lightly  constructed,  and  four  or  five  at  least 
were  still  capable  of  standing  the  strain  of 
hard  racing  after  passing  through  the 
ordeal  of  ten  seasons  of  daily  contests  of 
the  hardest  sort,  a  record  which  has  sel- 
dom if  ever  been  eaualed.  During  the 
same  year  in  England  was  produced  their 
first  and  most  successful  one-design  class, 
known  as  the  "Solent  One-design  Class." 
They  were  twenty-five  feet  on  the  load 
water  line  and  were  stanch  little  ships 
with  good  accommodations  and  moderate 
sail  plans.  While  not  very  fast  they  pro- 
vided for  their  owners  racing  of  the  closest 
and  most  interesting  sort  for  many  years, 
and  are  excellent  examples  of  the  type  of 
the  second  division.  In  this  same  year 
also,  if  I  remember  correctly,  there  was 
built  a  small  class  of  boats  in  Massachusetts 
Bay  called  "  Cohasset  1 5 -footers,"  and  from 


*  The  Editor  will  be  glad  to  receive  from  readers  any  queetumt  wilkm  ike  field  of  thu  article.  While  it  may 
he  impracticable  to  answer  them  all,  yet  $uch  inquiries  will  undoubtedly  ennmt  the  ecope  of  future  contributione 
to  ike  department.     Letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  magOMine. 


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these  three  classes  came  the  impetus  which 
has  given  us  so  many  others. 

In  1898  came  the  record  class  so  far  as 
ntimber  is  concerned  with  the  *'Seawan- 
haka  Knockabouts."  There  were  in  all 
about  forty-five  of  these  a  i -footers  built, 
and  excellent  little  boats  they  were,  save 
that  too  great  a  stress  was  laid  on  keeping 
their  cost  down,  and  their  construction  was 
not  all  that  might  have  been  desired.  Many 
are  still  racing,  however,  and  they  are  fre- 
auently  to  be  met  with  anywhere  along 
tne  coast  from  Buzzard  Bay  to  the  Dela- 
ware. The  writer  had  four  years'  experi- 
ence with  one,  and  was  caught  in  more  bad 
weather  and  in  more  tight  places  than  he 
ever  hopes  to  meet  with  again  in  a  boat 
of  that  size,  and  yet  never  had  any  cause 
to  complain  of  the  behavior  of  the  boat. 
From  this  year  on  scarcely  a  season  has 
passed  without  one  or  two  new  one-desigjn 
classes  making  their  bow,  both  here  and  m 
Great  Britain,  ranging  in  size  from  the  big 
70-footers  Yankee,  Mineola,  Rainbow,  and 
Virginia;  the  schooners  Elmina  I  and 
Muriel;  down  through  the  sixties  Weeta- 
moe  and  Neola;  the  fifties  AUair  and  Shark; 
the  **Bar  Harbor  thirty-ones";  the  "Buz- 
zard Bay,"  and  *'  New  York  Yacht  Club 
thirties";  the  ** American"  and  **Larch- 
mont  raceabouts,"  the  ** Buzzard  Bay," 
** Newport"  and  **Seawanhaka  fifteens," 
and  others  too  numerous  to  mention  down 
to  the  diminutive  dories.  The  majority 
have  given  successful  racing,  and  with  a 
few  exceptions  where  the  boats  were  of 
markedly  poor  design  or  construction  the 
classes  have  held  together  for  several 
seasons  and  the  boats  maintained  a  fair 
marketable  value. 

There  seems  to  be  no  diminution  in  this 
tendency  toward  one-design  classes,  and 
the  coming  season  is  to  see  the  advent  of 
a  new  class  with  three  new,  large  Herres- 
hoff  sloops,  all  for  owners  who  have  owned 
one-desi^  boats  before.  It  is  often  asked 
if  this  tendency  is  good  for  the  sport,  and 
many  argtmients  have  been  advanced  pro 
and  con.  Those  in  favor  claim  that  they 
get  their  boats  cheaper  and  that  they 
maintain  their  values  better;  both  of  which 
are  undoubtedly  true.  A  single  craft 
built  in  the  open  class  costs  more  originally, 
and,  tmless  she  prove  the  champion,  is  only 
marketable  at  a  greatly  reduced  price; 
moreover,  even  if  she  be  the  fastest,  there  is 
always  the  danger  of  her  being  outbuilt  in 
the  following  year,  while  the  one-design 
always  has  ner  sisters  left  to  race  with. 
Then  the  one-desi^  adherents  argue  that 
their  boats,  not  bemg  built  solely  for  speed, 
have  better  accommodations  and  are  more 
strongly  constructed;  but  this  has  not 
always  proved  true,  notably  in  the  case 
of  tne  seventies"  as  originally  turned 
out,  all  of  which  had  to  be  largely  rebuilt 
at  the  end  of  the  first  season,  and  in  the 
case  of  a  class  of  2  5 -footers  who  gave  all 
concerned  with  them  no  end  of  trouble. 
It  also  is  claimed  that  one-design  classes 


furnish  much  the  closest  racing,  but  this 
is  open  to  considerable  argument.  In  the 
first  place  the  boats  rarely  are  equally  well 
hanoled,  and  as  the  latter  also  usually 
means  the  best  and  most  intelligent  care 
of  sails,  rig,  bottom,  etc.,  the  boat  in  the 
best  hands  generally  comes  out  at  the  end 
of  the  season  a  pretty  easy  winner.  In 
most  classes  it  is  customary  to  find  one  or 
two  boats  fighting  it  out  all  through  the 
season,  with  the  also  rans"  picking  up  a 
race  now  and  then  largely  through  luck. 

Aside  from  and  even  of  more  impor- 
tance than  the  question  of  actual  hand- 
ling during  the  race,  the  care,  time,  and 
money  bestowed  on  the  sails,  bottom,  etc., 
is  an  invaluable  element  in  the  winning  of 
races  in  a  one-design  class.  This  has  often 
been  carried  to  sucn  an  extreme  that  there 
are  several  instances  in  which  fine  classes 
have  been  ruined  by  the  lavish  expenditure 
on  sails,  etc.  by  the  wealthier  owners,  and 
the  tendency  lately  has  been  to  limit  the 
number  of  suits  of  sails  and  haul-outs  to 
be  allowed  to  each  boat  in  the  course  of 
the  season.  At  best,  the  slightest  falling 
off  from  the  top  of  condition  is  so  quickly 
discernible  that  in  the  struggle  to  keep  at 
the  height  of  form  it  is  necessary  to  spend 
more  money  in  a  one- design  class  than  in 
an  open  class,  and  this  prolSibly  in  a  couple 
of  seasons  more  than  offsets  the  lower 
initial  outlay. 

Unquestionably  the  raison  d'etre  for 
most  one-design  classes  has  been  dissatis- 
faction with  the  measurement  rules,  but 
now  that  we  have  a  new  rule  whose  ad- 
herents claim  that  it  gives  excellent  promise 
of  producing  boats  of  a  desirable  type,  it 
seems  very  tmforttmate  that  the  most  im- 
pKjrtant  new  class  for  the  comin^f  season, 
the  three  Herreshoff  5  5 -raters  bemg  built 
for  Messrs.  Vanderbilt,  Lippitt  and  P)m- 
chon,  should  be  one-design,  and  more  or 
less  like  a  confession  that  what  proved  to 
be  the  fastest  boats  built  last  year  to  the 
new  rule  are  not  what  are  wanted.  If 
our  present  measurement  formula  is  not 
a  success  it  would  be  well  to  know  it  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  while  it  is  imdoubt- 
edly  hard  on  owners  to  have  their  new 
boats  looked  at  more  or  less  as  suitable 
subjects  for  experiment  it  would  unques- 
tionably be  better  for  the  sport.  Probably 
this  is  the  gist  of  the  whole  question :  that 
one-design  Boats  and  racing  give  the  great- 
est satismction  to  the  average  owner,  while 
open  classes  would  be  more  pleasing  to  the 
designers  and  prove  more  beneficial  to  the 
general  advancement  of  the  sport  of  yacht 
racing.  As  it  is  the  owners  who  foot  the 
bills  probably  one-design  classes  will  con- 
tinue in  favor. 

Restricted  classes  also  owe  their  exist- 
ence to  dissatisfaction  with  the  boats 
produced  under  the  open  and  unfettered 
rule.  Where  these  restrictions  have  been 
wise  they  have  given  the  most  satisfactory 
results  of  any  of  our  smaller  racing  classes, 
notably   in   the   cases    of    the  raceabouts 


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and  the  1 8-foot  knockabouts.  Among  these 
the  racing  has  always  been  very  close,  and 
the  same  boats  have  in  many  instances 
stayed  at  or  near  the  top  of  their  classes 
for  several  years  nmning.  The  "  Newport 
thirties/*  mentioned  tmder  one-design 
classes,  were  originally  started  as  a  re- 
stricted class,  but  the  Herreshoff  boats 
which  were  all  alike  proved  so  much  supe- 
rior to  the  others  that  the  latter  soon 
dropped  out  and  it  became  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  simply  a  one-design  class; 
the  same  thing  applies  to  the  '*Larchmont 
twenty-ones,"  originally  a  very  large  class 
built  a  few  years  before  the  thirties,  and 
four  HerreshoflF  members  of  which  are 
still  racing,  but  for  about  the  last  ten  years 
as  one-design  boats.  To  my  mind  such 
racing  is  just  as  satisfactory  to  owners  and 
much  more  beneficial  to  the  sport  than 
that  furnished  by  one-design  classes. 

Last  season  the  prominent  restricted 
class  was  the  "  Sonderklasse."  These  little 
boats  were  built  for  racing  with  the  Ger- 
mans for  the  Roosevelt  Cup,  and  con- 
formed to  German  restrictions  which  were 
not  very  well  adapted  for  our  waters. 
While  tney  will  imdoubtedly  continue  to 
be  raced  so  long  as  the  international  races 
remain  a  feature  they  will  probably  cease  to 
fig^ire  on  our  racing  lists  when  deprived  of 
this  fostering  influence.  The  coming  sea- 
son is  to  see  an  augury  of  much  more  nope- 
ful  times  in  the  advent  of  several  boats 
built  under  the  Universal  Rule  with  some 
additional  and  well  timed  scantling  re- 
strictions for  the  "Q"  or  22  -rater  class. 
These  new  boats  with  those  already  in  ex- 
istence in  this  class  will  form  a  fine  little 
fleet  in  which  eight  or  nine  different  de- 
signers will  be  represented,  and  some  data 
of  real  value  should  be  forthcoming  as  to 
the  merits  or  demerits  of  our  new  rule 
when  applied  to  boats  of  this  size. 

Another  point  of  vital  interest  to  owners 
of  large  racing  yachts  is  the  question  of 
professional  skippers.  With  each  passing 
year  the  problem  of  sailing  masters  and 
paid  hands  becomes  more  acute.  Wages 
have  increased,  prize  money  and  even 
starting  money  has  become  a  large  item 
in  the  season's  expenses,  and  owners  are 
more  and  more  at  tne  mercy  of  their  crews. 
Forttmately  the  professional  helmsman 
has  become  a  thing  of  the  past  in  the 
smaller  boats,  and  the  tendency  all  along 
the  line  is  imquestionably  for  more  owners 
to  sail  their  own  craft  or  to  hand  the  wheel 
over  to  some  other  amateur.  It  is  no 
longer  possible  to  see  a  small  yacht  turned 
over  to  a  professional  for  the  season  as 
used  to  be  tne  case  in  the  early  days  of  the 
"Newport  thirties,"  but  some  of  the  large 
yachts  still  come  pretty  close  to  being 
owned  by  their  skippers,  and  their  owners 
when  on  board  are  more  like  privileged 
guests  than  anything  else.  There  are 
several  instances  where  yachts  are  much 
more  commonly  referred  to  as  So  and  So's 
boat,  giving  the  name  of  the  sailing  master 


rather  than  that  of  the  man  who  occasion- 
ally sails  on  board  and  who  loots  all  the 
bills. 

A  sailing  master  is  of  course  a  necessity 
to  engage  and  look  after  the  crew,  and  to 
attend  to  the  thousand  and  one  details  in- 
volved in  the  maintenance  and  running 
of  a  large  yacht,  but  is  it  essential  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  sail  the  boat  in  her 
races?  Many  quarrels  and  much  hard 
feeling  has  been  occasioned  by  the  sharp 
practices  which  some  of  these  professionals 
nave  been  found  guilty  of  indulging  in. 
Not  so  long  ago  an  owner  voluntarily  re- 
signed all  rights  to  every  prize  whicn  his 
boat  had  won  during  that  summer,  and 
they  were  many,  because  it  was  found  at 
the  end  of  the  season  that  his  skipper  had 
been,  contrary  to  the  rules,  surreptitiously 
changing  her  trim.  The  reputations  of 
these  men  are  at  stake,  and  the  size  of  the 
salary  that  they  can  command  in  future 
seasons  is  dependent  upon  the  success  with 
which  they  bring  their  charges  through  the 
racing  schedule.  Their  victories  are  her- 
alded by  the  daily  press,  and  they  become 
willing  to  go  to  extremes  and  to  take 
chances  with  the  letter  when  most  ama- 
teurs would  hesitate  at  breaking  the  spirit 
and  intent  of  a  rule.  Is  it  not  time  that 
they  were  forbidden  the  helms  of  the  larger 
crait  as  they  have  been  the  smaller?  The 
initiative  must  come  from  the  owners,  or 
at  least  their  full  consent  must  be  ob- 
tained, and  let  us  take  a  look  at  their  side 
of  the  question. 

Large  yacht  racing  is  so  much  of  a  busi- 
ness tnese  days  and  events  are  so  many 
and  close  together  that  it  is  not  often  that 
an  owner  can  find  the  time  to  attend  all 
races  in  person,  even  if  it  be  his  wish  always 
to  sail  his  own  boat.  He  finds  himself 
greatly  sought  after  by  regatta  com- 
mittees anxious  to  have  his  boat  appear  at 
their  starting  lines;  valuable  prizes  are 
dangled  before  his  eyes,  and  all  sorts  of 
influences  are  brought  to  bear  to  persuade 
him  to  start  his  boat.  He  is  anxious  to 
maintain  his  boat's  good  record;  he  is 
paying  his  skipper  a  princely  salary,  and 
so  he  turns  her  over  to  the  latter  when  oc- 
casions come,  on  which  it  is  impossible  to 
attend  the  race  in  person.  This  is  one 
class  of  owner,  and  it  is  with  such  as  these 
that  a  rule  barring  professionals  would 
meet  with  the  least  opposition. 

Then  come  those  owners  who  are  not 
very  expert  helmsmen  and  who  realize 
their  limitations;  they  might  perhaps  like 
to  sail  their  own  boats,  but  above  all  are 
anxious  to  win.  They  are  in  many  cases 
fine  sportsmen,  and  good  sailormen,  but 
do  not  possess  the  faculty  of  being  able  to 
get  the  most  out  of  a  boat  in  a  race  and 
there  are  many  such.  A  man  of  this  type 
is  proud  of  his  yacht,  jealous  of  her  repu- 
tation, fond  of  the  excitement  of  a  keen 
brush,  and  in  his  desire  to  be  in  first  at  the 
finish  he  hires  the  best  talent  available  and 
turns  his  craft  over  to  the  skipper  for  the 


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racing,  although  he  may  often  handle  her 
himself  most  of  the  time  when  cruising. 
Now  and  then  he  may  try  his  hand  in  a 
race,  if  so  his  skipper  is  liable  to  have  his 
feelings  injured  and  may  leave  him.  Even 
if  the  latter  has  no  objections  there  is  al- 
most sure  to  be  trouble  with  the  crew,  who 
see  their  usual  fat  prize  money  fading 
away  and  are  not  to  oe  consoled  with  the 
much  smaller  starting  bonus;  they  be- 
come surly  and  demoralized  and  may  well 
lose  the  race  for  him  through  their  reluc- 
tance to  execute  his  commands  promptly; 
they  may  be  seen  shaking  their  heads  and 
whispering  that  the  captain  would  never 
have  done  that,  as  they  criticise  every 
move  that  he  makes.  Even  if  he  manages 
to  pull  out  a  victory,  if  it  is  by  a  smaller 
margin  than  usual  the  crew  don't  like  it, 
as  there  is  nothing  that  pleases  the  average 
paid  band  more  than  a  hollow  and  ea§y 
win,  a  really  close  and  grueling  race  has 
no  attractions  for  them.  Often  at  the  end 
of  a  losing  race  they  give  notice  in  a  body 
and  have  to  be  humored  and  cajoled  into 
a  better  frame  of  mind  by  the  promise 
of  higher  pay  and  bigger  bonuses.  Such 
owners  also  could  probably  be  brought 
arotmd  to  barring  professionals. 

The  main  opposition  comes  from  those 
who  go  into  yachting  late  in  life,  some  for 
advertisement,  some  because  it  is  the 
fashionable  thing  to  do,  and  others  who  are 
just  talked  and  persuaded  into  racing  by 
their  friends  and  clubmates.  They  may 
be  ambitious  to  hold  some  high  club  office; 
they  build  a  racing  craft,  enter  her  for  every 
race  that  is  open  to  her  and  shortly  there 
is  a  new  commodore.  Then  there  is  the 
Americans  Cup   bugaboo^       If  we   debar 


professional  helmsmen  in  our  ordinary  re- 
gattas, where  will  the  training  come  for  the 
men  who  are  to  sail  our  boats  in  the  con- 
tests for  the  "  blue  ribbon  "  of  the  yachting 
world?     What  is  to  hinder  amateurs  from 
sailing  these  races  as  well?     The  British 
would  never  agree  to  it.     Very  possibly, 
but  are  there  not  several  amateurs  -who 
have  succeeded  in  making  it  exceedingly 
interesting  to  say  the  least  for  these  same 
skippers   of   international    contest    fame? 
Examine  the  records  of  the  ** seventies/* 
the  "sixties,"  the  big  schooners  and  all  the 
other  classes  in  which  our  big  racing  ama- 
teurs have  been  bold  enough  to  sail  their 
own  boats  and  see  if  they  have  not  captured 
their  fair  share  of  the  prizes.     They  may 
at   times  have  worked  a  little   together 
against  their  professional  opponents,  and 
they  may  not  all  be  in  the  same  class  with 
Charlie  Barr,   for  geniuses  are  not   bom 
every  day,  but  even  so  the  latter  has  fre- 
quently had  to  look  sharply  to  his  laurels. 
Was  not  the  Canada  Cup  a  few  years  ago 
snatched  at  the  last  instant  from  recapture 
by  an  amateur?     That  the  American  rep- 
resentative would  be  at  a  disadvantage  so 
far  as  handling  was  concerned  is  not  to  be 
believed  if  such  men  as  Maxwell,  Lfppitt, 
or  Hanan  were  at  the  wheel.     Make  ama- 
teur   helmsmen    compulsory,   and    in    all 
probability  several  others  would  come  to 
the  fore  given  the  opportunities  that  they 
would  then  have.     Good  sailing  masters 
would   still   be   in   demand   just   as   good 
mates,  topmen  or  quartermasters  are  now, 
but    the   owners   would    come   nearer    to 
being  actually  in  command  of  their  own 
craft  and  our  racing  would  be  cleaner  and 
healthier  all  the  way  through. 


THE  QUALITY   OF  A   BIRD    DOG'S 

NOSE 


BY  C   B.   WHITFORD 


NEITHER  scientist  nor  sportsman  has 
ever  been  able  to  understand  much 
more  of  the  marvelous  qualitjr  of  a  bird 
dog's  nose  than  the  fact  that  it  is  a  sense  so 
exquisite  that  it  passes  the  wisdom  of  the 
best  minds.  We  know  something  of  the 
wonderful  power  and  delicacy  of  this  organ 
from  actual  demonstration,  but  how  this 
sense  can  accomplish  the  things  which  it 
does,  is  one  of  the  unsolved  mysteries. 

The  wonder  is  that  a  setter  or  pointer, 
galloping  over  a  field  at  a  pace  of  say  ten 
miles  an  hour,  can  catch  the  scent  of  so 
small  a  bird  as  a  guail,  lying  snugly  in  the 
thick  grass  at  a  distance  of  more  than  ten 
yards.     But  that  is  the  simplest  part  of 


the  performance.  The  instant  the  dog's 
nose  feels  the  scent  he  determines  several 
things  of  importance.  First,  he  knows 
with  the  speed  of  a  flash  that  the  scent  is 
that  of  a  quail.  Then  he  knows  that  it  is 
the  scent  of  a  single  bird  instead  of  a 
covey.  He  must  know,  too,  in  order  to  be 
successful  in  his  craft  that  it  is  the  body 
scent  instead  of  the  foot  scent.  This  is 
essential,  for  the  high  class  setter  or  pointer 
stifiFens  instantly  to  a  point  when  he  feels 
the  body  scent  of  a  game  bird,  whereas  he 
does  not  stop  or  dwell  on  the  foot  scent. 
Of  course,  there  may  be  a  great  variety  of 
odors  in  the  air  when  the  dog  stops  to  his 
point.     There  are  odors  from  live  and  dying 


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vegetation,  odors  from  organic  matter  of 
many  kinds.  Scent  of  small  birds  which 
may  be  flitting  about  him.  These  with 
the  body  scent  and  the  foot  scent  of  the 
quail  must  make  a  great  variety  of  scents 
tnat  touch  the  dog's  nose.  Yet  out  ol  ill 
these  he  must  pick  the  body  scent  with  the 
quickness  of  an  electric  spark  and  step  like 
a  flash  to  a  stanch  point.  And  there  he 
will  stand  like  a  statue  while  the  bird  lies 
still.  Should  the  bird  run,  his  nose  tells 
him  of  the  first  move  the  bird  makes.  He 
breaks  his  point  and  stealthfully  he 
*' draws"  after  the  running  bird.  When 
the  bird  stops,  again  he  stiffens  into  a 
point,  and  this  is  broken  once  more  if  the 
bird  moves.  All  the  while  the  dog  is  per- 
haps ten  or  fifteen  yards  from  the  bird  he 
cannot  see.  If  the  bird  were  in  plain  view 
all  the  time,  the  dog's  eyes  could  not  keep 
his  mind  better  informed  of  the  bird  s 
movements  than  does  his  wonderful  nose. 

Meanwhile  there  are  other  psychical 
forces  that  are  busy  in  response  to  the 
varying  degrees  and  different  kinds  of 
scents  that  touch  the  bird  dog's  nose.  His 
flexible  emotions  are  moved  to  an  expres- 
sion easily  interpreted  bv  the  sportsman. 
Through  the  medium  of  his  style  when  on 
game  the  bird  dog  expresses  his  feelings 
with  great  accuracy,  so  that  the  sportsman 
who  is  watching  him  may  know  just  what 
is  going  on  in  his  mind.  It  is  the  bird  dog's 
language.  He  is  telling  in  his  own  clear 
way  all  that  there  is  to  tell  about  the  kind 
of  bird  with  which  he  is  dealing  and  what 
the  bird  is  doing.  No  one  could  express 
thoughts  and  feelings  more  clearly  in  words 
than  the  bird  dog  expresses  his  emotions 
through  his  style. 

When  the  bird  dog  crosses  the  trail  of  a 
running  covey  of  birds,  he  will  give  expres- 
sion to  his  recognition  of  the  foot  scent  by 
a  quick  wag  of  his  tail,  and  may  put  on  a 
general  air  of  animation.  But  he  will  not 
stop  to  point  if  he  is  a  high-class  dog.  In- 
stead he  will  whirl  about  and  either  "road" 
toward  the  birds  cautiously  or  he  will 
** quarter"  up  toward  them  until  he  feels 
the  body  scent,  and  he  will  go  toward  the 
birds  instead  of  taking  the  back  track. 

How  does  he  know  instantly  he  crosses 
the  trail  which  is  the  heel  and  which  is  the 
toe  of  the  trail  ? 

No  man  is  wise  enough  to  tell. 

We  know  that  the  wise  setter  or  pointer 
will  turn  the  right  way,  although  the  scent 
may  come  to  him  stronger  from  the  back 
track  than  from  the  direction  in  which  the 
birds  went.  It  may  happen  that  the 
birds  went  down  wind;  in  such  an  event 
the  scent  would  be  blown  in  the  dog's  face 
from  the  back  track.  Still  he  does  not 
falter.  He  knows  in  some  mysterious  way 
the  direction  from  which  the  birds  came 
and  the  direction  in  which  they  went. 

The  dog  in  roading  the  hot  trail  made  by 
a  covey  of  fifteen  quails  has  comparatively 


easy  work  in  good  scenting  weather.  But 
witn  his  nose  full.of  the  foot  scent  he  is  still 
able  to  detect  the  body  scent  the  instant 
he  gets  within  proper  distance  of  the  birds. 
He  knows  when  the  birds  are  still  and  he 
indicates  it  by  pointing. 

The  wonder  is  not  alone  that  the  setter 
or  pointer  can  do  these  things  at  all,  but 
the  more  marvelous  part  of  it  is  that  he 
does  them  so  quickly  and  accurately. 

How  is  the  setter'or  pointer  to  tell  with 
absolute  certainty,  as  quick  as  the  opera- 
tion of  a  thought  the  difference  between 
the  scent  of  a  bird  just  killed  and  a  live 
bird! 

The  dog  marks  the  fall  of  the  bird  when 
the  sportsman's  gun  cracks.  To  order  he 
rushes  for  the  bird.  When  he  gets  near  the 
fallen  bird  his  nose  tells  him  its  location. 
He  does  not  stop  to  point  as  he  would  at 
the  scent  of  a  live  bird,  but  marches 
straight  to  it  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. 

Had  there  been  a  live  bird  close  to  where 
the  dead  bird  fell,  he  would  have  caught 
the  scent  of  that  and  pointed. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  wounds 
on  a  freshly  killed  bird  would  serve  to  in- 
form the  aog's  nose.  But  this  is  not  so, 
for  when  a  fallen  bird  is  only  wounded 
instead  of  killed  the  dog  recognizes  the 
fact  from  the  scent  and  instead  of  going 
direct  to  the  bird  and  picking  it  up,  he 
pauses  and  by  his  style  makes  it  laiown 
that  the  bird  is  only  wounded. 

There  is  really  very  little  difference  be- 
tween the  scent  that  comes  directly  off  the 
body  of  a  bird,  and  the  scent  left  by  a 
covey  that  has  roosted  in  the  thick  grass 
and  weeds  over  night.  To  the  minas  of 
all  men  it  would  appear  that  a  covey  of 
fifteen  birds,  huddled  close  together  for  a 
night  would  leave  a  strong  body  scent  in 
their  bed ;  so  strong  that  the  keenest  dog 
could  not  detect  the  difference.  But  the 
wise  setter  or  pointer  with  a  discriminating 
nose  does.  He  may  pause  at  the  roost  that 
the  covey  has  just  left,  but  he  will  not  make 
a  stanch  point.  He  will  go  on  and  find  the 
birds  before  he  does  that. 

Of  course  there  are  many  good  setters 
and  pointers  which  do  not  perform  as 
accurately  as  is  herein  set  forth.  They  lack 
both  in  power  and  in  discriminating  nose 
qualities.  Then  again  there  is  a  great  dif- 
ference in  the  degree  of  judgment  these  dogs 
show,  just  as  there  is  a  difference  in  tne 
speed  and  accuracy  with  which  their  in- 
stincts work.  But  the  highly  bred,  highly 
developed  wise  setter  or  pointer  has  a 
knowledge  of  scents  which  passes  our 
comprehension.  We  know  the  marvelous 
quality  of  the  bird  dog's  nose,  because  we 
have  seen  demonstrations  of  that  quality, 
but  we  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  under 
stand  this  quality  any  more  than  we  can 
conceive  of  a  primitive  atom  or  the  bounds 
of  space. 


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A  FEW  "HITCHES"   IN    HORSE 

PACKING 

BY   STEWART   EDWARD   WHITE 


THE    miner's    hitch 

THIS  hitch  is  very  much  on  the  same 
principle  as  hitches  described  in  a  pre- 
ceeding  paper;  but  is  valuable  when  you 
happen  to  be  provided  with  only  a  short 
rope,  or  a  cinch  with  two  rings,  instead  of  a 
ring  and  a  hook. 

Take  your  rope — with  the  cinch  un- 
attached— by  the  middle  and  throw  it 
across  the  pack.  Make  a  half  hitch  over 
either  kyaclc.  These  half  hitches,  instead 
of  running  around  the  sides  of  the  kyacks, 
as  in  the  last  hitch,  should  run  around  the 
top,  bottom,  and  ends  (see  diagram). 
Thrust  bight  (6)  through  cinch  ring,  and 
end  (o)  through  the  bight.  Do  the  same 
thing  on  the  other  side.     Make  fast  end  o 


^^ 


The  Miner's  Hitch. 


at  c,  and  end  d  at  e,  cinching  up  strongly 
on  the  bights  that  come  through  the  cincfa 
rings. 

THE    LONE    PACKER   HITCH 

This  is  a  valuable  hitch  when  the  kyacks 
are  heavy  or  knobby,  because  the  last  pull 
lifts  them  away  from  the  horse's  sides.  It 
recjuires  at  least  forty  feet  of  rope.  I  use 
it  a  great  deal. 

Cinch  up  with  the  jam  hitch  as  usual. 
Throw  the  end  of  the  rope  across  the  horse 
under  the  forward  end  of  the  kyack  on  the 
far  side,  beneath  it  and  up  over  the  rear 
end  of  the  kyack.  The  rope  in  all  other 
hitches  binds  against  the  bottom  of  the 
kyacks;  but  in  this  it  should  pass  between 
the  kyack  and  the  horse's  side  (Fig.  i). 
Now  bring  a  bight  in  loose  end 
(o)  forward  over  rope  (c),  and 
thrust  it  through  under  rope 
(c)  from  front  to  back  (Fig. 
2).  Be  sure  to  get  this  right. 
Hold  bight  (6)  with  left  hand 
where  it  is,  and  with  the  other 
slide  end  a  down  along  rope  (c) 
until  beneath  the  kyack  (Fig. 
3).  Seize  rope  at  d  and  pull 
hard  directly  back;  then  pull 
cinchwise  on  a.  The  first  pull 
tightens  the  pack;  the  second 
lifts  the  kyacks.  Carry  end  (a) 
across  the  pack  and  repeat  on 
the  other  side.  Fasten  finally 
anywhere  on  top.  Fig.  4  shows 
one  side  completed,  with  rope 
thrown  across  ready  for  tne 
other  side  Fig.  5  is  a  view 
from  above  of  the  hitch,  com- 
pleted except  for  the  fastening 
of  end  a. 

A    MODIFICATION 

In  case  you  have  eggs  or 
glassware  to  pack,  spread  your 
tarp  on  the  horse  twice  as  long 
as  usual.  Cinch  up  with  the 
jam  hitch,  lay  your  eggs,  etc., 
atop  the  rope;  fold  back  the 
canvas  to  cover  the  whole,  and 
then  throw  the  *'lone  packer," 
placing  one  rope  each  side  the 
package  (Figs.  6  and  7). 

THE    SQUAW    HITCH 

Often  it  may  happen  that 
you  find  yourself  possessed  of 


758 


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Lone  Packer  Hitch. 

a  rope  and  a  horse,  but  nothing  else.  It  is 
quite  possible  to  pack  your  equipment  with 
only  these  simple  auxiliaries. 

Lay  vour  tarp  on  the  ground,  fully  spread. 
On  half  of  it  pack  your  effects,  striving 
always  to  keep  them  as  flat  and  smooth  as 
possible.  Fold  the  other  half  of  the  can- 
vas to  cover  the  pack.  Lay  this  thick 
mattress-like  affair  across  the  horse's  bare 
back,  and  proceed  to  throw  the  squaw 
hitch,  as  follows: 

Throw  a  double  bight  across  the  top  of 
the  pack  (Fig.  i).  Pass  end  a  under  the 
horse  and  through  loop  c;  and  end  6 
under  the  horse  and  through  loop  d.  Take 
both  a  and  b  directly  back  under  the  horse 
again,  in  the  opposite  direction,  of  course, 


ng^s- 


Fig.  7 

and  pass  both  through 
loop  e.  Now  cinch  up  on 
the  two  ends  and  fasten. 

SLING   NO.    I 

When  you  possess  no 
kyack    but    have  some 
sort  of  pack  saddle,  it 
is  necessary  to  improvise  a  sling. 

Fasten  tne  middle  of  your  rope  by  means 
of  two  half  hitches  to  the  front  of  the  pack 
saddle  (Fig.  i).  Throw  the  ends  (6,  6), 
crossed  as  shown  in  Fig.  2.  Place  the  box 
or  sack  in  bight  (o),  passing  the  rope 
around  the  outside  and  the  ends,  as  m 
Fig.  3.  The  end  of  the  sack  should  be 
just  even  with  the  front  of  the  pack  saddle. 
If  you  brine;  it  too  far  forward  the  front  of 
the  sling  will  sag.  Pass  the  end  (6)  under- 
neath the  sack  or  burden,  across  its  middle, 
and  over  the  top  of  the  saddle.  When 
the  other  side  is  similarly  laden,  the  ends 
(6,  fe)  may  be  tied  together  at  ♦l^  *^^' 
or  if  they  are  long  enough,  ^ 
at  c  (Fig.  4). 


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ng.%. 


Squaw  Hitch. 


SLING    NO.    2 


Another  sling  is  sometimes  handy  for 
long  bundles,  and  is  made  as  follows : 

Fasten  the  rope  by  the  middle  as  ex- 
plained in  the  last.  Fasten  ends  (6,  b)  to 
the  rear  horn  or  to  each  other  (see  diagram). 
Leave  the  bights  of  the  rope  (a,  a)  of  suffi- 
cient length  so  they  can  be  looped  around 
the  burden  and  over  the  horns.  This  sling 
is  useful  only  on  a  regular  pack  saddle, 
while  the  other  really  does  not  need  the 
rear  pommel  at  all,  as  the  rope  can  be 
crossed  without  it. 


the  deer's  neck  (Fig.  i).  Repeat  on  the 
other  side,  bringing  the  loop  there  about 
his  haunch.  Cinch  up  the  two  ends  of  the 
rope,  and  tie 
them  on  top. 

The  great 
point  in  throw- 
mg  any  hitch 
is  to  keep  the 
rope  taut.  To 
do  this,  pay  no 
attention  to 
your  free  end, 
but  clamp 
down  firmly  the 
fast  end  with 
your  left  hand 
until  the  right 
has  made  the 
next  turn.  Re- 
member this :  it 
is  important. 
The  least  slip 
back  of  the 
slack  you  have 
gainea  is  going  to  loosen  that  pack  by  ever 
so  little;  and  then  you  can  rely  on  the 
swing  and  knocks  of  the  day's  journey  to 
do  the  rest.     The  horse  rubs  under  a  limb 


Sling  No  7. 


Sling  No.  z. 


THE    SADDLE    HITCH 

There  remains  only  the  possibility,  or 
let  us  hope  probability,  that  you  may 
some  day  wish  to  pack  a  deer  on  your 
riding  saddle,  or  perhaps  bring  in  a  sack 
of  grain  or  some  such  matter. 

Throw  the  rope  across  the  seat  of  the 
saddle,  leaving  long  ends  on  both  sides. 
Lay  your  deer  aboard,  crosswise.  Thrust 
a  bight  (a)  of  one  end  through  your  cinch 
ring,  and  pass  the  loop  thus  formed  around 


The  Saddle  Hitch 

or  against  a  big  rock;  the  loosened  rope 
scrapes  off  the  top  of  the  pack ;  something 
flops  or  rattles  or  falls — immediately  that 


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The  Tie  Hitch. 


cajruse  arches  his  back,  lowers  his  head, 
and  begins  to  buck.  It  is  marvelous  to 
what  height  the  bowed  back  will  send 
small  articles  *  catapult-wise  into  the  air. 
First  go  the  tarpaulin  and  blankets; 
then  the  duflfle  bags;  then  one  by  one 
the  contents  of  the  alforjas;  finally,  after 
they  have  been  sufficiently  lightened,  the 
alforjas  themselves  in  an  abandoned  para- 
bola of  debauched  delight.  In  the  mean- 
time that  horse,  and  all  the  others,  has 
been  running  frantically  all  over  the  rough 
mountains,  through  the  rocks,  ravines, 
brush  and  forest  trees.  You  have  ridden, 
recklessly  trying  to  round  them  up,  sweat- 
ing, swearing,  praying  to  the  Red  Gods 
that  none  of  those  indispensable  animals 
is  going  to  get  lame  in  tnis  insane  hippo- 
drome. Finally,  between  you,  you  have 
succeeded  in  collecting  and  tying  to  trees 
all  the  culprits.  Then  you  fiave  to  trail 
inch  by  incn  along  the  track  of  the  cyclone, 
picking  up  from  where  they  have  fallen. 


rolled,  or  been  trampled,  the  contents  of 
that  pack,  down  to  the  smallest.  It  will 
take  you  the  rest  of  the  day;  and  then 
you'll  miss  some.  Oh,  it  pays  to  get  your 
nitch  on  snug! 

THE    TIE    HITCH 

The  hitches  described  are  all  I  have  ever 
had  occasion  to  use,  and  will  probably  carry 
you  through  any  emergencies  that  may  be 
likely  to  arise,  but  perhaps  many  times  dur- 
ing the  day  you  are  likely  to  want  to  stop 
the  train  tor  the  purpose  of  some  adjust- 
ments. Therefore  you  will  attach  your  lead 
ropes  in  a  manner  easily  to  be  thrown  loose. 
Thrust  the  bight  (a)  of  the  lead  rope  be- 
neath any  part  ot  the  pack  rope  (6,  b). 
Double  back  the  bight  (a)  of  the  loose  end 
(c)  through  the  loop  (a)  thus  formed. 
Tighten  the  knot  by  pulling  tight  on  loop 
(d).  A  sharp  pull  on  c  will  free  the  entire 
lead  rope. 


BICKERING  AT   THE   DOG'S 
EXPENSE 

BY   JOSEPH   A.   GRAHAM 


WHAT  vicissitudes  befall  the  Ameri- 
can Kennel  Club  are  of  concern  to 
the  amateur  dog  owner  only  when  they 
threaten  to  affect  the  integrity  and  equity 
of  the  studbook  of  records;  including 
under  the  head  of  records  the  rules  which 
prescribe  how  the  records  are  to  be  made 
and  fixed. 

For  all  but  a  few  sportsmen — maybe  for 
all  sportsmen — the  A.  K.  C.  is  a  registration 
office,  having  not  a  feather  or  a  daub  of 
paint  more  of  dignity,  not  a  pennyweight 
more  of  power.  Its  function  is  purely 
clerical ;  the  tinge  of  the  discretionary  and 
judicial  entering  only  with  the  occasional 
necessity  of  adjusting  a  rule  to  conditions. 

Not  taking  much  notice  of  the  A.  K.  C. 
as  long  as  no  serious  question  is  raised 
about  the  validity  of  its  clerical  Work  as 


keeper  of  records,  the  world  of  sportsmen 
does  not  suspend  operations  when  a  mur- 
mur of  internal  dissension  in  the  club 
begins  to  be  heard.  There  is  so  much  of 
internal  disagreement  and  minatory  revolt 
in  all  organizations  that  we  can  extract  no 
pleasurable  excitement  from  a  plunge  into 
the  merits  of  the  group  quarrels  of  the 
A.  K.  C.  members.  We  content  ourselves 
with  earnest  hope  and  fervent  prayer  that 
no  belligerent  group  will  become  secesh** 
enough  to  set  up  a  competing  studbook 
and  complicate  our  registration  of  pedi- 
grees. A  studbook  is  like  a  telephone  sys- 
tem. There  is  no  room  for  two;  if  one 
cannot  be  conducted  properly  in  private 
hands  the  government  ought  to  assume 
the  function. 

It  is  a  curiosity  of  history  that  tb 


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legitimate  business  of  the  A.  K.  C.  was 
founded  by  the  field  trial  men.  The  stud- 
book  was  started  by  them  and  the  record 
of  awards  kept  by  tnem,  with  Dr.  Rowe  in 
charge,  for  some  years.  Dr.  Rowe  later 
tranfierred  the  records  and  duties  to  the 
A.  K.  C.  I  have  understood  that  the  act 
of  transfer  was  gratuitous  and  voluntary  on 
his  part.  In  later  years  the  club  has  be- 
come a  thing  wholly  of  bench  shows,  except 
as  far  as  the  registration  of  pedigrees  is 
patronized  by  the  general  run  of  dog  men. 
So  it  happens  that  the  present  quarrel  is 
one  exclusively  of  bench  show  fanciers. 

Nobody  could  get  at  all  the  causes  of  the 
war  without  long  rumination  over  a  se- 
quence of  reminiscences.  Of  greater  or 
less  conseouence,  there  have  been  antag- 
onisms and  recriminations  in  the  A.  K.  C. 
since  it  was  established.  Ins  and  outs 
have  spit  and  spatted.  The  pending  dis- 
turbance is  partly  a  continuance  of  these 
ancient  feuds. 

For  sportsmen,  disapproval  of  the  general 
course  of  the  club  has  been  on  two  grounds : 
First,  the  registration  of  pedigrees  is  so 
loosely  guarded  that  anybody  who  can  tell 
a  lie  can  fake  a  pedi^ee  and  at  a  cost  of 
one  small  dollar  purchase  official  approval 
and  permanent  place  in  the  canine  book  of 
reference.  Of  course,  the  whole  system  is 
tainted  and  distrusted.  There  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  greater  mass  of  regis- 
trations is  inaccurate.  Not  at  all.  fiut 
when  you  look  at  a  record  ten  years  old, 
you  cannot  avoid  a  suspicion  that  it  may 
easily  be  wrong  at  some  point.  The  other 
fault  is  that  the  demeanor  of  the  officials 
has  been  patronizing,  paternal,  petulant, 
pompous,  and  curt;  a  weakness  which 
would  not  need  to  irritate  outsiders  who 
have  business  with  the  office  if  it  were  not 
for  the  lack  of  intelligence  and  the  narrow 
information  which  almost  inevitably  ac- 
company demeanor  of  that  style  in  any 
walk  of  life.  A  man  who  knows  it  all 
cannot  learn  much.  Give  him  a  little  time 
in  a  position  of  authority,  and  he  will 
surely  become  a  detriment  and  an  impedi- 
ment. 

The  prefeent  attack  on  the  A.  K.  C.  pro- 
ceeds on  the  allegation  that  a  change  from 
an  association  to  a  corporation  was  effected 
by  secret  methods;  that  by  the  same 
"star  chamber"  coiu^e  the  directors,  some 
to  serve  for  several  years,  were  elected,  so 
that  for  a  long  period  power  is  insured  to 
the  faction  in  control ;  that  by  the  consti- 
tution this  power  is  so  centralized  that  the 
various  subordinate  clubs  and  associate 
members  have  little  to  say ;  that  the  legal 
steps  of  incorporation  or  transfer  were 
defective — a  question  for  the  courts. 

To  be  entirely  just,  I  do  not  see  a  great 
deal  of  force  in  these  complaints.  It  is 
probable  that  the  incorporation  was  neces- 
sary in  order  to  conduct  business  strictly 
ana  to  assure  equitable  management  of  the 
funds  of  the  club,  now  amounting  to  the 
respectable    sum    of    $20,000.     Any    man 


who  has  had  experience  with  corporations 
affecting  scattered  interests  knows  that 
efficiency  can  scarcely  be  accomplished 
without  tolerably  close  centralization. 
Lodging  power  and  money  in  one  or  a  few 
hands  has  its  abuses,  but  spreading  respon- 
sibility too  widely  means  a  certainty  of 
clumsy,  dilatory  operation.  I  have  been 
called  upon  frequently  to  draft  constitu- 
tions and  by-laws  for  corporations  and 
societies.  In  recent  years  1  have  invari- 
ably endeavored  to  concentrate  authority 
ana  action  in  the  fewest  hands  the  situa- 
tion would  permit.  The  A.  K.  C.  represents 
over  a  hundred  show  and  specialty  clubs 
and  over  five  hundred  associate  members, 
distributed  over  the  whole  country.  Few 
clubs  or  associate  members  care  anything 
about  the  club  beyond  a  desire  that  the 
dog  fancy  be  adequately  supervised.  They 
wiU  not  spend  the  money  or  take  the  time 
to  see  that  representatives  travel  to  New 
York  for  meetings.  If  the  club  had  to 
wait  for  full  and  enthusiastic  representa- 
tion whenever  a  decision  was  to  be  made 
or  an  action  performed,  it  would  be  a  lame 
and  weak  affair. 

As  to  secret  methods,  there  seems  to  be 
no  doubt  that  sufficient  notice  was  given 
to  all  parties  concerned,  and  that  the  pro- 
cedure was  in  order.  No  more  could  be 
asked.  The  insiders  might,  with  brotherly 
solicitude,  have  taken  more  trouble  to 
gather  in  all  doubting  and  troubled  spirits, 
but  that  possible  fraternal  hustling  does 
not  come  under  the  head  of  legal  obligation. 
Nor  is  it  a  prevalent  practice  of  business  to 
go  out  of  your  way  to  put  your  enemies  on 
a  board  of  directors. 

It  is  reported  that  the  administration 
purposes  to  devote  the  $20,000  reserve  to 
fitting  up  club  rooms.  The  kickers  oppose 
this  innovation,  alleging  that  such  quarters 
would  be  useful  only  to  the  few  who  live  in 
or  near  New  York.  They  advocate  a  dis- 
tribution of  the  money,  or  part  of  it,  in 
special  prizes  at  bench  shows,  for  the  en- 
couragement of  efforts  in  breeding  and 
exhibiting.  Here  the  opposition  is  clearly- 
right.  As  trustee  of  funds  contributed  by 
dog  owners,  the  A.  K.  C.  has  no  moral  or 
legal  right  to  spend  the  money  except  for 
the  benefit  of  dog  interests.  A  suite  of 
club  rooms  is  not  a  necessary  adjunct  of  a 
studbook  business.  Meetings  to  pass  upon 
other  matters  are  not  frequent,  and  can  be 
held  in  any  one  of  a  hundred  places,  if  the 
record  offices  are  too  narrow.  The  ac- 
cumulated reserve  of  $20,000  belongs  to 
the  club,  to  be  sure,  but  not  to  the  small 
minority  of  members  in  the  New  York 
neighborhood.  If  it  is  necessary  to  hold 
the  surplus  against  future  lean  years,  all 
right.  Tuture  years  are  more  likely  to  be 
fat  than  lean,  however,  and  wisdom  would 
suggest  that  the  club  should  take  up  the 
matters  of  improving  the  system  of  regis- 
tration, supervising  the  practical  conduct 
of  bench  shows,  and  offering  prizes  for  the 
development  of  desirable  qualities  in  dogs; 


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Preparing  the  Autumn  Home  Garden 


763 


not  to  stretch  out  the  list  of  useful  p>ossi- 
bilities. 

To  illustrate  the  utility  of  progress  in  the 
supervision  of  bench  shows — what  does 
the  A.  K.  C.  know  about  the  operations  of 
a  show  a  hundred  miles  from  the  Atlantic 
coast?  Nothing,  unless  some  technical 
rule  is  obviously  violated  or  a  formal  com- 
plaint is  filed.  It  takes  only  a  slight 
knowledge  of  shows  to  teach  a  novice  that 
improper  practices  are  easy.  Perhaps  the 
limitations  of  the  A.  K.  C.  do  not  permit 
the  sending  of  an  official  representative 
of  the  club  to  every  show,  but  it  would  be 
in  the  line  of  improvement.  Questions 
constantly  arise  which  could  be  best  settled 
on  the  ground  by  an  officer  of  the  club, 
with  a  right  of  appeal. 

Has  not  the  time  about  arrived  when  the 
club  might  have  some  authority  over  the 
qualifications  of  judges?  This  is  delicate, 
if  not  dangerous,  grotmd,  and  the  local 
rights  of  shows  bristle  up  when  the  sugges- 
tion is  proposed.  Still,  it  is  worth  while  to 
consider  whether  an  effort  should  not  be 
made  to  insist  upon  qualified  judges. 
What  is  an  award  unless  made  by  a  com- 
petent man?  It  is  a  deceit.  The  club 
can  now  disqualify  a  judge  for  fraud,  but 
it  is  helpless  before  incompetence.  Few 
of  us  would  object  to  the  assumption  of  a 
little  centralization  of  power  in  this  direc- 
tion. 


At  the  minimum,  if  the  club  receives 
more  money  than  it  spends,  or  has  more 
than  it  needs,  there  should  be  an  im- 
provement in  the  strictness  of  register- 
ing pedigrees,  which  means  a  rejection  of 
applications  not  accompanied  by  definite 
evidence.  The  studbook  would  oe  smaller 
and  the  fees  less.  The  surplus  would  cease 
to  provoke  quarrels,  as  snakes  ceased  to 
trouble  Ireland,  and  breeders  would  value 
the  studbook  more  highly. 

To  the  honor  of  the  club,  there  is  no 
allegation  from  any  source  against  its 
honesty  or  against  its  fairness  of  dealing 
on  the  whole.  It  is  rather  too  cirpum- 
scribed  in  its  geographical  sympathies;  it 
is  pedantic  in  minutiae  and  a  failure  in 
many  larger  duties;  it  revolves  at  its 
meetings  in  a  small  circle  of  talk;  it  is  not 
progressive  and  shows  only  faint  traces  of 
consciousness  that  the  world  moves. 
These  are  the  worst  of  its  offenses.  And 
we  who  find  occupation  or  amusement  in 
dogs  will  not  join  a  club  conspiracy  or 
revolt  as  long  as  the  clerical  work  of  keep- 
ing the  studbook  and  other  records  is  de- 
cently performed;  for  in  other  hands  our 
last  state  might  be  worse  than  the  first. 
We  might  be  pleased  if  it  would  wake 
up  and  listen  with  profit  to  the  chorus  of 
this  age  of  effective  methods.  Perhaps  it 
will;  especially  after  an  official  funeral  or 
two. 


PREPARING  THE  AUTUMN  HOME 

GARDEN 

BY   EBEN    E.  REXFORD 


SOMB    SBASONABLB    SUGGESTIONS 

WHILE  the  weather  remains  warm 
and  pleasant  we  are  likely  to  not 
give  much  consideration  to  the  change 
now  not  very  far  off.  Quite  frequently 
winter  comes  upon  us  suddenly  and  finds 
us  unprepared  tor  it.  Then  we  set  about 
making  up  for  our  neglect,  and  find  that 
we  have  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do  under 
disadvantages  which  prevent  us  from  doing 
justice  to  what  we  undertake.  Work  done 
with  cold  fingers  is  pretty  sure  to  be  poor 
work. 

Set  about  doing  whatever  is  necessary 
now. 

Look  the  place  over  carefully,  and  plan 
the  fall  campaign. 

See  that  the  stables  are  made  snug  and 
warm.  Sheathing  paper  doesn't  cost  much, 
but  the  liberal  use  of  it  adds  much  to  the 
comfort  of  horses  and  cows. 


Put  the  hen  houses  in  the  best  possible 
condition  to  protect  their  occupants  against 
the  cold  of  the  coming  winter,  remembering 
that  much  of  the  poultry  man's  success 
depends  upon  comfortable  quarters  for  his 
fowls.  One  of  our  most  successful  poulter- 
ers recently  said  to  me  that  warm  houses 
for  hens  meant  a  third  less  feed  and  half 
as  many  more  eggs.  He  had  been  talking 
about  the  ordinary  hen-house,  with  its 
cracks  and  general  discomfort.  If  his 
opinion  was  tne  correct  one,  it  certainly 
pays  to  put  such  houses  in  the  best  possible 
condition.     There's  money  in  it. 

The  painting  that  was  neglected  in  spring 
can  be  done  to  advantage  now,  while  the 
weather  is  mild  and  of  just  the  right  kind 
to  facilitate  slow,  perfect  drying.  Perhaps 
few  of  the  readers  of  this  department  have 
ever  thought  of  a  coat  of  paint  as  a  fuel- 
saver,  but  it  will  be  found  that  fall  paint- 
ing closes  many  of  the  cracks  and  crevices 


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The  Outing  Magazine 


of  a  building,  and  keeps  out  a  great  deal 
of  cold. 

If  wood  is  used  in  the  kitchen,  or  for 
heating  purposes,  arrange  for  a  supply  at 
once,  and  see  that  it  goes  under  shelter 
before  the  fall  rains  can  get  at  it.  One  of 
the  greatest  nuisances  I  know  of  is  that 
of  having  wet  wood  to  use.  It  is  a  source 
of  great  wastefulness,  because  one  has  to 
force  the  fire  in  the  effort  to  overcome  the 
effect  of  moisture,  in  order  to  secure  the 
necessary  amount  of  heat. 

If  coal  is  used  for  fuel,  see  that  the  bins 
are  substantially  built,  and  in  good  condi- 
tion before  they  are  filled.  It  is  much 
easier  to  repair  an  old  bin  before  the 
winter's  supply  of  coal  is  put  in  than  after 
it  has  given  way  to  the  pressure  to  which 
it  is  subjected. 

If  any  changes  are  to  be  made  about  the 
house  or  bam  have  them  done  at  once.  It 
is  economy  to  have  work  of  this  kind  done 
when  it  can  be  done  well,  and  without  dis- 
comfort to  the  doer. 

Look  over  the  grounds  about  the  country 
home  and  decide  where  improvements  can 
be  made.  Improvements  are  always  in 
order.  Indeed,  one  of  the  attractions  of  a 
country  home  is  the  change  which  can  be 
made  from  season  to  season  in  and  about 
it.  With  such  a  home,  it  is  always  evolu- 
tion. We  never  get  to  the  end  of  the 
work.     That  is  what  makes  it  so  delightful. 

A  great  deal  of  garden  work  that  is 
usually  left  for  spring  can  be  done  now. 
Shrubs  can  be  transplanted  with  safety  as 
soon  as  they  have  ripened  the  growth  of 
the  season.  Perennials  can  be  separated 
and  reset.  Old  plants  will  be  greatly 
benefited  by  division  of  the  roots  and  re- 
planting them  in  a  new  location,  in  a  well- 
enriched  soil.  Save  only  the  strong  and 
healthy  parts  of  each  plant.  To  set  out 
weak  and  diseased  roots  is  simply  a  per- 
petuation of  unhealthy  conditions  in  the 
garden. 

Seedling  perennials  can  be  removed  now 
to  the  places  where  they  are  to  bloom  next 
year.  Many  of  these  will  give  better  satis- 
faction than  older  plants. 

The  trees  about  the  house  can  be  pruned 
to  better  advantage  now  than  in  spring, 
because,  not  having  shed  their  leaves,  you 
get  a  better  idea  of  what  to  leave  and  what 
to  remove  than  it  is  possible  to  have  when 
their  branches  are  bare. 

BULBS    FOR  THE    HOME    GARDEN 

It  is  often  a  cause  of  wonder  to  me  that 
flower-loving  persons  fail  to  beautify  the 
home  grounds  with  a  collection  of  Dulbs. 
We  have  no  plants  easier  to  grow,  if  those 
who  attempt  their  cultivation  are  willing 
to  read  up  on  their  habits  and  requirements, 
and  give  them  good  soil  and  proper  atten- 
tion at  planting  time.  They  have  the 
merit  of  being  hardy  at  the  extreme  north. 
They  begin  to  bloom  about  as  soon  as  the 
•now  melts,  and  from  that  time  to  the 


coming  of  the  earliest  border  fiow^ers  they 
make  the  garden  gay  with  their  "brilliant 
and  richly  diversified  colors.  By  their  use 
we  can  add  nearly  two  months  to  the 
flowering  season. 

The  catalogues  of  the  florists  describe 
many  kinds  which  the  amateur  gardener 
will  do  well  to  let  alone.  Some  of  them 
are  too  tender  for  our  northern  climate. 
Some  are  difficult  to  grow  well.  Others  are 
not  very  satisfactory  when  well  gro«rn.  I 
would  advise  confinmg  one's  selection — ^for 
two  or  three  years,  at  least — to  such  old 
stend-bys,  as  the  hyacinth,  tulip,  narcissus, 
crocus  an<l  snowdrop.  These  are  the  kinds 
to  depend  on.  And  so  wide  is  the  vaxiety 
they  afford  that  great  quantities  of  them 
can  be  used  without  producing  any  mo- 
notony of  elTtvt. 

LOCATION 

In  selecting  a  location  for  a  bulb   bed, 
chfx>se  one  having  good  natural  drainaee, 
if  possible.     If  not  well  drained,  naturally, 
it   can   be  put  into  proper  condition    by 
excavating  the  ground  to  the  depth  of  a 
foot  and  a  half,  and  putting   in   five    or 
six  inches  of  coarse  material  that  will  not 
readily  decay,  like  old  mortar,  brick,  broken 
pottery,  or  good-sized  gravel.     When  the 
soil  is  returned  to  the  bed  it  will  give  you 
a  rounded-up  surface  from  which  rain  and 
water   from    melting   snows    will    run    off 
readily,   and  be  much   more    satisfactory 
than    a    level    one.     The    soil    should    be 
worked  over  with  hoe  and  rake  until  it  is 
thoroughly  pulverized.     Bulbs  will  not  do 
well,  in  lumpy,  rough  ground. 

MANURING 

Add  liberally  from  the  black,  well-rotted 
soil  of  the  cow- yard,  if  possible  to  obtain  it. 
This  is  the  ideal  fertilizer  for  all  kinds  of 
bulbs.  Use  about  one  part  manure  to 
three  parts  soil.  If  not  obtainable,  sub- 
stitute fine  bonemeal  in  the  proportion  of  a 
pound  to  each  square  yard  of  surface. 
You  cannot  grow  bulbs  well  in  a  soil  of 
only  ordinary  richness.  True,  they  will 
grow  there,  but  they  will  not  have  the  fine, 
large  flowers  which  always  result  from  the 
liberal  use  of  rich  food.  Whatever  fertil- 
izer is  used  should  be  thoroughly  mixed 
with  the  native  soil  while  it  is  undergoing 
the  process  of  pulverization. 

If  the  native  soil  is  rather  stiff  and 
heavy,  it  is  a  most  excellent  plan  to  mix 
with  it  enough  coarse  sand  to  make  it  more 
like  garden  loam.  Bulbs  are  easily  injured 
if  an  undue  amount  of  moisture  is  retained 
about  their  roots,  either  from  lack  of 
drainage  or  too  great  solidity  of  soil. 

Never  use  fresh  manure. 

PLANTING 

Set  the  larger  bulbs  about  five  inches 
below  the  suitace,  and  the  same  distance 
apart.     The  smaller  ones  should  be  planted 


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7(>S 


three  inches  deep,  and  are  most  effective  if 
set  thickly.  Scatter  them  about  the  edges 
of  the  lawn,  near  the  paths,  in  Httle  groups 
and  masses,  being  careful  to  avoid  all 
formality  in  plantmg  them.  Aim  to  imi- 
tate Nature's  methods,  which  are  never 
along  straight  Hnes,  or  with  regular  dis- 
tances between. 

SOME    SUGGESTIONS    ABOUT    ARRANGEMENT 

Bulbs  are  always  most  effective  when 
those  of  each  color  are  planted  hy  them- 
selves. When  "mixed,  there  is  quite 
likely  to  be  too  great  a  jimable  of  colors  to 
be  pleasing,  and  in  most  instances  there 
will  be  a  sad  lack  of  color-harmony.  It  is 
a  mistake  to  think  that  all  there  is  necessary 
to  do  is  to  keep  the  tulips  separate  from 
the  hyacinths,  and  to  give  the  daffodils  a 
place  by  themselves.  Color  must  come  in 
for  consideration  quite  as  much  as  the 
habit  of  the  plant.  If  we  put  red  and 
blue  and  pink  nvacinths  together  we  get  a 
sort  of  '*  calico  '  effect  wmch  makes  the 
mixture  almost  painful  to  the  eye  sensitive 
to  color-discords.  If  we  keep  the  various 
colors  by  themselves,  or  separate  them 
with  masses  of  white,  we  avoid  this  mistake. 

It  is  an  excellent  plan  to  have  groups  of 
bulbs  planted  here  and  there  among  the 
border  plants,  to  give  brightness  to  all 
parts  of  the  grouncfi  in  early  spring.  Do 
not  be  content  with  putting  three  or  four 
in  a  place.  Set  out  at  least  a  dozen  in  each 
group — ^two  or  three  dozen  would  be  better 
— and  thus  secure  a  greater  mass  of  color 
than  it  is  possible  to  obtain  from  a  few 
plants. 

LILY    OF   THE    VALLEY 

This  plant,  while  not  a  bulb,  is  generally 
classed  in  with  the  real  bulbs  because  of 
its  early   flowering  habit.     It  deserves  a 

Elace  in  every  garden.  It  is  exquisitely 
eautiful,  delightfully  fragrant,  and  a 
wonderfully  free  bloomer,  and  it  is  also 
very  hardy.  For  cutting,  it  is  invaluable. 
A  partially  shaded  location  suits  this  plant 
better  than  a  sunny  one,  therefore  it  is  well 
adapted  to  northern  exposures.  Set  the 
pips  or  roots  about  six  mches  apart.  In 
one  season  they  will  have  run  together,  and 
your  bed  will  oe  a  mass  of  rich  foliage  out 
of  which  the  flower  stalks  will  lift  them- 
selves, crowned  with  spikes  of  pure  white 
flowers,  in  May,  in  great  profusion. 

I  want  to  close  this  talx  about  bulbs  by 
saying  that  by  an  expenditure  of  a  few 
dollars  in  the  kinds  I  have  advised,  one  can 
do  more  to  make  the  country  home  attrac- 
tive than  in  any  other  way  I  know  of.  I 
would  earnestly  urge  every  owner  of  such 
a  home  to  invest  something  in  this  class  of 
plants  this  fall. 

To  QuBSTioN-AsKERs — /  receitv  a  good  many  questions  which  I  am  requested  "to  answer  in  the  next  number. 
This  cannot  be  done,  because  Ote  magazine  is  made  up  nearly  two  months  ahead  of  its  date  of  issue.     If  an 
diate  reply  is  required,  it  will  be  necessary  to  inclose  a  stamped  and  self-addresssed  envelope. 


ANSWERS   TO   CORRESPONDENTS 

Mrs.  F.  A. — Not  knowing  the  particular 
treatment  given  your  jonquils,  I  am  imable 
to  diagnose  the  cause  of  trouble.  I  am 
inclined  to  think,  however,  from  what  you 
say  about  heavy  manuring,  that  you  were 
too  kind  to  them,  and  gave  so  much  rich 
food  that  the  plants  were  forced  into  a 
production  of  leaves,  and  probably  new 
bulbs,  rather  than  of  flowers.  Do  not 
manure  them  again  this  season,  and  per- 
haps you  will  get  more  flowers  next.  Keep 
runners  pinched  off  violets  from  which  you 
want  blossoms.  Apply  to  any  of  the 
florists  whose  advertisement  you  find  in 
this  magazine,  for  a  free  catalogue  of  bulbs. 
In  it  you  will  find  full  descriptions  of  the 
various  colors,  and  you  will  be  able  to 
select  just  the  colors  you  desire.  If  you 
read  over  the  directions  given  about  bulb 
planting,  you  will  find  your  other  questions 
fully  answered  therein. 

Mrs.  W.  H.  K.— Plant  your  bulbs  in 
September,  if  possible.  Early  planting 
enables  them  to  make  strong  root-growth 
before  the  close  of  the  season.  Upon  the 
satisfactory  completion  of  this  process  de- 
pends next  spring's  c^op  of  flowers.  I  am 
aware  that  some  persons  advise  planting 
bulbs  anj  time  during  the  fall,  even  up  to 
the  setting  in  of  cold  weather,  but  late 
planting  is  a  mistake,  because  the  bulbs 
put  into  the  ground  late  in  the  season  will 
nave  only  partially  completed  the  develop- 
ment of  roots  by  the  time  winter  is  upon  us, 
and  they  will  be  obliged  to  suspend  opera- 
tions until  spring  comes.  Then  the  in- 
stincts of  the  plants  will  urge  them  to  the 
production  of  flowers,  while,  at  the  same 
time,  root-development  will  be  resumed, 
the  work  of  the  last  season  being  taken  up 
where  it  was  left  off  when  winter  put  an 
end  to  it.  The  plants  are  not  strong 
enough  to  do  both  kinds  of  work  simultane- 
ously, consequently  they  will  be  greatly 
overtaxed  in  their  efforts  to  do  so,  and  the 
result  will  be  that  you  will  get  but  few 
flowers  from  them,  and  these  will  be  in- 
ferior ones.  The  vitality  of  the  bulb  will 
be  so  lowered  that  it  will  seldom  recover 
fully  from  the  extra  demand  made  upon  it. 
If  I  could  not  get  my  bulbs  into  the  ground 
by  the  middle  of  October,  I  would  not 
plant  any.  A  month  earher  is  the  proper 
time  in  which  to  do  this  work. 

The  information  given  in  the  above 
"answer"  should  have  been  incorporated 
in  the  article  on  the  planting  of  bulbs,  in 
order  to  make  it  complete  in  itself,  but,  as 
the  question  had  been  asked  and  must  be 
answered,  it  was  thought  best  to  ^ve  it 
here,  and  those  who  are  interested  in  the 
subject  can  consider  it  as  a  sort  of  P.  S.  to 
the  article. 


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DETERMINING   YOUR    HORSE'S 

ACTION 

BY   FRANCIS   M.  WARE 


GOOD  action  is  conceded  by  every  horse- 
man to  be  the  most  desirable  attri- 
bute of  any  horse  for  any  purpose  from 
racing  to  draft  work,  and  it  is  an  astonish- 
ing matter  that  so  very  little  attention  is 
paid  to  its  different  varieties;  to  the  pro- 
p)ortions  and  relative  harmony  of  certain 
anatomical  details  which  aid  or  mar  its 
development;  to  the  artiilcial  measures 
which  may  be  used  to  increase  or  diminish 
it,  to  correct  it  and  to  level  it  at  both  ends. 
As  we  find  our  horses  so  do  we  generally 
leave  them,  both  in  the  associations  of  the 
trotting  track  and  the  show  arena;  not 
only  do  we  neglect  the  methods  and  means 
of  controling  action,  but  we  hold  hazy 
ideas  as  to  what  "action  for  purpose 
really  is;  or  slavishly  adopt  the  decrees  of 
fashion  in  this  connection  without  taking 
the  trouble  to  think  out  the  question  for 
ourselves,  and  for  our  horses'  good.  Ac- 
tion varies  widely,  and  it  should  not  be 
enough  for  us  that  our  animal  "goes  clear,** 
and  neither  brushes,  overreaches,  "scalps," 
nor  "wings,"  nor  "dishes,"  but  his  styfe  of 
progression  should  be  such  as  is  appropriate 
for  him  most  easily  and  properly  to  per- 
form the  tasks  at  which  we  use  mm;  thus 
the  hack  or  hunter  can  have  few  worse  fail- 
ings than  "hamessy"  action,  and  vice 
versa,  the  steady  rather  low  swing  of  the 
saddle  horse  and  thoroughbred  has  no 
harmonious  place  in  carriage  connection. 
All  our  American-bred  horses  err  upon 
the  side  of  too  much  rather  than  too  little 
play  of  knee  and  hock,  and  this  is  not  un- 
usually true  also  of  even  our  race  horses; 
for  we  have  seen,  and  have  to-day,  many 
animals  which  clamber  and  sprawl  about 
both  at  slow  and  fast  paces,  and  many  who 
might  be  wonders  but  for  the  fatal  lack  of 
harmony  in  make-up  which,  at  the  crucial 
moment,  causes  some  anatomical  cog  to 
slip  or  to  hang,  thus  unbalancing  the  whole 
racing  machine,  and  reducing  a  might-be- 
stake  horse  to  the  level  of  an  indifferent 
selling-plater. 

Nothmg  can  be  more  true  than  the 
racing  axiom  "It  is  action  that  carries 
weight,'*  and  precisely  the  same  thing 
is  true  of  saddle  horses  and  hunters — and 
in  harness  it  is,  within  certain  limits,  action 
that  pulls  weight  as  well.  Did  we  but 
bear  this  more  usually  in  mind,  we  should 
never  invest  in  the  hulking  brutes  with 
which  our  welter-weights  nowadays  fill 
their  stalls — great  helpless  camels  whose 
own  avoirdupois  is,  for  the  most  part,  an 
insupportable  burden  to  them  once  fatigue 


supervenes,  while  even  as  their  very  huge- 
ness is  a  guarantee  of  a  dash  (or  a  copious 
infusion)  of  the  coldest  blood  from  some 
source,  so  is  it  an  evidence  of  "drafty" 
angles  to  shoulders  and  pasterns,  and  of 
defective  articulation — for  the  purpose  to 
which  we  foolishly  essay  to  adapt  them. 
It  is  action  that  enables  a  horse  to  lug 
big  weight;  to  still  keep  galloping  or 
trotting  smoothly  on  when  ne  is  beat ;  that 
insures  the  fact  of  his  still  holding  the 
frictionless  rhythm  of  his  stride  which, 
however  exhaustion  may  slacken  the  speed, 
still  retains  the  cadence  and  the  balance 
without  rock,  or  roll,  or  pitch,  or  stumble, 
or  mistake  at  fence  or  gnpe.  Action  takes 
the  place  of  courage  in  the  horse  more  often 
than  we  are  wilUng  to  concede,  and  the  very 
game  horse  will  generally  upon  observation, 
be  found  to  be  blessed  with  an  especially 
effortless  and  frictionless  way  of  going — if 
not  at  all  paces,  at  least  at  tnat  one  which 
he  employs  in  his  greatest  effort.  Thus 
many  notoriously  bad  walkers,  are  perfect 
in  trot  or  canter;  many  a  grand  race  horse 
only  at  his  top  rate  shows  his  physical  bal- 
ance; not  a  few  of  our  high-steppers  are 
slovens  at  the  walk,  and  amble,  and  rack 
until  squared  away  at  ten  miles  the  hour. 
Were  we  to  see  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
fast  trotters — those  of  thirty  years  and 
more  ago — laboring  about  the  track  to-day 
we  should  marvel  not  only  that  an  animal 
with  such  extraordinary  action  could  go 
fast  enough  to  win  money,  but  that  our 
progenitors  could  have  seen  anything 
graceful  or  practical  in  such  a  sprawling, 
spraddling  brute.  Those  old  Hamble^ 
tonians,  both  genuine  and  "said-to-be" 
went  as  wide  as  a  road  behind — outside  and 
beyond  their  fore  feet,  and  their  front  ac- 
tion came  nearly  all  from  the  shoulder  with 
a  nearly  straight  knee;  in  fact,  it  was 
" shoulaer  and  stifle"  action  then  as  against 
"knee  and  hock"  action  nowadays — even 
though  an  occasional  brilliant  exp)onent 
like  for  instance.  Goldsmith  Maid,  Judge 
Fullerton  and  Camors  did  "swipe  the 
trotting  eye,"  by  proving  what  a  "line 
trotter  '  could  do — ^a  line  trotter  having 
such  a  quick  recovery,  and  such  perfection 
of  action  and  balance  that  the  fore  feet  are 
up  and  away  before  the  hind  feet  can  reach 
them,  so  that  instead  of  passing  the  hind 
feet  outside  of  them  in  front  the  legs  move 
in  line.  Rapid-gaited  horses  practically 
all  use  this  style  of  locomotions-one  that 
"dwells"  or  is  a  very  long  strider  will  still 
be  found  passing  outside,  but  it  is  seldom 


766 


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Determining  Your  Horse's  Action 


767 


tliat  his  rate  of  speed  is  very  great.     An 
instantaneous   photograph    of    a    field   of 
modem  fast  trotters   (or  pacers)   at  full 
speed  betrays  the  fact  that  one  and  all  are 
going    marvelously    high,    with    well-bent 
nocks    and    knees — action    which    would 
seem  to   adorn   any  high-stepper  in  the 
sbo-w  ring — and  that  in  addition  there  is  a 
marvelous  play  of  shoulders  in  front  and  of 
stifles  behind  such  as  is  the  characteristic 
of  no  other  horse  and  no  other  action  known 
to  man — the  exclusive  inheritance  and  in- 
delible birthmark  of  the  American  trotting- 
bred  horse  and  an  attribute  as  unique  as 
it  is  invaluable,   as  unmistakable  as  it  is 
precious,   as  genuinely  useful   and  neces- 
sary as  it  is  brilliant;  nor  should  we  forget 
that  this  action  has  perfected  itself  not 
through  our  efforts  to  develop  it,  but  in  spite 
of     the   most   determined   and   intelligent 
attempts  to  prevent  it,  for  the  old-fashioned 
trainer  was  all  for  the  daisy-cutting,  wide- 
going,  hard-pulling  animal,  and  did  every- 
thing in  his  power,  assisted  by  the  breeders 
of   the  country,  to  develop  that  style  of 
going. 

Naturally  an  animal  possessed  of  speed 
(to  greater  or  less  extent)  can  develop  ac- 
tion to  which  the  creature  of  an  eight- 
mile-an-hour  limit  cannot  approach.  Water 
danmied  must  rise — speed  restrained  must 
exhaust  energy  in  some  way — '  *  if  he  can't  go 
on  he  must  go  up" — he  is  jogging  when  his 
rivals  are  at  full  speed — so  up,  up,  he  goes, 
assisted  by  check,  bit,  shoes  and  balance 
to  scientincally  assist,  to  an  altitude  and 
with  a  brilliancy  possible  to  no  other  horse. 
It  is  right  here  that  the  hackney,  the 
French  coacher  and  all  other  breeds  suc- 
cumb to  our  native  trotting-bred  horse, 
nor  does  their  bulk  and  '*hamessy  "  outline 
compensate  us  for  the  agility,  gracefulness, 
and  pace  of  our  product,  accompanied  as 
it  is  by  a  size  sufficient  to  handle  easily  the 
vehicles  successfully  miniatured  to  meet 
its  chief — ^almost  smgle — short-coming — if 
it  indeed  be  such. 

It  is  the  commonest  of  errors  to  mistake 
stifle  action  for  hock  action  in  the  heavy 
harness  horse. 

A  horse  which  really  does  sharply  flex  his 
hocks  is  found  usually  to  have  a  powerful 
loin — lacking  this,  frequently  the  stifles  will 
do  most  of  the  work  properly  falUng  to  the 
duty  of  the  hocks,  and  as  a  general  thing 
performed  by  them  if  the  stress  of  collection 
IS  not  too  severe.  This,  where  it  is  also 
enforced  by  high  checking  and  by  severely 
sharp  bitting,  puts  so  severe  a  strain  upon 
the  hocks  and  the  loin,  that  any  latent 
weakness  is  quickly  developed.  We  every 
day  see  horses  so  severely  checked  and 
thence  cramped  over  the  loins  that  they 
cannot  "use  their  hocks"  properly  at  all. 
Too  short-coupled  an  animal  will  be  want- 
ing in  liberty  about  the  stifles  and  we  have 
fallen  into  the  error  through  a  mistaken 
craze  for  short  backs  and  of  buying  horses 
so  absurdly    jammed   together    in    many 


cases  that  they  cannot  "use  themselves" 
properly  at  any  pace — nor  can  we  allege 
any  reason  for  this  unreasonable  fad,  save 
the  fact  that  Leach  painted  and  Sturgess 
drew  horses  in  such  siiapes. 

Every  horse's  action  may  be  improved, 
and  the  methods  are  many.  Once  you 
find  the  proper  balance,  no  horse  need 
overreach,  "scalp"  or  interfere,  although 
many  fast  horses  will  fear  these  effects,  and 
never  go  steadily  to  their  speed  unless 
thoroughly  protected  by  boots  to  give 
them  confidence.  All  these  faults  could 
be  corrected  in  colthood  woidd  we  but  take 
the  trouble  monthly  to  balance  feet  and 
joints,  and  keep  all  growing  true  and 
smooth.  Hardly  any  colt  is  bom  with 
defective  action — his  "  care(  ?)taker  "  is 
responsible  for  it  all,  and  shame  it  is  that 
sucn  is  the  case.  Balance  in  after  life 
comes  from  the  ingenuity  of  the  black- 
smith, raising  and  lowering  the  head, 
lengthening  and  shortening  the  toes,  proper 
booting,  and  suitable  weight  to  pull — for 
many  a  "  rough-gaited "  subject  will  go  as 
level  as  a  table  once  he  can  get  his  shoulders 
against  something  just  to  steady  him  a 
little,  and  to  let  him  get  his  hocks  under  him, 
and  his  balance  true.  No  horse  that  pulls 
is  really  balanced — ^the  animal  that  is  so 
cannot  pull — otherwise  he  must  do  so  to 
get  his  balance.  Many  a  horse  pulls  in 
harness  that  does  not  imder  saddle  and 
vice  versa,  the  reason  being  obvious.  The 
destructive  long  toes  which  are  to-day 
ruining  thousands  of  horses,  and  which 
have  nearly  destroyed  our  eye  for  true 
proportion  in  the  feet,  are  nothing  but  a 
lazy  man's  contrivance  to  "square  away," 
some  misshapen  brute  which  could  not  get 
his  balance  by  normal  means,  and  was  so 
mixed-gaited  that  he  would  yield  to  noth- 
ing else.  Naturally  such  toes  make  the 
horse  "go  higher,  '  because  he  "breaks 
over"  at  such  a  distance  from  the  true 
center  of  gravity  of  the  member,  and  is 
always  walking  up  stairs,  and  standing  up 
hill  oecause  of  the  shape  into  which  his 
poor  feet  have  been  tramed.  Almost  any 
horse  which  flexes  his  hocks  sharply  but 
does  not  step  high  in  front  may  be  made  to 
do  so  if  he  is  properly  elevated  in  front, 
lightened  in  hand,  and  sharply  collected. 
Most  animals  so  gaited  are  also  low- 
headed  and  inclined  to  bear  on  the  hand  to 
get  their  balance.  While  each  may  learn 
to  go  hi^h  in  front,  those  with  excessive 
knee  action,  and  but  little  play  of  hocks 
can  rarely  be  improved  to  any  extent. 
Many  mixed-gaited  horses  learn  to  go  ex- 
tremely high  with  proper  weighting,  bal- 
ancing, and  the  long  toes,  and  it  would 
amaze  any  one  could  he  take  all  our  show 
winners  of  the  past  fifteen  years,  strip 
their  feet,  and  reduce  these  membCTB  to 
normal  proportions  to  find  th">i***<iro- 
thirds  of  the  lot  would  move  off  t 

anything  from  a  square  pace  to  -  t 

or  a  hand-caixte|l 


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Wc  have  become  hysterical  over  this 
matter  of  action — high  action — in  every 
sort  of  horse,  and  the  shows  and  their 
judicial  boards  have  it  all  to  answer  for. 
We  have  passed  all  botinds  of  reason  in  our 
requirements,  and  the  sort  of  locomotion 
which  draws  the  adnuration  of  the  officials 
and  the  plaudits  of  the  public  is  not  the 
natural,  true,  all-round,  straight  *'out-and- 
on  *'  movement  which  is  really  the  genuine- 
ly important  attribute  of  any  horse,  but  the 
most  climbing,  sprawling  contortions  to 
which  a  heavily  -  weight^,  and  cruelly- 
checked  animal  can  be  whipped,  jerked, 
snatched,  and  frightened — let  him  "wing," 
"dish."  overreach,  hop,  hitch,  straddle, 
and  ** dogtrot"  as  he  will — *'Hun^!  see 
him  go!  A  wonder!" — when,  left  to  him- 
self, he  will  stumble  over  a  cigarette  butt, 
and  has  no  more  action  than  a  saw-horse! 
The  pity  of  it! 

The  same  sort  of  misconception  extends 
itself  to  saddle  horses — ev«y  one  of  them 
must  step  about  with  action  enough  for 
any  sane  man's  harness  use,  and  far  more 
than  makes,  in  many  cases,  for  a  really 
comfortable  ride,  and  is  it  not  a  fact  that 
we  have  been  riding  so  many  of  these 
"harness"  horses  that  we  have  almost  if 
not  quite  fori^otten  the  ride  that  a  first- 
class  hack  gives  one  and  eulogize  the 
least  uncomfortable  of  the  bimch  for  that 
reason?  True  the  market — our  market — 
calls  for  a  ride  and  drive  horse  more  than 
for  a  saddle  horse  which  is  such  only ;  but 
this  is  not  as  generally  the  case  as  it  has 
been,  although  the  riding  public  have  grown 
so  used  to  these  rough-going  harness  (?) 
horses  that  they  really  forget  to  differ- 
entiate, but  ask  for  and  accept  the  latter 
type  as  a  saddle  horse  when  he  really  is  not 
such  at  all.  either  by  inheritance,  breeding, 
or  training. 

A  real  saddle  horse  is  as  "saddley"  in 
appearance  as  the  other  type  is  "har- 
nessy,"  and  the  difference  extends  to  every - 
joint  and  sinew  of  his  body,  and  the  way 
he  "wears  himself"  —  the  difference  is 
unmistakeable,  legs,  body,  head,  neck, 
carriage,  movement  and  all — one  is  one 
type,  the  other  the  other,  but  the  difficulty 
is  to  get  the  public  or  the  judges  to  keep 
them  apart.  For  this  reason  it  has  always 
seemea  that  no  class  in  a  show  should  be 
allowed  to  move  until  the  officials  have 
lined  them  up,  and  looked  them  over  for 
type — •*  gating  "  forthwith  and  without  see- 
ing them  go  every  entry  which  does  not 
come  up  to  the  requirements  of  type — for 
purpose.  We  don  t  want  to  know  what 
some  sensational-moving  brute  can  do 
which  is  not  the  type  at  all  for  the  job,  nor 
finished  up  as  such  a  horse  should  be,  and 
this  neglect  has  caused  the   downfall  of 


more  judges  in  the  public  estimation  than 
any  other  thing  that  can  be  named — ^for 
the  sensational  alwa3rs  catches  the  crowd, 
and  if  he  gets  nothing  the  judge's  "lights 
are  out,"  whether  he  deserves  the  ribbon 
or  not. 

We  see  runabout  horses  fiHiig  the 
wagon  and  the  driver's  face,  cfothes, 
and  so  forth,  with  sand  and  tanbark  if 
they  go  off  of  a  walk,  yet  winning  per- 
petuaOy  as  suitable  to  be  driven  before  that 
vehicle:  we  find  pairs  of  victoria  horses 
not  only^  plastering  the  servants  with  dirt 
at  an  eight-mile-an-hour  gait,  but  hurling 
the  filth  clear  over  their  heads  on  to  the 
seat  and  floor  of  the  carriage  where  pre- 
sumabl}^  their  elaborately-gowned  owner 
would  sit  on  her  way  to  receptions,  etc. — 
yet  such  animals  win  for  years  for  such 
purposes.  Meanwhile  the  true,  all-round 
goer  is  overlooked  in  every  connection,  and 
the  hysterical  has  become  accepted  as  the 
natuial,  while  genuine  good  conformation 
is  also  disregarded,  if  only  a  horse  can 
"step  and  go." 

Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that 
every  horse  will  lose  excessive  action  if  you 
reaUy  use  him— either  that  or  go  lame  in 
addition  because  of  the  concussion  and  the 
unnatural  feet  and  weight  he  must  carry 
about  with  him.  No  such  horse  can  be 
driven  any  distance  without  pitiful  dis- 
tress, and  possibly  severe  strain,  and  once 
he  is  tired,  he  rolls,  hitches,  and  over- 
reaches so  that  your  drive  is  a  torture. 
The  same  thing  is  as  annoyingly  true  of 
two- thirds  of  these  "hamessy  *  saddle 
horses — when  tired  (and  that  is  very  soon), 
they  roll  their  shoulders,  sprawl  about, 
canter  high,  hop,  and  hitch,  and  are  gener- 
ally so  little  like  a  saddle  hack  that 
one's  annoyance  is  at  fever-heat — nor  di- 
minished by  thought  of  the  stiff  price 
which  the  napless  misplaced  brute  cost. 
Such  a  horse  cannot  ever  wcdk  as  a  hack 
should  when  fresh,  and  when  he  is  tired 
by  his  trip  around  the  reservoir  of  about 
four  miles  he  rolls  his  rider  about  like 
one  of  those  dromedaries  in  the  circus 
parade — and  is  generally  about  as  fit  for 
saddle  work.  We  have  in  the  saddle-bred 
western  horse,  in  the  best  grade  of  broncho, 
and  in  many  of  the  quarter-bred  thorough- 
breds some  of  the  best  hacks  in  the  world, 
durable  and  delightful,  but  they  would, 
while  peerless  under  saddle,  never  take 
any  rank  in  our  show  rings,  for  while  they 
have  perfect  saddle  action,  they  have  not 
the  sort  the  market  and  the  judges  call 
for — and  that  is  one  reason  why  you  don't 
^l?e  our  winning  saddle  horses  more  fre- 
quently used  as  such — they  give  you  the 
worst  of  rides,  and  are  hacks  in  name  and 
official  estimation  only  I 


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THE  OVTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


REMEDIES 


FREE    1 6- page    catalogue.    Diseases    and    Treatment    of 
Poultry.     How    to    make    Louse    Paint    and    Powder. 
Write  J.  B.  McKbnzib.  M  J).,  Wilmington.  Ohio,  Box  9. 


PHEASANTS 


OREGON'S  FAMOUS  CHINA  Pheasant  postals,  natural 
colors.  95  cents  dozen.     Simpson's  Phbasant  Farm. 
Corvallis.  Oregon. 

PHEASANTS,  Quail.  Partridges,  Wild  Turkeys.  Swans. 
*  Ducks,  Deer.  Peafowl.  Foxes.  Ferrets,  European  Game. 
Homers.     U.  S.  Phbasantry.  Poughkeepsie.  N.  Y. 

PR  SALE— The  entire  collection  of  Wild  and  Fancy 
Water  Fowls.  Wading  Birds,  Deer,  Peccaries,  Bear,  etc., 
that  will  be  shown  at  the  Sportsman's  Show  in  Boston,  Mar. 
joth  to  Apr.  13th.  These  oirds  and  animals  will  be  sold  at  a 
low  price.  Send  stamp  for  price  list  to  Nboloawa  Farm. 
Office  38  Portland  St..  Boston,  Mass.,  Dept.  A. 


PIGEONS 


piGEONSI     Thousands  of  them,  all  kinds;     prices  free. 
*       Illustrated,  descriptive  book  telling  you  all  you  want  to 
W.  A.  Bartlbtt  &  Co.,  Jacksonville,  IlL 


know,  one  dime. 
Box  18. 


SQUABS 


SQUAB 
RAISING 


SEAMLESS 
ANTWERP 


BANDED 
HOMERS 


are  the  best  Squab  Breeders.    Seam- 
less bands  cannot  be  altered  or  re- 


moved without  destroying  either  the 

band  or  the  bird;  they  iaendfy  c     * 

bird  by  number  and  show  date  when  hatched      Young  birds  are 


C table,  old  ones  an  expense.  Seamless  banded  Antwerp 
lers,  one  to  three  years  old,  five  pairs,  |xo;  ten  pairs,  $18:  fifty 
pairs,  $80:  prices  quoted  on  large  orders.  Aged  or  unhanded 
oirds  half  price.  All  charges  pud  aboard  express  New  York. 
Safe  delivery  guaranteed :  deaths  in  transit  replaced  on  return  of 
bands.  Orders  placed  with  yo«r  •Jtyren  a^«At  will  b% 
forwarded  throm^  •syren  cemyaiijr'e  fereiga  depart* 
meat  at  my  expeBee  er  rei^t  bj  meaey  erder. 

J.  A.  MAODAmSU  17  A,  ANTWSIP,  BELGIUM 


H 


OMERS.     Large  squab  breeders. 
PANY,  Passaic.  N.  J. 


Passaic  Squab  Cou- 


PETS 


PETS 


Fine  BmJ  Dogs,  Singing  Canaries,  Talking  Parrots, 
Pigeons,  Angora  Kittens,  Gold  Fish.    Aquariums 
and  supplies.    Guinea  Pigs  and  Kabbits.    Send  for  catalogue. 
J.  Hope,  35  N.  Ninth  St,  Phihidelphia. 

RABBITS 


EASTER  GIFTS  should  be  pure  bred.     Angora.  Dutch, 
Himalayan,    Tan    or   Flemish    rabbits   or    English    or 
Peruvian  cavies.     Blh  Cove  Rabbitry.  Great  Neck,  N.  Y. 


PERSIAN  CATS 


PERSIAN  CATS  FOR  SALE— Imported,  registered  strains. 
*       Immense  coAts  and  plume  tails,  white  and  colored. 

Richard  Terrace  Cattery,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 


AGENTS   WANTED 


MEN  AND  WOMEN:  One  hundred  per  cent,  profit,  if 
you  sell  Bears  Powders,  using  spare  time,  you  will 
never  be  without  money.  Sells  a 5c.  package.  Been  on 
market  six  years.  No  Roaches.  Water  Bugs.  Ants,  Poultry 
Vermin,  etc.,  can  exist  where  used.  Harmless  to  human 
beings.  No  experience  necessary.  Boy  or  Girl  can  sell  it. 
Have  a  business  of  your  own.  Secure  agents  to  sell  and 
make  profit  on  their  sales.  Big  inducement  on  first  ship- 
ment to  get  you  started,  write  for  proposition.  Vermin 
PowDBR  Co..  Scranton.  Pa. 


REAL  ESTATE— FOR  SALE 


Bring  up  your  children  in  the  open 
air  of  the  country  where  they  can 
enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature  and 
build  sturdy  constitutions.  Write 
to-day  for 

BRADSHAW'S  FARM  BDDK 

The  most  complete  list  of  farms, 
describing  500  farms  and  coun- 
try estates.    New  Eiglaai  Fanu 
a  specially.     Send  4   cents  to 
cover  postage. 

E.   G.   BRAD8HAW   CO. 


VIRGINIA    FARMS    OF    VALUE 

fX\  Magnificent  estate^  i.ooo  acres,  gently  rolling,  productive 
in  grass  and  grain.  Historic  Colonial  style  buUdings. 
Glorious  views.  Close  to  city,  in  a  beautiful  country. 
$  100,00a 

(2)  Gentiine  blue-grass  farm,  1,654  acres,  nearly  all  in  sod. 
Easy  reach  of  Washington.  In  the  horse,  cattle  and 
sheep  regioiL     $53,ooa 

(3)  Gracing  farm  of  distinction  in  Southwest  Virginia,  1,000 
acres,  700  now  in  Kentucky  blue-grass  sod.  A  money- 
making  proposition.     $35,000^ 

(4)  Tidewater  home  of  beauty,  600  acres,  improved  by  old 
Colonial  dwelling,  130  feet  long,  18  rooms,  in  excellent 
condition.  Lawn  8  acres,  handsomely  shaded.  $ix  acres 
of  orchard.  Bam  and  every  necesswy  outbuilding. 
Pro|>erty  overlooks  Chesapeake  Bay.  Good  bathing, 
boating  and  hunting.  Oysters  in  abundance.  Price 
$35,000. 

Register  0/ t^o /arms  free.     Ten  htuting  preserves. 


H.  W.  HnXEARY  A  CO^ 


CkwloMcsvlUc.  Va. 


I   CAN  SELL 

Your  Real  Estate  or  Business 

NO  MATTER  WHERE  LOCATED 

Properties  and  Business  of  all  kinds  sold  quickly  for  cash  in 
all  partsof  the  United  States.  Don't  wait.  Write  to-day  de- 
scribing what  you  have  to  sell  and  give  cash  price  on  same. 

IF  YOU  WANT  TO  BUY 

any  kind  of  Business  or  Real  Estate  anywhere,  at  any  price, 
wnteme  your  requirements.  I  can  $ave  you  time  and  money. 

DAVID  P.  TAFF, 

THE  LAND  MAM, 

418  KANSAS  AVENUE 
TOPEKA,         ....         KANSAS. 


THERE  is  a  charming  spot  in  Virginia — three  hours 
from  Washington — where  old  fogyism  has  yielded  to  the- 
spirit  of  modem  progress  and  where  young  men  are  leading 
the  way.  Handsome  villas  and  pretty  suburban  homes  are 
springing  up  in  the  piney  woods.  Learn  all  about  it  by  send- 
ing your  address  to  r  OR  EST  Lodob,  Glen  Allen.  Virginia. 


VIRGINIA  FARMS.  $500  including  new  3-room  cottage 
▼  and  as  acres  for  poultry,  fruit  and  vegetables.  Oakdale 
tract.  Waverly,  Va.  Midway  Noifolk  and  Richmond. 
Finest  climate,  water  and  markets.  F.  H.  LaBaumb,  A.  & 
I.  Agt.  N.  &  W.  Ry.,  Box  OG,  Roanoke,  Va. 

OEST  IN  IOWA.  Crystal  Lake  Farm.  Hancock  Co.  lake 
*-*  frontage,  adjoins  town.  1,280  acres,  2  sets  bldgs.,  best 
improvements  and  conveniences.  Known  over  Iowa  as 
Model  Farm.  Illus.  description  on  request.  E.  S.  Ells- 
worth. Iowa  Falls.  Iowa.  ^ 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


jJxe  Gregorian 

35lh   Street    West,    between  Fifth 

yivenue  and  Herald  Square, 

V^ew  York 


EHegandy  appointed  Hotel — centrally 
located. 

Ejitirely  new.     Absolutely  fireproof. 

European  plan. 

Refined  patronage  solicited. 

Write  for  Uluatrmted  booklet  "C." 


THE  MOST  POPULAR  WINTER  RESORT  IN  AMERICA 

CoatiBttout  Hone  Racing.  Frencfa  Opera,  Golf,  Huntiiig,  Fiihiiis, 

Boatmg.  Comfort.  Hetltk,  Pleasure. 

fMtf  NClXr  ST.  CHARI^KS  HOTKI^ 

Modem,  Fireproof,  First-class.  Accommodating  One  Thousand 
Guests.  European  and  American  Plans.  Turkish,  Russian, 
Roman  and  Electric  Baths.  Luxurious  Sun  Baths  and  Palm  Garden. 
ANDREW  R.   BLAKELY  &  COMPANY,  LTD.,  PROPRIETORS. 

WATERFRONT  COUNTRY  HOMES  AND  6UNNIN6  GROUNDS, 

oysters,  fish  and  gams. 

West  shore  of  Chesapeake  Bay  near  Norfolk,  Va. 
WllCOX  A  OOODENOW.         Room  2,  LovMbtrg  IMf..  NORFOLI.  VA. 


FOR   SALE 


IVE    Pox    Cubs— and 
'      Bucyrus.  Ohio. 


old    ones. — Comrade    Kennbls, 


FOR  SALE— Continued 

TRUSCOTT  BOAT  and  AUTO  SUPPLY  COMFiUfT 
St«  Jos«plm»  Miclm. 

Lower  prices  to  builders  and  owners  on  everything 
for  motor  cars  and  boats.    Catalogue  on  request. 

COR  SALE— English  CaU  Wild  Mallards  for  decoys  and 
*  Breediiiff.  Beauties.  Guaranteed  fine  callers  at  $5 
per  pair.     H.  R.  Langdos.  Wheatficld,  Ind. 

PR  SALE  ON  VERY  favorable  terms.  General  Sporting  Goods 
Business;  splendid  location,  large  profitable  business  can  be 
done.  Address  ''Opportunity,"  care  of  Outing  Magazine, 
35  W.  31st  St,  New  York. 

HOWARTH'S  Prize  Medal  Trout  Flies,  the  only  up-to- 
date  American  flies  made.  Sample  loc.  Beware  of 
spurious  imitations.  Catalogue  free.  S.  Howarth,  Floris- 
sant. Colorado. 

MOOSE.  Elk.  Caribou.  Deer  Heads  for  sale.     Birds.  Ani- 
mals mounted.     Send  for  Circulars.     Brower,  Taxi- 
dermist, 1236  S.  34th  St..  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

a  A  CHANCE  TO  BAG  THREE  AT  ONE  TIME."— This 
**  genuine  Deer  photograph  from  life,  and  sample  art- 
gravure  card,  "The  Song  of  the  Lark,"  for  ten  cents,  to 
mtroduce  our  publications.  Advance  Studios.  Woodlawn. 
Chicago.  111. 

GOOD  SHOOTING,  Fishing  and  Bathing  on  seashore,  at 
mouth  of  New  River.  One  four-room  dwelling  and  fifty 
acre  tract  of  marsh  and  highland.  For  sale  or  lease  apply 
to  John  Oilman,  Jacksonville,  N.  C. 

BOOKS 

THE  MONEY  you  pay  for  books  will,  at  the  same  time,  give 
you  an  interest  in  this  publishing  concern  which  will 
cam  you  ao  per  cent.  Strictly  high  class.  Over  900  Editors 
interested.  Why  not  save  publishers'  big  profits  for  your- 
self?   Address  Gilbert,  Dept.  96.  Cable  Bldg.,  Chicago,  111. 


F°' 


THE    PRACTICAL 
POULTRY    BOOK 

)R  bodk  the  farmer  and  fancier.  Reriaed 
by  John  E.  Diehl,  Amencan  Poulby  Asso- 
ciation Judge.  Ovei  150  engravingt,  ilfustrating 
all  kinds  of  land  and  water  poultry.  [>esciiptioos 
of  the  various  breeds.  Practical  hints  how  to 
build  poultry  houses,  how  to  manage  an  incu- 
bator, caponiziiig,  treatment  of  diseases,  and  the 
market  value  of  the  different  breeds.     1 10  pages. 

Sent  Prepmid  to  may  Addrmmm  for  15  Ctm. 

THE    BOHEMIAN    CO. 

Department  C,  Depoait,  New  York 


Culver  'SS'  School 

On  Lake  Mmxinkaekee 

Culver,  Indiana 

Offers  an  ideal  summer  outins  for  boys.  An  hour  or  so 
of  study  in  the  forenoon— the  afternoon  spent  out  of 
doors  in  interesting  naval  drills  and  in  aqua- 
tic and  athletic  sports.  Keeps  a  boy  happy 
and  makes  him  brown  and  hardy.  For  beau- 
tifully illustrated  catalogue,  address 

CULfER  SUMBI  lAVAL 


XxrA^AKT  csr^T  vr^r^T  Superior  school  for  boys.  i6  to  i8.  I. 
W  /\r>/\£M  O^rlV^V^l^  H .  PillslKiry.  Box  14  T.  Waban.  M»s. 
Ideal  location.  IndividiiAl  instruction.  Six  years'  course.  Prepares  for  any 
coUeite.  Certificate  privile);e.  Advanced  standini;  if  desired.  Special  prep- 
aration for  1907  examinations. 

Physical.  atlUetic  and  manual  training. 

Summer  Camp  on  Maine  coast.     Yachts,  launch  and  boats. 

Macon,  Mo. 
Blees  Military  Academy.    $600,000  plant    Modem,  fire- 

proof  buildings,  especially  de<iigned  for  College  preparatory, 
Business  and  Physical  training.  15  instructors  for  no  bovs. 
Coi^  Geo.  R.  Burnbtt,  LL.B.,  A.M.,  Box  m,  Macon,  Nlis- 
soim.  •(West  Point  '80)  Sup'L 

ROCK  RIGDE~SCHbo£ 

Vor  B«]r».  Location  high  and  drv.  Labor .itories.  Shop  for  mechanic  arts- 
Stroos  teachers.  Earnest  bov-s.  V  ery  small  classes.  Gymnasium  with  new 
cwlmmInK  pool.  Fits  for  coliet'e,  scientific  school  and  business.  Youai;  boys 
la  separate  building.  Please  address 
DK.  O.  B.  WHITE,  Rock  Rldce  Hall,  Wellealey  Hllla, 


New  York,  Ossining-on- Hudson. 

Mount  Pleasant  Academy 

A  Preparatory  School  with  Military  Training.      Founded  in  1814. 

MR.  Brusib's  School 
Also  MOUNT  PLEASANT  HALL  for  Young  Boya. 


Pennsylvania,  Chester.  45th  Year. 

Pennsylvania  Military  College        Engi^!^ring 

(C.E.):  Chemistry  (B  S.):  Arts(A.B.).  Also  Preparatory  Courses. 
Infantry,  Artillery,  Cavalry.  National  reputation  for  excellence  of 
system  and  results.    Catalogue  of  Col  Charles  El.  Hyatt,  Pres. 


New  Jersey,  Bordentown-on-the-Delaware. 

Bordentown  Military  Institute  S^kT'.'To'!;^ 

manly,  successftil  men — physically,  mentally,  morally.  College 
and  business  preparation.  Catalogue  and  school  paper.  Rev. 
T.  H.  Landon,  A.  M.,  Prin.      Maj.  T.  D.  Landon,  Comm'd'L 

New  Jersey,  Freehold. 
TS#i    M«Mar    Ter«ei/    MILITARY  ACADEMY.    With  its 
AUC    l^CVV  jcracy    associated   schools   it   has   now  more 
than  zoo  cadets  in  attendance,  and  is  Mrinning  a  well-merited  suc- 
cess.    $400  per  year,  yet  first  class  and  "up  to  date."     Forcata- 


Massachusetts,  Billerica. 

The  Mitchell  Military   Boys'  School 

A  thoroughly  modem,  military  home  school  for  bojrs  seven  to  six 
teen,  inclusive.  Limited  to  fifty.  $600  per  vear.  Write  for  illtis- 
trated  booklet  containing  full  particulars.   M.  C.  Mitchell.  Prin. 

Michigan,  Orchard  Lake. 
TK*»  VTiVKicran  MILITARY  ACADEMY.  Ideal  site. 
1  nc  IMIICnigan  pi„^  w^uipment  Prepares  for  all  colleges. 
Strong  teaching.  Genuine  military  training.  Symmetrical  cul> 
ture.  Qean  atmosphere.  Not  a  reform  school.  Lawrence 
Cameron  Hull,  President  and  Superintendent 


California,  Pasadena. 


¥?-:-fc-|--.^fc-,i_    Home  School  for  Little  Boys. 

rneaeneCK   outdoor  life  aU  the  year  round.     ( 

language  of  the  home.     Number  limited.      For  prospectus  address 


rotuid.     German  the 


Mrs.  Abbib  Fiske  Eaton. 


Pennsylvania,  Concordville.  Delaware  Co. 
mjr  A  T^T*  T?TX7r^/^r^  A  successful  school,  near  Phila.  One 
alAtrLiii,yVUUU  of  the  best  to  infuse  with  energy,  to 
wake  up  Boys  to  the  duties  of  life.  Prepares  40  Boys  for 
college  or  business.  4Sth  year.  Large  gymnasium.  Dept. 
for  little  Boys.     No  tobacco.     Box  31. 

J.  Shortlidgb,  A.m.,  Yale,  Prin. 

Massachusetts,  Duxbtuy. 

Powder  Point  School  for  boys. 

Prepares  for  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology,  Harvard,  or 
Business.  Individual  teaching.  Home  life.  Elementary  Classes 
for  Young  Boys.      Laboratories.  F.  B.  Kmapp,  S.  B. 

THE~0 X FO RD^  COLLEG E 
FOR   WOMEN 

1830-1907.  Oxford,  Ohio.  One  hour  from  Cincinnati,  on 
the  C.  H.  and  D.  Four  years  College  Course  leading  to  de- 
gree of  A.  B.  Unusual  advantages  In  music,  art,  oratory 
and  preparatory  branches.  Faculty  trained  in  best  schools 
of  Europe  and  America.  $300  a  year.  JANE  SHERZER. 
Ph.  D.  (Beriin),  President.     Box  B. 


Massachusetts.  Merrimac. 

The  Whittier  School,  in  ^AHiittier  Land 

A  Girls'  school  with  Cultured  Home.     College  Preparatory 
and  Special  Courses.     For  catalogue  address 

Mrs.  Annie  Brackett  Russell,  Principal. 


New  Jersey,  Stunmit  (ao  miles  from  New  York). 

Kent  Place  School  l^'^^ilf^.^^^S^'^^i: 

dficate  accepted  at  Wellesley,  Smith  and  Vassar.  President  of  Di- 
rectors, Hamilton  Wright  Mabie,  LL.D.  Principals, Mrs.  Sarah 
WooD.MAN  Pai'L,  a  B.;  Miss  Anna  Sophia  Woodman,  A.  B. 

New  Hampshire,  Dover. 

The  School  of  Travel  IZS^^tol-^. 

The  Thompson- Baldasseroni  School  spends  eight  months  abroad 
in  study  and  travel.  Mrs.  Ada  Baldasseroni,  Wellesley,  B.  S., 
Prin.      Usual  courses.      Address  Mrs.  Hbi.en  T.  J-cott,  Secy. 

New  York,  Rye. 

Rye  Seminary- jQitized  bv 

For  partictxlars,  address 


Google 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


SCHOOLS — Continued 

New  York,  New  York. 

Mrs.  Helen  M.  ScoviUe's  ^SPciJ'scSS.?  °"''^ 

ao42  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City.  (October  until  June.)  Sum- 
mer travel  parties.  Annex  in  Paris.  (After  February  ist,  five 
months*  study  and  three  months' travel)    Resident  and  day  pupils. 

Michigan.  Detroit. 

The  Detroit  Home  and  Day  School. 

Established  1878.  Twenty  received  in  the  school-family. 
Prepares  for  College.  Well-equipped  gymnasium  and  labora- 
tories for  physics,  chemistry  and  domestic  science. 

The  Misses  Liggett,  Principals. 

Pennsylvania,  Lititz,  Lancaster  Co. 

Linden    Hall    Moravian    Seminary    g?rls 

Founded  1794.  Number  limited.  Waiting  list.  For 
particulars  address 

Rbv.  Charles  D.  Krbider.  Principal. 


New  York,  Pelham  Manor. 

Mrs.  Hazen's  Suburban  School 

For  Girls.      Half  hour  from  New  York. 

Mrs.  John  Cunningham  Hazbn,  Principal. 
Miss  M.  L  McKay,  Miss  S.  L.  Tracy,  Associate  Principals. 


ARNHONEY:.!^  CAMERA 


WB  TBAOH  yon  what  to  photogrBph, 
how  to  do  it,  and  help  yon  to  Bell  your 
piotnres.  Simple  ana  easy  way  to  pay 
▼Bcatlon  expeasee.  Something  entirely 
new.    Write  today  for  free  booklet. 

National  Correspondence  instltttte 
7M1  2d  NfltM  Baak  Bld|.,  Wublagtom  D.  C 


FRENCH       LESSONS 

Conversation  method  used — Special  lessons  in  grammar 
and  literature  for  advanced  pupils.     I'ranslation   work — 
College  preparation — Lessons  in  diction  and  enunciation. 
Rapid  advancement 

PROF*.    A.    A.    CARM  lER 
33rd     Street     Exchange     Building 

38  A  40  West  33rd  St  New  York.  OppMite  Waldorf  Astoria 


It  Pays  to  Learn 
TAXIDERMY 


I  caa  teach  you  by  rnaU  with  perfect  success  the 
iwofitable  and  fascinatinKart  of  mouoting  birds,  ffame, 
and  fish  by  uiy 

IMPROVED  MODELING  PROCESS 

also  how  to  inudel  flowers,  fruits  and  grasses  for  dis- 
play accessories.  No  poisons,  no  odors.  Anyone  of 
averajfe  intelligence  can  learn  to  make  money  at  this 
profession,  moiintiriK  trophies  for  sportsmen  or  for 
themselves.  Competent  Taxidermists  sr«t  (rum  fS.OO 
to  $100.00  each  for  mounting,  and  earn  JTOOO.OO  to 
$5000.00  yearly.  I  was  formerly  Chief  Taxidermist 
of  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  New  York, 
and  now  Taxidermist  at  Stanford  Ifniversitv,  Palo 
Alto.     Write  now  for  free  booklet,  antl  Special  Offer. 

PMfESSO'  lOm  WWlfY.  Hmky  UNen  if  Taninnr 

610   CVCRCTT   AVE..    PALO  ALTO, 


CAL.  I 


BOYS'  SUMMER   CAMPS 


Camp  Wachusett 


Halde»«M,  N.  H. 

Fifth  season.     Boatlii);,  canoeing,  fishing,  swimming,  water  vorts.    In- 


struction by  a  specialist  in  Natural  History.     Manual  Training.    Tutoring  i% 

desired.    Highest  refierences.    Send  for  drc" ' ^- 

K«v.  LORIM  WEB8TEK,  Uolderae 


Send  for  circular  to  the 

Sehool,  Plya 


natk.  N.  H. 


GAMP 


A  Eeal  Sanmer  Caap  lor  Boys— Located  in  the 

Pines  at  Lake  Winnecook.    No  Mosquitoes.   Pure 

WIIIIIFCnnif   drinkingwater.     Culiiuuy  department  in  charge  of 

fffinnCllUUK  expert  Table  supplied  from  own  farm.  Boys  sleep 

liyiTV    ur       °°  ^*^*  made  of  fir  boughs.     For  booklet  address 

UNI  1 1,  ML  Herbert  L.  Rand,  Maiden,  Mass. 

IBOYS^SUMMERCAMP 

"WUdmore"  In  the  Maine  Woods 

(Sebago  Lake  Region) 

Tlie  kind  of  vacation  that  docs  good.  Mountain  climb- 
ing, canoeing,  fishing— the  life  a  boy  loves.  Coot  hing 
trip  through  the  White  Mountains.  Su(>er\-ision  and 
companionship  of  college-bred  leaders  and  masters. 
Tutoring  if  desired.  Highth  Season  begins  June  271!). 
Booklet  on  request. 

IRVING  G.  WOODMAN,  Ph.  B.. 
Adelphi  Academy.  Brooklyn.  N.  Y. 


CAMP    ALGOIMQUIIV 

A  Summer  Camp  lor  Boys 

Aaowun  Lake,  HoMavess,  N.  H. 

Boating,  bathing,    canoeing,    mountain   climlnng,  'and  out  door 
'^  isistants,  careful  supervision. 

Twenty-second  season  opens 


sports,   nature  study.     Competent  assistants,  careful  supervision. 
Only  boys  of  "  .    •      .       ~. 


June  26,  1907. 


standing  admitted. 
Circulars. 


Ed^vln  De  \«erltte 

De  Meritte  Schools,    180  Beacon  St,    Boston,  Mass. 

GUIDES 

OEAR  HUNTING  in  the  spring.  Fishing  and  camping 
*-*  parties  guided  and  outfitted  in  the  stixnmer.  Elk,  Deer, 
Mountain  Goats  and  Mountain  Sheep  in  the  open  season. 
Stbvbn  Camp,  Ovando,  Montana. 


OEAR.  Lion  and  Lynx  hunting,  good  pack  of  dogs,  Pre- 
*-*  pared  camps.  Fine  Bear  and  Lion  country.  Elk, 
Deer,  Goats,  and  Sheep,  in  season.  Thos.  Danahbr.  Guide, 
Helmville,  Mont.     Formerly  Ovando.  Mont. 


HUNT  IN  MONTANA  for  Deer,  Elk.  MounUin  Sheep  and 
Goats.  Bear  hunting  in  April  and  May  and  can  guar- 
antee shots.  Special  rates  for  summer  outings  with  finest 
fishing  in  the  U.  S.  Can  recommend  guides  who  are  able  to 
furnish  best  references,  complete  pack  and  camp  equipment. 
Write  for  our  booklet.     Jakways  8i  Faust.  Ovando,  Mont. 

GAME   IMPORTERS 

LIVE  GAME:  DEER.  ROE-DEER,  Boars  Foxes.  Hares. 
Rabbits,  Squirrels,  etc.  Game  birds :  Hungarian  Part- 
ridges, Pheasants,  Capercailzies,  Black  Game.  German  Quail, 
etc.  Ornamental  Waterfowl:  Flamingoes,  Cranes.  Storks. 
Swans,  Geese.  Ducks,  etc.  Fancy  Pheasants:  pure  bred,  ^^ 
leading  varieties.  Pigeons:  Fancy  and  Shooting  Pigeons. 
Wbnz  &  Mackbhsbn,  Yardley,  Pa,  Sole  Agents  for  Jtil. 
Mohr.  Jr.,  Ulm,  Germany.     Write  for  free  price  list. 


MISCELLANEOUS 


Liner  Advertising  Pays 

Nearly  all  reputable  magazines  have  recently 
oiganizedi  a  classified  department. — they  have  just 
found  that  it  pays.  The  classified  department  of 
THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  was  running  before  several 
of  these  publications  came  into  exislence.  Many  ol 
its  original  advertisers  are  still  with  us,  and  the  circu- 
lation of  THE  OUTING   MAGAZINE  has  increased 

year  by  year.     Isn*t  that  proof  positive  that  it  pays? 

liqitized  b' 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


And  himdicds  of  other  vital  pointers 
■ad  plans  for  clerks,  dty  salesmen, 
traveling  salesmen,  retailers,  whole- 
•alen,  manufacturers,  mall  otdcr 
baaam  and  advertising  men. 

Bow  to  Buy  At  Rock  Bottom 

—How  to  trap  a  irlnff  salesman. 
—How  to  close  bkg  transactions. 
—How  to  prevent  extravagant  pur- 


cnasniK. 
—How  to  handlo  men  and  make 

quick  decisions. 
—How  to  know  to  a  nicety  what 

stock  is  on  hand. 
—How  to  avoid  penny-wise  pooadp 

foolish  purchases. 
—How  to  play  one  salesman  against 

another   and  take   advantage    of 

every  opportuaity  to  get  a  lower 

price. 
—How  to  devise  a  simple  system 

which  will   bring  to  your  notice 

automatically,  all  data,  prices,  etc. 

about  a  siven  article. 
—How  to  formulate  a  complete 

purchasing  and  record  system  for 

a  mail-order  house,  a  factory  or  a 

retail,    wholesale,  or  department 

store. 

And  other  priceless  pointers  on 
pntchaslng.  beyond  description,  that 
every  business  man,  employer  or 
employe,  ought  to  have  constantly  at 


How  to  CoUect  Money 

■  —How  to  Judge  credits. 

—How  to  collect  by  mail. 

—How  to  handle    touchy"  debtors. 

—How  to  be  a  good  collector  and 
bow  to  hire  one. 

—How  to  organize  a  credit  and 
collections  department. 

—How  to  weed  out  dishonest  buyers 
from  the  sale  risks. 

—How  to  get  quick,  accurate,  inside 
Information  about  a  customer's 
ability  to  pay. 

—How  to  write  smooth,  diplomatic 
letters  that  bring  in  the  money 
without  giving  offense. 

—How  to  organize  your  own  collect- 
ion agency  and  force  worthless 
debtors  to  pay  without  suing. 

—How  to  devise  a  simple  a  d  ef- 
fective system  of  Insuring  prompt 
and  periodical  collections  of    aU 


—And  valuable  informatloa  obtain- 
able la  no  other  way,  for  credit 
men,  collectors,  aeoountants,  and 
every   business    num    Interested  In 


Men.  whose  very  names  inspire  respect  and  admiration  and  confidence— 
>^  the  authors  of  the  Business  Man's  Library.  Alexander  H.  Rcvell* 
founder  and  president  of  the  great  firm  bearing  his  name;  Sears.  Roe> 
Duck  A  Go's  Comptroller;  John  V.  Farwell  &  Co's  Credit  Man;  Mont- 
gomery Ward  &  Co's  Buyer;  Sherwin-Williams  Co's  General  Manager. 
These  are  only  a  lew  of  the  big  business  men  who  have  contributed  to 
the  Business  Man's  Ubrary. 

To  the  man  In  the  private  office,  this  six-volume,  Morocco-bound 
Library  is  welcomed  as  a  guide  and  constant  advisor.  To  the  man  in 
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From  the  Brooklyn  Times,  February  23,  1907 
BROOKLYN  UMBa 


Thepublithenof  the  Broadway  Maff- 
uteefiod  that  a  huge  number  of  peop& 
oiwwghout  the  country  do  not  unoer- 
stand  the  new  policy  of  the  masazinc. 
Fonneily  a  stage  and  theatrical  mag- 
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wliolesome.sumpy.  wdl-iUustrated,  pop- 
1^  magazine  for  the  home,  and  has  no 
JjUiatioos  whatever  with  the  theatrical 
Itfe  of  New  York.  A  careful  ^ance 
thrcragh  its  pages  will  convince  any 
reader  of  this  fact. 


/^ofhu/  ii&t^4inJLLrh^  P 


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Hearst  ts*  McCleUan:  the  real  facts  about 
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Helen  Miller  Gould:  The  first  authorita- 
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Society— A  Day  ¥rith  the  Real  Thingt  A 
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Art  Features X  A  magnificent  reproduction, 
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Pictures  of  New  York  by  its  famous 
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Stories  by  Miriam  Michaelson,  Holman 
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CONTEIVTS  OF  BOOKS 

VOL.  I 

Tht  EnvfauBinent  of  Chesuieake  Bay 
Tht  Grwt  Theatre  of  the  Civa  War 
The  Valley  of  the  Delaware 

VOL.  II 

CniMinff  the  AUeghaiiies 
VbHiiig  the  Sunny  South 
Tiavening  the  Piairle  I.ands 
GlimpMi  of  the  Great  Northwest 

VOL.  Ill 
Aiound  the  Hlrbor  of  New  York 
The  EnvimaaMnt  of  Long  Island  Sound 
Ascendinc  the  Hudson  River 

VOL.  IV 
A  Glimpse  of  the  Berfcahiie  Hills 
The  Adirondacks  and  thetr  Attendant 

Lakes 
Croasinc  the  Empire  State  (New  York) 
Aacendfiig  the  River  St.  Lawrence 

VOL,  V 
The  Old  Bay  State  (MaasachuMtts) 
The  Neighborhood  of  Narragansett 
The  Connecticut  River  and  the  WhHe 

Moui^ns 
Going  Down  East 

VOL.  VI 
From  the  Ohfc>  to  the  Gulf 
The  VaUey  of  the  Mississippi 
The  Rockies  and  Pacific  Coast 
General  Index  


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«PEN    PIOTUREB 
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work,  have  brought  me  to  a  realiaatioo  of  the  charm  and  interest  of  our  country.  *^kh  I  had  not  liefore  possess**!.    The  author's  concep-   ^^^ 
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THE 

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FOR   MAY 


The  Oxttino  Magazine  for  May  is  an  antidote  for  spring  fever.  At  this  season  of  the 
year  when  ennui  is  upon  us,  when  the  high-piled  desks  incite  the  winter-tired  man  to  revolt, 
a  reading  of  the  May  issue,  like  a  refreshing  breeze,  will  drive  dull  care  away. 

For  instance,  there  is  Emerson  Hough's  SAS-KATCH-E-WAN .    The  river  that  bears 
this  title  is  the  subject  under  treatment  and  for  the  men  who  thought  that  they  had  laid 
this  rugged  old  name  away  along  with  their  red-covered  geography,  Mr.  Hough  tells  anew 
with  all  the  picturesqueness  of  his  forceful  style  the  story  of  this  river,  whose  arms  embrace 
an  empire  larger  than  Europe  and  seemingly  destined  to  play  as  great  a  part  in  human 
history  as  the  Old  World.    To  make  the  reader  appreciate  this  great  waterway,  its  history 
for  200  years,  the  men  who  in  bark  canoes,  afoot  or  horseback,  brought  it  to  modem  knowl- 
edge tributary  by  tributary,  headwater  by 
headwater,  needs  English  that  is  as  strong 
and  red-blopded  as  these  men  themselves; 
and  for  that  Mr.  Hough  is  noted. 

Take  down  an  atlas  and  trace  the  course 
of  this  "Swift-Flowing  River,"  as  the  In- 
dian name  signifies.  Its  great  stretches, 
which  from  the  tributaries. to  the  mouth 
drain  half  a  continent,  mark  it  as  the  cen- 
ter of  great  events,  passed  and  to  come. 
Mr.  Hough  takes  you  into  all  its  mysterious 
past;  he  brings  to  you  tales  of  the  roles  it 
has  played,  tales  learned  at  first-hand  in  c"o«  practice 

smoky  tepees  of  the  Northwest   Indian   at  Reduced  from  a  fuUiM««  painting  by  Ollver  Kemp  in  Thb  Outwo 

•^         *•      ^  MAGAZlNBfor  May 

night;    stories    he    has    heard    from    old 

trappers  on  the  trail;  romantic  episodes  he  has  gleaned  from  old  chronicles  and  old  docu- 
ments of  now  expired  trading  companies.  Bit  by  bit  the  significance  of  the  vast  empire 
which  is  held  in  the  web  of  the  Missouri,  the  Mississippi,  the  Arkansas  and  the  Sas- 
katch-e-wan  has  been  dawning  upon  the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  century  mind. 
Thomas  Jefferson  never  knew  how  great  was  his  feat  of  statesmanship  in  buying  "Louisiana." 
The  Indians  knew  what  the  great  Jefferson  never  knew — so  did  the  fur  traders — and  it  is 
from  the  human  and  manuscript  documents  of  the  past  that  Mr.  Hough  makes  this  notable 
contribution  to  a  better  understanding  of  this  mighty  stream  which  flows  from  the  Rockies 
and  delivers  its  waters  into  the  icy  mists  of  Hudson's  Bay. 

Mr.  Hough,  in  the  telling  of  this  story,  does  not  lose  himself  in  high-flown  rhetoric.  He 
describes  what  Hugh  Monroe  did,  and  what  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  the  Northwest 


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A    PARISIAN    NIGHT    KBSORT 

Reduced  from  a  fiill-paKe  photot;fra|)h  illustratint;  Vance  I'hompson's 
•*Thc  Slums  of  Paris."  in  THE  OUTXNU  MAGAZINB  for  May 


Company  and  the  American  Fur  Company 
did,  to  wrench  this  interesting  watercourse 
away  from  centuries-long  solitude  into 
modem  comprehension  and  modem  use. 
The  article  has  a  wealth  of  incidents  told 
as  only  Mr.  Hough  can  tell  them.  He  is 
interested  in  Sas-katch-e-wan  as  a 
part  of  the  "Trans-Continental  TraQ"; 
with  an  appreciation  of  the  irony  of  fate, 
he  explains  how  the  migratory  and  restless 
Frenchmen  first  searched  out  these  un- 
known waters,  and  then  because  of  these 
same  unstable  qualities  relinquished  the 
river  to  the  all-powerful  Anglo-Saxon.  As 
he  says,  "If  you  seek  romance,  or  love 

adventure,  scratch  in  the  sands  along  Sas-katch-e-wan;   its  story  is  still  there." 

Civilization  has  no  worse  reproach  than  the  slums  of  the  modem  cities.     In  them  all 

present-day  wretchedness  and  poverty  are  seen  at  their  worst.     They  are  civilization  gone 

to  seed — ^rank  weeds  of  the  twentieth  century,  cesspools  of  iniquity  and  breeders  of  crime. 

Yet  to  cure  them  we  must  know  about  them,  and  a  magazine  has  seldom  had  a  more  trained 

eye  and  a  keener  understanding  at  its  disposal  in  searching  out  a  topic  than  that  of  Mr. 

Vance  Thompson.     Mr.  Thompson's  articles  in  the  past  have  interested  The  Outing 

Magazine  readers.    But  none  of    Mr.  Thompson's  work  in  The  Outing    Magazine 

has  been  fuller  of  interest  than  his  article  in  the  May 

issue  on  THE  SLUMS  OF  PARIS.    These  slums  are 

about  the  worst  in  the  modem  world.     Mr.  Thompson 

toured  the  slum  quarter  of  Paris  at  night;  he  makes 

plain  all  things  that  he  saw  and  heard.     He  shows  how 

these  slums  breed  crime,  he  explains  the  why  and 

the  wherefore  of  the  famous  "Apaches,"  the  murderous 

gang  whose  reckless  murderings  and  robbings  can  find 

a  parallel  only  in  the  annals  of  our  own  once  wild  west. 

He  does  not  neglect  the  human  side  of  this  spot.     He 

paints  the  bad  Frenchman  in  making,  he  shows  that 

love  and  courtship — ^very  speedy  as  he  points  out,  but 

nevertheless  the  genuine  article — exist  therein  as  in 

higher  circles.     In  a  spirit  of  sympathy,  he  describes 

some  of  the  more  famous  resorts,  such  as  that  at  No. 

43  Rue  Saint  Devis,  as    ansesthetics  of   underworld 

misery  and  poverty. 
The  Outing  Magazine  feels  that  part  of  its  mission 

is  to  awaken  its  readers  to  the  meaning  of  their  country's 

natural  resources.     Thus  in  the  May  number  is  pub- 
lished THE  CAROLINA  BANKS,  by  Thomas  Clark 

Harris.     With  the  authority  of  one  who  knows  what  he 


Outward  Bound 


Reduced  from  a  ftill-iKit^e  photograph  illustrating 

••The  lUcklxine  of  our  Sailing  Fleet,"  by 

Jas.  r,.  McCurdy  in  THK  OUTING 

MAGAZINB  for  May 


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is  talking  about,  Mr.  Harris  describes  the  three 
hundred  and  some  odd  miles  of  North  Carolina's 
shore  line;  what  this  shore  line  means,  the  part  it 
has  played  and  is  destined  to  play  in  our  indus- 
trial and  political  life.  The  North  Carolina  Banks 
in  the  good  old  Swashbuckler  days  were  infested 
with  piratical  bands,  and  in  ahnost  every  cove  these 
jaunty  Kidds  and  Morgans  have  left  their  mark. 
Mr.  Harris  does  not  neglect  this  phase  of  his  sub- 
ject. In  speak'n)^  of  the  physical  characteristics  of 
the  Banks,  he  feels  that  it  is  merely  a  question  of 
time  when  the  sands,  becoming  more  and  more 
shallow,  will  finally  appear  as  marshes  and  then 
dry  land.  He  predicts  certain  racial  modifications 
that  must  follow.  The  article  is  filled  with  new  and 
important  facts  and  deductions. 

What  man  of  middle  age,  whose  memory  goes 
back  thirty  years,  has  not  felt  a  certain  r^ret  at 
the  inroads  of  modem  innovation  when  on  looking 

seaward  he  has  seen  the  horizon  smudged  by  the  '^^  a  rL*«!"  b^Sa^ce**  e^.  mu^^^^ 

smoky  traU  of  an  ocean  greyhound  ?    He  recalls  the  ^""  ''^'T^*' m.^"''"'*^ 

time  when  that  sheet  of  water  was  covered  with 

gleaming  sails  of  brigs  and  barks  carrying  the  world's  commerce.  How  picturesque  these 
uncertain  ocean  "white-wings"  appear  in  retrospect  when  compared  to  the  modem  steam- 
ship carrier,  whose  ** jiggle  of  the  screw"  bids  defiance  to  storms  and  calms!  Mr.  James 
G.  McCurdy  writes  somewhat  in  this  spirit  about  THE  BACKBONE  OF  OUR  SAIL- 
ING FLEET.  He  brings  together  valuable  data  regarding  the  present  status  of  ships 
that  still  take  tribute  from  the  winds  in  motive  power.  He  naturally  regrets  that  the  old 
saiUng  vessels  are  rapidly  becoming  less.  He  reviews  the  decline  of  the  many-masted  schooner 
down  to  the  present  time  when  there  are  but  280  square-riggers  flying  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 
He  makes  a  plea  for  the  cause  of  the  sailing  vessel  and  shows  that  this  type  of  carrier  still 

has  a  large  part  to  play  in  competition 
^  '  '^  with  the  steamship.     He  even  is  confident 

^  that  sailing  vessels  "will  continue  to  ply 

L  ^— along  the  ocean  highways  for  generations 

to  come."     His  reasons  for  this  view  are 
worth  finding  out. 

THE  FOREST  PRIMEVAL,  by  T. 
S.  Vandyke,  is  a  timely  prose  lyric.  In 
this  article  he  takes  the  reader  away  from 
the  jangle  of  Broadways,  away  even  from 
the   mral    districts   where    the    hills    are 

SHmiNCBVHAND  "^^^     ^3^     ^"^     P'^^     ^^"^     *^^*     ^^^^     ^^ 

RMluced  from  a  fun-page  photoffraph  niustratlnR  "The  Carolina  Banks."       virgiu  dcpths  of  a  great   forCSt  of  WisCOU- 


by  Thomas  C.  Harrli,  in  THB  OUTiNG 
MAGAZINE  for  May 


sin.    There  he  pictures  exactly  what  THE 


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FOREST  PRIMEVAL  is  like;  he  tells  of  the  spell  that  a  virgin  forest  works  upon  the  visitor. 
The  woods  have  a  way  that  is  all  their  own.  Underneath  their  endless  canopy  is  a  variety 
of  animal  life  that  is  nowhere  else  to  be  seen.  Parts  of  Mr.  Vandyke's  article  thrill  one  as 
we  used  to  be  thrilled  as  boys  by  those  alluring  passages  of  Cooper,  when  he  described  the 
mysteriousness,  the  loneliness  and  the  brooding  silence  of  a  great  for^  at  night  The 
article  will  effectually  drive  away  the  worries  that  are  caused  by  the  tape,  the  balance  sheet 
and  the  telephone.     We  advise  our  readers  not  to  miss  it. 

The  Outing  Magazine  has  received  so  many  letters  of  commendation  regarding  BAR 
20  RANGE  YARNS,  by  Clarence  Edward  Mulford,  that  we  are  sure  that  another  tale 
in  this  series  entitled  THE  ROPING  OF  A  RUSTLER  will  be  eagerly  anticipated 
and  read  with  zest  by  every  one  who  sees  the  May  number.  Mr.  Mulford,  as  he  has  proved 
long  ago,  has  succeeded  in  putting  into  his  stories  better  than  any  man  we  know  the  fear- 
lessness of  the  cattle  ranger — his  forthright  and  immediate  habit  of  action,  whether  in  pur- 
chasing cattle  or  bringing  his  pistol  into  play.  This  story  abounds  in  incident  and  whole- 
some humor.     Then  reinforcing  this  fiction  leader  in  the  May  number  of  The  Outing 

Magazine  are  some  storiettes  in  the 
LITTLE  OUT-DOOR  STORIES  de- 
partment. These  stories  need  no  further 
characterization.  They  are  full  of  the 
spirit  of  Out-of-doors,  with  a  delightful 
breeziness  and  refreshing  humor.  They 
are  made  up  of  OLD  SOLDIERS,  by 
Lloyd  Buchanan;  of  FEAR,  by  Gou- 
vemeur  Morris;  of  THE  FEATHERED 
WARRIORS,  by  E.  D.  Moffett;  and  of 
EZRi^  BOGG'S  MOOSE  HUNT— a 
droll  yam — by  Norman  H.  Crowell. 
JOHN  KENDRY'S  IDEA,  by  Cheater 
Bailey  Fernald,  is  continued,  and  this 
TYPICAL  LABRADOR  HOME  sterllug  story  dccpcns  the  interest  that  has 

Reduced  from  a  fiill-pajre  photograph  iyustratlnn  "The  Long  Lalirador  •  i  i  1_  j« 

Trail."  by  DUIon  Wallace.  In  THB  OUTING  Magazink  for  May  l)een       gTOWlUg       thrOUgh       UlC       preceding 

installments. 
THE  ONE  THAT  GOT  AWAY,  by  David  Henry,  is  a  large,  large  fish  story  for 
spring  consumption — in  fact  it  will  set  the  pace  for  the  countless  breed  of  piscatory  yams 
that  will  soon  be  in  order.  Appropriately  enough,  Mr.  Henry  takes  you  fishing  in  the  River 
of  Dreams,  along  with  William  Emery  and  David  Pherry,  two  men  famed  in  the  circles  of 
commerce.  Together,  all  of  a  Sunday  morning,  these  two  worthies  launch  their  canoe  and, 
armed  with  a  light  rod,  Emery  casts  a  fly.  WTiat  follows  develops  as  rapidly  as  Emery's  line 
spun  out  when  a  whopping  fish  rose  to  the  fly.  We  will  not  tell  the  story.  Its  quality  is  alto- 
gether too  entertaining  to  spoil  for  our  readers.  Several  capital  drawings  by  Hy.  S.  Watson, 
who  knows  how  to  illustrate  a  thing  of  this  kind,  add  distinctly  to  its  inimitable  humor. 
In  THE  LONG  LABRADOR  TRAIL,  by  DiUon  WaUace,  m  the  May  issue,  the  travel- 
ers are  homeward  bound.  Back  from  this  land  that  is  white  with  the  snow-clad  silence 
of  the  North,  Mr.  Wallace  has  brought  a  narrative  that  rivets  the  reader's  attention 
and  quickens  his  pulse. 


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If  You  Love  A  Good  Yarn,  Read 


Tke  Story  of 

Martin  Coe 

By  RALPH  D.  PAINE 

Critics  have  praised  it  for  its  literary 
quality.  Men  high  in  the  nation  have 
endorsed  it  for  its  patriotisiji.  Teachers 
have  dwelt  upon  its  ethical  and  uplifting 
note,  but  BEST  OF  ALL  it  has  won  the 

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HERE'S    ANOTHER    SPLENDID    STORY 


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^         said  a  reviewer  recently.     Well,  so  it  does.     It  /j  A  GREAT 

(;  AMERICAN  NOVEL  without  a  doubt.     It's  a  story  of 

the  newer  America,  the  newer  America  that  stands  for 
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strons  tales,  showing  the  author's  wide  range,  human  feelins,  and  complete  mastery  of  the 
art  Of  story-tellinff.  Says  one  reviewer:  "Never  were  seven  better  stories  of  their  kind 
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A  tender,  sweet,  wholesome  love  storv,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  among  the  Adirondacfca. 
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Two  Volumes  of  "Corking"  Tales 

^  Break  in  Training 

by  Arthur  Ruhl 

npHIS  volume  is  for  the  lover  "The  Red  Badge  of  Courage"  so 
*  of  genuinely  good  fiction — for  realistic, 
the  one  who  notes  the  sparkle  of  C  Mr.  Ruhl  approaches  his  charac- 
genius.  Every  tale  vibrates  with  ters  in  a  much  subtler  manner,  how- 
life  and  color.  For  the  athletic  and  ever,  and  weaves  into  every  tale 
college  man  these  tales  have  an  irri-  a  certain  grace  and  manliness  so 
sistible  charm.  necessary  to  clean  yet  strong 
C  Mr.  Ruhl  is  a  Harvard  man,  and  fiction. 

while   in    college   he   absorbed    the  C  This  volume  is  distinctly   worth 

** atmosphere"  of  "track  events."  ARTHUR  RUHL         ^^^  while. 

Entering  into  contests  himself  he  C  Beautifiil  frontispiece  in  color,  by 
gained  the  same  feeling  as  did  Stephen  Crane  Howard  Chandler  Christy.  Cloth,  decorative, 
in    his    football   contests,    which    spirit    made      Price  postpaid,  1^1.25. 

The  PFhite  Darkness 

by  Lawrence  Mott 

'T^HIS  new  volume  by  the  author  of  "Jules  was  invested.      C  "The  White  Darkness"  is 

•*•       of  the   Great    Heart"    adds  still  more  a  book  of  truly  wondrous  stories  of  the  great 

renown  to  the  writer's  name.  Northwest — mammoth  in  their  subjects — strong 

C  One  critic  (in  the  tales  of  strong   men 

Bt,    Louis    Republic)  and  women. 

comparing   the    two  C  They    are     bred 

books,  says  that  "The  **  of   the  snow  and 

White  Darkness"  is  pines,   of    the   long 

**  a  more  recent  and  silences  of  winter  and 

better   finished  piece  the  stillness  of  white 

of  workmanship.  * '  nights. ' ' 

C  This  is  praise  in-  C  Illustrated    by 

deed,    for    all    the  Frank  E.  Schoonover 

world    knows    with  and  Cyrus  Cuneo. 


what   charm    "Jules      Cloth,    decorative, 
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It  has  a  most  gratifying  flavor,  and  is  unvarying,  but  above  all  is  reoom- 
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The  ticking  of  the  seconds  should  remind  you  that 
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The  Last 

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A  lady  in  the  enthusiasm  of  regained  health  and  old-time  joy,  writes: 

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became  a  thing  of  the  past. 

"If  people  tell  me  they  don't  like  Postum,  I  nearly  always  find  tliey 
have  not  boiled  it  long  enough,  for  it  is  surely  the  ideal  drink  when  made 
right,  and  is  full  of  wholesome  goodness." 

"There's  a  Reason"  for 

POSTUM 

Postt&m  Cereal  Co.»  I^td.,  Battle  CreeR,  MicK.,  U.  S«  A. 


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Of  "Rare  Delicacy  and  Tlapor 

Tomato  Soup 

Everybody  thoroughly  enjoys  a  rich, 
smooth,  delicious  soup»  but  it's  so  much 
trouble  to  make  it  and  get  it  right. 
None  can  be  prepared  more  savory  and 
appetizing,  more  tempting  to  the  palate, 
than  Heinz  Cream  of  Tomato  Soup. 

The  tomatoes  in  it  are  especially 
grown  for  this  product — plump  and 
perfect,  taken  red  ripe  from  the  vines 
and  prepared  while  fresh.  No  meat  or 
stock  is  used  in  Heinz  Tomato  Soup — 
it  is  enriched  solely  by  pure,  sweet 
cream.  The  spices  are  of  the  highest 
standard  of  purity — and  the  precision 
exercised  in  seasoning  this  Heinz  deli- 
cacy is  not  excelled  in  all  cookery. 

It  is  this  careful  blending  of  ma- 
terials, our  improved  methods  of 
cooking,  painstaking  care  and  scrupu- 
lous cleanliness  that  make  Heinz 
Tomato  Soup  what  it  is — superlatively 
good  and  wholly  unlike  all  others. 

The  special  Heinz  sanitary  tin  will  bring  the 
exquisite  flavor  of  the  original  direct  to  your  table. 
Just  heat  and  it's  ready  to  serve. 

Ftriale  at  aO  grocers  in  tliitcf  confcnleBl  fitt. 


v\EiA/a 


thrMfii  Helas  Pue  FMi 


_     _  _     _      Beans,! 

lellsh.  Sweet  Pkklcs,  Mandalay  SaacerToniato 
Ckntney,  Pore  OUve  Oil,  etc  let  m  tend  yon 
a  copy  of  "The  Spice  of  Life.** 

H.  J.  HEINZ  COMPANY 

NewYMt  ntttbvgb 


VARIETIES 


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Somewhere 

Sometime 

Someday 

KlOMEWHERE  —  sometime— you 
BJ  have  tasted  coffee  of  such  man- 
ifest deliciousness  that  you  determined 
to  ask  your  hostess  the  fiam^  of  it.  that 
you  might  have  it  in  your  own  home, 
but.  alas!  neglected  the  opportunity. 

That  particular  coffee  was  undoubt- 
edly, "WHITE  HOUSE  "  — which 
impresses  people  that  way.  makes  them 
want  to  use  IT. 

KBOMETIME  —  somewhere  —  you 
BJ  must  have  seen  it  advertised  — 
must  have  read  the  nice  things  said 
about  it  —  how  pure  it  is.  how  dean 
it  is,  how  honest  it  is. 

These  nice  things  aie  all  true,  and 
thousands  of  people  using  "WHITE 
HOUSE  COFFEE"  know  they  are 
true. 

KlOME  DAY  —  why  not  to-day  ?  — 
BJ  you  will  ask  ^^«r  grocer  to  bring 
you  "WHITE  HOUSE  COFFEE," 

and  thank  us  for  reminding  you  that  you 
forgot  to  find  out  for  yourself  the  name 
that  means  so  much  in  the  coffee  world 

"WHITE  HOUSE" 

the  coffee  ••  with  a  flavor  all  Its  own  " 


^lST  QROOERS  sell  tTm 

In  1, 2,  and  3  lb  air-tight  tin  cans  only— ^hole, 
ground  or  pulverized.  Never  sold  in  bulk. 
For  the  Jtmklng,  we  will  mail  free  a 
copy  of  our  eleeant  5>-iJage  book,  "  The  Story 
of  the  White  House,  at  Wasliington,  and  its 
Home  Life." 

DWINELL- WRIGHT  COMPANY. 

Principal  Coffee  Boasters, 
Boston  --  Chlcagro. 


WHEN  THE  WEATHER  IS  WARM 

LOOSB    FITTING 


B.V.D. 


nrodUMark,    RigitUrHt  U.  S.  Faitni  Qfflct, 


Coat  Cut 


Undershirts 

■■<      - — =^- 


Knee  Length  Drawers 

will  keep  you  cool  znd 
comfortable^^^ 

50c.,  $1.00  and  $1.50 

a  garment 

Identified  by  B .  V.  D.  Label, 
which  consists  of  white  letters 
B.  V.  D.  on  a  red  woven  back- 
ground. Accept  no  imitations. 
Look  for  the  label. 

Purchase  B.  V.  D.  Under- 
wear through  your  dealer.  If 
your  dealer  will  not  procure 
B.  V.  D.  Underwear  for  you, 
send  us  the  price  of  the  gar- 
ments desired,  with  your  waist 
and  chest  measurements  (in 
inches),  and  we  will  fill  direct  a 
sample  order  for  you,  postpaid. 

Illustrated  seven-color  book- 
let, descriptive  of  B.  V.  D.  Un- 
derwear, sent  free  upon  request. 

^BRLANQER  BROTHERS. 

Ocpc.  K.  Worth  utf  Chucb  Stfwte 

New  York  City 


Pony  Riss  for 

Boys  and  Girls 

Nothing  else  could  inve  your  chlldrea  so  iDuch 
pleasure.  Our  Tony  Pony  vehicles,  all  st>ies, 
strong,  roomy,  safe,  combine  best  material, 
original  designs,  expert  workmanship,— nobby 
and  durable.  OOt  PONT  FARM  ic 
the  best  stocked  in  the  West.  Prompt  ship- 
V  ments.    Illustrated  catalQ«rue  free. 

Co.,  159  Ofle«  BaUdliw,  KaUawMo,  Ml«k. 


THEJ/ACUUM  CAP  CURES   BALDNESS 
60  DAYS  TRIAL 

Thousands  cured.  Our  Modem  TM>«aM  Cop 
when  ased  a  few  atlaatco  tmeh  4mj  dra»-s  the 
Wood  to  the  scalp  and  forces  the  hair  into  new  healthy 
growth,  cures  baldness  and  stops  the  hair  from  blliog 
out.  Cures  DandrufT.  Harmless  and  healthful.  We 
send  it  to  vou  on  trial.  We  only  want  p«iy  If  you  are 
pleased.    Is  not  this  foirr    Write  for  free  booklet. 

THE   MODERN   VACUUM   CAP  CO. 

e«S    BARCUAY    BLX>CK.  DKNVKR.    COLO 


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The  Varnish  that  lasts  longest 


Made  by  Murphy  Varnish  Company. 


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Economical  Heating 

Some  heating  systems  waste  heat  and 
fuel  because  of  their  poor  construction. 
This  compels  forcing  the  apparatus  to 
obtain  sufficient  heat  and  necessitates 
many  repairs.  Saring  of  fuel  and  freedom 
from  repairs  is  true  heating  economy. 

''PIERCE'*  SYSTEMS 

of  Lx>w  Pressure 

Steam  and  Hot  Water  Heating 

are  always  under  control  and  are  eco- 
nomical because  they  require  but  little 
fuel  and  attention,  distribute  every 
particle  of  heat  evenly  throughout  the 
house  and  require  no  repairs.  They 
are  constructed  from  best  materials  in 
one  of  the  largest  heating  foundries  in 
the  world.  There  are  over  300  styles 
and  sizes  to  meet  every  requirement 
and  nearly  200,000  in  use,  thousands 
having  given  perfect  satisfaction  for 
over  thirty  years.  Sold  through  local 
dealers  everywhere. 

"PIERCE  QUALITY'' 
SANITARY  PLUMBING 

goods  in  Porcelain  Enamel  and  Solid  Vit- 
reous Ware  are  ideal  -equipments  for  Bath, 
Laundr}'and  Kitchen.  **It  pays  to  secure  both 
heating  and  plumbing  goods 
from  the  same  manufactu- 
rer." 

Send  for  ^^Common  Sense  Heat> 
ing  and  Sanitary  Plambiug/*  a 
most  practical  and  interesting 
book.fVee.  The  name  of  yoarAr 
chltect^Steamfltterand  Plamber 
woold  be  greatly  appreciated. 

PIERCE,BUTLER& 
PIERCE  MFG.  CO. 

200  James  Street  , 

SYRACUSE,    N.    Y.  J 
Branches  in  all  leading  dtlei. 


''qitizod  bv 


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Castle  Dome  Cut  Plug 

THB  BEST  SMOKB  FOR  THB  PIPB 
In  America.  Made  from  Old  Virginia  Sun-Cnred 
Tobacco.  Money  refunded  If  It  bites  or  bums 
the  tongue.  Sent  |>repald  postage 
76o  Pound.  Large  Sample  lOo. 
JASPER  L.  ROWE, 

RICHMOND,  VA. 
Stub.  1880  Ref:    Broad  tt.  Bank 


A  HAMMOCK  THArS  RIGHT 

The  only  hammock  made  that  co  abines  Quality,  Dura- 
bility and  Beauty  with  Comfort  Can  be  used  indoors  or 
out     For  further  particulars  write 

QUCCN  HAMMOCK  CO. 
181  W.  Narth  Straat*    Kalamaxoo,  Mich.,  U.  S.  A. 


-initJypH  hii 


f^onaft^ 


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McCray 
Refrigerators 

opal  Qlass^Porcelain  Tile 

and    White    Wood     Lined 

Are  Built  to  Order 

For  Fine  Residences, 

Clubs^Hotels— Hospitals— Public 
Institutions — Grocers — 
Markets— Florists,  Etc. 

They  are  without  question  the  most  perfect 
refrigerators  built,  and  are  used  and  endorsed 
by  thousands  of  architects,  physicians,  sanitary 
experts,  prominent  people,  clubs,  hotels,  etc 

The  McCray  Patent  System  of  Refrigeration 

la  admitted  to  be  the  beet  STstem  of  refrlfreratlon  ever  Invented,  and  Insnreo  a  perfect  circulation  of  abaolntelTpare, 
oold,  dry  alr^-ao  perf^t  that  salt  and  matchea  can  be  kept  In  a  McCray  Refrigerator  wlthoat  becominir  damp.  There 
ia  nerer  the  faintest  saspldon  of  a  fonl  odor  abont  the  McOray  Refrigerator.  They  can  be  Iced  from  oatdoors,  are 
alwa^  dean,  sweet,  dry  and  sanitary,  and  keep  food  In  perfect  condition. 

Send  Us  Your  Address  Todaiy  and  let  as  send  yon  the  yaloable  book— **How  to  Use  a  Refrigerator.** 
CatAl<Hme«  Jind  PfttiitiJite«  Are  Sent  Pree    Oatalogne  No.  81  for  Residences;   No.  46  for  Hotels, 
wautiugues  ana  CSlimaxes  J\WV  acni  rrcc    Reetauranta,  aubs.  Public InstltutlonB,  etc,  Ko.ctS 
Meat  Markets:  No.  M  fbr  Grocers;  No.  71  for  Florists. 

McCray  Refrigerator  Co.,  583  Mill  Street,  Kendallville,  Indiana. 

BiBDcliM  in  all  prladpal  dilM. 


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Going  To 


C 


7 


If  SO,  the  journey  can  be  made  doubly 
attractive  by  making  the  going  trip  via 
one  route  and  the  return  via  another. 

This  feature  is  particularly  well  provided  for  by  the 
splendid  less-than-three-days  service  of  the  electric 
lighted  Los  Angeles  Limited  daily  between  Chicago 
and  Los  Angeles  via  the  Salt  Lake  Route,  and  the 
electric  lighted  Overland  Limited  between  Chicago  and 
San  Francisco  every  day  in  the  year,  via  the  Chicago, 
Union  Pacific  and  North- Western  Line. 

Patrons  may  make,  as  a  part  of  their  journey, 
without  extra  cost,  the  trip  between  Los  Angeles 
and  San  Francisco  through  the  heart  of  the  most 
beautiful  portions  of  California  via  the  scenic  Coast 
Line  or  through  the  San  Joaquin  Valley. 

A  further  choice  of  routes  may  be  had  through  Colorado 
or  via  any  other  direct  ticketing  route;  or,  at  a  slight  increase 
in  cost,  tickets  may  read  returning  via  Portland  or  Puget 
Sound. 


We  will  send  free  to  any  address  a  beauti- 
ful descriptive  book  on  California,  together 
with  full  information  about  rates  and  train 
service  on  request. 


Advertising  Department  A 

Chicago  &  North-Westem  Ry. 

Chicago,  111. 

0IA9 


'^ff^f-^effi 


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THE   OUTING   MAUAZlNt.    AUVt^Kl  i^^t^K 


Brown's  Baby 
Rambler  Rose 

Each  lOc     Doz.  $1.00 

ilesmen  calling  on  our  patrons.  In  case  you  have 
•der  we  will  send  you  fine  strong^  plants  from  2>i 
at  10^  each,  $1.00  per  dozen,  or  ^.00  per  hundred. 
>ler  is  a  dwarf  counterpart  of  the  famous  climbing^ 
vith  these  differences — it  grows  only  18  to  24  inches 
luzarijoitly  all  the  time  in  the  house,  and  from 
;ontinual  mass  of  beautiful  crimson  blossoms.  No 
so  free  from  disease  or  insects.  Baby  Rambler  is 
dding,  masses,  hedges  or  borders  is  unique  as  it  is 
n\\  bloom  in  a  very  short  time  after  planting. 


LANDSCAPING 


If  you  are  thinking  of  beautifying  your  premises,  whether  they  be  a  large  estate  or  small  city 
lot,  write  us  for  plans  and  suggestions,  which  we  furnish  free  of  cost.  Our  business  is  groiving 
trees  and  shrrbs.  Our  landscape  gardeners  and  engineers,  experts  in  their  line,  are  at  your 
service.  We  are  located  in  the  best  place  in  America  to  grow  hardy,  long-lived,  beautiful  stock. 
We  can  furnish  anything  from  a  train  load  to  a  single  specimen,  for  we  are 

The  Largest  Nursery  in  the  World. 

O  X  f  |7G1b|I!'KI    '^JJ  A ISTTFD    ^^  *^?*  ^^^*  hustling  salnmen  and  women  in  all  parts  ofAtncrlca  and  canoffer  such  a 


occupadon,  more  remuncradve.  we  believe,  than  any  other.    Write  for  particulan. 
/*  A  T  A  I  i'\t*  G    I'  Interested  in  ',hyx\\  or  ornamental  trees  or 
%iiMA  1 /%£A/\jO   shrubs,  or  hardy  perennials,  write  for  catalogs. 

Brown  Brothers  Nurseries,  Rochester,  N.  Y.— 7%*  Fimver  city 


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Bottled  at  the  Bre^ 
Hudson,  N.  Y. 


^d  such  widespread 
uperlative  merit 


Clubs,  Restaurants,  Hotels,  Oyster  and  Chop  Houses  and  Dealers 


NEWFOUNDLAND 

A  COUNTRY  OF  FISH  AND  GAME 

A  PARADISE  FOR  THE  CAMPER  AND  ANGLER.  IDEAL  CANOE  TRIPS 

The  country  trayened  by  the  Aeid  Newfoundland  Company* a  system  is  exceedingly  rich  in  all  kinds  of  fish  and  game. 

All  along  the  route  of  the  Railway  are  streams  ^mous  for  their  SALMON 
and    TROUT   fishing,   some   of  which    have   a    world    wide    reputation 

Americans  who  have  been  salmon  fishing  in  Newfoundland  say  there  is  no  other  country  in  the  world  in  which  so  large  fith 
can  be  secured  and  with  such  ease  as  in  Newfoundland.      Information  cheerfully  given  upon  application  to 

J.   W.  N.  JOHNSTONE,  General  Pamenffer  Affent,  Reid  Newfoundland  Company,  St.  John's,  Newfoundland 


GUARANTEED 


FOR   TWO 

YEARS 

pi  g^  will  buy  the  only  natural,  never-fidlinff  and  practically 
II  l|  #1  indestructible  cii^ar,  dearette  and  pipe  lighter  ever 
■■III"  invented.  There  is  notiiing  to  eet  out  of  order.  No 
■  I  II  Ij  oil— no  chemicals  of  any  kind.  Simply  a  charred 
^^  w  w  wick,  cube  of  flint,  steel  wheel  and  lever  to  produce 
friction.  When  the  flint  sparking  cube  or  wick  is 
consumed,  it  can  be  replaced  at  trifling  cost  (cube  lo  cts.,  wicks, 
3$  cts.  doz.). 

The  MATCHLESS 
CiGAR  LIG""" 

LIGHTS  CIGAR.  CIGARETT 
where,  at  any  time— in  wind,  r 
land  or  sea.  THR  HARdbr  I' 
BRIUHTBR  IT  GLOWS.     It 

Fits  the 
Vest  Pocket 

like  a  match  box— is  always 
ready  and  never  fails  to  work. 

Automobiilsts, 

Yachtsman, 

Hunters,  Goiters 

and  all  out-door  smokers  should 
have  a  MATCHLBSS  cigak 
LKJHTBR.  Try  one.  If  you 
don't  like  it  your  money  will  be 
cheerfully  refunded.  Buy  from 
your  dealer  or  well  supply  you. 
postpaid,  if  he  will  not.  Illus- 
^ted  and  descriptive  circular 
free  on  application. 

MATCHLESS  CI6AR 

U6HTER  MF6.  CO. 

Oept.  8  16  J 

New  Yort 


•4    2-3  tutual  site — with  side  re- 

•'•   moved, shelving  fust  in  position 

to  light  cigar ^  cigarette  or  pipe 


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MENNENS 

BIQIl£ir(MIlR 


I 


Unsettled  liTeatlier 

of  SiMring  months,  with  ItR  raw  chill  winds,  is  espedallT 
hard  on  delicate  complexions,  unless  protected  and 
kept  soft  and  clear  by  daily  use  of 

MENNEN'SfSSSS'  POWDER 

A  dellKhtfal  healing  and  soothing  toilet  necessity, 
coutainiuK  none  of  the  rlskr  chemicals  found  lu  cheap 
toilet  powders  imitating  Meunen's.   Just  get 
the  habit  of  using  Mennen's  «very  dayof  uie     y 
year,  after  ^      ' 

shaving    and 
after  bathing. 

Put  up  in  Boa« 
r  « ri II  a b  1  e 
boxes*  for  your 
protection.  If 
Mennen's  face  is 
on  the  cover.  It's 
■eaalae  and  a 
(guarantee  of  '' 

purity.  Delightful  af- 
ter shavini;.  Sold  every- 
where, or  by  mail  as 
cents. 

Guaranteed  under  the 
Food  and  Drugs  Act, 
June  30,  1906.  Serial 
No.  1542. 

l»aMpl«  Free 

OBRIIARD  IIBIIHBII  00. 

Newark,  X.  J. 

Try  Mennen's  Vlo- 

let(  Borated)Talcum 
Powder.  It  has  the 
scrnt  of  fresh  cut 
Parma  Violets. 


1 


] 


Virginia  Hot  Springs 

2,500  FEET  ELEVATION 
OPEN   ALL   THE   YEAR 

Waters,  Baths,  Hotels  aatf  Scenery   Nowhere   EqjotiM 

EARLY   SPRING    SEASON   IDEAL 

Rheumatism,  gout  and  nervous  diseases  cured.  Com- 
plete hydrotherapeutic  apparatus.  Golf,  swimming 
pool,  fine  livery  and  all  outdoor  pastimes. 


THE  NEW  HOMESTEAD, 
greatly  improved,  is  modern  in  the  strictest  sense  and 
patronized  by  the  highest  class.    Japanese  palm  room. 
Brokers'   oflfice  with  direct   N.  Y.  wire.     New  York 
office,  243  Fifth  avenue. 

THE  CHESAPEAKE  &  OHIO  RAILWAY, 

Famed  for  its  Beautiful  Scenery, 

allows  stop-over  at  Covington,  Va.,  on  through  tickets 

between  the   East   and    the    West,   for  side    trip  to 

Virnnia  Hot  Springs. 

Pullman  compartment  car,  via  Washington,  leaves 
New  York  4.5^  p.  m.,  arrives  Springs  8.25  a.  m., 
Eastern  time.  Fhrough  parior  car  leaves  Washington 
2.C0  p.  M.,  arriving  Springs  11. 15  p.  m. 

Complete  Pullman  service  from  the  West  Excur- 
sion tickets  on  sale  at  principal  ticket  offices  through- 
out the  United  States  arid  Canada 

FRED  STERRY,  Manager,  Hot  Springs,  Va. 


made  proof  against  the  elements  by 


FLINTKOTE 
ROOFING 

Any  man  who  can  use  a  hammer  can 
lay  it  perfectly,  and  everything  needed 
comes  in  the  roll. 

We  know  that  this  is  ''strong  talk  "and 
would  not  say  it  if  it  could  not  be 
proved.     Do  you  want  the  proof? 

May  we  have  the  pleasure  of  showing 
you  why  Rex  Flintkote  is  the  proved 
good  roofing  for  all  kinds  of  buildings 
under  all  kinds  of  climatic  conditions? 

Samples  and  Book  Sent  Free 

All  good  dealers  who  put  satisfied  customers 
above  large  margins  of  profit,  prefer  to  sell  Rex 

Flintkote  instead  of  its 

host  of  cheap  imitators. 
You  can  tell  the  genuine 
if  you  **Look  for  the 
Boy"  trade  mark  on  the 
roll.  Send  for  the  sam- 
ples at  once. 

J.  A.  A  W.  BIRO  A  CO. 
niMliaSt,B«toii,llats. 

Agents  everywhere 


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THE  OVTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


ALAS 


Now  is  the  time  to  plan  a  trip  to  this  beautiful  and  rapidly  devel- 
oping country.  The  Chicago  &  North-Westem  Railway  will  give 
you  full  particulars  concerning 

SPECIAL  SUMMER  TOURS 

conducted  by  the  Pacific  Ck>ast  Steamship  Company  from  Tacoma,  Seattle,  Van- 
couver and  Victoria  June  14th  and  28th,  July  12th  and  26th  and  August  9th  on 
theS.  S.  "Spokane." 

$100.00  round  trip  from  Puget  Sound  ports  includes  all  expenses. 

An  ideal  summer  vacation  trip  to  the  land  of  the  midnight  sun. 
Q«%A^inl  I  rk^AT  RAfoA  ^^i^  Chicago,  $62.50  round   trip  to  Seattle  and 
tjpcciai  l^OW  ivai.t:g  ot^ep  j^o^h  Pacific  Coast  points  June  20th  to  July 
12th  inclusive;  return  limit  September  15th,  account 

CHRISTIAN    ENDEAVOR 

convention  at  Seattle  July  10th  to  15th,  via  the 

Chicago  &  North-Westem  Railway 

The  S.  S.  "Qaeen**  leares  Seattle  July  10th,  for  one  of  these  tours,  arranged  especially  tor  ChrlBtlan 
Endearor  Tlaitors.    Send  for  complete  information  and  Itinerariee,  free  on  request. 

W.  B.  KNISKERN,  PaMenger  Traffic  Manager,  C  &  N.-W.  Ry„  Chicago. 


For  Liquor  and 
Drug  Using 

A  scientific  remedy  which  has  been 
skillfully  and  successfully  administered  by 
medical  specialists  for  the  past  27  years 

AT  TUB  POLLOWma  KBBLBY  ISSTIWTBS: 


t§Ot  LMUt  St. 


Cor.  Omi  and  Utk  Hto. 
•rtk  0Mw«7t  N*  H. 
"  ■  *  H.  T. 


Wklte  HatM,  R.  T. 
ColuBbnt,  a 

1087  R.  DmbImb  An 
PUladelpkia,  Pb. 

Mlfl  nmrtk  Brwi4  8t. 
HarrlBbary,  Fk 


4t4«  nttk  Av«. 

MchMiid,  ?■. 
T»r«Bto,  Oat,,  Caaaia 


CHEW... 

Beeman*s  i 

Thb  Original 

Pepsin  ^ 
Gum  ^  ^ 

Csres  Isdlfettlos 
aai  Sea-tickflcss. 

All  Otheri  ire  laltitlPM.    " 


^%  Bermuda 

Weekly  from  New  York,  forty-five  hours  by  new  twin 
screw  S.  S.  ''Bermudian." 

OR 

West  Indies 

S.  S.  Trinidad  sails  on  special  17  day 
cruise  March  30th.    Rates  $80  to  $  1 1 0. 

Steamers  every  ten   days  for  St.  Thomas,  Sc.  CroU.  St.   Kitts.   Ant'giai. 
Dominica,  Ciuacuiloiipe.  Martinique.  St.  Luda,  Barbados,  and  Deiiicrara. 
For  illustrated  |MUiiphlet,  passai^es,  etc..,write 

A..     E.     OUTERBRIDGE    &.    CO., 

Agts..  Quebec  S.  S.  Co..  Ltd..  ag  Broadway.  New  York;   A.  AHERN.  Secy.. 
Quebec,  Canada,  or  THOS.  C(K)K  &  SON.  a45  and  laoo  Broadway. 


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O 


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Capt  John  Ericsson 

"One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 
That  were  not  bom  to  die." 


ERICSSON  was  precocious  in 
childhood;  born  in  1803,  at  a 
small  town  in  the  mining  region  of 
Sweden,  at  the  age  of  ten  years  he 
designed  a  pump  to  drain  the  mines, 
and,  before  his  majority,  a  machine  for 
engraving  and  a  flame-engine.  His 
younger  manhood  comprises  a  whole 
series  of  inventions.  Among  them  are 
surface  condensation,  as  applied  to 
steam,  and  compressed  air  for  con- 
veying power.  In  the  forties  he 
caused  a  revolution  in  naval  warfare 
by  the  application  of  the  screw  pro- 
peller to  vessels  of  war,  and  his  naval 
inventions  culminated  in  the  construc- 
tion of  the  Monitor  of  national  re- 
nown, familiarly  known  as  the  "Little 
Cheese-Box  on  a  Raft,"  which  went 
out  to  meet  the  Merrimac  and  to  vic- 
tory on  that  memorable  March  day 
of  1862.  This  invention  compelled 
the  reconstruction  of  every  great  navy 
of  the  world,  along  the  lines  laid 
down  by  Ericsson,  and  was  of  such 
wide-reaching  effect,  as  to  cast  around 
his  name  an  international  fame,  so 
great  as  to  ec<ipse  all  other  useful 
products    of    his    wonderful    genius. 


Comparatively  few  people  are,  there- 
fore, aware  that  Ericsson  invented  the 
caloric  engine,  through  which  hot  air 
successfully  takes  the  place  of  steam, 
and  at  a  great  saving  in  expense  for 
all  operations  requiring  moderately 
low  power;  as,  of  course,  much  less 
fuel  is  required  to  heat  air  to  some 
expansive  power,  than  is  needed  for 
the  turning  of  water  into  steam. 
Herein  lies  the  chief  economy  of  the 
Hot-Air  Pump,  which  was  really 
Ericsson's  pet  invention,  and  in  im- 
proving which  he  spent  many  years 
of  an  exceedingly  active  life.  There 
are  various  imposing  monuments  the 
world  over  to  the  memory  of  the  great 
inventor  and  patriot;  yet  those  who 
knew  Ericsson  best  will  testify  that  the 
kind  of  memorial  which  would  please 
him  most,  were  the  choice  his  own, 
would  be  every  one  of  his  Hot-Air 
Pumps,  which  he  knew  of,  as  deliver- 
ing its  Domestic  Water  Supply  into 
the  homes  of  the  civilized  world.  Is 
it  asking  too  much  then  of  every  buyer 
of  a  Hot-Air  Pump  to  give  a  thought 
to  the  memory  of  its  great  inventor 
and  what  his  life  meant  to  mankind? 


Over  40,000  Hot-Air  Pumps  are  now  in  use. 
Write  to  nearest  office  for  Catalogue  02. 


Rider-Ericsson 
Engine  Co. 


35  Warren  Street,  New  York 

a39  Franklin  Street,  Boston 

40  Dearborn  Street,  Chicago 

40  North  7th  Street,  Philadelphia 

234  Craig  Street  West,  Montreal,  P.  Q. 

aa  Pitt  Street,  Sydney,  N.  S.  W. 

Amargura  96,  Havana,  Cuba 


The  tricsion  Ca- 
loric  Engif 
Hot  Air  ' 


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L^wttfSlC 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


[| 


And  weekly  dressings  of 
Cuticura,  purest  and  sweet- 
est of  emollients,  at  once 
stop  falling  hair,  remove 
crusts,  scales,  and  dandruff, 
destroyhairparasites,  soothe 
irritated,  itching  surfaces, 
stimulate  the  hair  follicles, 
loosen  the  scalp  skin,  supply 
the  roots  with  energy  ana 
nourishment,  and  make  the 
hair  grow  upon  a  sweet, 
wholesome,  healthy  scalps 
when  all  else  fails. 

5epotr  London,  S? 
de  la  Palx:  Austr%> 


Sold  thitragfaotit  the  world.    . 
Charterhouse  8q.;  Paris.  6  Rue 


Ila.  R  Towns  A  Co..  Sydney:  India  B  K  ^ul.  Sh 

Ktta:  China.  Hong  Kong  Drug  Co.:  Japan.  Maruya, 
d.  Toklo' South  Africa.  Lennon.  Ltd..  Cape  Town, 
eto.:  U._8.  A..  PotterDnigA  Chera   Corp..  Sole 


3  Buegy  with 
nobile  St^le 
jiear  and  1  in. 
td  Ruboer 
oe  complete. 
Kxl  as  sells  for 
iO.OO  more. 


34  Years  Selling  Direct 

Our  vehicles  and  harness  have  been  sold  direct 
from  our  factory  to  user  for  a  third  of  a  century. 
We  ship  for  examination  and  approval  and 
guarantee  safe  delivery.  You  are  out  nothing 
II  not  satisfied  as  to  style,  quality  and  price. 
We  Are  The  Urf est  Mannfactwen  In  The  WarM 
selling  to  the  consumer  exclusively.  We  make 
200  stvles  of  Vehicles,  66  styles  of  Harness. 
Send  for  large,  free  catalogue. 
ELKHART  CARRU6B  A  HARNESS  MK.  CO.,  EDiluul,  bC 

No. 
FineC 
Top  g 
compK 
good  a 
to  $30 


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NATIONAL  MOTOR  BOAT  SHOW.  MADISON  SQUARE  GARDEN,  NEW  YORK.  FEBRUARY  19-26.  1907 


r 


an       PB^»M»€3l6n       nn^tga       na       p«        pp 


MOST 
DELICIOUS 
OF  ALL   . 
CORDIALS 


I 


LIQUEUR 

PERES 
CHARTREUX 

-GREEN  AND  YELLOW— 
Known  as  Chartreuse 


At  firat-cUss  Wine  Merchants.  Grocers.  Hotels,  Cafes. 

Batjer  8r  Co.,  45  Broadway,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Sole  Agents  for  United  States. 


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Tarpon  Fishing 
at  Aransas  Pass 


ASK  the  man  who  has  fished  for  Tarpon  and  he  will  tell  you  that  the 
man  who  has  never  had  this  experience  does  not  know  what  real  sport  is. 
Tarpon  fishing  at  Aransas  Pass  compares  to  fresh  water  fishing  as  big 
game  to  small  birds.  To  hold  a  pole  with  the  "king  of  game  fish**  hooked  is 
about  as  exciting  a  moment  as  the  average  man  experiences  in  a  life  time. 
Fighting  with  eveiy  ounce  of  his  strength  the  Tarpon  leaps  into  the  air  from 
four  to  ten  feet  in  a  whirl  of  spray,  repeating  the  performance  ten,  twenty  and 
may  be  thirty  times  before  he  is  nnally  captured.  While  in  the  air  he  turns, 
shakes  his  powerful  head  in  a  vigorous  attempt  to  rid  himself  of  the  hook, 
then  striking  the  water  again  he  is  otf  like  a  torpedo  on  a  two-hundred  yard 
dash  before  he  stops  or  leaps  again.  Then  he  spars  for  wind  and  is  once 
more  otf  again  repeating  the  performance.  This  lull  and  rush  is  repeated 
again  and  again  until  the  fish  is  exhausted  and  conquered. 

From  April  to  October 

the  waters  in  the  vicinity  of  Aransas  Pass  literally  swarm  with  Tarpon  and 
anglers  from  all  .parts  of  the  United  States  and  from  abroad  come  here  to 
enjoy  a  bout  with  these  royal  denizens  of  the  deep. 

Why  not  try  the  sport  yourself?  The  trip  is  a  delightful  one  and  is  very 
inexpensive.  Excursion  tickets  will  be  sold  to  Corpus  Christi,  Tex.,  via  the 
M.  K.  &  T.,  April  2nd  and  16th,  May  7th  and  21st,  at  the  following  fares: 


Buffalo 

- 

S44.20 

Cincinnati 

- 

- 

S33.78 

Ctilca0o 

- 

2S.OO 

St.  Raul 

- 

- 

27.80 

In<llanopolto 

- 

28.78 

St.  l^oula 

• 

- 

28.00 

Fares  from  other  points  in  proportion.    Tickets  are  good  30  days  with 
liberal  stop  over  privileges. 

Write  me  to-day  for  full  particulars. 

W.   S.   St.  Georoe 

General  Passenger  Argent  IWf  •  K.  &  X.  Ry. 

784  Walnwrl0tit   Bull<l|n0,    St.  i^oula*  Mo. 

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No.  4  A 
FOLDING 

KODAK 

A  grown-up  pocket  Kodak.  Retains 
the  features  that  make  for  simplicity  and 
convenience,  but  takes  large  pictures. 

Superior  Rapid  Rectilinear  lenses, 
Kodak  Automatic  Shutter,  Automatic 
Focusing  Lock,  Rising  and  Sliding  Front, 
Reversible  Brilliant  Finder,  Two  Tripod 
Sockets.  Made  of  aluminum  covered 
with  finest  seal  grain  leather.  Loads  in 
Daylight  with  A%  x  6H  Film  Cartridges 
for  6  exposures. 

Price.  $35.00. 

EASTMAN    KODAK   CO. 

Rochester.  N.  Y. 

CatatofTte  at  the  --     -    .    ^ 

eUaitrs  or  by  mail.  Tn€  KodOK  Cltp, 


-Iqiti'-aH  hsf  ^ 


nnoqip 


Pleat.  UentloB  THE  OUTINO  MAOAZIME  Whm  CoRMPondliiK  With  Ad' 


THE  OUTIXG  MAGAZIXE  ADVERTISER 


THOUSANDS  have  discarded  the  idea  of  making 
their  own  cocktails, — all  will  after  gi^nng  the 
CLUB  COCKTAILS  a  fair  trial.  Scientifically 
blended  from  the  choicest  old  liquors  and  m^lowed 
with  age  make  them  the  perfect  cocktails  that  they  are. 
Seven  kinds,  most  popular  of  which  are  Martini  (Gin 
base),  Manhattan  (Whiskey  base). 

The  following  label  appears  on  every  bottle. 

Goaraatoed  omUr  tbe  Nariowl  Pore  Food  and  Droc* 

Act.  Approred  Jane  30.  1906.    Serial  No.  1707. 

G.    F.    HEUBLEIN   A    BRO.,    Sole  Proprietors 

Hartford  New  York  Loodoa 


Evmry  drop  im  dmBdomm  of  tKU  fatmma  old  mimo, 
it  ham  roi  ail  tkm  oigor  amd  oim  of  tkm  oinm  i 
No  winmm  of  Fronch  oitMiyardm  maek  oirtuom  comiaim  t 
It  *m  tkm  Joy  of  hoaijudw—Cfoai  Woaimrm  Ckamtpagnm. 

Great  Western  was  the  only  American  Champagne 
to  receive  a  Grold  Medal  at  Paris — and  was  acknowledged  by 
Parisians  to  equal  the  most  select  imported  brands.   In 

Great  Western 

ErZtra  Dry 

Champagne 

yon  will  recoffnixe  the  taste  of  the  Old  World's  best  vintages— at  half  the  coat.  It*s  the 
duty,  not  the  quality,  that  makes  the  difference.  The  quality  of  crapes  is  what  imparts 
to  fine  Champagne  its  flavor.  Particular  care  in  making  and  ageing  is  essential,  but 
the  fine  rich,  mellow,  yet  delicately  flavored  grape,  is  necessary. 

Great  Western  is  made  from  grapes  having  the  same  fine  qualitiea  as  those  grown 
in  the  best  vineyards  of  Prance. 

Cultivation  of  the  soil,  extending  over  nearly  one  hundred  srears.  In  the  Great  West- 
em  Vineyards  at  Rheims.  N.Y.,  has  developed  the  ideal  vine  that  produces  this  fine 
wine  grape.  The  process  of  making  Great  Western  is  identical  with  that  of  the  finest 
French  wines.  It  is  absolutely  pure  and  is  aged  for  five  years  in  the  latest  improved 
modem  cellars.  ^^  ^^^^^   ^^^^^ 

Pleasant  Valley  Wine  Ca,  Sole  Makers,  Rheims,  N.  Y. 

Sold  by  dealers  in  fine  Wines  and  served  in 
Hotels.  Restaurants  and  Cafea. 


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CAMPING    MADE    CONVENIENT 


CfciMujwi.ia\DSo(wqw  0<w>ytf  »>'^o<> 


Send  for  our  free  catalogue  on  camp  convenienoes,  which 
illustrates  new  ideas  and  new  good^,  that  enable  you  to  reaUy 
make  your  vacation  a  pleasure. 

We  also  have  for  distribution  the  following  Sportsman 
Manuals,  each  containing  126  pnges.  nicely  bound:  The 
Camper's  Manual.  The  Fisherman's  Manual,  and  The  Sports- 
man s  Manual.  They  are  worth  at  least  60  cents  each;  only 
30  cents  for  the  three,  or  10  cents  for  any  one  delivered  to  you 
by  mail.     Write  to-day. 

GOLD   MEDAL   CAMP   FURNITURE   MFG.  CO. 
Dept.  I.  Racine*  Wlaconslii,  U.  S.  A. 


I 


JA.RVIS    BA.IT   HOOK 

For  use  Mrltli  live,  salted  or 
pickled  mlnnoMrs 

The  Patent  Point  makes 
the  pull  from  the  head 
(instead  of  the  tail). 
Holds  minnow  in  a  nat- 
ural position.  It  can't 
double  up  in  a  lump  as 
with  ordinary  hook.  Just 
naturally  temnts  the  fish, 
then  hooks  him.  Fish 
can't  steal  the  bait  with- 
out being  hooked. 

AS  A   nSH  GETTER 
nr  BEATS  THEM  ALL 
i  FOR  TROLLING,  CAST- 
ING OR  STILL  FISHING 

Made  in  sizes  6  to '4/0 
single  and  double  gut. 
Prepaid  or  from  your 
dealer,  tz.co  doz. 
Send  25  cents  for  three 
samples  and  ccmplete  in- 
formation. 

JARVIS  FISHING  COAT  HS^i'Jit^i 

A  short,  practical  coat,  just  laps  over  top  of  waders.      Has 

pockets  inside  and  out  for  every  convenience  or  the  stream. 

Knapsack  pocket  on  back  to  carry  lunch,  etc. 

Convenient  and  comfortable. 

Prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  or  from  your  dealer. 

Army  iOiakl  $S.80  Heavy  Tan  Duck  $S.OO 

Free  with  every  $3.00  order  a  kaiidMiiiefporlsnaii's  WalcliFsli 


u 


W.  B.  JAKVIS  CO.. 


26 


St 


Grand  KapMt.  IDcIl 


Here's  an 

attractive    offer 

to  all 


Smokers 


is  the  finest  smoking  tobacco  possible. 

Hand  mixed.     Selected  leaves. 
It  isn't  cheap.     Best  things  never  are. 

Without   a   bite   or   a  regret 

OUR  OFFER 
Ask  your  dealer  for  it.  If  he  hasn^t  it,  Bend  us  his  name  and 
a  dollar  bill  (at  our  risk).  We  will  send  you  a  75c  can  of  the 
tobacco  and  a  50c  kid,  rubber  lined,  tobacco  pouch.  Try  the 
tobacco.  Smoke  several  pipefuls.  If  it  doesn't  suit  your  taste 
send  the  rest  of  it  back  and  we  will  return  your  dollar.  Send 
for  booklet  **  How  to  smoke  a  pipe.** 

3^  oz.  75c.  }/2  ^^'  f^'^S  I  lb.  J3.30 

PREPAID 

E.   HofFman    Company 

190    Madison  Street,  Chicago 


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"A  birch  pole  will  land  'em" 

TROUT 

as    game  and  plentiful  as  in  an  unexplored  country  in  the  district 

reached  by  the 

ERIE  RAILROAD 

Write  after  April  10,  1907,  to  R.  H.  WALLACE,  General 
Passenger  Agent,  New  York 

FOR  A  COPY  OF  "FISHING  ON  THE  PICTURESQUE  ERIE  " 

(Postage  4  cents) 

SAFETY-Block  signal            >V             THROUGH  TRAINS 
protection  all  the  way           jo^^^ 

y^fWWv            FROM  NEW  YORK  TO 
LUXURY— Pullman  equip-  /^l9"J|9  >    r:„„i.o«.*««            i:i«.:«i 

ment  of  latest  design      xNlll^X    Binghamtoo          Elmira 
«!Tri?vTrTr    tt„*v^*ii*h     ^•^          Buffalo     Ciacinaati 

SERVICE — Unexcelled          X  ■  •^ 

from  diner  to  sleeper              N^           Cleveland           Chicago 

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How  to  Cure  a  Crooked  Collar 

The  annoyance  one  sufien  when  wearing  a  collar  so  ha,Sy  cut  or  made  that  it  rides  ut  at 
one  point  and  down  at  the  other,  is  best  overcome  by  wearing  a  collar  firee  hom  such  faults. 

Arrow  c  o  llars 


ARDSLEy 


tre  cut  to  true  to  pattern  and  the  parts  so  accurately  stitched  together 

that  faults  in  fit  cannot  occur.     The 'materials  are  shnmken  be/on 

iutting — both  inside  and  outside  plies — by  the  CLUPEOO  process 

used  only  in  Arrow  Collar  making. 

All  this  accuracy  makes  possible  the  quarter  size — the  collai 

that  fits  every  man.     Ask  for  the  Arrow  Collar — 200  styles. 

16  CENTS  each;  2  FOR  26  CENTS. 

Send  for  the  man's  twok— "Wash  and  Wear*'— What  to  wear, 
when  to  wear  it— CraTata  and  how  to  tie  them. 

rCLUETT.  PEABODY  A  CO..  4*1  RIVER  ST..  TROY,  N.Y. 

Makers  of  the  Clnett  8mn— the  shirt  that  fits. 


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ALL  the  RAINIER  features  that  look  good  to  the  man  in 
search  of  comfort,  reliability  and  moderate  cost  in  motoring 
have  PROVED  GOOD.  That  is  the  RAINIER  "selling 
argument"— the  oiily  kind  that  appeals  to  practical  men. 


Guaranteed  Free  of  Repairs  For  One  Year 


MAKE  AND  BREAK  SPARK— SIMMS-BOSCH  MAGNETO 

THE     RAINIER     COMPANY 

Broadway,  Cor.  50th  Street    -    -     -    New  York  City 

REPRESENTATIVES     IN     ALL     THE     PRINCIPAL     CITIES 


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i 


We  are  willing  to  rest  our  case  on  a  thorough  demonstration. 
Will  you  arrange  for  one?  In  the  meantime,  get  our  free  Book  027 
THE    AEROCAR    COMPANY,    Detroit,  Mich.         Member  a.  m.  c  m.  a. 


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Leng^tHens 
the  LIFE  of 
your    CAR 


WitKerbee    Battery 

leng[thens  the  life  of  your  car.     It  makes  the  thousands  of  dollars  spent  in  its  purchase  price  more  of 
an  investment;  spreads  it  over  a  much  longer  term  of  usefulness. 

Imperfect  ignition  ruins  a  czx  ^ nicker  than  any  other  trouble.  It  racks  the  engine  frightfully; 
it  impairs  the  working  of  all  the  dehcately  adjusted  paru  of  the  entire  car  and  adds  fully  75  per  cmL 
to  the  cast  of  up-keep. 

The  Witherbee  Battery  provides  the  only  perfect  ignition.      It  will  make  a  $2,000  car  give  more 
actual  rtHsd  valne  than  many  an  $8,000  car  which  has  imperfect  ignition. 

A  Car  Is  No  Better  TKan  Its  Ignition 

There  are.  some  things  about  I|mitIon  which  you  should  know  in  order  to  gt!t  fpeater 
sp«ed.  greater  safety,  greater  value  out  of  your  car ;  drop  us  a  line  requesting  No.  92 
^d  we  will  send  you  a  little  booklet  which  will  be  of  inestimable  value  to  you;  it's  free. 


WITHERBEE    IGNITOR    COMPANY 


Main  Oftc«t 
541  WMt  43d  SU  New  York  Cktj 

BRANCHES:  CHICAGO :  1499  Michigan  Avenue.        DETROIT:  ate  Jefferson  Avenue.       BALTIMORE :  510  Continental  Bidg. 


/^ 


Unusnal  Antomobile  Bargains 

About  this  time  Automobile  manufacturers  dean 
up  on  their  1906  Models  preparatory  to  showing  the 
new  1907  cars.  We  are  thus  able  to  show  a  number  of 
perfect,  new  1906  cars  of  many  makes  at  deddedly 
reduced  prices.  These  cars»  to  save  the  manufac- 
turers' name,  are  listed  as  "second-hand,"  but 
many  of  them  have  never  been  out  of  the  shop. 

We  handle  nearly  every  strle  of  car,  either  foreign 
or  domestic,  new  and  second-hand.  No  matter  what 
you  want,  we  have  it  at  a  decided  saving  from  what 
you  would  pay  elsewhere. 

IVrite  to-day  for  Bargain  Sheet  No.  102. 


?^ 


The  Times  Square  Automobile  Co. 


^ 


Larfcat  De«l»ra  and  Brokara  In  Haw 
and  8e«*Bd-Haad  Gnra  la  the  World. 

215-217  West  48tli  Street,  New  York   Cll 


2^ 


"A  HIU  Qimber  BuUt 
in  the  Hills" 


for  1907 

The  Chauffeur's  choice, 
the  Owner's  pride,  the 
Dealer's  opportunity. 
The  car  for  hills,  sand 
roads  and  speed. 
SPECIFICATl()NS-36  h.  p. 
Rutenl>er     motor — 120    inch 
wheel  base— 34x4  tires— selci-. 
*tive  type  sliding  gear  trans- 
'  mission— powerful     brakes— 
hii;h  road  clearance.     Cata- 
__  log  FREE. 

Address  Tha  Barthai— »w  Ca.,  t06  Gild*  8trMt,  Pwirla.  111. 


SPAULDING  MARINE  ENGINES 

The  TroubMeaa  Kind 
Are  Simple,  Reliable,  Durable,  Elconomical  and 
Handsome.  Perfect  Ignition  and  Lubrication. 
Easy  to  Start  and  Easy  to  Run.  A  Partic- 
ular Engine  for  Particular  People.  Made 
in  one,  two  and  three  cylinders,  4  to  32  H.  P. 
Ask  us  to  tell  you  all  about  them. 

THE  SPAUIDING  ENGINE  CO. 

Mver  Frmt  St.  JoMpli.  Mich. 


$75.00 


FOR    THIS 

CROSS  2H.P.| 

|ioo.oofor3  H.P..  Jisoxo  for  4  H.  P..  douhte, 
|aoo.oo  for  6  H.  1*.  double  cylinder,  four  c->»Jc 
motor.  We  realize  the  PRICK  is  by  Car  the  least 
important  item  when  you  want  a  OoiQD  motor  and 
we  do  not  pretend  to  compete  'whh  engines  tluit 
are  sold  by  the  pound— ours  are  not  built  that 
way.  Owing  to  the  high  grade  material  and 
workmanship  combined  with  ixrfect  design  and 
construction  th»7  aar*  y«a  frmm  10  to  M  par 
^^^  «•■(.  la  gaMlia*  over  any  engine  yet  devised. 

Our  Price  Includes  Every tliino 

ready  for  installing,  you  dont  have  to  buy  a  lot  of  extras.  We  ship  these 
motors  ready  tor  installing,  including  propeller  shaft,  batteries,  spark  cofl, 
nUit;,  and  circulating  pump;  the  only  extra  is  the  piping.  KEEP  niS  III 
MIRD  when  comparing  and  don't  buy  until  you  have  our  catalogue  and 
have  fully  investigated  the  "Cross".  W^e  make  every  thing  from  9  to  zoo 
H.  P.  in  light  wcijiht.  high  speed,  and  heavy  duty  engines. 

Every  engine  has  a  **CR088*'  TWO  tKAKS*  fltJARAHTEE  which  is  ab>  | 
solute. 

Catalogue  on  request 

IWf.    O.    CROSS    ENGINE    CO. 

806  Ballavaa  Ava.,  Datrait,  HMh,  T.  &  A. 


BRENNAN  STANDARD  MOTORS 

are  practical  and  substantial,  ease  of  access  to  all  parts,  free  from  vilntioo. 
powerful  and  economical  in  fuel,  horizontal  and  vertical,  normal  speed  700. 
minimum  150.  maximum  1.300  revolutions  per  minute.  Guaranteed  for  one 
year.    Complete  ready  to  install. 

8END  FOR  OATAIXKirE 


BRENNAN  MOTOR  MFG.  CO^ 


9ynciiscN.Y. 


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K 


FORD 


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J 


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Two  Errors  CanH 
Correct  One  Mistake 


Prompt 
Deliveries 


Colonel  InfferaoU  used  to  say  "to  be  a  successful  liar 
one  must  have  a  good  memory:  for  one  lie  will 
only  fit  another  lie  made  for  that  express  purpose, 
whereas  a  truth  will  fit  any  other  truth  in  the 
universe." 

We  hear  a  lot  these  days  about  "hand  made"  motor 
cars.  (It's  funny  but  the  same  concerns  who,  a 
year  ago,  prated  of  "quality  not  quantity"  as  if 
the  two  were  incompatible,  now  build  i.ooo  to 
3,000  cars  per  year  and  still  expect  you  to  believe 
it  is  "hand  work,"  ''personal  supervision"  and  all 
that  sort  of  rot.) 

FORD    CARS   ARE    MANUFACTURED  —  have 

been  made  in  immense  quantities  and  by  modem 
American  methods  from  the  first.  And  the  first 
FORD  ever  made  is  still  giving  excellent  service — 
what  of  the  "cut  and  try"  contraptions  made  in 
that  same  year? 

Hand  ^voiic  at  best  is  but  a  series  of  mechanical  inac- 
curacies, each  made  to  fit,  as  nearly  as  may  be. 
a.nother.  IngersoU  would  call  them  mechanical 
fibs;  and  making  one  mechanical  fib  to  fit  another 
does  not  cancel  the  error  any  more  than  two  lies 
make  a  truth.  And  when  you  want  to  replace  a 
part,  the  maker  will  need  a  mighty  fine  "memory" 
to  give  you  one  that  will  fit — you'll  find  he  forgot. 

40  h. 


Wherever  the  ''personal  equation"  is  permitted  to  en- 
ter, absolute  uniformity  and  accuracy  are  impos- 
sible. (Did  you  ever  read  a  letter  written  on  a 
hand  made  typewriter?  Would  you  buy  one  for 
$100?  Certainly  not.  Yet  it  would  cost  $10,000 
to  make  one.)  That's  the  way  with  "hand  made" 
cars — the  only  evidence  of  superiority  is  the  fancy 
price.     Superior  efficiency — it  is  not  there. 

SIX-CYLINDER  FORD  CARS  are  the  product  of  the 
brightest  minds,  the  most  efficient  organization, 
the  ripest  experience  and  the  most  modem  manu- 
facturing plant  known  to  the  industry.  Every 
pound  of  steel  is  made  especially  for  the  Ford 
Company,  under  personal  supervision  of  FORD 
experts,  from  FORD  formulaB  and  finally  heat- 
treated  in  FORD  fiunaces.  No  other  concern  in 
the  business  can  make  that  claim. 

A  $5,M9  car  in  efficiency — luxuriotis  appointments, 
performance  and  endurance.  The  FORD  price 
IS  made  possible  hy  FORD  methods  and  FORD 

?iuantity  production.  We  could  command  the 
ancy  price  too — but  we're  looking  farther  ahead 
than  a  year  or  two. 

Add  to  the  quality  of  the  car  *TORD  courtesy"— 

the  replacement,  cheerfully,  promptly,  gratis,  of 
any  part  that  shows  a  defect  in  work  or  mate- 
rial— and  the  value  cannot  be  equaled.  "Charge 
it  to  the  advertising  account"  is  our  way  of  dis- 
posing of  this  item. 


1967  FORD  Model  R — i-cylinder  Motor.  40  h.  p.  at  the  wheels;  will  climb  anything  the  wheels  can  hold  on 
the  "high";  six  to  sixty  miles  per  hour  by  throttle  control  alone — no  need  for  transmission  except  for  reversing; 
two  complete  and  separate  systems  of  ignition — magneto  and  storage  battery — jump  spark;  two  sets  of  plugs; 
lao*  wheel  base;  sa^xa*  tires;  all  the  latest  features  and  improvements;  the  silence  of  an  electric,  the  flexiDility. 
the  steady  pulling  power  of  a  "six";  the  simplicity  and  reliability  of  a — FORD.  In  quality,  performance  and 
endurance  a  $5 ,000  car. 


With  top  and  full 
touring  equipment 

$3,000 

FORD  RUNABOUTS 

(4-cylinder)  Model  N 

$600 

Model  R 
"edition  de  luxe" 

$750 


FORD    1\40T0R   COIVIPAIMY 

Factory  and  Main  Office       -       -       -       DETTROIT*  MICH. 

BRANCH  RETAIL  STORES:    New  York.  PhiUdelpliiA.  Bottam,  Chicaco.  Bnlfido.  CleT«land.  Detroit, 
•ad  KaiMM  City.    Canadian  trade  tuppUed  hf  Ford  Motor  Companj  d  Canada,  WaJkerrille,  Out. 


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12  Horsepower  Tourabouty  price  $825 

Success  is  not  gained  by  spasmodic  effort  but  by  systematic 
achievement. 

The  record  of  The  Maxwell  since  its  introduction  in  1904  has 
been  an  unbroken  chain  of  victories  won  in  open  competition  and  in 
motoring  events  of  national  importance. 

1 905  The  Maxwell  midc  a  perfect  score  on  the  Glidden  Tour. 

The  Maxwell  vfzs  the  winner  of  the  *' climb  to  the  clouds'*  contest  up  Mt,  Wash- 
ington, won  over  all  cars  costing  ;J 2,000  and  under. 

1 906  The  Maxwell  was  the  winner  of  the  Deming  Trophy  on  the  Glidden  Tour.  ( The 
Maxwell rundhout,  used  as  a  pilot  car,  was  the  only  car  serving  in  that  capacity  to  finish.) 
The  Maxwell  is  the  holder  of  the  world's  3000  mile  non-stop  record, 

1907  The  Maxwell,  in  the  first  official  denatured  alcohol  test.  New  York  to  Boston, 
January  28-31,  under  the  severest  conditions,  finished  in  perfect  condition. 

The  ease  of  operation  and  economy  of  maintenance  has  long  made 
The  Maxwell  the  most  popular  car  among  the  4500  owners  who  do 
their  own  driving.  Send  for  TAe  Maxwell  catalogue  which  is  a  com- 
plete treatise  on  motor  car  construction.  Sent  free  on  request  to 
Department  22. 

MAXWELL^BRI  S  C  OE 
MOTOR  COMPANY 

*"  '^v tucket  Main  Plants  Pine  St.y  Tarry t own y  N.  T.       ^  Chicago 

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B|L 


I  ne  nign-graae  engine  at  a  low  frice. 

Made  in  1,  2,  3f  and  4  cylinder  sizes, 
2i  to  40  Horse  Po\^er. 

'^  "   *     '  modem  and  up-to-date  plant  in  the  world,  devot- 

to  the  building  of  2  cycle  Marine  Engines  and 
>y  a  responsible  firm. 


ite    for   prices    and    descrip- 
on  of  otir  2^  H.  p.  Motor,  tHe 
loMrest    priced    Boat    Motor 
ever  sold. 

Workmanship,  material  and  equipment  taken  into 

consideration.    Just  as  well  built  in  every  detail 

as  our  $700  motor.    Suitable  for  canoes,  row 

boats,  or   14  foot  launches    and    upwards. 

Elevated  timer.  Timer  gears  encaied.  Float  Feed  carburetor.  Loog^  bearincn.  Engine  it  reretable  and  runs  m 
either  direction.  Counter*balanced  cranks.  Starts  without  cranking.  Positive  oiling  device  for  crank  pins. 
Drop  forged  crank  and  connecting  rod.  Hand-hole  plate  in  base  for  quick  examination  of  connecting  rod  beanngk 
Ball  bearing  thrust. 

"Write  for  catalog. 
GRAY  MOTOR  CO.,  55  I^eib  St.,  DETROIT,  MICH. 


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».wv«..v^vvvv:.«..v.<.vwvvvvc 


MuUlns  Advice  to  Beat  Bikers 

Before  yon  bay  any  boat,  built  by  any  manaf acturer,  selliiiflr  at  any  price,  ask  the  following  qaeetion8^- 

FIret— Is  your  hull  guaranteed  against  puncture,  and  will  you  pay  for  repairing  it  if  it  should  be  punctured? 

Second— Is  your  hull  aruaranteed  against  leaking,  water-losidnfr.  opening  seams,  and  the  necessity  of  calkins? 

Third— Is  your  hull  equipped  with  air-tiffht  compartments,  and  guaranteed  as  safe  as  a  life-boat? 

Fourth— Will  you  absolutely  guarantee  the  speed  of  your  motor  boats,  and  will  you  take  them  back  and  refund  the 
purchase  price  if  they  do  not  nmke  the  speed  guaranteed. 

Fifth— Is  your  engine  guaranteed  to  be  free  from  defects  in  workmanship  and  material,  mechanically  accurate, 
perfect  running,  and  will  yon.  in  case  of  my  inability  to  run  my  engine,  send  a  man  to  start  it  for  me. 

MuHlns  Pressod  Steal  Boats 

iiro  Sold  Undsr  tho  Above  AbBOluie  Omwentee 

They  are  built  of  smooth,  pressed  steel  plates,  with  air  chambers  in  each  end  like  a  life  boat  The  smooth,  steel  hull  has 
handsome  lines,  and  glides  throuRh  the  water  with  the  least  possible  reeistanoe— they  are  faster,  more  durable,  and  safer— 
they  don't  crack,  leak,  dry  out  or  sink— are  elegant  In  design  and  finish. 

The  MolUos  Steel  Motor  Boats  have  roTolntlonized  motor  boat  building,  and  are  superior  in  every  way  to  wooden 
motor  boats.  They  are  eauipped  with  Mnllios  Reversible  Engines,  so  simple  in  oonstructloo,  and  so  dependable  that  a  boy 
can  run  them,  and  the  MuUins  Improved  Underwater  Exhaust,  which  makes  them  absolutely  noiseless. 


Write  For  Our  Free  Illustrated  Catalogue  of  Motor  Boati 
TH£  W,  H.  MULUMM  OO.,         t2S 


-Row  Boats— Hunting  and  Fishing  Bonts. 


SwV5v;<.T^  W!k  V.'k  V.VV.VJ<..^'S^  J^>^.^.V  .^  je.^  »..*.  !lw5w.'k.'<..^.V.^  .\JL.-^.^A,^JV.^^^'^.VJ^'^iCr^JL  ■»>.■<.  .v>v^g»^ 


BuildltYourself 


MARINEM0T0R5 


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WRITE  TO.DAY  FOB  CATAUH»  B  AND  OIBOULAB 

UNITED  MANUFACTURING  CQ 
DETROIT,  MICH. 

171-175     WeST  WOODBRIDCE  ST. 


THREE  PORT  TYPE 

1WO  PORT  TYPE 

Koa  3-5       H.P.        72 

s    N.R                es 

NaSi  5-6       HP.       lis 

6     NJ>.  (double  9lln4t»)1 65 

ABOVE  PRICES  Aim  FOR  COHPUmOUTmS.                 1 

This  Boat  Folds  '".*"  Package 

It's  Solid  and  Stiff  when  in  use — collapsible  and  quickly 
made  portable.  Carried  by  hand  or  in  a  buggy.  Is  a  revela- 
tion in  boat  construction.  Non-sinkable.  Puncture  proof. 
No  repairs.  No  cost  for  storage.  Wears  longer  than  a 
wooden  boot.  We  make  all  sixes  and  styles  for  every 
purpose. 
KING    rOLDING     CANVAS     BOAT 


Used  iM  U.  S.  ] 

Our  Catalog — 100  engravings — 400  testimonials — 

sent  on  receipt  of  6  cents. 

CO.,    671  West   North  Street,  Kalamazoo,  Michigan | 


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"I  have  met  a  RACINE  BOAT  and  she  is  ours,"  is  the  message  that  every 
satisfied  purchaser  wires  home  to  his  wife  after  visiting  one  of  our  branch  stores. 
Call  in  at  one  of  our  offices  and  make  the  wife,  children  and  yourself  happy. 

These  attractive  showrooms  are  at 


122  WMt  34tli  StTMt.  New  Terk  Uty 

182  MUk  Str*«t«  B««toB,  Ham. 

38  D«lawar«  A¥«b««,  C«mdl«B,  N.  J. 


182  JefferMB  StrMt,  DMrelt,  Mich. 

1610  MichUan  Atcbm.  Chicago 

321  Fiflvt  AVcBM,  Sottth  SMtUo.  Wash. 


What  about  RACINE  BOATS  anyway?  Thousands  answer  built  right,  run 
right,  priced  right.  Buy  a  RACINE  BOAT  and  share  in  the  enjoyments  of  the 
Yachtsmen.  Your  Summer's  outing  is  incomplete  without  the  pleasures  derived 
from  a  RACINE  BOAT. 

Write  us  and  let  us  show  you  RACINE  WORTH. 

racing:  boat  manufacturing  company 

When  writing  for  catalog  kindly  enclose  five  cents  to  prepay  postage  on  the  same. 


rrTlEKCI/  3VIOTQK.BQ71TS' 

GUARANTEED  superior  to  all  others  for 
Safety,  Comfort,  Durability  and  speed.  Sub- 
stantially constructed  on  most  modem  lines. 
Noiseless  and  powerful  improved  Pierce  Motor. 
Stock  sizes  i6  to  25  feet.  Motors  only  1%  to  15 
H.-P. — single  and  twin  cylinders.  The  above 
boat  is  27  feet,  equipped  with  8  H.-P.  Pierce 
Motor — speed  12  miles.  Seats  eight  persons. 
Price  complete  $850.     Write  for  catalog. 

PIERCE  ENGINE  CO.  16  Clark  Stre«t  , .  ^     ^         RACINE.  ^&> 

Eastern  Agencies:  Siegel-Cooper  Co.,  New  York  City;  Henry  Siegel,  Boston,  Mass.;  Lit  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
J^or  Catalog-  be  sure  to  address  Pierce  Engine  Co.,  Racine,  Wis.     1/  interested  in  AutomobiUs  write  us  /or  catalog^  qf 

Pierce-Racine  automobiles. 


^^^S;^ 


SEND  FOR  [LRRO  CATALOG 

that  fully  explains    the   unique   construction  of  the     JtRRO     Auto  Marine 
Engines  and  tells  just  why  they  have  created  such  widespread  interest  this 
year.     Or  send  10c.  for  our  complete  Treatise  on  Marine  Engines. 
WRITE    US  TO-DAY 

THE  FERRO  MACHINE  &  FOUNDRY  COMPANY,     79  Wade  Bldg.,  Qeveland,  Ohio 

Larse  stock  at  79  Oortlaadt  St.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


.  We  are  now  building  both  speed 
I    and  cruising  boats  up  to  50  ft. 


2JtolOO 

Horse- 
Power.    • 


y»^  ROCHESTER  ^^  WINS 

Because  we  have  solved  the  problem  of  maxinium  power 
and  minimum  waste;  that's  also  the  reason  lor  its  great 
economy.  Exhausts  under  water  without  back-t>res.sure  or 
noise.  Speed  control  slow  enough  for  fishing — last  enough 
for  racing.  Perhaps  it's  the  best  engine  made.  At  least 
investigate  before  you  decide.     Catalogue  on  request. 

ROCHESTER  GAS  ENGINE  CO^  710  Driving  Park  Avenue,  Rodiester,  N.  Y. 

BOWLER  BROS.,  ISS  Liberty  St.,  New  Tork,  Agwto 


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THE   SEAWORTHY   TRUSCOTT 

Se//a  B99t  in  Competition. 

tiscott  Standard  Quality  Launches  are  the  result  of  three 
rations  of  boat  building  experience.  Truscott  engines  with 
natic  control  and  underwater  exhaust  without  lessening 
inteed  horse  power  are  among  the  oldest  marine  gas  en- 
.  The  combination  gives  the  owner  of  a  Truscott  the  moat 
ilete,  satisfactory  and  seaworthy  launch  in  the  world. 
y  bo«t  fully  tested  and  tried  out  on  the  rough  waters  of 
Michigan. 

r  9  X  12—80  page  BoAt  catalog  has  300  illustrations  from  actual  photo- 
i  of  Tritscott  launches  which  we  have  sold  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
fUmps.  Oiir  Quarterly  "The  Launch"  free.  If  you  own  a  boat  or 
obtle  send  for  our  Supply  Dep(.  Catalogue. 

TKUSCOTT  BOAT  MFG.  CO. 
Station  f,  SL/oMpli,Mlcll. 


For  T addling  or  Tolver 


iere*s  no  other  summer  sport  like  canoeinflr, 
d  no  canoes  like  the  Penobscot.  They  are 
ronfiT,  lifirht.  durable,  capacious,  speedy,  safe 
d  easily  propelled.  Canvas  covered  cedar 
noes,  of  beautiful  finish,  built  by  experts, 
>m  carefully  selected  materials.  Send  for 
se  1907  catalog:  of  canoes,  row  boats  and  auto 
noes  before  you  buy.  Write  for  itiMftr. 
RLXTOH  OAHOK  00^  SO  ■■!&  8t,  OLD  TOWV,  Ml. 


THE  UNRIVALLED 
MONAKCH 

The  standard  of  excel- 
lence in  Pleasure  Craft 
and  Marine  Engines. 

Standard  sizes  in  Hulls 
17  to  30  feet  carried  in 
stock. 

Special    sizes    in     Hulls 
built  to  order. 
EBgincs  all  oar  own  nuke. 
■nDs  all  oar  own  ouke. 

Assuring  absolute  satis* 
faction  and  fulfilling  of 
detail  in  specifications 

Prompt  deliveries  guar- 
anteed. 

Write  for  illustrated  cat- 
alogue and  price  list. 

GRAND  BARIDS  ENGINE 
AND  YACHT  CO. 

M  rroat  8t.,  Graad  BapldtiMlck. 


THE  SnCi[LER  WHEEL  NEVER  CLOGS 

THOROUGHLY  Weedless. 
*  The  only  successful  Weed- 
less    wheel    ever    patented. 
Made  of  best  bronze,  or  can 
I  be  had  in  best  Grey  iron.  All 

wheels  are  made  right  and  left, 
and  are  absolutely  guaranteed 
or  money  back.  The  Stickler 
wheel  is  weedless  without  loss 
of  speed.  Order  your  wheel 
to-day.     Free  Pamphlet 

STICKLER  WEEDLESS  WHEEL  CO. 


like~an  eel," 


Portage,  Wtoc. 

P.  O.  Box  z6o 


THE   STREUNCER 
MARINE  ENGINES 

Lead  in  eveiy  point  of  EX- 
CELLENCY. UncxccUcd  in 
DURABILITY.  Challenge 
comparison  widi  any  other 
make  in  MATERIAL  and 
WORKMANSHIP.  Me- 
chanical or  Jump  Spark  equip- 
ment. Our  1907  prices  will 
interest  you.  Write  for  our 
new  Catalog  and  Price  List. 

THE  STRELINGER  MARINE  ENGINE  CO.. 

Vt  nn  ST.  EAST,  DEROIT.  MO. 


THE 


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le 


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The  Wolverine  Auto-Canoe, 


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One    year   ahead  of   all  power   boats.      Speed,   safety,   comfort, 

impossible  to  capsize  or  sink.     Write  for  catalog.     Price,  complete 

4th  2  Cylinder  Engine,  $265;  with  4  CyUnder  Engine.  $445. 

WOLVERINE   CANOE  CO.,  57  E.  CoiiffreM  Street,   DETROIT,  MICH. 


MOST    VALUE     TOR    THE    MONEY 

When  buying  merchandise  you  consider  quality,  quantity  and  price.  You  want  to  know  that  you 
are  getting  full  measure;  that  what  you  purchase  is  of  the  best  quality,  and  that  you  are  paying  the 
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ALL  KINDS  OF 

Boat  Supplies 

We  have  just  compiled  the  most  complete  cata- 
logue of  its  kind  ever  issued.  It  is  extensively 
illustrated,  and  gives  detailed  information  and 
prices  treating  on  boat  fittings  of  every  conceiv- 
able description.  We  can  serve  you  no  matter 
what  your  wants  may  be. 

VDW  Th>*   valuable     and    latcrcatlBO 
W  txWiWi  book  sent  free  to  anyone  wrlt- 


to 

Ing  tor  It.     It  la  Intercatlng 
Ing  and  aboald  alwaya  be  referred  to. 

Our  thorough  methods  for  handling  mail  order  business,  and 
the  Quality  of  the  g(X)ds  and  the  promptness  with  which  they 
are  delivered  will  satisfy  you.      Write  us  to-day. 
yjOHW  C.  HOPKINS  k  COMPANY,  Hf  Chmtefi  Stmt,  New  Ywfc 


SKIDOO! 

MARINE  ENGINE 

The  2-Cycle>Enffine-Seii8ation  of  the  Year.  Entirely  new  and 
Improved  design  introducinff  many  excluaive  features.  Runs 
on  Gasoline,  Distillate,  Kerosene  or  AlcohoL 


I    « 


2    ACTUAL      Bara 
H.  P.    Englna 

COMPLETE  ENGINE  wltfe  Fnsll 
Watir  Beit  Flttlip,  $39S0 


n 


Swlftast,  moct  pow«rfal,  WBclant  and  rrilabto 
•nrine  of  lU  »\u  on  learUi.    DrlvM  Cano«.  Row- 
boat  or  14  to  80  ft.    Launch,  with   load,  6  to  10 
-         .      mllM  per  hour.    Rvrersihle,  ••ay  to  inttall  and  op- 
OSj^^f  er»t«,  nnfalllnv  endurance  powers,  economical  and 
FXXX.   Mf e,  caaoot  back-fir*.  Sold  msdcr  S-yr.  OnsraatM. 

Belle  kle  Motor  Co.,  otptUDETROIT,  MHW 


o 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


419  Straight— W.  R.  Crosby  -  1905 
348  Straight— W.  D.  Stannard  1906 


L.    C.    SIVIIXH    GUIMS 

HUNTER   ONE-TRIGGER 


Why  does  the  SMITH  hold  the  WORLD'S  RECORD? 
Our  new  art  catalogue  tells  the  story. 

THE  HUNTER  ARMS  COMPANY,  Fulton,  New  York. 


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THE   OUTING   MAGAZINE   ADVERTISER 


—      -_      .  —    _ ^ 5__ — ;; , ;■..-,*  ; 

property  in  your  charge  —  it  gives  you  an  undeniable  feeling  of 
courage  and  assurance  to  know  that  in  your  hand  is  a  SMITH  CE)>  WESSON 
—  the  revolver  that  has  never  failed  in  an  emergency  or  faUen  short  of  the 
highest  standards  of  accuracy  and  protection. 

The  name  '*  SMITH  C&  WESSON "  on  the  barrel  and  the  SMITH  CBl  WESSON 
monogram  stamped  on  frame  and  in  stock  identify  the  real  SMITH  ^  WESSON  product. 
Look  for  these  marks  when  you  buy  a  revolver.     They  are  quality  assurance. 

Catalogue —  *' The  Kevolirer  *'  — en  application. 

SMITH  6  WESSON 

6   StocKbrldge  St.  Springfield.  Mass. 

Pacific  Coast  Branch,  1346  ParK  Straet.  Alamada.  Cal. 


Please  Mention  THE  OUTINO  MAGAZINE  When  CorresDondinr  With  Advertisers 


O 


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KHt^^^ 


DE^JHOr 

A.     POWDER/     FOIL    ^TUSn^       iSrWFTfS 

^^^  cTWrs.  AA  Topperwein,  who  is  con- 
sidered the  greatest  woman  shot  in  the 
world,  uses  Dead  ShoL  exclusively^,  for"  the 
maximum  results  it  always  gives. 

9  DEAD  SHOT  SMOKELESS  thoroughly  meets  the 
requirements  of  discriminating  sportsmen.  Branded 
with  the  name  of  a  house  whose  goods  are  most  favora- 
bly known,  it  w^ill  always  be  the  powder  of  a  "  known 
quantity*,"  unsurpassed  in  any  particular.  Clean  shoot- 
ing, makes  a  perfect  pattern,  liigh  velocity,  safe,  is 
ui^iffected  by  climate. 

9 Have     your    shells    loaded    with    ''DEAD     SHOT 
SMOKELESS."  Your  dealer  will  gladly 
supply  it.    If  you  arc  in  doubt  write  to     jooy 
us.    "Write  to  us  anyway  for  booklet.        *5^^^C- 

AMERICAN  POWDER  MILLS,  Boston,  Mass. 
it  n9^9r  haa  and  n^^wr  ^ill  d^frioruU 


BM  ALL 

1 


'er>' 
in- 

am- 
i  to 
itae 

nelfl, 
lich 

K>Ut 


^  We  make  17  srades,  $17.75  net  to 
1300  list.  ,  ,      ^ 

We  build  everything  from  a  featherweight  20 
ge  gun  to  a  10^  lb.  10  gauge  duck,  fox  and 
)e  irun. 

ialogue  and   Bdb*9  Picture  FREE. 
?nt8  for  finest  dog  picture  ever  pub-  . 
«  16x26  in  colors.  "'      * 


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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


I    aiuie  same  price,     in  ii.rriv^isi,i^\^  i ,  lur  iiuiiicur  uucKei  use,  cqucus 

any  high  priced  revolver.    WORKS  VERY  SMOOTHLY— shells  automatically  ejected. 

ABSOLUTE  SAFETY— cylinder  can  be  locked  by  turning  it  so  that  hammer  point 

comes  between  cartridges.    You  might  then  break  the  hammer  by  hitting  it  with  a  sledge, 

but  you  could  not  discharge  the  revolver.    Pull  the  trigger,  thars  the  only  way  to  fire  it. 


SPECIFICATIONS 


.  j  32  caliber,  6  shot,  or  38  caliber,  5  shot,  )  mca 
*  ( 3X  inch  barrel,  finest  nickel  finish ....  J  ^***v 


The  celebrated  H  &  R  Hammer  less  Revolver,  ^6.50. 

Tbe  fi€:w  H  &  R  Revolver  Grip,  shown  herewith,  can  be  attached  to  H  &  R  Re- 
volvers, giving  a  pocket  weapon  tlie  grip  of  an  army  model.    Price  $1.00. 

Sold  by  all  dealers  in  first  class  firearms.    If  they  haven't  the  H  &  R.  Uke 
no  other.    We  will  ship  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price.    Write  for  Caulo^. 

HAKIUNCTON  «  RICHARDSON  ARMS  CO.,  237  Park  Ave.,W«reesler,  Mass. 

Makers  of  the  celebrated  H  &  R  Single  Guns. 


Wouldn't  You  Liko  to  Own  This  16  Shot  Ropoating  Riflo? 

^^^^        Only  $8.25 

HOPKINS  &  ALLEN  .22  CALIBER  REPEATER 

The  squirrels  and  rabbits  can't  get  away  from  you  when  you 
carry  this  rifle.     If  you  miss  one  the  first  time — you  have  1 5  more 
shots  coming  almost  before  he  can  move.     It  makes  a  ramble  in  the  forest  a 
pleasure — productive  of  full  game  bags — and  all  the  excitement  of  quick,  successful  shots. 

DSSCRIPXIONt  This  is  the  finest  and  most  reliable  repeating  rifle  ever  offered  at  the  price.  It 
shoots  22  long  or  short  or  22  long  rifle  cartridges — 16  shots  for  shorts  and  12  for  long  or  long  rifle — and  the  ejector  works 
like  lightning.  You  can  deliver  12  or  16  shots  (depending  on  the  cartridge  used)  almost  as  quick  as  you  can  pull  the 
trigger.    THE  GAME  SIMPLY  CANNOT  GET  AWAY. 

Quick  take-down  pattern — full  length  38i  inches,  length  of  barrel  20  inches — weight  6^  pounds.  Has  that 
excellent  military  bolt  action— the  first  ever  put  on  an  American  sportinfr  rifle.  HAS  THE  BEST  SAFETY  DEVICE 
—A  SIMPLE  TOUCH  OF  THE  LEVER  PREVENTS  ACCIDENTAL  DISCHARGE.  HAS  THE  ONLY  EJECTING 
DEVICE  THAT  WILL  QUICKLY  EMPTY  THE  MAGAZINE  WITHOUT  FIRING  A  CARTRIDGE.  HAS  MORE 
UNIQUE.  DESIRABLE  FEATURES  THAN  ANY  OTHER  22  CALIBER  REPEATER.  Has  beautifully  polished 
walnut  stock,  military  butt  plate,  every  part  drop  forged — lock  work  made  of  spring  steel.  AN  EXCELLENT  RIFLE 
FOR  FIELD.  FOREST  6r  GALLERY  PRACTICE— SURE  TO  GIVE  SURPRISING  PLEASURE  TO  ITS 
POSSESSOR. 

PRICE   $8J5— SAFE    DELIVERY    GUARANTEED— IF   YOUR    OWN    DEALER    CANNOT    SUPPLY  YOU. 
H'tpuhluh  two  dtlight/ul  stcrie*—**  William  Tell,'*  tJU  experience  of  an  expert  with  his  first  Junior  Rifle,  and 
"My  First  Rifle"  by  the  famous  marksman,  Capt.  Jack  aConnell,  which  we  will 
•end  free,  with  our  illustrated  catalogue  of  rifles,  revolvers  and  shotguns. 

Send  for  oar  Big— Free—"  Gun  Guide  and  Catalogue  "  for  1907.  It's  the  most  useful  and  usable  lx»k 
erer  issued  by  a  firearm  manufacturer — gives  you  more  \\\a  on  fircanns.  Tells  you  how  to  buy,  use 
and  care  for  every  kind  of  Uiot  guns,  rifles  and  revolvers.     It's  a  necessity  to  everyone  who  lovesa gun. 

THE  HOPKINS  &  ALLEN  ARMS  CO. 

Dept.  24  NORWICH,  CONN.,  U.  S.  A. 

LONDON   OFFICE:        6   Oty  Ro«d,    Flnsbury   Square,    London,   Engluid 
Sfeowlag  PMtloa  of  Elector  la  Electlag  Shell.     Tbe  Urfest  Muatictom  of  Hlfh  Grade  Shot  Qou,  Rifles  end  Revolvcra  In  the  World. 


O 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


If  you  will  send  for  oiir  320 
page  catalogue  "O,"  you  will  find 
therein  the  accumulated  knowledge 
of  years  in  the  open,  made  into  such 
goods  as  will  serve  every  imagin- 
able need  of  a  sportsman. 

ABERCROMBIE   &    PITCH    CO. 

MANUFACTURERS  OF 

COMPLETE   OUTFITS   FOR 
Explorers,  Campers  and  Prospect€>ra, 
Dealers  in  beat  English,  Scotch  and 
domestic    fishing     tackle,     guns    and 
ammunition. 

87  READE  ST.  (One  door  west  of  B'way)  HE 


STEVENS 

RIFLE  TELESCOPES 

RAISE  RECORDS  AND  PROLONG 
YOUR  SHOOTING  DAYS.  MAKE 
OLD  EYES  YOUNG  AGAIN! 

Send  for  beautifully  illustrated 
TSLESCOPB   CATALOG. 

J.  Stevens  Arms  ft  Tool  Co. 

560  Main  Street 
CHICOPEE   FALLS,   MASS. 


Diaitized  bv 


Google 


PlMua  M«ntion  TTTP.  nTTPTwa  HffAAAvnirc  vn«**i  /ym 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


Here  are  some  reasons  why  a  TUXia/m  Model  1897, 
.22  caliber  repeating  rifle  is  the  most  satisfactory 
small  bore  repeater  you  can   possibly  own.     :     :     :     : 


In  finish^  workmanship  and  balance  this  rifle 
is  unsurpassed.  The  Marim  quality  of  steel 
drop-forgings  constitutes  all  the  working  parts. 
Every  single  piece  and  screw  and  pin  in  this  gun  b 
made  with  care  to  a  standard  pattern  so  that  all 
parts  are  positively  interchangeable.  The  barrel 
of  excellent  steel  is  carefully  bored  and  the  deep 
rifling  gives  absolute  accuracy  and  great  wearing 
quality.  This  and  other  MIMin  rifles  are  the 
only   repeating  rifles  to  which  telescopes   can   be 


attached  because  the  top  of  the  breech  is  solid  and 
the  empty  shell  is  ejected  from  the  side. 

The  fact  that  this  rifle  handles  .2S  short,  .2S  long,  and 
.22  long-rifle  cartridges  appeals  strongly  to  all  lovers  of  the 
small  bore  rifle. 

For  all  sorts  of  small  game  this  rifle  is  recommended,  and 
with  the  long-rifle  cartridge  it  b  very  deadly  to  hawks,  owls, 
eagles,  geese,  ducks  and  any  other  shy  birds  which  are  hard  to 
approach  and  require  a  hard  blow  to  kill. 

As  a  target  rifle  at  long  or  short  ranges,  with  or  without  a 
telescope,  the  JB^g^jJn  Model  1897,  .22  caliber  repeating 
rifle  is  the  guaranteed  equal  of  any  in  the  world. 


If  your  dealer  cannot  supply  you,  write  us  direct.     A  complete  description  of 
Model   1897  is  given  in  our  1906  Catabg.     Sent  FRBB  for  six  cents  pottage. 

TSipIBlta&i^rfannsGky      i  Willow  Street,  New  Haven,  Conn. 


^igitized  bv 


GooQie 


Plaaae  Mention  THE  OUTINQ  BIAQAZINE  When  CorrMpondlnc  With  Advertlseri 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


**Champion"  Telescopic  Steel  Rods 

(PATFNTED) 

MANurACTURtp  BY  THE  VAN  DOREN  MEG.  CO.,  56-58  W.  Van  Buren  St.,  CHICAGO 

The  •■I7  tHescopic  rods  made  of  Up*r«4  steel  tubing  and  provided  with  outside  line  delivery  through  guide  exactly  simiUr  to  a  jointed  rod. 

No  locking  device  necessary.    The 

joints  are  pulled  out  as  far  as  possible 
and  the  rod  is  ready  for  use.  The 
friction  is  sufficient  to  keep  the  rod 
from  telescoping,  except  when  de- 
sired, just  as  friction  keeps  a  jointed 
rod  together  except  when  pulled 
apart.  The  rod  can  be  telescoped 
without  removing  line,  reel  or  hook.  Lengths:  4J,  5,  5  J,  6,  7,  8,  p,  10  feet.  Weights:  7  to  9  ounces. 
Handle,  cork  grip  with  nickel  mountings.  Finish,  gun  metal,  nickel  or  oxidized  silver.  Guides,  German 
silver  ring,  trumpet  or  agate  (any  number  desired).  Descriptive  folder  and  price  list  free.  If  your 
dealer  cannot  supply  write  to  us. ^ 


SOUVENIR   POST   CA.RDS 

Set  Jamestown  Exposition  Cards,  price  25  cents;  Set  (10)  Leading  Stage  Celebrities,  25  cents;  Set  (10) 
Exquisite  Colored  (Rare)  Foreign  Cards,  25  cents;  Set  (25)  Leading  Places  of  Note  of  America,  25  cents;  Set 
(15)  Humorous  Cards,  15  cents;  Set(6)  Tinted  Cards,  15  cents;  Set  (6)  Birthday  Cards,  15  cents;  OR  ENTIRE 
COLLECTION  OF  78  COSTLY  AND  VALUABLE  CARDS  FOR  |i.oo.  Regular  value  from  S  to  15 
cents  each.  Every  purchaser  is  entitled  to  FREE  MEMBERSHIP  in  WORLD'S  EXCHANGE  CLUB  so 
you  can  correspond  and  exchange  cards  with  collectors  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  (Membership  now  over  18,000.) 
Orders  filled  same  days  of  receipt.      Address  World  Post  Card  Co.,  ISttl  &  EocUd  Aw,  Philadel|lldm,  PeMU 


WEBBERS 

IKSr  JACKETS 

For  Hundng^.  Golf  and  all  outdoor  uses.  For 
men  and  wotnrn.  No  risk,  sent  express 
prepaid,  return  if  not  satisfactory.  Write  for 
catalog;  lie. 

GEO.  F.  WEBBER.  Mfr. 
Atatloa  F.  Detroit.  MIeh. 


'  31  different  I>eaigii8 

Can  ship  immediately   in   any    quantity. 

Need  No  Boat  House.     Never  Leak.  Rust. 

Check.  Crack  or  Rot.     Every  boat  has  water 

tight  compartments,  so  cannot  sink.    Write  for 

PR£^  Illustrated  Catalogue  and  Special  Prices. 

■ICNMANSTEaWUTCO.  1270JtfNrtM  At.  OitraM.  Mkk. 


THERE    IS    SOIVflETHING    DOING 

ALL  THE  TIME  AND  IN  ALL  DEPARTMENTS  OF 

THE     OUTING    IVf  A.GA.ZIIVE: 

If  you  don't  believe  that  this  maffaxine  is  full  of  human  interest  and  different  from  any  other  nuiffasinc  you  ever 
saw,  you  need  not  take  our  word  for  it.  just  read  this  from  TAe  Bomton  Globe: 

••  It  is  never  ouite  still  on  the  firing  line  of  OUTING  endeavor.  At  all  times  there  is  something  doin^  in  the  way  of  dis- 
covery, and  each  month  its  readers  enjoy  the  harvest  of  good  things  in  sports,  fiction,  adventure  and  discovery,  assembled 
between  the  margins  from  the  world's  ends.  One  of  the  foremost  charms  of  this  commendable  magazine  is  its  stories  and 
descriptions  and  photographic  illustrations  picked  up  in  remote  and  seemingly  inaccessible  places  b^  its  indefatigable  writers 
and  camera  men.  These  skilled  workers  penetrate  to  the  frozen  north  to  quest  out  little  known  animal  life  and  to  add  to  the 
fund  of  geographical  information;  to  the  oppressive  tropics,  and  little  knoi»'n  south,  in  search  of  the  curious  and  remarkable 
in  nature  and  its  peoples,  and  at  all  periods  is  times-abreast  with  the  sports  and  recreations  of  the  open.  The  current  num- 
ber, which  is  enlivened  by  an  artistic  frontispiece  of  Jim  Bridger,  who  was  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  brief  but  glorious 
reign  of  the  Western  trapper,  conducts  its  readers  to  the  famous  annual  fair  of  Nijni  Novgorod,  in  eastern  Russia,  for  a  look 
and  study;  tells  the  life  story  of  Gen.  Francis  Marion,  whose  band  was  'few,  but  true  and  tried* :  describes  snow-shoeing, 
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the  southern  quail,  and  in  addition  to  the  usual  departmental  matter  garnishes  the  whole  with  a  generotis  portion  of  cap- 
ital fiction." — (Jan.  i^th,  1906). 

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U  F  LE 


can't  find  them  in  any  other  rifle.  It  shoots  short,  long  or  long  rifle  cartridges;  feeds  itself,  cocks  and  ejects 
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THE  "EVER  CAMP  OUT"   BED 

I  This  bed  is  indispensable  to  the  camper,  as  i  t 
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FISHING  ROD 

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*' A  progressive  laugh  and  a  growing  delight,"  is  the  term  a  reader  of  THE  BOHEMIAN 
applies  to  that  skillful  blending  of  irony  and  fun,  Edward  Marshall's  series  of  "Un- 
natural History,'*  now  appearing  in  this  magazine.    In  the  installment  for  April,  which 

is  entitled  The  Whale,  Mr.  Marshall  approaches  the  subject  in  a  new 
A  ITOjrCS"  way.  Readers  whose  interest  has  been  growing  as  the  series  progressed 
SiV€  LSMh        cannot  afford  to  miss  it.     f  Reinforcing  this  splendid  satirical  leader  in 

the  April  magazine  Henry  Miller  teUs  one  of  the  best  stories  yet  in  "Mr 
Yesterdays."  Mr.  Miller's  strong,  consistent  acting  has  made  him  a  conspicuous  favorite 
on  the  American  stage  and  his  intimate  autobiography  will  be  filled  with  the  keenest  interest 
for  all  who  appreciate  the  accomplishments  of  one  of.  the  leaders  of  native  dramatic  art. 
^  Charles  F.  Peters  will  tell  of  the  work  of  other  artists  whose  names  are  constantly  before 
|. .  the  public,  bringing  out  facts  which  have  hitherto  not  been  presented  to 

magazine  readers.  His  original  drawings  from  life  illustrating  the  article 
PtFSMUl  will  be  as  notable  as  the  text,    f  As  for  the  short  stories,  a  brighter  list 

Nallirt  '''^^  BOHEMIAN  has  never  contained.    A  Talk  With  Tabitha 

sparkles  with  wit  and  cleverness.  The  Granted  Wish  of  Tom 
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character  sketching  and  vivid  dramatic  treatment  at  their  best.  The  Revolt  of  Hannah 
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deal,  f  The  Apotheosis  of  Pie,  by  Miles  Bradford,  will  make  America's  mouth  water. 
Mr.  Bradford's  Cooking  Articles  in  THE  BOHEMIAN  have  been  notable  for  their 
combination  of  practical  knowledge  and  interesting  style.  By  describing  cooking,  at 
home  and  in  the  field  in  the  series  which  he  began  some  months  ago  in  THE  BOHEMIAN* 
he  has  interested  even  those  who  never  hope  to  practice  the  culinary  art.  He  is  THE 
BOHEMIAN'S  chef,  whom  our  women  readers  are  beginning  to  find  indispensable. 
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Will  MA^  ^^^  some  of  the  finest  original  poetry  in  the  magazines  is  i^pearing 
Klnll  monthly  in  THE  BOHEMIAN.    The  April  number  has  a  parody  by 

'r^^B  Gerard  Smith  on  Kipling's  "Danny  Deever,"  which  even  Kipling  him- 

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^taitdiut^  Porcelain  Enameled  Ware 

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Lttnadowne,    P«. 

Youngsters,  of  the  most  approved  breedins,  and  Priae 
Winners,  occasionally  for  sale.  J^  J^  J^ 


pUPPIES  from  prize  and  hunting  stock.  Send  stamp  for 
*  illustrated  circular.  Culbbrtson  Kennels.  Atlantic, 
Iowa. 


COR  SALE.— Fine  Airedale  Dog,  ten  months  old.     Best 
*      blood.     Maidstone   Kennels.   East   Hampton.  N.   Y. 


B 


EAUTIFUL  Airedale  bitch,  prize  winner.     Price,  $100.00. 
R.  L.  Henry.  Gcrmantown.  Ohio. 


BOSTON   TERRIEllS 


PUPS,  ffrown  dogs  from  1 10  to  $75.     Registered  chatnpi 
bred  stock,  good   heads,  tails,  markings.      Elm  Cfo 
Kennels,  Great  Neck.  L.  I. 


ion 

OVE 


A  FEW  Boston  Terrier  puns  worth  having  at  quick 
MoNADNocK  Kennels,  Marlboro',  N.  H. 


sale. 


1^  INK  tail  pups.  $20  to  $35,  eligable.   Earl  Winne, 

*^  Canandaigua,  N.  Y. 

'yWO  Registered  Matrons  $35  each.    P.  Herbert  Reedbr, 

*■      Melrose.  Mass. 


FOX  TERRIERS 


Smooth  Fox  Terriers 


We  have  prepared  our  semi-annual  draft, 
comprising  about  50  of  our  best  American  bred 
fox  terriers.  They  range  in  price  from  $25.00 
to  $150.00  each,  commensurate  with  their  yalue, 
and  there  is  quality  in  each  and  every  one  of  them. 
If  interested  would  be  glad  to  .send  you  a  sale  list. 

AddreBft: 

The  SABINE  KENNELS,  Orange,  Texas 


IRISH  TERRIERS 


IROQUOIS  KENNELS,  Framingham,  Mass..  have  Irish 
Terrier  at  stud  and  for  sale;  good  all-round  dogs  for  home 
or  country.  Puppies  and  grown  stock  for  pets,  breeding,  or 
for  show  purposes.     Best  prize- winning  strains  at  reasonable 

8 rices.     Send   for  circulars.     Address   L.   Lorinc   Brooks, 
\o.  Si  State  St..  Boston,  Mass. 


BEAGLES 


BEAGLES,  with  Tvpe,  Hunting  qualities  and 
the  best  blood  of  the  world  to  recommend  them. 
Grown  Stock  and  Puppies  on  sale.  OLD  BRIT- 
ISH BULL  DOGS,  the  sort  they  breed  "H'over 
'ome." 

Dbbonair  Kennels, 

Box  O,  GloversviDe,  N.  Y. 

TRUEWORTH    KENNELS    HACKENSACK.  N.  J.-  At 
stud,  prize  winner  Oneida  Ring  and  other  stud  cards; 
stock  for  sale. 


B 


EAGLE  AND  COCKER  PUPPIES.     Pedigreed, 
gains.     Clover  Kennels,  Greenfield,  N.  H. 


Bar- 


COLLIES 


BEAUTIFUL.     High-bred    Collie    Puppies;     Sable    and 
White  and  White  ones;  spayed  females.    Ci.ovbrcropt. 
Pottetown,  Pa. 


COLLIES  at  $10.00.      Puppies  from  Champ.  Christopher. 
Champ.    Metchley    Wonder  strain;     also  older  stock. 
J.  Larkin  Lincoln,  university  Club,  Chicago. 


COLLIE    PUPPIES.      Beauties. 
Kennels.  Greenfield,  N.  H. 


Low    price.     Clover 


COCKER  SPANIELS 


Cocker  Spaniels 

HANDSOME  BROOK  KENNEL | 
Franklin,  N.  Y. 

Twenty-two  ^'eare'  experience.  Offer 
evenrtning  in  Cockers.  Breeding 
stocK;  field  type,  pet  type.  All  colors. 
Strictly  thoroughbred.  Prices  mod- 
erate.    Write  for  circular  and  terms. 


COCKERS— A  few   good    Black   and  Red  brood  bitches. 
Been  bred  to  prize  winniivg  dog.      Satisfaction    guar- 
anteed.    LvMAN  W.  Clute,  Schenectady,  N.  Y. 


TWO  Red  males,  year  old,  just  right  for  house  companions 
or  field  work.  Black  male  and  female  pups  4  mo.  old, 
$1^.  Grown  stock  for  breeding.  Thoroughbreds  only. 
Winning  strains.  Home  of  Champion  Danny  Deevcr. 
Lackawanna  Kennels,  Factoryville,  Pa. 


NETXr  TOR. 

t04  E.  19tk  f^  H,lXMj 

Telephone 
6io5Grainercy 
Largest  importen  and 
breeders  of  bnglish  and 
French  Bulldon.  Boston 
Terriers.  St.  Bernards, 
Great  Danes.  Mastiffs, 
Greyhounds,  Irish,  Enp* 
llsh  and  Gordon  Setters. 
Foxhounds,  Pointers, 
Beatles.  Dachshunde. 
Coach  Ooffs. Black  Pood- 
les. Spaniels.  Scotch  Col- 
lies. Sheep  Dogs,  Blood- 


[INCOKPORATBD] 


DOG    CXCHANGlt 

bounds,  Deerhounds. 
Wolfhounds.  Newfound 
lands,  Yorkshires.  Scys, 
Aired  ales,  Irish.  BuU. 
smooth  and  wirehaired 
Fox.  Scotch,  Maltese  and 
Toy  Black  and  Tan  Ter- 
riers, all  Toy  Spaniels. 
Toy  Silk  Poodles.  Ktofr 
Charles.  Pug*-  irroirn  or 
puppies.  I^nfest  elec- 
tion the  finest  Persian 
Anirora  Cats  and  Kittciu- 
Does  shipped  to  any  put 
^iaitized  b         oftheClobe. 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


HOUNDS 


^ 


Bloodhounds,  Foxhounds,  Norwegian  Bear- 
hoands,  Irish  Wolfhounds  Registered 

Four  Cent  Stamp  for  Catalog 
ROOKWOOD    KENNELS,    Lexington,   Ky. 


FOXHOUNDS.  Pedigreed.  Registered.  Fine  Trained 
Hounds  on  Fox.  Wolf.  Coon,  and  Rabbit;  also  Squirrel 
Dogs  bred  and  trained  to  please  the  most  particular  sports- 
man. Fully  guaranteed.  State  wants.  E.  Hopkins.  Im- 
boden,  Ark. 

Trial  allowed.    Clover 


pox  AND  RABBIT  HOUNDS. 
*       Kbnnbls.  Greenfield.  N.  H. 


EXTRA  TRAINED  Rabbit  Hounds.  Fox  Hounds.  Coon 
Dogs.  Bird  Dogs.  Bull  Terriers.  Collies.     J.  I.  Kurtz. 
Vintage.  Pa. 

COR  SALE.  Trained  Coon.  Fox  and  Rabbit  Hounds. 
^     Comrade  Kennels,  Bucyrus.  Ohio. 

PR    SALE.     Trained    Foxhounds   and    Beagle    Hounds. 
Good   rabbit   dogs.     Young   stock   for   sale.     George 
Brown.  York.  Pa. 

pOR  SALE.  Beagles,  Fox  and  Deer  Hounds.  Cross-bred 
'-  Bloodhounds  and  Foxhounds.  Puppies  at  all  times. 
W.  A.  Brodie,  Unionville,  Ont. 


GREAT  DANES 


PORDHAM   KENNELS.  Des  Moines.    Iowa,   offer  Great 
*^    Dane  puppies  for  sale.    Best  pedigreed  blood  in  America. 


PUBLICATIONS 


AMERICAN  KENNEL  GAZETTE 

a  necessity  for  all  breeders  and  exhibitors. 
Official  list  of  awards  of  all  Shows,  together 
with  registrations,  listings,  cancellations  and 
all  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  American 
Kennel  Club.  Pen  drawings  by  G.  Muss-Arnolt 
and  half-tones  of  famous  dogs. 
Price  20c.  per  copy.  Yearly  Subscription  $2.00. 

Published  on  the  15th  and  30th 
of  the  month  at  55  Liberty  St.y  New  York. 


The  Largest  Dog  Monthly  in  America 

SIXTY-FOUR  PAGES  OF  READING  MATTER 

Articles  of  interest  for  all  by  the  best  writers  and 

critics  including 

F.  Freeman  Lloyd  Chas.  Hopton 

James  Watson  Robt.  A.  Newlyn 

Etc.,  Etc. 


Single  Copies,  lo  cents         Sabscription,  $i.oo  a  year 

A  full  critical  report  of  all  shows, 

with  photos  of  the  winners,  etc. 

To  sec  llic  Masazinc  is  to  Subscribe.    Sample  Copies  rrce 

DOGLOVERS    PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

LANSDOWNE.  PA. 


CHAMPION  "PRINCE  WHITESTONE  " 

ANOTHER  CHAMPION   FED  CHAMPION 

Hb  owner,  Mr.  Pace,  writes  us,  unsolicited,  as  follows: 
St.  Paul  Bread  Co..  Jellico,  Tenn.,  Maxch  8,  1007. 

St.  Paul,  Minn.  ' 

Gentlemen  : 

I  have  fed  Champion  Prince  Whitestone  almost  exclusively  on 


iploa  Dog  BlPCnlt  for  the  past  two  years.    In  this  time 

he  has  kept  in  perfect  condition,  which  shape  I  could  never  get  him 
in  before. 

As  a  field  trial  winner  his  record  is  well  known,  outclassing  every 
dog  of  note  before  the  public  last  season,  winning  second  in  AH- Age 
1006,  first  in  Illinois  Championship  1906,  first  m  U.  S.  Champion- 
snip  1907. 

I  could  not  do  without  vour  Champion  Dog  Biscuit.  They  are 
for  many  reasons  the  best  food  I  have  ever  used,     "p^  y ^  PACE 

ST.  PAUL  BREAD  COMPANY,  P58  view  St. 
ST.  PAUU  MINN. 

New  York  Selling  A«rents  :    H.  A.  Rol>inson  &  Co.,  «$  Front  St..  N.  Y. 


SETTERS  AND  POINTERS 


SHOOTING  DOGS.  Trained  bird  do^.  retrievers,  young 
dogs  ready  for  work.  Setter  puppies  of  best  field  trial 
breeding.  Pictures  and  pedigrees  upon  application.  State 
exact  wants.     Todd  Russell.  Tryon.  N.  C. 


FR  SALE— Thoroughbred  English,  Llewellin,  Irish  and 
Gordon  setter  pups  and  dog,  spaniels  and  retrievers,  one  coon 
hound.  Inclose  four  cents  in  stamps  for  lists.  Prices  reasonable. 
Thoroughbred  Kennels,  Atlantic,  Iowa. 


O 


UR  Chesapeake  retrievers  were  awarded  first  prize  at 
World's  Fair.     J.  G.  Morris  &  Son.  Easton.  Md. 


SHOOTING    DOGS— Trained    English    Setters    for    sale. 
Young   dogs   ready   for  training.     Pedigreed    Puonics. 
Write  for  prices  and  description.     H.  H.  Pease.  Lenox.  Mass. 


BEAUTIFUL  Irish  Setter,  puppies.     Send  four  cents  for 
illustrated  catalogue.     Culbbrtson    Kennels.  Atlan- 
tic, Iowa. 


ENGLISH  SETTERS.     The  very  best  strain  of  Quail  Finders. 
J.  W.  Pearcb,  Georgetown,  Ohio. 

POINTERS  and  Setters  for  sale,  from  two  months  old  to 

*  five  years  old.  Broken  and  some  ready  to  train.  Noted 
champion  Jingo's  Boy  and  Jingo's  Pearl  at  stud.  Fee  $25. 
Send  for  pedigree.     Charles  Paetzbl,  Route  6,  Hope,  Ind. 

POINTER  pups  b] 

*  brood  bitch, 
way.    New   York, 


by  Keiser  of  Kent  and  Nelmark.  Also 
J.  H.  BoRMANN.  a56th  Street  and  Broad- 
N.    Y. 


POINTER  PUPPIES.  Glendie  (Homell  Sam  ex  Homell 
*  Belle)  ex  Dazzle  (Young  Rip  Rap  ex  Fannie  E.)  C.  A. 
DuRRBLL.  Reading.  Pa. 

C  Sportsmen  are  gelling  ready  for 
the  fall  shooting.  C,  Advertise  that 
dog  of  yours  in  the  October  number. 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


POULTRY 

EGGS 


pRESH  EGGS  selected  from  thoroughbred  stock  for  sale  to 
*^  hotels,  restaurants  and  private  families.  Yearly  contracts 
made,  quality  guaranteed.  Booking  orders  now.  Dell  Poultry 
Yards,  Carson  City,  Mich. 


PIT  GAMES 


^^RED  CUBAN  GAMES 

^K/  Most   beautiful    and    gamest    on    earth. 

JHh  Bred  for  business  in  the  pit.     Record  last 

year,  84  per  cent,  of  those  fought  won. 
Over  1,200  used  in  the  U.  S.,  Mexico  and  Canada. 
Send  for  price  list  and  history  to 

•i^SSr!:,'^.     George  W.  Meais,  fimm*.*.c. 


^  LOWNDES  COUNTY  CRACKERS 


bred  only  by  W.  J.  DuRant,  Jr., 
Valdosu,  Ga.  90  per  cent,  fought 
myself  won  during  season  1906  and 
*07,  and  80  per  cent,  sold  also  won. 
Write  for  prices,  and  get  the  best 
^j  fighters  in  America.  Satisfaction 
__— J  guaranteed  or  money  refunded. 


BUFF  COCHINS 


;iNE   Yearling   stock. 
Hampshire. 


C.  J.  L.  Ware.  So.  Keene.  New 


PHEASANTS 


FR  SALE.  Pheasants,  Wild  and  Fancy  Ducks,  Swan, 
Fancy  Poultry.  Guinea  Fowl,  Peacocks.  Geese.  Turkeys, 
Homers  and  Fancy  Pigeons,  Deer.  Elk.  Buffalo,  Bear  Cubs 
Coons.  Porcupines,  also  Black.  Mexican  and  Fox  Squirrels, 
Special:  100  Double  Yellow  Head  Mexican  Parrots,  guar- 
anteed to  talk.  $7,  $8  and  $10  each.  Send  stamp  for  cata- 
loRue.  Neolgawa  Farm,  Dept.  A..  a8  Portland  St.,  Boston. 
Mass. 


PHEASANTS.    Quail,   Partridges,  Wild   Turkeys.   Swans. 
Ducks.  Deer,  Peafowl,  Foxes.  Ferrets.  European  Game, 
Homers.     U.  S.  Pheasantry,  Poughkeepsie.  N.  Y. 


BUCKWOOD   PHEASANTRIES 

Orders  will  now  be  accepted  for  the 
following  varieties  of  pheasants,  for  the 
stocking  of  preserves  or  for  exhibition  or 
aviary  purposes : 

English  Ring,  and  Blue  Necks,  Golden- 
Silver  —  Reeves  —  Lady  Amherst— Swin- 
hol  and  Manchurian. 

Also  for  Bob-White  and  other  varieties 
of  quail.  Inspection  of  pheasantries  in- 
vited.   Send  for  prices  to 

JOHN  McCarthy,  Mgrr. 

Dunnfield,  Warren  Co.,  New  Jeraey. 


HUNGARIAN   PARTRIDGES 

UUNGARIAN    PARTRIDGES.     The    most    ideal    game 

*  *     birds.     Pheasants    for    preserve    and    aviary.     Quail, 

i^oercailzies.  Black  Game.     All   kinds  of  Deer.  Hungarian 

s.     Ornamental  land  and  water  fowl  and  wild  animals. 

for  price  list.     Wbnz  &  Mackbnsen.  Yardley,  Pa. 


PIGEONS 


SQUABS 


any  Lxpreis 
Departments 

Krtent'  profits. 
If  price. 


ANTWERP      HOAfERS 

Seamless  banded  are  cbe  be« 

Squab    Breeders.      Randi»  are  a 

certlAcate  uf  a^e :   a  prutjcctioc:  t.< 

purchasers.       Place  an  order  « ids 

the  Express  Companies   Foreijp: 

lurchasing  agents  and  sa^re  yttti  iis- 

.10:    fifty  pairs  $80 ;    unhanded   birds 

Write  for  rnformation  and  price. 


Agent  in  America: 

wul  act  as  3rour  pu 

Five  pairs  ^10 


J.  L  MACDANIEU    Aatwcrp, 


PIGEONS!  Thousands  of  them,  all  kinds:  prices  frer 
Illustrated,  descriptive  book  telling  you  all  you  want  tc 
know,  one  dime.  W.  A.  Bartlbtt  &  Co..  Jacksonville  ILL 
Box  18. 


HOMERS    for    squab    breeding;      mated    birds;      prolific 
breeders.     Missouri  Squab  Co..  St.  Louis.   Mo. 


PETS 


PPXS     Fine  Bred  Dogs,  Singing  Canaries,  Talking  Parrots, 
*    *^  *  *^     Pigeons,  Angora  Kittens,  Gold   Fish.     Aquarinois 
and  supplies.    Guinea  Pigs  and  Rabbits.     Send  for  catalogue. 
J.  HoPB,  35  N.  Ninth  Sl,  Philadelphia 


Dogs,  Pigeons,  Poultry,  Rabbits,  Ferrets,  Pheas- 
ants, Cattle,  Sheep  and  Swine,     xo  cents  for  60 
page  illustrated  catalogue. 
OUBLES  1.  LANDIS.  DepC  D., 


lNGORA     cats    for    sale.     Waynb     Cattery,     Wavne. 
^     Mich. 


FANCY  •  RABBITS    and    cavies.     Unequaled    strains    of 
Flemish    Giants.    Angoras.    Himalayans.    Tans.     Elu 
Covb  Rabbitry.  Great  Neck,  L.  I. 

ANGORA  CATS.     Fluffy  big-eyed  beauties.  $5.00. 
Thomas.  41  Bonair.  Somerville.  Mass. 


FOR    SALE    AND   WANT 


? 


For  Den  or  Cabinet — Prehistoric  In- 
dian stone  relics,  Modem  Indian  tro- 
phies and  trappings,  Pioneer  Crockery, 
antique  pistols,  weapons  from  wild 
tribes.   Elk  tusks,  etc.  111.  list  5c. 

N.  CARTER,      -      Elklioni,  Wis. 


OUR  CIGARS  ARE  NOT  ALMOST  AS  GOOD  but  are 
genuine  Key  We«t  Havana  made  by  expert  workmen 
at  Key  West  of  clear  Havana  tobacco.  Write  us  and  we  will  send 
names  of  customers  whom  we  have  pleased.  Five  dollars  per  hun- 
dred by  mail  prepaid.  Money  refunded  if  not  satisfied  sojrouuke 
no  risk.     References,  Island  City  National  Bank. 

W.   L.  Edgak  Cigar  Co.,  Key  West,  Fla. 


FR  SALE. — Some  of  the  finest  Homer  Pigeons  and  Collie 
Pups.     Money  will  also  buy  White  Rocks  and  Rhode 
Island  Reds.     Michablis  Poultry  Farm.  Marinette,  Wis. 

BALSAM  PILLOWS.     Get  a  breath  of  the  Adirondacks 
while  in   your  home  or  office  by   using  our  pillows. 
Write  for  prices.     AoiRONDAtK  Balsam  Co..  Wcstport.  N.  Y. 


LIST  s  offers  fine  line  of  old  firearms,  prehistoric  Indian 
relics,  curios,  coins,  etc.,  at  special  low  prices.  Send 
your  address  for  it.  It's  free.  Coin  Co.,  115  N.  nth  St., 
St.  Louis,  Mo. 

GUN  FOR  SALE.  $60.00.  3a  in.  D.  B.  12  G  hammcrless 
gun,  built  by  Wm.  R.  Schaeffer.  Boston,  cost  $225.00. 
No  finer,  nor  more  beautiful  gun  can  be  produced.  Prac- 
tically new.  used  less  than  a  dozen  times.  Can  be  shown  in 
New  York  Citv.     Wm.  P.  Church,  68  Essex  St.,  Boston. 


OUTDOOR  PICTURES.  Landscapes,  river  views,  camps, 
etc.,  hand-painted  in  natural  tints  with  Winsor  and 
Newton's  colors.  Sample,  35  cents.  Descriptive  circular 
and  catalogue  free.  The  Safpon  Art  Co..  153  LaSalle  St., 
Chicago,  in. 


PleaM  Mentton  THE  OUTINO  MAOAZINB  When  Corrafpondlnc  With  AdTertU^QQl^ 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


FOR   SALE   AND  WANT— Continued 


STEVENS  Double  Barrel,  la  gauge,  hammerleas  $25  shot 
gun.  Used  only  two  or  three  times;  perfect  condition; 
beautiful  stock.  Makes  splendid  pattern.  Reason  for  sell- 
ing, no  time  to  use.  Yours  for  $1 7.50,  cleaning  outfit  thrown 
in.  Write  quick.  Hbrbbrt  Whytb,  care  Thb  Outing 
Maoa/inb,  Deposit,  New  York. 

MOOSE.  Elk.  Caribou,  Deer  Heads  for  sale.      Birds.  Ani- 
mals mounted.     Send  for  Circulars.     Brower,  Taxi- 
dermist, 1136  S.  34th  St..  Philadelphia.  Pa. 

SHE  r LAND      PONIES     for     sale.       Beautiful     illustrations. 
Beixe  Meade  Stock  Farm,  Bedford,  Mass. 


AMERICAN   Horse   Breeder      Ablest  edited,   best  illustrated 
Horse  Journal    Published  weekly.  $2.00  per  year.    x6i  High 
street,  Boston,  Mass. 

TRUSCOTT  BOAT  and  Auto  Supply  Company.  St.  Joseph, 
Mich.     Lower  prices  to  builders  and  owners  on  every- 
thing for  motor  cars  and  boats.     Catalogue  on  request. 

PnSoTOGRAPHS  WANTED.— We  pay~cash  for  foreign, 
out-of-the-ordinary.  or  any  interesting  photographs 
suitable  for  magazine  illustration.  Send  sample  print  when 
writing  for  particulars.  Ernest  L.  Bricgs.  Aavance  Studios. 
Woodlawn.  Chicago. 

BUSINESS  OPPORTUMmr 

.Wen  of  BaslneM  interested  in  a  new  field  for  making  money,  will  find  in 
our  proposition  what  thev  are  seeking.     We  have  a  New  Pbia  in  the  Mail 
Order  Line  that  will  f'lease  tho«e  seeking  a  good  investment  with    large 
profits.    A  Fortune  fo>-  the  right  person. 
The  F.  II.  Aldea  Co., f»  E.  4lli  Ht..  aiiHaaatt,  O. 

A  cUent  •!  mine  will  pay  well  for  a  first  class  man  order  prft 
siliMI.     Read  what  he  says  and  write  me  if  you  have  it 

What  I  want  is  a  good  mail  order  proposition.  Something  that 
can  be  sold  through  advertising  and  by  mail  orders  or  through 
canvassing  or  local  agents.  An  article,  machine  or  invention  that 
can  be  sold  to  farmers  is  preferred,  but  I  am  open  to  any  legitimate 
proposition  with  which  I  can  build  up  a  large  business.  An  article 
that  sells  at  a  substandal  price,  say  from  Three  Dollars  to  One  Hun- 
dred Dollars  is  preferred  to  one  that  sells  for  a  trivial  amount 
Address  HKRBEKT  WYTE,  The  <hitfan  Mafiiiie,  DEPOSIT,  W.  Y. 


REAL   ESTATE 


DUTCHESS  COUNTY.  N.  Y.  STOCK  FARM  containing 
1. 000  acres;  also  one  containing  400  acres;  both  have 
been  successful  dairy  farms  for  over  so  years  and  are  now  on 
a  paying  basis.  The  situation  is  ideal  for  country  home,  or 
to  farm  for  profit.  A  large  trout  stream  nms  through  estate. 
also  chain  ot  lakes  within  walking  distance.  Near  villages  are 
Pine  Plains,  Milbrook,  Lakeville  and  Sharon,  Conn.  Easy 
terms.  Apply  to  J.  Waltbr  Rightbr,  156  Fifth  Avenue, 
New  York. 


GAMBLE  if  you  will,  but  for  safe,  sure  and  profitable 
investments,  allow  me  to  place  your  money  in  Spokane, 
Washington,  real  estate.  Refer  any  bank.  Frank  W. 
GuiLBERT.  408  Fcmwell  Block. 


TW^O  completely  equipped  hunting  camps  for  sale  in  finest 
hunting    reKion    in    Maine.     Price    for   the    two,  $600. 
Address  E.  S.  Pierce,  31  Milk  St.,  Boston.  Mass. 


PR  SALE.— Five  shares  Idle  Wild  Fish  and  Game  Club. 
Quebec  Province.  Moose,  red  deer,  speckled  trout. 
Twenty  miles  from  railway.  Shares  $100  each.  Apply 
H.  Ellard,  Wright,  Que..  Canada. 

P"    R    RENT.    Hot    Springs,    Virginia.     Furnished    stone 
house  with  stable  and  garden.     L.  Dunn,  1  West  8ist 
St..  New  York. 


Liner  Advertising  Pays 

.Nearly  all  reputable  magazines  have  recently 
organized  a  clanified  department, — they  have  just 
found  that  it  pay^.  The  clanified  department  of 
THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  was  running  before  several 
of  these  publications  came  mto  eidstence.  Many  of 
its  original  advertisers  are  still  with  us,  and  the  dicu- 
lation  of  THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  has  increased 
year  by  year.     Isn't  that  proof  positive  that  it  pa]rs> 


Virginia  Homes 


IF  you  are  looking  for  an  even  climate^ 
no  extremes,  long  pleasant  Summers^ 
never  a  prostration  or  a  sunstroke, 
sLort  and  mild  ^Vinters;  eitker  to  do  suc- 
cessnJ  farming  ky  raising  all  kinds  or 
fruits  suck  as  apples,  pears,  peackes,  plums, 
figB^  kerries  of  all  kinds,  garden  truck, 
poultry,  peanuts  and  cotton,  and  all  kinds 
of  cereals,  bo  to  say  tke  largest  variety  of 
crops  profitakly,  or  for  a  ckange  to  recu-- 
perate  from  tke  long  cold  ^winters,  and 
regain  kealtk,  send  10c  for  a  tkree  montks* 
0ukscription  to  tke 


Va.  Farmer,  Box  672, 
Emporia,  Virginia 


WABAN  SCHOOL  tt^^l^^^'.^TiH-frvilJ. 

Man.    Ideal  location.     Individual  instruction.    Six  years'  rourse.     Preparei 
for  any  college  or  scientific  school.     Certificate  privileKe.    Advanced  standing 
if  desired.    Special  preparation  in  foundation  «ut)Jects.     Boys  easily  do  twlc* 
tlie  work  of  the  ordinary  school.    Send  for  catalogue. 
Physical,  athletic  and  numual  tataining. 

i 

THE    PHILLIPS   EXETER 
ACADEMY 

1 37th  jrear  opens  Sept  1 1  th,  1007.    For  catalogue  and  views,  address 
HlRLA^  P.  AMEN,  Principal,  ExetMN  New  Haaipfllilre. 

IVf  ICHIGAN  COLL^EGE  OF^  IVf  INES 

F.  W.  MeNAlll,  President 

Located  in  the  Lake  Superior  district.     Mines  and  mills  accessible  for  practice 
For  Year  Book  and  Record  of  Graduates  apply  to  President  or  Secretary. 

HOUGHTON,        ...        MICHIGAM 

ROCK   RIDGE    SCHOOL 

VmrB»jm.    LocaHon  higfh  and  dry.     laboratories.     Shop  for  tnechanic  arts. 
Htr««f  lM«li*n.     A  vi(;oro(is  school  life.     A  nrw  g\-miMsiuni  *1th  s»im- 
inins  pool.      Fits  for  coll«i;e.  sciratific  school  and  business.       llliistnited 
pamphlet  sent  free.     Please  address 
DR.  C  B.  ^IIITE,  lUck  KMse  Umlh  Wellcelcy  Illlla.  Ma«k 

Blees  Military  Academy.    $600,000  plant    Modem,  fire. 

proof    buildings,    especially    designed    for    College    preparatory 
Business    and    Physical    training,      is   instructors   for   no   bo3rs 
Col.  Gko.  R.  Burnett,  LL.B.,    A.M.  (West  Point '80),  Supt 
Box   III,   Macon,  Missouri. 

Don't  go  hunting,  camping  or  fishing  without  a 
copy  of  "The  Book  of  Camping  and  Woodcraft," 
by  Horace  Kephart. 

New  Jersby,  Summit  (20  miles  from  New  York). 

ST.  JOHNS  MILITARY  ACADEMY 

"  TA«  Ammrican  Rugbj^  " 
Delafiekl  Waukesha  County.  Wucondn.    New  term 

IT^nt    Plar^   ^^rhonl     FOR  GIRLS.     CoUege  Prepara- 
K.ent    h'lace   S>CnOOL    ,        ^^^  cetieral  Courses.    *Cer. 
tificate  accepted  at  Welleslev,  Smith  and  Vassar.    President  of  Di- 
rectors, Hamilton  WrightMabie,  LL.D.  Principals, Mrs.  Sarah 
Woodman  Paul,  A.  B.;  Miss  Anna  Sophia  Woodman,  A.  R 

DR.  S.  T.  SMYTHE,  President 

New  York,  New  York. 

Mrs.  Helen  M.  Scoville's  %^S^M?^  ^'""^ 

304a  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City.     (October  until  June.)    Sum- 
mer travel  parties.      Annex  in   Paris.      (After  February  ist,  five 
months'  study  and  three  months' travel)   Resident  and  day  pupils. 

Nbw  Hampshire,  Dover. 

The  School  of  Travel  l^^^^^tc^^^^,. 

The  Thompson- Baldasseroni  School  spends  eight  months  abroad 
in  study  and  travel.     Mrs.  Ada  Baldasseroni,  Wellesley,  B.  S. 
Prin.      Usual  courses.     Address  Mrs.  Helen  T.  I^cott,  Secy. 

THE    OXFORD   COLLEGE 
FOR   WOMEN 

Pennsylvania,  Ogonts,  Ogontz  School  P.  0. 

Ogontz  School  for  Young  Ladies 

Twenty  minutes  from  Philadelphia,  two  hours  from  New  York. 
The  late  Mr.  Jay  Cooke's  fine  property.      For  circulars,  address 
Miss  Sylvia  Eastman,  Principal. 

1830-1907.     Oxford,  Ohio.     One  hour  from  Cindnnaii,  on 
the  C.  H.  and  D.     Four  years  College  Course  leading  to  de- 
gree of  A.  B.     Unusual  advantages  in  music,  art,  oratory 
and  preparatory  branches.     Faculty  trained  in  best  schools 
of  Europe  and  America.     1300  a  year.     JANE  SHERZER, 
Ph.  D.  (BerUn).  President.     Box  B. 

PleaM  Mention  THE  0X7TING  MAGA2INB  When  Comtpondlnc  Wltl^AdTtrllMrt  30QI 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


CAMP  AND  HOTEL  DIRECTORY 

Full  information  concerning  any  camp,  hotel  or  summer  resort  herein  advertised 
will  be  furnished  upon  application  to  The  Sunmier  Resort  Bureau  of  The  Outing 
Magazine,  Deposit,  N.  Y. 


WHEN  IN  BOSTON  STAY  AT  THE 


COPLEY    SQUARE    HOTEL 

HUNTINGTON  AVE.,  EXETER  and  BLADGEN  STS. 

The  most  centrally  located  hotel  for  travellers  and  visitors.     A  high-class,  modern  house,  intelligent  service,  moderate  prices,  pleasant 
rooms,  superior  cuisine.     Long  distance  telephone  in  every  room.      Ladies  travellinx  alone  are  assured  of  courteous  attention. 

AMOS  H.  WHIPPLE.  Proprietor. 
307  rooms,  200  with  private  baths.      People  returning  from  the  mountmns  and  seashore  will  do  well  to  stop  at  the  Copley  Square  HoteL 


THE  OAKS."    Home  of  Theodosia  Burr.    2.700  acres  in 
historical   coast   section   of  Georgetown   Co.,   So.   Car. 
Elegant    winter    home   on    Waccamaro    River.     Steamboat 
landing;    duck  shooting  and  fox  hunting  a  specialty.     Also 
'  good  fishing.     Address  R.  Nbsbit,  Waverly  Mills,  George- 
town Co.,  S.  C. 


piNE  GROVE  COTTAGE,  Shawangunks.  Shade,  croquet. 
^  etc.;  postoffice;  trout  iishing.  $6.50  weekly.  Mrs. 
Theo.  C.  Millbk,  Cravi'ford,  Ulster  County,  N.  Y.  No 
Hebrews. 

THE  BELLEVUE.  Delaware  Water  Gap.  Pa.  Finest 
table  in  Monroe  Co.;  electric  lighted;  accommodates 
75 ;  3  minutes  from  station;  $2  per  day,  $8  to  $15  per  week. 
Booklet.     Conway  &  Blair. 


ON    LAKE    GEORGE.     The    Sagamore.     A    hotel    un- 
equalled, on  the  grandest  lake  in  America.     T.  Edmund 
Krumbholz,  Sagamore,  N.  Y. 


\WEST  BRANCH  Ponds  Camps,  Roach  River,  Me.  Famous 
^  trout  fishing.  Good  hunting.  Fine  camps,  excellently 
run.      Write  for  particulars. 

A  TTEAN  CAMPS,  located  in  Northern  Maine,  unsurpassed 
**  fishing  and  hunting.  Booklet  on  request.  Holdbn 
Bros.,  Proprietors,  P.  O.,  Jackman.  Maine. 

OEAUTIFUL  OLD  COLONIAL  HOME,  in  fine  repair, 
*-*  forty  miles  from  Norfolk.  Va.,  400  acres  fine  land,  more 
if  desired,  on  easy  terms.     J.  S.  Musgravb.  Pinopolis,  Va. 

IJIAWATHA  LODGE  and  cottages.  Spectacle  Lake,  Ad- 
*  *  irondacks.  Finest  deer  hunting  and  fishing,  open 
through  hunting  season.  W.  L.  Bbcrman,  Coreys,  Franklin 
Co..  N.  Y. 


•THE  GABLES.  Private  residence.  8  adults.  Shade, 
■*  verandas,  furnace  heat  if  needed,  telephone.  Altitude, 
600  ft.     Reduced  rates,  autumn.     Box  124,  Chatham. 


WAILL   COTTAGES.  South    Bluff.    Block    Island.    R.    I. 
'       Rooms  and  board,  day  or  season.     Golf,  tennis,  music, 
dancing,  fishing.     Booklet. 

BLUE  MOUNTAIN  LAKE,  N.  V.      Blue  Mountain  House, 
2000  feet  above  the  sea,  200  feet  above  the  lake.      Address, 
M.  T.  Merwin,  P.  O.  Address,  Towahloondah,  Hamilton  Co.,N.  V. 


THE 


Outing  Magazine 

^PPEALS   to   every  lover  of  America,   Our 

Country;  Out-door   Life;  Virile   Fiction; 

Travel  and  Adventure   in   Remote  Corners  of 

the  World  ;  Country  Life  and  Nature.     :     :     : 


Springfield,  Mass. 

WILLIAM  H.  CHAPIN,  Proprietor 

Rooms y  with  bathy  single  or  en  suite 

Garage  Facilities 


YARIVIOUTH,    NOVA.    SCOTIA. 

No  Hay  Fever.  Summer  temperature 
averages  70  degrees  at  noon.  First-class 
hotels.  Boating,  salt  and  fresh  water 
fishing,  scooting,  golf.     Write  for  booklet 


J.  BOND  GRAY, 


Scc'y  Tourist  Connittee 


Ibipobenus  lake  gamps,  me. 

^      I  n  the  GrandMt  Section  of  tbe  State 

f  for  huntiDg  and  fishing.  Mooscj  Deer, 
]  Bear  and  Grouse  plentiful.  Fishing  un- 
equalled— Trout  will  rise  to  the  fly  allsum- 
roer — Scenery  superb — These  camps  are 
deeper  in  the  woods  and  further  from  rail- 
road than  any  camps  in  the  state — I'be 
trip  in  is  quick  and  easy.  An  ideal  place 
for  sportsmen  and  their  families      Kates 

4>3  per  aay,  ^20  per  week.      Send /or  tuw  illustrated  circular. 

BEG.  C  THOMAS^  Chcsunoook  P.O^  Me. 


GUIDES'  DIRECTORY 

MONTANA 


A^ONTANA.  Ovando.  Steven  Camp.  HurtirR,  fishing, 
*'*  camping.  Horses  and  equipment  furnished.  Mule  deer, 
mountain  goat,  elk,  sheep,  bear,  mountain  lion.  Ducks,  geese, 
grouse.  Salmon,  trout,  mountain  white  fish.  Parties  a  spec- 
ialty. 


CANADA 

DENNIAC. — W.  Harry  Allen.  Camps  in  game  territory. 
^  Moose,  caribou,  deer,  bear,  grouse,  trout.  Camps 
reached  one  day  by  team  from  Fredericton.  Reliable  guides 
and  out-fits.     75  miles  canoeing  and  fishing. 


Outdoor  life  described  entertainingly  by  an  outdoor  man  \% 

^^THE    PASS^^       By  Stewart  Edward  White 


Any  bookseller  has  it 


Price  $1^5^qq|p 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


AUTOMATIC 
FLEXIBLE  JOINT 


RearSisht 


''THE  MAN  WHO  KNOWS**  uses  this  sight  because:  When  not  locked  down,  a  simple  spring  In 
the  hinge  lolnt  Instantly  brings  It  lifto  proper  position  should  It  be  struck  on  front  or  back.    It  can  be 
used  on  all  rifles  with  lone  flring  bolts.    The  lower  sleeve  Is  a  Jamb  nut  which  prevents  the  elevating 
sleeve  from  turning,  and  holds  the  disc  stem  at  any  elevation.    Interchange- 
able discs  allow  changes  of  aperture  at  will.     A  screw  In  bottom  of  stem 

n&akes  point  blank  adjustment  easy.    This  sight  will  suit  all  American  rifles,  ^ 

but  when  ordering,  state  If  rifle  has  pistol  grip  stock,  and  be  careful  to  give  '* 

caliber  and  model.      FuU  dnciiptlon  and  oumerous  V 

Ulustntions  arc  ffiren  in  our  catalo|r  of  specialties  for  Sports- 
men which  also  describes  Marble's  Imfnrvtd  Front  Sight. 
Buy  of  dealer  or  direct.    Write  for  Catalog  "  K. " 


■iMM^niri&  A 


Dl«;Ho.t(attBAedto0tem).       I)<*c  Mow  1  tfAMI  V 
hdm  farnMbad  with  eMb  MsfMe  Bit  ht. 
WbMiBxtm.Prk)»BMa,»OMits.         97-125  D«lta  At«. 


SAFETT 


AU    COMPANT 
GLADSTONE.  MICH. 


© 


^ 


^Ike  Gregorian 

35lh    Street    West,    between   Fifth 

Jlvenue  and  Herald  Square, 

3^ew  York 

Hotel 

Martinique 

BROADWAY,  THIRTY^ECOND 
and    THIRTY-THIRD  STREETS 

Under  the  same  management  as  the 
Hotel  St.  Denis 

H  That    splendid    service   and    attention  to 
small  details  that  have  made  the  "St.  Denis" 
famous    among  the  older  New   York  hotels 
are  now  duplicated  in  the  very  center  of  the 
shopping  and  theater  district. 
H  The  Martinique  offers   at   moderate  rates 
the  very  highest  standard  of  entertainment 
to  the  transient  public. 

Rooms  $2  and  upwards. 

With  bath  $3.50  and  upwards. 

Parlor,  bedroom  and  bath  $6  and  upwards. 

H  The  Martinique  restaurants  have  already 

become  famous  for  their  excellence  of  cuisine 

and  service. 

Elegandy  appointed  Hotel — centrally 
located. 

Elntirely  new.     Absolutely  fireproof. 

European  plan. 

Refined  patronage  solicited. 

Write  for  illustrated  booklet  "  C." 

WM.  TAYLOR  &  SON 

INCORPORATED 

PIMM  BSentlon  THE  OUTINO  MAOAXDVE  Whan  CoRMpondinc  With  AdT«rtlMn 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


How  to  get  this 
book  FREE 


Whether  you  are  going  to  buy,  build  or  im- 
prove a  home — or  just  wish  to  read  about  beautiful  homes — ^you 

want  this  book — **  Country  Homes  of  Moderate  Cost." 

The  regular  price  is  $2.00  prepaid.  It  contains  illustrated  articles 
on  the  whole  subject  of  home  building,  from  site-choosing  to  or- 
namental gardens,  by  authoritative  writers. 

Contains  200  plans  and  illustrations  of  houses  costing  $800 — 
$6000,  designed  by  the  foremost  architects,  with  practical  notes 
descriptive  of  each  picture.  An  inexhaustible  source  of  ideas  for 
fixing  up  the  home. 

Bound  In  cloth,  9x12  Inches;  printed  on  the  finest  heavy  coated  paper.    Weighs  over  2  ponnda.    If 
ordered  separately  this  book  costs  $1.50,  with  50  cents  additional  for  wrapping  and  ezpressaga. 

We  send  this  book  at  no  cost  to  you 

together  with  the  current  number  of  Hoiise  aod  Garden  for  exami- 
nation. If  you  are  so  impressed  with  Hoose  and  Garden  as  to  feel 
that  you  want  to  have  it  every  month,  simply  remit  I3.00  for  a 
year's  subscription,  and  we  will  present  you  absolutely  free  with 
"Country  Homes  of  Moderate  Cost." 


flpue^QMilen 


THE  MAGAZINE 

is  conceded  to  be  the  handsomest  and  most  beautifully  printed  mai^a-     iMued  monthly.  $3.00 « 
zine  in  America,  and  at  the  same  time  is  the  most  instructive  and 
interesting  to  the  home-maker.     Each   number  contains  timely  articles  by  leading 
architects  on  the  newer  ideas  in  building,  novel  schemes  in  artistic  room  arrange- 
ment by  prominent  decorators,  and  attractive  floral  effecl 
landscape  gardeners  of  national  repute.     Its  illustrations 


Special  Offer: 


Cut  off  the  coupon,  sign 
and  address  and  mail  i1 
WITHOUT  MONEY.  \V 
immediately  ship  you  •'Country  Homes  of  Moderate  Co 
and  copy  for  current  issue  of  "  House  and  Garden."  If  tl 
book  and  magazine  are  satisfactory,  remit  $3.00  within  5 
days  or  return  the  book  at  our  expense. 

. / 


THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  CO. 

lOM  AichSlrMt  PhaMkWda 


"Drgitized  by  VjUOV  Ic 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


8  STRONG  NOVELS  FOR  $  1 
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FICTION     EVER    MADE    BY    A    GREAT    MAGAZINE 

1.  "The  Ifoyett  M3r8tery,"  by  Dr.  Monroe  Hopkins,     A  really  capital  detective  story. — May  LippincoU'a. 

2.  "A  Tragedy  of  Circumstance."  by  Frank  Danby.   The  author  of  **  Pigs  in  Clover"  at  her  best. — June  lAppincoU't. 

3.  "He  Who  Stole  and  Rode  Away/'  by  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson.     Their  brightest  motor  romance  since  "The 

Lightning  Conductor.'' — JiUy  LtppineoU'a. 

4.  "When  Spring  Comes  Late,"  by  Marie  van  Vorst.     The  best  novel  this  popular  author  has  produced. — Auffuai 

Lip-pineoUrg. 

5.  "The  Chain  of  Evidence,"  by  Carolyn  Wells.   An  original  and  mystifying  detective  story. — September  LdppincoU' 9. 

6.  "The  Whited  Hepulcher."  by  Will-Levington  Comfort.    A  remarkably  vivid  and  dramatic  romance  of  Martinique 

and  Mont  PcX^ie.— October  LippincoU*». 

7.  "The  Plague  of  a  Heart,"  by  Helen  Milecete.  A  clever  novel  of  love  and  social  intrigue. — November  LippineoU*». 

8.  "  The  Career,"  by  Kathryn  Jarboe.     A  fascinating,  high-grade  love  story. — December  LAppincoU'a. 

SEND  ONE  DOLLAR  TO-DAY 

and  we  will  mail  you  at  once  the  copies  of  Lippincott's  Magazine  already  issued  containing  these  eight 
remarkable  novels  and  send  the  other  numbers  as  rapidly  as  issued. 

BESIDES  THESE  EIGHT  COMPLETE  NOVELS 

LIPPINCOTT'S   contains  in  the  foregoing  eight  numbers  of  1907,  over  50  short  stories,  nearly  50  inter- 
esting articles,  and  over  1 50  pages  of  fresh  American  humor — no  continued  stories,  every  issue  complete. 


SIGN  HERE 


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Kmw  Rm'mmin 


Co 


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Lippincott's  Magazine  ^3.50 

Bast  'Washington  Square  a  Year 

PHILADELPHIA 


address 


mmll  Onm 
Doilmr 


AS  HE  IS 


ASH^wAs     SMILING    JOE 

After  being  strapped  to  the  frame  for  a  year 
he  has  been  put  on  his  feet  for  life  at  Sea  Breeze. 
with  the  help  of  the  sun  and  the  wind  and  the 
sand  and  the  surf,  good  food  and  kind  care. 

Sea  Breeze  is  also  the  place  where  we  are 
trying  to  provide  Fresh  Air  Outings  for  25,000, 
many  of  whom  are  sick  or  at  the  breaking  point, 
with  no  other  escape  from  dark,  foul  tenements 
and  stifling  streets. 

Buy  happiness  for  them,  with  strength  and 
new  courage*  by  sending  to  Sea  Breeze  for  a 
week: 

A  worn  out  mother  with  three  children. .  .$10.00 

A  teething  baby  and  *  'little  mother* '  of  ten    5. 00 

An  underfed  slu)p  girl  earning  $3  a  week    2.50 

An  aged  woman  fighting  for  self-support    2.50 

Give  4  poor  children  *'tne  happiest  sum- 
mer day" 1.00 

A  day  party  of  100  boys  and  girls 25.00 

Literature  sent  for  Fairs  and  Entertainments. 
We  will  write  if  desired,  just  how  your  gift  is 
used,  whether  $1  or  $100. 

Inquiry  is  invited  as  to  Memorial  Gifis. 

R.  8.  MINTURN,  TrMS.,    Room  S89,  No.  105  Bast  S2d  StrMt 
NEW   YORK   ASSOCIATION    FOR    IMPROVING   THE   CONDITION    OF  THE    POOR 

R.  FULTON    CUTTINa,  PflCSIDCNT 


XiAfl^^fiLSL 


Please  Mention  THE  OUTINO  MAOAXnVB  When  Correepondlnc  With  Adyertlien 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE   ADVERTISER 


THE 

OUTING   MAGAZINE 

FOR  OCTOBER 

It  win  take  an  enticing  magazine  indeed 
to  tempt  the  householder  from  her  duties 
and  the  business  man  from  his  desk  after 
they  have  returned  from  the  vacation  and 
have  settled  down  with  energy  to  the  new 
tasks  of  October.  But  we  believe  we  have 
made  The  Oijting  Magazine  for  Octo- 
ber so  thoroughly  alive,  so  tempting  in  its 
rich  and  varied  list  of  pictures,  fiction  and 

special    articles,    that    it    will    inveigle    any  Re.U.ced  from  a  full-pa^  pho.o«r.ph  niustratinK    •  in.  country 

live-minded  reader  into  the  arms  of  the  Fair.- by  Davui  i^nnng.  in  thb  outing 

MAGAZINE  for  October. 

vacant  easy  chair  for  at  least  one  evening. 

The  OirriNG  Magazine  for  October  is  the  ideal  incorporation  of  the  philosophy  that 
lies  behind  the  making  of  every  issue:  timeliness  without  being  newspapery;  variety  and 
breadth  of  interest  without  sacrificing  timely  qualities. 

For  instance,  at  this  time  when  the  fruits  of  the  earth  are  being  gathered  together  the 
account  of  THE  COUNTRY  FAIR,  as  told  by  David  Lansing,  is  surely  of  timely  interest, 
and  it  will  recall  some  mighty  good  times  to  every  man  and  woman  who  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  be  born  and  bred  in  the  country.  The  article  is  illustrated  with  photographs  which  are 
as  full  of  interest  as  the  text  itself.  The  author  recalls  the  old  country  fair  as  it  used  to  be, 
and  comments  on  the  fact  that  the  up-to-date  farmer  has  come  to  demand  attractions  which 
soon  will  blot  the  fair  as  it  used  to  be  out  of  existence.  But  in  certain  secluded  parts  of  the 
East,  country  fairs  exist  to-day  practically  as  they  have  for  years  past.     The  writer  shows 

the  reader  all  the  sights  df  the  fair  as  it 
was  before  any  echo  of  "step  lively"  had 
ever  penetrated  to  the  farms.  The  whole 
article  is  an  attractive  piece  of  description 
and  has  a  lively  appreciation  of  the  real 
Country  Fair  as  being  nothing  more  than 
a  great  big  show. 

A  few  days  ago  the  newspapers  were 
prophesying  that  it  would  not  be  long 
before  a  million-dollar  air  ship,  suc- 
cessfully put  together  by  some  inventor, 

Reduced  from  a  full  pace  photoffmphllIu«trattaR' The  Country  yffOvAd    bc    Hlising    hob    with    the    huudrcd 

Fair."  by   Davi.l  I^insln^.  in  THB  OUTING  ^ 

MAGAZINE  for  octoi«r.  milHou  dollar  navies  of  the  world.    Indeed, 


Digitized  by 


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the  average  layman  will  be  surprised  that 
the  time  of  successful  aerial  navigation 
seems  to  be  so  near.  In  The  Outing 
Magazine  for  October  Mr.  F.  P.  I^hm, 
U.  S.  A.,  writes  of  the  present  stage  of 
BALLOONING  AND  AERIAL  NAV- 
IGATION. He  reviews  the  past  at- 
tempts with  spherical  balloons  and  tells 
of  the  organized  experiments  on  the  part 
"FiGHTiMG  BuMBLB  bkbs  "  of  govemmcnts  to  the  end  of  determining 

Reduced  from  a  full-jmge  drawing  by  Worth  Brehm.  In  ^    practicable    air    sWp.       Thc    writcr    OUt- 

Thb  Outing  Magazinb  fiw  October.  ^   *  ^  /■ 

lines  the  immense  aid  practical  air  ships 
could  render  to  science  and  to  nations  in  war.  With  the  growth  of  the  appreciation  of  the 
importance  of  ballooning,  American  experimenters  are  beginning  to  take  the  lead  over  the 
French.  The  writer  describes  numerous  experiments  and  experiences  in  ballooning,  and 
finally,  after  marshaling  his  evidence,  decides  that  the  conquest  of  the  air  will  be  brought 
about  either  by  the  dirigible  balloon — an  elongated  bag  inflated  with  gas — or  by  the  aeroplane. 
In  an  extremely  readable  article,  he  brings  home  the  conviction  that  very  soon,  perhaps 
within  five  years,  perhaps  within  a  few  months,  the  next  stage  in  mechanical  locomotion 
will  be  assured. 

To  those  whom  Tales  of  a  Collector  of  Whiskers  have  impressed  as  being  some- 
thing new  and  entertaining  in  fiction,  the  new  story  by  Mr.  Ralph  D.  Paine  in  the  October 
number  entiUed,  THE  TITIAN  BEARD  OF  WILKINS,  will  be  a  delight  and  a  joy. 
Wilkins  was  a  doughty  old  sea  captain,  who,  with  his  wonderful  red  beard,  fell  under  the 
notice  of  Doctor  McKackney,  the  enthusiastic  collector.  The  collector  does  secure  the 
wonderful  whiskers,  but  only  after  many  extremely  absurd  and  laughable  preliminary  com- 
phcations. 

YARNS  ON  THE  FORWARD  DECK  will  again  prove  Mr.  Vance  Thompson's 
uniformly  interesting  versatility  whether  in  telling  a  tale  or  describing  Ix)ndon*s  slums. 
These  yarns  are  told  by  a  group  of  con- 
genial souls  on  board  a  trans-Atlantic 
liner,  and  all  have  as  their  theme  the  jus- 
tification of  taking  human  life  when  the 
provocation  is  great  enough.  To  this  end 
and  to  the  tune  of  dry  comments  by  Mark 
Twain,  several  stories  are  told.  The 
reader  will  surely  find  himself  in  a  dilem- 
ma upon  finishing  the  stories,  and  he  will 
ask  himself,  "Is  killing  in  these  instances, 
after  all,  in  any  way  reprehensible.^" 
This  is  not  a  feature  running  over  with 
human  gore  or  so  bloody  as  it  sounds.  It 
is  rather  an  unusually  interesting  socio- 
logical argument  in  narrative  form  modi- 


••  Manelvering  a  Military  Balloom  at  Versaillbs" 


-  Illustrating  "  Ballooning  and  Aerial  Navigation,"  by  F.  P.  Lahm,  In 

fied  by  a  good  measure  of  humor.  thb  outing  magazinb  for  October. 


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Pleaie  Mention  THE  OUTINO  BCAOAZINE  When  Corretpondlnc  With  AdyertUeti 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


As  additional  fiction  features  are  the  LITTLE 
OUTDOOR  STORIES.  These  are:  JONES, 
THE  TRAVELER;  BILL'S  BEAR,  by  Nor- 
man H.  CroweU;  THE  MAGIC  BASS,  by  Paul 
H.  Woodruff,  and  PICKING  THE  SPITZEN- 
BURGS  by  E.  P.  Powell.  Mr.  PoweU  has  ap- 
peared in  this  magazine  several  times  and  his 
prose  idylls  of  the  farm  and  boyhood  days  in  the 
country  have  struck  a  popular  chord. 

Stewart  Edward  White  will  take  the  reader 
away  from  the  cities'  rattle  and  bang  into  the  far 
places  of  the  old-time  ROUND-UP  DAYS.  Mr. 
White  has  a  trick  of  the  pen  that  carries  you  with 
him  whether  you  will  or  not,  and  his  stirring  nar- 
rative of  exciting  doings  create  around  the  reader 
the  horizon  of  Ihe  desert  and  the  clear  air  of  the 
plains  where  whole  states  may  be  taken  in  at 
a  glance.  This  article  is  made  particularly  note- 
worthy by  four  finely  illustrative  full-page  draw- 
ing by  John  N.  Marchand.  .   _  .      _  . 

^         '^  "When  LMe  is  Worth  IJvinr."  In  THE 

Only  the  other  day,  an  Englishman  twitted  the  outing  magazine  for  October. 

Americans  of  being  after  all  not  so  democratic  as  they  seemed,  and  of  being  really  in  their 
origin  the  offspring  of  European  blueblooded  aristocracy.     After  a  perusal  of  such  an  article 

as  GENERAL  ISAAC  SHELBY,  FIRST 
GOVERNOR  OF  KENTUCKY,  by  Lynn  Tew 
Sprague,  in  The  Outing  Magazine  for  October, 
Americans  will  admit  the  soft  impeachment.  Gen- 
eral Shelby  was  a  well~bom  European,  but  the 
typical  American  qualit}  in  his  character  was 
grounded  in  him  by  the  netds  of  frontier  life, 
where  muscle  and  brain  had  every  moment  to  be 
keenly  alive  and  efficient  in  order  to  exist  against 
the  threatened  dangers  of  the  enemy  and  of  star- 
vation. General  Shelby  hved  in  the  "parlous 
times"  of  the  close  of  the  Revolution,  when  the 
Indian  made  insolent  by  the  British  wheedling  was 
still  in  war  paint  and  when  the  British  were  still 
persisting  iQ  their  attempts  to  down  their  refractory 
colonists.  Kentucky  was  the  hot-bed  of  much 
that  was  stirring  and  General  Shelby  found  himself 
at  his  maturity  in  the  midst  of  times  that  tried  even 
his  seasoned  abilities.  This  article  is  one  of  the 
series  which  is  retelling  American  history  in  the 

Reduced  from  a  fiiU  page   pointing,  by  George  Wright.        form  of  vivid  pcrSOUal  skctchcS  of  mCU  who  WCrC  at 

'''^T^:,''^:ZV.o::i-:«:':r^^.'^''-       the  center  of  cnUcal  developments. 

ligitized  by  VjOOQLC 

mt^^mm.  ««>AMMM«t   *inrv   ATPTTWA  lyrAAATTIVS  WIm  fUtrwrnmntntAi^m  With  AdTiortlflin 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


Now,  really,  "does  the  busy  bee  improve  each  shining  hour?"  It  is  not  with  a  desire  to 
spoil  the  bright  example  that  is  always  so  convenient  to  the  parents'  command  that  David 
Almon  writes  of  HUNTING  THE  WILD  HONEY  BEE.  but  in  an  article  admirable 
and  attractive  for  its  woodland  philosophy  and  its  account  of  woodland  methods,  he  cannot 
forbear  mentioning  that  the  honey  bee  is  quite  as  apt  to  take  a  short  cut  to  the  attainment 
of  his  ends  as  is  weak  humanity.  The  article  is  not  a  treatise  on  natural  history;  it  is  merely 
a  charming  account  of  a  trip  afield  in  an  attempt  to  trace  the  elusive  honey  bee  to  his  home 
in  the  tall  tree  wherever  it  might  be.  Mr.  Almon  is  not  to  be  blamed,  to  be  sure,  for  making 
by  the  way  some  very  interesting  reflections  based  on  his  experiences  in  these  hunts. 

ODD  CORNERS,  by  Maximillian  Foster,  is  a  **Story  of  Woodcock  Cc^ers."  It  is  a 
narrative  of  hunting  methods  particularly  apropos  just  at  this  season  when  the  birds  are 
beginning  to  rustle  in  the  falling  leaves.  Not  the  least  interesting  to  the  active  American 
will  be  an  article  which  is  pretty  nearly  all  pictures  by  James  Parmley  Paret  entitled  THE 
AMERICAN    TWIST   SERVICE.     It  describes  some  very  effective  tennis  methods  and 

the  pictures  accompanying  the  article  show  leading 
exponents  of  the  game  in  action. 

In  his  story,  THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN,  Mr. 
Emerson  Hough  is  justifying  the  judgment  of 
critics  who  were  looking  for  him  to  write  a  really 
great  American  novel.  This  story,  as  appearing 
monthly  in  this  magazine,  is  attracting  wide- 
spread comment. 

WHEN  LIFE  IS  WORTH  LIVING  is  an 
"Outing"  article  inspiring  in  its  outdoor  philoso- 
phy. Its  accompanying  photographs  reinforce  the 
^  moral.  As  a  whole  The  Outing  Magazine 
for  October  has  that  substantially  interesting  value 
which  will  insure  its  being  a  feature  on  the  readin;j 

Reduced  from  a  drawing  Illustrating   •  The  Titian  Beaid  of       table  of  the  homC  for  the  wliolc   mOUth  and  of  itS 

'^"''"'  "^MroAzm'^KlToJ^r'''^  ^>n«  Placed  conveniently  on  the  reading  racks 

for  the  next  month.     It  is  of  the  kind   that  there 
is  no  "getting  away  from"  when  once  its  pages  are  opened. 

The  October  number  as  usual  is  a  veritable  picture  gallery,  with  photographs  of  a  score 
of  diverse  scenes  supplementing  a  liberal  proportion  of  paintings  and  drawings.  A  recent 
letter  received  from  an  Outing  Magazine  reader  so  well  appreciates  one  of  the  leading 
principles  of  the  magazine  tliat  we  reproduce  part  of  it  here:  "The  Outing  Magazine  from 
the  first  has  impressed  me  as  working  effectively  in  a  field  which  is  almost  solely  its  own;  at 
any  rate  it  is  making  that  field  its  own  by  the  superiority  of  its  inteq^retation  of  the  out-<loors. 
And  to  the  admirable  *  team-work'  of  its  illustrations  and  reading  matter  must  be  attributed 
much  of  its  successful  appeal  to  the  average  reader.  A  full-page  photograph  of  a  city  street, 
of  a  towering  mountain,  of  an  horizon-rimmed  plain  invites  irresistibly  to  the  enjoyment  of 
a  feast  of  travel,  adventure  and  description  set  forth  by  your  clever  writers.  And  it  is  a  joy 
to  me  to  pick  monthly  from  the  magazine  those  'photographic  art  studies'  that  picture  the 
*oV  swimmin'  hole,'  or  *Duck  on  Davy.'  I  have  even  seen  my  father  look  these  over  an<l 
then  drift  with  a  reminiscent  smile  back  to  scenes  that  throng  the  path  to  tlie  days  of  youth." 


Please  Mention  THE  OUrXNG  BCAGAZINE  When  Correepondlng  With  Adyerttiert 


iDgtr 


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You  can  be  a  stenographer  and  typewriter 
at  a  cost  of  absolutely  no  money  to  you 

Possibly  you  have  thought  of  taking  a  course  in 
stenography  but  hesitated  for  reasons  better 
known  to  yourself,  maybe  because  ^ou  felt  you 
could  not  afford  the  cash  outla^. 

C  THE  BOHEMIAN  has  arranged  with  two  of  the  most  promi- 
nent schools  of  stenc^^phy  to  furnish  a  limited  number  of  courses 
of  instruction  and  offers  these  courses  to  ambitious  persons  desirous 
of  taking  a  course  in  stenography. 

C  The  cost  of  the  course  in  The  Stenographers'  Correspondence 
School,  Freeport,  Illinois,  in  shorthand  and  typewriting,  complete, 
is  $28;  shorthand  complete,  $20;  typewriting  complete  $18,  cash  in 
advance. 

C  If  you  will  send  us  28  subscribers  to  THE  BOHEMIAN,  or  50 
subscribers  to  The  Gray  Goose,  we  will  give  you  a  paid  up  course 
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BOHEMIAN  or  40  subscribers  to  The  Gray  Goose,  we  will  supply 
the  course  in  shorthand  complete;  for  18  subscribers  to  THE 
BOHEMIAN  or  35  subscribers  to  the  Gray  Goose,  you  can  get  the 
course  in  type^r^^'ting  complete.    The  system  used  here  is  the  Gregg. 

C  For  30  suly  jribers  to  THE  BOHEMIAN  or  60  subscribers  to  The 
Gray  Goose  you  will  get  a  paid  up  course  in  the  Walton,  James  CSt 
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schools,  it  will  be  wise  for  you  to  take  immediate  advantage  pf 
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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


The  Bohemian  for  September 


September  means  the  end  of  the  vacation.  It  is  then  that  the  school  bells  ring 
anew  and  the  oflSce  comes  again  into  its  own.  THE  END  OF  THE  VACA- 
TION in  the  September  number  of  The  Bohemian  is  one  of  the  best  bits  of  clean 
sentiment  marking  this  period  that  we  have  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  read. 
For  the  person  who,  as  a  boy,  has  sat  on  the  fence  between  the  back  yard  and  the 
meadow  when  August  was  drawing  to  a  close  and  has  sadly  reflected  that  the 
summer  s  long  play  time  was  aknost  gone,  THE  END  OF  THE  VACATION 
will  appeal  with  the  haunting  force  of  boyhood  memories. 

If  you  would  see  a  nation  as  it  is,  look  into  the  streets  where  its  citizens  travel 
by  day  and  gather  by  night.  The  types  that  stream  through  these  thoroughfares 
are  the  real  types  of  the  nation,  and  the  man  who  can  view  these  highways  with  a 
practical  eye  which  is  not  lost  to  the  poetry  and  tragedy  of  these  floating  crowds  is 
one  to  convey  to  the  ordinary  reader  what  a  country  really  is.  Such  an  article 
will  appear  in  the  September  Bohemian  entitled  FAMOUS  ARTERIES  OF 
TRAVEL.  Besides  our  own  great  avenues  will  be  found  striking  pen  pictures  of  the 
great  streets  of  Berlin,  Vienna,  St-  Petersburg,  and  the  capitals  of  South  America. 

Our  amusements  are  the  measure  of  our  work.  As  intensely  and  earnestly  as 
we  enter  into  our  play  time,  just  so  earnestly  do  we  pursue  our  work.  An 
article  in  the  September  Bohemian  will  deal  with  the  leadiYig  race  tracks  of  America 
where  men  lose  fortunes  without  a  quiver  of  the  eyelash  and  gain  thdm  without 
exultation.  The  writer  of  the  article.  Mr.  Charles  F.  Peters,  has  secured  data 
showing  race  track  gambling  as  i;:  is  to-day;  how  the  mania  has  seized  every  class 
of  both  sexes  and  how  the  irrepressible  desire  for  this  sport  laughs  at  legislation  and 
discouragement.  Miles  Bradford  in  his  article,  IN  DAYS  LIKE  THESE, 
deals  with  the  preparation  of  some  of  the  lighter  delicacies  which  help  to  make 
bearable  the  heated  term.  MY  YESTERDAYS  is  written  by  Clara  Blood- 
good.     It  is  a  charming  resume  of  an  interesting  career. 

The  stories  have  the  clever  brightness  which  distinguishes  Bohemian  fiction. 
One  of  them  is  entitled  AT  YE  LAD  YE 'S  INN,  being  an  ingenious  story  of  a 
woman  burglar's  shrewd  "get-away."  The  artfulness  of  the  world's  better  half 
and  the  helplessness  of  even  the  keenest  of  the  criminal  hunters  of  New  York  have 
never  been  the  theme  of  a  brighter  tale. 

BOOTS  is  a  pathetic  narrative  of  a  camp  follower  who  gained  the  affections  of 
a  whole  regiment.  Boots  was  a  street  arab  who  sacrificed  himself  for  a  patriotism 
that  he  himself  scarcely  understood.  THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  RACE  is  the 
tragedy  of  pride  of  family  over  human  affections.  Here  one  of  the  complications 
of  the  race  question  is  shown  in  a  forceful  setting.  JIMMIE  DUNCAN  OF  THE 
HERALD  is  frankly  a  love  story.  Its  clean  sentiment  and  unexpected  develop- 
ment is  as  refreshing  to  the  reader  of  conventional  fiction  as  the  story  is  gratifying 
in  its  real  setting  forth  of  the  struggles  of  a  woman  who  is  handicapped  by  her  sex. 

BOHEMIAN  A  is  honestly  a  department  of  nothing  serious,  and  "glad  of  it." 

r 


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r 


^ 


YOUR  BOY  OR  GIRL 
IS  READY  FOR  BOARDING  SCHOOL 

Where  will  you  send  them?  There  is  one  school 
that  is  best  for  each  of  them. 

There  are  a  hundred  fine  schools  but  there  is  only 
one  school  that  is  exactly  suited  to  their  needs. 

Which  of  the  hundred  schools  is  suited  to  your 
girl  or  your  boy? 

You  know  a  school  only  by  the  literature — 
excellent,  well  written  and  typographically  beautiful 
booklets — sent  you  by  those  to  whom  you  apply,  but 
you  cannot  know  intimately  an  educational  institution 
by  reading  its  booklets. 

One  school  excels  in  one  or  another  feature. 

What  are  these  characteristics  and  why  are  they 
important  to  you? 

I  have  spent  years  in  learning  schools  and  school  life. 

I  have  recommended  hundreds  of  schools  in  my 
years  in  the  educational  field  and  never  has  a  parent 
regretted  accepting  my  advice. 

My  service  to  you  (if  you  are  a  subscriber  to 
THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE)  is  free— otherwise  it 
cannot  be  had  at  any  price. 

Before  studying  the  school  it  is  necessary  first  to 
learn  the  characteristics  of  the  boy  or  girL 

Are  they  backward,  ambitious,  strong  or  weak? 

Do  they  need  coaching  or  are  they  too  precocious? 

W^hat  is  their  aptitude  for  study? 

Do  you  intend  they  shall  learn  a  profession  and 
how  do  they  feel  about  it? 


Pleaie  Mention  THE  OXJTINa  BCAOAZINE  When  Correspondlnc  With  AdYMrtlten 


o 


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tr 


^ 


\= 


Is  it  West  Point,  Annapolis,  law,  medicine, 
teaching,  kindergarten,  nursing,  or  do  they  need  only 
a  finishing  school? 

There  are  schools  that  claim — and  charge — much, 
but  give  little. 

There  are  "finishing"  schools  for  girls  that  do 
not  "finish"  anything,  but  the  girl's  ambition  to 
be  something. 

Climate  and  altitude  often  have  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  a  student's  ability  to  absorb  knowledge  and 
keep  up  interest  in  his  or  her  work. 

The  points  enumerated  above  are  a  few  only 
of  the  many  phases  of  the  "WTiere  to  send  my  boy 
or  girl  to  school"  that  I  have  studied  for  years  and 
feel  competent  to  pass  judgment  upon. 

If  you  will  send  me  particulars  concerning  your 
boy  or  girl;  condition  of  health,  age,  proficiency 
in  work  so  fer  done — last  school  attended — ^what  you 
wish  to  make  of  them — college  (if  any)  they  have  in 
view — ^whether  they  are  interested  in  athletics  and 
outdoor  sports — what  school  you  have  thought  of 
having  them  attend — and  any  other  information  you 
see  fit  to  send  me — I  will  teU  you  immediately  just 
what  school  is  exactly  suited  to  them — exactly 
suited — and  my  reasons  for  the  selection  offered  you. 

This  information  is  supplied  subscribers  to  THE 
OUTING  MAGAZINE  absolutely  free  of  cost 

Write  me  to-day 

Cordially  yours, 

HERBERT  WHYTE 
of  THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE 

DEPOSIT,  NEW  YORK 


J 


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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


^^  Grips  attention  at  the  outset  and  holds  it  to  the  final  paragraph/' 

says  the  Pittsburg  Chronicle  Telegraph. 

The  Sons  of  the 
Seigneur 

By  Helen  Wallace 

rVoBtisiaece  tn  cokm  by  C  D.  WlUtenM.        Ootli,  dceoratlvc.  Price  $1.S0 

A  large  poster  of  the  heroine,  in  colors,  sent  free  to  every  purchaser. 

TV//  mf  that  you  love  mtj 

Tell  me  that  you  love  me  as  of  old; 
Tell  me  that  you  love  me. 

For  that^s  the  sweetest  story  ever  to  I  J, 

CL  The  Sons  of  the  Seigneur  is  romance, 
pure  and  simple,  clean  and  uplifting. 
With  the  scene  laid  in  the  Isle  of  Guern- 
sey during  the  time  of  Cromwell,  two 
brothers  of  Puritan  birth  as  suitors  for 
the  hand  of  a  Royalist  maiden,  intrigue 
running  high,  the  young  King  Charles 
II  moving  in  disguise,  with  treason 
blocked,  and  action  fast,  this  novel  is 
bound  to  hold  and  entertain. 

^  The  New  York  Sun  says : — **  The  story  is  bright 
and  ^ftgaging,  the  action  swift,  the  surprises 
cleverly  managed^  the  romance  wholesome  and  sweet, 
and  the  book  is  well  written  and  entertaining,^* 
The  Chicago  Record  -  Herald  says:  —  *'  Helen 
Wallace  has  turned  out  an  unusual  story,**  The 
Nashville  American  says: — ^^  Jn  unusually  pretty 
story  with  a  historical  background,**  The  Pittsburg 
Dispatch  says  : — '^The  book  is  especially  noteworthy 
for  the  fascinating  character  of  the  heroine  and  the 
daintiness  and  charm  of  its  love  interest,**  The 
Salt  Lake  .City  Tribune  says : — "  The  novel  makes 
entertaining  reading,  with  unflagging  interest,** 
The  Grand  Rapids  Herald  says : — *<  The  characters 
are  delineated  with  masterly  touches,  and  the  entire 
tale  leaves  the  impression  of  force  and  virility,**  '**«  Heroloe.    Does  slie  atlrael  yoa  ? 

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Are  you  one  of  the  persons  who  made  that  inquiry: 
''When  are  you  going  to  put  out  Mulford's  tale  in  book 
form?**    Well,  here  it  is.    Delve  to  your  hearts  content. 


BAR 


By  Clarence  E.  Mulford 

With  many  illustrations  by  F   E    Schoonovcr  and  N  C.  Wyeth 

Cloth,  Decorative,     -    Price,  $1.50 


CI,  This  is  as  important  as  the  Bret  Harte 
variety. 

CE,  The  story  concerns  itself  mainly  with  the 
adventures  of  the  famous  outfit,  or  PUNCH- 
ERS THREE,  of  BAR-20,  an  old-time  ranch 
in  Arizona. 

CL  Chief  among  the  bunch  was  one  Hopalong 
Cassidy,  whose  peaceful  intentions  were  some- 
how or  other  always  getting  him  into  trouble; 
his  boon  companions,  Buck  Peters,  slow  of 
speech  and  nerveless,  but  quick  on  the  draw; 
and  Red  Connors,  hot  tempered  and  choleric, 
but  generous  and  open-hearted,  enjoying  a  rep- 
utation of  never  missing  with  a  rifle — these 
and  other  characters  so  truly  portrayed  reflect 
the  old-time  character   in  Arizona  in  truthful 

Hopalong  Cassidy,  of  peaceful  intentiont. 

spirit. 

C  Mr.  Mulford  knows  Arizona  as  Bret  Harte  knew  Poverty  Row  and 
Poker  Flat. 

C  That  BAR-20  will  prove  the  most  refreshing  and  liveliest  book  of  the  season, 
we  have  no  doubt. 

^  j4nd  then^  if  you  want  to  skip  from  the  IV est  to  the  East^  get  "  The  Story  of 
Martin  Coe**  by  Ralph  D.  Paine,  The  main  part  of  this  swift  reading  novel  is  laid 
in  the  pine  clad  hills  of  Maine.     Tou  will  like  the  romance  and  the  big-hearted  sailor. 

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Two  Sterling  Books — Exploration — Travel 

The  Long  Labrador  Trail 

By  Dillon  Wallace 

Ffontlsptece  in  color  by  N.  ۥ  Wyetb*    Many  ball-tmies  from 
photograplis  by  tbe  Autbor 

Ootb,  decorative.   Price,  $1.50  net. 

Q  The  author  of  Tbe  Lure  of  tbe  Labrador  Wild  tells  in  his  new  book 
the  story  of  his  return  to  Labrador  to  take  up  again  the  work  of  exploring 
the  interior  of  that  country  first  attempted  by  him  and  Leonidas  Hubbard 
in  1903.  This  time  the  expedition  was  successful,  and  he  penetrated  far 
into  the  interior.  Q  The  story  is  a  wonderful  one  of  persistence  and  pluck 
in  the  face  of  peril  and  hardship.  It  is  also  full  of  information  concerning 
interior  Labrador,  a  country  of  which  but  little  has  been  known  heretofore. 
A  fascinating  narrative  of  travel  and  adventure. 

C  The  New  York  Evening  Sun  says: — **//  is  the  first  hooJk  about  the  heart 
0/  Labrador.^*  The  Seattle  Times  says: — **  A  glorious  reeord  of  American  do 
and  dare, ^^  The  Grand  Rapids  (Mich.)  Herald  says: — **  It  is  one  of  the  notable 
publications  of  the  year.  ^*  The  Denver  Times  says: — ••^/r.  Wallace  tells  the 
7vonderful  story  with  a  vivid  pen  and  sho7us  superlative  genius.**  The  Salt 
Lake  City  Tribune  says: — '•//  is  a  worthy  recital  of  a  great  exploration.** 

The  Greater  America 

By  Ralph  D.  Paine 

niiistrated  ivltli  nmneroiis  ball-tones  Irom  pbotograplis  by  tbe  autbor 
Ootb,  deeoratlve,  Priee   $1.50  net. 

Q  In  this  new  and  comprehensive  book  of  Mr.  Paine' s  is  pictured  our 
Countrf  5  Greatness.  Q  The  volume  is  the  result  of  a  15,000  mile  journey, 
starting  at  the  Great  Lakes,  then  sweeping  through  the  mining  districts  of  the 
Northwest,  over  the  plains,  into  the  forests,  on  to  the  Pacific  coast,  down 
through  the  gold  fields  and  finishing  with  the  interests  of  the  Southwest. 
Q  Here  is  laid  forth  our  real  country^  real  men  and  women^  our  real  wealth 
and  powers.  The  book  is  of  inestimable  value — a  panorama — a  boost. 
Ct  The  Cleveland  Leader  says: — *'//'j  a  book  to  make  a  man  hold  his  head  high  y  to 
step  high  J  to  thratv  out  his  chest.**  The  Wilmington  Every  Evening  says — '*  THE 
GREA  TER  AMERICA  is  bound  to  be  a  rn>elation  .  .  .  no  cre-ition  of  fiction 
could  possibly  create  a  more  interesting  result.^*  The  Philadelphia  Press  says:  — 
**TIIE  GREA  TER  AMERICA  will  be  a  rci^ elation  to  many  people  who  realize 
nothing  of  the  vast  mo^'cments  in  the  West  in  recent  years.**  The  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean  says: — *\Mr.  Paine  is  a  keen  observer  and  a  capable  literary  workman  .  .  . 
77 fE  GREA  TER  AMERICA  desenws  a  place  in  the  history  of  every  good  Amer- 
ican. "     The  Albany  Evening  Journal  says: — *M  wholesome ^  inspiring  book.  ** 

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To  be  read  before  that  Fall  hunting  and  fishing  trip 

Fishing  and  Shooting  Slcetches 

By  GROVER  CLEVELAND 

ninstrated  by  Hy.  WatMm 

q  Written  in  the  spirit  of  an  Izaak  Walton.  Clotll« 
decorative.    Price,  $1.25  net. 

q  The  Argonaut  says  ;- -  *  *  A/r.  Cleveland  writes  of 
nature  as  a  nature-lover ^  and  as  one  who  has  tasted  to 
the  full  the  delights  that  he  regards  as  necessary  to 
bodily  and  mental  balanced  The  San  Francisco 
Bulletin  says: — **//  //  a  classic  that  for  pleasant 
philosophy  and  a  sound  defense  of  amiable  mendacity 
stands  alone  in  the  literature  of  sport  J*  "^  The  New 
York  Times  says: — **  Full  of  sound  homely  philosophy  and  quaint  humor,^^ 

The  Book  of 
Camping  and  Woodcraft 

By  HORACE  KEPHART 

Many    niastratloiis    from    photograplis 

q  An  encyclopedia  that  fits  the  pocket.      Price,  cloth,  $1.50  net.     Flexible 
leather,  $2.00  net. 

qThe  Chicago    Evening   Post  says:— "THE  BOOK  OF  CAMPING  yiND 

WOODCRAFT  is  one  of  the  most  alluring  and  easily  the  most  complete  manual  of 

camping  now  available,''^   The  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle  says  ; — **  No  one  has  approached 

.  the  great  subject  with  the  equipment^  experience  and  serene  common  sense  as  has  Horace 

f^"ontbe/rdi  Kcphart  in  THE  BOOK  OF  CAMPING  AND  WOODCRAFT. 

THE     PASS     By   STEWART    EDWARD  WHITE 

FriMitlsplece  In  color  by  F.  Lnngren  f 

Many  half-tones  from  pboiograplifl  tuy  the  author  '  ^ 

q  Mr.   White  has    done   nothing   more  charming   or    more   instinct  with  the  \ 

subtle  spirit   of  the  outdoors.     Ooth,    decorative.     Price,  *"  """  ~"* 

^  The  Albany  Argus  says: — **  Outdoor  life  described  by  one 
who  loves  it  and  knows  how  to  make  the  most  of  it,**  The 
Chicago  Tribune  says: — **//  has  the  breath  of  the  wilderness 
in  it,**  The  Nation  says: — **  As  an  open-eyed  forest  rambler 
and  mountain  climber  he  ( Mr,  White)  is  easily  in  the  first  rank 
of  nature  writers,** 

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Would  you  have  acted  as  Kendry? 


n 


ea 


By  CHESTER  BAILEY  FERNALD 

Frontispiece    In    color    by    C.    D.    Wllllanis 
Cloth,  decorative.     Price,  $1.50 

A  Imrw  poster  of  tho  Horoiae,  in  colors,  •oat  froo  to  orory  parcbosor 

Th's  wonderful  novel  and  study  is  just  published 

CE,  A  story  of  rare  interest,  the  scene 
of  which  is  laid  in  California. 

C  The  idea  concerns  the  charming 
heroine  of  the  story,  whom  Ken- 
dry,  a  young  millionaire  philan- 
thropist, meets  unconventionally. 

C  Her  beauty  and  grace  impress 
him,  and  he  resolves  to  raise  her 
above  her  rather  sordid  surround- 
ings, and  give  her  a  higher  culture. 

C  Through  serious  byways  of 
thought  young  Kendry  advances. 

C  He  has  friendly  motives  of 
course — merely  friendly. 

C!,  As  for  his  success  in  his  experi- 

The  heroine,  around  whom  Kendry's  idea  ment that's   the   tded. 

takea  its  course 

CE,  Altruistic  motives  and  warmer  ones  have  a  conflict.     See  the  result. 
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**This  book  gurgles  with  fun/*  says  The  Louisville  Times 

The  Shame  of  the  Colleges 

By  Wallace  Irwin 

Many  Ulastrattons,  and  decorations  on  every  page  by  M.  L.  Blnmentlial 

Clofli.  decorative*  Price*  $1.25 

See  how  Wallace  Irwin  "muck-rakes**  Harvard  (The  Crimes  of  the 
Amalgamated  Gentlemen  Trust),  Vassar  (Delicious  but  Dyspeptic), 
Princeton  (Frenzied  but  Unashamed),  The  University  of  Chicago  (A 
Self-Made  Antique),  Yale  (The  Democratic  Machine),  West  Point  (A 
Reign  of  Drill-Terriers),  etc. 

The  pace  is  strictly  modem,  and  Irwin's  muck-rake  has  "funny 
prongs." 

The  New  York  Sun  says :  **  The  lyrics  that  Mr,  Irwin  throws  in 
freely  are  always  amusing  J* ''  The  Detroit  News  says:  "Read  it  and 
be  amused  and  thoroughly  instructed  by  a  writer  fully  master  of  his  theme  ^ 
The  Louisville  Evening  Post  says :   "  Mr.  Irwin  is  of  the  breed  of  true 

humorists caricature  at   its  boldest   and  gayest ^      The 

St.  Louis  Republic  says  :  •*  The  book  is  well  worth  readings  for  it  is 
filled  with  wholesome  humor  of  a  new  kind,**  The  Bookseller,  News- 
dealer, and  Stationer  says:  **The  volume  is  just  as  original  and  funny  as 
it  can  be,** 

^^It  will  make  you  forget  your  troubles, ''  says  Outdoor  Life 

The  Sportsman's  Primer 

By  Norman  H.  Croi/vell 

Wtth  nmneroiis   mnstratlons   by  Wallace  *  Morgan 
Decorative  bosrdflb  Price,  $1.28 

Humor  and  fun  run  rampant  in  this  little  volume. 

The  manner  in  which  Golf,  Football,  Baseball,  Automobiling,  and  the 
numerous  "brands"  of  Fishing  and  Hunting  are  burlesqued  is  a  caution. 
Buy  it  and  do  not  make  so  much  fuss  about  the  weather. 

The  Grand  Rapids  Herald  says;  "Delightfully  entertaining,  just 
the  thing  for  summer  reading,**  The  St.  Louis  Republic  says:  "Those 
who  are  not  interested  in  sports  will  appreciate  the  stories  as  being  good 
jokes  on  their  friends.  The  sportsman  will  be  glad  to  have  the  book  on 
bis  shelves  that  he  may  turn  to  its  pages  whenever  he  feels  that  he  is  taking 

bis    amusement    too    seriously most    enjoyable,**      The 

Kentucky  Post  says:  "lifter  many  years  of  waiting  an  enterprising  firm 
has  just  given  the  American  public  what  it  has  so  long  needed,**  The 
Seattle  (Wash.)  Post-InteDigencer  says:  **The  whole  book  is  very 
amusing,** 

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THE  OUTIXG  MAGAZIXE   ADVERTISER 


'T^HE  GOLDEN  BOOKS  form  a  series  of  dainty  little  volumes 
^  representing  the  pure  gold  of  literature.  The  appearance  of 
each  book  is  very  attractive,  and  the  uniqueness  of  make-up  alone 
will  undoubtedly  cause  them  to  be  regarded  as  the  most  beautiful 
thing  of  the  season.  Typographically,  they  represent  the  highest 
order  of  book-making,'  and  the  artistic  originality  of  the  binding 
has  never  been  equalled.  The  binding  is  of  imported  Fabriano, 
with  yellow  Art  Vellum  backs,  and  each  book  is  enclosed  by  a  slip 
case  covered  with  brocade  gold  paper.     Size  4  by  7  inches. 


These  Are  Now  Ready 

Rip  Van  Winkle. — VV^ashington  Irving. 

Aucassin  and  Nicolette. — Andrew  Lang. 

A  Christmas  Carol. — Charles  Dickens. 

Rubiiy^t  ofOmar  Khayydm.— Edward  Fitzgerald 

Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. — Mrs.  Browning. 

The  Rhyme  of"  the  Ancient  Mariner. — Coleridge. 

Golden  Poems  of  Poe. 

Rab  and  His  Friends. — Dr.  John  Brown. 

The  Book  of  Ruth. 

My  Winter  Garden. — Charles  Kingsley. 


Others  Soon  to  Follow 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  etc. — Browning. 

The  Deserted  Village. — Goldsmith. 

Marjorie  Fleming. — Dr.  John  Brown. 

Francis  Villon. — Stevenson. 

Golden  Poems  of  Kipling. 

Golden  Poems  of  Heine. 

Golden  Poems  of  Herrick. 

Golden  Poems  of  Keats. 

Golden  Poems  of  Vagabondia. 

Golden  Thoughts  of  Benjamin  Franklin. 


The  Golden  Books Golden  in  thought        Golden  in 

Format       Price    only   y^   cents  per   volume 


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^J* Realism  is  here.     Read  it/'  says  The  Detroit  News. 

THE   SHAMELESS  DIARY  OF 

AN  EXPLORER 

By  ROBERT  DUNN 

with  many  lllustratloiis  in  half-tone  from  photographs 
by  the  author*  Ootli«  decorative.  Price,  net,  $1.50 

C  This  is  mainly  an  account  of  a  recent  attempt  to  reach  the  top  o\ 
Mount  McKinley,  but  its  chief  interest  lies,  perhaps,  in  its  being  an 
absolutely  frank  record  of  the  daily  happenings  during  the  journey. 
C  Most  of  the  books  of  exploration  are  written  in  a  comfortable  study, 
and  conform  to  fashion.  C  This  is  different ;  here  will  be  found 
spirited  language  and  the  ardor  of  **the  trail." 

Ct  THE  DIAL  says:  **  A  vh'id  account  of  exploring  in  the  straiii^c 
wilds  of  the  remote  Northwest^'  TIIK  NEW  ORLEANS  PICAYUNE 
says:  ^*  Worth  a  dozen  precise  narratives  of  scientific  exploration.''^  THE 
NASHVILLE  AMERICAN  says:  ''The  general  reader  in  his  anj^iety 
to  get  hold  of  the  latest  work  of fction  forgets  the  old  saying  that  '•truth  is 
stranger  than  fiction  t  and  so  misses  many  choice  morsels  like  A/r.  Dunn's 
stirring  diary. ^^  THE  ALBANY  ARGUS  says  :  *'  Written  in  a  manner 
audacious.^'' 

**A  book  that  will  appeal  to  every  lover  of  fishing  in  the 
country/*  says  The  St.  Louis  Republic. 

BAIT  ANGLING  FOR 
COMMON  HSHES 

By  LOUIS  RHEAD 

With  numerous  lllnstratlmis  In  half-tmie  and  line  by 
the  author.  Ooth,  decorative*  Price,  net,  $1.25 

C  This  new  book  by  Mr.  Louis  Rhead,  author-artis  sportsman,  fills  a 
niche  in  fishing  literature  which  has  heretofore  remained  vacant.  C  First 
of  all  the  author  loves  his  sport  and  appreciates  what  the  mighty  multitude 
of  anglers  really  wish  and  ought  to  know.  C.  Many  books  have  been 
written  for  those  who  hunt  the  big  game  fishes,  but  this  one  treats  only  of 
our  smaller  varieties,  such  as  Brook  Trout,  Bass,  Pickerel,  etc.,  down  to 
Perch  and  Eels. 

CTIIE  CHICAGO  INTER-OCEAN  says:  **  A  useful  work  for  an irlers 
by  a  7uriter  of  authority.'"  THE  ST.  PAUL  PRESS  says:  **  Much  valuable 
information  regarding  the  history  and  habits  of  the  fishes  described  is  contained 
ill  the  text  and  directions  on  ho7o  to  catch  them  are  simply  and  cntertainiitt^ly 
set  forth.''  THE  PHILADELPHIA  NORTH  AMERICAN  says:  ^*  A 
store  of  fresh  and  valuable  information,^'' 

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*  Automatic    Extended     Insurance    or    Automatic 
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Cash  Surrender  Values,  both  on  Premium  Paying 
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A— -U  ,1.000  to  ,100.000  £yg^    ^^^^    yj^l^g    ^^^    ^^^^ 

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JOHN  F.  DRYDEN,  Home  Office: 

President.  NEWARK,  N.  J. 


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PlaaM  Mention  THE  0X7TING  MAGAZIKE  Wben  Corrwpondlnc  With  Ady«rtls«rB 


m 


Music  in  the  Fo'castle.     Drawing  by 

THE  PENT  AND  HUDDLED  EAST 

Photographs  by  Gribayedoff, 
THE  TRUE  LAND  OF  BUNCO         .... 

Illustrated  by  Horace  Taylor. 
AN  OASIS  IN  MIDSUMMER.     Photograph  by  . 
ALONG  THE  COLUMBIA 

Photographs  by  the  Author. 
A  DUEL  IN  THE  DARK 

Illustrated  by  Will  Crawford. 
HIT  OR  MISS— The  Story  of  a  New  Brunswick  Car- 
ibou   

Illustrated  by  Ily.  S.  Watson. 
TALES   OF   A   COLLECTOR    OF   WHISKERS      . 

IV.     The  Wandering  Bookcase. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 
AROUND  THE  CIDER  BARREL.       Drawing  by     . 
THE  FISH  PONDS  OF  CAPE  COD 

Photographs  by  the  Author. 
WHERE  THE  SHADE  OF  THE  ELMS  IS  MOST 

WELCOME.     Photograph  by  .... 

THE  ROBBERS  OF  THE  FALLS     .... 

Photographs  by  the  Author. 
LITTLE    OUTDOOR   STORIES 

Granpop*s  Big  Bass. 

Bill  Fikes'  Fox  Hunt. 

Corn  and  Grapes. 
MOUNTAINEERING  IN  NORTH  AMERICA 

ON  THE  TRAIL.     Drawing  by 

WHEN  THE  SUN  IS  HIGH.     Photograph  by   . 
OUTDOOR  MEN  AND  WOMEN         .... 

A  Western  Friend  of  Big  Game. 

A  German  Globe  Trotter. 
DERBY  DAY — A  Series  of  Photographs  of  the  Fore- 
most Racing  Event  of  the  World,  won  this  year  by  an 

American 

THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN— Chapters  XV.-XXI    . 

Drawing  by  George  Wright. 
THE  VIEW-POINT— Nature  Fakes  and  Fakirs 
THE  PROFESSIONAL  AND  THE  AMATEUR  IN 

YACHT  RACING 

THE  QUALITY  OF  A  BIRD  DOG'S  NOSE    . 
A  FEW  "HITCHES"  IN  HORSE  PACKING 
BICKERING  AT  THE  DOG'S  EXPENSE 
PREPARING  THE  AUTUMN    HOME   GARDEN 
DETERMINING  YOUR  HORSE'S  ACTION     . 


Henry  Jarvis  Peck 
Vance  Thompson 

Ernest  Russell 

W.  M.  Snell 
Clifton  Johnson 


Frontisfuce 
642 
643 


W.  J.  Carney  and 
Chauncey  Thomas 

Maximilian  Foster 

Ralph  D.  Paine    . 


Oliver  Kemp 
John  Murdock 


Charles  H.  Sawyer 
Herbert  K.  Job     . 


Carroll  Dean  Murphy 
Norman  H.  Crowell 
E.  P.  Powell 
Robert  Dunn 
N.  C.  Wyeth 
Miss  Ben- Vusuf   . 


C.  Muggerldge 
Emerson  Hough  . 

Caspar  Whitney  . 

C.  Sherman  Hoyt 
C.  B.  Whitford     . 
Stewart  Edward  White 
Joseph  A.  Qraham 
Eben  E.  Rexford 
Francis  M.  Ware 


658 

663 
664 


674 
679 
684 


690 
691 


698 
699 

706 


7H 
71S 
723 
724 


727 
733 

748 

753 
•^56 

758 
761 

763 
766 


Iwued  by  The  OUTING  Publiahlng  Company.    Office  of  publication.  Deposit.  New  York.    Editorial  rooms.  35  and  37  W.  3iat  SC.  New  York 

President,  CHARLES  P.   Knapp,  Deposit,  N.  Y. ;    Vice-President,  Caspar  Whitney,  ^ew  York  C 
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Lord  &  Taylor 

Wholesale  Distributors 


'^ Harvard  Mills'' 

FM^^i)  Underwear, 

Steam  heated  apartments,  winters  of  diminishing  severity, 
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Union   Suits  are   a   special    feature,  recommended    for    stout 
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Sold  Everywhere.     Ask  your  dealer  or  write  Dept.  7.      We  will  direct  you  to  nearest 
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R.osy  CHildren 

Like    Grape-Ntits    and    Cream. 

A  child^s  taste  is  often  a  reliable  guide  to  palatable  and  nutritious  food, 
and  it  is  worth  one^s  while  to  observe  how  the  little  folk  take  to  Grape-Nuts, 
the    famous    breakfast    food. 

They    eat    it    freely    with    cream,    for   it    has    the    peculiar,   mild    but    satis-- 
fying    sweet    of    grape-sugar,    and    the    natural    taste    of    a    child    often  intuitively 
recognizes    a    food    that    will    agree    with    and   richly    nourish    the    system. 

••THere's    a    Reason.**    for 

Grape-Nuts 


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'  YES -IPS  JAP-A-LAC!  T 

There  is  only  one  JAP-A-LAC — it  is  put  up  in  Green  Labeled  cans 
and  is  easily  distinguished  by  the  trade-marked  name. 

There  are  16  beautiful  colors,  for  refinishinf?  everything  about  the  home,  from  cellar  to  garret     All 
articles  of  wood  or  metal  should  be  JAP-A-LAC-ED  as  soon  as  they  become  scuffed  or  rusty  looking. 
Floors,  Interior  Woodwork,  Weather-beaten  Doors,  Chairs,  Tables,  Andirons,  Gas  Fixtures  and  a  thou- 
sand other  things  can  be  kept  looking  like  new  by  the  use  of  JAP-A-LAC. 
Get  a  can  to-day,  of  any  color  you  desire,  and  prove  to  yourself  the  wonderful  results  it   produces. 

For  S«l«  by  Paint,  Hardwar*,  and  Druv  Dealers.     AD  nses  from  16c  to  $2.50 

A  WARNING  AGAINST  THE  DEALER  WHO  TRIES  TO  SUBSTITUTE. 

If  your  dealer  offers  vou  a  substitute,  say  to  him:   **No,  thank  you;    I  want  what  I  asked  for.     Good  bye. 
Trade  with  the  dealer  who  ^ives  you  what  you  ask  for.      That's  JAP-A-LAC. 
Write  for  beautiful  illustrated  booklet,  and  interesting  color  card.      FREE  for  the  asking. 


If  buildinjf.  write  for  our  com- 
plete Finishing  Specifications. 
They  will  be  mailed  free.  Our 
Archirectural  Green  Label  Var- 
nishen  are  of  the  highest  quality. 


948  Rockefeller  Bldg.,  Cleveland,  O. 


1/  yOl'M  dealtr  does  not  Jkeefi  JAP- 
A-LAC,  send  us  his  name  and  toe 
(exce,>t  for  Gold,  ii'ftuk  is  ^/r;  to 
cover  cost  of  mai/ing,  and  we  will 
send  FRFE  Sample  {quarter  fint 
can)  to  any  /^oint  in  the  U.  S. 


Pla&iA  Mention  THE  OITTINO  MAGAZINE  When  namMmAnHlmc^  iviitH   a«i«*»m. 


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c^  va^jLz\L»v\jL    iTiirceiain  i:iiiaiiicicu  ty  ore 

materially  increases  the  property  value  of  your  home. ' 
For  moderate  cost,  life-long  durability  and   perfect 
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desirable  and  satisfactory  for  domestic  use. 

Our  book,  ''  MODERN  BATHROOMS/'  tells  you  how  to  plan  and  arrange  your 
tmthroom,  and  illustrates  many  beautiful  and  inexpensive  as  well  as  luxurious  rooms, 
showing  the  cost  of  each  fixture  in  detail,  together  with  hints  on  decoration,  tiling, 
etc.  It  is  the  most  complete  and  beautiful  booklet  ever  issued  on  the  subject.  FREE 
for  six  cents  postage  and  the  name  of  your  plumber  and  architect  (if  selected). 


CAUTION: 


Ware  bears  our 


Every  piece  of 
GOLD'*  guarantee  label,  and  has  our  trade-mark 


'GREEN  and 

cast  on   the  outside. 

Unless  the  label  and  trade-mark  are  on  the  fixture  it  is  not  t^mtme   Ware,    Re/use 

substitutes— they  are  all  inferior  and  will  cost  you  more  in  the  end.     The  word 

'Bmtme  is  stamped  on  all  our  nickeled  brass  fittings ;  specify  them  and  see  that  you 

get  the  genuine  trimmings  with  your  bath  and  lavatory^  etc. 


Address  SlMidftrd5«tttMailDfee^ 


Dept.32,    Pittsburgh,  Pa.,  U.  S.  A. 


Pittsburch  Showroom,  949  Penn  Avenue 
Offices  and  Showrooms  in  New  York :  "JliaiMr  Building,  35-37  West  31  at  Street 
London,  Bng.:  22  Holborn  Viaduct,  B.  C.  New  Orleana:  Cor.  Baronne  C&  St.  Joseph  Sto. 

LK>uiaYme:  325-329  Weat  Main  Street  Cleveland :  206-210  Huron  Street 


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What  is  Back  of  Our  Advertisiiig? 


HE  national  advertiser  is  generally  either  the 

T  originator,  absolutely,  of  his  article  or  the 
originator,  practically,  by  virtue  of  improve- 
ments or  other  details  upon  which  he  has 
stamped  his  individuality.  H  He  backs  his 
confidence  in  his  goods  by  his  money  in 
advertising  and  back  of  his  money  is  his 
name,  his  honor  and  his  credit.  IHE  does 
pioneer  work,  educating  the  public  to  the  realization  and 
appreciation  of  a  need,  and  by  hard,  persistent,  constant 
advertising,  makes  his  article  a  success,  t  HE  knows  the 
folly  of  cheapening  the  quality  of  his  goods  for  which  he 
has  so  faithfully  built  up  a  reputation,  for  he  may  thus 
wreck  in  a  few  weeks  or  months  the  edifice  of  years. 
IBUT  his  success  has  brought  forth  a  battalion  of  im- 
itators, parasites  who  seek  to  sap  his  vitality  by  living 
on  his  reputation,  by  creeping  as  close  as  possible  to  his 
label,  his  trade-mark,  his  wrapper,  his  prestige.  ITHEY 
have  no  reputation  to  lose,  they  are  not  bidding  for  a  future, 
but  merely  seeking  to  clean  up  as  much  ready  money  as 
they  can  on  an  inferior  article  that  shines  only  by  a 
reflected  light.        ::        ::        ::        ::        ::        ::        :: 


Get  what  you  ask  f or-ref use  a  substitute 


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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


The  Varnish  that  lasts  longest 


Made  by  Murphy  Varnish  Company. 


M.    <a   M,   PORTABLE   HOUSE.S 

Special  Op«ii  Air  Cottotfcs  for  T«b 
S«mm«r  Cottaiet,  A«Um*bue  Hotucs 
Cliildreii't  Play  Hoiuei,  ll«iit«r't 
Pliototfraffli  Galleriat,  Etc 

Made  by  automatic  machinery  where  the 
wood  grows.  Better  built  and  better  looking 
than  you  can  have  constructed  at  home  and  at 
much  less  cost  Wind  and  water  tight  Artis- 
tic in  design.  Constructed  on  the  Unit  System. 
(Panels  interchangeable.) 

Houses  shipped  complete  in  every  detail. 
Can  be  erected  and  ready  for  occupancy  from 
6  to  34  hours  after  arrival  at  destination,  ac- 
cording to  size  of  house. 

NO  NAILS,  NO  STRIKES 
NO  CARPCNTER.S,  NO  "WOI 

Everything  fits.     Anyone  can  erect  them.  IV C  PAY  THK  FREIGHT* 

Write  to-day  for  catalogue.     Tell  us  what  you  want  and  we  will  give  you  a  delivered  price  at  once. 
Please  enclose  zc  stamp  in  your  inquiry  for  our  Handsome  Illustrated  Catalogue. 

MERSHON  &  MOR.LEY  COMPANY  630  BROADIVAY,  SAGINAIV,  MICH. 


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On  the  Heights 

is  the  establishment  of  the  mil- 
lionaire, supplied  throughout 
with  ample  water  for  all  pur- 
poses, by  means  of  the  Rider-I 
Pump,  that  gives  an  unfailing 
night,  whatever  the  wind  or  wea 

In  the  Valley 

is  the  humble  country  cottage, 
nished  for  its  needs  with  the  Rk 
Pump  adapted  to  its  smaller  si2 
quirements.  Neither  chateau  noi 
than  to  depend  on  this  friend  of 
the  poor  man,  whatever  the  reqi 
Over  40,000  are  now  in  use  a 

Send  for  Catalogue  O2  and  select  the  size  0 
Otir  name-plate  on  the  pump  insures  its  qu 

Rider- Ericsson  ^^^f] 

Engine  J^  n° 

39   Pit 

Amar] 


Co. 


Time  and  Temperature 

20  minutes  65« 

20  minute  Development  at  a 
temperature  of  65''  with  the 

KODAK 

TANK  gives  better  results  than 
can  be   obtained  by  hand. 

The  Experience  is  in  the  Tank. 

Kodak  Tank  Developers  are   made  in    sizes  suitable  for  all  Kodak  and  Brownie 
Films.    At  all  Kodak  Dealers.  $2.50  to  $7.50. 

EASTMAN  KODAK  CO..  ROCHESTER.  N.  Y..  Th9  Kodak  dtp. 


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r 


■THEY  LOSE  NOTHING  IN  THE  TUB* 

Arrow 

Collars 


%t 


ARCADE" 


A  new  form  in  folded  collars,  with  narrow 
space,  cut  so  it  sits  closely  to  the  neck,  yet 
affords  sufficient  room  for  the  cravat  band 
to  slide  easily.  Made  of  the  best  mate- 
rials by  the  most  skilled  hands. 

CLUPECO  SHRUNK.     QUARTER  SIZES. 
15  CENTS  EACH-2  FOR  25  CENTS. 

Send  (or  "  Proper  Dress,**  a  booklet  by  an  authority. 

CLUETT.  PEABODY  A  CO.,  441  River  SL.  Troy,  N.  Y. 
MAKERS  OF  CLUETT  SHIRTS. 


S.  F.  EDGE  MAKING  24-HOUR  RECORD  OF  1581    MILES.    1310   YARDS  ON    THE   NEW    BROOK- 
LANDS  MOTOR  TRACK  AT  WEYBRIDGE.  ENGLAND 

IIN   TME  WOODS 

or  in  the  mountains,  no  matter  how  far  from  civilization,  fresh  milk  can  always  be  had  if  foresight  is  used  in  packing  the 

Borden's  Peerless  Brand  Evaporated  Milk  in  cans  keeps  indefinitely  until  opened  and  answers  every  purpose. 

rich  milk,  condensed  10  the  consistency  of  cream,  put  up  without  sugar  and  preserved  by  sterilization  only. 


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THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
S5  and  37  W.  31ft  St.  New  York 

Allan  C.  Hoffman,  Advertising  Manager 

Western  Office.  1511  Heywortli  BMg..  dUcaga 

Thos.  H.  Blodgett,  Manager 


How  to  Paint 
a  House  Cheap 

And  Have  It  Goanurtccd  to  Look  Bettor,  Wear  Longer, 
OBd  Coft  Less  Tluui  Any  Other  Paint 

Never  Faics,  Cracks,  Ckalks.  Peels  or  Blislers.  and  Is  Not 

Affected  By  Cases  or  SaU  Air.    Fifty  Sample  Colors 

Prepaid  To  Any  Address  Absolntely  Free. 

The  cost  of  paintins  is  a  heavy  burden.  Cheap  paint«  soon 
fade,  p)eel  or  scale  off  and  white  lead  and  oil  co8t«  so  much 
and  has  to  be  replaced  so  often  that  it  is  a  constant  expense 
to  keep  the  bright,  clean  appearance  so  desirable  in  the 
cosy  cottage  home  or  the  elegant  mansion. 


Garrani  Palai  b  Cttd  •■  tk«  BiMt  Beaatlfal  H»bm  mt  the  Coaairy. 

The  Waldorf-Astoria  and  many  of  the  magnificent  hotels 
in  New  York  City  are  painted  with  the  world-famous  Carrara 
Paint,  and  this  is  also  true  of  many  of  the  famous  clubs  and 
public  buildings  of  the  great  metropolis.  Most  all  of  the  great 
railroad,  palace  car.  telephone  and  electric  companies  use 
Carrara  Paint  in  preference  to  any  other,  because  they  proved 
it  best  by  trial.  Field  Museum.  Chicago,  covering  over  seven 
acres  of  ground,  is  painted  with  Carrara  Paint. 

From  railroad  box  oar  to  elegantly  furnished  general 
offices  of  the  great  railways;  from  ^in  orick  wall.s  and  stone 
fences  to  tin  roofs  and  interior  finish  of  stately  hotels;  from 
country  bam  or  hay  shed  or  cheap  outbuilding  to  farm 
residence,  suburban  home  or  luxurious  citjy  residence.  Carrara 
is  used  because  it  lasts  longer,  does  not  mde,  doesn  t  crack, 
blister  or  peel,  and  covers  more  surface  than  the  highest 
priced  paints.  It  costs  less  than  the  cheap  mixed  paints 
that  injure  instead  of  protect.  There  is  but  one  Carrara. 
It  is  miade  by  the  Carrara  Paint  Co.,  Cinciimati,  Ohio,  and 
anyone  havins  a  house  to  paint  should  send  for  50  sample 
colors,  free,  of  this  great  paint  that  has  stood  the  most  ri^d 
tests  for  25  years,  and  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  the  only  pamt 
ever  manufactured  that  is  backed  by  a  positive  guarantee 
in  every  case.  Write  today  and  save  half  your  paint  bills 
in  the  future.  l>y  filling  in  this  coupon  with  your  name  and 
address  on  dotted  lines  below. 


FREE  OFFER. 

Cut  out  this  coupon  now  and  mail  it  to  the  Carrara  Paint  Co..  177 
Fourth  National  Bank  Bldg.,  Cincinnati.  Ohio. 

Please  send  roe  FREE  by  return  mail,  prepaid,  50  Sample  ColoiS 
and  handsome  booklet  shoviing  many  buildings  in  colon.  Just  as  they 
are  painted  with  this  great  paint. 


Give  full  address— write  plainly. 

We  absolutely  prove  to  every  property  owner  that  Carrara  Paint 
will  coct  less,  look  better  and  wear  twice  as  long  as  any  other  paint. 


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^fter    Shavm, 


VI.  <S  ^ 


MENNEN'S 

1  BORATBD  TALCUM  f 

I  TOILET  POWDER 

and  insist  that  your  barber  use 
it  also.  It  is  antlseRtIC  and  will 
prevent  any  of  the  skip  diseases 
often  contracted. 

A  positive  relief  for  Subom, 

Prickly  Heat.  Clialliig.  and  all 

^  afflictions  of  the  skin.     Removes 

all    odor   of    perspiration.     Cct 

Menaen's— the  original.    Pat  ap  in  non-refOlabie 

boxes— Hie  *lMa  that  iOX.**    Guaranteed  under  the 

Food  and  Drugs  Act,  June  30, 1906.  Serial  No.  1 542. 

Sold  everywhere  or  mailed  for2S  cents.  Sample  free. 

Try  Mennens  Violet  (,Borated)  Talcum 

GERHARD  MENNEN  CO. 
Newaric,  N.  J. 


For  Your 

Fall   and  Winter 

Sports 


IF  you  want  information 
on  what  to  use  for  your 
Fall  and  Winter  pleasures, 
whether  mdoor  or  outdoor, 
send  for  a  Spalding  book- 
let on  all  sports,  and  it  will 
give  the  information  you 
desire.  ::  ::  :: 

A.  G.  SPALDING  &  BROS. 

New  York,  riiiladclpljia.  Boston.  Baltimore. 
Washinjfton.  Pitt^tiiiix,  Chlrajfo.  Buffalo, Syra- 
cuse, Cincinnati.  St.  Louis,  ricveland.  Kansas 
City,  Minneapolis,  Detroit,  New  Orleans.  Den- 
ver. San  hrancisco,  Montreal,  Canada. 


For 

Mother  and  Baby 

At  that  anxious  period  before  and  imme- 
diately after  baby  is  born,  when  the  mothe 
m.ust  bear  a  double  burden,  it  is  vitally 
important  that  she  talceon  double  strength. 
Nourishing  and  strengthening  food  must 
be  provided  in  plenty  for  l>oth  mother  and 
child,  while  for  the  mother  herself  there 
comes  a  time  of  suffering,  the  dread  and 
realism  of  which  will  be  greatly  lessened  if 
she  will  steadily  prepare  the  way  by  the 
liberal  use  of 

panst  Extract 

This  rich,  wholesome  food,  combining  the 
nutritive  and  tonic  properties  of  malt  and 
hops  in  palatable  iemd  predigested  form,  is 
welcomed  by  the  weakest  stomach  and 
quickly  assimilated  by  the  system.  It 
gives  strength  to  the  muscles,  revitalizes 
the  blood,  and  furnishes  nourishment  in 
abundance  for  the  growing  child,  at  the 
same  time  it  calms  the  nerves,  inducing 
sweet,  refreshing  sleep  for  mother  and 
babe,  thus  assuring  strength,  vigor  and 
health  to  both. 

Fonst  Extiacc 

Is  a  strengthening  and  palatable  food  for 
the  convalescent.  Quickly  restores  the 
shattered  nervous  system  and  acts  as  a 
tonic  for  the  weak,  worn-out  and  over- 
worked. It  aids  digestion  and  is  a  quick 
relief  for  dyspepsia. 

Fvr  Salt  at  a)7  Ltadmff  Drmagi$t» 
Imtitt  u^oH  ths  OrfghuJ 

GnanatMd  nadcr  tlie  National  Pnra  Food  Law 
U.  S.  Serial  No.  1981 

Free  Picture  and  BooK 

Send  Mjroor  name  on  a  poatal  lor  our  intarcstuig  book- 
let and  *  BaW*  Ftrat  Adrcnturc,**  a  beautiful  picture  ol 
baWlile.    BodiFREE.    Addreie 

Pabst  Extract  Dept.  32     Milwaukee.  Wis. 


& 


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AFTER  THE  BATH  USE 


ondI 

EXTRACT 


HOT  WEATHER 
NECESSITY 

because  so  soothing, 
cooling  and  healing  to 
the  skin. 

A  rub  down  with 
POND'S  EXTRACT 
is  most  refreshing. 

The  Standard 
for  60  Years 

Get  the  genuine. 

Sold  only  in  seeded  bottles 
— never  in  bulk. 


IiAMOITT, 
f8Ha« 


8«rw4,  lew  T«rk. 


ROBSOWEN 

■marine  nOTORS 


HARDERFOLD 

HYGIENIC 

UNDERWEAR 

Inter-Alr-Space  SystcflO 

Is  t«  ofold  throui;hout.  affording  prcXectioa 
against  the  vicissitudes  of  our  variable  cli- 
niat«?  to 

InvaUds  Athletes 

Professional  Men       

Merchants  Accoontams 

And  all  ocxupations  in  life.  ind.x>r  or  out 

Over  eievea  ksadrcd  physldsif 

have  united  in  testifying  to  the  sanitary  e%- 
cellencc  of  the  HAKDEKKOUD  system  of 
underclothing. 

HARDERFOLD  FABRIC  CO. 

158  River  Street 

TROY.  N.  Y. 

Send  /or  catalog. 


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Paid  Up  and  Non- Assessable 

That  Elxactly  Describes  your  Investment  in 
AUTOMOBILE 

Comparative  records  prove  that  it  costs  less  to  keep  a  Maxwell  running  year  in  and  year  out  than  any 
other  motor  car.     Is  anything  more  vital  to  every  automobile  owner  than  keeping  down  expenses? 

I  want  to  impress  upon  you  that  all  unnecessary  weight  has  been  eliminated  from  the  Maxwell.  The 
Maxwell  has  been  "Boiled  down"  so  to  speak.  It  has  been  simplified  and  refined  to  such  a  degree  of 
perfection  that  a  large  repair  bill  and  a  Maxwell  are  total  strangers. 

Just  take  that  Maxwell,  for  instance,  that  completed  the  Glidden  Tour  of  1907,  after  having  gone 
successfully  through  the  tours  of  1905  and  1906 !  That  old  war  horse  has  run  over  60,000  miles  and  is 
still  running  as  perfectly  as  when  it  left  the  factory  over  three  years  ago. 

As  there  are  to-day  over  7,500  Maxwell  owners,  all  enthusiastic  over  their  car,  just  ask  one. 

Write  Dept.  67  for  a  complete  Maxwell  catalog.  A  letter  addressed  to  me  personally  will  insure 
you  a  demonstration  by  that  Maxwell  dealer  nearest  you. 


12-14  H.  P.  Tmirabout,  S825 


PrMident,  Maacw«ll-BrUcoe  Motor  Co. 

Members  A.  M.  C.  M.  A. 

35  Baker  Ave.,  Tarrytown,  N.  Y. 

Main  Plant,  Tanytown,  N.Y.,  Factories:  Chicago,  HI.,  Pawtucket,  R.I. 

DEALERS  IN  ALL  LARGE  CITIES 


16-20  H.  P.  Towrinq  Car,  SI  .450 


O 


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lERVOUS    DYSPEPSIA   cured  by 


N  WINCHESTER'S  HYPOPHOSPHITES  OF  LIME  AND  SODA 
A  Brain,  Nerve  and  Blood  Food  and  Tissue  Builder 

RELIEVES  indigestion,  QUIETS  overworked  nerves,  MAKES  pure,  rich,  red  blood,  invigorates  and  regener- 
ates the  whole  system,  imparting  vital  strength  and  energy. 

POSITIVELY  contains  nothing  injurious,  and  being  free  from  Iron,  Oil,  Syrup  and  Alcohol  does  not  de- 
range the  stomach.      The  preparation  Par  Excellence  fcnr  Weak,  Puny  children. 

PRESCRIBED  HV  PHYSICIANS  to  sufferers  from  Nervous   Dyspepsia,  Indigestion,  Anemia,  Neuras- 
thenia, Nervous  Diseases,  Debility  of  Old  Age,  Bronchitis,  Consumption  and  all  Throat  and  Lung  Troubles. 
PRICE  $1.00  per  bottle.    Express  prepaid  in  the  U.  S.     May  we  send 
you  our  FREE  PAMPHLET? 

WINCHESTER  &  CO.,  Chemists,  914  Beekman  Building,  N.  Y.  (Est- 

Have  used  your  Ilypophosphites  of  Manganese  for  Kidney  and  Liver  Complaints,  personally  with  good 

r^^      Dr.  T.  J.  > 

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Mdrine  Engine 

Built  to  run  mnd  they  do  H 
GurutMd  SlM^,  Rcidkb  mUr 
Suit  with  om  tvra  of  tke  cruk. 


4  Cycl(^— Jump  S-iark   I (;nition— Auto-type.    Smallest  number  of 
workfnjf  parts  consistent  with  perfect  operation. 

ill.  P.  single  cylinder  to  90  H.   P.  four  cylinder,  motor  boat 
engines.    Also  slow  sj^eed.  heavy  duty  enipnes,  6  to  45  H.  P. 
Send  to-dny  /or  catalog  No.  tS 

RCGAL   GASOLINE   ENGINE  CO., 

57  West  PcaH  Street.  Coldwater,  Midi. 


GROVER    CLEVELAND'S 

book  ^^  Fishing  and  Shooting  Sketches"  is 
worth  while— all  booksellers  sell  it. 


A    Minnow    that    Swims 

Something  entirely  new  in  artiAcial  I  ait  which  has  talcen  fishermen  by  storm 


K.  A  K.  Animated  Minnow 


Swims  and  luu  all  the  action  of  a  live  minnow.  No  lures,  no  spinners- 
just  an  artificial  (ktlden  Shiner  jointefi  so  as  to  produce  active,  lively  ti»o«  e- 
Mients.  Rights  itself  in  water  instantly.  Only  tv»o  hooks.  When  bass 
strikes,  the  minnow  pulls  away  from  the  fish.  P'or  casting  or  still  fishing- 
stream  or  lake.  Sent  prepaid  to  fishermen.  Bass  sin  f i  00;  large  sea  lass 
or  muscallonge.  $1.50.  Dealers  be  the  first  in  your  locality  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  enormous  demand.     Write  for  descriptive  looklet 

K.  a  K.  MFa  CO.,       DEPT.  O.      TOLEDO,  OMO 


Webber's  K'nll  Jackets 

For  Huntine  and  Outing,  All  wool, 
tfeamless  anil  elastic.  Cut  shows  No.4, 

I  piice  $7— guaranteed  best  knit  jacket 
made  at  any  price.    Suggest  Oxford 

I  or  Tan.  If  not  at  your  dealer's,  sent 
exuress  paid;  return  if  not  satisfied, 

'  Other  Jackets,  Coats,  Vests.  Sweaters 
and  Cardigans,  for  men,  women  and 
children,  all  prices.     Catalogue  free. 

6m.  F.  WeMer.  Mfr^  Station  F.  Dftrott.  MiclL 


THE    HII.DEBR.ANIIX    BAIXS 

For  Trout  and  Bajss  fishing, 
no  swivels  required:  **  they 
spin  so  easy."  Made  in  six 
rfiflferent  size  blades.  20 styles, 
in  either  Bucktail  or  feather 
fiy.  For  casting  and  trolling. 
Price  for  single,  25c.;  tandem, 
35c.     Send  for  Circular. 

JOHN  J,  HILDEBRANDT,   «    Loifanspoit,  Ind. 


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ASK  THE  BOAT  BUILDER 

if  the  Batteries  he  fur- 
nishes will  spark  the 
engine  ten  hours  a  day 
for  several  months  with- 
out needing  renewals  or 
attention  of  any  kind. 

If  they  won't  they  are  r  i 

Primary  Batteries,  and  if  they  are  not, 
they  should  be. 

Edison  Batteries,  provide  a  steady, 
constant  current  until  exhausted  and 
can  then  be  renewed  at  a  small  cost. 
Besides  being  absolutely  dependable, 
they  offer  the  cheapest  form  of  elec- 
tric energy. 

'  *  Bit //cry  Sparks^^  will  give  you 
a  grca/  deal  of  useful  in/orma- 
/ion  on  /his  subjcc/.  \Vri/e  for 
fret  iopy.^ 

EDISON  MANUFACTURING  CO. 
17  Lakeside  Ave.,         Orange,  N.  J. 

3 1  Union  Square.  New  York.     304  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago, 
as  Clcrkenwell  Road.  London,  E.  C. 


yle  you  need. 
is   is   our   Men*s  Tan 
slized    Chrome  Calf 
noor,  height  17  inches, 
$9.00.       Same    boot, 

12  inches,  $8.00. 

ailar   boot  (or  women, 
16  inches,  $8.00. 

ilERBY-KAYSER 
flOE  COMPANY 

13  Broad^vay     > 
LOS  ANCELES. 

^  CAL. 

I. 


iwr*ntiAn  THS  OUTINO  MAOAZIIVB  Wli«n  Oomipondlns  with  AdTMtlscrt 


1  rj.iz,     KJU  I  ii\\jr     iYi.r\\j.n£^ii\ iz^     r\iy  v  c^ixi  i.^iz,i\. 


THOUSANDS  have  discarded  the  idea  of  making  their  own 
cocktails— all  will  after  living  the  CLUIl  COCKTAILS 
a  fair  trial.  Scientifically  blended  from  the  choicest  old 
liquors  and  mellowed  with  a^^e  make  them  the  perfect  cock- 
tails that  they  are.  Seven  kinds,  most  popular  of  which  are 
Martini  (Gin  base),  Manhattan  (Whiskey  base). 

The  following  label  appears  on  every  bottle: 

Guaranteed  under  the  National  Pure 
Food  and  Drug*  Act.  Approved  June 
30th.  1906.     Serial  No.  1707. 


G. 

Hartford 


F.   HEUBLEIN    &   BRO., 

New  York 


Sole  Props. 

London 


THE  REASONS  WHY 

Witeh-Elk  Hunting  Boots 

are  so  popular  are  : 

1st.  They  arc  made  by  praci' 

bootnukers. 
2d.   Nothing  but  the  best  i 

terial  is  allowed  to  enter 

construction  of  our  bo 
3d.    They    arc    made    on    1 

that  assure  comfort  anc 

the    same    time    embi 

form  that  gives  the  bo 

nobby  appearance. 
4th. 'They     arc      worn 

recommended     by    lea< 

iportsmerty    surveyors 

miners  everywhere. 
Insist    on    your  dealer 
supplying    you    with    our 
boots  and  after  one  trial    . 
you    will    have    no  other   \ 
make. 

Colors :  Cream,  WUte,  Tu  or  Black  Elkskia 

Catalogue  G  on  application 

WTTCHELL-SHEILL  CO. 

DETROIT,  MICH. 
Aacrica's  Largest  Spoiliig  FMlwcar 


BRENNAN   STANDARD   MOTORS 

arc  practical  and  substantial,  ease  of  access  to  all  parts,  free  from  vil>ration. 
^Kjwerfiil  and  econonilLal  in  fuel,  horizontal  and  vertical,  normal  speed  ;»». 
iiiiniiuum  150,  niaximuin  1.200  revolutions  per  minute.  Guaranteed  for  one 
year.    Complete  ready  to  install.     8END  FOR  OATALOGITK. 

BRf3VNAN  MOTOR  MFG.  CO.,     -     Syracuse,  N.  Y. 


For  OTer 
Hall  a 

Century 
the  Standard 
of  the  World. 


THE  BEST  ICE  AND  ROLLER  SKATES 

send  for  new  catalogaea  degcriblng  the  different  style*  and  models  of  skateti 
When  writing,  state  whether  yen  are  interested  in  Ice  or  Roller  Sliates. 


Varlons 

Models 

and  Sizes 

At  All 

Dealers. 


THE  SAMUEL  WINSLOW  SKATE  MFG.  CO., 
Worcester,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 

>4«86  ChmgibT»  St.,  New  York. 8  Lony  L^ae,  B.  C,  L>ondom. 


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Mrs.  Ad.  Topperwdn,  who  beyond  a  doubt  is  the  best  woman  shot 
in  the  world,  having  her  choice  of  all  powders  uses 

DEAD   SHOT   SMOK£L£SS 

which  is  the  best  powder  in  the  world.     It  maintains  this  reputation 
under  all  conditions. 

AMERICAN     POWDER.    MILLS 

ST.  LOUIS.  MO.  BOSTON.  MASS.  CHICAGO.  ILL. 


r^ 


PEN  TO  THE  WORLD 


The   GRAND  AMERICAN  AMATEUR   CHAMPIONSHIP  was 
won  by  the  Smith  Gun  and  the  Hunter  One-Trigger 

Our  new  art  catalogue  in  colors  for  the  asking, 

THE  HUNTER  ARMS  CO.,   Fulton,  N.  Y. 


f lease  MentlQn  THE  OVTVXQ  UfAQAJSINS  WUeQ  CorreiponOing  With  Ad' 

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HONORS   WON   WITH 

DU  PONT  POWDERS 

EVERY  CHAMPIONSHIP  EVENT  AT  THE 

GRAND     AMERICAN     HANDICAP 

Chicago.  June  18-22.  1907 

THE  SOUTHERN  HANDICAP 

at  Richmond.  Va..  May  10.  1907 

THE  EASTERN  HANDICAP 

at  Boston.  Mass.,  July  IS.  1907 

Specify  DU  PONT  BRANDS  of  Smokeless  Shotgun  Powder 

DU  PONT  SMOKELESS.  "INFALUBLE"  SMOKELESS.  "NEW  SCHULTZE"  and 
"NEW   E.  C.  (IMPROVED)*'  m  all  your  Shotgun  Shells. 

THESE  POWDERS  BRING  RESULTS 

E.  I.  du  Pont  de  Nemours   Powder  Company,  Wflmington,  DeL 

U  ESTABLISHED  1802 


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used .  I  n  one's  hands  the  rifle  comes  to  the  shoulder 
with  that  ease  and  precision  that  means  good  shoot- 
ing at  a  jumping  target.  The  direct  contact  of  the 
finger  lever  with  the  breech  bolt  and  locking  bolt 
results  in  such  a  short  easy  action  that  the  aim  is 
undisturbed  between  shots. 

The  accuracy  of  JUlatiui.  Model  1893  repeating 
rifles  is  perfect.     The  "Special  Smokeless  Steel 
barrels  are  bored  and  deeply  grooved  with  the  old 
Ballard   system  of  rifling  which  has  never  been 


a  telescope.  The  side  ejection  tlirows  the  empty 
shells  away  from  the  face  and  the  line  of  sight. 

t^^rRk  Model  1893  rifles  are  made  in  calibers 
.25-36,  .30-30,  .32  Special  H.P.S.,  .32-40  and  .38-55. 

The  .25-36  cartridge  is  a  splendid  one  for  such 
game  as  foxes,  woodchucks,  coons,  wild  geese,  etc, 
and  can  be  safely  used  in  a  settled  farming  country. 

The  other  cartridges  are  more  strictly  big  ^ame 
loads  and  are  efiEective  at  moose,  deer,  canbou, 
goats,  mountain  sheep,  elk,  bear,  etc 


Send  three  stamps  for  handsome  new  catalogr.  which  explains  this  rifle  and  many  others  equally  desirable. 

TJ^I/lcantin/ireannsGx^   1  Willow  Street,  New  Haven,  Conn. 


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THE  OLDEST  INHABITANT  OF  BALTIMORE 
CAN  HARDLY  REMEMBER  WHEN 

HUNTER  WHISKEY 

WAS  RRST  PUT  UPON  THE  MARKET.      ITS  STEADY  GROWTH 

IN  POPULARITY  THROUGHOUT  THESE  MANY  YEARS  PROVES 

IT  THE  PERFECT  PRODUCT  OF  THE  STILL 

Bold  at  all  first-class  cafes  and  by  jobbers.    WM.  LANAHAN  A  SON.  Baltimore.  M<L 


ffflWII 


MESSRS.  CLEMRNCBAU  AND  PICQUART  IN  THE  FRENCH  MILITARY  AIRSHIP  LA  PATRlfe  IN 
WHICH  THEY  SUCCESSFULLY  MADE  THE  TRIP  AROUND    PARIS 

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Rifle  Shots 


We  hl^  made  it  a  simple  and  in>  f 
expensive  matter  to  fit  your  rifle  with  a  fe- 
telescope.  This  picture  shows  how  a  "Chuck"  W. 
looks  througli  the  glass.  You  will  do  bette*  y 
shooting  with  a  teJescope.  Send  for  Catalog.  ^ 
Malcolm  Rifle  TcleMope  Mfff.  Co.,  Aut>ara,N.Y, 


) 


THE  VACUUM  CAP  CURES    BALDNESS 
60  DAYS   TRIAL 

Thousands  cured.  Our  Modem  VaevvM  C^p 
whoa  aa«d  •  ftsw  minuted  eacli  daj  draws  iw 
blood  to  the  scalp  and  forces  tJie  lidir  into  new  healshy 
growth.  cures  baldness  and  stofxi  the  hair  firom  fallfatg 
out.  Cures  Dandruff.  Harmless  and  healthful.  We 
send  it  to  you  on  trial.  We  only  want  pay  If  you  are 
pleased.    Is  not  this  fair  r    Write  for  iree  booklet. 

^    THE   MODERN    VACUUM    CAP  CO. 
^  eee  barci^y  block.  ocnvkr.  couo. 


J 


NEWFOUNDLAND 

A  Country  of  Ftsli  and  Game.  A  Pamdlac  lor  Uie  Camper  and  Angler.  Ideal  Canoe  Trips. 

The  country  traversed  by  the  Rcid  Newfoundland  Company's  system  is  exceedingly  rich  in  all  kinds  of  fish  and 
game.  ITAll  along  the  route  of  the  Railway  are  streams  famous  for  their  SALMON  and  'rROUT  fishing,  also 
Caribou  barrens.  U  Americans  who  have  Seen  fishing  and  hunting  in  Newfoundland  say  there  is  no  other 
country  in  the  world  in  which  so  good  fishing  and  hunting  can  be  secured  and  with  such  ease  as  in  Newfound- 
land.    Information  together  with  Illustrated  Booklet  and  Folder  cheerfully  forwarded  upon  application  to 

N.  JOHNSTONE,  General  Passenser  Affent,  Reid  Newfoundland  Company,  St.  John's,  Newfoundland 


J.  W. 


THE  BEST  "(GUN  BUILT  IN  AMERICA 

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and 
PRESENT 


Have  been  in 
Are  at  the  Pi 
Will  be  in  the  I 


For  the  reason  thai  iney  are 
manufactured  for  use. 

Catalog  "  0»//"  describes  all  models.     Af ailed  on  request, 

COLTS  PATENT  FIREARMS  MFG.  CO. 

HARTFORD,  CONN.  xsa  PaU  MaU,  London,  S  W. 


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BOAT   SAILING 


IN  FAIR  WEATHER  AND  FOUL 

(NAVIGATION  MADE  EASY) 

By  CAPT.  A.  J.  KENEALY 

BECAUSE  it  is  the  most  practical  and  readily  understood  book 
on  the  subject,  by  a  man  who  has  grown  up  in  a  boat,  and 
who  has  the  gift  of  imparting  to  others  the  experience  accumu- 
lated in  a  life-long  acquaintance  with  the  sea. 

THE  SEVENTH  EDITION 

Has  been  thoroughly  revised  and  is  now  ready   for  distribution.    Its  shape  and 
size  make  it  handy  for  the  pocket  of  your  oil  skins,  for  it  is  a  book  you  will  want 
to  have  with  you  every  moment  you  are  on  the  water.    It  will  save  you  from  many 
dangers — perhaps  save  your  life  and  the  lives  of  those  you  take  with  you. 
These  are  some  of  the  topics  treated : 

CHOICE  OF  A  BOAT  LAYING  UP  FOR  THE  WINTER 

RIGGING  AND  SAILS  HINTS  AND  RECEIPTS 

RULES  OF  THE  ROAD  COMBINATION   ROWING  AND  SAIUNG  CRAFT 

THE  COMPASS  FITTING  FOR  A  CRUISE 

CHARTS  DICTIONARY  OF  NAUTICAL  TERMS 

V^EATHER  WRINKLES  SEA  COOKERY 

All  these  are  thliigs  that  every  sailor  most  know  or  remain  a  "Land  Lubber** 


Clotli,   decorative.   Price   $1.00 
■^— ^— ^—  Postpaid  ' 


THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


SS  AND  S7  WEST  Slst  STREET. 


BIEW  YOKK 


Please  Mention  THE  OUTINa  MAGAZINE  ^ 


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One  Hoxic 
Ri] 


see  that 
BaUf 


No  Other 
pands  so  pe 
flesh.     Thai 
sures  it. 
One    shot 
a  deq>  wound 
kills  at  once. 
If   you   use 
Bullets  for  big 
you'll  come  back 
the  game,  not  a  . 
A    30    Cal.    H 
will  kill  any  gam 
America,   saving 
rifle  weight,  ammi 
tion  and  game. 
The  most  success! 
sportsmen  are  enthu 
iastic  about  Hoxie. 

^  As^  your  draler.  or  -wHte  direct 
An  instructive  booklet  for 
your  name  and  address » 

HOXIE  AMMUNITION  CO. 
I F  larqittfft  IMf.,     IhlcafO,  IIL 


GOKEY'S 


HAND 
MADE 


3ing 


your  success  depends  on  your  gun.  You  want  a  gun  in 
my  natural  wear  can  be  immediately  taken  up  by  a  com- 
ig  screw,  not  returned  to  the  factory  for  this  purpose ;  the 
th  the  fewest  parts;  the  one  made  as  you  would  make 
»u  were  a  gunsmith  of  50  years'  experience. 

LEFEVER  SHOT  GUNS 

)  superior.    Its  compensating  screw  takes  up  all  the  wear. 

only  three  parts  to  its  mechanism.     Its  exclusive  cocking 

ikes  the  strain  off  the  hinge  joint.     Its  dove-tailed   top 

fastener    and    compensating    bolt    keeps    the    barrels 

continually  wedged  tight  against  the   frame. 

Removal  of  lock  plates  does  not  interfere  with  the 

action.     Indicator  tells  when  gun  is  cocked.     Barrels 

and  stock  imported. 

Every   gun    is   taper   bored,   tested    to   shoot   dead 

enter  with  greatest  penetration  and  even  distribution  of 

hot,  before  it  passes  inspection. 

The  new  Lefever  catalogue  is  ready  and  will  be  sent  to 
iny  address  free  of  charge.  Write  for  it  before  you 
orget  to.    Every  lover  of  sport  should  have  it. 

I^EFEVKR    ARMS    COMPANY 
0  MAltbie   Street,  Sxrac«&se,  N.  Y. 


"^iqitincd  b 


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MEN    SWEAR    BY    THEM— NOT     AT      THEM 

COMFORT  FOR  YOU 


Is  I 


Washburne  l^  Fasteners 

w'J^^W  BULLDOG   GRIP 

1  JttU.    Kilt   n#>v^r   1^    en.  Small     in    %v7f  —  ar^At   in    Ublky 


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The  insftfe  tspeciaiiy  prt' 
pared  to  project  coattnts. 


One  of  the  Heinz  Products 
in  Heinz  Improved  Tin. 


Improved  Tins 

Many  fruits  and  vegetables  can  be  pre- 
served in  tins  much  better  than  in  any  other 
form  of  container.  But  the  old  fashioned 
can  had  its  objections.  There  v/as  the  solder, 
for  instance,  and  sometimes  the  taste  of  tin. 
Now  all  these  faults  have  been  overcome 
in  the  Heinz  Improved  Tin,  made  especially 
by  Heinz  to  bring  to  you  many  products  of 
the  Heinz  kitchens,  with  all  their  purity 
and  goodness  perfectly  preserved. 

First  of  all,  the  Heinz  Improved  Tin  is 
made  of  extra  heavy  tin,  the  inside  being 
specially  prepared  so  that  the  tin  v/ill  not 
affect  the  contents  nor  the  contents  affect 
the  tin. 

Secondly,  it  is  sealed  without  solder, 
thus  overcoming  another  objection  to  the 
old-fashioned  can.  It  is  far  superior  to 
any  other  method  of  retaining  the  natural 
flavor  of  food  and  fruit,  because  the  contents 
can  be  absolutely  sterilized  after  closing. 

The  use  of  the  Heinz  Improved  Tin  for 
many  of  the  Heinz  products  is  simply  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  rule  that  has  made  the  fame 
of  Heinz  57  Varieties  universal — to  place 
upon  your  table  the  best  the  world  provides. 


YAEIA/^ 


■re  Mit  op  widioat  prescrv- 


Of  fhc  57  varieties  we  put  up 
the  following  in  tins:  Pre- 
served  Fruit,  Apple  Butter, 
Cranberry  Saaee,  Mince  Meat, 
Tomato  Soup,  Baked  Beans. 
A  handsome  booft/cf  telling 
the  vtbole  story  of  the  S7,FREE, 


n.  J.  HEINZ  COMPANY 

UtewYork       Plttsboralt      Clilcaoo       lAmdcn, 

o 


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1 


PICTURE  making  in  the  autumn, 
when  the  colors  are  deep  and 
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we  publish  monthly.  Not  a  mere  advertisement,  but  a 
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Bausch  &  Lomb  Optical  Co.,  Rochester,  N.Y. 

NcwYoA,  Boston,  Washington,  Chicago,  San  Francisco 


WITHERBEE 

STORAGE 

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ARE  THE 
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O  EADERS  at  the  cost  of  classified  advertising 
-■-^  space  is  what  THE  BOHEMIAN  offers  every 
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teresting that  the  text  must  be  read,,  and  in  reading 
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SASKATCHEWAN   WHEAT    LANDS 

The  fame  of  these  fertile  lands  has  spread  to  the  re- 
motest corners  of  the  English  speaking  world. 
The  very  cream  of  these  lands  is  to  be  found  in  the 

LAST  MOUNTAIN  VALLEY  DISTRia 

The  average  wheat  yield  for  the  past  six  years  29  2 
bushels  per  acre.  From  a  foot  to  30  inches  of  rich  top 
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market  towns. 

Lands  sold  on  five  or  six  year  payment  plan,  as  pur- 
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and  the  Land  of  the  Last  Mountain  Valley  "  free  upon 
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The  greater  your  love  for  music,  the  deeper  your  appreciation  of  music 
perfectly  rendered,  the  more  irresistibly  will  the  MELODANT-ANGELUS 
appeal  to  you.  For  the  MELODANT-ANGELUS  is  the  only  piano-player 
by  whose  aid  the  most  artistic  results  may  be  accomplished  in  rendering 
either  simple  or  complicated  music. 

The  installation  of  th^  MELODANT  fulfils  a  long- 
awaited  need  in  piano-player  construction.  With  this 
new  device  the  accompaniment  of  the  composition  is 
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With  the  MELODANT,  the  PHRASING  LEVER,  the  DIAPHRAGM  PNEUMATICS  and  the 
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this  kind.  Without  these  four  devices  a  musically  correct  performance  Is  Impossible,  and,  as  no 
other  piano-player  possesses  them,  logically  none  other  is  practicable  from  an  artistic  standpoint. 

The  Cabinet  ANGELUS  to  play  anv  make  of  piano,  the  Knabf-Angelus  and  the  Emerson- 
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Write  for  name  of  nearest  representative,  where  you  can  both  hear  and  play  the 
MELODANT-ANGELUS  without  obligation. 


For  Sale  in  all 
principal   cities, 

Cstabllahed  1876. 


THE    WILCOX    <a    WHITE    CO. 


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atwe  on  request. 


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\ 

cTVlagazine  of  Clever        ^^ 
Short  Stories               ^^ 
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In   Each   Issue    ^r 

5c. 

a 

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X    THE     GRAY    GO< 
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THEABNOL 
SAFETY  Ri 

Its  narrow,  perfectl; 
blade  is  in  line  wi'/A  the 
an  OSS  it,  and  thus  giv 
clean-cutting  slant  stroV 
the  long,  smooth  velve 
the  barber.  You  can  shs 
ners,  creases  and  hollo 
face  more  easily  than  wit 
razor.  More  quickly  n 
and  more  easily  cleane< 
other  safety  razor.  Weigl 
•carried  in  your  vest 
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Price,  *5^ 

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each  raror— each  rood  for  20  to  i 
lasts  nearly  a  year.  Ten  extra  I 
At  hardware,  drue,  furnishing  s 
stores:  if  not,  send  dealer's  name 
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THE  AR9iOLD  8AFETT  RAl 
447  CovrC  »t.,  Readln, 


Satisfy 
or  Moii( 


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■;V.,.^ 


MANY  things  of  the  past  have  given 
away  to  improvements  of  the  present. 

Something  had  to  take  the  place  of  the  old-fashioned 
razor,  and  the  Gillette  Safety  Razor,  with  the  first  new 
idea  in  razor  blades  in  over  400  years,  has  solved  the 
problem  of  Self-Shaving  for  the  up-to-date  man 

The  man  who  docs  not  use  a  "  GILLETTE  "  to-day  i^ 
depriving  himself  of  time  and  money  in  adhering  to  the  barber 
habit 

"Shave  Yourself-  with  the  "GILLETTE"  which  wiD 


'm 


m^ 


>'stt  of  a  triple  silver-plated  holder  and  twelve  double-edged, 
wafer-like,  steel  blades.  The  holder  will  last  the  longest  lifetime  —  when 
blades  become  dull  —  throw  away  and  buy 

W  Brand  New  Double-Edged  ** GILLETTE** 
Blades  for  SO  cents. 

No  blades  exchanged  or  tesharpened. 

The  price  of  the  "  GILLETTE  **  Set  is  $3.00  everywhere. 

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Aak  for  the  "  GILLETTE  ' '  and  booklet.  When  subsUtute»  art 
offered,  refuse  same  and  write  at  once  for  our  free  trial  offer. 

GILLETTE  SALES  CO. 
203  Times  Bldg.,  New  York  City. 


n«M«  Mmtlon  THE  OUTINO  VAQAIXSB  Wben  CoirefpondlnK  ^th  AdTertti^ilOQlC 


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A  CAMEL  CAN  GO 

8  DAYS  IVITHOUT 

A    DRINK— BUT 

YOU  CAN'T 

And  you  don't  have  to  now.    You  can  cross  the 

desert  with  Thermos  Bottles.     They  preserve  cold 

or  heat  for  days.    Think  ol  having  a  long  glass  of 

trapped  champagne,  or  claret  cup,  iced  tea  or  coffee, 

or   cold   lemonade,  far   out   in    the    fiery   desert 

MOTORISTS  now  carry  a  Thermos  Basket  filled  with  Thermos  Bottles  instead  of  stoppiii£r    ai 
wayside  inns. 

YACHTSMBN  are  buying  them  to  avoid  carrying  ice  or  fire. 

SPOR.TSMKN  say  that  Thermos  Bottles  give  as  much  joy  as  rod  or  gun  on  an  outdooring  trip. 

MOTII£R.S  can  get  almost  a  full  night's  sleep  with  a  Thermos.    Milk  keeps  warm  all  night  at  the 

bedside  without  heating. 
THE   SICK  can  feed  themselves  liquids — always  hot  or  cold  at  the  bedside. 

LUNCH    BASKETS  may  have  steaming  coffee  at  noon — as  hot  and  delicious  aa  it  was  at  the 

breakfast  table. 

PHYSICIANS  AND  SURO£ONS  should  read  what  a  physician  says  of  its  use  in  medicine 

and  surgery.     The  below-mentioned  booklet  gives  his 
recommendation. 

WE  GUAIANTEE  that  Thermos  Bottles  will  preserve  cold  3  days—  heat  24  hours,  and  that  the  results  are  obtained  by  a 
purely  vacuum  process  without  the  use  of  chenricals.  Will  last  a  lifetime  unless  broken.  On  sale  at  department,  drus, 
Jewelry,  optical,  hardware,  men's  furnishing,  leather  and  sporting  goods,  and  auto  supply  stores.  If  your  dealer  doesnt 
keep  them,  order  from  us  direct. 

THOUSANDS  ARE   READING   IT 

So  enormous  has  been  the  demand  for  this  book  that  we've  been  compelled 
to  publish  a  second  edition  already. 

It  tells  what  the  Thermos  Bottle  is;  the  incredible  things  it  does;  the 
scientific  reason  for  it;  and  how  it  was  invented  by  a  famous  German.  Reads 
like  a  fascinating  magazine  story. 

You  can  have  a  free  copy  if  you  send  for  it  while  this  second  edition  lasts. 
INTERNATIONAI.  S ALBS  CO.,  Dept.  J,  527  FiftK  Avenue,  New  YorK 

THE    THERMOS    BOTTLE 

'^EaVES  COLD  THIEE  DATS  HEAT  TWENTT-FOUB  BOUaS 

viMse  Mention  THE  OUnNG  BlAGAZINB  When  Correspondinc  Wltb  AAvertlssn  )0QLC 


THE   OUTIXG   MAGAZIXE    ADVERTISER 


Nothing  counts  for  so  much  in  a  letter  as 
your  own  good  "gray  matter"  but — don't 
neglect  the  stationery  you  write  on. 

Common,  bad,  cheap  paper  takes  the 
''snap''  out  of  the  best  letter — good  paper 
makes  a  good  letter  still  better. 


The  best  paper  for  business  or  private  correspondence  is 


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The  splendid  color  and  surface,  the  strength,  the  whole  ''make-up''  of 
60(U)IP®M  ffiOCOll^— tell  iU  story  instantly. 

C0IU)(P®M  IBOCIOQ^  is  made  by  the  old  slow  process  that  has  never  been 
changed  in  fifty  years.  It  is  made  from  new,  unused  clean  white  rags.  It 
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that  added  value  to  your  letters  that  you  want 


The  COUIPQM  a«»Ma  book-showiiiff 
▼arious  weichtt,  Bauhes  and  colon,  and 
bow  fiaelj  the  paper  prinU,  will  be  sent 
joa  %ritb  the  name  of  a  loca  1  printer  or 
statioaer  who  can  supply  jou.  Write 
as  on  jour  business  letterhead. 


AMERICAN  WRITING  PAPER  CO^ 

Largest  Manufacturers  of  the  Commercial 
Paper  in  the  World.    29  Mills. 

HOLYOKE,  MASS. 


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The  Varnish  that  lasts  longest 


Made  by  Murphy  Varnish  Company. 


( 


C^NH 


^'  SECTIONAL 
BOOKCASES 


Grand  R*H*  F"™*"^  wtimt&tm  are  ackiKmledgcd  to  be  the  Uf^Ml  pomUt  at- 
laivacBl  in  Cabinet  caatructioo  and  Fmyi.  Qmam  Sactienal  Boakcaati  are  made  only 
m  this  reno%imed  Furatfure  Gty;  therefore^  alaad  Mt  fr«B  al  athar  aakea.  Beyond  the 
hiiji  srade  ci  cooftnictioo  and  Bniih.  the  "Gunn"  ijnMem  embodira  ■•»  mractfcal 

TW  Raller  Baarac.  N«BiH 


cooatnidion  does  not  need  them/, 
•oKd 


1  anr  other  make. 

RcMTaUa  Daan;  No  MmMr  kn  BaaJa  (ol 

ShdTcs  tha^do  not  protrude  (to  ooOect  dnO;  Unifoim  front  ryins 
appearance.     The  nnpleat,  yet  richert  m  appearance  of  aD  Sectiooal  Bookc«-» 

Our  new  1907  c«talocn««  haadaomely  Uhiatrated,  pviirs  compete  detafla 
free  for  the  aakinv.  Send  a  poilal  reqoeit  today.  On  lale  with  6000  a«enlB  in 
the  United  Statca.  or  direct  from  ^ory. 

THE  CXSm  FURNITURE  COMPANY.  GRAND  RAPIDS.  MICH. 
"You  don't  set  done  when  you  boy  a  Gonn.' 


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he  will  arrange  for  you  just  exactly  as  if  he 
were  going  himself. 

His  information  will  take  you  from  the  ris- 
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THE   OUTIXG   MAGAZIXE   ADVERTISER 


AnyMrhere  on 

FartK 

and  all  aroui 

11  you  want  it  to 

will  find  the 

compact,  strong. 

H»t-Air  Pu: 

id  effective  —  it 

They  do  1 

ou  the  comfort 

in  any  clima 

big   balance   at 

any  fuel — w< 

bank — you  are 

coal,  coke,  cl 

eady  for  ever>'- 

coal,     alcoh" 

lay  needs  or  for 

oiF,  gas,  or 

imergencies. 

refuse  —  and 

We  have  little 

sure    a    big 

mmps    and   big 

small  supply 

>umps  — both 

water  when 

qually    reliable. 

where  need< 

>ver  40,000    are 

whether  to 

Dw  in  use  all 

a  shower-bal 

k^er  the  world. 

run  a  fount: 

ne    have    been 

to  put  out  a 

rking  a  quarter 

You  need] 

century.    Don't 

at  the  weatl 

ny  pump  with- 

or  the  thenr 

*  iiaiii»-plat«. 

nor  at  the  pi 

Ridei 

wt,       .      New  York 
treet,     -     -      Boston 

£rics«>w 

Co. 

Write  to  nearest  oflSce 
for  Catalogue  02. 

a34  Craig  Strce 
82  Pitt  Street, 
Amargura  96, 

eet,      -     -     Chicago 

...et      .      PhiUdelphia 

t  West,  Montreal,  P.  Q 

-       Sydney,  N.  S.  W 

Havana,  Cuba 

"iqitigod  bv 


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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


lERVOUS     DYSPEPSIA  cored  by 

WINCHESTER*S  HYPOPHOSPHITES  OF  LIME  AND  SODA 


N 

B      ^1  A  Brain,  Nerve  and  B1<mm1  F<mm1  and  Tissue  Builder 

RELIEVKS  indigestion,  QUIETS  overworked  nerves,  MAKES  pure,  rich,  red  blood,  invigorates  and  regener- 
;-tes  the  whole  system,  imparting  vital  strength  and  energy, 

POSITIVELY  contains  nothing  injurious,,  and  being  free  from  Iron,  Oil,  Syrup  and  Alcohol  does  not  de- 
range the  stomach.     The  preparation  Par  Excellence  for  Weak,  Puny  children. 

PRESCRIBED  BY  PIIVSICIAXS  to  sufferers  from  Nervous   Dyspepsia,  Indigestion,  Anemia,  Neuras- 
thenia, Nervous  Diseases,  Debility  of  Old  Age,  Bronchitis,  Consumption  and  all  Throat  and  I.ung  Troubles. 
PRICE  $1.00  per  bottle.    Express  prepaid  in  the  U.  S.     May  we  send 
you  our  FREE  PAMPHLET? 

WINCHESTER  &  CO.,  Chemists,  642  Beekman  BuUding,  N.  Y.  (Est.  1858) 

Have  used  your  Hypophosphiles  of  Manganese  for  Kidney  and  Liver  Complaints,  personally  with  good  result 

Dr.  T.  J.  Wkst 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


If  you  could  only  add  a  column 

6i  figures  with  absolute  accuracy  in  one-half  the  time  that  you 
now  can;  if  you  could  multiply  accurately  six  times  as  fast  as  you 
now  can,  or  divide  accurately  four  times  as  fast  as  you  now  can, 
wouldn't  it  mean  something  to  you  ?  How  much  would  it  mean 
in  your  office  ?  Wouldn't  yoiu:  value  to  your  employer  be  tre- 
mendously increased?  Just  suppose,  for  instance,  that  you 
could  extend  your  office  bills  and  figure  the  discounts  on  them, 

as  well  as  the  incoming  bills  at  a  saving  of  fifty  per  cent.  What  would  that  mean  in  your  office  ? 
If  you  want  to  know  just  what  your  increased  efficiency  would  mean,  try  a  Comptometer. 

It's  quick  and  it's  easy,  and  takes  all  the  drudgery  out  of  work. 

For  the  mere  askings  we  send  the  Comptometer  on  trial,  express  paid ,  to  responsible  parties  in  ike  U.  S.  or  Canada, 
IVrite  for  pamphlet  and  special  trial  offer. 


FELT  &  TARRANT  JVtFO.   CO., 


842  N.  Paulina  St.,  Chicago,  IB. 


whhFrB9hAlrI 


**lt  U  an  wrtraffMM  sluMe  that  m  maay  peaple  die  Mcdiessly  of  Tt^crcatosiL 

TDbMenlosis  Vb  rvnarally  nothiDC  short  of  miiclda.  Pcoplo  eoop  tbeniMlTw  up  In  Um 
•luirr,  TitUlad  Air  of  UtIdc  rooms  all  day  and  nirht  SDd  tlien  wonder  why  tlio"Wbito 
Plafus"  slowly  chcAcs  them  to  dMth.  0«t  out  into  the  fresh  sir  that  Ood  irsfe  yon!  Yea 
hare  no  excuse  for  breathlnr  poisrift  whfsa  for  »  few  dolLsrs  modem  devices  make  it 
poselhU  to  fill  your  luon  with  the  _ 
hniAh  fA  m:  —From  Dr.BaJker'M  p? 
mddress  t^  tubtrctUar  patitntt. 


Mm  PoHable 
Mm  Goiiages 


are  as  movable  as  a  tent,  aa  comfortable  as  a  house;  Water  Tight  Roof 
and  Dry  Matched  Pine  Floor.  I«ight  and  Fresh  Air  in  abundance. 
Bnclose  ac  stamp  for  handsome  Illustrated  CaUlogue  of  our  M.  A  M. 
Port»bl«  Hooaai^  Rammer  Cottacea,  AatomobUe  Hooaai^  •to. 
WIS    PAY    THB    FREIGHT.  ^ 

mauHom  a  mkbrley  ao.,e2aafmdwmy,  ~  


m 

SUNBURN 

with  its  unpleasant  and  painful  elfects  is 
quickly  relieved  by  Pond's  Extract— the 
coolinv,  healins  and  refreahiav  antiseptic. 

A  toilet  necessity  durinir  warm  weather. 
THE  STANDARD  FOR  60  YEARS 
Sold  only  in   sealed   bottles— never  in  bulk. 
Substitutes  are  always  disappointing. 

FREE-"Fi«t  Aid  to  Injured"  Booklet 
Uaent,  CorllM*€oM  Arts.,D«pt.m,78  Hadsen  8U,lle«  Terk 


Make  a  Motor  Boat  of  any 
Boat  in  5  Minutes 


a  little,  2  h.  p.  marine  motor  (40  Iba. 
complete)  that  you  can  attach  to  the 
stem  post  of  your  boat  in  3  minutes 
without  any  tools.  Drives  an  18-(l 
row  boat  7  miles  per  hour  (runs  8 
hours  on  one  gallon  gasoline).  Can 
be  detached  from  boat  just  as  quickly 
and  stored  in  box  in  which  it  is 
carried.  Simplest  motor  made^ 
does  not  get  out  of  order. 

Write  for  catalog  with  full  descrip- 
tioQ  and  price. 


WATERMAN     MARINE    MOTOR 
1502  Fort  St.  West,  Detroit,  Mich. 


CO. 


Kneeland  Marine  Motor 

Reversible  and  runs  in  eitlier  direction.    Long 

»— -rings.  Speed  controlling  lever. 

rts  without  cranking.     Hand 

le  plate  in  base  for  quick  ex- 

(amination  of  connecting  rod 
bearings. 


H  HORSE  POWER  $49.7S. 


With  complete  outfit,  including  everything  but 
tank  and  piping,  all  ready  to  put  in  your  boat 

Kneeland  Mf]^.  Co. 
lOO    R.iv>er   Street*    Lraiasiia^.    Micb. 


Please  Mention  THE  OUTINO  MAGAZINE  When  Corresponding  With  AdTerttsers 


o 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


^fter    Sha\ 


\JL  ^  ^ 


IMENNEN'SI 

BORATBD  TALCUMt 

I  TOILET  POWDER 

It  your  barber  use  ' 
Antiseptic,  and 

t  any  of  the  skin 
in  contracted, 
relief  for  Prickly 
^  iSf    Snnbiini  and 

^  of  the  skin.   Re- 

moves all  odor  of  perspiration.  Oct  Men- 
neo's— the  original,  put  up  in  non-refillable 
boxes— the  ••box  that  lox."  Sold  every- 
where or  mailed  for  25  cents.   Sample  free. 

Try  Mtnnen's  Violet  (Borated)  Talcum.  - 
QEItflARD  MENNEN  CO^         Newark,  N.  J. 

Guaranteed  under  the  FcmxI  and  Drun  Act.  June  «.  iqc6. 
Serial  No.  154a. 


THE  VACUUM  CAP  CURES   BALDNESS 
60  DAYS  TRIAL 

Tbousands  cured.  Our  MoJem  %'ae««ai  Oap 
whea  aaed  a  few  ailaates  vsrh  4wkj  draws  tbe 
bkKxl  to  the  scalp  and  forces  the  hair  into  new  healthy 
growth,  cures  baldness  and  stops  the  hair  from  (ailing 
out.  Cures  OandrufT.  Harmless  and  healthful.  We 
■end  it  to  you  on  trial.  We  only  want  pay  if  you  are 
pleased.    Is  not  this&irr    Write  for  free  booklet. 

THE   MODERN   VACUUM   CAP  CO. 

eaO  MARCLAY  aUOCK.         DKNVKR.  COLO 


H  READERS  at  the  cott  of  clanified  advertising  space  is 
what  THE  BOHEMIAN  oflfers  every  advertiser.  Copy 
not  exceeding  ten  lines  will  be  run  between  paragraphs  of 
text  at  the  classified  rate  of  60  cents  a  line.  This  insures 
every  advertiser  a  reading,  because  this  page  is  made  so  in- 
teresting that  the  text  must  be  read,  and  in  reading  the  text 
the  advertisement  must  be  seen. 


NEW  Featherwqght  Hahhocms 


^ 


CLOSED  IN  CASE 

No.  1         WEIGHT  6  OZ.         $6.00  eacb 

Body  size,  6  ft  3  ins.  Ecro  Silk;  capacitv  300  lbs.  !  I  I 
Can  be  carried  as  easily  as  a  lady's  purse  in  leather  pocket 
case  8x4x1  H  in.  Nothing  like  it  ever  made  before — 
Campers,  Sportsmen,  Ladies,  will  appreciate  this  compact, 
light,  strong,  durable  novelty! 
Now  t  Wclolit  t  Urn.  $1.78  CMh 

Body  size,  6  ft,  6  ins.     In  neat 
bag.  i3X4</^  ins.,  with  shoulder  straps. 

Address: 

GEO.  O.  POIRIER 
469.461  BrMdway.  New  York,  If.T. 


Pabst  Extiact 


For  Insomnia 

Peaceful,  refreshing  sleep  is  one 
the  essentials  to  perfect  health.  With* 
out  it  the  system  is  soon  run  down  and 
the  nerves  shattered.    Yet   many  a 
woman.af  ter  a  day  of  trials  in  the  house- 
hold, school  or  office,  is  robbed  of  this 
much  needed  rest,  while  many  a  man, 
-.^*i-i —  *-.  sleep,  finds  himself  grinding 
(  rer  the  business  of  the  day.  and 

1  (though  aggravatingly  striven 

f  ss  an  impossibility.    This  is 

V  ned  insomnia-business  cares, 

fj  Incitement  keep  the  brain  in  a 

w  >  matter  what  the  cause,  speedy 

re  found  in 

Banst  Extract 


^^ttnbnlc, 


Containing  the  bracing,  toning,  soothing  prop- 
erties of  the  choicest  hops  blended  in  a  whole- 
some manner  with  the  vital,  tissue  building 
and  digestive  elements  of  pure,  rich  barley 
malt,  it  not  only  quiets  the  nerves,  producing 
sweet,  refreshing  sleep,  but  furnishes  nourish- 
ment in  predigested  form  that  rebuilds  the  de- 
bilitated system  and  carries  in  it  muscle,  tis- 
sue and   blood  making  constituents.     With 


peaiceful  rest  thus  assured,  the  system  nour- 
ished and  the^  appetite  stimulated,  causing  a 
desire  for  and  making  possible  the  digestion 
of  heavier  foods,  a  condition  of  perfect  health 


desire  for  and  making 
of  heavier  foods,  a 
■  is  rapidly  assured. 

1      nnsiExtisui 


being  a  rich,  nourishing,  predigested  food 
that  is  ready  for  assimilation  by  the  blood 
as  soon  as  taken  into  the  stomach,  brings 
relief  and  cure  to  the  nervous,  strengthens 
the  convalescent,  builds  up  the  anaemic 
and  overworked,  restores  lacking  energy 
and  is  a  boon  to  nursing  mothers. 

At  mJf  Dntfggi$t9,    Intitt  u^on  tht  Original 

Guaranteed  under  tlia  National  Pure  Food  Lew 

U.S.  Serial  No.  1921 

Free  Picture  and  Booh 

SaaJ  for  our  intercatinf  booklet  and  "Baby'i  Pint  AJv«^ 


'  •  beaudlul  picture  of  baby  life.   Botk  FR££. 
Pebet  Kstrect  Dtyl.   tfl  BlIirMliee,  Wb. 


THE  OUTIXG  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


^^-My  strongest  statements  about  the  **Haxwell"  i»*w 
not  been  nearly  strong  enou^  as  firoyed  by  the 
latest  extraordinary  achievements  of  this  wonderful  car 

The  "Maxwell"  swept  the  entire  light  car  field  at  the  great  Wilkes-Barre  climb — 12-14  H.  P. 
stock  Tourabouts  costing  only  $825  won  first  and  second  place  in  the  thomsaiii  iollar  dass. 

This  victory  did  not  surprise  those  who  know  the  "Maxwell" — ^but  even  they  were  astonished 
when  this  same  Tourabout  landed  second  place  against  cars  costing  as  high  as  $2,500. 

The  12-14  H.  P.  "Maxwell  "  can  actually  beat  cars  rated  at  from  30  to  40  H.  P.  and  cost- 
ing three  times  the  price  of 


f 


ff 


because  ''  Majci^ell "   Horse  poller   is   real — everx  ounce  of  it 
gets  ri^Ht  into  action  driving  tHe  car. 

There  is  no  excessive  weight — no  lost  power  or  motion  in  the  *'  Maxwell. " 

Right  on  top  of  this  stirring  victory  the  two  "  Maxwells"  entered  in  the  great  "  Sealed 
Bonnet  "  Contest,  held  under  the  auspices  of  the  Automobile  Club  of  America,  finished  with 
a  perfect  score. 

The  "  Maxwell  "  holds  the  3,000-mile  non-stop  record  of  the  world. 

The  "  Maxwell '  *  simply  overtops  and  outclasses  any  other  make  of  car  in  the  world  at  any- 
thing like  its  price.  Address  Department  22,  for  the  complete  **  Maxwell  "  literature.  And 
if  you  will  address  me  personally  I  shall  take  pleasure  ia-sending  you  immediately  a  personal 
letter  of  introduction  to  the  "  Maxwell  "  dealer  nearest  you,  for  a  '*  Maxwell  "ride. 


'a€fL^ 


Pr*sid«At»  MajKiMr«ll«Bri0GO«  Motor  Co. 

Members  A.  M.  C    M.  A. 

25  Pine  Street,  Tarrrtown,  N.  T. 


Main  Plant :  Tairytown,  N.  Y. 


D£AI^ER.S    IN    Ji.%,%,   I^ARGS:    CITIES 


Factories:  Chicago,  IlL;  PawtockeC,  R.  L 


12-14  //.  P.  To^xraboul,  S825 

16-20  H.  P.  Tourina  Car.  SI  450 

GCT  A  course:  in 
iSTENOGRAPHY  FREE 

Write  THE  BOHEMIAN,  Deposit,  New  York, 
for  particulars 

••  A  Hill  Climber              RIDE    IN       i^jO)  ^ 

^       Built  in  the  Hills."                            "^    "'^     SSt^^JI 

Q        Th«Car«rO0BtniL 

C       Nearly  three  times    the 
?■  1  rakinvr  surface  claitrxfd  for 
tSanv   other   car.      Iilcal    for 
^m     "McKicJO     i^iioe      -^^p  family  touring.     Seats   five 
^                                                 -         toseven.    40  H.  P.   laoinch 
.     Hi«h  koad  Clearance.     Write  for  handsome  caUlog. 
E  BABTUOLOMKW  rONPART,  tOA  GIM«  Bt^  Ftarlm  DL 

BRENNAN  STANDARD  MOTORS 

are  practical  and  substantia],  ease  of  access  to  all  parts,  firee  from  Tibcatloii. 
powerful  and  economical  in  fuel,  horizonul  and  vertical,  normal  ^>ecd  700. 
minimum  iso.  maximum  1.200  revolutions  per  minute.    Guaranteed  tot  one 
year.    Complete  ready  to  insull.    SEND  FOR  CATAL<N»ITE. 

BRENNAN  MOTOK  MFG.  CO.     •     ^rraeuM.  N.  Y. 

I  TUB  nii^^iWQ  ; 


JWlian  CorreiDondliiK  Witli  AdvortlMn 


THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


Diqitized  bv 


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VTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


Should  be  inseparable. 
For  summer  eczemas, 
rashes,  itchings,  irritations, 
inflammations,  chafings, 
sunburn,  pimples,  black- 
heads, red,  rough,  and  sore 
hands,  and  antiseptic 
cleansing  as  well  as  for  all 
the  purposes  of  the  toilet, 
bath,  and  nursery,  Cuticura 
Soap  and  Cuticura  Oint- 
m,ent  are  invaluable. 

Sold  throughoQtthe  world.  Depots!  London.  S7. 
Charterhouse  Sq.;  Parto.  6.  Rue  de  la  Paix-  AuBtra- 
Ua.  R.  Towns  A  Oo^  Sydney;  India.  B.  K.  Paul 
Calcutta:  Japan,  Maruya.  Ltd..  Toklo:  So.  Africa. 
Lcnnon,  Ltd.,  Cape  Town,  etc..  US.  A.,  Potter  Drug 
*  Cliem.  Corp..  Sole  Props. ,  Boston. 

'VPoBt-treeb  Cuticura  Book  on  Can  of  Bkln. 


mimm 

2  1-2  to  40  Hone  Power 
ThmHigh  Gradm  Engine  ai  a  Low  Fric9 

2\  •'GniyHortcPower--^;uar.  A  ^  ■■ 
I  anteed  more  than  3  1-2  IP  11  1^ 
"-actual  horse  power.  The  Jk  ■%  "l 
2  lowest  priced  ei^ine  in  the  ^B  U  ll 
*  wprU  —  power  considered.  ▼  ^^  ^^ 
High  Grade  in  every  ; 
ular.  Complete  outfiL   NG 


panic- 
tor  BARE. 

AH  Gray  Motors  have  Long  Main  Bearinn — 
Drop  Forged  Crank  Shafts  and  Connecting  Rodr~ 
Float  feed  Carbuietor— Elevated  gear  driven  Com- 
mutator, with  gear  encased  (not  a  cheap  makeshift) 
— Vertical  Pump—Hand  Hole  in  Crank  Chamber. 
Get  complete  particulars  of  our  motor  in  catalog. 

IMMEDIATE  DELIVERY 

on  receipt  of  order. 


liniti7Rd  hv 


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TING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


^^^X  SPARKS 

In  sparking  a  motor  boat  it  is 
the  hot  spark,  not  the  long 
spark,  that  counts.  The  spark 
depends  as  much  upon  the  spark 
coil  as  upon  the  batteries  behind 
it. 

The  Edison  Spark  Coil,  while  relatively 
short,  contains  six  pounds  of  heavy  copper 
wire.  Its  construction  b  such  that  it  saves 
energy,  yet  produces  a  heavy  hot  spark  that 
unfailingly  fires  the  gas. 

Edison  Primary  Batteries  with  Edison  Spark 
Coils  will  be  furnished  by  motor  boat  manu- 
facturers if  specified. 

fVrite  for  "  Battery  Sparks,^*  a 
booklet  that  may  keep  you  out 
of  mistakes  hoth  costly  and  aggro- 
mating. 

EDISON  MANUFACTURING  CO. 
17  Lakeside  Ave.  Orange,  N.  J. 

1 1  Union  Square.  New  York.     304  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago. 
2S  Clcrkenwcll  Road.  London.  E.  C. 


OUTi:  R5 


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IS- 

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he 
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in- 
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31 


\ 


Fittings-Supplies 

for  Yachts  and  Motor  Boats 

Hie  Completest  stock.  L^°^:^ 

thing  for  the  necessities  and  for  the  luxuries 
of  water  sportsmen  can  be  had  in  our  supply 
store. 

Thp  Rp«t  CaA|I«  ^^  ambition  is  to 
tut:  IH:M  WfUUS.  fumlsh  supplies  and 
fittings  that  are  just  as  reliable  as  can  be  made. 

Hie  Lowest  Price.  ?o"icy"1s'S 

take  smaller  profits  on  more  sales. 

Come  in,  or  send  for  our  New  lUuatrated  Free  Booit 
on  "  Marine  Hardware  and  Yacht  SuppUee,"  and  sec 
if  our  claims  are  not  straight. 

We  keep  the  Royal  Marine  Engine— the 
kind  you  want. 

We  pride  ourselves  on  the  promptness  and 
accuracy  of  our  mail  order  trade.  Drop  us  a 
line,  and  let  us  prove  it. 

JOHN  C.  HOPKINS  &  COMPANY 

119  Chambers  Street,  New  York 


f=mmmn 

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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


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THE  OUTING  MAGAZINE  ADVERTISER 


Yours  for  Eighteen   Miles  an  hour  gu%^nteed 


Planking  of  | 
inch  cedar, 
white  oak 
frame,  mahog- 
any decks  and 
lining,  plank- 
ing copper 
riveted,  com- 
plete with 
cushions  and 
willow    chairs. 


LENGTH.  25  FEET  OVER  ALL 16  HORSE  POWER 

WIDTH.  4  FT.  4  INCHES 


Complele  Mfith 

16  HP.  Eogkie. 

$1050 

12  HP.  Engine. 

$950 

8  HP.  Engine, 

$850 


Engines 
2H  to 
100  Hone 
Power. 


ROCHESTER 


MARINE 
ENGINE 


Speed  and 
Cruising 
Boats  up 


OUR  SPEED  GUARANTEE  IS: 


SPEED  CLAIMED,   OR  MONEY  RACK  to  50  feet. 

Because  we  have  solved  the  problem  of  maximum  power  and 
minimum  waste;  that's  also  the  reason  for  great  economy. 
Exhausts  under  water  without  back  pressure  or  noise.  Speed 
control  slow  enough  for  fishing — fast  enough  for  racing.  Perhaps 
it's  the  best  engine  made.  At  least  invesugate  before  you  decide. 
Catalog  OH  rtqutst 

ROCHESTER  GAS  ENGINE  COMPANY 

710  Drivia*  Paik  At«..  Rochester.  N.  Y. 

AGENTS : 

nowirr.  Holmes  &  Ilecker  Co.,  141  Lilierty  St..  New  York 

A.  W.  LePage.  Vancouver,  B.  C.   C.  S.  Colt.  906  Chestnut  St..  Philadelphia.  Pa. 

E.  P.  Thomas,  West  Haven.  Conn..         L.  E.  Noble,  to  Hieh  St..  Boston,  Mass. 

W.  T.  Bradbum,  Fairview  &  Garrison  Aves..  Baldmore,  Md. 


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ESTABLISHED  1840 


GEO.B.CARPENTER&CO. 

Motor  Boat  Fittings 
Yacht  Hardware,  Sails  and  Rigging 

Every  boat  owner  should  have  our  new  250-page  illustrated  Catalog  of 

Motor  Boat  Fittings,  Yacht  Sails  and  Supplies,  Marine  Hardware 

and  Nautical  Instruments.      It  i?  the  most  complete  publication 

of  its  kind.     It  will  be  sent  to  yoiu*  address  for  10  cents  in  stamps. 

Our  complete  catalog  of  Tenta,  Flaga,  Awninga,  Rain-proof  COvera 
and  Camp  Furniture  aent  for  6c  in  atampa* 

200-208  S.  Water  Street 
ChicagOy  U.  S.  Am 


^»7   if     1  t  d^l      (Saves  Co«t  of  Check  Punch TTT^SIooTiSr^^^^r     1  d^mm 

57  Value  for  $1  i^^^.^^r-'-^.^--!':::::::::::::;::::;  };gg}  Total  Value  $7 

Holder  needs  filling  with  water  only  to  produce  the  best  ink.  Writes  fine  ink  originals  and  dean  cut  carbon  copies  Point 
will  liwt  for  years.  Soon  saves  its  cost.  PRICES— Plain.  $1.00:  Chased,  $1.2S:  Chased  and  Gold  Mounted.  $1.50  By 
insured  mail  8  cents  more.  New  Ink-Making  Cartridges  in  green,  blue,  violet,  or  black  copying  or  red  ruling  10c*  by  mail 
12c.    Ordinary  ink  may  also  be  used.     BLAIR*S  FOUNTAIN  PEN  CO.,  6  John  St.,  Suite  219.  New  York.    '     Get  Agency 

This  Boat  Folds 


Package 


It's  Solid  and  Stiff  when  in  use — collapsible  and  quickly 
made  portable.  Carried  by  hand  or  in  a  buggy  Is  a  revela- 
tion in  boat  construction.  Non-sinkable.  Puncture  proof. 
No  repairs.  No  cost  for  storage.  Wears  longer  than  a 
wooden  boat.  We  make  all  sites  and  styles  for  every 
purpose. 


KING    rOLDING     CANVAS     BOAT    CO.,    671  Wert   North  Stf^t,  KatowMOO.  UUMgan 


Our  Catalog— 100  engravings— 400  testimonials- 
sent  on  receipt  ot  6  cents. 


Please  Mention  THE  oirmro  MAaasm  wtajm  t\t% 


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THE 

AFTER-DINNER  LIQUEUR 

OF  REFINED  TASTE 


LIQUEUR 

PERES 
CHARTREUX 

—GREEN  AND  YELLOW— 

DAINTY    DELICIOUS 
DIGESTIVE 


At  fintt-class  Wine  Merchants,  Grocers,  Hotds.  Cafes. 

Batjer&  Co.,  45  Broad wav,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Sole  Agents  for  United  States. 


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COMEofNatureslove- 
^  Best  pictures  are  in  the 
world  of  moving  things. 
Q  Butyou  can*t  make  such 
pictures  successfully  with 
an  ordinary  lens.  Motion 
requires  a  lens  of  great 
speed,  such  as  the  famous 

Bausch  &  Lomb-Zeiss 
Tessar  Lens 

The  standard  cameras  can  be 
fitted  with  the  TESSAR  and 
dealers  will  supply  it  upon  request. 

f  "PRISM"  IS  A  LITTLE  MAGAZINE 
we  publish  monililjr.  Not  a  mae  advotuemail,  but  ■ 
beaiitKulljr  made  aod  prmled  btle  publkatiofi  about  that 
woridofwoader  and  beauty  (ten  by  the  lent.  Seodut 
your  name  and  we  %nU  enter  your  nibacriptioo  FREE. 

Bausch  &  Lomb  Optical  Co.,  RocheMcr,  N.  Y. 
NewYoA,  Bo(lon,Wathiiigtoa,  Chicago,  SanFiandno 


GOKEY'S  JJ^S 


Smoke 
the  Best 
Tobacco! 


V/^OUR  outing  will  be  just  that  much 
more   pleasant   if  your   smoking 
tobacco  is  the  best  you  can  buy. 


Is  the  finest  smoking  tobacco  possible. 
Ask  your  dealer  for  it.  If  he  hasn't  it 
send  us  his  name  and  a  dollar  (at  our 
risk).  We  will  send  you  a  75c  can  of 
the  tobacco  and  a  50c  kid,  rubber  lined, 
tobacco  pouch.  Try  the  tobacco.  Smoke 
several  pipefuls.  If  it  doesn't  suit  your 
taste  send  the  rest  back  and  we  will 
return  your  dollar. 

Send  for  booklet:  ''How  to  Smoke  a  Pipe." 
3i  oz.  75c.     \  lb.  SI  .65.     1  lb.  S3.30.     Prepaid. 

E.  HOFFMAN  COMPANY 
190  Madison  Street  CHICAGO 


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THOUSANDS  have  discarded  the  idea  of  making  their  owo 
cocktails— all  wiU  after  civing  the  CLUR  (XX^KTAILS 
a  fair  trial.  Scientifically  blended  from  the  choicest  old 
liquors  and  mellowed  with  a^  make  them  the  perfect  cock- 
tails that  they  are.  Seven  kmds,  most  popular  of  which  are 
Martini  (Gin  base).  Manhattan  (Whiskey  base). 

Tht  following  label  appgars  on  gvtry  bottle: 

Guaranteed  uncl«r  th«  National  Pura 
Food  and  Drugs  Aot*  Approved  June 
30th.  1906.     Serial  No.  1707. 


G. 
Hartford 


F.   HEUBLEIN   &   BRO., 
New  York 


Sole  Props. 

London 


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THE   SPALDING 
Handsomely  Ulnslrated 
Fan  and  Winter 
Catalogue  of  aU  Sports 

is  now  ready.  ^  It  con- 
tains many  suggestions 
for  people  interested  in 
Foot  Ball,  Golf,  Skating. 
Basket  Ball,  and  Indoor 
Sports.  ^  Send  your 
name  and  address  for  a 
free  copy. 

A.  G.  SPALDING  &  BROS. 


126  Nassao  SL,  New  York 
M  Wakash  Ave,  Ckicaf  o 

rhtladdpiiU,  noston.  Baltimore.  Washing- 
ton, PittsWinvh,  Buflalo.  Syracuse.  St.  Louis, 
Cincinnati.  Kansas  City.  Minneapolis,  New 
Orleans,  Denver.  Cleveland.  Detroit.  San  Fran- 
cisco. Montreal,  Caaada. 


WmCHESTBR 


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rOR  seventy-two  years  powder  manufactured  by  us  has  been  the  high 
^andard  by  which  all  powder  was  judged.     We  made  a  fine  pow- 
der in  1 833,  and  ^11  maintain  the  lead  with  a  later  day  standard. 

Dead  Shot  Smokeless  is  the  perfection  of  modem  shot  gun  powder. 
Mrs.  Topperwein  shoots  it  because  she  likes  it — and  just  watch  her  records. 

MANUFACTURED  BY 

AMERICAN  POWDER  MILLS, 

St.  Louis*  Mo.  Boston,  Mass.  CKica^o»  Ills. 


Grand  American  Amateur  Championship 

Mjpon  by  Smith   Gun  and  the  Hunter  One-  Trigger 


The  Uvliest  competition  of 


*.!-- 


The   Hunter  One-Trigger  does   the   business 

Ask  for  Catalogue 

THE  HUNTER  ARMS  CO.,    Fulton,  N.  Y. 


Please  Mention  THE  OUTINO  MAOAZms  When  Corretpondlng  With  AdvertUen 


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PACKER'S  TAR  SOAP 

Not  only  deans  the  scalp,  but  imparts  Yigor  to  those  glanddar  sbnctores 
which  are  intimately  concerned  with  the  grovrth  and  yitality  of  the   hair 

Our  Kttle  leaflet  *The  Value  of  Syvtamatic  Shampooins**  aent  on  requeM 

THE  PACKER  MFG.  CO.,  NEW  YORK 


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