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3est  and  Cheapest  Service  in  the  Wor 

Here  are  some  comparisons   of   telephone  conditions 
in  Europe  and  the  United  States  just  before  the  war. 


Here  we  have: 

Continuous  service  in  practically  all  exchanges, 
so  that  the  telephone  is  available  day  and  night. 

A  telephone  to  one  person  in  ten. 

3,000,000  miles  of  interurban  or  long-distance 
wires. 

Prompt  connections,  the  speed  of  answer  in 
principal  cities  averaging  about  3%  seconds. 

Lines   provided   to   give    immediate   toll    and 
long-distance  service. 


In  Europe: 

Nine-tenths  of    the   exchanges    are  cloa 
night,  and  in  many  cases,  at  mealtime. 

Not  one  person  in  a  hundred  has  a  telep 

Not  one-eighth  as  many  miles  in  proporti 
population  and  territory. 

In  the  principal  cities,  it  takes  more  than 
as  long  for  the  operator  to  answer. 

No  such  provision  made.    Telephone  use 
expected  to  await  their  turn. 


As  to  cost,, long-distance  service  such  as  we  have  here  was  not  to  be  had  in  Eui 
even  before  the-w^r,  at  any  ptice. «  And  exchange  service  in  Europe,  despite  its  inf 
quality,  cost  rr\ore  in  actual  money  than  here. 

Bell  Service'  \s  the  'criterion;  for  all  the  world,  and  the  Bell  organization  is  the 
economical  as  well  as  the  mbst'efficient  servant  of  the  people. 

American  Telephone  and  Telegraph  Compai 

And  Associated   Companies 

One  Policy  One  System  Universal  Set 

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Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


,t°r*  <Q 


HIS  MASTER'S  VOICE' 


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TheVictorRecord  catalog 

is  the  most  complete  catalog  of  music 

in  all  the  world 


It  has  required  1 9  years  of  constant  research,  of  steady  application, 

of  tireless  effort,  and  the  expenditure  of  more  than 

Eleven  Million  Dollars  to  place  this  catalog  in  your  hands 

This  great  book  of  506  pages  is  the  recognized  authoritative  index  to 
the  world's  best  music;  to  the  greatest  musical  achievements  of  all  time. 

Its  pages  are  living  tributes  to  the  years  of  unceasing  vigil  spent  in 
gathering  the  best  music  from  every  portion  of  the  globe.  They  reflect  the 
hours  upon  hours  which  the  greatest  artists  have  devoted  to  recording  their 
superb  art  for  the  delight  of  all  generations.  They  attest  to  the  enormous 
amount  of  time  and  millions  of  dollars  spent  in  developing  the  art  of  record- 
ing to  its  present  state  of  perfection.  And  through  each  and  every  page 
runs  the  story  and  proof  of  Victor  Supremacy. 

Every  music-lover  will  want  a  copy  of  this  great  Victor  catalog  of  music 


VlCTO 
REC 


Mi°Wf'V 


Everybody  should  have  this  book,  whether 
or  not  they  have  a  Victrola.  All  will  appreci- 
ate it  because  of  the  information  about  artists, 
operas  and  composers,  and  the  numerous  por- 
traits and  illustrations  it  contains. 

Any  Victor  dealer  will  gladly  give  you  a 
copy  of  this  great  catalog  of  music,  or  we  will 
mail  you  a  copy  free,  postage  paid. 

Victor  Talking  Machine  Co. 
Camden,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Berliner  Gramophone  Co.,  Montreal,  Canadian  Distributors 


VICTOR    RED    SEAL   RECORDS 


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Vol.  LXVIII 


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AN   ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE  WEST 

■>»j»CCCCCO 

CONTENTS   FOR  JANUARY    1917 


FRONTISPIECES: 

"Up    From    the    South.      Verse      Illustrated 

Scenes  from  Tahiti 

Photograph  of  D.  O.   Mills 

GUNS   OF   GALT.      Continued   story       .... 

An    Epic  of  the   Family. 

PICTURE    OF    JACK    LONDON 

TO  THE   MAN  ON  THE  TRAIL 

A  Klondike  Christmas  Story. 

THE   TERRIBLE    TURK 

TO  JACK.      Verse 

A   CALIFORNIA    DUVAL 

MY  COMMERCE.      Verse 

THE  STORY  OF  THE    MIRACLE  .... 

Continued  story. 

SOLITAIRE.      Verse 

THE  MUSE  OF  THE  LOCKED  DOOR.     Story 
TO  THE  OLD  STAGE   DRIVER.      Verse 

THE    FOREIGN    LEGION 

PASTOR  RUSSELL.     Verse  

SANG.      Story 

Illustrated   from  photographs. 
MAYBECK'S    MASTERPIECE.      Verse 
TRAGEDY    OF    THE    DONNER    PARTY 

Illustrated   from    sketches. 
PIONEER    EXPERIENCES    IN    CALIFORNIA     . 

Illustrated  from  photographs  and  Old  Prints. 
PASTOR   RUSSELL'S  WRITINGS  TO  BE  CONTINUED 

LOST     HORSES.       Story 

DARIUS   OGDEN    MILLS 

A    "BACK    TO    NATURE    MAID"  .... 

Illustrated. 
IN   THE   REALM   OF   BOOKLAND  .... 


WH1TTIER   WELLMAN 


DENISON  CLIFT 


JACK  LONDON 

H.  AKMED  NOUREDDIN  ADDIS 

JUAN  L.  KENNON 

EUGENE  T.  SAWYER 

EVA  NAVONE 

OTTO  VON  GELDERN 

WILLIAM  DeRYEE 
ELSIE  McCORMICK 
LUCIEN  M.  LEWIS 
ANSLEY  HASTINGS 
RUTH  E.   HENDERSON 
LUCY  FORM  AN  LINDSAY 

IDA  F.  PATTIANI 
ALICE  STEVENS 

LELL     HAWLEY    WOOLLEY 


R.   T.    CORYNDON 

EDITH  KINNEY  STELLMANN 


1 
2-7 


24 
25 

30 
36 
37 
41 
42 

49 
50 
52 
53 
56 
57 

61 
62 

66 

79 
80 
87 
89 

90 


)»»>CC««' 


NOTICE. — Contributions  to  the  Overland  Monthly  should  be  typewritten,  accompanied  by  full 
return  postage  and  with  the  author's  name  and  address  plain  written  in  upper  corner  of  first 
pagr>. 

Manuscripts  should  never  be  rolled. 

The  publisher  of  the  Overland  Monthly  will  not  be  responsible  for  the  preservation  of  unso- 
licited contributions  and  photographs. 

Issued    Monthly.      $1.20   per  year   in  advance.      Ten  cents  per  copy. 
Copyrighted,  1917,  by  the  Overland    Monthly  Company. 
Entered  at  the  San  Francisco,   Cal.,   Postofnce  as  second-class  matter. 
Published    by   the    OVERLAND    MONTHLY    COMPANY,  San   Francisco,  California. 

259    MINNA    STREET. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


Mi 


ARE   YOUR    CIRCULARS   AND    BUSINESS 
LETTERS  GETTING  RESULTS? 


DO  THEY  PERSUADE  ? 


DO  THEY  CONVINCE? 


DO  THEY  BRING  ORDERS  ? 


We  are  writers  of  EXPERT  adver- 
tising. 

By  that,  we  mean  the  kind  of  ad- 
vertising that  GETS  THE  ORDERS. 

No  advertising  is  worth  a  straw  that 
does  not  COMPEL  RESULTS. 

We  write  business-getting  letters, 
full  of  force  and  fire,  power  and 
"punch."    They  pull  in  the  ORDERS. 

The  same  qualities  mark  the  circu- 
lars, booklets,  prospectuses  and  ad- 
vertisements that  we  prepare  for  our 
customers.  We  have  a  passion  FOR 
RESULTS! 

We  resurrect  dead  business,  cure 
sick  business,  stimulate  good  business. 
Our  one  aim  is  to  arouse  attention, 
create  desire,  compel  conviction  and 
MAKE  people  buy. 

Let  Us  Try  to  Double  Your 
Sales 

We  want  to  add  you  to  our  list  of 
clients.  If  you  have  a  shady  propo- 
sition, don't  write  to  us.  We  handle 
nothing  that  is  not  on  a  100  per  cent 
truth  basis.    But  if  you  are 

A  Manufacturer,  planning  to  increase 
your  output, 

A  Merchant,  eager  to  multiply  your 
sales, 

An  Inventor,  looking  for  capital  to 
develop  your  device, 

A  Mail  Order  Man,  projecting  a 
campaign, 

An  Author,  wanting  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  a  publisher, 


A  Broker,  selling  shares  in  a  legiti- 
mate enterprise, 

We  Will  Do  Our  Best  To 
Find  You  a  Market! 

We  put  at  your  service  trained  intel- 
ligence, long  and  successful  experi- 
ence in  writing  business  literature  and 
an  intense  enthusiasm  for  GETTING 
RESULTS. 

Tell  us  exactly  what  your  proposi- 
tion is,  what  you  have  already  done, 
what  you  plan  to  do.  We  will  examine 
your  project  from  every  angle,  and  ad- 
vise you  as  to  the  best  and  quickest 
way  to  get  the  RESULTS  you  want. 
We  make  no  charge  for  this  consulta- 
tion. 

If,  then,  you  should  engage  us  to 
prepare  your  literature — booklets, 
prospectuses,  advertisements,  circu- 
lars, letters,  follow-ups — any  or  all  of 
these,  we  will  bend  every  energy  to- 
ward doing  this  work  to  your  complete 
satisfaction.  We  slight  nothing.  To 
the  small  order  as  well  as  the  large, 
we  devote  all  the  mastery  of  language 
and  power  of  statement  we  command. 
We  will  try  our  utmost  to  make  your 
proposition  as  clear  as  crystal  and  as 
powerful  as  a  42  centimetre  gun. 

The  only  thing  that  is  HIGH  about 
our  work  is  its  quality.  Our  charges 
are  astonishingly  LOW. 

Let  us  bridge  the  gulf  between  you 
and  the  buyer.  Let  us  put  "teeth"  in 
your  business  literature,  so  that  it  will 
get  "under  the  skin." 

Write  to  us  TODAY. 


It  Costs  You  Nothing  to  Consult  Us 
It  May  Cost  You  Much  if  You  Don't 

DUFFIELD    -    156  Fifth  Ave., 


New  York 
City 


Iv 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


AMERICAN 
PLAN 
$3.50 
UPWARD 


Notel  Plaza 


EUROPEAN 

PLAN 

$1.50 
UPWARD 


POST  AND  STOCKTON  STREETS,  SAN  FRANCISCO,CAL. 

THE  CENTER  OF  THE  CITY  OPPOSITE  UNION  SQUARE 


An  Hotel  Designed  to  Appeal  to  the  Conservative 


M.  •■  ■* 


DINING  ROOM 


FAMOUS  FOR  ITS  CUISINE 


BREAKFAST  50c. 


LUNCH  50c. 


DINNER  $1.00 


HOTEL     PLAZA     COMPANY,     Management 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    When    Writing    Advertiser* 


Meet  Me  at  the 
TULI-F-R 


For  Value,  Service 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand  Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY     FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50  Single, $2.50  Up  Double 

200       "  "  "        2.00     "  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  "  $3  to  $5   "  4.50  " 

Total,  600  Outside  Rooms       All  Absolutely  Quiet 

Two  Floors— Agent's 
Sample  Rooms 


New  Unique  Cafes  and 
Cabaret  Excellente 


Herald  Square  Hotel 

114-120  West  34th  Street 


Just  West  of  Broadway 

NEW  YORK 


Across  the  street,  next  door  and  around  the  cor- 
ner to  the  largest  department  stores  in  the 
world. 

Cars  passing  our  doors  transfer  to  all  parts  of 
New  York. 

One  block  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 

All  the  leading  theatres  within  five  minutes' 
walk. 

Club    Breakfast — Business    Men's    Lunch. 

Dancing  afternoons  and  evenings. 

Rooms  $1.50   up.      All  first  class  hotel  service. 

JAMES    DONNELLY 

(16   Years   at   Waldorf-Astoria) 

Manager  Director 


THE  HOTEL  SHATTUCK 

BERKELEY,  CALIFORNIA 


S 

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Y 

S 
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.-^isSiB 


/*. 


<■■   -f-^'"2:  jW-     ■  ^    -■      -:!v— -   ':«?*  --;■"■' 


o 

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A  Metropolitan  Hotel  with  a  Homelike  Personality 

FIRE-PROOF         American  and  European  Plan  CENTRAL 

SPACIOUS  Write  for  Rates  and  Literature  ACCESSIBLE 

COMFORTABLE  F.  T.  ROBSON,  Manager  REASONABLE 


vi 


Please     Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


HOTEL  CUMBERLAND 

NEW  YORK 
Broadway  at  54th  Street 


Broadway  cars  trom 

Grand 

Central  Depot 

7th  Ave.  Cars  from 
Penna.  Station 

New  and  Fireproof 

Strictly  First-Class 
Rates  Reasonable 

$2.50  with  Bath 
and  up 

Send  (or  Booklet 

10  Minutes  Walk  to 
40  Theatres 


H.  P.  STIMSON 

Formerly  with  Hotel  Imperial 

Only  N.  Y.  Hotel  Window-Screened  Throughout 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 
BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN  FIREPROOF 

A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
qui«t  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest— popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
—cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 

Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

Mav  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of 'Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  complete  rates? 
C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

1 ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in   Western  America 

M AN AGEMENT  —  J AMES     WOODS 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


vii 


Miss  Hamlin's  School 


For  Girls 


Home  Building  on  Pacific  Avenue 
of  Miss  Hamlin's  School  for  Girls 


Boarding  and  day  pupils.  Pupils  received 
at  any  time.  Accredited  by  all  accredit- 
ing institutions,  both  in  California  and  in 
Eastern  States.  French  school  for  little 
children.     Please  call,  phone  or  address 


MISS  HAMLIN 


2230  PACIFIC  AVENUE 


TELEPHONE  WEST  546 

2117 


2123 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


BROADWAY 


viii 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


Hitchcock  Military   Academy 


San   Rafael,    Cal. 


"Preparedness  First'  cadets  of  Hitchcock  Military  Academy 
drilling  on  the  sports'  field. 

A  HOME  school  for    boys,    separate    rooms,    large 
campus,  progressive,  efficient,  thorough,  Govern- 
ment   detail    and    full    corps     of     experienced 
instructors,   accredited  to  the  Universities. 

Ideally  located  in    the    picturesque    foothills  of 
Marin    County,     fifteen     miles     from    San     Francisco. 

Founded   1878. 

Catalogue  on   application. 

REX  W.  SHERER  President 


Up  from  the  South 

By  Whittier  Wellman 

Up  from  the  south  comes  the  sound  of  weird,  wild  music 
Music  of  the  hidden  forests  and  unseen  places, 
Of  tropic  coasts  where  the  sands  are  hot  and  dry, 
Where  vine-covered  trees  press  to  the  edge  of  the  blue. 
Softly  at  first,  on  the  breath  of  the  sea  it  is  borne, 
Carrying  faint  fragrance  of  mysterious  flowers, 
And  alluring  sweetness  of  forgotten  days ; 


Music  of  silent  nights  when  the  sea  is  dead, 

And  the  forest  still. 

When  God's  great  sky  is  a  vast  expanse  of  dark, 

With  here  and  there  a  furtive  light, 

Flickering  .  .   .  blown  out,  and  back, 

By  a  breath. 


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Along  the  beach  at  Hatchen,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  the  Paradise 
of  the  Pacific. 


Darius  Ogden  Mills 


See  Page  87 


OVERLAND 


Founded  1868 


MONTHLY 


BRET  HARTE 


VOL.  LXIX 


San  Francisco,  January,  1917 


No.  1 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 


Serv  3 


By  DENISON  CLIFT 


THE  MAN  sat  in  his  doorway 
smoking  his  long  pipe,  his  day's 
work  over  in  the  shipyard.  He 
lives  across  the  river  from  the 
gun  factory,  in  the  Street  of  the  Lar- 
ches. In  Gait  there  are  fifteen  thou- 
sand shipbuilders,  and  Jan 
Rantzau  is  one  of  the  mul- 
titude. He  is  big  and  pow- 
erful, and  his  twenty-eight 
years  of  youth  fit  him  ad- 
mirably to  be  one  of  the 
toilers.  At  night  under  the 
stars  you  might  mistake 
him  for  a  young  giant  in 
the  narrow  streets  of  Gait. 
He  is  as  handsome  as  a 
youthful  emperor.  His  hair 
is  thick  and  blonde;  his 
back  is  straight  and  supple ; 
his  arms  are  fibres  of  steel 
from  the  driving  of  white- 
hot  rivets  into  the     Gait-built 


Mr.   Clift 


ships. 

Something  of  the  grace  and  swing  of 
the  great  vessels  has  gotten  into  his 
stride. 

In  the  twilight  of  that  July  night, 
golden  fireflies  whisked  under  the  lar- 
ches. From  the  river  came  the  steady 
throbbing  of  the  engines  of  the  mail 
packets,  and  the  cries     of     rivermen 

barges    with    their 


grappling  hooks.  Over  and  above  the 
river  and  the  ancient  town  the  moon 
glimmered  upon  the  quaint  white 
houses. 

Through  the  street  rang  the  laughter 
of  a  young  girl,  mirthful  and  pleasant. 
Jan  opened  his  gate  and 
went  into  the  street. 

In  the  pavilion  at  the 
end  of  the  road  fantastic 
forms  were  dancing.  Gay 
Carlmanian  soldiers  in 
white  linen  were  whirling 
through  the  mazurka  with 
young  girls.  The  Commis- 
saire  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Fusiliers,  arm  in  arm, 
like  old  cronies,  passed  Jan 
and  strolled  to  join  the 
dancing  groups. 

Strange    figures   entered 

the    misty    street.       Girls 

bright  colored  stuffs,  with 

hide     their     pretty     faces, 


manoeuvring  the 


g;arbed   in 
masks  to 

skipped  in  and  out  among  the  trees  on 
their  way  to  the  dance.  The  three  lit- 
tle sisters  of  Marya  Ballandyna  ran  af- 
ter her  with  impish  glee,  mimicking 
her.  "Go  home,  Lela  and  Elsa,  and 
Ula!"  Marya  sent  them  scampering 
homeward  among  the  larches.  A  girl  in 
a  blue  domino    joined     Marya.     She 


35!777 


10 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


laughed  at  Jgn,  and,  playfully  seizing 
his  arm,  pulled  him  onward  toward  the 
pavilion. 

"O  Jan,  come  along  and  dance!"  she 
cried,  her  voice  low  and  inviting. 

Jan  laughed. 

"No,  I  cannot  dance  well,"  he  re- 
turned. 

"Foolish  Jan !  Every  one  in  Gait  is 
dancing  to-night!" 

Her  slim  hand  reached  through  her 
domino  and  entwined  itself  about  his 
arm.  He  was  swept  along  with  the 
merry  group. 

Twilight  passed.  The  night  became 
illuminated  with  myriad  points  of 
flame.  Tallow  candles  were  lighted  in 
the  little  windows  of  the  whitewashed 
mud  houses  that  dotted  the  hills.  Wo- 
men squatted  in  open  doorways.  Shop 
windows  flamed  with  yellow  brilliancy. 
A  locksmith  and  a  tinker  passed 
through  the  cobbled  streets  with  their 
flickering  lanterns.  They,  too,  were 
laughing:  the  magpie  laughter  of  old 
men  at  the  frivolity  of  youth.  Now  the 
lights  of  the  Barracks  glowed  red.  The 
odor  of  parched  meadows  came  down 
the  night  winds  from  the  heights,  per- 
fuming the  dusk. 

"Hark!"  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
girl. 

The  music  from  the  pavilion  burst 
upon  them.  Love-lorn  notes  of  a  flute 
and  deep  gusts  of  a  bassoon  vied  with 
the  click!  click!  of  sabots. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  said  Jan  to  the  girl. 
"Where  are  you  taking  me  ?" 

"Oh,"  answered  the  figure  in  the 
domino,  "I  am  not  taking  you  to  join 
the  army!" 

An  acacia  branch  swept  her  face, 
dislodging  her  mask.  Quickly  she  re- 
placed it,  but  not  before  Jan  had  seen. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  young  girl — pale, 
piquant,  with  a  flood  of  golden  hair, 
and  eyes  clear  as  April  skies. 

Jan's  captor  could  not  be  more  than 
eighteen.  She  was  as  slim  and  pretty 
as  a  peacock.  Her  headkerchief  was 
blue  and  vermilion.  The  wind  fluttered 
her  domino,  unfolding  a  tunic  of  em- 
broidered gold.  Upon  her  shapely  feet 
anklets  tinkled  as  she  danced  along. 
Brass  circlets  shivered  in  her  ears. 


"Here  we  are,  Jan!" 

They  emerged  from  under  the  trees 
upon  a  broad  turf.  A  white  facade, 
riddled  by  ancient  bombardment,  dis- 
closed a  great  arch  through  which  the 
white  moonlight  streamed,  sufficing 
for  light;  and  in  the  dim  glow  couples 
swung  in  the  rhythm  of  the  mazurka. 
The  white-linen  figures  of  fusiliers 
were  slow-moving  and  ghostly. 

"Come,  Jan,  you  must  dance  with  me 
to-night.  Soon  you  may  be  called  to 
the  wars!" 

Laughing,  the  girl  tied  her  blue  ker- 
chief across  Jan's  eyes.  Her  soft  arm 
touched  his  face.  Not  in  all  his  life 
had  he  seen  a  face  so  exquisitely  love- 
ly as  the  face  the  acacia  branch  had 
revealed  to  him.  Something  was 
awakening  in  his  great  frame,  some- 
thing that  set  him  atremble.  He  was 
seized  with  a  mad  desire  to  tear  the 
mask  from  the  girl — to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  to  vent  the  sudden  yearning  with- 
in him. 

With  a  crash  the  music  struck  up  in 
the  pavilion. 

A  score  of  couples  swarmed  to  the 
center  of  the  floor. 

It  was  a  strange  and  weird  dance, 
there  in  the  moonlight.  The  floor  of 
the  pavilion  was  as  the  floor  of  some 
old  castle.  The  windows  were  deep- 
set,  arched.  High  above  swung  heavy 
old  Cracow  lamps,  rusted  and  unlit.  A 
hundred  years  before  the  place  had 
been  an  arsenal.  It  had  been  shat- 
tered by  gun  fire  in  the  rebellion  of 
1813.  Later  the  Mayor  had  had  it  re- 
fashioned into  a  pleasure  pavilion  for 
the  toilers  of  Gait. 

Jan  placed  his  arm  around  the  dom- 
ino and  joined  the  revelers.  The 
breath  of  the  young  girl  was  fragrant 
upon  his  face.  Together  they  whirled 
and  reversed,  Jan's  heart  beating 
wiidly,  the  girl  all  grace  and  abandon. 

Flute  notes  floated  through  the  pa- 
vilion; the  bassoon  crooned  and  thun- 
dered; when  the  music  ceased  there 
was  a  sharp  patter  of  applause.  A 
shout  went  up  as  the  gypsy  musicians 
returned  to  their  instruments,  and  once 
more  throbbed  through  the  melody, 
their  bodies  swaying  atune. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


11 


Jan  led  the  girl  to  an  open  window 
which  overlooked  the  esplanade  and 
the  river.  Here  they  were  apart  from 
the  dancers.  With  cool  breezes  fan- 
ning their  flushed  cheeks  they  sat  si- 
lent and  listened. 

The  musical  ring  of  anklets,  the  mel- 
ody of  sprightly  laughter,  the  fairy  lilt 
of  the  flute — rang  in  their  ears.  When 
the  music  stopped  again  they  heard 
above  the  chatter  the  far-off  rush  of 
the  river,  and  the  whistles  of  the  mail 
packets  putting  down  to  Bazias. 

A  man  and  a  woman,  masked  and 
clad  in  flowing  red  and  black,  sat  down 
near  them.  The  man's  voice  was  heard 
in  low,  earnest  appeal.  "Listen!  .... 
they  are  going  to  mount  guns  in  Gun- 
yo,  and  in  Guor,  and  in  Nisegrad.  We 
live  in  peace,  but  the  day  of  the  great 
war  is  at  hand.  When  the  guns  come 
to  Gait,  then  we  may  expect  war!  .  .  . 
It  will  rock  the  world !"  .  .  . 

"Nonsense,  Felix!"  answered  the 
woman,  adding  in  a  warning  tone :  "Not 
so  loud!  There  are  soldiers  all  about 
us.  Our  lives  are  forfeit  if  they  dis- 
cover us!" 

There  was  a  silence,  then  the  man 
replied:  "It  is  only  by  mingling  with 
the  toilers  that  we  can  discover  what 
men  will  be  won  to  our  creed.  We 
must  have  a  million  men  ready  to  rise 
against  militarism  before  the  great 
hour  comes." 

"A  million,"  echoed  the  woman,  her 
voice  despairing,  yet  hopeful.  "A  mil- 
lion men  ...  a  million  men !  .  .  .  " 

Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  low  cry  of  alarm. 

"Felix!  Look!  The  fusiliers!"  she 
cried,  clutching  her  companion's  arm. 

She  had  been  sitting  facing  the  win- 
dow. Now  she  stood  pointing  out  to- 
ward the  turf.  Her  mask  slipped  from 
her  face,  revealing  features  of  suffer- 
ing, chaste  and  pale  as  death. 

In  the  gay  confusion  among  the 
dancers  the  woman's  cry  had  passed 
unnoticed.  But  Jan  heard,  and  rising 
instantly  behind  her,  he  followed  the 
direction  of  her  gaze. 

Across  the  esplanade  a  band  of  fusi- 
liers were  running.  Their  lanterns 
bobbed  and  whirled  about.     Now  the 


jangle  of  sabres  was  distinctly  heard. 

Through  the  lofty  stone  arch  and  up 
to  the  pavilion  they  charged,  then  sep- 
arated into  four  groups  and  vanished 
in  the  shadow  of  the  building. 

"We  are  surrounded!"  exclaimed  the 
woman.  "Felix,  for  God's  sake,  flee 
for  your  life !  They  do  not  know  me  as 
they  do  you.  You  were  a  fool  to  come 
here  to-night!"  She  quickly  replaced 
the  mask  across  her  startled  eyes. 

The  revolutionist,  realizing  that  he 
had  fallen  into  a  trap,  turned  swiftly 
and  faced  the  door  at  the  east  end  of 
the  hall. 

There  was  a  rush  of  feet  outside;  a 
group  of  fusiliers  burst  into  the  room. 
They  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  sabres 
drawn.  Instantly  the  hall  was  hushed. 
The  revelers  gasped  in  dumb  amaze- 
ment. 

The  Captain  of  the  Fusiliers  lifted 
his  lantern,  in  its  light  to  scan  the  faces 
before  him. 

"Every  one  in  this  hall  is  under  ar- 
rest!" he  cried.  "We  are  looking  for 
Felix  Skarga.  Skarga,  if  you  are  here, 
come  forth!" 

There  was  no  response. 

"Unmask!"  commanded  the  Captain. 

The  girl  in  the  blue  domino  turned 
fearfully  to  Jan.  She  drew  aside  her 
mask.    "Look!"  she  said. 

Jan  looked,  entranced. 

"Do  you  know  me,  Jan?" 

Jan  peered  into  the  clear  depths  of 
her  terrified  eyes.  The  direct  beauty 
of  her  gaze  bewildered  him. 

"I  am  Jagiello  Nur,  and  I  live  at  the 
upper  end  of  your  street,  in  the  house 
of  Ujedski,  the  Jewess.  She  threat- 
ened to  kill  me  if  I  came  to  the  dance 
to-night.  The  Captain  knows  who  I 
am!  He  will  tell  Ujedski!  Oh,  Jan, 
save  me!  do  save  me!" 

Jan  glanced  around  the  dim-lit  room, 
seeking  a  way  of  escape.  Behind  him 
his  hands  encountered  an  iron  grille. 
He  tried  to  open  it  outward,  but  it  re- 
sisted him.  But  what  was  an  iron 
grille  to  the  giant  of  the  shipyard  ?  He 
seized  the  bars;  they  twisted  outward. 
A  flood  of  moonlight  illumined  the 
long  hall.  Shouts  rose  from  the  fusil- 
iers.    Masquers  and     soldiers     alike 


12 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


started  for  Jan,  believing  that  he  was 
Felix  Skarga  who  had  suddenly  found 
a  way  of  escape. 

With  a  great  sweep  of  his  arms,  Jan 
struck  the  crowd  back.  He  lept  through 
the  open  doorway,  lifting  Jagiello  out 
onto  a  balcony. 

In  that  instant  Felix  Skarga  darted 
quickly  for  the  opening.  With  a  sav- 
age cry  a  fusilier  sprang,  tiger-like,  up- 
on the  revolutionist.  He  would  have 
dragged  Skarga  back  had  not  Jan 
struck  the  soldier  heavily,  thrusting 
him  away,  and  hurling  the  iron  gate 
shut  behind  him. 

The  pounding  upon  the  grille  and  the 
maddened  cries  in  the  hall  aroused 
the  waiting  fusiliers  below.  They  scat- 
tered, fan-like,  across  the  turf  in  an- 
ticipation of  a  running  fight.  There 
was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Lifting  lit- 
tle Jagiello  like  a  doll  in  his  arms,  Jan 
lept  over  a  balcony  twenty  feet  to  the 
greensward  below.  He  ran  low  and 
swiftly  across  the  perilous  open  space. 
Skarga  separated  from  him  and  was 
lost  in  a  hedge  to  his  left.  Forty  paces 
away  a  stone  wall  suddenly  confronted 
Jan.    Beyond  was  the  river. 

The  pack  was  now  close  upon  him. 
He  could  hear  the  soldiers  panting  as 
they  ran.  "Halt!"  cried  a  raucous 
voice.  "Halt!  Halt!"  There  was  a 
crack  of  a  rifle.  A  bullet  flattened 
against  the  wall  with  a  whistling  tang. 

Suddenly  Jan  stopped  in  his  race  and 
lifted  Jagiello  to  his  shoulders.  High 
above,  an  acacia  bloomed.  The  girl 
wrapped  her  arms  around  a  stout 
branch,  drew  herself  up,  swung  over 
the  wall,  and  dropped  to  the  grassy 
bank  that  skirted  the  river. 

"Tang!  Tang!"  sang  the  bullets 
close  over  Jan. 

He  dug  his  fingers  into  the  crevices 
of  the  masonry.  Before  he  could  se- 
cure a  foothold  two  fusiliers  leaped  out 
of  the  shadow  toward  him. 

The  butt  of  a  rifle  descended  with 
terrific  force  upon  his  shoulder.  With 
a  cry,  the  big  man  clutched  the  rifle  and 
wrung  it  from  the  fusilier's  grip.  Then, 
swinging  it  once  around,  he  swept  both 
the  soldiers  from  their  feet. 

From  the  distance  came  shouts  that 


rapidly  grew  louder.  But  when  the 
pursuers  came  up,  Jan  had  already 
leapt  the  wall.  The  soldiers  found  two 
of  their  number  writhing  on  the  ground 
and  pointing  over  the  wall. 


An  hour  later  Jan  and  Jagiello 
emerged  from  the  deserted  cabin  of 
a  river  packet  that  lay  undulating  upon 
the  glinting  river.  Creeping  cautiously 
along  the  bank  down  stream,  they 
made  their  way  into  the  Street  of  the 
Larches. 

"Now  Ujedski  will  never  know," 
said  Jagiello.  A  pause,  then:  "Poor 
Skarga !  He  believes  we  should  have 
no  soldiers,  but  he  talks  of  war.  'When 
the  guns  come  to  Gait,  then  we  may 
expect  war.'  " 

"There  will  be  no  war,"  said  Jan. 

Suddenly  a  low  rumble  awoke  in  the 
street.  From  out  of  the  night  rolled  a 
gun  carriage. 

Men,  calling  low  and  earnestly, 
were  guiding  the  lines  of  a  score  of 
horses  that  were  dragging  the  cais- 
son and  mount  of  a  black  28-centime- 
ter gun.  Upon  the  gun-trunnions 
squatted  a  figure  with  a  long  military 
cape,   delivering   sharp   commands. 

"Quick,  now,  Edda,  here's  the 
bridge!"  The  gun  carriage  rattled 
over  the  cobbles.  "Look  out  for  that 
gate  ahead!"  Jan  and  Jagiello  with- 
drew into  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
larches.  "The  moon's  shining!  Thank 
God!  We'll  need  the  moon  this  night!" 

The  gun  carriage  swerved  into  the 
white,  even  road  that  led  up  to  the 
heights. 

Jagiello  held  tightly  to  Jan's  arm. 

"Jan,  they  are  taking  guns  up  to  the 
fort.  Can  it  be  they  are  getting  ready 
for *' 

Jan  silenced  her  with  a  quick  move- 
ment. 

More  ghostly  figures  appeared  in  the 
street.  A  second  gun  carriage  rolled 
across  the  bridge  with  low,  rumbling 
thunder. 

The  caisson  cast  a  pale  bluish 
shadow  from  the  moon. 

It  was  the  shadow  of  War. 

Presently  the  hoof  beats  died  away, 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


13 


and  Jan  and  Jagiello  passed  in  silence 
toward  Ujedski's  house. 

Chapter  II. 

The  July  night  was  drowsy  and 
moonlit,  and  the  streets  were  ghostly 
and  winding,  and  above  on  the  bal- 
conies were  singing  and  the  playing  of 
guitars.  The  big  man's  calloused 
hand  was  upon  the  rounded  arm  of  the 
girl.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  the  thrill 
o±  his  presence;  her  heart  beat  like 
the  heart  of  a  frightened  bird.  Pres- 
ently they  mounted  a  flight  of  high 
stone  steps.  At  the  top  they  paused 
and  looked  back  along  the  street  to 
see  if  the  soldiers  were  following. 

Gait  lay  asleep. 

The  streets  were  deserted.  It  was 
now  close  to  midnight.  Only  upon  the 
balconies  did  some  of  the  toilers  yet 
linger,  lured  by  the  warmth  and  beauty 
of  the  night.  They  sang  and  laughed, 
and  at  times  the  click!  click!  of  sabots 
was  heard  as  young  girls  danced  to  the 
crooning  guitar-strumming. 

Gait  lies  at  the  most  northern  point 
of  Carlmania,  where  it  drops  like  a 
mailed  fist  into  the  Baltic.  Along  the 
seacoast  rise  pleasant  green  hills.  The 
river  Ule  here  empties  into  the  sea  af- 
ter meandering  like  an  iridescent  rib- 
bon across  level  plains  flush  with  rich 
harvests.  Sun  drenched  fields  are  di- 
vided by  the  yellow  river.  South  of 
the  valleys,  in  the  lovely  province  of 
Guor,  the  Emperor  of  Carlmania 
broods  in  his  palace  at  Nagi-Aaros. 
The  peasants  know  of  their  Emperor 
only  as  they  know  of  the  by-gone  Ca- 
liphs of  Bagdad.  He  is  more  a  myth 
than  a  personality,  yet  the  peasants 
pay  him  excessive  military  tributes; 
and  while  the  toilers  sweat  and  starve, 
Carlmania  rocks  under  the  tread  of  a 
million  troops.  The  rumble  of  artil- 
lery carriages,  the  thunder  of  cavalry, 
and  the  tramp  of  infantry  shake  the 
nation.  Since  the  rebellion  of  1813 
the  Emperors  have  reposed  national 
existence  in  the  sword.  In  that  year 
Carlmania  rose  from  the  bloody,  war- 
torn  fields  of  Europe,  a  vital  new 
Power,  crushing  forever  the  shackles 


that  bound  her,  uniting  the  savage  au- 
tocracy of  the  Russians  with  the  indus- 
try of  the  Austrians,  and  the  loyalty 
and  love  of  liberty  of  the  Poles.  In- 
heriting the  dominant  war-like  quali- 
ties of  these  peoples,  Carlmania  pro- 
mulgated militarism  as  a  challenge  to 
the  surrounding  Powers.  Yet  rich,  yel- 
lowing fields  of  corn,  and  wheat  and 
rye  are  Providence's  defiance  to  the 
Emperor.  Through  these  fields  wan- 
ders the  Ule;  and  where  it  pays  trib- 
ute to  the  Baltic  are  the  mammoth 
cradles  of  the  shipyards. 

Huge  colliers,  ocean  liners  and  giant 
men-of-war  are  built  here.  The  ship- 
builders live  near  the  yards,  beyond 
the  stone  buildings  of  the  gun  factory, 
with  their  black  iron  towers  and  lofty 
stacks.  Where  the  toilers  dwell,  the 
streets  are  narrow  and  crooked,  with 
old  stone  gates  and  crumbling  white 
stairways.  No  kind  hand  nor  sympa- 
thetic heart  designed  those  ancient 
ways.  While  the  more  fortunate  cit- 
ies of  Carlmania  enjoy  wide  boule- 
vards and  a  system  of  avenues  radi- 
ating from  white  municipal  buildings, 
the  streets  of  Gait  have  remained 
where  the  feet  of  the  workers  centur- 
ies ago  first  outlined  paths  across  the 
emerald  fields  leading  from  their  mud 
houses  to  the  altars  of  labor. 

Today  the  same  houses  stand,  per- 
ishing with  the  years,  their  red  roots 
baking  under  the  summer  sun.  Once 
a  year  they  glisten  with  new  white- 
wash after  the  winter  rains  have 
passed. 

While  the  product  of  Gait  is  the 
most  modern  in  the  world — super- 
dreadnaughts  and  the  terrific  Truska 
guns — the  ancient  town  has  not  kept 
pace  with  civilization.  Where  the 
great  Marconi  station  crackles  with 
life  upon  the  heights,  there  are  no 
telephones;  where  electric  derricks 
pause  in  mid-air  with  delicate  preci- 
sion, there  are  no  tram  lines;  where 
electric  blast-furnaces  mould  gigantic 
plates  of  steel,  the  toilers  eat  rye 
bread  by  candle  light. 

For  the  most  part  the  wives  of  the 
toilers  are  stolid,  knowing  only  that 
labor  is  implacably  required  of  their 


14 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


men — labor  from  which  death  alone 
will  give  them  rest.  Jan  Rantzau  is 
one  of  these  men.  His  father  had 
been  a  builder  before  him,  in  the  days 
of  the  first  armored  ships — of  the  "La 
Gloire"  in  France  and  the  "Warrior" 
in  England.  His  hands  had  helped  in 
the  making  of  the  "Gogstad" — terrific 
enough  in  that  dim  past.  When  Jan 
was  a  little  lad,  his  father  used  to 
carry  him  down  into  the  shipyard  of  a 
Sunday  and  show  him  the  great  mis- 
tresses of  the  seas.  Like  far-off,  happy 
days,  whose  remembrance  becomes 
sweeter  as  the  years  go  by,  Jan  re- 
members them — and  his  father.  Of 
bis  mother  he  knows  little,  except  that 
his  father  always  carried  a  string  of 
red  beads  near  his  heart,  and  on  Sun- 
days used  to  show  them  to  Jan,  and 
bid  him  kiss  them  in  memory  of  she 
who  had  borne  him.  When  the  sol- 
diers burned  their  house  after  his 
father  died  with  smallpox,  the  beads 
were  consumed  with  the  few  other 
trinkets  that  this  world's  toil  had 
yielded. 

When  the  years  passed  and  Jan  took 
his  father's  place  in  the  shipyard,  iron 
ships  had  given  way  to  steel.  The  vil- 
lage priest,  who  had  cared  for  Jan 
until  he  was  able  to  earn  his  daily 
bread,  had  talked  to  him  one  day  of 
the  change  in  ships. 

"Little  Jan,"  he  had  said,  as  the  two 
looked  down  upon  the  docks  from  the 
priest's  balcony,  "iron  ships  have 
taken  the  place  of  wood,  just  as  your 
father  took  the  place  of  your  grand- 
father in  the  works.  Now  steel  ships 
have  taken  the  place  of  iron,  and  you 
must  take  your  father's  place  in  the 
shipyard.    It  is  your  life,  Jan." 

And  so  it  became  Jan's  life — the 
only  life  he  knew.  Sometimes  there 
was  a  hungering  in  his  heart  to  be 
something  more  than  the  toiler  that 
his  giant  strength  had  fitted  him  to  be, 
but  his  destiny  seemed  beyond  him  to 
alter. 

This  adventurous  night,  with  Jagi- 
ello  beside  him,  he  remembered  the 
love  that  his  father  had  borne  for  his 
mother,  and  his  deep  respect  for  all 
women.    This  instinct  Jan  had  inher- 


ited, the  protective  instinct  of  men 
which  caused  him  to  look  back  through 
the  street  time  and  again  for  signs  of 
pursuers.  He  well  knew  the  unremit- 
ting vigilance  of  the  military  police. 

As  he  and  Jagiello  crossed  the  court 
leading  to  Ujedski's  house,  sounds  of 
jangling  steel  came  to  them,  and  pres- 
ently voices. 

Two  fusiliers  with  lighted  lanterns 
pressed  into  the  court.  Their  sabres 
clashed;  their  voices  arose  in  tense 
ejaculations.  In  the  flickering  glow  of 
the  lanterns  their  red  tunics,  white 
bieeches  and  black  hussar  boots  were 
defined  sharply. 

Swiftly  Jan  helped  Jagiello  through 
a  gate  where  they  could  conceal  them- 
selves in  the  shadows  of  the  masonry. 

The  fusiliers  drew  nearer,  their  lan- 
terns bobbing.  They  were  searching 
the  street  and  the  dark  places. 

"Captain  Pasek  saw  him  come  this 
way  with  the  girl,"  said  one. 

"He's  not  at  his  house,"  returned 
the  other. 

"Nor  at  the  girl's  house." 

"The  fellow  must  be  one  of  the 
Reds,  to  let  Skarga  out  the  way  he 
did  ..." 

"Like  as  not  .  .  one  of  the  Reds  .  " 

Suddenly  a  captain  joined  them. 
"Have  you  looked  in  at  Ujedski's 
house?"  he  asked. 

"They  are  not  there,"  replied  the 
first  fusilier. 

"Search  along  those  walls,"  com- 
manded the  captain.  "I'll  have  another 
look  in  at  the  girl's  house.  I  know 
her:  Jagiello,  who  lives  with  the  old 
Jewess." 

They  crossed  the  court;  the  ring  of 
their  sabres  became  fainter  and 
fainter. 

Jagiello  touched  Jan's  arm.  "That 
was  Captain  Pasek,"  she  whispered. 

"You  know  Captain  Pasek?" 

"Yes." 

"He  said  he  would  have  another 
look  in  at  your  house.  He  said  he 
knew  you."    Jan  was  puzzled. 

"I  have  seen  the  captain  go  through 
the  street  v/ith  the  military  police,"  an- 
swered Jagiello.  "One  day  he  smiled 
at  me.    That  is  why  he  says  he  knows 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


15 


me."  She  spoke  quickly,  with  an  effort 
to  end  the  discussion  of  her  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Captain  of  the  Fusiliers, 
a  man  supreme  in  the  law  of  the  town. 
"I  must  hurry  to  Ujedski,"  she  con- 
cluded. 

"You  will  never  let  Pasek  know  ?" 

"Never,  Jan!" 

They  crept  out  of  the  shadow  and 
furtively  crossed  the  cobbled  court- 
yard. 

Ujedski's  house  was  of  mud, 
thatched  and  occupied  an  obscure  knoll 
in  the  lowliest  part  of  Gait.  In  the 
rear  some  geese,  disturbed  by  the 
voices,  quacked  restlessly  in  their 
yard. 

Jagiello  tiptoed  around  to  the  side 
of  the  hut  and  opened  the  small  win- 
dow. She  listened.  She  heard  voices 
within,  low-pitched  in  tone.  In  a 
twinkling  she  stripped  the  blue  domino 
from  her  slim  body,  wrapped  within  it 
her  anklets  and  cheap  finery,  and  roll- 
ing it  into  a  tight  ball,  dropped  it 
through  the  window  into  her  room. 

"Good-night,  Jan!"  she  whispered 
quickly,  facing  the  big  man,  his  fine 
head  outlined  against  the  whitewashed 
wall. 

Jan  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

She  was  beautiful  there  in  the  moon- 
light— her  hair  a  cascade  of  gold,  her 
eyes  like  pools  at  dusk. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  a  blind- 
ing impulse  to  possess  took  hold  of 
Jan;  he  gathered  little  Jagiello  passion- 
ately into  his  great  arms,  and  kissed 
her  once,  full  upon  the  lips. 

Then,  abashed  at  what  he  had  done, 
he  stood  trembling.  Jagiello  started 
back,  thrilled. 

The  next  moment,  like  a  leaf  in  an 
April  wind,  she  vanished  around  the 
side  of  the  house. 

Jan,  furious  at  his  folly,  strode  off 
under  the  larches. 

Jagiello  opened  the  door  of  Ujed- 
ski's hut  and  entered. 

The  room  was  low  and  dark,  except 
for  the  yellow  flicker  of  a  candle  set  in 
a  sconce.  In  its  glow  she  saw  Ujed- 
ski, sitting  humped  up  and  ghastly,  at 
the  table.  At  the  other  side  of  the 
table  she  saw  the  man  that  she  now 


hated  of  all  men  in  the  world — the  man 
who  had  the  strongest  claim  upon  her : 
Pasek,  Captain  of  the  Fusiliers. 
He  smiled  as  she  came  in. 

Chapter  III. 

"Jagiello,  good-for-nothing!"  cried 
Ujedski,  "it  is  midnight,  and  I  have 
waited  since  sundown  for  my  lentils 
and  honey!    Where  have  you  been?" 

Her  voice  rose  in  a  rasping,  impa- 
tient cry. 

Pasek  closely  watched  Jagiello's 
face. 

When  the  girl  did  not  answer,  the 
Jev/ess  got  up  and  went  over  to  her. 
She  took  down  the  guttering  candle 
from  the  sconce  and  held  it  up  so  that 
its  flicker  lit  up  Jagiello's  face. 

"Did  you  stop  at  the  pavilion  to 
dance  with  those  worthless  night 
hawks?" 

Still  Jagiello  was  silent. 

Pasek  shifted  on  his  stool.  His  sa- 
bre rattled.  The  look  on  his  face  was 
one  of  eager  curiosity,  tinged  with  de- 
sire. 

"You  did  dance  with  those  night 
hawks!"  cried  Ujedska.  "And  I  wait- 
ing for  my  lentils  and  honey,  and  the 
Captain  in  a  dozen  times  to  ask  you 
to  marry  him!" 

"To  marry  him?" 

The  words  came  in  a  faint  whisper 
of  surprise  from  Jagiello's  lips.  Her 
brain  quickly  sought  to  understand  his 
motive. 

"Tell  her,  Captain  Pasek!" 

Pasek  rose  from  the  stool.  He  stood 
with  feet  apart,  adjusting  the  heavy 
leather  gloves  in  his  hands,  tightening 
his  sabre  belt. 

In  the  dim  glare  of  the  candle  he 
seemed  a  tremendous  fellow.  His 
bristling  red  mustachios  and  pointed 
beard  gave  to  his  face  a  resemblance 
akin  to  the  Evil  One. 

"Yes,  Jagiello,"  he  repeated  after 
Ujedski,  "I  have  come  to  marry  you." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  you!" 
snapped  Jagiello.  The  blood  mounted 
to  her  face,  her  cheeks  burned  crimson, 

Pasek  burst  into  a  cynical  laugh. 

"Always  the  little  spitfire!"  he  ex- 


16 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


claimed,  feigning  amusement.  "Still 
denying  your  heart!" 

"Captain  Pasek,  if  you  have  waited 
to  say  that  you  want  to  marry  me,  I 
am  sorry!  I  will  only  marry  the  man 
I  love.    I  bid  you  good-night!" 

Jagiello  spoke  with  a  new-found 
courage  born  of  the  memory  of  a  kiss 
fresh  upon  her  lips.  She  crossed  the 
rcom  to  a  door  on  the  right,  which 
opened  into  a  smaller  room,  her  own. 
She  attempted  to  open  the  door;  Pa- 
sek caught  her  by  the  wrist;  spinning 
her  around,  he  brought  her  face  to 
face  with  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

She  stood  silent,  the  fire  in  her  eyes 
matching  his.  Ujedski  stirred  un- 
easily. She  was  frightened  at  the 
glint  in  Jagiello's  eyes. 

"Captain,"  said  Jagiello,  "long  ago 
you  won  my  contempt!  If  you  would 
not  win  my  hate  forever,  you  will  let 
me  go  into  my  room — alone!" 

A  stunning  silence  held  the  close 
room. 

Ujedski  set  the  candle  on  the  table. 
Its  fantastic  light  danced  in  yellow 
waves  on  the  severe  whitewashed 
walls.  The  squalor  of  the  hovel  was 
hidden  in  the  shadows.  In  the  left 
hand  corner  farthest  from  the  door  was 
a  flat  stone  stove  with  dying  embers, 
and  on  the  stove  was  Ujedski's  pot 
of  kaszia. 

The  room  that  opened  off  was  Jagi- 
ello's. In  her  pathetic  little  way  she 
had  attempted  to  beautify  this  temple 
of  her  tragedy.  The  white  walls  were 
ornamented  with  pictures  clipped  from 
a  Nagi-Aaros  newspaper:  a  vision  of 
the  Battle  of  Grunwald,  a  shepherd 
leading  his  sheep  through  a  pass  at 
sunset,  and  the  face  of  a  woman,  a 
saint.  In  the  corner  reposed  a  box 
fashioned  into  a  washstand,  with  its 
clean  towel  and  white  pitcher.  Over 
the  bed  was  a  festoon  of  flimsy  red 
paper  balls,  strung  on  a  bit  of  ribbon. 
They  had  occupied  many  an  evening 
in  the  making,  and  now  with  their  gar- 
ish color  they  contrasted  vividly  with 
the  walls.  The  bed  itself  was  sweet 
and  clean — a  pallet  of  straw  with  a 
white  cover  on  which  Jagiello  had  em- 


broidered a  yellow  rose.  In  the  win- 
dow were  pots  of  trailing  green  plants. 
Outside  the  window  Jagiello  had  made 
a  little  garden  to  ornament  the  house. 
Honeysuckle  vines  climbed  above  the 
window,  and  each  spring  bees  and 
humming  birds  stole  the  tribute  of  the 
flowers.  Here,  too,  were  giant  mulle- 
ins, and  white  daturas,  and  bright  blue 
chicory  which  grew  near  the  gun  fac- 
tory, and  which  Jagiello  had  trans- 
planted. 

Captain  Pasek  had  thrice  been  a 
visitor  to  the  little  room.  As  he 
gripped  Jagiello's  wrist,  the  savagery 
in  his  caitiff  heart  sprang  to  the  sur- 
face. 

"Jagiello,  it  is  a  pleasant  evening, 
and  I  think  I  shall  spend  it  in  this 
house!" 

Blind  with  sudden  anger,  the  girl 
sprang  back,  jerked  her  arm  free,  and 
put  the  table  between  herself  and  Pa- 
sek.   Her  movement  left  him  dazed. 

"Well,  little  Jagiello  has  the  fire  of 
a  panther  to-night!"  His  voice  bel- 
lowed through  the  narrow  room.  "Per- 
haps she  is  in  love  with  another!" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!" 

"No?  Ha,  ha!  I  am  not  so  sure. 
Who  brought  you  home  to-night?" 

Jagiello  stared  in  terror.  Her  face 
became  bloodless.  She  laughed  to  veil 
her  nervousness. 

"I  was  just  telling  Madame  Ujedski 
of  your  adventures  to-night,  little 
lady." 

Ujedski,  who  had  been  silent  and 
amazed  at  the  swift  change  in  Jagiello, 
now  spoke. 

"Yes,  Jagiello,  sit  down  and  listen 
to  the  Captain.  He  was  telling  me  a 
marvelous  story  when  you  interrupted. 
Now,  Captain!" 

Pasek  sat  astride  a  chair,  and,  strok- 
ing his  fine  mustachios,  with  unctuous 
grace  he  continued  his  tale,  covertly 
watching  Jagiello  the  while: 

"The  lamps  in  the  pavilion  were  not 
lit.  When  we  burst  in  with  our  lanterns 
cnly  the  moonlight  shone  on  the  dan- 
cers. We  placed  all  under  arrest  until 
we  could  find  this  Skarga,  this  revo- 
lutionist, whom  the  Government  would 
like  to  get  its  hands  on. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


17 


"Suddenly  the  grille  at  the  back  of 
the  hall  was  burst  open,  and  three  fig- 
ures dashed  out  upon  the  balcony.  One 
was  Skarga  (though  we  never  found 
him),  one  was  my  little  spitfire  in  a 
blue  domino,  and  the  other  was " 

"Stop!"  Jagiello's  face  was  white 
with  passion.  "If  you  have  come  here 
to  waste  good  sleeping  hours  with  such 
nonsense,  you  had  better  go!" 

"Who  was  the  other?"  rasped  Ujed- 
ski,  her  mouth  agape. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  ask  Jagi- 
ello  that." 

"So  you  were  dancing  with  the  night 
hawks!"  taunted  Ujedski.  She  rose 
from  her  stool,  came  over  to  Jagiello, 
and  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes.  In  the 
pale  gold  flicker  of  light  the  beldam's 
face  was  weird  with  its  yellow  skin 
and  deep-set,  penetrating  eyes.  "And 
who  was  this  night  hawk  that  broke 
through  the  grille?" 

"Oh,  Ujedski,  leave  me  alone!" 

The  Captain  smiled. 

"We  have  full  information  about 
the  night  hawk  that  broke  the  grille," 
said  he,  significantly.  "I  fired  my 
rifle  at  him  as  he  climbed  the  wall 
along  the  river's  edge.  After  to-night 
we  will  watch  his  every  move.  He 
probably  is  a  friend  of  Skarga — a  Red. 
Sooner  or  later  he  will  betray  himself. 
Ah,  then,  little  lady,  you  will  be  sorry 
you  joined  him  in  his  wild  adventure 
to-night.  The  Government  will  send 
him  away."  He  concluded  with  a  ges- 
ture that  indicated  a  mysterious,  dead- 
ly beyond. 

He  went  up  to  her  as  she  stood  near 
the  door  of  her  room,  fear  and  horror 
written  on  her  face.  He  gazed  at  her 
a  moment;  she  remained  breathless; 
he  reached  for  her  hand,  blazing  pas- 
sion. 

Jagiello  shrank  against  the  door, 
wide-eyed,  breathing  rapidly.  She 
sprang  away,  darting  around  the  table 
until  it  was  again  between  her  and  Pa- 
sek,  and  stood  there,  her  firm  young 
bi  easts  heaving,  her  hand  clutching 
her  bodice  above  her  heart. 

On  the  table  were  a  knife,  a  fork,  a 
few  plates,  and  a  dish  of  cold  kaszia 
from  Ujedski's     supper.     The     swift 


movement  of  Jagiello  sent  the  dishes 
flying  to  the  floor  where  they  crashed 
into  bits  under  the  table. 

"Do  not  come  nearer!"  cried  Jagi- 
ello. 

Pasek  leered  at  her.  "Is  that  re- 
served for  Jan  Rantzau?" 

"Jan  Rantzau!"  exclaimed  Ujedski. 

"The  night  hawk,"  smiled  Pasek. 

"So  you  know!"  gasped  Jagiello. 
Her  voice  was  hard,  her  face  set  and 
tragic.  "Then  from  to-night  on  I  have 
seen  the  last  of  you." 

With  an  oath,  Pasek  sprang  around 
the  table  toward  her.  Jagiello's  hand 
dropped  swiftly  to  the  table  and 
closed  upon  the  knife.  Pasek  saw  her 
uplift  it,  saw  its  gleam;  but  blind  with 
fury  and  confident  of  his  strength,  he 
crushed  the  girl  to  him. 

The  knife  drove  into  his  shoulder  in 
an  eye-twinkling.  With  a  groan  he  re- 
laxed his  hold  and  staggered  slowly 
back  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  huddled 
up  and  quivering. 

With  a  terrified  cry  Jagiello  dropped 
the  knife  and  stood  staring  down  at  the 
figure  on  the  floor.  She  was  struck 
with  frenzied  terror.  It  had  all  hap- 
pened so  swiftly,  and  she  had  not 
meant  to  kill  him ! 

Ujedski,  with  a  grunt,  reached  down 
and  turned  Pasek's  face  to  the  dim 
light.  His  lips  were  moving.  He  was 
struggling  to  rise,  Ujedski  helped  him 
to  a  stool. 

"Quick,  Jagiello,  water!"  she  cried, 
sinking  to  the  floor  to  support  him. 

Jagiello  ran  from  the  hut,  out  into 
the  yard  to  the  well.  When  she  re- 
turned a  moment  later  with  a  crock 
of  water  the  Captain  had  fallen  again 
and  lay  quite  still. 

Chapter  IV. 

Jagiello  stood  immovable  in  the 
doorway;  her  lips  parted;  the  anguish 
of  her  heart  was  mirrored  upon  her 
ashen  face. 

Ujedski  was  the  first  to  move. 

"Shut  the  door!"  she  cried,  her  voice 
husky  with  fear. 

Jagiello  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Ujedski  tottered  to  her  feet,  crossed 


18 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


to  the  table  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  Jagiello  in  a 
broken  whisper,  afraid  of  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice. 

Outside,  the  sound  of  footsteps 
echoed  across  the  cobbles  of  the  court. 

With  her  hand  Ujedski  snuffed  out 
the  candle.  The  room  was  plunged 
into  darkness,  except  for  the  eerie 
moon  glow  that  slanted  across  the 
earthen  floor  and  fell  full  upon  the  face 
of  Pasek  like  a  death  mask. 

The  sounds  of  men  approaching 
grew  louder.  Jagiello  went  furtively 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  As  she 
drew  aside  the  curtain  her  hand  trem- 
bled violently.  Outside,  the  night 
watch  was  changing  shifts.  The  red- 
coated  fusiliers  exchanged  greetings 
and  passed  from  view  below  the  stone 
steps  that  led  into  the  street.  Not  un- 
til the  watch  had  vanished  did  she 
bieathe  freely  again. 

She  heard  a  noise  upon  the  floor, 
and  turning,  she  saw  the  hand  of  Pa- 
sek move  toward  his  face. 

"Ah!"  cried  Jagiello,  "he  lives!  Oh, 
Captain!  Oh,  Captain  Pasek,  forgive 
me!" 

With  a  glad  cry  she  reached  his 
side.  His  shoulder  was  bleeding  pro- 
fusely, and  a  stream  of  blood  trickled 
across  the  floor. 

"Quick,  Ujedski,  help  me  lift  him 
to  the  pallet!" 

The  Jewess  got  up  from  her  stool 
and  came  over,  taking  hold  of  Pasek's 
boots.  Jagiello  lifted  his  shoulders, 
and  with  a  tremendous  effort  the  two 
women  carried  Pasek  to  the  straw  pal- 
let. Propping  his  head  up  in  her  lap, 
Jagiello  helped  him  to  a  drink. 

The  cold,  clear  water  had  its  effect. 
Consciousness  returned.  Jagiello 
bound  his  wounded  shoulder  with  soft 
linen  rags.  In  twenty  minutes  he  had 
so  far  recovered  that  he  rose  to  his 
knees;  then  with  a  great  effort  he 
staggered  to  the  stool  and  sat  down, 
clutching  his  shoulder. 

Jagiello  kneeled  on  the  floor  be- 
side him. 

"Oh,  Captain  Pasek,"  she  said  joy- 
fully, "you  are  alive!  Speak  to  me! 
Don't  sit  there  looking  at  me  that  way 


with  your  eyes !  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt 
you!  Believe  me,  O  Captain,  I 
didn't!" 

"You  were  a  bit  careless  with  the 
knife,"  returned  Pasek,  smiling  bit- 
terly. Then  he  added  quietly,  with 
dire  meaning:  "You  will  pay  for  your 
carelessness,  little  lady!" 

"O  Captain!"  Jagiello's  throat  be- 
came dry;  her  tongue  clung  to  the 
parched  roof  of  her  mouth. 

The  Jewess  stepped  between  Pasek 
and  the  girl. 

"You  are  not  hurt  badly,  Captain? 
Oh,  I  hope  you  are  not  injured  in  my 
house!  I  should  never  get  over  it — 
never!"  She  wheeled  upon  Jagiello 
with  swift,  malignant  fury.  "Get  out, 
you  Nobody!"  she  hissed  "Your  fool 
hands  have  got  me  into  trouble  enough 
this  night!" 

She  viciously  thrust  Jagiello  aside. 

Pasek  staggered  to  his  feet.  Strength 
was  slowly  returning.  "Speak  not  a 
word  of  what  has  happened  here  to- 
night!" he  said,  commandingly. 

"Not  a  word  from  my  lips!"  swore 
Ujedski. 

The  Captain  turned  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  went  slowly  out  into 
the  night.  For  a  few  steps  he  walked 
unsteadily,  then,  gathering  strength  in 
the  sharp  air,  he  went  with  a  bold 
swagger  across  the  courtyard  and 
through  the  gate  that  led  down  into  the 
street. 

Ujedski  closed  the  door  with  a  bang. 
All  the  pent-up  fury  of  her  soul  es- 
caped in  one  shrill  outburst. 

"Jagiello!  Fool!  Fool!  Fool!  You'll 
kill  the  Captain  of  the  Fusiliers,  eh? 
God  curse  you,  littl  idiot!  Oh,  you 
will  pay  for  this  to  the  Captain!  He 
will  take  a  terrible  revenge  on  you!" 
She  came  close  to  Jagiello,  her  breath 
hissing  in  the  girl's  face,  her  parched, 
yellow  skin  like  some  dried  death's 
head,  her  eyes  gleaming  like  points  of 
flame. 

"He  lives!  He  lives!"  cried  Jagi- 
ello. 

"It  is  not  your  fault  that  he  lives!" 
The  beldam  seized  her  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  forced  her  back  upon  the 
stool.     "Good-for-nothing!  Little  liar! 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


19 


You  danced  with  Jan  Rantzau,  eh?" 
She  gave  vent  to  a  long  outburst  of 
shrill  derision  as  she  relit  the  tallow 
candle. 

Jagiello,  greatly  relieved  at  the  re- 
covery of  Pasek,  at  first  was  oblivious 
to  Ujedski's  abuse.  Now  her  words 
stunk,  each  like  a  barbed  shaft. 

"What  if  I  did  dance  with  Jan?" 

The  laughter  of  the  Jewess  filled  the 
room,  crackling  and  uncanny.  Her 
thin,  bony  fingers  replaced  the  candle 
in  its  sconce. 

"You  are  not  good  enough  to  dance 
with  Jan  Rantzau!" 

"I  am  better  than  you,"  retorted  the 
girl,  resentfully.  "You  are  a  Nobody, 
Ujedski;  you  have  no  people.  My 
father  was  a  soldier.  He  wore  a  red- 
and-white  plume  in  his  helmet,  and  he 
was  a  grand  seigneur!" 

"Grand  seigneur!  Oh,  ha!  ha!" 
shrieked  Ujedski;  the  hut  resounded 
with  her  merriment.  "Your  father  a 
grand  seigneur!" 

"You  know  he  was,"  snapped  Jagi- 
ello; "you  told  me  so  yourself,  when  I 
was  a  little  girl."  She  drew  herself  up 
proudly,  pretty  hands  on  hips,  bursting 
with  audacity.  "My  father  was  a 
grand  seigneur,"  she  repeated  imperi- 
ously, "a  grenadier  of  the  rebellion, 
and  the  plume  in  his  helmet  was  red 
and  white,  and  his  sword  had  a  sheath 
of  silver!" 

Ujedski  regarded  with  laughing  con- 
tempt the  girl  who  thus  defied  her.  The 
beldam's  cheeks  were  bloodless  in  the 
yellow  glow.  Her  bony  hand  clutched 
Jagiello  by  the  hair. 

"Jagiello,  that  was  a  lie !"  she  cried. 

"No,  no!"  gasped  Jagiello;  "you  told 
me  that  years  ago,  Ujedski!" 

"I  lied  to  you!"  declared  the  old  wo- 
man. Something  in  her  tone  fright- 
ened Jagiello. 

"Ujedski — you  didn't  tell  me  the 
truth — about  my  father  ?" 

"I  lied  to  you,  Jagiello,"  answered 
the  Jewess  between  her  teeth,  with 
studied  cruelty. 

For  an  instant  all  the  spirit  went  out 
of  the  girl.  "Then  I  am  a  Nobody — 
like  you!"  she  faltered. 

"Yes,  a  Nobody!    A  Nobody!    The 


grand  seigneur  with  the  plume  died  a 
year  before  you  were  born,  Jagiello. 
Your  mother  loved  him — but  he  went 
to  the  wars  and  was  killed.  Your 
father " 

"My  father ?"  breathlessly.  She 

was  on  her  knees  now,  great  tears  well- 
ing in  her  eyes,  her  voice  tremulous. 

"My  dear  father ?"  she  repeated, 

and  her  voice  was  full  of  the  love  she 
reserved  for  his  memory. 

"He  was  left!  He  escaped  the  re- 
cruiting sergeant  ...  He  was  an 
hostler!" 

"Ujedski!  .  .  Now  you  are  lying!" 

"Madame  Ballandyna  in  the  next 
street  knows  that,  too.  Go  and  ask 
her." 

"Oh,  Ujedski!" 

Jagiello  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  tears  rained  down  her  burn- 
ing cheeks.  Her  cry  trailed  to  sad- 
dened whisper.  The  sweetest  memory 
of  her  girlhood  had  been  shattered  by 
half  a  dozen  words.  Her  frail  body 
shook  with  convulsive  sobs.  Her 
father!  How  she  had  loved  his  mem- 
ory, and  how  for  years  she  had  borne 
herself  proudly  as  the  daughter  of  a 
hero,  a  soldier  of  the  wars ! 

After  a  pause,  the  Jewess  concluded : 
"So  you  are  no  good !  That  is  why  you 
are  a  good  friend  with  the  Captain, 
and  take  his  money  and  buy  yourself 
silks,  and  gewgaws,  and  anklets,  and 
things.  The  war  cheated  you  of  a  no- 
ble father!  Now  you  can  take  your 
things  and  get  out  of  my  house!" 

Jagiello  stared  straight  ahead. 
"Ujedski,"  she  breathed,  "you — you 
won't — send  me  away?" 

"I  have  said  so!" 

"But  I  have  no  place  to  go!" 

"You  have  the  Captain — and  the  sol- 
diers!" 

An  instant  Jagiello  stared,  speech- 
less; then,  flinging  open  the  door  of 
her  room,  she  burst  in.  With  nimble 
fingers  she  began  packing  her  bag  of 
gewgaws. 

Frail,  pretty  little  thing,  sitting  there 
on  the  edge  of  her  pallet,  fondling  her 
earrings  and  cheap  brooches,  little 
knowing  that  the  weaknesses  within 
her  were  born  of  a  war  before  her 


20 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


birth,  and  that  her  father  was  the  cra- 
ven who  had  evaded  the  recruiting  ser- 
geant and  remained  behind! 

She  gathered  her  blue  domino  and 
her  bag  of  precious  possessions  under 
her  arm.  Across  her  shoulders  she 
drew  an  azure  shawl.  When  she 
stepped  out  into  the  other  room,  Ujed- 
ski  was  waiting  for  her. 

"Good-by,  Ujedski,  and  may  the 
saints   curse  you     for     sending     me 


away 


She  threw  open  the  outer  door. 

"Where  are  you  going  ?"  laughed  the 
Jewess,  her  oiled  gray  locks  trembling. 

"To  Jan!" 

Jagiello  swept  out,  closing  the  door 
with  a  crash  that  snuffed  out  the  can- 
dle. 

Going  to  Jan! 

The  beldam  stumbled  and  swore  in 
the  darkness,  sweating  huge  beads  of 
moisture  at  the  vision  of  little  Jagiello 
surrendering  herself  to  Jan.  Where 
should  she  get  her  rubles  now?  She 
threw  open  the  door  and  called  fran- 
tically : 

"Jagiello!  .  .  .  Come  back!" 

But  Jagiello  had  already  passed  into 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  larches. 

Chapter  V. 

It  was  long  after  midnight.  From 
the  distance  the  musical  chimes  of  St. 
Catherine's  drifted  in  with  the  night 
breezes  from  down  the  river.  Jan  had 
not  gone  to  bed. 

He  sat  at  the  upper  window  of  his 
house  staring  out  at  the  night.  Some- 
thing within  him  was  powerfully  astir, 
something  that  had  long  lain  dormant. 
The  yearning  of  his  heart  for  the  wo- 
man whom  he  had  met  that  night 
welled  up  within  him  unsatisfied. 

His  eyes  roved  to  the  river,  that 
slipped,  ghost-like,  through  the  moon- 
lit silences.  The  trees  along  its  bank 
— the  larches,  the  acacias,  the  airy  lin- 
dens— were  silvered  by  the  setting 
moon.  Death  is  not  more  silent  than 
ancient  Gait,  with  its  thousands  of 
houses  glimmering  like  white  tombs  in 
the  hours  before  the  dawn. 

As    Jan    looked    out    through    the 


crooked  street,  he  saw,  far  off,  the  fig- 
ure of  a  girl  slipping  along  in  the  shad- 
ows. Presently  she  came  nearer,  sway- 
ing gracefully,  under  her  arm  a  blue 
bag,  and  upon  her  head  a  kerchief  of 
gay  vermilion.. 

Nearer — nearer — now  she  stopped 
and  looked  up  at  him  in  the  window. 
He  saw  that  it  was  Jagiello ! 

She  halted  at  his  gate,  and  he  leaned 
out  and  called  eagerly  to  her. 
"Jagiello!    Jagiello!" 
"Oh,  Jan!    Open!" 
He  strode  down  the  darkened  stair- 
case to  his  door  and  flung  it  open.    He 
faced  her,  bewildered. 

"Jagiello?  Is  it  really  you?"  Mis- 
givings assailed  him.  "Ujedski — 
what  has  she  done?" 

"Sent  me  away,  Jan.  I  have  had  a 
terrible  adventure  since  I  left  you.  I 
almost  killed — Captain  Pasek!" 

Jan  stared  in  speechless  amazement. 
Finally  he  echoed :  "You  almost  killed 
Captain  Pasek?"  It  seemed  incred- 
ible. He  drew  her  into  the  darkened 
doorway,  and  she  sat  upon  a  stool  that 
he  brought  her. 

"When  I  got  home  there  was  the 
Captain  asking  Ujedski  where  I  was." 
"They  thought  you  had  been  to  the 
dance?" 

"I  told  them  I  went — and  danced 
with  you." 

"They  suspect  me  of  liberating 
Skarga  ?" 

To  Jan's  amazement,  Jagiello  told 
the  whole  story — of  Pasek's  advances, 
of  her  stroke  with  the  knife,  of  his 
threat  against  Jan,  of  her  leaving 
Ujedski. 

When  she  had  finished,  Jan  took  her 
slim  hand  in  his.  "It  was  I  who 
brought  all  this  upon  you,"  he  said,  re- 
gretfully. 

"No,  Jan;  it  was  you  who  helped  me 
from  the  pavilion."  She  was  grave, 
and  her  voice  quavered.  "I  am  never 
going  back  to  Ujedski.  I  am  sick  of 
living  with  her." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  live?" 
"Where  I  won't  get  shouted  at  like 
a  dog." 

"Jagiello,  why  don't  you  get  mar- 
ried?" 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


21 


The  girl  laughed  at  Jan. 

"Oh,  Jan,  I  can't.  Nobody  will  ask 
me. 

His  strong  fingers  closed  tighter  up- 
on her  hand.  "Nobody?"  Jan 
laughed.  Her  artfulness  he  mistook 
for  her  jest.  He  choked,  pressing  her 
hand  the  tighter.  "Will  you  marry  me, 
Jagiello?    I  love  you." 

"You,  Jan?" 

She  stared  up  at  him  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  At  length  she  said,  simply, 
like  a  little  child: 

"You  really  want  me  to  be  your 
wife,  Jan?" 

"Yes,  my  darling." 

The  girl's  hand  still  nestled  in  Jan's 
big  one.  Her  breath  came  in  little 
gasps.  Suddenly  he  bent  over  her  and 
kissed  her  flushed  face.  She  made  no 
resistance,  but  surrendered  herself  to 
him,  for  now  a  love  that  she  had  never 
before  known  had  awakened  within 
her.  A  great  happiness  had  dawned, 
so  wonderful  that  she  scarcely  dared 
whisper  to  herself  her  hopes  and  vis- 
ions for  the  future. 

Then  suddenly,  as  she  lay  in  his 
arms,  a  sense  of  her  past  dishonor 
swept  poignantly  over  her.  What  must 
she  say  to  Jan  of  that?  The  moment 
had  come  when  she  should  tell  him  all 
that  lay  oppressive  in  her  heart,  and 
trust  to  his  love.  Would  he  forgive 
her?  She  listened  to  the  words  of  love 
he  showered  upon  her.  His  voice 
sounded  strangely  far-off.  A  mist  ap- 
peared before  her,  and  through  it  she 
saw  all  the  vivid  events  of  that  night. 
In  fancy  she  again  wandered  through 
the  tree-arched  street,  swinging  along 
with  Marya  Ballandyna,  gay  in  their 
masquerade  costumes.  Once  again  she 
playfully  linked  her  arm  in  Jan's  and 
led  him  to  the  pavilion,  where  they 
danced  in  the  moonlight.  Graphically 
she  recalled  the  discovery  of  Felix 
Skarga  and  his  companion,  the  rush  of 
the  fusiliers,  the  escape  through  the 
grille,  the  return  to  Ujedski,  the  ad- 
venture with  Pasek.  What  a  night! 
And  it  had  given  Jan  to  her ! 

In  that  moment  she  decided  to  tell 
him.  Her  gaze  met  his  fearlessly;  her 
face  was  flushed  with  the  excitement 


of  her  momentous  resolve.  "Jan,"  she 
whispered,  tremblingly,  "Jan " 

He  bent  his  ear  to  listen  to  the  mu- 
sic of  her  voice. 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"Jan "  Her  voice  choked.    The 

night  grew  black.  Her  heart  beat 
wildly  with  a  nameless  fear. 

"Jagiella,  come  with  me  up  the  hill. 
We  will  find  the  priest  to-night." 

Jan's  arm  tightly  enfolded  her;  she 
was  his  prisoner,  to  do  with  as  he 
liked.  He  chose  to  kiss  her  again. 
Then  he  arose,  swung  her  up  to  his 
shoulder,  and  strode  forth  through  his 
gate. 

The  moment  of  her  intended  revela- 
tion had  passed.  A  new  fear  stole  into 
her  heart. 

"No,  no,  Jan!"  she  cried.  "Not  to- 
night!" 

"Yes,  to-night,  my  love!" 

He  went  with  her  up  the  street  in  the 
shadow  of  the  overhanging  larches,  the 
branches  brushing  her  cheeks  like 
silken  curtains.  Her  arms  tightened 
about  his  neck.  The  distant  croon  of 
the  winding,  willow-banked  river  sang 
its  song  in  her  ears.  Her  voice,  sweet 
as  wind  blown  laughter,  rose  above  the 
river-song. 

"Oh,  Jan,  I  love  you  ...  I  love  you 
...  I  love  you  so!  .  .  You  will  never 
let  anything  happen  to  me?  .  .  .  You 
will  always,  always  love  me  ?" 

"Always  .  .  .  always,  beloved!"  he 
said,  enchanted. 

He  held  her  close  and  firm  as  he 
mounted  the  hill  that  led  to  the  heights. 
The  perfume  of  her  breath  brushed 
her  cheek. 

"I  will  always  love  you  as  I  do  to- 
night, Jan  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  me,  my 
love?  .  .  .  Always  as  I  love  you  to- 
night ..."  Her  low  voice  ceased; 
she  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  mouth. 

They  passed  through  a  little  wood, 
under  the  checkered  shadows  of  a 
grove.  Already  the  white  houses  were 
far  below  in  the  hollows.  When  they 
emerged,  an  upland  meadow,  jeweled 
with  the  dew,  stretched  itself  white  and 
ghostly  upon  the  hills.  With  tumul- 
tuous heart  Jagiella  closed  her  eyes 
and  was  lost  in  the  unreality  that  en- 


22 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


veloped  her.  "Oh,  Jan,"  she  cried, 
silently  in  her  heart,  "understand  me, 

0  beloved,  understand  and  forgive 
me!  I  have  sinned,  my  love;  but  in 
the  years  to  come  my  life  shall  be 
yours — my  soul  and  my  body  yours — 
to  do  with  as  you  like !  .  .  .  Only  for- 
give me!  .  .  .  forgive  me!  .  .  .  for- 
give me!" 

But  Jan,  now  within  view  of  the 
stucco  house  of  the  priest,  strode  on 
with  her  through  the  clover  fields,  and 
heard  only  the  torrent  of  his  own  beat- 
ing heart,  and  the  soft,  sweet  sounds 
of  St.  Catherine's  down  the  river. 

Chapter  VI. 

The  chimes  of  the  cathedral  clock 
down  the  river  at  Morias  struck  three 
as  Jan  strode  up  to  the  gate  of  the 
priest's  house.  It  was  two-storied, 
with  a  red  roof  and  quaint  dormer  win- 
downs;  and  in  front,  overlooking  the 
town,  was  a  balcony  that  hung  above 
a  garden  of  roses.  The  house  was 
dark;  the  iron  gate  closed.  Jan  opened 
the  grille  and  went  in  to  the  door.  He 
knocked  vigorously;  he  knew  that  if 
Father  Marmarja  was  sleeping  the 
sleep  of  the  just  only  something  akin 
to  thunder  would  awaken  him. 

Jagiello  leaned  forward  and  called: 

"Oh,  Jan!" 

"Yes!" 

"Don't  knock  so  loud!" 

"Loud  ?  The  good  priest  will  never 
hear  unless  I  make  a  sound  like  a  ham- 
mer in  the  works." 

Jan  lifted  her  to  the  ground. 

"Jan,  I — I  am  afraid." 

"Afraid,  dear  Jagiello?" 

"I  don't  want  the  priest  to  come," 
she  faltered. 

"But  we  came  for  the  priest." 

"Please,  Jan,  dear,  I  am  afraid  .  .  . 

1  don't  want  to  be  married  ....  to- 
night ..." 

Jan  rapped  on  the  door  again,  fear- 
lessly, loudly. 

Even  as  he  did  so,  Jagiello  darted 
out  into  the  meadow — out  of  sight  in 
the  night,  her  fleeing  figure  lost  in  the 
mist  that  was  sweeping  in  from  the 
sea. 


Bewildered,  Jan  stared  an  instant 
after  her.  Then,  half-angrily,  he 
rushed  in  pursuit. 

The  girl  eluded  him,  slipping  into 
the  midst  of  a  clump  of  silver  birches. 

"Jagiello!"  he  called,  eagerly,  "Ja- 
giello!   Jagiello!" 

Only  the  sea-wind  answered,  flow- 
ing through  the  trees.  On  he  went, 
stumbling  into  a  hedge  of  phlox.  Sud- 
denly he  paused,  listening.  He  could 
hear  the  distant  thunder  of  the  sea  up- 
on the  rocks  below  the  fort.  He 
breathed  heavily;  his  eyes  dilated  with 
the  thrill  of  the  chase;  his  fingers 
opened  and  closed  spasmodically. 

In  the  birches  a  twig  broke.  He 
heard  it  and  started  forward.  When 
he  reached  the  trees  he  heard  a  sob.  He 
stopped  short.  Jagiello  sprang  up  and 
was  away  like  a  lark  in  the  dawn-sky. 

Jan  sped  swiftly  after  her,  reached 
her  side,  and,  catching  her  about  her 
slender  waist,  swung  her  high  upon  his 
shoulder.     She  trembled. 

"Oh,  Jan!    Jan!" 

"You'll  not  get  away  from  me  again, 
little  lark!" 

"Dear  big  man,  I'm  so  afraid — so 
afraid  ..." 

"Of  me,  Jagiello,  love?" 

"Of  you,  love!" 

Jan  retraced  his  steps  to  the  priest's 
door.  Again  he  knocked.  While  he 
waited,  he  took  the  girl's  small  hand 
reassuringly  in  his. 

They  heard  footsteps  inside,  and 
some  one  rattled  the  bolts. 

An  old  man's  voice  called  out: 

"Who  is  there?" 

"It  is  I,  Jan  Rantzau.  I  want  to  see 
the  Father." 

"Father  Mamarja  is  not  at  home." 

Jan's  face  mirrored  his  disappoint- 
ment. 

"When  will  he  return?" 

The  lay  brother's  voice  was  tremu- 
lous and  old ;  he  thrust  his  white  head 
through  the  doorway  to  have  a  better 
look  at  his  strange  visitors. 

"The  Father  is  in  the  village.  Some 
workman  is  dying;  he  is  saying  mass 
for  his  soul.  He  will  return  when  the 
man  dies." 

"Can  we  wait  on  the  balcony?" 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


23 


The  old  man  opened  the  door  wider 
and  invited  Jan  and  Jagiello  into  a 
small,  musty,  darkened  room,  full  of 
the  odor  of  ancient  leather-covered 
books.  He  lit  the  candelabra,  then 
made  his  way  up  the  staircase. 

When  the  man's  echoing  footsteps 
died  away,  Jan  blew  out  the  candles 
and  went  out  upon  the  balcony.  Jag- 
iello sat  upon  the  railing,  staring  at 
her  captor. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  go  down  and 
find  the  priest,"  she  said,  raising  her 
clear  eyes  to  his. 

"No,"  said  Jan;  "we  will  wait  here 
until  he  returns." 

So  they  waited  together  upon  the 
balcony,  until  the  gray  fingers  of  the 
dawn  reached  above  the  far  horizon, 
pointing  the  way  for  the  red  sun.  Gait 
lay  below  like  a  dream  city.  The  last 
gold-gleaming  petroleum  lamp  flick- 
ered and  went  out.  Suddenly  Jan 
caught  Jagiello  to  his  breast;  her 
warm  young  lips  clung  to  his;  and 
there  on  the  balcony,  in  the  fresh,  fra- 
grant stillness  of  the  dawn,  there  was 
no  sound  save  the  dawn-twitter  of  wak- 
ing birds.  The  girl  sang  softly  to  her 
lover  of  their  bridal  night: 

"Thy  heart  with  my  heart 
Is  locked  fast  together, 
Lost  is  the  key 
That  locked  them  forever! 
No  locksmith  in  the  world 
Can  make  another; 
My  heart  from  thy  heart 
No  one  can  sever!" 

"Dearest,"  he  breathed,  passionate- 
ly, "sing  to  me  again;  say  to  me  that 
you  will  never  leave  me!" 

She  sang  again,  like  an  amused  lit- 
tle child,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as 
he  listened: 


"Thy  heart  with  my  heart 
Is  locked  fast  together, 
Lost  is  the  key " 

Suddenly  she  stopped. 

Far  below  along  the  white  road  that 
wound  around  the  base  |of  the  hill, 
voices  were  rising — voices  and  the 
thud!  thud!  of  horses'  hoofs. 

Jan  and  Jagiello  leaned  over  the  bal- 
cony railing.  They  saw,  like  tiny 
specks,  a  score  of  horses  round 
the  hill,  straining  and  struggling 
through  the  darkness,  hauling  up  to 
the  heights  a  gun-carriage  supporting 
a  great  canon. 

"The  guns!"  exclaimed  Jagiello. 

"They  are  hauling  them  to  the  fort 
in  the  dead  of  night  so  nobody  will 
know,"  whispered  Jan. 

"Why  do  the  guns  have  to  break  in 
upon  us  this  way?"  sighed  Jagiello. 

"Skarga  says  it  means  war." 

Jagiello  trembled  in  Jan's  arms.  "Oh, 
I  hope  not!" 

The  morning  broke  through  the 
clouds  of  pearl.  Footsteps  sounded  on 
the  balcony.  Father  Mamarja,  return- 
ing after  his  night's  vigil,  found  the 
levers  eagerly  awaiting  him.  Jagiello 
smiled,  her  fear  now  vanishing.  In 
the  flood  of  the  sunrise  her  earrings 
shimmered;  her  sea-blue  eyes  were 
wide  with  happiness.  The  priest  asked 
them  to  step  into  the  musty  little  li- 
brary. 

"Marry  me  in  the  sun,"  Jagiello 
pleaded. 

So,  yielding  to  her  whim,  the  priest 
chanted  the  marriage  service  in  the 
white  sun  glare  on  the  rose  balcony. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  was  Jan's  wife. 

Then  he  watched  them  go  down  the 
bill  together. 

Much  was  to  come  of  that  night. 

(To  be  continued.) 


For    the  New    Series    of    Pastor   Russell's   Contributions    in    the 
Overland  Monthly  see  the  announcement  on  page  79  of  this  Issue. 


Jack  London 


To  the  Man  on  the  Trail — A  Klondike  Christmas 

By  Jack  London 

(As  all  the  literary  world  now  knows,  Jack  London  made  his  first  appearance  in  print  in 
the  pages  of  Overland  Monthly.  Like  all  young  and  untried  authors,  he  had  spent  laborious 
days  and  nights  in  preparing  stories  for  the  regular  story  publications  throughout  the  coun- 
try. All  of  them  were  rejected.  The  following  story  reached  the  then  editor  of  Overland 
Monthly  in  the  latter  part  of  1898,  and  was  published  in  the  issue  of  January,  1899.  This  ac- 
ceptance greatly  stimulated  the  hopes  of  the  young  author,  and  naturally  he  clung  to  its 
pages.  He  followed  up  this  acceptance  by  furnishing  eight  other  stories  during  that  year, 
all  dealing,  as  in  the  present  one,  with  his  experiences  in  Alaska.  These  tales  illustrate  the 
rapid  development  of  the  author's  mastery  of  the  story  telling  art.  With  this  encouragement, 
a  little  later,  he  felt  that  he  was  strong  enough  to  enter  the  Eastern  magazine  field.  There- 
after his  advance  was  rapid.) 


DUMP  it  in!" 
"But  I  say,  Kid,  isn't  that  go-* 
ing  it  a  little  too  strong?  Whis- 
key and  alcohol's  bad  enough; 
but  when  it  comes  to  brandy  and  pep- 
per sauce  and " 

"Dump  it  in.  Who's  making  this 
punch,  anyway?"  And  Malemute  Kid 
smiled  benignantly  through  the  clouds 
of  steam.  "By  the  time  you've  been  in 
this  country  as  long  as  I  have,  my  son, 
and  lived  on  rabbit-tracks  and  salmon- 
belly,  you'll  learn  that  Christmas 
comes  only  once  per  annum.  And  a 
Christmas  without  punch  is  sinking  a 
hole  to  bedrock  with  nary  a  pay- 
streak." 

"Stack  up  on  that  fer  a  high  cyard," 
approved  big  Jim  Belden,  who  had 
come  down  from  his  claim  on  Mazy 
May' to  spend  Christmas,  and  who,  as 
every  one  knew,  had  been  living  the 
two  months  past  on  straight  moose- 
meat.  "Hain't  fergot  the  hooch  we  uns 
made  on  the  Tanana,  hev  yeh  ?" 

"Well,  I  guess  yes.  Boys,  it  would 
have  done  your  hearts  good  to  see  that 
whole  tribe  fighting  drunk — and  all  be- 
cause of  a  glorious  ferment  of  sugar 
and  sour  dough.  That  was  before  your 
time,"  Malamute  Kid  said,  as  he  turned 
to  Stanley  Prince,  a  young  mining  ex- 
pert who  had  been  in  two  years.  "No 
white  women  in  the  country  then,  and 
Mason  wanted  to  get  married.  Ruth's 
father  was  chief  of  the  Tananas,  and 
objected,  like  the  rest  of  the  tribe. 
Stiff?  Why,  I  used  my  last  pound  of 
sugar;  finest  work  in  that  line  I  ever 
did  in  my  life.  You  should  have  seen 
the  chase,  down  the  river  and  across 
the  portage." 

"But  the  squaw?"  asked  Louis  Sa- 
voy, the  tall  French-Canadian,  becom- 


ing interested;  for  he  had  heard  of  this 
wild  deed,  when  at  Forty  Mile  the  pre- 
ceding witner. 

Then  Malemute  Kid,  who  was  a  born 
raconteur,  told  the  unvarnished  tale  of 
the  Northland  Lochinvar.  More  than 
one  rough  adventurer  of  the  North  felt 
his  heart-strings  draw  closer,  and  ex- 
perienced vague  yearnings  for  the  sun- 
nier pastures  of  the  Southland,  where 
life  promised  something  more  than  a 
barren  struggle  with  cold  and  death. 

"We  struck  the  Yukon  just  behind 
the  first  ice-run,"  he  concluded,  "and 
the  tribe  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
hind. But  that  saved  us;  for  the  sec- 
ond run  broke  the  jam  above  and  shut 
them  out.  When  they  finally  got  into 
Nuklukyeto,  the  whole  post  was  ready 
tor  them.  And  as  to  the  foregathering, 
ask  Father  Roubeau  here :  he  perform- 
ed the  ceremony." 

The  Jesuit  took  his  pipe  from  his 
lips,  but  could  only  express  his  gratifi- 
cation with  patriarchal  smiles,  while 
Protest  and  Catholic  vigorously  ap- 
plauded. 

"By  Gar!"  ejaculated  Louis  Savoy, 
who  seemed  overcome  by  the  romance 
of  it.  "La  petite  squaw;  mon  Mason 
brav.    By  Gar!" 

Then,  as  the  first  tin  cups  of  punch 
went  round,  Bettles  the  Unquenchable 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  struck  up  his 
favorite  drinking  song: 

"There's  Henry  Ward  Beecher 
And  Sunday-school  teachers, 

All  drink  of  the  sassafras  root; 
But  you  bet  all  the  same, 
If  it  had  its  right  name, 

It's  the  juice  of  the  forbidden  fruit." 

"O  the  juice  of  the  forbidden  fruit," 
3 


26 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


reared  out  the  Bacchanalian  chorus — 

"O  the  juice  of  the  forbidden  fruit; 

But  you  bet  all  the  same, 

If  it  had  its  right  name, 
It's  the  juice  of  the  forbidden  fruit." 

Malemute  Kid's  frightful  concoction 
did  its  work;  the  men  of  the  camps  and 
trails  unbent  in  its  genial  glow,  and  jest 
and  song  and  tales  of  past  adventure 
went  round  the  board.  Aliens  from  a 
dczen  lands,  they  toasted  each  other 
and  all.  It  was  the  Englishman,  Prince, 
who  pledged  "Uncle  Sam,  the  preco- 
cious infant  of  the  New  World;"  the 
Yankee,  Bettles,  who  drank  to  "The 
Queen,  God  bless  her;"  and  together 
Savoy  and  Meyers,  the  German  trader, 
clanged  their  cups  to  Alsace  and  Lor- 
raine. 

Then  Malemute  Kid  arose,  cup  in 
hand,  and  glanced  at  the  greased-paper 
window,  where  the  frost  stood  full 
three  inches  thick.  "A  health  to  the 
man  on  trail  this  night;  may  his  grub 
hold  out ;  may  his  dogs  keep  their  legs ; 
may  his  matches  never  miss  fire." 

Crack!  Crack! — they  heard  the  fa- 
miliar music  of  the  dog-whip,  the  whin- 
ing howl  of  the  Malemutes,  and  the 
crunch  of  a  sled  as  it  drew  up  to  the 
cabin.  Conversation  languished,  while 
they  waited  the  issue  expectantly. 

"An  old-timer;  cares  for  his  dogs 
and  then  himself,"  whispered  Male- 
mute Kid  to  Prince,  as  they  listened  to 
the  snapping  jaws  and  the  wolfish 
snarls  and  yelps  of  pain  which  pro- 
claimed that  the  stranger  was  beating 
back  their  dogs  while  he  fed  his  own. 

Then  came  the  expected  knock, 
sharp  and  confident,  and  the  stranger 
entered.  Dazzled  by  the  light,  he  hesi- 
tated a  moment  at  the  door,  giving  to 
all  a  chance  for  scrutiny.  He  was  a 
striking  personage,  and  a  most  pictur- 
esque one,  in  his  Arctic  dress  of  wool 
and  fur.  Standing  six  foot  two  or 
three,  with  proportionate  breadth  of 
shoulders  and  depth  of  chest,  his 
smooth  shaven  face  nipped  by  the  cold 
to  a  gleaming  pink,  his  long  lashes  and 
eyebrows  white  with  ice,  and  the  ear 


and  neck  flaps  of  his  great  wolfskin 
cap  loosely  raised,  he  seemed,  of  a 
verity,  the  Frost  King,  just  stepped  in 
out  of  the  night.  Clasped  outside  his 
Mackinaw  jacket,  a  beaded  belt  held 
two  large  Colt's  revolvers  and  a  hunt- 
ing knife,  while  he  carried,  in  addition 
to  the  inevitable  dog-whip,  a  smoke- 
less rifle  of  the  largest  bore  and  latest 
pattern.  As  he  came  forward,  for  all 
his  step  was  firm  and  elastic,  they 
could  see  that  fatigue  bore  heavily  up- 
on him. 

An  awkward  silence  had  fallen,  but 
his  hearty  "What  cheer,  my  lads?"  put 
them  quickly  at  ease,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Malemute  Kid  and  he  had 
gripped  hands.  Though  they  had 
never  met,  each  had  heard  of  the  other 
and  the  recognition  was  mutual.  A 
sweeping  introduction  and  a  mug  of 
punch  were  forced  upon  him  before 
he  could  explain  his  errand. 

"How  long  since  that  basket-sled, 
with  three  men  and  eight  dogs, 
passed?"  he  asked. 

"An  even  two  days  ahead.  Are  you 
after  them?" 

"Yes.  My  team.  Run  them  off  un- 
der my  very  nose,  the  cusses.  I've 
gained  two  days  on  them  already — 
pick  them  up  on  the  next  run." 

"Reckon  they'll  show  spunk?" 
asked  Belden,  in  order  to  keep  up  the 
conversation,  for  Malemute  Kid  al- 
ready had  the  coffee-pot  on  and  was 
busily  frying  bacon  and  moose-meat. 

The  stranger  significantly  tapped 
his  revolvers. 

"When'd  yeh  leave  Dawson?" 

"Twelve  o'clock." 

"Last  night?" — as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"To-day." 

A  murmur  of  surprise  passed  round 
the  circle.  And  well  it  might;  for  it 
was  just  midnight,  and  seventy-five 
miles  of  rough  river  trail  was  not  to  be 
sneered  at  for  a  twelve  hours'  run. 

The  talk  soon  became  impersonal, 
however,  harking  back  to  the  trials  of 
childhood.  As  the  young  stranger  ate 
of  the  rude  fare  Malemute  Kid  atten- 
tively studied  his  face.  Nor  was  he 
long  in  deciding  that  it  was  fair,  hon- 


TO  THE  MAN  ON  THE  TRAIL 


27 


est  and  open,  and  that  he  liked  it.  Still 
youthful,  the  lines  had  been  firmly 
traced  by  toil  and  hardship.  Though 
genial  in  conversation,  and  mild  when 
at  rest,  the  blue  eyes  gave  promise 
of  the  hard  steel-glitter  which  comes 
when  called  into  action,  especially 
against  odds.  The  heavy  jaw  and 
square-cut  chin  demonstrated  rugged 
pertinacity  and  indomitability  of  pur- 
pose. Nor,  though  the  attributes  of  the 
lion  were  there,  was  there  wanting  the 
certain  softness,  the  hint  of  woman- 
liness, which  bespoke  an  emotional  na- 
ture— one  which  could  feel,  and  feel 
deeply. 

"So  thet's  how  me  an'  the  ol'  woman 
got  spliced,"  said  Belden,  concluding 
the  exciting  tale  of  his  courtship. 
"  'Here  we  be,  dad,'  sez  she.  'An' 
may  yeh  be  damned,'  sez  he  to  her, 
an'  then  to  me,  'Jim,  yeh — yeh  git 
cuten  them  good  duds  o'  yourn ;  I  want 
a  right  pert  slice  o'  thet  forty  acre 
ploughed  'fore  dinner.'  An'  then  he 
turns  to  her  and  sez,  'Anv  yeh,  Sal; 
yeh  sail  inter  them  dishes.'  An'  then 
he  sort  o'  sniffeed  an'  kissed  her.  An' 
I  was  thet  happy — but  he  seen  me  an' 
rears  out,  'Yeh,  Jim!'  An'  yeh  bet  I 
dusted  fer  the  barn." 

"Any  kids  waiting  for  you  back  in 
the  States?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"Nope;  Sal  died  'fore  any  come. 
Thet's  why  I'm  here."  Belden  ab- 
stractedly began  to  light  his  pipe, 
which  had  failed  to  go  out,  and  then 
brightened  up  with,  "How  'bout  yer- 
self,  stranger — married  man." 

For  reply,  he  opened  his  watch, 
slipped  it  from  the  thong  which  served 
for  a  chain,  and  passed  it  over.  Belden 
pricked  up  the  slush-lamp,  surveyed 
the  inside  of  the  case  critically,  and 
swearing  admiringly  to  himself,  hand- 
ed it  over  to  Louis  Savoy.  With  numer- 
ous 'Bv  Gars!"  he  finally  surrendered 
it  to  Prince,  and  they  noticed  that  his 
hands  trembled  and  his  eyes  took  on 
a  peculiar  softness.  And  so  it  passed 
from  horny  hand  to  horny  hand — the 
pasted  photograph  of  a  woman,  the 
clinging  kind  that  such  men  fancy, 
with  a  babe  at  the  breast.  Those  who 
had  not  yet  seen  the  wonder  were  keen 


with  curiosity;  those  who  had,  became 
silent  and  retrospective.  They  could 
face  the  pinch  of  famine,  the  grip  of 
scurvy,  or  the  quick  death  by  field  or 
flood;  but  the  pictured  semblance  of  a 
stranger  woman  and  child  made  wo- 
men and  children  of  them  all. 

"Never  have  seen  the  youngster  yet 
— he's  a  boy,  she  says,  and  two  years 
old,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  received 
the  treasure  back.  A  lingering  mo- 
ment he  gazed  upon  it,  then  snapped 
the  case,  and  turned  away,  but  not 
quick  enough  to  hide  the  restrained 
rush  of  tears. 

Malemute  Kid  led  him  to  a  bunk  and 
bade  him  turn  in. 

"Call  me  at  four  sharp.  Don't  fail 
me,"  were  his  last  words,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  he  was  breathing  in  the 
heaviness  of  exhausted  sleep. 

"By  Jove,  he's  a  plucky  chap,"  com- 
mented Prince.  "Three  hours'  sleep 
after  seventy-five  miles  with  the  dogs, 
and  then  the  trail  again.  Who  is  he, 
Kid?" 

"Jack  Westondale.  Been  in  going 
on  three  years,  with  nothing  but  the 
name  of  working  like  a  horse,  and  any 
amount  of  bad  luck  to  his  credit.  I 
never  knew  him,  but  Sitka  Charley  told 
me  about  him." 

"It  seems  hard  that  a  man  with  a 
sweet  young  wife  like  that  should  be 
putting  in  his  years  in  this  God-for- 
saken hole,  where  every  year  counts 
two  on  the  outside." 

"The  trouble  with  him  is  clean  grit 
and  stubbornness.  He's  cleaned  up 
twice  with  a  stake,  but  lost  it  both 
times." 

Here  the  conversation  was  broken 
off  by  an  uproar  from  Bettles,  for  the 
effect  had  begun  to  wear  away.  And 
soon  the  bleak  years  of  monotonous 
grub  and  deadening  toil  were  being 
forgotten  in  rough  merriment.  Male- 
mute  Kid  alone  seemed  unable  to  lose 
himself,  and  cast  many  an  anxious  look 
at  his  watch.  Once  he  put  on  his  mit- 
tens and  beaver  skin  cap,  and  leaving 
the  cabin,  fell  to  rummaging  about  in 
the  cache. 

Nor  could  he  wait  the  hour  desig- 
nated* for  he  was  fifteen  minutes  ahead 


28 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


of  time  in  rousing  his  guest.  The 
young  giant  had  stiffened  badly,  and 
brisk  rubbing  was  necessary  to  bring 
him  to  his  feet.  He  tottered  painfully 
out  of  the  cabin,  to  find  his  dogs  har- 
nessed and  everything  ready  for  the 
start.  The  company  wished  him  good 
luck  and  a  short  chase,  while  Father 
Roubeau,  hurriedly  blessing  him,  led 
the  stampede  for  the  cabin;  and  small 
wonder,  for  it  is  not  good  to  face  sev- 
enty-four degrees  below  zero  with 
naked  ears  and  hands. 

Malemute  Kid  saw  him  to  the  main 
trail,  and  there,  gripping  his  hand 
heartily,  gave  him  advice. 

"You'll  find  a  hundred  pounds  of 
salmon-eggs  on  the  sled,"  he  said. 
"The  dogs  will  go  as  far  on  that  as 
with  one  hundred  and  fifty  of  fish,  and 
you  can't  get  dog-food  at  Pelly,  as  you 
probably  expected."  The  stranger 
started  and  his  eyes  flashed,  but  he  did 
not  interrupt.  "You  can  t  get  an  ounce 
of  food  for  dog  or  man  till  you  reach 
Five  Fingers,  and  that's  a  stiff  two 
hundred  miles.  Watch  out  for  open 
water  on  the  Thirty  Mile  River,  and 
be  sure  you  take  the  big  cut-off  above 
Le  Barge." 

"How  did  you  know  it?  Surely  the 
news  can't  be  ahead  of  me  already?" 

"I  don't  know  it;  and  what's  more,  I 
don't  want  to  know  it.  But  you  never 
owned  that  team  you're  chasing.  Sitka 
Charley  sold  it  to  them  last  spring. 
But  he  sized  you  up  to  me  as  square 
once,  and  I  believe  him.  I've  seen 
your  face;  I  like  it.  And  Tve  seen — 
why,  damn  you,  hit  the  high  places  for 
salt  water  and  that    wife    of    yours, 

and "     Here  the  Kid  unmittened 

and  jerked  out  his  sack. 

"No;  I  don't  need  it,"  and  the  tears 
froze  on  his  cheeks  as  he  convulsively 
gripped  Malemute  Kid's  hand. 

"Then  don't  spare  the  dogs;  cut 
them  out  of  the  traces  as  fast  as  they 
drop;  buy  them,  and  think  they're 
cheap  at  ten  dollars  a  pound.  You  can 
get  them  at  Five  Fingers,  Little  Sal- 
mon and  the  Hootalinqua." 

"And  watch  out  for  wet  feet,"  was 
his  parting  advice.  "Keep  a-traveling 
up  to  twenty-five,  but  if  it  gets  below 


that,  build  a  fire  and     change     your 
socks." 

Fifteen  minutes  had  barely  elapsed, 
when  the  jingle  of  bells  announced 
new  arrivals.  The  door  opened,  and  a 
mounted  policeman  of  the  Northwest 
Territory  entered,  followed  by  two 
half-breed  dog-drivers.  Like  Weston- 
daie,  they  were  heavily  armed  and 
showed  signs  of  fatigue.  The  half- 
breeds  had  been  born  to  the  trail, 
and  bore  it  easily;  but  the  young  po- 
licemen was  badly  exhausted.  Still, 
the  dogged  obstinacy  of  his  race  held 
him  to  the  pace  he  had  set,  and  would 
hold  him  till  he  dropped  in  his  tracks. 

"When  did  Westondale  pull  out?" 
he  asked.  "He  stopped  here,  didn't 
he?"  This  was  supererogatory,  for 
the  tracks  told  their  own  tale  too 
well. 

Malemute  Kid  had  caught  Belden's 
eye,  and  he,  scenting  the  wind,  replied 
evasively,  "A  right  peart  while  back." 

"Come,  my  man,  speak  up,"  he  ad- 
monished. 

"Yeh  seem  to  want  him  right  smart. 
Hez  he  ben  gittin'  cantankerous  down 
Dawson  way?" 

"Held  up  Harry  McFarland's  for 
forty  thousand ;  exchanged  it  at  the  A. 
C.  store  for  a  check  on  Seattle;  and 
who's  to  stop  the  cashing  of  it  if  we 
don't  overtake  him?  When  did  he 
pull  out?" 

Every  eye  suppressed  its  excitement 
— for  Malemute  Kid  had  given  the  cue 
and  the  young  officer  encountered 
wooden  faces  on  every  hand. 

Striding  over  to  Prince,  he  put  the 
qnestion  to  him.  Though  it  hurt  him, 
gazing  into  the  frank,  earnest  face  of 
his  fellow-countryman,  he  replied  in- 
consequentially on  the  state  of  the 
trail. 

Then  he  espied  Father  Roubeau, 
who  could  not  lie.  "A  quarter  of  an 
hour  ago,"  he  answered;  "but  he  had 
four  hours'  rest  for  himself  and  dogs." 

"Fifteen  minutes'  start,  and  he's 
fresh!  My  God!"  The  poor  fellow 
staggered  back,  half-fainting  from  ex- 
haustion and  disappointment,  murmur- 
ing something  about  the     run     from 


TO  THE  MAN  ON  THE  TRAIL 


29 


Dawson  in  ten  hours  and  the  dogs  be- 
ing played  out. 

Malemute  Kid  forced  a  mug  of 
punch  upon  him;  then  he  turned  for 
the  door,  ordering  the  dog-drivers  to 
follow.  But  the  warmth  and  promise 
of  rest  was  too  tempting,  and  they  ob- 
jected strenuously.  The  Kid  was  con- 
versant with  their  French  patois,  and 
followed  it  anxiously. 

They  swore  that  the  dogs  were  gone 
up;  that  Siwash  and  Babette  would 
have  to  be  shot  before  the  first  mile 
was  covered ;  that  the  rest  were  almost 
as  bad ;  and  that  it  would  be  better  for 
all  hands  to  rest  up. 

"Lend  me  five  dogs,"  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  Malmute  Kid. 

But  the  Kid  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  sign  a  check  on  Captain  Con- 
stantine  for  five  thousand — here's  my 
papers — I'm  authorized  to  draw  at  my 
own  discretion." 

Again  the  silent  refusal. 

"Then  I'll  requisition  them  in  the 
name  of  the  Queen." 

Smiling  incredulously,  the  Kid 
glanced  at  his  well  stocked  arsenal, 
and  the  Englishman,  realizing  his  im- 
potency,  turned  for  the  door.  But  the 
dog-drivers  still  objecting,  he  whirled 
upon  them  fiercely,  calling  them  wo- 
men and  curs.  The  swart  face  of  the 
older  half-breed  flushed  angrily,  as  he 
drew  himself  up  and  promised  in  good, 
round  terms  that  he  would  travel  his 
leader  of  his  legs,  and  would  then  be 
delighted  to  plant  him  in  the  snow. 

The  young  officer,  and  it  required 
bis  whole  will,  walked  steadily  to  the 
door,  exhibiting  a  freshness  he  did  not 
possess.  But  they  all  knew  and  ap- 
preciated his  proud  effort;  nor  could 
he  veil  the  twinges  of  agony  that  shot 
across  his  face.  Covered  with  frost, 
the  dogs  were  curled  up  in  the  snow, 
and  it  was  almost  impossible  to  get 
them  to  their  feet.  The  poor  brutes 
whined  under  the  stinging  lash,  for  the 
dog-drivers  were  angry  and  cruel;  nor 
till  Babette,  the  leader,  was  cut  from 


the  traces,  could  they  break  out  the 
sied  and  get  under  way. 

"A  dirty  scoundrel  and  a  liar!"  "By 
gar!  him  no  good!"  "A  thief!" 
'Worse  than  an  Indian!"  It  was  evi- 
dent that  they  were  angry — first,  at  the 
way  they  had  been  deceived;  and  sec- 
ond, at  the  outraged  ethics  of  the 
Northland,  where  honesty,  above  all, 
was  man's  prime  jewel.  "An'  we  gave 
the  cuss  a  hand,  after  knowin'  what 
he'd  did."  All  eyes  were  turned  ac- 
cusingly upon  Malemute  Kid,  who 
rose  from  the  corner  where  he  had 
been  making  Babette  comfortable,  and 
silently  emptied  the  bowl  for  a  final 
round  of  punch. 

"It's  a  cold  night,  boys — a  bitter, 
cold  night,"  was  the  irrelevant  com- 
mencement of  his  defense.  "You've 
all  traveled  trail,  and  know  what  that 
stands  for.  Don't  jump  a  dog  when 
he's  down.  You've  only  heard  one 
side.  A  whiter  man  than  Jack  Weston- 
dale  never  ate  from  the  same  pot  nor 
stretched  blanket  with  you  or  me.  Last 
fall  he  gave  his  whole  clean-up,  forty 
thousand,  to  Joe  Castrell,  to  buy  in  on 
Dominion.  To-day  he'd  be  a  million- 
aire. But  while  he  stayed  behind  at 
Circle  City,  taking  care  of  his  partner 
with  the  scurvy,  what  does  Castrell 
do?  Goes  into  McFarland's,  jumps 
the  limit  and  drops  the  whole  sack. 
Found  him  dead  in  the  snow  the  next 
day.  And  poor  Jack  laying  his  plans 
to  go  out  this  winter  to  his  wife  and 
the  boy  he's  never  seen.  Well,  he's 
gone  out;  and  what  are  you  going  to 
do  about  it?" 

The  Kid  glanced  around  the  circle 
of  his  judges,  noted  the  softening  of 
their  faces,  then  raised  his  mug  aloft. 
"So  a  health  to  the  man  on  the  trail 
this  night;  may  his  grub  hold  out;  may 
his  dogs  keep  their  legs;  may  his 
matches  never  miss  fire.  God  prosper 
him;  good  luck  go  with  him;  and — " 

"Confusion  to  the  Mounted  Police!" 
interpolated  Bettles,  to  the  crash  of  the 
empty  cups. 

O*  n 

UNIV.h  R 


I 


The  Terrible  Turk 


By  H.  Ahmed  Noureddin  Addis 


IN  THEIR  discussion  of  the  great 
European  war,  writers  of  current 
periodical  literature  are  prodigally 
devoting  time  and  space  to  Tur- 
key, and  the  ultimate  effect  of  the  war 
on  Turkey's  position  in  Europe,  and, 
indeed,  as  a  nation.  This  interest, 
however,  is  but  natural,  in  view  of  the 
unprecedented  conditions  which  exist, 
and  would  ocasion  no  more  than  usual 
comment,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that 
practically  all  the  writers  discuss  the 
near-Eastern  question  from  identically 
the  same  viewpoint.  And  the  original 
premise,  or  bias,  with  which  they  set 
out,  is  that  this  earth  is  no  p»lace  for 
Turks,  and  the  sooner  they  cease  to 
exist,  both  nationally  and  individually, 
the  better  for  the  other  inhabitants  of 
the  globe. 

Any  one  who  doubts  the  truth  of 
this  statement  may  easily  test  its  ve- 
racity for  himself.  Let  him  turn 
through  a  current  newspaper,  selected 
at  random,  and  in  all  probability  he 
will  see  somewhere  in  its  pages,  if 
not  couched  in  the  identical  language, 
at  any  rate  some  expression  of  senti- 
ment similar  to  the  following :  "Which 
flag  shall  float  over  the  mouldering 
ramparts  of  ancient  Byzantium?  Shall 
it  be  that  of  Russia,  of  which  country 
Constantinople  is  the  natural  inheri- 
tance, or  shall  the  Queen  City  of  the 
Bosporus  be  governed  by  a  concert  of 
the  powers — an  international  city?" 
"Who  shall  own  Constantinople?" 
"Which  cross  shall  supplant  the  cres- 
cent which  now  surmounts  the  dome 
of  St.  Sophia?" 

"The  Turk  must  go."  "Possibly  a 
good  enough  fellow  in  his  own  way, 
this  Turk,  but  he  never  belonged  in 
Europe."  "At  last,  after  five  centur- 
ies of  European  occupation,  the  final 


remnants  of  the  Islamic  hordes  are 
to  be  driven  back  across  the  Bosporus 
into  Asia,  and  European  soil  shall  once 
more  be  rid  of  the  Turk."  "The  ter- 
rible Turk" — "the  unspeakable  Turk" 
— and  so  forth,  ad  nauseam. 

Our  search  is  in  vain  if  we  expect 
tc  find  a  word  of  sympathy  for  this 
noble  race,  whose  prospective  eviction 
from  its  ancestral  possessions  is  ap- 
parently a  foregone  conclusion.  Not 
so  much  as  a  line  expressing  the  hope 
that  the  nation  whose  privilege  it  was 
to  demonstrate  to  the  world  on  July 
22,  1908,  that  a  violent  revolution,  de- 
pending for  its  success  on  actual  pos- 
session accomplished  by  physical  force 
could  be  consummated  without  the 
shedding  of  blood,  may  be  able  to  re- 
tain its  beautiful  capital  and  uphold 
its  ancient  glorious  traditions. 

Thus  is  presented  to  the  student  of 
current  history  (and  who  at  the  pres- 
ent time  is  not  included  in  that  cate- 
gory?) a  curious  psychological  prob- 
lem. The  careful  student  will  ask 
himself  why  the  Turk's  anticipated 
exodus  from  his  European  possessions 
is  heralded  far  and  wide  with  such 
great  exultation;  while  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  no  less  genuine  wonder  will 
he  ask  why  Russia's  possible  occupa- 
tion of  Turkey's  capital  should  elicit 
column  after  column  of  sentimental 
twaddle. 

Again  and  again  writers  and  lec- 
turers tell  us  of  the  chaingangs,  the 
tortures,  as  well  as  tales  of  death  from 
almost  incredible  horrors  in  the  mines 
of  Siberia,  with  which  Russia  rewards 
many  of  the  more  advanced  of  her 
sons  and  daughters,  who,  having  opin- 
ions of  their  own,  dare  express  them. 
And  this  information  comes,  by  no 
means  from  Russia's  enemies  exclu- 


THE  TERRIBLE  TURK 


31 


sively,  but  from  the  very  Russians  of 
the  Russians — patriots  whose  sole 
crime  is  that  they  love  their  country 
too  well.  Are  these  then  the  condi- 
tions we  would  impose  upon  Turkey's 
subjects?  Should  we  prefer  such  con- 
ditions to  the  mild  rule  of  the  Turk? 
And  do  we  love  Russian  methods  of 
dealing  with  the  followers  of  other 
religions,  better  than  we  do  that  mag- 
nanimous religious  freedom  supported 
by  actual  protection  of  the  followers 
of  other  religious  systems  in  the  wor- 
ship of  God  in  their  chosen  manner, 
which  is  granted  by  that  most  tolerant 
of  nations,  Turkey? 

This  attitude  is  not  a  thing  of  yes- 
terday. All  down  through  the  centur- 
ies, from  the  time  when  the  first  band 
of  marauding  barbarians  from  the 
West  set  out  for  Palestine  on  the  ear- 
liest of  those  periodic  raids  of  pillage, 
rapine  and  murder,  called  Crusades, 
until  the  present  day,  this  feeling  has 
persisted  in  varying  degrees  of  inten- 
sity. Anti-Turk  agitation  had  its  ori- 
gin in  the  utterances  of  Peter  the  Her- 
mit, during  the  last  decade  of  the 
eleventh  century.  Thus,  with  burning 
eloquence  added  to  the  natural  rever- 
ence of  the  age  for  a  man  bearing  a 
reputation  of  holiness,  Peter  the  Her- 
mit by  inflaming  their  ignorant  fanati- 
cism aroused  a  mob  which  fared  forth, 
having  Palestine  for  its  destination, 
and  the  wresting  of  Christian  holy 
places  from  Moslem  hands  as  its  ob- 
ject. 

True,  certain  of  the  Crusades  were 
carried  out  in  pursuance  of  the  origi- 
nal plan  to  a  degree.  Others,  how- 
ever, were  characterized  by  the  Cru- 
saders' fighting  amongst  themselves. 
This  was  carried  to  the  extent  that  at 
times  there  is  offered  for  our  delecta- 
tion the  curious  anomaly  of  the  pro- 
tection by  Moslem  arms  of  Christian 
holy  places  from  desecration,  pillage 
and  even  destruction  at  the  hands  of 
the  warring  Christians.  Still  other 
Crusades  degenerated  into  expeditions 
of  robbery  and  brigandage,  in  which 
the  Crusaders,  apparently  forgetful  of 
their  high  mission,  robbed  and  plun- 
dered, not  Moslims  alone,  but  Oriental 


Christians  as  well. 

At  first  thought  it  would  seem  that 
religion,  and  religion  alone,  is  at  the 
root  of  this  Turcophobia.  Yet  upon 
more  mature  reflection  we  perceive 
that  other  Muslims  do  not  share  in 
this  fear  and  hatred.  On  the  contrary 
the  Muslims  of  India  bear  the  repu- 
tation of  being  the  highest  class  and 
best  educated  of  their  race,  ranking 
even  higher  than  the  native  Christians. 
This  reputation  is  accorded  them  by 
authorities  of  the  same  category  as 
those  who  heap  the  direst  calumnies 
upon  the  head  of  the  Turk.  Moreover, 
the  non-Turkish  Moslems  of  Northern 
Africa  bear  a  good  reputation  in  gen- 
eral (though  actually  far  less  deserv- 
ing it  than  the  Turk),  and  it  is  univer- 
sally granted  that  where  Islam  reaches 
the  natives  of  the  African  interior  it 
is  doing  a  great  work. 

Next  we  look  at  the  Turk  himself. 
Here,  surely,  we  should  expect  to  find 
some  innate  viciousness — some  terri- 
ble idiosyncrasies  of  character,  since 
to  no  other  cause  can  we  impute  this 
universal  inhumanity  exhibited  toward 
him.  But  we  find  that  the  Turk  is  hon- 
est— scrupulously  honest — and  living 
as  he  does  surrounded  by  races  to 
whom  honesty  is  but  an  empty  name, 
he  is  rendered  conspicuous  by  contrast. 
He  is  truthful,  and  therefore  by  his 
neighbors  among  whom  artistic  pre- 
varication is  reckoned  one  of  the  great- 
est of  virtues,  the  Turk  is  considered 
a  fool  too  stupid  to  practice  deception. 
To  this  quality,  and  the  incapability 
of  the  Turk's  nearest  neighbors  to  com- 
prehend the  ethics  of  honesty,  may  in 
a  large  measure  be  ascribed  the  repu- 
tation for  stupidity  which  clings  to  the 
Ottoman  race.  Very  often  unsuccess- 
ful in  business,  which  is  by  no  means 
surprising  in  view  of  the  class  of  com- 
petition which  he  finds  pitted  against 
him,  the  Turk  is  therefore  reproached 
with  lack  of  intelligence.  A  well- 
known  modern  writer  on  the  subject 
of  Turkey  and  the  Turks,  being  forced 
to  admit  the  Turk's  honesty,  which 
he  cannot  conscientiously  ascribe  to 
worthy  motives,  says  that  this  hon- 
esty is  not  a  matter  of  principle  or 


32                                         OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

morals,  but  may  be  attributed  to  the  expedient  of  quelling  these  rebel- 
pride.  According  to  him,  then,  the  lions  with  other  than  Turkish  soldiers. 
Turk  is  too  proud  to  stoop  to  deceit  Undeniably  a  peculiar  situation  ex- 
or  treachery.  From  the  Turk's  point  ists  in  Turkey.  Sometimes  it  is  called 
of  view  it  would  seem  a  pity  that  this  "Turkish  stupidity,"  sometimes  the 
author  was  not  afflicted  with  pride  of  "curse  of  fatalism,"  and  again  the 
the  same  kind.  Nature  has  so  fash-  "blight  of  Islam."  But  then,  this  iden- 
ioned  the  Ottoman  temperament  that  tical  "Turkish  stupidity"  was  a  char- 
in  dealing  with  his  fellowmen  the  Turk  acteristic  of  the  people  who  in  the  fif- 
is  kind  and  gentle,  and  his  humane  teenth  century  was  reckoned  the  most 
treatment  of  animals  is  conceded  even  progressive  people  on  earth;  who, 
by  his  worst  enemies.  with  the  most  wonderful  military  or- 
In  his  relations  with  his  compatriots  ganization  and  armaments  that  the 
of  other  religious  beliefs  the  Turk  world  has  ever  seen,  laid  seige  to  and 
shows  surprising  consideration.  One  captured  the  well  nigh  impregnable 
who  has  never  lived  in  Turkey  cannot  city  which  is  now  its  capital,  and  sent 
realize  to  what  extent  the  endurance  its  victorious  armies  thundering 
of  the  Muslim  Turk  is  tried,  the  petty  at  the  gates  of  Vienna.  This  is  the 
irritations  to  which  he  is  subjected  stupid  race  whose  royal  house  pro- 
bcth  in  the  way  of  mockery  of  his  faith  duced  philosophers  and  poets  at  a  per- 
and  ridicule  of  his  laws  and  customs  iod  when  many  of  the  besotted  mon- 
by  those  of  other  religions.  A  great  archs  of  Europe  were  unable  to  write 
many  of  them,  especially  where  there  even  their  own  names.  It  is  well  to 
is  a  large  foreign  population,  will  re-  bear  in  mind  that  the  "curse  of  fatal- 
fuse  to  obey  Ottoman  laws  until  it  is  ism"  was  also  upon  those  people  who, 
attempted  to  force  them  to  do  so,  when  the  history  of  Europe  is  black  as 
when  they  invariably  raise  a  cry  to  night — when  Christendom  was  wallow- 
heaven,  calling  upon  the  world  to  wit-  ing  in  vice,  ignorance,  fanaticism  and 
ness  Turkish  tyranny.  While  under  corruption  in  the  Dark  Ages — founded 
the  old  regime  their  position  was  in  the  Caliphates  of  Bagdad  and  Cor- 
some  respects  more  to  be  envied  than  dova,  and  from  these  seats  of  light  and 
tnat  of  the  Turks — and  while  under  the  learning  began  the  yet  unfinished  task 
Constitution,  Turkish  subjects  who  of  civilizing  the  world.  As  to  the 
profess  faiths  other  than  Islam  are  "blight  of  Islam"  the  following  quota- 
given  equal  rights  with  the  Turks,  tion  from  the  late  Col.  Robert  G.  In- 
practically  all  such  are  at  heart  trai-  gersoll,  who,  whatever  may  be  said 
tors  to  the  government  to  which  they  of  him,  certainly  cannot  be  called  a 
owe  allegiance,  and  to  which  they  look  partisan  or  Islam  or  any  other  relig- 
for  protection  and  redress  of  their  ious  system,  will  probably  prove  en- 
wrongs  in  time  of  trouble.    These  non-  lightening: 

Muslim  Ottomans  are  continually  "In  the  tenth  century  after  Christ, 
hatching  plots  against  the  empire;  and  the  Saracens,  governors  of  a  vast  em- 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  them  would  pire,  established  colleges  in  Mongolia, 
prefer  at  any  time  to  unite  themselves  Tartary,  Persia,  Mesopotamia,  Syria, 
with  an  army  of  invasion  against  the  Egypt,  North  Africa,  Morocco  Fez 
Turks,  rather  than  uphold  their  own  and  in  Spain.  The  religion  owned  by 
government.  Occasionally  it  has  been  the  Saracens  was  greater  than  the  Ro- 
found  necessary  to  resort  to  armed  man  Empire.  They  had  not  only  col- 
force  to  put  down  these  seditious  up-  leges,  but  observatories.  The  sciences 
risings,  and  the  Turk  is  always  kind,  were  taught.  They  introduced  the  ten 
gentle  and  considerate,  almost  invari-  numerals,  taught  algebra  and  trigo- 
ably  has  hesitated  to  lift  his  hand  nometry,  understood  cubic  equations, 
against  his  compatriots  even  under  knew  the  art  of  surveying;  they  made 
great  provocation,  to  the  end*  that  the  catalogues  and  maps  of  the  stars,  gave 
government  has  often  had  to  resort  to  the  great  stars  the  names  they  still 


THE  TERRIBLE  TURK 


33 


bear;  they  ascertained  the  size  of  the 
earth,  determined  the  obliquity  of  the 
ecliptic,  and  fixed  the  length  of  the 
year.  They  calculated  the  eclipses, 
equinoxes,  solstices,  conjunctions  of 
planets,  and  occultations  of  stars.  They 
constructed  astronomical  instruments. 
They  made  clocks  of  various  kinds, 
and  were  the  inventors  of  the  pendu- 
lum. They  originated  chemistry,  dis- 
covered sulphuric  acid,  nitric  acid  and 
alcohol. 

"They  were  the  first  to  publish  phar- 
macopoeias and  dispensatories. 

"In  mechanics  they  determined  the 
law  of  falling  bodies.  They  under- 
stood the  mechanical  powers,  and  the 
attraction  of  gravitation. 

"They  taught  hydrostatics,  and  de- 
termined the  specific  gravities  of 
bodies. 

"In  optics  they  discovered  that  a 
ray  of  light  did  not  proceed  from  the 
eye,  but  from  the  object  to  the  eye. 

"They  were  manufacturers  of  cot- 
ton, leather,  paper  and  steel.  They 
gave  us  the  game  of  chess.  They  pro- 
duced romances  and  novels,  and  essays 
on  many  subjects. 

"In  their  schools  they  taught  the 
modern  doctrines  of  evolution  and  de- 
velopment. They  anticipated  Darwin 
and  Spencer. 

"These  people  were  not  Christians. 
They  were  the  followers,  for  the  most 
part,  of  an  impostor,  or  a  pretended 
prophet,  of  a  false  god.  And  yet, 
while  the  true  Christians — the  men  se- 
lected by  the  true  God,  and  filled  with 
the  Holy  Ghost — were  tearing  out  the 
tongues  of  heretics,  these  wretches 
*vere  irreverently  tracing  the  orbits  of 
trie  stars.  While  the  true  believers 
were  flaying  philosophers  and  extin- 
guishing the  eyes  of  thinkers,  these 
godless  followers  of  Muhammad  were 
founding  colleges,  collecting  manu- 
scripts, investigating  the  facts  of  na- 
ture and  giving  their  attention  to  sci- 
ence. But  it  is  well  to  know  that  we 
are  indebted  to  the  Moors,  to  the  fol- 
lowers of  Muhammad,  for  having  laid 
the  foundations  of  modern  science.  It 
is  well  to  know  that  we  are  not  indebt- 
ed to  the  Church,  to  Christianity,  for 


any  useful  fact.  ...  It  is  as  well  to 
know  that  when  Muhammadans  were 
the  friends  of  science,  Christians  were 
its  enemies." 

Perhaps  the  following  examples  will 
offer  to  the  intelligent  mind  a  more  ac- 
ceptable explanation  of  the  position  in 
which  the  Ottoman  state  now  finds  it- 
self. One  of  the  dreams  of  construc- 
tive Turkish  statesmanship  has  been 
the  building  of  a  railroad  through  the 
heart  of  what  is  usually  called  Turkish 
Armenia.  Such  a  line  would  cut  di- 
rectly through  one  of  the  most  fertile 
regions  on  earth,  as  well  as  tap  that 
world's  storehouse  of  wealth,  Central 
Asia.  Thus  would  be  opened  up  a 
great  artery  of  commerce,  bring  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies  to  the  very  gates 
of  Constantinople.  But  in  this  project 
Russia  has  not  failed  to  see  the  two- 
fold menace  to  herself;  one,  the  very 
material  reduction  of  her  commerce 
with  all  this  rich  territory;  another, 
the  military  advantages  which  would 
thus  accrue  to  an  Ottoman  province  up- 
on which  she  had  long  cast  covetous 
glances.  Russia  was  dissatisfied,  and 
by  adding  to  her  objections  those  of 
her  present  allies,  she  has  prevented 
the  realization  of  Turkey's  wish.  At 
another  time  the  Ottoman  government 
asked  England  for  Englishmen  to  act 
in  various  official  capacities,  assisting 
the  Turks  to  bring  about  order  in  Ar- 
menia. This  also  was  refused,  and 
again  at  Russia's  instigation.  The  rea- 
son for  England's  refusal  is  that  for 
generations  past  it  has  been  a  part  of 
Russia's  policy  to  foster  disorder  in 
that  much  troubled  section.  As  long 
as  rape,  pillage  and  murder  ran  riot  in 
Armenia,  so  long  will  there  be  an  ex- 
cuse for  Russian  intervention.  Thus 
has  ever  suggestion,  every  movement 
for  economic  or  political  advancement 
by  Turkey  dashed  itself  to  bits  against 
the  stone-wall  of  European  oppression 
— or  rather  repression. 

Then  when  the  Young  Turk  revolu- 
tion came — and  with  it  the  knowledge 
that  a  Constitutional  Turkey  meant  a 
strong  centralized  government,  as  well 
as  a  single,  united  nationality,  instead 
of  the  desired  decentralization  accom- 


34                                         OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

panied  by  autonomy  for  the  various  which  is  making  such  rapid  strides  to 
races  inhabiting  the  Empire — the  ob-  the  front  as  are  the  Turks.  Neither  is 
lcquy  heaped  upon  the  Committee  of  there  another  which  presents  such  a 
Union  and  Progress  by  Christian  Eu-  multitude  of  features  calculated  to  at- 
rope  was  greater  than  had  ever  been  tract  and  hold  our  interest  and  admira- 
the  portion  of  the  old  regime.  Pre-  tion.  Unquestionably  a  great  impetus 
vious  to  the  adoption  of  the  Constitu-  was  given  to  the  intellectual  unfold- 
tion  the  Committee  of  Union  and  Pro-  ment  of  the  Turkish  race  by  its  having 
gress  had  gone  on  feeling  secure  in  the  simply  grafted  itself  upon  the  Arabic 
assurance  that  the  Young  Turkey  civilization  which,  at  the  time  of  the 
Party  had  the  sympathy  and  moral  Turkish  conquest,  was  the  greatest 
support  of  practically  all  Europe.  But  and  highest  form  of  civilization  the 
at  this  time  it  became  clear  to  far-see-  world  has  ever  produced.  Yet  the  story 
ing  Turks  that  the  only  reason  the  of  the  development  of  the  Turkish 
Powers  had  for  wishing  a  revolution  race  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  history, 
in  Turkey  was  that  they  awaited  the  First  we  see  them  riding  down  from 
weakening  of  the  political  fabric  of  the  North — rude,  uncultured  horse- 
that  country  which  it  was  believed  men,  but  little  better  than  barbarians, 
would  attend  such  a  change.  When  Next  we  find  the  Caliphate  of  Bagdad 
Europe  saw  that  a  new  Turkey  means  with  all  its  splendor  under  their  sway, 
a  strong  Turkey — when  she  saw  the  and  see  them  teaching  the  arts  of  war 
Sick  Man  of  Europe  in  the  process  of  and  peace  to  Europe.  Again,  and  we 
convalescence,  then  she  decided  that  find  a  prince  of  the  house  of  Osman 
something  must  be  done.  First  of  all,  gracing  the  throne  of  the  Caesars  All 
finding  Turkey  absolutely  unprepared,  within  the  space  of  two  centuries, 
came  the  war  with  Italy  like  a  thun-  Another  example  which  suggests  it- 
derbolt  from  a  clear  sky.  Then,  when  self  at  this  historical  point  must  not 
— after  every  conceivable  obstacle  had  pass  unnoticed,  since  it  gives  the  lie 
been  thrown  in  her  path — it  became  to  the  well-established  fallacy  that  the 
clear  that  in  spite  of  everything  Tur-  religion  of  Islam  has  been  spread  by 
key  was  going  to  win,  the  Balkan  the  sword,  and  the  sword  alone.  After 
States  were  brought  in.  There  again  the  Turkish  conquest,  when  the  Cali- 
the  same  tactics  were  employed,  and  phate  of  Bagdad  lay  prostrate  at  the 
when  at  last  Turkey  had  gathered  her  feet  of  its  conquerors,  the  victorious 
scattered  resources  and  the  tide  of  vie-  Turks  adopted  the  religion  of  the  van- 
tory  was  slowly  but  surely  turning  in  quished  Arabs.  An  historical  fact 
her  favor,  she  was  forced  into  a  peace  known  to  every  school  boy,  yet  the  old 
with  small  honor.  Many  other  exam-  misconception  of  "Islam  and  the 
pies  of  European  ill-will  directed  Sword"  still  persists, 
against  Turkey  might  be  shown,  for  Just  one  more  mistaken  idea  which 
the  list  is  well-nigh  inexhaustible.  If  deserves  to  take  its  place  in  the  back- 
in  the  face  of  such  terrible  odds  she  ground  with  that  unctuous  mouthful, 
succeeds  in  attaining  true  independ-  "the  blight  of  Islam."  That  is  the 
ence  while  maintaining  her  integrity,  general  conception  of  education  in 
the  Ottoman  nation  will  merit  the  Turkey.  It  is  usually  taken  for  grant- 
praise  of  every  real  lover  of  liberty  the  ed  that  Turks  are  uneducated.  We 
world  over.  Thus  by  concrete  example  frequently  read  tales  in  which  the  ig- 
we  observe  that  this  retarding  influ-  norance  of  officially  placed  Turks  is 
ence — this  sinister  pall  which  for  gen-  regretted,  condoned  or  impartially  dis- 
erations  has  threatened  to  stifle  Tur-  cussed — but,  above  all,  advertised.  Al- 
key — this  so-called  "blight  of  Islam"  most  one-half  of  an  article  which  was 
— is  in  reality  the  blight  of  Christen-  given  wide  publicity  a  few  months 
dom.  since  was  devoted  to  a  dissertation  up- 
There  is  perhaps  no  other  race  now  on  the  density  of  the  ignorance  of  a 
occupying  a  position  in  the  lime-light  certain  Turkish  official.    The  specific 


THE  TERRIBLE  TURK 


35 


complaint  in  this  case  was  that  he 
could  not  read  English.  The  ignor- 
ance of  this  miscreant,  who  really 
should  have  been  in  an  institution  for 
the  feeble-minded,  occasioned  discom- 
fort and  delay  to  the  writer  of  the  ar- 
ticle. Why  then — the  irresistible  query 
rises  spontaneously  to  one's  mind — 
knowing  the  dense  ignorance  which 
prevails  in  that  benighted  country,  did 
not  the  writer  simply  make  use  of  the 
Turkish  language  and  avoid  the  dis- 
agreeable consequences  of  the  Turk's 
ignorance.  Seriously  it  may  be  said 
that  whatever  her  shortcomings  in  the 
matter  of  higher  instruction,  elemen- 
tary education  existed  in  Turkey  as 
well  as  other  Muslim  countries  long 
before  Europe  ever  thought  of  such  a 
thing.  And  in  regard  to  scientific  ad- 
vancement Ingersoll  says:  "It  can  be 
truthfully  said  that  science  was  thrust 
into  the  brain  of  Europe  upon  the 
point  of  a  Moorish  lance." 

There  is  also  the  question  of  Pan- 
Islamism,  always  a  bugbear  to  those 
of  the  European  nations  who  hold  large 
Muslim  populations  in  subjection.  The 
thought  that  the  power  of  the  Cali- 
phate might  become  anything  more 
than  a  shadowy  spiritual  force  outside 
the  actual  borders  of  the  Ottoman  Em- 
pire, is  to  them  exceedingly  distaste- 
ful. As  long  as  the  Caliphate  is  main- 
tained in  an  enfeebled  condition  the 
great  mass  of  Muslim  subjects  of  other 
countries  can  be  hoodwinked  by  tales 
of  Ottoman  weakness  and  venality,  as 
well  as  by  learned  theological  disqui- 
sitions upon  the  usurpation  of  the  Cali- 
phate by  the  Turkish  Sultans  (from 
the  pens  of  Christians,  or  heretical 
Muslims.)  But  with  a  Caliphate 
backed  by  a  strong,  centralized  gov- 
ernment and  a  dependable,  well- 
equipped  army,  the  down-trodden 
Muslim  would  dare  to  hold  up  his  head 
once  more,  strong  in  the  knowledge 
that  in  case  of  need  he  had  a  protector. 
This  is  the  Pan-Islamism  that  they 
fear ;  a  Pan-Islamism  that  would  mean 
a  lightening  of  the  yoke  upon  the  necks 
of  enslaved  millions.  European  poli- 
ticians well  know  the  absurdity  of  the 
idea  that  the  whole  Muslim  world  will 


one  day  rise  under  the  leadership  of 
Turkey  to  lay  waste  to  Christendom 
with  fire  and  sword,  massacre  and  pil- 
lage. Yet  such  statements  are  con- 
stantly being  made;  and  for  what  rea- 
son? To  arouse  afresh  and  keep 
burning  that  age-old  hatred  and  fear 
of  Turkey.  For  the  spectacle  of  a  re- 
juvenated and  victorious  Turkey — a 
progressive  Turkey  will  arouse  mil- 
lions of  enthralled  Muslims  to  a  reali- 
zation of  their  political  and  economic 
rights — their  human  rights — and  they 
will  demand  equality  with  their  over- 
lords. 

This  empty  horror  of  the  doctrine  of 
Pan-Islamism  is  one  reason  why  the 
Turk  is  hated  and  feared,  and  made 
the  object  of  calumny  and  scorn,  but 
there  is  yet  another.  It  is  not  his  re- 
ligion alone;  neither  his  racial  charac- 
teristics. It  is  an  old,  old  hatred — a 
fear  that  dates  back  to  a  distinctly 
alien  period  in  the  intellectual  status 
of  Western  Europe.  It  was  engender- 
ed of  the  preaching  of  ignorant,  bigot- 
ed fanatics  to  a  people  no  less  bigoted 
and  ignorant  than  themselves — a  so- 
ciety thoroughly  permeated  with  the 
grossest  of  superstitions.  It  has  come 
to  be  an  instinct — a  natural  inheritance 
indelibly  impressed  upon  our  brain- 
cells,  and  is  akin  to  the  fear  of  the 
dark,  and  the  nightmare  in  which  we 
fall  from  incredible  heights  to  awake 
shivering  with  fright,  bolt  upright  in 
our  beds.  It  is  a  shameful  thing,  inhu- 
man, unfraternal,  unworthy  a  people 
endowed  with  a  reasoning  intelligence 
and  enjoying  a  modern  civilization. 

"Shall  Islam  be  driven  back  to 
Asia?"  Another  interrogation  put  be- 
fore us  with  increasing  frequency.  It 
is  a  question  which  our  contemporaries 
are  asking  in  language  which  varies 
from  the  blantant  hilarity  of  the  blind, 
ignorant  bigot,  who  noisily  advertises 
the  wish  uppermost  in  his  mind  in  this 
connection,  to  the  mild  and  unctuous 
exultation  of  the  more  erudite,  but  no 
less  fanatical  individual,  who  is  pa- 
tently ashamed  of  his  attitude,  but 
nevertheless  glad  to  set  forth  his 
feeble  reasons  why  the  answer  should 
be  in  the  affirmative. 


36 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


To  Islamic  civilization  we  owe  near- 
ly all  our  sciences.  In  mathematics 
we  are  indebted  to  the  Muslim  Arabs 
for  the  system  of  numerals  itself, 
which  has  made  possible  many  new 
operations  and  simplified  the  entire 
science.  Most  of  our  luxuries,  both  of 
dress  and  of  the  table,  came  originally 
from  Islamic  countries,  as  did  many 
of  the  cultivated  grains  and  fruits.  The 
rhymed  verse  is  of  Arabic  origin,  and 
has  in  a  great  measure  supplanted  the 
blank  verse  which  was  the  only  form 
employed  by  European  poets  previous 
to  their  contact  with  Islam. 

The  idea  of  religious  toleration  itself 
is  of  Islamic  origin.  Previous  to  Is- 
lam, as  soon  as  a  religion  became  suf- 
ficiently powerful,  its  devotees  perse- 
cuted rigorously  the  followers  of  other 


religious  systems.  But  embodied  in 
the  tenets  of  Islam  are  the  Qu'ranic  in- 
junctions commanding  the  Muslims  to 
grant  to  others  immunity  and  protec- 
tion in  the  observance  of  their  religi- 
ous practices.  Thus  was  given  to  the 
world  the  conception  of  a  brotherhood 
broad  enough  to  overlap  the  boundaries 
of  sects  and  creeds. 

Suppose  Islam  to  be  driven  out  of 
Europe.  Let  us  imagine  the  possibil- 
ity of  separating  en  masse  from  the 
Western  civilization  all  that  Western 
civilization  owes  to  Islam  and  the  Mus- 
lim peoples.  And  in  banishing  that 
faith  from  European  soil  suppose  that 
Europe  should  also  cast  off  all  that 
she  has  absorbed  of  Islam  and  Islamic 
civilization,  what  would  remain  of  her 
boasted  "Christian  civilization?" 


TO      JACK 


Sometimes  when  satin-footed  shadows  creep — 
A  ghostly  legion  on  the  misty  lawn — 

Which  come  to  put  your  flower-friends  to  sleep, 
And  hold  them  safe  against  another  dawn. 

Between  the  day  and  night,  across  the  grass, 

Sometimes,  dear  Jack,  I  think  I  see  you  pass. 

Sometimes  when  fire  sinks  to  embers  red, 
I  sit  alone  where  once  we  sat  of  old; 

My  heart  refuses  to  be  comforted, 

Because  your  going  left  it  bare  and  cold. 

As  gloom  and  firelight  subtly  intertwine, 

Sometimes,  I  think,  I  feel  your  hand  on  mine. 


And  then,  where  moonlight  calms  the  strife  of  earth, 
And  midnight  finds  me  out  beneath  the  stars ; 

Within  my  soul  a  strange  celestial  birth 
Breathes,  and  high  heaven's  door  unbars, 

And  in  the  sweetness  of  that  moment's  grace, 

Sometimes,  dear  Jack,  I  know  I  see  your  face. 

Juan  L.  Kennon. 


A  Californian  Duval 


By  Eugene  T.  Sawyer 


GALLANT,  reckless  Claude  Du- 
val was  the  English  prototype 
of  soft-spoken,  graceful  and 
graceless  Tiburcio  Vasquez,  the 
Californian.  While  the  one  had  for 
fields  of  exploit  and  adventure  the 
wooded  stretches  of  Hounslow  Heath 
and  the  Great  North  Road,  and  for  re- 
treat some  ruined  abbey,  the  other  of 
the  latter  day  had  the  plains  and  hills 
of  the  Golden  Gate  for  ride  and  raid, 
and  the  canyon  fastnesses  for  refuge. 

Like  the  suave  and  courtly  Duval, 
Vasquez  confessed  to  an  absorbing 
partiality  for  the  softer  sex.  Many 
times  did  he  take  his  life  in  his  hands 
in  order  that  some  dark-eyed  senorita 
should  not  wait  overtime  at  the  trysting 
place.  Many  were  the  occasions  on 
which  either  life  or  property  became 
safe  through  the  prayerful  interposi- 
tion of  woman. 

He  was  born  in  Monterey  in  1835, 
was  a  wild,  harum-scarum  youngster, 
but  he  did  not  give  the  officers  any 
trouble  until  just  before  he  reached 
his  sixteenth  year.  Before  the  oc- 
currence which  launched  him  into  a 
career  of  crime,  his  associates  were 
Mexican  law-breakers,  cattle  thieves, 
mainly,  whose  operations  became  ex- 
tensive soon  after  the  occupation  of 
California  by  the  Americans.  One 
night,  in  company  with  a  Mexican  des- 
perado, he  attended  a  fandango.  A 
quarrel  over  a  woman,  the  fatal  shoot- 
ing of  the  constable  while  trying  to 
maintain  order,  the  lynching  of  Vas- 
quez' companion,  and  the  formation  of 
a  vigilance  committee  sent  Vasquez 
into  hiding,  from  which  he  emerged  to 
ally  himself  with  a  band  of  horse- 
thieves. 

In  1857  he  came  to  grief,  but  five 
years'  sequestration  in  the  state  prison 


failed  to  produce  any  change  in  his 
morals.  One  month  after  his  dis- 
charge he  was  operating  as  a  highway 
robber  on  the  San  Joaquin  plains. 
Chased  by  officers  into  Contra  Costa 
County,  he  sought  and  obtained  ref- 
uge at  the  ranch  of  a  Mexican  who 
was  the  father  of  a  pretty  and  impres- 
sionable daughter.  She  easily  fell  a 
victim  to  the  seductive  wiles  of  the 
handsome,  dashing  young  knight  of  the 
road.  One  morning  Anita  and  Vas- 
quez were  missing.  With  stern  face 
the  father  loaded  his  pistols,  mounted 
his  fleetest  mustang  and  started  in 
pursuit.  He  overtook  the  lovers  in 
the  Livermore  Valley.  They  were 
resting  under  an  oak  tree  by  the  road- 
side. 

When  the  father  appeared  Vasquez 
sprang  to  his  feet,  but  made  no  hostile 
motion.  His  code  of  honor  forbade 
an  attack  on  the  man  he  had  wronged. 
A  quick  understanding  of  the  situa- 
tion sent  Anita  to  her  lover's  side.  "If 
you  kill  him  you  must  also  kill  me," 
she  screamed.  The  father  frowned. 
Vasquez  with  hands  folded  stood  wait- 
ing. After  some  consideration  the 
ranch  owner  said  if  Anita  would  re- 
turn home  her  lover  might  go  free. 
The  girl  consented  and  Vasquez  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders  as  father  and  daugh- 
ter rode  away. 

Transferring  his  field  of  operations 
to  Sonoma  County  Vasquez  prospered 
for  awhile,  but  one  day  in  attempting 
to  drive  off  a  band  of  stolen  cattle  he 
v/as  arrested,  and  for  the  offense  spent 
four  years  in  San  Quentin  prison.  Im- 
mediately uoon  his  discharge,  in  June, 
1870,  he  laid  plans  for  robbery  on  a 
much  larger  scale  than  he  had  ever  be- 
fore attempted.  Selecting  as  his  base 
the  Cantua  Canyon,  a  wild  and  almost 


38 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


inaccessible  retreat  in  the  Mt.  Diablo 
range,  formerly  the  camp  and  shelter 
of  Joaquin  Murieta,  he  gathered  about 
him  a  band  of  choice  spirits,  and  for 
four  years  carried  on  a  warfare  against 
organized  society  the  like  of  which 
California  had  never  before  experi- 
enced. Stages  and  stores,  teams  and 
individuals  were  held  up  in  the  coun- 
ties of  Central  and  Southern  Califor- 
nia, and  though  posse  after  posse  took 
the  field  against  him  he  succeeded  in 
eluding  capture.  In  the  hills  he  was 
safe.  White  settlers  were  scarce,  and 
the  Mexican  population  aided  and  be- 
friended him,  principally  through  fear. 
Besides,  his  sweethearts,  as  he  called 
them,  were  scattered  throughout  the 
hills  of  the  Coast  Range,  from  San  Jose 
to  Los  Angeles.  They  kept  him  posted 
regarding  the  movements  of  the  of- 
ficers and  more  than  once  he  escaped 
capture  through  their  vigilance  and 
activity. 

In  the  fall  of  1871,  after  a  daring 
stage  robbery  in  San  Benito  County, 
Vasquez  got  word  that  one  of  his 
sweethearts  would  be  at  a  dance  in 
Hollister  that  night.  The  bandit  re- 
solved to  be  in  attendance.  The 
dancing  was  at  its  height  when  he  ap- 
peared. Becoming  flushed  with  wine, 
his  caution  deserted  him,  and  he  re- 
mained until  near  the  break  of  day. 
He  was  not  molested,  and  emboldened 
by  a  sense  of  security,  he  went  into  the 
barroom  and  engaged  in  a  game  of  ca- 
sino with  one  of  the  women.  Here 
he  was  seen  and  recognized  by  a  law 
and  order  Mexican.  The  constable  was 
notified,  a  posse  was  organized  and  a 
plan  laid  to  surround  the  dance  house 
and  pot  Vasquez,  at  the  moment  of  his 
appearance  at  either  of  the  doors.  A 
woman  gave  Vasquez  warning  of  his 
danger,  and  disguised  with  her  skirt 
and  mantilla,  the  bandit  went  out  of 
the  dance  hall,  crossed  in  front  of  the 
approaching  posse,  found  his  horse, 
mounted  it  and  was  beyond  the  danger 
limit  before  the  deception  was  dis- 
covered. 

A  few  days  later,  at  the  head  of  his 
band,  he  stepped  the  stage  from  the 
New  Idria  mines.     A  woman's  head 


showed  at  the  door  as  Vasquez  covered 
the  driver  with  a  rifle.  She  was  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  mine  bosses,  a  man 
who  had  once  befriended  the  outlaw. 
"Don't  do  it,  Tiburcio,"  she  entreated. 
Vasquez  looked  at  the  grim  faces  of 
his  followers,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  lowered  his  rifle.  "Drive  on," 
was  his  curt  command.  The  stage 
lumbered  away,  and  the  bandit  leader 
faced  a  situation  that  demanded  all  his 
skill  and  nerve.  That  he  succeeded  in 
placating  the  desperadoes  who  ac- 
knowledged his  leadership  may  be 
taken  for  granted  for  that  same  day 
the  band  robbed  a  store  and  then  rode 
toward  a  hiding  place  in  the  Santa 
Cruz  range. 

While  the  robbers  rested  the  sheriffs 
of  three  counties  were  searching  for 
them.  A  few  miles  above  Santa  Cruz 
the  officers  and  the  outlaws  met.  In 
the  fight  that  ensued,  two  of  Vasquez' 
men  were  killed  outright  and  Vasquez 
was  shot  in  the  breast.  Though  des- 
perately wounded  he  stood  his  ground, 
put  the  officers  to  route,  and  then  rode 
sixty  miles  before  he  halted  for  friend- 
ly ministration.  When  able  to  stand 
on  his  feet  he  rode  to  the  Cantua  Can- 
yon, where  he  found  the  remnant  of  his 
band. 

There  he  planned  a  sensational  fall 
campaign,  but  as  his  band  was  not 
large  enough  to  suit  his  purposes,  he 
determined  to  seek  recruits  at  a  ranch 
on  the  San  Joaquin.  He  crossed  the 
mountains,  and  was  riding  along  the 
valley  highways  when  he  espied  ap- 
proaching an  emigrant  wagon  drawn 
by  four  mules.  Here,  he  thought,  was 
a  chance  to  make  a  little  money  on  the 
side,  for  he  knew,  as  a  rule,  that  the 
emigrants  of  those  days  were  fairly 
well  supplied  with  money. 

An  oldish  man  was  driving,  and  by 
his  side  was  a  gaunt,  sad  faced  wo- 
man, evidently  his  wife.  Inside,  under 
cover  with  the  household  impedi- 
menta, were  three  half  grown  children. 
The  bandit's  command  to  halt  was 
promptly  obeyed,  but  when  the  emi- 
grant was  harshly  ordered  to  throw 
down  his  money  and  other  valuables, 
if  he  had   any,  the  woman's   mouth 


A  CALIFORNIAN  DUVAL 


39 


opened  to  a  stream  of  mingled  re- 
proach and  vituperation.  Vasquez  lis- 
tened with  unmoved  countenance,  but 
when  the  woman's  tone  changed  and 
the  tears  began  to  flow,  the  bandit's 
face  twitched  slightly,  and  a  softer 
expression  showed  on  his  face.  The 
woman's  story,  told  with  many  sobs, 
was  one  to  command  sympathy.  They 
were  poor,  they  had  only  ten  dollars 
in  the  world,  and  they  had  come  to 
California  not  only  to  seek  for  govern- 
ment land,  but  for  a  place  in  the 
mountains  where  health  might  come 
back  to  the  oldest  girl,  who  was  in  the 
first  stages  of  consumption. 

In  telling  this  story  months  after- 
wards, Vasquez  said:  "The  old  wo- 
man floored  me.  Instead  of  wanting  to 
rob  her,  I  wanted  to  help  her.  I  knew 
of  a  little  valley  not  more  than  thirty 
miles  away  that  I  believed  would  just 
suit  them.  I  told  them  where  it  was 
and  how  to  get  there.  It  was  govern- 
ment land  and  there  were  only  two 
other  settlers  there.  The  man  thanked 
me,  the  woman  wanted  to  kiss  me,  and 
I  left  them  feeling  much  better  than  if 
I  had  robbed  them." 

Vasquez  found  at  the  ranch,  his  ob- 
jective point,  a  number  of  Mexican 
vaqueros:  one  was  Abdon  Leiva,  a 
stalwart  Chilian,  who  was  married  and 
lived  in  a  wooden  shack  near  the 
ranch  house.  Vasquez  made  friends 
with  both  husband  and  wife.  The  wife 
at  once  took  his  fancy.  She  was  not 
over  twenty,  small,  plump,  with  red 
lips  and  languishing  eyes. 

The  bandit  stayed  at  the  ranch  as 
the  guest  of  the  Leiva's  for  several 
days.  While  the  husband  rode  the 
range,  Vasquez  remained  at  the  shack 
and  entertained  the  charming  and  sus- 
ceptible Rosario.  To  her  he  outlined 
his  plans.  Rosario  became  enthusiastic 
in  support  of  them.  Leave  the  matter 
of  her  husband  to  her.  She  could  twist 
him  round  her  little  finger.  Vasquez 
agreed  to  this,  and  through  her  per- 
suasion Leiva  was  induced  to  join  the 
band. 

The  campaign  opened  by  a  raid  on 
Firebaugh's  Ferry,  on  the  San  Joa- 
quain  plains.     The  story  of  what  oc- 


curred in  the  store  was  afterwards  told 
by  Vasquez,  who  said :  "I  took  a  watch 
from  a  man  they  called  the  Captain. 
His  wife  saw  the  act,  and  running  up 
to  me,  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck 
and  begged  me  to  return  the  watch  to 
her  husband,  as  he  had  given  it  to  her 
during  their  courtship.  I  gave  it  back 
and  then  she  went  into  another  room, 
and  from  behind  a  chimney  took  out 
another  watch.  'Take  it,'  she  said,  but 
I  wouldn't.  I  just  kissed  her  and  told 
her  to  keep  the  watch  as  a  memento  of 
our  meeting." 

Then  came  the  robbery  of  the 
Twenty-one  Mile  House  in  Santa  Clara 
County,  which  was  followed  by  the 
descent  on  Tres  Pinos,  a  little  village 
twelve  miles  south  of  Hollister,  in  San 
Benito  County.  This  raid,  because  it 
resulted  in  a  triple  murder,  aroused  the 
entire  State.  County  and  State  re- 
wards for  the  capture  of  Vasquez,  dead 
or  alive,  brought  hundreds  of  man 
hunters  into  the  field,  but  for  nearly  a 
year  the  cunning  outlaw  successfully 
defied  his  pursuers. 

The  Tres  Pinos  affair  was  the  bold- 
est Vasquez  had  yet  attempted.  With 
four  men— Abdon  Leiva,  Clodoveo 
Chavez,  Romulo  Gonzalez  and  Teo- 
doro  Moreno — he  rode  into  the  village, 
robbed  the  store,  the  hotel  and  private 
houses  and  individuals,  securing  booty 
that  required  eight  pack  horses  (stolen 
from  the  hotel  stable)  to  carry  away. 
The  raid  lasted  three  hours,  and  the 
men  killed  were  Bernard  Bihury,  a 
sheephefder;  George  Redford,  a  team- 
ster; and  Leander  Davidson,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  hotel.  Bihury  came  to 
the  store  while  the  robbery  was  going 
on  and  was  ordered  to  lie  down.  Not 
understanding  either  English  or  Span- 
ish, he  started  to  run  and  was  shot 
and  killed.  While  the  robbers  were 
at  work  Redford  drove  up  to  the  hotel 
with  a  load  of  pickets.  He  was  at- 
tending to  his  horses  when  Vasquez 
aoproachel  and  ordered  him  to  lie 
down.  Redford  was  afflicted  with 
deafness,  anr!  not  understanding  the 
order,  but  believing  that  his  life  was 
threatened,  started  on  a  run  for  the 
stables.    He  had  just  reached  the  door 


40 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


when  a  bullet  from  Vasquez'  rifle 
passed  through  his  heart,  killing  him 
instantly. 

All  this  time  the  front  door  of  the 
hotel  was  open,  and  Davidson  was  in 
the  doorway.  Leiva  saw  him  and 
shouted:  "Shut  the  door  and  keep  in- 
side, and  you  won't  be  hurt."  David- 
son stepped  back  and  was  closing  the 
door  when  a  shot  was  fired,  the  bullet 
passing  through  the  door  and  pierced 
Davidson's  heart.  He  fell  back  into 
the  arms  of  his  wife  and  died  in  a 
short  time. 

The  Chronicle  was  the  only  news- 
paper in  San  Francisco  that  had  a 
correspondent  on  the  ground,  and  for  a 
week  it  had  a  daily  scoop  on  its  con- 
temporaries. 

A  short  distance  from  Tres  Pinos  the 
bandits  divided  the  booty,  each  man 
being  counseled  by  Vasquez  to  look 
out  for  himself.  Leiva  had  left  his 
wife  at  a  friend's  ranch  near  Elizabeth 
Lake,  Los  Angeles  County.  Thither 
he  rode  to  find  that  Vasquez  had  pre- 
ceded him.  As  the  days  passed  Leiva 
began  to  suspect  his  chief  had  more 
than  a  platonic  interest  in  the  attrac- 
tive Rosario.  He  called  Vasquez  to 
account,  suggesting  a  duel.  But  Vas- 
refused  to  draw  a  weapon  against  the 
man  he  had  wronged. 

After  some  hot  words  a  reconcilia- 
tion was  patched  up,  but  Vasquez  did 
not  suspect  the  reason  for  Leiva's  wil- 
lingness to  let  bygones  be  bygones. 
Matters  went  smoothly  for  a  few  days. 
Then  Vasquez  asked  Leiva  to  go  to 
Elizabeth  Lake  for  provisions.  Leiva 
consented,  but  instead  of  carrying  out 
orders,  he  hunted  up  Sheriff  Adams, 
of  Santa  Clara  County  and  surren- 
dered, at  the  same  time  offering  to  ap- 
pear as  State's  witness  in  the  event  of 
Vasquez'  capture  and  trial. 

Adams  started  at  once  for  the  ban- 
dit's retreat,  but  Vasquez  was  not 
there.  He  had  been  gone  many  hours 
and  Mrs.  Leiva  had  gone  with  him. 

A  month  later  Vasquez  deserted  the 
woman  and  fled  northward.  This  step 
was  induced  by  the  number  and  activ- 
ity of  the  officers.  The  Legislature 
had  met,  and  authorized  the  expendi- 


ture of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  for  a 
campaign  against  the  redoubtable  ban- 
dit. One  sheriti,  (Morse  o£  Ala- 
meda) organized  a  picked  company  of 
fifteen  men,  and  with  provisions  tor 
two  months,  started  to  explore  thor- 
oughly the  mountain  fastnesses  of 
Central  and  Southern  Caliiornia.  But 
so  efficient  was  Vasquez'  system  01 
information  that  every  move  made  by 
the  officers  became  known  to  him.  At 
last  Morse  gave  up  the  hunt.  Then 
the  irrepressible  Tiburcio  made  up  tor 
lost  time.  Robbery  after  robbery  fol- 
lowed in  quick  succession.  Alter 
holding  up  a  number  ol  stages,  Vas- 
quez' band  entered  the  town  of  King- 
ston, Fresno  County,  and  there  made  a 
rich  haul.  Stores  were  plundered, 
safes  broken  into,  houses  looted  and 
provisions,  clothing,  money  and  valu- 
ables taken  away. 

The  news  of  this  raid  spurred  the 
officers  to  renewed  action.  Soon  there 
was  a  rush  of  determined  men  into 
Fresno  County.  But  Vasquez  could 
not  be  found.  He  had  retreated  south- 
ward. Of  his  band  of  followers  only 
Chavez  was  left.  Gonzales  had  fled  to 
Mexico,  and  Moreno  had  been  cap- 
tured, tried  and  sent  to  prison  for  life. 

A  month  after  the  Kingston  raid 
Vasquez  and  Chavez  made  a  descent 
upon  Coyote's  Holes'  station  on  the 
Los  Angeles  and  Owens  River  stage 
road.  The  few  residents  were  tied  to 
trees,  the  station  was  robbed,  and  the 
two  bandits  were  about  to  depart, 
when  the  stage  appeared.  After  the 
passengers  had  been  robbed  and 
goodly  treasure  taken  from  Wells- 
Fargo  &  Co.'s  strong  box,  the  horses 
were  unharnessed,  four  more  were 
taken  from  the  stables  and  with  bul- 
lion, money,  jewelry  and  horses  the 
lawless  pair  departed  for  the  hills. 

On  the  following  day  the  two  ban- 
dits stopped  the  Los  Angeles  stage 
near  Soledad,  and  then  dissolved 
partnership,  Chavez  to  ride  for  the 
Mexican  border,  his  California  career 
forever  closed,  Vasquez  to  seek  a  fa- 
vorite hiding  place  in  the  Sierra  Madre 
Hills. 

Here,  secure  from  molestation,  he 


MY    COMMERCE 


41 


remained  two  months,  when  word  was 
brought  to  him  that  one  of  his  sweet- 
hearts was  staying  at  the  house  of  one 
George,  the  Greek,  not  many  miles 
from  Los  Angeles.  The  place  was  in 
the  zone  of  danger,  but  Vasquez  re- 
solved to  go  there.  In  some  way  his 
intention  became  known  to  another 
woman  who  had  once  enjoyed  the 
handsome  outlaw's  affectionate  atten- 
tions. She  managed  to  have  word  sent 
to  Sheriff  Rowland,  at  Los  Angeles. 
The  sheriff  quickly  organized  a  posse 
and  went  to  the  rendezvous.  Vasquez 
was  there,  and  in  attempting  to  escape 
received  eight  bullets  in  his  body.  It 
was  thought  at  first  that  he  could  not 
survive,  but  a  strong  constitution  en- 
abled him  to  pull  through. 

As  soon  as  his  condition  would  per- 
mit he  was  removed  to  the  county 
jail  at  Salinas  City,  Monterey  County. 
There  he  was  kept  for  several  weeks, 
and  then  was  transferred  to  the  jail  at 
San  Jose,  on  account  of  its  greater  se- 
curity. Abdon  Leiva,  who  was  to  be 
State's  witness  at  the  coming  trial,  was 
already  a  prisoner  in  the  jail.  While 
there  he  was  visited  by  his  wife,  who 
desired  reconciliation.  But  Leiva  re- 
fused to  take  her  back.  She  had  made 
her  bed  and  must  lie  on  it. 

On  Thursday,  January  25,  1875, 
Vasquez  was  placed  on  trial   in  the 


District  Court,  Judge  David  Belden, 
Presiding,  for  the  murder  of  Leander 
Davidson,  the  Tres  Pinos  hotel  keeper. 
John  Lord  Love,  Attorney-General  of 
the  State,  conducted  the  prosecution. 
Leiva  was  the  first  witness.  The  op- 
portunity to  square  accounts  with  the 
man  who  had  wronged  him  had  come 
at  last.  He  swore  that  Vasquez  not 
only  fired  the  shot  that  killed  David- 
son, but  also  ordered  the  other  murders 
committed  during  the  raid.  His  was 
the  only  positive  testimony,  but  other 
and  thoroughly  reliable  witnesses  gave 
sufficient  circumstantial  corroboration 
to  enable  the  jury  to  reach  a  verdict. 
Vasquez  was  committed  of  murder  in 
the  first  degree  and  sentenced  to  be 
hanged  on  Friday,  the  19th  of  March. 

Pending  the  execution  of  the  sen- 
tence, Vasquez  laughed,  chatted  and 
read  as  if  his  mind  was  free  from  care. 
He  consented  to  accept  a  spiritual  ad- 
viser, but  said  he  had  no  opinion  re- 
garding a  future  state.  "The  sages  and 
the  preachers  say  there  is  another 
world,"  he  once  remarked,  "and  if  they 
are  right  then  I  shall  soon  see  many  of 
my  old  sweethearts." 

The  fatal  day  came,  and  Califor- 
nia's star  bandit  walked  calmly  to  the 
scaffold  and  died  with  a  smile  upon  his 
lips.  And  with  his  death  peace  de- 
scended upon  highway  and  mountain. 


/AY     CO/A/AEKCE 


Shrouded  masts  and  winged  spars 
Float  my  commerce  forth  to  sea ; 

Ride  the  waves  by  tropic  stars, 
Charm  the  eye  with  pageantry, 

Brave  romance  in  sailyards  hung — 

When  the  world  and  I  are  young. 

Iron  throat,  capacious  maw, 

Float  my  commerce  forth  to  sea, 

Meshed  and  safe  with  cunning  law ; 
But  their  fat  utility 

Throttle  siren  songs  untold — 

When  the  world  and  I  are  old. 

Eva  Navone. 


The  Story  of  the  Airacle 


Told  in    California 


By  Otto  von  Geldern 

(All  rights  reserved.) 


IT  WAS  after  the  Civil  War,  at  the 
end  of  the  sixties,  when  the  good 
old  country  towns  of  California 
passed  through  a  hibernating  stage, 
as  it  were.  There  had  been  tumultuous 
times;  exciting  days  and  months  and 
years,  when  history  was  in  the  making. 
The  fever  heat  of  our  golden  era  had 
been  subdued;  the  pulse  beat  of  the 
country  had  become  normal;  and  dur- 
ing that  particular  period  to  which  we 
now  refer  it  was  even  less  than  nor- 
mal. The  State  enjoyed  a  twilight 
sleep,  during  which  it  gave  birth  to  the 
vigorous  youth  who  is  now  growing 
very  rapidly  and  crowing  as  lustily  as 
a  belligerent  chicken  cock. 

How  we  did  enjoy  the  dolce  far  ni- 
ente  of  those  days.  That  musical 
tongue  of  the  country  so  delightful  to 
the  ear,  which  is  heard  so  seldom  now, 
was  then  spoken  more  or  less  by 
everyone,  and  the  habits  and  the  cus- 
toms, too,  were  in  some  modified  form, 
those  of  the  hidalgo  and  the  black- 
eyed  senorita.  How  charming  it  all 
was;  at  least,  it  seems  so  to  us  now. 
We  look  back  upon  that  classic  period 
pathetically,  realizing  that  it  has  been 
obliterated  from  the  pages  of  our  his- 
tory forever. 

We  were  very  proud  of  our  Golden 
State,  and  we  all  possessed  the  war- 
like spirit  of  defense,  in  case  the  time 
should  ever  come  when  it  would  be 
necessary  to  defend  it. 

Our  community  was  an  agricultural 
one,  and  our  fathers,  who  were  peace- 
fully inclined  citizens,  were  very  pro- 
nounced in  their  principles  of  loyalty, 
which  are  readily  put  into  words  like 
these : 


"Don't  fight,  boys,  until  you  have  to; 
but  if  it  ever  become  necessary  to  pro- 
tect this  inheritance  of  yours,  then  fight 
with  your  coats  off." 

This  spirit  was  well  expressed  when 
they  chose  the  bear  as  an  appropriate 
symbol  of  the  State  of  California.  The 
bear  is  a  very  peaceful  and  docile  ani- 
mal if  left  undisturbed,  but  if  its  sav- 
ageness  is  ever  aroused  to  the  fighting 
point,  it  becomes  the  better  part  of 
valor  to  adhere  to  the  maxim  of  the 
old  mountaineer:  "I  haven't  lost  any." 

Our  slogan  of  preparedness  for  pur- 
poses of  defense  was  fully  as  forcible 
as  the  aphorism  inscribed  upon  the 
•Delphic  Oracle,  and  it  had  just  as 
classic  a  twang  to  it.  It  contained  the 
three  words:  "Man  heel  thyself!"  and 
if  they  were  uttered  with  the  proper 
accentuation,  with  a  befitting  expres- 
sion of  countenance  and  with  gestures 
peculiarly  Californian,  they  were  very 
effective. 

But,  we  were  satisfied  if  left  undis- 
turbed to  follow  the  daily  routine  of 
life  to  which  we  had  become  habitu- 
ated, and  we  asked  for  nothing  more. 

No  one  ever  had  any  too  much  to  do 
in  those  days.  There  were  certain 
duties  and  plenty  of  time  to  do  them 
in.  Outdoor  amusements  during  the 
day  were  frequent,  and  the  caballo  was 
a  very  close  companion. 

The  evenings  were  spent  either  at 
the  village  hotel,  usually  in  that  part 
of  the  caravansary  which  contained  in- 
viting looking  bottles  filled  with  the 
famous  wines  that  were  then  making  a 
name  for  themselves  in  the  world;  or 
in  some  general  merchandise  store, 
where  one  would  be  sure  to  meet  a 


THE  STORY    OF  THE    MIRACLE 


43 


friend  or  two  to  discuss  the  opportu- 
nities of  the  versatile  George  C.  Gor- 
ham  or  the  astute  Henry  H.  Haight, 
who  were  considered  at  that  time  as 
candidates  for  Governor.  This  was 
called  swapping  lies. 

The  history  of  the  defeat  of  seces- 
sion was  still  an  absorbing  topic  of 
conversation,  and  a  certain  story  of 
how  California  was  saved  to  the  North 
through  the  patriotic  stand  taken  by 
some  loyal  ship-carpenters  at  the  Mare 
Island  Navy  Yard  became  of  unusual 
local  interest. 

Stories  of  the  martyred  Abraham 
were  told,  to  which  the  young  men  lis- 
tened reverently.  And  in  this  wise 
these  heterogeneous  meeting  places  of 
the  people  became  educational  centers 
from  which  some  of  our  best  and  most 
successful  men  have  sprung. 

The  dignitaries  of  the  village,  too, 
had  their  gathering  places  and  en- 
joyed a  common  meeting  ground  as 
modest  in  its  surroundings  as  any  of 
the  others.  It  may  have  been  in  the 
rear  of  the  hardware  store,  or  in  the 
post-office,  or  at  the  hotel;  men  were 
not  fastidious  in  post-pioneer  days. 
They  lived  a  life  of  spartan  simplicity 
and  unexciting  regularity. 

The  only  event  of  the  day  was  the 
arrival  of  the  stage  with  the  mail  from 
the  city  and  a  straggling  passenger  or 
two,  who  in  the  summer  time  were  so 
begrimed  with  dust  and  dirt  that  they 
could  not  be  identified  until  they  had 
been  thoroughly  soaked. 

And  the  dignitaries,  the  foremost 
citizens,  who  were  they?  They  were 
some  ten  or  fifteen  of  them,  profes- 
sional men  and  storekeepers.  The 
judge,  the  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the 
schoolmaster,  the  druggist,  the  post- 
master, the  innkeeper,  the  watch- 
maker, two  or  three  vineyardists,  sev- 
eral so-called  merchants,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  the  good  old  parish  priest. 

There  was  Judge  Severence,  an  eru- 
dite gentleman,  past  middle  age;  spare 
and  gaunt  of  figure,  with  a  prodigious 
head,  covered  with  thin  gray  hair; 
beardless  it  was,  too,  but  ornamented 
with  huge  hirsute  appendages  in  the 
shape  of  eyebrows.    He  had  been  edu- 


cated for  the  bar  (perhaps  this  may 
have  been  true  in  more  than  one 
sense) ;  had  studied  in  several  of  the 
renowned  Eastern  universities,  and  had 
visited  Europe.  We  knew  all  this  from 
hearsay  only,  but  we  respected  him 
highly  because  of  his  reputed  erudi- 
tion. 

Howbeit,  he  was  a  just  judge,  wor- 
thy of  every  respect,  with  a  warm 
heart,  full  of  kindly  humor;  and,  what 
endeared  him  to  the  community  par- 
ticularly— he  was  a  good  story-teller. 
His  stories  were  of  the  Lincoln-type, 
full  of  harmless  wit  and  wisdom. 

Since  all  men  were  known  by  a  lo- 
cal appellation  rather  than  by  family 
name,  he  was  called  "Jux."  One  may 
imagine  this  to  have  been  a  perversion 
of  his  judicial  title,  but  this  was  not 
so.  At  one  time,  in  trying  a  divorce 
case,  and  these  cases  were  rare  in  those 
days  and  therefore  all  the  more  inter- 
esting, he  used  the  word  "juxtaposi- 
tion" in  reference  to  some  detail  of  the 
evidence,  which  so  aroused  the  risibil- 
ity of  the  unsophisticated  folk  that  this 
monosyllable  was  invented  by  the  town 
wit  during  an  inspired  moment,  and  it 
clung  to  the  judge  to  the  day  of  his 
death. 

There  was  Doctor  Plasterman,  an 
austere  looking  but  well-disposed 
man,  who  knew  every  one  intimately, 
that  is,  interiorly  as  well  as  exteriorly. 
Physicians  had  to  be  very  versatile  in 
the  early  days,  for  they  were  called 
upon  for  anything  and  everything, 
whether  pulling  a  tooth  or  inciting  an 
efflux.  He  was  a  sort  of  godfather  to 
all  the  young  folk  pf  both  sexes,  be- 
cause he  had  been  a  personal  witness 
to  their  physical  entrance  into  this  vale 
of  tears.  And  to  the  older  people  who 
had  passed  away,  he  had  rendered 
sympathetic  aid  in  that  last  trying 
hour  when  a  friend  with  a  soothing 
hand  is  needed  more  than  ever. 

He,  too,  had  been  given  a  specific 
name,  like  every  one  else.  The  doc- 
tor was  a  connoisseur  of  what  are 
known  as  dry  wines ;  white  wines  of  a 
certain  flavor  and  tartness  that  leave 
an  impress  of  dryness  on  the  palate. 
He  could  discourse  on  their  bouquet — 


44 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


blume,  he  called  it — and  go  enthusias- 
tically into  a  lot  of  epicurean  detail 
that  astonished  the  natives  who  had 
no  conception  of  such  things.  There 
was  one  thing,  however,  which  they 
were  not  able  to  construe  logically  into 
a  concrete  meaning,  and  that  was  this : 
how  anything  that  is  wet,  deliciously 
so  and  very  much  so,  could  by  any 
possibility  be  dry,  or,  as  Webster's 
dictionary  has  it :  "Free  from  moisture 
of  any  kind;"  and  because  the  doctor 
appeared  to  possess  the  unusual  ac- 
complishment of  perverting  this  home- 
ly adjective  into  something  so  far  re- 
moved from  is  specific  meaning  as  to 
appear  absurd,  the  sobriquet  of  "Dry- 
dock"  was  coined  for  him. 

The  word  behind  the  hyphen  has  no 
reference  to  that  nautical  receptacle 
then  unknown  in  California,  but  it  ob- 
tained its  meaning  from  the  undig- 
nified abbreviation  of  titles;  in  the 
same  way  in  which  a  lieutenant  was 
called  a  lute,  a  captain  a  cap,  a  pro- 
fessor a  prof,  or  a  gentleman  a  gent. 

Then  there  was  the  watchmaker,  Mr. 
Tinker.  The  name  of  his  calling  did  ill 
befit  him,  for  he  could  not  have  made 
a  watch  if  he  had  tried  ever  so  long. 
He  cleaned  them ;  whatever  that  might 
imply.  An  invalid  watch  or  clock 
brought  to  him  he  would  examine 
physically  with  the  gravity  of  a  gyne- 
cologist. He  would  listen  to  its  heart 
murmurs  and  inspect  its  vitals  with  a 
huge  magnifying  glass  with  the  in- 
variable result  of  his  diagnosis:  "Has 
to  be  cleaned." 

He  was  known  by  the  name  of  "our 
angel,"  and  unless  .your  historian  were 
to  relate  the  circumstances  connected 
with  the  origin  of  this  name,  you  would 
never  guess  it.  This  little  man  with 
pionounced  fiery  features  and  uncom- 
monly large  hands  and  feet,  frequently 
acted  in  the  capacity  of  a  docent,  by 
imparting  chronological  knowledge  to 
his  friends  at  their  diurnal  gatherings. 
His  hearers  were  usually  overawed  by 
such  terms  as  "apparent  time,"  "mean- 
time," "siderial  time,"  "equation  of 
time,"  which  our  friend  used  with 
great  volubility.  One  scientific  ex- 
pression, however,  on  which  he  prided 


himself  more  than  on  any  other  was 
"hour  angle,"  and  this  astronomical 
term  he  got  into  his  discourse  wherever 
he  detected  a  good  opportunity.  And, 
finally,  that  became  his  name — hour 
angle.  It  was  always  spoken,  how- 
ever, as  though  the  first  word  took  the 
form  of  a  personal  pronoun:  our  an- 
gle ;  and  since  this  did  not  convey  a 
meaning  to  the  very  practically  minded 
men  of  the  village,  usage  finally  de- 
cided upon  "our  Angel."  His  wife, 
whose  anatomy  was  more  or  less  out  of 
proportion,  was  known  as  "the  Equa- 
tion of  time." 

The  druggist's  name  was  Bull.  He 
had  lost  an  eye  during  one  of  his  so- 
called  laboratory  experiments  in  the 
back  yard,  and  in  lieu  of  this  optic  he 
wore  a  glass  dummy.  The  extraction 
of  this  false  member  which,  by  the 
way,  had  to  be  imported  from  the 
East,  and  its  re-insertion  into  the  va- 
cant cavity,  was  not  only  very  instruc- 
tive to  the  young  people  of  the  town, 
but  it  likewise  afforded  them  an  inno- 
cent amusement  of  which  they  never 
tired.  A  crying  child  became  pacified 
at  once  if  Mr.  Bull  would  withdraw  this 
vitreous  member  from  its  socket  and 
permit  the  baby  to  play  with  it,  with 
the  admonition  not  to  swallow  it,  my 
dear. 

He  was  called  the  "bully  boy  with  a 
glass  eye,"  a  slang  expression  fre- 
quently heard  in  California  in  those 
days,  which  may  have  had  its  origin 
in  our  community. 

Time  will  not  permit  us  to  continue 
the  personal  description  of  these  char- 
acters. There  are  too  many  of  them, 
and  each  one  was  an  original  in  his 
own  way  and  different  from  all  the 
rest.  But  there  is  still  one  more  to 
whom  particular  reference  must  be 
made. 

The  village  priest,  Father  Diman- 
che,  known  by  all  as  Father  Sunday, 
was  liked  by  every  one.  He  was  a 
Belgian  by  birth,  who  appeared  to  be 
able  to  converse  in  any  tongue.  While 
we  had  comparatively  few  inhabitants 
in  our  part  of  the  country,  they  had 
come  from  almost  every  quarter  of  the 
civilized  globe,  and  in  order  to  get  into 


THE  STORY    OF  THE    MIRACLE 


45 


closer  contact  with  these  people,  and 
all  the  more  so  as  a  spiritual  adviser, 
it  was  necessary  to  be  more  or  less 
polyglot. 

The  Father  had  the  best  heart  in  the 
world,  a  heart  which  was  always  open 
to  those  who  needed  consolation  and 
friendly  succor  during  an  hour  of  trial 
or  anguish.  He  was  pious,  but  not  os- 
tentatiously so;  he  possessed  an  in- 
tensely human  nature ;  he  not  only  for- 
gave but  he  also  forgot,  and  he  found 
an  excuse  for  every  shortcoming  of  his 
fellow  being.  This  endeared  him  to 
the  community,  and  Jew  and  Gentile 
and  the  faithful  respected  him  alike. 

He  rarely  ever  missed  an  evening's 
gathering  of  his  friends,  and  he  en- 
tered into  their  jokes  and  frivolities  as 
long  as  the  humor  was  harmless  and 
free  from  any  personal  application. 

A  better  man  never  lived,  and  to 
this  day  the  older  people  who  knew 
him  speak  of  him  in  terms  of  great 
reverence  and  endearment. 

Now,  after  all  these  preliminaries, 
we  have  finally  reached  the  beginning 
of  the  story,  which  is  simply  a  nar- 
rative of  one  of  the  gatherings  of  our 
simple  country  friends. 

One  may  readily  imagine  that  their 
conversations  turned  upon  almost  any 
interesting  subject,  and  that  that  which 
happened  to  be  under  discussion  was 
treated  from  "every  angle,"  as  the  say- 
ing is  to-day.  In  those  days,  however, 
subjects  were  not  treated  from  angles, 
any  more  than  we  would  treat  a  sub- 
ject at  the  present  time  from  its  cosine, 
its  tangent,  or  its  secant; — but  that 
may  come. 

Religious  discussions  were  not  in- 
frequent. Andrew  Jackson  Davis  and 
his  doctrine  of  a  tangible  spirit  world, 
peopled  with  living  and  breathing  en- 
tities, who  possessed  the  uncanny 
power  of  communicating  with  their 
friends  on  earth  by  means  of  a  con- 
cussive  language  of  raps  and  knocks, 
in  rooms  that  had  to  be  specially 
darkened  for  the  purpose,  had  upset 
some  of  the  minds  not  sufficiently  oc- 
cupied or  properly  fortified,  and  talks 
of  table-tipping,  and  of  the  materiali- 
zation of  the  late  Mrs.  Tucker,  or  the 


astral  body  of  Dan  Scully's  mother- 
in-law,  and  of  other  occult  matters  were 
exceedingly  interesting,  even  if  they 
did  have  the  effect  on  some  of  the  lis- 
teners of  making  them  afraid  to  go  to 
bed  alone  and  in  the  dark  subse- 
quently. 

These  were  our  modern  miracles. 
Jux,  always  skeptical,  treated  them 
with  a  sardonic  smile.  But — if  they 
occurred  during  the  advent  of  the  Re- 
deemer, then  why  not  now? 

This  brought  out  an  argument  on 
miracles  in  general,  Father  Sunday 
maintaining,  in  his  unobtrusive  way, 
that  all  things  were  possible  to  the 
good  and  omnipotent  God. 

But  then,  there  were  the  laws  of 
Nature:  how  about  them?  In  return, 
the  assertion  was  made  that  if  the 
Deity  is  the  author  of  these  laws,  and 
no  one  had  the  temerity  to  deny  this 
fact,  then  it  would  not  be  inconsistent 
to  believe  that  He  could  violate  them 
if  He  saw  fit  to  do  so. 

This  argument  waxed  warm  with 
pros  and  cons;  our  Angel,  as  the  scien- 
tist of  the  village,  stoutly  denying  the 
possibility,  as  he  termed  it,  of  mutilat- 
ing the  immutability  of  Nature's  laws. 
There  probably  would  not  have  been 
any  end  to  the  argument  if  the  Judge 
had  not  obtained  the  floor,  after  a  con- 
siderable effort,  and  had  forced  his 
friends  to  heed  the  following  state- 
ment: 

"Father  Sunday,  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  a  story.  I  am  going  to  relate  to 
you  a  dream,  one  that  I  dreamed  re- 
cently, in  which  a  miracle  is  wrought; 
and  if  you  will  admit  the  possibility  of 
this  miracle,  I  will  return  the  compli- 
ment by  believing  in  any  and  all  that 
are  related  in  biblical  history,  and  this 
I  promise  to  do  from  now  on." 

A  treat  was  evidently  in  store  for 
our  good  friends,  because  the  Judge's 
reputation  as  a  story-teller  had  been 
firmly  established  in  the  community,  a 
matter  which  has  been  recorded  al- 
ready in  these  pages. 

There  was  a  general  demand  at  once 
and  loud  exclamations  were  made  for 
the  Judge  to  proceed.  "Go  on,  Jux, 
let's  have  the  story."    "Don't  keep  us 


46 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


in  suspense.  We  know  that  you  are  a 
dreamer  from  way-back,  and  that  your 
dreams  are  as  extraordinary  as  your 
thoughts  when  you  are  awake.  Go 
ahead,  most  noble  and  illustrious  Som- 
nambulo,  we  shall  be  all  ear." 

Even  Father  Dimanche  acquiesced 
and  nodded  his  head  with  an  encour- 
aging smile. 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Judge's  Dream. 

"Now,  my  good  Father  and  all  my 
friends,  listen  to  me.  Dreams  are 
strange  phenomena!  Inexplicable  are 
their  remarkable  influences  over  us. 
With  all  our  science,  Dry-dock,  we 
fail  to  account  for  the  not  infrequent 
material  significance  of  certain  noc- 
turnal apparitions." 

The  doctor  gave  his  assent  to  these 
foreboding  and  redundant  preliminar- 
ies with  a  nod  of  extreme  gravity. 

"Just  think,  friends,  I  dreamed  that 
I  had  died.  My  soul  had  left  its  car- 
nal receptacle,  in  which  I  flattered  my- 
self that  it  had  been  fairly  well  housed. 
Now,  strange  to  say,  it,  or  I,  if  you 
will,  knew  not  of  its,  or  my,  new  exist- 
ence. In  other  words,  no  change  ap- 
peared to  have  occurred  to  me  per- 
sonally. I,  or  it,  seemed  to  be  the 
same  old  Jux,  but  the  surroundings 
and  all  things  about  me  were  remark- 
ably unusual. 

"I  do  not  know  by  what  means,  but 
I  seemed  to  be  moving  without  physi- 
cal effort,  and  I  was  apparently  chang- 
ing my  position  relatively  to  visible 
objects  about  me.  Unmistakably  I 
was  propelled  in  a  certain  direction, 
and  this  continued  until  I  had  reached 
an  indescribable  enclosure  or  wall.  It 
appeared  to  me  as  though  this  were 
built  of  innumerable  clouds  and  of 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  small 
stars;  it  scintillated  and  glistened  with 
a  subdued  luster,  and  its  vision  filled 
me  with  a  delight  that  I  had  never 
known  before. 

"In  traversing  the  space  along  this 
cloud  wall  in  a  direction  that  im- 
pressed me  as  being  normal  to  the  one 


in  which  I  had  come,  I  reached  an  im- 
mense opening;  that  is,  a  portal  which 
led  into  a  mighty  court,  encircled  like- 
wise by  cloud  barriers  of  the  most 
beautiful  hues. 

"There  were  many  others  who  en- 
tered this  court  with  me.  They  ap- 
peared to  come  from  all  directions  and 
from  no  particular  direction.  I  said 
there  were  others;  I  use  the  word 
"others"  ambiguously,  for  I  am  in  a 
quandary  what  to  call  them.  They 
were  spectral  entities,  and  they  were 
there  everywhere.  To  attempt  to  de- 
scribe them  would  be  futile.  I  had  not 
seen  them  approach,  but  I  was  at  every 
moment  cognizant  of  their  coming. 
They  appeared  and  disappeared  again 
in  the  most  inexplicable  manner.  It 
was  all  so  awfully  strange,  so  mysteri- 
ous and  so  weird,  that  words  fail  to 
give  a  description  of  what  I  saw  and 
what  I  felt. 

"Within  the  enclosure  there  were 
edifices  inhabited,  if  I  may  use  that 
expression,  by  strange  beings.  That 
is  not  the  proper  word  for  them,  but 
it  suits  me  to  call  them  so.  They  had 
all  the  attributes  of  humanity,  and  yet 
they  were  not  human,  for  they  were 
not  mortal.  If  they  had  ever  been 
mortal  or  human,  they  had  forgotten 
all  about  it,  or  they  cared  not.  They 
cannot  be  identified  by  our  common 
conception  of  angels;  they  flew,  but 
they  had  no  wings;  they  appeared  to 
be  able  to  be  in  two  places  at  once.  To 
them,  time  and  space  had  no  longer 
any  meaning  or  significance. 

"They  must  have  had  the  advantage 
of  some  transcendental  or  fourth  di- 
mension, to  which  my  three-dimen- 
sional soul  had  not  as  yet  been  ad- 
justed. It  is  the  only  explanation  I 
am  able  to  offer  to  account  for  their 
remarkable  appearance  and  disap- 
ance. 

"By  some  strange  method,  inexpli- 
cable to  me  now,  but  so  absolutely  a 
matter  of  course  to  me  then,  I  reached 
a  very  large  aggregation  of  beautiful 
cloud  edifices.  It  seemed  to  have  been 
constructed  of  rainbows,  this  palace- 
like structure,  which  I  entered  with 
many  others,  impelled  by  a  motive  that 


THE  STORY    OF  THE    MIRACLE 


47 


I  did  not  then  nor  do  I  now  under- 
stand. 

"Immeasurable  halls  were  filled  with 
devout  souls.  I  saw  them  and  I  heard 
them.  They  were  about  me  every- 
where. 

"There  was  a  sort  of  rhythmic  har- 
mony in  everything  that  I  saw,  and  in 
all  that  I  heard  and  felt.  A  great  hymn 
of  adoration  seemed  to  swell  forth  in 
one  majestic  volume  of  concord  from 
a  thousand  mighty,  but  to  us  invisible 
organs  that  sang  the  music  of  the 
spheres  to  the  glory  of  the  Creator. 

"Space  was  filled  with  sights  and 
sounds  soul-stirring  and  overpowering 
in  their  grandeur  and  beauty.  Space 
is  a  word  that  I  use  again  as  a  human 
being,  for  then  I  had  lost  all  spatial 
conception  and  perceived  through  my 
soul,  not  by  five  senses,  but  by  one 
sense  only,  so  that  seeing  and  hearing 
and  feeling  and  taste  and  smell  ap- 
peared to  have  been  merged  into  one 
perceptive  faculty.  I  seemed  to  real- 
ize then  that  intelligence  is  an  entity, 
and  not  the  product  of  an  entity,  and 
that  it  possessed  as  tangible  an  ex- 
istence here  as  anything  that  we  call 
real  on  earth. 

"Here  I  was  in  this  great  hall,  with 
the  mighty  dome  of  a  sky  above  me 
far  more  beautiful  than  any  that  I  had 
ever  seen  before,  overawed  by  what 
I  perceived,  unable  to  move  or  to  stir, 
with  a  desire  only  to  wait  and  to  abide 
that  which  was  to  come. 

"Now,  where  do  you  think  I  was? 
Let  me  say  it  reverently  and  with 
abated  breath :  I  was  in  the  halls  of  the 
palace  of  God !  Those  about  me  spoke 
in  hushed  whispers  and  referred  to 
Him  in  the  greatest  reverence  as  the 
Celestial  Majesty.  But,  stranger  than 
anything  I  have  yet  related:  No  one 
had  ever  seen  Him.  This,  I  learned, 
was  as  impossible  as  to  see  oneself. 

"I  may  have  been  there  a  long  time 
or  a  short  time,  I  cannot  tell,  for,  as  I 
have  said,  time-conception  had  been 
obliterated  within  me,  but  at  last  I  was 
permitted  to  obtain  a  conception  of  the 
Great  and  All-pervading  Power.  I 
shall  not  attempt  to  describe  to  you 
this  moment,  for  there  is  nothing  that 


I  could  say  that  would  give  you  the 
impression  that  I  received. 

"No  individuality  appeared  any- 
where; but  the  great  halls,  heretofore 
illumined  by  a  dim  or  subdued  light 
befitting  the  sacredness  of  our  sur- 
roundings, were  suddenly  filled  with 
the  most  brilliant  and  overpowering 
radiance.  A  beacon-fire  of  infinite  in- 
tensity yielded  a  newer  light,  a  brighter 
light,  a  greater  light,  and  more  light 
and  light  again,  until  this  sacred  tem- 
ple in  which  we  were  assembled  was 
revealed  to  our  gaze  into  its  remotest 
recesses,  where  the  holiest  of  shrines 
had  been  unobserved  before.  And  the 
appearance  of  this  great  light  was  ac- 
companied by  one  mighty  impulse  of 
the  spheres  to  sing  their  eternal  Ho- 
sannas  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe. 

"Shafts  or  rays  of  this  pure  and 
brilliant  luminosity,  endless  in  variety 
and  as  to  number,  were  hurled  to  the 
sky  above  us,  and  into  the  immeasur- 
able regions  beyond  us,  and  their  re- 
flection from  sun  to  sun  penetrated 
every  part  of  the  universe.  These 
quivering,  soul-stirring  halos  reached 
into  the  vastness  of  space  to  the  very 
last  one  of  the  eternal  stars  for  a  dou- 
ble purpose,  to  imbue  it  with  the 
quickening  impulse  of  life  and  to  dissi- 
pate the  darkness  of  ignorance. 

"I  grasped  it  all  in  a  moment,  and  I 
learned  then  that  "God  is  the  Light" 

"The  impression  may  have  been  but 
one  of  an  instant,  but  the  effect  upon 
me  will  be  everlasting. 

"This  lesson  having  been  imparted 
to  me,  and  to  the  many  souls  who  were 
there  with  me,  the  halls  assumed 
again  that  condition  of  subdued  illu- 
mination in  which  I  found  them  when 
I  first  entered  them. 

"Other  perceptions  now  became 
manifest  to  me.  I  seemed  to  take  cog- 
nizance again  of  what  was  going  on 
about  me  in  my  immediate  surround- 
ings. I  appeared  to  recover  from  a 
trance,  and  suddenly  realized  that  I 
was  spoken  to,  that  I  was  addressed 
by  some  one  and  by  my  proper  name, 
too,  which  I  had  not  heard  spoken  for 
many  years.  It  appeared  to  me  as 
though  those  who  held     sway    there, 


48                                        OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

say,  the  archangels  or  the  angels,  were  and  it  was  finally  decided  and  made 

about  to  make  a  disposition  of  me  in  clear  to  me  that  I  would  have  to  be 

some  manner,  for  I  was  given  to  un-  taken  to  the  abode  of  one  referred  to 

derstand  that  it  depended  upon  certain  as  Satan,  in  order  to  consult  with  him 

records  which  they  were  looking  into,  on  the  subject  of  my  futurity, 

whether  I  would  be  permitted  to  enter  "Here  was  a  fine  'how-do-you-do.' 

a  coveted  celestial  sphere  or  state,  or  With  all  my  mundane  faults  I  thought 

whether  I  should  be  sent  in  a  contrary  that  after  all  it  was  a  'little  rough  on 

direction  to  be  dealt  with  according  to  me'  to  have  been  so  utterly  neglected 

the  dictates  of  another  very  formidable  as  not  to  possess  one  single  good  deed 

authority,  whom  I  had  not  met  as  yet,  to  my  credit.     However,  I  comforted 

but  who,  I  had  reason  to  believe,  pos-  myself  with  the  thought  that  since  no 

sessed  an  immense  influence  in  super-  one  had  charged  me  with  anything  on 

mundane  affairs.  the  other  side  of  the  ledger,  I  ought 

"My  soul  became  cognizant  of  the  not  to  borrow  any  trouble  until  I  had 
existence  and  presence  of  innumerable  to  face  the  music  for  good, 
scrolls,  that  is,  rolls  of  parchment  or  "At  this  juncture,  several  angels  of 
paper  that  were  handled  by  angelic  a  subordinate  capacity  were  delegated 
apparitions,  who  appeared  to  be  heav-  to  convey  me  to  a  locality  to  which  we 
enly  scribes  or  secretaries,  and  in  my  so  frequently  refer  in  California  in 
behalf  evidently  many  of  these  scrolls  metaphors,  similitudes  or  hyperboles 
had  been  consulted,  but  apparently  un-  of  speech  superlatively  sulphuric,  for 
successfully.  Then  came  another  mo-  no  other  reason  than  to  be  specific  or 
ment  when  I  was  informed — I  don't  to  accentuate  our  conversation, 
know  how,  but  I  realized  it  all  plainly  "Judging  from  our  constant  refer- 
enough  then — that  the  searchers  of  ence  to  the  environment  of  Satan,  one 
records,  these  archangels  or  angels,  would  be  led  to  think  that  we  were 
had  failed  to  find  any  record  of  my  very  familiar  with  it,  but  I  shall  prob- 
mundane  existence.  ably  astonish  you  by  telling  you  em- 

"I  imagine  now,  after  having  gone  phatically  that  we  know  nothing  at  all 
through  all  this,  that  an  account  is  kept  about  it,  and  that  all  our  conceptions 
of  all  of  us;  that  our  good  deeds  are  of  it  are  false.  But,  let  us  wait  pa- 
credited  to  us  on  the  right  side  of  the  tient1y  until  I  get  to  that  part  of  my 
ledger,  and  that  our     misdeeds     are  story. 

placed  against  them  as  a  debit,  and  "The  angels  who  were  with  me  to 

that  the  final  balance  makes  up  our  fit-  steer  me  four-dimensionally  to  the  gar- 

ness  to  enter  either  into  one  of  the  fu-  den  of  Proserpine  had  been  instructed 

ture  conditions  of  bliss  and  happiness,  to  go  directly  to  the  Prince  of  Discord 

or  into  the  other  where  these  condi-  and  to  say  to  him,  that  since  no  record 

tions  are  doubtful.    This  may  not  be  could  be  found  in  the  annals  of  the 

so,  but  my  human  reasoning  seems  to  celestrial  registration  office  of  the  soul 

assume  this  as  a  logical  sequence  of  of  one  Tobias  Severence,  homo  sap- 

my  experiences.     It  is  necessary,  ap-  iens,  called  Jux,  arrival  from  planet 

parently,  to  read  your  title  clear  to  number  3,  termed  Mundus,  of  Solar 

mansions  in  the  sky.  System  XXIII,  Class  C,  reference  num- 

"Not  finding  my  name  in  the  rec-  ber  plus  1-8-6-7,  it  became  necessary 

ords   seemed  to  cause  grave  anxiety  to  institute  further  search  in  the  ar- 

among  those  who  were  busying  them-  chives  of  the  power  of  evil  and  to  ob- 

selves  with  them,  and  there  were  ex-  tain  a  record  from  this  source,  if  there 

pressions  of  opinion  to  the  effect  that  be  one,  in  order  that  this  soul  of  mine 

my  spiritual  advisers  on  earth  must  be  properly  classified  and     officially 

have  been  very  lax  in  their  duties,  or  stored  away  into  its  place  of  eternal 

this  omission  could  not  by  any  possi-  abode. 

bility  have  happened.    These  celestial  "The  sensation  in  departing  hence 

agents  appeared  to  be  in  a  quandary,  was  very  much  like  that  of  my  coming, 


SOLITAIRE 


49 


which  I  have  attempted  to  describe  to 
you  already.  The  transference  im- 
pressed me  again  as  a  most  mysterious 
changing  of  place  without  the  neces- 
sity of  individual  exertion;  but  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  farther  removed 
we  became  from  that  central  region  or 
locality,  where  space  and  time  rela- 
tions are  incongruities — and  where  my 
soul,  unprepared  for  these  strange  con- 
ditions and  unadjusted  to  them,  had 
been  so  weirdly  perturbed  and  con- 
fused— the  more  did  the  objects  about 
us  assume  again  that  natural  order  of 
things  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed 
on  earth. 

"The  transformation  from  a  subjec- 
tive to  an  objective  condition,  using  my 
human  judgment  now,  was  evidently  a 
gradual  one.  At  first  we  were  souls 
or  thoughts  in  translation;  we  then 
seemed  to  traverse  space  again  objec- 
tively, but  spectre-like  and  in  a  man- 
ner difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  de- 
scribe in  words,  until  we  were  really  in 
flight  by  actual  effort.  At  another  and 
later  stage  of  this  transformation  the 
indefinite  objects  on  all  sides  of  us 
grew  together  to  assume  concrete 
forms,  and  I  began  to  conceive  dis- 
tances again,  and  to  use  my  five  senses 
normally,  as  I  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  doing  before  I  was  overwhelmed 
by  impressions  that  I  could  not  cor- 
relate properly." 

"Normally  is  good,"  interjected  the 
bully  boy  with  a  glass  eye. 

Jux,  unperturbed,  continued:  "And 
finally  we  found     ourselves     actually 


walking  along  a  beautiful  pathway,  in 
an  open  field  full  of  the  most  exqui- 
site flowers,  such  as  I  had  never  seen 
before.  The  way  led  directly  to  a 
sombre  looking  forest  or  wood,  which 
was  distinctly  visible  in  the  distance. 
I  strolled  leisurely  along  this  broad 
path,  illumined  by  an  agreeable  solar 
light,  in  the  most  happy  and  content 
frame  of  mind,  the  angels  leading  the 
way  like  the  harbingers  of  an  exalted 
messenger. 

"They  spoke  of  the  beautiful  flowers 
as  being  the  souls  of  human  infants, 
planted  temporarily  in  these  fields  of 
undisturbed  tranquility  until  they  were 
ready  to  be  transplanted  into  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden  to  bloom  perpetually. 

"In  the  metamorphosis  (if  I  may  be 
permitted  to  use  this  word)  from  one 
extreme  psychical  state  to  the  other, 
there  appeared  to  be  an  intermediary 
condition,  a  sphere  of  transition,  as  it 
were,  to  which  a  soul,  liberated  from 
its  mundane  enthrallment,  should  be 
subjected  first,  in  the  correct  order  of 
things  psychical,  before  taking  its 
final  abode  in  that  greater  Beyond, 
where  there  is  neither  Past  nor  Future, 
and  where  space  is  meaningless. 

"By  some  strange  and  to  me  inex- 
plicable error,  oversight  or  misunder- 
standing, my  poor  soul  had  been 
plunged  from  one  extreme  directly  in- 
to the  other,  without  giving  it  an  op- 
portunity to  enter  primarily  into  that 
transitory  stage,  which  is  a  matter  that 
appears  so  essential  to  me  now. 
(To  be  Continued) 


SOLITAIRE 


When  Love  is  banished  from  the  human  heart 

There  is  no  desert-waste  so  lone  and  bare 
As  the  bleak  soul  of  him  who  lives   apart — 

A  recluse  in  a  game  of  solitaire ! 

William  DeRyee. 


The  Ause  of  the  Locked  Door 


By    Elsie    McCormick 


COLTRANE  still  maintains  that  suffering,  not  by  digging  it  up  in  a 
he  acted  rightly  in  the  matter,  cloister.  She  might  be  a  hopeless  in- 
I  have  long  since  ceased  argu-  valid,  tied  down  to  one  room,  or  may- 
ing  with  him,  partly  because  it  be  she's  a  rancher's  wife,  living  thirty 
is  useless  and  partly  because,  after  miles  from  the  nearest  railroad.  Any- 
reading  her  latest  poems,  I  am  begin-  way,  she's  out  of  the  world  so  far  that 
ning  to  agree  that  Laura  Lent's  happi-  she's  gotten  an  entirely  new  angle  on 
ness  is  worth  less  to  the  world  than  it." 
her  work.  "Ever  heard  the  name  before  ?"  I  in- 

I  was  with  Coltrane  the  first  time  he  quired, 
received  a  manuscript  from  her.  He  "Never,"  he  answered,  "and  I  don't 
opened  it  in  his  usual  bored  way,  pol-  think  any  other  editor  did.  She  vio- 
ished  his  glasses  and  read  it  through,  lates  every  possible  rule  about  sub- 
But  instead  of  reaching  toward  the  mitting  a  manuscript.  I  came  near 
pigeon-hole  marked  "Regret  Slips,"  he  putting  it  in  the  waste-basket  without 
went  over  again  slowly  and  thought-  going  any  farther  than  the  heading." 
fully,  with  the  expression  of  a  man  Coltrane  ran  the  poems  in  the  next 
who  has  unexpectedly  picked  up  ten  number  of  the  magazine.  The  issue 
dollars.  had  not  been  on  the  newsstands  a  day 

"Read  it,    Moulton,"    he    ordered,  before  he  began  to  receive  comments 

thrusting  it  at  me.    It  consisted  of  four  on  them.    Then  the  reviews  took  them 

short  poems  written  on  both  sides  of  up,  and  after  they  had  been  reprinted 

the  paper  in  a  queer  feminine  hand,  four  or  five  times,  the  new  writer  was 

But  after  I  had  read  them  I  was  as  sur-  on  the  way  to  become  famous, 

prised  as  Coltrane.    There  was  some-  But  of  all  the     people     who     had 

thing  unearthly     about    them — some-  watched  her  success,  Laura  E.  Lent 

thing,  as  a  sentimental  reader  later  re-  was  apparently  the  least     interested, 

marked,  "that  savored  of     the     star-  She  ignored  Coltrane's  letter  of  appre- 

dust."    Down  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  ciation,  and  her  only  answer    to    the 

was  the  name  "Laura  E.  Lent,"  and  a  check  was  another  manuscript,  more 

post-office  box  in  a     small     Western  beautiful  and  more  poorly  written  than 

town.  the  first  one. 

"Where,  this  side  of  the  Styx,  does  "She's  a  mystery,  that  woman,"  re- 

that  woman  get  her  aloof  viewpoint?"  marked  Coltrane,  a  couple  of  months 

demanded  Coltrane  when  I  put  down  later.     "I've  never  yet   succeeded  in 

the  manuscript.    "She  writes  like  some  getting  a  personal  word  out  of     her. 

kind  of  angel  that  has  put  in    a  few  This  month  I  purposely  withheld  the 

thousand  years  ministering  to  human-  check,  just  to  see  what  she'd  do  about 

ity."    Coltrane  wrote    verse    himself  it.    That  usually  brings  them  to  earth, 

once.  A  person  may  write  like  an  angel,  but 

"Maybe  it's  a  nun  writing  under  an  if  he  doesn't  get  his  pay  on  time,  the 

assumed  name,"  I  suggested.  letter  he  sends  to  the  editor  sounds 

"No,"  answered  the  editor,  tapping  like  the  correspondence  of  a  ward-boss 

the ' manuscript  thoughtfully  with  his  who  was  cheated  out  of  his  graft.    But 

glasses.    "She's  reached  peace  through  not  Laura  E.  Lent.     She  merely  sent 


THE  MUSE  OF  THE  LOCKED  DOOR 


51 


in  a  finger-marked  manuscript  that  was 
enough  to  make  Keats  shut  up  shop. 
That  woman  has  reached  a  stage  of 
evolution  where  money  means  nothing 
to  her." 

Coitrane  sat  down  at  his  desk  and 
absent-mindedly  sorted  his  papers.  "I 
will  send  for  her  to  come  East,"  he  re- 
marked. "The  magazine  can  afford  to 
put  up  the  fare  if  it  can  get  a  woman 
like  that  on  its  staff.  At  least  we'll 
find  out  whether  Laura  is  a  self-ap- 
pointed hermit  or  the  long-suffering 
wife  of  an  invalid  husband." 

When  I  dropped  in  at  the  office  a 
few  days  later,  I  found  Coitrane  mus- 
ing over  a  letter.  "I  heard  from  Laura 
E.  Lent,"  he  remarked,  with  a  peculiar 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  Without  further 
comment  he  handed  me  a  letter  written 
in  indelible  pencil  on  cheap  tablet 
paper.  It  was  undated  and  without 
a  heading. 

"I  received  your  invitation  to  come 
East,"  it  read,  "and  no  one  knows  how 
much  I  would  like  to  accept  it.  To  see 
the  open  fields  again,  to  meet  clever 
men  and  women,  to  be  part  of  the  whirl 
of  city  life,  would  mean  more  to  me 
than  anything  else  on  earth.  Since  re- 
ceiving your  letter  I  have  lived 
through  the  trip  a  hundred  times.  But 
I  cannot  come  now — or  ever.  I  am  do- 
ing life  in  the  State  penitentiary." 

"That  accounts  for  the  sad  remote- 
ness we've  been  trying  to  analyze," 
Coitrane  remarked.  "When  I  go  West 
next  week  I'm  going  to  call  on  the  Gov- 
ernor of  her  State  and  see  what  can  be 
done  for  her.  The  judge  who  sent  that 
woman  to  prison  committed  a  crime 
against  American  literature." 

Coitrane  left  to  spend  his  bi-annual 
vacation  with  Jack  Avery,  his  star 
contributor.  A  week  or  two  later  I  re- 
ceived one  of  his  abrupt  letters.  "I've 
seen  her,"  he  wrote.  "She's  tall  and 
white,  with  eyes  that  don't  belong  to 
this  planet.  She  reminds  me  of  a  wo- 
man who  has  died  and  left  only  her 
ghost.  I  talked  to  her  in  the  presence 
of  an  iron-faced  matron  who  inter- 
rupted the  conversation  and  said  'You 
was'  and  'He  ain't.'  She's  been  sent 
up  for  murder,  it  seems — killed  a  man 


who  had  won  her  under  promise  of 
marriage  and  failed  to  make  good,  as 
tnat  type  usually  fail.  Think  of  a  wo- 
man writing  poetry  in  an  atmosphere 
reeking  of  chloride  de  lime!" 

"The  Governor  is  a  nice  chap,'  he 
wrote  a  short  time  afterward.  "It's 
fear  of  his  political  skin  which  pre- 
vents him  from  granting  a  pardon.  The 
judge  who  sentenced  her  rides  in  the 
political  band  wagon,  and  controls 
enough  ballots  to  paper  the  capitol.  So 
many  of  his  opponents  criticised  his 
judgment  in  this  case  that  he  would 
consider  a  pardon  a  personal  affront. 
The  most  the  Governor  can  do  is  to  use 
his  influence  with  the  parole  board. 
Her  petition  will  be  read  at  the  next 
meeting." 

Coitrane  stayed  in  the  West  until  the 
prison  doors  closed  behind  Laura  E. 
Lent.  The  poet  was  silent  for  a  few 
months,  probably  while  she  was  be- 
coming adjusted  to  the  world  she  had 
been  forced  to  renounce.  Then  she  be- 
gan to  write.  The  first  manuscript 
caused  Coitrane  to  lose  his  appetite  for 
lunch.  The  second  ruined  his  disposi- 
tion for  the  rest  of  the  week.  The 
third  made  him  decide  on  a  hurried 
trip  to  the  West. 

"Read  it!"  he  roared,  handing  me 
the  neat  type-written  copy.  "Did  you 
ever  see  such  drivel  ?  It's  the  kind  of 
stuff  you'd  expect  from  a  fat,  middle- 
aged  woman  who  belongs  to  the  Mon- 
day Morning  Literary  Club!"  It  was. 
Laura  E.  Lent,  of  the  beautiful  con- 
ceits and  strange  intuitions,  was  gone. 
The  poem  included  a  rhapsody  over  an 
impassioned  kiss,  a  lot  of  second-rate 
moralizing  over  love  and  several  ref- 
erences to  summer  moonlight.  It  was 
cheat),  banal  and  as  uninspired  as  a 
turnip. 

Coltrane's  first  letter  after  his  de- 
parture confirmed  my  worst  suspicions. 
"She's  getting  fat  and  red-faced,"  he 
wrote.  "She  has  all  the  poses  of  a 
third  carbon  authoress.  I  believe  she 
sells  her  autograph.  She's  almost  as 
spiritual  as  a  Swedish  cook.  Why  in 
Heaven's  name  does  a  woman  lose  her 
soul  as  soon  as  she  ceases  to  suffer?" 

As  I  didn't  hear  from  Coitrane  again 


52 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  dis- 
appointment was  too  deep  for  mere  pen 
and  paper.  But  when  he  returned,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  him  as  happy 
as  when  he  had  received  Laura  E. 
Lent's  first  manuscript. 

"Any  news  about  Laura  E.  Lent?"  I 
inquired,  when  I  met  him  at  the  sta- 
tion. 

"Oh,  she's  in  good  hands,"  he  re- 
marked pleasantly.  "She  was  seized 
by  some  requisition  officers  for  cross- 
ing the  State  line.  I  had  the  Averys 
invite  her  to  visit  them  for  a  few 
weeks.  They  lived  over  the  boundary." 

"But  didn't  she  understand  that  a 
person    on    parole    can't    leave    the 


State?"  I  demanded. 

"Maybe  she  didn't  understand  that 
she  was  leaving  the  State,"  answered 
Coltrane.  "Boundaries  aren't  material 
black  lines,  you  know." 

"But  it  means  that  she'll  go  back  to 
prison  for  life,"  I  exclaimed,  aghast 
at  his  stupidity.  "There'll  be  no  pos- 
sible chance  of  getting  pardon  or  an- 
other parole  now.  And  you  let  her 
break  her  parole  v/ithout  warning  her. 
Good  Heavens,  man!  What  have  you 
done?" 

"Done?"  queried  Coltrane,  lighting 
a  cigar.  "Merely  given  America  the 
best  poet  she'll  have  between  Edgar 
Allen  Poe  and  Kingdom  Come  I" 


TO   THE   OLD   STAGE   DRIVER 

Here's  to  you,  old  stage-driver, 

Your  race  is  almost  run, 
You've  passed  the  relay  station, 

Your  final  trip  is  done ; 
The  "choo-choo"  cars  have  got  you, 

With  honk-honk-honk  and  din; 
Throw  down  your  lines,  old  timer, 

And  watch  the  stage  come  in ! 
In  the  old  days, 
In  the  bold  days, 
In  the  gold  days  long  ago, 
When  the  miners  sluiced  the  hillsides 

For  the  placer's  golden  glow, 
You  played  your  part  full  well,  sir, 

When  with  bullion  piled  on  high, 
You  drove  your  stage  pell-mell,  sir, 

To  land  your  charge  or  die. 

Here's  to  you,  old  stage-driver, 

We'll  hear  your  shout  no  more, 
Your  stage  with  rust  is  eaten, 
Beside  the  old  Inn's  door; 
The  auto-bus  and  steam  car 

Have  cut  your  time  in  two ; 
Throw  up  your  hands,  old  "stage-hoss," 
They've  got  the  drop  on  you ! 
In  the  old  days, 
In  the  bold  days, 
In  the  gold  days  long  ago, 
When  the  golden  streams  unending 
Gushed  from  hillsides  bursting  so, 
How  well  you  wrought  we'll  tell,  Sir, 

When  with  shotgun  and  a  crew, 
You  drove  your  stage  to — well,  sir, 
So  here's  a  health  to  you. 

Lucien  M.  Lewis. 


The  Foreign  Legion 


By  Ansley  Hastings 


FEW  ROMANCES  of  the  war  have 
engaged  popular  sympathies  to 
a  greater  degree  than  the  story 
of  Colonel  Elkington,  who,  hav- 
ing been  dismissed  from  the  British 
Army,  enlisted  in  the  French  Foreign 
Legion  as  a  private  soldier,  and  having 
served  with  such  distinction  as  to  win 
the  Military  Medal  and  War  Cross  with 
Palms,  was  reinstated  the  other  day  in 
his  former  rank  and  honors  by  King 
George.  Romance  has  always  clung 
about  the  very  name  of  the  Foreign 
Legion.  Soldiers  of  fortune  are  ro- 
mantic enough  in  all  conscience:  sol- 
diers of  misfortune  are  romantic  be- 
yond the  dreams  of  novelists.  Did  not 
Ouida  once  enrapture  our  imaginations 
in  "Under  Two  Flags"  with  the  story 
of  a  beautiful  young  officer  in  the 
Guards — a  combination  of  Alcibiades 
and  George  Washington — who  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  ruined  in  order  to 
save  a  woman's  reputation,  and  who 
disappeared  from  fame  and  fortune  as 
a  common  legionaire.  One  thinks  of 
the  Legion  as  the  last  resort  of  de- 
feated and  fugitive  Byrons — a  host  of 
desperate  men  who  hate  the  world 
more  than  they  fear  death.  Like  Mr. 
Kipling's  gentleman-rankers,  they  are 
poor  little  sheep  who've  gone  astray : 

"Gentleman-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  eternity." 

They  are  brothers  of  Milton's  Satan 
— defiant  and  disastrous  figures.  We 
are  told  that  even  in  the  Legion  itself, 
besides  the  hardships  of  the  life,  the 
romance  of  destiny  is  cultivated  to 
some  extent.  The  soldiers  tell  each 
ether  tales  of  mysterious  personages 
who  have  abandoned  the  suburbs  of 
thrones  in  order  to     enlist     in     their 


ranks.  One  of  these  stories  concerns 
a  Prussian  Prince  who  only  revealed 
his  identity  after  he  was  mortally 
wounded  in  a  heroic  charge  in  which 
he  won  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  And  the  black  sheep  of  many 
other  distinguished  families  have 
found  a  refuge  from  dishonor,  and  a 
new  way  of  life,  in  the  Legion.  Mr. 
Erwin  Rosen,  a  German-American 
journalist  who  wrote  a  book  on  the 
Foreign  Legion,  relates  how  the  editor 
of  the  Temps,  during  a  visit  to  the 
regiment,  learned  what  his  profession 
had  been,  and  said  to  him  in  astonish- 
ment: "I  was  speaking  just  now  to  a 
professor  of  Greek,  and  now  you're  a 
journalist.  Is  the  Legion  then  a  col- 
lection of  ruined  talents?"  Another 
ex-legionary,  writing  in  an  evening 
paper  the  other  day,  gave  a  still  odder 
example  of  the  mixed  professions  rep- 
resented in  the  ranks  of  the  Foreign 
Legion.  During  the  Mexican  cam- 
paign of  Napoleon  III,  he  declares,  the 
French  desired  to  impress  the  inhabi- 
tants of  a  city  that  they  had  captured 
with  the  spectacle  of  a  semi-military 
High  Mass  in  the  Cathedral.  None 
of  the  local  clergy,  however,  would 
take  part  in  the  celebration,  which  was 
about  to  be  countermanded  in  conse- 
quence, when  a  corporal  of  the  Legion 
stepped  forward  and  said:  "I  was  a 
bishop  before  I  became  a  corporal, 
mon  general,  and  I  will  celebrate  the 
Mass."  The  story  is  quite  incredible, 
but  then  so  are  most  of  the  stories  that 
are  told  about  the  Foreign  Legion. 

Foreign  legions  of  one  kind  or  an- 
other are,  as  everybody  knows,  an  an- 
cient institution.  Carthage  especially 
depended  on  them  to  win  her  battles. 
Her  senators  used  to  travel  from  trade 
center  to  trade  center  to  purchase  the 


54 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


services  of  strangers  for  her  army.  By 
a  rather  stupid  confusion  of  thought, 
many  German  writers  draw  an  analogy 
between  the  mercenary  armies  of  an- 
cient Carthage  and  armies  recruited  in 
modern  times  on  the  principle  of  vol- 
untary service.  They  used  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war  to  describe  English 
soldiers  contemptuously  as  "mercenar- 
ies." The  "mercenary,"  however,  is  a 
man  who  receives  money  to  fight  for  a 
country  which  is  not  his  own.  The 
man  who  fights  for  his  own  country, 
even  if  he  receives  a  wage  for  it,  is  no 
more  a  mercenary  than  a  German  civil 
servant  is.  Even  mercenaries,  how- 
ever, are  not  to  be  despised  as  fighters. 
Henry  VIII  hired  Italian  arquebusiers 
and  German  landsknechts  to  serve  in 
his  army,  and  the  "King's  German  Le- 
gion" in  the  British  army,  which  was 
raised  for  the  last  time  during  the  Cri- 
mean War,  had  a  remarkable  record  of 
fighting  since  it  was  first  formed  in 
1805.  In  its  origin,  it  should  be  said, 
it  was  mercenary  only  up  to  a  point.  It 
was  mainly  the  fruit  of  the  association 
of  the  Georges  with  Hanover;  but  at 
the  same  time  it  was  open  to  recruits 
not  only  from  Hanover  but  from  all 
parts  of  Germany.  Its  numbers 
amounted  to  something  like  25,000,  and 
various  regiments  in  the  Legion  gained 
great  glory  in  the  Peninsular  War.  It 
is  said  that  there  are  regiments  in  the 
German  army  to-day  which  claim  de- 
scent from  these  old  Hanoverian  regi- 
ments, and  actually  display  Peninsular 
battle  honors  on  their  standards.  One 
of  the  most  famous  collections  of  mer- 
cenaries in  the  history  of  modern  Eu- 
rope was  the  Potsdam  Guard — that 
amazing  regiment  of  giants  who  were 
bribed,  and  in  some  cases  even  kid- 
napped, into  the  service  of  Frederick 
the  Great's  royal  father.  But  this  was 
a  freak,  not  a  Foreign  Legion  in  the 
ordinary  sense.  It  was  Napoleon 
among  modern  rulers,  who  most  assid- 
uously attempted  to  incorporate  For- 
eign Legions  into  his  army.  Napoleon 
even  attempted  to  enlist  enemy  prison- 
ers by  force  into  his  ranks.  When,  on 
one  occasion,  it  was  suggested  to  him 
that  international  law    might    oppose 


certain  difficulties  to  the  enlistment  of 
Prussian  prisoners,  he  replied  with 
characteristic  cynicism,  "Eh  bien,  :1s 
marcheront!"  And  they  did.  Flags 
captured  from  two  of  Napoleon's  Prus- 
sian battalions  are  still  preserved  in 
Chelsea  Hospital.  The  origin  of  the 
Polish  Legion,  which  dates  from  1806, 
was  similarly  a  conscription  of  prison- 
ers ;  but  it  must  always  have  attracted 
an  immense  host  of  Polish  volunteers. 
It  ultimately  included  twelve  regiments 
of  infantry.  Among  the  other  races, 
members  of  which  were  pressed  into 
Napoleon's  service,  were  Russians, 
Swedes,  Austrians,  Albanians  and 
Greeks.  Then  there  was  his  famous 
Irish  Legion  (composed  largely  of  men 
who  had  fought  in  the  insurrections  of 
the  United  Irishmen)  which  carried  a 
green  flag  bearing  the  legend,  "L'ln- 
dependance  de  lTrlande."  When  no 
more  volunteers  could  be  brought  over 
from  Ireland,  attempts  were  made  to 
compel  British  prisoners  to  serve  in  the 
Irish  regiments,  but  Napoleon  put  an 
end  to  this  after  a  time.  This  was,  of 
course,  not  the  first  occasion  on  which 
Irishmen  had  fought  in  the  French 
army.  Louis  XIV  had  his  Irish  regi- 
ments as  well  as  his  Germans  and  his 
Swiss  Guards. 

None  of  these  Foreign  Legions,  how- 
ever, is  quite  like  the  Foreign  Legion 
as  we  know  it  in  France  to-day,  though 
the  regiments  etrangers  in  the  French 
army  are  undoubtedly  the  modern  suc- 
cessors of  the  adventurous  mercenaries 
who  have,  as  soldiers  of  fortune,  play- 
ed so  brave  a  part  in  European  war- 
fare. The  present  Foreign  Legion 
came  into  existence  in  1831,  during  the 
reign  of  Louis  Philippe.  It  was  known 
at  first  as  "The  African  Auxiliaries," 
and  its  real  author  was  a  Belgian 
pseudo-Baron,  named  Boegard,  who 
collected  a  company  of  bad  characters 
belonging  to  various  nations,  and  of- 
fered them  for  service  in  Algeria, 
where  the  French  troops  were  accus- 
tomed to  having  a  quite  murderous 
time  of  it.  There  were  in  that  first  col- 
lection of  scallywags  three  battalions 
of  Swiss  and  Germans,  one  of  Span- 
iards, one  of  Italians,  one  of  Belgians 


THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 


55 


and  Dutchmen  and  one  of  Poles.  Not 
long  after  its  formation  the  King  sold 
the  Legion,  lock,  stock  and  barrel,  to 
Maria  Christina  of  Spain  for  a  little 
over  800,000  francs,  and  it  disappeared 
from  the  French  army  list.  The  Car- 
lists  against  whom  it  was  used,  re- 
fused to  recognize  the  legionaries  as 
soldiers,  and  when  any  prisoners 
were  taken  they  were  shot  out  of  hand. 
The  Legion  was  revived  in  the  French 
Army  in  1836,  and  ever  since  then  it 
has  been  one  of  the  great  fighting 
units,  as  well  as  one  of  the  great  col- 
onizing units,  of  the  world.  Though 
the  money  wages  of  a  legionary  are 
only  a  halfpenny  a  day,  and  though 
the  hardships  of  the  life  are  appalling 
the  flow  of  recruits  has  never  dried  up, 
the  greater  portion  of  them  coming 
from  Germany  (including  the  con- 
quered provinces.)  Even  in  the  first 
year  of  the  present  war,  1,027  Germans 
enlisted  in  the  Legion,  in  addition  to 
9,500  men  from  Alsace-Lorraine.  Al- 
though the  Legion  played  an  import- 
ant, and  even  critical,  part  in  the 
Franco-Prussian  War,  however,  France 
did  not  at  that  time  use  German  to 
fight  Germans,  but  kept  all  her  Ger- 
man soldiers  in  Algeria.  None  the  less 
the  fact  that  deserters  from  the  Ger- 
man army  are  accepted  in  the  Foreign 
Legion  has  long  been  a  cause  of  bitter 
complaint  in  Germany,  and  there  was 
an  acrimonious  dispute  on  the  subject 
ir.  the  press  of  both  countries  as  re- 
cently as  1911.  The  strength  of  the 
Legion  in  an  ordinary  year  is  some- 
where about  10,000  men,  with  an  an- 
nual inflow  of  about  2,000  new  recruits. 


If  the  legionary  serves  for  fifteen  years 
he  gets  a  pension  of  $100.  The  con- 
ditions of  service,  however,  do  not 
promote  long  life.  No  soldiers  in  the 
world  are  trained  so  ruthlessly  in 
quick  marching.  To  fall  out  on  the 
march  is  the  unpardonable  sin  in  the 
legionary,  and  is,  or  used  to  be,  pun- 
ished at  times  by  the  dragging  of  the 
delinquent  at  the  tail  of  a  cart  or  a 
mule. 

There  is  no  niggling  discipline,  how- 
ever. "The  marches,"  Mr.  Rosen  de- 
clares, "are  regulated  by  one  princi- 
ple. March  as  you  like,  with  crooked 
back  or  the  toes  turned  in,  if  you  think 
that  nice  or  better,  but — march!"  And 
when  the  soldiers  are  not  marching, 
they  are  engaged  on  road  making  or 
other  public  works.  The  roads  and 
public  buildings  of  Madegascar  and 
Algeria  are  largely  the  work  of  the 
Foreign  Legion.  A  life  of  drudgery 
rather  than  romance  it  will  seem  to 
most  people.  And  yet  romance  is 
there,  drawing  men  from  all  the  world 
to  die  for  the  old  flag,  with  its  motto, 
"Valeur  et  discipline."  The  legion- 
aries may  not  know  how  to  observe 
the  Ten  Commandments,  but  at  least 
they  know  how  to  die.  "Eleven  times 
in  its  history  has  the  Legion  refused 
to  obey  when  the  signal  for  retreat 
was  blown."  The  Legion  stands  above 
all  things  for  a  magnificent  challenge 
to  destiny.  The  very  peril  of  the  life 
attracts  men  like  a  trumpet-call.  Duty, 
love,  patriotism  have  scarcely  more 
sway  over  the  lives  of  men — at  least 
of  men  of  a  certain  type — than  this 
iesperate  summons  to  aaventure. 


Pastor  Russell 

(Died  October  31,  1916. 

By  Ruth  E.  Henderson 

A  man  so  humble,  a  saint  so  great! 
Despising  the  shame,  he  has  left  behind 
The  careless  scorn  and  the  cruel  hate 
Of  a  fettered  world,  and  gone  to  find 
That,  there  in  the  presence  of  Christ,  await 
The  hosts  of  heaven  in  happy  bands 
To  welcome  with  joyously  outstretched  hands 
God's  conquering  servant,  come  in  state. 

When  he  entered  the  presence  of  Christ  our  Lord 

He  knelt  in  worship  before  Him  awhile, 

And  the  Savior's  majesty  he  adored, 

Then  he  lifted  his  face  with  a  fearless  smile : 

"So  slight  a  gift,  my  Lord,  has  it  been, — 

A  life's  short  breath  and  the  race  was  won; 

And  now  love's  service  I  render  in 

To  Thee,  by  whose  merciful  grace  it  was  done. 

Though  hatred's  threatening  fury  stormed, 

I  did  not  flinch  till  the  latest  breath; 

The  task  Thou  gavest  have  I  performed 

And  trusted  my  work  to  Thee,  in  death." 

Silence  there  was,  for  a  little  space, 

Then  Jesus  lifted  him  gently  up 

And  throned  him  there  in  a  worthy  place 

And  said:  "Ye  faithfully  drained  the  cup 

That  was  like  the  bitter  cup  I  drained; 

Preaching  the  Truth,  ye  have  calmly  dared 

To  shrink  from  naught  that  was  hard,  or  pained. 

My  gospel  of  love  have  ye  declared. 

Now  shall  ye  rest  from  the  racking  toil, 

But  the  works  there  were  done  with  a  heart  so  pure 

Shall  follow,  for  enemies  never  foil 

Truth  Jehovah  decrees  shall  endure." 

The  anthem  of  all  of  the  angels  rang 

In  triumph,  beyond  the  parting  veil, 

And  our  hearts  joined  with  them  as  they  sang, 

"Faithful  to  death!    All  hail!     All  hail!" 


Sang 


By   Lucy  Forman  Lindsay 


THE  two  men  faced  each  other. 
The   one   a   steel   made,   gray- 
eyed  son  of  the  race  supreme; 
the  other  a  shuffling,  slant-eyed 
derelict  of  the  Orient.    The  American 
extended  his  hand.    The  bony  fingers 
of  the  Chinaman  touched  it. 
"My  wife  is  my  life,  Sang." 
The     imperturbable     gaze     of     the 
Chinaman  wavered  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash. 

"Your  life  alle  samee  my  life,  Mlis- 
terBHgby." 

Bigby  took  his  Mauser  and  cartridge 
belt  from  the  wall  and  pushed  them 
across  the  table  towards  his  cook. 


Sank  shook  his  head.  "Me  no  know 
how  to  shoot."  From  somewhere 
about  his  loose  garments  he  drew  a 
sinister  blade.  "This  best  gun  for 
Chinaman,"  he  grinned. 

Bigby  turned  to  his  wife.  "I  have 
no  doubt,  dear,  that  you  will  be  per- 
fectly safe  with  these  people,  any- 
way." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  will  be,"  she  inter- 
nipted  him.  "Don't  worry  about  me, 
Alex." 

"They  certainly  must  have  some  ap- 
preciation in  their  savage  hearts  of 
what  we  have  done  and  are  trying  to 
do   for  them,"   Bigby     finished.     He 


A    common    rum  shop. 


to  them  as   means  to  a  livelihood." 


the   few  so   shiftless   that  even   brigandage  did  not  appeal 


58 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


beckoned  the  Chinaman.  "Sang,  come 
down  and  help  me  get  that  hand-car 
en  the  track." 

Sang  nodded.  "Allight." 
Bigby  and  his  wife  led  the  way. 
Above  them  on  the  mountain  side,  be- 
yond a  group  of  weather-grayed  build- 
ings, yawned  the  mine  entrance.  Be- 
low them,  one  street  wide,  winding 
through  a  gulch,  lay  the  town.  Over  all 
prevailed  an  air  of  desolation. 

Centuries  before,  on  this  same  emi- 
nence, stood  the  stone  city  built  when 
the  Spaniards  scraped  gold  from  the 
mountain  side.  Beside  the  crumbling 
relics  of  this  ancient  grandeur  now 
squatted  adobe  huts,  and  Americans 
tunneled  the  mountain's  depths.  Then, 
as  now,  revolution  laid  low  a  prosper- 
ous people. 

Two  miles  through  mountain  fast- 
nesses had  tramped  a  band  of  marau- 
ders intent  on  financing  their  lawless- 
ness from  the  mining  company's  safe, 
and  incidentally  securing  several 
weeks'  supplies  for  their  commissariat. 
Bigby  had  found  resistance  impossible. 
Even  the  belting  of  the  machinery  was 
taken  for  sandals.  With  the  exception 
of  the  few  so  shiftless  that  even  brig- 
andage did  not  appeal  to  them  as 
means  to  a  livelihood,  the  male  inhabi- 
tants, to  be  reasonably  certain  of  food 
and  clothing,  joined  the  marauders. 
Women  and  children  were  left  in  help- 
less destitution. 

Friends  of  Bigby  in  El  Paso,  through 
efforts  of  the  railroad  companies,  had 
succeeded  in  getting  a  hand-car  to  him 
that  he  and  his  wife  might  leave  the 
country.  Neither  Alex  Bigby  or  his 
wife  had  the  callousness  in  their  hearts 
to  leave  these  women  and  children  to 
face  winter  and  starvation  in  the  moun- 
tains. If  Bigby  did  not  look  to  their 
welfare,  there  was  no  one  who  would. 
The  weakest  had  already  succumbed. 
Alice  Bigsby  nursed  the  sick  and 
prayed  with  the  dying;  Bigby  and  Sang 
carried  the  fuel  and  buried  the  dead, 
all  the  while  hoping  against  an  evil 
presentment  that  the  representations 
Bigby  was  making  would  bring  assist- 
ance from  the  de  facto  government  for 
these  unfortunate  of  its  subjects. 


''Unless  I  have  to  go  on  to  El  Paso  to 
get  food  lor  these  people,  I  should  be 
back  in  twenty-four  hours,"  said  Bigby 
as  he  and  Alice,  in  the  chill  of  the 
morning  mist,  walked  down  the  trail 
toward  the  tracks. 

The  trail  Alex  Bigby,  with  pick  and 
spade,  had  fashioned  himself  in  pre- 
paration for  the  first  mule  train  which, 
with  mining  machinery,  brought  his 
bride  from  the  north.  Alice  Bigby,  de- 
termined to  make  her  husband's  life  a 
success,  had  come  to  abide  in  the  bar- 
ren, mountain  home  he  could  provide, 
love  and  girlish  strength  bravely  strug- 
gling to  meet  the  ever-growing  de- 
mands made  upon  them. 

Sang  followed  his  employer  with  a 
pail  of  drinking  water,  putting  it  on  the 
hand-car,  which  the  two  men  placed 
on  the  rails.  Bigby  leaned  toward  his 
wife.  She  kissed  him.  Neither  spoke. 
Then  the  mist  and  Bigby  became  one. 
By  sunrise,  the  hapless,  starving 
Mexicans  had  gathered  before  Alice 
Bigby's  door.  The  last  of  their  mea- 
gre rations  having  been  given  them  the 
day  before,  there  was  nothing  for  her 
to  do  but  remind  them  of  the  fact.  She 
explained  that  her  husband  that  day- 
break had  gone  for  food. 

That  these  people  would  resent,  af- 
ter her  labors  among  them,  her  in- 
ability to  provide  them  with  food  for 
a  day  or  so  was  the  last  thing  Alice 
Bigby  expected.  But  the  time  had 
never  been  before  that  she  needs  must 
wrestle  with  the  quicksands  of  Mexi- 
can temperament.  Her  benevolent  and 
sweet,  unselfish  spirit  had  brought 
these  dependent,  half-savages  to  the 
point  where  they  regarded  her  as  a 
human  embodiment  of  divine  omnipo- 
tence. Her  inability  to  cope  with  the 
present  situation  and  still  their  inward 
cravings  was  resented  even  as  the 
more  enlightened  are  wont  to  wonder 
at  the  indifference  of  an  Almighty 
when  befall  the  evils  which  they  them- 
selves have  wrought.  Besides  the 
marauders  had  told  them  that  the 
Gringo  armies  were  stealing  their 
country. 

A  lean,  brown  fist,  stained  with  che- 
roots, was  shaken  in  her  face  and  a 


'On  the  mountain  side  beyond  a  group  of  weather-grayed  buildings  yawned  the  mine  entrance." 


curse  pronounced  upon  Gringoes  and 
women  in  general  and  upon  herself  in 
particular  as  she  backed  into  the  house 
and  closed  the  door  against  the  outcry 
which  assailed  her. 

Wearied  from  a  night  beside  a  tiny 
one  whose  last,  faint  wails  had  been 
stilled  in  her  arms,  she  sought  a  cot 
that  she  might  rest.  Thinking  of  the 
man  who  had  left  in  the  dawn,  she 
slept. 

"Mlissy,  Mlissy,  house  a-flire!" 

Bony  fingers  clutched  her  shoulder. 
Already  half-suffocated  with  the 
smoke  which  filled  the  room,  she 
swayed  in  their  grasp  as  she  was  lifted 
to  her  feet.  She  heard  the  crackle  of 
flames. 

Tucking  his  queue  safely  inside  his 
flannel  shirt,  Sang  snatched  the  cover- 
ing from  the  couch,  and  throwing  it 
over  Alice  Bibgy's  head,  half-dragged, 
half-carried  her  from  the  burning 
house. 

They  were  greeted  by  yells  and  mis- 
siles from  the  Mexicans. 

Everywhere  there  were  flames;  the 
house,  the  buildings  about  the  mine, 


the  railroad  sheds,  spreading  down 
into  the  town  itself. 

Disappointed  of  their  breakfast,  the 
Mexicans  had  foraged  for  themselves. 
They  had  unearthed,  in  the  tool  shed, 
a  keg  of  whisky  which  Bigby  had  bur- 
ied against  an  emergency. 

Crazed  by  the  liquor,  their  funda- 
mental, fiendish  savagery  was  not  ap- 
peased with  flames.  They  craved  life. 
They  drove  the  Chinaman  and  the 
Gringo  woman  back  into  the  burning 
house. 

Alice  Bigby  was  by  now  again  in 
full  possession  of  all  her  faculties. 
"Come,  Sang,"  she  said,  giving  him  a 
corner  of  the  couch  cover  to  protect 
his  own  face  and  head. 

Together  they  groped  to  a  window 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  The  sash 
was  burning.  Sang  kicked  out  the 
glass  and  they  sprang  through  to  the 
ground  below.  For  a  second  they 
stood  irresolute,  then  of  one  accord 
started  on  a  dead  run  for  the  mine 
entrance. 

The  Mexicans  saw  them  and  fol- 
lowed.   A  stone  struck  the  Chinaman 


60 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


in  the  neck,  cutting  an  ugly  gash. 
Alice  Bigby  stumbled  and  fell.  Sang 
ran  on.  Then,  teeth  chattering  and 
trembling  in  every  limb  with  the  fear 
which  now  possessed  him,  he  returned 
and  helped  his  mistress  to  her  feet. 
Hand  in  hand  they  finished  the  run  to- 
gether and  barred  the  heavily  timbered 
gates. 

The  Mexicans  were  at  their  heels. 
The  gates  swayed  and  groaned  as  they 
pushed  against  them.  Alice  Bigby  fled 
on  into  the  heart  of  the  mountain,  she 
knew  not  whither,  stumbling  in  the 
darkness.  The  Chinaman  remained 
on  guard. 

Safely  beyond  the  torture  of  flames, 
Sang's  paroxysm  of  fear  passed.  He 
faced  mere  death  with  the  stoicism  of 
his  race.  Like  an  animal  at  bay  he 
crouched,  ready  to  spring,  waiting  for 
the  swaying  gates  to  give  before  the 
infuriated  Mexicans.  The  sinister 
blade  was  clasped  in  both  hands  and 
raised  above  his  head.  He  would  not 
die  alone.  He  would  meet  his  Josh 
on  the  other  side  with  a  long  train  of 
victims  to  serve  him  in  the  nether 
world. 

"Mlissy  Bligby!"  he  called.  There 
was  no  answer. 

"Mlissy  Bligby!" 

The  gates  crashed.    Sang  sprang. 

Two  days  later  Bligby  returned. 

Toward  sundown  of  the  first  day  he 
had  come  upon  the  body  of  a  former 
fellow  workman,  an  American,  dang- 
ling from  the  tottering  supports  of  a 
charred  water  tank.  It  was  stripped  of 
clothing  and  riddled  with  bullets.  Sus- 
pended from  the  neck  was  a  crudely 
scrawled  placard  which,  translated, 
read: 

"See  what  we  do  to  Carranza's  Grin- 
goes." 

Thus  Bigby  had  been  warned  that 
his  planned  destination  was  not  a 
healthy  place  for  Americans.  There 
was  then  no  use  going  on.  That  was 
plain.  And  there  was  no  use  returning. 
Neither  he  nor  his  wife  could  reach 
safety     without     sustenance.     Some- 


where, somehow,  he  must  obtain  food. 

After  resting  but  to  realize  that  he 
was  growing  faint  for  the  lack  of  a 
meal,  Bigby,  his  shirt  clinging  fast  to 
the  flesh  of  his  blistered  back,  head 
swimming,  ears  ringing,  had  retraced 
the  last  weary  mile  or  so,  and  had 
taken  the  main  line  to  El  Paso.  Coast- 
ing down  a  steepening  grade,  he  had 
come  suddenly  upon  eight  trainloads 
of  Carranzistas  making  their  toil- 
some way  towards  Chihuhaua.  They 
were  gathering  wood  from  the  hillsides 
and  carrying  water  in  buckets  from  the 
river  for  their  engines. 

Without  difficulty  Bigby  had  found 
the  Major  in  command.  He  had  been 
received  courteously,  and  a  plate  of 
beans  and  a  can  of  steaming  coffee 
set  before  him.  He  had  then  been 
offered  a  horse  and  an  escort  of  four* 
men  to  return  for  his  wife.  As  for  the 
women  and  children  left  at  the  mine 
they  must  make  their  own  way  as  best 
they  could  to  the  Carranzista  camps, 
where  some  sort  of  provision  would  be 
made  for  them.  A  six  pound  sack  of 
beans  was  given  Bigby  as  temporary 
provisions  for  these  charges. 

Long  before  dawn  Bigby  was  well 
along  on  his  return  journey.  Even- 
tide found  the  five  weary,  dusty  men  on 
the  last  half  mile  up  the  mountain  side. 

As  the  charred  ruins  of  the  com- 
pany's property  came  to  his  sight, 
Alex  Bigby,  aghast,  reined  his  pony. 
Then,  lashing  the  animal,  he  urged  it 
forward,  full  speed  up  the  trail.  Mid- 
way a  woman  squatted,  swaying  her- 
self from  side  to  side  in  rhythm  to  her 
moaning  lament. 

Bigby  shouted  to  her.  She  paid  no 
heed.  Swinging  from  his  saddle,  he 
grasped  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"Senora,  my  wife,  my  wife  ?  Where 
is  Mrs.  Bigby?"  he  urged. 

The  woman  raised  her  eyes  piteous- 
ly.  "Give  me  to  eat,  senor.  For  the 
love  of  Mary,  give  me  to  eat,"  she 
whimpered. 

Bigby  shook  her.  "Where  is  my 
wife?"  he  demanded,  shortly. 

The  woman  jerked  her  thumb,  indi- 
cating the  mine  entrance.  "There," 
she  mumbled,  "with  the  China  devil." 


SANG 


61 


His  heart  in  his  throat,  Bigby  sprang 
up  the  trail.  He  came  upon  Sang's 
body  lying  face  downward  at  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel,  blood-rusted 
knife  clutched  in  outstretched  hand. 
Bigby  ran  into  the  darkness  beyond. 

"Alice,  Alice,"  he  called.  Then  he 
stood  still  and  shouted  with  all  his 
might. 

His  wife  stumbled  into  his  arms. 
Sobbing  hysterically,  she  conveyed  to 
him  the  tragedy  of  the  day  before.  He 
carried  her  out  under  the  stars. 


Still  unnerved  and  sobbing,  Alice 
Bigby  knelt  beside  the  body  of  the 
crumplied  form  of  the  Chinese  cook. 

Bigby  raised  his  sombrero. 

Then  he  remembered  that  some- 
where, sometime,  he  had  been  told,  or 
had  read,  that  a  Chinaman's  word  was 
never  broken,  and  he  instinctively  felt 
again  that  handclasp  of  the  bony  fin- 
gers, and  heard  Sang's  words : 

"Your  life  alle  samee  my  life,  Mlis- 
ter  Bligby." 

They  buried  Sang  there  in  the  hills. 


AAYBECK'S  AASTERPIECE 

In  beauteous  grounds,  near  the  waters  edge, 
As  if  a  part  of  nature — tree  and  sedge, 
A  palace  stands.    A  marvel  of  the  age 
(A  pastel  painting  on  our  history's  page). 
The  artist's  soul  here  permeates  the  air, 
And  moves  the  heart  of  man  to  silent  prayer; 
In  this  we  see  the  grace  of  ancient  Greece — 
A  matchless  architectural  masterpiece, 
A  bas  relief  amidst  a  dream  of  art, 
A  cameo  carved  on  San  Francisco's  heart. 

A  distant  wanderer  from  a  foreign  land, 

Is  gazing  spell  bound,  with  his  brush  in  hand — 

The  colored  clouds  are  fading  in  the  West — 

Purple  and  crimson  on  a  golden  crest 

A  star  stands  out  beside  the  crescent  moon, 

He  sees  them  mirrored  in  the  still  lagoon, 

Among  the  swans  and  drowsy  mallards  wild — 

Inspiration  is  born,  z  spirit  child. 

Ida  F.  Pattiani. 


For  the  new  series  of  Pastor  Russell's  contributions  in  the  Overland  Monthly, 
see  announcement  on  page  79  of  this  issue. 


Tragedy]  of  the  Donner  Party 


By    Alice  Stevens 


THE  reports  and  maps  filed  by 
General  Fremont  with  the  gov- 
ernment at  Washington,  in  1845, 
describing  the  wide  stretch  of 
fertile  lands  lying  west  of  the  Rockies, 
called  national  attention  to  the  great 
uninhabited  West,  more  especially  to 
California  and  Washington,  as  ideal 
localities  in  which  to  locate.  These  re- 
ports actively  circulated  by  the  gov- 
ernment were  eagerly  read  at  sewing 
and  club  circles  in  the  villages  and 
towns  east  of  the  Mississippi  River, 
and  a  gathering  wave  of  enthusiasm  to 
immigrate  West  swept  over  the  East- 
ern settlements. 

The  Donner  party  and  their  friends 


then  living  in  Springfield,  111.,  readily 
caught  the  prevailing  fever,  a  feeling 
receiving  constant  fanning  through  the 
glowing  accounts  published  in  the 
newspapers.  Stories  were  told  of  the 
many  parties  throughout  the  nearby 
States  that  were  preparing  to  join  the 
"Great  Overland"  caravan  then  in  the 
excitement  of  organizing.  The  high 
cost  of  equipment  for  the  journey  and  a 
financial  depression  at  that  period, 
however,  deterred  many  of  those  en- 
thusiasts, and  they  declined  the  ven- 
ture. James  F.  Reed  joined  with 
George  Donner,  a  commanding  man  of 
eld  Revolutionary  stock  and  an  early 
pioneer  in  North  Carolina,  Indiana  and 


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t 


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NOVEMBER  1..TH,  fourteen  men  and  women  tried  to  escape  on  snowshoes.  During 
their  craze  for  food  they  cast  lots  on  Christmas  Day  to  determine  which  should  die  in 
order  that  the  others  might  live.  The  wretched  survivors  finally  reached  Sutter's  Fort. 
Several  relief  paities  brought  out  those  that  survived.  On  the  last  trip  Mrs.  Donner  re- 
fused to  leave  her  dying  husband.  The  last  relief  party  found  them  both  dead.  One  man 
alone  survived.     It  was  claimed  he  kept  alive  by  eating  human  flesh. 


TRAGEDY  OF  THE  DONNER    PARTY  63 

Illinois,  then  60  years  of  age,  with  a  overtook  Hastings  and  the  other  train; 

wife,  five  children  and  his  aged  par-  they  were   in   difficulties.     The   best 

ents.    Their  party  was  the  first  to  leave  Hastings  could  do  for  the  Donner  party 

the  State  of  Illinois  for  California.  The  was  to  ride  to  a  peak  and  indicate  to 

Donner  family  was  in  excellent  circum-  the  three  men  a     course     which     he 

stances,  and  their  outfit  was  well  above  thought  would     prove     practical     for 

the  standard,  carrying  many  luxuries  them.    But  increasing  difficulties  con- 

for  that  time  and  adventure.  tinued  to  confront  them.     They  dis- 

The  party  started  in  ox-teams  April  covered  their  provisions     would     not 

15,  1846.    They  reached  the  Missouri  last,  and  messengers  were  sent  ahead 

River  on  May  11th,  and  there  joined  to  Sutter's  Fort  in  California  to  bring 

the  great  caravan  of  immigrants  head-  back  supplies. 

ing  West.  East  of  Laramie  they  met  Then  came  the  days  when  they  were 
a  party  of  men  returning  from  the  forced  to  cross  the  desert  places,  and 
Oregon  territory.  These  riders  re-  there  in  the  insufferable  heat  their  cat- 
ported  that  there  were  478  wagons  tie  died  like  flies.  The  Indians  of  that 
ahead  of  the  Donner  train.  These  add-  locality  sensed  their  condition  and 
ed  to  the  40  wagons  on  the  Donner  stole  their  horses  and  impedimenta 
party  totaled  518  wagons  on  the  Over-  whenever  a  chance  offered.  By  Octo- 
land  trail  on  that  strip  so  far  as  the  ber  12th  the  party  had  reached  the 
travelers  had  traversed  it.  sink  of  the  Ogden  river.    The  Indians 

Soon  after  the  train  left  Independ-  were  still  harrying  them  by  thefts  of 

ence,  it  contained  between  two  hun-  cattle  and  supplies.     At  Wadsworth, 

dred  and  three  hundred  wagons,  and  supplies  reached  them  from  Sutter's 

stretched  two  miles  in  length.  At  that  Fort.    About  this  time  the  leaders  were 

time  there  were  ninety  members  in  the  confident  they  would  be  able  to  cross 

party.  the  Sierra  Mountains  and  reach  Cali- 

The  Donner  party  came  to  the  cross-  fcrnia  in  two  weeks, 

ing  of  Fate  when  it  reached  the  Little  On  October  22d  the  train  crossed 

Sandy  River  in  July  and  found  four  the  Truckee  River  for  the  forty-ninth 

distinct  parties     gathered    there.    An  and  last  time  in     80     miles.     They 

"Open  Letter"  had  been  posted  there  camped  that  night  on  the  top  of  a  high 

by  an  author  and  explorer,  Lansford  hill.    The  same  night  an  Indian  killed 

Hastings,  calling  attention  to  a  new  18  oxen,  and  was  shot  by  one  of  the 

route  that  had  been  recently  explored  guards  who  caught  him  in  the  act.    At 

from  Fort  Bridger  by  way  of  the  south  that  time  there  were  five  wagons  be- 

end  of  Salt  Lake.     He  declared  the  longing  to  the  Donner  family  in  the 

route  was  200  miles  shorter  than  the  train. 

old  one.  He  ended  his  "notice"  by  On  the  28th  of  October,  the  larger 
stating  that  he  would  be  stationed  at  part  of  the  train  had  reached  Truckee 
Fort  Bridger,  personally  to  direct  im-  Lake,  in  Fremont's  Pass,  now  known 
migrants  over  the  new  route.  George  as  Donner  Lake.  One  of  the  Donner 
Donner  was  elected  leader  of  the  wagons  broke  its  front  axle  on  a  de- 
members  of  the  several  parties  that  ciine  at  Older  Creek,  some  eight  miles 
decided  to  risk  the  new  route  de-  behind,  and  was  held  up  till  the  wagon 
scribed.  Mrs.  George  Donner  was  the  cculd  be  repaired.  The  snow  came 
only  individual,  in  the  party,  that  was  down  before  the  repairs  were  com- 
filled  with  forebodings  regarding  the  rleted,  and  the  Donners  remained  there 
sudden  change  of  routes.  to  the  end.  Next  day  the  men  leading 
Five  days  later  the  party  reached  the  main  party  at  Donner  Lake  scout- 
Fort  Bridger  to  learn  that  Hastings  ed  ahead  to  within  three  miles  of  the 
had  gone  ahead  to  direct  another  party  crest  of  the  mountain  pass,  and  found 
on  the  route,  and  had  left  word  for  five  feet  of  snow  blocking  their  way. 
other  trains  to  follow  his  trail.  Three  The  trail  was  obliterated  and  no 
of  the  Donner  party  rode  ahead  and  place  for  making  camp  was  possible. 


THE  DONNER  PARTY  of  ninety-six  immigrants  organized  the  first  party  to  leave 
Illinois  for  California,  1846.  They  reached  Salt  Lake,  September  1st,  with  exhausted  cattle 
to  face  the  desert  They  reached  Truckee  Lake,  now  Donner  Lake,  in  the  closing  days  of 
October,  and  were  caught  in  the  snows  of  winter.  They  constructed  makeshift  shelters, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  were  buried  under  20  feet  of  snow.  The  weakest  quickly  succumbed. 


They  reported  back  to  camp  and  great 
consternation  prevailed. 

Some  of  the  immigrants  proposed 
to  abandon  the  wagons  and  make  the 
oxen  carry  out  the  children  and  pro- 
visions; some  wanted  to  take  the 
children  and  rations  and  start  out  on 
foot;  others  sat  brooding,  dazed  with 
the  awful  outlook.  A  strong  party  was 
organized  to  beat  a  way  through  the 
snow  in  a  desperate  effort  to  pass  the 
summit,  but  the  wagons  quickly  be- 
came lost  in  the  deep  drifts,  and  after 
a  desperate  night  in  the  snow,  they 
were  forced  back  to  the  Donner  Lake 
Camp,  after  saving  what  wagons  and 
cattle  they  could.  Heavy  snow  storms 
developed,  and  the  men  were  com- 
pelled to  build  what  make-shifts  they 
could  to  protect  their  families  and  cat- 
tle from  the  driving  blasts  and  heavily 
falling  snow. 

The  larger  port  of  the  immigrants 
were  located  at  Lake  Donner,  and  were 
able  to  construct  rude  cabins;  others 
with  the  Donner  family  were  several 
miles  down  the  mountain.  They  took 
advantage  of  every  makeshift  to  pro- 
tect themselves  against  the  raging  win- 
ter blast.  December  came  in  with 
more  snow,  and  the  food  ran  perilously 
short.    The  cattle  were  killed  and  bur- 


ied in  the  snow,  with  marks  set  over 
the  carcases.  Ten  days  later  four  of 
the  party  on  Donner  Lake  died,  and 
others  were  in  low  condition.  The 
children  of  the  party  were  kept  in  bed 
during  most  of  the  time,  all  huddled 
together  in  endeavors  to  escape  the  in- 
tense cold.  Christmas  passed  and 
New  Year's  Day,  and  the  pitiless 
storms  still  swept  over  the  two  camps. 

In  January  the  snow  was  fourteen 
feet  deep.  Icicles  hung  from  the  trees 
and  running  water  was  hard  to  get. 
Wood  was  plentiful,  but  it  was  so  diffi- 
cult to  get  that  the  chilled  immigrants 
could  not  get  sufficient  fire  to  soften 
the  strips  of  rawhide  to  which  they 
were  reduced  for  food. 

About  the  time  the  "Forlorn  Hope" 
party  of  fifteen  started  out  from  the 
camp,  starvation  was  beginning  its  se- 
vere inroads.  Bayliss  Williams  was 
the  first  to  succumb  at  Donner  Lake; 
Jacob  Donner  the  first  at  Prosser 
Creek.  The  hides  of  the  cattle  which 
had  been  used  to  cover  the  roofs  of 
the  cabins  were  taken  down  to  provide 
fcod.  The  hair  was  burned  off,  the 
hides  thoroughly  cleaned,  and  then 
boiled  and  eaten.  The  water  which 
jellied  with  this  boiling  was  preserved 
for  the  delicate  children.    All  the  old 


TRAGEDY  OF  THE  DONNER    PARTY 


65 


bones  about  the  camp  were  carefully 
gathered,  and  industriously  boiled  till 
the  last  vestige  of  nutriment  was  ex- 
tracted. 

December  16th,  thirteen  men  and 
women,  husbands  leaving  their  wives 
and  mothers  their  children,  formed 
"The  Forlorn  Hope,"  and  set  out  on 
snowshoes  to  bring  relief — each  carry- 
ing a  pack.  The  markers  over  the 
cattle  buried  had  become  obliterated, 
and  wild  efforts  were  made  by  the 
stronger  survivors  to  locate  them. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  black 
despair  that  the  first  whispers  were 
heard,  "The  carcases  of  the  dead  cat- 
tle are  lost;  but  the  dead,  if  they  could 
be  reached,  their  bodies  might  keep 
us  alive."  The  Donners  protested 
against  any  such  act. 

February  19th,  seven  strangers  ap- 
peared in  the  two  camps,  one  of  the 
several  relief  parties,  organized  by 
General  Sutter  and  Alcalde  Sinclair  in 
California. 

Meantime  the  "Forlorn  Hope"  had 
gene  through  desperate  adventures, 
tortures  and  privations  before  they 
finally  reached  Sutter  Fort.  Their 
scant  food,  chiefly  rawhide,  gave  out 
early,  and  several  were  reduced  to  eat- 
ing their  own  shoes,  to  trudge  later 
over  the  rough  ground  till  every  step 
left  traces  of  blood.  Stanton  died, 
and  the  rest  trudged,  stumbled  and 
dragged  themselves  along  as  best  they 
could.  Then  came  the  day  when  they 
actually  drew  slips  to  see  which  one 
should  be  sacrificed  for  the  common 
good.  The  lot  fell  on  a  man  who  had 
done  memorable  heroic  work  for  their 
benefit,  and  they  unanimously  can- 
celled their  vote. 

The  journey  was  then  resumed  with 
the  understanding  that  the  first  to  die 
should  furnish  the  victim.  That 
Christmas  day  they  made  three  miles, 
through  the  heavy  snow.  In  front  of 
the  fire  one  of  them  froze  to  death,  and 
a  father  called  his  two  grown  daugh- 
ters to  his  side,  whispering  he  was 
ready  to  die.  A  hurricane  swept  away 
their  scanty  fire,  and  they  all  huddled 
together  as  best  they  could. 

January  3d  the  survivors  of  the  little 


group  reached  the  end  of  -  the  snow 
field.  That  day  Eddy,  the  leader,  shot 
a  deer,  drank  its  blood  and  carried  part 
of  the  carcass  back  to  the  party.  With 
this  meat  the  seven  survivors  of  the 
"Forlorn  Hope"  gained  renewed 
strength  to  stumble  along  their  way. 
On  January  10th  the  twenty-fiftn  day 
after  leaving  Donner  Lake,  they 
reached  an  Indian  village,  and  were 
carefully  passed  along  from  village  to 
village  down  the  mountain  sides  to 
Sutter  Fort  at  Sacramento. 

Appeals  were  quickly  made  to  the 
alcalde  of  Alta  California,  and  the  first 
relief  party  was  formed  to  carry  relief 
to  the  survivors  at  Donner  Lake  and 
the  camp  a  few  miles  below.  March 
1st  the  second  relief  party  of  ten  men 
reached  the  sufferers  in  the  mountain 
camps.  Thirty-one  were  found  alive 
in  the  two  camps,  nearly  all  of  them 
children.  The  grown  folks  were  all  too 
weak  to  travel.  George  Donner,  who 
was  badly  injured  through  an  acciden- 
tal wound  infecting  an  arm,  was  too 
weak  to  move.  He  begged  his  wife 
to  take  the  children  and  go  with  the 
rescuers,  but  she  stoutly  refused.  Later 
a  third  relief  expedition  reached  the 
survivors,  to  find  that  Geo.  Donner  and 
his  wife  were  among  the  dead. 

Edwin  Bryant,  who  was  with  Gen- 
eral Kearney  when  the  latter  visited 
the  Donner  Lake  cabins  in  June,  1847, 
wrote:  "A  halt  was  ordered  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  and  interring  the 
remains  of  the  dead.  Near  the  prin- 
cipal cabins  I  saw  two  bodies  entire, 
portions  of  which  had  been  extracted. 
Strewn  about  the  cabins  were  human 
bones  in  every  variety  of  mutilation. 
A  most  revolting  and  appalling  spec- 
tacle I  never  witnessed.  Those  re- 
mains were  carefully  gathered  and  in- 
terred. Major  Swords  ordered  the 
cabins  fired  and  everything  connected 
with  the  horrid  and  melancholy  trag- 
edy was  consumed.  The  body  of 
George  Donner  was  found  in  his  camp 
at  Alder  Creek,  some  eight  miles  away, 
wrapped  in  a  sheet  and  buried. 

The  last  of  the  survivors  of  this 
tragedy,  a  woman,  passed  away  in 
California  several  months  ago. 


Pioneer  Experiences   in   California 


By  Lell  Hawley  Woolley 


On  September  23d,  1916,  Lell  Hawley  Woolley,  member  of  the  Society 
of  California  Pioneers  and  a  Vigilante  of  1856,  celebrated  his  ninety-first 
birthday  in  East  Oakland.  Since  the  death  of  Colonel  Andrews,  Mr. 
Woolley  ranks  as  the  oldest  Mason  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  having  rounded 
out  sixty-nine  years  in  the  Masonic  order.  He  is  a  member  of  Mount 
Moriah  Lodge,  San  Francisco — No.  44  F.  and  A.  M.— and  several  years 
ago  the  late  Major  Sherman  made  him  a  member,  also,  of  the  Masonic  Vet- 
erans' Association  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 


1WAS  living  in  the  State  of  Ver- 
mont when  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
cross  the  plains  to  California,  the 
Land  of  Gold  and  Opportunity.  By 
birth  I  belong  to  New  York  State,  hav- 
ing been  born  at  Martinsburg  in  1825. 
I  started  on  my  long  journey  via 
Boston,  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Cin- 
cinnati, St.  Louis  and  Independence, 
Missouri.  Reaching  the  last  mentioned 
place,  I  joined  the  first  mule  train  of 
Turner,  Allen  &  Company's  line.  It 
consisted  of  forty  wagons,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  mules — many  of  them  half- 
wild — and  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
passengers. 


We  left  the  frontier  May  14th,  and 
many  were  our  tribulations,  for  few  of 
us  knew  anything  about  camping  out, 
and  cooking  was  an  unknown  art  to  us. 
Besides,  those  mules  gave  us  a  lively 
time.  One  day,  while  we  were  walk- 
ing ahead,  a  terrific  hailstorm  arose 
and  they  became  frightened  and  broke 
away  from  the  wagons,  leaving  them 
so  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  elements 
that  they  were  badly  damaged.  The 
tops  were  literally  torn  to  rags.  A 
far  worse  disaster  was  a  scourge  of 
cholera,  which  swept  fifty  of  our  num- 
ber into  the  grave  befort  Fort  Laramie 
was  reached. 


THE   FIRST  THEATRE   built  in  California,   located  at  Monterey,    then  the   capital,   and 
military  and  social  center  of  California. 


Lell  Hawley  Woolley 


We  had  a  little  sport  along  the 
banks  of  the  Platte  River,  several  an- 
telope, and  occasionally  a  buffalo,  be- 
ing captured  by  us.  An  interesting 
geological  feature  of  that  region  was 
a  two-hundred-high  sandstone  forma- 
tion called  Chimnev  Rock,  which  re- 
minded us  of  the  Bunker  Hill  monu- 
ment. Quicksands  in  a  river  bed,  how- 
ever, were  less  pleasing,  and  almost 
led  to  a  tragedy,  one  of  our  number  be- 
ing caught  in  them  when  attempting  to 
ford  the  river  on  foot.  Fortunately  he 
was  rescued  after  a  hard  tussle  against 
the  voracious  sand. 

The  first  time  we  used  pontoons  was 


in  crossing  Green  River  in  the  Rock- 
ies, but  the  roughest  piece  of  road  be- 
tween Missouri  and  California  was  the 
Six  Mile  Canyon  this  side  of  Carson 
Valley,  where  there  were  boulders 
from  the  size  of  a  barrel  to  that  of 
a  stage  coach,  and  where  it  took  two 
days  to  haul  a  wagon  six  miles. 

We  arrived  at  Weaverville,  three 
miles  below  Hangtown  (Placerville) 
on  September  10,  1849,  the  journey 
having  occupied  five  months.  Hang- 
town  was  then  a  forlorn  place,  consist- 
ing of  one  log  cabin  and  a  few  tents. 
Here  I  did  my  first  mining,  but  not  for 
long,  as  I  was   suffering  from  "land 


THE  "TELEGRAPH"  STATION  at  Point  Lobos,  1848,  which  held  com- 
munication with  a  like  station  on  Telegraph  Hill,  overlooking  the  little 
town  of  San  Francisco.  When  the  lookout  at  Point  Lobos  sighted  an  in- 
coming vessel  through  his  field  glass  he  hoisted  a  flag  on  the  pole  above. 
The  lookout  at  the  Telegraph  Hill  station,  eight  miles  away  over  the 
sand  hills,  promptly  hoisted  a  flag  on  his  cabin  in  answer,  and  the  citizens 
in  the  streets  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  were  thus  notified  that  a  steamer  was 
approaching.  Practically  all  of  them  rushed  to  the  PostofHce  to  get  in 
line  to  receive  their  mail.  September  22,  1853,  the  first  electric  telegraph 
was  established  between  the  two  points. 


scurvy,"  owing  to  lack  of  vegetable 
diet.  After  working  around  a  while, 
I  made  a  little  money  and  went  to 
Grass  Valley,  where  I  started  and  ran 
a  hotel  for  a  few  weeks,  but  where,  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  I  found  myself 
"busted." 

In  1850  I  became  a  member  of  a 
company  that  had  for  its  object  the 
turning  of  the  South  Fork  of  the  Am- 
erican River  through  a  canal  into  the 
North  Fork,  thereby  draining  about  a 
thousand  yards  of  the  river  bed;  but, 
alas!  just  as  the  work  was  completed, 
the  river  rose,  carrying  away  the  dam 
and  our  labor  with  it. 

I  went  mining  again,  this  time  at 
Mokelumne  Hill,  Calaveras  County, 
and  after  varying  fortune,  sold  my 
claim  for  thirteen  hundred  dollars 
which  paid  all  my  debts  and  made 
things  easy  at  home.  I  have,  as  a 
souvenir  of  those  days,  a  watch-chain 
made  from  the  gold  of  that  mine. 

In  the  spring  of  1852,  I  turned  my 
face  Eastward,  leaving  San  Francisco 
via  the  Nicaragua  route.  You  see, 
there  was  "the  girl  I  left  behind  me." 
A  year  later  I  married  her.  The 
"happy  event"  took  place  in  Cincin- 


nati, where  she  was  visiting  her  sister, 
but  she  belonged  to  Vermont,  where 
my  folks  lived,  too,  so  we  settled  there 
until  1854. 

Then — well,  you  know  how  it  is 
when  you've  once  lived  in  California, 
you  just  have  to  go  back,  that's  all 
there  is  to  it.  So,  wife  consenting,  we 
packed  up  and  journeyed  to  San  Fran- 
cisco by  the  Nicaragua  route.  In  ref- 
erence to  Nicaragua,  I  must  say  that 
from  casual  observation  of  topographi- 
cal conditions  at  the  time,  I  thought 
it  favorable  for  the  canal,  promising 
less  expense  and  being  much  shorter 
than  the  route  via  Panama.  However, 
I  proudly  wore  a  participant's  badge 
on  February  20th,  1915,  for  although 
unable  to  be  present  at  the  opening 
ceremonies  of  our  great  exposition, 
none  rejoiced  more  than  I  over  the 
splendid  achievement  that  it  cele- 
brated. 

How  different  San  Francisco  was 
in  the  old  pioneer  days!  In  1855, 
when  we  were  living  on  Third  street, 
near  Mission  street,  we  got  water  from 
a  man  who  conveyed  it  about  the  city 
in  a  cart,  much  of  it  secured  from  a 
well  near  the  corner  of  West  and  First 


PIONEER  EXPERIENCES  IN  CALIFORNIA 


69 


streets.  For  three  years  we  paid  a 
dollar-fifty  per  week  for  our  water  sup- 
ply. All  that  part  of  the  city  was  then 
wild,  just  sand  dunes  and  low  ground. 
Why,  I  used  to  hunt  rabbits  in  the  Mis- 
sion then! 

The  Post  Office  was  built  in  1855  at 
the  northwest  corner  of  Washington 
and  Battery  streets.  The  previous 
Post  Offices  had  been  destroyed  by 
fire.  On  "steamer  days"  long  lines  of 
people  waited  for  letters  at  the  Post 
Office;  indeed,  sometimes  waiting  all 
day  for  their  turn,  the  delivery  win- 
dows being  arranged  alphabetically. 
Places  in  the  line,  even,  were  sold  for 
as  much  as  ten  and  twenty  dollars  at 
times. 

Portsmouth  Square,  "The  Plaza"  of 
early  days,  was  the  scene  of  all  public 
meetings  and  demonstrations.  Its 
"christening"  occurred  on  July  9,  1846, 
when  Captain  Montgomery,  com- 
mander of  the  old  sloop-of-war  "Ports- 
mouth," landed  with  his  sailors  and 
marines  and  raised  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  there,  thus  making  San  Fran- 
cisco an  American  city,  and  giving  the 
Square  the  name  of  his  vessel  at  the 
same  time.  A  salute  of  twenty-one 
guns  was  fired  in  honor  of  this  blood- 
less victory,  which  followed  closely  the 
raising  of  the  American  flag  at  Mon- 
terey by  Commodore  Sloat,  proclaim- 


ing the  occupancy  of  California  by  the 
United  States. 

But  let  me  tell  you  about  real  estate 
values  of  early  days.  They  will  make 
your  mouth  water.  I  stood  with  gold 
dust  in  my  pocket  that  burdened  me 
while  lots  in  the  neighborhood  of  San- 
some,  Battery  and  Front  street  were 
auctioned  off  for  twenty-five  dollars, 
and  corner  lots  for  thirty.  I  would  be 
a  millionaire  to-day  if  only  I  had 
known  enough  to  grasp  my  opportu- 
nities. 

And  with  what  careless  generosity 
business  was  handled  at  times!  I 
went  one  day  to  deposit  a  sack  of  gold 
dust  at  the  office  of  the  Adams  Ex- 
press Company.  Fifty  dollar  slugs 
were  then  in  circulation,  and  in  the  ex- 
change I  found,  after  leaving,  that  I 
had  been  given  twelve  instead  of 
eight  of  them.  I  went  back  and  asked 
if  they  rectified  mistakes.  "Not  after 
a  man  leaves  the  office,"  was  the  re- 
ply.   What  do  you  think  of  that? 

Furniture  was  brought  around  Cape 
Horn,  of  course,  and  much  of  it  was 
auctioned  off  in  a  room  on  Washington 
street,  near  the  Plaza.  There  I  bought 
a  handsome  bedroom  suite  of  mahog- 
any, worth  two  hundred  dollars,  for 
haif  that  amount,  and  I  am  using  it  to- 
day. San  Francisco's  first  clock  that 
my  friend,  Mr.  Wharff,  gave  to  the 


THE  "TELEGRAPH"  STATION  on  Telegraph  Hill.     See  preceding  page. 


$SB 


MONTEREY,  1849,  at  the  time  the  forty-eight  delegates  gathered  in 
Coton  Hall  to  frame  the  first  State  Constitution.  There  were  10  dis- 
tricts, San  Diego,  Los  Angeles,  Santa  Barbara,  San  Luis  Obispo,  Mon- 
terey, San  Jose,  Sonoma,  San  Francisco,  San  Joaquin  and  Sacramento, 
at  the  first  meeting  of  the  delegates.  After  a  month's  discussion  the 
instrument  was  drafted,  and  finally  adopted  and  signed,  October  13,  1849. 
Thirty-one  shots  were  fired  from  the  fort's  cannon.  The  Constitution  ex- 
pressly rejected  slavery. 


Park  Museum,  was  brought  via  the 
Panama  route  from  New  York  in  1852. 
It  was  by  order  of  Alexander  Austin, 
the  most  prominent  retail  dry-goods 
merchant  of  those  days,  who  placed  it 
on  the  upper  floor  of  his  four  story 
building,  425  Montgomery  street.  The 
clock  was  afterwards  moved  when  he 
transferred  his  place  of  business  to 
Sutter  and  Montgomery  streets.  Mr. 
Austin  was  subsequently  elected  City 
and  County  Tax  Collector,  but  the 
clock  remained  with  the  new  owner  un- 
til 1886,  when  he  had  it  removed  for 
the  remodeling  of  the  interior  of  the 
building.  Mr.  Wharff,  who  was  the 
architect  in  charge,  then  purchased  it, 
and  it  remained  in  his  possession  un- 
til November,  1911,  when  he  gener- 
ously turned  it  over  to  the  public.  You 
will  find  it  in  the  Pioneer  Room  of  the 
Museum,  Golden  Gate  Park. 

The  ninth  of  September  always 
brings  to  me  memory  of  the  first  Ad- 
mission Day  celebration  of  the  Califor- 
nia's "Betsy  Ross."  Mr.  Haskell,  man- 
ager of  the  Adams  Express  and  Bank- 
ing Company,  wanted  an  American 
flag  for  the  division  of  the  parade  of 
which  his  firm  was  a  part.  He  could 
find  none,  however,  of  the  proper  size. 
Nothing  daunted,  he  searched  until  he 


found  a  dressmaker  with  enough  pieces 
of  silk  and  satin  in  her  piece  bag  (even 
if  they  weren't  all  alike)  to  make  a 
flag  3x2  feet.  He  paid  her  a  fifty  dol- 
lar slug  for  her  work.  Afterwards  the 
flag  was  presented  to  the  company's 
chief  messenger,  Mr.  Thomas  Connell, 
and  it  has  been  a  prized  possession  in 
his  family  ever  since,  as  a  souvenir  of 
October  29,  1850,  the  day  that  San 
Francisco  celebrated  California's  ad- 
mission as  a  State  into  the  Union. 

People  don't  understand  nowadays 
why  we  celebrated  in  October  when  the 
State  was  admitted  on  September  9th ; 
but  the  reason  was  that,  those  being 
pre-telegraph  days,  we  had  to  wait  for 
the  next  steamer  from  the  Atlantic 
Coast  for  our  news.  It  had  been  ar- 
ranged that,  if  the  bill  passed,  we 
would  be  notified  by  signal  before  the 
vessel  docked.  Imagine  our  joy  when, 
on  October  18th,  the  "Oregon"  came 
into  the  bay  with  her  bunting  flying, 
and  fired  thirty-one  rounds,  every  one 
knowing  that  the  thirty-first  meant 
California.  Our  celebration,  elaborate 
as  befitted  the  occasion,  could  not  be 
carried  out,  therefore,  until  October 
29th. 

At  the  Admission  Day  celebration 
twenty-five  years  later,  James  Lick  re- 


11 


PIONEERS   CROSSING   THE    ISTHMUS   OF    PANAMA    IN    1853. 


Prom   an  old  print. 


viewed  the  pioneers  as  they  passed  in 
parade,  and  James  W.  Marshall,  the 
discoverer  of  gold,  who  was  still  hale 
and  hearty  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven 
years,  was  with  the  Marysville  delega- 
tion, as  was  also  a  survivor  of  the 
Donner  party,  Murphy  by  name. 

I  would  have  liked  to  see  the  "Path 
of  Gold"  celebration  recently  held 
here,  for  I  have  witnessed  the  evolu- 
tion of  light  in  San  Francisco.  Well  I 
remember  our  illuminations  in  honor 
of  the  Field  cable!  My  display  was 
considered  quite  brilliant.  It  consisted 
of  a  candle,  stuck  in  a  piece  of  tin, 
placed  in  every  small  pane — 7x9 — of 
my  windows.  Later  I  saw  petroleum 
demonstrated  in  lamps  for  the  first 
time.  It  came  in  as  a  substitute  for  a 
burning  fluid  that  was  being  used,  and 
the  proper  refining  process  not  having 
then  been  arrived  at,  people  were 
afraid  of  its  inflammable  character. 
Gas  followed  in  its  turn,  and  then  the 
king  of  lights — electricity — which 
found,  perhaps,  its  noblest  and  most 
inspiring  expression  at  our  great  Ex- 
position. 


But  of  course  the  most  momentous 
period  of  my  life  came  in  1856,  when, 
in  spite  of  the  work  of  the  first  Vigi- 
lance Committee,  which  had  crowded 
the  boats  to  Stockton  and  Sacramento 
with  flying  scoundrels,  San  Francisco 
was  again  wide  open  to  crime.  In  No- 
vember, 1855,  Charles  Cora  had  killed 
General  Richardson,  an  excellent  man 
and  United  States  Marshal.  The  fol- 
lowing spring,  the  courts  failing  to  con- 
vict Cora,  James  King,  the  fearless 
editor  of  the  "Daily  Evening  Bulletin," 
urged  the  people  to  take  the  matter 
into  their  own  hands.  He  also  took 
a  strong  stand  against  the  corruption 
of  city  officials,  especially  against 
James  P.  Casey,  a  lawless  supervisor 
and  ballot  box  manipulator,  with  the 
result  that  Casey  shot  him  on  May  14, 
1856. 

Within  thirty-six  hours  a  second  Vig- 
ilance Committee  was  organized,  the 
first  one  being  in  1851,  and  2,600  names 
enrolled,  of  which  number,  I  am  proud 
to  say,  I  was  the  ninety-sixth.  Before 
our  committee  disbanded,  we  num- 
bered  between  eight  and  nine  thou- 


1  V 


A  GATHERING  OF  5,000  CITIZENS  in  San  Francisco,  February  22,  1851, 
to  witness  the  trial  of  James  Stuart,  Alias  Burdue,  for  shooting  a  mer- 
chant and  robbing  his  store.  This  led  to  the  organization  of  the  first  Vigi- 
lance Committee,   that  of  1851. 


sand.  Two  of  my  unused  cartridges 
are  in  the  Oakland  Museum. 

A  Kentuckian,  William  T.  Coleman, 
was  the  head  of  our  committee,  a  man 
of  the  highest  integrity;  indeed,  I  may 
say,  one  of  the  foremost  men  in  the 
country,  both  in  character  and  in  busi- 
ness. You  must  understand  that  the 
so-called  Law  and  Order  party  did  not 
stand  for  what  its  name  implied ;  there- 
fore the  Vigilance  Committee  was  an 
absolute  necessity.  Its  principle  was 
to  do  nothing  but  that  which  the  law 
ought  to  do,  but  did  not  do,  at  that 
time.  Our  members  were  the  highest 
type  of  citizens. 

You  cannot  imagine  the  state  of  af- 
fairs when  we  organized.  During  the 
first  few  months  of  '55 — ten,  in  fact — 
four  hundred  and  eighty-nine  persons 
were  killed  by  violence,  and  people 
were  afraid  of  their  lives  on  the  streets. 
Whereas,  for  about  twenty-five  years 
after  we  disbanded  there  was  com- 
parative peace  and  harmony.  Our 
committee  was  most  assuredly  the  me- 
dium of  justice  for  those  stirring  times, 
and  our  organization  imperative  as  a 
means   of    self-defense.     Inability  to 


cope  with  the  situation  was  not  the 
fault  of  th--:  State  Administration ;  law- 
lessness reigned  because  San  Fran- 
cisco was  so  terrorized  into  inaction  by 
fear  that  even  the  judges  were  afraid 
to  convict  criminals. 

The  turning  over  of  Casey  and  Cora 
to  the  Vigilance  Committee  was  an  ex- 
citing scene.  I  was  sitting  in  church 
en  Sunday,  May  18th,  when  a  man 
came  in  and  quietly  touched  a  number 
of  us  on  the  shoulder.  I  told  my  wife 
to  make  her  wa^home  alone,  as  I  was 
wanted  at  headquarters,  Sacramento 
street,  between  Front  and  Davis.  Ar- 
riving there,  we  were  ordered  to  go  to 
the  jail  at  Broadway,  between  Kearny 
and  Dupont  streets,  to  get  Casey  and 
Cora.  Casey  had  gone  there  for  pro- 
tection after  the  shooting.  My  com- 
pany was  lined  up  across  the  street, 
and  opposite  the  county  jail,  when  we 
reached  the  jail.  In  front  of  us  was  a 
small,  loaded  brass  cannon  about 
three  feet  long,  originally  used  at  Fort 
Sutter.  Alongside  was  a  lighted  match 
on  the  punk  variety  that  burns  slowly 
but  surely.  Everything  was  ready,  ap- 
plication  was   made   for   the   desper- 


73 


■- 


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SACRAMENTO,   1850. 


adoes,  but  both  jailer  and  sheriff  re- 
fused to  deliver  them  up.  Then  ap- 
peared Governor  J.  Neely  Johnson, 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  city  and 
v/ho  acted  as  an  intermediary,  telling 
them  the  committee  was  determined  to 
have  the  men  alive  or  dead.  Finally, 
Casey  was  turned  over,  and  an  hour 
later  Cora  also. 

At  the  Vigilance  headquarters  the 
two  men  were  kept  in  separate  cells 
until  their  trial,  May  20th.  They  were 
treated  fairly,  allowed  lawyers  and 
witnesses;  both  were  pronounced 
guilty  and  hanged,  May  23d,  from  a 
platform  erected  outside  a  second- 
story  window  at  Fort  Gunnybags,  as 
cur  committee  rooms  were  called. 
Casey  was  buried  in  the  Mission  Do- 
lores Cemetery  by  an  engine  company 
of  which  he  was  foreman,  and  Cora — 
it  is  supposed,  was  buried  there  also 
by  the  wife  whom  he  married  just  be- 
fore his  execution. 

Our  committee  hanged  only  four 
men  during  its  official  life,  the  execu- 
tion of  the  other  two  following  closely 
after,  and  happening  as  follows:  On 
July  24th,  a  desperate  character,  James 
Ketherington  by  name,  shot  with  fatal 
results  Doctor  Randal,  because  of  the 
latter's  inability  to  repay  money  bor- 
rowed on  a  mortgage.  Hetherington 
was  tried  and  sentenced  to  die,  July 
29th.     At  the  same    hour     Philander 


Brace,  a  hardened  criminal  of  low  type 
who  had  killed  Captain  J.  B.  West  out 
in  the  Mission  and  then  murdered  his 
accomplice,  was  also  executed.  A  gal- 
lows was  erected  on  Davis  street,  be- 
tween Sacramento  and  Commercial 
streets,  where  both  men  paid  the  pen- 
alty of  their  crimes. 

By  order  and  by  ship  we  sent  about 
sixty  men  of  "bad"  reputation,  out  of 
the  State.  One,  "Yankee  Sullivan," 
an  active  participant  in  ballot  box 
frauds,  committed  suicide.  Some  of 
those  expelled  returned  again.  Not- 
able among  the  number  was  Billy  Mul- 
ligan, who  had  been  shipped  away  on 
the  "Golden  Age"  and  ordered  never 
to  return  under  penalty  of  death.  Sev- 
eral years  later,  however,  he  turned  up 
again  in  San  Francisco.  I  saw  him 
myself  on  the  streets.  One  day  some 
youngsters  annoying  him,  he  shot  into 
their  midst,  injuring  a  boy  in  the  foot. 
Billy  ran  into  the  old  St.  Francis  Ho- 
tel, then  vacant,  and  situated  on  the 
coiner  of  Clay  and  Dupont  streets, 
where  he  resisted  arrest.  The  police, 
being  told  to  take  him,  alive  or  dead, 
stationed  themselves  in  a  building  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and 
when  Billy  appeared  at  a  window,  shot 
and  killed  him. 

Our  executive  committee  of  the 
Vigilance  Committee  numbered  thirty- 
three.  As  a  precautionary  measure,  our 


OAKLAND  IN  1854,  located  across  the  bay  from  San  Francisco.  In  that 
period  it  was  an  attractive  excursion  point  enjoyed  by  San  Franciscans. 
On  April  10,  1854,  the  first  election  under  the  city  charter  occurred,  and 
Horace   W.    Carpentier  was   elected   mayor. 


7 


secretary's  name  was  never  known.  He 
signed  all  executive  orders  "No.  33." 
Fort  Gunnybags  derived  its  name  from 
the  gunnysacks  filled  with  sand  which 
were  piled  up  in  a  wall  some  six  feet 
wide  by  ten  feet  high.  On  the  roof  of 
our  building,  originally  a  wholesale 
business  house,  we  had  a  huge  bell,  the 
sound  of  which  called  us  to  arms.  Our 
cells,  executive  chambers  and  other  de- 
partments were  on  the  second  floor. 
On  March  21,  1903,  the  California  His- 
toric Landmarks'  League  placed  a 
bronze  tablet,  suitably  inscribed,  on 
the  face  of  the  building,  and  on  that 
occasion  the  old  bell  pealed  out  its  last 
"call  to  arms."  Three  years  later  the 
gieat  fire  of  1906  swept  the  historical 
old  building  away. 

But  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you 
about  the  Terry-Hopkins  affair.  On 
the  second  day  of  June,  1856,  Judge 
Terry  stabbel  Sterling  Hopkins,  a 
member  of  our  committee,  when  he, 
with  a  posse,  was  arresting  a  rough 
character  called  Rube  Maloney.  While 
Doctor  Beverly  Cole  was  attending  to 
Hopkins,  who  was  hadly  hurt,  Terry 
and  Maloney  fled  to  the  Law  and 
Order  headquarters  on  Jackson     and 


Dupont  street.  The  Vigilance  bell 
called  us  to  arms,  and  very  quickly  we 
controlled  the  situation.  About  thirty- 
two  Law  and  Order  men,  so  called, 
were  taken  to  Fort  Gunnybags,  to- 
gether with  a  large  quantity  of  cap- 
tured arms  and  ammunition. 

I  have  already  referred  to  two  out 
of  our  three  methods  of  punishment, 
viz. :  sending  the  culprits  out  of  the 
country,  and  hanging.  Our  third  method 
was  acquittal,  and  in  this  case  we  held 
Terry  until  August,  and  then,  Hopkins 
having  recovered,  we  acquitted  him, 
compelling  him,  however,  to  resign  his 
position  as  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court.  During  his  term  of  imprison- 
ment I  kept  guard  over  him  for  one 
watch. 

In  1859  came  Judge  Terry's  duel 
v/ith  Broderick,  the  last  duel  on  Am- 
erican soil,  and  well  known  in  history. 
I  would  like  to  add  for  my  part  that  I 
don't  think  Broderick  said  anything 
that  needed  retraction,  but  considering 
Terry's  violent  and  unscrupulous  char- 
acter, Broderick  should  have  declined 
to  fight.  By  the  way,  that  duel  did  not 
take  place  at  the  spot  indicated  by  the 
Landmarks'  Committee,    but    on    the 


THE  OLD  CITY  HALL  of  pioneer  days,  destroyed  by  the  big  fire  of  1906.  On  the  left  is 
the  El  Dorado,  a  famous  gathering  place  in  its  day.  In  the  fenced  foreground  is  the  old 
Plaza  of  Spanish  days,  now  known  as  Portsmouth  Square. 


south  side  of  Lone  Mountain  Cemetery 
not  far  from  the  line — at  that  time  an 
open  country,  with  no  buildings  adja- 
cent. 

As  a  forty-niner,  I  am  emphatically 
opposed  to  the  plan  of  the  Native  Sons 
in  the  matter  of  placing  a  tablet  to  me- 
morialize the  spot.  I  cannot  make  this 
too  strong,  for  although  that  event 
marked  the  end  of  dueling  in  Califor- 
nia, a  deed  so  black,  and  in  which  it 
has  generally  been  conceded  that  con- 
temptible trickery  had  a  share,  should 
be  forgotten.  It  seems  to  me  it  would 
be  holding  up  a  wrong  ideal,  both  to 
the  present  and  future  generations,  to 
give  the  site  of  such  a  tragedy  a  place 
among  the  shrines  of  our  glorious 
State.  Why  perpetuate  the  name  of 
Terry,  a  man  who  lived  a  life  of  vio- 
lence and  who  died  by  violence  thirty 
years  later — thus  reaping  what  he 
sowed — when  so  many  of  noble  deeds 
go  unrecorded  and  unsung  ?  I  hope  the 
Native  Sons  will  reconsider  the  matter 
and  not  soil  their  good  name  by  carry- 
ing out  the  plan  contemplated. 

Now  let  me  tell  you  something  about 
the  '60's.  You  will  be  interested  to 
know  that  on  April  3,  1860,     I     saw 


Harry  Hoff ,  the  first  pony  express  mes- 
senger, start  on  his  journey  at  Kearny 
street,  between  Clay  and  Washington 
streets,  opposite  the  Plaza.  The 
steamer  left  for  Sacramento  at  four 
o'clock  p.  m.,  and  that  place  reached, 
the  ride  proper  began  at  midnight. 
Stations  were  erected  about  twenty-five 
miles  apart,  and  each  rider  was  ex- 
pected to  span  three  stations.  Hoff, 
therefore,  was  relieved  at  Placerville 
by  "Boston,"  the  second  rider,  who,  in 
his  turn,  was  relieved  at  the  summit 
of  the  Sierras,  Friday  Station,  by  the 
third  rider,  Sam  Hamilton,  who  car- 
ried the  express  to  Fort  Churchill.  The 
distance  from  Sacramento  to  that  point, 
185  miles,  was  made  in  fifteen  hours 
and  twenty  minutes,  though  the  trail, 
heavily  covered  with  snow,  across  the 
summit,  had  to  be  kept  open  by  trains 
of  pack  animals  in  order  to  break 
down  the  snow  drifts.  Pony  express 
was  a  semi-weekly  service,  each  rider 
carrying  fifteen  pounds  of  letters,  the 
rate  five  dollars  per  half  ounce.  The 
best  horses  and  bravest  men  were  nec- 
essary for  this  important  work.  The 
first  messenger  to  reach  San  Francisco 
from  the  East  arrived  April  14,  1860. 


A     SECTION    of   the  big  file   of  April 
San  Francisco. 

We  allowed  thirteen  days  for  letters 
from  New  York,  but  the  actual  time 
was  from  ten  and  a  half  to  twelve  days. 
It  meant  something  to  get  letters,  then, 
didn't  it? 

A  vivid  memory,  too,  is  that  of  the 
great  floods  which  occurred  in  1861- 
1862,  when  the  merchants  of  Sacra- 
mento had  to  place  their  goods  on 
benches  and  counters  to  keep  them 
above  water,  and  when  those  who  had 
upper  stories  to  their  houses  moved 
into  them  for  safety.  The  water  rose 
until  it  reached  a  point  where  boats, 
running  between  Sacramento  and  San 
Francisco,  took  people  out  of  the  sec- 
ond story  windows.  There  was  much 
suffering  and  loss  of  property  along  the 
river. 

It  was  in  1861,  also,  that  Doctor 
Scott,  of  Calvary  Presbyterian  Church, 
prayed,  on  a  certain  Sunday,  for  the 
Presidents  of  the  Union  and  of  the 
Confederate  States,  with  the  result 
that  he  had  to  be  smuggled  out  by  the 
back  way  into  Mrs.  Thomas  Selby's 
carriage,  for  fear  of  bodily  harm.  The 


1906,    advancing  on    the    ferry    system   depots   of 

next  morning  he  was  hanged  in  effigy 
from  the  top  of  a  building  in  course  of 
construction. 

In  1865  I  saw  the  raid  on  the  old 
time  "Examiner"  office  when  that 
paper  surely  met  its  Waterloo.  It  had 
headquarters  at  that  time  on  Washing- 
ton street,  near  Sansome,  and  its  sym- 
pathy with  the  Confederacy  led  to  such 
a  frenzy  of  riot  that  all  movable  things 
v/ere  taken  into  the  street  to  be  burned. 
Before  the  projected  conflagration 
could  take  place,  however,  or  the  police 
arrive,  the  mob  carried  off  everything 
it  could  lay  hands  on.  I  must  confess 
myself  to  having  in  my  possession  two 
pieces  of  type  that  I  picked  up  on  that 
occasion.  "Uncle  Phil  Roach,"  as  the 
editor  and  founder  was  called,  a  gen- 
ial old  man  whom  everybody  liked, 
tried,  when  a  member  of  the  State 
Legislature  later,  to  get  an  appropria- 
tion to  cover  his  loss,  but  without  suc- 
cess. 

It  is  pleasant  to  recall  the  noted  peo- 
ple I  have  seen.  When  William  H. 
Seward,  Secretary  of  State,  came  from 


78 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Washington  in  1867,  to  purchase 
Alaska,  he  was  entertained  while  in 
San  Francisco  by  Judge  Hastings, 
whose  home  was  on  the  corner  of 
Washington  street  near  Taylor.  My 
home  being  on  the  same  block,  I  fre- 
quently saw  Mr.  Seward  on  the  piazza 
enjoying  the  fine  view.  He  was  quite 
advanced  in  age  even  then.  At  an  af- 
fair given  in  his  honor  at  Pioneer  Hall 
he  was  so  shaky  that  he  had  to  use 
both  hands  to  hold  his  glass  of  cham- 
pagne when  toasted. 

When  General  Grant  came  to  San 
Francisco,  he  fell  an  easy  victim  to  a 
young,  but  persistent,  autograph 
hunter.  The  General  was  writing  in 
Pioneer  Hall  at  the  time,^  and  a  ten- 
year-old  boy  approached  the  table,  at 
which  he  was  sitting.  Bit  by  bit  he 
edged  nearer,  and  finally,  with  one 
bold  stroke,  placed  his  book  beneath 
the  great  man's  nose.  There  was  only 
one  thing  to  do,  and  the  General  did 
it,  inscribing  his  name  as  meekly  as 
could  be,  but  with  a  broad  smile  on  his 
usually  grave  face.  Thus  did  he  make 
one  small  boy  happy  for  life. 

Other  famous  soldiers  I  have  seen 
include  Fremont,  the  "Pathfinder,"  for 
whom  I  once  did  some  iron  work; 
General  Vallejo,  provincial  governor 
of  California  from  1840  to  1843;  and 
General  Sutter.  The  last  mentioned  I 
once  stood  with  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sacramento  River  in  the  fall  of  '49,  on 
which  occasion  he  said:  "I  have 
moored  my  boats  in  the  tops  of  those 
cottonwood  trees,  where  the  driftwood 
showed  not  less  than  twenty-five  feet 
from  the  ground." 

But  I  must  tell  you  a  good  story  of 
General  Vallejo  and  President  Lincoln. 
The  former,  while  in  Washington, 
whither  he  had  been  called  by  the 
President  during  the  early  part  of  the 
Civil  War,  suggested  that  the  United 
States  build  a  railroad  into  Mexico, 
believing  it  would  be  a  benefit  to  both 
nations.  "But,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln, 
"what  good  would  it  do  for  our  people 
to  go  there,  even  if  railroads  were 
built?  They  would  all  die  of  fever, 
and,  according  to  your  belief,  go  down 


yonder,"  pointing  below  to  indicate  the 
lower  regions. 

"I  wouldn't  be  very  sorry  about 
that,"  answered  the  General.  "How 
so?"  said  Mr.  Lincoln.  "I  thought 
you  liked  the  Yankees."  "So  I  do," 
v/as  the  answer.  "The  Yankees  are  a 
wonderful  people.  Wherever  they  go 
they  make  improvements.  If  they 
were  to  emigrate  in  large  numbers  to 
hell  itself,  they  would  somehow  man- 
age to  change  the  climate."  And  I  be- 
lieve the  General  was  right,  for  see 
what  has  been  done  with  the  deadly 
climate  of  the  Canal  Zone! 

Other  men  I  have  known  were 
Henry  Highton,  the  lawyer;  Colonel 
Andrews,  of  the  Diamond  Palace,  and 
Judge  Holliday,  who  was  always  my 
friend  and  at  one  time  my  attorney. 
You  will  remember  that  he  died  last 
year.  Ina  Donna  Coolbrith,  Califor- 
nia's poet  laureate,  was  also  known  to 
me  years  ago,  a  dignified  and  beauti- 
ful young  woman  of  rare  gifts,  and  I 
am  glad  indeed  of  the  honors  that  have 
come  to  her  later  in  life,  though,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  they  should  have 
been  hers  long  ago. 

You  want  to  know  what  my  avoca- 
tions have  been?  Well,  I  have  done 
all  sorts  of  things.  For  ten  years  I 
was  in  the  retail  grocery  business,  but 
in  1884  went  into  the  employ  of  the 
Southern  Pacific,  where  I  remained  for 
twenty  years,  retiring  on  a  pension  in 
1904.  Two  years  later  I  lost  my  wife, 
but  still  have  my  son  and  daughter,  the 
former  living  at  Vallejo  and  the  latter, 
Mrs.  Nelson  Page,  living  near  me  in 
Oakland.  She,  by  the  way,  is  the  au- 
thor of  an  article  in  the  Overland 
Monthly  some  years  ago  on  the  subject 
of  Pitcairn  Island  that  attracted  wide 
attention.  She  has  the  pen  of  a  ready 
writer,  and  my  friends  tell  me  the 
most  remarkable  thing  I  have  ever 
done  was  the  publication  of  my  book, 
"California,  1849-1913,"  which  I  wrote 
when  I  was  eighty-seven  years  old. 
My  purpose  was  not  self-aggrandize- 
ment, but  that  my  experience  might  be 
deposited  in  the  archives  of  my  de- 
scendants." 


s$s 


S^^ۤ^ 


Pastor  Russell's  Writings  to  be  ^ 
Continued  in  Overland 
Monthly 


ARRANGEMENTS  have  been  completed  with  Watch 
Tower  Bible  and  Tract  Society  whereby  the  manage- 
ment of  Overland  Monthly  will,  in  the  February  is- 
sue, if  ready,  begin  in  serial  form  Pastor  Russell's 
famous  book,  "The  Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages."  Other 
works  of  this  beloved  pastor  are  being  prepared  to  follow. 

The  following  excerpt,  from  a  letter  recently  received  by 
Overland  Monthly  from  the  manager  of  the  Watch  Tower  Bible 
and  Tract  Society,  explains  itself  to  our  many  constant  readers 
regarding  the  publication  of  this  new  series  of  Pastor  Russell's 
writings : 

"Since  your  magazine  is  of  a  higher  class  than  any  of  the 
newspapers,  we  thought  perhaps  the  best  thing  we  could  think 
of  for  your  readers  would  be  to  supply  you  the  subject  matter  of 
Pastor  Russell's  famous  book,  "The  Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages" 
in  serial  form,  to  appear  in  12,  16  or  24  installments.  "The 
Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages,"  next  to  the  Bible,  is  the  most  widely 
circulated  book  in  the  wcrld.  When  prepared  in  installments, 
we  feel  sure  it  will  prove  very  satisfactory." 

Our  good  friends  specially  interested  in  this  series  will  help 
us  greatly  if  they  will  pass  the  word  along  among  their  ac- 
quaintances that  the  Pastor  Russell  series  has  been  resumed  in 
Overland  Monthly. 


s®g 


^m 


Lost  Morses 


By    R.  T.  Coryndon 


A  MONTH  or  so  after  the  traitor 
Maritz  had  made  his  flambuoy- 
ant  proclamation  in  German 
Southwest  Africa,  a  small  body 
of  mounted  Union  troops  was  operat- 
ing in  a  district  which  may  be  de- 
scribed as  "somewhere  near  Uping- 
ton."  Probably  such  secrecy  of  places 
and  names  is  not  at  all  necessary,  but 
it  lends  an  appropriate  military  flavor 
to  the  small  events  I  describe.  I  may 
gc  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  setting  I 
have  provided  is  fictitious,  though  sim- 
ilar events  did,  no  doubt,  occur  in  the 
operations  against  Maritz  and  Kemp 
and  their  heroes.  The  characters  of 
the  roan  horse  and  of  the  boy  Frik- 
kie  are  true  to  life,  and  the  small  ad- 
ventures did  occur  much  as  described, 
but  in  another  country  in  South  Africa 
and  upon  a  different  occasion.  Ac- 
cept the  story  as  fiction,  not  as  history; 
it  will  at  any  rate  serve  to  throw  a  light 
upon  one  of  the  aspects  of  the  fighting 
in  that  dry  land,  and  it  illustrates  the 
close  relationship  between  horse  and 
man  in  that  country  of  long  distances 
and  sparse  population  and  infrequent 
water  holes.  The  conditions  are  the 
absolute  antithesis  of  those  in  Flan- 
ders and  the  trenches. 

The  risk  of  losing  his  riding  or  pack 
animals  is  constantly  present  to  the 
veld  traveler.  Fortunately  it  is  sel- 
dom the  cause  of  anything  more  trou- 
blesome than  a  temporary  inconven- 
ience, but  there  are  occasions  when 
serious  hardships  result,  the  loss  of 
valuable  time  or  of  your  animals,  or 
risk  to  your  own  life.  In  most  cases 
the  loss  of  your  beasts  is  due  merely  to 
the  fact  that  they  have  strayed.  They 
have,  as  a  rule,  either  followed  the 
lead  of  some  restless  animal  who  is 
making  back  for  his   stable,  or  else 


they  have  wandered  away  in  search  of 
grass  or  water. 

A  horse  is  less  hardy  than  his  hy- 
brid half-brother,  and  more  the  slave 
of  his  belly.  Thirst  and  hunger  pinch 
him  at  once,  and  he  is  quick  in  search 
of  comfort;  he  is  therefore  more  likely 
to  stop  and  suffer  capture  at  the  first 
patch  of  good  grass  he  comes  to.  His 
superficial  character,  moreover,  gener- 
ally affords  some  indication  both  of 
the  reason  he  has  strayed  and  the  di- 
rection he  has  taken.  There  are,  how- 
ever, a  few  horses  who  are  inveterate 
and  troublesome  wanderers;  they  are 
generally  old  animals  whose  accumu- 
lated experience  has  developed  a  cun- 
ning foreign  to  their  normal  character. 
Such  animals  often  possess  an  irritat- 
ing facility  for  choosing  the  most  in- 
convenient time  to  stray  and  the  most 
unlikely  direction  to  go. 

If  horses  are  the  most  frequent  of- 
fenders, their  sins  in  this  respect  are 
seldom  serious.  In  my  own  experi- 
ence, mules  are  more  liable  to  travel 
back  along  the  road  they  have  come 
than  horses;  they  are  more  creatures 
of  habit,  their  memory  is  more  reten- 
tive, and  they  have  greater  natural  in- 
telligence. When  a  mule  has  acquired 
the  habit  of  absenting  himself  from 
duty  he  is  a  perpetual  trouble.  The 
most  malignant  form  of  this  disease 
occurs  when  the  beast  has  developed 
an  insatiable  longing  for  one  particu- 
lar place,  a  definite  goal  from  which 
nothing  will  turn  him.  This  haven  of 
his  constant  desire  is  generally  the 
place  where  he  was  born,  or  where  he 
passed  the  pleasant  days  of  his  ab- 
surd youth. 

There  are  traits  in  most  horses  which 
in  conjunction  with  this  foundation  of 
congenital    simplicity,    go    to    make 


LOST  HORSES. 


81 


''character."  Men  who  have  dealt  with 
horses  in  the  less  frequented  parts  of 
the  earth  know  this  well.  They  will 
remember  one  animal  who  had  in  a 
highly  developed  degree  that  instinct- 
ive correctness  of  demeanor  which  can 
best  be  described  as  good  manners; 
a  second  had  a  heart  like  a  lion  and 
checked  at  nothing;  another  was  a  prey 
to  an  incurable  nervousness;  while  yet 
another  was  simply  mean.  These  mean 
horses  are  a  perpetual  menace;  you 
never  know  when  they  will  let  you 
down.  Sometimes  they  are  clearly  ac- 
tuated by  malice;  sometimes,  however, 
there  is  a  subtle  quality  and  timeliness 
in  their  apparent  stupidity  which  gives 
you  a  horrid  suspicion  that  you've 
been  had,  and  that  your  horse  is  more 
of  a  rogue  than  a  fool.  Such  an  ani- 
mal is  always  an  old  horse,  never  a 
young  one. 

I  am  not  quite  clear  as  to  what  a 
scout  should  look  like.  The  typical 
scout  of  the  North  American  Indian 
days,  as  exemplified  in  the  person  of 
Natty  Bumpo,  wore  fringed  buckskin 
and  moccasins  and  coon-skin  cap, 
while  Texas  Bill  and  his  vivid  compan- 
ions had  a  more  picturesque  costume 
still,  in  which  great  silver-studded  sad- 
dles and  jingling  spurs  and  monstrous 
revolvers  bore  a  conspicuous  part.  I 
must  confess  that  my  own  nine  sports- 
men were  scrubby-looking  fellows 
compared  to  their  picturesque  prede- 
cessors at  the  game.  (The  khaki  trou- 
sers issued  by  an  administration  which 
was  always  more  practical  than  pic- 
turesque do  not  lend  themselves,  in  this 
generation  at  any  rate,  to  romance.) 
But  they  were  a  hard  and  useful  lot, 
much  sunburned,  and  with  gnarled, 
scarred  hands.  Deerslayer  himself 
probably  could  not  have  taught  them 
much  about  their  own  veld  craft. 
Every  one  was  South  African  born; 
three  of  them  were  younger  sons  of 
loyal  Boer  farmers.  One  was  a  col- 
ored boy,  a  quiet,  capable  fellow.  He 
was  with  us  nominally  as  a  sort  of 
groom,  but  his  civil  manners  and  extra- 
ordinary capacity  soon  won  him  an  ac- 
cepted place  in  the  scouts;  though  he 
rode  and  ate  with  us,  he  always  sat  a 


little  apart  in  camp.  He  had  spent 
three  or  four  years  up  country,  where 
I  had  first  come  across  him  in  fact, 
and  had  shot  some  amount  of  big 
game;  he  was  excellent  on  spoor  and 
had  a  wonderful  eye  for  country,  and 
I  really  think  he  was  the  quickest  man 
on  and  off  a  horse,  and  the  quickest 
and  most  brilliant  shot  I  ever  saw.  He 
stood  on  the  roster  as  Frederick  Col- 
lins, but  was  never  known  by  any 
other  name  than  Frikkie. 

The  commandant  of  the  rather  non- 
descript commando,  which  was  offi- 
cially described,  I  believe,  as  a  com- 
posite regiment,  had  a  sound  idea  of 
the  value  of  a  few  competent  and  well 
mounted  scouts,  and  had  done  us  very 
well  in  the  matter  of  horse.  We  had 
been  "on  commando"  now  for  nearly 
five  weeks,  and  had  got  to  know  our 
animals  pretty  well.  During  the  con- 
fusion and  changes  of  the  first  fort- 
night I  had  got  rid  of  a  dozen  horses 
I  saw  would  be  of  no  use  for  our  work 
— thought  suitable,  no  doubt,  for 
slower  troop  duty,  and  by  a  cunning 
process  of  selection  had  got  together 
a  very  serviceable  lot,  with  four  spare 
animals  to  carry  kit  and  water  on  the 
longer  trips  away  from  the  main  body. 
Your  spirited  young  things,  though 
well  enough  to  go  courting  on,  are  apt 
to  get  leg-weary  and  drop  condition  too 
soon  on  steady  work,  and  all  my  mob 
were  aged  and  as  hard  as  nails.  I 
will  describe  one  or  two  of  them  pres- 
ently. 

Things  were  getting  a  little  exciting 
about  that  time.  Three  rebel  comman- 
dos, or  rather  bands,  were  known  to  be 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was  essen- 
tial to  find  out  what  their  strength  was 
and  who  their  leaders  were.  There 
was  not  much  reason  to  fear  attack, 
for  they  were  not  well  found  in  either 
guns  or  ammunition,  and  their  raga- 
muffin cavalry  were  concerned  to  avoid 
and  not  invite  a  stand  up  engagement. 
Rapidity  of  action  was  essential  to  the 
loyal  troops,  for  the  longer  the  re- 
bellion dragged  on  the  more  risk  there 
was  of  its  spreading.  It  was  necessary 
to  find  out  at  once  the  actual  move- 
ments of  these   bands,  and  the  best 


82  OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 

way  of  doing  so  was  to  keep  tally  of  before  sunset,  after  a  windless,  baking 

the  water  holes.     Man  can,  if  neces-  day.    The  horses  were  in  excellent  fet- 

sary,  carry  water  for  themselves,  but  tie.    The  roan  had  given  some  trouble 

horses,  especially  those  from  the  moist  with  the  pack,  but  before    he     could 

high  veld  of  the  Transvaal,  must  have  throw  himself  down  or  buck  through 

water  regularly  or  they  go  to  pieces  the  lines  he  was  hustled  out  of  camp  to 

very  quickly  in  that  dry,  hot  land.  And  an  accompaniment  of  oaths  and  cheers 

so  the  remote  and  forgotten  pit  at  Ra-  in  two  languages.     Once     away    and 

mib  had  suddenly  become  of  import-  alone  he  went  quietly,  but  doubtless 

ance,  and  I  had  been  told  to  send  two  v/ith  hate  in  his  heart,  for  his  beastly 

men  to  examine  it  at  once.  eye  was  full  of  gall; 

It  lay  within  the  rocky  belt  which  Dawn  found  us  hidden  on  the  top  of 
came  down  south  of  the  Orange  River  a  low  stony  kopje,  the  horses  tied  to- 
somewhat  to  our  right;  it  was  supposed  gether  among  the  brown  boulders  be- 
to  be  twenty  miles  away,  but  it  might  low.  It  was  bitter  cold  as  the  light 
prove  five  miles  less  or  ten  miles  more,  grew,  and  the  sun  came  up  into  an 
It  was  known  to  have  held  water  fif-  empty  world.  I  waited  there  for  half 
teen  months  before,  and  our  business  an  hour,  partly  to  find  any  signs  of 
was  to  find  out  if  it  still  held  water,  white  men,  and  partly  to  work  out  the 
how  long  that  water  would  be  likely  to  lay  of  the  land  and  the  probable  direc- 
last,  and  if  any  of  the  rebels  had  been  tion  of  the  pit.  Nothing  was  moving  in 
to  it  recently.  No  one  in  the  column  the  whole  world.  It  was  clear  where 
was  aware  of  its  exact  location,  but  I  the  water  must  be.  On  the  right  was 
myself  knew  enough  of  those  parts  to  the  usual  barren  desert  country  we  had 
guess  roughly  where  it  must  lie.  I  de-  come  through  during  the  night,  low 
cided  to  take  one  man  and  a  pack  horse  ridges  of  stone  and  shale,  and  a  thin 
and  to  take  the  patrol  myself.  No  na-  low  scrub  of  milk  bush  and  cactus.  On 
tive  guide  was  available,  and  the  Col-  the  left  the  land  grew  much  rougher 
onel  did  not,  for  obvious  reasons,  care  towards  the  river;  the  rocky  valleys 
to  make  use  of  any  of  the  few  local  stretched  for  miles  in  that  direction. 
Boers  who  carried  on  a  wretched  ex-  Presently  we  led  the  horses  down  off 
istence  as  farmers  in  that  barren  the  kopje,  and  an  hour  later  saw  us 
country.  looking  down  at  the  chain  of   small 

My  own  horse  was  a  big  bay,  an  holes,  still  full  of  good  water.    I  stayed 

uncomfortable  beast,  but  capable  of  v/ith  the  hidden  horses  while  Frikkie 

covering  much  ground;  like  many  big  cut  a  circle  round  the  pools.     There 

men,  he  had  little  mental  elasticity  and  was  no  sign  of  life,  he  reported,  only 

no  vices.    Frikkie  had  an  unassuming  the  old  sandal  spoor  of  some  natives; 

bay  of  ordinary  manners  and  capacity,  no  horse  had  been  down  to  the  water 

and  with  a  natural  aptitude  for  routine  for  weeks,  probably  for  months.    We 

and  a  military  life.    The  third  horse  off-saddled  in  a  hidden  corner  some 

was  a  king  of  his  class.    He  did  not  be-  way  from  the  water,  and  got  a  small 

long  to  the  scouts,  but  I  had  borrowed  fire   going   of   thin   dry   sticks.     The 

him  to  carry  the  pack  on  that  patrol  horses  were  given  a  drink  and  turned 

He  was  mean  all  through;  in  color  a  loose.    It  was  criminal  foolishness  not 

sort  of  skewbald  roan,  and  in  character  to  have  hobbled  or  knee-haltered  the 

an   irreclaimable  criminal.  He  had  a  roan,  for  ten  minutes  after  they  were 

narrow  chest,  weedy  white  legs,  and  let  go  Frikkie  called  out     that     the 

a  pale  shifty  eye;  he  was  very  free  horses  had  completely  disappeared, 
v/ith  his  heels,  and  an  inveterate  ma-  One  realized  at  once  that  there  was 

lingerer.    He  had  never  carried  a  pack  no  time  to  be  lost.     It  was  probable 

before,  and  we  were     prepared     for  that  the  roan^had  led  them  away,  and 

trouble,  for  his  malevolent  spirit  had  that  he  meant  business.    The  saddles 

already  acquired  a  wide  reputation.  and  pack  were  hurriedly  hidden  among 

The  patrol  left  the  column  a  little  some  rocks  with  the  billy     of     half- 


LOST  HORSES. 


83 


cooked  rice,  the  fire  was  put  out,  and 
we  took  up  the  spoor. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  animals 
were  traveling,  and  were  not  straying 
aimlessly  in  search  of  feed.  The  spoor 
of  the  discolored  strawberry  beast  was 
alv/ays  in  front — his  footprints  were 
like  his  character,  narrow  and  close. 
Above  his  tracks  came  those  of  Ruby, 
the  police  horse,  round  ordinary  hoof- 
marks,  and  well  shod ;  my  own  horse's 
immense  prints  were  always  last,  solid 
and  unmistakable.  Mile  after  mile  the 
tracks  led  into  a  rockier  and  more  bar- 
ten  country.  What  little  stunted  and 
thorny  scrub  there  was  had  not  yet 
come  into  leaf,  and  there  was  no  shade 
and  no  sign  of  green  anywhere.  Ridges 
of  sharp, gravel  and  small  kepjes  of 
brown  stone  alternated  with  narrow 
valleys  without  sign  of  green  or  water. 
In  the  softer  ground  of  these  valleys 
the  spoor  was  plain  and  could  be  fol- 
lowed without  any  trouble,  but  on  the 
rocky  ridges  the  tracks  became  diffi- 
cult to  hold  where  the  horses  had  sep- 
arated and  wandered  about.  The  trail 
led  eastwards,  into  a  rocky,  waterless, 
and  uninhabited  country.  There  was 
no  reason  for  the  roan's  choice,  but 
just  native  malice,  for  he  had  come 
from  the  west  the  previous  day.  Doubt- 
less the  main  camp  would  be  his  ulti- 
mate destination,  but  it  seemed  ap- 
parent that  he  intended  to  inflict  as 
deep  an,  injury  as  he  possibly  could  be- 
fore he  set  his  sour  face  again  toward 
the  west. 

It  was  within  half  an  hour  of  sun- 
down before  I  came  up  with  the  horses, 
and  then  only  the  two  bays ;  the  roan's 
spoor  showed  that  he  had  gone  on 
about  an  hour  before.  They  were 
standing  under  a  bunch  of  thorn  trees, 
the  only  shade  they  had  passed  since 
they  were  let  go  that  morning.  For  the 
last  mile  or  two  the  tracks,  which  had 
become  more  aimless  as  the  hot  after- 
noon wore  on,  had  turned  a  little  to 
the  north.  Probably,  as  the  allegiance 
of  his  small  following  had  weakened, 
the  leader's  thoughts  had  turned  to  the 
companionship  of  the  camp,  and  when 
they  had  finally  refused  to  follow  him 
any  farther  he  had  abandoned  the  rest 


of  his  revenge  and  had  turned  frankly 
lor  home. 

We  rounded  up  the  two  horses  and 
thought  of  our  camp,  probably  eight 
miles  away  in  a  direct  line.  Though 
they  were  tired  and  empty  they  would 
not  be  caught,  and  it  was  soon  evident 
that  they  would  not  be  driven  either. 
I  will  not  ask  you  to  follow  the  dread- 
ful hour  which  ensued.  This  crowning 
flicker  of  rebellion  at  the  end  of  a  dis- 
astrous day  nearly  broke  our  hearts. 
It  was  well  after  dark  when  we  finally 
abandoned  the  horses  in  an  area  of 
steep  rocky  ridges  and  narrow  valleys 
covered  with  cactus;  it  was  quite  im- 
possible to  cope  with  them  in  the  dark 
in  such  a  country.  We  reached  camp 
about  ten,  but  were  too  tired  and  dis- 
appointed to  make  a  fire.  A  tin  of 
bully-beef,  and  the  mass  of  opaque 
jelly  which  had  once  been  good  Patna 
rice,  were  the  first  pleasant  incidents 
of  a  baking,  hungry  day. 

The  second  day  began  before  dawn 
with  as  large  a  breakfast  as  we  could 
compass :  black  coffee,  the  little  bread 
that  was  left,  and  a  large  quantity  of 
rice.  I  have  seldom  eaten  a  more 
cheerless  meal.  Three  or  four  pounds 
of  rice,  some  coffee,  a  tin  or  two  of 
bully,  and  a  little  sugar  were  all  that 
remained  to  us,  and  there  was  no 
chance  of  getting  more.  I  must  con- 
fess that  at  this  stage  a  tactical  error 
was  committed,  which  cost  us  the  long 
day's  work  for  nothing.  A  golden  rule 
where  lost  animals  are  concerned  is  to 
stick  to  the  spoor,  but  as  I  thought  it 
very  probable  that  the  horses  would 
turn  north  and  west  again  during  the 
night  and  make  for  their  last  place  of 
sojourn,  I  tried  to  save  half  a  dozen 
hours  by  cutting  the  spoor  ahead.  It 
was  nearly  noon,  and  a  mile  or  two  be- 
yond where  the  roan  had  left  the  others 
before  it  became  a  certainty  that  the 
horses  had  done  the  unlikely  thing, 
and  had  gone  either  south  or  farther 
east  into  the  broken  country.  At  that 
moment  they  were  probably  ten  miles 
away.  I  then  did  what  one  should 
have  done  at  first,  and  went  to  the 
point  where  we  had  last  seen  them. 
That  afternoon  was  hotter  and  emptier 


84 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


than  the  last,  and  sunset  found  us  on 
a  cold  spoor  going  north.  We  had 
wisely  brought  rice  and  coffee  and 
water-bags  with  us  that  morning,  and 
Frikkie  had  shot  a  klipspringer — ba- 
boons and  klipspringer  were  the  only 
animals  we  had  seen  the  last  two  days. 
If  you  suppose  that  we  had  used  any 
of  the  water  for  washing  you  are  mak- 
ing a  mistake,  though  Heaven  knows 
that  we  both  would  have  been  the  bet- 
ter for  a  bath.  We  slept  on  the  spoor, 
and  bitter  cold  it  was  without  blankets. 

Matters  were  getting  serious.  We 
were  more  than  twelve  miles  from  the 
saddlery  and,  so  far  as  we  knew,  the 
nearest  water,  and  twenty  more  from 
the  camp.  If  the  horses  were  not 
found  and  caught  that  day  they  would 
have  to  be  abandoned,  and  we  would 
have  to  pad  the  hoof  home. 

But  fortune  does  not  frown  forever; 
it  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning. 
Within  an  hour  of  sunrise  we  came  into 
the  quite  fresh  tracks  of  the  horses 
crossing  their  own  spoor.  Frikkie  ex- 
claimed that  there  were  three  horses, 
and  an  examination  showed  the  nar- 
row tracks  of  the  red  horse  with  the 
other  two;  they  had  not  found  water 
and  were  evidently  on  their  way  back 
to  Ramib.  We  came  on  to  the  animals 
a  few  minutes  afterwards.  Except  that 
they  were  hollow  from  want  of  water 
they  were  none  the  worse2  and  appar- 
ently they  were  not  sorry  to  see  us.  By 
the  time  the  sun  was  in  the  north  they 
had  had  a  good  drink  and  were  finish- 
ing the  little  grain  in  the  pack.  Mid- 
night saw  us  riding  into  the  main  camp 
— only  to  find  it  deserted,  for  the  col- 
umn had  marched.  The  camp  was  ap- 
parently completely  empty,  and  it  felt 
very  desolate  under  a  small  moon.  I 
expected  I  would  discover  a  message 
of  some  sort  for  me  at  sunrise;  in  the 
meantime  the  obvious  thing  was  to 
keep  out  of  the  way. 

Nothing  moved  in  or  around  the 
camp  till  near  sunrise,  when  three  men 
rode  out  of  some  shale  ridges  about  a 
mile  away  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
came  down  to  the  water.  By  the  white 
bands  round  the  left  arm — the  sign  of 
loyal  troops — I  knew  them  for  our  own 


men;  indeed,  we  had  recognized  the 
horse  one  of  them  was  riding.  They 
gave  me  the  message  they  had  stayed 
behind  to  deliver.  We  were  to  stay 
and  watch  the  camp  site  for  three  or 
four  days,  and  to  patrol  daily  some 
distance  to  the  southeast.  The  water 
was  important,  for  it  was  quite  prob- 
able that  one  or  other  of  the  rebel  com- 
mandos would  come  to  it.  The  men 
had  hidden  provisions  for  us  and  some 
grain  for  the  horses;  they  themselves 
were  to  hurry  on  to  the  column  with 
our  report  of  the  Ramib  pits.  We  rode 
a  few  miles  along  the  column  spoor 
with  them,  and  then  turned  off  on  some 
gravelly  ground  and  fetched  a  compass 
round  back  to  the  place  in  the  shale 
ridges  where  the  men  had  .slept  and 
where  the  provisions  were.  We  took 
nc  more  chances  with  the  strawberry 
horse;  he  was  closely  hobbled. 

The  loss  of  the  animals  had  been  a 
serious  thing,  and  we  were  extremely 
fortunate  to  have  got  out  of  it  so  eas- 
ily. It  did  not  lessen  the  annoyance  to 
realize  that  it  was  my  own  fault  for  not 
hobbling  the  roan,  but  only  a  rogue 
by  constitution  and  habit  would  have 
carried  his  hostility  to  so  dangerous 
a  length.  But  within  a  week  he  was 
to  provide  another  taste  of  his  quality. 
This  time  nothing  more  serious  was 
involved  than  the  risk  of  his  own  loss, 
for  we  were  never  led  far  from  water 
in  so  menacing  and  barren  a  country. 

Most  of  that  day  was  spent  in  the 
stony  krantz,  from  which  a  view  could 
be  obtained  over  the  whole  dry,  gray 
landscape,  and  the  pools  a  mile  away. 
In  normal  times  the  laagte  was  fre- 
quently used  for  sheep  grazing,  but  in 
these  days  of  mobile  and  ever-hungry 
commandos  the  few  farmers  in  the 
vicinity  were  grazing  their  meagre 
flocks  nearer  their  homesteads.  Ex- 
cept for  a  few  wandering  Griquas,  and 
possibly  a  band  of  ragged  rebels  on 
tired  horses,  it  was  not  likely  that  our 
watch  would  be  interrupted.  A  rough 
shelter  made  of  the  stunted  spiny  scrub 
served  as  a  sentry  box;  the  saddles 
were  hidden  in  a  narrow  cleft  on  the 
lee  side  of  the  ridge,  and  the  horses 
v/ere  kept  down  in  the  valleys. 


LOST  HORSES. 


85 


In  the  afternoon  we  saddled  up  and 
rode  south  and  east,  keeping  for  the 
most  part  to  the  rough  ridges,  and 
overlooking  the  level  country  along 
which  our  column  had  come,  and  which 
was  the  natural  approach  from  that 
side  for  any  body  of  men  having 
wheeled  transport  with  them.  We  did 
not  ride  for  more  than  an  hour,  but  my 
glasses  showed  an  empty,  treeless 
world  for  miles  beyond.  If  the  com- 
mandos did  come  our  way  they  would 
probably  trek  by  night;  we  should 
hear  them  arrive  and  laager  about 
dawn,  and  sunrise  would  have  seen  us 
well  on  our  way  to  our  own  men. 

Just  at  dusk  that  evening  we  rode 
along  the  lee  of  the  ridge  upon  which 
our  poor  home  was.  Frikkie  was  rid-, 
ing  the  roan.  He  was  leading  his  own 
animal,  for  a  single  horse  could  not  be 
left  grazing  alone,  to  be  picked  up, 
perhaps,  by  any  wandering  rebel,  or  to 
stray  off  in  search  of  companionship. 
When  we  passed  under  the  highest 
point  of  the  ridge  I  stopped  and  sent 
Frikkie  to  the  top,  for  he  could  spy 
in  both  directions  from  there.  I  took 
*  the  led  horse  from  him,  and  he  threw 
the  roan's  reins  over  the  neck  to  the 
trail  on  the  ground — the  accepted  in- 
struction to  every  trained  veld  horse 
to  stand  still.  I  watched  the  boy's  slim 
figure  against  the  sunset  sky  in  the 
west  as  he  turned  about,  searching  the 
veid  through  his  binoculars,  though  it 
was  really  getting  too  dark  for  prism 
glasses.  He  called  out  that  nothing 
was  moving,  and  presently  came  lightly 
down  the  steep  slope  in  the  gathering 
dusk.  As  he  reached  his  horse  the 
beast  turned  his  quarters  to  him  and 
walked  away ;  and  when  I  put  my  horse 
across  to  check  him  he  lifted  his  head 
and  trotted  off. 

This  was  a  new,  but  not  unexpected, 
trait  in  an  already  depraved  charac- 
ter. Some  horses,  though  they  are  in- 
veterate strayers,  are  easy  to  catch 
when  you  do  come  up  with  them; 
others  are  very  difficult  to  catch,  al- 
though they  seldom  go  more  than  a 
mile  from  the  camp;  this  hectic  de- 
generate apparently  combined  both 
these  bad  habits. 


An  hour  after  dark  the  horse  had 
not  turned  up,  though  our  own  reliable 
animals  were  knee-haltered  and  turned 
loose  for  a  time  with  their  nose-bags 
on  as  decoys.  At  dawn  he  was  not 
visible  in  any  of  the  shallow  valleys 
we  could  see  to  the  east  of  the  ridge; 
and  to  our  surprise  and  concern  he  was 
not  in  the  valley  where  the  water  was 
and  where  the  camp  had  been. 

Our  own  horses  were  knee-haltered 
short  and  let  go,  and  we  spent  a.  care- 
ful hour  examining  the  margin  of  the 
pool,  but  there  was  no  narrow  spoor 
to  show  that  the  roan  had  been  down  to 
drink  during  the  night.  I  spent  the 
morning  with  our  horses  and  on  the 
look-out,  while  the  boy  cut  a  wide 
semi-circle  round  to  the  south  and  west 
of  the  water.  He  came  in  at  mid-day, 
certain  that  the  truant  had  not  gone  out 
in  those  directions.  Then  Frikkie  took 
over  the  sentry  work,  and  I  set  out  to 
cover  the  remainder  of  the  circle.  I 
worked  methodically  along  the  soft 
ground  of  the  valleys  outside  the  range 
of  an  area  already  fouled  by  the  spoor 
of  our  own  animals,  and  where  I  would 
find  the  roan's  tracks  at  once.  From 
time  to  time  I  climbed  one  of  the  low 
ridges,  for  the  boy  was  to  spread  a 
light-colored  saddle  blanket  over  a 
prominent  rock  on  the  side  away  from 
the  water  as  a  signal  if  he  saw  either 
the  lost  horse  or  any  one  approaching. 

That  evening,  when  I  got  back  to 
camp,  I  found  two  Griquas  sitting  over 
the  coals  with  Frikkie.  They  said 
they  were  shepherds,  and  they  may 
have  done  a  little  of  that  congenial 
work  recently,  but  they  looked  to  me 
more  like  sheep-stealers.  They  were 
wild  people  from  the  Orange  River, 
and  I  was  sure  they  had  never  been 
any  sort  of  farm  laborers.  However, 
they  were  friendly  enough  and  prom- 
ised to  help  in  the  morning.  The  horse 
had  then  been  without  water  since  the 
morning  of  the  previous  day.  He  had 
not  strayed  away,  for  at  sunset  he  must 
have  been  still  within  four  or  five  miles 
of  the  camp;  if  he  had  intended  busi- 
ness we  would  have  cut  his  outgoing 
spoor  during  the  day.  Horses  were 
too  valuable  in  that  country,  and  at  that 


86 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


time,  for  the  loss  of  even  such  a  three- 
cornered  abomination  as  the  pink  horse 
to  be  taken  lightly. 

Morning  showed  that  the  horse  had 
net  been  to  the  water  during  the  night. 
He  had  then  been  forty-eight  hours 
withou  water.  The  only  thing  was  to 
take  up  the  spoor  where  the  animal 
had  last  been  seen,  and  so  stick  to  it 
till  he  was  found.  The  Kalahari  bush- 
men  have  the  reputation  of  being  the 
finest  trackers  in  South  Africa,  but 
these  two  cross-bred  Griqua  bushmen 
gave  us  an  incomparable  exhibition  of 
skill.  I  have  had  some  experience  of 
that  game,  and  Frikkie  was  a  master, 
but  these  savages  astonished  us. 

Inch  by  inch  the  spoor  was  picked 
out  from  that  of  the  other  animals. 
No  proved  mark  was  abandoned  until 
the  next  was  certified,  often  only  an 
inch  or  two  away.  The  only  slight  help 
they  had  was  the  rare  and  very  faint 
mark  where  the  trailing  reins  had 
touched  the  ground.  The  first  hun- 
dred yards  took  probably  an  hour  to 
cover,  but  when  the  spoor  reached 
comparatively  clean  ground  the  work 
was  easier.  At  this  point  Frikkie  got 
the  water  bags  and  some  food  and 
joined  the  bushmen,  for  it  was  possible 
that  the  horse,  driven  by  thirst,  had 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  travel  far  dur- 
ing the  previous  night. 

Late  that  evening  the  trackers  re- 
turned with  the  horse.  He  was  ema- 
ciated and  weak,  but  otherwise  quite 
well,  though  for  some  days  his  back 
was  tender  from  the  continual  "sweat- 
ing" of  the  saddle  blanket.  His  spoor 
showed  that  he  had  spent  the  first 
night  and  day  wandering  about  the  low 
ridges  and  hollows  not  far  from  our 
camp,  and  that  the  night  before  he 
had  commenced  to  journey  away  into 
the  empty  country  to  the  east.  Some- 
where about  dawn  of  that  third  day  his 
trailing  reins  had  hooked  up  on  one  of 
the  few  bushes  in  that  country  strong 
enough  to  hold  him,  and  there  he  was 
found  by  the  bushmen,  the  picture  of 
a  natural  misery,  and  too  dejected  to 
take  much  notice  of  his  rescuers.  Noth- 
ing but  his  own  gloomy  thoughts  had 
prevented  him  from  going  down  to  the 


water  at  any  time,  or  to  the  companion- 
ship of  our  camp. 

Thirty-six  hours  after  this  we  were 
back  with  the  main  column.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  add  that  we  were  glad  to 
get  a  bath  and  a  generous  meal,  and 
that  I  took  the  first  opportunity  of 
handing  over  the  parti-colored  straw- 
berry to  troop  duty. 

In  the  first  of  these  two  offenses'  it 
is  clear  that  the  white-legged  roan  was 
animated  by  spite.  Such  malevolence 
is  rare  enough,  but  his  second  perform- 
ance is  much  more  remarkable.  I  offer 
three  alternative  explanations.  The  first 
is  that  it  was  just  stupidity.  I  have 
the  poorest  opinion  of  the  intelligence 
of  the  horse,  as  distinct  from  instinct. 
It  is  professor  Lloyd  Morgan,  I  think, 
who  defines  instinct  as  "the  sum  of  in- 
herited habits,"  and  this  may  be  ac- 
cepted as  a  sound  definition.  Elemen- 
tary necessity,  to  say  nothing  of  in- 
stinct or  intelligence,  should  have 
driven  him  to  the  water  soon  after  he 
had  obtained  his  freedom.  He  could 
not  have  forgotten  where  the  water 
was.  If  his  normal  mental  process 
was  so  dislocated  by  the  fact  of  the 
saddle  on  his  back  without  the  pres- 
ence of  the  masterful  human  in  it,  then 
he  was  a  fool  of  the  first  class. 

The  second  solution  I  offer  is  that 
his  action  was  prompted  by  roguery; 
for  even  a  very  limited  intelligence 
would  have  warned  him  that  he  would 
be  captured  if  he  ventured  near  either 
the  water  or  the  camp.  It  may  be  that 
when  his  reins  hooked  up  he  was  on 
his  way  to  the  free  water  at  Ramib. 
The  third  explanation  is  that  he  was  a 
little  daft.  In  a  long  and  varied  ex- 
perience of  horses  I  cannot  really  re- 
member one  so  afflicted,  though  I  had 
a  pack-mule  once  that  I  am  certain  was 
a  harmless  lunatic.  You  may  take 
your  choice  of  these  alternatives;  for 
my  part  I  incline  to  the  second. 

John  Ridd's  wisdom  led  him  to  ex- 
press the  opinion,  upon  the  memorable 
occasion  when  John  Fry  was  bringing 
him  home  from  Blundell's  School  at 
Tiverton,  that  "a  horse  (like  a  woman) 
lacks,  and  is  better  without,  self-re- 
liance." 


Darius  Osden  mils 


THE  career  of  Darius  Ogden 
Mills,  both  as  a  pioneer  and 
banker  in  California  and  later 
as  financier  in  New  York  City, 
is  most  interesting  and  stands  as  a 
model  for  young  men  of  this  generation 
who  would  succeed  through  hard  work 
and  genuine  integrity.  He  took  a 
prominent  part  in  the  upbuilding  of  the 
State  of  California  from  1849  until  the 
day  of  his  death  in  1910,  always  show- 
ing a  keen  interest  in  the  welfare  of 
the  West,  even  when  absorbed  in  his 
many  Eastern  business  affairs  during 
the  latter  part  of  his  life.  In  his  early 
activities  in  Sacramento  and  San 
Francisco  he  was  an  important  man. 
In  San  Francisco,  after  the  earthquake 
and  fire  of  1906,  he  was  one  of  the 
first  to  rebuild,  on  a  large  scale. 

Darius  Ogden  Mills  was  born  in 
Westchester  County,  N.  Y.,  Sept.  5, 
1825.  He  had  a  good  common  school 
education,  supplemented  by  courses  in 
the  academies  at  North  Salem  and  Os- 
sining.  At  fifteen  he  began  to  earn 
his  living  as  a  clerk  in  a  small  general 
store  in  New  York  City,  where  he  re- 
mained for  six  years.  At  twenty-one 
he  entered  the  Merchants'  Bank  of 
Erie  County,  Buffalo,  where  he  became 
cashier,  and  later  part  owner  in  the 
institution. 

At  this  time  glowing  reports  were 
constantly  being  circulated  throughout 
the  East  about  the  wonderful  opportu- 
nities in  California.  Two  of  Mr.  Mills' 
brothers  had  already  gone  West;  and 
it  was  only  natural  that  he  should  feel 
drawn  in  that  direction.  He  decided 
to  make  an  experimental  trip  and  took 
passage  to  California  by  way  of  the 
Isthmus  of  Panama.  Here  he  was 
forced  to  remain,  with  thousands  of 
others,  waiting  for  a  ship  bound  for 
San  Francisco.  Finally  he  went  down 
the  South  American  coast,  and  shipped 
from  Callao  to  San  Francisco,  taking 
with  him  a  considerable  amount  of 
stores  which  he  disposed  of  advan- 
tageously. From  San  Francisco  he 
went  directly  back  to  New  York,  hav- 
ing laid  his  plans  for  a  future  career. 


In  1850,  he  disposed  of  his  interests 
in  the  Buffalo  bank,  and  started  again 
for  California,  where  he  established 
himself  in  the  general  merchandising 
and  banking  business  in  Sacramento. 
This  enterprise  prospered  from  the 
start,  his  first  year's  operations  netting 
him  a  clear  gain  of  $40,000.  The  Gold 
Bank  of  D.  O.  Mills  was  founded  in 
Sacramento  as  a  natural  outgrowth  of 
the  "Eastern  Exchange"  department  of 
his  business.  The  bank  was  a  great 
success,  and  is  now  one  of  the  strong- 
est financial  institutions  in  the  West. 
Through  its  medium,  he  was  enabled 
to  enter  many  new  business  ventures 
in  mining,  railroading,  timber  lands 
and  supply  expeditions.  The  gold  ex- 
citement in  the  Comstock  mines  was 
the  next  thing  that  attracted  Mr.  Mills' 
attention,  and  he  took  up  the  develop- 
ment of  the  Comstock  Lode  in  Ne- 
vada, and  soon  acquired  valuable  and 
extensive  timber  holdings  in  that 
neighborhood.  The  California  quick- 
silver mines  also  interested  him,  and 
he  obtained  large  interests  in  other 
mines. 

On  September  5,  1854,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Jane  T.  Cunningham,  the 
daughter  of  James  Cunningham  of 
New  York,  also  a  pioneer  and  a  ship- 
owner. It  was  Mr.  Cunningham  who 
sent  the  famous  ship,  "Senator," 
around  the  Horn.  In  1864,  Mr.  Mills 
assisted  in  the  foundation  of  the  Bank 
of  California.  He  was  a  large  owner 
and  was  elected  the  first  president  of 
the  bank,  retaining  his  office  for  nine 
years.  In  June,  1873,  he  retired  from 
the  active  management  of  the  bank  to 
look  after  his  own  affairs.  The  bank 
then  fell  on  bad  times,  and  Mr.  Mills 
was  again  elected  president  by  the 
stockholders,  and  within  three  years 
he  succeeded  in  placing  the  finances 
of  the  bank  again  upon  a  firm  founda- 
tion. 

In  1880,  two  years  after  resigning 
from  his  second  term  as  president  of 
the  Bank  of  California,  Mr.  Mills  went 
to  the  East  to  live,  and  established  his 
business  in  New  York.    Mr.  Mills  be- 


88 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


lieved  in  the  great  future  of  California, 
and  left  as  a  legacy  to  the  State  such 
financial  institutions  as  the  Bank  of 
California  in  San  Francisco  and  the 
bank  in  Sacramento  which  bears  his 
name — the  National  Bank  of  D.  O. 
Mills  &  Co.  The  Mills  Building  on 
Montgomery  street,  San  Francisco, 
was  erected  by  him.  The  Millbrae 
Dairy  in  San  Mateo  County  was  also 
founded  by  him,  as  it  was  his  desire  to 
provide  a  model  dairy  where  pure  milk 
and  cream  could  be  furnished  and 
where  prize  dairy  stock  could  be  bred. 
When  Mr.  Mills  transferred  his  activi- 
ties to  the  East,  he  still  retained  his  in- 
terest in  his  investments,  and  the  in- 
stitutions he  had  founded  in  the  West, 
and  retained  also  a  residence  here.  In 
addition  to  his  material  benefactions 
to  the  West,  he  left  something  even 
more  valuable,  and  that  was  the  mighty 
work  he  helped  to  accomplish  in  build- 
ing up  the  social  and  economic  struc- 
ture of  the  State. 

While  living  here,  he  was  a  regent 
of  the  University  of  California,  which 
he  endowed  with  a  chair  of  philosophy. 
He  was  also  trustee  of  the  Lick  Obser- 
vatory, and  from  time  to  time  furnished 
this  institution  with  funds,  as  well  as 
giving  the  Observatory  its  great  photo- 
graphic spectroscope.  He  also  fur- 
nished funds  for  a  temporary  observa- 
tory in  Chili,  where  field  work  was  be- 
ing done  under  the  direction  of  the 
Lick  Observatory. 

Shortly  after  Mr.  Mills  was  estab- 
lished in  New  York,  he  erected  a  model 
office  building  on  Broad  street,  oppo- 
site the  Stock  Exchange.  This  edifice 
took  the  name  of  the  "Mills  Building," 
and  was  the  forerunner  of  the  many 
large  office  structures  which  have  con- 
tinued to  be  erected  in  that  city.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  to  be  interested  in 
the  Niagara  Falls  Power  Company, 
which  was  probably  the  first  great 
power  company  that  was  organized  in 
this  country. 

Aside  from  his  financial  projects, 
Mr.  Mills  has,  no  doubt,  secured  as 
great  recognition  throughout  the 
United  States  from  his  activities  in  the 
realm  of  art,  science  and  philanthropy 


— and  it  is  for  these  reasons  that  his 
name  will  be  remembered,  when  per- 
haps his  large  banking  achievements 
have  been  forgotten.  In  New  York, 
Mr.  Mills  was  trustee  of  the  Metropoli- 
tan Museum  of  Art,  and  of  the  Ameri- 
can Museum  of  Natural  History  and 
was  also  chosen  president  of  the  Bo- 
tanical Gardens. 

In  philanthropy  his  greatest  achieve- 
ment was  the  Mills'  Hotels.  These 
v/ere  founded  somewhat  after  the  sys- 
tem of  the  Rowton  houses  in  London, 
but  differed  in  many  details.  In  these 
hotels  a  poor  man  may  get  a  whole- 
some meal  and  a  night's  lodging  in 
pleasant  surroundings  for  a  nominal 
sum.  Mr.  Mills  was  also  interested  in 
the  City  and  Suburban  Homes  Com- 
pany, which  provided  model  dwelling 
nouses  for  families. 

With  the  advancing  years  Mr.  Mills 
continued  his  active  participation  in 
the  business  affairs  begun  during  his 
earlier  years.  Even  at  seventy-six  he 
was  vigorous  and  clear  minded,  and 
his  financial  interests  at  this  time  in- 
cluded such  important  responsibilities 
as  the  directorship  in  the  Erie  and 
New  York  Central  and  other  railroads, 
the  Bank  of  New  York,  the  Morgan 
Trust  Company  and  other  such  insti- 
tutions. At  this  stage  of  his  life  he 
headed  a  syndicate  to  purchase  an  im- 
portant railroad  that  ran  from  the  min- 
ing districts  of  Eastern  Washington  to 
the  Pacific  Coast. 

Mr.  Mills  died  suddenly  of  heart 
tiouble  at  his  Millbrae  home  on  Jan- 
uary 3,  1910,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five. 
The  Millbrae  property  was  purchased 
by  him  in  the  early  '50's,  where  the 
home  and  dairy  now  stand,  and  he  al- 
ways continued  to  take  a  great  interest 
in  this  beautiful  spot,  which  still  be- 
longs to  the  Mills'  family.  It  was  here 
that  Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid,  his  daugh- 
ter, and  his  son,  Ogden  Mills,  make 
their  California  home. 

In  every  phase  of  his  character  and 
in  the  deeds  he  accomplished,  Mr. 
Mills  stands  as  a  worthy  example  to 
the  younger  generation  of  business 
men.  His  composure  was  never  ruffled 
by  petty  annoyances  or  by  financial 


A  "BACK  TO  NATURE"  MAIDEN 


89 


shakeups.  Nothing  could  cause  him 
to  take  hasty  action.  He  had  all  the 
born  characteristics  of  the  captain  of 
industry,  being  gifted  with  the  ability 
to  dispose  quickly  of  the  details  of 
business  brought  before  him  to  trans- 
act. His  was  the  gift  of  seeing  op- 
portunities and  turning  them,  with 
Midas-like  touch,  into  pure  gold.  His 
was  the  strength  to  seize  and  the  abil- 
ity to  co-ordinate.  His  was  a  judg- 
ment that  was  ripe;  and  with  it  went 


a  knowledge  of  men  that  enabled  him 
to  secure  from  them  the  very  most  in 
loyalty  and  service.  He  accomplished 
a  great  creative  work  in  American  in- 
dustrial life  that  continues  to  live  af- 
ter him,  because  he  created  wealth — 
did  not  destroy  it  in  his  own  search  for 
the  precious  metal.  In  fact,  he  was  one 
of  the  few  men  of  great  wealth  of 
whom  there  has  never  been  any  intima- 
tion that  his  fortune  was  obtained  by 
grinding  and  oppressing  the  poor. 


A  "Back  to  Nature'   Aaiden 


By    Edith   Kinney  Stellmann 


WHILE  in  this  progressive  age 
there  are  many  young  women 
engaged  in  agricultural  pur- 
suits, Miss  Grace  Elliott, 
rancher,  owner  and  sole  operator  of  the 
Hillcrest  Ranch,  has  some  very  distin- 
guishing traits. 

In  the  first  place,  Miss  Elliott  left 
a  wealthy  and  fashionable  home  to 
earn  her  own  living,  because  of  her 
spirit  of  independence.  She  first  be- 
came a  nurse,  but  her  love  of  out- 
door life  caused  her  to  relinquish  this, 
after  some  years,  to  take  up  ranching. 

Miss  Elliott  is  the  daughter  of  Henry 
Elliott,  known  the  country  over  as  the 
champion  of  the  fur-bearing  seals.  To 
prevent  the  extermination  of  the 
bachelor  seals,  Mr.  Elliott  devoted  a 
life  time  of  effort  and  sacrificed  a  for- 
tune. Though  opposed  by  many  prom- 
inent men,  including  David  Starr  Jor- 
dan, he  finally  secured  the  passage  of 
laws  preventing  the  capture  and  de- 
struction of  these  seals  for  a  term  of 
five  years. 

Miss  Elliott  lives  entirely  alone, 
save  for  her  bull  dog,  on  her  high  hill 
above  Sunol,  Alameda  County,  culti- 
vating olives,  grapes  and  apricots.  She 
does  all  her  own  work,  even  to  the 


w\ 

^^^^h!^h^^  ^^^^9^ 

r 

a 

i  7 

1     V 

^m        I^Ib  *    jAy 

I 

m      w* 

?j 

0 

1- 

f 

* 

Miss  Grace  Elliott 

chopping  of  firewood.  Her  house  is  in 
two  sections ;  the  living  room,  screened 
perch  and  kitchen  form  one  building, 
while  her  sleeping  apartment  is  in  the 

7 


90 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


top  of  a  tank  house,  the  lower  floor  of 
this  is  guarded  by  her  bull  dog,  whose 
fame  as  a  "scrapper"  reaches  all  over 
the  valley  below. 

Miss  Elliott  finds  no  time  to  be 
lonely,  though  she  often  stops  in  the 
midst  of  work  to  enjoy  the  surpassing- 
ly lovely  view,  which  she  finds  from 
every  point  on  her  ranch.  The  fruit 
orchards  stretch  below  her  to  the  town, 
several  miles  distant,  intersected,  here 
and  there,  by  picturesque  canyons, 
with  their  immense  oak  and  buckeye 
trees. 

Miss  Elliott  does  not  leave  her 
ranch  during  the  long,  rainy  season, 
except  for  occasional  week-ends,  de- 
voted partly  to  business,  though  she  is 


constantly  being  importuned  by  her 
town  friends  to  participate  in  their  so- 
cial activities.  She  is  taking  the  Uni- 
versity Extension  courses  in  vine  and 
olive  culture,  and  devotes  practically 
all  of  her  time  when  confined  within 
doors  to  study. 

A  direct  descendant  of  the  famous 
John  Elliott,  known  as  The  Apostle  to 
the  Indians,  Miss  Elliott  inherits  the 
sturdy  dauntlessness  of  her  father's 
family,  but  in  appearance  and  manner 
bears  a  closer  resemblance  to  her 
vivacious  Russian  mother.  Mrs.  El- 
liott is  the  daughter  of  a  former  Rus- 
sian governor  of  Alaska,  where  she 
and  Henry  Elliott  met  and  were  mar- 
ried. 


In  the  Realm  of  Bookland 


"Hawaiian  Legends  of  Volcanoes,  Col- 
lected and  Translated  from  the  Ha- 
waiian," by  W.  D.  Westerfelt,  au- 
thor of  "Legends  of  Old  Honolulu," 
etc. 

The  Hawaiian  Islands  are  the  thea- 
tre of  the  most  stupendous  exhibition 
on  the  earth  of  volcanic  eruption,  so  it 
is  quite  natural  that  the  aboriginal  na- 
tives early  personified  the  tremendous 
forces  they  visualized  in  the  immense 
and  tremendous  outbursts  of  the  pent 
forces  beneath  the  crater.  Eventually 
the  weird  and  uncanny  mysteries  sur- 
rounding these  forces  were  formulated 
into  simple  tale  forms,  the  themes  cov- 
ering remarkable  adventures,  miracu- 
lous escapes,  conflicts  with  the  de- 
mons that  lived  deep  down  in  the  won- 
derful lava.  Out  of  these  original  tales 
came  a  series  of  deeds  of  heroic  sac- 
rifice, loyal  devotion,  all  thrilling  sac- 
an  intense  passion.  It  is  these  tales 
that  the  author  has  put  into  shape. 
Great  care  has  been  exercised  to  pre- 
serve the  spirit,  ideals  and  form  of 
these  ancient  tales  narrated  by  the  abo- 
rigines, and  handed  down  through  the 
generations.  A  large  number  of  phe- 
nomenal geological  facts  regarding  the 
Hawaiian  Islands  are  set  forth  in  a 


lucid  introduction  to  the  book,  so  that 
the  reader  may  picture  the  extraordi- 
nary volcanic  background  of  these  le- 
gends. 

Freely  illustrated  with  photographs. 

Price,  12mo,  $1.50  net.  Small,  $1 
net.  George  H.  Ellis  Co.,  Boston, 
Mass. 


"Towards  an  Enduring  Peace,  a  Sym- 
posium of  Peace  Proposals  and  Pro- 
grams, 1914-1916."  Compiled  by 
Randolph  S.  Bourne. 

Franklin  H.  Giddings  in  a  succinct 
introdution  sets  forth  a  number  "of 
agreeable  presumptions  which  un- 
doubtedly influenced  individual  and 
collective  conduct"  when  the  great 
war  burst  on  the  world ;  these  presump- 
tions lay  between  the  practical  and  the 
aspirational,  with  the  rule  of  reason 
between.  The  world  has  recovered 
from  great  disasters  before  now,  and 
will  recover  in  this  instance.  Rational 
control  of  affairs  is  still  on  the  map 
despite  what  has  occurred,  so  Mr.  Gid- 
dings asks  the  question:  By  what 
power  shall  conscience  and  reason  be 
reinforced  and  the  surviving  forces  of 
barbarism  driven  back?  All  but  one 
answer  seems  to  be  shot  to     pieces. 


IN  THE  REALM  OF  EOOKLAND. 


91 


That  answer  is  conscience  and  reason 
are  effective  when  they  organize  ma- 
terial energies,  not  when  they  dissi- 
pate them  in  dreams.  Conscience  and 
reason  must  assemble,  co-ordinate,  and 
bring  to  bear  the  economic  resources 
and  the  physical  energies  of  the  civi- 
lized world  to  narrow  the  area,  and  to 
diminish  the  frequency  of  war.  There 
must  be  a  specific  plan,  concrete,  prac- 
tical, a  specific  preparedness,  a  spe- 
cific method,  a  plan  drawn  forth  from 
the  situation  as  the  war  makes  and 
leaves  it,  not  imposed  upon  it.  There 
must  be  a  composition  of  forces  now  in 
operation." 

Published  by  the  American  Associa- 
tion for  International  Concilliation. 


"The  Men  Who  Wrought,"  by  Ridg- 
well  Cullum,  author  of  "The  Night 
Raiders,"  "The  Way  of  the  Strong," 
etc. 

Tales  by  this  well  known  author  are 
always  full  of  stirring  action  with  men 
of  red  corpuscles  in  their  blood,  and 
women  who  have  daring  spirits  and 
wills  of  their  own.  The  background  of 
this  volume  is  the  war  zone  in  Eu- 
rope, a  background  which  readily  fur- 
nishes a  round  of  thrilling  adventures 
and  complications.  It  opens  with  the 
meeting  of  a  strange  and  beautiful  wo- 
man with  the  hero,  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  mysterious  inventor  who  en- 
deavors to  sell  the  plans  of  a  new  idea 
in  submarines  to  the  hero's  father,  one 
of  the  biggest  ship  owners  in  Eng- 
land. With  such  a  captivating  start 
the  plot  worms  its  exciting  way  through 
startling  adventures  to  facing  the  prob- 
lem, Where  shall  the  government  of 
Great  Britain  be  placed? 

Price,  $1.35.  George  W.  Jacobs  & 
Co.,  Philadelphia. 


The  detailed  description  of  the  life- 
work  of  these  subjects  is  a  character- 
istic feature  of  the  National  Cyclope- 
dia, and  carrying  out  this  idea  through 
the  entire  realm  of  American  history 
and  biography  has  produced  a  com- 
prehensive record  of  American  pro- 
gress and  achievement. 

This  volume  contains  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Naval  Consulting  Board  of 
the  United  States  not  published  in  the 
preceding  volume. 

In  the  field  of  aviation  a  full  ac- 
count is  given  of  Samuel  P.  Langley's 
experiments  in  aerodynamics,  his  un- 
successful attempts  to  fly  a  heavier- 
than-air  machine,  and  Glenn  Curtiss's 
achievement  with  Langley's  apparatus 
only  two  years  ago.  A  notable  con- 
temporary of  the  Wright  brothers  was 
John  J.  Montgomery,  whose  biography 
is  here  published  for  the  first  time.  A 
description  of  the  gyroscope  stabilizer 
for  aeroplanes  is  given  in  the  biogra- 
phy of  Elmer  A.  Sperry,  it  being  the 
first  authoritative  and  complete  ac- 
count of  this  Wizard  of  the  Gyroscope. 
The  leaders  in  all  bankers,  financiers 
and  all  professions,  industries,  etc.,  are 
all  set  forth  in  the  same  pithy,  com- 
prehensive fashion. 

James  T.  White  &  Co.,  New  York. 


"The  National  Cyclopaedia  of  Ameri- 
can Biography."  Edited  by  Distin- 
guished Biographers.    Vol.  XV. 

This  new  volume  covers  the  import- 
ant biography  of  the  present  time  and 
embraces  all  the  leading  men  of  promi- 
nent endeavor  from  U.  S.  Senators  to 
learned  scientific  societies  and  religi- 
ous organizations. 


"A  Hidden  Well,  Lyrics  and  Sonnets," 

by  Louis  How. 

There  are  numbers  of  edifying 
verses  in  this  little  volume,  and  they 
touch  attractive  themes  that  hold  the 
imagination,  both  here  and  abroad.  In- 
deed, several  numbers  of  the  selection 
are  translations  of  several  notable  for- 
eign poems.  Lyric  and  the  sonnet  are 
the  two  forms  used  with  nice  discrimi- 
nation by  the  author. 

$1  net.  Sherman,  French  &  Co., 
Boston. 


"Nichiren,  the  Buddhist  Prophet," 
by  Masaharu  Anesaki,  M.  A.,  Litt. 
D.,  Professor  of  the  Science  of  Re- 
ligion at  the  Imperial  University  of 
Tokio. 

In  the  preface  the  author  states :  "To 
the  intrinsic  interest  of  the  life  of  Ni- 
chiren as  a  Buddhist  reformer  of  the 


92 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


thirteenth  century,  may  be  added  the 
fact  that  there  has  been  a  noteworthy 
ievival  of  his  teachings  and  spirit  in 
modern  Japan,"  through  the  conver- 
sion and  writings  of  Chogyu  Takay- 
ama,  once  called  "the  Nietzche  of 
Japan."  The  author  edited  Taka- 
yama's  writings,  and  was  thus  brought 
in  closer  touch  with  the  Nichiren's 
faith  and  thoughts.  This  little  volume 
was  the  result.  Deep  gratitude  to  Pro- 
lessor  Isaiah  Royce  and  Professor 
George  F.  Moore  of  Harvard,  where 
the  author  was  professor  of  Japanese 
literature  and  life,  1913-15,  for  the 
suggestions  regarding  the  interpreta- 
tion and  cast  of  the  manuscript. 

Harvard    University    Press,    Cam- 
bridge. 


possessed  by  a  yearning  after  that 
blight,  unattainable  Faeryland  which 
lies  "at  every  rainbow's  ending,"  not 
suspecting  what  in  the  end  Alarin 
learns,  that  not  even  in  Faeryland  can 
the  soul  be  content. 

$1.25  net.    Sherman,  French  &  Co., 
Boston. 


"Republican  Principles  and  Policies: 
A  Brief  History  of  the  Republican 
National  Party,"  by  Newton  Wyeth. 

The  object  of  this  volume  is  to  out- 
line the  origin,  progress  and  achieve- 
ments of  the  Republican  National 
party.  Sixty-two  years  have  passed 
since  Republicans  met  "under  the 
oaks"  at  Jackson  and  organized  the 
party.  Within  a  decade  it  was  strong- 
ly on  its  feet,  and  for  half  a  century, 
less  two  terms,  it  was  in  the  saddle. 
The  author  sets  forth  the  leading  as- 
pirations and  constructive  legislative 
and  executive  work  which  he  deems 
most  worthy  in  the  rise  and  success  of 
the  party.  He  believes  that  the  stal- 
wart and  sterling  characters  of  the 
founders  of  the  party  endowed  it  with 
the  spirit  which  carried  it  through  the 
five  decades. 

Illustrated  by  Joseph  Pierre  Nuyt- 
tens.    The  Republic  Press,  Chicago. 


"Something    Singing,"    by    Margaret 
Perry. 

There  is  a  gaiety  which  is  sadden- 
ing, and  a  sadness  that  cheers.  Here  is 
a  sweet  sadness  whose  undercurrent 
is  peace  and  hope.  The  poet  is  con- 
scious of  the  essential  loneliness  of  the 
soul,  and  the  sacrifice  which  it  must 
pay  for  companionship.  But  there  is 
"something  singing" — bravely,  and,  in 
spite  of  a  faltering  note  now  and 
again,  triumphantly — every  step  of  the 
way.  The  author  has  chosen  for  the 
most  part  the  simpler  verse  forms — 
lyrics,  quatrains,  sonnets — in  the  more 
usual  meters.  A  few  excellent  trans- 
lations preserve  some  exquisite  old 
world  melodies. 

$1.00.  Sherman,  French  &  Co.,  Bos- 
ton. 


"Geraint  of  Devon,"  by  Marion  Lee 
Reynolds. 

Although  romance,  the  foundation  of 
this  narrative  poem  in  blank  verse,  is 
eld,  the  interpretation  is  new.  The 
Geraint  here  pictured  is  very  differ- 
ent from  the  hero  of  the  medieval  and 
the  Tennysonian  versions.  He  is 
younger,  more  eager,  more  sensitive; 
he  has  a  finer  comprehension  of  beauty 
and  a  greater  reverence  for  it.    He  is 


"The  Castle  Builder,"  by  Etta  Merrick 
Graves,"  author  of  "Mosaics  of 
Truth  in  Nature,"  etc. 

Romance,  the  natural  atmosphere  of 
castles,  is  present  in  the  little  village 
at  the  foot  of  the  White  Mountains, 
where  love  finds  and  loses  its  own. 
The  warm  glow  of  mother  love  glori- 
fies the  castle,  and  mystery,  the  attrac- 
tion of  castles,  furnishes  a  lure  until 
the  happy  "ever  after"  is  reached. 
There  are  contrasting  conditions  of 
heights  and  depths  in  the  process  of 
castle-character-building,  with  its  trag- 
edy, uncertainty,  mystery,  pain  and 
fear.  Yet  in  spite  of  all  that  tends  to 
tear  down  the  walls,  the  upbuilding 
process  continues,  and  so  real  is  the 
drama  of  life  it  seems  as  if  beyond  the 
covers  of  the  book  the  building  were 
still  going  on  among  characters  in  our 
midst. 

$1.25  net.  Sherman,  French  &  Co., 
Boston. 


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ix 


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A  book  for  hustling  Real  Estate  "Boosters,' 
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Workmen's  Compensation  Act, 
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Stop!  Beware! 
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a  penny  until  you  have  read 

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The  original  "Eagle  Brand"  is  probably  the  most  widely 
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land   Monthly  See    the    Announcement  on  Page   79  of  this  Issue. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers. 


3C 


]□□□[ 


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Four 

Routes 

East! 


1 


□ 


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SUNSET  ROUTE:   Along  the  Mission  Trail,  and  through 

the  Dixieland  of  song  and  story.  To 
New  Orleans  via  Los  Angeles,  El  Paso, 
Houston,  and  San  Antonio.  Southern 
Pacific  Atlantic  Steamship  Line,  sail- 
ings Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  New 
Orleans  to  New  York. 

OGDEN    ROUTE  :  Across  the  Sierras  and  over  the  Great 

Salt  Lake  Cut-off.  To  Chicago  via 
Ogden  and  Omaha;  also  to  St.  Louis 
via  Ogden,  Denver  and  Kansas  City. 

SHASTA   ROUTE :    Skirting  majestic  Mount   Shasta   and 

crossing  the  Siskiyous.  To  Portland, 
Tacoma  and  Seattle. 

EL  PASO  ROUTE :  The  "Golden  State  Route"  through  the 

Southwest.  To  Chicago  and  St.  Louis 
via  Los  Angeles,  Tucson,  El  Paso,  and 
Kansas  City. 

Oil  Burning  Locomotives — 

No  Cinders,  No    Smudge,  No    Annoying  Smoke 

Unexcelled  Dining  Car  Service — 

FOR  FARES  AND  TRAIN  SERVICE  ASK  ANY  AGENT 

Southern  Pacific 

Write  for  folder  on  the  Apache  Trail  of  Arizona 

'i 


□ 


]□□□[ 


•ic 


J 


IE 


J I 


SCHOOL  FOR  YOUNG  CHILDREN 

A  unique  boarding  school  for  young  children  only, 
of  the  kindergarten  age.  Gives  careful  home  care 
and  scientific  training  to  little  tots  under  seven 
years.  Delightful  location.  Resident  doctor  and 
trained  nurse.  Most  healthfully  situated  in  the 
Sierra  Nevadas,  3500  feet  altitude,  surrounded  by 
pine  forests.  Every  modern  convenience.  Parents 
having  very  young  children  to  place  in  a  home 
boarding  school  where  they  will  be  brought  up  un- 
der the  most  refining  and  strengthening  influences 
will  welcome  this  opportunity  and  communicate 
with 

MOTHER   M.  AUGUSTINE, 

MOUNT  SAINT  AGNES, 
STIRLING     CITY,     CALIFORNIA. 


'Let  us  laugh 
for  Health 
Sake." 

—Alan  Dale. 


KELLY'S  GEMS  OF  IRISH  WIT 
AND  HUMOR  containing  Shanna- 
han's  Old  Shabeen,  Kelly's 
Dream,  The  Pox  Hunt  and  the 
Tailors  Thimble  from  the  "Shau- 
graun;"  the  late  "Sheriff"  Dunn's 
original  stories  and  many  more 
specimens,    not  found  elsewhere. 

This  collection  will  give  satis- 
faction and  much  pleasure.  160 
pages,  cloth  (stamps  taken),  60c. 
postpaid. 

T.  X.  CAREY  &  CO.,  143  W.  96th 
Street,    N.   Y. 


For  the  new  series  of  Pastor  Russell's  con- 
tributions in  the  Overland  Monthly,  see 
announcement  on  page  79  of  this  issue. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


xiii 


J*        Face  Powder  V^ 


DANGEROUS    COUNTERFEITS 

Are  on  the  Market 

LADIES   BEWARE! 

Buy  LABLACHE  FACE  POWDER  of 
reliable  dealers.  Be  sure  and  get  the  genuine. 
Women  who  know  frankly  say — "I  have 
tried  other  face  powders,  but  1  use  Lablache. 

The  Standard  for  over  forty  years.  Flesh, 
White,  Pink,  Cream.  50c  a  box,  of  Drug- 
gists or  by  mail.  Over  two  million  boxes  sold 
annually.     Send  10c  for  sample  box. 

BEN.  LEVY  CO.,    French  Perfumer* 

Dept.  52, 125  Kingston  St.,  Boston.  Mass. 


The  Vose  Player  Piano 

is  so  constructed  that  even  a  little 
child  can  play  it.  It  combines  our  superior  player 
action  with  the  renowned  Vose  Pianos  which  have 
been  manufactured  during  63  years  by  three  gene- 
rations of  the  Vose  family.  In  purchasing  this  in- 
strument you  secure  quality,  tone,  and  artistic  merit 
at  a  moderate  price,  on  time  payments,  if  desired. 
Catalogue  and  literature  sent  on  request  to  those 
interested.    Send  today. 

You  should  become  a  satisfied  owner  of  a       .*, 

PLAYER  * 


vose 


PIANO 


VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO.,  189  B»tI«Ub  St.,  Boiton,  M»u. 


Leghorn   Breeders!   \ 


Send  in  your  subscription  to  The 
Leghorn  Journal  and  keep  posted  on 
the  progress  of  the  Leghorn  industry; 
as  it  is  devoted  exclusively  to  the  dif- 
ferent Leghorn  fowls.  Subscription 
price  50c.  per  year.  Special  offer- 
Send  us  10c.  and  the  names  of  five 
of  your  neighbors  interested  in  Leg- 
horns and  we  will  send  you  The 
Leghorn   Journal  for   three   months. 


1 


THE    LEGHORN    JOURNAL  j 

X  APPOMATTOX,   VA. 


bUMlihcJ  Joly  Mi  UK 


PRICE  10  CENTS  EVERY  SATURDAY 


AND 

Califarttia  A&nrrtuirr 
M00  PER  YEAR 


Profusely  Illustrated 

Timely  Editorials.     Latest  News  of  Society 

Events.    Theatrical   Items  of  Interest. 

Authority  on  Automobile,  Financial 

and  Automobile  Happenings. 


The  Favorite  Home  Lamp 

250  C.  P.— I  Cent  a  Day 

Portable,  safe,  convenient.  No 
connecting  wires  or  tubes.  Oper- 
ates 60  hours  on  one  gallon  of 
gasoline,  i»ves  money  and  eyes. 
Automatically  cleaned,  adjustable 
turned  high  or  low  at  will.  Posit- 
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any  position.  Guaranteed.  Dec- 
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lamp.  Just  the  thing  for  homes, 
hotels,  doctors'  and  lawyers' 
offices.  Ask  your  local  hardware 
dealer  for  a  demonstration,  if  he 
doesn't  carry  it  he  can  obtain  it 
from  any  Wholesale  Hardware 
House  or  write  direct  to  us. 

National  Stamping  &  Electric  Works 
431  So.  Clintin  St.,  Chicago,  Illinois 


TRUTH  ABOUT  THE  BIBLE  " 

You  should  read  this  book.  "Will  empty  our  in- 
sane asylums,  jails  and  hospitals."  J.  H.  Powell, 
M.  D.  For  ideas,  the  world's  greatest  book."  J.  Silas 
Harris,  A.  M.  Price  $2.00.  Address  the  author, 
Sidney  C.  Tapp,  Ph.  B.,  Department  O.L.  Kansas  City,  Mo. 


FP7FMA  Psoriasis,  cancer,  goitre,  tetter, 
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piles;  cured  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particulars 
and  free  samples. 
ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO.  Hot  Springs,  Ark. 


5Q0TYPEWRITERSAT 


$io 

$15 


10  Cts.  the  Copy. 


$4.00  the  Year 


.  TypewriterpricesemashedlUnderwoods,  I 

Remingtons,  Royals.  L.  C.  Smiths,  Fox,  J 

I  etc.— your  choice  of  any  standard  factory  I 

tY *!y\  rebuilt  machine  ata  bargain.    Everyone! 

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DEARBORN  TYPEWRITER  EXCHANGE,  HEPT.  B-9  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 

Gourauds  Oriental   Beauty  Leaves 

A  dainty  little  booklet  of  exquisitely  perfumed 
powdered  leaves  to  carry  in  the  purse.  A  handy 
article  for  all  occasions  to  quickly  improve  the 
complexion.  Sent  for  10  cents  in  stamps  or  coin. 
F.  T.  Hopkins,  37  Great  Jones  St.,  New  York. 


Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


FOR  SALE!    $2,100 

EASY    TERMS 

20  Acres  on  "Las  Uvas"  Creek 

Santa  Clara  County,  Cal. 


"Las  Uvas"  is  the  finest  mountain  stream 
in  Santa  Clara  County. 

Situated  9  miles  from  Morgan  Hill,  between 
New  Almaden  and  Gilroy: 

Perfect  climate. 

Land  is  a  gentle  slope,  almost  level,  border- 
ing on  "Las  Uvas." 

Several  beautiful  sites  on  the  property  for 
country  home. 

Numerous  trees  and  magnificent  oaks. 

Splendid    trout   fishing. 

Good  automobile  roads  to  Morgan  Hill  9 
miles,  to  Madrone  8  miles,  to  Gilroy  12  miles, 
to  Almaden  11  miles,  and  to  San  Jose  21 
miles. 


For  Further  Particulars  Address, 

Owner,  259  Minna  Street 
San  Francisco  -         -  California 


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xv 


$10.00 


VACUUM  SWEEPER 

to  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

-    SUBSCRIBERS    - 


$4.95 


THE  SUPERIOR— Combination  Cleaner  with  Brush  Attachment 

has  three  highly  efficient  bellows,  so  arranged  asto  produce 
a  continuous  even  suction,  so  powerful,  that  we  have  en- 
tirely eliminated  the  necessity  of  sliding  or  dragging  the 
nozzle  and  front  end  of  the  machine  over  the  carpet. 

This  makes  the  machine  run  fifty  per  cent  easier;  saves 
the  nap  on  the  carpet  and  makes  it  possible  to  run  off  and 
onto  rugs  without  lifting  the  machine  from  the  floor.  WE 
ACHIEVE  these  results  by  supporting  the  front  end  of  the 
machine  on  two  small  side  wheels  just  back  of  the  nozzle. 

In  addition,  our  new  Combination  Sweeper  is  fitted  with 
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carpet  sweeper. 

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substantial,  having  4  rows  of  genuine  bristles  with  spiral 
twist  setting. 

The  brush  may  be  instantly  adjusted  to  brush  deeply 
into  the  nap  of  the  carpet,  to  skim  lightly  and  swiftly  over 
the  surface  or  it  may  be  raised  up  entirely  out  of  use,  all  by 
the  touch  of  a  finger. 

Both  dust  pans  are  emptied  instantly  without  over- 
turning the  machine  by  merely  depressing  one  small  lever 
at  the  rear. 

These  attachments  make  the  Superior  combination 
sweeper  the  premier  sanitary  cleaning  device   of  the  age. 

THE  COMBINATION  SWEEPER  RETAILS  FOR  $10  CASH. 

Subscribers  to  the  OVERLAND  MONTHLY  old  and  new  will  be  sup- 
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Subscribe  for  the 


LIVING  AGE 


IF  YOU  WANT  every  aspect  of  the  great  European  War  pre- 
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constituency  for  more  than  seventy  years. 


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The    Living    Age   Co. 

6  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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Three  generations 

of  the  Vose  family  have  made  the  art  of  man- 
ufacturing the  Vose  Piano  their  lite-work.  For 
63  years  they  have  developed  their  instruments 
with  such  honesty  of  construction  and  materials, 
and  with  such  skill,  that  the  Vose  Piano  of  to- 
day ic  th™  ideal  Home  Piano. 


Delivered  in  your  home  free  of  charge.  Old  instrument! 
taken  as  partial  payment  in  exchange.  Time  Payment* 
accepted.     If  interested,  send  for  catalogues  today. 


■r^MMi 


OLD    BOOKS   ABOUT   AMERICA 

New  catalog  listing  over  500  rare  and 
interesting  BOOKS  and  ENGRAVINGS, 
mailed  free  on  request. 

NEWMAN  F.  McGIRR 

STATE  HOUSE  BOOK  SHOP 

221  S.  Fifth  Street  PHILADELPHIA 


Driver  Agents  Wanted 


Five-Pass.,  30  H.P. 

32  x  3  1-2  Tires 


Electric  Starting 
114-inch  Wheelbase 


Ride  In  a  Bush  Car.  Pay  for  it  out' 
of  your  commissions  on  sales,  my 
agents  are  making  money. 
Shipments  are  prompt. 
Buah  Cars  guaran- 
teed or  money  back. 
Write  at  once  for 
my  48-page  catalog 
and  all  particulars. 


AddreasJ.  H.  Bush. 
Pres.    Dept.  t-FK 

3USH  MOTOR  COMPANY,    Bush  Temple,  Chicago.  111. 


BULBS 


25c 


50    High   Grade  Flowering 
Bulbs,     Oxalis,      Begonia, 
Gloxinia,  Gladiolus,  other 
kinds,  Asparagus  Fern.    All  Postpaid. 
Send  your  order  early.  Old  Homestead  Nursery.  Round  Pond,  Me. 


lips™ 

•J  Pacific  C 


Freight  Forwarding  Co.  J^6* 

household  goods  to  and  from  all  points  on  the 
Pacific  Coast  443  Marquette  Building,  Chicago 

640  Old  South  B.dg..  Boston  1501  Wright  Bldg.,  St.  Louis 

324  Whitehall  Bldg  ,  N.  Y.  855  Monadnock  Bldg.,  San 

435  Oliver  Bldg..  Pittsburgh  Francisco 

518  Central  Building,  Los  Angeles 
Write  nearest  office 


MAWPF  Eczema,  ear  canker,  goitre,  cured 
1V1/\I^I UL  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particulars 
describing  the  trouble.  ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO. 
Hot  Springs,  Ark. 


Make  Moving  a  Comfort 

The  Nezv   Way— The  Easy   Way 

By  auto  trucks  and  employing  the  well  known 
reliable  expert  San  Francisco  firm 

Dixon  Transfer 
Storage  Company 

ECONOMY  AND  TIME  SAVERS 

Manager  Leo  Dixon  has  had  many  years  of 
varied  experience  in  this  special  and  intricate 
business  from  moving  the  goods  and  outfit- 
tings  of  a  hugh  store  to  the  intricate  and 
varied  furnishings  of  a  home.  The  firm  has 
the  best  up-to-date  equipment  to  meet  the 
most  difficult  problems,  and  guarantees  satis- 
faction at  moderate  rates. 

Packing  Pianos  and  Furniture  for 

Shipment  a  Specialty 

Fire-proof  Storage  Furnished 

TRY    THEM! 

Headquarters :  86-88  Turk  St. 

San  Francisco,   Cal. 


"MONTEREY" 

Crddle  of  California's  Romance 
By  GRACE  MacFARLAND 

Accurate  information,  based  on  Munici- 
pal, State  and  Church  records,  hitherto 
unpublished. 

Systematic  presentation  in  «pochsof  the 
history  of  California's  first  capitol,  founded 
in  1770. 

Vivid  views  of  actual  life  under  Spanish, 
Mexican   and  American  rule. 

Profusely  illustrated  with  photographs, 
one*  common,  now  found  only  in  a  few 
collections. 

Being  a  history  of  California's  capitol, 
this  book  gives  a  concise  history  of  the 
State  itself,  hence  is  of  more  than  local 
Interest. 

On  sale  at  bookstores  in  all  the 
larger  cities  of  California,  or,  direct 
from  the  Publishers. 

PRICE  50  cts.,  POSTPAID 
W.  T.  LEE,   Monterey,   California 


xviii  Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    When    Writing     Advertisers 


'J 


H ALFTON  E 
ENGRAVINGS 


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For  Advertising  'Purposes         For  Illustrating  {Booklets 
For  Newspapers  For  Magazines 


14* 


The  halftone  engravings  that  have  appeared  in 
the  various  issues  of  the  Overland  Monthly  re- 
present subjects  suitable  for  almost  any  purpose. 
Having  been  carefully  used  in  printing,  they  are 


;>> 


/i  ■ 


As  Good  As  New 

Prints  of  these  illustrations  can  be  seen  at  the 
office.       Over    10,000    cuts    to    select    from. 


Overland   Monthly 

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xlx 


{ 


Rocky  Mountain  Views 

NATURE  COLORS 

17  De  Luxe  5x6  Pictures  in  Art  Folders 

PPPCT  ON   RECEIPT  OF  25  CENTS  POQTPAIP) 

IIXCC      FOR  ONE  YEARS   SUBSCRIPTION      TWO   I    ir\\LJ 

3  Sets  and  3  Years  Subscription  50  Cents 
7  Sets  and  5  Years  Subscription  $1.00 

(All  Different) 

Send  the   Magazine  To  Your  Friends 
Three  Yearly  Subscriptions  will  be  Same  as  One  for  3  Years 

We  Rocky  Mountain  Magazine 


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1314  QUINCY  BLDG. 

MMmanHMMMMMH 


DENVER,  COLORADO 
p— wmm wmm — —  an  ■■■«■■ 


£ 


A'WHEN  THINKING  OF  GOING  EAST\ 


I 


THINK 

2  TRAINS  DAILY 
THE 
SCENIC 

LIMITED 
AND  THE 
PACIFIC 


OF 


THE 

Through  Standard  ard 

Tourist  Sleeping  Ca  ? 

DAILY  TO 

CHICAGO         ST    LOU!  3 

KANSAS  CITY       OMAhA 

And  All  Other  Points  East 

Via 

SALT  LAKE  CITY 

and  DENVER 


1 


EXPRESS 

"THE  FEATHER  RIVER  ROUTE 

THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  FEATHER  RIVER 


I 


*> 


1 

DINING  CARS       Service  and  Scenery  Unsurpassed      OBSERVATION  (  ARf  '  « 


For  Full  Information  and  Literature  Apply  to 


I  WESTERN  PACIFIC  TICKET  OFFICE  $J 

|^     665  MARKET  ST.  and  UNION  FERRY  STATION,  SAN  FRANCISCO     TEL.  SUTTER  $fei. 
£   1326  Broadway  and  3rd  and  Washington  Sts  ,Oakland,CaI.,  Tel.Caklat  d  132  and  Oakland  574,. 


Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


•^ 


^ 


§ 


f 


>v 


iy, 


NABISCO 

Sugar  Wafers 

WHEN  friends  drop  in  for  a  little  chat,  their 
visii  can  be  made  the  more  enjoyable  by- 
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Wafers,  ?  i  a  cup  of  tea  or  cocoa.  Your  guest 
will  appr'  iate  your  good  taste  and  thoughtfulness. 
Nabisco  >  :>ugar  Wafers  are  sold  in  ten-cent  and 
twenty-fr  ci-cent  tins. 


ANC  kLA — Chocolate-flavored  sugar  wafers  with 
mofrdelightful,  sweetened,  creamy  fillings.    Serve 
wim  any  dessert  or  beverage,  or  as  a  confection. 
t   J* 


NATIONAL  BISCUIT  COMPANY 


ALICE  NIELSEN 

America's  Favorite 

Lj  tic  Scprano 


{Singing  exclusively  for 
the  Columbia) 


FLORENCE  MA 

Americai 

Coloratura  So 


Ancient  Zinke  and  Nakeres,  Forerunners 
of  the  Military  Band 


(Singing  exclu: 
the  Columt 


COLUMBIA  Records  are  more 
than  reproductions,  more  than 
mere  echoes  of  the  artist's  voice — 
far  more  than  records,  they  are 
revelations  of  the  artist's  personality 

All  the  charms,  freshness  and  earnestness  oi 
singer  like  Alice  Nielsen;  the  gay,   swett  allure 
a   Florence    Macbeth ;   the    power   of  Rothier,   t 
strength   of   Sembach,    the   magnetism    of  Gardt 
Fremstad,    Graveure     radiate    with    tne    force 
life    from    their    Columbia    Doubfe-.nisc    Recor* 

To  know  the  great  artists  of  the  operatic 
stage  as  operagoers  know  then  after  hearing 
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New  Columbia  Records  on  sale  the  20tt  of  every  mori> 


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j. . 


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Re  cords 


Sunset 
Route 


to    the   EAST 


V 


I  ? 


Most  Romantic  Railway 
Journey    in    Jimerica  — 

"Sunset  Limited" 


(No  Extra  Fare) 


From  San  Francisco  (Ferry  Station) 
4:20  P.  M.  Daily 


Quickest  Time  to  New  Orleans 

Via 

Los  Angeles,  Tucson,   El   Paso,  San  Antonio 
and  Houston 

Compartment     Drawing-Room     Observation     Car 
and  Pullman  Standard  Sleepers  to  New  Orleans 

Through    Pullman    Tourist    Sleeper    to 
Washington,    D.    C. 


The  "Apache  Trail" 


Rail  and  Auto  side  trip,  Maricopa  to  Bowie 


via  Phoenix,  Roosevelt  Dam  and  Globe 
through  "Oldest  America" 

THROUGH    SLEEPER: 

Globe  to  El  Paso 
Sunday,    Tuesday    and    Friday 

Connects  at  New  Orleans  with  trains  to  East- 
ern cities,  also  with  Southern  Pacific's  splendid 
steamers  to  New  York,  sailing  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays;  and  to  Havana,  Cuba,  Saturdays. 

Unexcelled    Dining    Car    Service. 
Automatic    Block   Safety   Signals 


For  Fares  and  Berths,  Ask  Agents 

Southern  Pacific 

Write  for  Folder  on  the  Jlpache  Trail  of  Jlrizona 


IBSETHA 


in  pastor  Uttaarirs 

rttntgs  Ap^al  to  fnu? 


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Adkiress  ABB  C®nBaMnmn5iBai{tn®iffi§ 


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This  intensely  human  picture 
stands  for  all  that  is  best  in  music 

It  is  a  picture  with  a  message — a 
living-  message  of  absolute  fidelity. 

"His  Master's  Voice"  is  insepa- 
rably associated  with  the  highest 
attainments  in  the  musical  art; 
with  the  exquisite  renditions  of  the 
world's  greatest  artists;  with  the 
world's  best  music  in  the  home. 

It  is  the  exclusive  trademark  of 
the  Victor  Company.  It  identifies 
every  genuine  Victrola  and  Victor 
Record. 

There  are  Victor  dealers  everywhere,  and 
they  will  gladly  demonstrate  the  different  styles 
of  the  Victor  and  Victrola— $10  to  $400— and 
play  an;-  music  you  wish  to  hear. 

Victor  Talking  Machine  Co.,  Camden,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Berliner  Gramophone  Co.,  Montreal,  Canadian  Distributors 

Important  warning.    Victor  Records  can  be  safely  and 
satisfactorily  played  only  with  Victor  Needles  or  Tangs- 
tone  Stylus  on   Victors  or  Victrolas.      Victor    Records 
cannot  be  safely  played    on    machines  with  jeweled  or 
other  reproducing  points. 
New  Victor  Records  demonstrated  at 
all  dealers  on  the  28th  of  each  month 

Victrola 


Vol.  LXVIII 


ffiwriani  - 


No.  2 


ifcmtfjlg 


AN   ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE  WEST 

CONTENTS   FOR   FEBRUARY   1917 

FRONTISPIECES— Pictures  of  Golden  Gate  Park       . 93-100 

GOLDEN  GATE  PARK      RALPH  SPRINGER  101 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

"THE   FALL   OF    BABYLON."      Story           .         .         .  CHARLES  OLIVER  109 

THE   GUNS  OF   GALT.      Continued   Story           .         .  DENISON  CLIPT  117 

LIFE    OF    PASTOR    RUSSELL E.   D.   STEWART  126 

DIES    IRAE.      Verse ROBERT   D.   WORK  132 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIRACLE.     Continued  Story  OTTO   VON   GELDERN  133 

THE    STORM    KING.      Verse EUGENIA  LYON   DOW  140 

A    KINDERGARTEN    OF    ROMANCE.      Story     .  WILL  McCRACKEN  141 

NO   QUESTIONS  ASKED.      Story           ....  WILLIAM  DE  RYEE  146 

FOOTHILL    FALL .  ELSINCRE  R.  CROWELL  149 

THE   SONG.      Verse MARY  CAROLYN  DA  VIES  150 

MANUEL    LISA CARDINAL   GOODWIN  .        151 

PATIENCE,       Verse JO.    HARTMAN  155 

ENEMIES.      Story FARNSWORTH   WRIGHT  156 

JACK    LONDON.      Verse VERA  HEATHMAN  COLE  160 

THE  THRESHOLD  OF  FATE.      Story           .  EDITH  HECHT  161 

A    CONFIRMED    BACHELOR.      Story           .         .  JOSEPHINE  S.  SCHUPP  164 

REVERBERATION.      Verse               R.  R.  GREENWOOD  169 

L'AMOUR.      Verse               STANTON  ELLIOTT  170 

Illustrated. 

PATHFINDERS  OF  '49.      Story       ....  MRS.  ALFRED  IRBY  171 

THE    SUPREME    TRAGEDY.       Verse            .         .  ARTHUR   POWELL  174 

VIA  THE   STRAITS  OF    MAGELLAN            .         .  JAMES  W.  MILNE  175 

IN  THE  REALM  OF   BOOKLAND 181 


»>WK<m« 


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iv 


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Meet  Me  at  the 
TULLER 


For  Value,  Servic 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand  Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY    FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50 Single,  $2.50  Up  Double 

200       "  "  "        2.00     "  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  "  $3  to  $5   "  4.50  " 

Total.  600  Outside  Rooms       All  Absolutely  Quiet 


Two  Floors — Agent's 
Sample  Rooms 


New  Unique  Cafes  and 
Cabaret  Excellente 


Herald  Square  Hotel 

114-120  West  34th  Street 

Just  West  of  Broadway 

NEW  YORK 

Across  the  street,  next  door  and  around  the  cor- 
ner to  the  largest  department  stores  in  the 
world. 

Cars  passing  our  doors  transfer  to  all  parts  of 
New  York. 

One  block  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 

All    the    leading    theatres    within    five    minutes' 

walk. 
Club    Breakfast — Business   Men's   Lunch. 
Dancing  afternoons  and  evenings. 
Rooms  $1.50  up.      All  first  class  hotel  service. 

J.  FRED  SAYERS 

Manager  Director 


THE  HOTEL  SHATTUCK 


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BERKELEY,  CALIFORNIA 


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A  Metropolitan  Hotel  with  a  Homelike  Personality 

FIRE-PROOF         American  and  European  Plan  CENTRAL 

SPACIOUS  Write  for  Rates  and  Literature  ACCESSIBLE 

COMFORTABLE  F.  T.  ROBSON,  Manager  REASONABLE 


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HOTEL  CUMBERLAND 

NEW  YORK 
Broadway  at  54th  Street 


Broadway  cars  trom 

Grand 

Central  Depot 

7th  Ave.  Cars  from 
Penna.  Station 

New  and  Fireproof 

Strictly  First-Class 
Rates  Reasonable 

$2.50  with  Bath 
and  up 

Send  for  Booklet 

10  Minutes  Walk  to 
40  Theatres 


H.  P.  STIMSON 

Formerly  with  Hotel  Imperial 

Only  N.  Y.  Hotel  Window-Screened  Throughout 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 
BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN  FIREPROOF 

A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
quiet  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest— popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
—cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 

Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

May  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of 'Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  completerates? 
C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


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HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

1 ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in  Western  America 

M AN AGEMENT  —  J AMES     WOODS 


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The  Two  Most  Famous  Hotels  in  the  World 


The  Sun  Court  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  San   Francisco 

The  only  hotels  anywhere  in  which  every  room  has 
attached  bath.  All  the  conveniences  of  good  hotels  with 
many  original  features.    Accommodations  for  over  lOOO. 


The  Fairmont  Hotel,  San  Francisco 

European   Plan.      $2. SO  per  day,  upward— Suites  $10.00,  upward 

Under  Management  of  Palace  Hotel  Company 


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UNSET 

* 

OUTE 


to    the   EAST 


Most  Romantic  Railway 
Journey    in   Jlmerica  — 

"Sunset  Limited" 

(No  Extra  Fare) 

From  San  Francisco  (Third  St.  Station) 
5:00  P.  M.  Daily 

Quickest  Time  to  New  Orleans 

Via 

Los  Angeles,  Tucson,   El   Paso,  San  Antonio 
and  Houston 

Compartment  Drawing- Room  Observation  Car 
and  Pullman  Standard  Sleepers  to  New  Orleans 

Through    Pullman    Tourist    Sleeper   to 
Washington,    D.    C. 

The  "Apache  Trail" 

Rail  and  Auto  side  trip,  Maricopa  to  Bowie 

via  Phoenix,  Roosevelt  Dam  and  Globe 

through  "Oldest  America" 

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Globe  to  El  Paso 

Sunday,    Tuesday   and    Friday 

Connects  at  New  Orleans  with  trains  to  East- 
ern cities,  also  with  Southern  Pacific's  splendid 
steamers  to  New  York,  sailing  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays;  and  to  Havana,  Cuba,  Saturdays. 

Unexcelled    Dining    Car    Service- 
Automatic    Block   Safety   Signals 


For  Fares  and  Berths,  Ask  Agents 

Southern  Pacific 

Write  for  Folder  on  the  Jlpache  Trail  of  Jlrizona 


viii 


Pleas°     Mertion     Ovorland     Monthly    When     Writing    Advertisers 


A    household    word   even   in   childhood. 

BAKER'S  COCOA 

has  for  several  generations  been  widely  known  for  its  good 
qualities  of  purity,  wholesomeness  and  delicious  flavor.  It  has 
real  food  value.    Ask  your  grocer  for  the  genuine  Baker's  Cocoa. 

Made  only  by 

Walter  Baker  &  Co.  Ltd. 

Established  1780  Choice  Recipe  Book  Sent  Free  Dorchester,  Mass. 


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"The  Fall  of  Babylon." 


By  Charles  Oliver 


IT  IS  difficult  to    connect    Babylon 
with  this  pleasant  corner  of  Bur- 
gundy where  the  war  has  immobil- 
ized me.    But    Sylvanus    Conifer 
cries     "Babylon!     Babylon!     All     is 
Babylon!"     And  Sylvanus  Conifer  is 
an  honorable  man. 

The  first  sound  I  hear  in  the  day 
is  often  the  horn  of  a  descending  barge, 
the  message  of  the  master  to  our  lock- 
folk  below.  It  is  a  warm,  mellow,  in- 
sistent note,  but  though  it  has  in  it 
something  of  a  grave  summons  to 
sleepers,  I  linger  on  my  pillow,  awak- 
ening with  agreeable  deliberation  to 
the  harmonious  appeal.  Then  the  Ange- 
lus  swings  down  from  behind  the  house 
and  the  thronging  vibrations  of  the 
sweet  clangor  on  the  silent  air  lead 
my  drowsy  fancy  achase  of  them  into 
the  immensity  for  which  they  are 
bound.  A  pest,  a  mild  one,  of  your 
immensities !  I  should  lie  abed  all  the 
morning  did  I  not  want  to  see  the 
young  sun  flood  the  gossamermeshed, 
dewy  meadows,  kindle  to  a  pinky  glow 
the  russet  fells  beyond,  and  bring  out 
into  relief  against  them  a  distant  ham- 
let which,  with  its  white  walls,  brown 
roofs,  Noah's  Ark  trees,  and  neat 
church  tower  holding  out  a  great  clock 
at  arm's  length,  has  the  absurd  and 
amiable  suggestions  about  it  of  the 
naive  landscape  that  adorns  a  Swiss 
timepiece. 

"You  are  quite  right  to  take  things 
easily,"  says  Madame,  when  I  descend. 
"At  your  age,  Monsieur,  one  has  no 
more  ambitions."  That  depends  on  the 
barometer,  and  in  any  case  Madame's 
is  a  frankly  anti-Babylonian  sentiment. 
For  Ambition  is  the  magic  flute  that 
pipes  up  luxurious  cities,  huge  arma- 
ments, railways,  telegraphs,  steam 
ploughs  and  all  the  other  abominations 


that  Sylvanus  Conifer  has  inscribed  on 
his  list  of  grievances  against  modern 
society. 

If  our  canal,  for  instance,  was  not  a 
canal — a  diabolical  invention  for  com- 
plicating life — it  would  please  my  phi- 
losopher as  much  perhaps  as  it  pleases 
me.  In  a  solitary  stretch,  shaded  green 
and  gold,  I  came  to-day  on  a  tied-up 
barge,  slumbering  over  its  lustrous 
brown  image,  in  the  still  water.  The 
barge  dog  yapped  perfunctorily  at  me 
from  a  gaudy  kennel  that  had  the  air 
of  a  greatly  enlarged  dolls'  house  or 
a  greatly  diminished  villa  residence; 
and  the  master,  putting  up  his  head 
from  a  mysterious  hole  in  the  deck, 
seemed  to  have  risen,  a  disheveled 
river-god,  from  his  weedy  kingdom  to 
have  a  look  about  him.  There  is  no 
more  agreeable  semblance  of  occupa- 
tion for  a  leisurely  man  than  to  watch 
a  low  flat  boat  of  Flemish  build — there 
are  many  refugee  boats  on  the  canal 
now — gunwale  down  under  its  load  of 
stone  or  wood,  making  one  of  the 
reaches.  Sighted  long  before  anything 
else  are  the  mules'  earcaps  of  bright 
red  twinkling  above  the  tow  path.  Be- 
low them,  nine  pairs  of  spindle  legs 
materialize  themselves  in  staggering, 
jerky  progress.  Then  you  glimpse  on 
the  water  the  long  black  line  of  the 
barge  trailing  through  intricately  laced 
shadows  and  sun-shafts,  and  this  line 
disintegrates  itself  with  magnificent 
slowness  into  a  fine  medley  of  colors, 
tangles  of  ropes,  a  shock-headed  ur- 
chin at  a  pump,  another  fishing,  an  old 
granny  in  a  white  bonnet  frying  the  af- 
ternoon's take  amidships,  and  the  mas- 
ter at  the  helm,  grim,  imperturbable. 
The  neighborhood  is  suddenly  redolent 
of  fry,  of  tarpaulin,  of  hay,  of  stable. 
The  nine  pairs  of  legs  on  the  bank 


110 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


sort  themselves  out  between  four  mea- 
gre mules  and  a  boy ;  and  two  dots  that 
have  rolled  along  beside  them  develop 
into  an  infant  and  a  puppy,  who,  put 
ashore  to  stretch  their  legs,  have  dis- 
covered a  new  continent  and  find  it 
very  good.  The  reverse  of  the  process 
begins,  and  in  a  long  half-hour  the  red 
earcaps,  last  vestige  of  it  all,  die  out 
like  sparks  from  burning  tinder  on 
shades  so  thick  that  you  confound  them 
with  the  trees  that  produce  them. 

I  will  grant  Sylvanus  Conifer  that 
there  is  a  touch,  Babylonian,  of  the  lat- 
ter day  craze  for  speed  about  your 
barges  of  the  Accelerated  Service,  the 
monarchs  of  the  canal  which,  worked 
by  eight  strong  horses  in  relays  of 
four,  travel  night  and  day  and  make 
their  journey  hot-keel  at  the  rate  of 
something  like  two  kilometres  an  hour. 
I  thought  to  get  away  from  the 
"strange  disease  of  modern  life,  with 
its  sick  hurry,"  on  this  placid  waterway 
of  the  careless  Hours.  But  I  can  for- 
give the  Accelerated  Service  its  whis- 
per, so  faint,  of  Babylon,  when  it  is 
kind  enough  to  combine  poetry  with 
high  pace.  Such  was  one  of  these  me- 
teors that  passed  me  the  other  day.  It 
was  a  towering  affair  in  ballast,  that 
took  the  corners  athwart  the  whole 
canal  with  shriek  and  creak  of  mon- 
strous rudder  and  swish  of  reeds  and 
burbling  of  mighty  green  swirls,  and  it 
barred  the  heaven  above  the  westering 
sun  with  its  broad  bands  of  red  and 
white  and  warm  brown.  At  the  prow, 
a  youth  in  green  tarpaulins  signaled 
their  approach  to  the  next  lock  with 
volleying  cracks  of  a  long  whip,  and 
struck  against  the  sky  the  bold  free  at- 
titudes of  a  Phaethon  lashing  his 
horses  of  fire.  High  over  the  deck 
the  master  leaned  back  on  his  tiller,  a 
man  of  such  hoary  age  and  such  grand 
contempt  of  the  towpath  that  I  con- 
ceived of  him  as  having  seen  the  di- 
viding off  of  the  dry  land  from  his 
particular  primeval  waters  and  having 
thoroughly  disapproved  of  it. 

The  shoots  of  the  pollard  elms  are 
brilliant  purple  now;  the  young  buds 
baze  with  golden  shimmer  the  crests  of 
the  poplars.    Catching  golden  and  pur- 


ple gleams,  the  ripples  of  the  canal 
play  monstrously  disrespectful  tricks 
with  the  reflection  of  the  disdainful 
moon's  full  silvery  disc,  elongating  or 
compressing  it;  then  on  a  sudden  ca- 
price brushing  it  out  altogether  and  be- 
ginning their  games  afresh.  Morning, 
noon  and  evening  our  canal  is  beauti- 
ful. But  my  philosopher  cannot  for- 
get that  it  is  a  canal,  a  mechanical  con- 
trivance, a  Babylonian  device. 

"All  is  Babylon!"  cries  Sylvanus 
Conifer.  And  Sylvanus  Conifer  is  an 
honorable,  if  mistaken,  man. 

Whatever  he  might  do  with  the  Ac- 
celerated Service  and  all  its  works,  I 
do  not  see  how  he  could  put  on  his 
black  books  many  or  indeed  any  of 
my  amiable  Burgundy  neighbors,  who 
seem  to  have  had  no  hand  at  all  in 
propelling  modern  civilization  on  its 
less  course.  Te  judice — to  your  judg- 
ment I  will  leave  it. 

jjj  sp  -i> 

There  is  Grandpere  Venoy,  a  splen- 
did specimen  of  the  Bourgignon  small- 
holder, tall,  hard,  sun-scorched,  with 
a  ringing  voice  and  a  sympathetically 
ugly  crimson  face,  around  which  his 
iron  gray  beard  sprays  out  untidily. 
His  principal  occupation  nowadays  is 
the  melting  of  green  wax  in  a  crucible, 
for  the  sealing  of  his  bottles  of  bran- 
died  cherries.  He  is  the  most  genial 
of  souls,  but  he  wears  at  this  season  a 
most  ferocious  air,  for  naughty  are  the 
ways  of  green  wax  in  a  crucible. 

As  Grandpere  Venoy  is  cheerfully 
ignorant  of  all  history  but  that  of  his 
ov/n  time,  in  so  far  as  it  has  touched 
him  personally,  he  has  contrived  a 
sort  of  pigeon-hole,  labeled  "ances- 
tors," into  which  all  the  world  of  ante- 
Second  Republic  goes;  as  Methuselah, 
Julius  Caesar,  Louis  Philippe.  "Des 
ancetres,  quoi!"  And  indeed  I  do  not 
know  if  this  division  of  mankind  into 
A — ancestors,  B — the  rest,  is  not  as 
satisfactory  as  any  other. 

5j»  S(S  *!•  *l" 

Giselle  and  Madeleine,  Monsieur 
Venoy's  orphan  grandchildren,  are 
charming  little  girls,  always  clean  as 
new  pennies,  with  most  pretty  man- 
ners.    They  are  very  shy,  and  I  can 


"THE    FALL   OF    BABYLON." 


Ill 


only  get  them  to  kiss  me  by  fining 
them  a  sou  every  time  they  omit  the 
ceremony.  As  they  have  no  sous,  I 
pay  the  fines  myself — to  them — and 
we  are  excellent  friends. 

Of  course  they  always  give  me  the 
'bonjour,"  and  they  have  the  idea  that 
they  put  a  touch  of  splendor  into  the 
greeting  by  addressing  me  as  "lady 
and  gentleman."  I  argued  the  case  not 
long  ago  with  Giselle  when  I  met  her 
in  the  street. 

"  'jour  M'sier,  'Dame,"  says  she. 

"Bonjour,  Giselle.  Ah,  I  want  to 
ask  you  something.  When  you  see 
Monsieur  le  Cure,  what  do  you  say?" 

"  'jour,  M'sieur  le  Cure." 

"Parfaitement.  'Monsieur  le  Cure. 
You  do  not  say  'Bonjour,  Monsieur  et 
Madame.    And  why  not?" 

"Because  —  because  —  M'sieur  le 
Cure  is  not  married.  The  gendarmes 
do  not  let  him." 

"Parfaitement — that  is — of  course — 
well,  if  there  is  a  lady  with  him?" 

"Then  I  say,  '  'jour,  M'sieur, 
'Dame.' " 

"Exactly.  Well,  you  see  that  I  am 
alone — like  Monsieur  le  Cure.  There 
is  no  lady  with  me.  So  'Bonjour,  Mon- 
sieur,' is  enough.  Do  you  understand, 
my  little  Giselle?" 

She  pursed  up  her  lips  and  nodded 
importantly. 

"Bien,  tres  bien.  Well,  I  suppose 
we  must  all  be  running  along.  Bonjour, 
Giselle." 

"  'jour,  M'sieur,  'Dame." 

What  was  there  for  it  but  to  fine  her 
a  sou  and  Madeleine  another — by  de- 
fault? 

Of  course,  Giselle  and  Madeleine 
compute  my  age  at  a  round  hundred, 
and  T  have  no  doubt  that  when  they 
discussed  this  incomprehensible  busi- 
ness, it  came  to  a  final : 

"Des  ancetres,  quoi!" 

.,.  3|S  3fZ  3p 

Monsieur  Courteau  is  a  friendly  old 
gentleman,  deaf  and  persistent,  with 
a  long  white  beard.  He  talks  in  a  kind 
of  soft,  resonant  bleat,  ma-a-a  foi!  He 
combines  in  his  more  leisure  moments 
the  employments  of  cobbler  and  watch 
maker,  and  I  have  my  reasons  for  sup- 


posing that  he  uses  the  same  tools  in 
both  characters.  He  is  given  to  petty 
poaching,  is  a  high  authority  on  local 
salad  oils,  and  has  vague,  picturesque 
ideas  on  immanent  justice.  There  is 
a  dearth  of  walnut  oil  in  the  country, 
because  most  of  the  trees  were  killed 
— la  justice  immanente,  ma-a-a  foi! — 
by  the  great  frost  of  1881.  But  we  are 
not  too  badly  off. 

"Turnip,  colza,  hazel,"  bleats  Mon- 
sieur Courteau,  "they  all  produce  an 
excellent  oil  that  goes  to  the  making  of 
what  they  call  a  good  salad." 

I  frequently  walk  over  the  fells  to  an 
edge  of  the  forest  where  I  know  I  shall 
find  Monsieur  Courteau's  little  donkey- 
cart  laden  with  sticks  and  the  infre- 
quent walnut,  not  to  mention  the  trifle 
ot.  game  that  probably  underlies  the 
whole.  And  Monsieur  Courteau  un- 
folds his  ideas  on  immanent  justice — 
ciiiefly  in  regard  to  the  scarcity  of 
what  they  call  walnut  oil  and  what  I, 

too,  call   walnut  oil,  ma-a-a  foi! 
*  *  •  *  * 

Monsieur  Poulet  is  the  founder  and 
president  of  our  Democratic  Club.  The 
club  is  housed  in  a  single  room,  ap- 
proached by  a  carefully  zigzagged  path 
through  a  shrubbery,  to  which  it  lends 
a  suggestion  of  an  easy  maze,  and  fur- 
nished with  a  huge  bust  of  Liberty  in  a 
cravat  of  the  Belgian  colors.  It  boasts 
a  one-shelf  library. 

"We  read  or  write  or  talk,"  says 
Monsieur  le  President.  "And  some- 
times," he  adds  gloomily,  "we  play." 

It  is  rumored  that  Monsieur  Poulet,  a 
red-hot  Radical,  started  the  Demo- 
cratic Club  in  opposition  to  the  Cha- 
teau, which  has  all  the  air  of  not 
minding.  And,  indeed,  there  is  noth- 
ing terrible  about  Monsieur  Poulet.  He 
is  a  tiny,  apple-faced,  timid  old  presi- 
dent, with  a  constant  expression  of  the 
most  dreadful  alarm,  and  when  he  de- 
claims against  bloated  aristocracies 
and  so  forth,  it  is  as  if  a  mouse  were  to 
put  his  paw  down  and  declare  squeak- 
ily  that  he  would  have  no  more  of  this, 
sapristi !  From  the  fact  that  Monsieur 
Poulet  always  has  the  key  of  the  Dem- 
ocratic Club  in  his  pocket,  I  am  led  to 
believe  that  he  constitutes  in  himself 


112 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


the  entire  membership,  and  that  "alone 

he  cuts  and  binds  the  grain"  of  the 

democratic   harvest  and  plays  alone. 

But  he  is  most  kind  and  courteous,  has 

given  me  the  freedom  of  the  club,  with 

the  full  liberty  to  use  the  library  "for 

purposes  of  reference,"  and  has  most 

correct  views  on  Englishmen. 

"I  always  recognize  an  Englishman 

when   I  see  him,"  says   Monsieur  le 

President,  looking  horribly  scared.  "I 

know  him  by  his  grand  reserve,  his 

fine  presence,  his  majesty." 

I  often  call  on  Monsieur  Poulet. 
*  41  *  * 

If  Mademoiselle  Gontrain  were  not 
afraid  of  what  the  village  would  say 
should  it  come  to  be  known  that  she 
received  visits  from  a  single  gentle- 
man— majestical — I  might  go  to  see 
her  more  frequently,  for  she  puts  a 
pleasant  Early  Victorian  touch  into 
my  existence.  Long  ago — so  long  ago 
that  the  commune  might  surely  back- 
bite away  now  and  be  hanged  to  it! — 
Mademoiselle  Gontrain  spent  two  years 
in  London  at  St.  James's  Palace  with 
her  uncle,  who  was  messman  to  the 
Regiment  of  Guards  quartered  there. 
So  she  speaks  what  she  considers  to 
be  English  and  was  once  possibly 
something  more  like  it.  She  has  an 
idea  that  the  exact  translation  of  "Mon 
Dieu!"  is  "By  God!"  and  the  exple- 
tive bursts  upon  our  quiet  conversa- 
tion like  the  clash  of  cymbals  into  a 
subdued  orchestral  movement. 

It  was  "when  she  used  to  be  seven- 
teen"— 'tis  a  habit  I  lost  many  years 
ago,  and  she  even  more — that  Made- 
moiselle Gontrain  was  at  St.  James's. 
She  remembers  Queen  Victoria,  "a 
nice  lady,"  and  the  Dowager  Duchess 
of  Cambridge,  "another  nice  one,"  on 
whom  the  Queen  would  come  to  call. 
She  always  had  a  greeting  from  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  as  Edward  the  Sev- 
enth was  then,  when  he  came  to  dine 
at  the  Mess:  and  he,  too,  was  nice. 
From  the  eagerness  with  which  Made- 
moiselle Gontrain  inquires  after  cer- 
tain vivid  places  of  entertainment  in 
the  proximity  of  Leicester  Square,  I 
expect  that  the  messman  showed  his 
niece  some  rather  murky  sides  of  Lon- 


don life — when  she  used  to  be  seven- 
teen— by  God ! 

*  *  *  * 

Of  an  evening  the  neighbors  drop  in 
for  coffee.  Grandmere  Venoy,  some- 
what bent,  somewhat  weary  of  life, 
somewhat  sloppy,  arranges  Giselle  and 
Madeleine  on  low  stools  at  her  side, 
and  the  little  orphan  girls  snuggle  in 
to  her  and  sleep  with  their  golden 
heads  propped  up  against  her  ancient 
flannel  jacket.  Monsieur  Courteau  is 
there,  ma-a-a  foi  and  Monsieur  Poulet, 
Radical  dormouse.  Mademoiselle 
Gontrain  nurses  a  rheumatic  hand,  by 
God!  And  Grandpere  Venoy  dis- 
courses of  the  Dominicans — des  ance- 
tres,  quoi ! — who  had  a  monastery  here 
and  now  walk  their  vaults,  carrying 
their  heads  under  their  arms,  for  rea- 
sons best  known  to  themselves. 

I  cannot  see  the  Babylon  in  all  this. 
But  "Babylon!  Babylon!"  cries  Syl- 
vanus  Conifer.  And  with  his  gentle, 
wistful  smile  he  adds  pleasantly — 

"I  am  waiting,  Monsieur,  I  am  hop- 
ing even — for  the  Fall  of  Babylon." 

ip  Sj»  5(J  .,. 

It  is  over  the  pseudonym  of  "Syl- 
vanus  Conifer"  that  my  philosopher 
contributes  to  the  Latin  paper  edited 
by  Arcadius  Avellanus.  Only  his  very 
short  stature  and  his  rather  too  broad 
and  high-mounting  shoulders!  reveal 
the  fact,  which  you  speedily  forget, 
that  Sylvanus  Conifer  is  slightly  de- 
formed. He  has  lively,  kind  black 
eyes  and  a  wide,  very  mobile  mouth.  A 
thin  shock  of  iron  grey  hair  tosses 
about  his  head  in  a  carefully  ordered 
disorder,  and  his  fringe  of  iron-grey 
beard  curies  up  at  the  edges  as  if  the 
fire  of  his  brain  had  scorched  it.  His 
hands  fascinate  you;  large,  white, 
finely  shaped  and  very  flexible.  They 
are  his  strong  point:  he  knows  it,  and 
he  brings  them  into  constant  play  with 
harmless  coquetry.  He  sits  very  low, 
and  at  table  you  see  little  of  him  but 
his  beautiful  hands  and  his  interesting 
head  deeply  sunk  between  his  shoul- 
ders. 

That  perhaps  is  the  reason  why  Syl- 
vanus Conifer  generally  stands,  for  if 
he  is  to  be  conceived  of  as  a  head 


"THE    FALL   OF   BABYLON."  113 

and  two  hands,  a  man  is  but  a  ghost  Sylvanus  Conifer  is  a  cheerful  pessi- 
before  his  time.  He  takes  up  his  po-  mist,  and  at  amiable  warfare  with 
sition  by  preference  behind  a  chair,  things  in  general  and  in  particular, 
one  elbow  resting  on  the  back,  one  When  he  attends  vespers,  he  takes — 
foot  slightly  advanced.  He  is  the  and  keeps — his  cues  in  such  an  em- 
most  erudite  of  men,  and  has  a  won-  phatic  and  deliberate  fashion  that  he 
derfully  good  and  neat  memory,  from  overlaps  Monsieur  l'Archipretre  at 
which  he  gets  down  his  facts  as  he  each  end  of  his  sentences,  and  the  of- 
gets  down  his  books  from  his  large  and  fice  seems  to  consist  wholly  of  re- 
scrupulously  arranged  library.  When-  sponses.  This  is  by  way  of  protest 
ever  he  opens  his  mouth,  Sylvanus  against  the  fact  that,  while  all  the  peo- 
Conifer  delivers  you,  in  his  warm  and  pie  should  say  "Amen,"  they  are  not 
eager  voice,  a  clear,  logical,  conclu-  allowed  the  time  or  breath  to  do  so. 
sive  dissertation;  he  speaks  in  lee-  He  writes  to  the  Bishop — in  Latin — on 
tures,  and  his  elbow-prop  of  the  mo-  this  matter.  Monseigneur  refers  Syl- 
ment  loses  its  humdrum  character  and  vanus  Conifer  to  the  diocesan  Profes- 
demands  capital  honors  as  a  Profes-  sor  of  Dogma.  The  diocesan  Profes- 
sorial Chair  of  Widely  Extensive  sor  of  Dogma  hints — in  elegant  French 
Knowledge.  that  Sylvanus  Conifer  might,  as  it 
Though  France  and  her  history  have  were,  mind  his  own  business.  Where- 
no  secrets  for  him,  and  he  juggles  with  upon  Sylvanus  Conifer  begins  again, 
the  French  dates  and  talks  of  Clovis  For  it  shall  never  be  that,  for  lack  of 
and  Phillipp  the  Bald  with  almost  terri-  good  wholesome  nagging,  the  people 
fying  familiarity,  it  is  in  the  Latin  shall  not  have  time  to  say  "Amen." 
classics  and  neo-classics  that  Sylvanus  He  makes  the  reproach  against  mod- 
Conifer  is  most  at  home.  He  has  mas-  em  life  that  by  its  intensity  it  wears 
tered  the  liturgy  of  the  Roman  Church  down  vigorous  races  to  weaklings,  de- 
with  such  thoroughness  that  he  claims  generates,  like  himself.  He  comes 
to  be  able  to  find  his  way  about  in  the  of  a  fine  old  Burgundy  stock  which 
Antiennes,  though  I  must  confess  that,  was  robust  enough  in  its  origins.  His 
when  I  accompany  him  to  Vespers,  he  great-grandfather  served  in  the  Na- 
seems  to  lose  himself  as  extravagantly  poleonic  armies,  and  for  sixteen  years 
in  his  missal  as  I  in  mine.  I  seldom  did  not  set  foot  in  France.  When  he 
leave  him  without  a  Latin  volume  in  came  home  after  the  First  Abdication, 
each  pocket;  the  histories  of  Tacitus,  he  set  to  cultivating  the  family  vine- 
for  instance,  to  keep  me  in  the  paths  yards,  but  the  Hundred  Days  disar- 
of  classicism,  and  the  "Conversations  ranged  all  his  plans.  At  the  approach 
of  Erasmus"  to  seduce  me  from  those  of  the  Allied  Armies  he  hid  himself 
paths  and  instruct  me  how  to  pass  among  his  vine-stocks,  from  which, 
the  neo-classical  time  of  day  with  however,  he  sallied  out  to  cudgel  a  trio 
gravity  or  in  your  rollicking  vein.  For  'of  Cossacks  who  were  making  free 
he  holds  that  Latin  is  to  be  the  uni-  with  his  cellars.  After  this  there  was 
versal  language,  the  cord  that  will  nothing  for  it  but  flight  to  Paris.  His 
bind  the  regenerated  world  together,  way  with  children  did  not  much  differ 
and  he  begs  me  to  join  with  him  in  do-  from  his  way  with  Cossacks,  and  his 
ing  our  trifle  of  binding.  I  am  afraid  descendants — an  Engraver  at  the  Mint 
the  work  is  not  very  solid,  not  very  especially,  Commander  of  the  Legion 
even.  When  we  talk  in  the  universal  of  Honor — rise  up  and  call  him 
language  I  have  the  impression  of  sub-  blessed. 

mitting  selections  from  the  Public  Sylvanus  Conifer  shows  you  with 
School  Latin  Primer,  scraps  of  Eras-  pride  the  service  sheet  of  another  an- 
nuls, and  purloinings  from  Calepin,  the  cestor  of  his,  a  Napoleonic  conscript, 
lexicographer,  to  the  benevolent  but  who,  in  an  action  of  the  Peninsular 
perplexed  consideration  of  Marcus  Tul-  Campaign,  shouting  "En  avant!"  and 
lius  Cicero.  heading  a  bayonet  charge,  recaptured 


114 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


an  abandoned  gun.  "If  there  is  a  cross 
for  our  regiment,"  said  his  comrades, 
"it  will  be  for  thee."  The  gallant  boy 
was  laid  up  of  his  wounds  at  Barce- 
lona for  two  months,  and  when  he 
came  out  of  hospital,  he  found  that  the 
cross  had  gone  to  an  older  man,  for 
where  all  were  heroes  you  had  to  fall 
back  on  seniority.  The  Conscript's 
regiment  was  one  of  those  that  went 
over  to  Napoleon  on  the  return  from 
Elba.  It  v/as  a  touch-and-go  business : 
they  knew,  writes  the  Conscript,  that 
if  the  venture  failed  they  would  all  be 
put  to  the  edge  of  the  sword.  The  Em- 
peror had  the  regiment  formed  into 
square,  and  harangued  the  officers  in 
the  center.  "I  will  defend  you,"  cries 
the  ghostly  voice,  "or  I  will  die  with 
you."  Then  the  narrative  leaps  to 
Brazil,  France  having  become  too  hot 
to  hold  the  Conscript,  and  back  again 
two  years  later  to  Burgundy,  where 
we  find  the  Conscript  clamoring  vainly 
for  his  cross  and  founding  an  enormous 
family  to  back  his  clamors.  His  de- 
scendant of  to-day  has  twelve  arrows 
in  his  quiver.  Little  wonder  that  Syl- 
vanus  Conifer  calls  every  man  on  the 
lellside  his  cousin! 

It  was  a  brother  of  the  Conscript's, 
the  Notary  of  the  village  who,  when 
the  Cossacks  came  up  our  valley, 
locked  all  the  women  and  children  in- 
to the  church  tower,  put  the  keys  in 
his  pocket,  and  defied  the  Muscovite 
invader  to  his  beard.  The  Cossacks, 
impressed  by  the  bold  demeanor  of 
Maitre  Tebellion,  made  him  a  present 
of  a  bag  of  coffee  and  rode  away.  The 
Notary's  little  daughter  first  tasted  cof- 
fee that  evening,  and  the  first  time  was 
not  the  last,  for  she  died  prematurely 
of  coffee,  thirty-six  thousand  cups  of 
it.  in  her  ninety-eighth  year.  She  was 
Sylvanus  Conifer's  grandmother,  a 
fierce,  merry,  decided  little  lady,  who 
swore  like  her  uncle,  the  Conscript, 
when  she  did  not  get  her  coffee,  though 
the  Faculty  declared  it  would  kill  her, 
as  indeed  it  did.  She  was  very  inde- 
pendent of  character,  and,  when  well 
on  to  fourscore  and  ten,  would  start 
off  on  solitary  rambles,  from  which 
she  was  often  brought  home,  gay  and 


impenitent,  with  her  face  all  blistered 
by  the  nettles  of  the  ditch  from  which 
she  had  been  rescued.  At  the  end  of 
her  life  her  children  rigged  up  a  bar- 
row for  her,  the  only  wheeled  thing 
that  could  negotiate  the  steep  paths  of 
the  country.  But  she  never  quite  took 
to  the  barrow,  regarding  it  as  a  soft, 
luxurious,  Capuan  vehicle. 

If  my  philosopher's  ancestors  have 
not  bequeathed  him  their  physical  en- 
ergy, they  have  passed  on  to  him  un- 
impaired intellectual  powers  and  a 
most  pleasant  house,  that  the  artistic 
taste  of  Sylvanus  Conifer  has  most 
charmingly  adorned.  Into  the  stone 
lintel  of  the  front  door  Sylvanus  Coni- 
fer has  caused  to  be  carved — by  a 
cousin — the  legend  "Thebas  novi,  rus 
veni,"  and  you  feel  that  he  has  done 
well  to  desert  Thebes — read  "Paris" — 
for  this  sweet  rural  retreat.  His  own 
study  is  a  great  dim,  low  room,  whose 
subdued  tones  and  quiet,  sparse  fur- 
nishing are  an  admirable  setting  for 
the  fine  little  marble  replica  of  Mi- 
chael Angelo's  Slave  on  the  mantel- 
piece. Here  among  his  books  the  gen- 
tle pessimist  meditates  systematically 
on  the  Fall  of  Babylon.  He  has 
placed  his  sanctum  at  my  disposal  for 
the  same  purpose.  But  the  plague  of 
it  is  that  I  cannot  meditate  to  order, 
and  Babylon  never  seems  so  far  away 
from  me  as  when  I  am  seated  on  the 
eld  oak  faldstool  that  is  Sylvanus  Con- 
ifer's oracular  tripod. 

Sylvana  Conifera,  delicate  and  pla- 
cid, inhabits  the  upper  story,  which, 
by  the  suppression  of  partition  walls, 
has  been  converted  into  one  long  gal- 
lery, many-windowed,  floored  with  lus- 
trous tiles  of  dull  brown.  The  position 
that  the  slave  occupies  in  the  philoso- 
pher's study  is  accorded  here  to  an 
adorable  Virgin  and  Child  in  richly- 
colored  Flemished  glazed  ware:  her 
lips  puckered  for  an  eternal  kiss,  the 
Holy  Mother  has  bent  three  hundred 
years  over  the  upturned  face,  rosy  and 
smiling,  of  her  Babe.  Sylvana  Conifera 
sits  at  her  organ,  a  matronly  St.  Ce- 
cilia, haloed  by  the  snow  of  her  hair, 
or  retouches  her  water-colors.  The 
care  of  her  philosopher  is  her  chief 


"THE    FALL   OF   BABYLON." 


115 


thought  and  that  of  Rhoda,  her  hand- 
maid. Rhoda  is  an  energetic  and  cap- 
able Burgundian  girl,  who  has  her  own 
formula  for  calling  her  world  to  table. 
It  runs:  "Madame  est  servie.  .  Voila!" 
and  may  be  interpreted,  "Madame  is 
my  mistress  and  Monsieur  is  my  cou- 
sin.   Voila!" 

There  seem  to  be  no  absolutely  con- 
clusive arguments  in  support  of  Sylva- 
nus  Conifer's  pessimism,  but  one  can 
be  very  happily  pessimistic  without 
conclusive  arguments.  The  war  has 
strongly  developed  this  side  of  the  lit- 
tle philosopher's  character.  He  lies 
long  abed — Sylvana  Conifera  and 
Rnoda  encourage  his  late  rising  for 
obscure  domestic  reasons  of  their  own 
— and  arranges  the  lines  on  which 
Babylon  is  to  fall:  the  modern  civili- 
zation whose  mad  rush  has  rudely 
pushed  him  aside.  The  war  will  last 
out  comfortably  for  seven  years.  The 
nations  are  all  to  be  plunged  in  the 
blackest  ruin,  for  they  will  be  incap- 
able of  paying  the  interest  on  their 
enormous  national  debts.  There  will 
be  an  incalculable  dearth  of  labor,  es- 
pecially of  the  skilled  labor  which  is 
not  trained  in  a  day.  The  mentality  of 
those  who  live  to  return  home  from 
the  battlefields  will  be  so  greatly 
changed  that  a  new  race  of  tired  sleepy 
men  will  people  Europe.  Machinery 
will  have  been  deteriorated  beyond  re- 
demption by  the  wear  and  tear  of  war, 
or  annihilated  by  German  pillage.  We 
shall  be  reduced  perforce  to  the  Sim- 
ple Life  in  its  simplest  expression. 
Ruined  cities  will  not  be  rebuilt:  their 
inhabitants  will  make  shift  with  the 
roughest  wooden  shelters.  Railways 
and  canals  will  fall  into  disuse :  mails, 
if  there  are  any,  will  be  conveyed  by 
horse :  steam  navigation  will  become 
a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  height  of 
luxury  in  traveling  will  be  a  fifteen 
months'  journey  to  Constantinople,  by 
sampan  as  far  as  Marseilles  and  on  by 
felucca.  The  philosopher  hardly 
leaves  a  watch  for  Monsieur  Couteau 
to  cobble,  and  the  little  Giselles  and 
Madeleines  of  the  future  are  appar- 
ently to  revert  more  or  less  to  a  state 
of  nature,  and  say  "  'jour,  M'sieurs, 


'Dames"  to  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field.  As  for  the  Church, 
in  view  of  that  "Amen"  business,  Syl- 
vanus  Conifer  prophesies  the  most  un- 
smooth  thing  for  her.  It  is  a  murky 
picture — by  God ! — but  Sylvanus  Coni- 
fer in  his  more  cheerful  moods  light- 
ens it  up  a  little  by  arranging  the  Fall 
of  Babylon  as  a  Thousand  Years' 
Sleep,  of  which  the  world,  feverishly 
active  since  the  unfortunate  discovery 
of  America,  has  great  need.  And  when 
the  world  has  slumbered  its  thousand 
years,  and  in  conscious  intervals  thor- 
oughly mastered  the  conversational 
riceties  of  the  Latin  language,  it  will 
awaken  refreshed  and  go  on  more  rea- 
sonably. 

These  are  some  of  the  ideas  which 
Sylvanus  Conifer  hatches  on  his  pil- 
lows and  expounds  later  in  the  day, 
standing  behind  a  chair,  making  play 
with  his  beautiful  white  hands,  his  face 
aglow.  He  works  each  proposition  up 
into  a  neat  lecture,  which  has  the  one 
defect  of  being  monstrously  discur- 
sive. But  Sylvana  Conifera  and  I  lis- 
ten meekly:  it  is  such  a  pleasure,  his 
only  one,  to  the  little  gentleman  to  be 
pessimistic — and  discursive.  Thus 
that  suggestion  of  a  sampan-felucca 
voyage  to  Constantinople  is  introduced 
by  a  disquisition  on  biremes  and  tri- 
remes, with  Sylvanus  Conifer's  schol- 
arly opinions  as  to  how  the  ranks  of 
rowers  were  or  were  not  arranged.  The 
necessary  abandonment  of  the  ravaged 
cities  to  their  ruin  is  illustrated  by  the 
slow  growth  of  Paris,  statistics  taken 
on  that  subject  under  Julius  Caesar,  St. 
Louis,  the  Grand  Monarque,  the  Third 
Empire,  and  the  Second  Republic,  and 
the  observations  made  by  the  Engra- 
ver of  the  Mint,  Commander  of  the  Le- 
gion of  Honor.  Sylvanus  Conifer  rains 
knowledge.  He  is  such  an  eager,  piti- 
ful, "sympathique"  little  Jupiter  that 
I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  put  up 
the  umbrella  of  contradiction.  And  he 
does  what  he  likes  with  Babylon. 

Sylvana  Conifera  and  I  are  not  alone 
to  suffer  from  our  philosopher's  dis- 
cursiveness. Sent  out  one  evening  to 
see  why  he  did  not  come  to  dinner,  I 
found  him  in  the  street  expounding  to 


116 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


a  white-bloused  workman,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  stunned  by  his  eloquence, 
the  origins  and  aims  of  the  Society  of 
Jesus. 

"He  is  my  cousin,"  explained  Sylva- 
nus  Conifer  as  I  led  him  in.  "He  has 
written  a  poem  accusing  the  cures  of 
having  brought  about  the  War.  Which, 
of  course,  is  absurd." 


It  was  a  majestic,  sombre  western 
sky,  with  jags  and  horizontal  splits  of 
fiery  orange.  Against  such  a  back- 
ground St.  John  should  have  seen  "a 
pale  horse:  and  his  name  that  sat  on 
him  was  Death,  and  Hell  followed 
with  him." 

On  a  ridge  over  the  valley,  Sylvanus 
Conifer  was  silhouetted,  his  cape 
whipped  out  in  black  flutters  by  a 
wild,  rain-laden  evening  wind.  He 
stood  immobile,  looking  out  over  the 
great  Burgundy  plain  at  his  feet.  I 
knew  that  his  constant  vision  was  be- 
fore his  eyes,  that  he  saw  Babylon 
falling,  falling. 

That  menacing  rout  of  black  mists 


went  sweeping  eastward.  On  my  mind 
there  flashed  the  tremendous  words  of 
a  greater  prophet  than  Sylvanus  Coni- 
fer: 

"Thou  shalt  take  up  this  parable 
against  the  King  of  Babylon,  and  say, 
How  hath  the  oppressor  ceased!  the 
exactress  of  gold  ceased!  .  .  . 

"The  whole  earth  is  at  rest,  and  is 
quiet:  they  break  forth  into  sing- 
ing ..  . 

"They  that  see  thee  shall  narrowly 
look  upon  thee,  and  consider  thee,  say- 
ing, Is  this  the  man  that  made  the 
earth  to  tremble,  that  did  shake  king- 
doms? .  .  . 

"All  the  kings  of  the  nations,  even 
all  of  them,  lie  in  glory,  every  one  -in 
his  own  house.  .  .  . 

"But  thou  ..." 

And  the  storm  swept  over  eastward, 
where  Babylon  lies. 

But  the  western  sky  was  calm  and 
clear  now,  suffused  with  a  pink  sunset 
glow.  Sylvanus  Conifer  had  disap- 
peared. And  the  sickle  of  the  young 
moon  was  hung  up  silver  in  the  peace- 
ful heavens. 


JF  ,§r,.,V  Ctl.t.  '. 

~"  -"■"    '    'J.   ■ 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 

By  DENISON  CLIFT 


(SYNOPSIS — Jan  Rantzau,  a  handsome  young  giant  among  the  ship- 
builders of  Gait,  joins  pretty  little  Jagiello  Nur  at  the  dance  in  the  Pavilion. 
There  the  military  police  seek  Felix  Skarga,  a  revolutionist.  Jagiello  fears 
Captain  Pasek,  the  captain  of  the  Fusiliers,  who  will  betray  her  presence 
at  the  dance  to  old  Ujedski,  the  Jewess,  with  whom  Jagiello  lives  in  terror. 
Jan  rescues  Jagiello.  When  Pasek  betrays  Jagiello  to  Ujedski,  and  seeks 
to  remain  at  the  hut  with  her,  Jagiello  wounds  him  in  an  encounter.  Ujed- 
ski turns  her  out,  and  she  marries  Jan.) 


Chapter   VII  boiling  through  his  veins.     Life  was 

far  more  wonderful  than  he  had  ever 

THE  TRAIL  of  their  honeymoon  dreamed.     And  this  was  living,  this 

led  down  through  dewy  mead-  loving  Jagiello  with  all  his  great  heart 

ows   and   along   solitary   cattle  and  soul.    As  she  went  down  through 

lanes  as  Jan  and  Jagiello  climb-  the  grass  on  that  splendid  midsum- 

ed  from  the  heights  into  the  awaken-  mer  morning,  with  her  eyes  dancing 

ing  town.  and  her  full  young  throat  open  to  the 

"Oh,  Jan,"  exclaimed  Jagiello,  "if  winds  that  whispered  from  the  sea, 

every  morning  of  our  lives  could  be  as  Jan  thought  her  the  loveliest  creature 

beautiful  as  this  morning!"  he  had  ever  beheld.     How  he  would 

"Every  morning  with  you  will  be  work  for  her!     How  he  would  bend 

as  beautiful,"  answered  Jan.  his  great  body  under  the  lash  of  toil 

To  their  ears  came  the  whistling  of  that  he  might  win  a  fitting  tribute  to 

the  river  packets.     From  a  thousand  lay  upon  the  altar  of  his  love !    She  of 

chimneys  smoke  began  to  ascend  in  the  soft  white  skin,  with  the  voice  of 

yellow,  brown  and  white  spirals.    To  wind-bells,  she  of  the  wild  freedom  of 

the  north  the  shipyards  lay,  awaiting  the  hills,  v/ith  the  breezes  lifting  the 

the  coming  of  the  toilers  to  infuse  them  gay  ribbons  at  her  throat — with  what 

with  mighty,  creative  life.     What  a  passionate  zeal  he  would     strive     to 

tremendous,  pulsating  thing  this  build-  bring  her  infinite  happiness! 

ing  of  the  world's  greatest  ships!  And  And  she  loved  Jan  no  less  than  he 

Jan  was  part  of  the  life,  with  its  in-  cared  for  her. 

cessant  toil,  its  few  joys  and  many  sor-  When  they  reached  the   Street  of 

rows.  the   Larches   and   turned   in   at  Jan's 

Henceforth  Jan's  life  was     to     be  gate,  there  swept  over  him  a  blinding 

transformed.    No  longer  was  he  to  live  aesire  wholly  to  possess, 

alone.    The  woman  that  he  loved,  and  He  opened  his  door  and     Jagiello 

that  had  been  given  to  him    by    the  went  in. 

strange  adventures  of  a  night,  was  to  Then  he  closed  the  door  tightly  be- 

share  his  humble  home,  and  make  of  it  hind  her. 

a  beautiful  thing,  sacred  to  their  love.  She  was  now  his. 

The  hope  of  the  morning  sent  the  blood  She  saw  that  the  house  was  of  wood, 

Copyright,  1917,  by  Denison  Gift.       All  Rights  Reserved 


118 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


whitewashed,  with  a  thatched  roof. 
She  suddenly  found  herself  in  Jan's 
arms.  She  returned  his  kiss,  a  little 
timidly,  her  cheeks  burning,  her  heart 
fluttering.  She  broke  from  his  grasp 
and  ran  into  the  next  room.  She  took 
up  her  bundle  of  things  that  she  had 
packed  the  night  before,  and  began 
spreading  them  on  the  table. 

"Now,  Jan,"  she  observed,  "we'll 
have  to  divide  the  clothes  recess.  I've 
got  to  have  some  place  to  hang  my 
domino  and  dresses." 

"That's  so,"  answered  Jan,  but  he 
was  not  thinking  of  the  dresses. 

Jagiello  crossed  to  the  recess  and 
pulled  aside  the  old  serge  curtain. 

"This  half  is  mine,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing, indicating  the  left  half.  "And 
don't  you  dare  use  any  of  my  hooks, 
big  man!" 

"Indeed  I  won't,"  he  replied, 
amused. 

She  took  from  her  bundle  a  velvet 
bodice  with  gold  braid  over  the  shoul- 
ders, and  hung  it  in  the  closet  beside 
the  few  things  that  she  owned.  Her 
sins  had  paid  her  meanly  after  all,  and 
these  few  clothes,  beautiful  in  Jan's 
eyes,  were  already  shabby  and  old.  As 
she  worked  she  began  singing  the  love 
song  that  she  had  sung  to  Jan  in  the 
night : 

"Thy  heart  with  my  heart 
Is  locked  fast  together, 
Lost  is  the  key 
That  locked  them  forever!" 

Presently  she  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  began  making  the  fire. 

She  gathered  a  handful  of  fagots 
from  a  box  in  the  corner,  thrust  them 
into  the  flat  porcelain  stove,  and  soon 
the  fire  was  crackling  merrily.  She 
poured  lentils  from  a  bag  into  a  pot, 
filled  the  pot  with  water  from  a  great 
earthern  jar,  and  placed  the  pot  on 
the  stove.  Jan  watched  her,  standing 
awkwardly  about,  filled  with  wonder- 
ment and  strange  emotions. 

She  now  spread  the  table  with  a 
honey-yellow  cloth  from  the  table 
drawer,  and  placing  upon  the  table  a 
crock  of  honey  and  a  loaf  of  rye  bread, 


sat  down  in  the  chair  Jan  drew  up  for 
her. 

He  laughed.  It  relieved  his  pent- 
up  emotions. 

"Ah,  you  fine  little  housewife!"  he 
cried.  "I'm  going  to  have  a  good  wife ! 
I  can  see  that!" 

While  the  lentils  simmered  in  the 
pot,  Jagiello  sat  opposite  Jan,  her 
hands  clasped,  staring  in  awe  of  him. 

"Dear  Jan,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  to 
try  to  be  a  good  wife  to  you.  I  want  to 
make  you  happy.  You're  all  I've  got 
in  the  world  to  live  for  now  ...  all 
I've  got.  You'll  be  good  to  me,  won't 
you?"  Her  voice  broke,  and  great 
tears  sprang  into  her  troubled  eyes. 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  her 
face  between  his  hands.  "Jagiello, 
sweetheart!"  he  breathed.  He  rose  to 
his  feet  and  stood  towering  above  her, 
worshiping  her  lovely,  slim  throat,  her 
silken  lashes,  her  eyes,  blue  as  sum- 
mer dusk.  And  then,  suddenly,  a  great 
passion  shook  him.  He  thrust  aside 
the  table  and  it  crashed  to  the  floor — 
honey  and  dishes  and  all.  He  seized 
her  in  his  great  arms  and  rained  kisses 
upon  her — kisses  of  adoration  upon  her 
lips,  her  eyes,  her  delicate,  smooth 
throat  .  .  . 

Without  warning  there  was  a  loud 
knock  on  the  door. 

Chapter  VIII 

Jan  started  violently.  Who  could  it 
be  ?  Never  before  had  any  one  called 
upon  him  in  the  early  morning. 

"Jan,  who  is  it?"  whispered  Jagiello. 

"I  don't  know." 

On  tiptoe  he  went  to  the  window  and 
glanced  through  the  coarse  curtains. 
Turning  to  Jagiello  he  called  softly : 

"It  is  Captain  Pasek!" 

Jagiello's  face  went  swiftly  white. 
"Captain  Pasek?  What — has  he — 
come  for?" 

The  knock  of  the  Captain  of  the  Fu- 
siliers was  repeated  with  savage  in- 
sistence. 

"We'd  better  let  him  in  and  see," 
said  Jan.  "The  fool  will  knock  for- 
ever if  we  don't!" 

Indeed,  Pasek  raoned  louder     and 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


119 


hammered  the  door  with  his  sabre 
until  Jan  suddenly  threw  the  bolt  and 
greeted  him  lace  to  lace  in  the  door- 
way. 

The  Captain  stood  smiling  blandly, 
silhouetted  against  the  splendor  of  the 
morning  sky.  About  his  shoulder  was 
a  white  bandage,  supporting  his  lett 
arm. 

"Good  morning,  Captain,"  greeted 
Jan  deierentially. 

Pasek  shifted  his  sabre.  "Are  you 
alone?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  answered  Jan,  "my  wife  is  in- 
side." 

"Your  wife!" 

Pasek  uttered  the  words  as  though 
stunned.  He  had  not  thought  it  pos- 
sible that  Jagiello  would  carry  out  her 
threat  or.  the  night. 

"We  were  having  breakfast.  Your 
knock  interrupted  us." 

Pasek  entered.  He  laid  his  sabre 
and  cap  on  the  sitting-room  table. 

Jagiello  had  quickly  restored  the 
table  to  its  legs,  respread  the  cloth,  and 
set  upon  it  bread  and  honey,  steaming 
black  coffee,  and  three  dishes  of  len- 
tils. When  Pasek  entered  she  looked 
up  with  pale  face  and  curious  eyes. 

"My  dear  Madame  Rantzau!"  ex- 
claimed Pasek,  bowing  with  extrava- 
gant courtesy. 

"You  are  the  first  person  in  the  world 
to  call  me  by  that  name,"  replied  Ja- 
giello, pleased  but  secretly  frightened. 
She  indicated  a  chair  for  Pasek,  and 
scon  the  bridal  breakfast  was  under 
way.  Pasek  laughed  with  forced  non- 
chalance as  Jagiello  described  her  new 
regime.  She  told  of  the  night  on  the 
priest's  balcony,  of  the  flooding  up  of 
dawn,  of  her  marriage  to  Jan  at  sun- 
rise, and  the  honeymoon  trail  through 
the  misty  morning  fields. 

And  then  quite  unexpectedly,  Pa- 
sek's  whole  manner  changed.  He 
scowled  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  a  sav- 
age glint  in  his  eye.  "Then  you  are 
married!"  he  ejaculated,  as  the  reali- 
zation smote  him. 

"Married?  Indeed  we're  married!" 
and  Jagiello  threw  her  arms  around 
Jan's  neck,  stirring  Pasek  to  further 
fury. 


"Then  here's  to  the  years  to  come!" 
exclaimed  Pasek,  'and  to  the  happi- 
ness to  issue  from  a  knife  thrust!" 

So  saying  he  chuckled  ominously, 
and  striding  toward  the  door,  picked 
up  his  cap  and  sabre  and  hurried  out. 

"Captain!"  cried  Jan  after  him. 
"Captain!  Come  back!  Let  us  be 
friends!" 

Bewildered,  overcome  with  amaze- 
ment, Jan  stared  at  Jagiello,  a  strange 
unexplainable  fear  suddenly  born  in 
his  heart.  "What — what  does  he 
mean?"  he  asked,  puzzled. 

"That  he  will  be  avenged  on  us  be- 
cause— because  I  struck  him  with  that 
knife!" 

"But  what  can  he  do?" 

"Terrible  things!  Oh,  Jan,  I  have 
brought  all  this  unhappiness  upon 
you!" 

"Let's  forget  that  he  ever  came,  Ja- 
giello; let's  make  out  that  we  never 
saw  him." 

"Yes,  Jan!" 

Then  swiftly  resentment  boiled  up 
in  Jan's  heart.  "What  does  he  mean 
by  coming  unbid  to  our  house  and 
jumping  up  from  our  table  and  threat- 
ening us?"  He  clenched  his  hard  fists 
until  the  knuckles  showed  white. 

"Don't,  Jan!  Be  quiet!  He  meant 
nothing.  Everything  will  be  all  right. 
We  love  each  other.  There  is  nothing 
he  can  do  about  that,  Jan,  dear." 

"No,  of  course  not!"  Jan  smiled  at 
his  own  credulity.  The  girl's  lips 
were  parted,  her  face  flushed.  Jan 
saw  only  the  wild  roses  in  her  cheeks. 
He  gathered  her  again  in  his  arms. 

Suddenly  the  great  six  o'clock  whis- 
tle in  the  shipyard  screamed  out  its 
morning  greeting.  Instantly  men 
poured  into  the  streets  from  all  the  lit- 
tle houses,  choking  the  tortuous  thor- 
oughfares: men  strange  and  gaunt; 
powerful,  grizzled  giants — whipped, 
beaten— men  who  dwelt  forever  under 
the  keels  of  gigantic  ships — hundreds 
and  thousands  of  them,  some  laughing, 
some  morose,  some  with  all  the  hope 
of  life  wiped  from  their  grim  coun- 
tenances— the  toilers  of  Gait,  the 
army  of  the  shipyard,  the  multitude  of 
the  world's  Forgotten. 


120 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


In  a  moment  Jan  was  one  of  them, 
flinging  open  his  door,  kissing  Jagiello 
her  first  "good-by,"  joining  the  surg- 
ing torrent  of  the  Toilers  that  poured 
down  into  the  black,  roaring  pits. 

Jagiello  watched  him  until  she  could 
distinguish  him  no  longer  in  the  mighty 
stream;  then  slowly  she  went  inside 
and  re-seated  herself  at  the  table  of 
their  bridal  breakfast.  The  dishes 
were  untouched;  the  coffee  was  cold; 
the  lentils  black  and  coagulated.  Then 
it  burst  upon  her  that  Jan  had  gone  to 
work  without  his  breakfast.  First  Pa- 
sek  had  interrupted!  Then  the  whis- 
tle had  blown!  .  .  .  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed  un- 
controllably, torn  with  a  great  happi- 
ness and  a  sinister  foreboding. 

Chapter  IX 

The  Naval  College  at  Nagi-Aaros 
had  announced  that  a  superdread- 
naught,  greater  than  any  warship  of 
the  world's  dominions,  was  to  be  built 
in  the  shipyards,  and  was  to  be  fitted 
with  the  most  powerful  guns  of  Gait. 
She  was  to  be  an  All-Big-Gun  ship. 
Her  name  was  to  be  the  Huascar.  Ru- 
mors of  her  strength  and  power  spread 
among  the  toilers.  When  Jan  heard 
the  news  it  made  him  uneasy.  It  pre- 
saged war. 

That  day  the  keel  of  the  Huascar 
was  laid. 

Eight  hundred  feet  long  she  was  to 
be,  with  an  incredible  height  to  the 
fire-control  in  her  tripod  mast.  Her 
engines  were  to  be  90,000  h.  p.,  cap- 
able of  30  knots.  Seven  long  years  it 
would  require  to  build  her,  and  the 
services  of  seven  thousand  ship  build- 
ers. And  what  would  happen  at  the 
end  of  the  seven  years  ? 

Jan  was  no  philosopher,  no  vision- 
ary. He  only  knew  that  he  must  con- 
tinue to  work  hard  and  steadily  for  lit- 
tle Jagiello. 

In  a  month  the  Huascar  was  well 
under  way.  The  rattle  of  trip-ham- 
mers, the  thunder  of  sledges,  the  blind- 
ing glare  of  light  from  white-hot 
forges,  the  .rolling  of  huge  steel  plates 
from  Westphalia — and  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  ribs  of  steel  took 


their  orderly  places  in  the  great  hull. 

The  Huascar  was  not  to  be  a  ship. 
She  was  to  be  a  monster — a  floating 
citadel.  The  eye  could  not  behold  her 
all  at  once.  The  immensity  and  the 
terror  of  her  were  beyond  human  com- 
prehension. She  was  designed  to  be 
the  most  terrific  engine  of  modern 
warfare,  at  once  indestructible  and  ir- 
resistible. 

The  mind  that  had  designed  the  Hu- 
ascar had  been  mad  with  over-reach- 
ing. One  man  in  her  -fire-control 
could,  by  the  touch  of  a  single  lever, 
control  all  her  giant  mass.  If  she  suc- 
ceeded, all  war  would  automatically 
cease.  She  would  be  able  to  ride 
among  the  war  dogs  of  the  sea  and 
pour  a  rain  of  shell  and  fire  into  them, 
sweeping  them  from  the  vision  of 
mankind. 

As  the  Huascar  advanced  the  sum- 
mer came  and  went,  the  lovely  sum- 
mer of  Carlmania.  The  mowers 
worked  in  the  fields  above  the  village. 
The  corn  grew  golden.  Myriads  of 
blue  and  yellow  wild  flowers  starred 
the  hills.  One  evening  after  the  day's 
toil,  Jan  and  Jagiello  climbed  up  to 
the  heights  and  watched  the  day  van- 
ish into  purple  dusk. 

There  v/as  a  road  that  led  from  Jan's 
house  to  the  gray  stone  Jena  Bridge, 
opposite  the  west  wing  of  the  gun  fac- 
tory. Across  this  bridge  the  lovers 
went,  under  the  interlacing  trees.  The 
road  wound  up  toward  the  priest's 
house.  As  they  climbed  the  sunset 
paled;  the  twilight  became  studded 
with  golden  stars.  The  shipyard 
stretched  half  a  mile  below,  with 
mammoth  hulls  and  cranes  in  the 
yawning  cradles. 

"There  is  the  Huascar!"  exclaimed 
Jan. 

She  lay  with  the  twilight  blue  be- 
tween her  ribs,  already  domineering, 
already  a  thing  inspiring  terror. 

She  was  imposing,  with  beautiful 
lines,  a  graceful  hull,  and  sweeping, 
far-flowing  undulations. 

She  was  supported  roundabout  by 
immense  steel  girders,  but  in  her 
strength  she  seemed  to  laugh  and 
mock  at  the  girders. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


121 


She  was  black  and  red,  marked  with 
•a  million  hieroglyphics,  and  all  her 
marvelous  fretwork  was  knit  together 
by  countless  bolts  that  had  been 
tossed  white-hot  from  toiler  to  toiler 
and  locked  by  an  electric  hammer  in 
her  ribs. 

She  was  already  majestic — already 
she  bore  herself  with  a  sense  of  su- 
preme power. 

She  lay  beside  the  Baku,  a  collier 
of  the  Baltic  fleet,  and  the  Baku  was 
dwarfed  until  she  appeared  no  more 
than  a  fishing  smack. 

In  the  twilight  bright  red  lights  be- 
gan to  flash  around  her  great  steel 
body.  She  was  to  be  the  Alpha  and 
Omega  of  the  last  terrible  war. 

Jagiello  looked  at  the  Huascar  for 
the  first  time,  and  her  eyes  grew  big 
with  wonder.  "Oh,  isn't  she  beauti- 
ful !"  she  gasped. 

"Think,  Jagiello !  Four  months  ago 
the  Huascar  was  only  an  idea  in  the 
brain  of  a  man.  Now  she  is  born,  and 
you  say  she  is  beautiful.  Day  by  day 
she  grows,  but  it  will  be  many  years 
before  she  is  ready  for  the  seas." 
"She  is  like  a  child,"  said  Jagiello. 
They  were  sitting  on  the  hillside. 
As  the  sea-wind  freshened  it  wafted 
to  them  the  ringing  laughter  of  little 
children  in  the  streets  below.  Jagiello 
could  faintly  distinguish  the  Ballan- 
dyna  house,  and  before  it  Marya's 
three  little  sisters,  Elsa,  Lela  and  Ula, 
playing  in  the  starlight.  The  laugh- 
ter at  last  died  away.  From  down  the 
river  came  the  musical  chimes  of  St. 
Catherine's,  sounding  seven.  Jagiello 
drew  closer  to  Jan.  The  strange  new 
radiance  of  her  face  thrilled  him.  Im- 
pulsively he  exclaimed: 
"Jagiello!" 

He  faced  her,  a  question  burning 
deep  in  his  eyes.  An  intuitive  flash 
enlightened  him.  Her  voice,  in  a 
whisper,  told  him  of  a  new  thing  un- 
der the  sun,  news  that  astonished  him 
and  sent  his  heart  racing. 

"The  ship  will  grow  like  your  child, 
Jan  dear,"  said  Jagiello. 
"Jagiello— love!" 

His  voice  was  husky  with  awe. 
"Really,  Jagiello?" 


"Yes,  Jan,  it  is  true!" 

He  kissed  her,  and  the  little  pale 
gold  child  he  had  wedded  became  in 
that  instant  a  woman,  blessed  in  his 
eyes.    Great  joy  clamored  in  his  heart. 

Hard  upon  the  cathedral  chimes  all 
the  bells  of  Gait  began  ringing  the 
hour — some  sweet  and  low,  some 
clamorous  and  rebellious,  some  wild 
and  chiming,  as  though  in  token  of  the 
news. 

"I  hope  it  is  a  boy!"  said  Jan,  elated. 

"Oh,  I  hope  so!"  said  Jagiello. 

"Why  do  you  want  it  to  be  a  boy?" 

"Because  you  do." 

"And  you  will  love  him?" 

"As  I  love  you." 

He  crushed  her  in  his  arms.  "When 
am  I  to  know  my  son?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  spring  of  the  new  year," 
Jagiello  told  him. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  it  is  a  boy!"  mused 
Jan,  himself  a  boy  at  heart. 

Night  closed  down  swiftly.  Jan 
lifted  Jagiello  in  his  arms,  and  car- 
ried her  down  from  the  heights.  Fire- 
flies illumined  their  path,  and  in  the 
fairy  glow  the  big  man  bore  the  com- 
ing mother  to  his  house  under  the 
larches. 

When  the  door  was  closed  upon 
them:  "Oh,  Jagiello!"  he  cried,  "my 
boy  will  be  like  the  Huascar,  a  man 
among  men  as  she  is  a  ship  among 
ships!" 

"Are  you  happy,  Jan?"  she  asked, 
just  to  hear  him  say  that  he  was. 

"Happy?"  laughed  Jan.  "Happy? 
Oh,  am  I  happy!" 

"You  don't  love  me!"  protested  Ja- 
giello. 

"Don't  love  you?  Oh,  no,  I  don't 
love  you!" 

They  laughed  like  children  together. 

Chapter  X. 

Inspiration  came  to  Jan. 

"You  wait  here,"  he  said  to  Jagiello. 
"I'm  going  down  the  street." 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out  to 
the  shop  of  a  silk  mercer,  and  for 
three  rubles  bought  her  a  red  silk  bod- 
ice. On  the  way  back  he  got  some 
round  almond  cakes  and  some  Negotin 


122 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


wine.  What  a  feast  they  would  have 
together ! 

Jagiello  had  combed  out  her  long 
golden  hair  and  adorned  her  tiny  ears 
with  the  brass  circlets,  and  clasped  her 
anklets  upon  her  slender  feet.  When 
Jan  burst  in  upon  her  she  stood  radi- 
ant in  the  candle  light,  a  vivid,  beau- 
tiful creature. 

He  placed  the  cakes  and  wine  on 
the  table.  The  silk  bodice  he  con- 
cealed behind  his  back. 

"Close  your  eyes  a  moment,"  he 
called  playfully. 

She  obeyed,  happy  and  curious,  and 
heard  the  rustle  of  paper  as  Jan  opened 
the  bundle.  He  smoothed  out  the 
silken  garment  and  held  it  near  the 
light.    "Now  look!"  he  called. 

Jagiello  looked. 

The  red  bodice  met  her  delighted 
gaze.  "Oh,  Jan!"  she  cried,  seizing  it 
and  holding  it  close,  while  her  dancing 
eyes  feasted  upon  it. 

"That's  to  celebrate  the  coming  of 
the  little  man,"  explained  Jan,  jubi- 
lantly. His  voice  quavered  with  feel- 
ing, and  tears  glistened  in  his  eyes. 

"I've  wanted  a  red  bodice  for  so 
long!"  sighed  Jagiello.  "How  did  you 
know?" 

Jan  opened  the  bottle  of  wine  and 
placed  the  almond  cakes  in  a  dish  on 
the  table. 

Jagiello  quickly  put  on  the  new  gar- 
ment and  sat  across  the  table  from  Jan. 

"Where  did  you  get  such  a  pretty 
bodice?"  she  asked.  "Marya  Ballan- 
dyna's  got  one,  but  not  like  this  .  .  . 
Look  at  these  gold  buttons.  Oh,  Jan, 
and  such  good  cakes!  But  you  don't 
love  me!" 

She  smiled,  anticipating  his  answer 
with  every  fibre  of  her  being,  closing 
her  eyes,  abandoning  her  lips  to  his. 

"Jagiello,  all  I  love  in  the  world  is 

you— just  you — and "     His  voice 

trailed  into  ecstatic  contemplation. 
"Oh,  I  hope  it  is  a  boy!"  he  breathed. 

Chapter  XI. 

It  was  a  boy. 

He  was  born  in  the  time  of  the  year 
when  the  mantle  of  new  life  is  being 


draped  across  the  hills,  when  the  sun 
is  warm  upon  the  breast  of  the  sea. 
He  came  with  the  singing  of  the  larks 
and  the  flaming  tapestry  of  the  sunrise 
sky,  when  all  the  fields  and  valleys 
were  singing  with  life  newborn. 

His  coming  was  an  epic. 

For  months  before  that  momentous 
day  Jan  had  dreamed  dreams  of  him, 
and  had  lived  in  fancy  through  his 
boy's  life  from  obscure  birth  to  a  glo- 
rious pinnacle  of  honor. 

One  day  under  the  keel  of  the  Hu- 
ascar  he  had  glanced  up  at  the  mam- 
moth ribs  of  steel,  towering  into  the 
infinite  blue,  and  been  thrilled  with  the 
mighty  strength  of  the  ship.  In  that 
moment  he  had  conceived  that  his  son 
was  to  be  as  splendid  as  the  great 
vessel.  What  the  Baku  was  beside  the 
Huascar,  so  the  sons  of  other  men 
would  be  beside  his  son.  He  wanted 
his  boy  to  grow  up — not  as  he  and  his 
father  had,  to  be  a  builder — but  to 
have  the  brains  to  devise  a  ship 
such  as  the  Huascar.  In  the  Con- 
struction House  were  walls  of  blue 
prints  with  infinitesimal  calculations. 
These  blue  prints  represented  the 
epitome  of  knowledge  to  Jan  denied; 
and  to  create  them  was  the  ambition 
he  held  for  his  child  to  come. 

As  the  Huascar  developed,  the 
shadows  in  the  great  pit  under  her  keel 
grew  blacker.  From  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning  until  six  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing the  roar  and  ring  of  the  hammers 
never  ceased.  It  was  as  if  the  universe 
were  being  rocked  in  the  grip  of  Ti- 
tans. Floors  trembled  and  quivered, 
great  cranes  lifted  their  thousand-ton 
burdens  through  the  smoke-laden  air, 
heavy  chains  clanked  and  rang  against 
steel  pillars,  and  giant  steam  hammers 
rose  and  fell  with  the  clattering  din  of 
tremendous  strokes.  And  through  it  all 
the  Huascar  reared  herself  in  majesty 
upon  the  bones  and  blood  of  seven 
thousand  toilers.  She  was  an  inexor- 
able monarch  exacting  tribute  from  the 
army  that  was  putting  the  breath  of 
life  into  her  steel.  And  into  the  re- 
lentless maw  of  her  were  swept  the 
lives  of  that  toiling  army.  At  times  a 
tiny  figure  upon  a  platform  would  jerk 


y 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


123 


forward  and  be  dashed  through  the 
smoke  and  steam  to  be  lost,  a  limp, 
huddled  mass,  somewhere  under  her 
keel.  But  little  did  she  care,  this  Le- 
viathan of  the  deep,  and  the  crash  of 
lapping-hammers  went  on  unremit- 
tingly at  her  awful  command. 

On  that  eventful  April  afternoon 
Jan  was  swinging  high  on  a  huge  crane 
when  he  saw  far  below  in  the  shipyard 
a  boy  beckon  and  shout  up  to  him.  The 
boy  was  Barro,  Marya  Ballandyna's 
brother.  Jan  knew  why  Barro  had 
come  for  him.  Jagiello  had  agreed  to 
send  him  when  the  hour  should  arrive. 

When  the  crane  descended  again, 
Jan  reported  off  duty  at  the  Construc- 
tion House  and  started  home. 

Barro  talked  incessantly,  asking 
questions  about  the  Huascar,  but  Jan 
heard  not.  His  mind  was  in  a  turmoil. 
Only  once  did  he  stop  to  look  back, 
and  then  he  saw  the  great  battleship  in 
the  flaming  sunset,  with  the  army 
clinging  to  her  sides — imperial  in  her 
strength  and  grandeur. 

"That's  how  I  want  him  to  be — like 
that!"  Jan  told  himself. 

Madame  Ballandyna  met  him  in  his 
doorway.  She  was  a  midwife,  and 
Jagiello  had  arranged  for  her  to  deliver 
her  child.  She  was  a  large,  coarse  wo- 
man, of  brutal  texture,  somewhat 
swarthy,  with  brass  earrings  and  a 
bland,  man-like  smile.  "Jagiello  is  do- 
ing nicely,"  she  said  by  way  of  greet- 
ing. 

Jan  found  little  Jagiello  sitting  up 
in  bed,  laughing.  The  ripple  of  her 
voice  shocked  him.  Certainly,  he  told 
himself,  this  was  no  time  for  laughter. 
He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  white 
bed,  and  took  the  small  white  hand  of 
the  woman  he  loved  in  his  great  grimy 
one. 

"Jagiello!"  was  all  he  said. 

"What  did  you  come  home  for?"  she 
laughed,  impishly.  She  was  abnor- 
mally happy;  her  voice  was  vibrant 
and  gay.  Jan  marveled  at  her.  "Will 
you  hold  my  hand  when  the  time 
comes,  Jan?" 

"Yes,  my  love."  But  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  promising. 

He  went  into  the  front  room  and 


found  Madame  Ballandyna  laying  out 
rows  of  clean  white  rags  on  his  pallet. 
"What  makes  Jagiello  so  happy?"  he 
asked. 

"Be  thankful  she  is  happy,"  returned 
the  midwife.     "Soon  she  will  not  be 


so  gay. 
This  troubled  Jan. 


He  asked  noth- 


ing more. 

For  upward  of  an  hour  he  sat  beside 
his  wife,  and  they  talked  of  the  won- 
derful things  they  would  do  for  the 
little  stranger. 

"We'll  have  to  get  him  a  new  house," 
said  Jan. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  nice  new  house!" 

"And  a  red  wagon,  and  a  box  of  sol- 
diers." 

"Oh,  yes,  a  wagon  and  soldiers!" 

"And  what  shall  we  call  him?" 

Jagiello  said:  "I  should  love  to  calT 
him  'Jan'  after  you." 

"No,"  argued  Jan,  "that  won't  dot 
"My  father  was  named  'Jan,'  and  my 
grandfather,  and  we  all  have  worked1 
like  slaves  in  the  works.  If  we  call 
our  boy  'Jan,'  he,  too,  may  have  to 
work  in  the  shipyard.  Let  us  call  him 
'Stefan'." 

"Little  'Stefan',  then,"  agreed  Ja- 
giello, smiling  wanly.  She  fell  back 
on  her  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes  in 
pain.  Jan  ran  for  Madame  Ballan- 
dyna. The  midwife  came  and  sent 
Jan  away. 

The  glow  of  the  sunset  faded.  Jan 
sat  upon  his  steps  and  smoked  his 
pipe. 

Upon  her  snowy  bed  Jagiello 
moaned  softly.  When  her  moans 
grew  more  intense,  and  her  frail  body 
quivered  and  writhed  in  paroxysms  of 
pain,  she  called  Madame  Ballandyna 
to  her  and  whispered  what  had  for 
months  lain  hidden  in  her  heart. 

"Jan  does  not  know  what  you  and 
Marya  and  Ujedski  know."  Her  voice 
was  faint  and  quavering,  lest  its  sound 
should  reach  her  husband's  ears. 

"What!"  cried  Madame  Ballandyna^ 
"you  married  him  and  never  told 
him!" 


o. 


•Then  never  ,e^hn|  ^nonip 


the     midwife. 


ITY 


^■TFORTi^ 


124 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


not  know  will  never  hurt  him." 

"But  I  must  tell  him — I  must — I 
must!"  Jagiello  moaned.  Her  mental 
anguish  merged  into  the  physical,  and 
she  lay  white  and  shaken. 

"Then  you're  a  fool!" 

"No!  No!  No!  I  love  him — I  must 
tell  him — and  he  must  forgive  me — if 
I  am  to  live!" 

"You're  not  going  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind!"  expostulated  the  midwife, 
feeling  Jagiello's  pulse. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am — I  am!  When  his 
son  is  born — and  he  holds  him  in  his 
arms — then  I  will  whisper  to  him — 
and  he  will  forgive  me — O  Mother  of 
God,  then  he  will  forgive  me!" 

"Don't,  child!"  begged  the  other  wo- 
man. She  put  out  the  candle  and  sat 
beside  the  bed  in  the  darkness,  holding 
Jagiello's  hand. 

And,  moaning  and  tossing  and  cry- 
ing, Jagiello  spent  the  next  few  hours 
in  torment.  "He  will  forgive  me 
then!"  she  cried  over  and  over.  "Oh, 
Mother  of  God,  he  will  forgive  me 
then!" 

Once  Jan  put  his  head  into  the  room 
but  Madame  Ballandyna  quickly  mo- 
tioned him  away. 

He  returned  to  his  seat  on  the  step, 
and  in  anguish  listened  to  the  cries  of 
the  woman  he  loved.  His  pipe  went 
out,  and,  unheeding,  he  let  it  drop  to 
the  ground.  As  her  cries  became  more 
agonizing  he  rose  from  the  step  and 
paced  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  every 
moan  and  every  sob  a  barb  twisted  in 
his  heart.  The  bells  from  the  cathedral 
down  the  river  rang  out  merrily — 
eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven — but  he  did  not 
hear  them,  for  his  wife's  anguished 
cries  possessed  his  brain  .  .  .  Mad- 
ame Ballandyna  would  not  let  him  go 
in  to  her.  Once  when  he  heard  her 
voice  call  his  name,  tremulous  with 
suffering,  he  went  to  the  door  and  up- 
lifted his  great  hard  hands,  seized  with 
a  fierce  impulse  to  batter  down  the 
door  and  rush  in  and  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  tell  her  how  he  loved  her 
.  .  .  How  he  loved  her!  What  good 
would  that  do  her  now  ?  .  .  .  Wasn't  it 
because  he  loved  her,  and  she  loved 
him,  that  she  was  now  going  through  a 


living  hell  that  he  might  be  happy,  that 
he  might  have  a  son  to  bear  his  name ! 
...  As  he  turned  from  the  door  the 
picture  of  her,  dressed  that  memorable 
night  in  the  silk  bodice  he  had  bought 
her,  vivid  and  beautiful  in  the  candle 
glow,  rushed  into  his  mind.  He  re- 
called her  childish  rapture,  and  how 
he  had  sat  down  at  the  table  with  her, 
and  how  they  had  talked  of  their  boy 
.  .  .  And  always  she  had  been  so  un- 
selfish, so  ready  to  please  him,  whe- 
ther it  was  about  the  boy's  playthings 
or  about  his  name  .  .  .  But  now — now 
he  must  stand  helpless  and  listen  to 
her  moan,  and  know  that  her  frail 
body  was  being  racked  and  broken. 
God !  was  there  nothing  he  could  do — 
nothing?  He  was  so  big  and  power- 
ful. Why  would  the  just  God  not  let 
him  bear  his  portion  of  her  hour  of 
travail  ?  Why  must  the  woman  suffer 
all?  If  only  he  could  offer  his  own 
body  to  be  torn  asunder,  that  she  whom 
he  loved  might  escape  the  penalty  of 
her  love!  Each  piercing  cry  tore  his 
heart  and  sent  the  blood  from  his  face. 
.  .  .  After  a  long  while  he  saw  men 
and  women  passing  up  the  street — 
laughing,  laughing!  while  his  wife  lay 
in  torment!  Now  came  lovers  return- 
ing from  a  dance.  They,  too,  were 
laughing.  The  horrible  monstrosity  of 
the  thing  enraged  him,  until  he  wanted 
to  dash  into  the  street  and  strike  them 
down  with  his  great  fists.  .  .  Then 
suddenly  his  wife's  cries  softened.  In 
that  brief  moment  Jan's  heart  softened 
too.  Tears  flooded  his  eyes,  and  thank- 
fulness welled  in  his  heart.  Now  he 
wanted  to  call  out  to  the  lovers,  to 
warn  them  of  the  terrible  thing  ahead, 
the  thing  that  now  held  him  in  its  grip. 
By  and  by  the  cathedral  clock  chimed 
again :  midnight!  Five  long  hours  had 
passed.    Would  the  end  never  come? 

After  an  eternity  Madame  Ballan- 
dyna opened  the  door  and  called  to 
him:  "She  wants  you!" 

Jan  went  quickly.  In  the  doorway 
he  whispered  to  the  midwife:  "Has 
the  child  come?" 

"No." 

"How  much  longer  will  this  last?" 

"God  knows!    It's  just  begun." 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


125 


Just  begun !  Good  God,  and  he  had 
hoped  it  was  all  over.  Just  begun !  He 
shuddered. 

Madame  Ballandyna  lit  the  candle. 
Jagiello's  face  was  deathly  white.  Her 
hair  streamed  about  her  naked  shoul- 
ders. Dark  circles  shadowed  her  tired 
eyes.  She  reached  out  her  hand  and 
gripped  Jan's  fingers.  He  held  her 
slim  little  hand  tightly.  She  smiled  in 
response.    "Love  me?"  she  asked. 

Love  her !  He  gazed  at  her  in  ador- 
ation. Even  now  she  was  playful,  with 
piquant  abandon.  But  suddenly  the 
smile  faded  from  her  face,  her  fingers 
tightened  convulsively  on  his,  and  she 
pulled  with  incredible  strength.  Mad- 
ame Ballandyna,  nodding  to  herself, 
placed  a  piece  of  string  in  a  dish  of  al- 
cohol on  the  bureau,  laid  the  bundle  of 
white  rags  she  had  sorted  over  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  blew  out  the 
candle. 

Chapter  XII. 

It  was  now  almost  two  o'clock.  From 
the  pavilion  came  far-away  snatches  of 
dance  music  borne  upon  the  wind  like 
the  faint,  "unreal  music  of  a  dream.  It 
was  a  strange  accompaniment  for  the 
moaning  from  the  bed.  To  Jan  every- 
thing seemed  a  dream.  And  as  the 
moments  dragged,  the  dream  became 
more  terrible.  His  ears  were  filled 
with  a  roar  like  the  mad  galloping  of 
wild  horses.  What  a  world  of  unreal- 
ity this  night  was :  the  moon,  the  scent 
of  the  first  roses  in  the  garden,  the 
phantom  music,  the  lovers'  laughter, 
the  wind  flowing  through  the  trees,  the 
screams  of  Jagiello — and  Madame  Bal- 
landyna sv/earing  and  trying  to  light 
the  candle! 

Jan  sprang  to  his  feet. 

The  great  moment  had  come. 

"Where  are  the  matches?"  The 
midwife's  voice  rose  in  alarm. 

"Here!"  cried  Jan,  but  when  he  ran 
his  hand  over  the  bureau  top  the  box 
was  missing!     He  knocked  over  bot- 


tles and  things  in  his  frenzied  hunt. 
Inky  dark,  and  the  great  moment  had 
come!  Where  were  the  matches? 
Great  beads  of  perspiration  rolled 
down  his  forehead.  At  last  his  hands 
closed  upon  the  box.  He  quickly 
struck  one  and  lit  the  candle  .  .  . 

What  he  saw  staggered  him. 

The  birth  of  his  boy  was  at  once 
the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  ter- 
rible thing  he  had  ever  beheld.  It  was 
heaven  and  hell  rolled  into  one — hell 

and  heaven — heaven  and  hell  .  .  . 
*  *  *  * 

"It's  a  boy!"  cried  Madame  Ballan- 
dyna. 

She  handed  him  to  Jan,  and  Jan  saw 
that  he  was  in  the  image  of  himself. 
His  own  son !  His  first  clear  little  cry 
rang  through  the  room  as  the  splendor 
of  the  rising  sun  gleamed  through  the 
lattice. 

Jagiello  looked  up  at  Jan  and 
smiled  a  wan,  tired  little  smile.  "Jan, 
come  closer  to  me,"  she  whispered. 

Jan,  holding  his  son  in  his  arms, 
bent  near  to  the  mother. 

"Jan,"  she  whispered  again,  her 
voice  sweet  and  far-away,  "Jan,  could 
you  forgive  me  now?" 

The  big  man  heard  in  wonder. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  brave 
little  heart!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  Jan!  Listen!  Once,  before  I 
knew  you — long  ago —  Oh,  Jan,  come 
nearer — you  love  me — forgive  me — 
Pasek " 

"Pasek!" 

She  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
threw  her  arms  around  Jan's  neck. 
Her  eves  were  afire  with  the  message 
of  her  soul.  But  in  that  moment  when 
she  would  have  told  him,  her  physical 
strength  failed  her.  Closing  her  eyes 
she  sank  back  upon  the  pillow,  her 
face  buried  in  the  golden  cascade  of 
her  hair. 

"Pasek!"    Jan  gazed  bewildered. 

"She's  off  her  head,"  put  in  Mad- 
ame Ballandyna. 

Jan  kissed  her  rapturously. 


(To  be  continued.) 


Life  of  Pastor  Russell 


By  E.  D.  Stewart 


PASTOR  Charles  Taze  Russell 
was  born  February  16,  1852,  and 
died  Oct.  31,  1916,  aged  64  years 
8  months  and  15  days.  Thus  in 
years,  months  and  days,  we  measure 
the  duration  of  his  life ;  but  measuring 
the  duration  of  a  life  is  not  measuring 
the  life. 

"We  live  in  deeds  not  years; 
In  thoughts,  not  breaths." 

We  can  count  the  number  of  his 
years,  but  many  a  man  has  lived  longer 
to  whom  mankind  owes  no  debt  of 
gratitude.  We  can  count  the  number 
of  his  days,  but  the  value  of  a  day  de- 
pends upon  what  is  put  into  it.  One 
day  may  be  worth  a  thousand  other 
days,  and  how  much  he  accomplished 
in  those  64  years  we  can  only  begin 
to  know  when  we  learn  the  intensity 
with  which  he  lived  them. 

In  testimony  meetings,  thousands  all 
over  our  land  and  in  every  land  under 
the  sun,  bear  witness  to  their  gratitude 
to  God  that  he  has  raised  up  a  man 
who  has  been  the  instrument  in  his 
land  of  snatching  them  from  the  very 
brink  of  doubt  and  infidelity,  placing 
their  feet  on  the  solid  rock  of  Christ's 
"ransom  for  all."  Some  of  these  men 
simply  could  not  believe  the  Bible  as 
interpreted  by  their  religious  teachers. 
They  would  not  say  they  believed 
when  they  did  not.  They  did  not  wish 
to  be  infidels,  and  they  bewailed  their 
lack,  of  faith  and  hope.  You  need  not 
tell  me  that  normally  constituted  men 
are  infidels  from  choice.  You  need  not 
tell  me  that  normally  constituted  men 
deliberately  choose  to  believe  and  are 
glad  to  believe  that  they  die  as  the 
brutes,  with  no  hope  of  a  future  life. 
Many  of  these  men  are  infidels  not  so 


much  from  their  own  fault  as  from 
the  fault  of  their  religious  teachers 
who  gave  them  an  interpretation  of  the 
Bible  contrary  to  reason  and  impossi- 
ble for  them  to  believe.  Many  a  man 
iii  this  attitude  has  gone  to  hear  Pastor 
Russell.  They  have  gone  to  the  ser- 
vice infidels  and  came  back  rejoicing 
Christians.  Their  religious  teachers 
kept  saying:  "Don't  go  to  hear  that 
man  Russell;  he  preaches  dangerous 
doctrine."  But,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
they  went  and  received  the  spiritual 
food  they  had  been  starving  for,  the 
spiritual  food  their  religious  teachers 
did  not  know  how  to  give.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  men  would  sometimes 
stand  in  a  crowded  aisle  and  listen  to 
his  inspiring  words  for  two  hours  at  a 
time  without  moving  from  their  places 
— no  wonder,  when  those  words  were 
bringing  hope  instead  of  despair,  faith 
in  the  place  of  doubt,  peace  in  the 
place  of  agitation  and  unrest,  joy  in 
the  place  of  sadness. 

When  men  with  heart  full  of  grati- 
tude would  tell  him  of  the  blessings 
they  had  received,  he  would  simply  say 
something  like  this:  "Brother,  I  am 
glad  you  received  blessing  from  God's 
word;  his  truth  is  very  precious."  He 
simply  ignored  his  part  in  the  matter. 
In  proof  that  this  was  his  attitude,  hear 
his  own  words,  as  found  on  page  10  of 
his  celebrated  book,  "The  Divine  Plan 
of  the  Ages." 

"Though  in  this  work  we  shall  en- 
deavor, and  we  trust  with  success,  to 
set  before  the  interested  and  unbiased 
reader  the  plan  of  God  as  it  relates  to 
and  explains  the  past,  the  present  and 
the  future  of  his  dealings,  in  a  way 
more  harmonious,  beautiful  and  rea- 
sonable than  is  generally  understood, 
yet  that  this  is  the  result  of  extraordi- 


LIFE  OF  PASTOR  RUSSELL 


127 


nary  wisdom  or  ability  on  the  part  of 
the  writer,  is  positively  disclaimed.  It 
is  the  light  from  the  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness in  this  dawning  of  the  Millennial 
Day  that  reveals  these  things  as  pres- 
eni  truth,  etc." 

He  believed  that  the  time  was  due 
lor  these  truths  to  be  made  known,  and 
if  he  had  not  written  them,  God  would 
have  found  some  one  else  to  do  so. 

One  of  the  great  objects  of  his  life 
was  to  show  that  the  Bible,  when  cor- 
rectly translated  and  rightly  under- 
stood is  harmonious  throughout,  and 
gives  the  most  exalted  and  uplifting 
conception  of  our  Creator  and  our  du- 
ties to  him  that  is  possible  for  a  human 
being  to  attain.  To  show  this  com- 
plete harmony  of  the  Bible,  of  all  its 
parts,  was  no  easy  task.  It  meant 
labor.  At  that  time  there  was  great 
indifference  on  the  part  of  the  people. 
Most  of  them  did  not  seem  to  care 
whether  the  various  texts  of  the  Bible 
were  in  harmony  with  one  another  or 
not.  Each  seemed  more  interested  in 
seeking  such  texts  as  prove  or  seemed 
to  prove  his  particular  creed,  and  ig- 
nored such  texts  as  oppose  it.  Even 
ninisters,  when  texts  were  brought  to 
their  attention  that  contradicted  their 
creed,  would  make  such  remarks  as: 
"Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  such 
matters  as  that.  There  is  enough  in 
the  fifth  chapter  of  Matthew  to  save 
anybody."  They  were  merely  seeking 
such  knowledge  as  they  thought  would 
save  them  and  their  friends,  and 
seemed  utterly  indifferent  as  to  what 
truth  honors  God  most.  In  1st  Sam. 
2.30  the  Lord  says,  "Them  that  honor 
me.  I  will  honor."  This  promise  is  not 
to  those  who  carry  on  some  great  work 
of  charity  or  make  some  great  attempt 
to  convert  the  world,  for  these  things 
are  often  done  in  such  a  way  as  to  dis- 
honor God.  Many  are  engaged  in 
these  things;  few  make  it  the  chief  ob- 
ject of  their  lives  to  do  those  things 
and  to  preach  thos/e  doctrines  that 
bring  most  honor  to  God's  name.  Most 
men  seem  utterly  indifferent  on  this 
matter. 

At  a  time  when  such  indifference 
was  widely  prevalent,  Pastor  Russell 


began  his  work  of  showing  the  har- 
mony of  the  Bible  with  itself  and  with 
the  character  of  its  Divine  Author.  He 
saw  that  there  is  no  way  to  bring  per- 
manent blessing  to  the  human  race  ex- 
cept through  faith  in  God  and  faith  in 
the  Bible.  He,  therefore,  sought  to 
show  how  worthy  the  Bible  is  of  all 
our  faith  and  love.  That  was  the  great 
motive  of  his  life.  We  know  that  this 
was  his  motive,  not  because  he  has  told 
us  so,  but  because  the  motive  rings 
through  every  article  that  he  wrote  and 
every  sermon  that  he  preached.  A  mo- 
tive like  that  could  not  live  in  a  nar- 
row life.  It  could  not  find  room  in  a 
little  heart. 

Therefore  it  is  natural  for  us,  as 
thoughtful  men  and  women,  to  inquire, 
"What  were  the  events  of  his  life  and 
the  various  circumstances  leading  up 
to  such  a  motive?  What  must  his 
childhood,  his  boyhood  and  his  early 
manhood  have  been?" 

Charles  T.  Russell  was  the  second 
son  of  Joseph  L.  and  Ann  Eliza  Rus- 
sell, and  was  born  in  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 
His  father  was  a  well-to-do  merchant, 
and  the  son,  when  not  engaged  in 
study,  spent  much  of  his  time  helping 
his  father  in  the  store.  By  so  doing, 
he  rendered  himself  liable  to  the  awful 
charge  that  certain  ministers  in  various 
parts  of  the  country  have  brought 
against  him,  that  in  his  early  life  he 
was  "a  seller  of  shirts."  In  this  work, 
however,  he  developed  the  qualities  of 
industry,  perseverance  and  earnestness 
of  purpose,  qualities  that  have  been 
such  prominent  characteristics  of  his 
mature  years.  As  the  father  was  a 
very  successful  business  man,  it  was 
only  natural  for  the  son  also  to  begin 
business  as  a  merchant.  In  this  work 
the  young  man  manifested  such  busi- 
ness acumen  that,  in  a  few  years,  he 
was  the  owner  of  five  clothing  stores. 
In  all  this  work  he  was  so  thoroughly 
honest  and  his  goods  so  thoroughly  re- 
liable that  his  success  was  marvelous, 
s<">  marvelous  that  some  who  then  knew 
him  believe  that  if  he  had  continued 
in  the  mercantile  business  he  might 
have  rivaled  in  the  accumulation  of 
wealth  some  of  the  richest  money  kings 


128 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


of  his  day.  But  his  great  desire  was 
not  to  be  rich,  but  to  be  useful.  We 
need  not  tell  you  this,  you  may  know 
it  for  yourself  when  you  consider  the 
following  facts: 

At  one  time  in  his  life,  while  he  was 
yet  a  young  man,  the  valuation  of  his 
real  and  personal  property  is  said  to 
have  reached  over  $200,000.  Of  this 
$40,000  were  spent  in  the  publication 
and  circulation  of  his  first  book,  "Food 
for  Thinking  Christians."  At  various 
times  he  contributed  large  amounts  to 
the  Society  of  which  he  was  president. 
In  fact  at  the  time  of  his  death  he  had 
but  $200  left  of  his  own  private  for- 
tune. Notwithstanding  this  fact,  there 
have  been  men  so  ignorant  of  the  facts 
in  the  case,  or  had  so  little  regard  for 
truth  and  veracity  as  to  say:  "Russell 
has  just  started  this  religious  move- 
ment as  a  money-making  scheme." 
The  utter  foolishness  of  such  a  state- 
ment could  not  be  fully  manifest  to 
persons  unacquainted  with  the  manner 
in  which  the  Watch  Tower  Bible  and 
Tract  Society  is  operated.  The  very 
idea  of  a  company  of  men  getting  rich 
preaching  the  gospel  without  money 
and  without  price,  while  their  friends 
at  the  various  appointments  advertised 
the  meetings  "Seats  free;  no  collec- 
tion." The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
those  ministers  who  have  done  this 
talking  about  "money  making  scheme" 
concerning  Pastor  Russell  have  simply 
been  "measuring  his  corn  in  their  own 
half-bushel."  A  man  whose  own  life 
is  actuated  by  low  motives  cannot  ap- 
preciate a  higher  motive  in  another 
man. 

In  all  of  Pastor  Russell's  work,  and 
in  all  the  work  of  the  Society  includ- 
ing missionary  work,  translation  of  the 
books  into  all  the  important  modern 
languages,  exhibition  of  the  Photo 
Drama  of  Creation,  etc.,  not  one  penny 
was  ever  solicited  and  no  collection 
was  ever  taken.  That,  of  course,  does 
not  mean  that  money  has  not  been  lib- 
erally contributed,  but  every  contribu- 
tion is  and  must  be  absolutely  volun- 
tary and  unsolicited.  Two  years  ago 
last  summer  in  the  northern  part  of 
Pennsylvania,  a  little  girl  eight  years 


old  came  to  me  after  the  services  and 
said:  "Here  is  five  cents  to  help  other 
little  boys  and  girls  to  see  the  Photo 
Drama."  The  five  cents  were  for- 
warded to  the  Watch  Tower  office, 
along  with  larger  contributions,  and  in 
the  course  of  a  few  days  the  proper 
officer  of  the  Society  sent  her  a  receipt 
with  just  the  same  care  that  a  $50  con- 
tribution in  a  neighboring  town  was 
receipted  for. 

Pastor  Russell  was  a  man  of  great 
faith,  and  he  always  had  perfect  con- 
fidence that  money  would  be  forthcom- 
ing for  every  work  that  the  Lord 
wanted  done.  On  one  occasion,  after 
he  had  spoken  to  a  large  audience,  he 
was  shaking  hands  with  the  people  as 
they  passed  out,  when  a  man  handed 
him  an  envelope.  He  put  it  into  his 
pocket  and  went  on  shaking  hands. 
After  a  few  minutes  some  of  the 
brethren  were  consulting  with  him  con- 
cerning some  work  that  all  agreed 
would  be  good  to  have  done;  "but 
where  was  the  money  to  come  from?" 
Brother  Russell  said:  "If  it  is  a  work 
the  Lord  wants  done,  he  will  see  that 
the  money  is  provided."  He  opened 
the  envelope.  It  contained  a  check 
for  one  thousand  dollars,  and  the  work 
went  on. 

Men  have  sometimes  come  to  him 
and  said:  "Brother  Russell,  I  have 
been  greatly  blessed  by  your  explana- 
tion of  the  Scriptures.  I  feel  that  this 
is  a  great  work.  How  can  I  get  some 
money  into  it?"  This  may  sound 
strange  to  men  who  all  their  lives  have 
been  dunned  for  money  "to  pay  the 
preacher,"  but  "Truth  is  stranger  than 
fiction."  "The  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful 
giver.  The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills 
are  his,"  and  he  does  not  need  money 
that  must  be  begged  for  or  raffled  for 
at  box  socials  or  church  fairs. 

His  "Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages"  has 
a  circulation  several  times  that  of  any 
other  book  ever  published  in  the  Eng- 
lish language  except  the  Bible.  He  is 
the  author  of  five  other  principal  books 
and  of  numerous  booklets  and  tracts. 
He  is  also  the  author  of  the  Photo 
Drama  of  Creation,"  which  has  been 
seen  and  heard  by  over  nine  millions 


LIFE  OF  PASTOR  RUSSELL 


129 


of  people.  His  sermons  of  recent 
years  have  appeared  regularly  every 
week  in  over  a  thousand  newspapers, 
and  are  read  by  millions  of  people. 

While  Pastor  Russell  had  his  iriends 
and  admirers  he  also  had  his  enemies 
and  persecutors.  "All  that  will  live 
godly  in  Christ  Jesus  shall  suffer  per- 
secution." So  if  any  one  is  not  suf- 
fering persecution  he  is  not  living 
godly  in  Christ  Jesus.  When  you  read 
that  a  certain  man  did  not  have  an 
enemy  in  the  world,  you  have  found  a 
man  that  never  steadfastly  and  ear- 
nestly opposed  the  wrong.  On  the 
other  hand,  every  man  that  has  done 
anything  earnestly  to  free  the  race 
from  wrong  and  error  and  superstition 
has  had  his  opposers  and  persecutors. 
Christ  and  all  his  apostles  save  one 
suffered  martyrdom  for  the  truth  they 
preached,  and  from  that  day  to  this, 
every  man  who  stood  for  unpopular 
truth  and  against  popular  error  has 
had  his  persecutors.  So  Pastor  Rus- 
sell has  likewise  had  his  persecutors 
who  tried  to  minimize  his  work,  burned 
his  books  and  attempted  to  destroy  his 
good  name.  Yes,  they  sometimes 
burned  his  books,  and  they  did  so  for 
the  very  same  reason  that  they  used 
to  burn  the  Bibles;  they  were  afraid 
of  the  truth  there  was  in  them.  But 
the  more  they  burned  the  books,  the 
more  the  truth  spread.  I  had  the  plea- 
sure a  few  months  ago  of  speaking  in 
a  town  where,  not  long  before,  some  of 
the  religionists  had  got  together  and 
agreed  to  advise  the  people  to  burn 
Pastor  Russell's  books.  In  a  few 
weeks  colporteurs  came  into  the  town 
and  sold  far  more  books  than  had  been 
burned.  The  bigots  who  had  burned 
the  books  had  merely  aroused  the  curi- 
osity of  the  people.  In  the  Dark  Ages 
they  sometimes  sought  to  terrify  the 
people  by  burning  the  Bibles  in  the 
streets,  and  thus  compel  them  to  sub- 
mit to  the  prescribed  forms  of  religion, 
the  "Orthodox"  forms.  There  is  too 
much  of  the  spirit  of  liberty  and  toler- 
ance in  free  America  for  such  an  in- 
dignity to  be  perpetrated  to-day  with- 
out arousing  a  sense  of  justice  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  hate  tyranny. 


It  is  interesting  to  note  how  the 
books  have  found  their  way  through 
the  hands  of  those  who  did  not  ap- 
preciate them  into  the  hands  of  those 
who  did.  It  often  happens  that  one 
man  buys  and  does  not  appreciate 
them,  then  loans  them  to  another  man 
who  enjoys  them  with  all  his  heart.  At 
one  of  the  conventions,  a  lady  tells  us 
that  a  friend  sent  her  "The  Divine 
Plan  of  the  Ages"  and  she  burned  it. 
Another  friend  sent  her  a  second  book 
of  the  same  kind,  and  she  burned  it. 
A  third  friend  sent  her  a  third  book, 
and  she  stopped  and  thought.  It  is 
sometimes  a  good  thing  to  stop  and 
think.  "Finally,"  says  she,  "I  read 
this  book  and  it  burned  me."  By 
this,  I  suppose,  she  means  that  it 
burned  away  all  her  prejudice  and  left 
her  ready  for  the  heart-glow  of  joy 
that  comes  to  those  who  see  what 
beautiful  truth  God  has  in  store  for 
those  who  are  ready  to  enjoy  it. 

The  parents  of  Charles  T.  Russell 
were  of  the  "orthodox"  faith,  and  up 
to  the  age  of  fifteen  he  believed  all 
and  only  such  doctrines  as  his  sec- 
tarian ministers  took  the  trouble  to 
teach  him.  To  fully  understand  doc- 
trines at  that  time  was  very  difficult. 
The  clergy  as  a  rule  discouraged  ques- 
tions. So  he  simply  believed  the  doc- 
trines of  the  church  he  attended,  es- 
pecially the  doctrine  of  the  eternal  tor- 
ment of  all  except  the  saints.  His  fav- 
orite teacher  was  Spurgeon,  because, 
as  he  said,  "he  peppered  it  hot,"  his 
claim  being  that  if  one  believed  a 
thing  he  should  tell  it  with  all  his 
might.  So  at  the  age  of  fifteen  he 
used  to  go  about  the  city  of  Pittsburg 
on  Saturday  evenings  with  a  piece  of 
chalk  writing  on  the  fence  boards  and 
telling  the  people  not  to  fail  to  attend 
church  on  Sunday,  so  that  they  might 
escape  that  terrible  hell  in  which  he 
so  firmly  believed.  At  about  this  time 
it  seems  that  Providence  had  decreed 
that  he  should  attempt  to  reclaim  an  in- 
fidel friend  to  Christianity.  By  skill- 
ful questions  that  neither  layman  or 
minister  could  answer  and  hold  to  the 
accepted  creed,  the  infidel  completely 
routed  young  Russell,  and  he  became 


130 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


a  skeptic.  He  saw,  for  instance,  that 
with  the  doctrine  of  eternal  torment  in 
ic  he  could  not  believe  the  Bible; 
though  he  still  held  to  a  belief  in  God 
and  the  hope  of  a  future  life. 

As  he  desired  to  learn  the  truth  in 
regard  to  the  hereafter,  the  next  few 
years  were  devoted  to  the  investiga- 
tion of  the  claims  of  the  leading  Ori- 
ental religions,  all  of  which  he  found 
unworthy  of  credence.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  he  was  possessed  of  much 
knowledge  and  voluminous  data  in  re- 
gard to  "religion"  as  believed  and 
practiced  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  but 
his  mind  was  unsatisfied  and  unsettled. 

At  length  he  decided  to  search  the 
Scriptures  for  their  own  answer  on 
hell-fire  and  brimstone.  Here  was  the 
turning  point  in  his  life.  Picture  to 
yourself  a  young  man  in  the  early 
twenties  with  large  business  responsi- 
bilities upon  him,  and  with  little  time 
for  research,  and  yet  longing  to  know 
the  truth  in  regard  to  the  great  here- 
after. He  believed  that  the  Creator 
of  all  things  must  be  a  loving  God, 
and  in  harmony  with  this  he  read  in 
the  Bible,  "God  is  love."  He  also 
read,  "The  Lord  is  good  to  all,  and 
his  tender  mercies  are  over  all  his 
works."  That  too  was  in  harmony 
with  what  he  believed  the  character  of 
the  Creator  must  be.  But  how  could 
he  harmonize  this  with  what  his  creed 
taught?  How  could  God's  tender 
mercies  be  over  all  his  works  when 
some  of  his  works,  some  of  his  crea- 
tures, were  to  be  roasted  eternally  in 
an  abyss  of  fire  and  terrors?  How 
could  there  be  any  "tender  mercies"  in 
a  course  like  that?  How  could  our 
loving  Creator  be  a  God  like  that? 
Then  the  question  came,  Does  the  Bi- 
ble really  teach  the  eternal  torture  of 
the  unsaved? 

As  he  searched  the  Scriptures  for 
the  answer,  the  answer  came.  Not  one 
text,  merely,  but  texts  by  the  hun- 
dreds showing  the  foolishness  and  un- 
reasonableness of  the  doctrine  of  eter- 
nal torment.  We  do  not  know  the  or- 
der in  which  these  texts  came  to  his 
mind,  but  we  know  that  they  came.  He 
read,  "The  Lord  preserveth  all  them 


that  love  him"  (Yes,  he  preserveth 
them,  to  all  eternity,  "but  all  the 
wicked  will  be  destroyed."  It  does  not 
say  "All  the  wicked  will  he  roast  eter- 
nally." Again  he  reads,  "He  that 
converteth  the  sinner  from  the  error 
of  his  ways  shall  save  a  soul  from 
death,"  not  from  eternal  torment. 
Again  he  reads  "The  soul  that  sinneth 
it  shall  die,"  not  live  in  torment  eter- 
nally. In  fact,  he  saw  that  all  the 
comparisons  and  contrasts  in  the  Bible 
are  never  between  life  in  happiness 
and  life  in  misery,  but  always  between 
life  and  death,  eternal  life  or  eternal 
death,  all  the  wicked  utterly  destroyed 
in  what  the  Scriptures  call  "the  second 
death,"  so  completely  destroyed  that 
"they  shall  be  as  though  they  had  not 
been,"  and  even  "the  remembrance  of 
the  wicked  shall  rot,"  utterly  pass 
from  the  memory  of  all  forever.  Then 
this  young  man  saw  God  finally  tri- 
umphant over  all  evil,  when  "at  his 
name  every  knee  shall  bow,"  when  "at 
the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  shall 
bow,  in  heaven  on  the  earth  and  under 
the  earth,  and  every  tongue  confess 
that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord  to  the  glory 
of  the  Father."  So  he  saw  the  whole 
giad  universe  uniting  in  one  grand 
hymn  of  praise  to  the  Creator,  no  room 
in  that  happy  universe  for  men  or  de- 
mons who  choose  to  remain  in  rebel- 
lion against  the  Creator,  but  all  ready 
to  join  in  a  hymn  of  praise.  Then  this 
young  man  saw  a  loving  God  looking 
down  upon  a  sin-cursed  earth  with  an 
eye  of  pity  and  love,  and  in  order  to 
make  it  possible  for  us  to  have  eternal 
life,  he  must  give  what  was  dearest  to 
him  in  the  whole  universe.  "For  God 
so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son  that  whosoever  be- 
lieveth  in  Him  should  not  die  eternally 
but  live  eternally."  When,  as  a  young 
man,  Charles  T.  Russell  saw  all  this 
and  far  more,  his  great  heart  was 
thrilled  to  its  very  depths.  He  was 
ready  to  do  anything  for  the  God  he 
had  found  to  be  so  wise,  so  loving,  so 
wonderful.  It  was  then  that  he  gave 
his  heart  to  the  Lord  in  full  consecra- 
tion, ready  to  do  or  say  or  be  what- 
ever the  Lord  might  show  him.    Little 


LIFE  OF  PASTOR  RUSSELL 


131 


did  he  care  for  wealth,  or  fame,  or 
worldly  pleasure.  He  had  found  a 
better  God  than  he  before  had  known, 
and  he  must  tell  it,  and  he  did  tell  it 
cut  with  a  shout,  hallelujah!  Praise 
God's  holy  name,  that  he  has  found  a 
man  strong  enough,  true  enough,  brave 
enough  to  vindicate  His  character 
from  the  unscriptural  and  unreasonable 
doctrine  of  eternal  torment.  To  the 
very  ends  of  the  earth  he  has  told  the 
Bible  truth  that  "the  wages  of  sin  is 
death,"  and  not  eternal  torment.  Yes, 
and  his  words  have  been  heard,  heard 
by  many  who  will  not  admit  that  they 
have  heard,  believed  by  many  who 
will  not  admit  that  they  believe.  A 
few  years  ago  a  minister  who  was  then 
preaching  in  this  country  was  asked  by 
cne  of  his  parishioners  if  he  believed 
the  doctrine  of  eternal  torment.  He 
admitted  that  he  did  not.  "Then  why 
do  you  preach  it?"  asked  the  parish- 
ioner. "Oh,  there  has  to  be  some  kind 
of  a  whip  to  bring  them  in,"  was  the 
reply.  A  minister  who  used  to  preach 
in  Waynesburg  made  the  same  admis- 
sion to  one  of  his  parishioners.  "Then 
why  don't  you  tell  your  congregation 
sc?"  said  the  parishioner.  "If  I  did 
that,  I  could  not  hold  this  pastorate," 
was  the  reply.  A  minister  of  Wash- 
ington, Pa.,  made  the  same  admission. 
The  young  man  said  to  the  minister: 
"Then,  why  don't  you  tell  your  congre- 
gation? He  replied:  "Young  man,  my 
bread  isn't  buttered  on  that  side." 
Thatjis  the  very  class  of  men  that  are 
circulating  false  reports  about  Pastor 
Russell  and  other  men  who  are  op- 
posing their  false  doctrines. 

"Yes,  but  in  regard  to  Pastor  Rus- 
sell's character,  the  people  say " 

Yes,  "the  people  say"  and  "the  people 
said"  are  the  cudgels  with  which  Satan 
has  destroyed  the  reputation  of  many 
an  innocent  man.  A  few  years  ago, 
W.  W.  Giles,  a  leading  financier  of 
Brown  Summit,  N.  C,  made  the  fol- 
lowing offer  and  published  it  broad- 
cast wherever  the  English  language  is 
spoken : 

"I  have  deposited  $1,000  in  the 
American  Exchange  National  Bank  of 
Greensboro,  N.   C.,  and  $500  in  the 


First  National  Bank  of  Miami,  Flor- 
ida, to  be  paid  to  the  first  person  who 
proves  through  any  court  of  justice  in 
the  United  States  that  Pastor  Russell 
is  guilty  of  immorality  such  as  is  the 
gossip  of  those  ministers  who  preach 
'for  pay.'  "    No  one  ever  responded. 

The  editor  of  the  Evening  Journal 
of  Wilmington,  Del.,  about  two  years 
ago,  published  a  statement  that  his 
columns  were  open  to  the  publication 
of  anything  that  might  be  published 
against  Pastor  Russell's  character,  pro- 
vided the  whole  truth  was  stated  with 
all  the  related  circumstances  and  ac- 
companied by  the  writer's  name.  Why 
did  none  of  Pastor  Russell's  defamers 
respond  to  this  fair  offer? 

The  people  say!  The  people  said! 
Satan's  weapon  now;  Satan's  weapon 
always.  The  people  said  that  Jesus 
was  a  blasphemer.  His  friends  on  one 
occasion  "went  out  to  lay  hold  on  him, 
for  they  said,  He  is  beside  himself." 
The  people  said  that  the  apostles  were 
unfit  to  live,  and  put  them  to  death. 
The  people  said  that  the  noble  John 
Huss  was  unfit  to  live,  and  when  they 
burned  him  at  the  stake,  they  confined 
a  ball  of  brass  in  his  mouth,  in  order, 
as  the  historian  states,  "that  the  peo- 
ple might  not  understand  his  just  de- 
fense against  their  unjust  condemna- 
tion." The  people  said  that  the  brave 
Savonarola  was  a  heretic  and  they 
hanged  him  and  afterwards  burned  his 
body  in  reproach. 

The  people  said  that  the  noble  Alex- 
andre Campbell  was  a  "heretic."  "He 
is  not  orthodox."  "He  is  little  better 
than  an  infidel."  The  people  said  that 
the  brave  and  true  John  Wesley  was  a 
"falsifier,"  "a  fomenter  of  strife,"  "a 
breeder  of  contention."  They  talked 
about  the  jealousy  of  his  wife  against 
Sarah  Ryan,  the  jealousy  against  him 
of  the  husband  of  Sophia  Christiana 
Williamson  and  how  his  wife  finally 
deserted  him.  Does  what  the  people 
say,  weaken  our  confidence  in  the  pur- 
ity of  John  Wesley's  life?  By  no 
means.  The  only  difficulty  was  that 
he  was  so  pure-minded  himself  that  he 
forgot  to  guard  himself  well  against 
impure  minds  who  were  watching  to 


132 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


find  a  charge  against  him.  John  Wes- 
ley, Alexander  Campbell,  Charles  T. 
Russell,  three  of  the  bravest,  purest 
men  of  modern  times  and  the  three 
most  severely  persecuted  and  slan- 
dered. Do  we  believe  those  slanders? 
Not  if  we  are  charitable,  thoughtful 
and  wise.  Their  names  will  go  down 
in  history  together  as  the  three  great- 
est and  truest  reformers  of  the  last 
two  hundred  years.  We  have  only 
space  to  conclude  with  a  quotation 
from  Judge  Rutherford : 

From  a  personal  and  painstaking 
examination  of  every  charge  that  has 
been  made  against  Pastor  Russell,  I 
am  thoroughly  convinced  and  confi- 
dently state  that  he  is  the  most  un- 


justly persecuted  man  on  earth.  Not- 
withstanding this,  his  good  work  con- 
tinues, and  thousands  testify  to  the 
blessings  received  therefrom.  For 
many  years  he  has  stood  forth  to  bat- 
tle for  the  right.  He  is  prematurely 
aged  from  his  arduous  and  unselfish 
labors  in  behalf  of  mankind.  He  is 
loved  most  by  those  who  know  him 
best,  and  while  he  has  some  relentless 
enemies,  his  staunch  and  substantial 
friends  are  numbered  by  the  thou- 
sands. 

When  the  memory  of  his  traducers 
has  perished  from  the  earth,  the  good 
name  and  good  deeds  of  Pastor  Russell 
will  live  immortal  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people. 


DIES   IR/E 

Joel  3:9-14 

"Beat  each  Pruning  Hook  to  Spear." 
Raise  on  high  your  martial  song. 
As  the  Day  of  God  draws  near, 
"Let  the  weak  say  I  am  strong." 
As  the  wine  grapes  disappear, 
When  within  the  wine  press  trod, 
So  the  nations  melt  with  fear 
In  thy  wrath,  Jehovah  God! 

"Beat  your  ploughshares  into  swords, 
"Let  the  weak  say  I  am  strong." 
Summon  Kaisers,  Czars  and  Lords, 
All  the  champions  of  Wrong. 
Like  to  vessels  made  of  clay 
Smitten  by  an  iron  rod; 
So  the  kingdoms  fall  away 
In  thy  wrath,  Jehovah  God! 


Robert  D.  Work. 


The  Story  of  the  Airacle 

Told  in    California 

By  Otto  von  Geldern 

(All  rights  reserved.) 
(Continued  from  last  month) 


(SYNOPSIS — A  number  of  prominent  characters  in  the  old  pioneer  town 
of  Sonoma,  Northern  California,  drop  into  the  hotel's  cheerful  gathering 
room,  during  the  evening  hours,  and  swap  tales,  experiences  and  all  that 
goes  to  make  entertaining  conversation.  The  subject  of  miracles  starts 
a  discussion,  joined  in  by  the  old  Spanish  padre,  lovingly  christened 
Father  Sunday.  The  judge,  or  Jux,  as  he  was  nicknamed  by  his  cronies, 
begins  a  story  based  on  a  recent  dream,  in  which  a  supposed  miracle  was 
wrought.  He  dreamed  that  he  had  died,  and  that  his  soul  wandered  in 
space,  visiting  celestial  palaces,  hearing  rhythmic  harmonies  and  scenes  of 
soul-stirring  splendor,  grandeur  and  beauty.  He  visited  the  Palace  of 
God,  where  all  spoke  in  whispers,  but  none  there  had  seen  Him.  He 
failed  to  find  his  name  in  the  record  of  the  dead.  Later  he  was  conducted 
to  the  Realm  of  Satan.) 


BUT,  you  must  keep  in  mind,  my 
friends,  that  I  am  giving  you  im- 
pressions only,  and  that  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  be  very  defin- 
ite in  drawing  any  conclusions  from 
this  extraordinary  experience  of  mine. 

"And  now  I  was  walking,  actually 
walking  along  as  naturally  as  any 
v/anderer  on  earth,  accompanied  by 
these  angels  who  spoke  little,  but  who 
were  always  ready  to  answer  an  in- 
quisitive question.  Before  fully  real- 
izing that  we  were  on  a  delightful 
tramp,  we  reached,  without  apparent 
difficulty,  the  destination  for  which 
we  were  aiming,  and  I  was  surprised 
to  find  the  suburbs  of  the  home  of 
Satan  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise. 

"A  somewhat  severe  looking  man- 
sion nestled  in  an  extensive  park  of 
stately  trees,  of  melancholy  poplars 
and    weeping    willows,    fringing    an 


Acheron  that  did  not  look  at  all  woe- 
ful, and  amidst  the  most  shapely  and 
graceful  shrubbery.  This  aristocratic 
domain  gave  one  a  feeling  of  solid 
comfort,  rather  than  one  of  gayety  and 
hilarity.  It  was  certainly  a  dignified 
abode,  this  satanic  residence,  and 
there  was  nothing  foreboding  or  in- 
timidating about  it. 

"The  objects  around  me  were  more 
than  ever  three-dimensional,  if  I  ex- 
press my  conception  correctly;  in  fact, 
they  were  as  natural  as  they  could  by 
any  possibility  be,  so  that  I  became 
more  and  more  at  ease  and  reconciled 
to  my  surroundings.  If  there  were 
fiery  furnaces  and  Dantenian  places  of 
horror  here,  then  they  were  so  artfully 
concealed  that  no  one  could  by  any 
possibility  suspect  their  existence. 

"While  my  soul  was  not  entirely  re- 
lieved from  the  fear  of  future  torture 


134 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


and  unhappiness,  I  had  lost,  at  least, 
all  apprehension  of  immediate  dan- 
ger. 

"We  walked  through  the  park  and 
gardens,  where  smart  looking  fellows, 
who  greeted  us  courteously — imps,  the 
angels  called  them,  as  they  exchanged 
pleasantries  with  them— were  industri- 
ously at  work,  and  before  many  mo- 
ments we  entered  the  portals  of  the 
stately  mansion  and  were  received  by 
a  swarthy  looking  usher,  who  took  us 
at  once  to  what  he  called  the  library. 

"This  library,  unlike  so  many  others 
that  I  have  had  occasion  to  visit,  con- 
tained books.  It  was  noted  particu- 
larly for  its  artistic  arrangement  of 
beautiful  cases  holding  a  bewildering 
number  of  them.  What  struck  me  at 
once  as  remarkable  was  an  array  of 
all  the  noted  philosophers  from  the 
earliest  Sages  of  the  Ancients,  down 
to  Descartes,  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling, 
Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  Locke,  Berke- 
ley, Hume,  Mill  and  Herbert  Spen- 
cer. Similar  literature  was  scattered 
about  on  tables  and  chairs,  and  the 
whole  environment  indicated  the  re- 
treat of  the  serious  student,  of  the  man 
who  finds  pleasure  in  communing  with 
the  wisdom  of  the  past  and  the  know- 
ledge of  the  present. 

"Portraits  of  noted  philosophers 
adorned  the  walls;  steel  engravings 
they  were ;  while  two  oil  paintings,  one 
representing  an  ignivomous  and  catas- 
trophal  outburst  of  Vesuvius  and  the 
other  the  great  conflagration  of  an- 
cient Rome,  added  a  certain  vivid  col- 
oring to  the  austere  surroundings. 

"The  room  was  elegantly  furnished 
with  all  its  severity.  The  most  beau- 
tiful rug  I  ever  saw,  in  which  the 
plainer  colors  were  harmoniously 
blended  into  a  subdued  but  cheerful 
hue,  covered  almost  the  entire  floor; 
to  step  upon  it  was  a  real  pleasure,  it 
was  so  soft  and  yielding,  and  so  warm- 
ing to  the  feet. 

"A  sideboard  ran  along  the  wall, 
richly  hewn  in  solid  oak,  which  car- 
ried the  usual  odds  and  ends  required 
by  a  convivial  gentleman  in  his  occu- 
pations of  leisure.  Glasses,  mugs, 
jars,  card-cases,  dice  boxes,  beautifully 


carved  and  lined  with  embossed  lea- 
ther, chess  boards  with  the  most  ex- 
quisite little  ivory  men;  all  these  de- 
tails my  eyes  were  running  over  hast- 
ily, when — Satan  himself  entered. 

"Now,  friends,  you  cannot  imagine 
a  more  congenial  fellow  than  the  one 
who  greeted  me  open-heartedly,  with 
all  the  grace  of  a  cavallero. 

"He  had  been  informed  in  the  in- 
terim of  the  object  of  our  mission,  and 
dismissed  the  angels,  who  had  been 
my  guides,  in  the  most  affable  and 
condescending  manner. 

"  'How  do  you  do,  Tobias  Sever- 
ence?  I  am,  indeed,  delighted  to  see 
you.  I  hope  you  will  like  it  here.  Let 
me  offer  you  some  refreshments.  No  ? 
I  am  sorry.  Your  business  with  me  is 
attending  to  now.  I  have  instructed 
Pipifax,  my  private  secretary,  to  look 
up  all  the  records  in  our  registration 
vault,  and  he  will  let  us  know  the  re- 
sult as  soon  as  he  is  finished.  It  will 
not  be  long,  because  he  has  a  large 
staff  of  clerks  at  his  command  who  are 
expert  searchers  of  records.  Do  not 
let  all  this  worry  you  in  the  least,  and 
in  the  meantime  make  yourself  freely 
at  home  here.' 

"This  Mephistopheles — I  prefer  to 
call  him  by  that  name,  for  he  strongly 
reminded  me  of  Goethe's  immortal 
creation — possessed  a  personality  so 
entirely  different  from  that  which  I 
had  always  conceived  it  to  be.  My 
early  Quaker  education  had  given  me 
a  false  impression  of  him.  You  have 
gathered  by  this  time,  my  friends,  that 
he  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  with  refined  manners  and  the 
most  polished  address,  and  such  was, 
indeed,  the  case.  There  was  neither 
hoof  nor  horn,  nor  did  I  find  any  evi- 
dence of  the  proverbial  spiked  tail;  in 
fact,  he  had  no  tail  at  all. 

"He  was  of  middle  age,  tall  and 
slender  in  figure,  with  broad  shoulders 
upon  which  rested  a  well  shaped  head, 
covered  with  hair  as  glossy  and  black 
as  a  raven's  plumage.  He  had  a  pair 
of  penetrating  eyes,  fiery  as  two  coals, 
that  were  constantly  piercing  through 
one. 

"He  was  becomingly,  I  may     say 


THE  STORY  OF    THE    MIRACLE 


135 


fashionably  dressed,  and  he  carried 
himself  with  a  genial  decorum,  rfis 
gestures  were  those  of  an  educated 
gentleman  and  his  speech  was  fault- 
less. He  conversed  with  animation, 
and  interestingly. 

"After  having  welcomed  me  as  one 
clubman  would  another,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  give  me  bits  of  information 
in  a  chatty  way  about  the  immediate 
environments  of  his  realm,  explaining 
this  or  that  detail  of  the  objects  about 
him  without  being  obtrusive.  And, 
through  all  his  explanations,  there  ran 
a  certain  strain  of  philosophical  argu- 
ment which  was  very  entertaining,  to 
say  the  least. 

"It  is  difficult  for  me  to  give  you  his 
exact  words  and  phrasing,  but  I  shall 
attempt  to  repeat  to  you  what  he  did 
say. 

"  'It  is  all  very  well,'  he  said  pleas- 
antly, 'to  build  scintillating  cloud  cas- 
tles and  lofty  star-dust  edifices,  but,  I 
assure  you,  they  are  cold  and  dismal 
to  abide  in.  They  lack  every  comfort 
of  a  club.  Ideals  are  noble  and  edify- 
ing, no  doubt,  but  they  do  not  get  us 
anywhere.  We  must  take  the  things 
and  the  conditions  as  we  find  them ;  to 
attempt  to  change  them  is  the  most 
thankless  undertaking  I  know  of.  To 
try  it  is  to  be  sacrificed.  But  that  is 
another  story,  and  I  don't  feel  inclined 
to  go  too  deeply  into  that. 

"  'We  require  animation  and  en- 
ergy. To  acquire  them  needs  warmth ; 
the  mere  cold  light  with  all  its  bright- 
ness is  not  enough;  we  must  have  a 
fire,  and  it  takes  considerable  effort 
now-a-days  to  keep  one  going,  not  to 
mention' — and  he  said  this  more  to 
himself  than  he  did  to  me — 'the  sup- 
ply of  sulphur  which  is  becoming 
scarce  and  more  and  more  expensive. 
I  know  this  subject  well,  you  may  be- 
lieve me,  for  I  am  the  most  expert 
pyrotechnologist  in  existence  to-day.' 

"  'And,  after  all,  my  dear  Jux,'  he 
was  getting  pleasantly  familiar  by  this 
time,  'a  good  fire  has  its  decided  ad- 
vantages if  one  doesn't  get  too  close 
tc  it.  Those  who  do  will  necessarily 
suffer,  but  that  is  their  own  fault.  Who 
told  them  to  stick  their  hands  into  it?' 


"  'Before  I  had  my  so-called  fall,  I, 
too,  had  lofty  ideals,  but  they  were 
ideals  only,  without  that  something 
which  I  found  necessary  to  warm  me 
up  to  them.  I  prefer  this  genial 
warmth;  it  makes  me  cheerful,  and  I 
may  tell  you  frankly  that  there  are 
olhers  who  have  the  same  craving  for 
it. 

"  'It  seems  that  no  one  is  ever  sat- 
isfied with  existing  conditions,  be 
these  conditions  ever  so  perfect.  Just 
imagine  yourself,  if  you  will,  within 
the  most  ideal  and  beatific  environ- 
ment; nothing  is  more  certain  than 
this,  that  in  time  you  will  tire  of  its 
monotony  and  of  the  constant  recur- 
rence of  beatification.  You  will  long 
for  a  change,  and  so  would  any  one. 
Do  you  understand  now  why  the  in- 
dwellers  of  heaven  call  here  at  inter- 
vals to  enjoy  a  brief  relaxation  ?  Noth- 
ing tires  me  so  much  as  a  so-called 
saint  in  active  service;  he  is  very  try- 
ing.' 

"Having  chatted  along  in  this  man- 
ner for  nearly  an  hour,  the  swarthy 
usher,  who  was  called  Charon,  entered, 
and  with  deep  obeisance  announced 
that  Pipifax  desired  to  report  that  he 
had  searched  every  available  record, 
and  that  the  name  of  Tobias  Sever- 
ence  could  not  be  found. 

"This  gave  me  a  violent  shock. 
What  great  misfortune  awaited  me 
now?  Neither  in  heaven  nor  hell  had 
it  been  deemed  of  sufficient  import- 
ance to  place  my  name  on  record.  Was 
there  ever  any  one  subjected  to  such 
absolute  neglect  and  ignominy?  I 
could  not  constrain  my  tears. 

"Mephistopheles  laughed  heartily. 
'We  are  now,  indeed,  in  a  double  di- 
lemma, if  you  will  admit  the  absur- 
dity of  such  a  thing  with  four  horns  to 
it.  The  difficulties  are  heaping  them- 
selves upon  us;  but  never  mind,  Jux, 
there  is  a  solution  to  every  problem, 
and  I  shall  certainly  find  one  to  this.' 

"He  thereupon  ordered  Charon  to 
call  Pipifax,  an  imp  of  the  most  sa- 
gacious appearance,  who  entered  re- 
spectfully and  awaited  his  master's 
pleasure. 

"  'Thou  wilt  go  at  once  to  celestial 


136 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


headquarters,  Pipifax,  and  thou  wilt 
report  there  the  results  of  thy  search. 
Thou  wilt  thereupon  request,  upon  my 
authority,  that  a  celestial  emissary 
with  full  plenipotentiary  powers  be 
sent  to  me  to  take  counsel  with  me,  in 
order  that  we  may  be  prepared  to 
make  a  final  disposition  of  this  soul.' 

"Pipifax,  without  uttering  a  word, 
withdrew  in  the  same  respectful  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  entered  the  li- 
brary. Implicit  obedience,  without 
question,  appeared  to  be  the  order  of 
the  day  here." 

"  'Do  not  become  alarmed,  my 
friend,'  continued  Mephistopheles. 
'You  are  my  guest  for  the  present,  and 
while  under  my  roof  you  shall  not  only 
enjoy  its  hospitality,  but  also  its  pro- 
tection. 

"  'It  is  difficult  at  times  to  trace  a 
record,  but  if  you  will  leave  it  to  me 
there  will  be  a  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty. I  have  never  failed  to  find  an 
expedient.  Pipifax  has  suggestions 
and  new  thoughts  that  are  worth  their 
weight  in  gold.  He  is"  a  jewel,  indeed, 
and  absolutely  loyal  and  true-blue.' 

"I  was  perfectly  willing  to  admit 
Pipifax'  high  carat  value,  but  I  thought 
very  strongly  that  there  were  in  real- 
ity two  jewels,  and  that  the  casket 
which  contained  the  one  would  be  in- 
complete without  the  other. 

"I  don't  know  why,  but  I  was  slowly 
beginning  to  lose  that  degree  of  trust 
in  my  host  which  I  seemed  to  have  for 
him  in  the  beginning;  that  is,  before 
he  deluged  me  with  his  pithy  philo- 
sophical statements  and  catchy  aphor- 
isms. I  appeared  to  be  so  small  and 
insignificant  as  compared  to  this  re- 
sourceful intellect,  that  I  felt  like 
crawling  into  the  most  remote  corner 
before  him ;  that  is,  I  was  beginning  to 
fear  him,  although  he  gave  me  no  tan- 
gible reason  for  doing  so. 

"He  evidently  noticed  the  change  in 
my  demeanor,  for  the  penetrating 
search  of  his  coal-black  eyes  seemed 
to  be  able  to  fathom  me  long  before 
I  had  time  to  digest  the  thought  that 
had  come  to  me. 

"  'Come  now,  Severance,  and  do  not 
lose  your  confidence  in  me,'  Mephis- 


topheles began  again  in  the  most  con- 
soling manner.  'There  is  no  reason 
to  do  so.  You  have  been  taught  in 
your  early  youth  to  abhor  me,  to  loathe 
me  and  to  shrink  from  me,  but  that 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  un- 
just. Are  you  not  willing  to  admit 
now  that  I  have  been  very  much  ma- 
ligned?' 

"  'It  is  said  of  me  that  I  am  the 
arch-fiend,  the  father  of  lies,  the 
prince  of  darkness,  the  beelzebub,  the 
foul  fiend,  the  tempter,  the  traducer, 
the  dia-bolos  who  delights  in  throwing 
about  or  in  displacing  the  order  of 
things. 

"  'Now  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  simply  one 
who  disagrees,  and  disagreeing,  ne- 
gates.   /  am  the  spirit  of  negation. 

"  'That  means  that  I  am  not  positive- 
ly bad,  but  negatively  good.  Badness 
is  nothing  but  negative  goodness ;  that 
is,  goodness  with  a  minus  sign  before 
it.  The  reverse,  too,  holds  for  those 
who  claim  to  be  good,  for  a  so-called 
saint  is  negatively  bad,  and  if  you  will 
take  the  trouble  to  square  him  he  be- 
comes positively  bad.' 

"  'There  is  a  decided  advantage  in 
lcoking  at  the  order  of  things  from 
the  negative  standpoint,  as  you  will 
now  have  recognized.' 

"This  sophistry  made  me  still 
more  doubtful.  I  had  never  heard,  in 
all  my  earthly  career,  any  reasoning 
like  this.  Any  one  able  to  premise 
an  argument  on  such  fundamentals  as 
these,  is  so  superior  to  a  Philadelphia 
lawyer  that  he  could  yield  to  him 
cards  and  spades  in  a  game  of  casino 
and  then  beat  him  with  his  eyes  shut. 
Where  is  there  an  American  lawyer  in 
our  glorious  Republic,  in  our  home  of 
the  free,  who  could  equal  this? 

"Again,  Mephistopheles  appeared  to 
anticipate  me;  he  seemed  to  be  able 
to  read  my  thoughts,  and,  always  ready 
to  take  up  a  new  subject,  he  said : 

"  T  take  you  to  be  an  American  and 
a  disciple  of  the  law,  whereof  you 
were  a  'well-deserving  pillar,'  no 
doubt.  As  an  American  you  cherish 
the  Republican  form  of  government, 
as  you  should.     But,  my  dear  fellow, 


THE  STORY  OF    THE    MIRACLE  137 

let  me  tell  you  that  this  form  of  gov-  an  opportunity  to  do  some  politics,  and 
ernment,  although  the  most  ideal  that  politics  is  a  game  in  which  I  am  art- 
has  ever  been  conceived,     does     not  master.    You  see  that  as  a  politician  I 
work  out  well  in  practice.    Now  here,  am  out  of  business  here,  but  that  does 
where  everything  runs  like  clockwork,  not  prevent  me  from  taking  a  hand  in 
we  have  the  most  ideal  monarchy  that  the  politics  of  your  little  earth,  when- 
it  is  possible  for  your  imagination  to  ever  I  require  a  little  diversion  and  a 
picture.     And  you  must  not     forget  mental  stimulus.     I  have  known  your 
that  the   idealists   control   this  entire  citizens  to  halloo  themselves  hoarse, 
machinery.  and  they  didn't  know  that  they  were 
"  'The  celestial  majesty  is  the  ab-  shouting  for  me.    O,  how  Pipifax  and 
solute  power  here,  whose  will  is  law,  I  have  chuckled  over  this ;  it  is  a  little 
and  we  don't  propose  to  look  around  comedy  we  play  sometimes  to  amuse 
the  angelic  hosts  to  find  a  suitable  can-  ourselves  when  things  are  dull.     We 
didate  for  this  office  and  to  elect  him  have  watched  the  torch-light  pfoces- 
by  enfranchised  angels  and  imps.  Not  sions  from  here  of  the  puppets  and 
if  we  know  ourselves,  for  the   imps  marionettes  whose  strings  we  held  in 
would  soon  have  the  best  of  it,  and  I  our  hands,  and  we  laughed  over  their 
know  that  that  would  not  work  well,  antics,  and  we  shrieked  with  laughter, 
Cur  well-organized  plan  of  governing  until  it  was  impossible  to    laugh    any 
the  universe  would  be  very  seriously  more.    Your  country,  my  dear  fellow, 
handicapped  if  we  did,  and  unless  we  is,  indeed,  the  greatest  country  that  has 
hold   onto  the  principle  of  the  One  ever  been  established  on  the  face  of 
Power  eternally,  we  will  find  ourselves  the  insignificant  planet  earth,  and  it 
in  a  serious  dilemma  very  soon.  Your  will  increase  in  greatness  with  the  ad- 
solar  system  alone,  if     not     handled  vance  of  time,  but  mark  me,  Jux,  not 
properly,  would  find  itself  in  a  cha-  because  of  your  political  institutions, 
otic  condition  in  a  very  short  time,  for  but  in  spite  of  them.' 
that  old   earth  of  yours,  because  of  "I  need  not  tell  you,  my  friends,  that 
your  Philadelphia  lawyers,  is  very  ob-  these  reflections  upon  the  intelligence 
streperous  at  times,  which  is  enough  of  our  people  and  upon  the  dignity  of 
to  upset  the  best  regulated  conditions  my  country  did  not  please  me.    While 
over  night'  I  perceived  in  all  he  said  a  very  astute 
"He  saw  that  I  was  getting  wroth  and  convincing  method  of  diagnosis, 
under  these  implications,  and  I  was  one  that  I  could  not  help  admiring,  I 
about  to  answer  him  hotly,  when  he  felt  intuitively  that  he  must  be  in  the 
continued  rapidly :  v/rong ;  but  I  had  lost  the  ability  to  de- 
"  'Don't  interrupt  me,  Jux,  I  know  fend    myself.      Think    of    this,    my 
well  what  you  are  going  to  say;  you  are  friends,  I,  the  talkative  Jux,  one  of 
going  to  resent  any  aspersion  on  your  the  best  after-dinner  speakers  whom 
form  of  government.    I  do  not  blame  my  college  had  ever  sent  out  into  the 
you;  on  the  contrary,  I  honor  you  for  gastronomical  world  to  ease  the  ali- 
this  loyalty;  but  you  must  admit  that  I  mentation  of  his  fellow  man. 
am  better  acquainted  here  than  you  "Mephistopheles    seemed    to   have 
are,  and  that  I  am  making  a  justified  hypnotized  me,  so  that  I  was  unable 
statement  when  I  tell  you  that  the  only  to  gather  my  thoughts  sufficiently  to 
practical  form  of  government  suited  to  meet  him.    I  felt  now  that  I  was  abso- 
supermundane  affairs  is  by  a  king  of  lutely  in  his  power,  and  that  unless 
heaven  and  not  by  a     president     of  other  events  occurred  to  release  me,  I 
heaven.    That  shows  you  how  much  of  was  hopelessly  enmeshed.     I  realized 
a  dia-bolos  I  am.  for  the  first  time  that  there  was  some- 
"  T  am  speaking  to  you  very  disin-  thing  sinister  behind  all  this — yes,  I 
terestediy,  for  as  far  as  I  am  personally  was  becoming  fully  convinced  of  it. 
concerned,  I  would  prefer  a  celestial  "Mephistopheles'  reference    to    the 
republic,  because  that  would  give  me  scarcity  and  cost  of  sulphur  some  little 


138 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


time  ago  occurred  to  me  again,  and  I — 
always  so  practical  in  mundane  mat- 
ters— could  not  imagine  the  necessity 
for  sulphur  in  starting  or  maintaining  a 
fire.  Did  he  not  tell  me  boastingly 
that  he  was  the  greatest  of  all  pyro- 
technologists  ?  Why  did  he  acquire 
the  intricate  scientific  knowledge  of 
pyrotechnics?  For  the  purpose  of 
steeping  a  cup  of  tea,  or  for  roasting  a 
quail  on  toast?  Hardly.  Of  what  na- 
ture, then,  were  his  ignigenous  ob- 
jects? 

"I  was  deeply  concerned  about  all 
this,  when  a  knock  at  the  door  an- 
nounced the  swarthy  Cha'ron,  who  in- 
formed his  master  that  Pipifax  had  re- 
turned and  that  he  wished  to  present 
the  arch-angel  Gabriel,  who  had  been 
commissioned  from  celestial  headquar- 
ters. 

"  T  know — I  know,'  said  Mephisto- 
pheles  nervously  and  irascibly,  'but 
tor  the  purpose  of  presentation  I  need 
not  Pipifax.  He  hath  performed  his 
duty  and  his  services  end  there  for  the 
present.  Admit,  however,  and  at  once, 
the  Commissioner  Gabriel,  with  whom 
I  have  important  business  of  a  perso- 
nal nature  concerning  neither  Pipifax 
nor  thyself.  But  remain  within  call 
should  I  need  thee.  Also,  see  to  it  that 
the  mansion  is  carefully  guarded,  for 
I  would  not  have  transpire  that  which 
may  occur  here.' 

"Charon  withdrew  with  a  low  bow  of 
'submissiveness,  and  a  moment  there- 
after he  ushered  into  the  library  the  an- 
gelic messenger  referred  to  as  Gabriel. 

"I  don't  believe  that  I  ever  saw  a 
more  beautiful  personage.  He  was  a 
youth  rather  than  a  man,  tall  and  well 
built,  with  the  face  of  an  Apollo.  His 
features  were  classic  into  the  minutest 
detail.  He  carried  himself  like  a  sol- 
dier, erect  and  manly,  but  with  the 
aristocratic  reserve  of  a  noble  knight. 
Auburn  hair  fell  in  wavelets  upon  his 
shoulders,  framing  a  face  expressive 
of  seriousness  and  intent  of  purpose. 

"He  was  dressed  in  the  loose  flow- 
ing garments  of  the  classic  period, 
which  were  girdled  at  the  loins;  on 
the  left  side  he  carried  a  sword,  which 
was  not  straight  in  its  alignment,  but 


forged  in  waves  like  the  body  of  a 
crawling  serpent.  I  had  heard  of  Ga- 
briel before,  but  I  always  associated 
him  with  the  blowing  of  a  horn,  as  if 
calling  to  arms,  rather  than  with  the 
more  serious  attributes  of  martial  ac- 
tivity. 

"When  he  entered,  nothing  was  said 
for  some  moments;  both  principals 
bowed  slightly  to  one  another  and 
looked  at  me. 

"Finally,  Mephistopheles  took  the 
initiative  and  said  very  earnestly: 

"  'Gabriel,  thou  hast  been  sent  on  a 
mission  of  great  importance.  It  con- 
cerneth  the  futurity  of  a  human  soul 
upon  which  I  have  as  great  a  claim  as 
thou  hast.  Had  there  been  a  record  of 
it,  this  unusual,  nay  extraordinary  di- 
lemma would  not  have  arisen,  but  as 
thou  knowest,  neither  within  thy 
realms  nor  in  mine  have  our  most  ex- 
pert searchers  of  records  been  able  to 
trace  this  most  unfortunate,  this  more 
than  lost,  I  may  say  this  orphaned  hu- 
man soul.' 

"Then  spoke  Gabriel  with  a  strong, 
manly  and  intonated  voice,  like  an  ex- 
horting clergyman  from  his  pulpit: 

"'Why  unfortunate  and  why  lost? 
The  repentant  are  never  lost,  because 
we  who  feel  for  them  are  willing  to 
shelter  them,  and  we  hold  out  to  them 
the  glory  of  salvation.  With  this  holy 
weapon,  symbolized  by  my  flaming 
sword,  the  heavenly  hosts  are  enabled 
to  overcome  all  its  enemies. 

"  'We  recognize  but  the  one  funda- 
mental and  divine  doctrine  which  glor- 
ifies all  creation  by  a  process  of  sa- 
cred purification,  so  that  the  souls  of 
all  mortal  creatures  may  be  made  fit 
tc  abide  in  perpetual  harmony  and  in 
eternal  bliss.    On  the  contrary, 

"  'Thou,  the  spirit  of  negation, 
Doest  proclaim  that  all  creation 
Is  but  worthy  of  damnation.' 

'  'Oh,  how  fair!'  answered  Mephis- 
topheles with  a  sneer. 

"And  he  asked:  'What  doeth  thy 
plan  of  salvation  lead  to?  The  per- 
sonal liberty  to  go  about  among  wet 
clouds  and  sneeze  and  shiver  forever 


THE  STORY  OF    THE    MIRACLE 


139 


with  the  cold.  And  thou  wouldst  do 
thy  so-called  saving  even  against  the 
wishes  of  those  who  care  not  for  it, 
while  I  have  never  made  a  claim  for 
a  soul  that  was  not  conscribed  to  me 
from  the  beginning.' 

"  'All  thy  arguments,  Satan,'  re- 
turned Gabriel,  'are  needless  and  all 
thy  sophistry  is  spent  in  vain.  I  am 
here  with  plenipotentiary  power  to  re- 
turn to  heaven  with  this  soul,  and  with 
it  I  shall  return.' 

"Said  Mephistopheles :  'Maybe  thou 
wilt  and  mayhap  thou  wilt  not.  Why 
didst  thou  keep  it  not  when  thou  hadst 
it  there  ?  Why  didst  thou  send  it  here  ? 
Didst  do  this  to  observe  the  form  of 
the  law  only  to  evade  it  and  to  repu- 
diate its  ruling  later  on?' 

"You  have  noticed  that  during  their 
conversation  both  were  referring  to 
me.  the  masculine  Jux,  as  it.  This  low- 
ered me  greatly  in  my  own  estimation, 
and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  this 
apparent  affront  humiliated  me.  A 
rule  in  Latin  grammar  relegates  all 
nouns  that  cannot  be  declined  to  the 
neuter  gender,  and  I  seemed  to  have 
become,  O  irony  of  fate,  an  indeclin- 
able something  not  even  worthy  of 
gender,  let  alone  sex. 

"Gabriel  took  up  the  discussion 
again  at  this  point  and  said  very  deter- 
minedly: 

"  'All  arguments  and  discussions  are 
neither  here  nor  there;  but  whatever 
thou  hast  to  say,  say  it  now  and  do  so 
speedily,  so  that  we  may  draw  this 


unpleasant  incident  to  a  close.' 

"Mephistopheles  retorted  calmly  and 
deliberately : 

"  'Thou  art  in  a  great  hurry  for 
which  I  see  no  reason.  We  have  met 
here  to  adjust  a  difficulty,  not  to  claim 
a  victory  before  it  is  won.  This  situa- 
tion may  not  arise  again  in  aeons.  We 
ere  confronting  it  now,  however,  and 
it  necessitates  a  well  digested  plan  of 
action  to  settle  the  dispute,  for  the  de- 
cision will  create  a  precedent  for  all 
time.' 

"  'This  soul,'  referring  to  me  again, 
'must  be  disposed  of,  and  its  disposi- 
tion is  not  a  matter  of  an  arbitrary 
wish,  but  a  subject  entitled  to  a  due- 
process  of  the  law.  Under  the  immut- 
able laws  by  which  we  both  abide,  it 
hath  become  necessary  to  decide,  in 
some  just  and  equitable  manner,  who 
shall  lay  claim  to  it,  either  thou  or  I.. 
That  much  thou  wilt  grant  me.' 

"  'But  doest  thou  know  of  any  para- 
graph in  our  code  or  corpus  juris  cov- 
ering this  unusual  and  extraordinary 
case?  I  know  the  musty  pandects  all 
by  rote,  and  yet  am  I  in  great  perplex- 
ity, for  not  a  single  clause  or  section 
have  I  found  possible  of  application. 
_  "  'Now,  I  shall  leave  it  to  thee,  Gab- 
riel, to  suggest  a  method  by  which  this 
may  be  done.  I  see  thou,  too,  art  in 
a  quandary.  Thy  sense  of  justice  doeth 
not  deny  that  we  both  possess  an  equal 
right  under  that  law  which  hath  been 
recognized  by  us  from  all  eternity.' 
(To  be  continued.) 


The  Storm  King 


By  Eugenia  Lyon  Dow 


With  frightful  din  and  furious  might 
The  King  of  Storms  stalks  forth  to-night. 
Relentlessly  with  wind  and  rain 
He  beats  against  my  window  pane, 
As  he  were  loth  to  pass  me  by 
While  I  am  sheltered,  warm  and  dry. 

The  inky  blackness  of  the  night 

Is  rent  by  lightning,  dazzling  white, 

And  echoing  thunder,  crash  on  crash, 

Gives  back  the  challenge  of  each  flash. 

A  myriad  voices  rise  and  fall 

As  disembodied  spirits  call; 

And  as  each  fitful  blast  goes-  by, 

It  bears  a  long-drawn,  wailing  cry 

As  if  some  soul  from  love's  estate 

Were  vainly  calling  for  his  mate. 

My  neighbor  just  across  the  way 

Whose  light  gleams  dimly  through  the  gray, 

A  vigil  keeps  as  well  as  I — 

She,  too,  is  sheltered,  warm  and  dry. 

But  out  upon  the  boisterous  sea 

Her  lover's  ship  rides  gallantly. 

Upon  her  knees  the  whole  night  through 

She  prays  for  him  and  all  his  crew. 

And  such  the  power  of  prayer  and  love 

To  guard  the  depths,  or  heights  above, 

Her  love  a  pathway  through  the  foam 

Will  show  to  guide  her  lover  home. 

I  see  her  light  grow  dim,  and  blur. 
How  gladly  I'd  change  place  with  her. 
The  tearless  anguish,  doubts  and  fears, 
The  agony — for  years  on  years 
I'd  bravely  bear  if  chance  might  be 
'T would  bring  my  lost  love  back  to  me. 

Blow  deathless  winds,  and  rage  and  roar, 
Your  force  can  reach  that  far  off  shore 
Where  mignonette  and  heartsease  grow 
Whose  sweetness  I  may  never  know! 
Blow  on!    The  world  is  yours  to-night, 
I  glory  in  your  awful  might; 
Had  I  your  power  I  would  not  be 
The  helpless  toy  of  destiny! 


A  Kindergarten  of  Romance 


By  Will  AcCracken 


DUNCAN  LANGE'S  eyes  wav- 
ered and  turned  aside  from  his 
accuser's  scrutiny,  as  he  sat  be- 
side her  on  the  porch  settee. 
After  nearly  a  year's  engagement  to 
Bertha  (on  probation),  he  felt  that 
they  were  drifting  apart,  and  all  on  ac- 
count of  what  seemed  to  him  as  a 
mere  trifle. 

Glancing  furtively  toward  her  again 
as  she  continued  to  speak,  he  experi- 
enced a  thrill  at  her  sparkling  beauty, 
a  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  her  brown 
eyes  flashing,  and  the  morning  sun  re- 
vealing a  shade  of  red  in  her  auburn 
hair.  Why,  he  thought,  should  she 
take  him  to  task  for  his  one  innocent 
delight  in  life,  that  of  exploring  the 
intricate  passages  and  lofty  chambers 
of  nature's  underground  wonder  of  the 
West — the  Marble  Caves  of  Oregon. 

"I  suppose,  Duncan,  you  received 
that  cut  on  your  temple  while  crawling 
through  some  crevice  in  your  marble 
halls?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  humbly.  "You 
are  a  good  guesser,  Bert." 

"And  the  sprained  wrist?" 

"Got  that  in  a  little  fall  by  the  River 
Styx." 

Bertha,  with  an  impatient  shrug, 
turned  her  face  toward  the  south,  her 
companion's  gaze  settling  in  the  same 
direction.  The  foothills  of  the  Siski- 
yous  loomed  large  through  the  clear 
spring  air,  and  Duncan  could  locate 
the  exact  position  of  old  Grayback 
mountain.  And  there  seemed  to  come 
to  him  again  that  call  to  the  place  in 
the  hills  yonder  where  nature  had  for 
unknown  centuries  been  carving  out 
her  vaulted  chambers.  A  slight 
breeze  tossed  a  spray  of  the  girl's 
tresses  across  his  line  of  vision,  and 


a  meadow  lark  in  pursuit  of  his  mate 
fluttered  for  a  moment  beneath  the 
porch. 

"I  would  not  care  so  much,"  she 
continued,  turning  toward  him,  "if  you 
only  had  a  little  spark  of  romance  in 
your  heart." 

"Romance?"  he  cried  in  astonish- 
ment. "Why,  I'm  full  of  it,  Bert— as 
full  as  a  queen  bee  is  of  pluck,  only  I 
haven't  had  a  chance  to  show  you  the 
real  stuff." 

"Yes,  there's  your  slang  again;  you 
do  not  make  a  single  effort  to  im- 
prove." 

Duncan  arose  and  on  tiptoe  luxuri- 
ously stretched  his  five  feet  six  inches 
of  stature,  and  as  his  heels  came  to 
the  floor  with  a  clatter,  the  impact  of 
his  190  pounds  caused  the  windows  to 
rattle.  "I  guess  I'm  not  much  account 
at  anything  except  selling  automo- 
biles, and  I  could  improve  there,  too," 
be  admitted. 

Bertha  arose  and  stood  before  him. 
"You  are  right.  I  hear  your  company 
is  mourning  the  loss  of  business  in  this 
territory." 

At  last  the  other's  eyes  steadied  and 
met  hers.  "So? — and  them  writing 
me  a  fine  letter  of  commendation  for 
working  up  a  seventeen  per  cent  In- 
crease over  last  year?  Whoever  sere- 
naded you  with  that  line  of  music 
peddled  out  the  wrong  dope  on " 

"Duncan  Lange — such  talk!"  she 
cried.  "Why  don't  you  try  and  stop  it? 
I  do  wish  you  would  take  Dick  Fea- 
therstone  as  a  pattern;  he  is  so  pol- 
ished. And  he  is  imbued  with  such 
a  fine  spirit  of  romance  that  I  am  sure 
you  will  benefit  by  associating  with 
him." 

Then  as  Duncan  looked  up  at  her 


142 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


from  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  as  he 
was  leaving,  she  smiled,  and  he  felt 
that  after  ail  he  was  fortunate  in  hav- 
ing such  a  prize  to  strive  after. 

"I  have  determined  to  visit  your 
wonderful  caverns  next  Saturday,"  she 
announced.  "Brother  Jim  and  Katie 
are  going,  and  last  night  I  consented 
to  be  one  of  the  party.  And  also  they 
may  invite  Dick  Featherstone.  Jim 
said  you  must  be  sure  and  go." 

"Let's  see — to-day  is  Tuesday,"  he 
mused  aloud.  "I  don't  know  that  I  can 
get  away,  Bertha,  though  I  might  make 
it  later  in  the  afternoon." 

Then  as  he  hurried  down  the  street, 
his  thoughts  turned  to  the  ideals  of  the 
girl  he  had  just  left,  and  he  could  not 
help  feeling  that  she  was  a  trifle  too 
exacting.  She  did  not  like  to  hear  him 
express  himself  in  slang,  yet  he  knew 
he  was  gradually  breaking  himself  of 
the  habit.  She  had  voiced  in  favor  of 
a  spirit  of  romance,  and  had  cited 
Featherstone  as  an  example.  Think- 
ing thus,  the  slight  travail  of  his  soul 
gave  birth  to  an  idea.  "I'll  show  her 
about  'being  imbued  with  a  spirit  of 
romance.' "  He  turned  into  Main 
street  and  went  straight  to  the  office  of 
Dick  Featherstone. 

"Want  to  consult  you,  Feather- 
stone." 

"Right  in  my  line,  Mr.  Lange." 

"Nothing  in  it  for  you  this  time," 
laughed  Duncan,  and  he  proceeded  to 
•  outline  his  plan. 

"She  thinks  I'm  short  on  this  roman- 
tic stuff,  and  this  will  be  the  great 
demonstration,"  he  explained,  as  he 
finished. 

"She'll  either  hate  you  or  eat  out  of 
your  hand,"  said  the  attorney,  laugh- 
ing. 

"That's  my  idea.  I  can't  stand  the 
way  things  are  going  now.  She  has 
changed  during  the  past  six  months, 
and  not  only  criticises  me,  but  holds 
you  up  as  an  example." 

Dick's  attempt  to  show  displeasure 
at  this  announcement  was  a  partial 
failure.  He  thought  of  Bertha  War- 
ren's generous  income  from  her  two 
office  buildings,  and  of  his  own  meagre 
practice,  and  a  ray  of  hope  loomed  up 


within  him.  As  his  visitor  departed, 
he  watched  him  walk  with  rapid  strides 
across  the  street,  and  snapping  his 
fmgers  with  each  step. 

"Pretty  much  all  ivory,"  the  attor- 
ney remarked  aloud. 

It  was  nearly  noon,  four  days  later, 
that  Bertha  Warren,  Jim  Warren  and 
his  wife,  with  Featherstone  in  the  rear 
leading  a  pack  horse,  tramped  down 
the  trail  a  half  mile  from  the  Oregon 
caves.  They  had  walked  the  nine 
tedious  miles  from  the  ranch  where 
they  had  left  the  automobile,  and 
'  then  hired  a  horse,  in  three  and  a  half 
hours.  The  climb  over  the  two  divides 
on  the  western  slopes  of  Grayback 
mountain  had  tired  them,  and  they 
were  commencing  to  discuss  the  good 
things  the  pack  contained  for  dinner. 

"There's  another  gray  squirrel," 
cried  Bertha.    Isn't  it  a  beauty?" 

As  the  nimble  rodent  sped  up  into 
the  branches  of  the  great  fir,  she  chir- 
ruped shrillly.  A  moment  later  Mrs. 
Warren  called  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
others. 

"Look,  look!"  she  whispered  loudly, 
pointing  ahead  on  the  trail. 

Not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from 
them  stood  a  strange  appearing  man. 
Tall  and  slimly  built,  he  was  clothed 
only  in  a  breech-clout  and  jacket  of 
fawn-skin,  and  with  moccasins  pro- 
tecting the  feet.  In  his  left  hand  he 
held  a  fluttering  grouse,  while  in  the 
right  he  grasped  a  polished  stick  from 
the  crooked  manzanita  bush.  With  his 
hair  hanging  to  his  ears,  and  staring 
eyes  above  the  bushy  beard,  his  ap- 
pearance held  the  party  spell  bound 
and  mute.  Standing  thus  for  a  half 
minute,  he  gave  the  grouse  a  wave 
above  his  head,  and  with  a  loud  "Hi- 
o-oo,"  he  sprang  into  the  bushes  on 
the  lower  side  of  the  trail. 

"A  wild  man!"  gasped  Mrs.  War- 
ren. 

"I  doubt  it,"  saith  Featherstone.  "A 
v/ild  man  would  be  too  crafty  to  allow 
us  to  see  him  at  such  close  range." 

"I  believe  he  has  gone  toward  the 
caves,"  remarked  Bertha.. 

"Now,  don't  you  women  folk  work 


A  KINDERGARTEN  OF  ROMANCE 


143 


yourself  into  a  frenzy,"  cautioned  Jim 
Warren.  "We're  out  for  a  good  time, 
and  we're  not  going  to  mar  it  by  con- 
sidering an  eccentric  trapper." 

Little  was  said  during  the  rest  of 
the  journey  down  the  trail,  and  in 
ten  minutes  they  had  reached  the 
camping  ground  close  to  the  lower  en- 
trance of  the  great  caves  of  the  west. 
As  the  party  emerged  from  the  tim- 
ber into  this  open  space,  the  figure  of 
a  man  crouching  on  the  floor  of  the 
passageway,  a  few  feet  back  from  the 
portal,  hastily  arose  and  retreated  back 
into  the  darkness.  Scrambling  up  the 
first  story  ladder,  the  man  lighted  a 
candle  sticking  in  an  empty  tin  can, 
and  pressed  rapidly  on  through  Wat- 
son's Grotto,  over  Satan's  Backbone, 
past  the  American  Falls,  and  toward 
Neptune's  Grotto. 

The  party  outside  had  in  the  mean- 
time prepared  their  early  dinner,  and 
were  demonstrating  how  a  long  walk 
through  a  forest  reserve  could  build  up 
an  appetite. 

"No  sign  of  Duncan  yet,"  Warren 
took  time  to  remark  as  he  slipped  two 
more  fried  eggs  and  a  slice  of  ham 
from  the  skillet  to  his  tin  plate. 

"If  he  comes  at  all  it  will  not  be 
until  later  in  the  afternoon,"  an- 
nounced Bertha. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  equipped  with 
flashlights  and  wearing  suitable  cloth- 
ing, they  entered  the  first  cavern.  As 
they  progressed,  all  thought  of  the 
wild  man  had  left  them,  the  wonder- 
ful formations  to  be  seen  on  every 
hand  having  taken  their  whole  atten- 
tion. Through  the  chapels  and  grot- 
toes and  lofty  passages  they  climbed 
and  crawled,  tiptoeing  over  narrow 
ledges  and  squeezing  past  the  crevices. 
As  they  entered  the  Queen's  Dining 
Room,  a  thousand  feet  from  the  en- 
trance, a  man  lying  upon  an  elevated 
ledge  raised  his  head  and  peered  cut 
at  them.  Then,  as  the  four  explorers 
passed  on,  he  dropped  nimbly  to  the 
cavern's  floor.  Following  noislessly  and 
at  a  safe  distance,  he  kept  the  others 
in  sight,  sometimes  darting  swiftly  in- 
to a  narrow  alcove  as  a  flashlight  from 
some  one  of  the  party  ahead  chanced 


tc  be  turned  momentarily  in  his  di- 
rection. 

It  was  when  a  long  ladder,  or  rather 
a  series  of  ladders  had  been  reached, 
that  the  man  drew  closer.     Feather- 
stone  was  mounting  to  test  the  sound- 
ness of  the  structure,  and  as  he  reached 
the  top  he  called  out  that  everything 
was  safe.    After  Jim  Warren  and  his 
wife  had  ascended  a  considerable  dis- 
tance,  Bertha  dropped  her  flashlight 
into  her  pocket  and  placed  her  foot 
on  the  bottom  rung  of  the  ladder.  But 
a  hand  now  pressed  firmly  over  her 
mouth,  a  stronger     arm     brought  her 
arms  to  her  side,  and  in  a  moment  she 
realized  that   she   was   being  carried 
away  from  her  friends,  back  into  the 
velvet  blackness.     After  a  few  long 
minutes  her  captor  halted,  freed  her  ■ 
arms  and  proceeded  to  press  a  gag  be- 
tween her  teeth.    Accomplishing  this, 
he  deliberately  kissed  her  upon  the 
cheek.    Wild  in  her  wrath  at  this  pre- 
sumptuous cave-man,  with  the  odor  of 
fur  upon  him,  she  clawed  at  his  face 
and  bit  into  his  wrist.     But  soon  he 
had  her  arms  bound  tightly  to  her  side, 
and  lighting  his  candle  he  proceeded 
a  short  distance  farther,  now  compell- 
ing her  to  walk  in  front  of  him  up  a 
steep  incline.    At  the  top  of  this  was 
what  appeared  to  be  two  fissures  in  the 
rock,  and  close  together.    The  column, 
however,  separating  the  openings,  was 
a  huge  stalactite,  and  this  her  captor 
removed  with  a  lifting   and  twisting 
motion.    The  aperture  now  being  wide 
enough  for  one  to  enter,  the  man  freed 
her  arms,  and     firmly     pushed     her 
through.    While  she  tugged  and  pulled 
at  the  gag  she  could  see  the  faint  out- 
line of  her  kidnaper  replace  the  lime- 
stone pillar,  pick  the  shaded  candle 
from  the  floor  and  swiftly  withdraw. 
As  she  freed  her  mouth  of  its  incum- 
brance her  first  instinct  was  to  cry  for 
help,  but  she  quickly  realized  the  fu- 
tility of  such  a  procedure.  Remember- 
ing the  flashlight  in  her  pocket,  she 
drew  it  forth  and  pressed  the  button, 
revealing  to  her  view  a  wondrous  pri- 
son cell.    Back  in  a  nook  of  the  oblong 
cavern  was  a  recess  near  the  floor,  and 
on  the  ledge  were  spread  the  furs  of 


144  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

deer  and  bear  and  cougar.  The  walls  leading  to  this  chamber, 
were  almost  white  in  the  glare  of  the  "When  we  missed  you,  I  ran  back 
light,  and  were  covered  with  myriad  ahead  of  the  others,  and  remembering 
figures  in  bas  relief,  while  from  the  this  offshoot  from  the  main  chain  of 
dome  shaped  ceiling  hung  countless  caves,  I  crawled  in.  Finding  a  piece 
stalactites,  fashioned  like  stilettos  of  of  buckskin  that  had  been  freshly  cut 
pearl.  As  she  looked  upon  all  this  I  was  sure  I  was  on  the  right  track." 
she  ceased  to  think  of  her  very  recent  "To  say  I  thank  you  sounds  too  corn- 
experience.  Her  soul  threw  off  its  monplace,  Dick.  You  are  a  real  hero, 
shroud  of  earthly  rancour,  while  awe  But  even  now  we  may  be  in  danger 
and  reverence  took  the  throne;  this  from  that  monster." 
was  romance  of  a  brand  she  had  never  After  five  minutes  of  rapid  going 
dreamed  of,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  they  reached  the  main  artery,  where 
indeed  a  prehistoric  being — a  captive  the  rescued  girl  was  received  by  her 
in  a  cave-man's  lair.  She  was  sur-  brother  and  Katie  as  one  returned 
prised  to  find  that  she  was  unafraid,  from  the  dead.  All  were  anxious  to 
in  the  sense  of  any  bodily  harm  being  get  out  into  the  open  world  again,  and 
in  store  for  her.  Then,  as  she  sur-  decided  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  doing 
veyed  again  the  formations  on  the  the  rest  of  the  caves  until  some  time 
walls,  carved  as  by  a  wonderful  in-  when  the  government  guide  was  on 
telligence,  she  sank  upon  her  knees  in  duty  later  in  the  season.  In  half  an  hour 
humility  of  spirit  at  the  thought  of  the  they  emerged  into  the  daylight,  and 
greater  beauties  of  the  world  of  sun-  Bertha  gave  expression  to  her  delight 
shine,  and  which  she  had  not  appre-  in  a  fervent  "Thank  Heaven." 
ciated.  The  sun  was  well  down  in  the  west- 
Arising  to  her  feet  she  stepped  to-  em  sky,  the  lengthening  shadows  of 
ward  the  cot  with  its  covering  of  furs,  the  great  fir  and  pine  trees  pointed  to 
A  feeling  of  nervousness  began  to  steal  the  fleeting  day,  and  from  the  deeper 
over  her,  and  as  she  reached  the  al-  shades  of  a  branching  gulch  came  the 
cove  a  distinct  cry  seemed  to  come  hi-  evening  call  of  a  coyote.  Then  a  whis- 
distinctly  from  some  remote  point,  tie  was  heard  in  the  timber  on  the  op- 
The  thought  that  the  cave  man  might  posite  slope,  and  a  moment  later  a  man 
be  returning  brought  her  to  the  verge  on  horseback  came  into  the  clearing, 
of  hysteria.  Listening  in  an  _  agony  "Why,  it's  Duncan,"  cried  Katie,  and 
of  fear,  she  heard  the  call  again,  and  she  trilled  a  high  note  of  welcome, 
closer.  Surely  that  was  her  name  she  Man  and  horse  were  covered  with 
heard.  A  moment  later  the  voice  dust,  and  the  animal's  flanks  wet  and 
could  be  heard  quite  distinctly  in  a  fa-  steaming.  "Rode  all  the  way  from  the 
miliar  cadence.  Pass  since  the  9 :30  train  this  morning," 
"Bertha-o-ho-ho-Bertha!"  he  remarked  as  he  dismounted  and 
*  *  *  *  commenced  loosening  the  saddle  girth. 
In  a  few  rapid  steps  she  reached  her  In  piece  meal  from  the  others  he 
C3ll  entrance,  from  which  point  a  flash-  learned  about  the  great  adventure,  but 
light  could  be  seen  near  by.  With  a  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind  was 
glad  cry  she  called  back :  "Here  I  am.  that  Featherstone  had  been  the  res- 
Who  is  it  coming?"  cuer,  and  not  he. 

"This  is  Dick.    Are  you  all  right?"  "I  imagined  it  some  joke  when  I  first 

In  a  moment  Featherstone  was  in  front  felt  his  hand  press  over  my  mouth," 

of  her  prison  house,  tugging  at  the  Bertha  was  saying.    "And  then,  after 

bulky  pillar  of  limestone.    Finally  re-  he  had  put  that  ill-smelling  piece  of 

moving  it,  he  helped  Bertha  through  buckskin  in  my  mouth,  he  deliberately 

the  opening.    When  she  had  briefly  re-  kissed  me  on  the  cheek." 

lated  her  thrilling  experience,  he  ex-  As  she  ceased  speaking,  she  looked 

plained  how,  the  previous  year,  he  had  enquiringly  at  Katie,  and  then  at  her 

by  accident  discovered  the  passageway  brother. 


A  KINDERGARTEN  OF  ROMANCE 


145 


"What  is  it,  Bert?"  asked  Jim. 

"I  was  just  saying  the  man  kissed 
me  on  the  cheek — but  it  was  an  odd 
little  kiss,  sort  of  a  two  in  one  or  a 
one  in  two  contrivance!"  Her  brows 
contracted,  and  she  looked  thought- 
fully down  the  canyon.  Turning  with  a 
quick  movement  toward  Duncan,  who 
was  carefully  wiping  down  the  horse 
v/ith  a  whisp  of  grass,  she  cried  out: 

"Duncan  Lange,  look  at  me!" 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  into  a 
pair  of  searching  eyes,  and  at  once  his 
face  and  neck  took  on  the  shade  of  the 
reddening  clouds.  In  a  few  rapid  steps 
she  was  by  his  side,  and  grasping  his 
left  wrist  she  deftly  pushed  back  his 
coat  sleeve.  She  said  not  a  word, 
merely  pointing,  as  Jim  and  Katie  came 
forward,  to  two  little  rows  of  blue  and 
red  indentations,  unquestionably  the 
marks  of  teeth. 

"Duncan!"  Her  voice  rang  clear. 
"Just  what  is  the  idea?" 

He  looked  toward  where  Feather- 
stone  had  stood  a  minute  before,  but 
that  gentleman  had  disappeared.  "I 
guess,  Bert,  I'm  caught  with  the  goods, 
all  right." 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement  as 
the  confession  was  made.  "But  why, 
Duncan?  Why  did  you  give  me  such 
a  terrible  fright?" 

"I  never  though  about  that  part  of 
it,  Bert— really  I  didn't."  As  the 
other  remained  silent,  he  continued: 
"You  see,  I  wanted  to  do  the  rescuing 
myself,  but  I  guess  Dick  double- 
crossed  me.  It's  all  right,  though. 
Dick's  a  good  fellow." 

Bertha's  eyes  widened.  "Do  you 
mean  that  Dick  Feather  stone  knew 
that  this  was  to  occur?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  sort  of  confided  in 
him,  and  he  agreed  that  it  would  be  a 
pretty  good  scheme  to "  He  hesi- 
tated. 

"To  what?" 

"Why.  to  make  you  think  I  had  some 
romance  in  my  nature,"  he  said 
weakly. 


"But  the  sweating  horse  and  you 
covered  with  dust,  and  the  wild  man. 
I  don't  understand." 

"After  placing  you  in  the  'Den,'  as  I 
call  it,  I  went  to  a  crevice  where  my 
clothes  were  hidden  and  changed  gar- 
ments. Then  coming  out  I  went  to  a 
spring  up  the  gulch  where  my  horse 
was  tied.  Wetting  down  his  flanks  and 
his  saddle  back,  I  threw  dust  into  the 
air  until  we  were  covered  with  it,  and 
have  kept  him  on  the  run  ever  since. 
And  about  that  wild  man  you  met  on 
the  way  here,  he  is  Tom  Bowles,  a  uni- 
versity student.  He  is  demonstrating 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  faculty  that 
a  man  can  go  into  the  mountains  of 
Southern  Oregon  without  a  weapon 
and  with  no  clothing  but  a  breech-clout, 
and  can  there  clothe  and  feed  himself. 
He  probably  thought  you  knew  he  was 
in  this  district,  and  desired  to  show 
you  the  live  bird  he  had  captured." 

Bertha  took  hold  of  his  coat  lapels 
and  held  him  off  at  arm's  length.  "And 
so  you  thought  I  was  worth  all  that 
trouble  and  scheming,  did  you?" 

The  new  look  in  her  eyes  set  his 
heart  to  pounding  at  a  terrific  pace. 
The  figure  of  a  man  leaving  the  upper 
end  of  the  camping  ground  with  a  pack 
en  his  back  drew  his  attention  for  a 
moment.  "I  guess  Dick  has  decided 
not  to  camp  out  with  us  to-night,"  he 
thought. 

"Duncan!"  Bertha's  voice  was  now 
soft  and  low.  "I  think  I  have  had  all 
the  romance  I  want.  The  kiss  you  gave 
me  in  there  proved  that  your  heart  is 
all  right,  and  that's  what  I'm  banking 
ing  on  when  I  hitch  up  with  a  mate  for 
life." 

The  other  showed  his  astonishment, 
yet  in  his  exultation  at  the  meaning  her 
words  implied,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  a  laughing  rebuke. 

"What,  Bert!    Slang?" 

"You  bet  you — just  this  once,"  she 
mumbled,  as  he  forgot  the  presence  of 
Jim  and  Katie,  and  placed  another  two- 
in-one  upon  her — lips. 


No  Questions  Asked 


By  William  De  Ryee 


(Author  of  "Stabbed,"  "Coyote  o'  the  Rio  Grande,"  etc.) 


BANG! 
The  express  messenger  whirled, 
beat  the  air  an  instant  with  his 
hands,  then  plunged  to  the  floor, 
where  he  lay  motionless. 

"Sorry,  Kid,  but  you  torced  me  to  do 
it"  Tom  Nestor,  known  from  Tucson 
to  El  Paso  as  "Golden  Spurs,"  low- 
ered his  smoking  Colt's  and  strode 
forward  to  examine  the  man  he  had 
shot.  "Nothing  serious,  I  reckon,  son, 
If  you  just  hadn't  dived  for  that  little 
nickel-plated  squirt-gun,  everything 
would'd  gone  tip-top,  and  nobody  hurt. 
Gee,  but  this  is  a  cinch." 

"Hands  up!"  The  order,  given  in 
a  stentorian  voice,  came  from  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  car. 

But  instead  of  obeying  the  com- 
mand, Nestor's  gun  leaped  and  again 
spat  fire. 

A  moment  later,  a  package  of  green- 
backs stuffed  into  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt,  Tom  Nestor  leaped  from  the 
speeding  train  and  scrambled  down  the 
embankment.  A  five-minutes'  run 
brought  him  back  to  where  he  had 
tethered  his  horse.  Untying  the  reins, 
he  swung  into  the  saddle  and  rode 
ruriously  off  toward  the  northward. 

"Durn  bad  business — that,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  lashed  his  mount  unmerci- 
fully. "Guess  I'd  better  hit  the  ball 
for  some  place  where  no  questions'll 
be  asked,  and  that'll  be  Lost  Cabin,  on 
Lookout,  where  I  reckon  no  human  be- 
ing ever  set  foot,  'ceptin'  myself." 

About  five  miles  from  the  Sunset 
tracts,  the  bandit  drew  his  horse  down 
to  a  fox  trot.  This  he  kept  up  all  af- 
ternoon and  far  into  the  night,  only 
slacking  his  pace  in  order  to  roll  and 


light  an  occasional  cigarette. 

At  Bigg's  Tank  he  dismounted,  re- 
moved his  saddle  and  buried  it;  then 
striking  his  faithful  horse  a  smart 
blow  with  his  quirt,  he  set  off  on  foot 
toward  Lookout  Mountain. 

"I  ought  to  have  buried  you,  too, 
Bess,"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  listened 
to  the  dying  hoof-beats  of  his  only 
friend,  "but  I  couldn't,  I  just  couldn't. 
I  reckon  I'm  not  all  devil — not  yet." 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth 
day  following  the  robbery  of  the  Sun- 
set Limited  that  Nestor  was  returning 
to  Lost  Cabin  from  a  lucky  quail- 
hunt,  and  feeling  rather  well  pleased 
with  himself  and  the  world  in  general. 
After  all,  it  only  took  a  certain  amount 
of  gray  matter  to  "beat  the  game." 
Here  he  was,  ten  thousand  feet  above 
sea-level,  far  from  the  abodes  of  man, 
worth  some  fifty  thousand  dollars — 
money  that  he  had  gained  through  the 
use  of  a  little  common-sense  reason- 
ing. He  would  stay  here  a  year,  then 
go  East,  and,  under  an  assumed  name, 
"take  things  easy"  for  the  balance  of 
his  life.  The  secret  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness was  to  have  a  well-provisioned 
retreat  where  one  could  go  and  "bury" 
one's-self  for  a  year,  or  more — some 
piace  where  no  questions  would  be 
asked.  That  was  the  spirit  of  this 
wild  country — "no  questions  asked." 

"Who  are  you  ? — and  where  did  you 
come  from?" 

It  was  a  human  voice — a  girl's  voice. 

Instinctively,  the  bandit's  right  hand 
flew  to  the  butt  of  his  Colt's.  He 
halted  in  his  tracks,  nonplussed,  fairly 
petrified.  How  could  any  one  have 
gotten  up  here — here  on  Lookout?  He 


NO  QUESTIONS  ASKED 


147 


kept  his  steel-gray  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
scrub-oak,  from  behind  which  the 
voice  had  come.    At  length  he  spoke : 

"Come  out  here  where  I  can  see 
what  you  look  like.  Pronto! — or  I'll 
shoot." 

The  intruder  obeyed  instantly — and 
Nestor  caught  his  breath.  Never  be- 
fore had  he  seen  such  beauty;  never 
before  had  he  beheld  a  creature  so 
enchanting — so  symbolical  of  the  spirit 
cf  Wildness.  And  yet — he  had  never 
trusted  women. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  a  moment, 
half-defiantly ;  then — 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

With  evident  admiration,  the  girl's 
gaze  lingered  for  an  instant  upon  the 
handsome  face  of  the  man;  then,  as 
though  by  accident,  her  eyes  dropped 
to  the  large  gold  spurs  on  his  boot- 
heels,   and   she    started   involuntarily. 

"Up  to  a  week  ago,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly, "I've  been  living  here  for  three 
months.  I  went  back  to  see  how  they 
were  getting  along  without  me." 

"They?" 

"My  father  and  brother." 

"Why  did  you  leave  them?" 

"They  drank — and — abused  me." 

"The  devil  they  did!" 

Silence  reigned  for  a  space.  Then, 
half-playfully,  the  girl  spoke  again : 

"Now  will  you  tell  me  what  you  are 
doing  here — here  on  my  property?" 

Nestor  hesitated  a  moment. 

"I "  he  began;  then  stopped.  It 

wouldn't  do  to  tell  her  that  he  had 
built  this  cabin.  "I  found  this  place 
by  accident,"  he  substituted,  "and  I 
liked  it  so  well  that  I  thought  I  would 
try  living  here  for  awhile  for — for  my 
health." 

"Are  you  very  sick?" 

"No,  not  very;  but " 

"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"See  here,  little  friend,  I  don't  like 
people  who  ask  too  many  questions. 
I'm  here,  and  you're  here — that  settles 
it.  Come  on,  let's  get  something  to 
eat." 

Three  days  later  they  were  seated 
just  outside  the  door  of  Lost  Cabin. 
The  girl  had  been  watching  and  com- 


menting upon  the  sunset — the  gorge- 
ous tints  of  the  sky  above  the  purple, 
western  ridges.  The  man  had  been 
surreptitiously  studying  the  girl.  Nes- 
tor couldn't  understand  exactly  what 
had  come  over  him.  A  feeling  alto- 
gether new  to  him  seemed  to  be  af- 
fecting every  fibre  of  his  being.  He 
cursed  himself  for  a  fool — and  yet,  he 
caught  himself  longing  to  caress  her 
golden  hair,  to  even  as  much  as  touch 
one  of  her  tiny  white  hands.  She  was 
different  from  the  women  he  had  been 
used  to.  She  appealed  to  his  "better 
self" — a  self  long  buried — and  almost 
forgotten.  To  be  sure,  what  a  silly 
ass  he  was !    And  yet — and  yet 

Since  their  first  meeting,  the  girl 
had  refrained  from  asking  any  more 
questions.  But  now  she  suddenly 
turned  and  said: 

"Why  do  you  always  carry  that 
gun?    Are  you  expecting  some  one?" 

"I  reckon  it's  just  a  .habit  I've  got- 
ten into." 

The  girl  smiled  mischievously. 

"What  was  it  you  put  under  the 
floor  of  the  cabin  last  night,  after  I 
had  gone  to  bed?" 

Nestor  started. 

"I  know!"  And  she  laughed— a  little 
silvery  laugh.  "Don't  you  think  I 
know  who  you  are?  You're  'Golden 
Spurs.'  I'd  heard  of  you,  and  I  knew 
you  the  moment  I  first  saw  you — from 
your  spurs.  Now,  aren't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself?  The  Good  God  says: 
'Thou  shalt  not  steal.'  Oh,  it's  terri- 
ble— a  big,  fine,  handsome  man  like 
you,  too.  When  I  say  'big,'  I  mean 
bigness  of  heart,  as  well  as  bigness  of 
physique.  You  see,  it  isn't  as  if  you 
were  all  bad.  You  aren't,  because  if 
you  were,  you  wouldn't  have  treated 
me  so — so  royally  since  I  have  been 
here.  You're  not  an  ordinary  rough- 
neck, Mr.  Nestor;  you're  a  gentleman. 
And  oh,  I'd  be  the  happiest  girl  in  all 
the  world  if  I  could  get  you  to  give  it 
all  up!  to  send  back  that — that  blood- 
money;  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and 
live  square  with  the  world." 

At  sight  of  the  tears  in  her  eyes, 
Tom  Nestor  hung  his  head.  Against 
his  will,  he  was  silent.  Again  he  cursed 


148 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


himself  for  a  fool;  but  something, 
seme  inexplicable  power  beyond  his 
control,  seemed  to  be  dominating  him. 
One  moment  he  was  on  the  verge  of  an 
angry  outburst;  the  next,  he  was  sub- 
missive, ashamed,  actually  embar- 
rassed. 

"When  I  say  that  you  are  a  gentle- 
man," the  girl  went  on,  in  a  soft, 
pleading  voice — "that,  if  only  you 
would  let  your  'better  self  come  up- 
permost, you  would  be  good,  honor- 
able, refined,  noble — I  only  say  what 
I  feel — here."  And  she  placed  one 
small  hand  over  her  heart.  "You  must 
have  had  a  good  mother " 

His  mother!    Oh,  God! 

Nestor  rose  abruptly  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  girl.  Something  welled 
up  in  his  throat;  his  vision  blurred. 
Thoughts  of  his  childhood  days 
crowded  into  his  mind — his  little  sis- 
ter, May;  the  last  words  his  mother 
had  spoken:  "Trust  in  God,  my  boy, 
and  you  will  never  have  anything  to 
fear."  Sobs,  the  first  he  had  known 
for  long,  long  years,  shook  his  frame. 
He  tried  to  repress  them;  but  they 
would  not  be  repressed.  He  was  no 
longer  "a  strong  man."  Unable  to 
control  his  feelings,  he  wept  like  a 


child. 

"You  will  give  it  up?"  pleaded  the 
girl  at  his  elbow. 

With  an  abrupt  movement,  he  put 
her  aside  and  walked  away. 

"You — you  are  not  going  to 
leave "  she  cried  after  him. 

"I'll  be  back,"  he  flung  over  his 
shoulder. 

An  hour  later  he  came  back  to  her,  a 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"As  a  rule,"  he  said,  "I  don't  like 
people  who  ask  questions.  But  now 
I'm  going  to  ask  a  question  myself — 
the  biggest  question  I  ever  asked  in 
my  life.  If  I  promise  to  bury 
'Golden  Spurs;'  to  send  that — that 
money  back;  to  give  up  this  sort  of 
life  forever;  to  start  all  over  again, 
and  live  cleanly  and  square — if  I  pro- 
mise that — will  you  marry  me?" 

An  expression  of  pure  joy  suddenly 
flooded  the  girl's  lovely  face. 

"There  isn't  a  soul  to  care  what  I 
do,"  she  said.  "So  I'm  going  to  put 
my  trust  in  you — and  accept  your 
proposition."     * 

A  new  light  in  his  eyes,  Nestor  ex- 
tended his  hand. 

"Shake,  little  partner,"  he  said. 

And  they  shook. 


Foothill   Fall 


By  Elsinore  Robinson  Crowell 


1HAVE  an  old  brown  coat.  Within 
its  warp  and  woof  are  threads  of 
scarlet,  blue  and  dusty  gold.  But 
closer  than  in  woolen  web  are 
woven  elements  more  precious  far 
than  brilliant  threads,  which  make  my 
shabby  coat  a  garment  rare.  It  is  a 
tramping  coat — not  worn  on  measured 
streets  nor  for  a  festive  show.  But  just 
for  wandering,  over  a  stout  wool  shirt, 
a  battered  skirt  and  hob  nailed  boots. 
So  out  we  go,  my  coat  and  I. 

The  hills  are  good  to  see.  Upon 
them  the  October  light  lies  warm  and 
wide.  The  slow  winds  rise  and  fall, 
fruity  with  blowing  over  ripened  grass 
and  seed.  As  pulsing  fire,  the  yellow 
tar  weed  spreads  abroad  in  glowing 
sheets  of  bloom,  with  fragrance  like 
some  old  and  mellowed  spite.  The 
grasses  now  are  golden  and  the  crisp 
stubble  gleams  against  the  resting 
earth.  No  longer  are  the  scrub  oaks 
dully  green.  Throughout  their  leaves 
they,  too,  are  undershot  with  bronze. 
It  is  as  if  the  amber  light  had  entered 
as  a  winey  life  into  the  trees  and 
fields  until  they  pulse  in  one  rich  har- 
mony. 

I  throw  my  old  coat  open  wide  as  I 
go  down  the  road.  Deep  in  its  folds 
the  sunshine  works  its  way.  And 
through  my  veins  as  through  insentient 
earth  the  light  and  color  throb.  Till  I, 
who  thought  myself  a  thing  apart  from 
hill  and  wood — knowing  so  little  of 
their  strength  and  peace — become 
again  a  member  of  the  freer  world.  I, 
too,  share  in  the  warmth  and  cheer,  the 
joy  of  full  maturity,  the  mystic  prom- 
ise of  the  pregnant  soil.  One  with  the 
heavy  grain  and  fruitful  trees,  I  lift  my 
face  up  to  the  sun  and  sense  the  joy 

of  natural  toil  well  done. 

*  *  *  * 

I  reach  the  hill  top.  Below  me  lie 
the  checkered  fields — the  ruddy  fur- 


rows of  the  new  ploughed  lands — the 
tawniness  of  pasture  lots.  Along  the 
creeks  the  willows  hold  their  green, 
but  upward,  swift  and  sure  as  singing 
flames,  the  poplars  flash  in  orange 
laced  with  light.  And  in  and  out,  be- 
neath the  fallen  leaves  and  moldering 
hay,  along  the  road,  beside  the  wall, 
the  new  grass  pricks  its  way — a  fili- 
gree of  living  emerald. 

Behind  me  lift  the  mountains,  wine 
and  amethyst;  their  shadows  flushed 
as  in  warm  blooded  sleep ;  with  smoky 
mists  that  drift  like  yearning  dreams 
across  their  violet  folds. 

Our  life  just  now  seems  such  a  sim- 
ple thing,  enwrapt  within  this  beauty, 
and  content  as  I  am  warm  and  safe 
within  my  old  brown  coat. 

Long  Bill  has  piled  his  pumpkins. 
I  can  see  their  glow  against  his  dingy 
shack  beside  the  bed  of  "oregano"  and 
chives.  Around  them  tiny  specks  of 
red  and  tan  whirl  in  a  tumbling  dance, 
not  autumn  leaves,  but  Long  Bill's 
seven  babies,  fat  and  brown,  and  full 
as  cheery  as  his  pumpkin  pile. 

Pasquala  cooks  the  egg  plant  for  her 
man — egg  plant  and  onions  in  to- 
mato juice,  with  flavoring  of  "persa" 
and  "basalico."  Her  chimney's  near 
the  road,  half  hidden  in  the  Pride  of 
India  trees.  The  tang  of  oak-wood 
smoke  and  homely  onion  odors  rise 
and  creep  into  the  folds  of  my  rough 
clothes,  until  I'm  sanctified  with  com- 
monness. 

I  smell  fresh  mushrooms  on  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind.  They're  coming  fast  af- 
ter the  first  fall  rain.  Their  scent  is 
pungent — earthy — rich  with  the  fat- 
ness of  the  teeming  soil. 

How  good  life  is !  I'm  glad  for  sim- 
ple joys — the  daily  beauty  of  this  out- 
flung  robe  of  God — the  heartening  ties 
of  sweaty  work,  warm  evening  food 
and  dancing  babies.    For  all  the  little 


150 


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voices  that  are  set  to  sing  against  the 
weary  wailing  of  a  blundering  world. 

*  *  *  * 

A  great  cloud  flings  its  arm  across 
the  sun  and  all  the  wine  and  warmth 
have  left  the  wind.  It's  cold.  The 
cottonwoods  are  moaning  by  the  creek; 
their  tortured  branches  twist  against  a 
livid  sky.  The  dust  is  lashed  before 
the  rising  gale,  acrid  and  blinding. 
Confusion,  darkness,  wailing — silence 
— and  the  rain  falls  in  sudden  bitter 
gusts.  Sharp  earthy  odors  rise.  The 
colors  crumble,  drenched  in  scudding 
gray.  The  rushing  waters  spurt  about 
the  stones.  I  wait  beneath  a  hanging 
rock  until  the  rain  is  gone.  The  empty 
clouds  pass  on,  trailing  their  tattered 
mist.  The  brown  earth  crouches,  spent 
and  still,  under  the  fading  light. 

Lonely  and  silent  the  sky — silent 
and  lonely  the  world.  Nor  in  all  space 
a  voice  to  answer  when  my  soul  cries 
questioning. 

Only  a  Presence,  brooding — infinite. 
Shabby  my  coat,  dear  God — and 
shabby  my  heart.  After  the  hill  top 
the  weariness — ashes  where  once  were 
flames. 

But  as  I  wait,  hunger  and  doubting 
pass.  Constant  behind  the  mysteries 
I  find  Him  and  partake  of  potency.  Not 
mine  to  know  the  secret  of  the  brood- 
ing hills,  nor  why  across  them  sway  the 
mists  of  pain  and  sin.  But  in  the 
homely  tokens  He  has  left  on  wall  and 
path — the  tiny  burrowing  owl  who  is 


my  friend — the  thistle-down  that 
catches  on  my  sleeve — the  spray  of 
scarlet  leaves — the  childish  things  that 
I  do  understand — I  know  He  keeps  the 
trails,,  and  I  am  comforted. 


Now  as  the  sun  slips  down,  once 
more  there  is  a  golden  burst  of  light.  I 
lie  close  to  the  freshened  earth.  The 
ripe  seeds  weave  into  my  coats'  warm 
wool.  Above  my  face  the  grass  stalks 
bend,  frail  fairy  silhouettes  against  the 
sunset  sky.  From  the  vast  cup  of  hills 
the  light  brims  up ;  slowly  at  first,  then 
with  a  rushing  flame — topaz  and  opal, 
coral  and  jade — molten  and  spilling — 
flashing  and  glowing — mounting  in 
.splendor.  Yearning  and  ecstacy,  pas- 
sion and  prayer.  Then  poignant, 
sweet  as  waters  bubbling,  the  fluting  of 
the  meadow  lark's  last  song.  And,  in 
the  graying  glory,  the  first  great  star 
burns  low. 

Rising,  I  go  home — my  hands  deep 
in  the  pockets  of  my  coat,  counting  the 
treasures  I  have  found  along  the  way. 
Two  acorn  cups — a  smooth  blue  stone 
— a  ruddy  oak  gall  on  a  twisted  twig 
to  put  within  my  Chinese  jar.  And  for 
to-morrow's  pot-roast,  leaves  of  bay. 
So  I  go  back  to  set  the  bread,  to  mend 
a  little  shirt,  to  bring  the  slippers  when 
the  lamps  are  lit.  And  in  the  corner 
hang  my  old  brown  coat — redolent  with 
tar  weed,  stained  with  grass  and  mold, 
but  holding  deep  within  its  folds  the 
garnered  riches  of  my  golden  day. 


THE     SONG 


Dead  boy,  whose  name  I  never  knew, 

Your  wistful  song,  upon  the  page 

Of  this  thin  book  turned  brown  with  age, 

Leaps  out  at  me,  and  as  you  sing, 

Sudden  my  lips  are  quivering; 

The  quiet  pulses  in  my  wrist 

Shout  out ;  my  eyes  are  dulled  with  mist ; 

I  am  a-swoon  with  love  of  you — 

With  love  of  you — or  Youth — or  Spring. 


Mary  Carolyn  Davies. 


Aanuel  Lisa 


By  Cardinal  Goodwin 


AMONG  the  numerous  Spaniards  tombstone  in  Bellefontaine  Cemetery 
who  traded  with  the  Indians  at  St.  Louis  it  is  stated  that  he  was 
within  the  borders  of  what  is  born  in  New  Orleans  on  the  eighth  of 
now  the  United  States,  perhaps  September,  1772.  His  parents  were 
no  one  of  them  became  more  widely  Christoval  de  Lisa,  a  native  of  the  city 
known  during  his  own  day  than  Man-  of  Murcia,  Spain,  and  Maria  Ignacia 
uel  Lisa.  Possessing  the  restless  en-  Rodriguez,  who  was  born  in  St.  Augus- 
ergy  and  the  intrepid  physical  bold-  tine,  Florida.  Christoval  came  to 
ness  of  the  most  adventurous  of  his  Louisiana,  probably  with  O'Reilly, 
countrymen  during  the  golden  days  of  when  the  Spanish  took  possession,  and 
Spain,  and  born  and  reared  in  an  en-  remained  in  the  Spanish  service  in  the 
vironment  where  these  qualities  could  territory  until  the  time  of  his  death, 
be  developed  to  their  full  capacity,  he  Manuel  was  scarcely  more  than 
has  left  a  name  for  himself  which  will  twenty  years  old  when  we  find  him  at 
be  remembered  as  long  as  the  fascin-  New  Madrid  in  charge  of  a  trading 
ating  study  of  the  fur  trade  of  the  beat  and  describing  himself  as  a  mer- 
west  commands  the  interest  of  the  stu-  chant  of  New  Orleans.  Two  years 
dent.  His  character  seems  to  have  later  he  was  again  at  the  same  place, 
been  a  perfect  enigma  to  his  associ-  returning  from  a  trading  expedition  on 
ates.  Unscrupulous  he  may  have  the  Wabash.  He  went  to  St.  Louis 
been;  selfish  he  probably  was;  ambi-  from  there,  and  in  1799  petitioned  the 
tious  and  energetic  he  has  been  justly  Governor  for  a  grant  of  land  "upon 
considered  by  his  contemporaries  and  one  of  the  banks  of  the  River  Mis- 
by  late  writers.  But  while  men  may  souri,  in  a  place  where  may  be  found 
have  doubted  his  integrity  there  was  some  small  creek  emptying  into  the 
probably  no  one  of  them  who  doubted  said  river  in  order  to  facilitate  the  rais- 
his  ability.  If  there  was  an  important  ing  of  cattle,  and,  with  time,  to  be  able 
business  transaction  to  be  put  through,  to  make  shipments  of  salted,  as  well 
Lisa  was  invariably  the  man  chosen  by  as  dried  meat,  to  the  capitol." 
his  associates  to  accomplish  it;  if  a  But  the  quiet  occupation  of  farming 
commander  was  needed  for  a  danger-  and  cattle  raising  was  probably  never 
cus  expedition,  he  was  likely  to  be  the  seriously  considered  by  Lisa.  He  had 
first  one  considered  to  lead  it;  if  dip-  hardly  established  himself  in  St.  Louis 
lomatic  negotiations  with  hostile  In-  (he  bought  a  home  on  the  west  side 
dian  tribes  were  under  way,  his  pres-  of  Second  street)  before  he  became 
ence  among  the  savages  gave  double  interested  in  the  fur  trade.  In  fact,  it 
assurance  of  a  peaceful  settlement,  has  been  assumed  that  he  came  to  Mis- 
Whatever  the  emergency,  his  courage  souri  to  enter  the  business  of  the  fur- 
and  tact  were  such  that  he  was  thought  trade.  Certainly,  he  received  permis- 
by  his  companions  to  be  perhaps  more  sion  to  trade  with  the  Osage  Indians 
nearly  equal  to  the  occasion  than  any  before  he  had  been  in  St.  Louis  very 
one  of  them.  long,  and  continued  to  exercise  that 
Very  little  is  known  of  the  early  privilege  until  Upper  Louisiana  was 
youth  of  this  remarkable  man.    On  his  transferred  to  the  United  States.  This 


152 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


took  place  at  St.  Louis  on  March  10, 
1804.  Indeed,  he  did  not  immediately 
give  up  his  business,  but  with  his 
greatest  rival,  Pierre  Chouteau,  hold- 
ing the  position  of  United  States  In- 
dian agent  among  the  Osage,  and  the 
new  governor,  General  James  Wilkin- 
son, assuming  a  hostile  attitude  toward 
him,  Lisa  could  hardly  expect  to  gain 
anything  by  attempting  to  carry  on 
trade  longer  in  that  section.  If  Wil- 
kinson may  be  believed,  Manuel  tried 
to  open  up  trade  with  Santa  Fe,  but 
the  official  opposition  of  the  Governor 
prevented  it. 

Lisa  then  turned  his  attention  to- 
ward the  Missouri,  with  that  same  un- 
tiring energy  which  marked  all  his 
actions.  On  the  19th  of  April,  1807, 
he  started  his  first  expedition  from  St. 
Louis,  while  he  himself  did  not  leave 
until  the  28th.  The  company  con- 
sisted of  forty-two  men,  and  repre- 
sented an  outlay  of  $16,000.  Up  the 
river  they  went,  passing  successively 
the  Sioux,  the  Arickaras,  the  Man- 
dans,  and  the  wandering  Assineboin 
Indians,  until  they  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  Yellowstone  River.  They  as- 
cended this  stream  for  about  one  hun- 
dred and  seventy  miles  to  the  Big 
Horn,  where  a  trading  post  was  erect- 
ed. This  was  on  the  21st  of  November, 
too  late  for  the  fall  hunt.  Colter,  a 
member  of  the  party,  was  sent  to  the 
Blackfoot  Indians,  a  journey  in  which 
he  discovered  the  wonders  of  a  coun- 
try long  remembered  in  St.  Louis  as 
"Colter's  Hell,"  but  better  known  to- 
day by  the  more  attractive  name  of 
Yellowstone  Park. 

The  men  remained  in  camp  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Big  Horn  throughout  the 
winter.  Leaving  a  small  garrison  at 
the  fort,  Lisa  left  for  St.  Louis  during 
July  of  the  following  year.  The  ex- 
pedition had  proven  so  successful  that 
the  St.  Louis  Missouri  Fur  Company 
v/as  organized  as  a  result  of  it.  Into 
the  details  of  this  cumbersome  organi- 
zation it  is  not  necessary  to  go.  In 
1809,  Lisa  and  other  members  of  the 
Company  led  an  expedition  into  the 
blackfoot  country  on  the  upper  Mis- 
souri, and  spent  the  next  three  years 


trapping  and  trading  with  the  Indians. 
Thefts  by  the  latter  together  with 
some  loss  in  transporting  their  furs 
down  the  river  practically  exhausted 
the  profits  which  might  have  been 
realized  from  the  expedition.  The  ex- 
periment was  sufficiently  remunerative, 
however,  to  induce  Lisa  and  his  as- 
sociates to  re-organize  upon  their  re- 
turn to  St.  Louis  in  1812,  the  year  in 
which  the  former  agreement  expired. 
The  War  of  1812  interrupted  the  trade 
on  the  upper  Missouri,  but  the  com- 
pany operated  along  that  stream  in 
what  later  became  the  States  of  Ne- 
braska and  the  Dakotas.  Fort  Lisa 
was  built  during  this  period  at  a  point 
about  eleven  miles  by  land  above  the 
present  city  of  Omaha.  After  the  war 
was  over  the  company  returned  (to 
their  posts  along  the  upper  Missouri. 
A  law  passed  by  the  United  States  in 
1816,  prohibiting  British  from  operat- 
ing within  the  boundaries  of  the 
United  States,  resulted  in  checking 
the  trade  of  the  Northwest  Company 
in  that  section,  and  thus  relieved  the 
Missouri  firm  of  a  strong  competitor. 
The  St.  Louis  Company  was  re-or- 
ganized several  times  after  the  war, 
Lisa  becoming  more  dominant  in  its 
councils  upon  each  reorganization  and 
continuing  the  life  and  soul  of  the  com- 
pany until  the  time  of  his  death. 

While  Manuel  Lisa  will  always  be 
remembered  first  as  a  fur  trader,  he 
was  also  an  active  and  efficient  Indian 
agent  during  and  just  after  the  War 
of  1812.  Upon  many  occasions  it  has 
been  said  the  settlers  in  Wisconsin 
and  Michigan  were  indebted  to  him 
for  the  preservation  of  their  lives  and 
property.  In  his  report  to  the  govern- 
ment at  Washington  for  1815,  Gov- 
ernor Clark  gave  a  list  of  the  Indian 
agents  and  spoke  as  follows  of  Lisa: 

"Manuel  Lisa,  salary  $548.  Agent 
for  the  tribes  on  the  Missouri  above 
the  Kansas;  greater  part  of  his  time 
with  the  tribes;  resides  at  St.  Louis; 
has  been  of  great  service  in  preventing 
British  influence  the  last  year  by  send- 
ing large  parties  to  war." 

Another  statement  which  reflects 
even  more  favorably  upon  the  services 


MANUEL  LISA 


153 


of  Lisa  as  an  Indian  agent  comes  from 
Joseph  Renville,  the  British  guide  and 
interpreter  among  the  Sioux  during 
the  War  of  1812.  The  report  was 
given  by  him  to  his  son,  the  Rev.  John 
B.  Renville,  and  has  been  preserved 
in  the  Missouri  Historical  Society  Col- 
lections for  1903-1911.  During  the 
War  of  1812,  he  says,  the  Americans 
stirred  up  so  much  trouble  between 
the  Tetons  and  the  Santees  that  it 
seemed  impossible  to  prevent  civil 
war  in  the  Dakota  Confederacy.  The 
Santees  were  British  sympathizers, 
and  on  numerous  occasions  attempted 
to  send  their  warriors  to  assist  the 
British,  but  "every  time  they  started 
out  to  go  to  the  lakes  and  Canada, 
runners  would  come  and  tell  them  that 
the  Tetons  were  coming  to  destroy 
their  families,  and  they  were  com- 
pelled to  return  to  their  homes  to  pro- 
tect their  women  and  children."  The 
wily  Spaniard  was  responsible  for  the 
work  of  the  Tetons.  "Lisa  was  a  very 
smart  man,"  Renville  concludes,  "and 
he  managed  things  so  that  all  the 
money  and  work  of  Dickson  (the  Brit- 
ish agent)  to  get  the  Santees  to  fight 
the  Americans  was  lost.  He  got  one 
of  our  men  (Tamaha,  the  one-eyed 
Sioux)  to  spy  on  his  own  people  and 
let  him  (Lisa)  know  all  that  was  be- 
ing done." 

But  Lisa  did  more  than  to  pit  the 
Tetons  against  the  Santees,  nor  was 
his  influence  among  the  Indians  bound 
by  the  limits  of  the  Dakota  Confed- 
eracy. His  name  was  respected 
among  the  numerous  tribes  throughout 
the  great  northwest,  and  his  presence 
among  them  continued  to  be  a  potent 
factor  towards  maintaining  friendly  re- 
lations between  them  and  his  adopted 
country,  even  after  he  resigned  his 
position  as  Indian  agent.  During  the 
summer  of  1815,  after  the  war  between 
England  and  the  United  States  was 
over,  Lisa  brought  to  St.  Louis  forty- 
three  chiefs  and  head  men  from  the 
various  tribes  residing  between  the 
Missouri  and  the  Mississippi  for  the 
purpose  of  further  "cementing  the 
friendships  which  he  had  formed  and 
intensifying  the  animosities  which  he 


had  aroused."  He  kept  them  in  St. 
Louis  as  his  guests  for  about  three 
weeks,  during  which  time  meetings 
were  held  in  the  council  house  at  the 
corner  of  Maine  and  Vine  streets,  and 
apparently  numerous  expressions  of 
good-will  were  exchanged.  Lisa  then 
conducted  his  party  to  Portage  des 
Sioux,  where  he  met  William  Clark, 
Edwards,  and  Auguste  Chouteau, 
Commissioners  from  the  United  States 
— and  treaties  of  friendship  were  con- 
cluded. About  two  years  later  an- 
other group  of  twenty-four  chiefs  and 
representatives  from  the  Pawnees, 
Missouris  and  Sioux  was  conducted  to 
St.  Louis,  where  similar  treaties  were 
signed. 

For  an  expert  fur  trader  to  become 
an  efficient  Indian  agent  seems  per- 
fectly natural,  nor  would  the  official 
duties  of  the  latter  position  detract 
necessarily  from  the  success  of  the 
former.  Rather  the  one  might  be  used 
in  a  legitimate  way  to  supplement  the 
other,  and  may  have  been  so  used  by 
Lisa.  His  enemies,  however,  accused 
him  of  using  his  position  as  govern- 
ment agent  to  further  his  own  private 
ends.  In  his  letter  of  resignation, 
dated  July  1,  1817,  he  answers  the 
various  charges  in  a  straightforward, 
manly  way  which  posterity  will  doubt- 
less accept  as  true.  He  also  gives  an 
account  of  his  stewardship,  which  in 
itself  is  a  testimony  of  the  ability  of 
the  man.  "Whether  I  deserve  well  or 
ill  of  the  government,"  he  says,  "de- 
pends upon  the  answer  to  these  ques- 
tions :  1st.  Are  the  Indians  of  the  Mis- 
souri (i.  e.,  those  along  the  Missouri 
River)  more  or  less  friendly  to  the 
United  States  than  at  the  time  of  my 
appointment?  2d.  Are  they  altered, 
better  or  worse,  in  their  own  condition 
during  this  time?"  In  answer  to  the 
first  question,  he  pointed  out  that  the 
various  tribes  along  the  upper  Mis- 
souri and  the  Mississippi  were  about 
to  join  the  British  and  make  war  on 
the  United  States  at  the  time  he  was 
appointed  Indian  agent.  This  was 
prevented,  and  the  reader  is  already 
informed  of  Lisa's  influence  in  secur- 
ing favorable  treaty     relations     with 


154 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


those  Indians.  In  answer  to  the  sec- 
ond, he  says  that  before  he  went 
among  them  the  Indians  were  in  the 
habit  of  killing,  robbing  and  plunder- 
ing, but  at  the  time  of  his  resignation 
traders  were  safe  among  these  tribes. 
"Not  to  mention  others,  my  own  es- 
tablishments furnish  the  example  of 
destruction  then,  of  safety  now.  I 
have  one  among  the  Omahas,  more 
than  six  hundred  miles  up  the  Mis- 
souri, another  at  the  Sioux,  more  than 
six  hundred  miles  further  still. 

I  have  from  one  to  two  hundred  men 
in  my  employ,  quantities  of  horses,  of 
horned  cattle,  of  hogs,  of  domestic 
fowls.  Not  one  is  touched  by  an  In- 
dian; for  I  count  as  nothing  some  soli- 
tary thefts  at  the  instigation  of  white 
men,  my  enemies;  ..." 

And,  continuing,  he  asserts,  modest- 
ly: "I  have  had  some  success  as  a 
trader;  and  this  success  gives  rise  to 
many  reports.  Manuel  Lisa  must 
cheat  the  Indians;  otherwise  he  could 
not  bring  down  every  summer  many 
boats  loaded  with  rich  furs.  Good! 
My  account  with  the  government  will 
show  whether  I  receive  anything  out 
of  which  to  cheat  it.  A  poor  five  hun- 
dred dollars  as  sub-agent  salary  does 
not  buy  the  tobacco  which  I  annually 
give  to  those  who  call  me  father. 
'Cheat  the  Indians!'  The  respect  and 
friendship  which  they  have  for  me, 
the  security  of  my  possessions  in  the 
heart  of  their  country,  respond  to  this 
charge,  and  declare,  with  voices  louder 
than  the  tongues  of  men,  that  it  can- 
not be  true.  But  Manuel  Lisa  gets  so 
much  nice  fur!  Well,  I  will  explain 
how  I  get  it.  I  put  into  my  operations 
great  activity.  I  go  a  great  distance 
while  some  are  considering  whether 
they  will  start  to-day  or  to-morrow.  I 
impose  upon  myself  great  privations. 
Ten  months  of  the  year  I  am  buried  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  at  a  vast  dis- 
tance from  my  own  house.  I  appear 
as  the  benefactor,  not  as  the  pillager, 
of  the  Indian.  I  carried  among  them 
the  seed  of  the  large  pumpkin  from 
which  I  have  seen  in  their  possession 
fruit  weighing  one  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds;  also  the  large  bean,  the  po- 


tato, the  turnip;  and  these  vegetables 
will  make  a  comfortable  part  of  their 
subsistance;  and  this  year  I  have 
promised  to  carry  the  plow.  Besides, 
my  blacksmiths  work  incessantly  for 
them,  charging  nothing.  I  lend  them 
traps,  only  demanding  a  preference  in 
their  trade.  My  establishments  are 
the  refuge  of  the  weak,  and  of  the  old 
men  no  longer  able  to  follow  their 
lodges ;  and  by  these  means  I  have  ac- 
quired the  confidence  and  friendship 
of  the  natives  and  the  consequent 
choice  of  their  trade." 

When  Manuel  returned  from  the  up- 
per Missouri  in  1812,  he  found  St. 
Louis  a  center  of  military  prepara- 
tions. Upon  offering  his  services  he 
was  appointed  captain  of  a  volunteer 
company  of  infantry,  but  apparently 
never  saw  active  service  in  the  field. 
During  the  following  year  the  general 
assembly  of  the  territory  of  Missouri 
passed  an  act  incorporating  the  bank 
of  St.  Louis.  Among  the  prominent 
citizens  who  purchased  stock  in  the 
new  corporation  were  Manuel  Lisa 
and  Moses  Austin,  and  both  were 
heavy  losers  when  the  bank  failed.  In 
1817  or  1818  he  became  a  partner  in  a 
"Steam  Mill  Company."  A  tract  of 
land  was  purchased  by  the  company  on 
the  Mississippi,  north  of  the  village, 
which  was  laid  out  as  the  Smith,  Bates 
and  Lisa's  addition  to  St.  Louis.  It 
was  situated  between  the  river  and  the 
main  street,  and  extended  from  Ashley 
northward  to  Florida  street.  In  the 
subdivision  was  a  street  named  after 
the  hero  of  this  narrative,  which  may 
still  be  seen  on  the  old  maps  of  the 
period. 

A  dim  idea  of  the  prodigious  labors 
which  were  crowded  into  the  life  of 
this  swarthy  Spaniard  may  be  gleaned 
from  the  fact  that  during  the  last  thir- 
teen years  of  his  career  he  made  at 
least  twelve  trips  up  and  down  the 
Missouri  River.  These  journeys  were 
never  less  than  six  hundred  and  sev- 
enty miles — the  distance  to  Fort  Lisa 
from  St.  Louis — while  several  were 
made  to  the  Mandan  tribes,  a  distance 
of  fifteen  hundred  miles,  and  two  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Big  Horn,  which  was 


PATIENCE 


155 


five  hundred  miles  farther.  In  all, 
says  Chittenden,  he  could  not  have 
journeyed  less  than  twenty-six  thou- 
sand miles  by  river,  or  a  total  distance 
greater  than  the  circumference  of  the 
earth.  He  "must  have  spent  not  less 
than  the  equivalent  of  three  solid  years 
battling  against  the  intractable  Mis- 
souri, or  gliding  swiftly  with  its  down- 
ward current."  Seven  and  possibly 
eight  of  the  twelve  winters  included 
in  the  above  period  were  spent  in  the 
wilderness. 

That  so  vigorous  and  aggressive  a 
nature  should  have  made  enemies  is 
but  natural,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  see 
why  they  should  have  been  so  numer- 
ous and  so  vindictive.  Lisa  was  con- 
stantly in  trouble.  In  this  regard  it 
has  been  doubted  whether  or  not  even 
La  Salle  surpassed  him.  He  was  al- 
ways at  odds  with  some  one  jealous 
of  his  success  as  a  trader.  In  fact,  the 
primary  cause  of  his  incessant  dis- 
putes appears  to  have  been  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  his  detractors.  His  code 
was  the  code  of  the  wilderness,  and 
he  practiced  it  with  unflinching  sever- 
ity. There  is  no  record,  to  quote 
again  from  Chittenden,  of  his  ever 
having  come  out  second  best  in  a  con- 
test with  his  competitors.  It  is  not 
surprising,  therefore,  that  "his  life  was 
rot  only  one  of  physical  activity  but 
of  mental  unrest  and  turmoil  as  well — 
a  life  not  at  all   exemplified  in  his 


death,  if  we  may  accept  the  simple 
record  in  the  diary  of  his  father-in- 
law,  Stephen  Hempstead,  who  was 
present  at  his  death  bed,  that  'he  died 
without  distressing  struggles.' " 

Of  Lisa's  first  wife,  little  or  nothing 
is  known.  Tradition  says  that  she  had 
been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Indians  and 
was  ransomed  by  General  Harrison 
when  Lisa,  pitying  her  condition,  mar- 
ried her.  She  died  on  the  tenth  of 
February,  1818.  Six  months  later  he 
married  Mrs.  Mary  Hempstead 
Keeney.  Lisa  could  speak  neither 
English  nor  French  distinctly,  and  his 
wife  was  equally  deficient  in  French 
and  Spanish,  so  the  difficulty  each  had 
in  making  the  other  understand  af- 
forded much  mirth  to  the  family.  De- 
spite this,  his  second  marriage  was  a 
very  happy  one  indeed.  In  fact, 
Lisa  himself  declared  that  he  had 
never  before  known  what  domestic 
happiness  was.  He  enjoyed  this  hap- 
piness for  only  a  short  time,  however. 
He  died  in  1820,  and  his  wife  not  until 
nearly  fifty  years  later — 1869.  Lisa 
also  had  an  Indian  wife  among  the 
Omaha  people,  but  apparently  dis- 
carded her  upon  his  second  marriage. 
Of  his  five  children,  three  by  his  first 
wife  and  two  by  the  Indian  woman, 
only  one,  a  girl,  lived  to  transmit  his 
blood  to  posterity.  Rosalie  Lisa  Ely, 
who  died  in  1904,  has  many  descend- 
ants living  in  this  country  to-day. 


PATIENCE 


Patience,  chastened  Queen 

Of  all  the  Virtues, 

Thou  wert  born  of  suffering 

Who  wearest  now  the  purple 

Of  self-sovereignty! 

To  earth's  fierce  storms  that  blow 

Thou  payest  no  heed, 

For  thou  hast  known  the  throes 

Of  greater  conflicts: 

Forgiveness  against  hate, 

Spirit  against  flesh — 

Renunciation's  whole! 


Jo  Hartman. 


Enemies 


By  Famsworth  Wright 


ARMAND'S  baggy  red  trousers, 
dirty  though  they  were  after 
weeks  of  fighting,  shone  re- 
splendent in  the  rays  of  the 
rising  Belgian  sun.  The  French  uni- 
forms worn  during  the  first  months  of 
the  Great  War,  undoubtedly  made  a 
gorgeous  show  on  parade,  but  they 
were  excellent  rifle  targets — a  fact 
which  the  French  government  had  not 
yet  learned. 

Armand's  rifle  was  slung  carelessly 
over  his  shoulder.  He  walked  slowly 
towards  a  well  in  a  deserted  farm- 
yard. All  the  farms  in  that  region 
were  abandoned.  The  panic-stricken 
Belgian  peasants,  taking  with  them 
what  household  goods  they  could 
carry,  were  in  wild  flight  westward  to- 
wards Antwerp  or  northward  into 
Holland. 

Armand  was  tired  and  thirsty.  He 
had  a  slight  wound  on  the  back  of  his 
hand,  hardly  more  than  a  scratch,  it  is 
true,  but  very  dirty,  and  needing  to  be 
washed  and  bound.  He  was  alone,  for 
he  had  become  separated  from  his 
regiment  a  few  hours  before,  during 
a  night  encounter  with  the  Germans. 

When  the  Great  War  broke  out  with 
the  suddenness  of  an  earthquake,  Ar- 
mand had  nearly  completed  the  mili- 
tary training  which  the  French  repub- 
lic requires  from  each  of  its  able-bod- 
ied citizens.  But  now  he  must  con- 
tinue to  serve  until  peace  should  be 
declared,  unless  he  should  be  killed  or 
crippled  before  that  time. 

He  had  been  hurried  into  Belgium 
with  the  first  French  troops  sent  to 
that  unhappy  country.  Pressed  north- 
ward by  the  onsweep  of  the  German 
tidal  wave,  his  company  found  itself 
attached  to  a  Belgian  regiment  near 


the  frontier  of  Holland,  with  the  whole 
of  Belgium  lying  between  it  and  the 
armies  of  France.  Now  he  was  sepa- 
rated even  from  the  Belgian  troops. 

Inexpressible  hate  for  the  invaders 
filled  his  breast.  They  were  trying  to 
murder  his  country.  They  had  brought 
this  unwelcome  change  into  his  life. 
Had  it  not  been  for  this  inexcusable 
war  (Armand  swelled  with  rage  at  the 
thought)  he  would  now  be  back  in  his 
native  village  in  southern  France, 
there  to  take  charge  of  his  father's 
shop  and  live  out  the  rest  of  his  life  in 
obscurity  and  peace. 

One  thing  more.  There  was  a  not 
bad  looking  girl  of  his  acquaintance 
in  the  village.  She  would  make  him 
an  excellent  wife.  It  was  high  time 
he  was  getting  married,  for  would  he 
not  be  master  of  his  father's  shop  and 
thus  be  in  business  for  himself?  He 
was  well  able  to  support  a  wife,  in- 
deed, and  this  girl  would  not  be  bad! 
But  now  it  could  not  be.  The  Ger- 
mans— they  were  to  blame  for  it  all! 

As  Armand  drew  near  the  well  a 
bullet  hummed  by  him.  He  unslung 
his  rifle  at  once,  and  looked  around  to 
locate  his  assailant.  His  first  thought 
was  that  the  farmhouse  concealed  a 
sniper,  but  the  crack  of  the  rifle  did 
not  come  from  that  direction.  Another 
bullet  made  him  hastily  seek  what 
shelter  he  could  find  behind  a  large 
bush. 

Cursing  the  French  government  for 
making  living  targets  of  its  soldiers, 
he  attentively  examined  the  landscape 
to  find  his  enemy.  At  length  he  caught 
sight  of  a  spiked  helmet  peering  from 
behind  the  trunk  of  a  lone  poplar,  not 
more  than  four  hundred  yards  away. 
He  fired  at  once,  but  the  helmet  dis- 


ENEMIES 


157 


appeared  behind  the  tree  trunk.  Every 
time  it  appeared  again,  Armand  fired, 
and  each  time  the  helmet  was  quickly 
withdrawn. 

The  German  soldier  who  had  made 
Armand  the  target  for  his  fire  at  length 
hit  on  an  expedient  to  outwit  him.  He 
carefully  notched  the  tree  with  his 
knife.  Then  he  placed  his  spiked 
helmet  on  his  bayonet,  and  wedged  the 
bayonet  into  the  gash  in  the  tree 
trunk.  The  helmet  projected  to  one 
side,  as  if  some  one  were  trying  to 
peer  around  the  trunk. 

Armand  fired  twice,  and  missed. 
Then  the  German  leaped  to  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  tree  and  fired  three 
times  before  he  retired  behind  the 
trunk  again. 

All  morning  the  duel  continued. 
Every  few  minutes  the  German  sprang 
out  to  one  side  or  the  other  from  be- 
hind the  tree  and  fired  at  Armand. 

Armand  returned  the  fire.  But  the 
tension  irritated  him  almost  beyond 
measure,  and  at  times  he  could  hardly 
see  the  sights  on  his  rifle,  so  full  of 
rage  was  he. 

Who  was  this  German?  Why  did 
he  keep  up  this  senseless  fray?  Why 
did  he  not  decently  come  out  and  sur- 
render, or  at  least  go  away?  He  must 
see  that  his  shooting  was  accomplish- 
ing nothing!  He  had  no  business  in 
this  country  anyway!  He  was  a 
Boche,  an  invader,  a  tool  of  that  ac- 
cursed military  despotism  which  so 
long  had  threatened  France,  and  now 
had  little  Belgium  back  against  the 
wall,  fighting  for  life! 

A  bitter  smile  curled  Armand's  lips 
at  the  thought  that  the  Boche  was  hav- 
ing equally  as  bad  a  time  of  it  as  he 
himself. 

"The  coward!"  he  thought.  "He 
brought  it  on  himself !  To  shoot  at  an 
unwarned  man!  No  brave  man  would 
do  such  a  thing.  And  he  gave  me  no 
chance  to  defend  myself!" 

Then  the  thought  intruded :  "I  would 
have  done  the  same  thing!  If  I  had 
seen  him  first  I  would  have  shot,  for 
this  is  war!  But  then  he  is  a  Boche! 
It  is  these  red  trousers  that  gave  him 
his  chance!"' 


Spitefully  he  blazed  away  at  the 
German's  helmet  until  he  knocked  it 
down.  Then  he  felt  quite  satisfied 
with  himself,  as  if  he  had  shot  the 
German  instead  of  only  his  helmet. 
But  when  his  enemy  sprang  out  and 
fired  again,  Armand  was  beside  him- 
self with  rage. 

He  was  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  very 
angry.  The  wound  in  his  hand  was 
beginning  to  pain  him.  Already  the 
sun  was  past  its  zenith. 

He  decided  to  stop  this  foolish  fray, 
in  which  neither  side  was  winning.  He 
took  from  his  pocket  a  large  handker- 
chief, but  at  once  put  it  back  again. 
He  wanted  something  white,  but  one 
would  never  suspect  that  his  hand- 
kerchief had  once  been  of  that  color. 
He  opened  his  uniform  and  tore  a 
large  piece  from  his  shirt.  This  he 
tied  to  his  bayonet,  to  be  a  flag  of 
parley.  Fixing  the  bayonet  to  his 
rifle,  he  slowly  waved  the  gun  from 
side  to  side,  and  waited  for  the  Ger- 
man to  show  himself. 

When  the  enemy  again  leaped  from 
behind  the  poplar  he  caught  sight  of 
Armand's  improvised  flag  of  truce  and 
did  not  fire.  Armand  slowly  advanced, 
waving  the  white  flag. 

As  he  approached  the  German,  he 
groped  in  his  memory  for  suitable  Ger- 
man words  in  which  to  ask  for  an  arm- 
istice. He  had  studied  his  enemy's 
language  and  even  had  written  to  cor- 
respondents in  Germany  before  the 
war  broke  out. 

The  German  held  his  rifle  ready  for 
use  in  case  Armand  should  make  any 
threatening  move.  But  Armand,  al- 
though burning  with  suppressed  anger 
and  indignation,  had  not  come  to  kill. 
He  wanted  to  eat  and  drink  and  wash 
his  wounded  hand. 

"Qu'est  ce  que  c'est?"  the  German 
called  out  as  Armand  drew  near. 

"Sie  sprechen  Fransoesisch !" 
Armand  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  I  speak  French  a  little  bit," 
the  German  answered  slowly,  in  gut- 
tural French.  "And  you  speak  also 
my  language,  is  it  not  so?" 

"I  have  studied  German  a  little," 
Armand  replied  in  German.     "But  I 


158 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


never  have  talked  it." 

"This  German  may  not  be  such  a 
bad  fellow,  after  all,"  he  thought.  "He 
speaks  French,  too!  Still,  he  tried  to 
kill  me  when  my  back  was  turned!  I 
had  best  be  on  my  guard." 

Anger  filled  his  heart. 

He  explained,  in  broken  German, 
that  he  was  tired  of  this  shooting,  and 
thought  it  might  be  well  to  declare  an 
armistice  until  they  had  eaten  and 
drunk  and  rested.  The  German  will- 
ingly fell  in  with  the  scheme. 

"Je  ne  veux  pas  vous — vous — toe- 
ten,"  he  said. 

So  the  two  enemies  suspended  their 
strife  and  went  together  to  the  well. 
They  shared  each  other's  food  and 
drank  to  each  other's  health,  yet  each 
hated  the  other  in  his  heart. 

"Prosit!"  said  Armand,  lifting  his 
cup  of  water. 

"A  votre  sante!"  replied  the  Ger- 
man. 

Armand  washed  his  wounded  hand, 
and  was  about  to  bind  it  with  his  dirty 
handkerchief,  but  the  German  pre- 
vented him.  He  took  from  his  knap- 
sack a  bandage.  He  sterilized  Ar- 
mand's  wound,  and  bound  the  bandage 
tightly  around  the  injured  hand  of  his 
enemy. 

Armand  thanked  him  and  asked  him 
his  name. 

"Friedrich  Krogoll,"  replied  his 
enemy;  "but  my  acquaintances  all  call 
me  Fritz." 

"Then  I,  too,  will  call  you  Fritz, 
Boche,"  said  Armand.  "I  am  called 
Armand  Roullier." 

"Freue  mich,"  said  Fritz,  relapsing 
into  his  own  tongue.  He  extended  his 
hand,  and  Armand  grasped  it. 

"I  was  afraid  you  might  try  to  kiss 
me,"  laughed  Fritz. 

"Oh,  I  know  where  you  get  your  idea 
of  our  customs,"  said  Armand.  "You 
have  been  visiting  the  cinema!  A 
Frenchman  doesn't  exchange  kisses 
with  a  stranger,  especially  if  the 
stranger  is  a  German." 

And  he  thought:  "This  Boche  is  a 
good  sport,  even  though  he  does  mur- 
der our  beautiful  language.  But  he 
will  bear  watching." 


"You  come  from  Paris?"  asked 
Fritz. 

Each  spoke  in  the  language  of  the 
other,  filling  in  the  gaps  in  his  vocabu- 
lary from  his  mother-tongue. 

"No,  I  come  from  the  south,"  said 
Armand.     "And  you?" 

"From  Munich.  I  am  a  Bavarian. 
But  for  two  years  now  I  am  an  instruc- 
tor in  the  University  at  Goettingen.  I 
teach  entomology." 

"So?"  said  Armand.  "I  never  could 
go  to  the  university.  I  had  to  work  in 
my  father's  shop.  My  father  is  old, 
and  I  will  manage  the  shop  when  I  get 
back,  if  I  escape  being  killed." 

"Ah,  this  terrible  slaughter!"  said 
Fritz.  "War  is  so  terrible!  The 
young  men,  they  are  the  victims.  No 
nation  can  spare  its  young  men." 

"That  is1  fine  talk  for  a  German !" 
thought  Armand.  "Why  did  they  be- 
gin this  war  if  that  is  the  way  they 
feel  ?"    But  he  did  not  say  this  aloud. 

"Why  are  you  not  with  your  regi- 
ment?" asked  Fritz,  seating  himself 
on  the  ground. 

Armand  explained  how  he  had  be- 
come separated  from  his  comrades  in 
arms. 

"I  got  lost  from  my  regiment  be- 
cause I  was  too  deeply  interested  in 
my  profession,"  said  Fritz.  "In  short, 
I  was  chasing  a  large  night  beetle.  It 
flew  several  times,  and  each  time  I 
ran  after  it.  It  was  not  yet  light,  and 
I  was  behind  our  lines. 

"Suddenly  I  heard  the  Belgians  com- 
ing. They  charged,  yelling  like  all  the 
devils  of  hell.  They  came  between  me 
and  my  command.  I  was  afraid  to 
fire,  for  fear  I  might  hit  my  comrades. 
So  I  drew  away,  and  thought  only  of 
how  I  could  get  back  to  my  company. 
I  went  far  back  of  the  lines,  out  of  the 
fighting,  but  it  was  darker  than  an 
Ethiopean  Hades,  and  I  did  not  go  the 
right  way.  The  firing  stopped,  and  I 
walked  a  long  distance  trying  to  get 
back  to  my  comrades.  But  when  it 
was  light,  I  found  myself  here.  And 
the  German  soldiers — where  are  they? 
I  don't  know." 

"I  was  one  of  the  attacking  party," 
said  Armand.    "How  the  fight  turned 


ENEMIES 


159 


out  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you 
do.    But — did  you  find  that  beetle  ?" 

"Oh,  no !"  laughed  Fritz.  "I  entirely 
forgot  about  the  beetle  when  the  Bel- 
gians charged.  'You  and  the  Belgians,' 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  say." 

"What  were  you  going  to  do  with 
it?" 

"The  beetle?  Oh,  I  was  only  curi- 
ous. I  could  not  be  certain,  in  the  dark, 
whether  I  had  seen  one  like  it  before. 
I  have  a  big  collection  of  beetles  at 
Goettingen,  beetles  from  all  over  the 
world.  Do  insects  interest  you  ?  Your 
fellow  countryman,  Fabre,  has  made  a 
marvelous  study  of  insect  life." 

"They  don't  interest  me  very  much," 
said  Armand.  "I  never  collected  them, 
not  even  butterflies.  But  I  collect  post- 
age stamps  and  coins.  It  was  to  help 
my  collecting  that  I  studied  German.  I 
write  to  several  collectors  in  your  coun- 
try, and  I  correspond  regularly  with  a 
philatelist  in  Munich.  That  is,  we  cor- 
responded before  the  war.  His  name  is 
Franz  Link.    Did  you  know  him?" 

"No.  .  Munich  is  a  large  city,  and, 
besides,  I  have  not  lived  there  for  sev- 
eral years.  My  father  sent  me  to 
Goettingen,  where  his  brother  is  a  pro- 
fessor of  languages.  There  I  did  so 
well  that  I  am  now  helping  to  teach  in 
the  entomology  courses.  It  is  a  great 
study,  entomology.  But  you  should 
learn  English,  if  you  are  a  philatelist. 
In  that  language  you  can  correspond 
all  over  the  world — in  Canada,  India, 
the  United  States,  Egypt,  Africa  and 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  It 
must  be  very  interesting,  if  one  has 
the  time  to  give  to  it.  Tell  me  about 
your  village.  What  is  it  like  in  that 
place?" 

Armand  told  him  all  the  interesting 
things  he  could  think  of  about  the 
village.  "Professor"  Fritz,  as  he 
cubbed  the  youthful  looking  assistant, 
then  told  long  tales  of  the  student  life 
in  his  beloved  Goettingen. 

Each  laughed  at  the  other's  ridicu- 
lous errors  of  speech,  for  each  was 
speaking  a  foreign  tongue.  In  the  ab- 
sorbing interest  of  their  conversation 
they  took  no  note  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

"Hey,  Professor  Fritz,"  Armand  at 


last  exclaimed,  "I  do  believe  the  sun 
is  about  to  set.  It  is  time  to  eat  again. 
Please  give  me  some  more  of  that  de- 
licious marmalade.  And  here  is  a  big 
slice  of  that  cheese  you  like  so  much. 
My  father  sent  it  to  me  out  of  his 
shop." 

"The  marmalade  was  made  by  my 
mother  in  Munich,"  said  Fritz.  "How 
she  will  laugh  when  I  write  her  how  I 
shared  it  with  a  Frenchman!  Won't 
she,  though!" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
heartily. 

"How  my  father  would  rage  if  he 
knew  his  cheese  was  being  eaten  by  a 
Boche!  He  had  to  send  it  by  way  of 
England  to  get  it  to  me." 

Both  laughed  long  and  loudly.  The 
German  suddenly  became  very  serious. 

"Look!"  he  cried  out.  "The  sun  is 
setting!     We  must  part." 

"Yes,"  cried  Armand.  "We  must 
part.  Your  way  lies  yonder.  I  must 
go  west,  but  I  don't  know  whether 
there  are  Germans  between  me  and  the 
Belgian  troops.  If  there  are,  then  I 
must  go  north." 

"North!"  cried  Pritz.  "That  way 
lies  Holland,  and  you  can't  get  back 
until  the  war  is  over,  if  you  cross  the 
Dutch  frontier." 

"I  must  go  west  then,"  Armand  re- 
plied. "The  Dutch  frontier  is  only 
four  or  five  miles  distant,  for  we  have 
both  come  north  since  we  left  our  regi- 
ments. And  now,  my  friend" — his 
face  became  very  grave — "I  pray  God 
we  may  never  meet  again  while  the 
v/ar  lasts.  You  are  a  good  fellow,  but 
we  are  enemies." 

"Enemies?"  exclaimed  Fritz.  "We 
were  enemies.  But  now?  Tell  me,  my 
friend,  do  you  really  want  to  shoot 
me?" 

"I  have  already  said,"  Armand  an- 
swered with  emotion,  "that  I  pray  God 
we  may  never  meet  again  in  this  war. 
It  would  be  murder.  It  would  be  like 
killing  one's  brother.  It  is  a  terrible 
thought." 

Fritz  stood  in  silence  and  listened 
to  the  distant  roar  of  cannon.  He 
thought  of  the  lives  that  were  being 
blotted  out  at  the  minute. 


160 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


"Holland?"  he  said  at  last.  "You 
say  it  is  not  far?" 

"Not  far,"  said  Armand.  "Six  miles 
— perhaps — but  maybe  only  three." 

He  saw  his  own  thought  reflected  in 
the  German's  face. 

"Allons,  mon  ami,"  said  Fritz,  after 
a  minute  of  silence. 

"Come!"  said  Armand. 


They  had  been  walking  perhaps  an 
hour,  in  silence,  when  they  heard  the 
pounding  of  hoofs.  Through  the  deep- 
ening darkness  they  made  out  a  troop 
of  Belgian  lancers,  galloping  west. 

"Ha,"  said  Armand  to  himself.  "I 
am  the  master  now.  I  will  capture  this 
fine  fellow  who  was  going  to  shoot  me 
down  without  warning !" 

But  one  look  into  his  companion's 
smiling  face  shamed  him  from  the  un- 
worthy attempt.  He  did  not  hail  the 
cavalrymen,  and  they  passed  by  in  the 
dusk  without  seeing  him. 


The  two  continued  north  until  they 
were  stopped  by  a  Dutch  sentry.  He 
could  not  converse  with  them,  for  he 
knew  neither  French  nor  German.  An 
officer  was  called. 

Armand  explained  that  they  had 
crossed  the  border  into  Holland  to 
avoid  having  to  shoot  each  other.  The 
officer  listened  contemptuously,  and 
sent  them  away  under  guard. 

They  were  deserters,  and  their 
friends  would  call  them  traitors.  Yet 
their  minds  were  at  peace,  for  a  ray 
of  light  from  that  nobler  age  of  which 
poets  dream  had  fallen  into  their  souls. 
Sc  they  smiled  as  they  were  led  away. 

The  Dutch  officer  stood  looking  af- 
ter them.  Perhaps  he  was  touched, 
perhaps  he  was  only  puzzled.  At  any 
rate,  a  mist  came  over  his  eyes,  but  it 
suddenly  vanished,  and  he  turned 
abruptly  on  his  heel. 

"Fools!"  he  muttered.  "What 
would  happen  if  all  the  soldiers  should 
do  that?" 


JACK     LONDON 

Jack  London  dead!    The  world  stood  still  and  thought! 

Aye,  thought  of  all  the  creatures  of  his  pen, 

His  power  to  know  and  paint  the  hearts  of  men, 

And  with  what  pain  his  knowledge  had  been  bought; 

Stood  still  to  ponder  on  his  life  so  fraught 

With  risk  yet  unafraid.    In  city  den, 

At  sea,  or  deep  within  the  mountain  glen, 

Men  take  courage — his  message  has  been  caught! 

Mortals  can  place  no  price  on  things  he  wrought, 

Lives  he  shaped,  dreams  he  made  to  live  again, 

Or  souls  he  raised  from  deep  despair  who  then 

Went  forth  to  teach  the  things  that  he  had  taught. 

His  words  speak  truth  to  laborer  and  sage, 

With  red  life  blood  he  marked  each  printed  page ! 

Vera  Heathman  Cole. 


^W' 


The  Threshold  of  Fate 


By   Edith   Hecht 


IT  HAPPENED,  Senor,  years  ago, 
before  the  Gringos  owned  Califor- 
nia. Often  have  I  heard  my  father's 
mother  tell  of  it  when  I  was  a  little 
boy.  Her  father  kept  a  vinateria,  a 
wine  shop,  in  the  old  days.  And  it 
happened  outside  her  window,  for  she 
was  young  and  beautiful. 

"My  family  lived  in  that  peaceful 
old  adobe  with  the  pepper  tree  on  the 
side,  and  my  grandmother's  window 
was  directly  in  the  front,  facing  the 
street,  and  right  over  the  vinateria. 

"Those  were  lively  days  in  Mon- 
terey, they  tell  us,  Senor,  with  the 
great  senors  and  their  families  coming 
from  their  haciendas,  and  the  gay  offi- 
cers at  the  Presidio.  Now  we  are  old 
and  poor,  and  the  grand  caballeros  are 
dust  and  the  padres  are  vanished.  It 
is  progress,  they  say. 

"My  grandmother  was  very  beauti- 
ful, with  big,  dark  eyes,  and  the  won- 
derful dark  hair  our  Spanish  women 
have.  And  she  sang,  and  danced,  and 
played  the  guitar,  and  embroidered,  as 
the  sisters  had  taught  her.  My  grand- 
mother's father  grumbled  much  and 
said  that  the  sisters  had  educated  her 
above  her  station.  He  was  well-to-do, 
but  we  were  not  fina  gente,  but  of  the 
people,  and  my  grandmother's  father 
was  afraid,  with  her  high-stepping 
walk  and  her  dainty  ways  that  she 
would  end  badly. 

"Now  I  am  poor  and  am  your  guide 
and  boatman  for  the  salmon  fishing; 
and  I  tell  you  tales,  Senor,  of  the  de- 
parted glories  of  Monterey. 

"There  were  two  Englishmen  in  the 
town  at  that  time.  One  was  a  lord's 
son,  they  said,  who  would  some  day 
drink  himself  to  death.  St.  Vincent, 
Gregory  St.  Vincent,  was  his  name. 
He  was  good  looking,  too,  for  the  drink 


had  not  yet  bloated  or  coarsened  his 
features.  He  had  big  blue  eyes  and 
blonde  hair,  and  a  tall,  slender,  supple 
figure,  like  those  English  have.  And 
afraid — he  was  afraid  of  nothing!  At 
the  rodeos  he  could  outride  the  proud- 
est Spaniard  of  them  all;  and  with  a 
boat — what  could  not  that  Englishman 
do  with  a  boat!  And  courage — cour- 
age he  had  of  the  devil.  And  he  loved 
my  grandmother.  And  she  might  have 
loved  him,  but  she  was  afraid  of  him. 
He  begged  her  to  marry  him ;  and  then 
he  would  say  in  the  next  breath 
that  he  was  not  good  enough — he  was 
nothing  but  a  remittance  man.  And 
then,  when  he  had  too  much  taken,  he 
would  ask  how  would  she  like  to  be 
Lady  Vincent  of  St.  Vincent  Hall,  for 
he  would  some  day  be  Sir  Gregory  if 
his  brother  Eustace  would  die  first, 
confound  him !  And  he  knew  his  father 
would  forgive  him  if  psalm-singing 
Eustace  would  only  let  the  old  man. 
But  only  when  he  was  drunk  would  he 
talk  thus;  never  did  he  boast  when 
sober,  and  never  did  he  then  talk  of 
going  back  to  England.  My  grand- 
mother well  knew  that  she,  a  daughter 
of  the  people,  would  never  be  received 
by  those  fine  gentry;  she  did  not  let 
that  turn  her  head. 

"The  other  Englishman  was  shorter 
and  dark,  with  a  stubby,  dark  mous- 
tache and  a  red  nose.  Marshall  his 
name  was,  Henry  Marshall.  I  do  not 
think  St.  Vincent  liked  him,  for  all 
they  were  together,  nor  do  I  think  he 
was  a  gentleman  born.  At  times  St. 
Vincent  would  treat  him  like  the  dirt 
under  his  feet;  then  it  would  be  'dear 
Henry'  and  'Henry,  old  chap,  it's  just 
my  way.'  I  think  St.  Vincent  was 
afraid  of  him. 

"Marshall  drank  very  heavily,  and 


162 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


he  would  beat  and  abuse  little  Concha, 
the  peon  girl  of  his,  most  terribly.  She 
had  been  a  pretty  little  thing,  like 
many  peon  girls,  but  they  grow  old  so 
quickly. 

"The  Englishmen  were  great  fisher- 
men. Day  after  day  they  would  go 
out  'salmon  fishing,'  so  they  said.  But 
very  little  fish  they  brought  home.  Of- 
ten late  at  night  they  were  around 
Point  Lobos  and  Carmel,  in  the  rocky 
bays  and  breakers  where  no  other 
beats  would  venture.  There  were 
whispers  of  smugglers  and  laughs  of 
'big  fish  indeed;'  and  the  government 
sent  out  boats  from  the  Custom  House 
to  patrol.  These  Englishmen  would 
snap  their  fingers  at  them,  but  one 
could  prove  nothing,  nothing. 

"One  day  St.  Vincent  came  into  the 
vinateria,  and  he  had  been  drinking. 
He  called  for  more,  and  then  he  kissed 
my  grandmother  and  asked  her  how 
she  would  like  diamonds  for  her  ears 
and  throat  when  she  went  to  the 
church  to  marry  him.  'Lady  St.  Vin- 
cent should  have  gems  befitting  her 
rank,'  he  said  with  a  hiccough. 

"She  shrank  away,  my  grandmother, 
for  she  was  a  good  girl,  and  she  did 
not  think  she  loved  St.  Vincent  because 
she  was  afraid  of  him  when  he  was 
drunk.  That  was  why  she  had  not 
married  him  long  ago — for  she  was 
afraid;  his  mood  would  change  so 
quick,  Senor.  Then  he  laughed,  and 
said  he  and  Marshall  were  going  after 
big  fish ;  and  she  would  be  a  fine  lady 
yet  at  the  court  of  the  young  English 
Queen. 

"That  day  the  patrol  boats  had 
started  on  the  bay.  It  was  so  blue  in 
the  sunshine  and  the  shore  so  silver, 
one  could  think  of  nothing  but  peace. 
And  yet  the  next  morning  a  company 
from  the  Presidio  were  put  in  the  for- 
est around  Carmel.  That  night  nor 
the  next  morning  St.  Vincent  did  not 
appear,  and  my  grandmother  was 
nearly  mad  with  the  worry. 

"Next  night,  Concha,  Marshall's  girl, 
ran  in  to  my  grandmother,  all  fright- 
ened. She  had  tried  to  keep  Henry 
back  from  the  fishing — she  had  feared 
there  was  more  than  fishing — and  he 


had  struck  her — so.  She  showed  the 
blackened  eye  and  the  bruised  shoul- 
der. He  had  not  come  back  last  night 
and  she  was  frightened,  dreadfully 
frightened. 

My  grandmother  stole  down  and  let 
Tier  in  and  comforted  her.  Of  course 
we  were  not  gentry,  but  a  half-heathen 
peon  girl  was  no  companion  for  my 
grandmother,  nor  her  equal.  How- 
ever, misery  makes  women  sisters; 
and  my  grandmother  stole  again  up- 
stairs with  her  and  had  her  share  her 
bed.  They  cried  together  quietly  that 
night;  for  then  my  grandmother  knew, 
with  the  fear  of  death  for  him,  that  in 
spite  of  all,  she  loved  Gregory  St.  Vin- 
cent. She  knew  she  was  no  great  lady 
whom  his  people  would  welcome — no 
matter  how  he  spoke  when  he  was 
mad  with  wine.  But  she  knew  he  never 
could  go  home,  and  she  would  make  a 
man  of  him  here,  if  the  Mother  of  God 
would  spare  him.  They  told  their 
beads  together,  and  cried,  these  two 
women.  Then  they  would  lie  quiet, 
clasped  in  each  others'  arms,  and  they 
could  hear  the  thumping  of  each 
others'  hearts. 

"About  three  that  morning,  when  it 
was  coldest  and  darkest  before  the 
dawn,  they  heard  a  sound.  Two 
horsemen  were  moving  qu.ietly,  but  the 
horses  looked  exhausted.  And  then 
they  halted  under  the  very  window, 
and  soft,  soft,  commenced  to  dig.  The 
doorstep  was  low  like  in  all  Spanish 
houses,  but  this  had  a  step  or  two;  it 
was  not  quite  level  with  the  street 
as  most  of  them. 

"  'Here,  here,  under  my  pretty  lady's 
window,  Marshall,'  whispered  Gregory. 
Senor,  thirty  thousand  pesos  in  gold 
and  jewels,  and  pearls  from  Baja  Cali- 
fornia, they  hid  under  those  steps, 
quiet,  stealthy  picking;  and  the  two 
girls  listening  above. 

"They  laughed  as  they  dug,  low- 
voiced,  Senor,  those  two  men  in  their 
boat  had  eluded  the  cutters.  They 
had  hidden  some  of  their  treasure, 
they  had  been  doing  it  for  months, 
under  the  Ostrich  Tree  at  Cypress 
Point.  Five  paces  to  the  south,  twelve 
to  the  east:  my  grandmother  remem- 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  FATE 


163 


bered  to  the  day  of  her  death.  Some 
may  be  there  yet. 

"It  was  dark,  and  those  weird,  bent 
cypress,  black  and  curved,  seemed  like 
so  many  demons;  but  they  knew  the 
soldiers  were  scattered  about,  so  they 
had  buried  only  a  part  there ;  and  then 
in  a  little  boat,  they  had  gotten  into 
that  small,  smooth  cove  just  north  of 
Cypress  Point,  up  beyond  the  jagged 
points,  in  and  out  of  the  breakers,  the 
shallows,  the  rocks;  and  under  the 
very  noses  of  the  Governor's  patrol, 
without  being  seen.  They  were  talk- 
ing in  whispers  and  the  women  listen- 
ing above,  breathless.  It  was  the 
courage  of  devils,  but  what  will  you? 
They  stopped  to  put  the  horses  in  the 
barn  next  door — and  then  went  on,  the 
women  at  the  window  bars  unseen  in 
the  dark. 

"At  Monterey,  just  north  of  Mon- 
terey beyond  the  town,  they  had  land- 
ed ;  they  knew  where  to  find  the  horses, 
and  with  a  company  of  soldiers  look- 
ing for  them,  here  they  were  with  the 
rest  of  the  treasure.  They  had  wanted 
two  places  for  their  cache  anyway,  and 
no  one  would  think  to  look  under  the 
oftwalked  steps  of  my  great-grand- 
father's vinateria. 

"They  had  just  finished  and  put 
back  their  picks,  looking  always  over 
their  shoulders,  when  the  Lieutenant 
and  his  men  came  up.  'Hold  up  your 
hands,'  he  said.  The  women  flew 
downstairs,  how  they  did  it  my  grand- 
mother said  she  never  knew,  and  Con- 
cha sat  on  the  step  on  the  threshold. 
'Damn  you!'  said  Marshall  to  her.  He 
could  not  hit  her  because  his  hands 
were  up.  But  St.  Vincent  would  not 
put  up  his  hands.  He  made  a  reach 
for  his  gun.  But  he  had  no  time.  My 
grandmother    flung    herself    on    his 


bleeding  body,  weeping.  'Gregory,  I 
love  you,  I  love  you,'  she  sobbed.  T — 
always — knew — you  did,'  he  smiled  his 
old  daredevil  smile.  'It's  alright,  my 
sweetheart.  Lieutenant,  I  sur — '  and 
he  died. 

"And  Concha  still  sat  on  the  step. 

"  'My  girl,'  said  the  Lieutenant, 
'there  are  thirty  thousand  pesos  of 
government  property  under  that  step. 
Please  get  up.'  But  she  would  not 
obey  him. 

"Senor,  she  fought  like  a  wild  cat. 
She  was  cut  and  bleeding  before  she 
gave  up,  and  the  Lieutenant's  face  was 
all  scratched,  too.  He  was  no  pretty 
sight  for  a  Presidio  dance. 

"And  the  end  ?  Oh,  my  great-grand- 
father married  off  my  grandmother  to 
his  partner.  He  was  squat  and  mid- 
dle aged,  and  drank,  too;  but  my  great- 
grandfather said  no  girl  in  her  walk  of 
lite  could  expect  to  have  a  nice  young 
man  court  her  after  that  night.  She 
herself  cared  naught  now  whom  she 
married;  her  life  was  lived,  she  said. 
She  made  no  fuss.  Only  I  was  a 
thoughtful  little  boy,  and  when  she  was 
old  she  would  tell  me  this  story,  over 
and  over  again,  often. 

"Marshall  disappeared.  Nothing 
came,  somehow,  of  his  arrest.  'Es- 
caped,' they  said.  He  turned  up  sud- 
denly in  San  Diego  with  loads  of 
money.  He  deserted  Concha  and  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  a  rich  Don  down 
there  who  knew  naught  of  this  story. 
They  say  it  was  all  arranged  with  him 
and  the  officers  to  find  St.  Vincent  and 
himself  thus;  and  to  divide  the  spoils; 
also  the  government  saw  naught  of  the 
treasure ;  and  that  he  betrayed  St.  Vin- 
cent. Who  knows?  It  is  many  years 
ago — and  now  the  Gringos  are  here — 
and  all  is  different." 


A  Confirmed  Bachelor 


By  Josephine  Schaffer  Schupp 


MY  PLEASANT  week-end  so- 
journ with  friends  in  Burlin- 
game  had  come  to  an  end.  I 
stood  on  a  corner  of  the  main 
street  some  moments  in  silent  argu- 
ment with  myself  as  to  what  mode  of 
conveyance  should  best  take  me  back 
to  San  Francisco,  when  my  answer 
loomed  temptingly  into  sight  in  the 
shape  of  a  motorbus.  In  view  of  the 
fact  that  I  was  to  lunch  with  a  friend 
in  Berkeley,  I  felt  a  trifle  dubious  as 
to  sparing  much  time  to  the  homeward 
trip,  but  the  call  of  the  warm,  sunny 
day,  and  above  all  the  thought  of  skim- 
ming smoothly  along  the  Royal  High- 
way, passing  lovely  green  fields  and 
enchanting  rose-gardens,  proved  too 
much  for  me,  and  as  the  bus  drew 
nearer,  I  swung  aboard. 

My  intention  was  to  take  a  seat  near 
the  driver  and  lose  myself  in  thought 
and  a  quiet  smoke — but  no  such  luck — 
the  coveted  places  were  all  taken,  so  I 
stepped  inside. 

I  might  as  well  state  here  and  now 
that  I  am  a  bachelor  and  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  would  have  remained  so 
— that  is,  if  things  had  not  been  as 
they  were. 

When  on  duty,  I  am  tutor  to  small, 
restless,  lovable  ignoramuses,  and  it 
is  my  pleasure  to  usher  them  with 
proper  feeling  into  the  sacred  presence 
of  Homer,  Euclid  or  such  intimates  as 
these.  My  playtime  I  wander  pleas- 
antly, if  aimlessly, — from  house  to 
house  of  many  agreeable  friends, 
where  I  partake  of  tea  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  dinner,  and  occasionally 
spend  a  day  or  two.  My  host  is  charm- 
ing always,  my  hostess  perhaps  more 
so.  The  fire  burns  high  in  the  hearth, 
conversation  runs     along     interesting 


lines,  and  I  retire  late  to  bed  in  a  spa- 
cious, cheery  room.  In  the  morning, 
eager  voices  of  small  children,  who 
rap-tap  early  on  my  door,  beseech  me 
to  come  down  stairs  and  tell  them  sto- 
ries. They  think  I  have  an  endless 
supply. 

At  times  I  have  heartily  envied 
these  good  old  friends  of  mine,  when 
I  think  of  my  city  home  by  contrast. 
A  narrow  bedroom  in  the  tower  of  a 
boarding  house  of  the  old  fashioned 
gingerbread  type,  with  generous  bay 
windows  giving  out  on  Pacific  avenue. 
There  I  am  under  the  provident  care 
of  Mrs.  Riggs,  an  eminently  respect- 
able lady  of  past  prosperity,  who 
seeks  to  mend  her  dwindling  fortune 
through  the  small  coterie  of  steady 
boarders  who,  year  after  year,  pay  out 
from  their  tiny  horde,  grateful  for  the 
roof  over  their  heads,  the  air  of  re- 
finement about  the  place — and  little 
else.  And  yet,  I  have  known  myself 
to  hang  my  hat  on  the  elkhorn  in  the 
hall,  thoroughly  content  to  be  at  home 
once  more. 

I  might  state,  too,  in  regard  to  my- 
self, that  I  am  an  Englishman,  though 
acclimated.  Which  means  I  left  Eng- 
land in  my  youth  and  have  wandered 
since  all  over  the  globe,  drifting  finally 
to  California,  where,  enthralled  by  cli- 
mate and  landscape,  I  am  held  a  will- 
ing captive. 

Having  traveled  so  much  and  so 
constantly,  I  am  a  keen  observer,  and 
take  the  greatest  interest  in  all  that 
goes  on  about  me,  and  am  totally  un- 
able to  go  anywhere  or  do  anything 
without  finding  a  story  to  suit. 

So,  after  this  lengthy  preamble,  you 
will  find  this  worthy  person,  myself, 
sitting  within  the  'bus,  taking  toll  of 


A  CONFIRMED  BACHELOR 


165 


my  fellow  passengers.  There  are  not 
many — a  German  workman  with  horny 
hands,  large  frame  and  blonde  mus- 
tache, lolling  sleepily  on  the  back  seat. 
A  little  girl  in  grey  fur  cap  with  a 
robin's-hood  feather,  fur  coat  and  glo- 
rious curls,  with  her  back  to  us  all, 
looking  out  of  the  windows.  Quite 
certain  she  is  very  pretty,  all  my  at- 
tention is  concentrated  upon  her,  until 
she  turns  about,  and  I  am  bitterly  dis- 
appointed. She  is  not  at  all  pretty,  nor 
attractive.  She  is  the  spoiled,  pam- 
pered darling  of  the  family. 

The  family  consists  of  her  father, 
a  gentle,  aesthetic  type  of  man,  sitting 
next  to  her.  A  man  with  the  sort  of 
face  you  imagine  for  a  peculiarly  pious 
monk  of  the  middle  ages,  and  who  is 
singularly  unadjusted  to  the  position 
of  husband  and  father.  Her  mother  is 
a  stout  body,  weeping  heavily  under  a 
thick  black  veil,  and  dressed  in  the 
deepest  of  mourning.  She  weeps  in- 
cessantly, and  dries  each  tear  sepa- 
rately, returning  her  handkerchief 
each  time  to  her  huge  portmanteau 
and  snapping  the  latter  with  that  click- 
ing sound  you  hope  is  final.  She  en- 
genders my  sympathy,  but  also  she 
makes  me  nervous. 

Beside  the  monklike  man  sits  his 
brother;  a  sharp,  pinched-featured 
man,  with  straw-colored  hair  and  eye- 
brows, a  red,  bristling  mustache  and 
very  small  blue  eyes.  From  all  ap- 
pearances he  does  not  think  at  all — 
but  just  sits  so  forlorn,  so  lost,  so  be- 
fuddled I  conclude  that  the  death  in 
the  family  is  perhaps  that  of  his  wife. 

The  other  occupants  were,  in  my 
judgment,  two  stable  boys  and  a  neat- 
lcoking  servant  girl  with  powdered 
face  and  high-heeled  new  white  shoes. 

Lastly,  my  gaze  fell  upon  the  most 
delightful,  although  the  most  diminu- 
tive person  in  the  'bus.  There  sat, 
squeezed  in  beside  her  father,  the 
sharp-featured  man,  the  quaintest 
child  I  had  ever  seen.  A  tiny  scrap 
of  a  child,  her  black  kilted  skirt 
reached  barely  to  her  knees.  Thin, 
almost  shrunken  legs,  neatly  clad  in 
white  stockings  and  black  tasseled 
shoes;  her  coat  of  some  heavy  white 


cloth,  heavily  braided.  Overtopping 
all  else  was  a  coalscuttle  bonnet  or 
white  satin,  homemade,  but  redeemed 
by  the  subtle  touch  of  heaven  knows 
whose  gentle  hand — for  over  the  hat 
was  draped  a  coarse  face  veil,  which 
made  a  knot  on  the  crown  and  fell  far 
down  the  back.  It  was  a  note  of  gran- 
deur which  made  the  old,  sad  little 
costume  seem  almost  queenly.  And 
beneath  the  bonnet  my  eyes  sought 
hers. 

They  peeped  shyly  at  me  from  their 
retreat,  grey-green  eyes,  so  earnestly 
and  straightly  into  mine.  Perhaps  she 
liked  what  she  saw,  although  it  was 
only  a  middle-aged  man,  with  hair 
greying,  grey  eyes  under  glasses  and 
shaggy  black  eyebrows,  weather- 
beaten,  cynic  and  philosopher  com- 
bined. At  all  lengths  she  decided  fav- 
orably, for  the  rosebud  mouth  in  the 
pale,  freckled  face  curled  slowly  into 
the  most  adorable,  most  winning  and 
most  radiant  smile  I  have  ever  seen — 
but  one. 

Have  you  ever  had  a  strange  feel- 
ing, a  presentiment,  as  they  say,  that 
something  most  important  will  come 
of  something  entirely  unimportant? 
Well,  that  was  the  feeling  that  came 
over  me  when  I  met  the  sweet  eyes  of 
that  dear  little  girl.  I  might  say,  I 
have  never  been  in  love — but  once — 
and  that  was  years  and  years  ago.  I 
am  not  given  much  to  sentimentalities, 
but  the  face  of  that  child  set  my  heart 
beating.  I  looked  far  down  the  years 
and  saw  in  a  pretty  English  rose  gar- 
den a  beautiful,  blue-eyed,  rosy- 
cheeked  English  girl,  with  a  handsome 
fellow  by  her  side,  and  I,  merely  an 
eavesdropper,  went  away  in  bitterness, 
and  from  that  day  forward  I  have  kept 
my  distance  from  garden  party  hats 
and  trailing  gowns  of  fair,  unmarried 
women.  But,  as  I  looked  down  the 
years  to  that  one  face,  I  felt  it  to  be 
a  fading  picture,  replaced  by  the  vivid 
face  of  this  tiny  six  year  old.  I  was 
astonished. 

Occasionally  new  persons  entered 
the  'bus.  The  little  girl,  tactfully  and 
without  ostentation,  tucked  in  her  lit- 
tle, thin  legs  and  politely  waited  until 

6 


166                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

the  passenger  seated  himself,  then  I  guess  they  have  gone  without  me. 
thrust  them  straight  before  her  once  Oh,  dear!  I  don't  know  what  to  do!" 
more,  while  again  shy  eyes  watched  For  a  moment  I  was  filled  with  hot 
intently  the  little  world  around  her —  indignation  towards  the  stupid  "folks" 
not  wistful,  not  idly  curious  eyes — but  who  had  gone  without  her,  when  I  real- 
glowing,  enthusiastic  eyes,  earnestly,  ized  how  easily  that  could  happen  to 
intensely  gathering  all  the  immediate  the  country  bred  in  the  bewilderment 
good  to  their  owner.  I  watched  her,  of  the  hurrying,  pushing  city  throng, 
fascinated,  hoping  the  world  would  At  the  same  time  I  was  rather  pleased 
never  change  tor  her  present  guileless  to  be  in  the  role  of  a  hero  towards  this 
outlook  upon  it,  and  I  took  to  myself  particular  child. 

as  cleverly  as  I  could  all  the  smiles  "What  is  your  name?"  I  said,  quite 

that  strayed  from  that  rose-bud  mouth,  irrelevantly  for  one  in  the  face  of  so 

The  racing  of  automobiles,  unceas-  overwhelming  a  predicament, 

ing  traffic,  clanging  cars,  and  we  were  "May-Belle.       May-Bell     Johanns- 

on  Market  street.     A  few     moments  sen." 

later,  and  I  was  delighted  to  find  the  "And  where  were  you  going,  May- 
family  and  myself  once  more  assem-  Belle?" 

bled,  all  of  us  bound  for  the  Ferry  "To  Alameda.  My  gran-ma  died  and 

Building,  and  welcomed  the  opportu-  they  was  going  to  bury  her,  and  I  was 

nity  of  a  further  study  of  this  charm-  going  to  the  funeral.     My  mother  is 

ing  child,  her  eyes  grown  wide  with  dead,  too.    She  died  when  I  was  born, 

the  city's  splendor.    On  arriving,  I  lost  I  live  with  my  Aunt  Lura,  and  my 

them  in  the  crowds  around  the  ticket  father  lives  there,  too.    That  was  her 

office,  and  being  a  person  of  leisurely  in  the  'bus,  and  the  little  girl  was  my 

habits,  it  was  some  time  before  I  had  cousin  Lillian." 

purchased  my  ticket  and  passed  on  "Do  you  know  what  time  the  fun- 
through  to  the  waiting  room.  As  I  did  eral  was  to  be,  May-Belle?" 
so,  I  observed  that  the  gates  had  just  "Yes,  sir,  11 :45  a.  m.  I  know,  'cause 
shut  on  a  departing  ferry,  so  I  strolled  we  was  late,  and  father  was  worried 
over  to  the  news-stand,  selected  a  and  kept  looking  at  his  watch  all  the 
magazine  and  prepared  to  read,  when  time.  I  guess  that's  how  they  came 
my  glance  was  involuntarily  drawn  to  leave  me  behind;  they  was  in  such 
towards  the  same  quaint  little  child  a  hurry.  I  wish't  I  was  like  Lillian; 
who  had  interested  me  so  in  the  'bus,  she  never  gits  in  trouble — she  always 
standing  alone  in  an  attitude  of  great  goes  along  with  the  crowd.  But  me, 
despair  before  the  fast  closed  gates.  I'm  just  always  in  a  peck  o'  trouble." 

I  went  to  her  assistance   at  once,  "How  old  are  you,  May-Belle?" 

tipping  my  hat  gallantly,  and  asking  "Me,  I'm  eight.     I  guess  you  are 

her  if  I  might  be  of  any  service.  goin'  to  say  it — everybody  does — I'm 

"Pardon  me,   little   maid,"   I   said,  small  for  my  age.     Lillian's  big  for 

"but  have  your  friends  left  on  this  hers.    My  hair's  straight  and  she  has 

boat?"  such  pretty  curls.    I  just  love  'em.  But 

A  startled  look  of  fear,  surprise  and  I'm  pretty  fair  in  school  anyways ;  I'm 

pleased   recognition  kaleidoscopically  ahead  of  Lillian,  only  she  don't  like 

played  on  her  face.  learnin',  and  I  do.     The  teacher  says 

"Oh,  sir !    Yes,  sir — yes,  sir — and  I  I  must  keep  it  up ;  she  is  a  fine  teacher 

should  be  there,  too — what  will  I  do?  and  she  is  real  interested  in  me.    I'm 

You  see,  we  was  listening     to     that  glad,  because  I  just  think  a  heap  o' 

music  over  there  (indicating  the  musi-  her,  and  no  one  else  bothers  about  me 

cal  horror,  which  with  the  latest  rag-  much.    My  aunt  can  only  see  Lillian, 

time  cheers  the  waiting  crowd)    and  and  says  all  the  time  I'd  ought  to  be 

then  them  gates  opened     and     there  plad  to  be  here  on  this  earth  at  all. 

were  so  many  people  and  I  got  pushed  They  never  did  think  thev'd  raise  me 

about  and  couldn't  find  my  folks,  and  up,  she  says;  seems  like  I  was  such  a 


A  CONFIRMED  BACHELOR 


167 


delicate  baby.  My  father  is  always 
quiet  and  thinkin'.  I  guess  he  thinks 
about  my  mother;  I  do  too.  I  wish't 
she  hadn't  died;  my  aunt's  alright — 
but  you  know  it  ain't  like  a  mother." 

I  listened  gravely,  inwardly  moved 
by  the  commonplace  little  history,  yet 
drinking  in  the  quaint,  trustful  little 
face  upturned  to  mine,  rather  more 
than  the  actual  words.  I  was  also 
making  mental  calculations  as  to  what 
best  to  do  in  a  case  like  this.  I  could, 
of  course,  call  up  the  police  and  re- 
linquish the  child  to  their  care.  In 
any  case  I  knew  very  well  it  was  the 
proper  thing  to  do ;  but  since  Fate  had 
driven  the  child  into  my  hands,  I  felt 
no  inclination  to  give  her  up  so  swiftly. 
I  wanted  first  to  see  the  light  of  truly 
childlike  enjoyment  dawn  in  that  little 
face  from  a  full  measure  of  delight  of 
my  own  planning,  as  I  felt  quite  cer- 
tain the  child  was  on  my  hands  for 
some  hours  to  come. 

"Where  did  you  hail  from  to-day? 
Where  is  your  home?" 

"We  live  at  the  lodge  at  the  Crock- 
etts  down  to  Homestead,  the  other 
side  of  San  Mateo.  They're  awful 
rich  folks.  My  father  and  my  uncle 
works  for  them,  and  my  aunt  does 
some  washing  and  helps  up  at  the 
great  house  when  they  have  extra  com- 
pany. The  young  lady,  she's  grand, 
though.  She  dresses  lovely;  I  like  to 
look  at  her.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  was 
like  that,  but  when  I  get  thinkin'  'bout 
that  there  story  of  Cinderella  in  my 
readin'  book,  it  seems  to  me  I  might 
be  like  that  some  day." 

"And  so  you  might,"  I  said  heartily. 
"And  anyways  we  will  have  an  ad- 
venture now;  I  never  go  any  place, 
May-Belle,  without  an  adventure,  so 
we  will  have  to  share  this.  You  see, 
my  child,  you  can't  reach  your  people 
now,  nor  they  you — not  for  several 
hours  at  least.  At  all  events,"  I  added 
to  myself,  "at  all  events  a  funeral  is 
not  a  very  cheerful  place  to  take  a 
child  like  you.  Come  along  with  me, 
if  you  are  not  afraid,  and  we  will  have 
a  fine  lunch  together,  and  afterwards 
go  out  to  the  park.  Will  you  like 
that?" 


"Oh,  yes,  sir — I  will,  sir.  I  ain't 
never  been  to  them  places,  but  I'd  like 
to  go.  I  liked  you  back  there  in  the 
'bus ;  you  had  a  nice  gentlemanly  look 
like  some  of  them  visitors  at  the  great 
nouse.  But,  oh  dear!  What  will  my 
folks  say — what  will  they  do  when 
they  find  I  ain't  along!  Oh,  dear!  Oh, 
dear!  My  father  will  be  more  worried 
than  ever  and  my  Aunt  Lura  will  say : 
'What  can  you  expect  of  May-Belle,' 
and  it  just  makes  me  sick  to  think  I 
didn't  stick  by  them.  If  I  get  awful 
punished  it  will  serve  me  right.  What 
if  I  hadn't  found  you !  I  never  thought 
of  that.  I  wasn't  so  scared  and  all  be- 
fore, but  when  I  think  o'  that,  if  I 
hadn't  found  you  I'd  be  here  all  alone" 
— and  the  awfulness  of  that  situation 
overcame  her.  She  put  her  hands  up 
to  her  eyes  and  the  coalscuttle  bonnet 
shook  with  the  stress  of  her  sobs. 

"Come,  come  now,  child.  You  are 
in  good  hands;  I'll  see  after  you  al- 
right. We'll  fix  it  up  with  your  folks. 
Come,  dry  your  eyes  and  we'll  have  a 
nice  holiday.  I  am  a  school-teacher, 
but  I  am  not  busy  to-day,  so  I'll  take 
you  all  around  with  me." 

By  slow  progress  we  had  reached  a 
telephone  booth,  and  by  slow  pro- 
giess,  mentally,  I  had  arrived  at  two 
conclusions.  One,  that  the  dreary  po- 
lice station  was  out  of  the  question  in 
my  mind  for  this  child  of  tender  years. 
Two,  that  I  would  tell  my  friend  in 
Berkeley  that  I  couldn't  make  it  for 
lunch.  As  I  finished  telephoning  this 
message  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  me. 
I  seized  my  morning  paper,  turned 
eagerly  to  the  death  notices  and 
scanned  its  columns.  There  it  was: 
Johanna  Elspeth  Johannssen,  nee 
Christenssen — etc.  from  the  family 
home,  etc. — Alameda,  California.  Very 
well.  I  turned  to  the  telephone  booth 
and  searched  Alameda.  Oh,  blessed 
cay  of  efficiency,  they  had  a  'phone! 
The  family  had  just  arrived,  but, 
thrice  blessed  credulity  of  country 
folk,  they  took  me  in  good  faith, 
seemed  agreed  May-Belle  was  in 
trustworthy  hands  and  made  an  ap- 
pointment with  me  to  meet  them  at 
half-past  five  at  Fifth     and     Market 


168 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


street,  where  they  would  take  the  'bus. 
I  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  for  the  rest  abandoned  my- 
self to  Fate  and  the  enjoyment  of  a 
happy  day. 

May-Belle  and  I  wandered  forth  and 
went  to  Townsend's  for  lunch.  I 
scarcely  ate,  myself,  but  sat  back  and 
enjoyed  her  enjoyment,  and  wondered 
at  myself — wanderer,  bachelor,  half- 
cynic,  half-philosopher — having  a 
regular  parental  time  with  my  one  lit- 
tle chick,  and  quite  fancying  myself 
in  the  role  of  father,  although  blush- 
ing to  my  ears  at  the  thought.  For  a 
second  time  the  strange  feeling  came 
over  me,  that  something  important 
would  grow  out  of  all  this,  and  I  won- 
dered what  Fate  had  in  store  for  me. 

I  chose  Townsend's  deliberately, 
partly  because  I  felt  I  would  scarcely 
find  any  one  I  knew  there,  at  that  hour, 
but  chiefly  because  I  felt  it  would  live 
up  to  May-Belle's  idea  of  the  grand, 
with  its  many  graceful  lights,  the  bro- 
caded walls  and  mahogany  woodwork 
with  its  piano  polish,  the  glass  topped 
tables  and  delectable  dainties — its 
bevy  of  boarding  school  misses  in 
pretty  frocks,  its  throng  of  well- 
dressed  shoppers,  and  I  guess  I  hit  it 
right,  judging  from  one  small  person's 
capacity  and  the  dance  in  her  eyes. 

Then  I  bundled  my  small  chick  out 
to  Golden  Gate  Park — and  what  a 
day!  I  was  indefatigable,  and  each 
new  turn  of  the  day  met  with  the 
same  delightful  enthusiasm  on  the  part, 
of  May-Belle.  I  felt  like  a  boy- 
bought  peanuts  and  popcorn,  cornu- 
copias and  molasses  candy — held  a 
sticky,  tiny  hand,  blissfully  disre- 
garding the  fact  that  mine  would  be- 
come sticky,  too;  I  took  off  my  hat 
and  carried  it  in  my  hand,  even  asked 
people  how  old  their  children  were — 
went  to  such  lengths  as  to  ride  on  the 
merry-go-round;  rowed  her  on  Stow 
Lake,  fed  the  animals,  took  her  don- 
key back.  In  fact,  for  one  brief  day 
at  least  I  out  rivaled  the  wonders  of 
Cinderella  for  May-Belle. 

But  all  good  things  come  to  an  end, 
alas!  and  we  headed  finally  for  down- 
town.   Every  now  and  again  the  eager 


little  face  turned  to  mine,  smiling 
gratefully,  and  I  returned  the  look 
with  one  of  perfect  understanding.  By 
and  by  the  eager  eyes  grew  dreamy, 
and  saw  the  city,  that  had  earlier  been 
so  enthralling,  through  a  mist.  When 
the  stalwart  conductor  bawled  out 
"Fifth  and  Market"  it  was  a  sleeping 
child  that  I  gathered  tenderly  into  my 
arms,  and  many  thoughts  came  and 
went  as  I  strode  that  short  quarter  of 
a  block  through  the  home  going 
throngs.  The  family  was  easily  found 
gathered  at  the  corner,  peering  anx- 
iously up  and  down  the  street,  and 
they  soon  caught  sight  of  me.  There 
v/as  an  onslaught  and  a  babel  of  voices 
— but  the  tired  child  slept  on. 

"Come  now,"  I  said,  "let  me  ex- 
plain. Don't  scold  her,  the  poor  child 
has  had  a  lovely  day.  She  is  a  dear 
little  thing,  and  she  is  very  tired.  It 
was  merely  a  question  of  getting  lost; 
she  is  sorry,  so  don't  reproach  her. 
We  were  children  once  ourselves,  you 
know.  We've  had  a  wonderful  day  to- 
gether and  it  has  done  me  no  end  of 
good.  I  envy  you,  sir;  should  like  to 
have  a  daughter  myself — but  come, 
now — your  'bus  is  starting,  and  re- 
member, you  are  not  to  scold  her.  No, 
no,  don't  wake  her,  she  has  thanked 
me  sufficiently  as  it  is,  more  than 
enough.  Good-bye — and  tell  May- 
Belle  I  shall  be  down  to  see  her  soon. 
Good-bye,  sir.  Oh,  no,  that  is  alright, 
sir — ch,  no,  sir,  I  thank  you  for  your 
trust  in  me — no  that  is  alright,  sir — 
good-bye!" 

I  hied  me  forlornly  back  to  my 
boarding  house.  For  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  was  thoroughly  sorry  I  was 
a  bachelor;  sorry  no  sweet-faced, 
sweet-voiced  wife  met  me  at  the  door, 
that  no  child  of  mine  ran  to  greet  me, 
to  throw  its  little  arms  about  my  neck. 
I  slung  my  hat  up  on  the  elks-horn  in 
the  hall  and  went  disconsolately  into 
the  dining  room.  Same  old  China  boy 
waiting  on  the  table,  same  old  white- 
haired  ladies  sitting  at  the  table  gab- 
bling over  some  stupidity — same  little 
music  teacher  directly  across  the  way 
with  her  crown  of  chestnut  braids,  her 
erect  figure  and     merry     face.     The 


REVERBERATION. 


169 


same  ?  But  no — over  my  plate  of  soup 
I  gazed  into  the  eyes  of  the  music 
teacher,  and  good  heavens!  they  were 
grey-green  and  like  May-Belle's,  only 
larger  and  sweeter  and  graver  and 
more  worldly  and  more  beautiful.  I 
felt  very  oddly.  I  had  known  the  lit- 
tle music  teacher  a  long  time,  a  very 
long  time;  we  were  sort  of  pals;  I  had 
never  looked  for  her,  never  missed 
her — just  kind  of  taken  her  for 
granted.  But,  good  Lord !  I  knew  now 
— I  loved  her! 

Once  more  I  looked  back  across  the 
years,  to  the  face  that  had  been  mir- 
rored in  my  heart  so  long,  and  in  com- 
parison to  the  face  before  me,  it  was 
little  better  than  a  soap  advertise- 
ment or  an  expensive  valentine,  nor 
held  it  the  vivid  face  of  the  little  May- 
Belle.  It  was  outrivaled  entirely, 
completely  by  the  little  music  teacher 
across  the  table! 

When  she  left  the  dining  room  with 
great  dignity  after  the  constrained 
silence  that  must  have  followed  my 
revelation  of  feeling,  I  went  in  hot 
pursuit  and  found  her  at  the  piano 
playing  softly  in  the  dusk  in  the  big 
best  parlor. 


"Violet— Violet  Richards— I  love 
you,"  catching  both  of  her  hands  in 
mine. 

"And  you — George  Cedric — I  love 
you,  too." 

"Since  when,"  I  gasped. 

"Oh,  forever  and  ever,"  she  said, 
whimsically,  and  you " 

"I  think  I  have  loved  you  always, 
but  to-day  I  found  a  little  child ;  there 
was  something  about  her,  it  just  got 
me!  And  when  I  looked  at  you  this 
evening,  you  held  me  with  her  eyes — 
only  lovelier,  Violet — far  lovelier," 
and  I  sighed  in  utter  content. 

"Fancy  you — a  confirmed  old  bache- 
lor— making  love!"  and  Violet  broke 
down  and  laughed.  Then  she  reached 
up  her  arms,  pulled  me  down  to  her, 
kissed  me  and  whispered  something 
in  my  ear. 

"I  saw  you — at  Townsend's — and  I 
trailed  you — to  Golden  Gate  Park.  I 
was  almost  jealous,  but  I'm  not — any 
more." 

"At  Townsend's — you!     At  Golden 

Gate  Park— you!     Well,  I'll  be ! 

Never  mind!  I'll  never  go  on  an  ad- 
venture again  without  you — my  Vio- 
let!" 


REVERBERATION 


At  nightfall  when  a-down  the  west  the  sun  is  gone, 
And  gold-tipped  clouds  alone  diffuse  the  mellow  light, 
My  thoughts  like  night  moths  wafted  on  the  evening  winds 
Flit  through  the  shadows  deep,  and  love,  to  you  take  flight. 

Then  in  the  enchantment  of  the  silent  night  and  hour, 
When  through  the  leaves  above,  the  glistening  moonbeams  fall, 
I  seem  for  one  brief  moment  to  behold  your  face 
And  in  the  mystery  of  the  silence  hear  you  call. 

Your  voice  renews  again  the  full  song  of  the  thrush, 
The  vanished  glories  of  the  day,  the  sunset  skies, 
And  all  the  sweetness  of  the  long-sped  hours  that  were, 
I  sense  again  deep  in  the  heaven  of  your  eyes. 

R.  R.  Greenwood. 


(Marble  statue  by  Evelyn  Beatrice  Longman  in  the  colon- 
nade in  front  of  the  Fine  Arts  Building  at  the  P.  P.  I.  E.  Won 
silver  medal.) 


L'Amour 


By  Stanton  Elliott 


The  love  in  my  heart  is  the  spirit  of  truth, 
The  voice  of  the  song  you  inspire, 
Eternity's  sigh  for  eternity's  youth, 
The  symbol  of  life  in  desire. 

The  love  in  my  heart  is  the  breath  of  the  morn, 
The  joy  of  the  springtide  of  love, 
The  kiss  of  the  dew  and  the  spell  in  the  dawn 
With  the  depth  in  the  heavens  above. 


Pathfinders  of  '49 


By  Mrs.  Alfred  Irby 


IN  1849,  at  the  beginning  of  the  gold 
fever,  a  party  of  three  hundred 
persons  organized  at  San  Antonio, 
Texas,  for  the  purpose  of  making 
the  first  overland  trip  from  Texas  to 
California. 

When  about  one  hundred  miles  on 
their  way,  cholera  broke  out  in  camp, 
general  dissatisfaction  and  dissension 
arose,  and  the  company  disbanded. 

Out  of  this  number  twelve  young 
men  determined  to  make  the  trip  alone 
— and  Benjamin  F.  Irby,  who,  when 
only  twenty  years  of  age,  had  served 
as  captain  in  a  regiment  of  volunteers 
in  the  Mexican  War  of  1846-8,  was 
chosen  leader  of  the  expedition.  Cap- 
tain Irby,  his  two  brothers,  William 
and  Charles,  and  nine  other  compan- 
ions, with  three  four-mule  teams,  be- 
gan this  long  journey  of  thirteen 
months'  duration. 

It  was  a  most  venturesome  and  per- 
ilous undertaking.  How  hazardous 
they  themselves  did  not  realize  until 
after  it  was  finished.  Few  in  numbers, 
the  country  over  which  they  traveled 
was  practically  unknown  and  uninhab- 
ited, except  by  Indians,  most  of  whom 
were  unfriendly.  Their  equipment 
was  limited,  and  provisions  for  them- 
selves and  feed  for  their  teams,  diffi- 
cult to  obtain;  great  scarcity  of  water, 
owing  to  many  desert  places,  and  they 
not  knowing,  like  the  natives,  to  dig 
cnly  a  few  inches  below  the  surface 
would  procure  them  all  that  was 
needed.  Many  mountainous  regions, 
too,  swerved  them  from  a  direct  course 
— and  having  no  guide,  save  a  com- 
pass, they  often  lost  their  way  or  were 
forced  to  rest  their  teams  for  days. 
They  were  able  to  travel  only  a  few 
miles  each  day,  and  the  hardships  and 
privations  were  so  many  and  complex 


that  they  must  have  turned  back,  ex- 
cept for  their  own  undaunted  courage 
and  intrepid  spirit. 

The  route  taken  by  Captain  Irby  led 
them  via  the  old  San  Saba  mission, 
the  head  of  Devil's  river,  across  the 
Pecos    at    Horsehead    crossing     (so 
named  by  them  because  of  a  horse's 
head  found  there) ,  through  Fort  Stock- 
ton to  El  Paso.    Passing  over  one  cor- 
ner of  New  Mexico,  they  entered  Ari- 
zona.   Then  traveling  northwest,  they 
crossed  the   Gila  river,  through  Ari- 
zona  over  the   Colorado  river,     into 
California.     There  they  headed     for 
Stockton,  their  destination. 

The  route  they  took  through  Califor- 
nia is  almost  identically  the  one  fol- 
lowed by  the  Santa  Fe  railroad  to-day, 
except  that  they  crossed  the  Stanislaus 
river  at  the  old  Dent- Valentine  ferry. 

A  little  dog  made  the  entire  trip 
with  them.  Disappearing  through  the 
day,  she  always  came  into  camp  some- 
time in  the  night,  for  she  was  there 
every  morning  when  they  arose.  She 
must  have  traveled  after  sunset,  and 
rested  during  the  heat  of  the  day. 

The  first  incident  of  particular  inter- 
est occurred  when  the  party  reached 
the  Pecos  river.  Finding  high  water, 
they  were  delayed  by  corking  their 
wagon  beds  for  carrying  their  equip- 
ment and  running  gear.  While  thus 
busily  engaged,  Yuma  Indians  in  great 
numbers  came  down  the  river,  floating 
with  blocks  of  wood  under  their  chins. 
After  floating  the  wagons  over  and 
swimming  their  teams,  the  white  men 
found  themselves  surrounded  by  some 
thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  of  these 
Indians,  who  seemed  disposed  to  re- 
fuse them  further  advance  in  their  ter- 
ritory. 

Captain  Irby,  knowing  from  experi- 


172 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


ence  the  disposition  of  the  Indians  and 
the  latter's  inherent  love  for  liquor  and 
its  pernicious  effect  upon  the  abori- 
gine, had  ordered  at  the  beginning  of 
the  expedition  that  there  should  be 
absolutely  no  traffic  in  liquor  while  en 
route. 

It  happened  that  a  Scotchman,  by 
the  name  of  Burns,  admiring  a  little 
black  pony  belonging  to  one  of  the 
Indians,  offered  him  a  pint  of  whiskey 
for  the  animal.  The  trade  was  made 
quickly.  The  Indian  strapped  the  whis- 
key on  himself  and  handed  over  the 
pony  to  Burns.  But  the  Scotchman 
happening  to  turn  his  head,  the  Indian 
quick  as  a  flash  mounted  the  pony  and 
off  he  went — pony,  whiskey  and  all — 
amid  the  shoutings  and  laughter  of  the 
Indians. 

The  indignation  of  Captain  Irby,  at 
such  disobedience  of  orders,  and  his 
alarm,  because  of  troubles  that  might 
ensue,  were  so  extreme,  that  Burns 
barely  escaped  being  shot. 

After  holding  the  party  as  tentative 
prisoners  for  three  or  four  days,  and 
annoying  them  in  various  ways,  the 
Indians  finally  constructed  a  wall  of 
chaparral  brush  around  the  camp.  This 
wall  remained  intact  for  twenty-four 
hours.  Then  William  Irby  ordered 
camp  broken,  and  the  teams  harnessed. 
The  white  men  deliberately  shoved 
aside  sufficient  brush  for  the  wagons 
to  pass.  Whether  this  action  aroused 
the  fear  of  the  Indians,  or  their  admi- 
ration for  the  white  man's  courage, 
Irby  never  knew,  but  surprising  as  it 
was,  the  party  was  allowed  to  depart. 

A  pleasant  break  in  the  hot,  tire- 
some journey  was  their  stay  at  Fort 
Stockton,  Tex.,  where  they  rested  and 
refreshed  themselves  and  their  teams 
for  several  days.  Many  times  before 
reaching  Fort  Stockton,  and  after 
leaving,  they  almost  perished  from 
thirst.  When  the  heat  was  excessive 
and  the  water  supply  low,  Captain 
Irby,  with  two  or  three  volunteers, 
would  travel  in  advance  of  the  wagons 
to  locate  water  and  also  suitable  places 
for  camping.  One  day  they  discov- 
ered a  small  seepe  spring,  and  having 
hollowed  out  a  cavity  in  the  sand  large 


enough  to  form  quite  a  pool,  Captain 
Irby  sent  the  others  back  as  guides. 
While  sitting  there  alone,  a  famished 
wolf  came  to  the  spring  and  drank 
feverishly.  If  the  animal  ever  no- 
ticed his  presence  it  gave  no  sign,  but 
after  resting  a  few  moments,  loped 
away. 

On  one  occasion,  when  no  water 
could  be  found  and  the  tongues  of 
some  of  the  party  were  swollen  out  of 
their  mouths,  this  same  search  party, 
though  almost  hopeless,  set  out  again. 

After  searching  for  hours  they  at 
last  came  to  a  small  but  most  beauti- 
ful stream,  with  willow  trees,  grass 
and  rushes  growing  on  the  banks. 
Gratefully  drinking  all  they  dared, 
some  of  them  hastened  back  to  carry 
the  good  news.  Before  they  had  gone 
half  way,  they  met  the  teams  running 
toward  them.  The  horses  and  mules 
had  become  unmanageable  from  scent- 
ing the  water,  and  the  drivers  were 
obliged  to  unharness  and  let  run  to  the 
water.  Upon  reaching  the  stream,  the 
mules  seemed  beside  themselves  with 
excitement;  plunging  into  the  water 
they  drank  and  rolled  over  and  over. 
Soon  they  were  driven  back  to  the 
wagons  and  those  who  had  been  so 
prostrated,  but  were  now  revived  from 
the  full  canteens  of  the  rescue  party. 
The  party  camped  in  this  oasis  in  the 
desert  until  their  strength  and  spirits 
were  fully  recovered. 

That  evening,  when  their  first  meal 
was  almost  ready,  an  old  Indian  and 
two  young  bucks  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  camp.  This  caused  some  little 
excitement,  and  the  discussion  was 
lively  as  to  whether  they  were  friendly 
or  advance  spies  of  some  marauding 
band.  Captain  Irby  advised  that  a 
friendly  reception  be  given  them.  Ac- 
cordingly the  Indians  were  invited  to 
supper.  At  bed  time  they  were  given 
two  pairs  of  the  best  Mexican  blankets 
for  beds.  No  guard  was  placed  for 
the  night,  but  all  retired  and  slept  un- 
til daylight.  On  arising,  the  white 
men  found  their  guests  still  soundly 
sleeping. 

After  an  hour  or  more,  when  break- 
fast was  ready,     the     Indians     were 


PATHFINDERS  OF  '49.  173 

aroused  and  invited  to  eat.  Breakfast  the  attention  of  the  others, 
over,  they  sat  around  smoking  their  After  supper  the  party  began  an  ex- 
pipes,  the  Indians  seemingly  partaking  amination  of  the  old  mission.  They 
of  it  all  with  quiet  enjoyment.  Soon  found  the  door  still  intact,  as  though 
they  arose,  grunted  and  disappeared,  it  had  not  been  disturbed  for  centuries. 
They  did  not  "fold  their  tents,  like  the  At  last  the  fastenings  gave  way  and 
Arabs,"  but  they  as  silently  stole  the  rays  of  the  Western  sun  flooded 
away.  Evidently  they  were  lost,  tired  through  the  open  door,  and  they  be- 
and  hungry  and  came  to  receive  aid.  held,  seated  at  table,  Christ  and  His 

Just  before  reaching  the  Gila  river  twelve  apostles,  partaking  of  The  Last 
in  Arizona,  the  party  was  unquestion-  Supper.  It  was  a  most  awe-inspiring 
ably  spied  upon  by  Indian  scouts,  sight.  Reverently  raising  their  hats 
Later  they  were  met  by  three  or  four  they  bowed  their"  heads.  These  fig- 
hundred  mounted  Indians.  The  chief  ures  were  only  statuary,  left  by  the 
dismounting,  gave  each  man  a  hand-  Jesuit  missionaries,  but  the  impression 
shake  of  welcome,  placed  an  escort  on  they  made  upon  these  young  men  was 
either  side  of  the  wagons,  formed  in  never  eradicated, 
double  file,  himself  and  sub-chief  rid-  One  day,  when  the  party  was  spent 
ing  at  the  head.  In  this  manner  they  and  discouraged  from  having  been 
conducted  the  white  men  in  great  state  forced  out  of  their  way  by  the  trend 
to  their  village  in  the  valley  of  the  of  the  country  for  miles,  a  number  of 
Gila  river,  where  they  were  given  good  Indians  galloped  up  and  made  them- 
camping  grounds  and  every  courtesy  selves  very  obnoxious.  The  man,  driv- 
paid  them.  ing  the  lead  team,  became  so  infuri- 

These  Indians  were  semi-civilized,  ated  at  one  of  the  Indians  bent  on 
having  a  pleasant  village,  large  flocks  frightening  the  mules  in  order  to  over- 
of  sheep  and  goats,  and  irrigated  farms  turn  the  wagon,  that  he  shot  him.  The 
on  which  they  raised  fine  barley  and  party  expected  to  be  massacred  in- 
other  products.  Thanks  to  the  teach-  stantly,  but  the  Indians  apparently 
ing  of  the  Jesuits,  speaking  Spanish  feared  a  fight,  and  disappeared, 
fairly  well.  Several  days    later    the    members 

The  young  Indians  were  continually  reached  that  wonder  land,  the  Grand 

at  the  camp,  talking,  laughing  and  beg-  Canyon  of  the  Colorado.     No  one  in 

ging  the  men  to  play  "Monte" — a  fav-  the  company  had  ever  heard  of  this 

orite   gambling  game   among  the  In-  marvel  of  nature,  and  they  traveled 

dians,  learned  from  the  Mexicans.  down  its  long  stretch  for  miles  and 

The  party  remained  in  the  village  miles  without  knowing  what  it  was  or 

two  weeks,  recuperating  and  laying  in  where  they  were.     Going     around     a 

a  supply  of  mutton  and  kid  for  them-  bend  in  the  Canyon,  late  one  afternoon, 

selves  and  barley  for  their  teams.  an  Indian  suddenly  sprang  from  be- 

In  this  locality  they  first  saw  the  hind   a   rock,    shooting   and   mortally 

Gila  monster,  which  seems  to  be  in-  wounding  the  man,  who  more  than  a 

digenous  to  this  valley.    Never  having  week  before  had  killed  the  Indian.  No 

heard  of  it,  they  called  it  the  dry-land  one  else  was  harmed, 

alligator.  At  last  the  leaders     discovered     a 

In  this  desert  portion  of     Arizona  crossing  on  the   Colorado   river,  and 

they  were  again  threatened  with  water  passed  over  into  California.     A  tedi- 

scarcity,  and  again  sent  advance  scouts  ous  journey  was  yet  before  them,  but 

tc  locate  water  ahead.     Captain  Irby  one  not  fraught  with  quite  so  many  un- 

was  one  of  three.     After  wandering  forseen  dangers. 

in  a  westerly  direction,  they  came  to  The  first  white  women  they  saw  af- 
ar old  mission,  where  water  was  plen-  ter  leaving  El  Paso,  Texas,  were  at  a 
tiful.  Hastily  constructing  a  make-  hacienda  some  fifty  or  sixty  miles 
shift  ladder,  the  scouts  climbed  to  the  •  south  of  Stockton,  California.  Captain 
belfry  and  rang  the  old  bell  to  attract  Irby  had  gone  to  this  hacienda  to  con- 


174 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


suit  the  old  Don  regarding  the  route 
to  take,  and  while  discussing  the  mat- 
ter he  heard  hearty  laughter.  Turning 
suddenly,  he  saw  two  Spanish  girls 
looking  at  him  through  the  barred  win- 
dows, seemingly  very  much  amused. 
He  must  have  presented  a  somewhat 
ludicrous  appearance,  being  hot,  tired 
and  dusty,  with  hair  unkempt  and 
beard  reaching  almost  to  his  waist. 
Not  one  of  the  young  men  had  shaved 
since  leaving  San  Antonio. 

When  the  party  reached  Stockton, 
they  were  practically  worn  out.  Being 
young  and  enthusiastic,  however,  they 
quickly  recuperated,  and  plunged  with 
zest  into  their  new  surroundings  in  en- 
deavors to  make  their  fortunes  in  the 
new  Eldorado. 

The  Irby  brothers  remained  in  Cali- 
fornia four  years ;  then  the  longing  for 
home  overcame  them,  and  they  re- 
turned. Taking  boat  at  San  Francisco 
they  landed  at  the  city  of  Panama  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  of  the  Isthmus. 

The  morning  after  reaching  Panama, 
hundreds  of  mules  were  drawn  up  be- 
fore the  hotel,  to  furnish  the  miners 
the  only  means  of  transportation  across 
the  Isthmus. 

The  price  which  they  demanded  was 
so  exorbitant  that  many  made  the  jour- 
ney on  foot  over  the  trail  through  the 


tropical  forest  to  Colon  on  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  some  fifty  miles. 

Captain  Irby  and  his  brothers  de- 
ciding that  they  had  endured  enough 
hardships,  accepted  the  prices  charged 
for  the  mules,  and  set  off.  On  the  way 
they  overtook,  at  intervals,  the  weary 
and  footsore  travelers  sitting  by  the 
wayside,  regretting  they  had  not  paid 
the  price  for  the  services  of  the  extra 
mules  the  muleteers  had  been  clever 
enough  to  bring  along. 

After  reaching  Aspinwall,  now  called 
Colon,  on  the  Atlantic  Coast,  they 
took  boat  via  Havana  to  New  Orleans, 
where  all  the  gold  they  brought  back 
with  them  was  coined.  Then  on  to 
Texas ! 

Captain  Ben  and  Charles  Irby  mar- 
ried soon  after,  both  raising  families; 
but  William,  on  his  return,  finding  that 
during  his  absence  his  sweetheart  had 
married,  remained  a  bachelor. 

The  old  rifle,  pistol  and  compass  that 
Captain  Irby  carried  on  this  expedition 
are  still  carefully  preserved  as  precious 
relics  by  the  family. 

The  three  Irby  brothers  were  part- 
ners as  long  as  they  lived,  and  it  was 
the  delight  of  many  to  listen  to  their 
tales  of  Western  adventures  and  other 
interesting  experiences  recounted  by 
these  early  pioneers  of  the  West. 


THE       SUPREME       TRAGEDY 


No  maiming,  no  dark  crime,  no  misery 

Is  final,  irrecoverable  Loss; 

Not  even  Death,  crowned  by  black  plumes  a-toss, 

May  claim  the  fatal  name  of  Tragedy. 

What  frightens  flesh,  and  bends  th'  defiant  knee, 

May  be  a  Savior's  shadow — not  the  Cross — 

His  arms  outstretched,  that  when  the  failing  dross 

Fails  utterly,  the  Spirit,  caught,  is  free. 

But  one  thing,  absolute  and  isolate, 

Impersonal  as  law,  more  merciless 

Than  barbarous  hordes,  mad  and  insatiate — 

This  thing's  the  Vacuum  of  the  storm-and-stress, 

When,  matter-ridden,  blind,  beyond  all  plea, 

The  Soul  denies  its  own  reality. 


Arthur  Powell. 


Via  the  Straits  of  /Magellan 

By  James  W.   Milne 
(Being  an  Account  of  a  Voyage  Taken  by  the  Writer  on  a  Tramp  Steamer) 


NOW  that  the  Panama  Canal  is  an 
accomplished  fact,  and  trade 
routes  are  rapidly  changing  to 
readjust  themselves  to  the  new 
lanes  which  will  be  established  when 
the  Great  Waterway  has  been  fully  put 
into  operation,  many  picturesque  and 
romantic  byways  of  travel  will  be 
abandoned,  to  the  regret  of  only  a  few 
perhaps  of  the  hosts  of  people  who 
go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships.  One  of 
these  byways  to  sink  into  oblivion  will 
be  the  route  from  the  West  Coast  of  the 
American  Continent  through  the  Straits 
of  Magellan — across  the  Atlantic  to 
Europe. 

And  although  I  am  heartily  glad  that 
the  Canal  is  finished,  having  had  the 
extreme  honor  to  have  participated  in 
its  fulfillment,  even  though  in  a  small 
way,  I  am  also  saddened  at  the  thought 
that  this  spot  on  the  world's  surface 
will  be  practically  devoid  of  ship- 
ping in  a  short  time. 

The  substance  and  object  of  this  ar- 
ticle is  to  recall  as  near  as  possible 
the  adventures  which  befell  me  on  a 
trip  through  these  bleak,  desolate,  but 
wholly  alluring  and  fascinating  re- 
gions. 

En  avant — I  was  only  a  young  fellow 
at  the  time,  but  I  had  circumnavigated 
the  globe  once  already,  and  had  in  a 
great  measure  satisfied  the  wanderlust 
which  had  started  me  out  on  a  long, 
long  voyage — to  ports  unknown  a  year 
before. 

I  had  left  an  English  windjammer 
in  Portland,  Ore.,  and  after  several 
months  of  work  ashore,  none  of  which 
had  been  to  my  fancy,  I  again  began 
to  feel  the  gnawings  of  desire  to  see 
again  the  haunts  of  my  childhood — to 


wit,  the  fisherfolk  and  schooners  of 
Long  Wharf,  in  Boston. 

So  when  the  chance  came  to  ship  be- 
fore the  mast  in  an  American  tramp 
steamer  bound  round  to  New  York, 
you,  my  gentle  reader,  can  readily 
judge  that  I  was  not  long  in  getting 
my  dunnage,  which  in  sailor's  parlance 
means  clothing,  on  board. 

This  ship  was  one  of  the  few  fly- 
ing the  Stars  and  Stripes  engaged  in 
foreign  trade  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  She 
had  been  under  charter  to  a  Seattle 
firm,  and  upon  the  expiration  of  the 
said  charter,  her  owners  had  fixed  a 
cargo  of  wheat  and  barley  for  New 
York  for  her,  hence  the  voyage  I  shall 
endeavor  to  narrate. 

I  am  not  much  of  a  story  writer,  but 
will  crave  the  reader's  indulgence,  and 
will  endeavor  to  tell  my  tale  in  as 
clear  language  as  is  at  my  command. 
We  left  Portland  late  in  November, 
when  the  weather  had  begun  to  get 
nasty  and  wet,  and  loaded  to  the 
hatches  and  deep  in  the  water  we 
started  down  the  Columbia  and  to  sea. 

Arriving  at  Astoria,  we  found  that 
a  gale  had  been  blowing  for  the  best 
part  of  a  week  from  the  southwest,  so 
we  had  perforce  to  wait  until  the  bar 
had  somewhat  abated  before  starting 
to  sea.  As  it  was,  we  bumped  her 
rather  heavily  in  the  passage  over,  and 
had  trouble  later — but  I  am  getting 
ahead  of  my  tale. 

Astoria  lies  some  five  or  six  miles 
from  the  bar  on  the  northern  bank  of 
the  river:  built  on  piling  for  the  first 
two  or  three  blocks,  the  town  runs 
along  the  bottom  of  a  steep  hill,  and  as 
development  can  be  made  in  one  direc- 
tion only,  lengthwise,  Astoria  is  conse- 


176                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

quently  rather  stretched,  if  I  may  be  sea,  with  good  food  and  regular  hours 

permitted  to  use  such  a  term.  and  lots  ot  hard  work  will  do  wonders 

A  strong  tide  runs  in  and  out  of  the  — so  we  had  quite  a  creditable  looking 

mouth  ot  the  river,  making  the  bar  at  lot  of  fellows  on  board  when  we  tied 

low  water  no  nice  piece  to  negotiate.  her  up  in  New  York. 

On  the  south  side  the  government  We  got  to  sea  after  a  period  of  wait- 
has  erected  at  enormous  cost  a  jetty  ing,  and  started  on  the  long  grind 
extending  seven  miles  out  to  sea,  and  down  through  the  two  Pacifies,  seeing 
as  strongly  as  it  is  built,  it  is  constant-  no  ships  and  sighting  no  land,  we 
ly  being  washed  away  by  the  fury  of  seemed  truly  to  be  the  only  living 
the  winter  gales.  Ships  have  to  wait  things  upon  that  wide  waste  of  waters, 
three  and  four  days  at  a  time,  and  Things  settle  themselves  down 
notwithstanding  the  precautions  taken  quickly  to  routine  duty  on  a  ship  of 
many  a  brave  ship  is  bleaching  her  this  kind;  the  men  do  their  alloted 
bones  on  the  lonely  coast  to  the  south-  tasks  and  seek  the  poor  comfort  of 
ward  of  Cape  Disappointment.  their  bunks  as  soon  as  they  can  get 

Right  here  while  we  are  waiting  for  away  from  the  vigilant  eye  of  the  bo- 
weather  conditions  to  change  so  that  sun;  and  so  not  having  anything  in 
we  can  get  to  sea,  perhaps  it  would  not  common  with  any  of  them,  I  spent 
be  out  of  place  to  make  some  mention  most  of  my  spare  time  up  on  deck.  I 
of  my  shipmates,  these  men  who  would  reveled  in  the  ever  changing  scene ;  I 
have  to  stand  for  another's  whims  and  loved  the  low,  dark  clouds,  the  sharp, 
fancies  in  the  close  confinement  of  cold  wind  and  the  dumb,  grey  seas  of 
shipboard  for  close  on  three  months,  the  northern  latitudes,  leaving  them 
November  is  always  a  hard  time  to  get  with  a  regret  which  quickly  turned  into 
real  sailors  in  Portland  and  Puget  joy  as  she  moved  along  into  the  high, 
Sound  ports.  The  weather  is  too  se-  blue  heavens,  fleecy  white  clouds,  and 
vere  to  permit  the  beachcomber  to  lin-  strong,  warm  trade  winds  of  the  trop- 
ger  long;  the  fishermen  had  all  out-  ics. 

fitted  and  left  for  the  north,  so  we  had  There  was  always  something  of  in- 

a  very  nondescript  gathering  on  board,  terest  to  me,  a  lonely  sea-gull,  perhaps, 

made  up  principally  of  recruits  from  would  keep  company  with  us  for  a  lit- 

the  farms  and  hop     fields,     with     a  tie  while,  seeming  to  make  no  effort  to 

sprinkling  of  the  city  tough  and  wharf  keep  up  with  the  ship,  and  keeping  al- 

rat.     Truthfully,  besides  myself  and  ways  a  watchful  eye  on  the  galley  door 

the  bosun  there  were  only  two  men  on  for  such  scraps  as  might  happen  along 

our  side  who  knew  how  to  steer,  while  his  way. 

on  the  engineroom  side,  or  the  black  Or  at  night,  perhaps,  when  I  would 

squad,  as  it  is  sometimes  picturesquely  relieve  the  wheel  at  two  o'clock  for 

called,  there  was  a  still  greater  de-  two  hours,  a  sense  of  my  own  small- 

ficiency  of  capable  men.    A    stunted  ness  would  come  to  me  as  I  turned  the 

Irishman  who  had  grown  up  in  a  tramp  wheel  and  watched  that  the  ship  kept 

steamer  engineroom,  and  a  big  Swede  on  the  alloted  course  on  the  shaded 

with  socialistic  tendencies,  which  he  compass. 

was  not  a  bit     careful     to     conceal,  One   is  practically  alone  with   the 

formed  the  piece  de  resistance  of  the  world,  the  officer  of  the  watch  is  away 

material  supplied  by  the  shipping  mas-  up  in  the  corner  of  the  bridge,  coming 

ter  of  Portland  to  take  this  valuable  occasionally  to  peer  into  the  compass 

piece  of  property  to  New  York.  to  see  whether  she  is  being  kept  on  her 

Dirty  and  ragged  for  the  most  part,  course,  and  then  relapsing  into  semi- 

their  bodies  undermined  by  long  spells  obscurity  again.    After  a  while,  when 

of  wrong  living,  poor  food  and  bad  one  gets  used  to  the  way  the  ship  is 

whisky,  we  had  a  great  time  getting  steering  and  constant  watching  is  not 

these  dregs  of  humanity's  cup  into  pre-  necessary,  one  looks  out  ahead  over 

sentable  shape.     But  a  few  weeks  at  the  top  of  the  binnacle  and  the  horizon 


VIA  THE  STRAITS   OF   MAGELLAN 


177 


seems  many,  many  miles  away;  all 
around  is  the  same  sense  of  untold  dis- 
tances, the  ship  is  only  a  wierd,  jum- 
bled mass,  and  perhaps  you  can  make 
out  the  dim  figure  of  your  partner  in 
this  graveyard  watch  pacing  back  and 
forward  on  the  forecastle  head,  keep- 
ing a  look  out;  the  roar  of  the  water 
at  the  forefoot  comes  to  you  strangely 
quieted  through  the  night,  and  the 
noises  from  the  engine  room  skylight 
behind  you  only  accentuate  the  other, 
greater  stillness  around  you.  Oh,  yes, 
I  have  experienced  the  wonders  of  a 
tropical  night,  and  such  magic  exists 
nowhere  else  in  the  world. 

The  long  run  down  was  not  without 
its  exciting  moments,  the  mate  and 
second  mate  got  into  an  argument 
when  the  ship  had  gotten  well  into  the 
tropics.  Sleeping  in  the  rooms  alloted 
to  the  second  and  third  officers  was 
not  very  comfortable  on  account  of 
their  size  and  location  so  near  the  en- 
gine room,  so  the  second  mate  had 
procured  enough  canvas  and  small 
stuff  from  the  bosun  to  make  a  ham- 
mock. The  mate  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  this  until  the  second  had 
completed  his  task  and  was  reposing 
peacefully  in  his  hammock  one  morn- 
ing when  the  mate  happened  along  on 
his  inspection.  Then  the  fireworks 
went  off  in  good  shape.  The  mate 
woke  the  sleeping  officer  up,  and  start- 
ed to  read  the  second  a  long  lesson  up- 
on the  subject  of  willful  waste  making 
woful  want,  to  which  the  second  lis- 
tened with  due  attention  until  the  mate 
got  a  little  too  acid  in  his  remarks,  or 
said  something  about  Mac's  forefathers 
or  something;  anyhow,  he  threw  six 
feet  of  outraged  Scot  at  the  mate's 
head,  and  in  a  little  less  than  a  minute 
the  mate  had  a  beautiful  black  eye  and 
had  called  all  bets  off  and  retired  to 
the  seclusion  of  his  own  room  to  rumi- 
nate upon  the  uncertainties  of  a  sea- 
man's life. 

Such  little  differences,  and  a  grow- 
ing discontent  started  forward  by  the 
big  Swede  fireman  about  the  food  we 
were  getting,  helped  to  pass  the  time 
for  us  until  one  morning  at  eight  bells 
(eight  o'clock),  the  man  coming  from 


the  wheel  reported  that  the  course  had 
been  changed  several  degrees  to  the 
eastward.  That  could  mean  only  one 
thing,  of  course,  that  we  were  getting 
close  to  our  first  coaling  station  at  Cor- 
onel in  Southern  Chile. 

And  sure  enough,  during  the  middle 
watch  the  lookout  saw  a  light  ahead. 
The  captain  was  called  and  he  ordered 
slow  speed  until  daylight.  When  day 
came  it  found  us  off  the  open  road- 
stead of  the  most  southerly  town  on 
the  west  coast  of  South  America. 

We  were  very  soon  anchored,  and 
after  breakfast  we  moved  to  another 
part  of  the  bay  and  made  fast  to  a 
buoy. 

Coronel  is  like  every  other  Latin- 
American  city,  long,  low,  red  roofed 
houses,  with  cracked  white  plaster 
walls,  form  the  main  plan  of  the  city, 
relieved  here  and  there  by  a  more  pre- 
tentious brick  or  concrete  building. 
Narrow  streets  with  foolish  little  side- 
walks where  two  people  can  scarcely 
pass  each  other,  and  the  inevitable 
plaza  and  cathedral. 

There  are  many  consulates  here, 
— practically  every  nation  in  the  world 
that  has  any  foreign  trade  at  all  main- 
tains a  consulate,  and  the  effect  of  the 
different  flags  flying  always  tends  to 
make  the  general  appearance  of  this 
obscure  town  one  of  perpetual  fes- 
tivity. 

The  inhabitants  for  the  most  part 
work  at  the  wharf  or  in  the  mines,  get- 
ting the  coal  out  for  the  ships,  while 
a  few  work  in  the  nitre  pits  a  few  miles 
to  the  south  of  the  town. 

The  men  are  small  in  stature  and 
wear  cheap  cotton  garments,  and  the 
women  the  inevitable  mantilla  of  black 
material. 

There  were  a  number  of  ships  in  the 
anchorage,  all  busily  engaged  in  tak- 
ing on  coal  to  pursue  their  way  on  the 
last  leg  of  their  long  journeys  from 
Europe  to  Australia,  Japan  and  some 
to  California  and  the  nitre  ports  of 
Chile. 

One  little  adventure  befell  me  while 
ashore  at  Coronel  which  may  be  of  in- 
terest to  the  reader,  and  that  was  my 
stay  over-night  in  the  city  quartel,  or 


178                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

jail.     I  had  gone  ashore  right  after  dollars  to  the  Chief  of  Police  if  we  did 

dinner,  and  alter  rambling  about  for  a  not  want  to  spend  the  rest  of  our  days 

few  hours  I  had  exhausted  my  inter-  far  away  from  our  native  heath, 

est  in  the  place,  and  was  just  contem-  We  slipped  the  buoy     that     same 

plating  a  return  to  the  ship,  when  on  evening  just  as  a  blood  red  sun  was 

turning  a  corner  of  a  side  street  I  ran  dipping  into  the  western     sea,     and 

into  a  few  of  my  shipmates  just  com-  started  out  to  make  a  short  passage  to 

ing  out  of  a  cantina,  or  saloon.  the  Straits,  but  we   soon  found  that 

They  naturally   insisted  that  I  go  Dame  Nature  was  going  to  take  a  hand 

with  them,  and  any  one  who  under-  in  the  game,  and  early,  too,  for  that 

stands  the  freemasonry    of    the     sea  same  night  we  suddenly  found     our- 

knows  that  it  is  the  biggest  insult  that  selves  in  a  smother  of  foam  with  the 

one  could  offer  a  sailor — to  refuse  to  wind  undecided  as  to  what  quarter  to 

drink  with  him.     So  I  went  along  to  come  from,  and  settling  down  into  a 

the  next  cantina,  where  there  were  a  real  blow  from  the  Southwest, 

few  more  of  our  fellows  engaged  in  a  To  one  who  has  never  experienced  a 

lively  altercation  with  some  men  from  real  gale  of  wind  at  sea,  the  experience 

a  British  tramp  called  the  "Fitzpat-  is  terrible;  the  great  seas  that  seem  to 

rick."  come  up  from  nowhere  threaten  to  en- 

They  were  arguing  over  the  question  gulf  the  ship  entirely,  and  as  the  new 

that  is  so  near  to  the  hearts  of  all  peo-  recruit  watches  her   bury  her  whole 

pie  who  have  red  blood  in  their  veins,  head  and  forepart  into  a  green  sea,  he 

and  that  was  the  disappearance  of  our  is  absolutely  sure  that  she  will  never 

flag  from  the  seas  of  commerce.    The  emerge   from   it   again,   but   continue 

argument  grew  stronger  as  the  wine  headlong  to  the  bottom  of     the     sea. 

took  possession  of  their  minds,  and  For  three  days  she  bucked  this  wind 

soon  all  hands  were  mixed  up  in  as  and  sea,  taking  great  combers  over  the 

bad  a  rough  and  tumble  as  it  has  ever  bows   and   hurling   them   against   the 

been  my  lot  to  witness.     We  didn't  deckhouse  with  incredible  force, 

fight  very  long,  however.    The  canti-  The  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  when 

nero  ran  out  into  the  street  blowing  a  the  wind  had  abated  somewhat  and 

whistle,  and  very  soon  it  seemed  that  the  sea  was  not  breaking  so  heavily, 

the  whole  police  force  of  Coronel  was  we  carried  the  steering  gear  away,  and 

advancing  upon  that  cantina  on  a  dead  as  the  ship  fell  into  the  trough  of  the 

run.     They  stopped  the     racket     and  sea,   she   shipped  one  of   those  long 

marched  us  off  to  the  quartel.     We  green  quiet  seas  over  the  whole  length 

were  booked  on  a  sweeping  charge  of  ol  her. 

disturbing  the  peace  and  then  thrown  After  she  emerged  from  under  the 

into  a   small  cell  in  the  rear  of  the  tons  of  water  which  fell  on  deck,  we 

building.  saw  that  she  did  not  look  the  same; 

There  were  seven  of  us  and  about  two  boats  had  gone  from  the  lee  side, 

ten  on  the  other  side,  and  we  were  all  and  a  lot  of  the  railing  and  every  mov- 

herded  into  the  one  cell,  which  was  able  thing  on  deck  had  been  swept 

about  ten  or  twelve  feet  square.  One  overboard.    We  had  the  steering  gear 

does  not  have  to  have  a  very  vivid  im-  rigged  in  a  hurry,  and  proceeded  under 

agination  to  realize  what  the  state  of  half  speed  for  the  rest  of  that  day  and 

that  cell  was  the  next  morning  when  night.    Just  as  day  was  breaking,  we 

we  saw  the  kindly  face  of  our  skipper  saw  the  coastline  ahead     making  in 

at  the  grating  in  the  door.    He  gave  us  places  where  the  murk  was  not  too 

a  lecture  upon  the  evident  result  of  thick,  and  soon  right  ahead  we  sighted 

over-indulgence  in  the  wine  (and  es-  the  lonely  pile  of  black  rock  which  is 

pecially  the  brand  Coronel)   when  it  called  Cape  Pillow  on  the  charts,  and 

was  running  too  redly,  ending  up  with  v/hich  marks  the  western  entrance  to 

the  consoling  news  that  we  would  have  the  straits  themselves, 

to  sign  over  ten  of  our  hard  earned  We  changed  course  a  little  to  pass 


VIA  THE  STRAITS   OF  MAGELLAN 


179 


close,  for  there  is  plenty  of  water,  to 
get  a  good  slant  at  the  entrance,  some 
two  miles  distant.  As  soon  as  we 
passed  the  rock,  we  began  to  look  for 
the  opening,  but  even  my  practiced 
eye  could  not  discern  anything  which 
looked  like  a  break  in  the  high,  rugged 
coastline  ahead,  big  enough  to  admit 
us,  and  many  questioning  glances  were 
cast  toward  the  bridge,  where  the  cap- 
tain was  standing  close  to  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  but  as  he  had  been  through 
the  straits  before,  we  had  confidence. 
Our  patience  was  at  last  rewarded,  for 
when  it  seemed  that  the  ship  was 
doomed  to  almost  certain  destruction, 
and  we  were  beginning  to  draw  away 
from  the  bows  in  anticipation  of  the 
shock,  we  heard  the  order  passed  to 
the  helmsman,  loud  and  clear,  "Hard- 
a-port."  We  turned  to  look  forward 
again,  and  saw  that  we  were  swinging 
to  the  right  and  into  a  gorge  which  we 
couldn't  see  before.  As  we  passed  into 
the  opening,  still  rolling  heavily,  the 
roar  of  water  at  our  bows  was  echoed 
back  from  the  high  walls  till  it  became 
almost  deafening. 

Soon  the  order  came  to  steady  helm, 
and  the  ship  stopped  her  wild  swing 
and  with  one  final  roll  deep  down  one 
side,  and  then  the  other,  which  seemed 
to  be  almost  like  a  sigh  of  relief,  she 
settled  down  to  the  business  of  getting 
through  the  straits. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  narrow 
channel  perhaps  one  hundred  yards 
wide,  with  high  black  rocks  on  either 
side  rising  almost  perpendicularly  to 
a  height  considerably  higher  than  the 
mastheads,  blue-black  water  under- 
neath, no  vegetation  whatever,  and  the 
silence  of  centuries  of  death  hanging 
over  all  like  a  pall ;  only  a  great  white 
albatross,  sailing  close  to  the  water  on 
his  slender  pinions  and  seeming  to  fit 
in  with  the  general  scheme  of  utter 
aloofness  and  solitude. 

The  channel  does  not  stay  straight 
foi  long,  and  soon  we  were  steering 
round  all  sorts  of  little  points,  open- 
ing up  new  gorges,  going  right  up  to 
the  solid  rock  wall  until  only  a  few 
feet  seemed  to  separate  us,  when  the 
same  old  command  to  the  helmsman, 


the  same  old  answer  and  the  same  old 
sv/ing  would  take  us  out  into  another 
little  stretch  of  clear  water. 

There  is  a  part  of  the  straits  called 
the  Narrows,  which,  if  not  passed  be- 
fore dark,  is  not  attempted  that  day; 
ships  anchor  a  few  miles  to  the  west- 
ward of  it  and  wait.  The  channel  is 
too  crooked,  the  current  is  too  strong 
and  tricky  for  any  one  to  try  to  nego- 
tiate without  plenty  of  light.  There 
was  quite  a  lot  of  conjecture  onboard 
as  to  whether  we  would  have  to  wait 
or  not,  but  we  had  the  longest  day  in 
the  whole  year,  and  the  current  with 
us,  so  we  got  the  best  of  old  Father 
Time  by  a  small  margin  and  did  not 
have  to  stop. 

After  leaving  the  Narrows,  the  to- 
pography of  the  country  gradually  as- 
sumes a  less  severe  appearance.  The 
high,  cold  looking,  rock-bound  cliffs 
give  place  to  low-lying  sandspits  and 
small  islands. 

I  did  not  stay  on  deck  during  the 
whole  thirty  hours  of  the  run  through 
the  Straits,  but  sought  the  cold  com- 
fort of  my  bunk,  after  the  two  main 
objects  of  interest  were  past,  namely, 
the  Narrows  and  Smith's  Glacier. 

This  magnificent  green  wall  of  ice, 
which  we  saw  stretching  for  miles 
away  into  the  interior  on  our  port  hand 
started  from  the  water's  edge  in  a  sort 
of  ravine,  which  it  completely  filled, 
was  about  two  miles  long  where  it 
started,  getting  thinner  as  it  extended 
back  into  the  hills  like  a  gigantic 
snake,  is  the  most  impressive  bit  of 
scenery  along  the  waterway,  and  one 
which  lasts  longest  in  the  memory. 

Another  thing  that  attracted  my  at- 
tention was  the  great  echoing  qualities 
of  the  more  narrow  passes.  The  roar 
of  the  water  at  the  forefoot  was  at 
times  almost  deafening,  and  when  we 
saluted  a  passing  German  steamer 
bound  to  the  Pacific,  our  whistle 
sounded  like  a  thousand  cannons 
turned  loose  in  a  church. 

When  I  got  my  call  at  a  quarter  to 
six  I  lost  no  time  turning  out.  I  had 
to  relieve  the  wheel  promptly  at  six, 
and  I  wanted  to  have  a  look  around 
first.    To  my  surprise,  I  found  an  en- 


180 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


thely  different  world  to  the  one  I  had 
left  on  going  below  at  one  o'clock. 
High,  dark,  forbidding  rocks  had  dis- 
appeared, and  we  were  proceeding 
along  in  smooth  blue  waters  with  an 
occasional  island  and  knoll  ahead. 

About  seven  bells  (seven-thirty)  we 
saw  the  red  roofs  and  white  walls  of 
Punta  Arenas,  the  most  southerly  town 
on  the  face  of  the  globe.  We  did  not 
linger  long,  only  to  take  on  a  pilot  and 
to  display  our  name  and  number  so 
that  a  cable  advice  could  be  sent  to 
our  owners  of  our  safe  arrival.  In 
those  days  the  wireless  had  not  be- 
come the  living  thing  it  now  is,  and 
ship  captains  took  advantage  of  every 
chance  to  acquaint  their  owners  with 
their  whereabouts. 

The  pilot's  name  was  Macintosh, 
and  he  talked  with  a  burr;  he  also  had 
a  splendidly  developed  taste  for  whis- 
key, so  he  informed  the  skipper.  He 
took  us  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the  blue 
Atlantic  and  open  water,  leaving  us  a 
little  way  past  the  Virgin  Islands. 

I  said  farewell  to  that  land  of  soli- 
tude and  death  with  mixed  feelings  of 
regret  and  gladness;  perhaps  I  would 
have  been  more  sorry  had  I  known  that 
in  all  probability  I  would  never  see  it 
again,  for  at  the  time  of  this  writing 
the  completion  of  the  Canal  was  a 
matter  of  very  hazy  calculation,  and 
known  to  only  a  few. 

The  rest  of  the  voyage  was  without 
incident  worth  recording.  We  passed 
the  fleet  on  its  long  way  around  the 
world,  and  dipped  our  ensign  to  the 
flagship,  the  last  American  ship  that 
they  encountered  perhaps  in  all  the 
miles  they  traveled  till  they  got  into 
home  waters  again. 

We  called  at  Monte  Video  on  the 
River  Plate,  as  it  is  called  in  this 
country,  for  coal,  but  we  did  not  lin- 
ger long  enough  to  permit  of  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  Coronel  affair,  however, 
And  also  at  St.  Lucia,  an  island  in  the 
windward  groupe  of  the  West  Indies. 
Only  a  few  hours  sufficed  to  give  us 
enough  coal  to  get  to  New  York;  the 
husky  native  women,  carrying  baskets 
weighing  a  hundred  pounds,  can  fill  a 
ship's  bunkers  in  short  order. 


Only  eleven  days  more  and  the  long 
voyage  would  be  over.  We  began  to 
get  out  our  shore  clothesi  which  had 
lain  in  the  bottom  of  our  sea  bags,  for 
Jack  forgets,  when  he  gets  to  sea,  that 
he  will  some  day  have  to  wear  them 
again.  And  sadly  in  need  of  an  airing 
were  the  majority  of  the  outfits. 
Gradually  the  weather  got  colder; 
those  who  had  been  on  the  East  Coast 
before  began  to  look  for  the  change 
of  water  when  the  ship  should  be  in  the 
Gulf  Stream,  and  then  bets  as  to  the 
probable  day  of  arrival,  the  hour  even, 
were  made.  Then  came  the  night 
when  we  saw  the  loom  of  the  lights  of 
Brooklyn,  and  early  we  were  awak- 
ened by  the  roar  of  the  anchor  down 
the  hawsepipe,  and  we  found  ourselves 
safely  anchored  inside  Sandy  Hook 
lightship,  but  with  a  thick  fog  com- 
pletely shutting  out  all  the  shore. 

Along  toward  noon  the  fog  lifted  a 
little,  a  pilot  came  aboard,  and  we 
started  to  heave  up  the  anchor;  we 
were  busy  doing  this  when  of  a  sud- 
den we  heard  the  boom  of  a  heavy 
whistle  directly  ahead,  and  immedi 
ately  afterwards  we  saw  the  ship  it- 
self, the  Lusitania,  bearing  down  on 
us.  Quickly  the  third  officer  jumped 
to  the  whistle;  at  the  sound  of  our 
whistle  the  big  ship  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate and  then  slowly  change  her 
course  and  disappear  into  the  fog  in 
the  direction  of  the  Ambrose  Channel. 

We  followed  her  up  a  little  later, 
stopping  at  the  Statue  to  get  orders 
from  a  noisy  little  towboat  to  proceed 
to  Erie  Basin  and  tie  up  at  Long 
Wharf.  With  much  maneuvering  we 
at  last  got  her  alongside  and  tied  up, 
and  the  voyage  was  over  at  last. 

I  have  wandered  on  some  more  and 
have  been  in  some  other  queer  places 
in  the  out  of  the  way  parts  of  the 
world,  but  will  never  forget  the  fasci- 
nation of  those  leagues  of  death  and 
desolation;  and  I  will  always  be  very 
grateful  to  a  kind  Providence  which 
has  once  in  my  allotted  space  allowed 
me  to  experience  and  see  the  grim 
solitude  and,  too,  the  greatness  of  the 
forces  of  nature  as  they  are  set  forth 
in  the  Straits  of  Magellan. 


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"THE  TRUTH   ABOUT  THE   BIBLE" 

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price,  $2.  "Sexology  of  the  Bible,"  $1.25. 
"Why  Jesus  was  a  Man  and  not  a  Woman," 
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and  Hospitals,"  John  M.  Powell,  M.  D.,  Ex- 
President  Hospital  Medical  College,  Atlanta, 
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Swan,  M.  D.,  Professor  of  Anatomy,  Kansas 
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Department  H. 


In  the  Realm  of  Bookland 


"Years  of  My  Youth,"  by  William  D. 
Howells. 

Out  of  the  fullness  of  nearly  four- 
score years  Mr.  Howells  essays  the 
autobiographical  vein,  but  not  for  the 
first  time.  He  has  already  permitted 
us  interesting  glimpses  into  portions  of 
his  life,  as  readers  of  "My  Literary 
Passions"  and  "Literary  Friends  and 
Acquaintance"  will  pleasurably  re- 
call. Mr.  Howells  visions  his  youth 
through  a  vista  of  many  years.  Born 
in  1837  at  Martin's  Ferry,  on  the  shores 
cf  the  Ohio  River,  his  youth  spanned 
the  critical  period  antedating  the  Civil 
War.  These  antebellum  years  were 
at  times  often  less  tense  and  exciting 
in  the  slow  gathering  of  the  storm,  and 
echoes  of  many  memorable  and  now 
historic  events  find  their  place  in  Mr. 
Howells's  pages.  The  narrative  is 
given  over  chiefly  to  sketching  the 
humble  life  of  the  Ohio  lad,  passing 
from  one  town  to  another,  as  the  family 
fortunes  ebbed  or  flowed,  and  as  the 
father's  successive  newspaper  work 
and  newspaper  enterprises  necessi- 
tated. 

As  the  years  of  boyhood  are  rounded 
out  and  manhood  begins,  we  are 
brought  to  the  verge  of  the  Civil  War, 
and  notable  names  appear  in  the  pages 
of  Mr.  Howell's  record.  One  of  the 
literary  tasks  attempted  at  this  time 
was  a  campaign  life  of  Lincoln,  and 
one  shares  with  the  author  the  regret 
that  it  was  not  his  to  make  the  journey 
to  Springfield,  Illinois,  to  obtain  the 
data  for  the  volume  from  the  young 
Presidential  candidate  himself.  We 
have  a  brief  glimpse  of  Lincoln,  how- 
ever, as  Mr.  Howells  himself  briefly 
glimpsed  him — a  tall,  shadowy  figure 
in  the  flare  of  torch-lights  haranguing 
the  multitudes  during  the  political 
campaign.  The  narrative  closes  with 
Mr.  Howell's  consular  appointment  to 
Italy  and  his  leave-taking  of  America 
for  a  season.     It  is  needless  to  com- 


ment upon  the  author's  gracious  and 
finished  art.  "Years  of  My  Youth"  is 
a  delightful  volume,  a  story  of  life's 
beginnings  told  with  surpassing  skill, 
and  an  important  contribution  to  our 
biographical  literature. 
Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


Madeleine  Z.  Doty,  author  of  "So- 
ciety's Misfits,"  who  has  just  returned 
from  Germany,  gives  an  even  more  de- 
pressing view  of  living  conditions  in 
the  Kaiser's  empire  than  does  Mr. 
Swope's  "Inside  the  German  Empire." 
Everywhere  she  saw  signs  of  acute  dis- 
tress from  underfeeding,  and  reports 
having  witnessed  a  woman  in  Ham- 
burg attempting  to  sell  her  baby  be- 
cause she  had  nothing  to  eat.  Miss 
Doty  says  that  the  sore  spot  that 
really  festers  is  that,  now  the  pinch 
has  come,  the  rich  protect  themselves 
at  the  expense  of  the  poor.  There  is 
a  shortage  only  of  necessaries;  luxur- 
ies can  be  had  in  abundance  if  one 
can  pay  for  them ;  and  so  it  is  that  the 
well-to-do  scarcely  suffer  at  all.  For 
example,  while  meat  is  extremely 
scarce,  chickens,  ducks  and  birds  are 
not  counted  as  meat  at  all.  The  only 
difficulty  is  to  be  able  to  pay  for  them. 
Those  who  can  pay  are  scarcely 
touched  by  the  food  shortage,  which, 
according  to  Miss  Doty,  is  pressing  the 
rest  of  the  population  down  to  the  star- 
vation point. 


"The  Shining  Adventure,"    by    Dana 
Burnet. 

The  over-active  imagination  of  a  boy 
of  eight,  left  too  much  to  his  own  de- 
vices, is  the  motive  power  behind 
Dana  Burnet's  new  novel.  The  King, 
as  the  hero  is  called  throughout,  is  the 
son  of  a  socialist  who  has  been  shot 
hi  a  strike  riot.  Miss  Philomena  Van 
Zandt,  a  patrician  lady,  has  adopted 
him  and  placed  him  in  a  window  to  be 
a  king — but  she  forgets  to  provide  him 


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with  a  kingdom.  Miss  Van  Zandt  is 
interested  in  the  uplitt  of  the  poor  and 
is  president  of  the  United  Charities. 
The  conflict  between  the  King's  inborn 
sccialistic  instincts  and  the  restrictions 
placed  upon  him  by  his  well-meaning 
foster-mother  in  her  efforts  to  make 
him  a  "little  gentleman"  result  in  his 
running  away.  Nearly  every  normal 
boy  of  eight  imagines  himself  a  king 
of  some  sort.  This  particular  King's 
ambition  is  to  buy  Gramercy  Park  and 
to  make  that  exclusive,  green  little 
oasis  a  free  breathing-spot  to  be  en- 
joyed by  the  children  of  the  slums. 
And  so,  in  order  to  accomplish  this 
purpose,  he  girds  his  tin  sword  at  his 
side,  gathers  the  hoarded  pennies  of 
years  in  a  bag,  and  sets  forth  on  the 
shining  adventure. 

Published  by  Harper   &     Brothers, 
New  York. 


"Xingu  and  Other  Stories,"  by  Edith 
Wharton. 

This  volume  is  a  brilliant  successor 
to  "Men  and  Ghosts,"  Mrs.  Wharton's 
last  group  of  stories.  It  includes 
"Xingu,"  "The  Long  Run,"  "The  Tri- 
umph of  Night,"  "Kerfol,"  "Coming 
Home,"  "Other  Times,  Other  Man- 
ners," "The  Lamp  of  Psyche,"  "Be- 
hind the  Government,"  and  "The  Re- 
fugee." The  title  story  is  a  humorous 
one,  satirizing  a  community  of  literary 
and  artistic  souls.  Many  of  the  others 
are  of  great  timely  interest:  "Coming 
Home,"  "The  Refugee"  and  "Behind 
the  Government"  are  stories  of  the  war, 
and  "The  Lamp  of  Psyche,"  though  a 
Civil  War  story,  has  striking  applica- 
tion to  many  present-day  situations. 

$1.35  net.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York. 


In  "John  Barleycorn,"  the  book  that 
has  been  called  his  "alcoholic  autobio- 
graphy," Jack  London  tells  how  quick- 
ly he  achieved  his  reputation  as  a 
writer.  "Critics  have  complained 
about  the  swift  education  one  of  my 
characters,  Martin  Eden,  achieved," 
says  London.  "In  three  years,  from  a 
sailor  with  a  common  school  education, 
I  made  a  successful  writer  of  him.  The 


critics  say  this  is  impossible.  Yet  I 
was  Martin  Eden.  At  the  end  of  three 
working  years,  two  of  which  were 
spent  in  high  school  and  the  univer- 
sity and  one  spent  at  writing,  and  all 
three  in  studying  immensely  and  in- 
tensely, I  was  publishing  stories  in 
magazines  such  as  the  Atlantic  Month- 
ly, was  correcting  proofs  of  my  first 
book,  was  selling  sociological  articles 
to  Cosmopolitan  and  McClure's,  had 
declined  an  associate  editorship  prof- 
fered me  by  telegraph  from  New  York 
City,  and  was  getting  ready  to  marry." 


"Blithe  McBride,"  by    Beulah    Marie 
Dix. 

Though  most  of  this  story  of  the 
Massachusetts  colony  in  the  year  1657 
is  intended  primarily  for  young  peo- 
ple, those  of  their  elders  who  are  in- 
terested in  American  history  will  find 
it  entertaining.  The  heroine  and  prin- 
cipal character,  Blithe-in-Tribulation 
McBride  is  a  little  girl  just  entering 
her  teens.  Brought  up  in  Crocker's 
Lane,  White  Friars,  one  of  the  worst 
parts  of  London,  among  thieves  and 
wastrels,  she  nevertheless  has  visions, 
thanks  to  an  honest  grandmother,  of  a 
better  and  a  cleaner  life.  Very  early  in 
the  story  she  goes,  partly  by  compul- 
sion, but  mainly  through  her  own 
choice,  to  Massachusetts,  there  to  serve 
as  a  bond-woman  until  she  reaches  the 
age  of  21.  What  befalls  her  on  the 
ship,  how  she  makes  new  friends  and 
meets  an  old  one,  proves  herself  stanch 
and  valiant,  and  at  last  finds  herself  at 
home  in  very  truth,  the  story  tells. 

The  Macmillan  Company,  New 
York. 


"New  Cartoons,"  by     Charles     Dana 
Gibson. 

This  beautiful  book  of  quarto  size  is 
unquestionably  the  best  volume  of  Gib- 
son cartoons  yet  published.  Its  size, 
make-up,  cover  design  in  red  and  black 
and  contents  make  it  a  most  attractive 
and  fitting  gift  of  permanent  value.  It 
contains  the  cleverest  of  Mr.  Gibson's 
most  recent  drawings.  There  is  much 
satire  in  them  of  contemporary  fads 
and   follies — of  modern  dancing,     of 


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xiii 


The  Vose  Player  Piano 

is  so  constructed  that  even  a  little 
child  can  play  it.  It  combines  our  superior  player 
action  with  the  renowned  Vose  Pianos  which  have 
been  manufactured  during1  63  years  by  three  gene- 
rations of  the  Vose  family.  In  purchasing  this  in- 
strument you  secure  quality,  tone,  and  artistic  merit 
at  a  moderate  price,  on  time  payments,  if  desired. 
Catalogue  and  literature  sent  on  request  to  those 
interested.    Send  today. 

You  should  become  a  satisfied  owner  of  a 


vose 


PLAYER 
PIANO 


VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO.,  189  Boylston  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


SCHOOL  FOR  YOUNG  CHILDREN 

A  unique  boarding  school  for  young  children  only, 
of  the  kindergarten  age.  Gives  careful  home  care 
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years.  Delightful  location.  Resident  doctor  and 
trained  nurse.  Most  healthfully  situated  in  the 
Sierra  Nevadas,  3500  feet  altitude,  surrounded  by 
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der the  most  refining  and  strengthening  influences 
will  welcome  this  opportunity  and  communicate 
with 

MOTHER   M.  AUGUSTINE, 

MOUNT   SAINT   AGNES, 
STIRLING     CITY,     CALIFORNIA. 


MISS    HARKER'S    SCHOOL 

PALO  ALTO        -      -         CALIFORNIA 

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Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

College  Preparatory 
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BEN.  LEVY  CO..  French  Perfumers 

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price  50c.  per  year.  Special  offer- 
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l~l^^l^va«-«  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particulars 
describing  the  trouble.  ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO. 
Hot  Springs,  Ark. 

Gouraud's  Oriental  Beauty  Leaves 

A  dainty  little  booklet  of  exquisitely  perfumed 
powdered  leaves  to  carry  in  the  purse.  A  handy 
article  for  all  occasions  to  quickly  improve  the 
complexion.  Sent  for  10  cents  in  stamps  or  coin. 
F.  T.  Hopkins,  37  Great  Jones  St.,  New  York. 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY. 


skating,  etc. — and  more  than  ever  of 
the  old  Gibson  insight  into  human 
ways  and  weaknesses  that  are  humor- 
ous, or  sometimes  a  little  pathetic,  and 
intense  with  character  and  life. 

$2.50  net.    Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York. 


"The  Boy  Settler,"  by  Edwin  L.  Sabin. 

Author  of  "Bar  B  Boys,"  etc. 

When  Terry  Richards  drove  his  ox 
team  out  of  Kansas  City  headed  for  the 
great  plains  beyond,  his  heart  beat 
high  for  adventure.  And  he  was  not 
disappointed,  for  this  was  the  New 
West  of  before  the  war,  when  there 
were  lots  of  Indians  good  and  bad, 
when  buffaloes  thundered  across  the 
prairies  in  countless  thousands,  and 
when  the  whole  world  seemed  new 
and  in  the  making.  But  Terry  had  the 
same  spirit  which  fired  the  breast  of 
many  a  pioneer  trudging  along  beside 
the  laboring  prairie  schooners.  He 
was  only  a  boy,  but  his  father  and 
mother  and  sister  were  with  him,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  good  dog  Shep. 
Then  they  met  up  with  another  family 
of  settlers,  which  included  a  boy  about 
Terry's  age,  and  there  were  adventures 
a-plenty  from  the  very  first  encounter. 
It  is  a  spirited  story  for  boys  that  Sa- 
bin here  writes — as  every  former 
reader  of  his  excellent  Western  tales 
will  know  beforehand.  It  is  also  valu- 
able as  presenting  a  clear  and  detailed 
picture  of  conditions  in  that  great  sec- 
tion during  the  days  of  the  first  forts 
and  settlements,  before  there  were  rail- 
roads or  stores  of  any  sort,  and  when 
evey  home  had  to  depend  on  itself, 
and  the  word  "neighbor"  meant  some- 
thing. 

$1  net.  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  Com- 
pany, New  York. 


little  is  known  of  the  function  of  ade- 
noids, much  interesting  information  is 
set  forth  regarding  them.  Unhealthy 
tonsils  develop  repeated  attacks  of  ton- 
silitis,  and  this  little  book  tells  why 
and  how  a  person's  tonsils  are  a  men- 
ace to  health. 

Harvard    University    Press,    Cam- 
bridge. 


"The  Heart  of  the  Hills  and  Other 
Poems,"  by  Grover  C.  McGimsey. 

In  the  preface,  May  S.  Greenwood 
announces  her  pleasant  task  of  intro- 
ducing an  old  friend  in  new  guise,  "a 
minstrel,  who  sings  of  the  width  of 
desert  places  and  bring  the  faint  haze 
of  the  farthest  star  close  to  you."  The 
author  strikes  a  note  of  deep  sympathy 
with  Nature  in  her  various  moods. 
There  is  a  certain  charm  in  his  de- 
scriptions, and  he  transforms  his  im- 
pressions in  fluent  form. 

Paper  cover  ,  $1.  The  Northern 
Crown  Publishing  Company,  Ukiah, 
California. 


"Adenoids  and  Tonsils,"  by  Algernon 
Coolidge,  M.  D.,  Professor  of  Laryn- 
gology, Harvard  University. 

This  is  one  of  the  series  of  Harvard 
Health  Talks  in  which  is  presented 
the  substance  of  some  of  the  public 
lectures  delivered  at  the  Medical 
School  of  that  University.     Although 


"A  Voyage  to  South  America  and 
Buenos  Ayres,  the  City  Beautiful," 
by  Ida  M.  Cappeau. 

The  beauties  and  physical  peculiari- 
ties of  South  America  are  pictured,  but 
above  all  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  Argentine  people  is  given.  That 
does  not  mean  an  exhaustive  treatise 
on  savage  aborigines,  but  a  comfort- 
able, gossipy  account  of  the  sort  of 
people  who  pass  along  Fifth  avenue 
any  sunny  day — well  born,  well  read 
and  well  bred,  educated  in  the  best 
schools  and  colleges  all  over  the  world 
and  preserving  their  national  character- 
istics only  as  people  of  the  world  do 
everywhere.  That  the  children  share 
the  common  traits  of  youngsters  the 
world  round  is  amusingly  demonstrated 
by  the  enfant  terrible  who,  seizing  the 
author's  red  scarf,  proceeded  to  make 
her  an  involuntary  party  to  an  im- 
promptu bull  fight  on  the  ball  room 
floor,  rather  to  the  delight  of  the  on- 
lookers than  of  the  victim. 

$1.20  net.  Sherman,  French  &  Co., 
Boston. 


r 


Please     Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Aavertisers  xv 

Mount  Diablo  Cement 

AWARDED  GOLD   MEDAL  P.  P.  I.  E. 

Cowell  Santa  Cruz  Lime 

ALWAYS  USED   WHERE  QUALITY  COUNTS 

ALL    BUILDING      MATERIAL 
Henry  Cowell  Lime  and  Cement  Company 

2  Market  Street  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


OAKLAND,  CAL.  SAN  JOSE,  CAL.  SAN  CRUZ,  CAL. 

BRANCHES 

SACRAMENTO,  CAL.        PORLAND,  ORE.  TACOMA.WASH. 


Scientific  Dry  Farming 

Are  you  a  dry  farmer?  Are  you  interested  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  dry  farm?  Are  you  thinking  of  securing  a  home- 
stead or  of  buying  land  in  the  semi-arid  West?  In  any  case  you 
should  look  before  you  leap.  You  should  learn  the  principles 
that  are  necessary  to  success  in  the  new  agriculture  of  the  west. 
You  should 

Learn  the  Campbell  System 

Learn  the  Campbell  System  of  Soil  Culture  and  you  will  not 
fail.  Subscribe  for  Campbell's  Scientific  Farmer,  the  only  au- 
thority published  on  the  subject  of  scientific  soil  tillage,  then 
take  a  course  in  the  Campbell  Correspondence  School  of  Soil 
Culture,  and  you  need  not  worry  about  crop  failure.  Send  four 
cents  for  a  catalog  and  a  sample  copy  of  the  Scientific  Farmer. 

Address, 

Scientific  Soil   Culture   Co. 

BILLINGS,  MONTANA 


xvl 


Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    Wher.    Writing    Advertisers 


Hitchcock  Military   Academy 


San    Rafael,    Cal. 


"Preparedness  First"  cadets  of  Hitchcock  Military  Academy 
drilling  on  the  sports'  field. 

A  HOME  school  for    boys,    separate    rooms,     large 
campus,  progressive,  efficient,  thorough,  Govern- 
ment   detail    and    full    corps     of     experienced 
instructors,   accredited  to  the  Universities. 

Ideally  located  in    the    picturesque    foothills  of 
Marin    County,     fifteen     miles     from    San     Francisco. 

Founded   1878. 
Catalogue  on   application. 

REX  W.  SHERER  President 


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xvii 


Miss  Hamlin's  School 


For  Girls 


Home  Building  on  Pacific  Avenue 
of  Miss  Hamlin's  School  for  Girls 


Boarding  and  day  pupils.  Pupils  received 
at  any  time.  Accredited  by  all  accredit- 
ing institutions,  both  in  California  and  in 
Eastern  States.  French  school  for  little 
children.     Please  call,  phone  or  address 


MISS  HAMLIN 


2230  PACIFIC  AVENUE 


TELEPHONE  WEST  546 

2117 


2123 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


BROADWAY 


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HALFTON E 
ENGRAVINGS 


9  Cents  Per  Square  Inch 


For  Advertising  'Purposes         For  Illustrating  {Booklets 
For  Newspapers  For  ^KCagazines 


The  halftone  engravings  that  have  appeared  in 
the  various  issues  of  the  Overland  Monthly  re- 
present subjects  suitable  for  almost  any  purpose. 
Having  been  carefully  used  in  printing,  they  are 

As  Good  As  New 

Prints  of  these  illustrations  can  be  seen  at  the 
office.       Over    1 0,000    cuts    to    select    from. 


Overland   Monthly 


259  MINNA  STREET        SAN  FRANCISCO 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers  xix 

FOR  SALE!    $2,100 

EASY    TERMS 

20  Acres  on  "Las  Uvas"  Creek 

Santa  Clara  County,  Cal. 


"Las  Uvas"  is  the  finest  mountain  stream 
in  Santa  Clara  County. 

Situated  9  miles  from  Morgan  Hill,  between 
New  Almaden  and  Gilroy. 

Perfect  climate. 

Land  is  a  gentle  slope,  almost  level,  border- 
ing on  "Las  Uvas." 

Several  beautiful  sites  on  the  property  for 
country  home.  • 

Numerous  trees  and  magnificent  oaks. 

Splendid    trout   fishing. 

Good  automobile  roads  to  Morgan  Hill  9 
miles,  to  Mad  rone  8  miles,  to  Gilroy  12  miles, 
to  Almaden  11  miles,  and  to  San  Jose  21 
miles. 


For  Further  Particulars  Address, 

Owner,  259  Minna  Street 
San  Francisco  -         -  California 


XX 


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r — ii ii 

"Four 
Routes 
East! 


DQDHC 


3[ 


hi 


IL 


SUNSET  ROUTE:   Along  the  Mission  Trail,  and  through 

the  Dixieland  of  song  and  story.  To 
New  Orleans  via  Los  Angeles,  El  Paso, 
Houston,  and  San  Antonio.  Southern 
Pacific  Atlantic  Steamship  Line,  sail- 
ings Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  New 
Orleans  to  New  York. 

OGDEN    ROUTE  :  Across  the  Sierras  and  over  the  Great 

Salt  Lake  Cut-off.  To  Chicago  via 
Ogden  and  Omaha;  also  to  St.  Louis 
via  Ogden,  Denver  and  Kansas  City. 

SHASTA    ROUTE:    Skirting  majestic  Mount   Shasta  and 

crossing  the  Siskiyous.  To  Portland, 
Tacoma  and  Seattle. 

EL  PASO  ROUTE :   The  "Golden  State  Route"  through  the 

Southwest.  To  Chicago  and  St.  Louis 
via  Los  Angeles,  Tucson,  El  Paso,  and 
Kansas  City. 

Oil  Burning  Locomotives — 

No  Cinders,  No    Smudge,  No    Annoying  Smoke 

Unexcelled  Dining  Car  Service — 

FOR  FARES  AND  TRAIN  SERVICE  ASK  ANY  AGENT 

Southern  Pacific 

Write  for  folder  on  the  Apache  Trail  of  Arizona 


][ 


]C 


]□□□[ 


J 


JL 


ElUfctl*h*4  July  *>.  1M4 


T\TT 

\l  SAN  FRANCISCO 


m 


AND 

California  Abnrrtterr 
PRICE  JO  CENTS  EVERY  SATURDAY  $4.00  PER  YEAR 

Profusely  Illustrated 

Timely  Editorials.     Latest  News  of  Society 

Events.    Theatrical   Items  of  Interest. 

Authority  on  Automobile,  Financial 

and  Automobile  Happenings. 


10  Years  Copies  Wanted  of  the 
OVERLAND  MONTHLY— We  de- 
sire copies  of  the  Overland  Monthly  from 
December  1875   to  January  1886, 

to  complete    our    files.       Liberal    premium 
will  be  paid.     Manager 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


10  Cts.  the  Copy. 


$5.00  the  Year     259  Minna  Street 


San  Francisco 


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xxi 


GET  6  NEW  SUBSCRIBERS 
TO  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


AND 


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a  miniature  photograph  gallery,  reducing  the  cost  of  the  ordinary  photograph 
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xxii 


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Make  Moving  a  Comfort 

The  Nezv   Way— The  Easy   Way 

By  auto  trucks  and  employing  the  well  known 
reliable  expert  San  Francisco  firm 

Dixon  Transfer 
Storage  Company 

ECONOMY  AND  TIME  SAVERS 

Manager  Leo  Dixon  has  had  many  years  of 
varied  experience  in  this  special  and  intricate 
business  from  moving  the  goods  and  outfit- 
tings  of  a  hugh  store  to  the  intricate  and 
varied  furnishings  of  a  home.  The  firm  has 
the  best  up-to-date  equipment  to  meet  the 
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Shipment  a  Specialty 

Fire-proof  Storage  Furnished 

TRY   THEM! 

Headquarters:  86-88  Turk  St. 

San  Francisco,   Cal. 


1 


Three  generations 

of  the  Vose  family  have  made  the  art  of  man- 
ufacturing the  Vose  Piano  their  life-work.  For 
63  years  they  have  developed  their  instruments 
with  such  honesty  of  construction  and  materials, 
and  with  such  skill,  that  the  Vose  Piano  of  to- 
day ic  the  ideal  Home  Piano. 

Delirered  in  your  home  free  of  charge.  Old  instrument! 
taken  as  partial  payment  in  exchange.  Time  Payments 
accepted.     If  interested,  send  fcr  catalogues  today. 

VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO. 

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■vi 


TEN  CENT  MUSIC:  Popular  and  Classic 

Why  pay  from  25c  to  75c 

a  copy  for  your  music  when  you  can  get  the  same  and  better. in  the  "  CEN- 
TURY EDITION"  for  only  10c  a  copy  postpaid.  Positively  the  only  difference 
is  the  price. 

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refund  the  money: 


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HUGUENOTS 

Smith 

$1  00 

IL  TROVATORE 

Smith 

1  25 

LAST  HOPE 

Gottschalk 

1  00 

MOCKING  BIRD 

Hoffman 

1  00 

NORMA 

Leybach 

1  00 

RIGOLETTO 

Liszt 

1  00 

SILVER  SPRING 

Mason 

1  00 

MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM 

Smith 

1  25 

MOONLIGHT  SONATA 

Beethoven 

1  25 

LAST  SMILE 

Wollenhaupt 

1  25 

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XXIII 


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Europe's  many  tongues  an< 
consequent  misunderstanding*! 


The  Fruits  of  Understanding 


Throughout  the  vast  area  of  this 
country  prevails  a  common  tongue. 
The  whole  of  Europe  hardly  exceeds 
our  territory,  yet  Europe  has  more  than 
a  score  of  nationalities  and  many  dif- 
ferent languages. 

In  the  United  States  the  telephone, 
as  exemplified  by  Bell  System,  renders 
a  matchless  service  in  its  mastery  of 
distance  and  in  encouraging  the  use 
of  a  universal  language.  This  accom- 
plishment is  in  spite  of  the  great  influx 
of  population  from  every  country  in 
the  world. 

In  Europe  the  independent  coun- 
tries, separated  by  barriers  of  language, 


and  lacking  efficient  telephone  service 
suffer  from  inadequate  facilities  fo 
inter-communication. 

We  now  talk  from  the  Atlanti 
Coast  to  the  Pacific,  and  eliminat 
more  than  three  thousand  miles.  Ii 
Europe,  contending  with  a  babel  c 
voices  and  unrelated  telephone  sys 
terns,  a  bare  quarter  of  that  distano 
has  been  bridged  with  difficulty. 

The  ideal  of  the  Bell  System  ha 
been  day  by  day  to  extend  its  servio 
in  the  interest  of  all  telephone  users 
Its  efforts  have  resulted  in  providing 
the  facilities  to  unite  cities  and  rura 
districts  in  true  American  democracy 


American  Telephone  and  Telegraph  Company 
And  Associated   Companies 


One  Policy 


One  System 


Universal  Servia 


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■■■■■iiiai 


.  .  ..   ,     , 


LjiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiBiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 


"HIS  MASTERS  VOICE 


DEC.  U.S.  PAT.  OFF. 


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Masterpieces  of  opera 

by  the 
worlds  greatest  artists 

The  mere  mention  of  opera  suggests 
Caruso,  Alda,  Braslau,  Calve,  Destinn, 
Farrar,  Gadski,  Galli-Curci,  Garrison, 
Gluck,  Hempel,  Homer,  Journet,  Mar- 
tinelli,  McCormack,  Melba,  Ruffo, 
Schumann-Heink,  Scotti,  Sembrich, 
Tetrazzini,  Whitehill — the  commanding 
personalities  who  dominate  the  operatic 
stage. 

These  renowned  artists  in  full  reali- 
zation and  acknowledgment  that  the 
Victor  alone  reproduces  their  art  with 
absolute  fidelity,  make  records  for  the 
Victor  exclusively. 

Any  Victor  dealer  will  gladly  play  any  music  you 
wish  to  hear,  and  give  you  a  copy  of  the  Victor 
Record  catalog— the  most  complete  catalog  of  music 
in  all  the  world. 

Victor  Talking  Machine  Co. 
Camden,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Berliner  Gramophone  Co.,  Montreal,  Canadian  Distributors 
Important  Notice.  AH  Victor  Talking  Ma- 
chines are  patented  and  are  only  licensed,  and  with 
right  of  use  with  Victor  Records  only.  All  Victor 
Records  are  patented  and  are  only  licensed,  and  with 
right  of  use  on  Victor  Talking  Machines  only.  Victor 
Records  and  Victor  Machines  are  scientifically  co- 
ordinated and  synchronized  by  our  special  processes 
of  manufacture;  and  their  use,  except  with  each 
other,  is  not  only  unauthorized,  but  damaging  and 
unsatisfactory. 


iiiuiiitiiiixikaie... 


IlMI2itllllii<<iilIMIS)llIIltllllIIIIIIlllIHIlIIlllIlllIlllllllIllltlEllilllillHIIllll 


LXVIII 


©tt?rlatti » 


No. 


ifatttljhj 


AN -ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE£WEST 

CONTENTS   FOR   MARCH    1917 


n   a 


FRONTISPIECES 

When  Darkness  Creeps  Over  the  Gallery.     Verse 
Illustrated. 

Six  Views  of  California  Scenery 

Reindeer  Used  in  Hauling  the  Game  Killed 
EDUCATING   THE   ALASKA  NATIVES       . 

Illustrated  from  Photographs. 
A    CONVERT   TO    CONSCRIPTION 
A  SOLDIER  OF  FRANCE.     Story 
IN    THE    SUN.      Verse     . 
THE  WIT  OF  DON  JOSE.     Story 
THE   GOAD.      Verse 
DEVIL'S   POINT.      Story 
GRACE   VERSUS    LAIRD.      Story 
ARIZONA   ANN.      Verse 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIRACLE 

Continued  Story. 
EL  PASO   DE   ROBLES.     Verse 
GUNS    OF    GALT        .... 

Continued    Story. 
ACHIEVEMENT.      Verse  .... 

MAXIMILIAN    I   OF  MEXICO 

Illustrated   from  Photographs. 
THE    REMARKABLE    ELEPHANT   SEAL 

Illustrated  from  a  Photograph. 
TO   ABRAHAM    LINCOLN.      Verse 
EXPERIENCES   OF  AN    OREGON    PIONEER 

Illustrated  from  a  Photograph. 
THE  GORGAS  OF  THE   PHILIPPINES 

MISUSE.       Verse 

THE  TREND  OF   EVENTS 

THE  HIDDEN  SONG.     Verse 

THE  DRIVING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SPIKE 

THE  GOOD  WORD.     Story 

THE   PASSING  OF  A  ZEPPELIN 

THE   SPIRIT  OF   '49.      Verse 


EUGENE   AMMON 


Winter    Hunt 

DAVID  GOVE 


181 

182-187 
188 
189 


albert  larson  198 

elsie  Mccormick  205 

frances  hathaway  207 

randal  charlton  208 

lannie  haynes  martin  212 

alfred  ernest  keet  213 

ephraim  a.  anderson  216 
gunther  milton  kennedy     222 

otto  von  geldern  223 

burton  jackson  wyman  230 

denison  clift  231 

joe  whitnah  239 

evelyn  hall  240 

lillian  e.  zeh  242 

jo  hartman  244 

fred  lockley  245 

marian  taylor  247 

mabel  rice  bigler  249 

cornett  stark  250 

mary  carolyn  da  vies  253 

bernetta  a.  atkinson  255 

B.   C.   CABLE  257 

LEWIS  R.  FREEMAN  262 

MABEL  RICE   BIGLER  268 


■»»>X<g«c- 


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Mi 


ARE   YOUR    CIRCULARS   AND    BUSINESS 
LETTERS  GETTING  RESULTS? 


DO  THEY  PERSUADE  ? 


DO  THEY  CONVINCE? 


DO  THEY  BRING  ORDERS  ? 


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tising. 

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lars, booklets,  prospectuses  and  ad- 
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customers.  We  have  a  passion  FOR 
RESULTS! 

We  resurrect  dead  business,  cure 
sick  business,  stimulate  good  business. 
Our  one  aim  is  to  arouse  attention, 
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nothing  that  is  not  on  a  100  per  cent 
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sales, 

An  Inventor,  looking  for  capital  to 
develop  your  device, 

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campaign, 

An  Author,  wanting  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  a  publisher, 


A  Broker,  selling  shares  in  a  legiti- 
mate enterprise, 

We  Will  Do  Our  Best  To 
Find  You  a  Market! 

We  put  at  your  service  trained  intel- 
ligence, long  and  successful  experi- 
ence in  writing  business  literature  and 
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RESULTS. 

Tell  us  exactly  what  your  proposi- 
tion is,  what  you  have  already  done, 
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your  project  from  every  angle,  and  ad- 
vise you  as  to  the  best  and  quickest 
way  to  get  the  RESULTS  you  want. 
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tion. 

If,  then,  you  should  engage  us  to 
prepare  your  literature — booklets, 
prospectuses,  advertisements,  circu- 
lars, letters,  follow-ups — any  or  all  of 
these,  we  will  bend  every  energy  to- 
ward doing  this  work  to  your  complete 
satisfaction.  We  slight  nothing.  To 
the  small  order  as  well  as  the  large, 
we  devote  all  the  mastery  of  language 
and  power  of  statement  we  command. 
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proposition  as  clear  as  crystal  and  as 
powerful  as  a  42  centimetre  gun. 

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our  work  is  its  quality.  Our  charges 
are  astonishingly  LOW. 

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Write  to  us  TODAY. 


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It  May  Cost  You  Much  if  You  Don't 


New  York 


DUFFIELD    -    156  Fifth  Ave.,  NewCity 


iv 


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The  Two  Most  Famous  Hotels  in  the  World 


The  Sun  Court  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  San   Francisco 

The  only  hotels  anywhere  in  which  every  room  has 
attached  bath.  All  the  conveniences  of  good  hotels  with 
many  original  features.    Accommodations  for  over  lOOO. 


The  Fairmont  Hotel,  San  Francisco 

European   Plan.      $2.50  per  day,  upward— Suites  $10.00,  upward 

Under  Management  of  Palace  Hotel  Company 


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HOTEL  CUMBERLAND 

NEW  YORK 
Broadway  at  54th  Street 


Broadway  cars  trom 

Grand 

Central  Depot 

7th  Ave.  Cars  from 
Penna.  Station 

New  and  Fireproof 

Strictly  First-Class 
Rates  Reasonable 

$2.50  with  Bath 
and  up 

Send  for  Booklet 

10  Minutes  Walk  to 
40  Theatres 


H.  P.  STIMSON 

Formerly  with  Hotel  Imperial 

Only  N.  Y.  Hotel  Window-Screened  Throughout 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 

BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN  FIREPROOF 

A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
quiet  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest— popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
—cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 
Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

May  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of 'Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  complete  rates? 
C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


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HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

/ ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in  Western  America 

MAN AGEMENT  —  JAMES     WOODS 


vi 


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Meet  Me  at  the 
TULLER 


For  Value,  Service 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand  Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY     FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50  Single,  $2.50  Up  Double 

200       "  "  "        2.00     "  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  "  $3  to  $5   "  4.50  " 

Total,  600  Outside  Rooms       All  Absolutely  Quiet 

Two  Floors — Agent's  New  Unique  Cafes  and 

Sample  Rooms  Cabaret  Excellente 


Herald  Square  Hotel 

114-120  West  34th  Street 


Just  West  of  Broadway 

NEW  YORK 


Across  the  street,  next  door  and  around  the  cor- 
ner to  the  largest  department  stores  in  the 
world. 

Cars  passing  our  doors  transfer  to  all  parts  of 
New  York. 

One  block  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 

All  the  leading  theatres  within  five  minutes' 
walk. 

Club   Breakfast — Business   Men's   Lunch. 

Dancing  afternoons  and  evenings. 

Rooms  $1.50   up.      All   first   class   hotel   service. 

J.  FRED  SAYERS 

Manager  Director 


A  well-known  Denver  publishing  house  has  appropriated 
$  1 0,000,  to  be  used  solely  in  a  whirl-wind  circulation  cam- 
paign. Their  offer  is  so  liberal  and  their  magazine  so  inter- 
esting that  everybody  is  eager  to  send  in  his  name. 

The  magazine  referred  to  is  thirteen  years  old,  and  each 
month  publishes  stories  of  adventure,  numerous  engrav- 
ings and  sketches  of  Western  life,  cowboy  capers,  descrip- 
tions of  famous  ranches,  irrigation  projects,  rich  gold 
mines,  etc.  It  is  the  oldest,  largest  and  finest  magazine  in 
the  West.  Readers  say  it  is  worth  $3,  but  in  this  surprising 
circulation  campaign  the  publishers  are  spending  their 
money  like  water,  and  our  readers  may  subscribe  one 
year  for  only  25  cents;  three  full  years  for  50  cents.  We 
have  a  set  of  17  colored  Rocky  Mountain  Views  which  we 
send  with  each  years'  subscription.  Send  to-day.  Money 
back  if  not  satisfied. 

ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  MAGAZINE 

SUITE    504  ....         QUINCY  BLDG. 

Denver,  Colorado 


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vii 


Miss  Hamlin's  School 


For  Girls 


Home  Building  on  Pacific  Avenue 
of  Miss  Hamlin's  School  for  Girls 


Boarding  and  day  pupils.  Pupils  received 
at  any  time.  Accredited  by  all  accredit- 
ing institutions,  both  in  California  and  in 
Eastern  States.  French  school  for  little 
children.     Please  call,  phone  or  address 


MISS  HAMLIN 


2230  PACIFIC  AVENUE 


TELEPHONE  WEST  546 

2117 


2123 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


BROADWAY 


viii 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


Hitchcock  Military   Academy 

San   Rafael,    Cal. 


"Preparedness  First"  cadets  of  Hitchcock  Military  Academy 
drilling  on  the  sports'  field. 

A  HOME  school  for    boys,    separate    rooms,    large 
campus,  progressive,  efficient,  thorough,  Govern- 
ment   detail    and    full    corps     of     experienced 
instructors,   accredited  to  the  Universities. 

Ideally  located  in    the    picturesque    foothills  of 
Marin    County,     fifteen     miles    from    San    Francisco. 

Founded  1878. 
Catalogue  on   application. 

REX  W.  SHERER  President 


Looking  down  on  Tiburon  Point  from  Sausalito.   a  cove  in   north   San   Francisco   Bay. 


A  lonely  cabin  in  the  Muir  redwoods,  some  twenty  miles  north   of  San  Francisco. 


Auto  entrance  to  the  President's  house,  University  of  California. 


End    of    a    trail    through    a    stately    eucalyptus  grove. 


Kn trance  to  the  Chemistry  Building,  University  of  California. 


Along   an   Alameda   County   road   bordering   the   hills. 


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MONTHLY 


BRET  HARTE 


"««afi£w— 


VOL  LXIX 


San  Francisco,  March,  1917 


No.  3 


?roup  of  raw  material  at  the  Nome  school.     Tho  teacher,   Miss  Edna  Cameron  is  standing 

in  the  center. 


Educating  the  Alaska  Natives 


By  David  Gove 


THE  RAPID  spread  of  industrial 
education  throughout  the  United 
States  during  the  past  decade 
has  been  of  immense  benefit  to 
the  rising  generation.  Perhaps  not 
many  people  are  aware  that  the  na- 
tional government  is  giving  the  native 
tribes  in  Alaska  a  system  of  industrial 
schooling  that  is  equal  if  not  ahead  of 
many  educational  institutions  in  the 
States. 

The  first  attempt  to     educate     the 


Alaska  natives  was  by  a  few  isolated 
mission  schools  subsidized  by  the  fed- 
eral government.  The  missionary  plan 
of  teaching  the  northern  natives  was 
not  altogether  successful,  and  in  1890 
the  federal  government  formed  a  plan 
whereby  the  native  schools  in  Alaska 
came  under  the  Bureau  of  Education  at 
Washington,  D.  C. 

There  are  eighty  native  schools  in 
Alaska  managed  by  the  Bureau  of 
Education.    These  schools  cover  a  far 


Young  Eskimos  at  work  in  the  Kivalina  school,  Northern  Alaska.  These  boys  have  had 
a  good,  ordinary  education,  and  each  owns  from  30  to  70  reindeer.  They  live  in  comfortable 
circumstances,  a  fair  comparison  being  the  scale  of  the  average  farmer's  son  in  the  United 
States.  (Photo  by  N.   C.   Shields.) 


flung  territory.  Were  a  map  of  Alaska 
superimposed  upon  a  map  of  the 
United  States,  the  native  schools  in 
Alaska  would  be  found  upon  twenty- 
one  different  States.  The  school  far- 
thest south  is  located  upon  tne  island 
of  Atka  in  the  Alution  Islands,  52  de- 
grees and  10  minutes  N.  lat.,  and  lies 
closer  to  Japan  than  the  United  States. 
The  school  furthest  north  is  at  Point 
Barrow,  71  degrees  25  minutes  N.  lat. 
This  is  the  northernmost  school  in  the 
world,  being  over  300  miles  north  of 
the  Arctic  Circle. 

The  Bureau  of  Education  has  some 
very  practical  ideas  as  to  what  con- 
stitutes real  education  for  the  natives 
in  the  North.  To  give  them  an  ordi- 
nary school  education  and  turn  them 
loose  would  be  to  hasten  their  down- 
fall. So  a  system  was  inaugurated 
whereby  the  native  schools  in  Alaska 
became  more  closely  correlated  with 
the  needs  of  the  communities  in  which 
they  are  situated. 

When  the  government  schools  were 
started,  the  most  that  was  expected 


from  the  natives  was  that  they  might 
be  able  to  read  and  write  a  little  and 
do  some  simple  arithmetic.  This  was 
considered  essential  to  help  them  in 
their  intercourse  with  the  traders  who 
came  to  buy  their  furs.  To-day  the 
above  summary  is  almost  treated  as  a 
by-product.  Industrial  teaching, 
whereby  the  rules  of  hygiene  are 
taught;  the  principles  of  co-operation; 
the  economic  handling  of  community 
problems;  cooking  schools  for  girls; 
district  fairs;  and  the  fundamental 
principles  of  civic  government  are  now 
taught,  and  are  regarded  as  indispen- 
sable to  the  education  and  welfare  of 
the  Alaska  natives. 

After  running  wild  since  the  earliest 
oi  times  and  living  in  the  most  unsani- 
tary habitations  it  is  possible  to  con- 
ceive of,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  the  northern  natives  never  prac- 
ticed any  rules  of  hygiene.  Therefore, 
one  of  the  first  things  the  teachers  im- 
press upon  them  when  they  come  to 
school  is  personal  cleanliness.  Nor 
are   the   grown   up  men   and  women 


An  Eskimo  school  teacher  with  her  pupils  on  a    picnic. 


overlooked.  They  are  taught  to  eat 
the  right  food,  to  be  moral  and  truth- 
ful in  all  dealings,  and  to  keep  their 
homes  and  surroundings  in  a  clean  and 
sanitary  condition.  In  most  of  the  na- 
tive schools  the  government  installed 
a  bathroom  to  be  used  in  connection 
with  the  regular  school  work. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  three  R's, 
the  natives  are  taught  the  methods  of 
civic  government.  The  Bureau  of 
Education  believes  it  is  important  that 
the  children  should  become  familiar 
with  the  system  of  election  and  the 
duties  of  officials.  Once  a  week  the 
school  is  declared  a  community  and 
an  election  is  held  by  the  regular  bal- 
lot system.  A  mayor  is  elected  and  a 
board  of  councilmen  is  chosen.  The 
mayor's  staff  usually  includes  a  peace 
officer  and  a  health  inspector. 
'  Instruction  in  the  conduct  of  munici- 
pal affairs  begins  when  the  pupils  have 
passed  the  second  reader.  The  mayor, 
who  may  be  only  twelve  years  of  age, 
presides  over  the  council  meetings. 
Bills  are  introduced,  discussed  and 
voted  upon.  Woman  suffrage  is  al- 
lowed and  girls  as  well  as  boys  vote 
and  run  for  office.  A  bill  to  become 
a  law  must  have  the  mayor's  signa- 
ture to  it.    It  is  then  posted  in  a  con- 


spicuous place  in  the  school-room.  The 
aim  of  these  council  meetings  is  to 
teach  the  pupils  to  perform  a  duty. 
The  duty  of  fireman,  for  instance,  is 
to  keep  the  schoolroom  comfortable 
and  to  bank  the  fire  in  the  stove  for 
the  night.  The  lamp-lighter  sees  that 
the  lamps  are  filled  and  trimmed.  Two 
girls  are  detained  to  sweep  the  floor 
of  the  school,  to  wipe  the  blackboard 
and  to  get  water  in  the  kitchen  for 
cooking  and  washing  purposes.  An- 
other citizen  keeps  a  record  of  the 
weather  and  raises  or  takes  down  the 
flag.  The  idea  of  the  school  republic, 
as  this  system  is  called,  is  to  bring 
home  to  the  plastic  mind  of  the  youth- 
ful hyperboreans  the  fundamental 
principles  of  civic  government. 

So  much  has  the  method  of  civic 
government  been  taught  to  the  natives 
in  the  schools  of  late  years  that  the 
last  territorial  legislature  at  Juneau 
passed  a  bill  authorizing  the  native 
tribes  in  Alaska  to  organize  their  vil- 
lages into  civic  municipalities  for  the 
purpose  of  governing  their  local  af- 
fairs. The  bill  gives  them  power  to 
elect  a  mayor,  a  village  council,  a 
treasurer  and  a  magistrate.  For  vio- 
lations of  the  village  ordinances,  the 
magistrate  is  empowered    to    impose 


The  Mayor  and  Town  Council  at  Kivalina.  The  native  sitting  at  the  left  is  the  Mayor.  The 
man  in  the  center  is  the  owner  of  800  reindeer,  valued  at  $20,000.  Before  these  schools  were 
instituted   the  natives  were  regarded  as   savages,   with  no   wealth   or  industries. 

(Photo  by  N.  C.  Shields.) 


fines  to  the  extent  of  twenty  dollars, 
or  imprisonment  in  the  village  jail  not 
to  exceed  five  days. 

In  the  native  schools  in  Alaska  a 
furnished  kitchen  is  provided  where 
girls  are  instructed  in  the  culinary  arts. 
For  many  years  the  Alaska  natives 
lived  upon  poorly  cooked  food,  and 
much  sickness  was  the  result.  When 
the  gold  rush  came  and  scattered  thou- 
sands of  argonauts  over  the  territory, 
the  natives  naturally  took  to  eating 
the  white  man's  food.  Having  only 
crude  facilities  for  cooking,  and  lack 
of  knowledge  in  preparing  the  white 
man's  product,  they  broke  the  habit  of 
centuries  and  were  soon  flying  signals 
of  distress. 

Realizing  that  it  was  as  essential  to 
care  for  the  vitality  of  the  natives  as 
educating  them,  the  Bureau  of  Educa- 
tion established  kitchens  in  the  schools 
where  lessons  in  domestic  economy  are 
given.  This  in  a  most  desirable  man- 
ner offsets  what  once  threatened  to 
seriously  undermine  the  robust  vitality 


the  natives  had  before  civilization  took 
possession  of  their  country. 

Once  a  week  the  girls  over  eight 
years  old  are  white  capped  and 
aproned,  and  taught  how  to  bake  good, 
wholesome  bread,  cookies,  rolls,  cereal 
foods,  meats,  etc.  All  recipes  are 
made  .from  as  simple  and  economical 
ingredients  as  possible;  for  instance, 
in  the  far  north,  where  lard  is  not  to 
be  had,  fresh  seal  oil  is  used  and  sour- 
dough is  used  for  leavening  the  bread. 

These  cooking  lessons  are  regular 
school  routine.  The  girls  are  not  only 
taught  how  to  cook  and  keep  the  kit- 
chen tidy,  but  each  one  is  given  her 
turn  in  actual  management  under  the 
tutelage  of  the  school  teacher.  They 
are  made  to  realize  such  details  as  the 
value  of  certain  food  products,  and 
weighing  and  keeping  check  of  the 
different  commondities  that  are  used. 

The  teachers  encourage  dressmak- 
ing. The  natives  bring  their  own  cloth 
to  school  to  be  cut  and  fitted,  and  with 
the  use  of  a  sewir.g  machire,  supplied 


Hydaburg.  Alaska,  1913.  On  this  site  a  few  hundred  Indians,  backed  by  the  Bureau  of  Edu- 
cation, instituted  a  model  co-operative  colony  in  a  wilderness.  This  picture  covers  only 
about   one-third   of   the   settlement. 


by  the  government,  the  girls  learn  to 
make  their  own  garments.  Not  only 
the  making  of  the  dress  is  made  a 
study  of,  but  the  cost  and  quality  of 
the  fabric  as  well,  whether  it  be  mus- 
lin, gingham  or  calico. 

UDutside  the  school  as  well  as  inside, 
the  aim  of  the  Bureau  of  Education  is 
to  bring  some  form  of  responsibility 
upon  the  natives.  In  this  manner  the 
obligations  of  citizenship,  both  politi- 
cal and  industrial,  can  be  more  readily 
understood.) 

The  reindeer  industry  is  an  integral 
part  of  the  school  work.  The  United 
States  Bureau  of  Education  estimates 
that  there  is  pasture  land  in  Alaska  to 
feed  ten  million  reindeer,  and  they 
have  chosen  this  as  the  principal  and 
most  suitable  industry  to  put  the  na- 
tives of  northern  and  western  Alaska 
upon  a  self-supporting  basis. 

In  1915  there  were  70,000  reindeer 
ir  Alaska,  valued  at  $1,750,000.  Many 
of  the  natives  have  taken  advantage  of 
this  industry;  according  to  the  latest 
data,  eleven  hundred  natives  own  45,- 
000  reindeer,  or  65  per  cent  of  the  to- 


tal, the  rest  being  owned  by  the  United 
States  government,  the  Lapps  and  the 
Missions. 

Figuring  the  45,000  reindeer  owned 
by  the  natives  at  the  average  price  of 
$25  for  each  animal,  would  make  a  to- 
tal value  of  $1,125,000.  The  same  year 
the  natives  had  an  income  from  the 
reindeer  business  of  about  $100,000, 
from  the  local  market  for  beef,  skins, 
etc.  This  would  give  the  eleven  hun- 
dred natives  who  own  reindeer  a  per 
capita  wealth  from  that  industry  of 
about  $1,200 — not  such  a  bad  showing 
when  it  is  considered  that  before  the 
schools  were  established  the  highest 
ambition  of  these  people  was  to  sit  in 
their  unsanitary  domiciles  and  nibble 
at  a  piece  of  frozen  fish  or  meat. 

Under  the  direction  of  the  Bureau 
of  Education,  annual  reindeer  fairs  are 
held.  This  brings  the  natives  from  the 
different  communities  together  in 
friendly  rivalry  where  they  compete 
for  prizes  with  the  commodities  they 
produce.  These  fairs  are  under  the 
direction  of  the  school  superintendent 
in  the  district  the  fair  is  held.  Prizes 


Native    starting   on    a   trip    in   a   umiak 


are  given  for  the  most  scientific  method 
of  butchering  reindeer.  The  idea  is 
to  turn  out  a  perfectly  dressed  carcass, 
and  thus  create  a  demand  for  reindeer 
beef  for  both  local  and  export  trade. 

Specimens  of  needlework,  fur  gar- 
ments and  mats  are  also  exhibited. 
Prizes  are  awarded  for  the  best  and 
fastest  sled  lashing  contest.  This  is 
something  they  must  all  be  proficient 
at,  and  some  very  fast  work  is  done. 
For  instance,  one  Eskimo  at  the  Mary's 
Igloo  Fair  in  1915  loaded  his  sled  with 
a  general  traveling  outfit  and  lashed  it 
to  be  absolutely  intact  in  the  worst 
storms  and  the  roughest  trails,  in  2 
min.  31  sec,  with  the  thermometer  at 
30  deg.  below  zero. 

There  are  vast  areas  in  central, 
southwestern  and  southeastern  Alaska 
that  are  suitable  for  agriculture,  and 
the  Bureau  of  Education  regards  it  as 
essential  to  give  the  natives  in  those 
districts  some  instructions  about  the 
wealth  that  lies  in  the  soil. 


Agricultural  education  is  not  exten- 
sively taught  in  the  Alaska  schools, 
but  it  is  broad  enough  in  scope  to 
give  the  natives  a  general  idea  of  what 
its  possibilities  are.  Farming  from 
books  would  be  of  little  benefit  to  the 
Alaska  natives;  therefore,  the  Bureau 
of  Education  aims  to  have  a  piece  of 
land  as  near  the  school  as  possible, 
so  that  the  methods  of  agriculture  can 
be  practically  taught.  The  idea  of  the 
school  farm  is  not  merely  to  show  what 
remarkable  crops  can  be  grown,  but 
rather  to  interest  the  natives  in  a  prac- 
tical manner,  that  a  permanent  asset 
is  in  the  soil  for  them. 

Berries  grow  luxuriantly  in  many 
parts  of  Alaska,  and  a  teacher  gives 
lessons  in  the  school  kitchen  on  how  to 
preserve  native  fruit.  Of  late  years 
this  branch  of  teaching  has  been  great- 
ly appreciated  by  the  natives;  it  gives 
them  their  native  fruit  throughout  the 
winter  months  at  very  little  cost.  In 
the  spring  of  1915  they  sent  many  ex- 


a 


60 


2 


60 
S 

3 
eS 

43 


o 
-a 

| 

a! 

4) 


Mushing  with  a  dog   team. 


hibits  of  preserved  fruit  from  several 
native  schools  in  Alaska  to  the  San 
Francisco  fair. 

The  fur  business  is  a  great  natural 
resource  of  Alaska.  The  natives  an- 
nually secure  many  thousands  of  dol- 
lars' worth  of  the  finest  furs  in  the 
world.  The  Bureau  of  Education  has 
arranged,  through  its  schools  in  Alaska, 
with  many  natives  to  handle  and  sell 
their  furs  for  them.  Taking  advantage 
ct  the  parcel  post,  the  Alaska  natives 
forward  packages  of  fox,  lynx,  martin 
and  mink  skins  to  the  office  of  the  Bu- 
reau of  Education  at  Seattle. 

The  furs  are  sold  at  the  fur  sales 
agencies  at  public  auction  under  the 
supervision  of  Mr.  W.  T.  Lopp,  who  is 
Chief  of  the  Alaska  Division  of  the 
Bureau  of  Education,  and  is  under  a 
bond  to  the  Department  of  the  Interior 
for  this  branch  of  the  work.  Every  ef- 
fort is  made  to  give  the  producer  the 
full  product  of  his  labor  less  the  freight 
cr  mail  charges,  and  five  per  cent  to  the 
fur  agency  to  cover  the  selling  cost. 

The  Bureau  of  Education  fosters  the 
establishment  of  co-operative  enter- 
prises owned  and  operated  by  the  na- 


tives themselves.  There  are  now  four 
of  these  co-operative  colonies  working 
successfully  in  Alaska.  There  is  per- 
haps no  country  in  the  world  that  can 
offer  such  opportunities  for  co-opera- 
tive enterprises  as  there  are  in  south- 
western and  southeastern  Alaska.  The 
rivers  and  waters  teem  with  fish,  the 
mountains  abound  with  game,  and 
through  its  vast  area  are  great  stretches 
of  fine  timber  lands. 

According  to  ancient  customs,  the 
natives  of  Alaska  used  to  preserve 
fish  and  meat  either  by  drying  it  in  the 
sun,  crudely  smoking  it,  or  burying  it 
in  the  earth  until  it  went  into  a  state 
of  fermentation.  In  order  to  replace 
these  primitive  methods,  the  Bureau  of 
Education  has  succeeded  in  establish- 
ing ice  cellars,  where  fresh  meat  and 
other  foods  can  be  kept  both  winter 
and  summer.  The  school  system  is 
now  experimenting  with  steam  pres- 
sure home  canning  outfits  for  the  use 
of  the  natives  of  southeastern  Alaska. 
At  Latitlek,  the  natives,  under  the 
supervision  of  the  school  teacher, 
started  a  fish-saltery  and  are  now  get- 
ting a  source  of  revenue  by  shipping 


EDUCATING  THE  ALASKA    NATIVES. 


197 


salmon  bellies  to  the  States. 

The  most  striking  demonstration  of 
co-operation  in  Alaska  is  at  Hydaburg, 
situated  on  the  west  coast  of  Prince  of 
Wales  Island  in  southeastern  Alaska. 
In  1912  the  Department  of  the  Interior 
reserved  a  tract  of  twelve  square  miles 
for  the  use  of  the  Indians  in  that  re- 
gion. A  school  house  and  library  were 
built  by  the  Bureau  of  Education.  Un- 
der the  supervision  of  the  school 
teacher,  the  Hydaburg  Trading  Com- 
pany was  organized  to  transact  the 
mecantile  business  of  the  settlement. 
The  Hydaburg  Lumber  Company  was 
formed,  and  a  sawmill  was  built  to 
furnish  lumber.  Both  companies  had 
native  directors,  the  government  school 
teacher  being  one  of  them.  The  Bu- 
reau of  Education  arranged  the  mer- 
cantile company's  credit  with  whole- 
sale houses  in  Seattle  and  attended 
to  the  buying  and  shipping  of  the 
supplies.  As  soon  as  the  company 
started  to  do  business,  the  natives 
rushed  to  the  secretary  and  bought 
up  every  remaining  share  of  the  capi- 
tal stock. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  year,  when 
the  directors  looked  over  the  figures 
of  the  year's  business,  they  voted  to 
declare  a  dividend  of  50  per  cent  on 
the  investment.  When  the  people  of 
Hydaburg  gathered  in     the     school- 


house  to  listen  to  the  statement  of  the 
year's  business  and  to  see  for  them- 
selves what  their  money  had  earned, 
will  long  be  remembered  in  the  com- 
munity. It  was  the  first  time  the  In- 
dians in  southeastern  Alaska  had  en- 
gaged in  co-operative  business,  and 
the  only  regret  expressed  was  that 
they  had  been  so  long  in  getting  the 
people  to  pull  together. 

The  second  year  the  two  companies 
amalgamated.  The  stock  was  in- 
creased and  a  dividend  of  20  per  cent 
was  declared,  plus  20  per  cent  rebate 
to  purchasers.  In  1913-14,  the  stock 
was  again  increased  and  a  dividend 
of  15  per  cent  was  declared,  plus  15 
per  cent  to  purchasers.  The  last  two 
years  the  company  set  aside  a  fund 
to  start  other  enterprises  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  community.  It  has  been 
gratifying  to  the  Bureau  of  Educa- 
tion, for  the  result  has  been  that  every 
native  in  Hydaburg,  from  the  pupils 
in  the  primary  grades  to  the  oldest 
inhabitant,  is  an  enthusiast  on  munici- 
pal co-operation. 

The  entire  scheme  of  educating  the 
Alaska  natives,  aside  from  the  peda- 
gogic principle  is  to  make  them  into 
self-supporting  citfizens,  that  when 
they  leave  school  they  may  build  up 
their  social  status  and  do  their  part 
in  developing  the  territory  of  Alaska. 


A  Convert  to  Conscription 


By  Albert  Larson 


"...  have  maintained  and  con- 
solidated our  position  in  the  captured 
trench." — Extract  from  Official  Des- 
patch. 

NUMBER  nine  two  ought  three 
six,  Sapper  Duffy,  J.  A.,  Sec- 
tion, Southland  Company, 
Royal  Engineers,  had  been  be- 
fore the  war  plain  Jim  Duffy,  laborer, 
and  as  such  had  been  an  ardent  anti- 
militarist,  anti-conscriptionist,  and 
everything  else  his  labor  leaders  and 
agitators  told  him.  His  anti-militar- 
ist beliefs  were  sunk  soon  after  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  and  there  is  al- 
most a  complete  story  itself  in  the 
tale  of  their  sinking,  weighted  first 
by  a  girl  who  looked  ahead  no  further 
than  the  pleasure  of  walking  out  with 
a  khaki  uniform,  and  finally  plunged 
into  the  deeps  of  the  army  by  the  gibe 
of  a  staunched  anti-militarist  during  a 
heated  argument  that  "if  he  believed 
now  in  fighting,  why  didn't  he  go  and 
fight  himself  ?"  But  even  after  his  en- 
listment he  remained  true  to  his  be- 
liefs in  voluntary  service,  and  the  ac- 
count of  his  conversation  to  the  princi- 
ples of  Conscription — no  half-and- 
half  measures  of  "military  training" 
or  rifle  clubs  or  hybrid  arrangements 
of  that  sort,  but  out  and  out  Conscrip- 
tion— may  be  more  interesting,  as  it 
certainly  is  more  typical  of  the  con- 
version of  more  thousands  of  members 
of  the  Serving  Forces  than  will  ever 
be  known — until  those  same  thousands 
return  to  their  civilian  lives  and  the 

holding  of  their  civilian  votes. 
*  *  *  * 

By  nightfall  the  captured  trench — 
well,  it  was  only  a  courtesy  title  to 
call  it  a  trench.  Previous  to  the  as- 
sault  the   British   guns   had  knocked 


it  about  a  good  deal,  bombs  and  gre- 
nades had  helped  further  to  disrupt 
it  in  the  attacks  and  counter  attacks 
during  the  day,  and  finally,  after  it 
was  captured  and  held,  the  enemy  had 
shelled  and  high  explosived  it  out  of 
any  likeness  to  a  real  trench.  But  the 
infantry  had  clung  throughout  the  day 
to  the  ruins,  had  beaten  off  several 
strong  counter-attacks,  and  in  the  in- 
tervals had  done  what  they  could  to 
dig  themselves  more  securely  in  and 
re-pile  some  heaps  of  sandbags  from 
the  shattered  parapet  on  the  trench's 
new  front.  The  casualties  had  been 
heavy,  and  since  there  was  was  no  pas- 
sage from  the  front  British  trench  to 
the  captured  portion  of  the  German 
except  across  the  open  of  the  "neu- 
tral" ground,  most  of  the  wounded  and 
all  the  killed  had  had  to  remain  under 
such  cover  as  could  be  found  in  the 
wrecked  trench.  The  position  of  the 
unwounded  was  bad  enough  and  un- 
pleasant enough,  but  it  was  a  great 
deal  worse  for  the  wounded.  A  bad 
wound  damages  mentally  as  well  as 
physically.  The  casualty  is  out  of 
the  fight,  has  had  a  first  field  dress- 
ing placed  on  his  wound,  has  been  set 
on  one  side  to  be  removed  at  the  first 
opportunity  to  the  dressing  station 
and  the  rear.  He  can  do  nothing  more 
tc  protect  himself  or  take  such  cover 
as  offers.  He  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
stretcher  bearers  and  must  submit  to 
be  moved  when  and  where  they  think 
fit.  And  in  this  case  the  casualties 
did  not  even  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  every  minute  that  passed 
meant  a  minute  further  from  the  dan- 
ger zone,  a  minute  nearer  to  safety 
and  to  the  doctors,  and  the  hospitals' 
hope  of  healing.  Here  they  had  to 
lie  throughout  the  long  day,  hearing 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION                              199 

the  shriek  of  each  approaching  shell,  a  nasty  fire,  and  that  therefore  the 
waiting  for  the  crash  of  its  fall,  won-  sooner  they  dug  themselves  down  un- 
dering  each  time  if  this  one,  the  rush  der  cover  the  better  it  would  be  for 
of  its  approach  rising  louder  and  the  job  and  for  all  concerned.  "A" 
louder  to  an  appalling  screech,  was  go-  Section  removed  its  equipment  and 
ing  to  be  the  finish — a  "direct  hit."  tunics  and  moved  out  on  to  the  neu- 
Many  of  the  wounded  were  wounded  tral  ground  in  its  shirt  sleeves,  shiv- 
again  or  killed  as  they  lay,  and  from  ering  at  first  in  the  raw  cold  and  at 
others  the  strength  and  the  life  had  the  touch  of  the  drizzling  rain,  but 
drained  slowly  out  before  nightfall,  knowing  that  the  work  would  very 
But  now  that  darkness  had  come  the  soon  warm  them  beyond  the  need  of 
casualties  moved  out  and  the  supports  hampering  clothes.  In  the  ordinary 
moved  in.  From  what  had  been  the  course  digging  a  trench  under  fire  is 
German  second  trench,  and  on  this  done  more  or  less  under  cover  by  sap- 
portion  of  front  was  now  their  forward  ping — digging  the  first  part  in  a  cov- 
one,  lights  were  continually  going  up  ered  spot,  standing  in  the  deep  hole, 
and  bursts  of  rifle  and  machine-gun  cutting  down  the  "face"  and  gradually 
fire  were  coming;  and  an  occasional  burrowing  a  way  across  the  danger 
shell  still  whopped  up  and  burst  over  zone.  The  advantage  of  this  method 
or  behind  the  captured  trench.  This  is  that  the  workers  keep  digging  their 
meant  that  the  men — supports,  and  way  forward  while  all  the  time  they 
food  and  water  carriers,  and  stretcher  are  below  ground  and  in  the  safety 
bearers — were  under  a  dangerous  fire  of  the  sap  they  dig.  The  disadvan- 
even  at  night  in  crossing  the  old  "neu-  tage  is  that  the  narrow  trench  only  al- 
tral  ground,"  and  it  meant  that  one  of  lows  one  or  two  men  to  get  at  its  end 
the  first  jobs  absolutely  necessary  to  or  "face"  to  dig,  and  the  work  con- 
the  holding  of  the  captured  trench  sequently  takes  time.  Here  it  was 
was  the  making  of  a  connecting  path  urgent  that  the  work  be  completed  that 
more  or  less  safe  for  moving  men,  night,  because  it  was  very  certain  that 
ammunition  and  food  by  night  or  day.  as  soon  as  its  whereabouts  was  dis- 
This,  then,  was  the  position  of  af-  closed  by  daylight  it  would  be  sub- 
fairs  when  a  section  of  the  South-  jected  to  a  fire  too  severe  to  allow  any 
land  Company  of  Engineers  came  up  party  to  work,  even  if  the  necessary 
to  take  a  hand,  and  this  communica-  passage  of  men  to  and  fro  would  leave 
tion  trench  was  the  task  that  Sapper  any  room  for  a  working  party.  The 
Duffy,  J.,  found  himself  set  to  work  digging,  therefore,  had  to  be  done 
on.  Personally,  Sapper  Duffy  knew  down  from  the  surface,  and  the  dig- 
nothing  of  and  cared  less  for  the  tac-  gers,  until  they  had  sunk  themselves 
tical  situation.  All  he  knew  or  cared  into  safety  had  to  stand  and  work 
about  was  that  he  had  done  a  longish  fully  exposed  to  the  bullets  that 
march  up  from  the  rear  the  night  be-  whined  and  hissed  across  from  the 
fore,  that  he  had  put  in  a  hard  day's  enemy  trenches. 

work  carrying  up  bags  of   sandbags  A  zigzagg  line  had  been  laid    down 

and   rolls   of   barbed   wire   from   the  to  mark  the  track  of  the  trench,  and 

carts  to  the  trenches,  and  that  here  Sapper  Duffy  was  placed  by  his  Ser- 

before  him  was  another  night's  hard  geant  on  this  line  and  told  briefly  to 

labor,  to  say  nothing  of  the  prospect  of  "get  on  with  it."     Sapper  Duffy  spat 

being  drilled  by  a  rifle  bullet  or  man-  en  his  hands,  placed  his  spade  on  the 

gled  by  a  shell.    All  the  information  exact  indicated  spot,  drove  it  down, 

given  him  and  his  Section  by  their  and  began  to  dig  at  a  rate  that  was 

Section  officer  was  that  they  were  to  apparently  leisurely  but  actually  was 

dig  a   communication  trench,  that   it  methodical  and  nicely  calculated  to  a 

must   be   completed   before   morning,  speed  that  could  be  long  and  unbrok- 

that  as  long  as     they     were     above  enly  sustained.    During  the  first  min- 

ground  they  would  probably  be  under  ute  many  bullets  whistled  and  sang 


2C0 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


past,  and  Sapper  Duffy  took  no  notice. 
A  couple  went  "whutt"  past  his  ear, 
and  he  swore  and  slightly  increased 
his  working  speed.  When  a  bullet 
whistles  or  sings  past  it  is  a  comfort- 
able distance  clear;  when  it  goes 
"hiss"  or  "swish"  it  is  too  close  for 
safety,  and  when  it  says  "whutt"  very 
sharply  and  viciously  it  is  merely  a 
matter  of  being  a  few  inches  out  either 
way.  Sapper  Duffy  had  learned  all 
this  by  full  experience,  and  now  the 
number  of  "whutts"  he  heard  gave 
him  a  very  clear  understanding  of 
the  dangers  of  this  particular  job.  He 
was  the  furthest  out  man  of  the  line. 
On  his  left  he  could  just  distinguish 
the  dim  figure  of  another  digger, 
stooping  and  straightening,  stooping 
and  straightening  with  the  rhythm  and 
regularity  of  a  machine.  On  his  right 
hand  was  empty  darkness,  lit  up  every 
now  and  then  by  the  glow  of  a  flare- 
light  showing  indistinctly  through  the 
drizzling  rain.  Out  of  the  darkness, 
or  looming  big  against  the  misty  light, 
figures  came  and  went  stumbling  and 
slipping  in  the  mud — stretcher-bearers 
carrying  or  supporting  the  wounded, 
a  ration  party  staggering  under  boxes 
balanced  on  shoulders,  a  strung-out 
line  of  supports  stooped  and  trying  to 
move  quietly,  men  in  double  files 
linked  together  by  swinging  ammuni- 
tion boxes.  All  these  things  Private 
Duffy  saw  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye, 
and  without  stopping  or  slacking  the 
pace  of  his  digging.  He  fell  uncon- 
sciously to  timing  his  movements  to 
those  of  the  other  man,  and  for  a  time 
the  machine  became  a  twin-engine 
working  beat  for  beat — thrust,  stoop, 
straighten,  heave.  Then  a  bullet  said 
the  indescribable  word  that  means 
"hit,"  and  Duffy  found  that  the  other 
half  of  the  machine  had  stopped  sud- 
denly and  collapsed  in  a  little  heap. 
Somewhere  along  the  line  a  voice 
called  softly  "Stretcher-bearers,"  and 
almost  on  the  word  two  men  and  a 
stretcher  materialized  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, and  a  third  was  stooping  over  the 
broken  machine.  "He's  gone,"  said 
the  third  man  after  a  pause.  "Lift  him 
clear."     The   two   men   dropped  the 


stretcher,  stooped  and  fumbled,  lifted 
the  limp  figure,  laid  it  down  a  few 
yards  away  from  the  line,  and  van- 
ished in  the  direction  of  another  call. 
Sapper  Duffy  was  alone  with  his  spade 
and  a  foot  deep  square  hole — and  the 
hissing  bullets.  The  thoughts  of  the 
dead  man  so  close  beside  him  dis- 
turbed him  vaguely,  although  he  had 
never  given  a  thought  to  the  scores 
of  dead  he  had  seen  behind  the  trench 
and  that  he  knew  were  scattered  thick 
over  the  "neutral  ground"  where  they 
had  fallen  in  the  first  charge.  But 
this  man  had  been  one  of  his  own 
Company  and  his  own  Section — it  was 
different  about  him  somehow.  But  of 
course  Sapper  Duffy  knew  that  the 
dead  must  at  times  lie  where  they  fall, 
because  the  living  always  come  before 
the  dear,  especially  while  there  are 
many  more  wounded  than  there  are 
stretchers  or  stretcher-bearers.  But 
all  the  same  he  didn't  like  poor  old 
"Jigger"  Adams  being  left  there — 
didn't  see  how  he  could  go  home  and 
face  old  "Jigger's  missus"  and  tell 
her  he'd  come  away  and  left  "Jigger" 
lying  in  the  mud  of  a  mangel-wurzel 
field.  Blest  if  he  wouldn't  have  a  try 
when  they  were  going  to  give  Jigger  a 
lift  back.  A  line  of  men,  shirt-sleeved 
like  himself  and  carrying  spades  in 
their  hands,  moved  out  past  him.  An 
officer  led  them,  and  another  with 
Sapper  Duffy's  Section  officer  brought 
up  the  rear  and  passed  along  the  word 
to  halt  when  he  reached  Duffy. 
"Here's  the  outside  man  of  my  lot," 
he  said,  "so  you'll  join  on  beyond  him. 
You've  just  come  in,  I  hear,  so  I  sup- 
pose your  men  are  fresh." 

"Fresh !"  said  the  other  disgustedly. 
"Not  much.  They've  been  digging 
trenches  all  day  about  four  miles  back. 
It's  too  sickening.  Pity  we  don't  do 
like  the  Bosches — conscript  all  the 
able  bodied  civilians  and  make  'em 
do  all  this  trench  digging  in  rear.  Then 
we  might  be  fresh  for  the  firing  line." 

"Tut,  tut — mustn't  talk  about  con- 
scripting 'em,"  said  Duffy's  officer  re- 
provingly. "One  volunteer,  y'know — 
worth  three  pressed  men." 

"Yes,"   said  the  other,  "but  when 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION 


201 


there  isn't  enough  of  the  'one  volun- 
teer' it's  about  time  to  collar  the  three 
pressed." 

Two  or  three  flares  went  up  almost 
simultaneously  from  the  enemy's  line, 
the  cracklet'of  fire  rose  to  a  brisk 
fusillade,  and  through  it  ran  the  sharp 
"rat-at-at-at"  of  a  machine  gun.  The 
rising  sound  of  the  reports  told  plainly 
of  the  swinging  muzzle,  and  officers 
and  men  dropped  flat  in  the  mud  and 
waited  till  the  sweeping  bullets  had 
passed  over  their  heads.  Men  may 
work  on  and  "chance  it"  against  rifle 
fire  alone,  but  the  sweep  of  a  machine 
gun  is  beyond  chance,  and  very  near 
to  the  certainty  of.  sudden  death  to  all 
in  the  circle  of  its  swing. 

The  officers  passed  on  and  the  new 
men  began  to  dig.  Sapper  Duffy  also 
resumed  work,  and  as  he  did  so  he  no- 
ticed that  there  was  something  fa- 
miliar about  the  bulky  shape  of  the 
new  digger  next  to  him.  "What  lot 
are  you?"  asked  the  new  man,  heav- 
ing out  the  first  spadeful  rapidly  and 
dexterously. 

"We're  A  Section,  Southland  Com- 
pany," said  Duffy,  "an'  I  say — ain't 
you  Beefy  Wilson?" 

"That's  me,'  said  the  other  without 
checking  his  spade.  "And  blow  me! 
you  must  be  Duffy — Jem  Duffy." 

"That's  right,"  said  Duff.  "But  I 
didn't  know  you'd  joined,  Beefy." 

"Just  a  week  or  two  after  you,"  said 
Beefy. 

"Didjer  know  boss's  two  sons  had 
got  commissions  ?  Joined  the  Sappers 
an'  tried  to  raise  a  company  out  o'  the 
works  to  join.  Couldn't  though.  I 
was  the  only  one." 

"Look  out — here's  that  blanky 
maxim  again,"  said  Duffy,  and  they 
dropped  flat  very  hurriedly. 

There  was  no  more  conversation  at 
the  moment.  There  were  too  many 
bullets  about  to  encourage  any  linger- 
ing there,  and  both  men  wanted  all 
their  breath  for  their  work.  It  was 
bard  work,  too.  Duffy's  back  and 
shoulder  and  arm  muscles  began  to 
ache  dully,  but  he  stuck  doggedly  to 
it.  He  even  made  an  attempt  to  speed 
up  to  Beefy's  rate  of  shoveling,  al- 


though he  knew  by  old  experience 
alongside  Beefy  that  he  could  never 
keep  up  with  him,  the  unchallenged 
champion  of  the  old  gang. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  lifting  rain 
had  made  them  more  visible  or  that 
the  sound  of  their  digging  had  been 
heard  they  never  knew,  but  the  rifle 
fire  for  some  reason  became  faster  and 
closer,  and  again  and  again  the  call 
passed  for  stretcher-bearers,  and  a 
constant  stream  of  wounded  began  to 
trickle  back  from  the  trench-diggers. 
Duffy's  section  was  not  so  badly  off 
now  because  they  had  sunk  themselves 
hip  deep,  and  the  earth  they  threw  out 
in  a  parapet  gave  extra  protection.  But 
it  was  harder  work  for  them  now  be- 
cause they  stood  an  soft  mud  and 
water  well  above  the  ankles.  The  new 
company,  being  the  more  exposed,  suf- 
fered more  from  the  fire,  but  each  man 
of  them  had  a  smaller  portion  of 
trench  to  dig,  so  they  were  catching 
up  on  the  first  workers.  But  all 
spaded  furiously  and  in  haste  to  be 
done  with  the  job,  while  the  officers 
and  sergeants  moved  up  and  down  the 
line  and  watched  the  progress  made. 

More  cold-bloodedly  unpleasant 
work  would  be  hard  to  imagine.  They 
had  none  of  the  thrill  and  heat  of  com- 
bat to  help  them;  they  had  not  the 
hope  that  a  man  has  in  a  charge 
across  the  open — that  a  minute  or  two 
gets  the  worst  of  it  over ;  they  had  not 
even  the  chance  the  fighting  man  has 
where  at  least  his  hand  may  save  his 
head.  Their  business  was  to  stand 
in  one  spot,  open  and  unprotected,  and 
without  hope  of  cover  or  protection 
for  a  good  hour  or  more  on  end.  They 
must  pay  no  heed  to  the  singing  bul- 
lets, to  the  crash  of  a  bursting  shell, 
to  the  rising  and  falling  glow  of  the 
flares.  Simply  they  must  give  body 
and  mind  to  the  job  in  hand,  and  dig 
and  dig  and  keep  on  digging.  There 
had  been  many  brave  deeds  done  by 
the  fighting  men  on  that  day;  there 
had  been  bold  leading  and  bold  follow- 
ing at  the  first  rush  across  the  open 
against  a  tornado  of  fire;  there  had 
been  forlorn  hope  dashes  for  ammu- 
nition or  to  pick  up  wounded;  there 


202                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

had  been  dogged  and  desperate  cour-  had  taken  some  pains  himself  in  the 
age  in  clinging  all  day  to  the  battered  old  days  to  get  the  word  itself  and 
trench  under  the  earth  shaking  tem-  some  of  its  meaning  right, 
pest  of  high  explosive  shells,  bombs  "Anti-military-ist,  then,"  said  Beefy, 
and  bullets.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  the  "Anyhow  he  stuck  out  agin  all  sorts 
day  or  the  night  had  seen  more  nerve  of  soldiering.  This  stoppin'  the  So- 
trying,  courage  testing  work,  more  de-  ciety  benefits  was  a  trump  card,  too. 
liberate  and  long  drawn  bravery  than  It  blocked  a  whole  crowd  from  listin' 
was  shown,  as  a  matter  of  course  and  that  I  know  myself  would  have  joined, 
as  a  part  of  the  job,  in  the  digging  of  Queered  the  boss's  sons  raising  that 
that  communication  trench.  Company,  too.    They  had  Frickers  an' 

It  was  done  at  last,  and  although  it  the  B.  S.  L.  Co.  and  the  works  to  draw 

might  not  be  a  Class  One  Exhibition  from.     Could  have  raised    a    couple 

bit  of  work,  it  was,  as  Beefy  Wilson  hundred  easy  if  Ben  Shrillett  hadn't 

remarked,  "a  deal  better'n  none."  'And  got  at  'em.    You  know  how  he  talks  the 

although  the  trench  was  already  a  foot  fellers  round." 

deep  in  water,  Beefy  stated  no  more  "I  know,"  agreed  Jem,  sucking  hard 

than  bald  truth  in  saying,  "Come  to-  at  his  pipe. 

morrow  there's  plenty  will  put  up  glad  The  Sergeant  broke  in     on     their 

wi'  their  knees  being  below  high  water  talk.     "Now,  then,"  he  said  briskly, 

mark   for   the   sake   of   having  their  "Sooner  we  start,  sooner  we're  done 

heads  below  bullet  mark."  and  off  home  to  our    downy    couch. 

But  if  the  trench  was  finished  the     Here,  Duffy "  and  he  pointed  out 

night's  work  for  the  Engineers  was  the  work  Duffy  was  to  start, 

not.     They  were  moved  up  into  the  For  a  good  two  hours  the  engineers 

captured   trench,  and  told  that  they  labored  like  slaves  again.    The  trench 

had  to  repair  it  and  wire  out  in  front  was  so  badly  wrecked  that  it  practi- 

of  it  before  they  were  done.  cally  had  to  be  reconstructed.    It  was 

They  had  half  an  hour's  rest  before  dangerous  work  because  it  meant  mov- 

recommencing  work,  and  Beefy  Wil-  ing  freely  up  and  down,  both  where 

son  and  Jem  Duffy  hugged  the  shelter  cover  was  and  was  not.    It  was  phy- 

of  some  tumbled  sandbags,  lit  their  sically  heavy    work    because     spade 

pipes  and  turned  the  bowls  down  and  work  in  wet  ground  must  always  be 

exchanged  reminiscences.  that;  and  when  the  spade  constantly 

"Let's  see,"  said  Beefy.    "Isn't  Jig-  encounters  a  debris  of  broken  beams, 

ger  Adams  in  your  lot?"  sandbags,  rifles  and  other  impediments 

"Was,"  corrected  Jem,  "til  an  hour  and  the  work  has  to  be  performed  in 

ago.    'E's  out  yon  with  a  bullet  in  him  eye-confusing   alternations   of     black 

— stiff  by  now."  darkness  and  dazzling  flares,  it  makes 

Beefy  breathed  blasphemous  re-  the  whole  thing  doubly  hard.  When 
grets.  "Rough  on  the  missus  and  the  you  add  in  the  constant  whisk  of  pass- 
kids.    Six  of  'em,  weren't  it?"  ing  bullets  and  the  smack     of     their 

"Aw,"   assented  Jem.     "But   she'll  striking,  the   shriek     and     shattering 

get  suthin'  from  the  Society  funds."  burst  of  high-explosive  shells,  and  the 

"Not  a  ha'porth,"  said  Beefy.    "You  drone  and  whir  of  flying  splinters,  you 

will  remem — no,  it  was  just  arter  you  get  labor  conditions  removed  to  the 

left.     The  trades  unions  decided  no  utmost  limit  from  ideal,  and  to  any 

benefits  would  be  paid  out  for  them  as  but  the  men  of  the  Sappers,  well  over 

'listed.     It  was  Ben     Shrillett     engi-  the  edge  of  the  impossible.    The  work 

neered  that.     He  was  Secretary  and  at  any  other  time  would  have  been 

Treasurer  an'  things  o'  other  societies  gruesome  and  unnerving,  because  the 

as  well  as  ours.     He  fought  the  war  gasping  and  groaning  of  the  wounded 

right  along,  and  he's  still  fighting  it.  hardly  ceased  from  end  to  end  of  the 

He's  a  anti-militant,  he  ses."  captured  trench,  and   in  digging  out 

"Anti-militarist,"  Jem  corrected.  He  the  collapsed  sections  many  dead  Ger- 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION 


203 


mans  and  some  British  were  found 
blocking  the  vigorous  thrust  of  the 
spades. 

Duffy  was  getting  "fair  fed  up,"  al- 
though he  still  worked  on  mechani- 
cally. He  wondered  vaguely  what 
Ben  Shrillett  would  have  said  to  any 
member  of  the  trade  union  that  had 
worked  a  night,  a  day,  and  a  night  on 
end.  He  wondered,  too,  how  Ben 
Shrillett  would  have  shaped  in  the 
Royal  Engineers,  and,  for  all  his 
cracking  muscles  and  the  back  break- 
ing weight  and  unwieldiness  of  the 
wet  sandbags,  he  had  to  grin  at  the 
thought  of  Ben,  with  his  podgy  fat 
fingers  and  his  visible  rotundity  of 
waistcoat,  sweating  and  straining  there 
in  the  wetness  and  darkness  with 
Death  whistling  past  his  ear  and  crash- 
ing in  shrapnel  bursts  about  him.  The 
joke  was  too  good  to  keep  to  himself, 
and  he  passed  it  to  Beefy  next  time 
he  came  near.  Beefy  saw  the  jest 
clearly  and  guffawed  aloud,  to  the 
amazement  of  a  clay-daubed  infantry- 
man who  had  had  nothing  in  his  mind 
b,ut  thoughts  of  death  and  loading  and 
firing  his  rifle  for  hours  past. 

"Don't  wonder  Ben's  agin  conscrip- 
tion," said  Beefy;  "they  might  con- 
scription him,"  and  passed  on  grin- 
ning. 

Duffy  had  never  looked  at  it  in  that 
light.  He'd  been  anti-conscription 
himself,  though  now — mebbe — he  did 
not  know — he  wasn't  so  sure. 

And  after  the  trench  was  more  or 
less  repaired  came  the  last  and  the 
most  desperate  business  of  all — the 
"wiring"  out  there  in  the  open  under 
the  eye  of  the  soaring  lights.  In  ones 
and  twos  during  the  intervals  of  dark- 
ness the  men  tumbled  over  the  para- 
pet, dragging  stakes  and  coils  of  wire 
behind  them.  They  managed  to  drive 
short  stakes  and  run  trip-wires  be- 
tween them  without  the  enemy  sus- 
pecting them.  When  a  light  flamed, 
every  man  dropped  flat  in  the  mud  and 
lay  still  as  the  dead  beside  them  till 
the  light  died.  In  the  brief  intervals 
of  darkness  they  drove  the  stakes  with 
muffled  hammers,  and  ran  the  lengths 
of  barbed  wire  between  them.  Heart 


in  mouth  they  worked,  one  eye  on  the 
dimly  seen  hammer  and  stake-head, 
the  other  on  the  German  trench,  watch- 
ing for  the  first  upward  trailing  sparks 
of  the  flare.  Plenty  of  men  were  hit, 
of  course,  because,  light  or  dark,  the 
bullets  were  kept  flying,  but  there  was 
no  pause  in  the  work,  not  even  to  help 
the  wounded  in.  If  they  were  able  to 
crawl  they  crawled,  dropping  flat  and 
still  while  the  lights  burned,  hitching 
themselves  painfully  toward  the  para- 
pet under  cover  of  the  darkness.  If 
they  could  not  crawl  they  lay  still, 
dragging  themselves  perhaps  behind 
the  cover  of  a  dead  body  or  lying  quiet 
in  the  open  till  the  time  would  come 
when  helpers  would  seek  them.  Their 
turn  came  when  the  low  wires  were 
complete.  The  wounded  were  brought 
cautiously  in  to  the  trench  then,  and 
hoisted  over  the  parapet;  the  working 
party  was  carefully  detailed  and  each 
man's  duty  marked  out  before  they 
crawled  again  into  the  open  with  long 
stakes  and  strands  of  barbed  wire. 
The  party  lay  there  minute  after  min- 
ute, through  periods  of  light  and  dark- 
ness, until  the  officer  in  charge  thought 
a  favorable  chance  had  come  and  gave 
the  arranged  signal.  Every  man 
leaped  to  his  feet,  the  stakes  were 
planted,  and  quick  blow  after  blow 
drove  them  home.  Another  light 
soared  up  and  flared  out,  and  every 
man  dropped  and  held  his  breath, 
waiting  for  the  crash  of  fire  that  would 
tell  they  were  discovered.  But  the 
flare  died  out  without  a  sign,  and  the 
working  party  hurriedly  renewed  their 
task.  This  time  the  darkness  held  for 
an  unusual  length  of  time,  and  the 
stakes  were  planted,  the  wires  fastened 
and  cross  pieces  of  wood  with  inter- 
lacings  of  barbed  wire  all  ready  were 
rolled  out  and  pegged  down  without 
another  light  showing.  The  word 
passed  down  and  the  men  scrambled 
back  into  safety. 

"Better  shoot  a  light  up  quick,"  said 
the  Engineer  officer  to  the  Infantry 
commander.  "They  have  a  working 
party  out  now.  I  heard  them  hammer- 
ing. That's  why  they  went  so  long 
without  a  light." 


204 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


A  pistol  light  was  fired  and  the  two 
stared  out  into  the  open  ground  it  lit. 
"Thought  so,"  said  the  Engineer, 
pointing.  "New  stakes — see?  And 
those  fellows  lying  beside  'em." 

"Get  your  tools  together,  Sergeant," 
he  said  as  several  more  lights  flamed 
and  a  burst  of  rapid  fire  rose  from  the 
British  rifles,  "and  collect  your  party. 
Our  job's  done,  and  I'm  not  sorry  for 
it." 

It  was  just  breaking  daylight  when 
the  remains  of  the  Engineers'  party 
emerged  from  the  communication 
trench,  and  already  the  guns  on  both 
sides  were  beginning  to  talk.  Beefy 
Wilson  and  Jem  Duffy  between  them 
found  Jigger's  body  and  brought  it  as 
far  as  the  Dressing  Station.  Behind 
the  trenches  Beefy's  company  and 
Jem's  section  took  different  roads,  and 
the  two  old  friends  parted  with  a  cas- 
ual "S'long"  and  "See  you  again, 
sometime." 

Duffy  had  two  hours'  sleep  in  a  sop- 
ping wet  roofless  house,  about  three 
miles  behind  the  firing  line.  Then  the 
section  was  roused  and  marched  back 
to  their  billets  in  a  shell-wrecked  vil- 
lage, a  good  ten  miles  further  back. 
They  found  what  was  left  of  the  other 
three  sections  of  the  Southland  Com- 
pany there,  heard  the  tale  of  how  the 
company  had  been  cut  up  in  advanc- 
ing with  the  charging  infantry,  ate  a 
meal,  scraped  some  of  the  mud  off 
themselves,  and  sought  their  blankets 
and  wet  straw  beds. 

Jim  Duff  could  not  get  the  thought 
of  Ben  Shrillett,  labor  leader  and  agi- 
tator, out  of  his  mind,  and  mixed  with 
his  thoughts  as  he  went  to  sleep  were 
that  officer's  remarks  about  pressed 
men.  That  perhaps  accounts  for  his 
waking  thoughts  running  in  the  same 
groove  when  his  Sergeant  roused  him 
at  black  midnight  and  informed  him 
that  the  section  was  being  turned  out 
— to  dig  trenches. 

"Trenches  ?"  spluttered  Sapper 
Duffy;  "...  us?  How  is  it  our 
turn  again?" 

"Becos,  my  son,"  said  the  Sergeant, 


"there's  nobody  else  about  here  to 
take  a  turn.  Come  on!  Roll  out! 
Show  a  leg!" 

It  was  then  that  Sapper  Duffy 
was  finally  converted  and  renounced 
for  ever  and  ever  his  anti-conscription 
principles. 

"Nobody  else,"  he  said  slowly,  "an' 
England  fair  stiff  with  men.  .  .  The 
sooner  we  get  Conscription  the  better 
I'll  like  it.  Conscription  solid  for 
every  bloomin'  able-bodied  man  and 
boy.  And  I  'ope  Ben  Shrillett  and  his 
likes  is  the  first  to  be  took.  Conscrip- 
tion," he  said  with  the  emphasis  of 
finality  as  he  fumbled  in  wet  straw 
for  a  wetter  boot,  "out  and  out,  lock, 
stock  and  barrel  Conscription." 


That  same  night  Ben  Shrillett  was 
presiding  at  a  meeting  of  the  Strike 
Committee.  He  had  read  on  the  way 
to  the  meeting  the  communique  that 
told  briefly  of  Sapper  Duffy  and  his 
fellow  Engineers'  work  on  the.  night 
before,  and  the  descriptive  phrase 
struck  him  as  sounding  neat  and  effec- 
tive. He  worked  it  now  into  his  speech" 
to  the  Committee,  explaining  how  and 
where  they  and  he  benefited  by  this 
strike,  unpopular  as  it  had  proved. 

"We've  vindicated  the  rights  of  the 
workers,"  he  said.  "We've  shown 
that,  war  or  no  war,  Labor  means  to 
be  more  than  mere  wage  slaves.  War 
can't  last  forever,  and  we  here,  this 
Committee,  proved  ourselves  by  this 
strike  the  true  leaders  and  the  Cham- 
pions of  Labor,  the  Guardians  of  the 
Rights  of  Trades  Unionism.  We,  gen- 
tlemen, have  always  been  that,  and 
by  the  strike — "  and  he  concluded  with 
the  phrase  from  the  despatch — "we 
have  maintained  and  consolidated  our 
position." 

The  Committee  said,  "Hear,  hear." 
It  is  a  pity  they  could  not  have  heard 
v/hat  Sapper  Duffy  was  saying  as  he 
sat  up  in  his  dirty  wet  straw,  listening 
to  the  rustle  and  patter  of  rain  on  the 
barn's  leaky  roof  and  tugging  on  an 
icy  cold  board  stiff  boot. 


A  Soldier  of  France 


By  Elsie  McCormick 


IT  WAS   always   a  martyrdom  for 
Madame  to  enter  the  dingy  little 
stage-entrance,   for   it  meant  that 
she  would  have  to  look  at  the  pos- 
ter that  was  pasted  near  the  door: 

Mme.  Rosalie  Chaubert,  World  Fam- 
ous Prima  Donna,  formerly  of  the 

Metropolitan  Opera  House. 
Prof.  Boudino's  Trained  Monkeys. 
Slug  and  Pug,  the  Slap-Stick  Come- 
dians. 
And  Other  Great  Attractions. 

Madame  shuddered  as  she  read  it. 
Vaudeville,  like  politics,  makes 
strange  bed-fellows,  and  Madame  had 
never  become  accustomed  to  sharing 
the  bill  with  trained  monkeys  or  other 
popular  "attractions." 

"I  am  bringing  music  to  the  masses," 
Madame  sometimes  told  those  report- 
ers who  still  thought  it  worth  while  to 
interview  her.  But  in  her  heart  she 
knew  it  was  not  so.  Madame  realized 
more  and  more  how  little  the  masses 
cared.  The  reporters,  whom  Madame 
always  received  in  a  darkened  room 
so  that  they  would  not  see  how  much 
she  had  faded,  merely  smiled  politely. 
They,  too,  understood,  and  they  wrote 
kind  things  about  Madame,  calling  her 
"the  former  prima  donna,"  and  almost 
breaking  her  heart. 

It  was  several  years  ago  that  she 
had  retired,  just  at  the  pinnacle  of  a 
great  triumph.  The  papers  had 
praised  her  wisdom;  the  people  had 
showered  her  with  gifts.  Now,  un- 
honored  and  almost  forgotten,  she  had 
come  back  for  a  sordid,  heart-breaking 
anti-climax.  What  was  hardest  of  all 
for  her  was  to  have  people  hint  that 
she  was  greedy  for  money.  Though 
Madame's  former  salary  had  been 
enormous,  her  generosity    had     been 


greater,  so  that  when  the  war  broke 
out  she  was  unable  to  serve  France  as 
she  wished.  It  was  then  that  she 
thought  of  making  another  farewell 
tour.  "I  am  a  soldier  of  France," 
Madame  would  say  when  she  was 
weary  and  the  audience  did  not  appre- 
ciate her.  The  little  envelop  that 
crossed  the  seas  each  month  was  the 
reason  that  Madame  wore  the  same 
faded  evening  gown  every  afternoon 
and  evening  of  her  tour. 

The  vaudeville  people  treated  her 
with  clumsy  respect,  swearing  less 
loudly  when  she  was  present  and  al- 
ways calling  her  "Madame,"  that  is, 
all  except  those  who  thought  "Mme." 
was  an  abbreviation  of  "Mame." 

Madame  entered  a  dingy  little  hall- 
way that  led  back  of  the  scenes.  An 
"aerial  king"  in  a  dirty  white  spangled 
suit,  was  swearing  at  the  stage-hands 
for  their  clumsy  arrangement  of  his 
apparatus.  Louise,  of  the  "Girl  and 
Dude"  act,  was  telling  her  tipsy  part- 
ner just  what  she  thought  of  him. 

Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders  in 
distaste;  then  turned  to  the  tiny  dress- 
ing-room which  was  distinguished 
from  the  others  by  a  crooked  star  on 
the  door.  Perched  on  a  trunk  farther 
down  the  hall  was  a  girl  who  belonged 
to  the  European  Aerial  Troupe.  She 
was  hunched  over  miserably,  and  a 
rhythmic  sniffing  indicated  that  some- 
thing had  gone  seriously  wrong. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Mad- 
ame, in  her  precise  accent. 

"It's  Joe,"  answered  the  girl,  lifting 
a  face  on  which  grease-paint  and  tears 
were  ludicrously  mixed. 

"Joe?"  queried  Madame.  "The 
young  gentleman  in  your  troupe  ?  You 
must  mean,  then,  that  you  have  had  a 
quarrel." 


206 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  girl  gulped  and  fumbled  for  a 
handkerchief.  "It  ain't  that,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  like  Joe  well  enough,  good- 
ness knows.  It's  pa.  He  took  Joe  in 
the  troupe  last  month,  just  to  fill  out. 
Now  he  says  if  I  marry  a  guy  like  that 
with  nothing  but  keys  in  his  pockets, 
he'll  chuck  us  both.  We  can't  make  an 
act  by  ourselves,  and  we  won't  have  a 
thing  to  live  on,"  she  finished,  dabbing 
at  her  painted  eye-lashes  with  a  rag  of 
a  handkerchief. 

"Ah,  then  you  are  afraid,"  accused 
Madame.  "And  you  will  give  up  love 
for  money!  Why,  if  a  woman  loves  a 
man,  she  should  be  glad  to  go  with 
him,  even  if  they  have  no  roof  but  the 
sky  and  no  lamp  but  the  stars.  Noth- 
ing in  the  world  is  worth  as  much  as 
the  clasp  of  a  loved  one's  hand.  I 
was  afraid  once,  afraid  for  my  position 
— for  my  chance    of     success.     And 

now "  Madame  turned  away;  then 

looked  back  with  a  queer  little  smile 
on  her  face. 

"It  is  the  only  thing  worth  while. 
Do  you  not  feel  flattered  that  the  great- 
est of  the  gods  should  bring  his  gifts 
to  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  not  under- 
standing. 

"And  yet  you  think  only  of  things 
to  eat." 

The  girl  dumbly  twisted  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"Overture,  overture,"  bawled  the 
call-boy  from  the  wings.  "It  is  the 
greatest  thing  in  the  world,"  repeated 
Madame  solemnly,  as  she  entered  her 
dressing-room.  The  girl  glanced  at 
the  cheap  topaz  ring  on  her  left  hand 
without  answering. 

The  first  glimpse  of  her  dressing- 
room  always  brought  Madame  the 
same  unhappiness  as  the  posters.  It 
was  small,  untidy  and  ill-lighted.  Me- 
diocrity, cheap  art  and  failure  were  in 
its  very  atmosphere.  A  half-faded 
geranium  in  a  glass  set  Madame  to 
thinking  of  the  days  when  her  dressing 
room  at  the  Metropolitan  was  heaped 
high  with  tributes  from  the  socially 
elect.  Suddenly  her  soul  revolted. 
She  hated  it  all,  hated  the  Sunday 
night  crowds,  with  their  noise  and  gig- 


gling and  peanuts.  It  was  so  hard  to 
raise  her  voice  above  their  voices,  to 
make  Carmen  and  Marguerite  heard 
above  the  rattle  of  programs  and  the 
scraping  of  noisy  feet  on  the  dusty 
floor. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  lovers. 
"They  must  not  spoil  their  happiness," 
she  thought.  "I  shall  not  let  them,  if 
I  can  help  it." 

When  Madame  stepped  out  into  the 
wings  she  saw  Joe  leaning  against  part 
of  the  apparatus,  his  spangled  suit 
bagging  dejectedly  at  the  knees.  He 
did  not  raise  his  eyes,  and  Madame 
passed  on,  preparatory  to  her  entrance. 
"If  I  had  my  old  voice  just  for  to- 
night, I  could  make  them  understand," 
she  thought. 

A  ripple  of  applause  greeted  Mad- 
ame's  entrance.  Then  followed  the 
usual  wave  of  comment,  which  hap- 
pily she  could  not  make  out.  "Gosh, 
ain't  she  fat!"  "So,  that's  the  great 
Chaubert,  eh?  Why,  I  remember 
hearing  about  her  when  I  was  a  little 
bit  of  a  tyke."  "These  high-brow  acts 
give  me  a  pain."  "Some  women  never 
know  when  to  retire.  This  must  be  her 
thirtieth  farewell  tour." 

Then  Madame  began  to  sing.  The 
smoky  old  theatre  faded  away;  the 
peanut-munching  audience  vanished 
into  space.  The  years  had  rolled  back, 
and  Madame  was  in  a  moonlit  garden 
with  her  lover.  Then  her  vision 
broadened,  and  she  sang  for  all  the 
lovers  in  the  world;  for  the  little  girl 
in  the  wings,  for  all  who  had  known 
and  felt  and  suffered. 

The  audience  quieted  down;  the 
programs  stopped  rustling.  The  man 
who  hated  high-brow  shows  suddenly 
brushed  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his 
hand.  A  woman  with  a  wedding  ring 
on  her  finger  pressed  the  arm  of  the 
man  beside  her.  The  hands  of  a  cou- 
ple in  the  first  row  met  under  the  shel- 
ter of  the  girls'  hat. 

When  the  last  notes  died  away,  the 
audience  paid  Madame  that  greatest 
of  compliments — a  marked  pause  be- 
fore the  hand-clapping.  When  the  ap- 
plause began,  Madame  came  out  and 
bowed.     She  would  give  no  encores. 


IN  THE  SUN. 


207 


All  at  once  she  felt  tired  and  old  and 
sad. 

As  she  came  out  of  her  dressing- 
room,  she  heard  the  comedian  who  fol- 
lowed her  on  the  bill.  He  was  imitat- 
ing her,  and  the  shrieks  of  laughter 
from  the  crowd  showed  that  they  had 
already  forgotten.  Madame  sighed; 
ihen  smiled  when  she  saw  the  two 
sweethearts  standing  together  in  the 
dusty  wings. 

"Gee,  that  was  great,"  breathed  the 
girl,  her  eyes  still  bright  with  tears. 
"Joe  and  I  have  fixed  everything  up.  I 
know  now  what  you  meant  when  you 
called  it  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world. 
It's  something  bigger  than  Joe  or  me — 
something  lots  bigger  than  a  job." 

"You  sure  sang  swell,"  contributed 
Joe,  awkwardly  shifting  from  one  foot 
to  the  other. 

"So  my  children  have  learned  the 


great  lesson,"  said  the  prima  donna 
gaily,  with  a  slight  catch  in  her  voice. 
"See  that  you  never  forget  it.  And 
now,  Monsieur  Joe,  you  may  kiss  my 
hand." 

Joe  bent  over  the  plump  hand  clum- 
sily, but  Madame  tilted  her  head  to  one 
side  and  smiled — just  as  she  had 
smiled  in  those  days  when  noblemen 
and  kings  had  paid  her  homage. 

"Bless  you,  mes  enfants,"  she  said. 
Then,  at  the  door,  she  turned  back  for 
a  last  word.  But  the  lovers,  looking 
into  each  other's  eyes,  had  already  for- 
gotten her.  Inside,  the  crowd  was 
laughing  over  the  antics  of  the  slap- 
stick comedian.  Madame  was  blinded 
by  a  rush  of  tears.  "I  am  a  soldier 
oi  France,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
opened  the  door.  Then,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  shoulders,  she  went  out  into  the 
street  alone. 


IN     THE     SUN 


Oh,  dreaming  days  of  quiet  happiness 

With  you  to  fill  the  hours :  I  strive  no  more 

To  reach  a  distant  goal,  a  farther  shore. 

And  shall  I  count  these  golden  moments  less 

Because  they  bring  no  vital  need  to  press 

Onward  and  up?    All  effort  given  o'er 

I  rest  awhile  nor  seek  to  look  before, 

Freed  from  the  pain  of  inward  rack  and  stress. 

For  like  a  plant  in  darkness  to  the  light 

Scarce  knowing  what  it  needs  or  is  denied, 

I  reached  and  climbed  and  strained  with  all  my  might 

Until  you  came  and  flung  the  window  wide. 

Then  did  I  know  my  groping  toil  was  done 

And  I  had  found  my  place  beneath  the  sun. 

Frances  Hathaway. 


The  Wit  of  Don  Jose 


By  Randal  Charlton 


DON     JOSE     read  the  missive,  medium  of  the   baker  was  not  alto- 

which  had  come  to  him  in  the  g ether  unexpected.     He  had  been  in 

badly-baked  loaf,  three  times  Dantzic  now  nearly  nine  months,  dur- 

with   the   utmost   deliberation,  ing  which  time  he  had  been  instru- 

He  sighed  heavily,     picked     up     his  mental  in  the  deaths  of  so  many  poli- 

pruning  knife,  and  walked  out  into  the  ticians  that  it  was  not  strange  the  dead 

gardens  of  the     old     Chateau.     This  men's  friends  and  relatives  should  try 

evening  he  tended   the  flowers  with  reprisals.     For  nine  months  he     had 

even  more  diligence  than  usual.     As  carried  his  life  in  his  hands  with  true 

he  would  be  dead  before  the  twilight  Spanish  dignity,  and  he  was  sufficient 

of  another  evening  gathered  in     the  of  an  artist  not  to  spoil  the  pose  at  the 

gardens,  he   rendered   these   services  last  moment. 

with  the  good  will  of  one  who,  depart-  Expecting  a  visitor,  he  slept  but 
ing  on  a  long  journey,  seeks  kindly  re-  lightly,  and  awoke  to  hear  the  sound 
membrance.  of  footsteps  stirring  amongst  the  long 
When  Don  Jose  had  concluded  these  grass  below  the  window.  The  sound 
labors,  he  retired  once  more  to  the  Cha-  sent  the  blood  thrilling  through  his 
teau,  where,  seated  by  an  open  win-  veins.  He  sprang  from  his  couch  and 
dew,  he  sipped  his  wine  with  great  retreated  into  the  shadows  of  the  dark- 
gravity  and  re-read  the  letter.  ened  room,  with  a  large  horse-pistol 
The  letter  ran  as  follows :  grasped  in  either  hand.    He  felt  that 

,.„,.  ,  ..  .  ,,  .  it  would  be  a  useless  fight  against 
T,  ™euy  have  discovered  everything  overwhelming  odds>  but  family  tradi. 
The  Chateau  has  been  surrounded  t-  as  wdl  as  onal  bravery,  de- 
signee daybreak,  and  there  is  no  possi-  manded  that  he  should  die  with  his 
bility  of :  escape.  Do  not  ook  for  he  p.  face  fo  ^  foe>  Sq  he  crouched  in 
They  will  probably  not  strike  until  to-  the  shadows  and  waitecL  Suddenly 
night  or  the  late  evening.  (Signed)  SQme  one  sprang  into  the  open  window 
Adrian.  ancj  £or  an  £nstant  a  man's  profile  was 

Don  Jose  folded  the  letter,  sighed  silhouetted  against  the  summer  sky.  A 

again  heavily,  and  sipped  his  wine.  good  angel  restrained  Don  Jose  with 

"The  fellow  Adrian  has  been  more  his  horse-pistols.  In  another  moment 
faithful  than  I  expected,"  he  mused,  the  dark  figure  framed  in  the  window 
as  he  tore  the  letter  leisurely  into  little  scrambled  into  the  room  and  fell  sob- 
fragments.  "It  is  strange,  because  he  bing  for  breath  on  Don  Jose's  favorite 
cannot  expect  money  from  a  dead  man  couch. 
— but  perhaps  he  has  a  conscience!"  "One  movement,  and  I  blow  your 

Don  Jose  closed  his  eyes  and  dis-  brains  out,"  said  the  Don,  quietly, 
posed  himself  for  sleep.    He  accepted         The  intruder  gave  a  cry  of  anguish 

the  inevitable  in  a  manner  that  was  and  burrowed  deeper  into  the  cushions 

almost  magnificent.     The  thought  of  on  the  couch. 

death  did  not  greatly  disturb  him,  al-         "Mercy,  senor;  mercy,  for  love  of 

though  he  had  found  life  an  exciting  heaven,  mercy,"  he  implored, 
and  profitable  pastime.    The  announce-         "What !     a  countryman,"  exclaimed 

ment  that  he  had  received  through  the  Don  Jose,  "and  why  have  you  traveled 


THE  WIT  OF  DON  JOSE. 


209 


all  the  way  to  Dantzic  to  take  my  life, 
friend?" 

"Take  your  life,  senor!  Mother  of 
Heaven,  I  am  innocent  of  any  such  in- 
tention. I  cannot  see  your  Excellency, 
but,  by  my  soul,  I  am  your  most  faith- 
ful slave." 

"You  speak  pleasantly,  friend, 
nevertheless  I  feel  it  would  be  safer 
to  lodge  this  bullet  in  your  skull  before 
we  are  further  acquainted." 

The  intruder  relapsed  into  inarticu- 
late verbosity.  He  likened  the  un- 
known senor  to  all  the  saints  he  could 
remember,  and  opined  that  if  the  most 
glorious  of  men  would  deign  to  grant 
the  dog  beneath  his  feet  a  further  lease 
oi  his  miserable  life,  the  gratitude  of 
heaven  to  the  most  glorious  of  men 
would  pass  all  earthly  comprehension. 

"I  am  to  understand,  my  friend,  that 
you  did  not  come  here  to  murder  me  ?" 
said  Don  Jose. 

"O  heaven!  Is  your  Excellency 
mad?     Merciful  Providence!" 

"Then  what,  then,  do  I  owe  the 
honor  of  this  visit?" 

Don  Jose  had  lighted  a  candle  and 
surveyed  his  visitor  narrowly.  He 
found  him  of  middle  age  and  height, 
and  from  his  dress  evidently  of  the 
peasant  class.  His  large  earnest  eyes 
had  a  curious  frightened  expression. 
His  limbs  trembled,  and  even  now  he 
drew  breath  with  difficulty. 

"A  fool,  who  is  in  fear  of  his  life," 
thought  Don  Jose,  and  aloud  repeated 
his  former  question. 

"To  what  happy  circumstance  do  I 
owe  the  honor  of  this  visit?" 

The  visitor  buried  his  face  in  his 
great  brown  hands  and  sobbed. 

"I  will  be  frank  with  you,  senor,"  he 
groaned. 

"You  are  wise,  my  friend;  proceed." 

"I  will  resign  my  destiny  into  your 
Excellency's  keeping;  I  place  my  soul 
in  your  hands." 

"They  are  in  safe  keeping,  but  you 
have  not  answered  my  question." 

"I  fled  here  because  I  am  pursued 
by  enemies.  I  have  been  pursued  all 
day." 

Don  Jose  was  surprised  that  so  in- 
significant a  person    should    possess 


enemies,  but  he  held  his  tongue  and 
smiled  encouragement. 

"What  is  your  offence,  friend?"  he 
asked  dryly. 

"I  am  accused  of  theft,  your  Excel- 
lency, but  before  high  heaven " 

"You  are  innocent,  of  course.  I  un- 
derstand that." 

"You  do  not  believe  me  guilty, 
senor?" 

"I  know  you  to  be  innocent." 

"You  know,  senor?" 

"Yes,  my  heart  tells  me." 

The  stranger  dissolved  into  torrents 
of  gratitude.  He  praised  the  senor's 
perspicacity  and  called  down  the  bless- 
ings of  heaven  upon  the  head  of  his 
discerning  host. 

"What  is  your  name,  friend?"  said 
Don  Jose,  interrupting  because  he  was 
afraid  he  would  be  dead  before  the 
conversation  had  concluded.  There 
was  no  telling  at  what  moment  the 
hidden  Dantzicers  would  put  their 
scheme  into  operation. 

"What  is  your  name,  friend  ?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"Giorgio,  with  your  Excellency's 
permission." 

"Are  you  accused  of  theft?" 

"Yes." 

"And  pursued?" 

"I  have  been  pursued  all  day.  I 
was  nearly  dead,  senor,  when  Provi- 
dence guided  me  to  the  gardens  below. 
I  saw  the  open  window  and  determined 
to  enter  at  all  costs.  Something  told 
me  that  I  should  meet  kindness  here. 
The  saints  befriended  me,  and " 

"But  stop  a  moment,  you  are  not 
safe  yet.  What  of  your  pursuers,  my 
friend?" 

"You  will  not  deliver  me  into  their 
hands,  senor.  You  know  me  to  be  in- 
nocent." 

Giorgio  stretched  out  his  hands  with 
an  imploring  gesture.  His  eyes 
scanned  every  line  of  Don  Jose's  face 
with  desperate  eagerness.  His  every 
glance  pleaded  dumbly  for  succor  and 
deliverance  from  his  pursuers. 

Don  Jose  offered  him  some  wine. 
From  the  moment  that  his  gaze  had 
lighted  on  the  stranger's  countenance 
an  idea  had  been  formulating  in  his 


210 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


brain.  He  had  been  startled  from  the 
first  by  the  fact  that  the  man,  save  for 
his  clothing  and  coarseness,  was  not  at 
all  unlike  himself.  In  height  and  stat- 
ure there  was  little  to  chose  between 
the  two.  Don  Jose  coupled  this  with 
the  fact  that  his  visitor  was  a  fool,  and 
his  heart  became  rejuvenated  with 
hope.  His  brain  was,  in  a  manner, 
subtle  and  quick  to  conceive  a  ruse 
and  stratagem,  and  in  Giorgio  he  saw 
a  heaven-sent  chance  of  escape  from 
the  Danticers. 

He  reviewed  the  situation  briefly, 
and  determined  to  take  the  strange 
visitor  into  his  confidence. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  charging  his 
v/ine-glass,  "I  not  only  undertake  to 
shield  you  from  your  enemies,  but  if 
you  will  be  guided  by  my  advice  I 
promise  you  deliverance.  I  am  even 
in  a  more  hazardous  position  than 
yourself." 

Giorgio  began  to  open  his  eyes  in 
surprise. 

"You  are  in  danger,  senor!  It  is 
possible?"  • 

"Peace;  I  will  explain.  I  am  in  such 
danger  that  my  life  is  not  worth  an 
hour's  purchase." 

"Oh,  horrible!" 

"Nevertheless,  I  speak  the  truth.  I 
may  be  murdered  at  any  moment." 

"Mother  of  mercy!  Your  Excel- 
lency is  then  rich?" 

"Fool,  I  am  so  poor  that  I  am  a  ser- 
vant of  the  Emperor." 

"But,  senor,  you  are  a  Spaniard!" 

"And  not  the  only  one  in  the  Em- 
peror's service.  Now  listen;  I  was 
sent  here  nearly  a  year  ago  because 
Dantzic  is  seething  with  sedition  and 
plots  against  the  Emperor's  person. 
The  place  was  honeycombed  with  so- 
cret  societies.  A  great  many  of  these, 
I  flatter  myself,  no.  longer  exist,  but 
there  are  several  still  alive.  Some- 
how they  have  discovered  me  to  be  the 
Emperor's  servant.  For  the  last  month 
I  have  had  the  utmost  difficulty  to 
keep  my  feet  out  of  the  grave,  and  to- 
day I  learn  from  a  man  in  my  pay  that 
my  hiding  place  has  been  discovered. 
Further,  I  am  in  full  knowledge  that 
certain  seditious  gentleman  are  deter- 


mined upon  my  death  before  the  morn- 
ing.'; 

Giorgio's  arms  were  working  like  a 
windmill. 

"J3ut,  senor,  why  do  you  remain 
here?"  he  exclaimed,  turiously  excited 
— "why  do  you  not  escape?" 

A  smile  of  pity  illumined  Don  Jose's 
passive  countenance. 

"I  see,  friend,  that  you  are  ignorant 
of  the  ways  of  Dantzic,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "Every  mode  of  egress  from 
this  Chateau  is  guarded." 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"Very  likely.  The  Chateau  is  sur- 
rounded by  unseen  foes.  You  have 
seen  nobody,  and  if  I  were  to  walk 
abroad  this  moment  it  is  unlikely  that 
I  should  meet  a  single  soul  upon  the 
highways.  But  I  should  be  found  dead 
tc-morrow  morning  with  a  bullet  in  the 
brain." 

Giorgio  gave  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Then  all  is  Tost,  senor,"  he  cried; 
"we  are  both  dead  men." 

"Nonsense,  we  shall  yet  both  es- 
cape." 

"Senor,  you  bewilder  me !  First  you 
tell  me  that  the  Chateau  is  surrounded, 
and  then  .  .  .  Ah,  heaven,  what  is 
that?" 

The  sound  of  horsemen  approaching 
at  the  gallop  broke  the  silence  of  the 
night. 

"They  are  either  your  pursuers  or 
my  murderers,"  said  Don  Jose  very 
calmly.  "Quick,  go  to  the  window  and 
tell  me  what  you  see." 

"They  are  soldiers,  senor;  I  can  see 
their  uniforms  in  the  moonlight." 

"They  are  your  pursuers.  Quick, 
and  undress  yourself." 

Giorgio  stared  at  Don  Jose  as 
though  he  were  in  the  presence  of  a 
lunatic.  The  Don  had  already  thrown 
aside  his  coat  and  vest,  and  Giorgio, 
still  bewildered  and  dazed  by  the  sud- 
den turn  of  events  had  enough  wit  left 
to  follow  his  example.  Don  Jose 
snuffed  out  the  candle. 

"Quick,  give  me  those  clothes,"  he 
whispered,  almost  tearing  Giorgio's 
rags  from  his  back. 

"But,  senor,  what  does  this  mean?" 

"It  is. simple  enough,     my     friend. 


THE  WIT  OF  DON  JOSE. 


211 


When  the  soldiers  come  I  shall  take 
your  place." 

"They  will  arrest  you,  senor!" 

"Exactly.  As  their  prisoner  I  shall 
be  carried  safely  through  the  area  of 
death.  You  will  remain  here;  when  I 
have  gone  make  your  peace  with  the 
Dantzicers  when  they  come  for  me.  Do 
not  say  you  have  seen  me.  Tell  them 
you  have  been  pursued  by  the  Emper- 
ot 's  soldiers.  They  will  help  you  to 
safety  when  they  hear  that." 

Before  the  last  words  had  escaped 
Don  Jose's  lips  the  soldiers  had 
reached  the  Chateau.  One  of  the 
horses  could  be  heard  whinnying  be- 
low the  window,  and  the  next  moment 
thunderous  knocks  shook  the  outer 
doors. 

"Farewell,"  said  Don  Jose,  as  he 
slipped  from  the  darkened  room. 

He  crept  silently  down  the  stairs 
and  flung  open  the  door  with  such  sud- 
denness that  a  couple  of  troopers  near- 
ly fell  into  his  arms.  He  was  seized 
in  a  moment  by  a  dozen  hands  and 
dragged  before  the  officer  in  charge 
of  the  cavalcade.  He  cursed  his  cap- 
tors roundly,  but  offered  no  other  re- 
sistance. 

"Who  are  you,  fellow?"  cried  the 
officer;  "from  your  clothes  I  should 
know  you  well." 

"It  is  possible,  captain,"  said  Don 
Jose,  in  a  hoarse  voice;  "my  name  is 
Giorgio,  and  I  see  no  reason  to  dis- 
guise it." 

"So  we  meet  at  last,  my  brave  fel- 
low," said  the  officer,  with  a  mock 
bow.  "Well,  on  my  side  the  meeting 
is  a  very  happy  one." 

Without  another  word  two  of  the 
troopers  at  a  nod  from  their  leader 
swung  Don  Jose  on  to  the  nearest 
horse.  His  arms  were  tightly  bound 
and  he  rode  from  the  Chateau  in  the 
center  of  the  party. 

At  about  five  miles  from  the  Cha- 
teau they  were  met  by  a  further  relay 
oi  troopers  with  a  large  rumbling  coach 
of  the  most  antique  pattern.  Don  Jose 
now  wished  to  enter  into  explanations 
v/ith  the  officer,  but  before  he  had  the 
opportunity,  he  was  dragged  from  his 
horse  and  bundled  on  to  the  floor  of 


the  coach,  with  a  brigadier  and  two 
troopers. 

Don  Jose  was  astounded  at  so  much 
attention  being  paid  to  a  common  thief. 
It  was  certainly  most  unusual,  and  for 
the  moment  his  heart  misgave  him. 

"Where  do  we  halt,  friend?"  he 
asked  the  brigadier. 

"Paris." 

Don  Jose  almost  leapt  out  of  his 
bonds. 

"Paris!  Do  you  know  where  we  are 
now?" 

"Perfectly." 

"We  are  in  Dantzic." 

"Exactly." 

"And  you  say  we  are  going  to 
Paris?" 

"With  all  possible  speed." 

Don  Jose  bowed  his  head  and 
groaned.  Of  all  experiences  this  was 
the  most  extraordinary  that  he  had 
ever  suffered.  Had  the  world  turned 
mad  that  a  common  thief  was  escorted 
in  a  coach  and  four  to  Paris?  He 
asked  many  questions,  but  the  briga- 
dier, who  was  disposed  for  sleep,  bade 
him  hold  his  tongue,  and  relapsed  into 

silence. 

*  *  *  * 

Don  Jose  did  not  reach  Paris.  The 
cavalcade  was  held  up  by  Marshal  De 
Main  and  some  staff  officers  nearly  ten 
miles  from  Napoleon's  capital.  The 
Marshal  held  some  conversation  with 
the  officer  in  charge  of  the  party,  and 
then,  alighting  from  his  horse,  peered 
eagerly  into  the  carriage  at  the  pris- 
oner. 

"Marshal  De  Main,  you  know  me, 
you  know  me;  explain  to  these  fel- 
lows who  I  am,"  cried  Don  Jose  franti- 
cally; "they  will  not  listen  to  me." 

The  Marshal  seemed  to  be  in  the 
throes  of  convulsions.  He  staggered 
back  from  the  coach  window  and 
clutched  at  the  air  with  outstretched 
hands.  When  he  had  sufficiently  re- 
covered he  laughed,  and  when  he 
ceased  laughing  he  became  very  angry. 

"What  foolery  have  we  here?"  he 
cried  hoarsely  to  the  bewildered  of- 
ficers in  charge  of  Don  Jose.  "The 
Emperor  will  not  thank  you  for  taking 


212 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


his  man  from  Dantzic.  Release  Don 
Jose  at  once." 

"General,  this  man  has  confessed 
himself  to  be  Giorgio." 

The  Marshal  for  reply  turned  his 
back  upon  the  captain. 

Don  Jose  stepped  out  of  the  coach 
and  related  the  full  history  of  the  ad- 
venture. 

"Since  when  has  it  been  the  custom 
to  convey  common  thieves  from  Dant- 
zic to  Paris?"  he  asked  in  conclusion, 
with  an  ironical  smile. 

Marshal  De  Main  smiled  also. 

"Your  friend  Giorgio  is  so  common 
a  thief  that  the  Emperor  has  few  more 
dangerous  enemies  in  Europe.  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  Don  Pepe  Avolan- 
nas?" 

Don  Jose  was  silent  and  bit  his  lip. 

"Giorgio  and  Avolannas  are  the 
same  man,  my  friend,"  continued  the 
Marshal.  "About  a  month  ago  it  was 
known  that  he  was  in  Dantzic  in  the 
former  name." 

"I  was  not  notified." 

"You  had  sufficient  in  your  hands." 

Don  Jose  and  the  Marshal  looked  at 
each  other,  shrugged  shoulders  and 
sighed. 

"I  thought  only  of  escape,"  said  Don 
Jose,  apologetically. 

"You  succeeded,  but  at  a  heavy  cost. 
We  could  have  spared  two  of  you  for 
one  Giorgio." 

They  parted  on  this,  but  it  was  fully 
six  months  later  that  Don  Jose  learnt 


the  entire  truth  of  his  adventure.  A 
letter  was  brought  to  him  from  Eng- 
land and  left  silently  at  his  door  by 
an  unseen  messenger. 

It  ran  as  follows: 

"Most  Wise  and  Excellent  of  Men — 
Permit  the  dog  beneath  your  feet  to 
thank  you  for  a  great  service  rendered 
in  the  past.  I  am  eternally  your  debtor 
— for  had  it  not  been  for  the  passports 
and  papers  in  your  coat  which  you  so 
kindly  lent  me  on  a  memorable  occa- 
sion, I  should  never  have  escaped 
from  Dantzic  alive.  On  one  point  I 
wish  to  enlighten  you.  There  was  no 
conspiracy  against  your  life.  Your 
hiding  place  at  the  Chateau,  of  which 
I  shall  always  have  such  pleasant 
memories,  was  known  only  to  myself 
and  one  Adrian,  who  was  in  your  il- 
lustrious service.  I  had  been  hiding 
in  your  neighborhood  three  days  when 
the  idea  of  obtaining  your  papers  and 
passports  occurred  to  me  as  the  best 
means  of  quitting  Dantzic.  I  felt  as- 
sured that  under  the  circumstances 
your  wisdom  would  dictate  the  course 
of  action  you  so  timely  adopted.  Had 
you  not  done  so,  I  should  have  sug- 
gested it  myself,  if  necessary  with 
force.  But  your  wisdom  forestalled 
me  in  this." 

Here  Don  Jose  broke  off  abruptly  in 
his  reading. 

"My  wisdom!"  he  repeated  to  him- 
self, and  then  without  proceeding  fur- 
ther, cast  the  letter  into  the  fire. 


THE     GOAD 


Ah,  let  me  have  no  "milk-and-water"  friend 
To  prate:  "Perhaps  you  did  the  best  you  could!" 
And  let  me  have  no  friend  with  honeyed  tongue 
To  over-praise  the  little  good  I  do — 
As  fatal  to  the  soul  are  these  as  he 
Who  scorns  and  scoiches  with  his  "You  will  fail!" 
But  let  me  know  some  iron-tempered  soul 
Implacable  in  friendship's  stern  demand 
That  I  now  live  the  thing  he  seeks  to  be — 
By  such  great  goads  men  grow  to  very  gods! 


Lannie  Haynes  Martin. 


Devil's  Point 


By  Alfred  Ernest  Keet 


LINDER  ate  in  moody  silence,  oc- 
casionally glancing  at  his  wife, 
as  she  busied  herself  with  the 
cooking.  Her  well-rounded  arm, 
large,  languorous  black  eyes,  voluptu- 
ous figure,  with  its  opulent  charms, 
and  habitual  placidity  palled  upon  him. 
Her  blind  faith  in  him,  implicit  obe- 
dience, uncomplaining  acquiescence  in 
the  hard  lot  her  life  with  him  had 
doomed  her  to — all  these  things,  usu- 
ally reckoned  by  the  world  good  quali- 
ties— eminent  virtues,  even — seemed 
only  to  irritate  him,  inspire  his  pity 
and  perhaps  contempt.  She,  in  the 
Western  lingo  he  was  familiar  with, 
"Made  him  tired!" 

If  only  she'd  show  a  little  spirit,  a 
little  spunk,  would  oppose  or  deny 
him  occasionally,  or  even  respond  in 
kind  to  his  attempts  at  banter — but 
no!  Slavishly  submissive,  she  al- 
ways did  exactly  as  she  was  told  with 
cheerful  alacrity  and  absolute  indif- 
ference to  her  own  comfort  and  con- 
venience. Her  descent  was  Aztec- 
Spanish,  and  perhaps  that  accounted 
for  it.  Anyway,  she  was  the  last  of 
her  family — a  willing  slave,  a  docile, 
harmless  animal. 

His  meal  ended,  he  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  lighted  a  cigar,  still  deep  in 
disturbing  thoughts.  Then  he  strode 
tn  the  door  of  his  humble  casa  and 
gazed  up  the  gorge  in  the  direction  of 
the  mine,  a  mere  black  blur  on  the  far- 
distant  mountain  side. 

The  white  sunshine  struck  fiercely 
down.  A  cactus  a  few  yards  off 
gleamed  wax-like,  and  here  and  there, 
like  ghastly  leprous  patches  upon  a 
human  skin,  were  alkali  blotches. 
Whiter  than  chalk,  whiter  even  than 
the  leprous  patches,  almost  like 
streaks  of  luminous  paint  on  the  ashen- 
gray  face  of  the  desert,  shone  the 
bleached  skeleton  of  an  animal. 

But  for  the  burning,  dazzling,  all- 


pervading  sunlight,  the  scene  would 
have  been  one  of  deepest  gloom — of 
desolation  profound  and  terrifying. 

As  he  gazed  somewhat  intently, 
there  was  a  puff  of  steam,  and  the 
mine's  whistle  blew — three  times  and 
then  twice  three  times  again.  An  S. 
0.  S.  call! 

Linder's  face  paled,  as  he  flicked  the 
ash  from  his  cigar  and  turned  inward. 
Had  she  heard,  he  wondered?  He 
picked  up  his  hat 

"Juanita,"  he  said  lightly,  with  a 
pretence  of  unconcern,  "I'm  going  up 
to  the  mine.  I  may  not  be  back  for 
i  day  or  two." 

"All  right !  Adios !"  was  her  equally 
unconcerned  reply,  and,  placing  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  she  drew  his  head 
down  and  kissed  him. 

"Adios !"  he  muttered  somewhat  hus- 
kily, as  he  stepped  across  the  thresh- 
old and  went  after  his  horse. 

As  he  rode  through  the  camp,  he 
noticed  the  men  standing  in  groups  ear- 
nestly talking.  Some  of  them  shot  an- 
gry glances  at  him.  It  was  evident 
that  something  was  imminent — some- 
thing was  in  the  air.  Trouble  was 
brewing. 

Pretty  soon  he  left  the  camp  behind 
him  and  hit  the  steep  trail.  Here  his 
horse  soon  subsided  into  a  walk,  and 
only  as  he  reached  level  spots — pla- 
teaus— could  he  do  any  speeding. 

When  at  length  he  reached  the  mine, 
his  horse  in  a  lather,  he  found  his  ap- 
prehensions correct,  for  an  armed  man 
was  doing  sentry-go  at  the  office  door, 
and  there  were  others  here  and  there 
around  the  group  of  buildings. 

Leaving  his  horse  to  find  the  way  to 
the  stable  as  was  his  custom,  he  en- 
tered the  office. 

His  three  associates,  the  only  Am- 
ericans with  himself  on  the  property, 
were  awaiting  him,  and  heavily  armed. 

"Say,  Linder,"  began    Rodik,     the 


214 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


general  manager,  "it  looks  as  if  we 
were  in  for  trouble — I  think  we're  go- 
ing to  have  a  strike — and  you  know 
what  that  means !  What  do  you  think?" 

"I  think  you're  right — the  men  are 
murmuring;  but  there  are  only  a  few 
of  them — this  isn't  a  big  property — I 
don't  think  they'll  do  anything  rash." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  went  on 
Kodik,  apprehensively.  "Hello!"  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  as  he  saw  Lin- 
der's  hat,  "where  did  you  get  that  bul- 
let-hole?" 

Linder  removed  his  sombrero  and 
looked  amazedly  at  the  clean-cut  hole 
bored  by  a  bullet  through  its  crown. 

"Well,  I'm  d d!"  he  muttered. 

"You  got  that  at  the  Devil's  Point, 
I'll  bet,"  said  Fletcher,  the  engineer. 
"I  got  one  there  once,  myself." 

"Never  heard  any  shot!"  exclaimed 
Linder,  blankly. 

"Neither  did  I — I  guess  there's  a 
mine  tunnel  or  cave  somewhere  near — 
it's  d d  mysterious,  anyhow!" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Linder,  what  I 
especially  wanted  to  see  you  about," 
continued  Rodik.  "To-morrow's  Sat- 
urday, and  our  new  boss,  our  late 
president's  widow,  is  due  in  the  camp 
at  noon " 

"Mrs.  Millery?"  interrupted  Linder 
in  surprise. 

"The  same,"  rejoined  Rodik,  "and 
she's  handsomer  than  all  out-doors,  I 
hear,  and  pretty  shrewd,  too.  Now 
you're  our  chemist  and  assayer,  and,  as 
a  professional  man,  you've  had,  I  take 
it,  some  experience  in  the  social  swim 
and,  anyway,  you're  a  darn  good 
talker.  Now,  I  want  you  to  meet  Mrs. 
Kate,  do  the  agreeable,  and  impress 
upon  her  the  necessity  of  meeting  the 
men's  demands  for  a  25  cent  raise  We 
can't  afford  to  have  the  riot  and  blood- 
shed here  they  had  down  at  Cananea." 

"About  how  old  is  this  paragon  of 
widows?"  queried  Linder. 

"Blest  if  I  know,"  replied  Rodik. 
"Millery  was  66  when  he  died  a  year 
ago.  She's  never  been  out  here.  Mil- 
lery used  to  come  here  at  rare  inter- 
vals, eat  and  sleep  in  his  private  car 
and  skiddoo  within  48  hours.  She  was 
his  secretary,  I  believe." 


"Ah!"  exclaimed  Linder,  "I  see." 
"It'll  be  dark  in  another  hour,"  went 
on  Rodik,  "and  we've  got  a  lot  of  bul- 
lion on  hand — we'd  better  do  some 
'watchful  waiting'  to-night,  and  you 
can  slide  down  to  camp  at  daylight." 

II. 

When  Linder  reached  town  Saturday 
morning  it  did  not  take  him  long  to 
make  himself  presentable  for  polite 
society.  A  good  bath  in  agua  caliente, 
a  visit  to  the  barber  and  general  store 
— and  he  emerged  a  handsome,  well- 
knit  figure,  his  lean,  bronzed  face,  close 
cut  hair  and  tawny  mustache  lending 
him  almost  an  air  of  distinction. 

Mrs.  Millery,  whom  he  met  in  the 
hotel  parlor,  was  in  black,  and  dressed 
for  the  street.  After  they  had  talked 
a  few  moments,  she  raised  her  veil  and 
Linder  was  astonished  at  her  youth- 
iulness.  She  was,  as  Rodik  had  said,  a 
beauty,  and  about  30  years  old.  Her 
skin  was  of  that  extraordinarily  clear 
kind,  usually  possessed  by  women 
with  bronze  hair,  and  she  had  a  fine 
figure. 

Linder's  heart  bounded — he  loved 
her  at  sight;  and,  as  they  talked  to- 
gether, he  took  in  every  detail  of  her 
dress  and  person.  The  quiet  elegance 
of  her  attire  her  city-bred  manners  and 
obvious  refinement,  the  almost  impal- 
pable perfume  exhaled  from  her 
clothes — everything  about  her  bespoke 
the  luxurious  life.  To  Linder  she 
seemed  almost  like  a  ghost  from  the 
gay  world  he  once  lived  in;  and  as  he 
gazed  and  listened  a  mad  longing 
swept  over  him — the  call  of  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt,  and  he  experienced  an 
almost  overwhelming  nostalgia. 

Then  he  sighed  heavily  as  he  re- 
membered where  he  was,  his  condition, 
dull  daily  round  of  humdrum  duties 
and  the  seeming  irrevocability  of  it  all. 

Mrs.  Millery  in  turn  was  impressed. 
Linder's  strong  face,  general  air  of 
good  breeding  and  savoir  faire,  all 
stamped  him  as  a  gentleman — though 
one,  perhaps,  temporarily  "out  of  suits 
with  fortune." 

"I  have  full  confidence  in  you,  Mr. 
Linder,"  she  remarked  finally,  rising 


DEVIL'S  POINT. 


215 


and  looking  him  in  the  eye,  "and,  after 
what  you  have  told  me,  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  the  men's  wages  being  raised 
as  suggested.  I  could  not  bear  to  have 
you — I  mean  any  bloodshed  in  our 
mine." 

Mrs.  Millery  colored  slightly  as  she 
realized  how  personal  she  had  almost 
made  her  solicitude;  and  Linder  was 
correspondingly  elated.  She  extended 
her  small  gloved  hand.  Linder  re- 
tained it  a  moment,  and,  noticing  his 
face,  suddenly  become  gloomy  again, 
rather  archly  added: 

"Oh,  I'm  only  saying  'good-morning' 
not  'good-bye.'  I  intend  to  stay  here 
a  few  days." 

The  soft  pressure  of  her  warm  hand 
thrilled  Linder  through  and  through; 
and  he  felt  an  almost  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  print  a  kiss  upon  it. 

"You'll  want  to  see  the  mine,  of 
course,  Mrs.  Millery?"  queried  Lin- 
der as  he  took  up  his  hat. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  replied  animatedly. 
"T  shall  reply  upon  you  for  my  guide — 
and  I  want  to  see  something  of  the 
country  round  about.  This  is  my  first 
visit  to  Mexico.  I  love  the  moun- 
tains." 

V  *p  sp  H* 

The  next  forty-eight  hours  were  hal- 
cyon days  for  Linden;  and  he  was  not 
seen  at  his  casa.  In  fact,  his  whole 
time  was  taken  up  by  the  lovely  young 
widow. 

If  Juanita  were  cognizant  of  his  in- 
fatuation, she  betrayed  no  sign  of  it, 
going  about  her  household  tasks  with 
her  usual  serenity.  Once  and  a  while 
one  or  two  of  her  own  race  had  whis- 
pered colloquys  with  her;  but  her  sto- 
icism seemed  unmoved.  There  was  no 
hint  of  jealousy  in  her  accustomed  pla- 
cidity, but 

III. 

They  were  returning  from  the  mine. 
It  was  the  last  day  of  Mrs.  Millery's 
visit,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  when 
the  trail  was  in  cool  shadow.  She  and 
Linder  were  slowly  walking  their 
horses.  At  Devil's  Point,  Mrs.  Mill- 
ery suggested  a  halt,  for  there  was  a 
good  view  of  the  still  far-distant  camp 
to  be  had  from  this  point.    So,  tether- 


ing their  horses,  they  sat  upon  a  rock. 

It  was  a  lonely,  sequestered  spot, 
with  little  or  no  sign  of  animal  or  vege- 
table life  near.  The  mountain  rose 
behind  them,  frowning,  precipitous, 
jagged,  studded  with  innumerable 
boulders,  and  cleft  by  a  dark  and  nar- 
row chasm. 

"What  a  sombre  landscape!"  smiled 
Mrs.  Millery,  giving  a  mock  shudder. 
"It  makes  me  think  of  'Manfred,'  you 
know.  It  seems,  too,  reflected  in  your 
face,  Mr.  Linder — you  look  so  sol- 
emn!" 

"I  shall  miss  our  fair  president,"  re- 
sponded Linder  with  a  faint  attempt  at 
gayety. 

"Really!"  laughing.  "Well"— and 
Mrs.  Millery  gave  him  a  shy  glance — 
"I'm  sorry,  too — sorry  I'm  going  back 
home  to-morrow — I  almost  feel  as  if 
I'd  like  to  camp  here  permanently.  I 
am " 

He  suddenly  caught  her  hand. 

"Then  why  not — I  love  you — you, 
the  only  woman  I've  ever  loved — I've 
loved  you  from  the  first  moment — the 

day  I  first  saw  you "  he  broke  out 

with  a  voice  that  was  compulsive  in  its 
earnestness  and  intensity. 

Mrs.  Millery,  almost  overcome,  tot- 
tered to  her  feet,  a  surge  of  color  dye- 
ing her  cheeks.  She  swayed — as  if 
faint.  Linden  caught  her  to  him  in  a 
strong,  passionate  embrace,  and,  as  she 
feebly  struggled,  placed  his  lips  to  hers 
and  kissed  her  hot  mouth.  He  kissed 
her  again  and  again,  murmuring  his 
lcve.  All  his  long  pent-up  passion 
found  vent  in  that  delirious  moment. 
She  clung  to  him  and  drank  his  kisses 
greedily — she  had  never  loved  until 
now. 

*  *  *  * 

At  the  Coroner's  inquest,  it  was 
found  that  Mrs.  Millery  and  Linden — 
whose  bodies  had  been  found  at  Devil 
Point — had  been  killed  by  one  bullet, 
which,  fired  downward,  had  penetrated 
the  man's  neck  and  found  its  vital  rest- 
ing place  in  the  woman,  from  which  it 
appeared  certain  that  at  the  time  the 
double  murder  was  committed  they 
must  have  been  close  together,  face  to 
face. 


Grace  Versus  Laird 


By  Ephraim  A.  Anderson 


DAN  SHANKS  was  running 
swiftly  towards  the  mill  yard. 
His  leathern  apron  dangled 
from  his  hand,  and  his  open, 
flying  jacket  refused  to  be  buttoned. 
He  was  five  minutes  late,  and  the  Sei- 
glemeyer  Lumber  Company  tolerated 
no  tardy  employees.  At  seven  o'clock 
the  sawmill  whistle  had  sent  forth  its 
nerve-racking  shriek  just  as  it  had  for 
ten  years  or  more,  but  Dan  had  stopped 
to  read  some  gaudy-colored  posters 
which  had  magically  appeared  on  the 
company's  stable  that  morning. 

The  last  logging  wagon  had  just 
started  for  the  woods.  The  rattle  of 
wheels  and  chains  and  the  shouting 
voices  of  men  told  that  the  day's  work 
was  already  begun.  The  noise  of  the 
sawmill,  with  its  sharp,  uneven  ex- 
haust could  be  heard  on  the  still  morn- 
ing air.  But  the  pictures  of  leaping 
lions  and  crouching  tigers,  dancing  ele- 
phants and  chattering  monkeys,  diving 
girls  and  tight-rope  walkers  had  fas- 
cinated Dan.  Huge  letters  spelled  out 
the  attractions  of  the  greatest  show  on 
earth.  So  Dan  had,  for  a  moment,  for- 
gotten the  work  of  the  day. 

Dan  was  young  and  broad-shoul- 
dered. Some  said  he  was  homely.  But 
it  makes  a  difference  whether  the 
speaker  is  a  man  or  a  woman.  Besides 
having  an  eye  for  the  almighty  dollar, 
Dan  had  a  warm  place  in  his  heart  for 
pretty  Grace  Whipple,  the  engineer's 
daughter.  Grace  was  not  yet  twenty, 
and  therefore  liked  the  men  and  the 
noise  and  bustle  of  a  sawmill  camp. 
Although  her  smile  and  graceful  figure 
won  the  admiration  of  all  the  young 
men,  she  "turned  them  down,"  and 
stuck  to  Dan. 

No  "attractions"  ever  came  to  Tim- 
ber Lake,  and  those     which     visited 


Jackson,  fifteen  miles  away,  were  so 
few  and  far  between  that  all  people 
within  fifty  miles  regarded  a  circus  as 
an  event. 

As  Dan  was  running  he  was  plan- 
ning on  how  to  get  to  Jackson.  Alone, 
he  might  walk;  but  Grace  would,  of 
course,  go  with  him.  If  he  could  get 
a  car  from  Jackson  he  knew  Grace 
would  be  pleased.  He  was  saving  his 
money  against  the  day  when  he  should 
have  sufficient  to  ask  the  girl  to  marry 
him.  Yet  he  felt  he  had  to  treat  her 
to  a  good  time  now  and  then.  It  would 
cost  at  least  ten  dollars  to  get  a  car. 
But  Dan  promised  himself  a  few  extra 
sacrifices. 

When  Dan  arrived  at  the  yards,  he 
found  Jake  Grew  waiting.  Jake  was 
his  "partner,"  and  a  strong  and  willing 
worker.  The  two  men  hardly  began  to 
work  when  High  Wentmore,  the  yard 
foreman,  came  along. 

"You're  seven  minutes  late,  Dan;  it's 
the  first  time,  or  I'd  report  you,"  he 
said  in  a  severe  voice. 

Dan  was  struggling  with  a  heavy 
board  and  did  not  reply.  But  Jake 
spat  on  the  ground  and  swore :  "Seems 
to  me  as  long  as  we  heap  up  this  'ere 
lumber  ye  ain't  got  no  kick  comin', 
Hfch." 

The  foreman  shrugged  and  walked 
on. 

So  the  two  pilers  worked  steadily  till 
noon.  When  the  whistle  blew  both  quit 
work  at  once  and  hastened  to  the 
boarding  house. 

During  the  noon  hour  the  men  read 
and  re-read  the  posters  on  the  barn. 
By  one  o'clock,  when  the  whistle 
sounded  again,  they  had  nearly  to  a 
man  decided  to  go  to  the  circus. 

"Did  you  see  Laird  readin'  the 
bills?"  said  Dan,  as  he  hurried  with 


GRACE  VERSUS  LAIRD. 


217 


his  partner  to  the  yard. 

"Yes,  and  judgin'  from  his  face,  he 
ain't  stuck  on  shows,"  observed  Jake. 

No  man  thought  of  working  on  cir- 
cus day.  There  were  those  who  wel- 
comed the  day  off  with  their  families, 
as  it  supplied  time  to  furnish  their 
stoves  with  winter  wood.  The  younger 
men,  however,  having  no  such  burdens, 
either  planned  on  a  big  spree,  or  de- 
lighted in  the  thought  of  being  with 
toeir  sweethearts.  There  were  less 
than  a  score  of  girls  in  Timber  Lake, 
but  these  would  undoubtedly  have  a 
chance  to  go  to  the  circus. 

The  mill  had  been  sawing  steadily 
for  four  months,  ever  since  the  ice 
broke  in  the  little  lake,  and  the  men, 
although  appreciating  the  steady  work, 
were  not  disposed  to  ask  for  a  holi- 
day.   They  meant  to  take  it  anyway. 

The  day  of  the  Rand  and  Swelling 
Circus  drew  near.  Dan  had  planned 
for  a  car  and  was  happy  with  the  day's 
prospects.  Grace  bubbled  over  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Gee,  that  must  be  a  great  show! 
Will  they  make  those  tigers  and  lions 
fight  ?  And  will  there  be  a  lot  of  them  ? 
Hope  it's  a  fine  day.  We'll  have  to 
start  early,  won't  we?"  Grace  was 
fairly  unintelligible. 

"Gosh,  you  kin  ask  a  lot  of  questions 
all  in  a  bunch,"  said  Dan,  laughing. 
"You're  havin'  a  good  time  just  think- 
ing about  it.  It  ought  to  be  a  good 
show,  seeing  the  last  one  was  drove 
out  because  they  had  none  o'  their  ad- 
vertised elephants." 

"I'll  bet  I  won't  sleep  a  wink  the 
night  before.  Let's  see,  when  is  it — 
day  after  to-morrow?    Yes." 

Fifteen  miles  was  no  short  distance 
for  the  many  who  intended  walking. 
Others  had  arranged  for  livery  teams 
from  Jackson.  A  few  besides  Dan  felt 
that  the  occasion  required  an  automo- 
bile. So  an  early  start  meant  a  longer 
and  a  greater  day  for  all. 

When  Dan  came  from  work  the 
evening  before  the  circus  he  hurried 
to  the  company  store.  He  had  time,  as 
the  supper  gong  had  not  yet  sounded. 
He  wanted  some  cigars,  and  candy  for 
Grace. 


Laird  was  tacking  a  large  card  on 
the  door.  So  Dan  waited  until  the 
manager  stepped  back  to  survey  his 
work.  Then  in  open-mouthed  aston- 
ishment he  read: 

"Any  employee  who  goes  to  Jackson 
to-morrow  forfeits  his  job.  (Signed), 
J.  Laird,  Manager." 

Laird  disappeared  into  the  store  be- 
fore Dan  could  say  a  word. 

Angry  and  chagrined,  Dan  stood 
staring  at  the  card.  He  had  long 
known  the  manager's  ideas  on  holi- 
days. But  this  was  unusual.  A  circus 
came  so  seldom  that  Dan  thought 
Laird  might  have  granted  them  this 
one  day. 

The  fact  that  Dan  and  others  had 
worked  at  the  mill  several  years  made 
no  difference  to  Laird.  His  working 
motto  for  men  was :  "Ten  hours  a  day 
six  days  in  the  week  the  year  round." 
He  knew,  too,  their  wages  did  not  per- 
mit spending  money  on  shows. 

They  might  soon  ask  for  a  raise. 
And  above  all,  Laird  was  opposed  to 
a  demand  for  higher  wages.  He  con- 
sidered such  a  request  an  insult,  and 
always  put  off  the  offender  with  an 
oath,  adding:  "I  couldn't  think  of  it  be- 
fore I  wrote  to  Headquarters."  But 
he  never  wrote — at  least  in  the  way 
he  said  he  would. 

Dan's  tragic  attitude  attracted  the 
attention  of  a  burly  teamster,  who 
came  up,  and.  seeing  the  cause  of 
Dan's  crestfallen  face,  began  to  curse : 

"Hell!  So  we're  to  lose  our  jobs  if 
we  go!  Not  if  I  know  this  bunch! 
The  sawed-off,  thin-legged  Geek!  For 
two  cents  I'd  bat  him  with  my  peevy." 

Jake  Grew  came  running  up  when  he 
heard  the  teamster's  oaths.  "What 
is  this?"  He  stared  at  the  card,  then 
began  dancing  about,  stopped  a  min- 
ute and  looked  at  Dan.  "Say,  old  pard, 
what  you  worryin'  about?  Look  as  if 
somebody  had  stolen  yer  clothes.  Why, 

d it,  we'll  go,  and  don't  yer  forget 

it!" 

Dan  shook  his  head.  "It's  a  dirty 
trick,  but  I  can't  afford  to  go  if  I  lose 
my  job." 

By  this  time  a  score  of  men  were 
gathered  in  front  of  the  store. 


218 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Dan  suggested  that  they  ask  Laird 
outside  and  all  of  them  demand  to  go. 
"He  can't  turn  us  all  down,"  he  said. 

"Nix  on  the  baby  act,"  some  one 
protested. 

"Nothing  doing  in  that  line."  It  was 
the  burly  teamster  who  spoke. 

Although  there  was  much  talk,  the 
majority  did  not  dare  defy  their  em- 
ployer. A  few,  however,  vowed  their 
intentions  of  going  in  spite  of  threats. 
Dan  and  several  less  excited  men 
knew  they  would  obey  orders. 

Everybody  hurried  off  to  supper. 
Dan  washed  and  went  in;  but  his  ap- 
petite had  left  him.  He  scarcely 
tasted  his  food.  Directly  he  had  fin- 
ished, he  hurried  over  to  see  Grace. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  door-step  of 
her  father's  modest  cabin,  shelling 
peas.  Dan,  with  a  discouraged  face, 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"What  ails  you,  Dan?"  she  asked,  a 
catch  in  her  voice. 

"Say,  if  I  was  down-right  sure  of 
another  job  I'd  quit  this  place  to- 
night," he  cried  with  unusual  spirit. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  She 
drew  nearer,  and  her  black  eyes 
searched  his  face. 

"We've  got  orders  to  stay  at  home 
to-morrow." 

She  looked  at  him  in  blank  aston- 
ishment.   "Orders!" 

Dan  gritted  his  teeth.  "That's  just 
it.  It's  up  there  at  the  store,  and  it's 
mighW  unjust,  too!" 

"Of  course  it  is.  It's  mean — cow- 
ardly !  But — and  that's  just  why  we'll 
go.  Does  he  think,"  her  voice  rose 
with  scorn,  "we  are  slaves?  Why, 
even  Dad  is  going,  and  you  know  he 
never  cares  for  excitement " 

"You  said  we're  going — how — you 
are  trying  to  make  fun  of  me,"  said 
Dan  in  an  injured  tone. 

"No,  I  mean  it.  I  said  we're  going 
because  we  are."  She  looked  at  him 
as  if  to  read  his  very  soul.  "Are  you 
afraid  to  go  ?"  she  demanded,  finally. 

"No— yes,"  said  Dan  truthfully, 
■•vondering  what  she  had  in  mind. 

"Oh,  Dan!  Where's  your  nerve? 
Afraid  to  lose  your  job!  Well,  you 
won't  lose  it,  for  they're  all  going — I'll 


ask  them  to.  He  can't  fire  the  whole 
bunch." 

Dan  remained  unconvinced.  He 
feared  for  his  position,  and  he  dared 
not  agree  with  the  girl. 

Then  she  recalled  to  his  mind  the 
two  nights  of  the  previous  summer: 
"You  worked  two  nights  after  the  day's 
work  because  the  watchman  was  sick. 
You  was  too  good  to  refuse  when  they 
asked  you.  And  you  was  so  dog-tired 
— I  remember.  What  did  you  get  for 
those  two  nights?"  she  asked.  f'I 
know!  A  miserable  three  dollars — 
scarcely  half  pay." 

"It  was  three-quarters  pay,"  cor- 
rected Dan. 

"And  then  you've  told  me  yourself 
you  aren't  getting  more  than  when  you 
came ;  and  you  know  they  promised  to 
raise  your  wages  if  you  stayed.  I 
heard  Laird  himself  telling  the  book- 
keeper you  was  the  best  man  in  the 
yard,"  she  argued. 

Dan  could  not  listen  to  her  plea,  and 
not  feel  the  force  of  it.  "Why  should 
I  not  go  ?"  he  asked  himself.  But  ever 
he  remembered  the  words:  "Whoever 
goes  forfeits  his  job."  He  knew  that 
men  were  plentiful.  He  might  look 
for  a  job  a  month  or  more,  and  even 
when  he  got  it  it  might  not  be  to  his 
liking,  and,  too,  to  leave  Timber  Lake 
meant  to  leave  Grace. 

"Don't  you  see,  Grace,  I  can't  take 
the  chance?  They'll  send  me  down 
the  road  as  sure  as — as  sure  as  I  go." 

But  the  girl  would  not  yield.  Think- 
ing she  might  cajole  him  into  promis- 
ing to  go,  Grace  invited  Dan  to  stay 
for  supper.  "You're  hungry  and  un- 
reasonable ;  after  supper  you'll  look  at 
it  differently,"  said  Grace  with  a  sweet 
smile. 

Dan  stayed. 

After  supper  they  went  outside. 
Presently  they  had  strolled  to  the  lake. 
On  its  northern  banks,  away  from  the 
houses,  they  sat  down  on  the  soft  turf. 

Dan  wanted  to  tell  Grace  he  loved 
her.  But  such  a  declaration  meant  a 
proposal  of  marriage,  and  he  thought 
it  unwise  to  declare  himself  before  he 
felt  able  to  support  her.  She  would 
wait,  he  told  himself,  "for  she  cares." 


GRACE  VERSUS  LAIRD. 


219 


"What're  you  thinkin'  about?" 
Grace  asked  the  question  after  a  long 
glance  at  Dan. 

He  smiled  a  little  ruefully:  "It's 
hard  to  be  a  worker,  'specially  when 
wages  is  low." 

Grace  laid  a  soft,  white  hand  on 
Dan's  calloused  one.  "There's  strength 
there;  you  oughtn't  be  afraid  to  buck 
up  against  the  world,  Dan."  Faith  in 
the  man  showed  in  her  eyes  and  trans- 
mitted itself  to  him  through  her  fin- 
gers. 

Dan  gave  the  hand  a  little  squeeze, 
but  looked  away  down  the  shadowy 
mill. 

Abruptly  Grace  asked:  "If  I  ask  it 
as  a  real  personal  favor,  will  you  go?" 

"Please,  Grace,  don't  tempt  me.  It 
means  my  job,  I'm  sure,"  he  answered 
gloomily. 

"Well,  I  won't  ask  you  then.  But 
I've  been  thinkin'.  We'll  go;  you'll 
see,  for  something  will  happen.  The 
men  will  strike  or  something.  They 
aren't  fools  enough  to  obey  those  or- 
ders!" Her  voice  took  on  a  positive- 
ness  that  Dan  wondered  at.  Had  he 
been  able  to  see  her  shining  eyes  he 
might  have  read  a  greater  determina- 
tion there. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  they 
left  the  lake.  To  his  surprise  she 
begged  to  go  home  alone.  "I'm  not  a 
bit  afraid,"  she  said. 

"But  why  alone?"  Dan  wanted  to 
know. 

"Now  please  do  as  I  say — good- 
night," she  added. 

He  left  her  sitting  on  the  bank.  Her 
hands  were  clenched  and  her  chin  was 
firm.  When  five  minutes  had  passed 
— minutes  during  which  Grace  sat 
thinking  intently — she  rose  to  her  feet 
and  started  slowly  toward  the  house. 

On  his  way  to  his  sleeping  quarters, 
a  little  one-roomed  shack,  Dan  had  to 
p2ss  by  the  mill.  He  walked  slowly 
because  the  ground  was  uneven,  and 
in  the  dark  he  stumbled  several  times. 
Passing  at  one  end  of  the  mill  he 
tripped  with  a  harsh,  metallic  sound 
on  some  scrap  iron.  He  arose  quickly. 
But  as  he  gained  his  feet  he  saw  a 
figure  that  he  knew  to  be  the  watch- 


man coming  toward  him.  Not  wishing 
to  be  seen  at  that  time  of  night,  he 
dodged  behind  a  pile  of  logs. 

The  watchman  stood  listening  for 
several  minutes.  Then  he  passed 
down  the  other  side  of  the  mill. 

Dan  made  his  way  out  carefully, 
and  walked  more  swiftly  as  he  came 
to  the  road  which  led  to  the  build- 
ings. He  went  to  bed  as  quietly  as 
possible,  for  he  did  not  want  to  arouse 
Jake. 

But  Dan  could  not  sleep.  He  swore 
under  his  breath  at  Jake,  snoring  loud- 
ly by  his  side,  at  the  mill,  and  at  the 
circus.  The  circus  was  to  blame  for 
his  present  state  of  mind.  He  hoped 
that  this  might  be  the  last  show  that 
ever  came  to  Jackson.  Shows  wasn't 
made  for  lumber-jacks,  anyway.  It 
was  all  right  for  rich  people  to  go  to 
circuses,  but  a  poor  working  man  had 
no  business  going.  They  cost  a  lot 
of  money  and  trouble. 

At  last,  just  before  daylight,  he  fell 
asleep,  a  dreamy,  restless  sleep.  He 
felt  Grace's  soft  hand  on  his.  He  cap- 
tured it  in  his  own,  only  to  awake  and 
find  he  held  the  roughened  hand  of 
Jake.  He  turned  over  disgustedly  and 
tried  to  forget  it  all.  Then  he  awoke 
as  Jake  shouted  in  his  ear: 

"Hey,  old  man,  time  to  roll  out!" 

"Go  on,"  grunted  Dan,  "I  ain't  heard 
the  first  whistle  yet." 

"Don't  I  know  it!  You're  too  darn 
sleepy  to  hear  a  cannon."  Jake  looked 
at  his  watch:  "Suffering  Jehosephat, 
we've  overslept!"  He  jumped  quickly 
cut  of  bed,  and  in  his  haste  uncovered 
Dan,  who  aroused  sufficiently  to  real- 
ize what  Jake  had  said. 

"Ten  minutes  to  seven!  Cut  the 
jckes."  Then  Dan  jerked  his  own  watch 
off  the  shelf.  "Thunderation!  Why 
didn't  you  bat  me  on  the  head  when 
the  whistle  blew?" 

"Darn  if  I've  heard  any  whistle," 
confessed  Jake. 

They  pulled  on  their  sweat-stiffened 
shirts  and  overalls.  Their  untied  shoe 
laces  dangled  about  their  heels  as  they 
tan  for  the  boarding  house. 

Men  were  washing  at  the  bench  out- 
side.    The  bell  gonged  violently,  as 


220 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


if  incensed  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 
Then  they  rushed  in,  only  to  stop  just 
inside  the  door. 

A  card  hung  on  the  opposite  wall. 
New  black  letters  were  upon  it.  There 
were  but  five  words  there;  but  they 
meant  a  lot  to  these  sleepy,  tired  men, 
for  these  were  the  words: 

"You  may  go  to  Circus.  (Signed) 
J.  Laird,  Manager." 

"Whoopeh!"  shouted  Dan. 

"It's  a  bracer  for  me!"  cried  Jake. 

Exclamations  in  all  manner  of  wood- 
men's phrases  broke  from  the  lips  of 
the  men. 

"It's  a  hallelujah  day  all  around," 
said  a  stumpy  swamper. 

While  they  wondered  why  the  old 
orders  had  been  changed,  they  were 
too  happy  a  lot  of  men  to  speculate 
long  on  this. 

And  so  all  Timber  Lake  went  to  the 
circus.  Carts,  wagons,  buggies  and  au- 
tomobiles could  be  seen  going  along 
the  dusty  road.  The  more  unfortunate, 
those  who  walked,  swung  into  the  tim- 
ber as  a  vehicle,  followed  by  a  cloud 
of  dust,  rumbled  past. 

Any  ill-feeling  toward  Laird  had  all 
but  vanished.  Some  believed  the 
whole  thing  a  joke.  He  had  shown  the 
right  spirit  after  all.  Dan,  however, 
did  not  think  so.  He  was  so  preoccu- 
pied with  his  thoughts  he  wholly  neg- 
lected Grace. 

The  tall,  stately  pines,  the  occasional 
glimpse  of  some  dark  ravine ;  the  rush- 
ing, swaying  car  was  an  enjoyment  to 
Grace.  But  that  enjoyment  lost  half 
its  zest  while  Dan  sat  with  a  frown 
spread  over  his  face. 

"For  goodness  sake,  forget  your 
troubles,  Dan.  I  told  you  all  the  time 
we'd  go.  Now  be  yourself  and  enjoy 
it!"  Grace  finally  admonished. 

Dan  did  have  a  good  time.  Grace 
and  the  circus  cast  a  spell  over  him  as 
it  did  over  every  pleasure  seeker. 

Jackson  had  a  population  of  a  thou- 
sand souls,  and  with  the  country  round 
about  contributing  to  the  stream  of 
people  which  entered  the  Rand  and 
Swelling's  Shows,  the  ticket  men,  prac- 
ticing their    lightning-like    exchange, 


must  have  lined  their  pockets  with 
silver. 

The  day  passed  all  too  quickly.  The 
sober  men  of  Timber  Lake  went  home 
before  dark.  Those  who  had  visited 
the  Jackson  bar-rooms  went  home,  too, 
but  it  was  late  in  the  night.  Their 
drunken  voices,  in  loud  singing,  echoed 
and  re-echoed  through  the  woods  until 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  They  had 
no  thought  of  to-morrow's  hard  work. 
To-morrow  would  take  care  of  itself. 

At  six  the  following  morning  Dan 
and  Jake  awoke  with  little  ambition  to 
v/ork.  Fifteen  minutes  later  the  part- 
ners went  to  breakfast.  Only  a  hand- 
ful of  men  were  up  and  able  to  eat,  for 
the  circus  and  Jackson  had  found  its 
victims  in  many  of  the  Timber  Lake 
workmen.  Splitting  headaches  and 
empty  purses  found  no  inspiration  in 
the  thought  of  the  day's  work. 

When  Dan  had  finished  breakfast  he 
went  to  the  store  to  get  a  much  needed 
cigar.  There  were  half  a  dozen  men 
waiting  for  the  store  to  open. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  the 
small,  thin  figure  of  Laird  stepped  out. 
The  men  started  for  the  door.  Laird 
motioned  them  back. 

"Just  a  minute,  boys,"  he  said  crisp- 
ly; then  as  the  men  filed  out  of  the 
boarding  house  he  called  to  them  to 
come. 

Soon  twenty  or  more  men  stood  wait- 
ing, as  they  supposed,  for  orders. 

Laird  stood  silent,  his  mouth  drawn 
in  a  straight  line,  a  dark  scowl  on  his 
face. 

Dan  had  the  unpleasant  feeling  that 
something  was  going  to  be  said  or  done 
relating,  somehow,  to  yesterday's 
spree.  A  peculiar  fear  gripped  him. 
What  it  was  he  could  not  have  told. 

"Men,"  began  Laird  at  last.  "You 
were  allowed  to  go  to  Jackson  yester- 
day because  the  mill  was  out  of  re- 
pair." 

He  looked  at  the  men  with  a  grim 
smile.  "I  don't  believe  in  men  spend- 
ing their  money  on  shows.  You're  a 
fit  bunch  to  work  this  morning,  aren't 
you?  The  circus  would  be  none  of 
my  business  if  you  did  your  work  well. 
Some  man,  night  before  last,  fixed  the 


GRACE  VERSUS  LAIRD 


221 


engine  so  we  had  a  day's  work  to  fix 
it  up.  I  don't  know  whether  you  were 
all  in  this  or  not.  But  I  know  who  that 
man  is."  He  pointed  a  finger  straight 
at  Dan.  "You  were  seen  that  night 
by  the  mill.  You  needn't  take  my 
word,"  he  offered  as  he  saw  many 
doubting  faces.  "Here,  Smith,"  he 
called  to  the  watchman,  "tell  these  men 
what  you  saw  that  night." 

Dan's  hot  face  looked  to  the  ground. 
He  could  not  meet  that  accusing  finger 
nor  the  eyes  of  the  crowd. 

The  watchman  stepped  up  beside 
Laird.  He  hesitated,  nervously  lock- 
ing and  unlocking  his  hands,  as  if 
afraid  to  accuse  one  of  these  men. 

"Go  ahead!"  ordered  Laird. 

"Well,"  began  Smith,  "I  saw  Dan 
stumbling  over  some  iron  right  near 
the  engine  room.  But  I  guess  he  seen 
me  first,  for  when  I  looked  all  around 
I  couldn't  find  him.  When  the  engi- 
neer came  he  found  somebody  had 
monkeyed  with  the  injectors  and  the 
eccentric.  That's  all  I  know,"  he  fin- 
ished. 

No  one  ventured  a  word  of  protest 
or  denial.  It  appeared  to  be  a  clear 
case. 

"You're  fired,  discharged!  Here's 
your  check — take  it  and  go!" 

Laird's  angry  voice  could  have  been 
heard  to  the  mill.  "Let  this  be  a  warn- 
ing!" He  swung  his  arm,  indicating 
the  men  in  front  of  him. 

Dan  had  been  too  surprised  to  say 
a  word  in  self-defense.  A  fearful 
thought  raced  through  his  excited 
brain.  Now  he  stepped  forward  with 
clenched  hands.  When  about  to  speak 
he  hesitated,  for  Laird,  who  was  on  the 
point  of  entering  the  store  had  stopped. 
He  looked  in  the  direction  Laird  was 
gazing. 

Grace  Whipple  was  running  toward 
them. 

As  she  came  up  she  appeared  fright- 
ened and  very  much  out  of  breath. 

Dan  looked  at  her,  but  he  seemed 
frozen  to  the  ground.  He  could  not 
move. 

Grace  raised  an  arm  as  for  atten- 
tion, the  while  she  struggled  to  re- 
gain her  breath.    "I  saw  you  all  out 


here,  and  I — I  knew  what  was  happen- 
ing. I  ran  all  the  way.  You  fired 
Dan?"  Her  angry  eyes  stared  at 
Laird. 

He  nodded,  too  surprised  to  answer. 

"Well,  he's  not  guilty!  I— fixed  the 
engine.  Dan  wouldn't  promise  to  go — 
and  I  wanted  him  to  go!"  She  raised 
her  voice  to  a  scream.  "All  these  men 
wanted  to  go;  but  you  wouldn't  let 
them!  They  had  a  right  to  go,  too! 
And  I  fixed  the  engine  so  they  could 
go!    Now,  do  your  worst,  Mr.  Laird." 

Dan's  emotions  could  not  be  re- 
strained longer.  He  sprang  to  her. 
"Why  did  you  do  it,  Grace?"  he  asked 
with  a  quiver  in  his  voice. 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
shame-facedly  up  at  him,  realizing 
how  she  had  hurt  Dan's  pride. 

The  men  at  that  moment  formed  in 
a  close  group.  The  burly  teamster 
seemed  to  be  giving  orders.  Then  at 
a  quick  command  they  formed  a  cir- 
cle. Somebody  grabbed  Grace  from 
before  Dan's  eyes.  Two  men  raised 
her  to  their  shoulders  as  the  circle  en- 
closed them. 

"Three  cheers  for  Grace !"  cried  the 
teamster.  And  three  thundering  "hur- 
rahs" rent  the  still  morning  air. 

Laird,  taken  completely  aback  at 
this  sanction,  this  loyalty  to  the  girl, 
started  for  the  door  the  second  time 
that  morning. 

Grace,  however,  had  not  finished  her 
play.  Leaping  down,  she  pushed  her 
way  through  the  men,  and,  seeing  the 
watchman,  she  pointed  her  finger  at 
him: 

"You  lying  coward!"  she  cried  in  a 
scathing  voice.  "It  was  me  you  saw 
that  night,  and  you  know  it,  for  I  saw 
you !    I  always  knew  you  hated  Dan. 


"B— but— I— I- 
explain. 

His  words 
and  laughter. 


Smith  tried  to 


were  drowned  in  jeers 
He  slunk  into  the  store, 
pale-faced  and  cowed. 

Then  the  girl  turned  on  Laird.  "Dan 
isn't  to  blame — you've  got  to  give  him 
back  his  job!"  she  commanded. 

The  manager  mumbled  something 
like  an  acquiescence. 

The  men  dispersed  slowly,  laughing, 


222 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


singing  and  declaring  Grace  was  some 
girl  to  give  them  such  a  good  time,  and 
then  come  out  and  tell  the  whole 
thing. 

"Grace,  how  could  you?"  asked  Dan 
when  they  were  alone. 

"I  done  it  because  I — I  wanted  to — 
no,  I  wanted  you  to  go.    I " 

"Good  God,  Grace,  you've  got 
nerve!"  interrupted  Dan.  He  looked 
down  admiringly  on  her.  "I  felt  like 
a  convict  standing  there  with  the  boss 


accusing  me. 

After  a  moment,  during  which  he 
captured  her  hand,  he  said:  "Say, 
Grace,  I'll  have  something  to  say  to 
you  to-night.  But  I'll  tell  you  now — I 
object  to  your  Dad  keeping  you  any 
longer.    You're  too  big  for  him." 

She  smiled  at  him.  "To-night,"  she 
said,  then  fled  as  her  cheeks  colored. 

Then  Dan  hurried  off  with  more  zest 
for  work  that  morning  than  any  other 
workman  in  Timber  Lake. 


ARIZONA     ANN 


'Twuz  in  the  city  uv  Bisbee 

What  leans  agin  a  hill, 
That  I  fust  encountered  Annie 

An'  her  feller,  Bisbee  Bill. 

Bill  wuz  happy-go-lucky, 

A  cow-boy  wild  an'  free, 
Born  back  in  ole  Kaintucky — 

The  home  uv  chivalree. 

Six  foot  tall  in  his  stockin's ; 

Fist  like  a  batterin'  ram; 
An'  spite  uv  all  his  failin's, 

Ez  harmless  ez  a  lamb. 

A  care-free,  flirtin'  devil, 

Espesh'ly  on  a  spree; 
But,  he  sure  wuz  on  the  level 

In  lovin'  Ann  McGee. 

Ann  wuz  a  jealous  beauty 
Plum'  daft  'bout  Bisbee  Bill : 

Mo'  'n  once  in  hot  dispute,  he 
Mocked  ez  she  vow'  to  kill. 

A  lyin',  malicious  gossip 
Spun  the  pizen  yarn  to  Ann ; 

'Twus  that  low-down  Yaller  Possup 
What  hail'  frum  Texarkan. 

Ann  spurred  in  rage  through  the  desert 
To  look  up  ole  Squaw  Luce ; 

An'  by  the  great  horn  lizart, 

Foun'  Bill !    Wa'n't  that  the  deuce  ? 

With  nary  a  thought  uv  sinnin'; 

Jes'  fixin'  a  leetly  pup 
What  his  hoss  had  kicked;  a-grinnin', 

Bill  step'  frum  the  wikiup. 


Ann  close'  her  eyes  an'  drilled  'im 
Six  times  with  gun  drawed  quick: 

A  laugh  on  his  lips,  she  killed  'im — 
The  thought  nigh  turns  me  sick. 

The  old  squaw  croon'  the  death-song. 

A  wild  scream  echo'  faint, 
Ez  Ann  pitch'  forward  headlong 

Off  Buck,  her  Indian  paint. 

The  sun  sunk  down  in  glory 
Purplin'  the  golden  West — 

Peculiar  sort  uv  a  story, 
The  way  their  souls  foun'  rest. 

Ann  alius  said:  "I  reckon 

If  Bill  is  fust  to  die, 
His  soul'll  surely  beckon." 

She  seem'  to  prophesy. 

The  moon  riz  up  a-droppin' 

A  blood-red  halo  down, 
Ez  the  Indian  squaw  kep'  hoppin' 

An'  trampin'  roun'  and  roun'. 

Ann  prayed  an'  talk'  to  her  lover, 
But  Bill  wuz  dead  fur  keeps : — 

His  body,  she  gently  cover'; 
Then,  sudden  up  she  leaps. 

With  arms  stretched  out  to  meet  'im 

Ez  if  Bill's  face  she  see; 
A-walkin'  on  to  greet  'im 

And  babblin'  foolishly. 

Fur  miles  an'  miles  she  wander', 

Her  eyes  a-starin'  wide; 
A-seein'  Bill  out  yonder, 

Till  jes'  tired  out,  she  died. 

Gunther  Milton  Kennedy. 


The  Story  of  the  /Airacle 

Told  in    California 

By  Otto  von  Geldern 

(All  rights  reserved.) 
(Continued  from  last  month) 


(SYNOPSIS — A  number  of  prominent  characters  in  the  old  pioneer  town 
of  Sonoma,  Northern  California,  drop  into  the  hotel's  cheerful  gathering 
room,  during  the  evening  hours,  and  swap  tales,  experiences  and  all  that 
goes  to  make  entertaining  conversation.  The  subject  of  miracles  starts 
a  discussion,  joined  in  by  the  old  Spanish  padre,  lovingly  christened 
Father  Sunday.  The  judge,  or  Jux,  as  he  was  nicknamed  by  his  cronies, 
begins  a  story  based  on  a  recent  dream,  in  which  a  supposed  miracle  was 
wrought.  He  dreamed  that  he  had  died,  and  that  his  soul  wandered  in 
space,  visiting  celestial  palaces,  hearing  rhythmic  harmonies  and  scenes  of 
soul-stirring  splendor,  grandeur  and  beauty.  He  visited  the  Palace  of 
God,  where  all  spoke  in  whispers,  but  none  there  had  seen  Him.  He 
failed  to  find  his  name  in  the  record  of  the  dead.  Later  he  was  conducted 
to  the  Realm  of  Satan.  His  satanic  majesty  entertains  Jux  in  his  library, 
where  he  shows  himself  to  be  an  astute  philosopher  of  negation.  No 
trace  of  Jux'  record  on  earth  is  found  in  hell.  Thereupon  the  archangel 
Gabriel  is  sent  from  celestial  headquarters  to  adjust  the  difficulty  with 
Satan.  A  discussion  arises  between  the  two  as  to  the  just  disposal  of  this 
soul.) 


THEREUPON  Gabriel  replied 
with  some  warmth:  'My mission 
is  to  save  a  soul  which  hath 
nearly  slipped  from  divine 
grace  because  of  some  trivial  and  tech- 
nical neglect.  And  I  shall  save  this 
soul  without  violating  any  law,  I  will 
promise  thee  that.  If  thou  wouldst 
wish  to  propose  a  way  of  adjustment, 
do  so ;  but  I  fear  me  that  I  may  not  ap- 
prove of  a  method  which  will  appeal 
to  thee,  foul  prince,  as  just  and  equi- 
table.' 

"  'Is  there  the  slightest  reason  for 
speaking  disrespectfully  to  me  ?'  asked 
Mephistopheles.     'Quarreling  will  not 


help  us,  and  we  shall  never  reach  any 
conclusion  if  we  continue.' 

"  'Since  thou  wilt  make  no  effort  to 
solve  the  problem,  let  me  suggest  that 
chance  decide  for  us.' 

"  'Why  that  stare,  Gabriel  ?  Let  not 
this  suggestion  jar  thee  harshly.' 

"  'Doeth  not  Dame  Chance  stand  at 
the  cradle  of  every  one  of  woman 
born  on  the  little  mother  earth  below? 
She  whirls  the  horoscope  and  draws 
the  lot,  and  destiny  is  shaped  not  by 
her  decision  but  by  her  wantonness. 
The  men  of  the  earth  are  creatures  of 
chance.  The  wind  will  blow  the  seed 
into  any  direction  that  may  suit  its 


224 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


whim  or  caprice,  either  to  let  it  blos- 
som or  by  some  blight,  decay.  And 
thus  the  human  life  is  sown  and  scat- 
tered to  the  winds,  and  when  the 
reaper  comes  at  harvest  time,  when 
every  life  is  as  an  open  book,  we  call 
that  fate  which  was  haphazardly  be- 
gun and  from  beginning  to  its  end  sub- 
missive to  the  vagaries  of  chance.' 

"  'If  then  it  be  that  chance  accom- 
pany the  children  of  the  earth  at  their 
entrance  into  mortal  life,  is  it  illogical 
to  utilize  this  means  at  their  renas- 
cence ?  No ;  and  therefore  I  say  again, 
let  chance  decide.' 

"  'The  little  word  chance  hath  a 
most  interesting  origin,  which  I  will  ex- 
plain, because  thy  knowledge  of  He- 
brew is  better  than  thy  knowledge  of 
Latin,  Gabriel,  even  though  thou  art  a 
great  linguist.  The  derivative  is  the 
verb  cado,  cadere,  to  fall;  that  is,  to 
fall  as  do  the  gaming  little  dice  with- 
out design  or  previous  intent.  That's 
chance.' 

"  'There  is  a  dice  box,'  pointing  to 
the  sideboard,  'containing  three  ivory 
cubes  marked  in  the  usual  way.  Let 
both  of  us,  let  thee  and  me,  cast  these 
dice  upon  the  table  and  let  one  single 
throw  decide.  The  highest  number  of 
points  shall  claim  this  soul  forever. 
Is  not  this  proposal  as  fair  to  thee  as  it 
is  to  me?' 

"After  some  hesitation  Gabriel  re- 
plied : 

"  'Speak  not  to  me  of  thy  fairness 
and  of  thy  justness  and  of  decisions  of 
chance.  I  need  not  contradict  thee, 
Satan,  but  I  wish  to  confront  thee  with 
this  statement,  the  truth  of  which  thou 
knowest  full  well: 

"  'Whatever  is — is,  because  it  was 
so  ordained  by  divine  decree  from  the 
beginning  of  time.  An  infinite  wis- 
dom guides  not  only  the  falling  seed, 
but  also  the  vagrant  wind  that  blows  it 
to  its  place  of  development.  If  it  fall 
upon  a  rock  on  earth  to  struggle  with 
an  existence  of  want  and  misery  there, 
it  may  bloom  forever  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Infinite  here. 

"  'Reluctantly  I  acquiesce  to  thy 
proposal.  I  do  this  not  to  abet  thee 
in  thy  greed  to  possess,  but  to  curb 


thy  cruel  and  malicious  will.  Accept- 
ing thy  foul  challenge  of  adjustment 
by  dice,  I  do  so  because  I  would  de- 
prive thee  of  the  possibility  of  having 
recourse  later  on  to  thy  venal  weapon 
of  distorted  law,  which  thou  doest 
carry  within  thy  mouth  as  the  foul 
reptile  doeth  its  venom. 

"  'Necessity  calls  for  an  action,  and 
one  of  thy  own  maxims,  which  thou 
doest  use  whenever  the  law  as  written 
doeth  not  serve  thy  purpose,  hath  it 
that:  'Necessitas  non  habet  legem.' 

"  'Nevertheless,  and  while  I  like  not 
thy  proposal,  I  accept  it,  for  the  rea- 
son that  justice  must  prevail  even  be- 
tween heaven  and  hell. 

"  'Satan  thou  art  a  great  jurist.  Thy 
cunning  justifies  alarm  and  apprehen- 
sion. But  I  have  placed  my  trust  in 
the  powers  of  the  good  and  the  pure, 
and  this  faith  gives  me  the  assurance 
that  these  beneficent  powers  will  gain 
a  glorious  victory  over  those  of  evil 
and  darkness.    Let  us  proceed.' 

"Mephistopheles  smiled  and  said 
ironically : 

"  'Thou  hast  spoken  well,  Gabriel, 
and  I  bear  thee  no  grudge.  'Fiat  jus- 
titia,  ruat  coelum.' 

"You  may  imagine  how  I  felt.  Crest- 
fallen is  no  name  for  it.  Chagrined, 
mortified,  humiliated,  dejected,  out- 
raged— I  have  used  six  adjectives  al- 
ready and  all  of  them  combined  do  not 
describe  my  feeling.  Here  I  was  re- 
cuced  to  an  object  to  be  raffled  for, 
like  a  pin-cushion  at  a  church  fair,  or 
a  cigar  in  the  Elkhorn  Saloon.  To 
what  base  uses  had  I  come  at  last? 

"After  the  two  principals  had  dis- 
cussed their  preliminaries,  Mephisto- 
pheles stepped  over  to  the  sideboard 
and  said  pleasantly: 

"  'Gabriel,  wilt  have  a  little  cauda- 
galli  before  we  begin?' 

"  'O,  fie!  out  upon  thy  mephitic  con- 
coctions which  I  like  not!"  exclaimed 
Gabriel  indignantly. 

"''Well  thou  knowest,  Satan,  that 
thou  canst  not  tempt  me  with  them,  and 
t'nat  I  drink  but  of  the  pure  waters  of 
heaven  that  flow  not  in  their  course 
through  thy  polluted  rivers  of  hell.' 

"  'Saying:  'Sociability  is  not  one  of 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


225 


thy  strong  virtues,  Gabriel;  but  thou 
art  the  chooser  and  art  ever  welcome  to 
thy  insipid  celestial  fluid,'  Mephisto- 
pheles  took  from  the  sideboard  a  small 
leathern  receptacle  so  familiar  to  you 
all,  my  friends.  In  its  make-up  it  did 
not  differ  from  that  in  the  Elkhorn 
saloon,  which  you  have  so  frequently 
handled.  Don't  stare  at  me  in  that 
way,  Father  Sunday.  I  may  be  will- 
ing to  make  an  exception  in  your  case. 

"The  three  dice  it  contained  were 
carefully  examined  and  accepted  as 
satisfactory.  Both  thereupon  walked 
to  the  library  table,  and  upon  mutual 
agreement  it  was  decided  that  Mephis- 
topheles  should  have  the  first  throw. 
And  that  was  his  undoing,  as  you  shall 
presently  see. 

"He  took  the  box  deliberately,  smil- 
ing pleasantly,  he  rattled  the  dice  with- 
it1  it,  and  with  a  graceful  sweep  of  his 
hand  he  rolled  them  out  upon  the 
table.  When  they  came  to  rest,  Me- 
phistopheles  chuckled  audibly  and, 
imagine  my  consternation,  when  I  be- 
came aware  that  he  had  shaken  eigh- 
teen ;  that  is,  there  were  the  three  little 
ivory  cubes  lying  before  me,  each  with 
its  six  uppermost.  Fair  play  or  foul, 
I  know  not  which. 

"When  I  had  fully  realized  this  re- 
sult, I  felt  as  though  I  had  received  a 
stunning  blow.  I  knew  that  I  stood  at 
the  brink  of  the  eternal  abyss,  and 
Dante's  immortal  words:  'All  hope 
abandon  ye  who  enter  here,'  were  mak- 
ing their  fiery  impress  upon  my  soul 
then.  What  hope  is  there  left  for  me  ? 
Am  I  not  irretrievably  in  the  clutches 
or.  Satan,  to  be  marked  and  labeled 
for  perpetual  pyrotechnical  experi- 
ment? 

"Let  chance  decide !  Well  said :  let 
chance  decide;  but  tell  me,  what  is 
the  proportionate  chance  of  throwing 
three  sixes  with  three  dice?  I  shall 
let  our  Angel  figure  that  out  for  me  by 
the  law  of  probability.  To  be  sure, 
there  is  a  possibility  of  tying  the  throw 
— but  I  realized,  as  you  all  will,  that 
the  probability  of  doing  so  could  only 
be  an  extremely  remote  one,  and  I  had 
woefully  resigned  myself  to  my  future 
fate,  when  Gabriel  took  up  the  box 


and  prepared  it  for  his  throw. 

"There  was  nothing  about  him  to  in- 
dicate that  he  felt  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree his  highly  probable  defeat;  on  the 
contrary,  he  had  in  his  face  the  same 
look  of  assurance  and  determination 
that  he  displayed  when  he  first  entered 
the  library.  I  reasoned  that  he  had 
absolute  faith  in  that  he  would  tie 
Mephistopheles  and  then  beat  him  at 
the  second  throw. 

"Gabriel  did  not  say  a  word ;  he  nei- 
ther smiled  nor  did  he  look  particular- 
ly serious.  Nothing  daunted,  he  took 
the  leathern  cylinder,  replaced  the 
dice,  shook  them  and  rolled  them  out 
upon  the  table. 

"Now,  here  happened  the  great 
miracle. 

"The  dice  settled  to  rest  and  when 
we  got  the  sum  of  the  three,  what  do 
you  think  was  the  result?  You  will 
not  credit  my  statement,  my  friends, 
but  Gabriel  had  actually  thrown 
NINETEEN  with  three  dice! 

"Thereupon  the  archangel  pro- 
claimed in  a  thundering  voice,  as 
though  giving  praise  to  the  powers  in 
whom  he  had  pinned  his  unshakable 
faith : 

"  'A  miracle  hath  been  wrought!  A 
great  miracle!  A  precious  soul  hath 
been  saved  from  the  clutches  of  Satan 
by  a  glorious  miracle!  The  snares  of 
the  Prince  of  Evil  were  laid  in  vain. 
The  great  and  everlasting  Right  hath 
vanquished  the  traducer  without  a  vio- 
lation of  the  written  law  by  which  we 
both  abide.  The  challenge  of  Satan 
was  accepted  at  his  own  terms  and  his 
defeat  is  unassailable. 

"  'Happiness  and  peace  abide  with 
this  soul  from  now  on — forever  and 
ever.    So  mought  it  be.' 

"Satan  had  very  little  to  say  after 
that,  but  his  face  changed  to  white  and 
green  in  turn  with  suppressed  anger. 
He  controlled  his  passion  masterly, 
however,  and  all  he  said  was  this,  and 
it  was  the  only  time  that  I  heard  his 
lips  utter  profanity,  when  he  snarled: 

"'That  beats  hell!' 

"At  this  moment  I  awoke  with  a 
great  start  and  bathed  in  a  cold  per- 
spiration, with  my  mind  almost  dazed 


226 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


from  the  events  that  had  been  pictured 
before  it.  I  can  assure  you,  my  friends, 
that  it  took  me  some  time  before  I 
fully  recovered  my  usual  composure, 
and  as  long  as  I  live,  I  shall  not  forget 
this  uncanny  nocturnal  experience. 

"But  I  shall  now  return  to  the 
point  from  which  I  started  at  the  be- 
ginning of  my  story,  and  that  is  this: 
if  you  will  admit  the  possibility  of 
throwing  nineteen  with  three  dice,  I 
will  promise  to  believe  in  any  miracle 
that  may  be  proposed  for  my  credence. 

"But  now  I  am  dry  with  thirst,  and 
if  the  landlord  will  refill  this  mug  with 
his  foaming  beverage,'  I  shall  appre- 
ciate it  greatly." 

There  was  great  hilarity  as  well  as 
merry  laughter  among  our  friends 
when  Jux  had  concluded.  Nearly  every 
one  applauded  him  by  the  clapping  of 
hands  or  by  slapping  him  on  the  back. 

"Did  it  take  you  only  one  night  to 
dream  all  this?"  asked  Mr.  Bull,  wip- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  vitreous 
optic.  "Why,  that  was  dream  enough 
to  last  any  ordinary  sleeper  a  week." 

"Yes,  Jux,  it  took  you  a  long  time  to 
get  to  the  climax,"  said  Dry-dock. 
"Heavens!  I  thought  they  never  would 
get  to  the  shaking  point.  I  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  an  attack  of  ague  await- 
ing it.  It  was  altogether  too  long  be- 
tween drinks  to  suit  my  thirsty  soul." 

"Are  these  the  thanks  that  I  get  for 
relating  my  experiences  in  detail?" 
exclaimed  Jux.  "You  should  appre- 
ciate details;  but  you  are  more  un- 
grateful than  Mephisto  himself." 

A  small  man  among  the  auditors,  a 
Jewish  merchant,  Naphtali  by  name, 
a  dealer  in  petroleum,  said  with  the 
accent  of  his  nativity: 

"The  story  vas  good,  Shudge,  and  I 
doo  appreciate  it  vit  you.  All  the  time 
I  vonted  to  tell  you :  leave  dot  to  Gab- 
riel, Shux,  leave  dot  to  Gabriel.  He  is 
von  of  our  people.  He'll  doo  it;  it's 
'eezee.' " 

With  this  exception,  however,  all 
agreed  and  emphatically  said  so,  par- 
ticularly Mr.  Tinker,  the  chronologist 
known  as  our  angel,  that  here  was  an 
impossible  condition  that  not  even  a 
miracle  could  cover:  three  times  six 


are  eighteen  and  never  nineteen. 

During  all  this  time  Father  Sunday 
sat  there  without  saying  a  word.  A 
smile  on  his  good  face,  however,  indi- 
cated plainly  enough,  that  while  the 
story  of  Jux  may  not  have  met  with 
his  entire  approbation,  he  had  the  good 
sense  to  see  in  it  only  the  wholly  harm- 
less humor;  and  then  suddenly — to  a 
man — there  arose  an  unanimous  de- 
mand that  he,  Father  Sunday,  should 
augment  the  evening's  entertainment 
by  his  version  of  a  topic  which  had 
proved  so  interesting  to  them  all. 

Chapter  III. 

THE  FATHER'S  REPLY. 

"My  good  friends,  I  have  listened  to 
Jux'  story  with  very  great  interest,  and 
I  am  willing  to  admit  that  it  amused 
me.  I  don't  believe  that  he  ever 
dreamed  all  this  nonsense ;  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  think  that  it  is  the  result 
of  an  unduly  inflamed  imagination,  and 
it  is  very  probable  that  Jux  dreamed 
that  he  dreamed  all  he  told  us,  which 
makes  the  authority  for  his  tale  even 
less  reliable  than  that  of  an  honest 
dream,  and  when  we  reach  such  a  con- 
clusion we  are  somewhat  justified  in 
seeking  the  origin  of  this  dream  in  the 
annals  of  the  Ananias  Club. 

"However,  do  not  think  for  one  mo- 
ment that  I  am  unable  to  appreciate  or 
to  enjoy  a  good  story  irrespective  of 
its  origin,  for  I  know  as  well  as  you  do, 
and  perhaps  even  better  than  you  do, 
that  frequently  the  laughing  imagery 
of  baroque  and  grotesque  fables 
teaches  the  lesson  far  better  than  the 
stern  and  commonplace  reality. 

"In  a  world  so  full  of  woe  and  sor- 
row as  this,  good  humor  is  an  ever- 
welcome  friend.  A  burden  difficult  to 
bear,  a  cross  so  weighty  as  to  call  for 
the  very  limit  of  our  strength,  becomes 
much  lighter  if  instead  of  bathing  it 
with  tears  and  grieving  over  it,  we 
laugh  the  grief  away.  But  this,  too, 
my  friends,  has  its  limits  and  the  wise 
man  will  not  overstep  them. 

"There  are  certain  hallowed  subjects 
in  this  world  of  ours  that  should  be 
deemed  too  sacred  to  draw  them  into 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


227 


jest,  and  the  most  sacred  subject  for 
human  contemplation  is  death  and  that 
which  is  to  follow.  Every  dying  hu- 
man being  is  about  to  take  the  first 
step  into  the  holiest  of  the  holy,  and 
it  behooves  us  to  stand  before  this 
mystery  with  uncovered  head,  in  de- 
vout reverence,  and  never  to  make  it 
the  subject  of  humorous  drollery. 

"Do  not  think,  my  dear  Jux,  that  I 
hold  you  capable  of  doing  so.  I  know 
your  tender  heart  and  your  ever  open 
hand  to  those  who  are  in  affliction  or 
in  distress.  I  only  desire  to  point  out 
how  easy  it  is  to  lose  that  which  every 
man  should  cherish  as  one  of  his  best 
characteristics,  and  that  is  his  dig- 
nity. 

"God  wills  it  that  the  future  shall 
be  a  sealed  book  to  us.  Give  it  but  one 
thought  and  you  will  find  that  we  are 
creatures  of  the  past  only.  The  pres- 
ent, although  constantly  with  us,  does 
net  remain  long  enough  for  us  to  know 
that  it  has  been  here,  for  it  arrives  and 
leaves  at  the  same  moment.  To  us  the 
present  second  of  time  is  the  past  of 
the  coming  second  of  time,  of  which 
nothing  is  known  before  it  arrives.  You 
will  agree  that  the  human  mind  is  tied 
to  space  and  time,  and  that  it  cannot 
escape  from  either. 

"To  Him,  however,  the  past,  the 
piesent  and  the  future  are  as  one,  for 
time  and  space,  these  incomprehen- 
sible human  conceptions,  have  ceased 
to  be  where  the  great  Soul  of  the  Uni- 
verse controls  everlastingly. 

"O,  we  appear  to  be  very  wise,  but 
with  all  our  boasted  wisdom  we  know 
in  reality  very  little.  Although  sur- 
rounded by  an  ocean  of  knowledge,  we 
are  moving  and  groping  about  in  the 
dark,  and  we  are  very  much  like  a  fish 
on  the  bottom  of  the  sea  that  has  never 
beheld  its  surface. 

"We  need  more  light.  Open  the  shut- 
ters and  raise  the  blinds  and  let  it  pour 
its  blessings  upon  you,  for  darkness  is 


ignorance. 


"You  have  been  impressed  deeply 
with  that  one  great  truth,  Jux,  and  that 
is,  that  God  is  the  Light.  He  is,  indeed, 
the  beacon  in  which  all  the  intelligence 
of  the  world     is     concentrated.     All 


knowledge  in  our  possession,  accumu- 
lated through  the  centuries,  emanates 
from  that  great  source  alone,  of  which 
the  mental  attributes  of  humanity, 
great  though  they  may  appear  in  gifted 
individuals  and  in  our  intellectual 
giants,  are  but  very  minute  sparks. 
God's  light  shines  eternally.  Through 
the  ages  yet  to  come  many  things  will 
be  revealed  to  our  intelligence,  be- 
cause we  will  learn  to  see  more  clearly, 
and  many  problems,  unsolved  as  yet, 
v/ill  be  unraveled  and  become  a  part 
of  our  intellectual  stock  and  store. 

"But  we  shall  never  be  able  to 
fathom  the  great  unknowable  Truth, 
even  though  we  were  forever  exposed 
to  the  flood  of  its  glorious  light.  You 
have  frequently  referred  to  a  subdued 
light,  Jux,  and  I  am  convinced  that  this 
light  has  been  dimmed  purposely,  and 
it  is  well  that  this  is  so. 

"It  appears  as  though  a  curtain  had 
been  drawn  to  conceal  from  us  a  sa- 
cred stage.  This  curtain  is  embroi- 
dered with  the  most  beautiful  images 
of  animals  and  plants  and  flowers,  with 
landscapes  of  lofty  mountains  and  pic- 
turesque valleys,  and  with  a  view  of 
the  endless  sea,  giving  evidences  of 
God,  the  Creator. 

"The  devout  kneel  before  the  folds 
of  this  marvelous  tapestry,  through 
which  the  rays  of  a  subdued  light  fall 
to  throw  a  divine  halo  upon  these  wor- 
shipers, who  have  prostrated  them- 
selves in  recognition  of  their  own  in- 
significance and  dependence. 

"It  behooves  us  to  bow  in  deep  hu- 
mility and  to  kiss  the  hem  of  this  holy 
canvas.  The  most  audacious  would 
not  entertain  the  thought  for  a  moment 
to  attempt  to  lift  this  curtain  in  order 
to  reveal  that  which  was  from  the  be- 
ginning intended  to  remain  a  sacred 
mystery  forever. 

"To  continue:  I  am  also  convinced 
that  it  is  not  the  light  alone  we  mor- 
tals need,  but  that  there  is  something 
of  greater  necessity  to  us,  something 
tor  which  the  human  heart  will  crave 
through  all  eternity,  and  that  is  Love. 
Without  it  the  world  may  be  ever  so 
resplendent  in  its  sparkling  glory  and 
brilliancy,  but  your  scintillating  light 


228 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


alone,  my  dear  Jux,  would  leave  our 
hearts  cold  and  dismal  and  barren, 
were  it  not  for  the  warmth  and  the 
cheer  of  love  and  affection. 

"You  will  understand  this,  my 
friends,  for  you  are  human  and  de- 
pendent upon  it  all  through  the  span  of 
your  mortal  lives,  and,  therefore,  I  say 
unto  you:  God  is  Love!  Love  is  the 
spring  of  life  and  its  origin  must  lie 
deep  in  the  breast  of  the  Creator. 

"Again,  I  hold  that  God  loves  not 
only  as  a  stern  parent,  as  a  father  who 
would  reprimand  his  son  because  he 
loves  him  and  wishes  to  admonish  him 
and  to  correct  him,  but  that  He  has 
combined  therewith,  in  His  infinite 
mercy,  that  great  and  sacrificing  love 
which  a  mother  has  for  her  offspring. 

"A  mother  believes  in  her  child,  for 
is  not  this  child  a  part  of  her  very 
flesh  and  blood,  which  she  is  ready  to 
shield  and  to  defend  at  any  moment 
at  the  risk  of  her  own  life?  It  has 
been  written  somewhere  by  a  philo- 
sophic author  whom  I  cannot  recall  at 
this  moment,  that  a  mother's  son  may 
stray  into  paths  that  lead  from  virtue, 
and  that  those  to  whom  he  is  indiffer- 
ent may  lose  confidence  in  him  and 
conclude  that  for  him  there  is  no  re- 
demption. The  mother,  on  the  con- 
trary, adheres  to  the  faith  in  her  son — 
she  knows  that  he  will  turn  out  well  in 
the  end.  She  has  no  reason  for  this, 
no  psychological  proof  for  her  faith, 
for  she  believes  with  her  heart  and  not 
with  her  mind.  Her  life  is  attached  to 
her  faith  in  him,  and  in  this  she  can- 
not be  shaken. 

"I  want  to  add  to  these  cold  state- 
ments of  fact  and  I  want  to  make  them 
more  impressive  by  saying:  You  may 
tear  out  a  mother's  heart,  you  may 
carve  it  from  her  living  bosom,  and, 
bleeding  in  agony,  it  will  forget  its 
own  pain  and  its  own  sorrows,  and  its 
last  flickering  throb  will  be  given  lov- 
ingly for  the  child  who  has  rent  that 
heart  in  twain. 

"This  great  emotion,  this  unselfish 
love,  is  based  upon  Faith.  I  do  not 
wish  that  you  misunderstand  me.  I 
am  speaking  to  you  simply  and  from 
the  heart,  not  as  a  theologian — for  I 


fear  you  would  not  understand  me  as 
readily — but  as  a  friend  who  knows 
you  all  so  well  and  who  loves  you. 
What  a  cold  and  cheerless  world  this 
would  be  if  it  were  not  for  the  warm- 
ing hearth-fire  of  love  to  cheer  us,  and 
to  make  the  world  worthy  as  an  abode 
of  life. 

"I  am  now  ready  to  take  up  the  sub- 
ject of  miracles.  It  seems  to  me  that 
since  we  are  everywhere  surrounded  by 
enigmas,  we  should  not  be  seeking  for 
more  mysteries.  Modern  miracles  have 
their  origin  in  weak  and  erratic  minds. 

"Take,  as  an  instance,  the  table-tip- 
ping of  those  who  claim  to  be  in  com- 
munication with  the  world  behind  the 
curtain.  Is  it  not  a  far  greater  miracle 
that  with  the  constant  whirling  and 
flying  of  our  mother  earth,  the  house- 
hold table  should,  stand  still  and  not 
tip?  This  mystery  appeals  to  me,  the 
other  does  not. 

"The  earth  we  live  on  spins  like  a 
top,  with  ?.  velocity,  immediately  under 
our  feet,  of  fourteen  miles  in  one  min- 
ute; at  the  same  time  it  is  hurled 
through  space,  in  its  flight  around  the 
sun,  at  the  rate  of  eighteen  and  one- 
half  miles  in  one  second — I  beg  that 
'our  Angel'  will  correct  me  if  my  fig- 
ures are  faulty — not  to  speak  of  other 
motions  said  to  be  inherent  in  our  sys- 
tem of  worlds;  and  if  our  minds  will 
but  dwell  on  this  terrific  speed,  com- 
pared with  which  the  cannon  ball  is 
like  the  cork  in  a  pop  gun,  the  modest 
little  kitchen  mensa  begins  to  cut  a 
sorry  figure,  indeed. 

"Remember  also,  that  the  table  of 
a  family  is  a  holy  altar.  The  board  on 
which  we  break  our  bread  and  ask 
upon  it  the  divine  blessing,  the  board 
around  which  the  members  of  a  family 
are  gathered  for  counsel  and  advice  in 
joy  and  in  sorrow;  this  table  stained 
with  bitter  tears  becomes  too  sacred 
an  object  to  be  turned  into  an  undigni- 
fied jumping-jack,  or  into  a  ballet 
dancer  for  banal  edification  or  amuse- 
ment. 

"It  is  enough  to  arouse  our  risibility 
to  be  told  that  our  good  old  table  has 
been  raised  to  the  importance  of  be- 
coming a  means  of  communication  be- 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


229 


tween  this  world  and  the  next.  Is  it 
not  ridiculous  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it?  Why,  my  friends,  the  subject  is 
not  worthy  of  your  thought. 

"Undignified  creeds  have  arisen  in 
the  past  and  will  arise  again  and  again 
in  the  future.  They  originate  in  the 
minds  of  the  unlettered  and  the  neu- 
rotic. 

"In  speaking  of  miracles  in  their 
usually  accepted  sense;  that  is,  as 
something  contrary  to  the  physical 
laws  of  nature,  I  may  point  out  to  you 
this:  that,  reasoning  philosophically, 
it  is  perfectly  logical  to  assume  the  oc- 
currence of  an  event  which  is  neither 
preceded  nor  followed  by  others  to 
which  it  is  related  in  sequence  of  cause 
and  effect.  An  isolated  occurrence  of 
this  kind  is  a  miracle,  which  from  a 
subjective  viewpoint  is  perfectly  think- 
able. 

"The  fact  is,  however,  that  we  are 
usually  asked  to  believe  in  unaccount- 
able things  upon  the  testimony  of  other 
human  beings,  which  testimony,  even 
if  it  be  honest,  is  based  upon  distorted 
mental  conceptions  that  lead  to  false 
impressions  and  to  wrong  conclusions. 
It  is  always  the  wiser  plan  to  assume  a 
mental  attitude  of  skepticism  towards 
an  alleged  phenomenon  which  is  not 
conformable  to  our  human  experience 
and  which  cannot  be  brought  into  har- 
mony with  the  normal  conditions  of 
our  environment  as  we  know  it.  That 
is,  reasoning  within  the  range  of  our 
empirical  knowledge  is  the  best  stand- 
ard we  have. 

"On  the  other  hand,  we  should  not 
forget  that  the  laws  of  God  governing 
the  Universe  are  infinite,  and  that  with 
our  very  limited  understanding  of  them 
we  are  not  in  any  position  to  make 
definite  statements  concerning  them. 
You  speak  to  me  of  violations  of  the 
laws  of  nature.  Do  we  know  all  these 
laws  and  are  we  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  them  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  every- 
thing will  depend  on  our  understand- 
ing of  them. 

"Let  me  remind  you,  Jux,  of  the 
quaint  philosophy  contained  in  Car- 
lyle's  Sartor  Resartus,  and  as  recorded 
by  the  erudite  and  reflective  Teufels- 


droeckh,  the  stercus  diaboli,  who,  to 
my  mind,  was  ill-named  by  his  spinose 
and  irascible  creator: 

"  'Deep  has  been,  and  is,  the  signi- 
ficance of  miracles;  far  deeper  than 
perhaps  we  may  imagine.  Meanwhile 
the  question  of  questions  were:  what 
specially  is  a  miracle  ?  To  that  Dutch 
King  of  Siam  an  icicle  had  been  a 
miracle;  who  so  had  carried  with  him 
an  air  pump  and  vial  of  vitriolic  ether 
might  have  worked  a  miracle.  To  my 
horse,  again,  who  unhappily  is  still 
more  unscientific,  do  I  not  work  a  mir- 
acle and  magical  Open  Sesame!  every 
time  I  please  to  pay  two  pence  and 
open  for  him  an  impassable  turnpike  ?' 

"A  miracle  inexplicable  by  any 
known  law  might  readily  be  accounted 
for  by  another  not  known  to  us,  which 
would  remove  the  miraculous  nature 
of  the  occurrence  by  its  application,  if 
we  but  understood  it. 

"If  the  Creator  required  a  miracle  to 
be  wrought  in  order  to  reach  an  end, 
it  is  not  logically  necessary  that  He 
should  do  so  in  violation  of  the  laws  of 
the  Universe  of  which  He  Himself  is 
the  author.  If  you  will  tell  me  that 
water  cannot  be  changed  into  wine- 
physically  and  that  such  a  transforma- 
tion is  impossible,  I  might  answer  you, 
that  if  those  who  are  drinking  the  water 
were  impressed  with  the  idea  that  it  is 
wine  they  are  drinking,  then  the  trans- 
formation has  been  wrought,  subject- 
ively if  you  will,  and  the  same  result 
has  been  reached. 

"But  you  may  take  it  for  granted, 
my  friends,  that  the  so-called  modern 
miracles  are  not  wondrous  at  all.  They 
only  appear  marvelous  to  us  because 
we  have  failed  as  yet  to  differentiate 
them  properly.  Man's  miracles  belong 
to  jugglery.  God's  miracles  surround 
us  everywhere. 

"Now,  I  agree  with  you,  Jux,  that  in 
the  matter  of  numbers  and  their  rela- 
tion to  each  other,  we  have  certain 
mental  concepts  that  are  not  based  up- 
on efflternal  physical  conditions  but 
upon  abstract  thought,  and  these  con- 
cepts have  become  to  us  fixed  necessi- 
ties. A  philosopher  may  imagine  a 
subjective  world  without  a  real  exist- 


230 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


ence  behind  it;  again,  he  may  picture 
tc  himself  an  objective  one,  which  may 
agree  or  disagree  with  his  subjective 
conception  of  it;  all  these  mental  gym- 
nastics are  possible,  but  it  will  be  ut- 
terly impossible  for  him  to  conceive 
that  three  times  six  are  nineteen,  be- 
cause the  result  eighteen  is  a  fixed  ne- 
cessity, not  only  for  this  world  but  for 
any  other  that  man's  imagination  may 
create. 

"But,  be  not  too  hasty  in  your  ap- 
proval of  this  statement  of  mine,  be- 
cause I  am  fully  convinced  that  there 
is  a  possibility  of  working  this  mir- 
acle with  three  dice.  That  may 
sound  paradoxical  to  you  after  what 
I  have  just  told  you,  but  if  you 
will  grant  me  the  opportunity,  I  will 
attempt  an  explanation.  In  order  to 
make  myself  clear  to  you,  I,  too,  am 
going  to  tell  you  a  story,  and  when  I 
have  completed  my  narrative,  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  such  a  miracle  as  it 


contains  is  not  only  likely  to  happen  at 
any  time,  but  that  it  does  happen  on 
every  day  of  our  lives.  We  pay  no  at- 
tention to  these  occurrences  because 
there  is  nothing  startling  or  supernatu- 
ral in  them,  and  our  fancy  for  the  mys- 
terious and  occult  is  not  sufficiently 
tickled  to  bring  them  into  prominence. 

"My  story  shall  be  a  brief  one.  The 
evening  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  I 
fear  me  that  our  good  Mrs.  Tinker  in 
her  solicitude  will  call  for  her  astro- 
nomical husband  very  soon,  with  an  ac- 
centuated admonition  that  it  is  time  for 
him  to  go  to  bed." 

Our  Angel  muttered  something  about 
leaving  these  domestic  adjustments  to 
him,  but  the  assertion  lacked  the  usual 
vigor  with  which  he  ordinarily  ex- 
pressed his  ideas  on  subjects  foreign 
to  his  domesticity. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Father  Sunday 
began  his  story,  and  no  one  interrupted 
him  during  its  recital. 


(To  be  continued.) 


EL  PASO  de  ROBLES* 


Although  the  city's  mill  I  tread 
And  strive  for  rest  in  vain, 

In  dreams  thy  peaceful  paths  I  thread 
Beneath  thine  oaks  again. 

Among  thy  moss-hung,  ancient  trees, 
So  strong  of  root  and  limb ; 

In  fancy  still  I  hear  the  bees 
Repeat  their  harvest  hymn. 

No  greed  is  there,  no  galling  grind, 

To  make  of  life  a  hell ; 
Sweet  memories  recall  to  mind 

The  magic  of  thy  spell. 


Beloved  town;  amid  the  vale, 
Near  Santa  Lucia's  base, 

Thy  soothing  calm  can  never  fail, 
Nor  Time  thy  charm  efface. 

Burton  Jackson  Wyman. 

♦Spanish  for  "The  Pass  of  Oaks" 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 

By  DENISON  CLIFT 


(SYNOPSIS — Jan  Rantzau,  a  handsome  young  giant  among  the  ship- 
builders of  Gait,  joins  pretty  little  Jagiello  Nur  at  a  dance  in  the  Pavilion. 
There  the  military  police  seek  Felix  Skarga,  a  revolutionist.  Jagiello  fears 
that  Captain  Pasek,  the  Captain  of  the  Fusiliers,  will  betray  her  presence 
at  the  dance  to  old  Ujedski,  the  Jewess,  with  whom  Jagiello  lives  in  terror. 
Jan  rescues  Jagiello.  Later  when  Pasek  betrays  Jagiello  to  Ujedski,  and 
seeks  to  remain  at  the  hovel  with  her,  she  wounds  him  in  a  desperate  en- 
counter. Ujedski  turns  her  out,  and  she  marries  Jan.  Later  Pasek  indi- 
cates that  he  will  take  a  terrible  revenge  upon  the  bridal  pair.  A  son  is 
born  to  Jan,  and  he  idealizes  his  future  even  as  he  idealizes  the  growth 
of  the  world's  greatest  superdreadnaught,  the  Huascar,  on  the  ways  at 
Gait.  After  the  birth  of  Stefan,  Jagiello  tries  to  tell  Jan  of  her  sin  with 
Pasek,  but  her  strength  fails  her  at  the  last  moment.) 


Chapter  XIII. 

STEFAN  was  placed  in  a  big  wil- 
low basket,  enveloped  with  blan- 
kets, and  left  alone  under  the 
window  in  Jan's  room,  while  Mad- 
ame Ballandyna  swathed  the  exhaust- 
ed mother. 

It  was  a  beautiful  window,  all  green 
with  honeysuckle  trailing  in.  Above, 
the  brown  thatch  of  the  roof  dipped 
close  to  the  honeysuckle.  A  thrush 
alighted  in  the  greenery  and  began 
singing,  and  as  it  sang  the  world 
seemed  brighter :  the  dawn-dew  spark- 
led; the  morning  sky  was  blue;  and 
saffron  jets  of  smoke  rose  cheerily 
from  the  chimneys  of  all  the  little 
houses  of  Gait. 

When  Jan  came  in  to  his  son,  he 
found  Stefan  on  his  back,  with  his 
chubby  thumb  in  his  mouth,  cooing 
contentedly. 

Jan  picked  him  up,  swelling  with 
pride.  "Ha!"  he  exclaimed.  "Ha, 
little  man!     You  strong  little  rascal! 

Copyright,  1917,  by  Denison 


Cooing  already?  What  do  you  think 
of  this  world?" 

Stefan  didn't  think  much  of  the 
world,  for  his  face  screwed  up  and  he 
burst  into  a  lusty  yell. 

Jan's  face  fell.  "Aw,  aw,  aw,  aw, 
aw!"  he  cried,  and  began  pacing  up 
and  down  to  quiet  him. 

Madame  Ballandyna  bustled  into  the 
room. 

"Jan  Rantzau,  what  are  you  doing 
to  that  baby?"  She  took  the  child  from 
Jan's  hands.  "Well,  well,  well,  my 
dearie,  what  are  they  doing  to  my 
baby?  Now,  now,  now!  There,  there, 
there!  'Busing  my  baby,  are  they? 
There,  there,  there!" 

Jan  chuckled  to  see  the  buxom  mid- 
wife soothe  his  son.  Presently  the 
chubby  thumb  was  back  in  the  tiny 
mouth.  Madame  Ballandyna  carried 
him  into  the  room  of  his  birth,  and, 
opening  the  blankets  across  her  knees, 
bathed  the  child's  body  with  sweet  oil, 
gently  washing  it  clean.  Jan  stood  by 
with  shining  eyes  as  she  wrapped  Ste- 

Clift.       All  Rights  Reserved 


232 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


fan  in  swaddling  clothes.  Then  Jan 
took  him  in  his  arms  again,  rocking 
him  lightly  to  and  fro.  But  as  if 
scenting  danger  in  those  great  awkward 
arms,  the  tiny  red  face  drew  up  comi- 
cally again,  and  he  began  to  cry.  His 
cry  alarmed  Jan,  so  he  quickly  laid  the 
precious  burden  in  the  bed  beside  the 
mother. 

Into  Jagiello's  eyes  had  come  a  won- 
derful love  light  that  Jan  had  never 
seen  before.  "Oh,  Jagiello,  I  love 
you!"  he  whispered.  He  looked  down 
at  the  tiny  head  that  snuggled  close  to 
Jagiello's  warm  bosom.  "The  little 
prince !"  he  murmured.  "You,  Jagiello, 
gave  me  the  little  prince!" 

The  mother  was  weary;  sleep  closed 
her  eyes.  Jan  went  out  softly.  The 
room  was  flooded  with  April  sunlight, 
and  there  was  in  the  air  the  first  warm 
impulse  of  spring. 

Chapter  XIV. 

Spring ! 

The  hills  were  verescent  under  the 
gentle  peltings  of  the  April  rains;  the 
thrushes  were  already  calling  for 
mates;  the  blue  flowers  were  lifting 
their  heads  through  the  grasses,  drink- 
ing in  the  sun-glow.  Upon  the  willows 
along  the  river  green  buds  were  ap- 
pearing. The  larches  were  glorying 
in  new  leaves.  In  Jagiello's  garden 
yellow  toadflax  and  bright  blue  chic- 
ory and  golden  sunflowers  told  of  the 
renascence  of  the  new  year. 

On  his  way  to  the  shipyard  that 
morning,  Jan  went  along  the  bank  of 
the  Ule.  The  river  ran  like  molten 
gold  under  the  sun,  its  waters  swollen 
from  the  melting  snows  upon  the  Lora 
Mountains.  Upon  its  yellow  crest  the 
river  packets  belched  smoke  and  whis- 
tled incessantly  as  they  glided  down 
to  Morias.  Long  flat  barges  from  Lor- 
rila  and  Morena,  loaded  with  wheat 
and  rye,  drifted  down  stream  with  the 
lazy  movement  of  the  current. 

With  the  birth  of  his  son  a  great 
love  for  all  men  and  all  things  came 
to  Jan,  a  deep  sympathy  with  human- 
ity in  its  lifelong  struggle.  For  the 
Huascar,  to  be  terrific  in  her  death- 
dealing  prowess,  he  had  a  certain  ad- 


miration. He  thrilled  with  the  sense 
of  her  power.  After  the  long  day  he 
returned  with  all  speed  to  Jagiello  and 
Stefan.  That  night,  with  the  starlight 
melting  through  their  window,  he  sat 
long  beside  Jagiello,  and  they  talked 
of  the  little  man,  and  planned  wonder- 
ful things  for  him. 

When  summer  came  they  were  still 
planning.  The  sum  of  their  immedi- 
ate plans  was  that  Stefan  must  have  a 
new  house  to  grow  up  in.  With  the 
joy  of  self-sacrifice  they  decided  to 
save  and  buy  a  house  for  five  hundred 
rubles,  paying  twenty  rubles  each 
month. 

It  was  midsummer  before  they 
found  the  house  that  they  wanted. 
They  came  upon  it  after  many  wander- 
ings through  the  narrow  streets  of  Gait. 
It  was  lost  in  the  heart  of  the  town, 
upon  a  knoll  surrounded  by  lindens 
and  acacias.  They  found  it  by  going 
through  a  white  cobbled  courtyard. 
They  had  never  seen  the  house  before. 
It  was  not  large,  but  had  four  rooms, 
all  of  wood  and  mud  with  whitewashed 
walls.  The  roof  was  of  mud,  of  the 
hue  of  cinnebar.  Around  the  front 
door,  and  above  it,  hung  honeysuckles 
in  full  bloom.  Great  bees  with  tawny 
wings  boomed  in  the  stifling  heat.  The 
house  had  been  vacant  many  months, 
and  an  army  of  brown  willow-wrens 
with  sharp,  fife-like  songs,  had  become 
accustomed  to  swarm  in  the  lindens. 
When  Jan  and  Jagiello  appeared  sud- 
denly from  across  the  courtyard,  the 
wrens  flew  up  in  clouds,  shrilling  in 
alarm,  angered  at  the  intruders. 

There  was  one  room  larger  than  the 
others  and  flooded  with  the  August 
sunshine.  As  Jagiello  .threw  open  its 
door  she  exclaimed:  "Stefan's  room!" 
Stefan,  in  her  arms,  awoke  at  that  and 
began  crying.  His  voice  seemed  to 
say:  "It's  mine!  It's  mine!"  Jan 
chuckled.  "He  says  it's  his  room!"  he 
exclaimed. 

While  Jan  held  his  son,  Jagiello 
opened  the  windows  and  let  in  the 
sweet,  fresh  air.  Stefan  continued  to 
cry,  so  Jagiello  took  him  again,  and 
she  and  Jan  went  out  upon  the  low 
veranda  and  sat  down. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


It  was  Sunday,  and  the  din  of  the 
shipyard  was  stilled.  The  quaint, 
crooked  streets  crossed  and  zig-zagged 
below.  Above,  on  their  left,  vineyards 
grooved  the  hillsides.  To  the  east  lay 
the  river,  and  through  the  noon-day 
haze  the  tall  spire  of  St.  Catherine's 
rose  like  a  faint  tracery  upon  a  can- 
vas. By  and  by  the  winds  came  up, 
and  white  sails  drifted  down  the  river 
to  the  sea. 

"If  Madame  Tenta  will  sell  us  the 
house  for  five  hundred  rubles,  we  will 
buy  it,"  said  Jan. 

Thus  decided,  they  crossed  the  court- 
yard and  came  to  Madame  Tenta's 
home.  She  bade  them  enter.    Jan  ex- 


UNIVERSITY  9„ 
c  OF  A66 

"Well,  if  you  want  th&-.-house  very 
much,  and  will  sell  your  house  and  pay 
me  two  hundred  rubles  down,  and  the 
rest  at  twenty  rubles  a  month,  I  will 
let  you  have  the  house  for  six  hundred 
rubles,"  offered  Madame  Tenta,  sur- 
reptitiously holding  the  gate  shut  until 
Jan  could  reply. 

"Six  hundred  rubles  is  still  too 
much,"  declared  Jan.  "I  cannot  pay 
so  much." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  suavely  urged 
Madame  Tenta.  "Here,  I  will  give  you 
the  key.  Think  how  your  boy  would 
love  such  a  beautiful  place  when  he 
grows  up." 

Jan's  boy!    Shrewd  Madame  Tenta 


plained  how  he  and  Jagiello  had  hap-      had  pronounced  the  magic  word.    How 


pened  upon  the  house,  and  inquired  the 
price. 

"A  thousand  rubles,"  answered 
Madame  Tenta,  very  promptly. 

A  thousand  rubles!  Jan's  dreams 
went  glimmering  in  an  instant.  "Oh, 
that's  too  much  for  me  ever  to  pay,"  he 
replied.  "We  went  through  the  house 
and  thought  we  might  buy  it  from  you. 
But  a  thousand  rubles — no,  no!" 

He  rose  to  go,  but  Madame  Tenta 
delayed  him  with  another  proposal.  To 
Jagiello  she  said:  "You  were  Jagiello 
Nur  before  you  married  Jan  Rantzau, 
weren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Jagiello. 

"I  remember  you  now.  Madame 
Ujedski  has  often  told  me  about  you." 

Jagiello  started.  Ujedski!  She  had 
not  heard  of  Ujedski  for  a  year. 

"And,  of  course,  if  you  are  a  friend 
of  Madame  Ujedski,  I  might  make 
your  man  a  better  price  on  the  house. 
How  would  eight  hundred  rubles  do  ?" 

"You  are  very  kind  to  reduce  the 
price,  but  I  cannot  pay  so  much,"  re- 
plied Jan.  "I  thought  I  might  buy  the 
house    by    paying    twenty    rubles    a 


Stefan  would  love  the  house !  "Well," 
finally  agreed  Jan,  "I  will  buy  it  for 
six  hundred  rubles."  He  took  the  key 
and  went  away  with  Jagiello,  after 
promising  to  sell  his  house  and  pay 
down  two  hundred  rubles. 

Jan  and  Jagiello  went  back  to  look 
through  the  house  again.  They  could 
see  its  red  roof  through  the  trees,  and 
when  they  reached  the  door  the  army 
or.  willow-wrens  was  still  flashing 
through  the  lindens.  The  house  seemed 
more  wonderful  than  ever. 

Jan  had  bought  some  apples  and  lit- 
tle cakes,  and  as  the  sunset  faded  he 
and  Jagiello  sat  upon  the  threshold  of 
their  new  home  and  watched  the  clouds 
of  fireflies  gleaming  over  the  river.  By 
and  by  they  left  the  doorstep  and  went 
out  under  the  trees,  where  they  sat 
down  on  a  rustic  seat.  How  happy 
they  were!  The  great  thing  they  had 
longed  to  do  for  Stefen  was  about  to 
be  done.  It  filled  Jan  with  pride  and 
joy  to  think  of  laboring  that  his  son 
might  have  so  splendid  a  home  to  in- 
herit from  him. 

The  new  moon  hung  golden  in  the 


month;  but  I  have  a  house  of  my  own,      night  as  the  twilight  passed,  and  just 


so  I  guess  I  had  better  stay  in  it." 

He  rose  again,  and  with  Jagiello 
v/ent  to  the  door.  It  was  very  evident 
that  Madame  Tenta,  having  found 
some  one  interested  in  the  house,  did 
not  intend  to  let  them  escape  without 
purchasing.  She  followed  Jan  out  to 
the  gate. 


above  the  red  roof,  in  the  east,  the 
evening  star  was  brilliant.  It  filled 
their  hearts  with  hope,  for  now  their 
own  star  was  rising,  as  brilliant,  as 
wonderful. 

At  length  they  went  down  across  the 
courtyard  together,  looking  back  time 
and  again  at  the  star  in  the  east,  shin- 


234 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


ing  above  their  new  home. 

A  whitewashed  hut  appeared  sud- 
denly before  them,  strangely  familiar. 
It  had  been  hidden  by  interlacing 
larches.  In  its  window  a  candle  burned 
brightly,  and  a  bent  old  woman  sat  at 
a  table  alone — a  grotesque,  repulsive 
figure. 

Jan  and  Jagiello  stood  stark  still. 

The  old  woman  moved,  and  her 
wrinkled  skin,  like  yellow  parchment, 
could  be  clearly  seen  in  the  candle- 
light. 

It  was  Ujedski. 

Jan  and  Jagiello  passed  quickly  into 
the  street — Jagiello  holding  her  child 
with  suffocating  strength,  as  though 
fearful  that  it  would  be  torn  from  her 
irms. 

Chapter  XV. 

It  was  a  year  before  Ujedski  sum- 
moned the  courage  to  match  her  curi- 
osity, and  crossed  the  courtyard  to 
Jagiello. 

After  that  Sunday  night,  when  Jan 
and  Jagiello  had  discovered  that  the 
hut  of  Ujedski  was  just  across  the 
court,  Jagiello  had  been  haunted  by 
visions  of  the  Jewess  skulking  over 
the  cobblestones  and  slinking  away 
under  her  windows. 

Many  a  time  in  the  heat  of  the  sum- 
mer the  little  mother  had  beheld  the 
beldame's  old  wrinkled  face  flat 
against  her  window  pane,  peering  up  at 
Jagiello's  little  red-roofed  house  be- 
tween the  trees.  When  there  was  no 
wind  the  larches  above  Ujedski's  hovel 
and  the  lindens  above  Jagiello's  home, 
were  motionless,  forming  a  dense 
screen  that  shut  out  all  view  of  each 
house.  But  when  the  wind  blew  in 
from  the  sea  in  mid-afternoon  the  trees 
hummed  and  rocked,  and  at  intervals 
opened  into  clear  spaces.  It  was  then 
that  Jagiello,  ever  apprehensive,  saw 
the  face  of  the  Jewess  pressed  against 
her  window — watching!  watching! 

The  old  woman's  presence  was  more 
terrible  at  a  distance  than  near  at  hand. 
In  the  old  days  when  Jagiello  had  lived 
with  her  and  known  Pasek,  she  had 
never  feared  the  bent  form  nor  the 


broken  voice,  for  although  hard  and 
driving,  Ujedski  had  been  quite  harm- 
less. Now,  however,  it  was  the  secret 
about  Captain  Pasek,  locked  in  her 
breast,  that  made  Ujedski  the  mys- 
terious, horrifying  creature  that  robbed 
Jagiello  of  complete  happiness.  She 
felt  that  if  ever  Jan  learned  her  terri- 
ble secret  it  would  be  through  Ujedski. 

The  girl  had  become  strong  again 
after  the  birth  of  her  child,  and  when 
Jan  was  at  work  under  the  shadows  of 
the  Huascar,  she  spent  her  noondays 
in  the  little  garden  that  she  had  fash- 
ioned, to  Stefen's  constant  amusement. 
Stefan  was  now  nearly  two  years 
eld.  He  had  early  learned  to  walk, 
and  his  daily  excursions  into  the  little 
garden  filled  him  with  crowing  joy. 
The  flowers  and  the  birds  interested 
him  most.  Already  he  could  say 
"Papa"  and  "Mamma"  and  "F'ower 
and  "Bir',  bir'."  One  day  a  thrilling 
adventure  overtook  him.  He  had 
awakened  in  his  basket  in  the  house, 
and  seeing  the  door  open,  had  climbed 
out  and  worked  his  way  into  the  gar- 
den that  lay  in  the  white  sunshine.  On 
the  way  a  little  frog  hopped  in  his 
path,  a  particularly  gay,  exuberant 
little  frog  that  danced  with  all  sorts  of 
funny  capers,  and  threatened  to  attack 
him.  But  Stefan  was  ready  for  him, 
and  seizing  a  stick  he  poked  him  good 
in  the  middle  of  his  fat,  brownish  body. 
Instantly  the  frog  gave  a  strange  "croa- 
k-k-k!  croa-k-k-k!"  flung  itself  into 
the  air  and  leapt  away  in  the  cool  of 
some  lichen-covered  rocks. 

Stefan  gave  a  chortle  of  glee,  and 
his  mother  came  running.  The  little 
fellow  laughed  and  pointed  his  sharp 
stick  after  the  frog,  exclaiming  over 
and  over  again,  "Funny  bir'!  Funny 
bir'!" 

"Oh,  a  funny  bird,"  laughed  Jagiello, 
and  together  they  set  out  to  find  him, 
but  he  had  vanished  into  cool  seclu- 
sion. 

There  was  an  endless  festival  of  fas- 
cination in  that  little  garden. 

Jan  had  caught  some  wood  pigeons 
for  Stefan.  They  lived  in  the  acacias, 
in  a  tiny  green  house  that  Jan  and  Ste- 
fan together  had  made  for  them.    The 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


235 


low  music  of  their  wings  was  heard 
from  dawn  to  dusk.  At  noonday  they 
drank  from  a  fountain  that  Jan  had 
made  from  a  hose  and  some  boulders. 
Stefan  loved  to  watch  them  drinking, 
the  sun  glistening  on  their  blue  wings, 
full  of  soft  melody. 

All  the  wild  winging  things  of  the 
fields  sought  Stefan's  garden.  The  red 
flowers  attracted  the  butterflies.  There 
were  beautiful  silver-washed  ones,  and 
great  tawny-orange  ones,  and  whole 
clouds  of  marbled  white  ones  striped 
with  amber.  They  came  dipping 
through  the  garden,  graceful,  fluttering 
skippers;  and  Stefan  chased  them  in 
vain.  The  white  swaying  bells  of  the 
meadow  lilies,  and  the  fuzzy  foam 
flowers,  won  the  Gamma  moths  that 
sported  in  eddying  spirals.  If  the  sum- 
mer's day  was  hot  the  sky  was  ceru- 
lean, and  the  river  glowing  cobalt.  The 
river  boats,  with  white  sails,  came 
and  went  with  lazy  tooting  and  puf- 
fing. In  the  afternoons  a  snowy  white 
barge  would  go  down  the  river,  drawn 
by  great  black  horses  with  tiny  silver 
bells  on  their  harness,  and  driven  by  a 
boy  with  a  wide  straw  hat.  The  barge 
was  loaded  with  cotton  for  the  gun 
factory.  The  little  bells  would  jin- 
gle musically  and  die  away  as  the  boy 
vanished  along  the  tow-path. 

One  noonday  Jagiello  was  sitting  in 
the  garden  sewing  a  suit  for  Stefan, 
when  she  heard  a  footfall  upon  the 
cobbles.  Looking  up  she  saw  the  fig- 
ure of  old  Ujedski  skulking  among 
the  trees,  peering  uncannily  at  her.  She 
dropped  her  needle  and  started  vio- 
lently. The  Jewess  had  a  black  shawl 
over  her  head,  and  when  she  saw  Ja- 
giello she  stopped  and  stared  at  her 
with  strange  wild  eyes. 

Jagiello  caught  Stefan  by  the  hand. 
"Hello,  Ujedski!"  she  called,  half  in- 
voluntarily, hardly  knowing  what  to 
say. 

"Oh,  you  do  know  me!"  laughed  the 
Jewess,  her  curling  lip  revealing  her 
yellow  teeth,  her  voice  more  cracked 
than  ever  Jagiello  had  heard  it  be- 
fore. 

Reassured,  she  started  forward  and 
came  close  to  Stefan.    She  would  have 


touched  him  upon  his  shock  of  yellow 
hair  had  not  Jagiello  seized  him  and 
pulled  him  quickly  behind  her. 

"Oh,  you  don't  want  me  to  touch 
him!"  sneered  Ujedski,  with  malicious 
mirth.  "A  Nobody  is  not  good  enough, 
I  suppose?  Fie  upon  you  and  your 
little  night  hawk!" 

"He's  not  a  night  hawk!"  protested 
Jagiello,  resentfully,  inwardly  fright- 
ened at  Ujedski's  unnatural  mirth. 

"The  son  of  a  gay  little  night  bird," 
grinned  the  Jewess;  and  again  she  ex- 
tended her  long,  lean  hand,  and  would 
have  touched  the  boy  had  not  Jagiello 
quickly  leapt  aside  with  him. 

At  that  Stefan  began  to  cry,  as  if 
knowing  that  something  was  wrong. 
More  than  once  in  her  dreams  Jagiello 
had  seen  Ujedski  shaking  that  long, 
lean  finger  in  her  face,  and  chasing  her 
away  up  the  hill  toward  the  priest's 
house. 

Smiling  again  her  weird  smile, 
Ujedski  asked: 

"Does  Jan  know?" 

Jagiello  started,  but  tried  to  appear 
unconcerned.    "Know  what?" 

"About  Captain   Pasek?" 

A  sudden  impulse  made  Jagiello  an- 
swer "Yes." 

"What  does  he  think?" 

Jagiello's  face  turned  white. 

"Ujedski,"  she  cried,  "you  go!" 

Instead,  the  Jewess  smiled  evilly  and 
remained  leering  at  her.  "I'll  warrant 
Jan  does  not  know  all.  I'll  tell  him 
myself  some  day." 

Jagiello's  face  showed  terror.  "No, 
no,  Ujedski!"  she  gasped  in  a  panic. 
"Mother  of  God  of  Czenstochowa,  do 
not  tell  Jan!" 

The  overshadowing  fear  that  had 
lain  close  to  Jagiello's  heart  for  many 
months  had  in  this  crisis  disarmed  her 
cunning,  revealed  her  inmost  soul. 

The  Jewess  chuckled.  "I  came 
across  the  court  to  see  if  you  would 
lend  me  twenty  rubles." 

Twenty  rubles!  To  keep  her  secret 
now  was  worth  a  thousand  rubles!  Ja- 
giello picked  up  Stefan  and  went  into 
the  house  as  if  to  search  for  the  rubles 
which  she  knew  in  her  heart  were  not 
there. 


236 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Ujedski  followed  her,  and  when  Ja- 
giello  had  gone  through  the  house  in 
vain  she  showed  the  Jewess  the  empty 
pewter  mug  where  Jan  kept  his  money. 

"Then  I'll  see  Jan!"  said  Ujedski, 
hatefully. 

"No,  no!  You  must  not  tell  Jan 
about  Pasek!  ...  or  about  me  .  .  . 
I  will  pay  you,  Ujedski  ...  but  prom- 
ise you  won't  tell  Jan!  Promise,  Ujed- 
ski!" 

She  dropped  to  her  knees  and 
clutched  at  Ujedski's  bodice  in  tragic 
appeal. 

"I'll  have  the  rubles  for  you  .... 
You  won't  tell!  .  .  .  You  won't  tell!" 

Ujedski  swept  her  aside,  and  sham- 
bled rapidly  away. 

For  a  moment  Jagiello  was  too  dazed 
to  act. 

Then  she  ran  into  the  garden,  cry- 
ing after  her.  But  already  the  bel- 
dame had  crossed  the  cobblestones 
and  vanished  among  the  larches.  Ja- 
giello, desperate,  pale,  ran  among  the 
trees,  her  voice  rising  in  quavering 
accents :  "Oh,  Ujedski !  Oh,  Ujedski !" 
She  searched  and  called  everywhere, 
and  ran  through  the  street.  But  no- 
where was  the  Jewess  visible.  Then 
suddenly  she  heard  the  distant  crying 
of  her  child,  and  she  quickly  retraced 
her  steps  to  the  house,  looking  back 
incessantly  among  the  trees. 

Too  late !  She  might  have  sold  her 
earrings  and  gew-gaws  and  red  silk 
bodice — anything  to  have  bought  Ujed- 
ski's silence.  Too  late!  .  .  .  Jan 
would  surely  know  all  now ! 

Chapter  XVI. 

She  soothed  Stefan  and  carried  him 
into  the  house.  She  sank  into  a  quiv- 
ering heap  on  the  floor,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Her  body  rocked 
and  swayed  in  paroyxsms  of  silent 
grief.  Oh,  why  hadn't  she  told  Jan 
long  ago?  Why  hadn't  she  told  him 
that  night  on  the  priest's  balcony? 
Why  hadn't  she  told  him  in  that  won- 
derful moment  when  she  had  whis- 
pered to  him  of  their  coming  child, 
when  he  would  have  been  so  ready  to 
forgive?     Why  hadn't  God  given  her 


strength  on  her  bed  of  travail  to  tell 
him  of  her  sin?  ...  It  would  have 
been  so  easy  to  have  told  him  then.  If 
only  she  could  live  through  those  mo- 
ments again!  ...  It  would  not  have 
been  so  bad  if  she  herself  had  made 
the  revelation,  but  now  the  evil  whis- 
perings of  Ujedski — the  revulsion  she 
v/as  sure  would  come  to  the  man  she 
loved!  She  sobbed  and  swayed  in  the 
grip  of  her  tragedy.  At  length  Stefan, 
not  understanding,  began  to  laugh.  He 
tottered  over  and,  bending  his  little 
face  close  to  his  mother's,  kissed  her 
tear-stained  cheek.  Jagiello  started 
up,  clutched  Stefan  in  her  arms,  and 
crushed  him  to  her  breast.  "Oh,  my 
Stefan!"  she  cried,  and  again,  "Oh, 
Stefan!    My  little  Stefan!" 

In  the  afternoon  Stefan  fell  asleep 
near  the  open  window,  through  which 
for  so  many  pleasant  months  had  come 
the  merry  sound  of  the  bells  along  the 
river.  Jagiello  could  hear  the  bells 
now,  and  see  the  white  barge.  The 
boy  with  the  big  straw  hat  was  driving 
the  team  along  the  tow-path.  He  would 
return  long  after  sunset,  when  the  night 
was  shot  with  stars.  What  memories 
of  happy  days! 

As  sunset  came  the  army  of  willow- 
wrens  flared  off  into  the  rice  flats.  Af- 
ter a  long  while  Jagiello  went  to  the 
door  from  which  she  could  look  past 
the  gun  factory  to  the  shipyard  and  the 
outlines  of  the  Huascar.  She  could 
see  the  roaring  pipes  of  white  steam 
mounting  into  the  air  side  by  side  with 
great  trumpet-shaped  chimneys,  out  of 
which  belched  red  flame  and  saffron 
smoke.  In  half  an  hour  Jan  would  re- 
turn to  her.  Ujedski  would  meet  him 
and  tell  him.    And  then  .  .  .   ! 

Suddenly  she  grew  quite  calm.  What 
she  should  do  came  to  her  in  one  re- 
vealing flash.  All  confusion  died  out 
in  her  mind.  She  crossed  the  room  to 
Stefan,  and  bending  low  over  his  sleep- 
ing face — the  face  of  Jan — kissed  his 
dewy  lips.  Then  she  took  down  her 
azure  shawl  and  in  it  wrapped  her  few 
poor  trinkets.  She  got  paper  from  the 
table  drawer  and  wrote  this  brief  note : 

"Forgive  me,  dear  Jan.  I  love  you 
more  than  I  can  ever  tell  you,  but  be- 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


237 


cause  of  the  past  I  must  go  away.  Per- 
haps you  already  know.  I  am  not  fit 
to  be  your  wife  or  Stefan's  mother.  Oh, 
forgive  me,  Jan !  Do  not  try  to  follow, 
for  I  will  be  a  long,  long  way  off  .  ." 

She  signed  her  name ;  then  taking  up 
a  second  sheet  of  paper,  she  wrote  a 
note  to  Ujedski: 

"I  have  gone  away  to  die,  for  I  could 
never  stand  to  have  Jan  know  what 
you  know." 

In  the  hush  of  the  sunset  she  went 
out  across  the  courtyard  and  down  into 
Ujedski's  hovel,  where  once  she  had 
sinned.  The  did  Jewess  had  not  yet 
returned.  She  pushed  open  the  door, 
stole  to  the  table,  left  the  note  under 
the  iron  candlestick,  and  noiselessly 
passed  out  again.  No  one  noticed  her 
as  she  slipped  away  between  the  trees 
along  the  river  bank,  back  toward  her 
home  in  the  fair  southern  fields  of 
Guor,  whence  she  had  come — no  one 
save  the  army  of  willow-wrens  calling 
high  in  the  flaming  sky,  flying  back 
to  the  lindens  in  the  little  garden  .  .  . 
flying  back  gayly  .  .  . 

Chapter  XVII. 

Jan  returned  at  dusk. 

He  crossed  the  little  garden  where 
the  improvised  fountain  was  still 
spraying  the  water  lilies.  He  looked, 
as  was  his  custom,  up  into  the  door- 
way as  he  approached.  Jagiello  was 
not  there.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
they  were  married  that  she  had  not 
been  waiting  to  greet  him. 

Usually  she  waved  to  him  before  he 
came  within  hailing  distance ;  then  she 
would  call  to  him,  holding  Stefan  aloft 
in  her  arms,  waving  his  tiny  hand.  That 
moment  was  worth  the  whole  day  of 
grinding  toil  to  Jan :  it  had  become  the 
thing  he  lived  for. 

But  to-night  Jagiello  was  not  there. 
Perhaps  she  was  too  busy  in  the  house. 
Perhaps  the  clock  had  stopped.  Or 
she  had  not  heard  the  whistle.  Or  even 
she  might  have  run  over  the  knoll  to 
Marya  Ballandyna's,  as  she  sometimes 
did  during  the  day,  taking  Stefan  with 
her. 

Jan  entered  the  house. 

The  rooms  seemed  strangely,  unac- 


countably silent.  Stefan's  basket  was 
under  the  window.  Jan  looked  in  it. 
There  lay  his  boy,  peacefully  sleeping. 
Ah!  it  was  all  right  now.  Jagiello 
must  be  near. 

He  went  from  room  to  room,  think- 
ing she  might  not  have  heard  him  come 
in.  "Jagiello!"  he  called  softly,  to 
avoid  waking  Stefan.  There  was  no 
answer,  save  the  echo  of  his  voice.  He 
went  out  into  the  garden  and  looked 
tnrough  the  trees,  and  called  her  name 
over  and  over.  "Jagiello,  oh,  Jagiello!" 
But  there  was  no  answering  call.  Fear 
began  to  steal  into  his  heart.  Surely 
she  would  not  go  far  and  leave  Stefan 
here  alone.  And  yet,  why  did  she  not 
answer  ? 

He  went  back  into  the  house  again 
and  lit  a  candle,  and  once  more  bent 
over  Stefan. 

Then  he  saw,  pinned  to  the  side  of 
the  baby's  basket,  the  note  that  she 
had  left  for  him. 

He  set  the  candle  down  on  the  table, 
and  with  trembling,  eager  fingers  op- 
ened the  note  and  read  it. 

His  face  grew  ashen.  His  great 
fists,  like  sledges,  crumpled  the  paper. 
He  stood  stark  still,  stunned,  incredu- 
lous, gazing  around  the  room  in  child- 
like wonder.  .  .  .  Jagiello  gone?  .  .  . 
Where?  .  .  .  Why?  .  .  .  Turbulent 
questions  surged  through  his  bewil- 
dered brain.  The  look  in  his  eyes  re- 
flected the  pain  that  stabbed  his  heart. 

In  the  dancing,  fantastic  shadows 
from  the  candle  on  the  table  his  huge 
frame  loomed  black  against  the  white 
wall,  the  shadow  of  a  Titan.  He  felt 
as  though  some  unseen  enemy  had 
struck  at  him.  He  went  to  the  table, 
and  in  the  candle's  glow  opened  the 
crushed  ball  of  paper  in  his  hand.  Over 
and  over  he  read  the  message  that 
pierced  him  like  a  knife  thrust.  The 
very  words  sounded  unreal.  The  whole 
situation  seemed  impossible,  uncanny. 

His  mind  reconstructed  the  events  of 
that  morning  before  he  had  left  her.  He 
went  over  every  detail. 

They  had  risen  at  five  o'clock.  While 
he  was  dressing  Jagiello  had  cooked 
his  breakfast.  He  had  eaten  kaszia, 
rye  bread  and  honey,  and  had  drunk 


238 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


black  coffee  without  milk  or  sugar.  He 
remembered  her  standing  above  him, 
pouring  the  coffee  into  his  mug.  Then 
she  had  placed  the  coffee  pot  back  on 
the  porcelain  stove  and  come  to  him 
and  kissed  him.  "Go  right  on  eating," 
she  had  said;  "don't  let  my  silly  little 
kisses  bother  you."  And  she  had 
laughed — that  little  bell-like  tinkle  of 
a  laugh  that  he  had  always  loved ;  and 
he  felt  the  pressure  of  her  soft  arms 
around  his  shoulders.  Then  after  a 
while  she  had  talked  of  Stefan.  He  re- 
membered that  she  had  said:  "Next 
week  we  will  have  Father  Mamarja 
christen  our  little  son."  He  repeated 
those  words  over  and  over  to  himself 
until  he  lost  their  meaning.  "Next 
week ! — next  week ! — next  week !"  That 
showed  that  she  was  not  thinking  of 
going  away.  No!  This  terrible  thing 
had  come  out  of  the  skies — had  sud- 
denly struck  him  when  he  was  away. 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  door.  The 
stars  blazed  in  the  summer  sky  like 
candles  at  Yuletide.  From  the  river 
came  the  fresh  breath  of  the  wind,  and 
he  could  see  tiny  points  of  flame  from 
the  lanterns  of  barges.  He  remem- 
bered, dully,  that  about  this  time  every 
night  the  boy  with  the  straw  hat  drove 
the  horses  past  that  pulled  the  barge 
of  cotton  from  the  fields  of  Lorilla.  The 
night  was  so  peaceful.  He  had  been 
so  happy.  This  sudden  catastrophe 
seemed  impossible. 

"It  can't  be  true!"  he  cried  to  him- 
self. "It  can't  be  true!"  Then  a  sud- 
den thought  came  to  him.  It  was  her 
little  joke!  Ah,  yes!  he  might  have 
known.  She  only  wanted  to  fool  him, 
to  see  what  he  would  do.  She  wanted 
to  see  his  face  turn  white,  and  his  mus- 
cles grow  taut,  and  his  breath  come 
hard  as  he  read  her  letter.  Then  she 
wanted  to  see  what  he  would  say,  and 
presently  she  would  run  out  of  her  hid- 
ing place  into  his  arms — laughing,  sat- 
isfied! .  .  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of 
that  in  the  first  place  ?  It  was  so  sim- 
ple. Of  course  nothing  had  happened. 
What  a  fool  he  was !  Well,  he  had  read 
the  note,  and  hij  face  had  paled,  and 
his  muscles  had  grown  taut  with  the 
shock.  Now  why  didn't  she  come  forth, 


confessing  her  artfulness,  and  let  him 
catch  her  in  his  great  arms  and  swing 
her  high  in  air,  and  kiss  her  as  she 
came  down  ? 

He  looked  around  the  room  again — 
at  the  table  so  neatly  arranged  for  his 
supper;  at  Stefan's  basket  under  the 
window,  with  the  honeysuckle  vines 
trailing  in ;  at  the  white  Swiss  curtains ; 
at  the  brown  screen  in  the  corner;  at 
the  fireplace  with  the  copper  crucifix 
in  the  black  velvet  frame  above  it;  at 
the  green  serge  hangings  of  the  clothes 
recess.  She  might  be  hiding  behind 
the  screen — or  she  might  be  in  the 
closet.  She  was  surely  in  the  one 
place  or  the  other. 

He  laughed  at  himself  for  having 
been  so  stupid.  Hadn't  she  often  said 
to  him,  with  a  pert  toss  of  her  golden 
head:  "You  don't  love  me!"  And  as 
often  as  he  repeated  his  protest  of  love, 
hadn't  she  confronted  him  again  with 
the  accusation  in  the  charming  little 
way  she  had  that  made  his  pulses  ham- 
mer and  his  breath  come  fast?  .... 
Now  she  was  testing  her  accusation  of 
fading  love.  She  had  grown  tired  of 
his  mere  words.  She  had  loved  him 
so  that  the  woman  in  her  demanded 
more  than  verbal  announcement  of 
love:  she  wanted  visual  evidence  of 
his  affection.    Ah,  yes,  that  was  it  .   ! 

So  Jan  sat  down  and  began  to  eat  his 
supper.  After  a  few  moments  he  said, 
as  though  addressing  her  opposite  him : 
"Well,  you  little  monkey,  why  don't 
you  come  out?"  His  voice  broke  hol- 
lowly in  the  silence.  He  waited  for 
Jagiello's  answer,  but  as  the  moments 
raced  by  no  answer  came.  When  he 
could  bear  the  horrible  suspense  no 
longer  he  got  up  and  pushed  forward 
toward  the  screen.  He  was  ablaze 
with  anger.  It  was  all  right  to  play  at 
going  away,  but  there  was  a  time  to 
stop.  His  eyes  dilated,  his  breath 
whistled  from  his  body,  his  voice 
boomed  in  the  little  room :  "Come  out, 
Jagiello!    Come  out!" 

With  a  single  blow  he  knocked  the 
screen  to  the  floor.  There  was  no  one 
behind  it. 

He  turned  to  the  clothes  recess.  He 
caught  the  green  serge  curtains  that 


ACHIEVEMENT. 


239 


Jagiello  had  spent  days  embroidering 
with  red  butterflies,  and  tore  them 
from  their  rods.  He  groped  among  the 
clothes,  but  only  the  clothes  met  his 
eager  hands  .  .  .  Jagiello  was  not 
there. 

His  anger  went  suddenly  from  him, 
as  quickly  as  it  had  blazed  up. 

He  strode  to  the  doorway.  He  went 
down  into  the  little  garden,  calling 
"Jagiello !  Oh,  Jagiello  I"  But  only  the 
wind  in  the  larches  answered  him. 

He  stood  helpless  in  the  garden,  not 
knowing  where  to  seek  her,  not  know- 
ing what  to  do. 

Then  his  son  began  to  cry.  He  hur- 
ried quickly  back  into  the  house.    He 


picked  the  little  fellow  up  tenderly 
and  folded  him  passionately  to  his 
breast.  But  still  he  cried:  "Mamma! 
Mamma!"  Jan  walked  him  across  the 
floor,  trying  to  soothe  him.  But  the 
little  man  only  sobbed  for  his  mother. 

Jan  put  him  back  in  his  basket. 

He  stood  looking  down  at  him.  His 
great  heart  broke,  and  tears  dimmed 
his  eyes.  Of  what  use  could  he  be  to 
a  child  that  cried  for  its  mother,  he,  the 
gnarled  Titan,  the  man  who  knew  only 
how  to  toil? 

With  swift  impulse  he  strode  into 
the  doorway  and  bellowed  across  the 
court : 

"Ujedski!" 


(To  be  continued.) 


ACHIEVEMENT 


Great  things  await  the  turn  of  each  man's  hand. 

Tremendous  issues  hang  upon  the  fate 

Of  our  arrival  elsewhere  soon  or  late. 

For  one  must  build  a  house  upon  the  sand, 

One  must  write  a  book  that  none  can  understand, 

Another  has  a  legacy  of  hate, 

And  rushes  off  to  spend  his  vast  estate, 

While  some  seek  love  with  prayer  and  vain  command. 

Colossal  projects  grow  each  busy  day 

And  towering  plans  mature  through  brain  and  brawn ; 

The  hands  fly  fast,  the  dreams  leap  fierce  and  far, 

Till  men  turn  proud  and  boast  along  the  way! 

And  meanwhile,  through  the  day,  the  dark,  the  dawn, 

There  spins  this  lost  and  wandering  star. 

Joe  Whitnah. 


The  Mexican  Deputation  Sent  to  Austria  to  Invite  Archduke  Maximilian  to  Accept  the  Mexican  Crown 


Aaximilian  I  of  /Mexico 


By  Evelyn  Hall 


THE  DEATH  of  the  late  Em- 
peror Francis  Joseph  of  Aus- 
tria (November  21,  1916), 
"Emperor  of  Sorrow,"  as  he 
has  been  termed,  recalls  to  mind  one 
if  not  the  Emperor's  first  great  sor- 
rows: that  of  the  untimely  and  brutal 
death  of  his  brother  Maximilian. 

Maximilian,  known  in  his  early  life 
as  Ferdinand  Maximilian  Joseph, 
Archduke  of  Austria,  was  the  second 
son  of  Archduke  Francis  Charles  and 
Archduchess  Frederica  Sophia.  He 
married  Princess  Maria  Charlotte 
Amelia,  daughter  of  King  Leopold  I 
of  Belgium.  This  marriage  was  not, 
as  is  often  the  case  amongst  the  roy- 
alty of  Europe,  for  diplomatic  reasons, 
but  purely  a  love  match.  The  young 
Archduke  wooed  and  won  the  beauti- 
ful Princess  Charlotte.    She  possessed 


the  rare  traits  of  character  that  made 
her  loved  by  all  whom  she  met,  but 
mingled  with  her  gentleness  and  mild- 
ness of  disposition  was  an  underlying 
pride  and  ambition;  it  was  this  ambi- 
tion that  was  instrumental  in  making 
Maximilian  forsake  his  home,  the 
Palace  of  Miramar  in  Trieste,  to  be- 
come Emperor  of  Mexico. 

Maximilian  did  not  hanker  for 
power,  and  it  took  some  persuasion  on 
the  part  of  Napoleon  III,  who  repre- 
sented Mexico,  to  be  "a  great  Latin 
State,  organised  and  disciplined  in 
European  fashion  in  an  ancient  Span- 
ish colony."  The  entreaties  of  Nap- 
oleon III,  coupled  with  his  wife's  de- 
sire for  power,  finally  overcame  his 
better  judgment.  He  was  led  to  be- 
lieve the  people  would  unanimously 
welcome  his  arrival.    Instead  he  found 


MAXIMILIAN  I  OF  MEXICO 


241 


.'■■■,::::■      &3    <*       £*'£»        ;\ 


C^rZ&pt-.  C^^^2%<7.. 


it  a  discordered  land,  seething  with 
corruption.  The  country  divided  its 
support  between  Maximilian  and 
Benito  Juarez,  President  prior  to  his 
arrival. 

The  French  people,  feeling  the  ex- 
pedition a  costly  one,  along  with  the 
attitude  of  resentment  on  the  part  of 
the  United  States  in  European  inter- 
ference in  attempting  to  establish  a 
monarchy  on  the  continent  of  North 
America,  Emperor  Napoleon  withdrew 
all  the  French  troops,  thus  leaving 
Maximilian  to  face  the  situation  alone. 

Meanwhile  the  Empress  returned  to 
Europe  to  enlist  support  for  Maxi- 
milian, shortly  after  her  arrival  her 
reason  left  her.  Ambition  was  paid 
for  at  a  terrible  price  by  the  Empress, 
for  after  all  these  fifty  years  she  is 


still  insane.  Her  home  is  in  a  chateau 
in  the  village  of  Bouchout,  Belgium. 
At  present  she  is  cut  off  from  all  her 
own  people  and  lives  surrounded  by 
Germans. 

While  defending  Queretaro  against 
a  Liberal  force  led  by  General  Esco- 
bedo..  Maximillian  was  betrayed  by 
General  Lopez,  whom  he  had  made 
a  confidant  of,  on  the  night  of  May  14, 
1867.  He  was  imprisoned  with  two 
of  his  generals,  Mejia  and  Miramon. 
The  three  prisoners  were  tried,  found 
guilty,  and  condemned  to  be  shot  June 
19,  1867. 


"^W 


Old  Male  Elephant  Seal  Ready  for  Battle 


The  Remarkable  Elephant  Seal 


By  Lillian  E.  Zen 


NATURALISTS  all  over  the 
world,  especially  the  U.  S.  Gov- 
ernment, have  been  greatly  in- 
terested of  late  in  a  beach  some 
400  yards  long  by  30  in  width  on  the 
isolated  Island  of  Guadalupe.  Here, 
on  this  remote  and  uninhabited  Island, 
lying  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  miles  off  the  northern 
part  of  the  Peninsula  of  Lower  Cali- 
fornia, has  been  discovered  the  only 
rookery  left,  and  the  last  standhold  on 
the  Western  Continent  of  the  northern 
elephant  seal.  This  is  the  largest  of 
all  seals,  long  since  thought  to  have 
disappeared,  and  likewise  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  marine  mammals  ex- 
isting to-day.     Aside  from  its   great 


size,  16  feet  and  more,  the  chief  fea- 
ture of  interest  of  these  animals  is 
centered  in  the  strange  appearance  of 
the  head  caused  by  an  elephant  like 
trunk  or  snout,  measuring  in  the  adult 
males  nearly  a  foot  or  more  in  length. 
The  re-discovery  of  this,  the  only  herd 
of  northern  elephant  seals  living  to- 
day, was  made  by  Dr.  Charles  H. 
Townsend,  director  of  the  New  York 
Aquarium,  who  commanded  an  expe- 
dition on  the  U.  S.  Fisheries  steam- 
ship "Albatross"  to  Lower  California, 
to  study  the  fishery  resources  and  to 
obtain  specimens  of  this  region.  By 
a  special  arrangement  with  the  U.  S. 
Bureau  of  Fisheries,  the  New  York 
Zoological  Society  and  the  Museum  of 


THE  REMARKABLE  ELEPHANT  SEAL 


243 


Natural  History  were  enabled  to  co- 
operate in  this  voyage.  This  magazine 
is  able  to  present  one  of  the  interest- 
ing field  photographs  taken  by  Dr. 
Townsend,  showing  the  curious  ap- 
pearance and  various  attitudes  as- 
sumed by  the  elephant  seals,  along 
with  a  general  description  of  their  life, 
habits,  etc.,  hitherto  not  fully  known. 
The  elephant  seal  formerly  had  a 
range  of  nearly  one  thousand  miles 
from  Magdalena  Bay  northward  to 
near  San  Francisco,  and  they  were 
abundant  on  all  the  islands  off  the 
west  coast  of  Lower  California.  Be- 
ing valuable  for  its  oil,  it  was  killed 
in  large  numbers  for  commercial  pur- 
poses until  it  was  thought  to  be  prac- 
tically extinct.  The  oil  is  worth  about 
fifty  cents  a  gallon.  A  sixteen  foot 
elephant  seal  is  said  to  yield  from  200 
to  250  gallons  of  oil.  The  animals 
are  killed  by  shooting;  the  skins  have 
no  commercial  value.  A  small  herd 
of  eight  were  found  some  twenty 
years  ago  by  Dr.  Townsend  on  the 
same  island  while  hunting  for  a  spe- 
cies of  the  fur  seal;  however,  as  no 
report  had  been  received  from  this 
region  in  the  interval  it  was  thought 
that  this  remnant  of  a  herd  had  been 
exterminated  and  therefore  there  was 
little  hope  of  its  continued  existence. 
The  recent  rediscovery  of  a  herd  of 
a  considerable  size  has  been  a  matter 
of  great  surprise  and  of  important 
zoological  interest.  •  The  new  herd  of 
elephant  seals  were  discovered  by  Dr. 
Townsend  on  the  northwest  side  of 
Guadalupe  Island  after  a  half  day's 
search.  Here,  on  a  sandy  beach  some 
400  yards  in  length  by  30  in  width, 
under  high  and  impassable  rocks,  and 
flanked  by  cliffs  that  extend  into  the 
sea,  was  located  the  rookery  and 
breeding  place  of  the  herd  of  150  ele- 
phant seals.  Their  habitat,  known  as 
Elephant  Beach,  is  accessible  from 
the  sea  only,  and  is  usually  further 
protected  by  a  heavy  surf.  The  col- 
ony of  seals  was  found  scattered  in 
family  groups  along  the  beach,  and 
watched  the  landing  party  in  their 
boats  with  apparent  indifference.  The 
herd  consisted  chiefly  of  large  males, 


females,  yearlings  and  new  born  pups. 
A  number  of  adult  males  were  sur- 
rounded by  newly  born  young,  and  the 
indications  were  that  the  breeding  sea- 
son was  just  commencing  at  this  time 
of.  the  year,  which  was  March,  and 
therefore  it  was  thought  that  other 
adult  females  would  arrive  later.  The 
seals  had  little  fear  of  man,  which  af- 
forded unusual  opportunities  for  se- 
curing close  range  photographs  show- 
ing them  in  their  various  attitudes. 
Unless  actually  teased  by  members  of 
the  party,  the  old  animals  did  not  at- 
tempt to  leave  the  beach,  and  many  of 
them  did  not  raise  their  heads  from 
the  sand  until  closely  approached,  al- 
though wide  awake.  When  driven 
from  a  comfortable  resting  place  they 
would  soon  settle  down,  and  after 
throwing  sand  on  their  backs  with 
their  front  flippers,  become  quiet 
again.  Both  young  and  old  have  the 
habit  of  covering  themselves  with 
sand  when  settling  down  to  rest.  The 
females,  although  but  little  molested 
appeared  to  be  even  more  passive  than 
the  males.  Some  of  the  large  males, 
after  being  driven  into  the  sea,  soon 
returned.  While  in  the  water  they  re- 
mained near  the  surf,  disregarding  the 
boats  which  passed  near  them,  the 
head  being  usually  held  well  above 
water,  with  the  proboscis  partially  re- 
tracted. When  making  a  landing  the 
large  male  does  so  very  slowly,  with 
frequent  pauses,  from  time  to  time 
raising  and  spreading  the  hind  flip- 
pers to  get  the  benefit  of  each  low 
wave  that  helps  him  through  the  shal- 
lows. When  finally  clear  of  the  water 
and  dependent  upon  his  own  efforts  in 
getting  his  ponderous  bulk  to  a  dry 
place  well  up  the  sloping  beach,  pro- 
gress becomes  very  slow,  but  the  ele- 
phant seal  is  able  to  crawl  long  dis- 
tances. The  males  measured  sixteen 
feet  in  length  with  average  girth  of 
eleven  feet.  The  adult  female  meas- 
ured eleven  feet.  The  color  of  the 
adults  is  yellowish  brown,  the  younger 
animals  grayish  brown,  and  newly 
born  pups  dusky  black.  The  skin  of 
the  adult  male  is  exceedingly  heavy, 
being   an   inch  thick  about  the   fore 


244 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


part  of  the  neck.  The  carcasses  of 
the  sixteen  foot  seal  were  so  heavy 
that  it  required  the  strength  of  a 
half  dozen  men  to  turn  them  over  with 
the  aid  of  a  rope  and  hand-holds  cut 
in  the  skin.  The  blubber  was  found 
to  be  about  four  inches  thick  in  some 
places.  The  most  striking  and  re- 
markable feature  of  this  animal,  and 
from  which  it  takes  its  name,  is  a 
curious  elongated  trunk  or  snout  which 
attains  a  length  equal  to  the  remain- 
der of  the  head.  This  thick  and 
heavy  appendage  has  a  length  of  ten 
inches  or  more  forward  from  the 
canine  teeth,  and  is  fibrous  and 
fleshy  throughout;  when  fully  expand- 
ed it  exhibits  three  bulging  transverse 
folds  on  top  separated  by  deep 
grooves.  The  trunk  is  not  capable  of 
inflation,  but  is  retracted  into  heavy 
folds  on  top  of  the  head  by  muscular 
action.  This  snout  is  somewhat  pro- 
trusible,  but  when  not  elongated  hangs 
in  a  pendulous  fashion  over  the  mouth 
— when  sleeping  it  rests  upon  the 
sands,  a  shapeless  mass.  In  fighting, 
the  large  males  crawl  slowly  and  la- 
boriously within  striking  distance,  and 
then  rearing  on  the  front  flippers  and 
drawing  the  heavy  pendant  proboscis 
into  wrinkled  folds  well  up  on  top  of 
the  snout,  strike  at  each  other's  necks 
with  their  large  canine  teeth.     This 


is  accompanied  with  more  or  less 
noise  and  snorting.  In  fighting,  the 
proboscis  is  closely  retracted,  and  the 
seal  is  apparently  successful  in  keep- 
ing it  out  of  harm's  way,  as  many  of 
the  animals  with  badly  damaged 
necks  were  found  to  have  trunks  show- 
ing no  injury  at  all.  The  fighting  is  not 
of  a  fatal  or  desperate  sort,  and  the 
contestants  soon  separate.  There 
seems  to  be  no  actual  seizing  and  hold- 
ing of  the  skin,  and  after  each  sharp 
blow  the  head  is  quickly  withdrawn 
and  held  aloft.  The  fore  flippers  are 
large  and  thick,  and  have  very  heavy 
claws. 

One  of  the  curious  features  devel- 
oped for  protection  in  their  beach  bat- 
tles is  a  "shield"  covering  the  part  of 
the  animal  mostly  exposed  to  attack 
when  fighting.  This  extends  from  the 
throat  just  below  the  base  of  the  jaws, 
down  to  the  level  of  the  flippers  and 
rather  more  than  half  way  back  on 
each  side  of  the  neck  and  breast.  The 
skin  is  greatly  thickened,  practically 
hairless,  and  years  of  fighting  has 
given  it  an  exceedingly  rough  and 
calloused  surface,  producing  an  ar- 
mored breast  plate.  Though  freely  ex- 
posed to  the  enemy  and  ugly  wounds 
are  inflicted  by  the  large  canines,  the 
heavy  skin  in  no  case  seemed  to  be 
broken  through. 


TO   ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 


Immortal  hero,  who  from  common  clay 
Emerged  a  masterpiece!    Titanic  soul, 
Rough-hewn  of  tragedy,  ye  paid  the  toll 
Of  Freedom;  thy  clear  vision  lit  the  way 
For  Liberty  .  .  .  We  hail  thy  natal  day 
God's  gift!    Thy  charity,  writ  on  the  scroll 
Of  troublous  years,  helped  unify  this  whole 
Fair  land.    The  halo  of  self-victory  lay 
Upon  thy  brow,  and  always  poet's  pen 
Must  falter  ere  it  but  the  half  express. 
So  humble,  yet  thou  wert  a  Man  of  Men, 
Where  such  are  measured  by  their  tenderness 
And  valor.    What  though  criticised  has  been 
Thy  grace  of  form — none  think  to  love  thee  less ! 

Jo  Hartman. 


Experiences  of  an  Oregon  Pioneer 


By  Fred  Lochley 


Judge  Wm.  H.  Packwood  of  Oregon 

WILLIAM  H.  Packwood,  of 
Baker  County,  Oregon,  is  the 
last  surviving  member  of  the 
Oregon  State  Constitutional 
Convention  held  in  Salem,  Oregon,  in 
the  fall  of  1857.  Among  the  sixty 
delegates  who  met  on  the  seventeenth 
of  August  in  the  Marion  County 
Courthouse  to  frame  a  constitution  to 
be  submitted  to  the  voters  of  the  State 
were  many  who  later  achieved  State- 
wide or  Nation-wide  distinction.  Geo. 
H.  Williams,  Oregon's  "Grand  <  Old 
Man,"  became  a  member  of  President 
Grant's  cabinet;  Delazon  Smith  rep- 
resented Oregon  in  the  United  States 
Senate;  L.  F.  Grover  became  Gov- 
ernor of  Oregon,  as  also  did  Stephen 
F.  Chadwick;  Reuben  P.  Boise  and 
P.  P.  Prim  both  sat  on  the  Supreme 
Bench  in  Oregon;  Matthew  P.  Deady, 
the  President  of     the     Constitutional 


Ccnvention,  became  one  of  Oregons 
most  distinguished  jurists;  Chester  N. 
Terry,  the  secretary  of  the  Conven- 
tion, achieved  fame  in  California  in 
later  years.  Some  of  the  delegates 
had  already  achieved  State  wide 
fame.  Jesse  Applegate,  the  leader  of 
the  "Cow  Column,"  A.  L.  Lovejoy,  the 
founder  of  Portland;  Captain  Levi 
Scott,  the  founder  of  Scottsburg,  and 
many  of  the  older  delegates  had  come 
by  ox  team  across  the  plains  to  Ore- 
gon in  the  middle  forties,  when  Ore- 
gon was  under  the  Provisional  govern- 
ment and  had  served  in  the  Provis- 
ional as  well  as  the  Territorial  gov- 
ernment. Fifty-nine  of  the  sixty  dele- 
gates have  taken  the  long  trail  that 
leads  over  the  Divide — the  one-way 
trail.  William  H.  Packwood,  the  only 
living  delegate,  at  the  age  of  84  is  hale 
and  hearty  and  as  much  interested  in 
the  welfare  of  Oregon  as  he  was  fifty- 
eight  years  ago,  when  he  helped  frame 
Oregon's  constitution. 

Judge  Packwood  was  born  on  Oc- 
tober 23d,  1832,  near  Mt.  Vernon,  Illi- 
nois. "My  mother's)  death  when  I 
was  twelve  years  old  threw  me  on  my 
own  resources,"  said  Judge  Packwood. 
"I  peddled  bread  in  Pap's  town,  as 
East  St.  Louis  was  then  called.  This 
proving  pretty  slim  picking,  I  took  up 
any  work  that  offered,  working  on 
farms  or  grocery  stores,  or  any  other 
job  I  could  secure.  In  1848,  while  in 
Springfield,  Illinois,  I  wrote  eighteen 
on  two  slips  of  paper,  put  a  slip  in 
each  shoe  and  truthfully  swore  that  I 
was  'over  18'  and  was  enlisted  in  the 
Mounted  Rifles.  While  I  was  but  six- 
teen I  was  large  for  my  age,  and  had 
been  doing  a  man'  swork  on  the  farm 
for  some  time.  I  was  assigned  to  Jef- 
ferson Barracks  in  Missouri.  In  Feb- 
ruary, 1849,  we  were  ordered  to  East 
Leavenworth,  where  our  company  was 
recruited  to  its  full  strength,  and 
horses,  rifles,  revolvers  and  sabres 
were  issued  to  us.  On  May  10th  camp 
was  broken,  and  our  regiment  under 


246                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 

the  command  of  Colonel  Loring  start-  Auburn  diggings  in     Baker     County, 

ed  on  their  long  overland  march  for  Oregon.    I  have  recently  found  a  good 

Oregon.    I  was  selected  as  one  of  the  prospect  in  the  Burnt  River  country, 

military  escort  of  25  men  to  accom-  and  I  am  planning  to  open  it  up." 

pany  General  Wilson,  who  had  been  At  the  last  session  of  the  Oregon 

appointed  Commissioner     of     Indian  Legislature  a  well  deserved  and  uni- 

Affairs  tor  the  Pacific  Coast.    We  left  que  honor  was  paid  Judge  Packwood. 

for    California    on    June    5th,    and  The  House  and  Senate  met  in  joint 

reached  Sacramento  on  November  5th.  session,  and  in  the  presence  of  both 

Of  the  200  head  of  mules  and  horses  houses  the  supreme  judge  and  other 

with  which  we  started,  all  but  19  had  State  officials,  the  Governor  presented 

died  on  the  way  across     the     plains.  Mr.   Packwood  with     the     following 

When  we  reached  Sacramento  our  es-  resolutions: 

cort  of  25  men  was  reduced  to  four  rr           _                ,   _       ,     .        „ 

men  by  desertions.     We  were  being  House  Concurrent  Resolution    No.    8 

paid  about  $8  a  month,  and  as  from  Whereas,  Judge  William  H.  Pack- 
$12  to  $15  a  day  was  being  paid  in  wood,  of  Baker,  Oregon,  was  a  dele- 
the  mines,  it  proved  too  strong  a  gate  from  Curry  County  to  the  Con- 
temptation  for  most  of  our  men.  With  stitutional  convention  that  framed  the 
some  other  troops  we  were  quartered  constitution  of  the  State  of  Oregon  and 
in  an  adobe  building  at  Sonoma  in  a  is  the  sole  surviving  member  of  that 
part  of  which  General  Vallejo,  the  delegation  of  distinguished  pioneers, 
former  Spanish  governor  of  Califor-  and  has  been  prominentiy  identified 
nia,  was  living.  Persifer  F.  Smith,  with  many  leading  events  in  the  his- 
who  had  won  his  spurs  under  General  tory  of  Oregon  since  1850,  as  Captain 
Scott  in  Mexico  a  year  or  so  before,  of  the  Coquille  Guards  in  the  Indian 
was  in  command  of  the  Division  of  the  wars,  as  drafter  of  portions  of  the 
Pacific.  Colonel  Joe  Hooker  was  Ad-  equitable  rules  and  laws  governing  the 
jutant-General  and  Lieutenant  Alfred  early  mining  districts,  and  as  scout, 
Pleasanton  was  aide-de-camp.  trail  blazer,  capitalist  and  historian, 

"In  the  spring  of  1850  I  was  sent  to  Whereas,  it  is  proper  that  the  State 
Vancouver  Barracks  to  rejoin  my  of  Oregon,  through  their  Legislature, 
company.  A  few  weeks  after  my  ar-  should  extend  to  Judge  Wm.  H.  Pack- 
rival  at  our  post  on  the  Columbia  River  ard  in  this  his  84th  year  a  token  of 
our  company  was  ordered  to  Benicia,  their  gratitude  for  his  public  services, 
in  California.     We  were  there  from  now  therefore 

May,  1850,  till  August  of  the  same  Be  it  Resolved,  the  House,  the  Sen- 
year,  when  we  were  sent  to  Northern  ate  concurring,  that  the  28th  Legisla- 
California.  Returning  to  Benicia  tive  Assembly  of  the  State  of  Oregon 
some  time  later  we  were  ordered  to  hereby  recognizes  and  expresses  its 
go  to  Port  Orford  on  the  Oregon  Coast  appreciation  of  the  high  standard  of 
to  protect  the  settlers  from  the  In-  life  of  Judge  Wm.  H.  Packwood,  and 
dians.  We  started  late  in  December,  of  his  public  services  as  one  of  that 
1851,  in  a  leaky  and  overloaded  old  band  of  intrepid  pioneers  that  blazed 
tub  of  a  boat.  We  were  shipwrecked  the  way  for  the  march  of  civilization 
at  the  mouth  of  Coos  River,  and  we  in  the  Oregon  country,  and 
stayed  on  Coos  Bay  from  January  1st  Be  it  further  Resolved,  That  a  copy 
to  the  following  May,  when  we  of  this  resolution  be  engrossed,  signed 
marched  overland  to  Port  Orford.  At  by  the  governor  the  president  of  the 
the  expiration  of  my  enlistment,  I  set-  Senate  and  the  Speaker  of  the  House, 
tied  in  Curry  County  and  became  and  be  presented  by  this  assembly  in 
Curry  County's  delegate  to  the  Con-  Joint  Convention  to  Judge  Wm.  H. 
stitutional  convention.  For  years  I  Packwood,  as  a  testimonial  of  his 
followed  mining.  I  was  one  of  the  character  and  achievements  and  as  a 
party  that  discovered  and  named  the  token  of  public  gratitude  and  esteem. 


The  Gorgas  of  the  Philippines 


By  /Aarian  Taylor 


WOODS  HUTCHINSON,  the 
well-known  medical  expert, 
tells  us  that,  from  a  health 
point  of  view,  we  are  about 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the  pro- 
per study  of  mankind  is  insects,  be- 
cause of  their  destructive  power.  Even 
the  bomb-dropping  Zeppelins  and  ae- 
roplanes, he  says,  are  not  to  be  men- 
tioned in  the  same  breath  with  the 
mosquito  and  the  fly  as  destroyers  of 
life  and  limb.  A  million  lives  a  year 
by  malaria  and  yellow  fever,  he  con- 
siders a  conservative  estimate. 

Nor  is  malaria  confined  to  the  trop- 
ics. He  reminds  us  that  Michigan,  In- 
diana, Illinois  and  Iowa  could  never 
have  been  settled  by  the  white  race 
without  the  aid  of  quinine,  giving  the 
name  of  a  famous  old  pioneer  physi- 
cian of  the  Middle  West  as  his  author- 
ity for  the  statement.  He  also  tells  us 
that  the  malaria-carrying  mosquito 
ranges  clear  up  to  our  northern  boun- 
dary, and  many  a  new  settlement  in 
our  Middle  West  and  Northwest  has 
been  broken  up  and  driven  out  by  ma- 
laria, just  as  were  the  earliest  Virginia 
settlers  at  Jamestown.  Further,  that 
up  to  a  few  years  ago  malaria  was 
quite  common  along  the  coast  and 
rivers  of  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Con- 
necticut and  Southern  Massachusetts, 
and  that  even  yet  the  mosquito  is  an 
enemy  there. 

We  know,  also  by  experience  that 
California  is  not  exempt  from  the 
same  pestiferous  insect,  but  it  is  com- 
forting to  know  that  many  mosquitoes 
are  simply  annoying  and  not  harmful. 
Dr.  Wiley  it  is  who  informs  us  that  we 
may  tell  at  a  glance  whether  one  that 
alights,  for  instance,  on  the  back  of 
the  hand,  and  begins  to  insert  her  bill, 
is  likely  to  inoculate  with  malaria  or 


not.    The  following  is  his  test: 

"If  the  back  of  the  insect  is  prac- 
tically parallel  with  the  back  of  your 
hand,  and  her  head  and  her  proboscic 
make  an  obtuse  angle  with  the  axis  of 
her  body,  she  is  a  harmless  mosquito 
(culex.)  On  the  other  hand,  if  the 
axis  of  her  body  is  practically  continu- 
ous with  that  of  the  head  and  bill,  she 
belongs  to  the  anopheles  type,  and 
means  business  from  the  start. 

"She  stands  on  her  head  to  give 
greater  power  to  her  punch.  If  she 
has  had  any  opportunity  to  become  im- 
pregnated with  malarial  organisms, 
she  is  likely  to  carry  enough  of  them 
on  her  bill  to  start  an  abundant  crop 
of  malaria-producers  in  your  blood." 

Cuba's  redemption  from  yellow 
fever  is  a  thrilling  story.  For  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  Havana  had 
suffered  from  that  scourge,  and  the 
more  the  people  cleaned  up  their  city 
the  worse  conditions  became,  until,  at 
last,  a  man  from  Alabama,  Dr.  W.  C. 
Gorgas,  took  up  the  work  of  sanitation 
on  the  basis  that  the  fever  was  caused 
by  an  infected  house  mosquito — the 
stegomyia.  This  fact  had  been  pre- 
viously discovered  by  Doctor  Donald 
Ross,  an  officer  in  the  Indian  Civil 
Service,  but  it  was  Major  Jesse  W.  La- 
zear  of  the  United  States  Army  who 
bravely  put  it  to  the  test.  He  bared 
his  arm  to  the  mosquito,  and  died  in 
agony  as  the  result,  thus  by  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  life  paving  the  way  for 
the  salvation  of  thousands  when  Doc- 
tor Gorgas  applied  the  discovery. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  the  con- 
servative British  Medical  Journal 
would  only  go  as  far  as  admitting  that 
the  experiments  in  Cuba  were  sug- 
gestive, the  yellow  fever  theory  not 
yet  being  universally  accepted.    Then 


248 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


came  the  supreme  test  in  the  Isthmus 
of  Panama,  with  its  fifty  miles  of  jun- 
gle and  two  fever-infected  cities;  that 
awful  region  where,  during  the  French 
regime,  there  was  a  death  for  every  tie 
on  the  track,  and  where  there  was  a 
higher  mortality  among  the  workmen 
of  that  time  than  the  old  Guard  of 
France  showed  during  the  Napoleonic 
v/ars,  owing  to  lack  of  knowledge  of 
the  cause  of  the  tropical  disease. 

In  1904  the  remarkable  man  who  had 
stamped  out  fever  in  Cuba  faced  the 
stupendous  problem  of  the  disease-rid- 
den Isthmus  of  Panama,  and  his  suc- 
cess in  handling  both  yellow  fever  and 
malaria  is  a  matter  of  history.  Major- 
General  Gorgas  will  go  down  to  pos- 
terity as  a  benefactor  of  the  human 
race.  But  for  him  the  great  achieve- 
ment of  the  Panama  Canal  would  have 
been  rendered  impossible. 

Now  another  Southerner,  Doctor 
George  W.  Daywalt,  who  settled  as  a 
physician  in  San  Francisco  thirty  years 
ago,  and  who  went  to  the  Philippines 
as  an  army  surgeon  during  the  Span- 
ish-American war,  has  made  himself 
famous  by  the  magnificent  work  he  has 
done  on  the  Island  of  Mindoea.  Since 
the  war  he  has  been  helping  to  develop 
a  sugar  plantation  there,  but  four  years 
ago  health  conditions  became  so  bad 
and  the  involved  area  so  appallingly 
large — approximately  one  hundred 
square  miles,  that  the  problem  became 
as  serious  as  that  which  faced  General 
Gorgas  at  Panama. 

Finally,  a  health  committee,  ap- 
pointed by  the  Secretary  of  the  Inter- 
ior, discovered  that  the  deadly  sickness 
destroying  the  people  was  caused  by 
the  carrier  mosquito,  anopheles,  one 
of  the  twenty  species  of  mosquitos  in- 
festing that  region,  an  insect  that  made 
its  breeding  places  in  the  streams  of 
the  plantation.  It  was  found  out, 
moreover,  that  this  particular  mos- 
quito, after  biting  a  person,  remained 
about  the  house  for  eight  days  before 
it  was  possible  for  it  to  carry  malaria. 
Hence  it  became  a  case,  not  of  "swat- 
ting the  fly,"  but  of  catching  the  mos- 
quito, and  the  natives  were  taught  by 
Doctor  Daywalt  to  take  a  thin  piece  of 


bamboo,  bend  it  into  a  circle  about 
four  inches  in  diameter,  wrap  it  in 
spider  webs,  and  then  use  it  against 
the  enemy. 

But  it  is  questionable  whether  the 
easy-going  Filipinos  would  have  ex- 
erted themselves  but  for  the  persua- 
sive power  of  the  Doctor  who,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  brilliant  intellect,  has  a 
most  compelling  charm.  In  this  re- 
spect, he  is  like  General  Gorgas;  both 
men  are  born  diplomats,  leading  rather 
than  driving  those  under  them. 

"You  know  the  Filipinos  are  credu- 
lous, so  I  turned  their  superstitions  to 
good  account,"  said  the  Doctor  during 
a  recent  visit  to  the  United  States.  "I 
showed  the  salivary  glands  of  the  ano- 
pheles to  a  young  native  and  told  him 
that  in  them  lived  Asuang,  the  evil 
spirit  that  kills  little  children,  and  that 
all  the  mosquitoes  in  and  around  the 
house  must  be  destroyed  every  week, 
or  they  would  become  death-carriers," 
an  admonition  that  worked  like  a 
charm. 

But  the  most  remarkable  part  of  the 
story  is  as  follows,  and  it  is  like  a  fairy 
tale  where  one  goblin  ensnares  another 
and  then  a  bigger  one  comes  along 
and  swallows  both.  It  appears  that 
one  day  a  native  assistant  was  work- 
ing in  a  stream,  and  made  the  discov- 
ery that  water  bugs  were  eating  the 
larvae  of  the  mosquitoes — "wigglers," 
he  called  the  latter.  In  great  excite- 
ment he  told  the  Doctor,  who  immedi- 
ately began  an  investigation,  which  re- 
vealed two  species  of  fish,  in  their 
turn,  swallowing  the  bugs. 

"At  first  people  wouldn't  believe 
me,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "nor  would  they  take  any 
stock  in  my  plan,  which  was  to  corral 
the  fish  in  a  stream  about  a  mile  long 
and  allow  the  water  bugs  to  multiply 
till  they  were  sufficient  in  number  to 
consume  all  the  larvae."  The  result 
was  little  short  of  a  miracle,  for  an 
area  of  twenty  square  miles  was 
cleared  of  the  disease-laden  insects  in  a 
period  of  ten  months,  and  there  has 
not  been  a  single  case  of  infection 
since." 

The  Doctor  has  an  able  corps  of 


MISUSE. 


249 


trained  Filipino  assistants,  and  the 
death  rate  in  the  villages  and  towns  of 
Mangarin  has  been  reduced  from 
eighty-six  a  thousand  to  four  a  thou- 
sand. The  death  rate  in  Mindoea  four 
years  ago  was  two  hundred  and  fifty  a 
thousand,  and  now  it  is  less  than  that 
of  the  city  of  Washington;  while  the 
cost  of  protecting  three  thousand  peo- 
ple— sleeping  within  the  twenty  square 
mile  area — against  the  mosquito,  was, 
for  1915,  only  one  thousand  dollars. 
And  so,  Doctor  George  W.  Daywalt 


is  content  to  live  far  from  the  lure  of 
modern  city  life,  cut  off  from  many  of 
the  comforts  and  most  of  the  luxuries 
ut  civilization  that  he  may  devote  him- 
self to  the  interests  of  science  and  the 
fine  work  of  a  broad  humanity.  Back 
to  the  San  Jose  sugar  plantation  of 
Mindora  has  he  gone,  where  the  na- 
tives love  him  because  he  keeps  their 
old-time  enemy,  Asuang,  away  from 
their  babies,  and  where  he  is  regarded 
as  something  between  an  all-powerful 
friend  and  a  fairy  god-father. 


MISUSE 


A  thousand  labor  that  she  may  be  free 
To  bear  that  fine  head  haughtily  and  high, 
Each  lock  of  hair  arranged  to  please  the  eye 
With  what  a  careful,  cunning  artistry! 
Dominion  over  age  and  care  has  she, 
Keeping  her  potent  youth,  which  would  pass  by, 
Dormant  and  atrophied,  thus  to  defy 
Travail  of  soul  and  body,  and  its  fee. 

Unheard,  a  cry  beats  at  her  jeweled  ear — 
The  crying  of  her  sisters  in  the  dark; 
The  world's  a  playground,  in  her  blinded  eyes, 
A  garnished,  perfumed  garden-spot,  and  here 
The  brain  which  might  have  lit  a  lasting  spark 
Ponders  the  problem  of  a  bridge-club  prize. 

Mabel  Rice  Bigler. 


The  Trend  of  Events 


By  Cornett  T.  Stark 


THOSE  whose  memories  go  back 
to  twenty,  thirty  or  forty  years 
ago,  have  doubtless  noticed 
how  much  the  world's  thought 
has  changed  since  then,  especially  in 
regard  to  social  fundamentals.  It  is 
remarkable  that  such  developments 
should  be  coincidental  with  an  epoch 
marking  place  reached  by  the  Sun  in 
the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  and 
yet,  every  two  thousand  years  or  so 
these  radical  changes  in  the  attitude 
of  humanity  as  a  whole  have  occurred, 
as  far  back  as  history  records  and  im- 
mensely farther,  according  to  occult 
records. 

Just  as  two  thousand  years  ago,  ap- 
proximately, a  period  began  from 
which  we  now  even  measure  time  it- 
self, so  is  there  now  being  rapidly  in- 
augurated another  era,  that  of  human 
rights.  It  is  the  Aquarian  age  of  man 
which  was  predicted  in  1485  to  begin 
in  1881.  That  prophecy  by  the  person 
who  chose  to  be  known  as  "Mother 
Shipton,"  ended  by  saying  that  "The 
world  to  an  end  shall  come,  in  eighteen 
hundred  and  eighty-one."  It  did  not 
mean  that  the  planet  would  be  de- 
stroyed, though  such  cataclysms  as  put 
Atlantis  under  the  water  in  9564  B.  C. 
may  occur  before  the  age  is  fully  ush- 
ered in.  The  present  terrible  condition 
in  Europe  is  part  of  the  birth  agony  in 
a  literal  sense,  but  the  growth  of  gen- 
eral enlightenment  accomplished  prior 
to  this  war,  that  had  been  proceeding 
in  geometrical  progression  for  fifty 
years,  was  due  to  many  unseen  agen- 
cies that  carry  on  the  process  of  evo- 
lution, chiefly  the  solar  change  from 
Pisces  to  Aquarius;  and  it  was  to  this 
that  Mother  Shipton  referred. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  last  quarter 
of  the  nineteenth  century  the  impetus 


given  to  the  aspirations  of  humanity 
by  the  Christ,  or  to  that  much  of  the 
world  as  he  came  especially  to  inspire, 
had  about  spent  itself.  Christians 
were  either  spiritless  and  perfunctory, 
or  zealous  but  bigoted.  A  typical  il- 
lustration of  the  dogmatic  and  incon- 
sistent attitude  of  people  who  mistak- 
enly believed  themselves  to  be  Christ- 
like, is  seen  in  the  following  letter : 

Boston,  Sept.  ye  15th,  1682. 
To  ye  aged  and  beloved  John  Higgin- 
son: 

There  be  at  sea  a  shippe  called  "Ye 
Welcome,"  which  has  aboard  an  hun- 
dred or  more  of  ye  heretics  and  malig- 
nants  called  Quakers,  with  W.  Penne, 
who  is  ye  chief  scampe,  at  the  head 
of  them.  Ye  General  Court  has  ac- 
cordingly given  secret  orders  to  Mas- 
ter Malache  Huxett  of  ye  brig  "Pro- 
passe"  to  waylay  sed  "Welcome"  as 
near  ye  coast  of  Codde  as  may  be,  and 
make  captive  ye  sed  Penne  and  his 
ungodly  crewe  so  that  ye  Lord  may 
be  glorified  and  not  mocked  on  y*e  soil 
of  this  new  countre  with  ye  heathen 
worship  of  these  people. 

Much  spoyle  may  be  made  by  sell- 
ing ye  whole  lot  to  Barbadoes,  where 
slaves  fetch  good  prices  in  rumme  and 
sugar,  and  shall  not  only  do  ye  Lord' 
good  service  in  punishing  the  wicked, 
but  we  shall  make  great  good  for  his 
ministers  and  people.    Master  Huxett 
feels  hopeful,  and  I  will  set  down  ye 
news  when  his  shippe  comes  back. 
Yours  in  ye  bowels  of  Christ, 
Cotton  Mather. 

The  violent  intolerance  of  that  epoch 
is  now  almost  unbelievable.  But  ex- 
clusiveness  remains  to  some  extent, 
and  shows  roughly  the  lines  of  divi- 


THE  TREND  OF  EVENTS.  251 

sion  meant  for  that  time  when  im-  which  other  ideals  are  being  culti- 
pianted  in  the  mind  and  nature  of  the  vated.  If  there  were  not  places  on 
Aryan  race.  "Get  thee  out  of  thy  earth  where  initiative  and  the  creative 
country  into  a  land  that  I  will  show  faculty  of  human  kind  could  be  espe- 
thee."  We  have  preserved  for  us  there  cially  trained,  those  powers  would  re- 
a  record  of  the  foundation  of  a  new  main  latent  and  the  chief  glories  of  life 
race,  one  which  was  intended  to  nour-  could  not  properly  manifest  in  us. 
ish  ideals  then  unknown  to  the  world.  When  from  childhood  an  Oriental  is 
It  was  to  be  that  which  is  known  in  taught  the  basic  laws  of  his  being,  he 
Occultism  as  the  Fifth  Race,  growing  comes  to  feel  that  God's  plan  provides 
tip  as  in  part,  a  contemporary  of  the  for  every  contingency,  with  the  result 
Atlantean  or  Fourth  Race,  whose  later  to  him  that  there  is  no  need  to  con- 
subraces  still  exist,  notably  the  sev-  stantly  improve,  and  he  achieves  the 
enth  or  Mongolian.  To  guard  against  extreme  of  simplicity.  But  when 
intermarriage  with  the  older  peoples,  through  suitable  environment  by  birth 
Abraham  was  directed  to  live  apart  he  is  given  the  idea  that  there  is  but 
from  them,  and  to  serve  the  purpose  the  one  life  in  which  to  accomplish  all 
for  which  the  new  people  was  chosen,  things,  there  is  incentive  to  great  ef- 
caste  was  established  in  its  first  sub-  fort,  and  while  we  who  are  so  born  suf- 
race.  But  as  with  every  race,  there  fer  the  extreme  of  complexity  and  tur- 
were  to  be  seven  sub-races,  and  it  is  moil,  the  otherwise  dormant  ability  to 
the  material  for  the  sixth  of  these  that  create,  to  become  skilled  artisans  and 
is  being  gathered  into  that  melting  pot  co-workers  with  God,  is  in  this  man- 
of  the  nations — the  United  States.  To-  ner  exercised.  Every  otherwise 
day  we  see  the  warrior  caste  of  old,  worthless  toy  that  men  strive  for  has 
surviving  in  form  in  India,  but  the  peo-  that  value.  The  work  of  the  Cauca- 
ple  who  made  up  that  caste  in  its  sian  or  fifth  sub-race,  which  has  yet  to 
prime  has  after  intermediate  appear-  reach  its  greatest  height,  is  being  car- 
ances  in  various  places  now  largely  re-  ried  on  under  those  conditions  of  ig- 
incarnated  in  Prussia.  In  Germany  norance  in  regard  to  karma  and  rein- 
there  is  also  much  of  the  merchant  carnation,  which  for  it  have  been 
caste,  but  the  western  world  contains  proper. 

few  of  the  truly  religious  class:  that  In  this  day  and  land  of  intellectual 
retains  its  ancestral  home  in  the  pride,  race  prejudice  runs  rather  high. 
Orient.  The  color  line  is  drawn  by  most  of  our 
Why  is  the  knowledge  of  those  people,  but  curiously  enough  it  seems 
basic  laws  of  life  that  are  known  as  to  be  more  clearly  felt  by  those  indi- 
"karma"  and  "reincarnation,"  not  viduals  most  recently  members  of  the 
world  wide  instead  of  being  confined  more  primitive  races.  It  is  a  God  im- 
to  some  six  or  eight  hundred  millions  planted  instinct  to  keep  race  magnet- 
of  people,  most  of  whom  live  in  Asia?  ism  pure,  but  it  should  not  follow  that 
We  white  people  regard  ourselves  as  because  a  given  people  is  younger  and 
the  best  educated  and  most  scientific  therefore  •  less  highly  evolved,  we 
of  all  earth's  inhabitants,  present  or  should  be  arrogant  and  patronizing  to- 
past.  How  do  we  know  that?  Dili-  ward  them.  If  we  are  indeed  superior, 
gent  research  shows  that  the  ancients  let  us  show  it  in  our  patience  and  help- 
knew  more,  not  less,  than  we.  Atlan-  fulness  to  those  races.  The  dark 
tean  culture  reaching  a  flowering  sea-  skinned  members  of  humanity  are 
son  not  only  in  Atlantis,  but  in  its  quick  to  acknowledge  the  supremacy 
colonies  of  Egypt  and  Peru,  that  has  of  the  whites,  and  also  they  are  quick 
not  been  equaled  since.  But  as  all  to  notice  when  we  fail  in  the  respon- 
things  move  in  cycles,  the  law  of  per-  sibilities  that  that  fact  devolves  upon 
iodicy  obscured  that  degree  of  culture  us.  They  are  human  just  as  we,  only 
in  decline  at  least,  only  to  be  raised  younger.  Their  stage  of  growth  has  its 
again  at  the  flow  of  the  tide  during  own  peculiar  needs.     The  habits   of 


252 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


thought,  the  customs,  and  the  ideals 
cf  those  classes,  are  for  them  until 
such  a  time  as  they  outgrow  them. 
Their  great  religious  Teachers  present 
in  due  order  the  ideals  that  must  be 
achieved  in  the  course  of  the  journey 
just  ahead  of  them,  and  along  which 
we,  perhaps,  have  already  gone.  Fre- 
quently it  is  the  same  great  Teacher 
who  at  another  time  and  under  another 
name,  gave  some  other  phase  of 
Truth  to  a  restricted  portion  of  the 
world,  and  yet  the  separated  followers 
revile  their  own  Prophet  under  that 
other  name,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

Immense  periods  of  time  are  in- 
volved in  the  maturing  of  a  horde  of 
bodies  that  will  express  within  certain 
limits  any  one  quality  of  the  Divine 
Life  as  the  chief  characteristic  of  that 
horde.  100,000  years  ago  the  Great 
Being  in  whose  care  the  destiny  of  na- 
tions had  been  placed  isolated  a  tribe 
from  the  white  or  fifth  subrace  of  the 
Atlanteans.  known  as  the  Semitic,  in 
order  to  found  the  Aryan  or  Caucasian 
race.  The  Ruler  and  also  the  Priest 
were  men  far  in  advance  of  the  people 
under  them,  and  this  Bodhisattva,  the 
future  Buddha,  founded  a  new  religion 
for  their  use.  About  40,000  B.  C.  a 
portion  of  them  went  into  training  for 
the  second  sub-race,  known  technically 
as  the  Arabian.  Ten  thousand  years 
later  the  Iranian  or  third,  went  forth 
into  Asia  Minor,  and  their  descendants 
of  to-day  include  Persians,  Afghans 
and  Baluchis.  At  about  20,000  B.  C. 
the  most  refined  of  them  were  used  to 
found  the  fourth  or  Keltic  division, 
and  in  them  the  same  Ruler  and  the 
same  Priest  strove  to  awaken  artistic 
sensibility  and  imagination     By  10,- 


000  B.  C.  a  portion  of  them  had  be- 
come the  ancient  Greeks,  sometimes 
called  Pelasgians.  Others  became  the 
Milesians  who  entered  Ireland  from 
the  South  only  to  meet  their  own  peo- 
ple coming  down  from  the  North  as 
Scandinavians.  About  8,500  B.  C.  the 
fifth  sub-race  of  the  Aryan  or  Fifth 
Root  Race,  left  Dhagestan  and  settled 
about  Cracow,  Poland,  where  it  re- 
mained for  some  hundreds  of  years. 
Then  the  Slavs  divided  off,  secondly 
the  Letts,  and  thirdly  the  Germanic, 
one  branch  of  which  became  the  Teu- 
tons, and  they  gave  their  name  to  the 
present  dominant  faction  from  which 
the  coming  race  will  be  derived.  The 
table  given  below  shows  the  names  of 
the  two  Teachers  of  the  Fifth  Race, 
and  their  messages  as  suited  to  cer- 
tain sub-races. 

It  was  about  8,000  B.  C.  that  the 
Manu  ordained  the  Caste  system,  now 
so  fanatically  adhered  to,  but  so  little 
understood.  It  applied  to  the  Aryans 
proper,  or  present  day  East  Indians, 
and  was  to  preserve  their  purity  as  a 
new  people  while  living  among  the 
Toltecs  whose  effete  civilization  they 
had  supplanted.  It  is  from  the  Brah- 
mana  or  very  high  class  of  these  Ar- 
yans that  the  body  of  a  disciple  of  the 
coming  Teacher  will  be  chosen  for 
His  use,  and  when  He  begins  His 
great  work  of  reconstruction  for  the 
rise  of  a  new  race,  it  will  be  with  an 
ideal  to  attain  that  is  the  highest  yet 
given  any  people — that  of  Co-operation 
or  Brotherhood.  Not  Equality,  but 
Unselfishness. 

The  circumstance  that,  although  of 
the  Caucasian  Race,  He  will  show  a 
pigmentation,  will  provide  a  test  for 


Lord  Gautama 


Lord  Maitreya 


Fifth  Root  Race 

(Sub-races) 

Aryan         1  Vyasa   ....      India 
Arabian      2  Thoth    (Hermes)  Arabia 
Iranian        3  Zarathustra       Persia 
I  Keltic         4  Orpheus  . .        Greece 
Aryan         1  Buddha  . . .        India 


Duty 

Knowledge 

Purity 

Beauty 

Law  (of  Evolution) 


Aryan         1  Krishna 
Teutonic     5  Christus 


India  Devotion 

Europe        Self-sacrifice 
America      Brotherhood 


THE   HIDDEN   SONG. 


253 


those  who  only  theoretically  believe  in 
Brotherhood.  Not  that  He  is  likely  to 
proclaim  Himself  for  what  He  is,  a 
Supreme  Teacher,  the  Lord  Maitreya 
who  as  Christ  used  the  body  of  His 
disciple  Jesus  for  the  three  years  of 
His  ministry  among  men  while  incul- 
cating Self-sacrifice.  But  as  a  de- 
spised Oriental  He  will  give  an  im- 
petus to  the  present  movement  for  fair 
dealing  among  men,  that  will  cause  it 
to  grow  into  a  mighty  religion,  an  ethi- 
cal code  by  which  men  will  strive  to 


abide,  until  it  in  its  turn  has  become  a 
travesty  in  the  lives  of  succeeding  na- 
tions, so  far  removed  from  the  inspira- 
tion of  His  presence  as  to  fail  of  real- 
izing what  His  life  of  Brotherhood  had 
been. 

"Then  of  Thee-in-me  who  works  be- 
hind 
The  veil,  I  lifted  up  my  hands  to  find 
A  lamp  amid  the  darkness;  and  I  heard 
As  from  without :  'The  Me-within-thee 
blind.' " 


THE   MIDDEN  SONG 


There's  a  song  somewhere  in  the  heart  of  the  world,  that  is  waiting  a 

searcher's  eye, 
A  song  with  a  melody  sweet  and  true, 
Of  hope  unfailing  and  courage  new, 
I  can  find  it  if  I  try. 

Some  day  when  with  love  of  throbbing  life,  my  heart  beats  high  and  strong 
'Twill  become  entuned  to  the  melody, 
And  echo  in  cadence  glad  and  free, 
The  words  of  the  waiting  song. 

Men  will  say :  "He  has  built  us  a  new  sweet  song,  with  the  poet's  wonderful 

art," 
Knowing  not  that  I  only  found  the  song, 
The  silent  melody  held  so  long 
In  the  world's  eternal  heart. 

Mary  Carolyn  Davies. 


."'"vX, JjmJ 

BfiipN 

Jghj^l  ■■ 

• "  -  -•  .-j.  Wk 

P^Si 

The  Driving  of  the  Golden  Spike 

When  East  Met  West  on  the  Great  Overland 
Some  Personal  Reminiscences    of   the    Event 

By  Bernetta  Alphin  Atkinson 


THE  memorable  day  of  May  10th, 
1869,  when  East  met  West  over 
the  shining  track  which 
spanned  the  continent  from 
ocean  to  ocean,  marked  an  important 
epoch  in  the  history  of  California.  The 
meeting  of  the  Central  Pacific  Rail- 
road and  the  Union  Pacific  at  the  little 
town  of  Promontory  in  Utah,  made  an 
end  of  the  isolation  of  the  Western 
coast  from  the  field  of  activities  in  the 
Eastern  States,  and  opened  an  era  of 
prosperity  and  advancement  for  both 
East  and  West. 

I  was  a  child  at  the  time,  living  with 
my  parents  in  Promontory,  where  the 
two  roads  met.  My  father  was  a  '49er 
and  a  constitutional  pioneer,  and  he, 
with  his  family,  had  followed  the 
building  of  the  trans-continental  road 
for  several  years,  living  sometimes  in 
tents  until  more  substantial  homes 
could  be  built.  I  well  remember  a  red 
letter  day  in  Fort  Sanders,  Wyoming, 
during  the  year  1868,  when  President 
U.  S.  Grant,  General  Sherman,  Gen- 
eral Phil  Sheridan  and  other  famous 
men  of  the  period  came  in  a  body  to 
inspect  the  road.  One  of  the  features 
of  the  occasion  was  the  marching  of 
all  the  children  of  the  little  town  to 
meet  the  celebrities  at  the  depot.  I 
was  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  group, 
but  I  swelled  with  pride  to  have  the 
privilege  of  shaking  hands  with  the 
president  and  the  great  generals. 

The  Central  Pacific,  building  east- 
ward, under  California  promoters,  em- 
ployed Chinese  labor,  while  the  Union 
forging  west  over  mountains  and  des- 
ert, employed  Irishmen.    As  the  roads 


approached  each  other,  and  the  labor- 
ers of  the  two  enterprises  got  in  sight 
of  each  other,  a  bitter  hostility  sprang 
up  between  them.  The  Irishmen,  re- 
senting the  employment  of  Chinese 
labor,  were  domineering  and  abusive 
to  the  stolid  and  long  suffering  Orien- 
tals. Occasionally  they  would  put  in 
a  blast  and  set  it  off  without  warning 
the  Chinamen,  causing  serious  injury 
in  several  cases.  The  contractors  on 
each  side  did  their  best  to  promote 
peace,  but  with  poor  results.  One  day 
the  Chinamen  scored  even  with  the 
Irish  by  putting  what  they  called  a 
grave  in  their  work  of  excavating,  and 
waiting  until  the  Irishmen  were  busy 
at  work,  set  off  the  blast,  burying  a 
number  of  the  Irish,  who  were  working 
just  under  them.  The  result  was  that 
the  gallant  Hibernians  took  off  their 
hats  to  the  "Yellow  Peril,"  and  from 
that  time  on,  hostilities  ceased  and 
harmony  prevailed.  My  father,  in 
telling  the  story,  used  to  say  the  best 
way  to  keep  peace  with  an  Irishman 
was  to  fight  him. 

All  was  excitement  at  the  little  town 
of  Promontory,  on  the  morning  of 
May  10th,  1869,  for  the  last  rail,  that 
joined  the  two  roads,  was  to  be  laid, 
and  the  golden  spike  was  to  be  driven. 
The  citizens  had  been  making  fitting 
preparations  for  days.  The  National 
flag  floated  from  many  staffs,  and 
gaily  colored  bunting  festooned  the 
business  houses  on  the  one  rude  street. 
Platforms  had  been  built  for  the 
speakers,  and  a  band  engaged  for  the 
occasion. 

My  father  called  us   at  daybreak, 


THE  DRIVING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SPIKE 


255 


and  mother  hurried  up  the  breakfast 
in  order  to  be  early  at  the  scene  of 
the  great  event.  It  was  well  that  we 
did  so,  for  a  big  crowd  gathered  from 
all  parts  of  the  country.  Looking 
around  from  our  choice  position  we 
saw  vehicles  of  all  descriptions  pour- 
ing in  from  the  surrounding  country, 
loaded  with  wondering  and  curious  hu- 
manity. There  were  covered  wagons, 
filled  with  men,  women  and  children, 
buggies,  ox-teams,  spring  wagons 
from  the  ranches,  and  men  and  women 
on  horseback,  all  eager  to  witness  the 
ceremonies  which  were  to  signalize 
the  great  event.  Many  of  them  had 
never  seen  a  railroad  train,  and  had 
traveled  all  night  in  order  to  behold 
the  wonderful  sight. 

And  it  was  certainly  a  spectacular 
event.  It  had  been  arranged  that  the 
trains  from  New  York  and  from  Cali- 
fornia should  reach  Promontory  at  the 
same  time.  To  my  childish  imagina- 
tion it  seemed  an  age  that  we  waited, 
with  our  eyes  fixed  on  the  vanishing 
point  of  first  one  road  and  then  the 
other.  When  we  heard  the  distant 
whistles,  answering  to  each  other, 
there  was  a  craning  of  necks  and  a 
deafening  cheer.  The  first  to  pull  in 
was  the  Central  Pacific,  with  a  train- 
load  from  California.  Very  soon  the 
Union  Pacific  arrived.  The  first  to 
alight  was  a  detachment  of  troops 
from  Fort  Douglas,  Salt  Lake  City,  ac- 
companied by  a  military  band.  Then 
came  Mr.  Thomas  C.  Durant,  Mr.  Sid- 
ney Dillon,  Mr.  John  R.  Duff  and  a 
car  load  of  friends  and  prominent  men 
representing  the  Union  Pacific. 

The  Central  Pacific  brought  Leland 
Stanford,  Mr.  Colton,  Collis  P.  Hunt- 
ington, Charles  Crocker,  all  magnates 
of  the  road,  and  many  more  identified 
with  its  fortunes.  The  two  trains  stood 
facing  each  other,  and  a  hush  fell  on 
the  multitude,  as  they  realized  that 
this  was  the  making  of  history,  that  it 
marked  an  epoch  in  the  progress  of 
civilization  on  the  Western  continent. 

Representatives  from  different 
Western  States  had  brought  spikes 
made  from  minerals  of  their  States. 
The  two  rails  were  laid,  and  the  cour- 


tesy was  accorded  these  representa- 
tives to  drive  their  spikes. 

But  the  grand,  breathless  climax 
was  reached  when  Leland  Stanford 
stepped  forward  with  a  full  size 
golden  spike  and  drove  it  in  place, 
uniting  the  rails  of  the  two  roads,  and 
completing  the  span  of  the  great  trans- 
continental railroad,  bringing  the 
East  to  the  West.  The  engineers  ad- 
vanced their  locomotives  until  they 
touched  each  other,  and  each  broke  a 
bottle  of  champagne  on  the  opposite 
engine,  thus  wedding  the  two  roads  in- 
to one.  The  telegraph  instruments 
were  so  arranged  that  every  blow 
struck  on  the  spike  sounded  in  New 
York,  Washington  and  San  Francisco. 
The  president,  Generals  Sherman  and 
Sheridan  and  many  others  received 
the  signals  and  heard  the  blows.  Then 
the  word  "Done!"  was  wired,  and  the 
crowd  set  up  a  tremendous  and  pro- 
longed shouting.  The  bands  played 
patriotic  tunes,  guns  were  fired  and 
pandemonium  reigned  for  a  time. 

When  Mr.  Stanford  stepped  to  the 
platform  he  was  greeted  with  great 
applause.  His  speech  was  followed 
by  others  from  representatives  of  both 
roads,  and  the  enthusiasm  waxed  tu- 
multuous. At  the  close  of  the  exer- 
cises, the  golden  spike  was  removed 
and  was  subsequently  cut  into  minia- 
ture spikes  an  inch  and  a  half  long, 
engraved  with  the  date,  the  occasion 
and  the  name  of  the  individual  receiv- 
ing them,  and  distributed  among  the 
magnates  and  big  contractors  of  the 
roads.  I  have  one  of  these  souvenirs 
before  me  as  I  write.  It  brings  back 
the  charm  and  glory  of  that  long-gone 
day  in  little  Promontory,  and  a  wave 
of  the  old  enthusiasm  warms  my  heart. 

The  meeting  of  the  roads  across  the 
continent  was  perhaps  the  most  signi- 
cant  event  of  the  century.  California 
and  the  Pacific  Coast,  isolated  from  the 
Eastern  part  of  the  United  States, 
separated  by  mountains  and  deserts 
from  the  heart  of  commerce  and  in- 
dustry, had  evolved  its  own  civiliza- 
tion and  culture.  It  was  a  world  to  it- 
self. The  mines  of  Nevada  had 
poured  in  their  wealth  and  built  cities 


356 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


and  developed  great  areas.  Art  and 
science,  schools  and  colleges  were  es- 
tablished. The  drama  flourished,  and 
had  already  introduced  to  the  world 
such  stars  as  Booth,  John  McCullough, 
Mrs.  Williams,  Lotta  and  a  host  of 
lesser  lights.  Joaquin  Miller  was  giv- 
ing the  Iliad  of  the  West  in  ringing 
verse,  Bret  Harte  was  wielding  his 
fascinating  pen,  portraying  the  life  of 
the  mining  camps,  Frank  Pixley  was 
hurling  his  brilliant  satires  at  every- 
thing he  could  hit,  the  daily  papers 
were  distributed  in  metropolitan  style, 
Tom  Hill  was  painting  his  mountain 
scenes.  The  little  world  of  the  West 
seemed  sufficient  unto  itself,  and  the 
result  was  a  slightly  provincial  senti- 
ment of  content  and  local  pride.  The 
opening  of  the  trans-continental  high- 
way brought,  in  a  great  surging  stream, 
the  interests  and  customs  of  the  East, 
to  mingle  with  those  of  the  West,  and 
in  turn  carried  the  impetus  of  the  spirit 
of  the  West,  glowing  with  ambition, 
rich  in  enterprise,  in  mineral,  in  cli- 
mate, in  all  potential  possibilities,  to 


the  staid,  methodical  East.  Each 
needed  the  other,  and  the  meeting  of 
the  roads  was  a  signal  of  the  merging 
of  interests  into  one  grand  and  power- 
ful nation.  The  little  crowd  at  Pro- 
montory who  witnessed  the  driving  of 
the  golden  spike  on  that  memorable 
spring  day  scarcely  dreamed  they 
were  assisting  in  a  wonderful  and 
bloodless  revolution. 

A  torch  light  procession,  a  ball  and 
banquet  rounded  up  the  great  celebra- 
tion. For  myself,  I  was  a  trifle  disap- 
pointed in  the  personnel  of  the  mag- 
nates. I  had  heard  my  father  speak 
of  the  "big  men"  of  affairs,  and  I  was 
somewhat  awed  that  they  all  wore  silk 
hats;  but  their  stature  did  not  impress 
me  as  "big."  The  week  before  I  had 
been  punished  for  following  in  the 
wake  of  the  Tom  Thumb  cortege, 
when  the  little  "General,"  his  wife, 
Minnie  Warren,  and  Commodore  Nutt, 
paraded  the  street  in  their  miniature 
carriages.  They  were  "Little  People," 
and  I  expected  to  see  the  "Big  Men" 
gigantic  in  proportion. 


The  Good  Word 


By  B.  C.  Cable 


IT  IS  quite  inadequate  to  say  that  miles  and  tens  of  miles  to  be  covered, 
the  troops  were  worn  out,  and  in-  Cruelly  hard  as  the  conditions  were 
deed  it  is  hard  to  find  words  to  for  the  whole  retreating  army,  the  rear- 
convey  to  any  one  who  has  not  ex-  guard  suffered  the  worst  by  a  good 
perienced  some  days  of  a  mixture  of  deal.  They  were  under  the  constant 
fighting  and  forced  marching  how  ut-  threat  of  attack,  were  halted  every 
terly  exhausted,  how  dead  beat,  how  now  and  then  under  that  threat  or  to 
stupefied  and  numbed  in  mind  and  allow  the  main  body  to  keep  a  suffi- 
body  the  men  were.  For  four  days  cient  distance,  had  to  make  some  at- 
and  nights  they  had  fought  and  dug  tempt  to  dig  in  again,  had  to  endure 
trenches  and  marched  and  fought  spasmodic  shelling  either  in  their 
again,  and  halted  to  dig  again,  and  shallow  trenches  or  as  they  marched 
fought  again,  and    extricated    them-  along  the  road. 

selves  under  hailing  bullets  and  pour-  By  the  fourth  day  the  men  were  re- 
ing  shells  from  positions  they  never  duced  to  the  condition  of  automatons, 
expected  to  leave  alive,  only  to  scram-  They  marched — no,  it  could  hardly  be 
ble  together  into  some  sort  of  ragged-  said  any  longer  that  they  "marched;" 
shaped  units  and  march  again.  And  they  stumbled  and  staggered  along  like 
all  this  was  under  a  fierce  August  sun,  drunken  men;  their  chins  were  sunk 
with  irregular  meals  and  sometimes  no  on  their  chests,  their  jaws  hung  slack, 
meals,  at  odd  times  with  a  scarcity  or  their  eyes  were  set  in  a  fixed  and 
complete  want  of  water,  at  all  times  glassy  stare,  or  blinked,  and  shut  and 
with  a  burning  lack  and  want  of  sleep,  opened  heavily,  slowly,  and  drowsily, 
This  want  of  sleep  was  the  worst  their  feet  trailed  draggingly,  their 
of  it  all.  Any  sort  of  fighting  is  heavy  knees  sagged  under  them.  When  the 
sleep  inducing;  when  it  is  prolonged  word  passed  to  halt,  the  front  ranks 
for  days  and  nights  without  one  good,  behind  bumped  into  them  and  raised 
full,  satisfying  sleep  the  desire  for  heads  and  vacant  staring  eyes  for  a 
rest  becomes  a  craving,  an  all-absorb-  moment  and  then  let  them  drop  again 
ing,  aching  passion.  At  first  a  man  in  a  stupor  of  apathy.  The  change,  the 
wants  a  bed  or  space  to  lie  down  and  cessation  of  automatic  motion,  was  too 
stretch  his  limbs  and  pillow  his  head  much  for  many  men ;  once  halted  they 
and  sink  into  dreamless  oblivion;  at  could  no  longer  keep  their  feet,  and 
last  he  would  give  his  last  possession  dropped  and  sat  or  rolled  helplessly  to 
merely  to  be  allowed  to  lean  against  lie  in  the  dust  of  the  road.  These  men 
a  wall,  to  stand  upright  on  his  feet  and  who  fell  were  almost  impossible  to 
close  his  eyes.  To  keep  awake  is  tor-  rouse.  They  sank  into  sleep  "that  was 
ture,  to  lift  and  move  each  foot  is  a  almost  a  swoon,  and  no  shaking  or 
desperate  effort,  to  keep  the  burning  calling  or  cursing  could  rouse  them  or 
eyes  open  and  seeing  an  agony.  It  get  them  up  again.  The  officers,  know- 
takes  the  most  tremendous  effort  of  ing  this,  tried  to  keep  them  from  sit- 
will  to  contemplate  another  five  min-  ting  or  lying  down,  moved,  staggering 
utes  of  wakefulness,  another  hundred  themselves  as  they  walked,  to  and  fro 
yards  to  be  covered;  and  here  were  along  the  line,  exhorting,  begging,  be- 
hcurs,  endless  hours,  of  wakefulness,  seeching,  or  scolding  and     swearing, 


258 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


and  ordering  the  men  to  keep  up,  to 
stand,  to  be  ready  to  move  on.  And 
when  the  order  was  given  again,  the 
pathetically  ridiculous  order  to  "Quick 
march,"  the  front  ranks  slowly  roused 
and  shuffled  off,  and  the  rear  stirred 
slowly  and  with  an  effort  heaved  their 
rifles  over  their  shoulders  again  and 
reeled  after  the  leaders. 

Scores  of  the  men  had  abandoned 
packs  and  haversacks,  all  of  them  had 
cast  away  their  overcoats.  Many  had 
taken  their  boots  off  and  marched  with 
rags  or  puttees  wound  round  their 
blistered  and  swollen  feet.  But  no 
matter  what  one  or  other  or  all  had 
thrown  away,  there  was  no  man  with- 
out his  rifle,  his  full  ammunition 
pouches  and  his  bayonet.  These 
things  weighed  murderously,  cut  deep 
and  agonizingly  into  the  shoulders, 
cramped  arms  and  fingers  to  an  aching 
numbness;  but  every  man  clung  to 
them,  had  never  a  thought  of  throwing 
them  into  the  ditch,  although  many  of 
them  had  many  thoughts  of  throwing 
themselves  there. 

Many  fell  out — fell  out  in  the  literal 
as  well  as  the  drill  sense  of  the  word; 
swerved  to  the  side  of  the  road  and 
missed  foot  in  the  ditch  and  fell  there, 
or  stumbled  in  the  ranks,  tripped,  lack- 
ing the  brain  or  body  quickness  to  re- 
cover themselves,  collapsed  and  rolled 
and  lay  helpless.  Others,  again, 
gasped  a  word  or  two  to  a  comrade  or 
an  N.  C.  O.,  stumbled  out  of  the  ranks 
to  the  roadside,  sank  down  with  hang- 
ing head  and  rounded  shoulders  to  a 
sitting  position.  Few  or  none  of  these 
men  deliberately  lay  down.  They  sat 
till  the  regiment  had  plodded  his  trail- 
ing length  past,  tried  to  stagger  to 
knees  and  feet,  succeeded,  and  stood 
swaying  a  moment,  and  then  lurched 
off  after  the  rear  ranks;  or  failed, 
stared  stupidly  after  them,  collapsed 
again  slowly  and  completely.  All  these 
were  left  to  lie  where  they  fell.  It  was 
useless  to  urge  them  to  move  because 
every  officer  and  N.  C.  0.  knew  that 
no  man  gave  up  while  he  had  an  ounce 
of  strength  or  energy  left  to  carry  on, 
that  orders  or  entreaties  had  less  power 
to  keep  a  man  moving  than  his  own 


dogged  pluck  and  will,  that  when  these 
failed  to  keep  a  man  going  nothing  else 
could  succeed. 

All  were  not  of  course  so  hopelessly 
done  as  this.  There  were  still  a  num- 
ber of  the  tougher  muscled,  the  firmer 
willed,  who  kept  their  limbs  moving 
with  conscious  volition,  who  still  re- 
tained some  thinking  power,  who  even 
at  times  exchanged  a  few  words  or  a 
mouthful  of  curses.  These,  and  the 
officers,  kept  the  whole  together,  kept 
them  moving  by  force  of  example,  set 
the  pace  for  them  and  gave  them  the 
direction.  Most  of  them  were  in  the 
leading  ranks  of  their  own  companies, 
merely  because  their  greater  energy 
had  carried  them  there  past  and 
through  the  ranks  of  those  whose 
minds  were  nearly  or  quite  a  blank, 
whose  bodies  were  more  completely 
exhausted,  whose  will-power  was  re- 
duced to  a  blind  and  sheep-like  instinct 
to  follow  a  leader,  move  when  and 
where  the  dimly  seen  khaki  form  or 
tramping  boots  in  front  of  them 
moved,  stop  when  and  where  they 
stopped. 

The  roads  by  which  the  army  was 
retreating  were  cumbered  and  in  places 
choked  and  blocked  with  fugitive  pea- 
santry fleeing  from  the  advancing  Ger- 
mans, spurred  into  and  upon  their 
flight  by  the  tales  that  reached  them 
of  ravished  Belgium,  by  first-hand  ac- 
counts of  the  murder  of  old  men  and 
women  and  children,  of  rape  and  vio- 
lation and  pillage  and  burning.  Their 
slow,  crawling  procession  checked  and 
hindered  the  army  transport,  added  to 
the  trials  of  the  weary  troops  by  mak- 
ing necessary  frequent  halts  and  de- 
viations off  the  road  and  back  to  it  to 
clear  some  block  in  the  traffic,  where 
a  cart  had  broken  down,  or  where 
worn-out  women  with  hollow  cheeks 
and  staring  eyes,  and  children  with 
dusty,  tear  streaked  faces  crowded  and 
filled  the  road. 

The  rear-guard  passed  numbers  of 
these  lying  utterly  exhausted  by  the 
roadside,  and  the  road  for  miles  was 
strewn  with  the  wreckage  of  the  re- 
treat, with  men  who  had  fallen  out  un- 
able longer  to  march  on  blistered  or 


THE    GOOD    WORD 


259 


bleeding  feet,  or  collapsed  in  the  heed- 
less sleep  of  complete  exhaustion; 
with  broken-down  carts  dragging  clear 
into  the  roadside  and  spilled  with  their 
jumbled  contents  into  the  ditch;  with 
crippled  horses  and  footsore  cattle; 
with  quivering-lipped,  gray-haired  old 
men,  and  dry  eyed,  cowering  women 
and  frightened,  clinging  children. 
Some  of  these  peasantry  roused  them- 
selves as  the  last  of  the  rear-guard 
regiments  came  up  with  them,  strug- 
gled again  to  follow  on  the  road,  or 
dragged  themselves  clear  of  it  and 
sought  refuge  and  hiding  in  abandon- 
ed cottages  or  barns  or  the  deep  dry 
ditches. 

At  one  point  where  the  road  crept 
up  the  long  slope  of  a  hill  the  rear- 
guard came  under  the  long  range  fire 
of  the  German  guns.  The  shells  came 
roaring  down,  to  burst  in  clouds  of 
belching  black  smoke  in  the  fields  to 
either  side  of  the  road,  or  to  explode 
with  a  sharp  tearing  cr-r-ash  in  the 
air,  their  splinters  and  bullets  raining 
down  out  of  the  thick  white  woolly 
smoke  cloud  that  coiled  and  writhed 
and  unfolded  in  slow  heavy  oily  ed- 
dies. 

One  battalion  the  rear  guard  was 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  and  spread 
out  off  the  road  and  across  the  line  of 
it.  Again  they  were  told  not  to  lie 
down,  and  for  the  most  part  the  men 
obeyed,  leaning  heavily  with  their 
arms  folded  on  the  muzzles  of  their 
rifles  or  watching  the  regiments  crawl- 
ing slowly  up  the  road  with  the  coal- 
black  shell  bursts  in  the  fields  about 
them  or  the  white  air  bursts  of  the 
shrapnel  above  them. 

"Pretty  bloomin'  sight— I  don't 
think,"  growled  a  gaunt  and  weary 
eyed  private.  The  man  next  him 
laughed  shortly.  "Pretty  one  for  the 
Germs,  anyway,"  he  said;  "and  one 
they're  seein'  a  sight  too  often  for  my 
fancy.  They'll  be  forgettin'  wot  our 
faces  look  like  if  we  keep  on  at  this 
everlasting  running  away." 

"Blast  'em,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
savagely,  "but  our  turn  will  come  pres- 
ently. Do  you  think  this  yarn  is  right, 
Jacko,  that  we're  retiring  this  way  just 


to  draw  'em  away  from  their  base  ?" 

"Gawd  knows,"  said  Jacko;  "but 
they  didn't  bring  us  over  here  to  do 
nothing  but  run  away,  and  you  can  bet 
on  that,  Peter." 

An  order  passed  down  the  line,  and 
the  men  began  to  move  slowly  into  the 
road  'again  and  to  shake  into  some 
sort  of  formation  on  it,  and  then  to 
plod  off  up  the  hill  in  the  wake  of 
the  rest.  The  shells  were  still  plas- 
tering the  hillside  and  crashing  over 
the  road,  and  several  men  were  hit  as 
the  battalion  tramped  wearily  up  the 
hill.  Even  the  shells  failed  to  rouse 
most  of  the  men  from  their  apathy 
and  weariness,  but  those  it  did  stir 
it  roused  mainly  to  angry  resentment 
or  sullen  oath  mumblings  and  curses. 

"Well,  Jacko,"  said  Peter,  bitterly, 
"I've  knowed  I  haid  a  fair  chance  o' 
being  shot,  but  burn  me  if  ever  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  be  shot  in  the 
back." 

"It's  a  long  way  to  Tipperary,"  said 
Jacko.  "and  there's  bound  to  be  a 
turning  in  it  somewheres." 

"And  it's  a  longer  way  to  Berlin  if 
we  keeps  on  marching  like  this  with 
our  backs  to  it,"  grumbled  Peter. 

The  sound  of  another  approaching 
shell  rose  from  a  faint  moan  to  a 
bud  shriek,  to  a  roar,  to  a  wild  tor- 
rent of  yelling,  whooping,  rush  of  an 
express  train,  whirlwind  noise;  and 
then,  just  when  it  seemed  to  each  man 
that  the  shell  was  about  to  fall  directly 
on  his  own  individual  head,  it  burst 
with  a  harsh  crash  over  them,  and  a 
storm  of  bullets  and  fragments  whis- 
tled and  hummed  down,  hitting  the 
field's  soft  ground  with  deep  "whutts," 
clashing  sharply  on  the  harder  road. 
A  young  officer  jerked  out  a  cry,  stum- 
bled blindly  forward  a  few  paces  with 
outstretched  arms,  pitched  and  fell 
heavily  on  his  face.  He  was  close  to 
where  Peter  and  Jacko  marched,  and 
the  two  shambled  together  to  where 
he  lay,  lifted  and  turned  him  over.  Nei- 
ther needed  a  second  look.  "Done  in," 
said  Peter,  briefly,  and  "Never  knew 
wot  hit  him,"  agreed  Jacko. 

An  officer  ran  back  to  them,  fol- 
lowed slowly  and  heavily  by  another. 


260 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


There  was  no  question  as  to  what 
should  be  done  with  the  lad's  body. 
He  had  to  be  left  there,  and  the  utmost 
they  could  do  for  him  was  to  lift  and 
carry  him— four  dog-tired  men,  hardly 
able  to  lift  their  feet  and  carry  their 
own  bodies — to  a  cottage  by  the  road- 
side, and  bring  him  into  an  empty 
room  with  a  litter  of  clothes  and  papers 
spilled  about  the  floor  from  the  tum- 
bled drawers,  and  lay  him  on  a  dis- 
heveled bed  and  spread  a  crumpled 
sheet  over  him. 

"Let's  hope  they'll  bury  him  de- 
cently," said  one  of  the  officers.  The 
other  was  pocketing  the  watch  and  few 
pitiful  trinkets  he  had  taken  from  the 
lad's  pockets.  "Hope  so,"  he  said, 
dully.  "Not  that  it  matters  much  to 
poor  old  Dicky.  Come  on,  we  must 
move,  or  I'll  never  be  able  to  catch  up 
with  the  others." 

They  left  the  empty  house  quietly, 
pulling  the  door  gently  shut  behind 
them. 

"Pore  little  Blinker,"  said  Jacko,  as 
they  trudged  up  the  road  after  the  bat- 
tallion;  "the  best  blooming  officer  the 
platoon  ever  'ad." 

"The  best  I  ever  'ad  in  all  my 
seven,"  said  Peter.  "I  ain't  forgettin' 
the  way  'e  stood  up  for  me  afore  the 
C.  O.  at  Aldershot  when  I  was  car- 
peted for  drunk.  And  'im  trying  to 
stand  with  the  right  side  of  'is  face 
turned  away  from  the  light,  so  the  C. 
O.  wouldn't  spot  the  black  eye  I  gave 
'im  in  that  same  drunk!" 

"Ah,  and  that  was  just  like  'im," 
said  Jacko.  "And  to  think  he's  washed 
out  with  a  hole  in  the  back  of  his  'ead 
— the  back  of  it,  mind  you." 

Peter  cursed  sourly. 

The  battalion  trailed  wearily  on  un- 
til noon,  halted  then,  and  for  the 
greater  part  flung  themselves  down 
and  slept  on  the  roadside  for  the  two 
hours  they  waited  there;  were  roused 
— as  many  of  them,  that  is,  as  would 
rouse,  for  many,  having  stopped  the 
machine-like  motion  of  marching, 
could  not  recommence  it,  and  had  to 
be  left  there — and  plodded  on  again 
through  the  baking  afternoon  heat. 
They  had  marched  over  thirty  miles 


that  day  when  at  last  they  trailed  into 
a  small  town  where  they  were  told 
they  were  to  be  billeted  for  the  night. 
Other  troops,  almost  as  worn  as  them- 
selves, were  to  take  over  the  duties 
of  rear  guard  next  day,  but  although 
that  was  good  enough  news  it  was 
nothing  to  the  fact  that  to-night,  now, 
the  battalion  was  to  halt  and  lie  down 
and  take  their  fill — if  the  Huns  let 
them — of  sleep. 

They  were  halted  in  the  main 
square  and  waited  there  for  what 
seemed  to  the  tired  men  an  intermin- 
able time. 

"Findin'  billets,"  said  Jacko.  "Wish 
they'd  hurry  up  about  it." 

"Seems  to  me  there's  something 
more  than  billets  in  the  wind,"  said 
Peter  suspiciously.  "Wot's  all  the  of- 
ficers confabbin'  about,  an'  wot's  that 
tamasha  over  there  with  them  staff 
officers  an'  the  C.  O.?" 

The  tamasha  broke  up,  and  the  C. 
0.  tramped  back  to  the  group  of  his 
officers,  and  after  a  short  parley  they 
saluted  him  and  walked  over  to  the 
battalion. 

"Fall  in,"  came  the  order  sharply. 
"Fall  in  there,  fall  in." 

Most  of  the  men  were  sitting  along 
the  curb  of  the  pavement  or  in  the 
dusty  road,  or  standing  leaning  on 
their  rifles.  They  rose  and  moved 
heavily  and  stiffly,  and  shuffled  into 
line. 

"Wot  is  it,  sergeant?"  asked  Jacko 
suspiciously.    "Wot's  the  move?" 

"We're  going  back,"  said  the  ser- 
geant. "Hurry  up  there,  you.  Fall 
in.  Were  going  back,  and  there's 
some  word  of  a  fight." 

The  word  flew  round  the  ranks. 

"Going  back — a  fight — back " 

Across  the  square  another  regiment 
tramped  stolidly  and  turned  down  a 
side  street.  A  man  in  their  rear  ranks 
turned  and  waved  a  hand  to  the  wait- 
ing battalion.  "So  long,  chums,"  he 
called.    "See  you  in  Berlin." 

"Ga'  strewth,"  said  Jacko,  and  drew 
a  deep  breath.  "Goin'  back;  and  a 
fight;  and  the  old  Bluffs  on  the  move 
too.  In  Berlin,  eh ;  wonder  wot  they've 
heard.    Back — blimey,  Peter,  I  believe 


THE    GOOD   WORD 


261 


we're  going  for  the  blinkin'  'Uns 
again.  I  believe  we're  goin'  to  ad- 
vance." 

That  word  went  round  even  faster 
than  the  other,  and  where  it  passed  it 
left  behind  it  a  stir  of  excitement,  a 
straightening  of  rounded  shoulders,  a 
lifting  of  lolling  heads.  "Going  back 
— going  to  attack  this  time — going  to 
advance " 

Actually  this  was  untrue,  or  partly 
so  at  least.  They  were  going  back, 
but  still  merely  acting  as  rear  guard 
to  take  up  a  position  clear  of  the  town 
and  hold  it  against  the  threat  of  too 
close  pressing  pursuit.  But  the  men 
knew  nothing  of  that  at  the  time.  They 
were  going  back;  there  was  word  of 
a  fight;  what  else  did  that  spell  but 
a  finish  to  this  cursed  running  away, 
an  advance  instead  of  a  retreat?  The 
rumor  acted  like  strong  wine  to  the 
men.  They  moved  to  the  parade  or- 
ders with  something  of  their  old 
Grilled  and  disciplined  appearance; 
they  swung  off  in  their  fours  with  a  de- 
cent attempt  to  keep  the  step,  with 
their  heads  more  or  less  erect  and  their 
shoulders  back.  And  when  the  head 
of  the  column  turned  off  the  square 
back  into  the  same  street  they  had 
come  up  into  the  town,  a  buzz  of  talk 
and  calling  ran  through  the  ranks,  a 
voice  piped  up  shakily,  "It's  a  Long 
Way  to  Tipperary,"  and  a  dozen,  a 
score,  a  hundred  voices  took  up  the 
chorus  sturdily  and  defiantly.  The 
battalion  moved  out  with  the  narrow 
streets  ringing  to  their  steady  tramp, 
tramp,  over  the  pave  cobbles  and  the 
sound  of  their  singing.  Once  clear  of 
the  town,  it  is  true,  the  singing  died 
away  and  the  regular  tramping  march 
tailed  off  into  the  murmuring  shuffle 
of  feet  moving  out  of  step.  But  the 
deadly  apathy  had  lifted  from  the 
men,  there  was  an  air  of  new  life  about 
them;  one  would  never  have  known 
this  battalion  for  the  one  that  had 
marched  in  over  the  same  road  half 
an  hour  before:  Then  they  were  no 
more  than  a  broken,  dispirited  crowd, 
their  minds  dazed,  their  bodies 
numbed  with  fatigue,  moving  me- 
chanically,  dully,   apathetically,   still 


plodding  and  shuffling  their  feet  for- 
ward merely  because  their  conscious 
minds  had  set  their  limbs  the  task, 
and  then  the  tired  brain,  run  down, 
had  left  the  machinery  of  their  bodies 
still  working — working  jerkily  and 
slackly  perhaps,  but  nevertheless 
working  as  it  would  continue  to  work 
until  the  overstrained  muscles  refused 
their  mechanical  duty. 

Now  they  were  a  battalion,  a  knitted 
and  coherent  body  of  fighting  men, 
still  worn  out  and  fatigued  almost  to 
the  point  of  collapse,  but  with  working 
minds,  with  a  conscious  thought  in 
their  brains,  with  discipline  locking 
their  ranks  again,  with  the  prospect  of 
a  fight  ahead,  with  the  hope  strong  in 
them  that  the  tide  was  turning,  that 
they  were  done  with  the  running  away 
and  retreating  and  abandoning  hard- 
fought  fields  they  were  positive  they 
had  won;  that  now  their  turn  was 
come,  that  here  they  were  commenc- 
ing the  longed-for  advance. 

And  as  they  marched  they  heard 
behind  them  a  deep  boo-boom,  boo- 
bcom,  boo-moom,  and  the  whistling 
rush  of  the  shells  over  their  heads. 
That  and  the  low  muttering  rumble  of 
guns  far  out  on  the  flank  brought  to 
them  a  final  touch  of  satisfaction.  They 
were  advancing,  and  the  guns  were 
supporting  them  already  then — good, 
oh,  good! 

And  as  they  marched  back  down 
the  road  they  had  come  they  met  some 
of  their  stragglers  hobbling  painfully 
on  bandaged  feet,  or  picked  them  up 
from  where  they  still  lay  in  a  stupor 
of  sleep  on  the  roadside.  And  to  all 
of  them  the  one  word  "advance"  was 
enough.  "We're  going  back — it's  an 
advance,"  turned  them  staggering 
round  to  limp  back  in  the  tail  of  the 
battalion,  or  lifted  them  to  their  feet 
to  follow  on  as  best  they  might.  They 
picked  up  more  than  their  own  men, 
tco,  men  of  other  regiments  who  had 
straggled  and  fallen  out,  but  now  drew 
fresh  store  of  strength  from  the  cheer- 
ful word  "advance,"  and  would  not  be 
denied  their  chance  to  be  in  the  van 
of  it,  but  tailed  on  in  rear  of  the  bat- 
talion and  struggled  to  keep  up  with 


262 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


them.  "We're  all  right,  sir,"  said  one 
when  an  officer  would  have  turned  him 
and  sent  him  back  to  find  his  own  bat- 
talion. "We're  pretty  near  done  in  on 
marching;  but  there's  a  plenty  fight 
left  in  us — specially  when  it's  an  ad- 
vance." 

"Jacko,"  said  Peter,  "I'm  damn  near 
dead ;  but  thank  the  Lord  I  won't  have 
to  die  running  away." 

"All  I  asks,"  said  Jacko,  "is  as  fair 
a  target  on  'em  as  we've  had  before, 


and  a  chance  to  put  a  hole  in  the  back 
of  some  of  their  heads." 

"Ah"  said  Peter.  !  "Pore  little 
Blinker.  They've  got  to  pay  for  him 
and  a  few  more  like  him." 

"They  'ave,  blarst  them,"  said 
Jacko  savagely,  and  dropped  his  hand 
to  his  bayonet  haft,  slid  the  steel  half 
out  and  home  again.  "Don't  fret, 
chum,  they'll  pay — soon  or  late,  this 
time  or  next,  one  day  or  another — 
they'll  pay." 


The  Passing  of  a  Zeppelin 


By  Lewis  R.  Freeman 


IN  THE  YEAR  that  had  gone  by 
since  the  great  air  raid  on  London 
we  knew  that  much  had  been  done 
in  the  way  of  strengthening  the  de- 
fenses. Just  what  had  been  done  we 
did  not,  of  course,  and  do  not  know. 
We  knew  that  there  were  more  and 
better  guns  and  searchlights,  and 
probably  greatly  improved  means  of 
anticipating  the  coming  of  the  raiders 
and  of  following  and  reporting  their 
movements  after  they  did  come.  At 
the  same  time  we  also  knew  that  the 
latest  Zeppelin  had  been  greatly  im- 
proved ;  that  it  was  larger,  faster,  cap- 
able of  ascending  to  a  greater  altitude, 
and  probably  able  to  stand  more  and 
heavier  gun-fire  than  its  prototype  of 
a  year  ago.  It  seemed  to  be  a  ques- 
tion, therefore,  of  whether  or  not  the 
guns  could  range  the  raiders,  and,  if 
so,  do  them  any  vital  damage  when 
they  did  hit  them.  The  aeroplane  was 
an  unknown  quantity,  and,  in  the  popu- 


lar mind  at  least,  not  seriously  reck- 
oned with.  London  knew  that  the  cru- 
cial test  would  not  come  until  an  air- 
ship tried  again  to  penetrate  to  the 
heart  of  the  metropolitan  area,  and 
awaited  the  result  calmly,  if  not  quite 
indifferently. 

The  Zeppelin  raids  of  the  spring  and 
early  summer,  numerous  as  they  had 
been,  had  done  a  negligible  amount  of 
military  damage,  and  scarcely  more  to 
civil  property.  The  death  list,  too,  had 
mercifully  been  very  low.  It  seemed 
significant,  however,  that  the  main 
London  defenses  had  been  avoided 
during  all  of  this  time,  indicating,  ap- 
parently that  the  raiders  were  reluctant 
to  lift  the  lid  of  the  Pandora's  box  that 
was  laid  out  so  temptingly  before  them 
for  fear  of  the  possible  consequences. 
Twice  or  thrice,  watching  with  my 
glasses  after  I  had  been  awakened  by 
distant  bomb  explosions  or  gun  fire,  I 
had     seen     a     shell-pocketed  airship 


THE    PASSING   OF  A   ZEPPELIN 


263 


draw  back,  as  a  yellow  dog  refuses  the 
challenge  that  his  intrusion  has  pro- 
voked, and  glide  off  into  the  darkness 
of  some  safer  area.  "Would  they  try 
it  again?"  was  the  question  Londoners 
asked  themselves  as  the  dark  of  the 
moon  came  round  each  month,  and,  ex- 
cept for  the  comparatively  few  who 
had  had  personal  experience  of  the 
terror  and  death  that  follow  the  swath 
of  an  air-raider,  most  of  them  seemed 
rather  anxious  to  have  the  matter  put 
to  the  test. 

Last  night — just  twelve  "darks-of- 
the-moon"  after  the  first  great  raid  of 
1915 — the  test  came.  It  was  hardly  a 
conclusive  one,  perhaps  (though  that 
may  well  have  come  before  these  lines 
find  their  way  into  print),  but  it  was 
certainly  highly  illuminative.  I  write 
this  on  my  return  to  London  from 
viewing — twenty  miles  away — a  tan- 
gled mass  of  wreckage  and  a  heap  of 
charred  trunks  that  are  all  that  remain 
of  a  Zeppelin  and  its  crew  which — 
whether  by  accident,  intent  or  the  force 
of  circumstances  will  probably  never 
be  known — rushed  in  where  two  others 
of  its  aerial  sisters  feared  to  fly,  and 
paid  the  cost. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  surprise 
(to  London,  at  least;  as  regards  the 
ill-starred  Zeppelin  crew  none  can  say) 
in  last  night's  raid.  The  night  grew 
more  heavily  overcast  as  the  darkness 
deepened,  and  towards  midnight  steal- 
thy little  beams  of  hooded  searchlights 
pirouetting  on  the  eastern  clouds  told 
the  home-wending  Saturday  night 
theatre  crowd  that,  with  the  imminent 
approach  of  the  raiders,  London  was 
lifting  a  corner  of  its  mask  of  black- 
ness and  throwing  out  an  open  chal- 
lenge to  the  enemy.  This  was  the  first 
time  I  had  known  the  lights  to  precede 
the  actual  explosion  of  bombs,  and  the 
cool  confidence  of  the  thing  suggested 
(as  I  heard  one  policeman  tell  an- 
other) that  the  defense  had  something 
"up  their  sleeves." 

It  was  towards  one  in  the  morning 
when  I  finished  my  supper  at  a  West 
End  restaurant  and  started  walking 
through  the  almost  deserted  streets  to 
my  hotel.     London  is  anything  but  a 


bedlam  after  midnight,  but  the  silence 
in  the  early  hours  of  this  morning  was 
positively  uncanny.  Now,  with  the 
last  of  the  'buses  gone  and  all  trains 
stopped,  only  the  muffled  buzz  of  an 
occasional  belated  taxi — pushing  on 
cautiously  with  hooded  lights — broke 
the  stillness. 

Reaching  my  room,  I  pulled  on  a 
sweater,  ran  up  the  curtain,  laid  my 
glass  ready  and  seated  myself  at  the 
window,  the  same  window  from  which, 
a  year  ago,  I  had  watched  those  two 
insolently  contemptuous  raiders  sail 
across  overhead  and  leave  a  blazing 
wake  of  death  and  destruction  behind 
them.  On  that  night,  I  reflected,  I  had 
felt  the  rush  of  air  from  the  bombs  and 
— later — had  watched  the  firemen  ex- 
tinguishing the  flames  and  the  ambu- 
lances carrying  the  wounded  to  the 
hospitals.  Would  it  be  like  that  to- 
night? I  wondered  (there  was  now  no 
doubt  that  the  raiders  were  near,  for 
the  searchlights  had  multiplied,  and, 
far  to  the  southeast,  though  no  deto- 
nations were  audible,  quick  flashes 
told  of  scattering  gun-fire),  or  would 
the  defense  have  more  of  a  word  to 
say  for  itself  this  time?  I  looked  to 
the  eastern  heavens,  where  the  shifting 
clouds  were  now  "polka-dotted"  with 
the  fluttering  golden  motes  of  a  score 
of  searchlights,  and  thought  I  had 
found  my  answer. 

There  was  no  wheeling  and  reeling 
of  the  lights  in  wide  circles,  as  a  year 
ago,  but  rather  a  steady,  persistent 
stabbing  at  the  clouds,  each  one  ap- 
pearing to  keep  to  an  allotted  area  of 
its  own.  "Stabbing"  expresses  the  ac- 
tion exactly,  and  it  recalled  to  me  an 
occasion,  a  month  ago,  when  a  "Tom- 
my" who  was  showing  me  through 
some  captured  dug-outs  on  the  Somme 
illustrated  with  bayonet  thrusts,  the 
manner  in  which  they  had  originally 
searched  for  Germans  hiding  under  the 
straw  mattresses.  There  was  nothing 
"panicky"  in  the  work  of  the  lights 
this  time,  but  only  the  suggestion  of 
methodical,  ordered,  relentless  vigi- 
lance. 

"Encouraging  as  a  preliminary,"  I 
said  to  myself;  "now"  (for  the  night 


264  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

was  electric  with  import)     "for     the  not  possibly  have  resolved  the  earth- 
main  event."  ward  prospect  into  anything  less  than 

There  was  not  long  to  wait.  To  the  the  heart  of  a  fiery  furnace.  Indeed, 
southeast  the  gun  flashes  had  increased  it  is  very  doubtful  if  the  bewildered 
in  frequency,  followed  by  mist  dulled  fugitive  knew,  in  more  than  the  most 
blurs  of  brightness  in  the  clouds  that  general  way,  where  it  was.  Cut  off  by 
told  of  bursting  shells.  Suddenly,  the  guns  to  the  southeast  from  retreat 
through  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  I  saw  a  in  that  direction,  but  knowing  that  the 
new  kind  of  glare — the  earthward-  North  Sea  and  safety  could  be  reached 
launched  beam  of  an  airship's  search  by  driving  to  the  northeast,  it  is  more 
light  groping  for  its  target — but  the  than  probable  that  the  harried  raider 
shifting  mist-curtain  intervened  again  found  itself  over  the  "Lion's  Den" 
even  as  one  of  the  defending  lights  rather  than  because  it  could  not  help  it 
took  up  the  challenge  and  flashed  its  than  by  deliberate  intent, 
own  rapier  ray  in  quick  reply.  Pres-  What  a  contrast  was  this  blinded, 
ently  the  muffled  boom  of  bombs  fleet-  reeling  thing  to  those  arrogantly  pur- 
ed  to  my  ears,  and  then  the  sharper  poseful  raiders  of  a  year  ago!  Su- 
rattle  of  a  sudden  gust  of  gun-fire.  This  premely  disdainful  of  gun  and  search- 
was  quickly  followed  by  a  confused  light,  these  had  prowled  over  London 
roar  of  sound,  evidently  from  many  till  the  last  of  their  bombs  had  been 
bombs  dropped  simultaneously  or  in  planted,  and  one  of  them  had  even  cir- 
quick  succession,  and  I  knew  that  one  cled  back  the  better  to  see  the  ruin  its 
of  two  things  had  happened — either  passing  had  wrought.  But  this  raider 
the  raider  had  found  its  mark  and  was  — far  larger  than-  its  predecessors  and 
delivering  rapid  fire,  or  the  guns  were  flying  at  over  twice  as  great  a  height 
making  it  so  hot  for  the  visitor  that  though  it  was — dashed  on  its  erratic 
it  had  been  compelled  to  dump  its  ex-  course  as  though  pursued  by  the  venge- 
plosives  and  seek  safety  in  flight,  ful  spirits  of  those  its  harpy  sisters 
When  a  minute  or  more  had  gone  by  had  bombed  to  death  in  their  beds.  If 
I  felt  sure  that  the  latter  had  been  scut-  it  still  had  bombs  to  drop  its  com- 
tled,  and  that  it  was  now  only  a  ques-  mander  either  had  no  time  or  no  heart 
tion  of  which  direction  the  flight  was  for  the  job.  Never  had  I  seen  an  in- 
going to  take.  animate  thing  typify  terror — the  terror 

Again  the  eastward  searchlights  that  must  have  gripped  the  hearts  of  its 
gave  me  the  answer.  By  two  and  three  palpably  flustered  (to  judge  by  the  air- 
— I  could  not  follow  the  order  of  the  ship's  movements)  crew — like  that 
thing — the  lights  that  had  been  "pa-  staggering  helpless  maverick  of  a  Zep- 
trolling"  the  eastern  sky  moved  over  pelin,  when  it  finally  found  itself 
and  took  their  station  around  a  certain  clutched  in  the  tentacles  of  the  search- 
low-hanging  cloud  to  the  south.  The  lights  of  the  aerial  defenses  of  Lon- 
murky  sheet  of  cumulo-nimbus  seemed  don. 

to  pale  and  dissolve  in  the  concentrat-         All  this  time  the    weird,     uncanny 

ed  rays,  and  then,  right  into  the  focus  silence  that  brooded  over  the  streets 

of  golden  glow  formed  by  the  dancing  before  I  had  come  indoors  held  the  city 

light  motes,  running  wild  and  blind  in  its  spell.    The  watching  thousands 

as  a  bull  charges  the  red  mantle  mask-  — nay,  millions — kept  their  excitement 

ing  the  matador,  darted  a  huge  Zep-  in  leash,  and  the  propeller     of     the 

pelin.  raider — muffled  by  the  mists  interven- 

Perhaps  never  before  in  all  time  has  ing  between  the  earth  and  the  12,000 
a  single  object  been  the  center  of  so  feet  at  which  it  whirred — dulled  to  a 
blinding  a  glare.  It  seemed  that  the  drowsy  drone.  Into  this  tense  silence 
optic  nerve  must  wither  in  so  fierce  a  the  sudden  fire  of  a  hundred  anti-air- 
light,  and  certainly  no  unprotected  eye  craft  guns — opening  in  unison  as 
could  have  opened  to  it.  Dark  glasses  though  at  the  pull  of  a  single  lanyard 
might  have  made  it  bearable,  but  could  — cut  in  a  blended  roar  like  the  Crack 


THE    PASSING   OF  A   ZEPPELIN 


265 


o'  Doom;  indeed,  though  few  among 
those  hushed  watching  millions  real- 
ized it  it  was  literally  the  Crack  o' 
Doom  that  was  sounding.  For  perhaps 
a  minute  or  a  minute  and  a  half  the 
air  was  vibrant  with  the  roar  of  hard- 
pumped  guns  and  the  shriek  of  speed- 
ing shell,  the  great  sound  from  below 
drowning  the  sharper  cracks  from  the 
steel-cold  flashes  in  the  upper  air. 

It  was  guns  that  were  built  for  the 
job — not  the  hastily  gathered  and 
wholly  inadequate  artillery  of  a  year 
ago — that  were  speaking  now,  and  the 
voice  was  one  of  ordered,  imperious 
authority.  Range-finders  had  the  ma- 
rauder's altitude,  and  the  information 
was  being  put  at  the  disposal  of  guns 
that  had  the  power  to  "deliver  the 
goods"  at  that  level.  What  a  contrast 
the  sequel  was  to  that  pitiful  firing  of 
the  other  raid !  Only  the  opening  shots 
were  "shorts"  or  "wides"  now,  and  ten 
seconds  after  the  first  gun  a  diamond 
clear  burst  blinking  out  through  a  rift 
in  the  upper  clouds  told  that  the  rai- 
der— to  use  a  naval  term — was  "strad- 
dled," had  shells  exploding  both  above 
and  below  it.  From  that  instant  till 
the  guns  ceased  to  roar,  seventy  or 
eighty  seconds  later,  the  shells  burst, 
lacing  the  air  with  golden  glimmers, 
and  meshed  the  raider  in  a  fiery  net. 

For  a  few  seconds  it  seemed  to  me 
that,  close-woven  as  was  the  net  of 
shell-bursts,  the  flashes  came  hardly 
as  fast  as  the  roar  of  the  guns  would 
seem  to  warrant,  and  I  swept  the  heav- 
ens with  my  glasses  in  a  search  for 
other  possible  targets.  But  no  other 
raider  was  in  sight;  there  was  no  other 
"nodal  center"  of  gun  fire  and  search- 
lights. Suddenly  the  reason  for  the 
apparent  discrepancy  was  clear  to  me. 
The  flashes  I  saw  (except  for  a  few  of 
the  shrapnel  bullets  they  were  releas- 
ing) were  only  the  misses;  the  hits  I 
could  not  see.  The  long-awaited  test 
was  at  its  crucial  stage.  Empty  of 
bombs  and  with  half  of  its  fuel  con- 
sumed, the  raider  was  at  the  zenith  of 
its  flight,  and  yet  the  guns  were  rang- 
ing it  with  ease.  It  was  now  a  ques- 
tion of  how  much  shell-fire  the  Zeppe- 
lin could  stand. 


In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  airship 
— so  far  as  I  could  see  through  my 
glasses — did  not  appear  to  slow  down 
or  to  be  perceptibly  racked  by  the  gun 
fire,  I  have  no  doubt  what  the  end 
would  have  been  if  the  test  could  have 
been  pressed  to  its  conclusion  in  an 
open  country.  But  bringing  a  burning 
Zeppelin  down  across  three  or  four 
blocks  of  thickly  settled  London  was 
hardly  a  thing  the  Air  Defense  de- 
sired to  do  if  it  could  possibly  be 
avoided.  The  plan  was  carried  to  its 
conclusion  with  the  almost  mathemati- 
cal precision  that  marked  the  prelimi- 
nary searchlight  work  and  gunnery. 

From  the  moment  that  it  had  burst 
into  sight  the  raider  had  been  emitting 
clouds  of  white  gas  to  hide  itself  from 
the  searchlights  and  guns,  while  the 
plainly  visible  movements  of  its  lat- 
eral planes  seemed  to  indicate  that  it 
was  making  desperate  efforts  to  climb 
still  higher  into  the  thinning  upper 
air.  Neither  experiment  was  of  much 
use.  The  swirling  gas  clouds  might 
well  have  obscured  a  hovering  airship, 
but  never  one  that  was  rushing  through 
the  air  at  seventy  miles  an  hour,  while 
far  from  increasing  its  altitude,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  slight  but  steady  loss 
from  the  moment  the  guns  ceased  until, 
two  or  three  miles  further  along,  it  was 
hidden  from  sight  for  a  minute  by  a 
low-hanging  cloud.  Undoubtedly  the 
aim  of  the  gunners  had  been  to  "hole," 
not  to  fire  the  marauder,  and  it  must 
have  been  losing  gas  very  rapidly  even 
— as  the  climacteric  moment  of  the  at- 
tack approached — at  the  time  increas- 
ed buoyancy  was  most  desirable. 

The  "massed"  searchlights  of  Lon- 
don "let  go"  shortly  after  the  gunfire 
ceased,  and  now,  as  the  raider  came 
within  their  field,  the  more  scattered 
lights  of  the  northern  suburbs  wheeled 
up  and  "fastened  on."  The  fugitive 
changed  its  course  from  north  to  north- 
easterly about  this  time,  and  the  swell- 
ing clouds  of  vapor  left  behind  pres- 
ently cut  off  its  foreshortened  length 
entirely  from  my  view.  A  heavy 
ground  mist  appeared  to  prevail  be- 
yond the  heights  to  the  north,  and  in 
the  diffused  glow  of  the  searchlights 


266 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


that  strove  to  pierce  this  mask  my 
glasses  showed  the  ghostly  shadows 
of  flitting  aeroplanes — maneuvering 
for  the  death-thrust. 

The  ground  mist  (which  did  not, 
however,  cover  London  proper)  kept 
the  full  strength  of  the  searchlights 
from  the  upper  air,  and  it  was  in  a 
sky  of  almost  Stygian  blackness  that 
the  final  blow  was  sent  home.  The 
farmers  of  Hertfordshire  tell  weird 
stories  of  the  detonations  of  bursting 
bombs  striking  their  fields,  but  all 
these  sounds  were  absorbed  in  the 
twenty-mile  air-cushion  that  was  now 
interposed  between  my  vantage  point 
and  the  final  scene  of  action. 

Not  a  sound,  not  a  shadow  heralded 
the  flare  of  yellow  light  which  sudden- 
ly flashed  out  in  the  northeastern  heav- 
ens and  spread  latitudinally  until  the 
whole  body  of  a  Zeppelin — no  small 
object  even  at  twenty  miles — stood  out 
in  glowing  incandescence.  Then  a 
great  sheet  of  pink  white  flame  shot 
up,  and  in  the  ripples  of  rosy  light 
which  suffused  the  earth  for  scores  of 
miles  I  could  read  the  gilded  lettering 
on  my  binoculars.  This  was  undoubt- 
edly the  explosion  of  the  ignited  hy- 
drogen of  the  main  gas-bags,  and  im- 
mediately following  it  the  great  frame 
collapsed  in  the  middle  and  began 
falling  slowly  toward  the  earth,  burn- 
ing now  with  a  bright  yellow  flame, 
above  which  the  curl  of  black  smoke 
was  distinctly  visible.  A  lurid  burst 
of  light — doubtless  from  the  exploding 
petrol  tanks — flared  up  as  the  flaming 
mass  struck  the  earth,  and  half  a  min- 
ute later  the  night,  save  for  the  ques- 
tioning searchlights  to  east  and  south, 
was  as  black  as  ever  again. 

Then  perhaps  the  strangest  thing  of 
all  occurred.  London  began  to  cheer. 
I  should  have  been  prepared  for  it  in 
Faris,  or  Rome,  or  Berlin,  or  even  New 
York,  but  that  the  Briton — who  of  all 
men  in  the  world  most  fears  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  lifted  in  unrestrained 
jubilation — was  really  cheering,  and  in 
millions,  was  almost  too  much.  I 
pinched  my  arm  to  be  sure  that  I  had 
not  dozed  away,  and,  lost  in  wonder, 
forgot  for  a  minute  or  two  the  great 


drama  just  enacted. 

Under  my  window  half  a  dozen  Aus- 
tralian "Tommies"  were  rending  the 
air  with  "coo-ees"  and  dancing  around 
a  lamp-post,  while  all  along  the  street, 
from  doorways  and  windows,  exultant 
shouting  could  be  heard.  For  several 
blocks  in  all  directions  the  cheers  rang 
out  loud  and  clear,  distinctly  recog- 
nizable as  such;  the  sound  of  the  mil- 
lions of  throats  farther  afield  came 
only  as  a  heavy  rumbling  hum.  Per- 
haps since  the  dawn  of  creation  the 
air  has  not  trembled  with  so  strange  a 
sound — a  sound  which,  though  entirely 
human  in  its  origin,  was  still  unhuman, 
unearthly,  fantastic.  Certainly  never 
before  in  history — not  even  during  the 
great  volcanic  eruptions — has  so  huge 
a  number  of  people  (the  fall  of  the 
Zeppelin  had  been  visible  through  a 
fifty  to  seventy-five  mile  radius  in  all 
directions,  a  region  with  probably  from 
10,000,000  to  15,000,000  inhabitants) 
been  suddenly  and  intensely  stirred  by 
a  single  event. 

It  was  undoubtedly  the  spectacular- 
ity  of  the  unexpected  coup  that  had 
made  these  normally  repressed  mil- 
lions so  suddenly  and  so  violently  vo- 
cal. Many — perhaps  most — stopped 
cheering  when  they  had  had  time  to 
realize  that  a  score  of  human  beings 
were  being  burned  to  cinders  in  the 
heart  of  that  flaming  comet  in  the 
northeastern  heavens;  others — I  knew 
the  only  recently  restored  tenements 
where  some  of  them  were — must  have 
shouted  in  all  the  grimmer  exultation 
for  that  very  realization.  I  can  hardly 
say  yet  which  stirred  me  more  deeply, 
the  fall  of  the  Zeppelin  itself  or  that 
stupendous  burst  of  feeling  aroused  by 
its  fall. 

ifi  'fi  !|i  *K 

By  taxi,  milk-cart,  tram,  and  any 
other  conveyance  that  offered,  but 
mostly  on  foot,  I  threaded  highway 
and  byway  for  the  next  four  hours, 
and  shortly  after  daybreak  scrambled 
through  the  last  of  a  dozen  thorny 
hedgerows  and  found  myself  beside 
the  still  smouldering  wreckage  of  the 
fallen  raider.  An  orderly  cordon  of 
soldiers  surrounded  an  acre  of  black- 


THE    PASSING   OF  A   ZEPPELIN 


267 


ened  and  twisted  metal,  miles  and 
miles  of  tangled  wire,  and  a  score  or 
sc  of  Flying  Corps  men  already  bus- 
ily engaged  loading  the  wreckage  into 
waiting  motor-lorries — that  was  about 
all  there  was  to  see.  A  ten  foot  square 
green  tarpaulin  covered  all  that  could 
be  gathered  together  of  the  airship's 
crew.  Some  of  the  fragments  were 
readily  recognizable  as  having  once 
been  the  arms  and  legs  and  trunks  of 
men;  others  were  not.  A  man  at  my 
elbow  stood  gazing  at  the  pitiful  heap 
for  a  space,  his  brow  puckered  in 
thought.  Presently  he  turned  to  me, 
a  grim  light  in  his  eye,  and  spoke. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that 
these"  (indicating  the  charred  stumps 
under  the  square  of  canvas)  "have 
just  recalled  to  me  the  words  Count 
Zeppelin  is  reported  to  have  used  at  a 
great  mass  meeting  called  in  Berlin  to 
press  for  a  more  rigorous  prosecution 
of  the  war  against  England  by  air,  for 
a  further  incease  of  f rightfulness  ? 
Leading  two  airship  pilots  to  the  front 


of  the  platform,  he  shouted  to  the 
crowd :  'Here  are  two  men  who  were 
ever  London  last  night!'  And  the  as- 
sembled thousands,  so  the  despatch 
said,  roared  their  applause  and  clam- 
ored that  the  Zeppelins  be  sent  again 
and  again  until  the  arrogant  Engend- 
ers were  brought  to  their  knees.  Well" 
—he  paused  and  drew  a  deep  breath 
a?  his  eyes  returned  to  the  heap  of 
blackened  fragments — it  appears  that 
they  did  send  the  Zeppelins  again — 
more  than  ever  were  sent  before — and 
now  it  is  our  turn  to  be  presented  to 
'the  men  who  were  over  London  last 
night.'  I  wonder  if  the  flare  that  con- 
sumed these  poor  devils  was  bright 
enough  to  pierce  the  black  night  that 
has  settled  over  Germany?" 

4>  ♦  ♦  • 

The  tenseness  passed  out  of  the 
night — and  the  raid  was  over.  Who 
knows  but  what,  so  far  as  the  threat 
to  England  is  concerned,  the  passing 
of  a  Zeppelin  marked  also  the  passing 
of  the  Zeppelin! 


The  Spirit  of  "49 


By  /Aabel  Rice  Bigler 


My  grandmother,  sweet  Betsy  Dwyer,  and  young  John  Allen,  fortune's 

squire, 
According  to  their  hearts'  desire  were  pledged  and  wed  at  last; 
That  very  day  he  sailed  away,  the  land  of  gold  in  quest, 
To  find  if  she  could  safely  stay  out  in  the  desperate  West. 
The  young  bride,  torn  with  shipwreck  fears,  said  farewell,  holding  back 

her  tears — 
He'd  soon  return — but  three  long  years  of  lonely  waiting  passed. 

My  grandfather  came  back  again  to  claim  his  winsome  Betsy  Jane 
Awaiting  him  in  Montville,  Maine,  the  town  where  she  was  born; 

With  steadfast  eye  she  said  good-bye  and  left  the  pleasant  farm; 

Without  a  backward  glance  or  sigh,  she  took  her  husband's  arm. 
With  steadfast  eye  and  trembling  lip  she  started  on  the  four  months'  trip 
In  Captain  Dawson's  clipper  ship  which  fared  around  Cape  Horn. 

The  ship  was  stale,  and  how  it  stunk!    The  captain  and  the  crew  were 
drunk, 

And  she  lay  seasick  in  her  bunk — the  great  seas  swashed  the  floor. 
The  ship  beat  back  far  off  her  track  with  torn  and  whipping  sail, 
And  sky  and  sea  were  deadly  black — it  was  a  wicked  gale. 

But,  "Don't  you  fret  for  me,"  she  said,  "I'll  not  give  up  until  I'm  dead! 

You  mind  the  wheel,  I'll  mind  my  head  and  take  the  watch  at  four." 

The  word  had  traveled  far  and  wide:  "John  Allen's  bringing  back  his 

bride!" 
The  miners  came  a  weary  ride  from  up  the  mountain  flume. 

They  hushed  themselves  and  brushed  themselves  and  passed  around  the 

comb, 
And  never  knew  they  blushed,  themselves,  to  see  a  girl  from  home ; 
She  surely  must  have  looked  a  queen  in  twenty  yards  of  bombazine, 
And  nodding  on  her  bonnet  green  a  tiny  ostrich  plume! 

From  out  the  stage-coach  she  stepped  down  in  dainty  slippers  russet 
brown ; 

The  men  cheered  loud  enough  to  drown  the  beating  of  her  heart; 
The  while  my  grandsire  took  her  hand  and  proudly  led  her  through 
The  crowd,  into  the  tent-house,  planned  to  be  a  nest  for  two. 

So  came  the  little  Eastern  maid,  in  Eastern  finery  arrayed, 

By  frontier  hardship  undismayed,  a  Western  home  to  start. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  '49  269 

From  San  Francisco,  Lizzie  Kerr,  a  cousin,  came  to  visit  her, 
A  kindly  meant  inquisitor — she  saw  the  earthen  floor; 

She  wept  away  a  half  a  day  and  said  it  was  a  sin 

To  have  to  use  a  bottle — clay — for  a  rolling  pin ! 
Then  gayly  spake  contented  gran.,  "Now,  dry  your  tears,  Liz,  if  you  can — 
I'll  have  you  know  I'm  happier  than  I  ever  was  before!" 

What  humble  converts  she  could  make  with  one  hot  batch  of  Johnny-cake ! 

Red  Smith  came  Sundays  for  her  sake,  and  even  Faro  Jim. 

She'd  sing  and  play  and  they  would  stay — but  when  the  preacher  rose, 
Out  through  the  door  they'd  file  away — their  church  was  at  its  close. 

"Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow" — You  never  heard  Old  Hun- 
dred go 

With  such  a  brave  fortissimo  as  when  she  led  the  hymn! 


She  saw  blue  sky  behind  each  cloud.    For  no  low  task  was  she  too  proud ; 

One  time  she  sewed  a  murderer's  shroud — he  was  to  hang  next  morn. 
And  when  the  quaint  church  she  would  paint  without  a  volunteer, 
She  told  the  men,  with  no  complaint,  they'd  help,  or  pay  to  see  her ! 

What  will  was  hers !    What  spirit's  might  upheld  her  in  her  desperate  fight 

Throughout  that  black  and  endless  night  when  her  first  child  was  born ! 


Full  three-score  years  since  then  have  flown.    With  comfort  we  are  dainty 

grown; 
Without  our  lights  and  telephone,  how  helpless  we  should  be ! 

With  frantic  cries  and  streaming  eyes  our  troubles  beat  us  down; 

We  struggle  for  an  earthly  prize,  nor  seek  a  starry  crown. 
Lord  God !    Renew  in  us  the  grace  with  valiant  hearts  our  world  to  face 
And  gladly  take  our  lotted  place  as  long  ago  did  she ! 


In  the  Realm  of  Bookland 


"The  Mysterious  Stranger,"  by  Mark 
Twain. 

Mark  Twain  is  revealed  in  his  rip- 
est philosophic  mood  in  his  posthu- 
mous romance,  "The  Mysterious  Stran- 
ger." In  considering  the  great  humor- 
ist as  a  philosopher,  we  must  always 
bear  in  mind  the  comment  of  his  bio- 
grapher, "He  could  damn  the  human 
race  competently,  but  in  the  final  reck- 
oning it  was  the  interest  of  that  race 
that  lay  closest  to  his  heart." 

The  scenes  of  the  romance  are  laid 
in  the  little  town  of  Eseldorf  in  Aus- 
tria, in  the  year  1590.  To  this  town 
there  comes  one  day  a  strange  youth — 
in  reality,  an  angel  in  human  guise. 
He  at  once  proceeds  to  take  active 
part  in  the  affairs  of  the  village,  but 
his  best  efforts  to  benefit  the  people 
always  seem  to  result  calamitously. 
Finally,  he  takes  his  departure  after 
giving  the  boy,  Theodor  (the  narra- 
tor of  the  story),  a  farewell  summing 
up  of  his  views.  He  is  somewhat  of 
an  iconoclast,  this  angel  hero,  em- 
bodiment of  Mark  Twain's  philosophy 
applied  to  the  life  of  the  people  of 
Eseldorf.  The  miracles  wrought  by 
the  Mysterious  Stranger  belong  prop- 
erly to  the  times  when  astrologers 
flourished ;  when  simple,  peasant  faith 
was  ready  to  construe  every  unusual 
manifestation  of  power  as  super-natu- 
ral; when  witch-burning  and  heretic 
burning  were  considered  holy  and 
meritorious  acts. 

Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


intervals  and  daily  trips  to  the  city  at 
fixed  hours  must  readjust  himself  to 
the  fact  that  life  need  not  necessarily 
be  a  dull,  orderly  progression.  Such, 
indeed,  it  was  for  Edward  Basingstoke 
until  the  day  when  he  chucked  his 
job,  bought  a  dog,  and  set  forth  with 
only  Chance  and  Destiny  for  guides. 

At  the  tavern  of  "The  Five  Bells" 
he  sets  about  amusing  the  innkeeper's 
son  by  constructing  a  toy  aeroplane.  It 
flies — but  lands  in  a  tree  beyond  a 
high  garden  wall,  and  Edward,  mount- 
ing the  wall,  climbs  right  into  Ro- 
mance. The  girl  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall  is  as  surprised  as  he.  And 
Edward,  bent  on  nothing  more  than 
rescuing  the  imprisoned  aeroplane 
from  the  clutches  of  the  tree,  finds  this 
task  speedily  transcended  by  the  ar- 
dent and  arduous  knight  errantry  of 
rescuing  the  maiden  from  the  clutches 
of  her  tyrannical  aunts.  All  this 
comes  crisply  about.  Edward  and  the 
fugitive  maiden  fare  forth  on  their  ad- 
venture— upon  the  beautiful  stretches 
of  the  Medway,  to  Warwick,  Stratford- 
on-Avon,  Kenilwofth — a  delightful  es- 
capade through  the  most  storied  and 
picturesque  parts  of  England. 

Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


"An  Incredible  Honeymoon,"  by    E. 
Nesbit. 

The  story  has  a  picaresque  quality, 
and  takes  its  way  through  the  lanes 
and  highways  of  the  English  country- 
side, ingratiating  itself  upon  the 
reader  through  its  very  improbabilities 
of  situation,  which  come  to  seem  not 
so  improbable  after  all.  One  whose 
life  is  punctuated  by  meals  at  stated 


As  a  Newspaper  Man  Views  the  War. 
Herbert  Bayard  Swope,  author  of 
"Inside  the  German  Empire,"  (The 
Century  Company) ,  says  there  is  to  be 
seen  and  felt  a  subtle  change  in  the 
fabric  of  the  German  spirit.  "From 
a  certainty  of  victory,"  he  observes, 
"it  has  been  inexorably  pressed  down 
to  a  fear  of  defeat.  From  the  ambi- 
tion of  world  dominance,  it  has 
changed  to  a  struggle  for  existence. 
Exaltation  has  given  way  to  despera- 
tion, and  the  fear  that  Germany  once 
sought  to  impose  upon  others  is  now 
being  imposed  by  others  upon  Ger- 
many. When  I  was  in  Germany  at  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  the  word  in  every- 


Please     Mention    Overland    Monthly    When    Writing    Advertisers 


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one's  mouth  was  "siegen"  (conquer, 
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"The  Soul  of  Dickens,"  by  W.  Walter 
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$2.25  net.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
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"With  the  French  Flying  Corps,"  by 

Carroll  Dana  Winslow. 

In  this  profusely  illustrated  volume 
we  have  for  the  first  time  a  complete 
account  of  how  the  French  army  trains 
its  aviators.  The  author,  a  pilote  in 
the  "Escadrille  F-44,"  enlisted  in  the 
French  Flying  Corps  in  1915,  and  af- 
ter eight  months'  training  at  the  vari- 
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the  Mort  Homme. 

Mr.  Winslow  gives  a  most  graphic 
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reality  only  conductors.  Some  pilots 
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showed  me  how  exhaustive  is  the 
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the  training  of  the  military  pilot." 

$1.25  net.    Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
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"Labor  and  Liberty,"  by  Dr.  Samuel 

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branches. 

$1  net.  Samuel  Rabinowitz,  Brook- 
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"Francis  Villon,  His  Life  and  Times," 

by  H.  de  Vere  Stacpoole'. 

Few  men  have  had  so  interesting  a 
life  as  Francois  Villon.  He  was  poet 
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is,  nevertheless,  one  of  the  enduring 
figures  of  literature,  romance  and  life. 
He  belonged  to  an  age  of  great  hap- 
penings. A  few  months  before  his 
birth  Jeanne  D'Arc  had  been  burned 
at  Rouen.  During  his  lifetime  wolves 
boldly  invaded  the  streets  of  Paris  and 
were  feared  only  less  than  the  Bur- 
gundians  clamoring  at  its  gates.  The 
country  was  overrun  with  robbers, 
tricksters,  gypsies,  mountebanks  and 
a  turbulent  soldiery.  In  this  volume 
the  author  has  given  a  picture,  infused 
in  its  every  detail  with  life,  of  the  poet 
vagabond  and  the  Paris  and  France  in 
which  he  lived. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York. 


one  hand  in  the  air,  and  run  at  full 
speed  around  the  table  at  a  hopping 
gallop.  We  all  flew  after  him,  hop- 
ping and  waving  our  hands  as  he  did. 
We  would  run  around  the  room  several 
times,  and  sit  down  again  panting  in 
our  chairs  in  quite  a  different  frame 
of  mind,  gay  and  lively.  The  Numid- 
ian  Cavalry  had  an  excellent  effect 
many  and  many  a  time.  After  that 
exercise  all  sorts  of  quarrels  and 
wrongs  were  forgotten  and  tears  dried 
with  marvelous  rapidity." 

The  Centuy  Company,  New  York. 


Finds  Plots  in  Central  Park. 

Fannie  Hurst,  whose  second  book, 
"Every  Soul  Hath  Its  Song,"  was  pub- 
lished last  autumn,  says  that  it  is  in 
Central  Park  that  she  thinks  out  all 
the  plots  of  her  stories,  strolling  for 
hours  at  a  time  along  its  byways.  She 
doesn't  mind  saying,  now  that  her 
popularity  has  been  won,  that  her  first 
thirty  short  stories,  written  while  she 
was  still  at  the  Washington  University, 
St.  Louis,  and  submitted  to  a  well- 
known  periodical,  were  rejected  with 
unfailing  regularity.  They  then  ap- 
peared in  the  college  weekly,  and  Miss 
Hurst  says,  "I  might  add  that  I  was 
one  of  the  editors." 


Harper  Books  to  be  Reprinted. 

Harper  &  Brothers  announce  that 
they  will  put  to  press  immediately  for 
reprinting  Zane  Grey's  new  novel, 
"Wildfire,"  which  was  published  on 
the  12th.  They  are  reprinting  also  "A 
Pair  of  Blue  Eyes"  and  "The  Mayor  of 
Casterbridge,"  by  Thomas  Hardy; 
"Jane  Eyre,"  by  Charlotte  Bronte; 
"The  Young  Pitcher,"  by  Zane  Grey; 
"The  Long  Trail,"  by  Hamlin  Garland ; 
"Oakleigh,"  by  Ellen  Defend;  "Cap- 
tured by  the  Navajos,"  by  Captain 
Charles  A.  Curtis;  "Wonder  Tales 
from  Wagner,"  by  Anna  A.  Chapin, 
and  "How  to  Cook  and  Why,"  by  Con- 
dit  and  Long. 


"Reminiscences  of  Tolstoi,"  by  Count 
Ilya  Toystoy. 

The  present  tour  of  Count  Ilya  Tol- 
stoy through  the  United  States,  during 
which  he  is  delivering  lectures  on  the 
intimate  life  and  ideals  of  his  father, 
recalls  the  fact  that  in  his  "Reminis- 
cences of  Tolstoy"  Count  Ilya  pictures 
the  great  novelist  as  a  very  delightful 
paterfamilias.  Countless  were  the 
games  and  rhymes  and  humorous  in- 
ventions with  which  he  amused  his 
children.  For  example,  the  game  of 
"Numidian  Cavalry,"  which  Count 
Ilya  describes  in  this  way :  "We  would 
all  be  sitting,  perhaps  in  the  zala, 
rather  flat  and  quiet  after  the  depart- 
ure of  some  dull  visitors.  Up  would 
jump  my  father  from  his  chair,  lifting 


"God  the  Invisible  King,"  by  H.  G. 

Wells.    Author  of  "Mr.  Britling  Sees 

It  Through,"  etc. 

Readers  of  "Mr.  Britling  Sees  It 
Through"  were  particularly  impressed 
with  the  religious  note  which  it 
sounded,  especially  in  its  closing 
pages.  The  ideas  of  God  and  of  the 
spiritual  life  of  man  therein  set  forth 
were  responsible  to  no  inconsiderable 
degree  for  the  tremendous  appeal  of 
that  story.  These  facts  lend  interest 
to  this  volume,  in  which  Mr.  Wells  sets 
out  as  forcibly  and  exactly  as  possible 
his  religious  beliefs.  Mr.  Wells  de- 
cribes  the  book  himself  as  one  written 
by  a  man  "sympathetic  with  all  sin- 
cere religious  feeling  and  yet  a  man 
who  feels  that  he  must  protest  against 
those  dogmas  which  have  obscured, 
perverted  and  prevented  the  religious 
life  of  mankind."     The  spirit  of  this 


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xiii 


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book,  he  says,  is  like  that  of  a  mission- 
ary, who  would  only  too  gladly  over- 
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that  missionary  is  not  primarily  to 
shock  and  insult,  but  to  liberate."  The 
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that  stands  between  man  and  God. 

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"Driftwood  Spars,"  by  Captain  Perci- 

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A  strikingly  realistic  picture  of  un- 
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it  presents  an  intimate  analysis  of  the 
character  of  the  native  Hindu  only  pos- 
sible to  a  man  of  penetrating  intuition, 
a  student  of  human  nature,  and  one 
who  has  dwelt  in  close  association  with 
the  Oriental.  The  narrative,  which 
hardly  presents  the  development  of  a 
formal  plot,  it  concerns  three  principals 
— a  half-caste  army  officer,  Captain 
John  Ross-Elliston ;  an  Englishwoman, 
Mrs.  Dearman,  and  a  Somali  boy  who 
is  Ross-Elliston's  voluntary  slave. 
These  three  drift  together  from  far  dis- 
tant points,  and  there  take  their  re- 
spective roles  in  the  tragedy  that  forms 
the  climax. 

Two-thirds  of  the  narrative  is  con- 
cerned with  Ross-Elliston's  career  in 
British  officialdom.  Outwardly  he  be- 
trays no  evidence  of  his  mixed  blood. 
He  is  a  man  to  win  the  admiration  of 
those  who  love  lion-like  bravery,  light- 
ning resourcefulness  and  chivalry.  But 
it  is  the  momentary  ascendancy  of  the 
Oriental  blood  that  leads  to  the  crime 
responsible  for  his  tragic  end. 

In  the  course  of  the  absorbing  nar- 
rative, Captain  Wren  is  bitterly  satiri- 
cal at  the  expense  of  English  societies 
which  meddle  in  Indian  affairs  in  an 
effort  to  "uplift"  the  native  and  the 
stupid  officials  who  misuse  their  oppor- 
tunities to  mold  into  loyal  citizens  the 
plastic  Hindu  youth  coming  under  their 
influence.  He  shows  how  these  youths 
are  won  over  and  poisoned  in  mind  by 
adroit  preachers   of     sedition     while 


"Political  and  Litetrary  Essays,"    by 
Lord  Cromer. 

The  only  literary  essays  in  the  en- 
tire collection  are  reviews  of  Sir  Sid- 
ney Lee's  "Life  of  Shakespeare"  and 
"Lord  Curzon's  War  Poems."  The  re- 
maining essays  deal  almost  exclusively 
with  books  pertaining  to  the  war  that 
have  come  into  print  since  August, 
1914,  and  therefore  the  Earl  of  Cro- 
mer's comments  have  to  do  largely 
with  war  and  politics. 

In  reviewing  these  war  books,  the 
Earl  of  Cromer,  distinguished  states- 
man though  he  is,  suffers  from  the 
handicap  natural  to  a  representative  of 
one  of  the  warring  powers,  the  feeling 
of  intense  partisanship.  Yet  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  his  collection 
of  essays,  it  is  evident  that  he  has 
made  an  attempt  to  overcome  his  in- 
clination to  see  solely  the  English  side 
of  the  question  and  to  give  the  German 
foeman  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  He 
is,  at  least,  reasonably  temperate  in  his 
praise  of  England.  He  is  also  reason- 
ably sympathetic  -  about  the  plight  of 
Austria,  caught  as  she  is  between  the 
devil  of  Slav  aggression  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  deep  sea  of  German  en- 
croachments on  the  other.  In  his  com- 
ment upon  Signor  Virginio  Gayda's 
book,  in  discussing  the  complications 
which  modern  Austria  faces,  he  says: 
"Finally,  it  would  be  both  unjust  and 
ungenerous  not  to  recognize  that  the 
political  beds  of  thorns  on  which  fate 
has  destined  that  modern  Austria 
should  lie,  is  not  wholly  of  her  own 
making.  It  has  in  its  essential  features 
been  created  by  the  onward  march  of 
democracy  whjch  has  given  an  im- 
mense impulse  to  the  nationalist  move- 
ment throughout  the  world.  The  po- 
litical problems  which  have  arisen  out 
or  that  are  of  surpassing  difficulty." 

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"Las  Uvas"  is  the  finest  mountain  stream 
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The  Victor  Company 
announces 

a  complete  course 
in  vocal  training 

by  Oscar  Saenger 

in  twenty  lessons 

on  ten  Victor  Records 
o  ®25 

y^SCCLY  Soprano;  Mezzo-Soprano :  Tenor :  Baritone;  or    Bass 

Every  student  of  vocal  music,  every  aspiring 
young  singer,  every  one  who  has  a  voice,  even  though 
it  be  untrained,  can  now  develop  his  or  her  talents 
under  the  direction  of  Oscar  Saenger — America's 
greatest  and  most  successful  vocal  teacher. 

No  matter  where  they  may  live,  all  those  who  wish  to  sing  may  now  learn  to 
do  so  under  the  direction  of  a  master  who  is  credited  with  having  entered  more 
pupils  upon  successful  operatic,  oratorio  or  concert  careers  than  has  any  other 
teacher  in  the  United  States. 

The  Oscar  Saenger  Course  in  Vocal  Training  consists  of  ten  double-faced 
Victor  Records,  which  provide  twenty  lessons  in  vocalization. 

There  is  a  separate  set  of  records  for  each  of  the  following  five  voices: 
Soprano,  Mezzo-Soprano,  Tenor,  Baritone,  and  Bass. 

For  each  set  of  lessons,  perfect  examples  of  tone  production  have  been 
secured  through  Oscar  Saenger's  personal  choice  of  the  artists  best  qualified  to 
serve  as  exemplars. 

The  Oscar  Saenger  Course  in  Vocal  Training  for  any  of  the  voices  mentioned 
above,  may  be  procured  from  any  Victor  dealer  at  $25 — the  cost  of  a  one-hour 
lesson  at  the  Saenger  Studio  in  New  York. 

Write  for  an  illustrated  booklet 

giving  full  information  about  the  series  of  Victor  Records  of  the  Oscar  Saenger  Coarse  in 
vocalization.     We  will  gladly  send  a  copy  upon  receipt  of  your  request. 

Important  Notice:  All  Victor  Talking  Machines  are  pat- 
ented and  are  only  licensed,  and  with  right  of  use  with  Victor 
Records  only.  All  Victor  Records  are  patented  and  are  only 
licensed,  and  with  right  of  use  on  Victor  Talking  Machines  only. 
Victor  Records  and  Victor  Machines  are  scientifically  coordi- 
nated and  synchronized  by  our  special  processes  of  manufac- 
ture; and  their  use,  except  with  each  other,  is  not  only  unauthor- 
ized, but  damaging  and  unsatisfactory. 


Victor  Talking  Machine  Co.,  Camden,  N.  J. 

Berliner  Gramophone  Co.,  Montreal,  Canadian  Distributors 


Victrola 

VlCtroIa  is  the  Registered  Trade-mark  of  the  Victor  Talking 
Machine  Company  designating  the  products  of  this  Company  only. 
Warning:  The  use  of  the  word  Victrola  upon  or  in  the  pro- 
motion or  sale  of  any  other  Talking  Machine  or  Phonograph 
products  is  misleading  and  illegal. 


LXVI 1 1 


(Pwrlatt  h  ■ 


<^SMWC 


Mnntl|ig 


AN   ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE^WEST 

CONTENTS   FOR  APRIL   1917 


FRONTISPIECES: 

Six    Touring    Scenes    in    California 270-275 

Illustration    to    accompany    "Ah-Pura-Way" 276 

AH-PURA-WAY EDNA   HILDEBRAND    PUTNAM        277 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

AT    CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA.      Verse            .         .         .  HENRIETTA  C.  PENNY  283 

THE    AMERICANIZED    CHINESE   STUDENT             .  FRANK  B.  LENZ  284 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

THE    BROOK.      Verse ELIZABETH  REYNOLDS  291 

THE   MISSION   OF  SANTA  CRUZ           ....  ROBERT   COSMO  HARDING  292 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

"IN   CITY   PENT."      Verse VERNE    BRIGHT  295 

THE    LATE    PASTOR    RUSSELL            .         .         .         .  J.    F.    RUTHERFORD  296 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 

TROUBLES   OF  AN   AERIAL   SCOUT           .         .         .  WILLIAM   PALMER  303 
PROBLEMS    OF     MENTAL    AND     SPIRITUAL 

HEALING 306 

THE   DRUM    MAJOR.      Verse LLEWELLYN  B.   PECK  314 

GUNS  OF  GALT.      Continued  Story       ....  DENISON  CLIFT  315 

INDIAN   VS.  WHITE   MAN.      Story                .         .  N.  K.   BUCK  '  325 

A    PEACEFUL   PIRATE DELLA   PHILLIPS  327 

SYMBOLISM.       Verse A.   E.  331 

THE    PROPHECY.       Story LORA  D.   PATTERSON  332 

FROM    MANHATTAN.      Verse JAMES  NORMAN  HALL  335 

LOVE    AND    THE    RAID.      Story            ....  OLIVE  COWLES  KERNS  336 

COMPENSATION.       Verse LANNIE   HAYNES  MARTIN  343 

THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIRACLE.      Concluded  CTTO  VON  GELDERN  344 

SUNK.       Story RALPH  N.  VARDEN  352 


■»)»XC«cc 


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Miss  Hamlin's  School 


For  Girls 


Home  Building  on  Pacific  Avenue 
of  Miss  Hamlin's  School  for  Girls 


Boarding  and  day  pupils.  Pupils  received 
at  any  time.  Accredited  by  all  accredit- 
ing institutions,  both  in  California  and  in 
Eastern  States.  French  school  for  little 
children.      Please  call,  phone  or  address 


MISS  HAMLIN 


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Hitchcock  Military   Academy 

San   Rafael,    Cal. 


"Preparedness  First"  cadets  of  Hitchcock  Military  Academy 
drilling  on  the  sports'  field. 

A  HOME  school  for    boys,    separate    rooms,    large 
campus,  progressive,  efficient,  thorough,  Govern- 
ment   detail    and    full    corps     of     experienced 
instructors,   accredited  to  the  Universities. 

Ideally  located  in    the    picturesque    foothills  of 
Marin    County,     fifteen     miles     from    San     Francisco. 

Founded  1878. 

Catalogue  on   application. 

REX  W.  SHERER  President 


vi 


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A    household    word   even   in   childhood. 

BAKER'S  COCOA 

has  for  several  generations  been  widely  known  for  its  good 
qualities  of  purity,  wholesomeness  and  delicious  flavor.  It  has 
real  food  value.    Ask  your  grocer  for  the  genuine  Baker's  Cocoa. 

Made  only  by 

Walter  Baker  &  Co.  Ltd. 

Established  1780  Choice  Recipe  Book  Sent  Free  Dorchester,  Mass. 


Along  a  stretch  of  big  oak  on  the  State  Highway 


A  cabin  in   Muir  Woods,  a  beautiful  redwood  forest  some  twenty  miles  north  of  San   Francisco 


Through  an  avenue  of  palms,  Southern  California 


Down    the   Strawberry   Grade   on   the    old    Placerville   Road,  over  the  Sierra  Nevada   Mountains. 


Cave  Rock,  near  Lake  Tahoe,  one  of  the  largest  watersheds  in  California. 


On   the    Pacific    Highway,    in    a    stretch   of    pine   forest. 


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The  ckins  are  raised  and  lowered   in  time  to  the    me-sured  step. 


OVERLAND 


Founded  1868 


MONTHLY 


BRET  HARTE 


VOL.  LXIX 


San  Francisco,  April,  1917 


No.  4 


W$*&-J&  '  '"■  **• 

Jl 

Ah-Fura-Way 

The  Dance 

J§jfl| 

of  the 

1 

White  Deer  Skin 

and 

■tr 

Other  Klamath 

Indian  Worship  Dances 

w       XmnH^^I^M^^flHL 

'»:'  ,                 ii^, 

By 

*     ' 

|J^B| 

Edna   Hildebrand    Putnam 

■ 

Photos  Specially  by  Emma  B.  Freeman    of 
the  Freeman  Art  Co.,  Eureka,  Cal. 

5 

showing  the  unusually  la 

rge  flints  and  queer 

head-dress    of    some 

of   the   dancers. 

ROBERT  SPOTT  is  a  perfect 
type  of  young  Indian  manhood, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  with 
muscles  toughened  and  quick- 
ened like  those  of  a  leopard.  Who  he 
is  and  what  he  is,  is  best  told  in  his 
own  signature :  "Robert  Spott,  Captain 
Spott,  Indian  Chief — his  son,  Klamath 
Indian,  Requa,  California." 

The  chieftain's  son,  quick  of  intel- 
lect and  action,  trained  alike  in  the 
lore  of  his  people  and  the  teachings  of 


the  white  man,  is  a  well  known  char- 
acter along  the  lower  Klamath  Basin, 
where  his  forefathers  have  dwelt  for 
unnumbered  ages.  The  country  to  him 
is  an  open  book.  Hunting  parties  the 
season  through  seek  him  out  to  guide 
them  to  the  best  hunting  grounds  and 
trout  streams.  A  more  affable,  courte- 
ous companion  would  be  difficult  tp 
find  either  on  the  trail  or  around  the 
campfire  at  night. 

But — like  all  of  his  race — this  young 


2 


278 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


No.   1. — Another  unique  costume  worn   in   he 
dance. 

Indian  prince  is  sensitive  to  the  slight- 
est hint  of  ridicule.  Under  the  benign 
influence  of  friendship  his  nature  ex- 
pands like  a  beautiful  flower  to  the 
sun;  let  there  be  a  derisive  glance  or 
scornful  remark  among  his  campfire 
auditors,  and  his  tale  of  early  Indian 
life  will  cease,  never  to  be  resumed. 

He  is  but  typical  of  his  people  as  a 
race.  Because  of  a  lack  of  sympathy 
and  a  persistent  disregard  of  the  In- 
dian point  of  view  on  the  part  of  their 
successors,  the  North  American  In- 
dians have  allowed  very  little  of  their 
tribal  customs  and  beliefs  to  become 


known  to  the  whites.  It  is  rather  sur- 
prising to  discover  at  this  late  date, 
when  as  a  race  the  Indians  are  facing 
extinction,  that,  despite  their  primitive 
and  ofttimes  barbaric  customs,  they 
have  clung  desperately  through  all  the 
years  of  their  adversity  to  a  religious 
faith  that  in  its  essentials  is  not  un- 
like that  of  the  Christian.  It  is  only 
through  the  friendship  of  such  broad- 
minded  Indians  as  Robert  Spott  that 
the  modern  world  will  ever  learn  of 
that  life  that  is  past — to  whom  what- 
ever of  merit  there  is  in  the  following 


No.  2. — Robert  Spott  in  costume  of  Ah-pura- 
way    dance. 


AH-PURA-WAY. 


279 


description  of  the  Klamath  worship 
dances  is  due. 

"Ah  Pura  Way,"  familiarly  known 
to  the  white  people  as  the  "White  Deer 
Skin  Dance,"  while  not  the  most  sol- 
emn of  the  worship  dances  of  the 
Northern  California  Indians,  is  per- 
haps the  best  known.  It  is  more  than 
a  religious  festival — it  is  a  season  of 
joy  and  good  will  among  men — a  sort 
of  Thanksgiving,  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  Consecration  Meeting  rolled 
into  one.  It  usually  occurs  during  the 
early  fall,  and  is  celebrated  every  two 
or  three  years. 

In  the  words  of  Prince  Robert:  "It 


No.   3. — Bush    dance. 


No.    4. — Costume    of   the   jumping    dance. 

is  whenever  there  being  so  many  kinds 
of  sickness  upon  earth.  The  earth  is 
dried — no  green  grass  and  the  wild 
flowers  and  all  the  birds  are  flying 
away;  and  so  all  the  animals  going 
away  too.  No  berries,  no  acorns,  no 
fish  upon  the  river. 

"Then  a  medicine  man  go  up  in  the 
high  mountains  and  prayed  to  the 
heaven  and  to  the  stars  and  to  the  sun 
with  his  power  that  sickness  will  be 
going  away  and  have  a  better  world: 
the  earth  will  be  covered  with  green 
grass  and  wild  flowers  and  plenty  of 


280 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


fish  in  the  river — also  berries  and  all 
animals  and  birds  will  come  back  to 
earth  again." 

Does  it  sound  so  very  different  from 
some  of  the  Biblical  stories  of  the  Old 
Testament?  Who  does  not  remember 
the  oft-repeated  statement,  "And 
Moses  went  up  in  the  mountain  to 
pray?"  Just  as  the  Hebrew  people 
trusted  implicitly  in  the  power  of 
prayer,  so  did  the  untutored  people 
who  offered  their  petitions  to  their 
Great  Spirit — the  omnipotent  God. 

While  the  Indian  priest  is  fasting 
and  praying  on  some  lonely  mountain 
top,  the  men  of  his  tribe  are  busy  pre- 
paring for  the  big  festival.  Word  is 
sent  to  all  the  tribes  in  the  country 
that  "Ah  Pura  Way"  will  be  danced  on 
such  and  such  an  occasion.  Those  who 
receive  the  invitation  immediately  be- 
gin preparations  to  participate  in  the 
festival.  Out  from  secret  hiding 
places  is  brought  a  wealth  of  Indian 
finery — sacred  deer  skins,  marvelous 
flints  and  robes  of  richly  ornamented 
skins — that  have  lain  hidden  from 
sight  since  the  last  time  the  worship 
dance  was  celebrated.  The  Indian 
women  hurry  to  collect  provisions 
enough  to  furnish  a  twelve-day  feast 
for  their  men  and  any  chance  guests 
who  will  participate  in  the  dance. 

Upon  the  return  of  the  high-priest 
the  tribes  assemble  together  and  the 
dance  begins.  In  outward  semblance 
it  has  little  suggestion  of  piety  and 
consecration  to  the  onlooker.  It  is 
nothing  more  than  a  barbaric  trial  of 
physical  strength  and  endurance — 
harmful  to  both  mind  and  body.  But 
to  the  old  tribesmen  it  was  all  that 
was  beautiful  and  sacred.  Caught  in 
the  fanatic  fervor  of  the  dance,  young 
men  and  old  men  gloried  in  the  oppor- 
tunity to  shout  and  dance  themselves 
into  unconsciousness — to  prostrate 
themselves  through  utter  weariness  be- 
fore the  feet  of  their  God. 

In  the  center  of  some  clearing  along 
the  river,  the  leader,  who  must  be  a 
man  consecrated  by  pure  blood  and 
religious  training  for  the  office,  takes 
his  place,  holding  in  his  hand  a  long 
pole  on  which  is  arranged  the  skin  of 


The    Sacred    White    Deer,     emblem     of     the 

dance. 
-Photo   copyrighted   1916   by  Emma   B.   Free- 
man, Eureka,  Cal. 

the  sacred  white  deer.  A  row  of  his 
townsmen,  fourteen  or  sixteen  in  num- 
ber, take  their  places  at  either  side, 
leaving  the  leader  in  the  middle  of  the 
row.  The  upper  part  of  the  body  of 
the  dancers  is  nude,  except  for  the 
strands  of  Indian  beads  depending  to 
the  waist.  An  Indian  blanket  of  deer- 
skin ornamented  with  beads  and  bits 
of  abalone  shell  is  fastened  at  the 
waist  and  extends  to  the  knees.     A 


AH-PURA-WAY. 


281 


gaudy  head-dress  fastened  at  the  back 
by  a  single  upstanding  feather  com- 
pletes the  costume. 

A  man  with  a  cowl-like  head-dress 
held  in  place  by  a  savage  looking  band 
of  walrus  tusks  and  holding  an  im- 
mense flint  strapped  to  his  arms,  is 
stationed  at  either  end  of  the  row 
slightly  in  advance  of  the  others. 

When  all  is  ready,  the  leader  lifts 
his  voice  and  his  foot  simultaneously, 
and  the  dance  is  on — not  to  cease  until 
the  village  has  danced  itself  to  exhaus- 
tion. The  men  in  the  row  raise  and 
lower  their  deerskins  on  the  poles  in 
time  with  their  bending  bodies  and 
jerking  feet.  The  effect  is  weird  and 
uncanny.  The  deer  skins  assume  the 
semblance  of  life,  first  raising  their 
noses  towards  the  heavens  in  exhorta- 
tion and  then  bowing  in  humility  and 
supplication  towards  the  earth.  They 
are  the  sacred  emblems  through  which 
the  red  men  hope  to  have  their  peti- 
tions heard  and  answered.  Each  skin 
is  richly  ornamented  with  bits  of  shells 
and  bright  feathers,  which  are  fast- 
ened to  the  nostrils  and  feet  by  means 
of  buckskin  thongs  several  inches  in 
length. 

The  two  flint  dancers  bend  their 
bodies  almost  at  right  angles  and 
dance  back  and  forth  along  the  row. 
As  a  dancer  falls  from  his  place  from 
exhaustion,  he  is  pulled  aside  and  an- 
other of  the  same  village  takes  his 
place. 

To  make  the  trial  more  exciting,  the 
spirit  of  competition  enters  into  the 
celebration,  each  village  striving  to  out- 
shine its  neighbors  in  finery  and  en- 
durance. A  respite  is  granted  the 
dancers  at  night,  during  which  they 
feast  and  visit  among  the  various 
camps.  But  with  morning  the  dance 
goes  on  until  the  twelve  days  have 
been  completed.  The  Hoopa  Indians 
require  but  six  days  for  a  similar  cele- 
bration. 

The  Indians'  unquestioning  faith  in 
the  efficacy  of  their  barbaric  ceremony 
was  doubtless  due  in  a  large  measure 
to  the  fact  that  their  hopes  were 
nearly  always  realized.  That  this  was 
due  to  natural  laws  never  occurred  to 


these  pious  minded  children.  Coming 
as  it  did  in  the  fall,  the  dance  was  sure 
to  be  followed  by  the  autumn  rains 
that  never  failed  to  clear  the  atmos- 
phere of  disease  germs  and  cover  the 
earth  with  a  spring  time  growth  of 
grass  and  flowers.  The  fish  dams 
ready  placed  in  the  rivers  for  the  an- 
nual run  of  salmon  was  a  self-guar- 
antee of  plenty  of  fish.  But  the  In- 
dians considered  these  things  an  an- 
swer to  their  petitions. 

While  Christian  education  has 
taught  the  young  Indians  dependance 
upon  self  rather  than  in  the  blind  faith 
in  prayer  they  do  not  entirely  disbe- 
lieve the  stories  of  the  ancient  tradi- 
tions of  their  tribespeople.  Just  as 
the  Christians  of  to-day  do  not  say 
that  the  miracles  of  early  Biblical 
times  are  not  true,  so  Robert  Spott 
does  not  disbelieve  the  tales  of  In- 
dian tradition  that  his  father  and  his 
father's  father  have  handed  down  to 
him. 

While  Ah-Pura-Way  is  the  largest 
festival  at  which  all  the  tribes  congre- 
gate, there  are  many  other  religious 
dances  among  the  Klamath  Indians  all 
designed  to  protect  the  people  from 
hunger  and  sickness. 

In  illustration  3,  our  young  Indian 
friend  is  seen  in  the  dress  worn  in  the 
bush  dance.  It  is  a  dance  to  cure  bod- 
ily ills,  demonstrating  in  a  forceful 
way  the  Indians'  faith  in  the  power  of 
the  will  to  overcome  sickness.  Robert 
gives  the  following  synopsis  of  the 
ceremony : 

"Bush-dance  doctor,  when  a  child  is 
unhealth,  he  go  far  upon  the  moun- 
tains in  the  evening  and  pray  to  the 
heaven  with  his  power  so  this  child's 
sickness  will  go.  And  he  pray  again 
so  the  child  will  have  a  long  and  so 
good  lucky  life.  Then  he  break  the 
limb  of  the  pine  forest  and  comes 
home.  And  have  the  sick  child  lay 
beside  the  fire  and  danced  all  night 
around  the  sick  child." 

If  the  child  died  it  was  attributed 
to  the  will  of  God. 

The  costumes  worn  by  the  Indians 
in  the  Jumping-dance  is  shown  in  il- 
lustration 4.     It  is   celebrated  when 


Ah-pura-way,   or   Klamath    Indian  worship  dance,  as  practiced  in  Northern  California. 

— Photo  copyrighted  1916  by  Emma  B.  Freeman,   Eureka,  Cal. 


there  is  fear  of  an  epidemic.  In  the 
words  of  our  authority:  "This  dance 
always  have  whenever  the  people  hear 
a  sickness  coming  on  a  far  away." 

It  is  held  in  the  Indian  house  and 
lasts  twelve  days.  To  quote  further 
from  the  story  of  the  chieftain's  son. 

"A  medicine  man  sit  beside  the  fire 
and  has  a  long  pipe  and  smoke  Indian 
tobacco  and  not  drink  water  and  eat 
once  day.  Then  he  pray  to  heaven, 
and  before  he  sit  down  he  took  Indian 
tobacco  and  put  a  little  on  his  hand. 
Then  he  blow  to  north  and  south  with 
his  power  that  sickness  will  not  reach 
here,  and  again  he  blow  to  the  east  and 
the  west.    Then  he  sit  down. 

"Then  the  dance  beginning  do  dance 

around  him  and  people  looking  on  are 

all  feeling  verv  sadness." 

*  *  *  * 

But  the  old  ceremonies  have  van- 
ished— the  dance  is  done.  And  the 
reason — Death. 


Long  ago  the  Indians  of  the  valley 
and  coast  regions  of  the  Golden  State 
disappeared,  leaving  scarcely  a  token 
of  their  existence  except  the  long  line 
of  Mission  buildings  stretching  from 
San  Diego  to  San  Francisco,  and  of 
which  California  is  so  justly  proud. 

Because  of  the  mountain  barriers 
and  their  remoteness  from  the  centers 
of  civilized  life,  the  tribes  of  the  north- 
ern coast  counties  have  continued  to 
cherish  up  to  the  present  many  of  their 
old  tribal  customs  even  though  the 
government  schools  have  used  every 
effort  to  discourage  the  barbaric  prac- 
tices, and  to  win  the  Indians  to  saner 
modes  of  life  and  thought.  It  is  Death 
more  than  education  that  has  made 
impossible  the  old  life  and  customs. 

All  the  religious  dances  of  the 
Klamaths,  to  be  of  any  avail,  must  be 
conducted  by  one  of  pure  blood  and 
high  standing  in  the  tribe  anointed  to 
that  sacred  office,  just  as  were     the 


AT  CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA. 


283 


priests  of  the  ancient  Hebrews — or  for 
that  matter  just  as  priests  and  minis- 
ters are  authorized  to  perform  certain 
ceremonies  to-day.  These  holy  men 
of  the  Indians  have  nearly  all  passed 
over  into  the  Land  of  Forgetfulness, 
and  the  custom  of  intermarriage  has 
left  few  pure  enough  of  blood  to  take 
their  places. 


When  Captain  Spott  answers  the 
call,  the  sacred  emblems  of  which  he 
is  the  custodian  will  pass  as  a  precious 
heirloom  to  his  son  Robert,  to  be  trea- 
sured as  were  the  sacred  goblets  in 
the  ancient  Jewish  tabernacle,  but  they 
will  never  be  used  again  to  invoke  the 
blessing  of  the  Heavenly  Father  upon 
his  trusting  Children  of  the  Wilds. 


AT    CAR/AEL-BY-TIiE-SEA 


The  Mission  walls  stand  thick  and  strong, 
In  the  quaint  tower  the  bell  still  swings; 

The  swallows  nest  beneath  the  eaves, 
And  dart  about  with  quivering  wings. 

The  grass  grows  lush  upon  the  hills 
The  surf  still  beats  upon  the  shore; 

Where  are  the  dark-skinned  worshipers 
Who  knelt  in  crowds  upon  this  floor? 

Gone  from  the  hills — gone  from  the  shore, 
Their  homes,  nor  even  their  graves  we  see, 

Under  the  white  man's  chilling  touch 

These  simple  Christians  ceased  to  be. 

Oh!    Father  Serra,  could  you  rest 
In  peace  within  your  silent  grave, 

And  see  this  people  fade  away, 

This  people  that  you  died  to  save? 

Their  only  monument  this  house, 

Reared  with  such  toil  at  your  command ; 

They  worshiped  here — then  like  a  cloud 
They  vanished  from  this  pleasant  land. 


Will  not  some  hand  beside  your  name 

Write  thus  upon  these  walls  of  clay, 
"In  memory  of  a  gentle  race 

Who  built  this  house — then  passed  away." 

Henrietta  C.  Penny. 


The  Americanized  Chinese  Student 


What  Will  lie  Play  in  the  Future  Development  of  China? 


By  Frank  B.  Lenz, 


Young  Men's  Christian  Association.     At  Present  in  North  China  Union  Language  School,  Peking,  China. 


THE  HOPE  of  any  nation  lies 
with  its  educated  class.  The  stu- 
dents of  to-day  are  the  leaders 
of  to-morrow  in  the  political,  in- 
dustrial, commercial,  social  and  relig- 
ious life  of  any  country.  The  trained 
man — the  expert  is  in  demand.  Leader- 
ship must  be  progressive  if  it  is  to  be 
successful.  Our  higher  institutions  of 
learning  are  to-day  producing  more 
than  eighty  per  cent  of  the  leaders  of 
the  nation.  It  has  been  recently  ascer- 
tained that,  there  are  at  present  about 
twelve     hundred     Chinese     students 


Dr.  Y.  T.  Tsur,  President  of  Tsing   Hua 
College,  Peking. 


studying  in  America's  higher  educa- 
tional institutions.  Why  have  these 
most  intellectual  sons  of  the  Celestial 
Republic  selected  the  United  States  as 
the  country  in  which  to  continue  their 
studies  ? 

In  the  first  place  the  American  peo- 
ple have  won  the  hearts  of  the  Chinese 
by  their  policy  of  fair  and  just  treat- 
ment. The  United  States  has  devel- 
oped a  consistent  foreign  policy,  and 
for  half  a  century  has  continued  a  pol- 
icy in  the  Pacific  quite  as  definite  as 
that  represented  in  the  Monroe  Doc- 
trine. In  1868,  Anson  Burlingame 
made  a  treaty  between  the  United 
States  and  China  .which  admitted  her 
to  the  family  of  nations — a  treaty  so 
just  and  expressed  in  such  friendly  lan- 
guage that  it  has  served  as  a  model  for 
all  subsequent  treaties  of  Western  na- 
tions with  China.  This  treaty  began 
the  policy  of  recognizing  China  as  an 
equal  among  all  the  nations  of  the 
world.  It  was  due  to  the  influence  of 
this  treaty  that  enabled  Secretary  Hay 
in  1900  to  secure  another  treaty  pledg- 
ing Japan,  United  States  and  other 
Western  Powers  to  respect  the  integ- 
rity and  independence  of  the  Chinese 
Empire,  and  to  claim  no  rights  of  trade 
which  were  not  freely  granted  to 
others.  This  is  the  open  door  policy 
for  China.  The  Americans  by  a  cen- 
tury of  positive  missionary  effort  have 
broken  down  race  prejudice  and  estab- 
lished the  greatest  confidence  between 
themselves  and  the  Chinese.  The 
American  Government -ereely  gave  its 
services  in  aiding  the  Chinese  govern- 


The   Yamen    at   Tsing    Hua. 


ment  to  destroy  foreign  traffic  in  Chi- 
nese coolies.  The  American  govern- 
ment likewise  gave  its  services  in  sup- 
pressing foreign  trade  in  opium.  Am- 
erican officials  are  to-day  constantly  at 
watch  along  the  entire  American  bor- 
der and  coast  against  opium  smug- 
gling. 

The  friendship  has  been  greatly  in- 
creased between  the  two  countries  by 
the  services  of  Americans  in  famine 
relief,  especially  in  the  Great  Famine 
in  Shensi  and  the  recent  famines  in  the 
Yangste  Valley. 

The  United  States  was  one  of  the 
first  countries  to  recognize  the  Chinese 
Republic. 

China  is  in  dire  need  of  instruction 
along  scientific  lines.  She  must  have 
accurate  information  in  regard  to  sani- 
tation, disease  prevention  and  medical 
research.  The  China  Medical  Com- 
mission, which  is  now  authorized  to 
spend  about  a  million  and  a  quarter 
dollars  per  year,  is  destined  to  play  a 
very  large  part  in  cementing  the  future 
friendship  of  the  two  nations. 

America  has  been  wise  in  the  selec- 


tion of  her  ministers  to  China.  Bur- 
lingame,  Parker,  Angell,  Denby,  Con- 
ger, Rockhill,  Calhoun  and  Dr. 
Reinsch  have  had  large  influence  on 
the  friendly  relations  between  the 
United  States  and  China.  Presidents 
Grant,  Roosevelt  and  Wilson  have 
been  true  friends  of  China.  Most  visi- 
tors like  ex-President  Eliot  have  re- 
ported favorably  on  their  trips  and 
have  contributed  to  the  good-will  of 
the  two  countries. 

The  only  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the 
most  friendly  relations  between  the 
two  nations  is  the  Exclusion  Law.  This 
law  not  only  excludes  all  Chinese  lab- 
orers or  coolies,  but  it  inflicts  great 
hardships  on  the  exempted  class;  that 
is,  merchants,  travelers,  students, 
teachers  and  officials.  As  one  Chinese 
official  once  said  in  San  Francisco: 
"It  seems  much  easier  for  them  to  en- 
ter Heaven  than  to  set  foot  on  the 
American  continent  even  when  they 
enter  with  the  Consul's  certificate  or 
other  documents  issued  and  signed  by 
American  diplomatic  agents  in  China." 

We  sincerely  trust  that  this  discrim- 


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First    court    in    the    Yamen. 


inatory  law  will  be  changed  for  some 
such  policy  as  that  advocated  by  Dr. 
Sidney  Gulick;  namely,  the  admission 
to  our  country  annually  of  say  five  per 
cent  of  the  number  of  people  of  any 
other  country  now  living  in  the  United 
States  who  have  become  naturalized 
American  citizens.  Such  a  policy 
would  operate  fairly  among  all  na- 
tions, and  at  the  same  time  would  in- 
sure the  assimilation  of  all  immigrants 
who  come  to  America. 

The  most  direct  and  potent  reason 
why  so  many  Chinese  students  pur- 
sue their  studies  in  America  is  due  to 
the  return  to  China  in  1908  by  the 
United  States  of  about  one-half  the  in- 
demnity bond  paid  by  China  at  the 
close  of  the  Boxer  Rebellion.  This 
amount  was  $10,785,286.12.  When 
the  announcement  was  made  by  Minis- 
ter W.  W.  Rockhill  of  the  return  of  the 
indemnity  money,  Prince  Ching  re- 
plied :  "Mindful  of  the  desire  express- 
ed by  the  President  of     the     United 


States  to  promote  the  coming  of  Chi- 
nese students  .to  the  Unied  States  to 
take  courses  in  schools  and  colleges  of 
the  country,  and  convinced  by  the 
happy  results  of  past  experience  of  the 
great  value  to  China  of  education  in 
American  schools,  the  Imperial  gov- 
ernment has  the  honor  to  state  that  it 
is  its  intention  to  send  henceforth 
yearly  to  the  United  States  a  consider- 
able number  of  students,  there  to  re- 
ceive their  education."  The  Chinese 
government  decided  that  one  hundred 
students  should  be  sent  to  America 
every  year  for  four  years,  and  that 
from  the  fifth  year  a  minimum  of  fifty 
students  should  be  sent  each  year.  It 
was  provided  that  eighty  per  cent  of 
the  students  sent  should  specialize  in 
industrial  arts,  agriculture,  mechanical 
and  mining  engineering,  physics,  chem- 
istry, railway  engineering,  architec- 
ture and  banking  and  twenty  per  cent 
should  specialize  in  law  and  political 
science.    But  how  were  these  students 


Returned  students  visiting  their  alma  mater, Tsing   Hua  College,  taking  tea  at  the  President's 

yamen. 


to  be  prepared  for  entrance  to  Ameri- 
can universities?  The  Chinese  educa- 
tional system  was  not  based  on  West- 
ern methods.  In  the  agreement  be- 
tween the  two  countries  the  date  set 
for  the  first  group  to  the  United  States 
was  in  1909.  Since  there  was  no  school 
in  which  the  students  could  be  trained 
before  going,  it  was  decided  by  the 
Bureau  of  Educational  Mission  to  the 
United  States  to  select  the  first  group 
by  a  rigid  examination.  In  August, 
1909,  six  hundred  and  thirty  took  the 
examinations  in  Peking.  Only  forty- 
eight  passed.  These  were  sent  to  the 
United  States  in  October. 

The  necessity  of  a  training  center 
was  apparent,  and  so  Tsing  Hua  Park 
was  secured  from  the  government  as  a 
suitable  site  for  such  an  institution.  It 
was  decided  to  name  the  school  Tsing 
Hua  College.  The  necessary  build- 
ings were  completed  in  1911,  and  work 
began  at  once.  Eighteen  teachers,  nine 
of  whom  were  women,  were  engaged 
to  come  to  America  to  make  up  the  fac- 
ulty. But  it  was  now  time  for  another 
group  of  students  to  go  to  the  United 


States.  In  order  to  meet  the  situation 
an  examination  was  again  held,  from 
which  seventy-three  students  were  se- 
lected to  be  sent  to  America. 

After  a  brief  summer  vacation,  col- 
lege opened  in  1911,  but  scarcely  two 
months  had  passed  before  the  revolu- 
tion in  Wuchang  broke  out.  A  month 
later  Tsing  Hua  was  closed  and  teach- 
ers and  students  left  for  their  homes. 
Matters  were  not  sufficiently  adjusted 
in  China  until  the  spring  of  1912  to 
permit  the  college  to  re-open  its  doors. 
Since  May  1,  1912  the  work  at  Tsing 
Hua  College  has  been  going  on  har- 
moniously and  without  interruption. 
During  the  last  three  years  the  school 
has  grown  in  many  directions.  Two 
events  deserve  special  mention.  First, 
the  number  of  students  has  grown  to 
nearly  five  hundred,  this  growth  being 
accounted  for  by  the  admission  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three  boys  to  the 
Middle  School  in  1915.  A  further  ad- 
dition of  students  to  the  High  School 
has  been  contemplated,  and  steps  have 
already  been  taken  toward  holding  an 
entrance   examination  next     summer. 


Dining  room  of  the  college. 


The  second  event  of  great  importance 
was  the  decision  made  in  1914  by  the 
government  of  the  United  States  to  re- 
turn to  China  a  further  sum  of  the 
Boxer  Indemnity  Fund.  The  original 
sum  of  the  Indemnity  was  $24,440,- 
778.  Two  million  dollars  of  this 
amount  had  been  set  aside  to  settle 
sundry  claims  put  forward  at  various 
times.  These  claims  were  finally  set- 
tled and  a  balance  of  $1,170,000  has 
been  returned  to  China  since  1914. 

The  president  of  the  college,  Dr. 
Ye-Tsung  Tsur,  is  himself  an  Ameri- 
can trained  scholar  of  splendid  ability. 
He  holds  degrees  both  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin  and  Yale.  He 
was  promoted  to  the  presidency  Au- 
gust 22, 1913,  at  the  death  of  Mr.  Tong 
Kai-son,  the  first  president. 

Entering  America  for  the  first  time, 
the  Chinese  student  is  confused.  His 
primary  need  is  personal  guidance.  He 
will  need  help  in  securing  temporary 
hotel  accommodations,  transferring  his 


baggage,  getting  railway  tickets,  and 
starting  on  the  right  train  for  the  uni- 
versity of  his  choice.  He  may  wish  to 
make  some  purchases,  exchange  money 
or  post  letters.  The  organization  that 
has  anticipated  his  wants  and  minis- 
tered to  him  in  terms  of  his  needs  has 
been  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation. The  San  Francisco  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
has  met  and  assisted  every  group  of  In- 
demnity Students  that  has  been  sent 
to  the  United  States.  Scores  of  pri- 
vate students  have  also  been  helped. 
The  student  traveling  alone  has  often 
suffered  great  apprehension  when  tem- 
porarily detained  by  the  immigration 
authorities  at  Angel  Island.  In  every 
case  the  Association  has  been  the 
messenger  to  relieve  the  distressed 
mind. 

Upon  reaching  the  university  city 
the  student  again  needs  assistance.  The 
University  Y.  M.  C.  A.  helps  him  to 
find  board  and  lodging,  to  select  his 
courses,  to  register,  and  to  become  ac- 


President  Tsur's  residence. 


Middle    School    building. 


The   main  entrance  to  Tsing    Hua   College. 


quainted  with  college  customs  and  tra- 
ditions. He  is  given  advice  regarding 
the  social,  moral,  athletic  and  religious 
activities  of  the  university.  He  is  for- 
tified against  the  evil  influences  of  stu- 
dent life.  The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  enables 
him  to  see  and  appropriate  the  best 
features  of  his  new  environment.  It 
puts  him  in  touch  with  a  few  friends 
who  understand  him  and  with  whom  he 
can  talk  frankly. 

The  International  Committee  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
has  recently  organized  a  Committee 
on  Friendly  Relations  Among  Foreign 
Students,  with  Mr.  Charles  D.  Hurrey 
as  General  Secretary.  This  Com- 
mittee is  endeavoring  to  establish  In- 
formation Bureaus  in  foreign  nations 
with  reliable  persons  in  charge,  who 
can  distribute  literature  and  give  in- 
formation to  prospective  students  re- 
garding university  life  in  North  Amer- 
ica. A  handbook  of  useful  informa- 
tion is  presented  to  the  new  student 
upon  his  arrival.  Receptions,  socials, 
and  banquets  are  frequently  arranged 
by  the  Committee,  thus  promoting 
good-fellowship.       During     vacations 


and  other  leisure  periods  the  Commit- 
tee accompanies  foreign  students  on 
visits  of  inspection  to  social  settle- 
ments, hospitals,  playgrounds,  penal 
and  reform  institutions  and  Christian 
Association  buildings.  Books  and  lit- 
erature bearing  on  character  building 
are  distributed. 

That  the  hundreds  of  students  now 
being  educated  in  Tsing  Hua  College 
and  in  American  universities  will  be  a 
mighty  factor  in  the  upbuilding  of  a 
new  China  no  one  can  doubt.  Already 
a  number  of  students  who  have  been 
educated  through  the  Indemnity  Fund 
have  returned  to  their  native  country  to 
assume  positions  of  responsibility  and 
leadership. 

While  this  may  be  true  that  they 
have  the  reactionary  and  backward 
looking  element  to  combat  in  every 
phase  of  life,  yet  their  potent  influ- 
ence is  already  felt.  The  one  danger 
constantly  threatening  them  is  the  sub- 
tle non-progressive  spirit  of  Old  China. 
These  Western  world  students  are 
shocked  and  disappointed  at  the  back- 
wardness of  their  country  when  they 
return  from  America.    Their  first  im- 


THE  BROOK. 


291 


pulse  is  to  change  the  old  system  im- 
mediately. They  suddenly  realize 
that  it  takes  time  to  change  century- 
old  customs  and  institutions.  Many  of 
them  are  not  willing  to  endure  and  sac- 
rifice and  so  grow  pessimistic.  Others 
slip  back  into  the  old  ways  and  become 
mere  job  holders. 

Among  the  American  educated  stu- 
dents who  have  seen  the  light  and  are 
remaining  true  to  their  vision  are  Mr. 
C.  T.  Wang,  vice-speaker  of  the  Na- 
tional Senate;  Dr.  Y.  T.  Tsur,  presi- 
dent of  Tsing  Hua  College;  Dr.  Wel- 
lington Koo,  Minister  at  Washington, 
and  Mr.  David  Z.  T.  Yui,  chairman  of 
the  National  Committee  of  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  of  China. 

The  returned  student  needs  the  com- 
panionship of  the  choicest  of  his  coun- 
trymen who  have  studied  abroad,  and 
are  now  established  in  useful  service 


to  their  community.  The  counsel  and 
leadership  will  demonstrate  how  he 
can  apply  his  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence to  the  solution  of  the  most  press- 
ing problems  of  his  people.  The  West- 
ern educated  Chinese  are  the  men  who 
will  lead  China  to  success.  "But  these 
young  men  do  not  know  China  and  her 
peculiar  ways,"  is  the  cry  of  the  men 
of  the  age  that  is  past.  These  leaders 
of  yesterday  are  chaining  their  match- 
less country  to  a  dead  past.  And  un- 
less the  chain  is  broken,  the  future  is 
hopeless,  and  China  is  doomed.  But 
if  the  survival  of  their  country  as  an 
independent  nation  is  to  be  won  by  ful- 
filling the  first  law  of  organic  life — 
the  adaptation  of  the  organism  to  its 
environment — only  the  Chinese  whose 
mind  has  been  trained  in  Western 
world  schools  can  lead  China  to  safety 
and  greatness. 


THE     BROOK 


The  frost  gleams  white  where  once  was  sunny  nook, 
And  all  the  world  seems  clasp'd  in  Winter's  hold ; 

I  cannot  see  the  little,  ice-bound  brook 

That  'neath  its  crust  of  snow  sleeps  still  and  cold. 

It  seems  a  dream  that  once  the  skies  were  blue — 
Now  black  with  fury  of  the  northern  wind; 

Forgotten  are  the  bird-notes,  and  the  hue 

Of  petal'd  cornflow'r  with  the  rose  entwined. 

O  little  brook,  you  heard  the  sea's  low  cry 

That  called  you  through  the  meadows  green  and  still ! 
O  heart,  I  heard  your  voice  in  love's  faint  sigh, 

And  all  my  soul  awoke  in  passion's  thrill ! 


The  sea  long  since  rock'd  on  its  bosom's  swell 
The  tiny  ripples  of  each  sparkling  wave, 

And  I — the  tinkling  of  the  ice-drops  tell 

How  cold  the  stones  that  mem'ry's  waters  lave ! 

Elizabeth  Reynolds. 


Santa  Cruz  Mission,  as  restored,  Santa  Cruz,   California. 


-Photo  by  Aydelotte. 


The  Aission  of  Santa  Cruz 

Reported  Destruction  by  Tidal  Wave  a  Myth.      Restoration  Will 

Begin   in  Near  Future   - 

By  Robert  Cosmo  Harding 


M 


ONSIGNORE  Fisher,  of  Santa 
Cruz  has  about  completed  ar- 
rangements whereby  the  old 
Mission  of  Santa  Cruz  will  be 
restored,  and  this  relic  of  the  Spanish 
regime  in  California  will  once  more 
become  the  Mecca  for  Eastern  tourists 
and  touring  Westerners ;  and  the  mem- 
ories of  by-gone  days  will  again  be 
as  vivid  as  they  were  when  the  actual 
civilization  of  this  great  commonwealth 
was  in  its  inceptive  period. 

The  Mission  of  Santa  Cruz,  like  all 
other  California  missions,  has  its  in- 
teresting history,  each  woven  about 
one  object,  which  is  the  original  mo- 
tive for  the  establishment  of  missions 


throughout  the  territory  now  known  as 
the  State  of  California,  to  wit:  the 
conversion  of  the  native  population  to 
the  Roman  Catholic  faith  and  the  ex- 
tention  of  the  land  as  a  dominion  of  the 
Spanish  Crown. 

It  was  in  the  year  1790,  while  the 
Yule-logs  burned  so,  briskly  in  Eng- 
land, and  while  the  wassail  bowl  was 
passing  round  the  gayly  decorated  fes- 
tive board  from  hand  to  hand*  and  each 
pair  of  lips  quaffed  therefrom,  that  in 
the  Mission  at  San  Francisco,  in  the 
Mission  Dolores,  civilization,  having 
spread  its  wings  over  the  American 
Atlantic  coast  line,  there  was  grave  de- 
bate upon  the  advisability  of  extend- 


THE  MISSION  OF  SANTA  CRUZ 


293 


ing  an  earnest  and  active  invitation  to 
civilization  to  cast  favoring  eyes,  with 
the  same  effects,  throughout  the  south- 
ern portion  of  the  American  continent 
which  bordered  the  Pacific  Ocean  and 
which  lay  to  the  north  of  the  Tropics. 

Already  the  Mission  of  San  Diego 
had  been  established  July  26, 1769,  and 
in  1770  the  Mission  of  San  Carlos, 
while  July  14,  1771,  there  had  sprung 
into  existence  the  Mission  of  Antonio, 
and  the  San  Gabriel  Mission  on  the 
eighth  of  September  of  the  same  year. 
And  these,  having  met  with  such  suc- 
cess, were  followed  by  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Mission  at  San  Luis  on 
September  1st  of  the  following  year. 
And  after  a  lull  of  almost  four  years 
there  had  come  the  San  Francisco  Mis- 
sion on  October  9,  1776,  the  same  year 
that  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
had  been  signed — this,  just  a  few 
months  prior  to  the  building  of  the 
Mission  at  San  Juan  Capistrano,  which 
at  the  present  writing  is  also  being  re- 
stored. January  18,  1777,  the  Mission 
at  Santa  Clara  had  been  erected;  an- 
other lull;  and  on  May  3,  1782,  the 
Mission  at  San  Buena  Ventura.  The 
Mission  of  Santa  Barbara,  still  occu- 
pied in  the  closing  days  of  the  year 
1916,  was  established  September  3, 
1786.  All  had  realized  their  aims,  but 
there  was  still  much  territory  to  be 
brought  into  the  realm  of  the  church 
and  the  King  of  Spain. 

The  discussion  waxed  warm.  Nu- 
merous locations  were  mentioned,  but 
that  which  seemed  most  in  need  of 
the  influences  of  religion  was  not  far 
away,  was  in  the  region  contiguous  to 
the  Bay  of  Monterey. 

Exactly  fifty  years  after  Columbus 
discovered  America,  one,  Juan  Rodo- 
riguez  Cabrillo,  quite  by  accident,  dis- 
covered the  Bay  of  Monterey,  although 
because? of  its  thirty-mile  width  en- 
trance, he  did  not  recognize  it  as  a 
sea  indentation.  Nevertheless,  his 
chart  shows  the  irregularity  of  the 
coast  line  at  this  spot.  Cabrillo  never 
returned  to  those  waters,  and  not  un- 
til the  establishment  of  the  Mission  at 
San  Diego  was  any  attempt  made  to 
discover  whether  or  not  the  indenta- 


tion recorded  by  Cabrillo  was  a  har- 
bor. Thus  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  years  elapsed  before  it  was 
thought  that  perhaps  it  was  really 
worth  while  to  do  some  scouting.  One 
party  set  out  and  returned  because  it 
had  passed  the  bay  without  recogniz- 
ing it.  However,  not  satisfied,  in  the 
same  year  two  more  parties  set  out, 
one  by  sea  and  one  on  land.  It  re- 
quired more  than  three  months  of  jour- 
neying to  arrive — but  both  did  finally 
reach  the  same  spot  at  practically  the 
same  time. 

This  territory  then  was  under  dis- 
cussion at  the  San  Francisco  Mission, 
and  it  would  have  kept  on  indefinitely 
had  not  two  Franciscan  Brothers, 
Father  Salazar  and  Father  Lopez,  vol- 
unteered to  undertake  the  strenuous 
task.  Therefore,  shortly  thereafter, 
these  two  brave  souls,  accompanied 
by  only  two  soldiers,  set  forth  to  es- 
tablish what  was  to  be  known  as  the 
Mission  of  Santa  Cruz,  and  about 
which  now  nestles  the  city  of  Santa 
Cruz,  given  the  ennobling  sobriquet 
of  The  City  of  the  Holy  Cross. 

It  was  known  that  the  territory  was 
inhabited  by  Indians  who  had  estab- 
lished villages  around  the  shores  of  the 
bay,  but  it  was  not  known  whether 
these  Indians  were  friendly  or  were  to 
prove  murderously  treacherous.  Yet 
this  did  not  daunt  the  two  reverend 
pioneers. 

The  little  party  progressed  slowly — 
they  covered  the  eighty  miles  in  two 
weeks,  and  after  spending  much  time 
in  viewing  different  locations,  selected 
a  site  on  the  north  shore  of  the  bay, 
about  a  mile  inland,  and  nearly  two 
miles  from  the  ocean,  on  an  eminence 
of  some  seven  hundred  feet.  From 
this  spot  could  be  seen  the  waters  of 
the  bay  sparkling  in  the  sunlight,  and 
to  the  East,  towering  Loma  Prieta 
Peak,  while  to  the  north  stretched  the 
Santa  Cruz  Mountains,  with  its  big 
trees,  its  gulches,  its  little  valleys,  the 
San  Lorenzo  River  and  Branciforte 
Creek,  all  visible.  Truly  nature  had 
smiled  upon  the  two  Franciscans! 
Could  anything  have  been  more  idyl- 
lic!    They  thought  not,  for  pitching 


294 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


their  tents,  they  at  once  in  a  primitive 
way  commenced  work. 

Pow-wows  were  held  with  the  In- 
dians, and  it  was  soon  seen  that  they 
were  to  be  the  source  of  little  trouble. 
But  this  was  not  all  that  Father  Sala- 
zar and  Father  Lopez  desired:  they 
had  come  to  this  wilderness  for  the 
purpose  and  sole  aim  to  spread  the 
Gospel  of  Christianity  among  these 
heathens — and  that  they  met  with  suc- 
cess is  attested  to  by  the  fact  that  in 
the  year  before  the  Mission  was 
erected  they  had  converted  seventy  In- 
dians of  the  Achistace  type;  and  had 
united  in  marriage  six  Indians.  This 
was  certainly  a  record  of  which  to  be 
proud!  Yet  Father  Salazar  and 
Father  Lopez  accomplished  much 
more,  for  they  attempted  the  arduous 
feat  of  plowing  and  tilling  a  few  acres 
of  land  and  of  cutting  and  hewing  tim- 
ber for  the  construction  of  the  Mission 
house.  Of  course,  the  converted  In- 
dians lent  much  assistance,  and  cause 
for  thanksgiving  to  the  little  devout 
coterie. 

Father  Salazar  and  Father  Lopez 
had  arrived  upon  the  site  of  the  Santa 
Cruz  Mission  September  25,  1791,  but 
the  first  corner-stone  of  the  building 
was  not  laid  until  February  23,  1793. 
In  1794  the  Mission  was  ready  for 
dedication,  and  on  the  tenth  of  March 
of  that  year,  a  gala  day,  Father  Pena 
of  the  Mission  at  Santa  Clara  and  Her- 
menegilgo  Sal,  Commanding  Officer  of 
the  Presidio  of  San  Francisco,  accom- 
panied by  five  priests  and  eighty-nine 
Indians,  all  converted,  witnessed  the 
consecration  of  the  Mission  of  Santa 
Cruz.    It  was  of  wood  and  adobe. 

Up  to  this  time  the  supplies  of 
Father  Salazar  and  Father  Lopez  had 
been  contributed  from  other  Missions 
— by  Santa  Clara  thirty  cows,  five  yoke 
of  oxen,  two  pair  of  which  were  use- 
less, fourteen  bulls,  twenty  steers  and 
nine  horses:  one  pair  of  oxen  and 
seven  mules  by  Carmel;  five  yoke  of 
oxen,  one  of  which  was  useless,  by 
San  Francisco.  And  one  of  the  mules 
contributed  by  Carmel  was  so  gentle 
that  it  died  three  days  aftei  its  arrival. 
Later    these    contributions  were  aug- 


mented by  sixty  sheep,  ten  lambs  and 
two  bushels  of  barley.  Quite  a  larder 
for  those  days  in  the  wilderness,  but 
it  sufficed  to  keep  flesh  and  bones  to- 
gether until  in  1795  the  fruits  of  labor 
of  the  Santa  Cruz  colonization  were 
ready  for  consumption,  and  from  the 
land  that  had  been  "worked"  there 
was  acquired  one  thousand  bushels 
of  wheat,  six  hundred  bushels  of  corn, 
sixty  bushels  of  beans  and  a  little 
more  than  a  half  bushel  of  lentels. 

The  Mission  of  Santa  Cruz  grew 
apace,  and  in  ten  years  there  had  been 
erected,  all  told,  fifty  houses  for  those 
Indians  who  had  embraced  Christian- 
ity and  more  particularly  Roman  Cath- 
olicism, and  who  had  been  taught  the 
civilized  arts  of  carpentry,  shoemak- 
ing,  blacksmithing  and  a  dozen  other 
useful  occupations.  And  in  those  ten 
years  other  Indians,  not  Achistaces, 
joined  the  colony,  with  peace  ever  pre- 
vailing. 

The  daily  life  at  the  Mission  of 
Santa  Cruz,  while  simple,  was  ex- 
tremely interesting.  The  flush  of  Au- 
rora in  the  east  was  heralded  by  the 
melodious  Mission  bells  and  sum- 
moned all  to  prayers,  after  which  a 
hearty  breakfast  was  the  rule.  This 
fortified  all  for  the  day's  work.  At 
eleven  o'clock  there  was  a  pause  for 
rest  and  luncheon,  after  which  work 
was  resumed  until  the  Angelus  sound- 
ed an  hour  before  sunset.  Prayers  and 
beads  were  now  said,  and  then  came 
a  very  hearty  and  appetizing  supper. 
The  evenings  were  devoted  to  various 
amusements. 

The  principal  foods  were  fresh  beef 
and  fresh  mutton,  with  cakes  of  wheat 
and  maize  (the  latter  the  Indian  name 
for  corn),  and  peas,  beans  and  other 
vegetables.  Of  course,  there  was  va- 
riety, for  the  climate  of  Santa  Cruz 
was  and  still  is  propitious  for  fresh 
green  vegetables  almost  the  entire  cy- 
cle of  the  year.  Nor  was  there  any 
necessity  for  lack  of  cleanliness,  be- 
cause the  waters  of  the  Bay  of  Mon- 
terey invited  them  both  summer  and 
winter. 

The  dress  of  the  men  consisted  of 
shirts,  trousers  and  blankets,  although 


"IN  CITY  PENT." 


295 


upon  special  occasions  the  complete 
Spanish  dress  was  affected  by  those 
who  could  afford  it. 

So,  until  the  year  1834,  the  Mission 
of  Santa  Cruz  flourished  and  it  would 
have  continued  to  do  so  had  not  it  been 
secularized.  This  was  responsible  for 
its  retardation,  and  that  it  spelled  ruin 
for  the  Indians  is  exemplified  in  the 
historical  fact  that  they  returned  to 
primitive  conditions  and  to  becoming 
enemies  to  the  White  Brothers. 

There  are  some  erroneous  historians 
responsible  for  the  statement  that  the 
Mission  of  Santa  Cruz,  about  the  year 
1838,  was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake 
and  a  resultant  monster  tidal  wave,  but 
this,  geology  disproves  because  any 
tidal  wave  that  would  have  been  so 
elephantine  in  proportions  would  have 


swept  the  land  for  hundreds  of  miles. 
This  was  not  the  case,  as  the  markings 
of  the  surrounding  country  show.  So 
it  will  be  seen  that  this  statement  is 
merely  a  myth,  and  that  an  early  earth- 
quake alone  was  responsible  for  the 
partial  destruction  of  the  Mission  of 
Santa  Cruz,  and  that  the  almost  total 
dismantling  was  afterward  done  by 
human  hands. 

And  now,  when  in  the  future,  the 
traveler  approaches  Santa  Cruz  from 
the  East,  he  will  read  on  the  Camino 
Real,  situated  on  the  highway  at  the 
foot  of  de  Laveaga  Park,  the  inscrip- 
tion: Mission  of  Santa  Cruz,  1%  mi.; 
Mission  San  Juan  Bautista,  34  mi.; 
and  he  will  know  that  he  will  soon 
arrive  at  one  of  the  most  interesting 
places  in  the  United  States. 


"IN    CITY    PENT." 

Life  led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  high-walled  town, 

From  street  to  street  he  led  me  up  and  down,  up  and  down ; 

Aweary,  weary,  am  I  of  the  flinty  pavement  stone — 

0  I  would  fain  away  again  and  walk  the  world  alone ! 

1  want  the  pleasant  shadows  of  tall  oak  trees, 

The  birds  among  the  branches,  the  lilting  of  the  breeze, 
The  dusty  white  road  wandering,  the  broken  wall  of  stone — 
0  I  would  fain  away  again  and  walk  the  world  alone ! 

O  here  the  world  is  mad  for  gain,  the  people  herd  and  crowd; 
Their  hearts  are  full  of  tears  unspent,  their  laughter  is  too  loud ; 
Here  is  no  friendly  greeting,  no  hand  to  grip  my  own — 
O  I  would  fain  away  again  and  walk  the  world  alone ! 

Verne  Bright. 


The  Late  Pastor  Russell 


Biographical  Sketch  by  His  Successor 


J.  F.  Rutherford 


"Pastor  Russell's  writings  are  said  to  have  greater  newspaper  circulation 
every  week  than  those  of  any  other  living  man ;  a  greater,  doubtless,  than 
the  combined  circulation  of  the  writings  of  all  the  priests  and  preachers  in 
North  America;  greater  even  than  the  work  of  Arthur  Brisbane,  Norman 
Hapgood,  George  Horace  Lorimer,  Dr.  Frank  Crane,  Frederick  Haskins, 
and  a  dozen  other  of  the  best  known  editors  and  syndicate  writers  put  to- 
gether."— The  Continent. 


CHARLES  Taze  Russell,  known 
the  world  over  as  Pastor  Russell, 
author,  lecturer  and  minister  of 
the  Gospel,  was  born  at  Pitts- 
burg, Pa.,  February  16,  1852;  died  Oc- 
tober 31,  1916.  He  was  a  son  of  Joseph 
L.  and  Eliza  Birnie  Russell,  both  of 
Scotch-Irish  descent.  He  was  educated 
in  the  common  schools  and  under  pri- 
vate tutors.  He  was  married  in  1879  to 
Maria  Frances  Ackley.  No  children 
blessed  this  union.  Eighteen  years 
later  a  disagreement  arose  about  the 
management  of  his  journal,  and  a  sep- 
aration followed.  Pastor  Russell  was 
the  author  of  the  following  publica- 
tions : 

Object  and  Manner  of  Our  Lord's 
Return ;  Food  for  Thinking  Christians ; 
Tabernacle  Shadows ;  The  Divine  Plan 
of  the  Ages ;  The  Time  is  at  Hand ;  Thy 
Kingdom  Come;  The  Battle  of  Arma- 
geddon; The  Atonement  Between  God 
and  Man;  The  New  Creation;  What 
Say  the  Scriptures  About  Hell;  What 
Say  the  Scriptures  About  Spiritualism; 
Old  Theology  Tracts;  The  Photo- 
Drama  of  Creation;  Etc.,  Etc. 

Reared  under  the  influence  of  Christ- 
ian parents,  at  an  early  age  young  Rus- 
sell became  interested  in  theology, 
uniting  himself  with    the     Congrega- 


tional Church,  and  became  active  in 
local  mission  work.  His  instructors  be- 
lieved and  taught  the  old  style  "Hell- 
fire"  doctrine.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  his 
boyish  zeal,  in  an  endeavor  to  restore 
a  young  infidel  friend,  cost  him  his 
faith  in  the  Bible.  At  the  age  of  17  he 
had  become  a  skeptic.  This  was  due 
to  the  inability. of  his  religious  teachers 
to  substantiate  the  doctrine  of  a  literal 
lake  of  fire  and  brimstone.  This  doc- 
trine of  eternal  torment  of  all  mankind 
except  the  few  elect  became  very  ab- 
horrent to  him,  and  he  said:  "A  God 
who  would  use  His  power  to  create 
human  beings  whom  He  foreknew  and 
predestined  should  be  eternally  tor- 
mented, could  be  neither  wise,  just  nor 
loving;  His  standard  would  be  lower 
than  that  of  men."  He  continued  to 
believe,  however,  in  the  existence  of 
God,  but  was  unwilling  to  accept  the 
commonly  understood  teachings  as 
God's  revelation  of  Himself  to  man. 

During  the  next  few  years,  while 
growing  up  into  commercial  life,  he 
devoted  much  time  to  the  investigation 
of  Buddhism,  Confucianism,  and  other 
Oriental  religions,  only  to  find  all  these 
unworthy  of  credence.  "Which  is  the 
true  Gospel?"  became  a  living  ques- 
tion   in   his    inquiring  mind,   and   al- 


THE  LATE  PASTOR  RUSSELL 


297 


though  he  was  now  well  on  the  way, 
commercially,  to  fame  and  fortune,  he 
decided  that  he  would  investigate  the 
Scriptures  and  let  the  Bible  speak  for 
itself  on  the  question  of  future  punish- 
ment. This  was  the  beginning  of  a 
new  ambition. 

Pastor  Russell's  Teachings 

Naturally  of  a  reverent  mind,  de- 
siring to  worship  and  serve  the  true 
God,  Mr.  Russell  reasoned,  "All  the 
creeds  of  Christendom  claim  to  be 
founded  on  the  Bible,  and  these  are 
conflicting.  Is  it  possible  that  the 
Bible  has  been  misrepresented?  It 
may  not  teach  the  terrible  doctrine  of 
eternal  torment."  Turning  then  to  the 
Bible,  he  determined  to  make  a  care- 
ful, systematic  study  of  it  without  ref- 
erence to  creeds  of  men.  The  result 
was  the  full  establishment  of  his  faith 
in  the  Bible  as  God's  Word.  The  re- 
mainder of  his  life  was  wholly  devoted 
to  teaching  the  Bible,  writing  and  pub- 
lishing religious  books  and  papers,  lec- 
turing and  proclaiming  the  Message  of 
Messiah's  Kingdom.  He  was  the  great- 
est religious  teacher  since  St.  Paul, 
and  did  more  than  any  other  man  of 
modern  times  to  establish  the  faith  of 
the  people  in  the  Scriptures.  His  aim 
was  to  reach,  if  possible,  every  Truth- 
seeker — Catholic,  Protestant,  Jew  and 
Free-thinker.  He  stood  entirely  free 
from  all  sectarian  bonds.  His  work 
was  wholly  independent. 

Pastor  Russell  was  not  the  founder 
of  a  new  religion,  and  never  made  such 
claim.  He  revived  the  great  truths 
taught  by  Jesus  and  the  Apostles,  and 
turned  the  light  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury upon  these.  He  made  no  claim 
of  a  special  revelation  from  God,  but 
held  that  in  the  light  of  the  prophecies 
it  was  doubtless  God's  due  time  for 
the  Bible  to  be  understood ;  and  that  all 
fully  consecrated  to  the  Lord  and  His 
service  would  therefore  be  permitted 
to  understand  it.  Because  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  development  of  the 
fruits  and  graces  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
the  promise  of  the  Lord  was  fulfilled 
in  him :  "For  if  these  things  be  in  you 


and  abound,  they  make  you  that 
ye  shall  neither  be  barren  nor  unfruit- 
ful in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ."— 2  Peter  1 :5-8. 

He  clearly  taught,  and  proves  his 
teachings  by  the  citation  of  Scriptural 
authority, 

That  man  is  a  soul  and  is  mortal; 

That  he  does  not  possess  an  immor- 
tal soul; 

That  the  wages  of  sin  is  death — not 
eternal  torment; 

That  death  comes  upon  man  as  the 
just  penalty  for  the  violation  of  God's 
Law; 

That  death  means  the  destruction  of 
man,  unless  a  release  can  be  obtained; 

That  God,  in  His  goodness,  has  pro- 
vided the  great  Ransom-price  whereby 
man  may  be  delivered  from  the  bond- 
age of  sin  and  death; 

That  God's  beloved  Son,  Jesus,  be- 
came flesh  and  grew  to  manhood's  es- 
tate, was  put  to  death  as  a  man  and 
raised  from  the  dead  a  spirit  being, 
possessing  the  Divine  nature; 

That  by  His  death  and  resurrection 
Christ  Jesus  secured  and  provided  the 
Ransom-price  for  man's  deliverance 
and  restoration;  that  Jesus  Christ,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  tasted  death  for 
every  man ; 

That  every  man  in  God's  due  time 
must,  therefore,  have  a  fair  trial  for 
life,  and  that  to  this  end  there  shall  be 
an  awakening  of  all  the  dead ; 

That  Jesus  Christ  returned  into 
Heaven  and  must  come  the  second 
time; 

That  the  period  of  time  elapsing  be- 
tween the  First  and  the  Second  Com- 
ing of  the  Lord  is  devoted  to  the  elec- 
tion of  the  members  of  the  Body  of 
Christ,  taken  from  among  men; 

That  the  requirements  for  election  to 
that  exalted  position  are,  full  faith  in 
the  shed  blood  of  Jesus  as  the  Ransom- 
price,  a  full  consecration  to  do  the 
Father's  will,  and  a  faithful  continu- 
ance in  obedience  to  the  Father's  will 
even  unto  death; 

That  all  who  are  thus  consecrated 
and  begotten  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and 
are  overcomers  shall  have  part  in  the 
First,  or  Chief  Resurrection,  and  be 


The  late  Charles  Taze  Russell,  known  the  world  over  as  Pastor  Russell,  minister  of  the 
Gospel,  and  organizer  and  President  of  the  Watch  Tower  Bible  and  Tract  Society  up  to  the 
time  of  his  death. 


exalted  to  positions  in  the  Heavenly 
Kingdom  of  God  and  participate  with 
Christ  Jesus  in  the  Divine  nature  and 
His  Millennial  Reign  for  the  blessing 
of  all  the  families  of  the  earth; 

That  during  the  thousand  year  Reign 
of  Christ,  all  of  the  dead  shall  be 
awakened,  and  given  a  fair  and  impar- 


tial trial  for  life  or  death  as  human  be- 
ings; 

That  under  said  Reign,  and  at  its 
close,  the  wilfully  disobedient  shall  be 
everlastingly  destroyed,  while  those 
rendering  heart-obedience  to  the  right- 
eous rule  of  Christ  shall  be  fully  re- 
stored to  human  perfection  of  body, 


THE  LATE  PASTOR    RUSSELL 


299 


mind  and  character; 

That  during  this  Millennial  Reign 
the  earth  shall  be  brought  to  a  state 
of  Edenic  Paradise,  and  made  fit  as  a 
habitation  for  perfect  man; 

That  man,  fully  restored  to  perfec- 
tion, will  inhabit  the  beautiful  earth 
during  all  the  ages  to  come. 

Pastor  Russell's  Work 


incorporated  the  "Watch  Tower  Bible 
and  Tract  Society,"  of  which  he  was 
President  until  the  time  of  his  death. 
By  the  spring  of  1909  the  business  of 
the  Society  had  expanded  to  such  pro- 
portions in  America  and  abroad  that  a 
closer  location  to  Europe  was  found 
necessary,  and  headquarters  were 
transferred  to  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


Purchases  Henry  Ward  Beechefs 
Home. 


Seeing  that  God  has  so  wonderful  a 
Plan  for  the  blessing  of  mankind,  Pas- 

tor  Russell  gave  all  of  his  power  and  It  was  b     the  merest  accident  that 

!n!ugy.t0.umakin^knSVn  th6Se *gr,eat  the  Henry  Ward  Beecher  mansion,  at 

truths  to  the  world.    He  never  took  a  124  Columbia  Heights,  Brooklyn,  came 

vacation;  he  worked  constantly  until  into  the  possession  of  the  Society>  and 

the  day  of  his  death.  Pastor  RusseU  continued  to  use  the 

Like  other  Christians  he  was  looking  home  of  Brooklyn»s  world  famed  pul. 

for  the  Second  Coming  of    .hrist.  Be-  it  orator  as  his  study  and  residence 


tween  1872  and  1876  he  discovered 
that  the  Scriptures  clearly  teach  that 
the  Lord  would  return  as  a  spirit  be- 
ing, invisible  to  human  eyes,  not  in  a 
body  of  flesh,  and  that  His  Second 
Presence  was  due  in  the  autumn  of 


until  his  death. 

It  was  to  this  very  study  that  Lin- 
coln, while  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  during  the  trying  days  of 
the  rebellion,  paid  a  secret  midnight 


visit  to  the  Pastor  of  Plymouth  Church 
1874     This ied  to  the  publication  of  a     about  his      ;      abroad  on  a  lecture  tour 

booklet  entitled     The  Object  and  Man-     to  change  the  sentiment  of  the  British 


ner  of  Our  Lord's  Return,"  which  had 
a  phenomenal  sale. 

Many  students  of  the  Bible  through- 
out the  United  States  and  Canada  re- 
sponded to  the  information  derived 
from  that  book,  and  Pastor  Russell's 
correspondence    became    voluminous. 


and  enlist  it  in  behalf  of  the  Union. 

Pastor    Russell's    Wide    Propaganda 

Pastor  Russell  was  not  only  Presi- 
dent of  the  "Watch  Tower  Bible  and 
Tract  Society,"  the  parent  organiza- 
tion, but  was  also   President  of  the 


Realizing  the  necessity  of  keeping  the     "People's  Pulpit  Association,"  organ- 


Truth  before  the  minds  of  those  who 
had  begun  to  investigate,  in  1879,  he 
began  the  publication  of  "The  Watch 
Tower  and  Herald  of  Christ's  Pres- 
ence," and  was  its  sole  editor  to  the 
time  of  his  death.    This  journal  is  is- 


ized  as  a  New  York  State  Corporation 
in  1909,  and  of  the  "International  Bible 
Students'  Association,"  incorporated  in 
Great  Britain,  London,  in  1913.  These 
latter  corporations  were  branches  of 
the  parent  society,  and  were  incorpor- 


sued  semi-monthly;  it  never  publishes  ated  to  comply  with  certain  legal  re- 
advertisements,  but  is  devoted  exclu-  quirements  of  the  different  localities, 
sively  to  religious  topics.    Among  the     Through  these  religious  corporations, 


English  speaking  people  in  the  United 
States,  Canada  and  Great  Britain,  its 
semi-monthly  circulation  is  45,000 
copies.  It  is  also  published  in  Ger- 
man, French,  Swedish,  Dano-Norwe- 
gian  and  Polish,  reaching  a  large  num- 
ber of  subscribers  in  America  and  Eu- 
rope. 

Pittsburgh  Headquarters   Too  Small. 
In  1884,  in  Allegheny,  Pa.,  now  a 


as  well  as  by  word  of  mouth  from  the 
platform  and  pulpit,  Pastor  Russell 
promulgated  the  Gospel  of  Messiah's 
Kingdom.  The  following  publications, 
written  by  him  between  the  years  1881 
and  1914,  each  had  a  phenomenal  cir- 
culation, as  given  below: 

"Food  for   Thinking    Christ- 
ians"   1,450,000 

"Tabernacle  Shadows" 1,000,000 


part  of  Pittsburgh,  he  organized  and     "Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages".  .4,817,000 


DIAGRAM 

Exhibiting  the  Actual  and  Relative  Numbers  of  Mankind  Classified 
According  to  Religion. 


!■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ 

!sss:::s::ssss:ss:ss: 


■■■■■■ 

■■■■■■ 


■■■! 

Smmr  ~ 


■■ 

ML 
■■ 

■I 


s 


■I! 

■M 

111 

in 
■IIL 

!■■■■■ 

sssps 
iiSlii 

■■■■■I 
linn 

■■■■■■ 


■■■■ 

■■■■ 


■■■■■■ 
IIHI 


Mohamme- 

Heathen,            dans,  Jews, 

856                    170  _  8 

millions.          millions.  millions. 


Roman            Greek  Protest- 
Catholics,  Catholics,  ants, 
190                      84  116 
millions.  millions.  millions. 


"The  Time  is  at  Hand" 1,657,000 

"Thy  Kingdom  Come" 1,578,000 

"Battle  of  Armageddon" 472,000 

"The  Atonement"  445,000 

"The  New  Creation" 423,000 

"What    Say    the    Scriptures 
About  Hell  ?" 3,000,000 

Pastor  Russell  was  also  the  author 
of  the  "Photo-Drama  of  Creation," 
which,  prior  to  his  death,  had  been  ex- 


hibited to  about  twelve  millions  of 
people.  He  wrote  and  published  the 
scenario  of  this  photo-drama,  which 
has  had  a  very  wide  circulation.  His 
publications  are  translated  into  thirty- 
five  different  languages.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  pastor  of  more  than  1,200 
congregations  of  Bible  students  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  world.  Some  of 
these  he  visited  whenever  possible,  and 
served  the  others  by  means  of  "The 


THE  LATE  PASTOR  RUSSELL 


301 


Watch  Tower"  and  private  correspond- 
ence. 

He  organized  and  conducted  a  Lec- 
ture Bureau  which  constantly  employed 
many  lecturers,  who  traveled  and  de- 
livered lectures  on  the  Scriptures,  as 
well  as  giving  instruction  to  Bible 
students.  He  organized  and  managed 
an  auxiliary  lecture  bureau  of  several 
hundred  men  who  gave  a  portion  of 
their  time  to  lecturing  on  Bible  teach- 
ings. He  wrote  practically  all  the  copy 
for  the  "Bible  Students'  Monthly,"  the 
annual  circulation  of  which  amounted 
to  many  million  copies. 

His  weekly  sermons  were  handled 
by  a  newspaper  syndicate.  More  than 
2,000  newspapers,  with  a  combined 
circulation  of  fifteen  million  readers, 
at  one  time  published  his  discourses. 
All  told,  more  than  4,000  newspapers 
published  these  sermons. 

"The  Continent,"  a  publication 
whose  editor  often  opposed  Pastor 
Russell,  once  published  the  following 
significant  statement  concerning  him: 

"His  writings  are  said  to  have 
greater  newspaper  circulation 
every  week  than  those  of  any 
other  living  man ;  a  greater,  doubt- 
less, than  the  combined  circula- 
tion of  the  writings  of  all  the 
priests  and  preachers  in  North 
America;  greater  even  than  the 
work  of  Arthur  Brisbane,  Norman 
Hapgood,  George  Horace  Lorimer, 
Dr.  Frank  Crane,  Frederick  Has- 
kins,  and  a  dozen  other  of  the  best 
known  editors  and  syndicate  writ- 
ers put  together." 

Harvest  Work. 

Pastor  Russell  adhered  strictly  to 
the  teachings  of  the  Scriptures.  He 
believed  and  taught,  as  before  men- 
tioned, that  we  are  living  in  the  time 
of  the  Second  Presence  of  our  Lord 
Jesus,  and  that  His  Presence  dates 
from  1874  (see  his  book,  "The  Time 
of  the  End") ;  that  since  that  time  we 
have  been  living  in  the  "end  of  the 
Age,"  during  which  the  Lord  has  been 
conducting  His  great  Harvest  work; 


that,  in  harmony  with  the  Master's 
own  statement,  this  Harvest  work  is 
separating  true  Christians,  designated 
as  "wheat,"  from  merely  professing 
Christians,  designated  as  "tares,"  and 
gathering  the  true  saints  into  the  King- 
dom of  the  Lord. 

It  is  interesting  here  to  note  that 
Jesus  said,  "Who  then  (at  the  time  re- 
ferred to)  is  that  faithful  and  wise 
steward  whom  his  Lord  shall  make 
ruler  over  His  household,  to  give  them 
their  portion  of  meat  in  due  season? 
Blessed  is  that  servant  whom  his  Lord 
when  He  cometh  shall  find  so  doing. 
Of  a  truth  I  say  unto  you,  that  He  will 
make  him  ruler  over  all  that  He  hath." 
(Luke  12:42-44;  Matt.  24:45-47.) 
Thousands  of  the  readers  of  Pastor 
Russell's  writings  believe  that  he  filled 
the  office  of  "that  faithful  and  wise 
servant,"  and  that  his  great  work  was 
the  giving  to  the  Household  of  Faith 
the  "meat  in  due  season."  His  mod- 
esty and  humility  precluded  him  from 
claiming  this  title.  For  a  more  de- 
tailed account  of  his  work,  reference  is 
made  to  "The  Watch  Tower"  of  June 
1st,  1916. 

Pastor  Russell  made  frequent  trips 
abroad.  In  1892  he  made  a  trip  to 
Europe  and  the  Holy  Land,  taking  in 
various  countries  and  lecturing  in  the 
interests  of  the  great  work.  In  1910 
he  again  visited  Palestine,  Russia  and 
European  countries,  delivering  lectures 
to  thousands  of  orthodox  Jews  on  the 
re-gathering  of  the  Jews  to  Palestine. 
Upon  his  return  to  America,  in  Octo- 
ber of  that  year,  he  was  given  a  great 
ovation  at  the  New  York  City  Hippo- 
drome by  many  thousands  of  Jews.  His 
discourse  on  that  occasion  was  pub- 
lished by  Hebrew  papers  throughout 
America  and  Europe.  He  was  greatly 
beloved  by  many  Jewish  people.  In 
the  fall  of  1911  he  was  the  chairman  of 
a  committee  of  seven  who  made  a 
journey  around  the  world  and  specially 
examined  into  the  conditions  of  the 
missionary  work  in  Japan,  Korea, 
China,  Syria  and  India.  At  a  public 
mass  meeting  held  at  the  New  York 
Hippodrome  in  the  spring  of  1912,  to 
hear  the  report  of  this  committee,  Pas- 


302 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


tor  Russell  delivered  the  report  and 
gave  a  discourse  which  stirred  the 
missionary  world  from  center  to  cir- 
cumference. 

Still  later  he  made  annual  or  semi- 
annual tours  to  Great  Britain,  visiting 
the  London  congregation  and  many 
others  of  which  he  was  Pastor,  and  de- 
livering various  public  addresses  at 
Royal  Albert  Hall,  London's  largest 
auditorium ;  St.  Andrew's  Hall  in  Glas- 
gow, and  in  many  other  cities,  includ- 
ing Edinburgh  and  Liverpool.  His  ad- 
dresses elicited  many  favorable  com- 
ments from  the  British  press.  Wherever 
he  spoke  it  was  usually  in  the  largest 
auditoriums  and  to  record  audiences. 
These  tours  in  Great  Britain  ended 
only  when  the  present  great  war  ren- 
dered further  visits  impracticable.  He 
made  many  preaching  tours  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  and  throughout 
Canada.  It  was  while  on  a  lecture  tour 
from  coast  to  coast  that  Pastor  Rus- 
sell's wonderful  life  came  suddenly  to 
a  close,  while  traveling  on  an  express 
train  near  Canadian,  Texas,  on  the  31st 
day  of  last  October.  He  literally  died 
in  the  harness,  continuing  to  the  end 
through  increasing  pain  and  weariness 
to  prosecute  the  great  work  to  which 
he  had  been  called  by  the  Lord.  He 
died  as  heroically  as  he  had  lived,  his 
faith  in  God  holding  firmly  unto  the 
end. 

During  the  42  years  of  Pastor  Rus- 
sell's Christian  work  he  never  directly 
or  indirectly  solicited  money.  No  col- 
lection was  ever  taken  up  at  any  meet- 
ing addressed  by  him  or  any  of  his  as- 
sociates for  himself  or  for  his  work. 
He  had  faith  that  the  Lord  would  sup- 
ply sufficient  money  to  carry  on  the 
work;  that  the  work  was  the  Lord's 
and  not  man's.  The  fact  that  volun- 
tary contributions  were  liberally  made 


by  many  persons  throughout  the  world 
proved  that  his  conclusions  were  cor- 
rect. 

He  devoted  his  private  means  en- 
tirely to  the  cause  to  which  he  gave 
his  life.  He  received  the  nominal  sum 
of  $11.00  per  month  for  his  personal 
expenses.  He  died  leaving  no  estate 
whatsoever.  Like  all  great  leaders  of 
thought,  especially  pertaining  to  the 
Scriptures,  he  was,  as  was  his  Master, 
misunderstood  by  some,  and  therefore 
misrepresented. 

At  his  death  his  remains  were 
shipped  to  New  York,  where  they  lay 
in  state  in  the  Temple  in  New  York 
City,  the  property  of  the  Society  and 
the  place  where  his  lectures  were  given 
when  at  home.  There  thousands  looked 
upon  him  for  the  last  time,  as  his  body 
lay  embowered  in  magnificent  floral  of- 
ferings sent  in  by  loving  hearts  from 
all  over  the  country.  The  entire  Tem- 
ple was  decorated  with  a  rich  profu- 
sion of  the  most  beautiful  flowers.  His 
funeral  was  attended  by  a  great  audi- 
ence gathered  to  pay  their  last  tribute 
of  love  and  esteem  to  the  great  and 
good  man  whom  they  so  loved  and  re- 
vered. It  was  a  most  notable  occasion. 
The  speakers  gave  glowing  tribute  to 
his  life  and  work. 

The  body  was  then  taken  to  North 
Pittsburgh,  the  scene  of  his  earlier  life 
and  labors,  where  a  second  notable 
funeral  service  was  held  in  Carnegie 
Hall,  where  interment  took  place  in 
the  Bethel  plot  in  tht  United  Cemeter- 
ies, the  casket  being  encased  in  a  sun- 
ken vault.  The  path  to  the  grave  was 
lined  with  flowers. 

Thus  closed  the  career  of  a  most  re- 
markable man,  who  was  beloved  by 
perhaps  more  people  than  any  other 
man  during  the  Age.  He  was  loved 
most  by  those  who  knew  him  best. 


V — "  ^ 

SWK^Sv 

Troubles  of  an  Aerial  Scout 


By   William  Palmer 


THE  granting  of  "wings"  is  the  often  contain  sympathetic  allusions  to 

beginning,  not  the  end,  of  the  some  "fellow  aloft"  who  is  just  div- 

troubles  of  an  aerial  scout.  The  ing  through  a  rain  cloud, 

drudgery   of   routine    in   work-  So  far  as  a  local  air  disturbance  is 

shops,  the  hard  gruelling  of  work  in  concerned,  the  pilot  can  usually  pass 

aerodromes  are  nothing  to  the  troubles  right  or  left  or  outclimb  it.    The  con- 

of  active  service.    Despite  the  closest  tiasts   in  different  layers  of  the  air 

standardization  the  aeroplane  remains  are  a  revelation  to  the  new  intruder, 

a  petted  and  whimsical  invention,  and  and  here  he  learns  how  to  nurse  his 

elects  to  go  wrong  just  when  its  great  engines  and  planes.     At  high  levels 

effort  is  needed.  The  engine  may  miss  petrol  has  less  propelling  power,  oil 

fire  badly,  the  steering,  elevating,  de-  is    apt   to   become   gummy,   and   the 

pressing  planes  may  fail    to     act — it  lighter  air  makes  curious  steering  and 

may  be  a  bad  day  in  every  way  for  plane  tactics.    Side-slip  has  to  be  pre- 

the  military  aviator.     Or  the  gust  of  vented  by  turning  the  wing  planes  to 

temper  may  pass  and  the  machine  ex-  an     angle     which  five  thousand  feet 

eel  itself  in  speed  and  ease  of  evolu-  lower  would  ensure  their  breaking  and 

tion.  hampering  the  aeroplane     until     the 

The  first  trouble  of  the  aerial  scout  flight  was  over, 

is  his  route  to  the  Continent.    Despite  No  man  knows  the  troubles  of  an 

good  compasses  it  is  possible  to  drift  aero-engine.      There     are     occasions 

far   from   the   line   desired,   and  the  when  the  best-balanced  Gnome  will 

pilot  may  arrive  over  the  enemy's  lines  balk   or  jerk.     But  different   engine 

while  endeavoring  to  locate  his  own  practice  their  villainies  under  different 

headquarters.     On  a  day  of  low  visi-  conditions,  and  so  far     their     secret 

bility,  when  the  earth  is  not  visible  rules  have  not  been  discovered.     A 

except  one  is  within  a  thousand  feet,  skillful   pilot  on  a   modern   machine 

it  is  possible  to  make  a  landing  in  a  can  sail  a  good  many  miles  without 

well  marked  aerodrome  belonging  to  aid  from  his  engine ;  he  carefully  util- 

the  Germans.    This  happened  also  to  izes  the  lift  of  every  passing  breeze, 

a  Fokker  which,  flying  westward,  over  swings  deftly  round  corners  where  his 

shot  its  mark  in  the  gloom  and  became  experienced  eye  foresees  a  depressing 

an  easy  captive.    A  perfect  instrument  current,  and  finally  skims  the  earth  to 

for  measuring  aerial     travel     would  a  place  safe  for  landing.    Only  a  few 

make  a  vast  difference  here.  years  ago  the  badly  balanced,  over- 

On  such  a  journey  the  pilot  may  fly  engined   aeroplane   could  only  reach 

into  a  local  "disturbance"  or  storm,  ground  in  safety  while  its  engine  was 

and  he  never  forgets  this  first  experi-  on  good  behavior, 

ence  of  the  air  in  fighting  mood.  Hith-  The  pilot  is  expected  to  do  minor 

erto  he  has  contended  with  fairly  de-  adjustments  to  his  engine  while  still 

cent  weather,  and  a  storm  on  the  way  in  mid-air,  but  nothing  extensive  can 

across   is  but  a  breaking  in  to  war  be  attempted  without  danger  of  the 

conditions.    Provided  his  machine  can  whole  thing  capsizing     and     coming 

start  off  uninjured,  he  is  expected  to  down  a  wreck, 

get  to  work.    Letters  from  the  Front  Most  pilots  look  upon  steering  on  a 


304 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


normal  day  as  a  minor  trouble  indeed, 
but  the  swift  and  certain  passage  over 
broken  country  on  a  wild  day  marks 
the  man  of  the  front  rank.  Such  a  one 
has  an  instinctive  knack  of  meeting 
the  crossest  of  cross  currents,  of  hu- 
moring the  straining  planes  during 
gusts,  of  easing  the  engine  as  it  passes 
into  the  quiet  zones  between  the 
stresses. 

All  these  things  will  be  common  to 
the  civilian  pilot  of  the  future,  except 
that  they  are  performed  under  battle 
conditions,  where  the  pilot  rises  from 
awkward  fields,  is  compelled  to  dive 
across  the  storm  by  an  unsuitable  route 
because  some  action  of  military  im- 
portance is  expected  on  that  line,  and 
must  drop  to  some  place  decided  by 
the  tactical  need  of  the  headquarters 
to  which  he  is  attached. 

Battle  troubles  are  legion — the  pilot 
has  accepted  service  for  the  purpose 
of  tackling  and  conquering  them. 
There  are  troubles  with  the  machine- 
gun  which  usually  performs  its  jerk- 
ing solo  while  the  steering  planes  and 
engines  are  struggling  with  the  cap- 
sizing waft  from  the  retreating  en- 
emy's propeller.  The  propeller  can- 
not "bite"  truly  in  such  broken  air, 
and  sometimes  "races" — to  the  no  lit- 
tle damage  of  the  delicately  finished 
engine. 

The  new  pilot  is  at  first  put  on  to 
reconnoitering  work  in  a  squadron  es- 
corted by  battle-planes,  which  are,  ap- 
parently, all  propeller  and  guns.  Then 
he  proceeds  to  bombing,  still  under 
escort,  to  be  promoted  at  last  to  an  in- 
dependent command  of  a  machine 
fitted  for  both  fighting  and  swift 
flights.  In  this  latter  he  comes  at 
close  quarters  with  an  aerial  enemy. 
His  is  the  Tiger  of  the  skies,  the  bat- 
tle cruiser  of  the  air.  His  great  speed 
and  fighting  powers  are  employed  in 
the  most  daring  reconnaissances  over 
the  enemy's  lines  and  the  aerodromes 
from  which  the  Fokkers  climb  steeply 
in  order  to  win  the  gage  of  battle. 
Compared  with  the  most  recent  Allied 
machines,  the  German  champion  is 
outclassed,  and  a  long  list  of  losses  is 
being  chalked  up  in  the  secret  archives 


of  Berlin,  where  the  casualties  to 
these,  to  U-submarines,  Zeppelins  and 
other  much  vaunted  pests  are  counted. 

A  bomb  raid  is  full  of  trouble  for 
the  aerial  scout,  whether  his  machine 
be  of  the  escort  or  carrying  a  heavy 
load  of  explosives.  Wherever  the 
enemy's  trenches  are  crossed  high- 
angle  fire  is  expected,  although  its  suc- 
cess against  a  small  mark  whirling  two 
miles  up  is  decidedly  problematical. 
Still,  a  tiny  splinter  lodging  in  a  vul- 
nerable part  of  the  engine  will  cause 
its  stoppage,  and  unless  the  British 
lines  are  at  hand,  its  capture.  The 
pilot  usually  aims  at  dropping  away 
from  the  enemy's  towns  and  patrols  in 
the  hope  that  a  repair  may  be  possible, 
or  alternatively  that  he  may  set  fire  to 
his  petrol  tank  and  make  a  beacon  of 
engine  and  planes. 

Dark,  misty  nights  are  selected  for 
bombing  raids,  and  the  pilot's  troubles 
in  keeping  clear  of  disturbed  air  and 
yet  holding  his  place  in  the  ranks  are 
great.  The  squadron  advances  on  a 
wide  front,  heralded  and  guided  by  the 
swift  battle  planes.  When  the  ob- 
jective, whether  it  be  fortification, 
armed  camp,  or  munitions  depot,  is 
reached,  each  pilot  drops  down  to  his 
proper  place  in  the  plan,  and  the  sys- 
tematic dropping  of  bombs  is  begun. 
With  anything  like  steady  work  the 
havoc  caused  by  twenty  aeroplanes  is 
immense.  Individual  bombs  are  by 
no  means  so  large  as  those  dropped 
from  Zeppelins,  but  the  damage  is  all 
the  greater.  A  250-lb.  bomb  dropped 
in  a  square  or  field  dissipates  its  en- 
ergy mainly  on  the  empty  air:  ten 
aeroplane  bombs  to  the  same  weight 
cause  enormous  wreckage  because  the 
smaller  machine  can  travel  so  near  the 
earth  that  wild  firing  of  bombs  is  prac- 
tically impossible. 

So  near  do  some  pilots  venture  that 
the  ubiquitous  machine  gun  gets  in  a 
ringing  volley  against  the  aluminum- 
steel  armor  which  shields  the  engine 
from  below.  Luckily,  a  few  punc- 
tures in  the  planes  do  not  matter,  al- 
though the  crumpling  of  a  stay  by  a 
shrapnel  ball  may  be  fatal  to  machine 
and  pilot. 


TROUBLES    OF   AN   AERIAL    SCOUT 


305 


Daring  pilots  believe  that  shrapnel 
can  be  dodged  even  in  so  unstable  a 
medium  as  air,  but  that  is  when  the 
position  and  fighting  characteristics 
of  the  battery  are  known.  Even  the 
scarlet  blaze  of  cordite  is  nearly  in- 
visible against  the  dun  or  sunlit  ex- 
panse visible  at  an  altitude  of  from 
five  to  seven  thousand  feet. 

In  reconnoitering  for  enemy  move- 
ments the  pilot  finds  most  trouble. 
Any  tuft  of  bushes  may  conceal  a 
howitzer  in  its  deep  emplacement; 
any  avenue  or  wood  hide  a  regiment 
on  the  move.  The  enemy  is  an  adept 
at  loosing  big  soft  smoke  clouds  for 
calm  days  when  important  changes 
are  afoot.  The  vibration  and  speed 
of  the  aeroplane  make  it  far  from  an 
ideal  mount  for  work  of  this  descrip- 
tion, but  it  has  to  serve.  Frequently 
the  upcast  of  air  caused  by  the  dis- 
charge of  a  heavy  gun  is  the  first  sign 
that  such  is  within  reach,  and  then,  de- 
spite casual  rifle  and  machine-gun 
fire,  it  is  the  pilot's  duty  to  circle 
round  and  about  until  his  observer  can 
determine  the  exact  location,  and  note 
it  for  prompt  attention  from  our  long- 
distance guns. 

In  the  early  months  of  war  crossing 
the  trenches  was  always  funny.  The 
pilot  could  plainly  see  the  marksmen 
below  sighting  their  rifles  at  him,  and 
the  hum  of  passing  bullets  might  re- 
semble a  cluster  of  bees  in  honey  sea- 
son.    The  dropping  of  a  few  bombs 


and  later  the  mounting  of  the  machine 
gun,  was  a  reprisal  which  added  cas- 
ualties besides  marking  the  lively  sec- 
tion of  trench  for  immediate  bombard- 
ment by  quick-firers.  Now  only  the 
anti-aircraft  guns  grumble  for  the 
trenches:  the  Boche  scatters  to  cover 
the  moment  a  crossing  aeroplane  is 
signaled. 

Not  content  with  trouble  in  the  air, 
the  pilot  finds  a  good  deal  when  trying 
to  come  to  earth.  The  aerodromes  are 
not  always  selected  for  [their  good 
qualities:  they  are  merely  the  best 
choice  among  a  number  of  evil  ones. 
If  near  the  firing  line  they  are  sure  to 
be  badly  marked  by  day  or  by  night, 
and  even  miles  to  the  rear  there  re- 
mains reason  for  concealment  against 
the  prying  eyes  of  enemy  pilots  and 
observers  who  have  reached  ten  thou- 
sand feet  or  more  above  sea-level,  and 
whose  range  of  vision  nearly  includes 
Paris  and  the  North  Sea. 

Yet,  despite  all  these  troubles — and 
the  additional  discomforts  of  a  me- 
chanical camp — the  British  pilot  re- 
mains content  with  his  lot.  There  are 
many  things  to  put  up  with,  but  to 
him  is  given  the  most  adequate  strik- 
ing weapon  against  the  enemy.  He 
risks  more  and  sees  more  than  any  one 
,  else  in  the  army;  he  has  his  successes 
and  his  failures,  but  on  the  whole 
dominates  the  air,  so  that  the  enemy's 
knowledge  of  happenings  behind  our 
lines  is,  to  say  the  least,  inadequate. 


Problems  of  Mental  and  Spiritual  Healing 


THE  Earl  of  Sandwich,  in  the  lit- 
tle book  written  shortly  before 
his  recent  death,  describes  a 
number  of  cases  "cured"  by  his 
personal  ministrations.  He  does  not 
always  give  details  that  make  plain, 
even  to  a  physician,  from  what  the 
patients  were  suffering;  but  manifestly 
all  of  them  were  in  discomfort,  and  a 
few  had  definite  physical  conditions  as 
the  basis  of  their  ills.  The  one  thing 
emphasized  is  that  all  of  these  patients 
were  cured,  or  at  least  greatly  relieved 
of  their  ills,  through  the  personal  pres- 
ence of  the  Earl,  or  by  some  manipula- 
tion or  suggestion  originating  with  him. 
We  are  told  that  some  cases  failed  to 
be  benefited,  but  that  these  were  few 
in  number.  There  is  even  some  doubt 
whether  certain  patients  were  not  cured 
without  recognizing  the  source  of  their 
healing.  Many,  indeed,  had  the  habit 
of  referring  the  improvement  to  some 
other  agency. 

For  the  Earl  does  not  hesitate  to 
suggest  that  he  has  been  especially  en- 
dowed with  a  "gift"  for  the  healing  of 
disease;  and  for  this  he  expresses  the 
most  profound  gratitude  to  Almighty 
God.  The  failure  of  recognition  of  his 
beneficent  power,  and  the  opposition 
which  it  has  aroused,  he  sets  down  as 
a  manifestation  of  the  inherent  con- 
tradiction in  nature  between  good  and 
evil,  and  rather  as  a  confirmation  of 
his  mission  and  gift  than  as  in  any  way 
a  proper  criticism  of  it.  "Old  friends 
so  dislike  the  idea  that  they  began  by 
shunning  all  allusion  to  the  subject  and 
now  avoid  my  society."  Such  sceptics 
are,  however,  to  be  classed  among 
those  who  fail  to  believe  properly  in 
the  Scriptures,  and,  above  all,  who  do 
not  recognize  the  Mission  of  Healing 
that  is  in  Christianity.  He  thinks  that 
there  may  be  many  who  possess  the 
"gift  of  healing"  without  knowing  it, 
and,  therefore,  by  inference  at  least, 
would  suggest  that  those  who  feel  any 


stirrings  of  it,  in  spite  of  the  scorn  and 
contumely  which  are  to  be  accepted  as 
part  of  the  cross  borne  by  those  who 
do  God's  work,  should  persevere  in  the 
exercise  of  their  heavenly  power.  And 
this  is  what  he  himself  did,  till  his 
death  last  June,  in  spite  of  the  scep- 
ticism of  a  materialistic  generation. 
The  testimony  for  the  "cures"  thus  ef- 
fected, as  provided  by  those  who  ac- 
tually experienced  them,  is  rather  mea- 
gre; but  doubtless  appeals  to  many  as 
demonstrating  that  there  must  have 
been  some  wonderful  therapeutic 
agency  at  work  to  bring  about  such 
benefits  to  sufferers.  In  order  to  be 
able  to  discuss  such  cures  with  any 
real  understanding  of  their  significance 
one  needs  to  know  something  about  the 
history  of  cures  in  general.  A  writer 
on  the  history  of  medicine  has  de- 
clared that  the  most  important  chapter 
ii!  the  history  of  medicine  is  that  which 
concerns  "the  cures  that  have  failed;" 
that  is,  the  many  remedies,  chemical 
and  physical,  and  the  many  modes  of 
treatment,  which  have  apparently 
worked  wonders  for  a  time  in  the  cur- 
ing of  disease  of  one  kind  or  another, 
and  sometimes  of  many  different 
kinds,  and  then,  after  an  interval, 
longer  or  shorter,  have  been  given  up 
entirely  because  they  were  proved  to 
have  no  such  curative  efficacy  as  was 
at  first  confidently  claimed  for  them. 
The  cures  that  come  and  go  in  medi- 
cine are  indeed  legion.  This  is  true, 
not  only  so  far  as  popular  medicine  is 
concerned,  but  also  in  what  is  indeed 
considered  to  be  scientific  medicine. 
In  twenty-five  years  of  practice  a  phy- 
sician has  always  had  many  disap- 
pointments in  this  regard,  and  he 
comes  to  appreciate  very  thoroughly 
what  Hippocrates  meant  when  he  said 
that  "art  is  long,  and  time  is  short,  and 
judgment  difficult."  To  which  he 
might  well  have  added  that  evidence 
is  often  either  lacking  or  misleading. 


PROBLEMS  OF  MENTAL  AND  SPIRITUAL  HEALING 


307 


At  all  times  there  have  been  all 
sorts  of  offered  and  reported  remedies 
and  modes  of  treatment  which  have 
cured  diseases,  though  we  still  eagerly 
look  for  real  remedies  for  most  of 
them. 

Any  one  who  thinks  that  the  credu- 
lousness  which  accepted  such  cures  on 
insufficient  grounds  in  old  times  has 
disappeared  with  the  progress  of  edu- 
cation or  the  diffusion  of  information 
cannot  be  aware  of  conditions  as  they 
actually  are.  The  United  States  gov- 
ernment recently  announced  that  while 
the  population  has  not  quite  doubled 
in  the  past  thirty  years,  it  now  takes 
more  than  nine  times  as  much  patent 
medicine  to  satisfy  the  cravings  for 
drugs  and  the  desire  to  be  cured  of 
something  or  other  men  either  have 
the  matter  with  them,  or  think  they 
have. 

All  that  we  can  discuss  here  is  the 
career  of  men  who  have  effected  cures 
by  their  personal  influence  or  contact 
in  conjunction  with  some  supposed 
remedial  measure  afterwards  proved 
to  have  no  physical  effect.  Often  the 
testimony  not  only  of  the  cured  person 
but  also  of  relatives  and  friends, 
brought  people  from  far  and  near  to 
these  healers,  and  many  were  actually 
rewarded  by  having  the  burden  of  their 
ills  lifted  from  them.  In  not  a  few 
instances,  the  patients  came  to  the 
healer  after  having  consulted  physi- 
cians by  whom  they  remained  uncured. 
I  venture  to  say  that  it  is  perfectly 
possible  to  find  half  a  dozen  such 
healers  in  every  century  for  the  past 
three  or  four  centuries;  and  two  or 
three  of  them  in  each  century  occupy  a 
considerable  niche  in  history.  We  need 
not  go  back  to  the  Middle  Ages  in  or- 
der to  find  them.  One  of  the  most  in- 
teresting was,  of  course,  the  famous 
Greatrakes — his  name  has  many  vari- 
ants— who  lived  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  Seventeenth  Century.  He  was  an 
Irish  soldier  who  found  himself,  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  war,  without  an  occu- 
pation. Something  or  other — he  him- 
self declared  it  was  a  Divine  call — led 
him  to  set  up  as  healer.  After  the 
death  of  King  Charles  I,  when  there 


was  a  lapse  of  the  Royal  Touch  for  the 
King's  Evil,  Greatrakes  announced 
that  he  had  been  divinely  commis- 
sioned in  a  dream,  thrice  repeated  on 
successive  nights,  to  go  and  touch  the 
people  and  cure  them.  Because  this 
touching  was  usually  accomplished  by 
gently  stroking  the  affected  portion  of 
the  patient,  he  came  to  be  known  as 
Greatrakes  the  Stroker.  Many  were 
the  cures  effected  by  him,  including 
chronic  long  standing  cases  which  had 
vainly  made  the  rounds  of  physicians. 
Greatrakes  made  a  large  amount  of 
money  out  of  his  practice ;  and  where- 
as, in  the  days  of  the  King's  Touch, 
the  King's  patients  were  presented 
with  a  gold  piece,  in  Greatrakes'  prac- 
tice the  gold  passed  in  the  opposite 
direction.  For  it  must  not  be  thought 
that  Greatrakes  cured  only  the  igno- 
rant and  the  supposedly  more  supersti- 
tious classes.  Many  of  the  nobility 
and  even  educated  persons  came  under 
his  influence,  and  reported  themselves 
either  greatly  benefited  or  completely 
relieved. 

A  little  more  than  a  century  later 
we  find  a  similar  healer  in  America, 
though  his  ambition  led  him  to  go  to 
Europe  in  order  that  the  European 
countries  might  benefit  by  his  powers. 
This  was  Elisha  Perkins  of  Norwich, 
Connecticut,  who  invented  what  he 
called  tractors — two  pieces  of  metal 
about  the  length  and  thickness  of  lead 
pencils,  but  tapering  gradually  to  a 
blunt  point,  with  which  he  used  to 
stroke  people.  He  called  his  system 
tractoration.  His  tractors  were  sup- 
posed in  some  way  to  make  the  thera- 
peutic virtues  of  electricity  available 
for  the  cures  of  human  ills.  About  a 
generation  earlier,  Galvani  had  dis- 
covered that  if  two  pieces  of  metal  in 
contact  touched  the  exposed  nerve  and 
muscle  of  a  frog's  leg,  twitchings  re- 
sulted. There  had  been  much  discus- 
sion of  the  significance  of  this  phenom- 
enon; and  one  theory  was  that  elec- 
tricity in  seme  way  was  an  equivalent 
of,  or  very  closely  related  to,  nerve 
force,  or  perhaps  even  to  vital  force 
itself.  Perkins  claimed  to  make  Gal- 
vani's  discovery  available  for  the  cure 


308 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


of  human  diseases  by  supplying 
through  electrical  energy  for  the  vital 
force  lacking  in  the  diseased  part.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  made  a  series 
of  cures  of  chronic  ills  that  had  long 
resisted  other  efforts.  An  investiga- 
tion was  made  by  physicians,  who  de- 
clared that  there  was  no  energy,  elec- 
trical or  other,  in  Perkins'  tractors ;  and 
he  took  advantage  of  this  declaration 
to  announce  that  physicians  were  jeal- 
ous of  his  success,  and  feared  he  would 
take  all  their  patients  away.  Having 
made  a  great  success  in  his  little  Amer- 
ican town,  Perkins  sighed  for  more 
worlds  to  conquer,  and  so  he  set  out 
for  Europe.  The  country  selected  as 
the  next  scene  of  his  labors  was  Den- 
mark. It  has  always  been  a  mystery 
why  Dr.  Cook  (of  Arctic  exploration 
fame)  and  Dr.  Perkins  both  went  to 
Copenhagen  to  obtain  the  first  con- 
firmation of  their  discoveries.  They 
both  did,  however,  and  the  event 
proved  their  perspicacity. 

After  success  in  Copenhagen,  Per- 
kins proceeded  to  London,  where  he 
was  equally  lucky.  His  first  feat  there 
was  the  cure  of  a  Duke  and  a  Duchess. 
So  many  patients  followed  that  it  be- 
came impossible  for  Perkins  to  ac- 
commodate them  all.  He  sold  his 
tractors  for  others  to  use  at  $100  a  pair, 
a  considerable  sum  of  money  in  those 
days,  the  tractors  costing  at  most  but 
a  few  pence  to  make.  Moreover  he 
established  in  London  a  sort  of  rival 
o*  the  Royal  Institution  and  a  com- 
petitor of  the  orthodox  medical  and 
surgical  societies.  Then  came  the  re- 
turn to  America  in  order  to  exploit  the 
European  reputation.  When  he  landed 
in  New  York  an  epidemic  of  small- 
pox was  raging  in  Philadelphia,  at  that 
time  the  largest  city  in  the  United 
States ;  and  Perkins,  confident  that  his 
tractors  would  prevent  disease  as  well 
as  cure  it,  went  over  to  that  city.  I 
feel  quite  sure  that  he  thoroughly  be- 
lieved in  his  own  tractors,  and  was 
convinced  he  had  lighted  on  a  won- 
derful natural  force  which  did  actu- 
ally supply  lacking  energy  to  human 
beings.  And  it  is  when  healers  be- 
lieve in  themselves  that  they  produce 


the  most  wonderful  results.  Poor  Per- 
kins, however,  after  making  a  sensa- 
tion in  Philadelphia,  caught  smallpox 
himself  and  died  of  it.  That  was  the 
end;  and  now  the  tractors  are  seen 
among  curiosities  in  few  museums. 

Greatrakes  and  Perkins  both  pro- 
duced their  effects  by  influencing  their 
patients'  minds.  Perkins  himself,  and 
those  whom  he  healed,  doubtless 
thought  that  electricity  or  magnetism 
was  an  intermediary,  and  the  direct 
therapeutic  agent ;  whereas  subsequent 
investigation  showed  there  was  abso- 
lutely no  electrical  energy  of  any  kind 
exhibited  by  the  tractors.  Greatrakes 
effected  his  cures  simply  because  peo- 
ple came  to  believe  his  declaration 
that  he  had  a  Divine  commission  to 
heal  them;  and  perhaps  he  believed 
that  himself.  If  he  did,  then  no  won- 
der there  were  so  many  cures.  All  that 
is  necessary  in  the  history  of  mankind 
to  have  cures  is  that  certain  patients 
shall  be  made  to  believe  that  here  at 
last  is  some  force  that  will  make  them 
better.  Then  at  once  a  great  many  of 
them  get  better  of  diseases  often  baf- 
fling the  physicians. 

Between  these  two,  Greatrakes  and 
Perkins,  a  century  or  so  apart,  there 
had  come  a  number  of  other  healers, 
who  had  cured  a  great  many  people  of 
a  great  many  ills  by  methods  subse- 
quently proved  not  to  have  any  physi- 
cal effect.  The  two  best  known  are 
Pfarrer  Gassner  and  Mesmer.  The  ca- 
reer of  Pfarrer  Gassner,  of  Elwangen, 
began  after  he  observed  certain  cures 
that  were  being  effected  by  the  well 
known  Jesuit  astronomer  and  mathe- 
matician, Father  Maximilian  Holl,  in 
Vienna.  Father  Holl,  whose  memory 
has  been  ably  vindicated  by  Simon 
Newcomb  from  certain  aspersions  cast 
on  his  scientific  accuracy  and  sincer- 
ity, found  in  the  course  of  some  ex- 
periments, that  apparently  the  appli- 
cation of  magnets  relieved  people  of 
ills.  After  a  time  he  made  the  mag- 
nets in  the  shape  of  the  organs  that 
were  affected,  and  worked  some  won- 
derful cures.  It  was  supposed  that 
these  magnets  affected  the  magnetic 
condition,  and  hence  the  vitality,  of  the 


PROBLEMS   OF  MENTAL  AND   SPIRITUAL  HEALING 


309 


body.  Above  all,  in  this  as  in  all 
other  experiences  of  the  kind,  suffer- 
ers were  cured  of  chronic  pains  and 
aches  and  of  long-standing  muscular 
disabilities.  After  seeing  Father 
Holl's  results,  Father  Gassner  tried 
the  same  means  with  similar  success, 
but  soon  discovered  that  he  could  ef- 
fect the  same  cures  more  simply.  He 
asked  patients  to  make  a  good  confes- 
sion and  to  put  all  the  evil  of  life  far 
away  from  them,  and,  in  return,  he 
promised  them  a  cure.  A  great  many 
cures  of  what  seemed  physical  ills  fol- 
lowed. Father  Gassner  then  evolved 
the  theory,  strangely  like  the  basic 
principle  of  present-day  Christian 
Science,  that  all  evil,  physical  as  well 
as  moral,  was  not  from  God,  but  from 
the  Powers  of  Evil.  When,  therefore, 
persons  put  off  once  and  for  all  the 
moral  evil  in  them,  and  were  purged 
from  sin  completely,  their  physical 
evil  dropped  from  them  because  the 
Power  of  Evil  had  no  part  in  them. 
Only  good  came  from  Goo.  Sickness 
and  suffering,  if  not  directly  from  the 
devil,  were  at  least  connected  in  some 
way  both  with  original  sin  and  the  ac- 
tual sins  of  the  individuals.  Purgation 
from  sin  then  meant  the  cure  of  all 
sickness.  The  Christian  Scientists 
deny  that  there  is  any  such  thing  as 
evil.  That,  they  say,  is  only  an  error 
of  Mortal  Mind,  with  at  least  hints 
that  there  are  extraneous  powers  of 
evil  in  some  way  associated  with  it. 
As  pointed  out  by  Professor  Munster- 
berg,  Christian  Science  is  scarcely 
more  than  a  revival  of  the  theories  of 
this  old  German  mystic. 

Needless  to  say,  the  attention  of  ec- 
clesiastical authority  was  soon  attract- 
ed to  his  teaching,  and  it  was  not  coun- 
tenanced. Father  Gassner  was  for- 
bidden to  continue  his  work  on  any 
such  false  basis.  He  seems  to  have 
submitted  to  the  Church  authorities, 
though  a  great  many  people  regarded 
the  cures  as  representing  the  blessing 
of  Heaven  on  his  activities.  Both  the 
sets  of  manifestations,  those  of  Father 
Holl  in  Vienna  and  Pfarrer  Gassner  in 
Erlangen,  remain  as  examples  of  the 
influence  of  the  mind  on  the  body  in 


the  curing  of  even  chronic  ills. 

The  next  famous  healer,  Mesmer, 
was  a  very  different  sort  of  man,  al- 
though he  too  received  his  inspiration 
from  the  therapeutic  work  of  Father 
Holl  in  Vienna.  Mesmer  graduated  at 
the  University  of  Vienna  in  the  Medi- 
cal Department  shortly  after  the  mid- 
dle of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  He 
saw  Father  Holl's  cures;  and,  resolv- 
ing to  emulate  them,  settled  down  in 
Paris  as  a  suitable  place  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  art.  Owing  to  the  fact 
that  the  word  Mesmerism  came  after- 
wards to  be  used  for  what  we  call 
hypnotism,  there  has  been  some  con- 
fusion as  to  what  Mesmer  did  for  his 
patients  and  how  he  effected  his  cures. 
Apparently  Mesmer  never  put  his  pa- 
tients into  the  hypnotic  sleep.  That 
practice  came  in  a  little  later  with  one 
of  his  disciples,  De  Puysegur.  What 
Mesmer  tried  to  use  was  just  such  an 
electrical  or  magnetic  power  as  Father 
Holl  was  applying  in  Vienna,  or  Elisha 
Perkins  in  Norwich,  Copenhagen  and 
London. 

Mesmer's  patients  were  seated 
around  a  tub  containing,  immersed  in 
fluid,  a  series  of  bottles,  filled  with 
metallic  fragments,  out  of  which  pro- 
ceeded wires,  distributed  to  the  pa- 
tients who  sat  around  the  room.  This 
tub,  with  its  bottles,  was  called  a 
baquet  or  battery.  Mesmer,  after  the 
patient  had  sat  for  some  time,  sub- 
jected to  the  influence  of  this  battery 
— which  electrically  was  nil — came 
into  the  room  dressed  in  the  garb  of 
an  Eastern  seer;  and,  while  soft  mu- 
sic was  played,  and  Eastern  perfumes 
diffused,  touched  with  his  wand  the 
members  of  the  circle  intent  on  their 
cure.  Thereupon,  the  various  hysteri- 
cal manifestations  took  place,  cries, 
tremors,  convulsions  and  the  like,  in 
the  midst  of  which  their  pains  and 
aches  dropped  from  the  sufferers  like 
magic,  and  muscular  disabilities  dis- 
appeared as  if  by  miracle.  As  Mes- 
mer claimed  to  be  exercising  electri- 
cal effects,  and  his  work  was  produc- 
ing a  great  sensation  in  Paris,  an  in- 
vestigation of  his  apparatus  and  meth- 
ods was  made  by  a  committee  appoint- 


310 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


ed  by  the  French  Academy  of  Sci- 
ences. At  the  moment,  Benjamin 
Franklin  was  in  Paris  as  the  Ambas- 
sador from  the  American  Colonies,  and 
he  served  on  this  committee  of  inves- 
tigation. They  pronounced  Mesmer's 
apparatus  to  be  totally  devoid  of  elec- 
trical effects;  and,  as  a  consequence, 
he  was  forbidden  to  practice  with  it 
further.  There  is  no  doubt  now  that 
whatever  effect  was  produced  by  Mes- 
mer  was  mental,  not  physical.  His 
place  in  the  history  of  science  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  he  attracted  attention 
to  what  came  to  be  called  animal  mag- 
netism, because  there  was  supposed  to 
be  some  mysterious  force  which  flowed 
into  patients,  supplied  the  vitality  in 
which  they  were  lacking,  and  thus 
brought  about  their  healing.  Animal 
magnetism  had  its  beginning  probably 
with  Father  Holl's  experiments  in 
Vienna;  but,  after  Mesmer's  time,  the 
use  of  apparatus  was  eliminated,  and 
it  was  supposed  that  one  person  could 
influence  another,  and  that  certain  peo- 
ple had  a  larger  store  than  others  of 
personal  magnetism  or  magnetic  vital- 
ity to  dispense.  They  could  transfer 
it  when  they  willed  to  do  so  to  others 
in  a  properly  receptive  condition. 

Of  healers,  we  have  had  in  our  own 
time  some  very  typical  examples. 
Probably  the  best  known  was  Alexan- 
der Dowie,  an  uneducated  but  strong- 
minded  man  of  exaggerated  egoism, 
who  claimed  to  be  Elijah  returned  to 
earth.  Dowie  himself  boasted  that  by 
the  touch  of  his  hand  he  had  cured 
200,000  people.  Remember  that  this 
was  not  in  the  Eighteenth  or  the  Sev- 
enteenth Century,  and  not  at  all  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  but  at  the  end  of  the 
Nineteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the 
Twentieth  Century;  and  the  people 
cured  were  readers  of  newspapers — 
several  editions  every  day — users  of 
telephone  and  telegraph,  of  trolley 
cars  and  express  trains.  Many  thou- 
sands of  them  were  evidently  not  fools 
from  a  practical  standpoint;  for  they 
were  possessed  of  considerable  sums 
of  money  which  they  were  quite  will- 
ing to  transfer  to  their  benefactor.  In- 
deed, many  of  them  went  to  live  with 


him  in  a  city  which  he  founded  not 
far  from  Chicago — Chicago  above  all 
places — called  Zion.  People  came 
from  all  over  the  country  to  be  touched 
by  him,  and  as  the  phrase  "to  touch  a 
man"  has  come  to  mean,  in  American 
slang,  to  get  money  from  him — Dowie 
touched  them  very  effectively.  Even 
Eddyism  (for  it  is  neither  Christian 
nor  scientific,  so  why  talk  of  Christian 
Science?)  has  no  place  for  poverty 
among  the  ills  of  mankind.  That,  too, 
is  an  error  of  mortal  mind,  so  cures 
are  rather  for  those  who  are  able  to 
pay  the  healers'  fees. 

What  is  amazing  about  these  cures 
for  a  great  many  people  is  the  fact  that 
almost  without  exception  they  relieve 
pain.  Now  pain  is  ordinarily  consid- 
ered to  be  such  a  strictly  physical 
manifestation,  such  a  state  of  actual 
disturbance  of  tissues,  that  only  some- 
thing physical  and  having  a  strong 
bodily  influence  is  supposed  to  be  able 
to  cure  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  nothing 
is  so  illusory  in  medical  practice  as 
pain.  It  is  perfectly  possible  to  hear 
a  thoroughly  well  meaning  patient 
complain  of  suffering  torture  who  is 
really  laboring  only  under  some  slight 
discomfort  that  other  people  bear  with- 
out a  murmur,  or  at  least  with  only  a 
very  slight  disturbance  of  their  peace 
of  mind.  If  a  patient  is  so  situated  as 
to  have  nothing  to  do  but  think  of  a 
discomfort  that  is  present,  as,  for  in- 
stance, when  one  is  bedridden  from 
some  chronic  disability  or  ailment, 
from  cancer  or  the  like,  then  he  or  she, 
and  above  all  she,  has  but  little  diver- 
sion from  constantly  disturbing 
thoughts,  so  that  even  a  slight  pain 
may  become  unbearable.  Two  things 
happen  when  even .  a  very  moderate 
discomfort  is  dwelt  on.  First,  the  men- 
tal attention  to  the  affected  part  sends 
more  blood  to  it  and  make  it  more  sen- 
sitive. This  is  a  protective  provision 
of  nature,  so  that  whenever  special 
attention  is  called  to  a  part  of  the 
bodv,  that  region,  by  dilation  of  the 
capillaries  through  the  vasomotor 
nerves,  becomes  ready  to  react  without 
delay  to  any  irritation.  The  phenom- 
ena of  blushing  show  how  readily  these 


PROBLEMS   OF  MENTAL  AND   SPIRITUAL  HEALING 


311 


nerves  are  affected.  Secondly,  with 
the  concentration  of  attention,  more 
and  more  of  the  cells  of  the  sensory 
portions  of  the  brain  become  occupied 
with  this  uncomfortable  sensation.  Un- 
der ordinary  circumstances  a  bodily 
sensation  over  a  small  area  would  dis- 
turb a  few  thousands  of  cells.  When 
concentration  of  attention  occurs,  mil- 
lions of  cells  may  become  occupied 
with  this  unpleasant  feeling;  and  then 
it  is  easy  to  understand  that  it  may 
rise  to  the  plane  of  a  veritable  tor- 
ment. Anything  that  causes  diversion 
of  mind  will  bring  relief.  This  is  the 
secret  of  our  cancer  cures.  A  new  one 
is  introduced  every  year  or  less,  with 
the  declaration  that  at  least  if  it  does 
not  cure  the  cancer,  it  relieves  the  pa- 
tient's pain.  This  is  a  great,  if  tem- 
porary blessing;  and  wide  recourse  is 
had  to  the  new  remedy,  practically  al- 
ways with  success  at  first.  Cancer  is 
supposed  to  be  a  very  painful  condi- 
tion, and  it  actually  has  much  pain 
associated  with  it,  and  yet  in  the  past 
twenty  years,  to  my  own  knowledge, 
the  pains  of  it  have  been  relieved  by 
literally  dozens  of  remedies  which  sub- 
sequently have  been  found  ineffectual, 
and  often  prove  to  have  almost  no  phy- 
sical effect.  Cancer  patients  readily 
become  self-centered ;  and,  if  they  once 
come  to  realize  the  hopelessness  of 
their  condition,  sink  into  an  acutely 
sensitive  state.  Any  remedy  employed 
for  them  which  arouses  new  hope  at 
once,  therefore,  relieves  their  pain  by 
affording  them  something  to  think 
about  besides  the  fatal  termination  to 
which  they  are  tending,  and  over  which 
they  are  constantly  brooding. 

Occupation  of  attention  will  neu- 
tralize even  very  severe  pains.  The 
extent  to  which  it  may  go  is  indeed 
surprising.  I  once  saw  a  woman  who 
had  been  in  a  theatre  fire  panic  in 
which  over  a  hundred  people  lost  their 
lives;  and  when  she  got  out  she  re- 
joiced over  the  fact  that  she  was  un- 
injured, though  one  of  her  ears  had 
actually  been  pulled  off  in  the  scuffle 
for  exit.  In  the  excitement  of  the  pres- 
ent war,  as  in  every  other  war,  men 
receive  even  very  severe  wounds  with- 


out knowing  it.  Mr.  Roosevelt,  one 
remembers,  was  shot  by  a  crank  at  a 
railroad  station  some  years  ago,  and 
the  bullet  penetrated  four  inches  of 
muscle  and  flattened  itself  on  a  rib, 
having  been  fired  at  point-blank  range; 
and  yet  he  know  nothing  of  being  hit 
until  the  blood  came  oozing  through 
his  coat,  more  than  five  minutes  later. 
Thus  the  severity  of  pain  depends 
mainly  on  the  mental  state.  The  cure 
of  even  severe  pain  through  mental  in- 
fluence is  not  only  possible,  but  even 
easy,  and  rather  frequent.  Words 
mean  a  great  deal  in  the  matter.  Tho- 
mas, in  the  trenches,  is  a  true  philoso- 
pher when  he  calls  the  enemy's  hot- 
test fire  merely  "unhealthy."  The  boy 
who  is  going  through  football  training 
does  not  complain  of  pains  and  aches ; 
all  he  calls  them  is  soreness  and  stiff- 
ness, and  that  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  world.  Soreness  and  stiffness 
must  be  worked  off,  pains  and  aches 
must  be  cured.  Simple  as  is  the  psy- 
chology and  the  medical  significance 
of  this  explanation,  it  constitutes  the 
most  important  basis  of  thought  for 
the  understanding  of  many  supposed 
mysteries  of  the  influence  of  the  mind 
on  the  body. 

With  this  understanding  of  healers, 
it  is  easy  to  follow  Lord  Sandwich's 
book  of  cures.  Many  of  the  cases  of 
his  healing  powers  are  just  exactly 
the  sort  that  were  cured  by  Greatrakes 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century ;  by  Father 
Holl,  with  his  magnets  in  Vienna,  in 
the  Eighteenth  Century;  by  Father 
Gassner,  with  his  theory  of  sin  and 
physical  evil  being  concomitants,  a 
little  later;  by  Mesmer  with  his  bat- 
tery, and  Perkins  with  his  tractors,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury; and  by  Dowie,  through  faith  in 
his  declaration  that  he  was  Elijah  re- 
turned to  earth,  or  by  confidence  in 
poor  insane  Schlatter,  who  proclaimed 
himself  a  new  Christ,  in  the  Twentieth 
Century.  It  was  not  that  these  men 
had  any  special  power  to  heal;  but  it 
is  certain  that  people  will  not  release 
the  energies  able  to  bring  about  in 
themselves  the  cure  of  states  of  dis- 
comfort, dis-ease,  and  even  crippling, 


312 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


until  some  strong  outer  impression  is 
made  on  their  minds.  They  actually 
inhibit  their  own  curative  powers  by 
dreads  and  fears,  and  the  consequent 
disuse  of  muscles,  and  the  lack  of  air 
and  of  exercise,  and  as  a  consequence 
hamper  circulation  and  lessen  vital  re- 
action, so  that  they  stay  ill  in  spite  of 
nature's  recuperative  power.  Just  as 
soon  as  the  brake  that  they  have 
placed  on  their  tendency  to  get  better 
is  removed  by  a  strong  mental  impres- 
sion, they  resume  more  or  less  normal 
habits,  and  it  is  not  long  before  they 
are  completely  restored. 

If  we  are  to  have  evidence  for  spir- 
itual healing,  in  contradistinction  to 
mental  healing,  which  is  to  carry 
weight,  then  we  must  be  referred  to  a 
different  class  of  cases  from  those  we 
have  discussed.  The  cures  must  af- 
fect definitely  physical  conditions.  It 
is  true  that  in  many  of  these  cases  we 
have  been  discussing  there  is  an  un- 
derlying physical  element,  but  it  is  one 
of  no  great  importance.  But  cures  that 
are  to  have  a  validity  as  representing 
spiritual  interposition  must  take  place 
with  regard  to  ills  that  have  not  been 
cured  by  the  curious  healers  and  by 
the  many  new-fangled  remedies,  which 
have  subsequently  failed.  Evidence 
must  be  adduced  of  the  enduring  cure 
of  pathological  conditions  of  very  de- 
finite organic  basis,  whose  betterment 
can  be  demonstrated,  not  merely  by 
the  effect  upon  the  patient's  feelings, 
but  by  actual  physical  results  that  can 
be  seen  in  the  patient's  tissues.  Are 
there  any  such  cures?  Personally,  I 
am  convinced  that  there  are,  and  not 
a  few  of  them.  Most  people,  and  un- 
der that  term  I  include  even  most 
physicians,  brush  aside  such  cures  as 
those  at  Lourdes,  and  declare  that  they 
are  merely  of  "nervous  cases"  or  im- 
aginary affections,  or  of  patients  with 
slight  ailments  but  exaggerated  symp- 
toms, exactly  corresponding  to  those 
that  have  been  cured  by  the  healers  of 
secular  history.  Such  doubters  have 
no  real  knowledge  of  the  cases  that 
are  the  subject  of  the  cures  at 
Lourdes.  The  records  show  (see  Jor- 
genson  and  Belloc)  on  the  average  one 


hundred  and  fifty  cures  a  year  at 
Lourdes,  and  more  than  half  of  these 
are  of  tuberculous  processes.  Lupus, 
which  is  an  external  form  of  tubercu- 
losis, with  chronic,  often  rather  deep, 
ulcerative  processes,  is,  after  lasting 
for  many  years,  cured  in  twenty-four 
to  forty-eight  hours.  Leg  ulcers,  of 
years'  standing — and  physicians  know 
well  how  obstinately  intractable  these 
are  almost  as  a  rule — are  cured  in  a 
single  day.  Lupus,  to  recur  to  the 
most  frequent  of  the  striking  cures  at 
Lourdes,  usually  affects  the  face,  and 
its  serious  destruction  of  tissue  can  be 
plainly  seen.  There  is  no  room  for 
illusion  or  delusion  when  cures  take 
place  rapidly  and  at  times  without 
scarring. 

While  I  was  at  Lourdes,  some  fif- 
teen years  ago,  I  saw  one  of  these 
cases  of  lupus  that  had  lasted  for 
years  healed  in  the  course  of  twenty- 
four  hours.  I  felt  that  this  should  be 
reported;  and  then  found  that  similar 
cases  had  been,  and  were  being  re- 
ported each  year.  I  have  often  re- 
ferred to  it  in  writing  on  psychother- 
apy for  the  medical  profession.  Al- 
most needless  to  say,  I  know  nothing 
physical,  and  nothing  that  could  be 
called  merely  psychic,  that  would  pro- 
duce such  an  effect.  We  physicians 
have  sought  cures  for  lupus  most  zeal- 
ously. Koch's  tuberculin,  Finsen's  ul- 
tra-violet light,  the  X-rays,  radium,  all 
the  new  things  in  advancing  science, 
have  been  each  lauded  in  usccession 
as  a  cure  for  lupus ;  and,  while  in  some 
cases  they  have  done  good,  in  most 
cases  they  have  failed.  Even  these 
marvelous  discoveries  of  physical  sci- 
ence, which  represent  wonderful  ad- 
vances in  our  knowledge  of  the  exhi- 
bition of  physical  energy,  have  not 
worked  cures  except  after  long  and 
repeated  applications.  Yet,  as  I  have 
said,  rapid  lupus  cures  are  frequent  at 
Lourdes. 

No  one  knows  better  than  I  that 
tuberculosis  is  eminently  amenable  to 
suggestion.  For  tuberculosis  of  the 
lungs  we  have  a  new  cure  at  least  once 
in  six  months,  because  anything,  liter- 
ally anything  that  is  given     to  con- 


PROBLEMS  OF  MENTAL  AND   SPIRITUAL  HEALING 


313 


sumptive  patients  and  produces  in 
them  the  reeling  that  now  they  ought 
to  get  better,  will  bring  about  at  least 
temporary  improvement.  The  most 
significant  expression  of  modern  medi- 
cine with  regard  to  tubercular  disease 
is,  "tuberculosis  takes  only  the  quit- 
ters," that  is,  it  takes  those  who  give 
up  and  have  not  the  courage  to  face 
their  condition  and  to  eat  and  live  out 
in  the  air.  Mental  influence  has  much 
to  do  with  it  then;  and  owing  to  the 
toxic  influences  to  which  patients  are 
subjected  by  the  absorption  of  certain 
materials  from  their  lesions  which  give 
rise  to  their  characteristic  spes  phthi- 
sica,  noted  long  ago  by  Hippocrates, 
they  are  in  a  state  highly  susceptible 
to  suggestion. 

Mr.  Rhodes,  in  Mind  Cures,  cites  the 
description  of  some  instances  of  the 
quick  cure  of  lupus  at  Lourdes  from 
the  British  Medical  Journal :  "The  sud- 
den healing  of  a  face  destroyed  by 
lupus — in  one  case  with,  in  another 
without,  scarring;  facts  vouchsafed 
for  by  Boissarie  and  Huysmans,  who 
saw  the  patients — is  altogether  outside 
ordinary  experience."  Mr.  Rhodes 
has  a  further  paragraph  in  which  he 
quotes  Sir  Henry  Butlin,  a  President  of 
the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  and  a 
man  who  has  devoted  special  atten- 
tion to  this  whole  subject  of  the  influ- 
ence of  the  mind  on  the  body.  One, 
at  least,  of  his  papers  on  spiritual  heal- 
ing was  published  by  the  British  Med- 
ical Journal.  Mr.  Rhodes'  quotations 
from  him  show  that  he  dismissed  the 
idea  that  such  cures  might  be  due 
merely  to  strong  suggestion.  In  an- 
swer to  the  objection,  "It  may  be  said 
that  the  cures  at  Lourdes,  are  the  re- 
sult of  'suggestion'  more  potent  than 
that  aroused  by  medical  treatment"; 
he  said  that,  "even  if  it  was  possible 
to  explain  all  the  steps  through  which 
the  emotion  had  produced  the  cure, 
the  recoveries  were  sometimes  so  mar- 
velous that  how  can  we  be  surprised  if 
the  people  fall  on  their  knees  before 
God  and  bless  His  Holy  Name  for  the 
miracle  which  He  has  wrought?" 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  crippling 
and  inability  to  use  certain  muscles 


are  very  frequently  due  to  subjective 
conditions  and  not  to  objective 
changes  in  the  muscular  apparatus. 
For  some  reason  muscles  have  been 
put  at  rest,  have  atrophied  somewhat 
— they  always  do  when  not  normally 
used — and  now  the  patient  must  push 
through  a  period  of  uncomfortable  use 
of  muscles  in  order  to  get  back  for 
them  their  function.  Some  people  will 
not  do  this  except  under  the  influence 
of  a  strong  mental  impression.  They 
will  never  be  cured,  then,  by  any  but 
mental  means ;  and  so  we  have  a  num- 
ber of  sciaticas,  lumbagos  and  the  like 
that  are  waiting  for  a  particular  kind 
of  healer.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  certain  cases  with  objective  symp- 
toms readily  recognizable,  real  patho- 
logical conditions  in  tissues,  which  are 
cured  by  spiritual  influence.  We  do 
not  know,  so  far  as  medical  knowledge 
goes,  what  the  mechanism  of  the  cure 
is ;  we  simply  know  that  it  takes  place 
contrary,  both  in  manner  and  form,  to 
all  our  experience,  and  that  the  fair- 
minded  observer  has  to  confess  that 
there  is  some  power  at  work  he  cannot 
understand.  Any  one  who  knows,  and 
does  not  merely  theorize,  about  the 
cures  at  Lourdes  will  find  them  of  that 
type.  They  are  not  like  the  cures  of 
Christian  Science,  nor  those  of  other 
fads,  nor  those  of  healers.  They  rep- 
resent real  miracles  in  our  day. 

The  work  of  Father  Raymond  on 
The  Spiritual  Director  and  Physician, 
with  its  secondary  title  of  The  Spirit- 
ual Treatment  of  Sufferers  from 
Nerves  and  Scruples,  emphasizes  the 
distinction  between  mental  and  spirit- 
ual healing,  and  brings  out  what  can 
be  accomplished  by  mental  persuasion 
and  suggestion  for  the  cure  of  various 
ills  and,  on  the  other  hand,  for  what 
ills  recourse  must  be  had  to  prayer  and 
the  Divine  Assistance.  It  might  pos- 
sibly be  expected  that  the  Chaplain 
to  the  famous  Kneipp  Institute  at  Woe- 
rishofen,  in  Bavaria,  would  appeal 
very  largely  to  such  physical  means  as 
exercise,  diet,  bathing  and  the  other 
natural  modes  of  cure,  in  the  organi- 
zation of  which  the  late  Father  Kneipp 
obtained    his    world-wide  reputation. 


314                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

Father  Raymond,  however,  makes  it  God,  and  spiritual  means  generally,  in 
very  clear  how  much  can  be  accom-  the  treatment  of  the  pure  neuroses,  the 
plished  by  correcting  false  notions,  psychoneuroses,  the  psychasthenias, 
neutralizing  unfortunate  suggestions,  and  other  functional  pathological  con- 
implanting  proper  persuasions,  though  ditions  which  have  proved  so  difficult 
at  the  same  time  he  dwells  on  the  value  a  subject  for  the  physician  in  recent 
of  prayer,  submission  to  the  will  of  years. 


THE  DRU/A  /AAJOR 


O  Warlord  of  a  crazy  world, 

Thou  art  the  King,  the  Czar! 
Nor  Prince  nor  Kaiser  ever  hurled 

The  peoples  into  war. 
Thou  art  the  King,  'though  abject  slave, 

Who  blinds  the  seeing  eyes, — 
Who  drowns  the  small,  unyielding  voice 

That  calls  from  Paradise. 

Crash!  go  the  cymbals,  the  trombones  shining  bright 

again. 
See  the  baton  twirling,  hear  the  deep-mouthed  brasses 

call 
"Out,  for  King  and  Country!     Oh,  show  your  father's 

might  again. 
Glory,  honor  'waits  you,  then  rally,  rally  all!" 
The  recruiting  march  is  starting;  make  way,  you  crowds, 

give  room! 
The  hollow  drum  is  sounding  its  "Doom!  Doom  Doom!" 

The  pain  and  grime  of  No  Man's  Land, 

(Ah,  hard  picked  men  die  hard!) 
The  lonely  groans  of  No  Man's  Land, 

They  are  your  war's  reward. 
Lest  shooting,  helpless  men  should  think 

Beyond  the  rifle  fire, 
There,  by  the  death  pond's  awful  brink, 

Revive  the  old  desire ! 

Aloft  the  leaping  bugle  calls  the  age-old  mem'ries  wake, 
The  flashing  glory  of  the  sword,  the  honor  of  the  charge! 
The  rhythmed  wonder  of  your  sway,  'though  earth  and 

heaven  shake, 
Will  weld  the  thinning  legions  for  the  rattling  Maxim's 

targe. 
Forgotten  are  the  broken  men,  the  silent  thinker's  gloom ; 
The   war   drums  roll    in   thunder  tones   their   "Doom! 

Doom !    Doom !" 

Llewellyn  B.  Peck. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 

By  DENISON  CLIFT 


(SYNOPSIS — Jan  Rantzau,  a  handsome  young  giant  among  the  ship- 
builders of  Gait,  joins  pretty  little  Jagiello  Nur  at  a  dance  in  the  Pavilion. 
There  the  military  police  seek  Felix  Skarga,  a  revolutionist.  Jagiello  fears 
that  a  lover,  Captain  Pasek,  of  the  Fusiliers,  will  betray  her  presence 
at  the  dance  to  old  Ujedski,  the  Jewess,  with  whom  Jagiello  lives  in  terror. 
Jan  rescues  Jagiello.  Later  when  Pasek  betrays  Jagiello  to  Ujedski,  and 
seeks  to  remain  at  the  hovel  with  her,  she  wounds  him  in  a  desperate  en- 
counter. Ujedski  turns  her  out,  and  she  marries  Jan.  Later  Pasek  indi- 
cates that  he  will  take  a  terrible  revenge  upon  the  bridal  pair.  A  son  is 
born  to  Jan,  and  he  idealizes  his  future  even  as  he  idealizes  the  growth 
of  the  world's  greatest  superdreadnaught,  the  Huascar,  on  the  ways  at 
Gait.  After  the  birth  of  Stefan,  Jagiello  tries  to  tell  Jan  of  her  sin  with 
Pasek,  but  her  strength  fails  her  at  the  supreme  moment.  Jan  buys  a  new 
house  for  Stefan's  sake.  Ujedski  visits  Jagiello  and  threatens  to  reveal 
her  sin  to  Jan.  Jagiello  goes  away,  and  Jan,  helpless,  calls  in  Ujedski 
to  care  for  Stefan.) 


Chapter  XVIII. 

THE  OLD  wan-cheeked  Jewess 
came  readily  enough.  She  knew 
that  with  Jagiello  out  of  the 
way  Jan  could  be  made  to  pay 
her  well  for  her  care  of  Stefan. 

And  Jan  did  pay  her  well. 

In  the  days  that  followed  Ujedski 
busied  herself  with  seeing  that  Stefan 
did  not  wander  from  the  little  garden 
to  the  near-by  river. 

Day  after  day  came  and  vanished, 
and  still  there  was  no  word  of  Jagiello. 

Each  evening  Jan  returned  from  the 
shipyard,  hope  burning  in^  his  eyes, 
and  each  evening  hope  died  within 
him.  Through  sunrises  and  sunsets  he 
searched  for  Jagiello;  but  no  one  had 
seen  her,  no  one  could  tell  him  any- 
thing of  her.  Once  at  dusk  when  he 
crossed  the  Ule  it  slipped  uncannily 
by,  grey  with  rotting  ice.  His  huge 
frame  shivered. 

Copyright,  1917,  by  Denison 


After  that  the  months  passed  quick- 
ly, and  soon  the  years.  But  Jan  never 
gave  up  hope.  He  felt  that  one  day 
he  would  again  see  Jagiello. 

Stefan  was  now  four  years  old.  He 
was  running  everywhere,  and  making 
things.  He  made  ships  of  bits  of 
wood,  and  in  the  evenings  Jan  put 
sails  of  white  paper  on  sticks  to  serve 
as  masts.  After  supper,  Jan  used  to 
take  the  little  fellow's  hand  and  lead 
him  down  to  the  river — the  wonderful 
river  that  Stefan  had  so  often  seen 
flowing  by,  some  days  all  blue,  other 
days  sea-green,  or  gold,  or  crimson 
when  the  sun  was  setting.  Stefan 
would  place  his  little  boats  in  the 
stream  and  they  would  bravely  gather 
speed  and  go  sailing  off  gallantly  into 
the  far  twilight.  When  they  disap- 
peared, he  would  ask:  "What's  down 
that  big  river,  papa?" 

"Fairyland,  where  mamma  went  to," 
Jan  would  answer.  "A  place  all  golden, 

Clift.      All  Rights  Reserved. 


316                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

where  bells  ring  all  day,  and  the  river  bars  of  black  and  scarlet  drifted  out 

is  always  blue,  and  nobody  ever  wants  of  the  birches ;  and  when  Stefan  ran 

to  come  back  that  once  goes  there."  shouting  after  them,  they  drifted  as 

"Won't  mamma  ever  come  back?"  lazily  back     again.     Iridescent     flies 

"Some  day."  hummed  in  the  grasses;  yellow  jackets 

"I  want  her  to  come  back  now."  threatened  from  the  red  flowers  of  the 

"She  will — some  day."  Queen  Ann's  lace;  and,  like  rifts  of 

And  they  would  go  home  to  make  flame,  scarlet  tanagers  flashed  through 

more  sail  boats  together.  the  purple  beeches. 

It  became  a  familiar  sight  in  Gait  All  that  wonderful  Sunday  Jan  and 
of  a  Sunday  to  see  the  giant  of  the  Stefan  romped  through  blue  campa- 
village  swinging  up  the  trails  to  the  nulas  and  Michaelmas  daisies.  Mow- 
heights  with  a  little  blue-eyed  lad  ers  were  at  work  on  the  side  of  the 
astride  his  immense  shoulders.  Ste-  hill,  and  the  swish!  swish!  of  their 
fan  loved  the  "ride,"  and  the  fine  free  scythes  clinked  merrily, 
air,  and  the  glorious  blue  sky,  and  the  Once  a  gaily-colored  tiger  moth 
far  sea.  skipped  out  of  the  birches,  and  Jan 
One  Sunday  when  the  fields  were  and  Stefan  gave  chase.  The  aerial 
white  with  clover,  Jan  swung  Stefan  skipper  vanished  in  the  beeches,  and 
up  on  his  shoulders  and  they  went  Jan  and  his  lad  rolled  down  the  hill 
across  the  Jena  Bridge  and  up  along  into  the  priest's  yard,  laughing  hilar- 
the  trails  in  the  cool  of  the  morning.  iously. 

That   Sunday  was  memorable   be-  So  the   afternoon     passed.     When 

cause  it  was  to  be  their  last  on  the  again   St.   Catherine's   began  calling, 

heights  together.  Jan  took  Stefan  up  on  his  back  and 

On  this  morning  there  was  no  smoke  they  went  down  through  the  dusk, 

curling  up  from  the  chimneys.     On  The  trail  led  past  the  fort,  which 

Sundays  the  toilers  slept  late,  and  it  had  been  garrisoned  with  28-centime- 

was  near  noon  before  the  brownish  ter  guns — guns  that  had  been  hauled 

spirals  began  to  ascend.  up  that  night  four  years  before  when 

Sunday  always  seemed  like  anqther  Jan  and  Jagiello  lingered    upon    the 

world  to  Jan.     Everything     was     so  priest's  balcony.    The  big  black  Trus- 

quiet,  so  unreal.    It  did  not  seem  nat-  kas  crouched  like  grim     watch-dogs, 

ural  for  the  Huascar  to  lie    so     se-  Stefan  ran  up  to  one  and  climbed  into 

renely  in  the  shipyard  far  below.  There  its  mouth  to  hide  from  Jan. 

should  have  been  thousands  of  hands  A  sentry  in  a  white  tunic  ran  out  of 

putting  the  breath  of  life    into  her,  a  quoin  in  the  wall  with  fixed  bayonet, 

thousands  of  voices  singing     against  He  made  a  great  ugly  face  at  Stefan 

her  fiery  sides,    thousands    of     eyes  and  playfully  proclaimed  him  a  Rus- 

blinded  by  the  wonder  of  her.  sian  spy. 

Above  and  beyond  lay  the  forest  of  Stefan  burst  into  laughter,  and  Jan 

Laszlovar,  a  wilderness  of  browns  and  discovered  his  hiding  place, 

greens,  trees  straight  and  tall,  motion-  "Big  papa,  tell  the  sojer  to  shoot 

less  in  the  noonday  heat.    Out  of  the  the  cannon,"  begged  Stefan, 

forest  came  birds  and  butterflies,  seek-  "Some  day,"  said  the  sentry,  pat- 

ing  the  dazzling  sunlight.  ting  the  little  man's  head,  "I  will  fire 

"Listen,  papa !"  the  cannon  for  you." 

Jan  set  Stefan  down     among     the  Years  afterward  he  kept  his  word, 

sweet-williams.    From    the    distance  Stefan  was  tired  now;  so  he  climbed 

came  the  sound  of  bells.    St.  Cather-  back  upon  his  father's  shoulder,  and 

ine's  chimes  were  calling.  The  big  child  Jan  went  down  into  the  shipyard.  The 

and  the  small  child  heard  them  to-  floor  was  covered  with  bits  of  steel 

gether,  ringing  musically  from  the  gray  and  old  rusty  nails.     Stefan  made  a 

stone  campanile.  There  was  a  solemn  wild  scramble  for  the  nails.    His  fat 

hush  in  the  air.  Great  gypsy  moths  with  little  hands  bulged  with  a   score  of 


GUNS  OF  GALT. 


317 


them;  and  as  Jan  carried  him  home- 
ward sleep  closed  his  eyes  and  a 
dozen  slipped  one  by  one  from  his 
chubby  fingers. 

Jan  went  into  his  house  at  the  close 
of  that  Sunday,  lit  the  candle,  and  af- 
ter giving  the  little  fellow  his  kaszia, 
undressed  him  for  bed.  Stefan  in- 
sisted upon  safely  putting  away  the 
rusty  nails  under  his  basket  together 
with  a  piece  of  old  hose,  a  broken 
clock,  and  a  dried  bird's  nest.  Then 
snuggling  into  Jan's  arms  he  whis- 
pered: "Good-night,  big  papa."  His 
tiny  arms  closed  about  Jan's  neck. 
"God  bress  my  dear  pitty  mamma,"  he 
breathed. 

"Good-night,  little  son." 

And  crooning  and  whistling  softly, 
Jan  held  Stefan  tightly  while  he 
drifted  away  into  slumber  in  his  arms. 

Chapter  XIX. 

The  building  of  the  Huascar,  the 
mounting  of  guns  in  the  forts  at  Gait, 
the  earth  trembling  beneath  the  tread 
of  a  million  troops — these  playthings 
of  an  emperor  must  be  paid  for.  The 
rich  war  vaults  of  Carlmania  pay  for 
the  guns,  but  whose  flesh  and  blood 
fill  the  war  chest  with  gold? 

The  standing  army  had  been  in- 
creased to  three  million  men.  The 
taxes  of  that  year  had  been  raised  to 
the  cruel  extreme  of  fifty  per  cent. 

Fifty  per  cent! 

Three  days  out  of  the  week's  six 
were  spent  in  labor  for  the  govern- 
ment! Three  days  of  toil  when  every 
ruble  earned  must  return  to  the  war 
vaults!  And  no  excuses — the  govern- 
ment was  inexorable. 

The  first  Jan  knew  of  the  military 
tax  was  one  evening,  a  month  later, 
when  he  answered  a  pounding  on  his 
door.  When  he  opened  it  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  Captain  Pa- 
sek. 

"Good  evening,  Jan  Rantzau," 
greeted  Pasek,  affably. 

"Good  evening,  Captain  Pasek," 
returned  Jan,  puzzled. 

"I  came  to  see  you  about  the  mili- 
tary tax.  I  am  the  government  collec- 
tor for  the  third  district." 


He  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket 
and  scrutinized  it  carelessly.  "Your 
tax  for  the  year  is  three  hundred  and 
sixty  rubles,"  he  said. 

Three  hundred  and  sixty  rubles! 
Jan  looked  stupefied.  "There  must 
be  some  mistake,  Captain.  I  make 
but  sixty  rubles  a  month — seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty  rubles  a  year.  Three 
hundred  and  sixty  rubles  are  one-half 
of  all  I  earn.  You  see,  there  is  some 
very  great  mistake." 

Captain  Pasek  smiled. 

"There  is  no  mistake,"  he  replied, 
and  Jan  noticed  a  hardness  in  his  tone, 
an  exultation,  as  if  he  gloried  in  thus 
setting  forth  Jan's  duty  to  his  coun- 
try. "The  new  tax  takes  fifty  per  cent 
of  your  income,  and  that,  as  you  say, 
is  three  hundred  and  sixty  rubles." 
He  paused  while  he  showed  Jan  the  le- 
gal papers  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket.  "Here  are  your  tax  papers. 
They  will  explain  why  the  government 
has  levied  this  tax.  Your  patriotism 
should  urge  you  to  co-operate  with 
the  government.  All  good  citizens 
must  make  sacrifices  for  the  good  of 
the  Motherland.  Of  course  you  will 
have  to  pay  this  tax  monthly.  I  will 
call  on  the  tenth  of  October — one 
month  from  to-day.  Then  you  will 
have  the  rubles  ready  for  the  govern- 
ment.   Good  evening,  Rantzau." 

He  placed  the  tax  papers  in  Jan's 
hands  and  turned  away.  Jan  called 
after  him. 

"Captain  Pasek!  Here!  Here! 
What  if  I  shouldn't  have  the  thirty 
rubles  ready  when  you  come  back?" 

Pasek  turned  and  smiled  noncha- 
lantly. 

"But  you  will  have  the  thirty  rubles 
ready.  You  are  too  patriotic  to  dis- 
appoint the  government."  His  voice 
was  ironical;  in  his  grey  eyes  was  a 
glint  that  savored  of  revenge.  He  re- 
membered Jagiello.  His  moment  had 
come.  "Of  course,  if  you  should 
disappoint  the  government — the  gov- 
ernment has  ways  of  punishing  unpa- 
triotic citizens."  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  smiled  again,  mechanically 
and  coldly,  and  moved  away  across  the 
white  court. 


318                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

Jan  sat  down  on  his  doorstep  and  back  the  house!"     This,  then,  made 

'looked  through  the  tax  papers  auto-  the  payment  of  fifty  rubles  impera- 

matically.     In  blank  spaces  his  name  tive. 

had  been  written  in,  his  age,  his  wife's  The  last  possibility    was     Ujedski. 

name,  the  fact  that  he  had  one  male  The  old  crone  had  been  hinting  of  late 

child,  that  he  worked  in  the  govern-  at  a  higher  payment.    She  complained 

ment  shipyard,  and  that  they  paid  him  that  Stefan  was  growing  older,  and 

sixty  rubles  a  month.     The     papers  that  he  required  more  of  her  attention, 

were  filled  with  Latin  expressions  and  If  this  was  her  mood,  of  what     use 

legal  terms  that  Jan  did  not  under-  would  it  be  to  try  to  induce  the  Jewess 

stand.    There  were  long  explanations  to  make   any  sacrifice?     And  Ujed- 

in  small  type,  which  looked  as  though  ski  was  indispensable.     Stefan     was 

they  were  not  meant  to  be  read.     In  but  four  years  old  and  required  the 

some  vague  way  Jan  felt  that  this  im-  constant,  watchful  care  of  a  woman, 

personal  thing  called  the  Government  Surely  his  boy's  interests  lay  nearest 

was  his  enemy.    The  papers  contained  Jan's  heart. 

much  information  regarding  him.    An  In  an  agony  of  despair  he  got  up 

agency  that  had   gathered   so   many  and  paced  up  and  down  the  garden, 

curate  facts  about  him  surely  must  be  What  should  he  do?     There  seemed 

powerful — powerful   enough  to  crush  no  way  that  he  could  save  himself  and 

him  if  he  resisted.  Stefan. 

Thirty  rubles  a  month !    He  was  al-  Then  a  great  idea  came  to  him. 

ready  paying  twenty  rubles  a  month  He  could  work  with  the  night  shift 

to  Madame  Tenta  toward  his  house,  at  the  works. 

Thirty    and    twenty — fifty    rubles    a  After  the  toll  of  the  day  he  could  go 

month  for  the  house  and    the    taxes  back  in  the  evening  and  work  until 

alone!     And   Ujedski  demanded  ten  midnight. 

rubles — his   entire   sixty  rubles  gone  This  would  yield  him  twenty  rubles 

before  he  had  purchased     bread     or  more.     Ah,  he  had  solved  the  diffi- 

bought  a  single  article  of  clothing  for  culty! 

Stefan  or  himself!    As  Jan  cast  these  The  next  day  Jan  applied   at  the 
thoughts  over  in  his  mind  a  mysterious,  Construction  House  for  night     work, 
horrifying   fear   crept   over  him — the  and  was  taken  on  with  the  night  shift, 
haunting     fear     of     wild  beasts  be-  He  did  this  to  save  the  house  for 
fore    a    calamity.      Clearly    such    a  Stefan, 
condition     was      impossible.      Some- 
body must  be  sacrificed.    But  not  Ste-  Chapter  XX. 
fan!     Jan  put  the  papers  away  and 
began  figuring  who  it  should  be.  The  night  shift  went  on    at    seven 

First  of  all  there  was  the  govern-  o'clock, 
ment — inexorable.     That  meant  thirty  By  the  time  it  was  dark  the  ship- 
rubles,  and  surely  Pasek  had  made  it  yard  was  a  seething  maelstrom,  a  vault 
clear  to  him  that     the     government  of  living  flame. 

would  tolerate  no  delinquencies:  that,  Four  thousand  men  toiled  through 

at  least,  was  settled  and  beyond  ar-  the  shift.    Two  thousand  men  labored 

gument.  up  to  midnight;  two  thousand  contin- 

Secondly,  there  was  Madame  Tenta.  ued  until  dawn.    The  government  ex- 

When  he  and  Jagiello  had  arranged  for  torted  from  them  three  days'  wages 

payments  on  the  house,  she  had  been  each  week;  the  night  shift  was  their 

at  first   pliant   and   agreeable ;   later,  way  of  cheating  Death, 

harsh  and  unyielding.    Without  asking  Jan  was  one  of  the  two  thousand 

her,  he  knew  that  she  would  turn  a  that  went  to  work  when  the  whistle 

deaf  ear  to  his  plea  for  a  reduction  of  summoned  the  army  at  seven  o'clock. 

his  monthly  payment.    He  could  hear  The  men  sweated  in  the  blinding  glare 

her  answer:  "Twenty  rubles,  or  I  take  of  the  furnaces.    A  thousand  riveters 


GUNS  OF  GALT. 


319 


drove  white-hot  bolts  into  place,  lock- 
ing the  sheets  of  armour.  Ever  after- 
wards their  eyes  saw  green  from  the 
terrible  whiteness.  They  were  putting 
their  life  blood  into  the  Huascar.  The 
government  demanded  that  of  them — 
if  they  were  to  live.  Young  men  and 
old,  boys  and  youths — there  was  a 
place  for  all.  When  the  greybeards 
passed  away,  the  young  men  would 
take  their  places.  When  the  young 
men  in  turn  became  greybeards,  the 
youths  would  fill  the  niches  they  had 
left  empty.  It  was  their  life — a  cycle 
in  which  Youth  supplanted  Age,  until 
at  length  what  had  been  Youth  gave 
way  to  what  would  in  time  become 
Age.  In  the  cycle  Jan's  father  had 
taken  the  place  of  his  father;  and 
with  the  march  of  years  Jan  had  now 
taken  the  niche  of  the  man  who  had 
given  him  life. 

The  Huascar  was  becoming  a  beau- 
tiful thing  of  steel. 

At  night,  high  up  on  a  platform,  Jan 
stood,  adjusting  with  great  angle  irons 
blazing  plates  of  armour  that  dropped 
like  flaming  comets  into  the  derrick's 
grip — hissing  thunderously.  The  whis- 
tles of  countless  engines  shrieked  in 
his  ears;  the  sweat  poured  in  streams 
from  his  face;  his  eyes  burned  as 
though  pierced  by  jets  of  fire.  Occa- 
sionally Jan  saw  the  black  figure  of  a 
builder  shot  from  a  towering  bridge 
into  the  abyss  beneath.  No  one  no- 
ticed. It  was  part  of  the  routine.  Not 
an  engine  would  slow  down,  not  a  man 
would  stop  work.  The  task  of  creating 
the  Huascar  went  on — inexorable,  un- 
relenting. At  dawn  the  watchman  on 
his  round  of  inspection  would  come 
upon  the  still  figure  that  had  shot  into 
the  casting  pit  the  night  before.  He 
would  have  him  carried  to  the  Con- 
struction House,  read  his  name  on  the 
card  that  he,  like  every  builder,  car- 
ried sewed  in  his  shirt,  strike  his 
name  off  the  pay  roll,  and  send  his 
body  up  to  that  little  house  of  Gait 
where  he  had  lived.  And  that  would 
be  all. 

The  Toilers  were  paying  tribute  to 
the  ambitions  of  the  Emperor. 

The   sheets   of   armour  plate  were 


rolled  under  the  keel  of  the  battle- 
ship. Great  furnaces  bellowed, 
stuffed  to  the  mouth  with  huge  bosses 
of  red-hot  metal.  From  where  Jan 
stood  on  his  platform  he  could  see, 
every  now  and  then,  what  resembled 
a  man  open  the  furnace  doors  with  a 
long  iron  hook.  There  was  a  blinding 
flash  as  of  the  sun  on  snow,  and  the 
great  mass  of  metal  seethed  and  sput- 
tered in  a  blaze  of  sparks.  If  the  mass 
were  ready  for  rolling,  the  man  raised 
his  hand,  and  instantly  a  crane  trav- 
eled along  a  track  parallel  with  the 
smoke-stained  walls.  The  next  mo- 
ment a  giant  pair  of  pincers  fastened 
to  a  chain  reached  into  the  furnace, 
gripped  the  quivering  mass  and 
dragged  it  forth  like  a  great  fish  wrig- 
gling on  a  hook,  hissing,  crashing,  blis- 
tering the  skin  with  its  tremendous 
heat.  Without  a  second's  loss  a  small 
battalion  of  men  in  steel  caps  and 
wire  vizors,  their  legs  encased  in  rough 
steel  leggings,  like  jackboots  of  iron, 
began  a  weird  dance  about  the  blazing 
metal,  thrusting  it  into  the  gigantic 
molds  like  so  much  wax.  The  blows 
of  the  steam  hammer,  swift  and  terri- 
ble, made  the  earth  tremble,  and  the 
floor  leap  and  shiver  under  the  mighty 
strokes.  In  return  for  every  blow,  the 
living  mass  sent  forth  a  shower  of 
white  metal.  The  mass  started  with 
"  thickness  of  twenty  inches,  the  sec- 
ond rolling  crushed  it  to  sixteen,  the 
third  to  twelve,  and  the  final  strokes 
of  the  great  hammers  flattened  it  to 
ten.  Now  a  second  battalion  of  weird 
figures  came  up,  each  bearing  a  long- 
handled  broom,  each  scrambling  round 
the  hissing  mass,  brushing  off  scales 
of  oxide.  By  this  time  the  huge  plate 
was  perfectly  molded.  Tubs  of  cold 
water  were  poured  over  it,  and,  still 
fighting  and  spitting  violet  flame,  the 
crane  carried  it  away,  to  be  trimmed 
and  lifted  high  to  Jan,  who  would 
place  it  in  position.  All  was  seeming 
chaos  to  the  eye;  yet  every  movement 
of  every  man  was  made  with  the  pre- 
cision of  machinery. 

At  midnight  when  Jan  left  the  works 
for  home,  he  could  look  back  and  see 
the   huge   trumpet-shaped     chimneys 


320 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


flaring  to  the  sky,  belching  red  flame, 
like  gigantic  flambeaux. 

The  few  extra  rubles  that  Jan 
earned  in  this  way  paid  part  of  his 
living  expenses — but  not  all.  The  de- 
mand upon  him  for  rubles  increased. 
He  and  Stefan  must  have  proper  food; 
he  must  feed  his  immense  body  if  he 
was  to  exact  this  tremendous  response 
from  it.  And  Stefan  must  have 
clothes,  warm,  comfortable  clothes,  for 
winter  had  come  and  already  chilling 
blasts  were  blowing  down  from  the 
Lora  Mountains. 

In  fear  now  lest  he  lose  the  house 
he  had  bought  for  Stefan,  Jan  sold  all 
that  he  owned:  his  poor  furniture,  his 
blankets,  and  at  last  his  bed.  He  slept 
en  the  floor,  covered  only  with  a  rag- 
ged quilt  borrowed  from  Ujedski.  Lit- 
tle Stefan  had  outgrown  his  basket. 
He  slept  beside  Jan,  wrapped  in  the 
big  man's  coat. 

Ujedski  would  wait  at  Jan's  house 
caring  for  Stefan  until  he  staggered 
home  from  the  shipyard  at  midnight. 
Then  she  would  bid  Jan  a  hasty 
"good-night"  and  slink  off  through  the 
trees  to  her  hovel.  For  her  late  vigil 
she  demanded  more  rubles — for  could 
any  one  expect  her,  an  old  woman  in 
dire  want,  to  sacrifice  herself  for  noth- 
ing ?  ...  It  was  only  in  this  way  that 
Ujedski  was  able  to  bleed  Jan  for 
enough  rubles  to  save  her  hut  from 
the  ravages  of  the  tax  collectors. 

With  the  coming  of  winter  the  brown 
fields  became  splashed  with  tan  and 
crimson  leaves,  the  river  swirled  mud- 
hued,  the  skies  became  overcast,  the 
rain,  cold  and  drenching,  flooded  the 
streets.  And  all  the  little  white  houses 
01  Gait  became  drab  and  dirty. 

The  rain  streamed  into  Jan's  house, 
pouring  through  the  chinks  and  open- 
ings in  the  thatch ;  and  the  wind,  whip- 
ping down  from  the  snow-covered 
Loras,  pierced  him  to  the  marrow.  Jan 
had  deliberately  withheld  five  rubles 
from  the  tax  money  with  which  to  buy 
Stefan  a  winter  coat.  To  make  up 
this  loss  he  was  now  obliged  to  give 
up  his  Sundays  and  remain  at  the 
shipyard. 

There  were  to  be  no  more  trips  to 


the  river  with  Stefan,  no  more  raptur- 
ous Sundays  on  the  flowered  heights. 

It  stabbed  Jan  to  the  heart  when 
Stefan,  in  his  innocence,  begged: 
"Please,  big  papa,  take  me  up  the 
hill." 

Jan  appealed  to  Ujedski. 

"Will  you  please  take  Stefan  up  the 
hill  when  the  rain  stops?"  he  asked 
her. 

"Up  the  hill!"  retorted  the  beldam. 
"I'm  too  busy  sewing  on  his  buttons  to 
bother  taking  him  up  the  hill!" 

Jan  was  silent. 

There  were  to  be  no  more  wonder- 
ful days  for  his  boy.  Instead,  Ujed- 
ski began  exacting  a  daily  routine  of 
menial  tasks  from  him.  She  acquired 
some  sheep,  and  she  made  Stefan 
drive  them  through  the  streets  to  crop 
the  fresh  tufts  of  grass.  He  cared 
for  the  geese  in  the  narrow  back  yard. 
When  he  was  old  enough  she  sent  him 
down  the  street  after  bags  of  lentils 
and  jars  of  honey,  as  she  had  sent  his 
mother  before  him.  She  threatened  to 
claw  him  if  he  told  Jan. 

At  night  when  the  weary  giant 
dragged  himself  home  from  the  ship- 
yard he  lay  down  beside  Stefan,  ig- 
norant of  these  hardships,  and  slept 
till  sun-up. 

Those  were  long  winter  nights  of 
weariness  and  pleasure — weariness  in 
forcing  his  great  body  beyond  the 
point  of  endurance,  and  pleasure  when 
he  returned  to  the  boy  he  loved,  to  feel 
his  tiny  body  snuggle  warm  against 
his  own,  to  hear  the  sweet,  childish 
breathing,  to  feel  the  beating  of  the 
baby  heart  near  to  his  own. 

In  those  moments  Jan  knew  the 
greatest  pleasure  that  life  held  for 
him.  Stefan  was  his  own  son,  flesh 
of  his  flesh,  heart  of  his  heart.  At 
midnight  Jan  would  lift  the  little 
sleeping  form  upon  his  great  chest  and 
enfold  it  with  his  arms  until  he  could 
hear  the  little  heart  beating  close  to 
his.  He  clung  to  his  boy  passionately, 
tremulously,  and  tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes.  He  would  take  the  tiny  hand 
in  his  and  hold  it  tightly  through  those 
early  morning  hours. 

Outside,   the   rain   would   lash   the 


GUNS  OF  GALT. 


321 


house  and  icy  winds  steal  through  the 
chinks.  In  those  hours  before  the 
dawn,  when  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb, 
Jan,  sorely  needing  sleep,  would  lie 
awake,  thinking  of  the  little  man's 
mother,  and  how  passionately  he  loved 
her,  and  how  she  went  away.  He 
thought  of  the  terrible  struggle  that 
faced  him.  Fear  for  the  future  of  Ste- 
fan would  clutch  him  by  the  heart. 
"They're  making  it  tough  for  us,  little 
man,"  he  would  breathe,  "but  we're 
going  to  keep  right  on  having  our 
fun."  Then  after  awhile  he  would 
drift  into  slumber  from  sheer  exhaus- 
tion. But  at  sun-up  he  was  dressed 
and  off  to  the  shipyard  for  another 
day.  With  the  morning  would  come 
new  hope  after  the  misery  of  the  night. 

To  meet  the  growing  exactions  of 
Ujedski,  and  to  buy  Stefan  more  warm 
winter  clothes,  Jan  held  out  more  of 
the  tax  money.  This  was  at  an  inop- 
portune time,  for  when  he  was  short 
fifteen  rubles,  Captain  Pasek  present- 
ed himself  one  evening  at  Jan's  door 
and  demanded  the  full  month's  taxes. 

Thirty  rubles  was  the  amount  of  the 
tax.  It  was  the  twelfth  of  January, 
and  the  payment  was  two  days  over- 
due. Jan  had  but  fifteen  rubles  on 
hand.  The  remaining  fifteen  rubles 
he  had  drawn  from  the  pewter  cup  two 
weeks  before  to  purchase  Stefan's 
clothes.  It  sometimes  happened  that 
Pasek  called  a  week  or  so  after  the 
tenth  of  each  month.  Counting  on  this, 
Jan  had  spent  the  money,  hoping  to 
replace  the  amount  from  his  wages 
Saturday  night.  He  could  but  offer 
Pasek  the  fifteen,  which  he  did  with 
obvious  nervousness. 

Captain  Pasek  shook  his  head. 

"I  cannot  accept  partial  payment," 
he  explained.  Then  it  came  over  Jan 
that  the  Captain's  delay  each  month 
had  not  been  carelessness,  but  a  trap, 
subtly  planned  and  cunningly  sprung. 

A  sensation  of  terror  came  over 
him,  but  he  conquered  it.  "I  will  have 
the  full  amount  Saturday  night,"  he 
offered. 

"This  is  the  second  time  you  have 
been  short,."  returned  the  Captain. 
"Last  month  you  were  able  to  make 


up  the  full  amount  the  same  day  I 
called.  I  will  give  you  until  morning 
to  make  up  the  other  fifteen  rubles. 
Otherwise  the  government  must  take 
action." 

When  the  Captain  had  gone  away, 
Jan  went  at  once  to  Ujedski  and  told 
her  the  whole  story.  The  Jewess 
shook  her  head.  "I  am  sorry,  Jan," 
she  said,  "but  with  me  needing  all  the 
rubles  I  can  get,  I  can't  be  lending  to 
anybody." 

Jan  left  her  and  went  to  the  Con- 
struction House.  The  shipyard  offi- 
cials listened  to  him,  but  told  him  that 
they  heard  such  stories  every  day,  and 
that  to  make  an  exception  in  his  case 
would  be  to  start  a  troublesome  pre- 
cedent. They  were  sorry,  but  could 
do  nothing  for  him.  Jan  strode  from 
the  room  with  its  wall  of  blue  prints. 
What  he  feared  most  had  at  last  come 
upon  him. 

He  went  from  the  works  to  Madame 
Ballandyna.  Ballandyna,  who  was  a 
cobbler  and  had  six  mouths  to  fill,  had 
no  money,  he  knew,  but  Madame  Bal- 
landyna might  have  some  rubles  from 
her  own  work  that  she  would  loan  him 
in  his  extremity.  In  the  street  little 
Elsa  and  Lela  and  Ula  were  playing. 
He  passed  them,  went  through  the 
gate,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  Mad- 
ame Ballandyna  greeted  him.  She  lis- 
tened while  he  told  of  his  misfortunes 
in  simple,  tragic  words.  She  was 
scrry  she  had  nothing  to  lend.  The  few 
rubles  she  earned  were  to  buy  clothes 
for  her  children. 

Jan  went  to  see  Madame  Tenta.  She, 
too,  was  obdurate.  Of  course,  she  had 
the  rubles,  but  wasn't  she  a  woman, 
unable  to  earn  anything  herself?  And 
how  did  she  know  Jan  would  be  able 
to  pay  her  back?  No,  indeed,  she 
couldn't  be  taking  such  chances — she 
a  widow  with  several  children  depend- 
ent upon  the  few  poor  pieces  of  prop- 
erty her  husband  had  left  her.  Be- 
sides, hadn't  she  made  a  great  sacri- 
fice when  Jan  bought  the  house,  and 
wasn't  it  asking  a  great  deal  now  for 
her  to  advance  money  to  him  on  the 
house?    She  would  like  to  know  that! 

In  the  morning  Captain  Pasek,  in 


322 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


his  gay  uniform,  was  waiting  to  see 
Jan.  He  had  come  early,  to  be  sure, 
but  that  meant  nothing ;  he  would  wait 
until  seven  o'clock  if  Jan  wanted  more 
time.  But  Jan  was  ready  to  see  him. 
He  said  he  had  been  unable  to  raise 
the  needed  fifteen  rubles.  If  the  Cap- 
tain would  only  wait  until  Saturday — 

Ah,  no,  Jan  did  not  understand  the 
machinery  of  the  government.  If  the 
government  gave  him  until  Wednes- 
day morning  to  pay  his  delinquent 
taxes  that  was  not  Saturday  evening, 
and  such  irregularity  could  not  be  per- 
mitted by  a  government  that  did  every- 
thing  with  precision. 

So  Captain  Pasek  smiled  quite  af- 
fably, made  some  notes  in  his  tax  rec- 
ord, handed  Jan  another  odd-looking 
legal  paper  with  fine  print,  and  went 
blithely  on  his  way. 

Jan  remained  staring  after  him  a 
long  while,  dumbly,  after  the  manner 
of  wild  beasts.  Stefan  was  playing 
on  the  floor,  and  he  came  over  to  his 
father  and  pulled  at  his  coat. 

"Come  into  the  house,  big  papa," 
he  called,  "and  get  all  cosy."  It  was 
beginning  to  rain,  so  Jan  closed  the 
door  and  picked  up  Stefan  in  his 
arms. 

He  had  lost  the  house. 

So  he  became  a  kormorniki — a 
homeless  toiler — and  went  down  to 
Ujedski. 

Chapter  XXI. 

In  the  bare  little  whitewashed  room 
that  had  once  been  Jagiello's,  Jan  now 
spent  the  hours  from  midnight  until 
sun-up  sleeping  beside  his  boy.  When 
Ujedski  had  first  shown  him  the  room 
and  told  him  that  it  had  been  Jagiello's 
he  had  secretly  kissed  the  portals. 
Though  he  did  not  know  it  then,  this 
was  the  very  room  in  which  she  had 
sinned.  By  what  a  curious  decree  of 
fate  her  child,  as  sweet  and  innocent 
as  the  white  daturas  in  her  withered 
garden,  now  slept  upon  her  pallet  with 
its  white  cover  and  the  embroidered 
yellow  rose!  .  .  .  The  rose,  with  its 
large,  fluted  petals,  was  a  never-end- 
ing delight  to  Stefan.    When  he  awoke 


in  the  morning  it  greeted  him  with  all 
its  intricate  golden  stitches;  and  at 
night  it  was  the  last  thing  he  gazed 
upon  before  Ujedski  blew  out  the 
candle.  The  walls  were  still  orna- 
mented with  pictures  from  the  Nagi- 
Aaros  newspaper:  the  shepherd  lead- 
ing his  sheep  through  the  pass  at  sun- 
set, the  face  of  a  woman,  a  saint,  and 
the  blood-red  Battle  of  Grunwald.  In 
the  early  morning  hours  when  Jan 
could  not  sleep,  his  eyes  were  inevi- 
tably attracted  to  the  horrors  of  this 
battle  picture:  the  dying  peasant  sol- 
diers, the  streams  of  blood,  the  new 
day  revealing  the  tragedy  of  a  night. 
It  fascinated  him.  His  eyes  returned 
to  it  again  and  again.  It  seemed  to 
cry  out  to  him:  "Comrade,  you're 
needed!"  The  last  thing  at  night  be- 
fore he  blew  out  his  candle  his  tired 
eyes  sought  the  picture,  and  in  his  ex- 
haustion its  horrors  flared  poignantly. 

Over  the  bed  still  hung,  in  graceful 
festoon,  the  flimsy  red  paper  balls, 
strung  on  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  festive, 
garish.  There  was  no  garden  now 
save  the  hardy  daturas,  for  since  Jag- 
iello  had  left,  the  giant  mulleins  and 
bright  blue  chicory  had  died.  A  few 
honeysuckle  vines  remained,  and  as 
in  days  gone  past,  bees  and  humming 
birds  infested  them  in  spring.  But  the 
picture  of  the  Battle  of  Grunwald  dom- 
inated the  room,  as  a  general  governs 
his  army,  and  its  horrors  at  length 
dominated  the  soul  of  Jan.  The  pic- 
ture expressed  the  rebellion  that  now 
began  to  stir  within  him.  What  right 
had  the  government  to  confiscate  his 
house  because  he  had  been  a  few  days 
late  in  paying  his  tax?  Why  should 
the  world  crush  him  when  all  he  asked 
was  opportunity  for  his  boy? 

The  picture  of  the  still,  empty  house 
the  night  that  Jagiello  had  gone  away 
was  yet  vivid  in  his  memory.  The 
horror,  the  loneliness,  the  incredible 
unreality  of  it  all  drove  in  upon  him 
like  a  sickening  blow  .  .  .  And  why 
had  Jagiello  gone  away?  He  had  con- 
jured up  a  thousand  reasons,  and  each 
reason  gave  rise  to  untold  speculations, 
until  at  length  his  brain,  weary  from 
countless  conjectures,    throbbed     and 


GUNS  OF  GALT.  323 

palpitated  in  sheer  exhaustion.  farthest  from  his   ambition:   to  give 

Then  one  day  Jan  discovered  the  Stefan  the  opportunity  to  be  a  Some- 
truth,  body.     But  as  he  went  down,  so  too 

He  had  ventured  to  show  Ujedski  must  Stefan  go  with  him.    Who  in  all 

Jagiello's  farewell  note,  and  the  Jewess  the  world  would  care  for  the  lad  if 

had  laughed.  "Why  did  she  go  away?"  anything  happened  to  him?     Would 

Jan  asked.  he  not   become  as  a  cork  upon  the 

Ujedski  shook  her  head,  but  Jan,  waters,  at  the  mercy  of  every  wave, 

sensing  that  the  beldam  knew  more  tossed  about  haphazardly,  to  live  or 

than  her  nod  indicated,  seized  her  by  to  die,  friendless,  a  victim  of  circum- 

the  arm.     "Tell  me!"  he  demanded,  stances,  a  human  soul  adrift?  .  .  .  . 

"why  did   she   go   away?"     Ujedski  There  was  that  fearful  throbbing  in 

protested  ignorance;  Jan's  grip  tight-  his  head  again,  beginning  far  off,  like 

ened.     "You  know!"  he  cried,     "you  the  beat  of  the  sea,  growing  louder  and 

know!"    The  beldam  confessed.  Her  more  violent,  attaining  the  volume  of 

words  were  carefully  chosen :  thunder,  rumbling,  echoing,  dinning  in 

"A  few  days  before  Jagiello  went  his  ears  like  the  firing  of  guns,  crash- 
she  came  to  me  and  said  that  people  ing,  mounting  louder  and  louder,  a 
were  talking  about  her,  and  she  was  great  discordant  wave,  a  gigantic  rev- 
afraid  you  would  find  out  some  things,  erberating  mass,  bursting  upon  him, 
She  said  she  would  run  away  before  overwhelming  him  .  .  .  ! 
she  would  have  you  know."  Pressed  to  After  an  attack  Jan  would  drop  back 
tell  more,  Ujedski  dilated  upon  the  upon  the  pallet,  exhausted,  streams 
"things."  Jan  uttered  a  cry  of  pain,  of  perspiration  flowing  down  his  face, 
his  hands  tightened  into  knots,  and  his  his  breath  coming  in  heavy  chokings, 
voice  became  husky :  "Mother  of  God,  his  hair  matted  over  his  forehead,  a 
why  didn't  she  tell  me  ?  I  would  have  wild  light  flaming  in  his  eyes  .  .  . 
forgiven  her!    I  loved  her!"  One  February  morning  about    two 

After  the  first  shock  of  the  amazing  o'clock  he  awoke  from  a  fitful  slum- 
truth  had  dimmed,  Jan's  thoughts  re-  ber  in  the  throes  of  horror-laden 
turned  to  his  boy.  He  loved  Stefan  thoughts.  He  had  been  dreaming  of 
with  every  instinct  of  his  nature,  and  Jagiello,  and  he  had  seen  her  face, 
he  feared  for  what  might  happen  to  pinched  and  pale  and  frightened,  call- 
him  in  the  years  to  come.  Often  at  ing  to  him.  His  dream  had  changed, 
night  the  Jewess  in  the  next  room  and  he  was  at  work  under  the  Huascar. 
heard  him  kissing  the  tender  cheek  of  Stefan  had  been  gathering  rusty  nails 
his  son.  The  lad  lay  peacefully  sleep-  beside  him.  Suddenly  the  mighty  hull 
ing,  with  his  sweet,  even  breathing,  had  become  a  living  thing,  had  reared 
his  soft,  smooth  skin  with  its  fragrant  itself  into  the  skies  above  him  and 
aroma  .  .  .  And  then  at  length  some-  come  crashing  down  in  all  its  terrific 
thing  in  Jan's  head  would  snap,  a  power,  with  a  roar  as  of  worlds  rent 
sharp,  excruciating  pain  would  rack  asunder!  His  boy!  He  awoke  with 
his  brain,  and  a  million  bright  stars  a  start.  His  face  was  twitching  with 
would  swim  into  his  vision.  His  body  the  terror  of  the  dream.  What  a 
was  protesting  its  burden.  He  would  ghastly  reality!  God,  his  boy!  He 
spring  upright  upon  his  pallet  of  straw,  clutched  the  bed  clothes.  His  hand 
clutching  his  head  in  agony.  This  ter-  felt  the  soft,  tender  little  face,  peace- 
rific  throbbing  in  his  head — would  it  fully  asleep.  Ah,  it  was  only  a  night- 
never  cease  ?  Would  it  continue  to  in-  mare !  Thank  God !  He  took  the  In- 
crease until  it  became  the  tramping  of  tie  fellow's  body  in  his  arms,  and 
wild  horses,  thrashing,  never-ending?  pressed  him  against  his  chest  with 
.  ,  .  His  brain  was  obsessed  with  his  passionate,  frenzied  ardor, 
failure.  Struggle  as  he  might  he  could  He  could  no  longer  sleep.  And  how 
not  get  ahead.  Each  day  he  sank  he  needed  sleep!  By  and  by  he  got 
deeper  into  the  mire ;  each  day  he  was  up  and  went  to  the  window.    The  night 


324 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


v/as  black  and  silver;  the  cold  Febru- 
ary sky  was  spangled  with  stars.  A 
biting  wind  blew  in  from  the  Baltic, 
cooling  his  hot  face.  He  sat  down 
near  the  window  and  continued  look- 
ing out  a  long  time,  thinking  about 
Jagiello,  about  Pasek,  about  Ujedski, 
about  his  boy.  After  a  while,  suffer- 
ing from  exhaustion,  he  threw  himself 
upon  his  pallet. 

But  he  could  not  rest.  He  was  too 
fatigued.  The  terrific  strain  of  the 
night  toil  was  telling  upon  him.  He 
was  a  giant,  yet  his  muscles  could  en- 
dure just  so  much  overpowering  labor. 
Already  his  fine  straight  shoulders 
were  bent,  his  gait  was  attaining  a 
shuffle,  the  lustre  was  going  from  his 
eyes  .  .  . 

Where  would  it  all  end  ? 

Presently  he  drifted  into  sleep,  and 
another  dream  came  to  him.  He  was 
striding  through  a  black:  forest  with 
Stefan  upon  his  shoulder.  On  every 
hand  was  blackness  intolerable.  The 
trees  loomed  like  cathedral  spires,  op- 
pressive, awe-inspiring.  Suddenly  out 
of  the  forest  leaped  a  wild  beast, 
straight  at  Stefan!  Jan  tried  to  run: 
his  feet  were  riveted  to  the  spot.  And 
the  beast  was  driving  straight  for  the 
boy's  throat!  .  .  .  His  great  body 
writhed  and  quivered,  his  huge  fists 
opened  and  closed  convulsively  .  .  . 
Ah,  now  he  had  his  hands  upon  the 
throat  of  the  beast;  now  he  was  tear- 
ing it  piecemeal;  now  he  had  wrung 
the  life  from  its  body  and  thrown  it 
aside  .  .  . 


He  awoke  with  a  guttural  shout,  his 
arms  heaving.  Perspiration  dripped 
from  his  forehead.  His  veins  were 
swollen  and  purple.  He  panted  like 
a  wolf  .  .  .  There  lay  his  boy  safely 
beside  him.  Then  it  was  only  a 
dream!     Ah,  what  a  relief  .  .  .   ! 

It  was  almost  dawn.  At  sun-up  he 
would  have  to  return  to  the  shipyard 
with  its  gruelling  task.  If  he  could 
only  steal  an  hour's  sleep!  ...  A 
third  time  he  threw  himself  upon  the 
pallet,  and  a  third  time  he  dreamed  a 
dream.  Now  it  was  a  bloody  field 
that  he  saw,  a  wide  scarlet  meadow, 
and  the  wild  flowers  that  reared 
among  the  grasses  glistened  with 
blood.  Suddenly  the  field  was  filled 
with  warring  soldiers  with  sad,  white 
faces,  and  eyes  flowing  with  tears; 
and  their  legs  or  arms  were  missing, 
but  they  were  fighting  still,  fighting 
valiantly  .  .  .   ! 

Suddenly  Jan  awoke. 

It  was  bright  morning. 

The  sun  poured  through  the  little 
window.  Outside,  the  heavens  were 
opalescent.  How  peaceful  everything 
was!  How  tranquil  the  sunrise  after 
the  horrors  of  the  dawn !  Red,  red  the 
sun,  flashing  upon  the  picture  of  the 
Battle  of  Grunwald,  dyeing  scarlet  the 
streams  of  blood  from  the  expiring 
soldiers  .  .  .  ! 

The  legions  were  calling: 

"Comrade,  you're  needed!" 

Little  did  Jan  dream  that  morning 
what  his  tribute  to  the  maw  of  war 
would  be. 


(To  be  continued.) 


Indian  vs.  White  Aan 


By  N.  K.  Buck 


THE  GAME  of  cards  was  over 
just  as  we  saw  a  horseman  ap- 
proaching around  the  hill. 
"Here  comes  Harry,"  spoke 
up  one  of  the  party.  "I  hope  he  knows 
whether  the  reserve  is  open  or  not. 
Unless  it's  already  fixed  it's  all  off  un- 
til next  year,  and  we  might  as  well  go 
home  and  work  for  a  living." 

"That's  right,"  responded  another; 
"this  business  of  playing  sooner  while 
those  fellows  in  Congress  begin  to  get 
ready  to  start  in  to  do  something  had 
its  drawbacks.  There's  plenty  of  good 
placer  gold  over  there  on  the  bar  if 
those  Indians  would  just  let  us  alone 
with  our  claims." 

By  this  time  the  horseman  had  ar- 
rived in  camp  and  delivered  his  mes- 
sage. 

"Got  a  wire  from  the  Senator  saying 
the  bill  got  through  the  committee  and 
would  probably  pass.  I  thought  as 
long  as  this  was  the  last  day  I  might 
just  as  well  come  out  and  do  what  I 
could  to  hold  down  the  claims.  If  she 
passes,  all  right;  and  if  not  we'll  know 
to-morrow.  How  are  the  Indian  po- 
lice by  this  time?" 

"They're  getting  pretty  fresh,"  was 
the  reply.  "They  fire  us  off  every 
time  they  catch  us  and  pull  up  our 
stakes." 

"Well,"  interrupted  Bill  Hanly,  the 
recognized  leader  of  the  camp,  "I'm 
going  over  and  hold  down  my  claim, 
and  any  Indian  policeman  that  tries 
to  run  me  off  stands  a  good  chance  of 
getting  hurt."  Bill  had  a  reputation 
that  justified  us  in  believing  what  he 
said,  and  so  we  all  felt  pretty  safe  in 
following  his  lead  and  all  crossed  the 
river  to  the  reservation  side. 

Soon  after  we  got  over,  the  Indians 
came  in  sight,  headed  for  the  upper 


bar  a  mile  away.  We  could  see  them 
talking  to  the  boys,  who  one  by  one 
struck  out  across  the  river. 

Finally  the  captain  of  the  squad 
came  up  to  Bill,  who  began  telling  the 
Indian  what  he  thought  of  him,  using 
a  combination  of  Chinook,  Nez  Perce 
and  Colville  languages,  but  the  only 
words  that  really  meant  anything  were 
as  near  plain  English  as  Bill  could  use. 

The  captain  sat  on  his  horse  while 
this  was  going  on,  without  moving.  He 
watched  Bill  every  instant,  but  there 
was  never  a  movement  of  his  face  to 
tell  what  he  thought  about  it.  When 
the  harangue  was  ended,  the  captain 
got  slowly  off  his  horse.  Bill  pulled 
the  gun  hanging  at  his  hip  and  said: 
"Don't  you  come  near  me,  you  red- 
skinned  siwash,  or  I'll  blow  you  to 
kingdom  come." 

"There  are  some  things  you  don't 
know,"  began  the  captain  in  a  low 
voice.  "One  of  the  things  I  was  taught 
at  Carlisle  was  not  to  bite  off  more 
than  I  could  conveniently  masticate. 
That's  what  you've  done  now." 

I  think  the  thing  that  got  next  to  our 
nerves  was  the  fellow's  English  when 
we  had  expected  to  hear  jargon.  He 
had  Bill  backed  off  the  map  for  use  of 
the  mother  tongue. 

"You  are  'way  off  about  this  open- 
ing business.  The  agent  told  me  when 
I  left  that  Congress  had  thrown  out 
that  part  of  the  bill.  We  have  orders 
to  keep  the  white  men  on  the  other 
bank  of  the  river  and  we  propose  to 
do  it.  It's  foolish  of  you  to  resist.  If 
you  shoot  me,  it  wouldn't  get  you  any- 
where. There  are  at  least  fifty  wit- 
nesses here  besides  the  Indians  in  my 
squad.  You  couldn't  possibly  escape. 
As  sure  as  you  carry  out  your  present 
intention  you  will  be  tried,  convicted 


326 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


and  executed  by  hanging  until  you  are 
dead,  dead,  dead." 

All  the  time  the  Indian  was  speak- 
ing he  was  looking  at  Bill  with  an  eye 
that  seemed  to  go  through.  When 
part  way  through  his  speech  he  began 
to  walk  slowly  toward  Bill,  who  in  the 
meantime  tried  to  smile,  but  somehow 
it  didn't  work.  He  gave  a  quick  look 
to  one  side — to  see  what  encourage- 
ment he  could  get  from  the  boys,  but 
he  got  mighty  little.  We  all  looked 
pretty  blank — some  frankly  scared — 
some  just  foolish. 

At  any  rate,  Bill  didn't  waste  much 
time  looking  around,  but  brought  his 
eyes  back  to  the  Indian's  as  if  they 
had  been  jerked  back.  The  captain 
kept  right  on  talking  and  walking 
nearer. 

"As  I  said  before,  it's  foolish  to 
raise  a  row.  It  wouldn't  pay.  Juries 
can't  be  bought  like  they  used  to  be, 
and  the  money  you  get  from  your  mine 
won't  help  much  after  the  sheriff  gets 
through." 

Still  he  kept  slowly  coming  nearer. 
Once  or  twice  Bill's  pistol  hand 
twitched,  and  I  inwardly  dodged,  al- 
though not  in  range  of  either  of  them. 
Bill  didn't  shoot,  though,  and  as  for 
the  Indian,  if  he  had  any  gun  I  didn't 
see  it. 

"Now,"  went  on  the  captain,  "it 
would  be  a  whole  lot  better  to  quietly 
surrender  and  come  with  me  to  the 
agency  without  any  more  grand-stand 
play.  At  any  rate  that's  what  you  are 
going  to  do.  I  am  coming  over  there 
and  you  are  going  to  give  me  your 
gun;  then  you  are  going  to  come  with 
me. 

Bill's  eyes  seemed  to  stick  out  an 
inch.  His  hand  raised  half  way  up 
with  his  finger  on  the  trigger  as  the 
Indian  came  closer  with  that  same 
slow  step.  The  Indian  neither  stopped 
nor  interrupted  his  talk. 

"Now  don't  do  that,  after  I've  taken 
pains  to  explain  just  what  would  hap- 
pen.   You  would  only  mess  things  up 


horribly.  Think  how  it  will  feel  when 
the  rope  tightens ;  it  won't  last  long,  to 
be  sure,  but  it  will  be  mighty  uncom- 
fortable for  a  short  time." 

Bill's  hand  dropped,  then  raised, 
then  dropped.  Meanwhile  they  were 
within  arm's  length  of  each  other.  I 
expected  to  see  them  grapple,  but  they 
didn't.  The  Indian  didn't  speed  up 
his  motions  a  bit.  He  slowly  reached 
out  his  hand. 

"You  will  kindly  place  your  revol- 
ver in  my  hand,"  he  finished.  They 
were  looking  into  each  other's  eyes 
only  three  feet  apart.  There  was  no 
snap  in  the  Indian's  eyes  now,  but  a 
steady,  cold,  hard  look  that  seemed  as 
though  it  might  be  weighed  with  a 
scale  or  cut  with  a  knife.  I  couldn't 
see  Bill's  eyes. 

The  Indian  had  stopped  talking.  No 
one  else  spoke.  The  tension  was  some- 
thing like  I  never  experienced  before 
nor  since.  I  remember  beginning  to 
count  slowly  in  my  mind,  as  though 
expecting  something  to  happen  at  a 
certain  count. 

One,  two,  three — those  fellows  were 
still  standing  there  as  though  they  were 
petrified  stumps;  four,  five,  six — it 
seemed  as  though  something  must 
happen  when  I  got  that  far;  seven, 
eight;  Bill's  pistol  hand  came  slowly 
up  again.  I  caught  my  breath.  The 
pistol  was  thrust  out  toward  the  Indian 
with  finger  on  trigger.  The  Indian's 
hand  closed  on  the  pistol  and  Bill's 
hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

It  was  over;  the  Indian  had  won; 
Bill  had  lost — lost  his  nerve  along  with 
some  other  things. 

"Come,"  said  the  Indian,  "get  on  my 
horse!"  Bill  did  so,  with  the  help  of 
a  couple  of  the  Indians;  he  couldn't 
have  mounted  alone.  The  captain 
turned  to  the  rest  of  us. 

"Gentlemen,  I  have  been  asked  to 
inform  you  that  the  reservation  is  not 
open  to  white  settlers  and  to  request 
you  to  withdraw." 

We  withdrew. 


A   Peaceful  Pirate 


By  Delia   Phillips 


ENTERING  the  bay  of  San  Diego, 
California,  during  the  first  year 
of  the  Panama-California  Ex- 
position, the  first  object  to  catch 
the  eye  was  the  queer  old  hulk  of  a 
vessel  at  anchor  there.  Every  sight- 
seer inquired  about  it,  and  gazed  with 
renewed  interest  when  informed  that  it 
was  the  historic  old  Chinese  junk, 
"Ning  Po,"  famous  smuggler  from  the 
Yellow  Sea,  and  the  oldest  ship  in  the 
world  still  able  to  do  service. 

In  1912  a  party  of  tourists  traveling 
in  China  saw  the  old  ship,  then  in  the 
hands  of  rebels  against  the  Chinese 
government,  and  were  so  struck  by  her 
unique  appearance  and  interesting  his- 
tory that,  upon  returning  to  America, 
they  succeeded  in  raising  the  sum  of 
fifty  thousand  dollars  for  her  purchase. 
In  1913  she  appeared  in  American 
waters,  and  has  been  on  exhibition  con- 
tinually, having  spent  the  year  1915  in 
San  Diego  Bay.  Her  next  journey  will 
be  through  the  Panama  Canal,  en  route 
to  Boston,  stopping  at  the  principal 
cities  on  the  way  for  exhibition  pur- 
poses. 

This  old  reprobate  of  a  ship  has  a 
history  of  a  kind  that  can  hardly  be 
surpassed  by  any  other  vessel  in  the 
v/orld.  Over  a  century  and  a  half  of 
smuggling,  piracy,  slave-traffic,  fight- 
ing, mutiny,  murder  and  riot  make  up 
her  record.  Her  uneven  decks  and 
huge  camphor  wood  ribs  have  been 
crimsoned  with  the  blood  of  some  of 
the  most  desperate  outlaws  of  the  Ori- 
ent as  well  as  with  that  of  their  help- 
less victims.  During  her  long  and 
varied  career,  almost  enough  blood  to 
float  her  has  been  shed  upon  her 
decks. 

She  was  built  in  1753  in  Fu  Chau, 
and  modeled  after  the  Chinese  idea  of 


a  sea  monster.  The  open  bow  repre- 
sents the  mouth,  bulging  portholes  the 
eyes,  masts  and  sails  the  fins,  and  the 
high,  fantastically  carved  stern  the  tail. 
A  dragon  contorts  his  scaly  length  on 
each  side  of  the  stern. 

It  is  easy  to  be  deceived  concerning 
the  age  of  old  furniture  and  Oriental 
rugs,  but  this  old  ship  speaks  for  her- 
self. Odor  of  camphor  wood  and  the 
spicy  fragrance  of  beams  which,  when 
scraped  a  very  little,  yield  a  spicy 
aroma  of  nutmeg,  are  mute  testimony 
of  a  bygone  era  of  shipbuilding.  One 
has  only  to  step  aboard  this  ancient 
vessel  to  realize  that  she  has  all  the  an- 
tiquity she  claims.  Her  one  hundred 
sixty-two  years  of  service  bespeak 
themselves  in  her  rude  staunchness  of 
construction,  and  in  the  indestructi- 
bility of  the  material  of  which  she  was 
made.  There  is  an  air  of  integrity 
about  the  old  ship  in  spite  of  her  vil- 
lainous record;  for  she  was  worthily 
built,  not  for  smuggling  and  piracy, 
but  for  peaceful  commerce. 

If  one  can  keep  this  fact  in  mind, 
the  Chinese  characters  over  the  cabin 
door  signifying  "Peace  and  Content- 
ment," do  not  seem  quite  so  ironical. 

As  a  Chinese  merchant  ship  she  was 
called  Kin  Tai  Foong;  but,  being  the 
fastest  and  best  equipped  vessel  afloat 
in  Chinese  waters  at  that  time,  she 
soon  developed  into  a  smuggler  and 
slaver.  It  was  then  only  a  step  to 
piracy,  and  she  became  a  terror  to 
shipping  along  the  coast,  attacking 
even  defenseless  villages.  When  one 
of  the  frequent  rebellions  or  our- 
breaks  occurred,  the  big  pirate  would 
take  a  hand  in  the  game.  Her  lurid 
history  is  briefly  as  follows: 

1796.  Engaged  in  rebellion  against 
the  emperor. 


328 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


1806.  Seized  for  smuggling  and 
piracy. 

1814.  Captured  and  set  on  fire  at 
Nanking. 

1823.  Seized  for  smuggling  silk 
and  opium. 

1834.  Confiscated  by  British  under 
Napier  for  smuggling  and  for  carry- 
ing slave  -girls  to  Canton. 

1841  (cir.).  Captured  by  Chinese 
government  and  used  seven  years  as  a 
prison  ship  for  pirates  and  smugglers. 

1861.  Seized  by  rebels  in  Taiping 
and  converted  into  a  transport  because 
of  her  size  and  speed.  Retaken  by 
"Chinese"  Gordon,  in  command  of  the 
imperial  forces  against  the  Taiping 
rebels.  Gordon  changed  her  name  to 
Ning-Po,  after  the  city  of  that  name.  • 

1861.     Wrecked  in  a  typhoon. 

1911.  Captured  by  rebels  in  the 
battle  of  Hankow. 

1912.  Sailed  from  Shankhai,  June 
6th. 

1912.  Wrecked  in  typhoon,  June 
12th,  and  again  September  26th  of  the 
same  year,  off  Kyushi. 

1913.  Arrived  at  San  Pedro,  Feb- 
ruary 19th. 

Such  a  history  naturally  raises  the 
question :  How  could  the  old  junk  hold 
together  so  long,  and  during  so  many 
vicissitudes?  When  one  is  once  aboard 
her  such  wonderment  ceases. 

Built  almost  entirely  of  camphor  and 
ironwood,  she  is  yet  more  durable  than 
many  modern  ships.  Ironwood  is 
proof  against  the  toredo,  a  little  boring 
v/orm  of  the  ocean  so  destructive  to 
most  woods.  Indeed,  it  would  be  a 
hardy  worm  that  would  endeavor  to 
penetrate  ironwood. 

The  seams  and  cracks  of  the  vessel 
are  plastered  with  a  cement  of  a  sort 
that  English  speaking  races  have 
sought  for  in  vain.  Intermixed  with 
cocoa-fibre,  this  cement  does  not  crack 
with  the  motion  of  the  vessel,  and  is 
as  good  to-day  as  when  first  applied. 
The  secret  of  its  making  remains  with 
the  Chinese  who  discovered  it,  and  its 
iron  consistency  and  durability  have 
had  ample  testing  in  the  struggles  of 
the  old  craft. 

The  huge  mainmast  is  of  ironwood, 


and  its  weight  is  estimated  at  twenty 
tons.  Some  of  us  were  inclined  to 
doubt  this  statement  until  we  were  al- 
lowed to  contrast  a  stick  of  our  heav- 
iest wood  with  one  of  ironwood  of 
similar  size.  The  difference  was  start- 
ling. The  weight  of  the  ironwood 
made  us  realize  the  fitness  of  the  name. 

The  men  of  a  party  of  sightseers 
were  invited  to  whittle  a  souvenir  from 
the  mast.  Surprised  at  such  a  liberty, 
they  tried  to  take  advantage  of  it. 
Their  pocket  knives  would  not  even 
dent  the  hard  surface. 

Ninety  feet  in  length  and  nine  feet 
in  circumference  is  this  big  stick  of 
timber.  A  great  strip  of  mahogany 
braces  the  vessel  amidships,  to  keep 
her  from  straining  herself  apart  there. 
From  this  mast  one  huge  sail,  criss- 
crossed by  bamboo  spreaders,  extends 
to  the  stern.  The  boom  for  this  sail 
weighs  five  tons,  so  it  can  be  readily 
seen  how  strong  a  mast  must  be  to  sus- 
tain such  a  weight. 

The  thick  ribs  are  placed  only  two 
and  one-half  feet  apart,  and  the 
heavy  beams  and  timbers  are  so  pon- 
derous that  the  caretaker  estimates 
that  there  is  sufficient  wood  in  this 
old  hulk  to  build  six  ships  of  modern 
construction. 

The  camphor  wood  ribs  and  the 
outer  sheathing  of  logs  are  all  paired. 
That  is  to  say,  a  tree  of  the  right  curve 
was  selected,  whip-sawed  in  halves, 
and  a  half  used  on  either  side  of  the 
ship,  thus  preventing  the  slightest  dis- 
crepancy in  shape  and  symmetry. 

No  bolts  were  used  in  the  ship's  con- 
struction. Instead,  sharp-pointed  iron 
spikes,  about  one  foot  in  length,  were 
driven  slantingly  into  the  wood.  Just 
why  they  were  driven  in  this  manner 
is  not  known,  but  probably  for  greater 
security.  With  the  rude  tools  in  use 
when  the  ship  was  built,  it  is  difficult 
to  see  how  this  could  be  done  at  all. 
The  rough  decks  are  full  of  these 
spikes. 

With  the  exception  of  the  ribs  and 
sheathing,  the  old  boat  resembles  a 
crazy-quilt  in  construction,  odds  and 
ends  of  wood  being  pieced  together  as 
cleverly  as  a  woman     fits     irregular 


A   PEACEFUL   PIRATE 


329 


scraps  of  material  into  her  patchwork. 
All  is  neatly  and  carefully  spiked  and 
cemented  together,  but  the  joining  is 
plainly  visible. 

Another  striking  feature  of  this  an- 
cient craft  is  that  she  has  nine  water- 
tight compartments — a  fact  that  may 
surprise  even  some  seaman  who  con- 
siders this  phase  of  shipbuilding  as  a 
comparatively  new  invention. 

True  to  the  Oriental  way  of  doing 
things,  in  direct  opposition  to  the  Oc- 
cidental, this  craft  was  navigated  from 
the  stern ;  and  the  captain  stood  on  the 
sea-monster's  elevated  tail  to  direct  the 
vessel's  movements. 

The  rudder,  a  cumbersome  affair, 
weighing  two  tons,  was  not  fastened  to 
the  vessel,  but  was  attached  to  a  spe- 
cial windlass  by  cables — two  that  held 
it  upright,  and  two  more  that  passed 
from  the  rudder  stem  down  underneath 
the  vessel  from  stern  to  bow.  Here 
they  were  fastened,  thus  holding  the 
rudder  to  the  vessel.  On  coming  to 
anchor,  the  crew  slacked  up  on  the 
bow-lines,  and  by  means  of  the  wind- 
lass lifted  the  rudder  clear  of  the 
water.  The  steering  was  done  by 
means  of  two  tillers,  six  men  at  each 
tiller. 

A  great  coil  of  split  bamboo  rope  lies 
near  the  mainmast.  This  rope  is 
stronger  than  a  steel  cable  of  like 
thickness  because  of  its  great  tenacity.  . 

The  old  wooden  anchor  and  great 
mahogany  windlass  for  hoisting  it  are 
very  interesting  objects.  Very  rough 
and  ungainly  does  this  anchor  appear, 
contrasted  to  the  steel  affairs  of  to- 
day; but  it  was  no  doubt  durable  and 
served  its  purpose  well. 

The  walls  of  the  officers'  quarters 
are  decorated  with  panels  from  the 
Chinese  classics;  and  over  the  door  of 
the  mandarin's,  or  commander's  cabin, 
are  characters  denoting  tonnage  and 
date  of  the  vessel's  construction. 

Within  are  compact  little  bamboo 
stools,  a  bamboo  cupboard,  and  the 
much-used  sedan  chairs,  in. which  the 
officers  were  conveyed  about  the  decks. 

Tiny,  raggedly  fringed  curtains  of 
cocoa  fibre  are  looped  back  from  the 
cabin  entrance,  and  a  queer  old  rain- 


coat of  the  same  material  hangs  near 
the  door.  The  dragon  flag,  Oolong, 
designed  over  three  thousand  years 
ago,  is  draped  across  a  side  wall. 

Back  of  the  officers'  quarters  and 
mandarin's  cabin  is  the  old  smuggler's 
chamber  of  horrors.  In  this  dungeon 
dark  compartment  there  was  origin- 
ally only  one  very  small  entrance,  and 
the  compartment  itself  a  deep  well  of 
darkness  extending  clean  to  the  hold. 

Finding  it  impractical  to  show  visi- 
tors such  a  ventless,  rayless  place,  the 
exhibitors  of  the  ship  sawed  a  large 
section  out  of  the  thick  wall,  and  put 
floorings  across  the  deep  chasm.  Even 
then  the  way  amidst  the  thick  black- 
ness of  the  gruesome  chamber  cannot 
be  found  without  the  aid  of  a  lantern. 
By  means  of  its  feeble  rays  one  may 
perceive  on  its  outer  wall  the  marks 
of  the  shelves  that  once  had  been 
there — shelves  where  the  prisoners 
were  placed  until  they  either  divulged 
the  secret  of  their  wealth  or  treasure 
to  the  outlaws  who  had  captured  them 
or  died  of  starvation  and  lack  of  air 
in  that  horrible  place.  They  were 
literally  laid  on  the  shelf,  with  the 
prospect  of  dropping  to  the  depths 
below  if  they  became  restless  in  their 
narrow  beds. 

After  looking  at  this  place,  behead- 
ing knives  did  not  appear  so  forbidding 
to  me.  In  fact,  it  was  something  of  a 
relief  to  think  that  the  blades  were 
keen  and  the  headsman  sure  in  his 
stroke.  It  was  his  profession,  handed 
down  from  father  to  son;  and  the  fact 
that  he  lost  his  own  head  if  he  failed 
to  sever  his  victim's  at  the  first  stroke, 
made  him  marvelously  accurate. 

The  boys  to  whom  this  honored  (in 
China)  business  is  to  descend,  practice 
on  turnips  to  acquire  skill.  A  face  is 
marked  on  the  turnip.  It  is  grasped  by 
the  tail;  and  the  knife  descends  in  an 
endeavor  to  cleave  it  through  in  just 
the  right  place. 

One  of  the  villainous  looking  cut- 
lasses in  this  exhibit  has  a  history  of 
its  own,  bearing  the  name  of  Kang- 
how,  a  noted  pirate  who  carved  his 
Way  to  fame  with  this  blade.  A 
shield  made  of  rattan,  and  iron  cane. 


330 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


whose  great  resilience  was  calculated 
to  turn  the  thrust  of  even  these  mur- 
derous weapons,  and  a  long  iron  speer 
lor  picking  up  severed  heads,  also 
graced  this  collection. 

Somewhere  amidships,  below  decks, 
and  on  two  sides  of  a  large  square 
opening  into  the  hold,  are  the  sailors' 
sleeping  quarters.  No  loftier  than  the 
upper  berths  in  a  sleeper,  they  appear 
to  be,  and  not  more  than  twice  as  wide, 
yet  these  two  lofts  were  the  only  sleep- 
ing accommodations  for  the  entire 
crew.  The  sailors  must  have  been 
wedged  in  like  sardines,  and  if  one 
fell  out  of  bed  he  would,  of  necessity, 
have  plunged  into  the  bilge  water  be- 
low. However,  the  distance  was  not 
as  great  as  that  for  the  shelved  pris- 
oners. The  only  ventilation  in  this 
place  was  such  air  as  might  struggle 
down  from  a  small  opening  in  the 
deck  above. 

From  the  misty,  dim  interior  of  the 
old  ship,  redolent  of  the  smell  of 
camphorwood,  we  at  last  emerged  on 
the  upper  deck  that  was  warm  and 
bright  in  the  California  sunshine;  on 
the  day  we  visited  her;  and  here  too 
are  many  things  of  interest.  Just  for- 
ward of  the  mainmast,  a  weazened, 
rusty  little  gun  draws  the  attention. 
This  kind  of  gun  was  being  made 
thirty-six  hundred  years  ago — so  old 
is  civilization  in  China;  and  this  par- 
ticular speciman  was  actually  disin- 
tegrating with  age.  The  little  thing  is 
barely  three  feet  long,  offering  an  al- 
most comical  contrast  to  the  big  guns 
on  one  of  the  warships  anchored  a 
short  distance  away.  Yet,  in  all  proba- 
bility, this  gun,  estimated  to  be  four 
hundred  years  old,  did  much  execution 
in  its  day. 

It  was  on  this  deck  that  the  one  hun- 
dred fifty-eight  prisoners  whom  the 
Chinese  government  found  too  expen- 
sive to  feed,  were  beheaded  some  time 
during  the  seven  years  the  Ning-Po 
was  used  as  a  government  prison  ship 
for  smugglers  and  pirates. 

Here  also  are  shov/n  some  of  the 
modes  of  torture  that  were  practiced  in 
China.  Kee  Long  is  the  wooden  cage 
in  which  persons  accused  of  piracy  or 


crimes  against  the  government  were 
suspended  without  food  or  water  until 
death  came. 

Over  against  these  mute  records  of 
Chinese  cruelty  and  barbarism,  ever 
stand  the  ingenuity,  antiquity  and  dur- 
ability of  Chinese  inventions.  They 
were  using  the  compass  in  1432  B.  C, 
another  invention  belonging  supposed- 
ly to  the  Caucasian  race ;  and  were  also 
the  inventors  of  the  capstan,  whose 
rusting  iron  bands  litter  the  decks  of 
the  old  Ning-Po. 

Of  the  seven  years  that  the  old 
junk  served  as  a  government  prison 
ship,  but  little  is  known  except  the 
wholesale  execution  of  the  prisoners, 
for  the  Chinese  are  ever  secretive 
about  government  affairs,  but  she  was 
again  taken  by  rebels,  and  alternately 
used  as  a  smuggler  and  a  pirate  from 
1864  to  1910.  The  last  time  her  an- 
cient guns  were  unlimbered  in  military 
service  was  four  years  ago  in  the  re- 
bellion against  the  Manchus. 

Seemingly  the  very  elements  con- 
spired to  prevent  the  old  junk  from 
entering  a  peaceful  career.  She  was 
wrecked  in  a  typhoon  when  she  first 
sailed  from  Shanghai  bound  for  an 
American  port,  and  had  to  put  back 
to  Shanghai  for  repairs. 

It  would  appear  that  reformation  is 
a  difficult  matter  for  ships  as  well  as 
men,  for  when  she  again  sailed  forth  in 
September  of  the  same  year  on  her 
way  to  a  career  of  respectability,  an- 
other typhoon  pounced  on  her  off  Kyu- 
shi. 

The  Chinese  crew,  in  league  with 
the  elements,  one  might  suppose,  muti- 
nied during  the  storm,  being  desirous 
of  taking  the  old  ship  back  to  her  ca- 
reer of  infamy.  She  was  now  a  floating 
hulk,  without  sails  or  rudder,  but  good 
forces  were  at  work,  as  well  as  evil, 
and  the  mate  and  three  loyal  Chinese 
rowed  three  hundred  and  twenty  miles 
— a  story  in  itself — to  Shmidzu,  from 
which  a  cruiser  was  sent  to  tow  her  in. 
The  mutinous  crew  was  sent  back  to 
China  in  arms,  and  a  white  crew  signed 
on.  On  December  twenty-second,  1912, 
she  again  sailed  and  arrived  at  San 
Pedro,  February  nineteenth,  1913,  hav- 


SYMBOLISM 


331 


ing  made  seven  thousand  miles  in  fifty- 
eight  days. 

Somehow,  one  cannot  help  feeling 
glad  that  the  old  ship,  so  staunchly 
and  worthily  built,  has  at  last  found 
a  peaceful  port,  and  the  career  of  re- 
spectability for  which  she  was  origin- 
ally designed.     Boarded  now  only  by 


hordes  of  tourists  and  curio-hunters, 
she  is  still  able  to  stand  up  bravely  un- 
der the  strain,  for  there  has  been 
enough  wood  sawed  out  of  her  parti- 
tions to  furnish  souvenirs  for  all.  The 
most  intrepid  of  the  curio  hunters 
can  never  carry  off  the  iron- wood  masts 
nor  dismantle  a  vessel  so  ironly  built. 


SYABOLIS/A 


Now  when  the  spirit  in  us  wakes  and  broods, 
Filled  with  home  yearnings,  drowsily  it  flings 
From  its  deep  heart  high  dreams  and  mystic  moods, 
Mixed  with  the  memory  of  the  loved  earth  things: 
Clothing  the  vast  with  a  familiar  face; 
Reaching  its  right  hand  forth  to  greet  the  starry  race. 

Wondrously  near  and  clear  the  great  warm  fires 

Stare  from  the  blue;  so  shows  the  cottage  light 

To  the  field  laborer  whose  heart  desires 

The  old  folk  by  the  nook,  the  welcome  bright 

From  the  housewife  long  parted  from  at  dawn — 

So  the  star  villages  in  God's  great  depths  withdrawn 

Nearer  to  Thee,  not  by  delusion  led, 

Though  there  no  house  fires  burn  nor  bright  eyes  gaze : 

We  rise,  but  by  the  symbol  charioted, 

Through  loved  things  rising  up  to  Love's  own  ways : 

By  these  the  soul  unto  the  vast  has  wings 

And  sets  the  seal  celestial  on  all  mortal  things. 


A.  E. 


JBpf£A^Hi^- 


The  Prophecy 


Lora  D.  Patterson 


SHE  SURE  is  a  wonder,  alright. 
She  told  me  that  I  had  been  mar- 
ried once  and  was  going  to  be 
married  again,  and  it's  all 
straight!"  said  Mamie  Taylor,  as  she 
arranged  the  piles  of  embroideries 
which  were  to  be  placed  on  sale  that 
morning.  "Why  don't  you  go  and  see 
her,  Ethel,"  she  said  to  her  assistant. 

"I  did,  on  my  way  home  from  work 
last  night.  I  heard  all  you  girls  talk 
so  much  about  her  and  you  know  I  had 
never  been  to  a  fortune  teller  before." 

"Well,  did  she  tell  you  anything 
worth  while?" 

"She  told  me  that  I  would  marry 
within  a  year.  She  didn't  say  he  was 
exactly  rich,  but  she  said  I  would  wear 
diamonds  and  have  my  own  automo- 
bile, and  within  three  years  we  would 
travel  abroad.  But  don't  think  for  a 
minute  that  I  believe  it,  because  they 
have  to  tell  people  something  to  make 
them  think  they  are  getting  their 
money's  worth  and  in  your  case  she 
just  happened  to  strike  it." 

"But  think  of  the  fun  you  will  have 
watching  to  see  if  there  isn't  some 
truth  in  it."  ' 

"What's  going  to  happen  in  a  year 
isn't  bothering  me  now,  and  I  am  out 
my  fifty  cents.  I  wish  I  had  it  in  a 
pound  of  French  mixed." 

After  finishing  her  twelve  cent  lunch 
in  the  cafeteria  and  having  thirty-five 
minutes  left  of  her  noon  hour,  Ethel 
Freeman  walked  up  Stockton  street 
and  feasted  her  eyes  on  the  beauties 
of  the  shop  windows.  Hesitating  a 
moment  on  the  corner  she  decided  to 
walk  through  Union  Square.  The 
question  came  to  her,  which  she  had 
often  thought  of  before:  "How  do  all 
those  men  live  who  sit  for  hours  on 
those  benches?"    She  had  often  been 


tempted  to  ask  one  of  them,  but  had 
never  had  the  courage. 

She  walked  slowly  along,  observing 
the  many  idlers,  when  suddenly  her 
ankle  gave  way,  and  just  as  she  was 
sinking  to  the  ground  she  felt  two 
strong  arms  around  her  and  heard  a 
manly  voice  say:  "Are  you  hurt?  You 
had  better  sit  here  for  a  minute." 

Regardless  of  the  twinge  of  pain  and 
the  embarrassment  of  the  situation, 
she  grasped  the  opportunity  of  learn- 
ing the  reason  of  his  presence  there. 

"Why  are  you  sitting  here?"  she 
asked. 

"I  was  just  listening  to  the  city  and 
looking  at  the  people." 

"Listening  to  the  city,"  she  said  in- 
quiringly. 

"It  is  quite  evident  that  you  were 
raised  here.  You  see,  I  live  on  the 
desert,  and  when  I  am  there  I  listen 
to  the  silence  as  I  listen  to  the  noise 
here." 

"You  live  on  a  desert,"  she  said  with 
much  surprise. 

"It  was  a  desert  when  I  first  went 
there  to  live,  but  now  it  is  turned  into 
hundreds  of  thriving  farms.  Did  you 
ever  live  in  the  country?" 

"Oh,  goodness,  no.  I  have  had  lots 
of  bad  luck,  but  that  is  one  thing  I 
have  escaped." 

"If  you  have  never  lived  in  the 
country  you  have  missed  a  lot  in 
life."  ' 

"My  mother  lived  on  a  ranch  when 
she  was  a  girl,  and  she  said  that  they 
were  either  starving  to  death  because 
it  was  a  dry  year  or  if  the  next  one 
was  good  they  had  to  pinch  every 
penny  to  pay  back  what  was  bor- 
rowed the  year  before." 

"A  good  deal  of  truth  in  that,  but 
it  is  not  that  way  where  I  farm.    We 


THE   PROPHECY  333 

never  depend  on  the  rain.     We  have  life  as  swiftly  as  she  had  come  into  it. 

irrigating  ditches  and  turn  the  water  He  did  not  know  her  name,  where  she 

in  whenever  we  want  it."  lived   or  where   she   worked.     Other 

"But  how  do  you  get  water  in  a  loungers  in  the  park  had  seen  her  fall, 

desert?"  and  then  had  observed  them  during 

"Far  up  on  the  Colorado  a  damn  the  chat  which  had  followed.  If  he  fol- 

was  made,  and  it  is  brought  down  from      lowed  her,  what  would  they  think 

there."  But  every  second  he  sat  deliberating 

"Oh,  you  live  in  Arizona?"  she  was  further  from  him.    He  sprang 

"No.     I  live  in  California,  on  this  to  his  feet  and  started  in  the  direction 

side  of  the  river."  she  had  gone.    He  caught  sight  of  her 

"I  think  I  read  a  book  about  that  about  to  cross  the  street.     A  woman 

country  once.     Isn't  that  the  Imper-  with  two  small  children  blocked  his 

ial?"  '  way.     He   fairly  pushed   them   from 

"No,  I  am  across  the  mountain  from  him  and  made  for  the  crossing.    The 

the  Imperial,  and  it  is  called  the  Palo  street  car  started,  and  there  followed 

Verde  Valley.     This  place  was  gov-  the   long  line   of   automobiles   whiich 

ernment  land  once,  just  like  the  Im-  made  it  impossible  for  him  to    pass. 

perial  Valley  was,  but  we  think  it  is  His  eyes  fairly  searched  the  street  for 

far  greater."  her.    Did  she  go  straight  down  Stock- 

"Do  tell  me  about  it,  and  how  you  ton  street  or  had  she  turned  to  her  left 

came  to  go  there."  on  Geary.     He  thought  possibly  the 

"Well,  I  guess  I  was  sort  of  born  latter.     He  hurried     along,     looking 

for  a  farmer.     When  I  was  a  young-  ahead  of  him  or  searching  every  en- 

ster  I  finished  the  little  country  school  trance  of  the  big  buildings  with  his 

and  Dad  sent  me  into  town  for  a  busi-  quick     glance.     When     he     reached 

ness  course,  but  being  shut  up  in  an  Grant  avenue  he  realized  that  she  was 

office  didn't  suit  me  just  right,  so  I  took  lost  to  his  sight. 

a  job  as  foreman  on  a  ranch.  But  all  How  he  was  to  find  her  was  his 
the  time  I  was  set  on  having  a  ranch  next  thought.  During  the  week  that 
of  my  own.  I  saved  my  money,  yes,  followed,  he  fairly  patrolled  the  shop- 
nearly  every  cent  I  earned,  but  I  might  ping  district.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the 
have  gone  on  doing  that  until  I  was  morning  he  watched  the  entrances  of 
fifty  and  then  not  had  enough  to  buy  office  buildings  and  the  shops,  and 
one.  You  know,  good  California  land  again  from  five  to  six  in  the  evening 
is  worth  an  awful  lot  of  money  these  he  scanned  the  scores  of  faces  that 
days.  Just  about  that  time  the  gov-  came  out,  but  his  search  for  the  one 
emment  threw  open  the  Palo  Verde  he  was  looking  for  was  fruitless.  Then 
Valley,  nearly  a  million  acres  of  land  he  resorted  to  the  supposition  that  she 
as  level  as  that  sidewalk.  So  I  started  had  gone  down  Stockton  street,  but 
out  with  a  good  horse  and  a  couple  of  his  efforts  to  find  her  there  were  just 
pack  mules,  and  was  one  of  the  first  as  unsuccessful.  Every  day  at  noon- 
settlers  there.  I  homesteaded  on  one  time  he  had  taken  his  place  in  Union 
quarter-section  and  took  up  another  Square,  hoping  that  she  might  retrace 
under  the  Desert  Act,  and  I  stuck  it  out  the  steps  of  that  day  he  had  first  seen 
until  I  had  my  Patent  on  both.  Lots  her.  After  seven  days  he  had  given 
of  hard  work  and  those  hot  summers  her  up  as  lost, 
were  terrific,  but  it's  mine  now."  *               *               *               * 

Looking  at  her  watch,  Ethel   said  Five  minutes  from  Union  Square  to 

she  had  only  five  minutes  in  which  to  Market  street  was  an  easy  walk,  but 

get  back  to  work,  and  limped  hurriedly  with  an  aching  ankle  Ethel  doubted  ii 

away.  she  could  make  it,  so  as  she  was  about 

Left  so  suddenly,  George  Thomas  to  cross  the  street  she  turned  to  see 

sat  motionless  for     a     minute.     This  the   Stockton   street  car  at  her  side, 

charming  young  woman  had  left  his  She  quickly  mounted,  and     was     at 


334 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Market  street  in  less  than  two  min- 
utes. 

The  busy  hours  of  the  afternoon  did 
not  prove  good  treatment  for  a 
sprained  ankle,  so  for  a  week  Ethel 
rested  in  the  lounging  room  at  noon- 
time, instead  of  taking  her  usual  stroll. 
One  day,  after  her  recovery,  her  wo- 
man's curiosity  together  with"  the 
spirit  of  flirtation,  led  her  back  to 
Union  Square  that  she  might  see — 
why,  she  didn't  even  know  his  name — 
so  she  decided  to  call  him  her  farmer 
friend. 

"But  why  even  think*  of  him,"  she 
thought.     "Madame  Wanda  told  me 

Vthat  I  would  marry  a  man  who  could 
afford  to  give  me  luxuries,  so  why 
even  waste  a  thought  on  this  poor 
young  tiller  of  the  soil." 

It  was  seldom  that  Ethel  indulged 
in  a  flight  of  fancy.  Maybe  Mamie 
Taylor  was  right.  The  fortune-teller 
might  give  you  something  to  look  for- 
ward to,  even  if  it  never  did  material- 
ize. In  other  words  it  was  fifty  cents 
worth  of  hope. 

Ethel  had  no  sooner  stepped  inside 
of  Union  Square,  when  much  to  her 
astonishment  she  beheld  her  chance 
acquaintance  of  a  week  ago  hurrying 
towards  her. 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  been.  I 
was  about  to  give  you  up  as  lost." 
Then  seeing  her  look  of  surprise,  he 
continued :  "Don't  look  at  me  like  that. 
I  am  not  really  crazy.  You  left  me  so 
quickly  that  I  was  a  minute  getting 
my  senses  back,  and  when  I  started  to 
follow  you  the  crowd  simply  swal- 
lowed you  up.  And  I  have  spent 
nearly  every  minute  since  looking  for 
you,  and  now  that  I  have  found  you — " 

"But,"  said  Ethel,  with  a  look  of 
amusement,  "I  don't  think  you  found 
me.  I  walked  right  in  here  and  found 
you." 

"Were  you  really  looking  for  me," 
he  said  as  he  bent  towards  her  with  a 
very  tender  look. 

"Why,  you  conceited  young  man. 
I've  never  as  much  as  given  you  a 
thought  since  I  left  you." 

"Then  please  do  me  the  favor  to 
give  me  one  now  that  you  have  found 


me.  Don't  think  me  bold  and  forward, 
but  I  would  really  like  to  know  you. 
My  name  is  George  Thomas,  and  I 
live  in  Blythe,  Riverside  County.  I 
have  kinfolk  in  Oakland  who  are  so 
stylish  that  I  don't  bother  them  much. 
They  think  I  am  only  their  poor  coun- 
try cousin,  but  I'll  show  them  some 
day.  Won't  you  dine  with  me  to- 
night and  go  to  a  show  afterwards." 

"I  really  can't  to-night."  All  that 
Ethel  could  think  of  was  the  plain  lit- 
tle suit  and  hat  she  was  wearing.  She 
could  not  think  of  going  to  a  cafe  or 
theatre  dressed  as  she  was,  even  if 
she  were  bold  enough  to  accept  the 
invitation  from  a  stranger. 

"Another  engagement,  I  take  it." 
Jealousy  was  evidently  raging  within 
him,  but  perseverance  was  his  motto. 
"Then  perhaps  to-morrow  night  you 
will  do  me  the  honor,  or  will  you  allow 
me  to  call." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  would  be  nicer, 
don't  you?" 

This  really  was  an  event  in  Ethel's 
life.  She  had  had  many  responsibili- 
ties, and  always  denied  herself  many 
things.  She  knew  the  other  girls  in 
the  department  pitied  her  because  she 
did  not  have  a  beau.  Of  course,  George 
Thomas  was  not  a  city  bred  man,  that 
was  plain  to  be  seen.  She  thought  of 
Carrie  Hopkins'  young  man  who  wait- 
ed for  her  so  often;  so  well  dressed 
and  clean  cut.  But  nevertheless,  think- 
ing of  the  comparison,  Ethel  had  never 
known  such  ecstasy.  To  imagine  that 
she  could  bustle  into  the  dressing 
room,  powder  her  nose  and  fluff  up 
her  hair  and  say  she  had  an  engage- 
ment. 

Scarcely  had  a  month  passed  before 
this  chance  friendship  had  ripened  in- 
to love.  The  girls  teased  her  about 
this  suitor  and  asked  her  if  he  was  the 
rich  man  Madame  Wanda  had  pre- 
dicted would  come  into  her  life. 

"No,  only  a  poor  farmer,  but  I 
wouldn't  trade  him  for  all  the  rich  men 
ir.  the  world." 

Ethel  often  thought  of  the  rich  man, 
the  diamonds,  the  automobile  and  the 
trip  to  Europe.  But  what  were  these 
when  she  could  boast  of  the  love  of 


FROM   MANHATTAN 


335 


her  big  farmer  boy.  She  had  come  to 
look  upon  country  life  in  a  more 
kindly  manner  than  when  she  had  first 
met  him.  She  would  often  picture 
to  herself  the  acres  and  acres  of  al- 
falfa and  the  waving  grain  fields 
George  had  told  her  of,  and  she  could 
see  cotton  growing  and  also  the  beau- 
tiful orange  groves. 

One  night  as  he  met  her  for  dinner 
he  suggested  that  for  memory  sake 
they  walk  to  Union  Square  and  sit  on 
the  bench  where  they  had  first  met. 
He  took  from  a  little  box  a  diamond 
ring,  which  he  slipped  on  her  fourth 
finger. 

"George,  why  did  you  get  me  such 
a  big  one.  A  little  one  would  have 
cone  just  as  well,"  but  he  made  light 
of  the  remark  and  said  nothing  was 
too  good  for  her. 

Her  last  Saturday  at     the     store, 


George  was  waiting  anxiously  at  the 
door  for  her  at  six  o'clock.  As  she 
came  out,  he  led  her  to  the  edge  of 
the  sidewalk  and  waving  his  hand  to- 
wards a  very  neat  little  runabout,  said : 
"How  do  you  like  it,  Ethel.  I  bought 
it  for  you." 

"But,  George,  where  did  you  get  the 
money?" 

"Say,  dearie  what  do  you  suppose 
I  do  with  seven  cuttings  of  alfalfa  a 
year  off  from  three  hundred  and 
twenty  acres  of  land." 

Her  right  hand  closed  over  the  dia- 
mond on  her  left  fourth  finger;  then 
she  looked  at  the  automobile.  She 
stood  deep  in  thought  for  a  minute, 
then  her  eyes  sparkling  with  delight, 
she  said : 

"George,  do  you  think  we  will  ever 
go  to  Europe?" 

"You  just  better  believe  we  will." 


FRO/A  MANHATTAN 

Oh,  that  the  world,  steel-bound,  stone-clad,  might  be 

Eased  of  its  groaning  heaviness  with  one 

Swift-moving  thought;  the  centuries  undone 

Of  man's  devising;  that  it  mignt  shake  free 

Its  weary  burden  of  humanity, 

And  rise,  no  longer  subject  to  the  sun 

Among  the  spheres  which  even  courses  run, 

Flaming,  superb,  through  the  uncharted  sea 

Of  infinite  space;  its  gaping  wounds  made  whole; 

Its  barren  hills  new  garmented  with  green. 

Thus  should  it  pass,  and  growing  less  and  less. 

Fade  into  darkness  like  an  unleashed  soul, 

Forever  free,  forever  lost,  unseen: 
A  drifting  star  of  untold  loveliness. 


James  Norman  Hall. 


MMMMPPPf 


I 


Love  and  the  Raid 


By  Olive  Cowles    Kerns 


IT  IS  STRANGE  what  changes  can 
occur  in  just  one  short  year.  Here 
I  am  now  in  San  Jose,  Texas,  when 
a  year  ago  to-day  I  was  in  Milford, 
New  Hampshire,  mourning  for  the 
dearest  father  that  ever  a  girl  had. 
Then  my  cousin  Howard's  letter  came 
urging  me  to  come  here  to  teach  the 
little  village  school  and  live  with  him 
and  his  wife  in  their  cozy  brown  bun- 
galow, and  1  accepted  gladly.  Howard 
is  a  lieutenant  in  the  United  States 
army,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  inter- 
esting to  live  right  on  the  Mexican  bor- 
der near  a  real  encampment  of  cav- 
alry. Besides,  I  could  not  bear  my  old 
home  after  father's  death. 

I  had  very  few  possessions  when  at 
last  I  was  ready  to  start.  The  most 
valuable  of  them,  the  miniature  of  my 
mother  painted  on  ivory  and  sur- 
rounded with  pearls,  I  strung  on  a  vel- 
vet ribbon  and  tied  securely  around 
my  neck,  where  it  was  hidden  under 
my  blouse.  Not  for  worlds  would  I 
part  with  that. 

Texas  was  exceedingly  interesting 
to  me;  the  bunch  grass,  the  mesquite, 
the  vastness  of  outlook  were  all  so 
different  from  my  little  tucked  up  New 
England  town.  San  Jose  was  a  good 
deal  like  many  other  little  towns  we 
had  passed  through — little  boxlike 
houses,  stores  of  one  story  in  height, 
a  white  school  house,  a  little  red  brick 
depot.  It  was  all  so  strange  and  new 
to  me. 

The  first  person  I  saw  when  I  got 
off  the  train  was  Howard,  slim  and 
straight  as  ever,  his  dark  skin  in  sharp 
contrast  to  his  light  hair  and  promi- 
nent blue  eyes. 

"Welcome  home,  Marcia,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Come  on,  I  have  a  friend 
who  will  take  you  and  your  luggage 


up  to  the  house.  You  see,  public  con- 
veyances are  scarce  here." 

I  followed  him  around  the  corner 
of  the  depot  and  saw  a  little  runabout 
with  a  big  brown  man  at  the  wheel. 
He  sprang  out  when  he  saw  us,  and 
came  forward,  cap  in  hand. 

"This  is  Mark  Hamilton,  a  particu- 
lar friend  of  ours.  My  cousin,  Miss 
Marcia  Glynn,  Mark,"  Howard  said, 
introducing  us,  and  Mr.  Hamilton 
pulled  off  his  glove  and  shook  hands 
heartily  with  me  in  true  Western 
fashion.  He  looked  directly  at  me, 
and  I  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  brown 
with  little  golden  specks  in  them  like 
sunlight  on  running  water. 

"It's  good  of  you  to  trust  yourself 
with  me  and  my  little  machine  here," 
he  said  pleasantly,  "but  I  think  we 
shan't  break  down  in  that  short  dis- 
tance." 

I  laughed.    "I  hope  not,"  I  said. 

Howard  stowed  away  my  suitcase 
and  Mr.  Hamilton,  after  helping  me  in, 
cranked  up  the  little  car  and  got  in 
beside  me.  Soon  we  were  whizzing 
by  the  little  box-like  houses  and  turn- 
ing a  corner  went  down  a  street  paral- 
lel to  the  river.  At  the  end  of  it  was 
Howard's  brown  bungalow  facing  the 
river  and  near  by  a  collection  of  tents. 

"Oh,  the  camp!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  our  doughty  protectors,"  he 
said.  "There  are  about  two  hundred 
of  them  all  anxious  for  Villa's  scalp. 

"Is  he  supposed  to  be  anywhere 
near  here?"  I  asked  with  a  thrill  of 
pleasurable  excitement. 

"He's  like  a  mosquito.  You  never 
can  tell  where  he  is,  but  you  can  hear 
rumors  of  his  buzzing,"  he  laughed. 
"The  soldiers  aren't  worried  much 
about  him.  The  officers  all  sleep  at 
home  except  one.     They  take  turns 


LOVE  AND  THE  RAID 


337 


commanding  the  camp." 

We  drew  up  in  front  of  the  bunga- 
low, and  a  lady,  the  prettiest  person 
I  ever  saw,  came  down  the  steps  to 
meet  me. 

"Howard's  wife,"  I  thought  even 
before  Mr.  Hamilton  named  us  to  each 
other.  "What  a  raving  beauty!  No 
wonder  he  is  wild  over  her." 

She  was  tall  and  blonde,  and  the 
sunshine  made  her  hair  glitter  as 
though  it  had  been  sprinkled  with  dia- 
mond dust. 

"Here's  your  traveler,  Mrs.  Snow, 
safe  and  sound,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 
"I  brought  her  along,  as  I  happened  to 
be  at  the  station." 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  rather  pecul- 
iar look ;  I  couldn't  classify  it,  and  held 
out  a  white  hand  to  me. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss 
Glynn — I  suppose  I  should  say  Mar- 
cia."  Her  smile  was  dazzling  and  she 
put  her  hand  through  my  arm,  draw- 
ing me  toward  the  open  door.  At  the 
threshold  she  turned  and  looked  over 
her  shoulder  at  Mr.  Hamilton,  who 
was  busy  cranking  up  his  car.  He 
had  put  my  luggage  on  the  porch. 

"Coming  in  Mark?"  Her  voice  held 
a  certain  soft  note  that  made  me  look 
at  her  quickly. 

"Can't  stop  this  time,  Angelica.  Got 
to  see  a  lot  of  cattle  to  be  shipped  to- 
morrow morning.  So  it's  good-bye  to 
you  and  Miss  Glynn  for  to-day.  I 
may  come  to-morrow,  though,  may  I 
not,  to  see  how  the  traveler  stood  her 
journey?"  He  flashed  a  smile  at  me, 
and  Mrs.  Snow,  murmuring  an  assent, 
drew  me  into  the  house. 

She  was  hospitality  itself,  and 
fussed  over  me  very  prettily.  As  for 
me,  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  from  her 
beautiful  coloring.  She  was  like  a 
tall,  fair  lily.  She  showed  me  to  a 
sweet  little  room,  all  delicious  shades 
of  pinks  and  creams,  and  left  me  to 
my  own  devices  after  informing  me 
that  dinner  would  be  ready  in  an  hour, 
at  seven. 

"We  dine  at  night  like  civilized  peo- 
ple," she  said,  "but  the  aborigines 
here  have  theirs  at  noon.  They're  so 
funny.    I  know  you'll  almost  die  when 


you  become  acquainted  with  them. 
They  think  I'm  awfully  queer  because 
I  have  a  Mexican  girl  to  cook  and 
don't  do  my  own  work." 

She  went  gaily  out,  leaving  me 
alone  to  wonder  what  kind  of  person 
she  really  was.  I  was  half  dazzled  by 
her  beauty,  but  somehow  I  had  a 
slight  feeling  that  she  was  not  abso- 
lutely sincere  in  all  her  words  and  acts 
— that  queer  sidelong  glance  she  gave 
>ou  after  she  had  made  a  statement. 
Well,  I  didn't  dislike  her,  and  that  was 
something. 

The  next  day  Howard  took  me  to 
see  my  future  domain,  the  school 
house,  where  I  was  soon  to  begin  my 
work.  It  was  a  bare  little  place,  ab- 
solutely devoid  of  pictures  or  any 
other  beautifying  thing,  but  I  began 
immediately  to  plan  how  it  could  be 
made  more  comfortable. 

"I  think  I  shall  be  safe  here  in  spite 
of.  the  bandits,"  I  said,  as  we  started 
home.  "Mr.  Hamilton  told  me  about 
the  soldiers." 

"Yes,  you'll  have  ample  protection," 
he  smiled.  "By  the  way,  Marcia,  isn't 
Angelica  just  the  loveliest  woman  you 
ever  set  eyes  on?" 

"She  certainly  is  beautiful."  I  said 
sincerely. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  her,"  he  said. 
"She  doesn't  fit  in  here  very  well — 
she's  so  much  above  every  one  here — 
and  I  was  afraid  she'd  be  lonely.  That 
is  one  reason  I  wanted  you  to  come." 

When  we  reached  the  house,  Mark 
Hamilton  was  sitting  in  the  porch 
sv/ing,  and  Angelica,  looking  perfectly 
lovely  in  her  white  dress,  reclined  in 
an  easy  chair.  We  heard  the  murmur 
of  their  voices  as  we  came  up  the 
walk,  but  neither  was  speaking  as  we 
mounted  the  steps.  Mr.  Hamilton  rose 
and  gave  me  the  swing,  seating  him- 
self on  the  porch  railing  near  me.  I 
looked  at  him  more  closely  than  I  had 
before,  and  instinctively  I  liked  him. 
He  was  so  big  and  brown,  and  his 
eyes  were  frank  and  kindly. 

"Do  you  ride,  Miss  Glynn?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied  eagerly,  before 
I  thought. 


338 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


"It's  too  warm  to  ride  here  in  Au- 
gust," Angelica  put  in  coldly.  "You 
know  that,  Mark."  She  flashed  a  look 
at  him  half  resentful,  half  haughty. 
He  flushed,  but  threw  back  his  head 
and  looking  at  her  from  under  half- 
closed  lids,  answered  lightly: 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  I  assure  you."  He  turned  to  me. 
"Will  you  ride  with  me  to-morrow 
evening,  Miss  Marcia  ?  I  have  a  horse 
that  would  just  suit  you,  I  know.  Just 
spirited  enough,  but  not  too  lively." 

1  looked  at  him  a  moment  before 
answering  and  met  his  eyes  with  their 
dancing  lights.  Suddenly  I  decided 
that  I  would,  although  I  had  a  feeling 
that  Angelica  was  not  pleased  about 
it. 

"I  wonder  why?"  I  thought. 
T  told  Mr.  Hamilton  that  I  would  go 
with  him  right  after  dinner  the  next 
evening,  and  he  arose  to  go  seeming 
much  pleased. 

"I  suppose  new  girls  are  something 
of  a  treat  to  him,"  I  said  to  Angelica, 
watching  Mr.  Hamilton  crank  his  little 
runabout. 
.     She  shrugged. 

"He's  a  great  man  for  the  ladies — 
always  chasing  after  every  new  face. 
He  tires  of  them  just  as  quickly  as  he 
becomes  interested  in  them." 

"Perhaps  some  of  them  tire  of  him," 
I  retorted. 

"Perhaps,"  she  assented  languidly, 
"but  you  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  could 
see  how  they  chase  him.  Any  one 
Mark  goes  with  becomes  a  laughing- 
stock in  time."  She  gave  me  one  of 
her  peculiar  side  glances  and  went  in- 
to the  house,  leaving  Howard,  who  all 
this  time  had  been  quietly  smoking, 
to  talk  to  me.  He  threw  his  cigar 
away,  saying  in  a  low  tone : 

"It's  queer,  Marcia,  but  she  doesn't 
like  Mark  at  all.  I  can't  understand 
it,  he's  such  a  likable  fellow,  but  she 
simply  can't  see  it." 

I  had  my  doubts.  Did  she  or  did 
she  not  like  Mr.  Hamilton?  I  puzzled 
over  this  until  I  fell  asleep  at  last  in 
my  creamy-pink  room. 

I  rode  with  Mr.  Hamilton  the  next 
evening  and  had  a  glorious  time.  The 


horse  he  brought  for  me  was  a  bright 
bay  named  Prince  Charlie,  and  he  was 
surely  a  prince  among  horses.  How  I 
enjoyed  it!  I  almost  forgot  my  sor- 
row. Indeed,  one  couldn't  help  it  with 
Mark  Hamilton,  he  was  so  full  of  in- 
formation about  the  country  and  had 
such  a  humorous  way  of  talking  about 
the  people  he  knew  that  I  caught  my- 
self laughing  like  a  silly  school-girl. 
When  he  lifted  me  from  my  horse  at 
Howard's  gate,  he  held  my  hand  a 
stcond  longer  than  was  strictly  neces- 
sary, and  asked  me  when  I  would  go 
again. 

"Oh,  not  for  a  long  time,"  I  de- 
cided, suddenly  remembering  what 
Angelica  had  said  about  the  love-lorn 
girls.  I  did  not  want  to  become  a 
laughing  stock  just  yet.  Besides,  my 
school  began  the  first  of  September, 
and  I  must  prepare  for  that.  So  I  put 
him  off.  He  continued  to  come  to 
Howard's,  though,  and  sat  talking  on 
the  veranda  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
Then  one  evening  he  appeared  on 
horseback,  leading  that  beautiful 
Prince  Charlie. 

He  slid  from  the  saddle  and  tied 
both  horses  to  the  hitching  post,  then 
came  up  the  walk  and  stopped  in  front 
of  me,  as  I  sat  on  the  steps,  making 
a  low  bow  with  his  wide  sombrero  in 
his  hand.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit 
of  khaki,  and  had  a  bright  red  hand- 
kerchief around  his  neck,  from  which 
his  throat  rose,  brown  and  muscular. 
He  had  not  an  ounce  of  superfluous 
flesh;  he  was  just  big  and  strong,  and 
involuntarily  I  admired  him.  Then 
I  remembered  the  girls  and  shut  out 
the  admiration. 

"Well,"  I  inquired,  "did  you  wish 
to  see  Howard?  I'm  sorry,  but  he 
and  Angelica  went  over  to  Captain 
Brewster's  to  dinner." 

"So  much  the  better,"  he  answered, 
"but  why  didn't  you  go?  Hadn't 
Brewster  enough  food  to  go  around?" 

"It  wasn't  that,"  I  laughed.  "I  had 
a  headache.  School  was  tiresome  to- 
day." t 

"Prince  Charlie  will  cure  you.  Come 
— I  dressed  up  in  cowboy  rig  on  pur- 
pose for  your  benefit."     He  held  out 


LOVE  AND  THE  RAID 


339 


his  hand  and  helped  me  from  the  step. 
I  ran  in  and  changed  my  skirt  and  soon 
we  were  galloping  over  the  smooth, 
sandy  road. 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  past  my  own 
little  domain,"  he  said,  turning  into 
the  road  that  led  south  down  the 
banks  of  the  Rio  Grande.  "It's  cov- 
ered with  nice,  fat-  cattle  that  I  want 
you  to  see." 

"Were  you  a  cattle  man  before  you 
came  here?  Howard  said  you  had 
only  been  here  three  years." 

He  looked  away.  "No,"  he  said 
evasively.  "I  was  engaged  in  other 
work  in  California,  but  cattle  always 
appealed  to  me  so  I  came  here  where 
the  fat  ones  grow." 

He  seemed  unwilling  to  say  more 
about  his  life  before  he  came  to  Texas. 
I  wondered  if  he  had  any  relatives. 
He  never  spoke  of  any. 

"It  must  be  lonesome  down  here, 
away  from  your  people.  They  live 
in  California,  do  they  not?"  I  inquired 
at  the  risk  of  seeming  inquisitive.  But 
I  did  so  want  to  know  more  about  him. 
Here  I  was  roaming  over  the  country 
with  a  man  I  had  only  known  a  few 
weeks.  It  was  true  Howard  thought 
the  world  of  him,  but  even  he  knew 
nothing  definite  of  Mark  Hamilton's 
past  or  of  his  family. 

"My  brother  lives  in  California,"  he 
answered,  looking  straight  into  my 
eyes,  rather  proudly.  "He's  the  only 
relative  I  have."  Then  his  expression 
softened.  "I  was  lonely,  Marcia,  be- 
fore you  came." 

My  heart  missed  a  beat,  and  I  felt 
my  face  flushing,  so  I  turned  away  and 
pointed  with  my  whip  to  a  low  white 
house  ahead  of  us.  Two  tall  cotton- 
wood  trees  stood  beside  it,  and  bushes 
fringed  a  little  creek  that  ran  across 
the  road. 

"Is  that  your  house?"  I  asked  with 
interest. 

"Yes,  that's  it.  It's  not  very  beauti- 
ful, but  it  is  comfortable.  I  have  a 
great  big  porch,  as  you  can  see,  and  a 
real  fireplace.  I  built  it  myself  with 
the  help  of  my  foreman.  But  I  wanted 
you  to  see  the  cattle.  Look  over 
there." 


He  pointed  to  the  acres  of  pasture 
land  behind  the  house  and  the  barns, 
and  I  saw  hundreds  of  red  cattle  in 
the  distance  and  two  moving  black 
specks  that  I  took  for  cow-boys. 

"It's  wonderful!"  I  cried. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"I  certainly  do.' 

I  was  entirely  sincere.  The  little 
white  house,  nestled  between  its  tall 
cottonwoods,  the  gently  sloping,  cattle 
covered  land  appealed  to  me.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  coming 
home  after  a  long  absence,  and  I 
caught  my  breath  in  a  sigh  almost  of 
longing.  Mark  leaned  over  and  laid 
his  strong  brown  hand  on  my  saddle- 
bow. 

"Marcia,"  he  said,  "you  were  meant 
for  this  country.  Here's  where  you 
ought  to  stay  all  your  life.  You  be- 
long in  that  little  white  house,  its 
owner  and  mine.  Will  you  take  us, 
Marcia?"  His  hand  closed  over  mine 
and  1  felt  it  trembling.  I  looked  at 
him  startled.  He  was  sincerely  ask- 
ing me  to  marry  him,  not  flirting  with 
me,  but  I  could  not  believe  it  yet.  I 
must  have  more  time  to  be  sure  of 

him,   and  then I  withdrew  my 

hand. 

"I  can't  answer  yet.  I  haven't  known 
you  long  enough.  Besides,  you  may 
be  mistaken  when  you  think  you  want 
me,"  I  said. 

"I'm  not  mistaken.  I  love  you,  Mar- 
cia." His  voice  made  me  tremble  all 
over.  I  longed  to  lay  my  head  against 
tne  shoulder  so  near  me  and  tell  him 
that  I  loved  him.  For  I  did,  I  knew  it 
all  at  once.  But  I  would  not  do  it. 
Prudence  told  me  to  wait.  I  shook 
my  head  and  turned  my  horse  around. 

"All  right,  little  girl.  I  won't  bother 
you  about  it,  but  I'm  glad  you  know," 
Mark  said,  following  me.  "Now  for 
the  gallop  back  to  town." 

I  was  glad  Angelica  and  Howard 
were  not  in  when,  after  bidding  Mark 
good-night,  I  slipped  into  the  house. 
1  went  to  my  room  and  lay  most  of  the 
night  thinking  of  Mark  and  what  I 
should  ultimately  say  to  him.  My 
cheeks  burned  even  there  in  the  dark- 
ness as  I  pictured  the  moment  when 


340 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


I  should  tell  him  and  he  would  take 
me  in  his  arms,  strong  and  protecting 
and  tender. 

At  breakfast,  Angelica  from  her 
place  behind  the  coffee  percolator, 
looked  at  me  sharply. 

"You're  rather  pale,  Marcia.  What 
is  the  matter  ?"  She  broke  open  a  roll 
and  I  noticed  that  her  hand  trembled. 
"Howard,  doesn't  she  look  pale?" 

Howard,  thus  appealed  to,  leaned 
forward  and  looked  at  me  with  his 
kind,  near-sighted  looking  eyes. 

"It's  her  school,"  he  said.  "Stay  in 
to-day,  Marcia.  It's  Saturday,  any- 
how. You  and  Angel  can  chat  to- 
gether and  take  it  easy.  As  for  me, 
I've  got  to  go  to  cavalry  drill  this 
morning.  The  bandits  are  getting  a 
little  bit  near,  they  say,  but  there's  no 
danger.  They  wouldn't  dare  to  cross." 
He  rose  from  the  table,  kissed  Angel- 
ica, who  turned  a  cool,  pink  cheek  for 
the  caress,  and  strode  out,  leaving  us 
together. 

Angelica,  linking  her  arm  through 
mine,  led  the  way  into  the  living  room 
and  drew  me  down  beside  her  on  the 
comfortable  couch.  She  crossed  one 
pretty  slippered  foot  over  the  other 
and  leaned  back  against  a  blue  cush- 
ion that  set  off  her  wonderful  coloring 
to  perfection. 

"I  received  a  letter  yesterday  from 
a  friend  of  mine  in  California,"  she 
said,  taking  a  letter  from  her  belt, 
where  it  had  been  folded.  "It's  in  an- 
swer to  one  I  wrote  asking  about  Mark 
Hamilton.  She  knew  something  about 
him,  too,  something  I  never  dreamed 
cf ."  There  was  almost  triumph  in  her 
tone.  She  had  effectually  aroused  my 
interest,  and  I  sat  up. 

"Why  should  you  try  to  find  out 
things  about  Mr.  Hamilton?"  I  asked 
coolly.  "Surely,  what  he  wants  us  to 
know  he  will  tell  us  himself." 

Angelica  laughed  scornfully,  with 
a  sidelong  look  at  me  from  her  strange 
eyes. 

"Not  this,  dear  Marcia,"  she  cried. 
"It's  the  last  thing  he  would  tell  us. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man's  having 
two  wives?  Well,  that's  what  your 
Mr.  Hamilton  has  been  trying  to  do. 


You  don't  care  to  be  number  two,  do 
you?" 

"What  are  you  saying?"  I  cried  an- 
grily. 

"Don't  ruffle  your  feathers,  Marcia, 
but  just  listen  and  thank  your  lucky 
stars  you  found  out  in  time." 

I  sank  back  stupefied  while  she 
opened  the  letter  and  read  it.  Mark 
Hamilton  had  a  wife  in  California 
whom,  he  had  deserted.  The  writer 
had  an  intimate  friend  who  had  at- 
tended the  wedding.  That  much  I 
realized. 

"But  is  she  telling  the  truth?"  I 
urged,  desperately,  my  lovely  castle 
falling  about  my  head  in  ruins. 

"She  has  no  reason  to  lie,  for  she 
doesn't  know  why  I  enquired.  She 
was  awfully  surprised  to  find  out  that 
he  was  here  because  they  had  not 
known  where  he  was  for  over  three 
years.  Now,  Marcia,  brace  up.  Don't 
let  any  one  see  that  you  care,  but  if  I 
were  you,  I'd  cut  him  dead.  I'd  never 
speak  to  him  again."  She  looked  eag- 
erly at  me. 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  I  muttered, 
standing  up  and  vaguely  putting  my 
hand  to  my  head,  which  ached  dully. 

"It's  true,  girl,"  cried  Angelica  an- 
grily. "You  were  a  little  fool  to  fall 
in  love  with  him,  but  then,  all  women 
do  it,"  she  added  bitterly. 

Then  suddenly  I  knew  her  secret. 

"You  love  him  yourself!"  I  cried; 
"you,  Howard's  wife.  How  do  I  know 
that  you  are  telling  me  the  truth?" 

She  did  not  deny  my  accusation,  but 
threw  the  letter  at  me. 

"Read  it  yourself,  if  you  think  I  did 
not  read  it  correctly,'"  she  cried,  and 
swept  from  the  room,  leaving  me  with 
the  letter  in  my  hand. 

It  was  as  she  had  said,  and  I  was 
forced  to  believe  it  at  last.  Throwing 
the  letter  down,  I  went  to  my  room 
and  buried  my  face  in  the  pillows  of 
my  bed.  I  burned  from  head  to  foot 
with  shame.  I  would  show  Mark  Ham- 
ilton that  he  could  not  make  a  fool  of 
me.  Presently  pride  came  to  my  aid, 
and  I  rose,  bathed  my  face  and  went 
in  search  of  Angelica,  whom  I  found 
in  the  porch  swing. 


LOVE  AND  THE  RAID 


341 


"Angelica,  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  to 
ycu  as  I  did,"  I  said.  "Please  forgive 
me  and  think  no  more  of  it.  As  for 
Mr.  Hamilton,  he  is  nothing  to  me,  and 
I  am  grateful  to  you  for  finding  out 
about  him  before — before  it  was  too 
late." 

Angelica  made  room  for  me  to  sit 
beside  her  in  the  swing,  scarcely  glan- 
cing up  from  the  elaborate  centerpiece 
she  was  embroidering. 

"We  are  all  apt  to  say  things  we  re- 
gret when  we  are  angry,"  she  said, 
calmly.  "As  for  Mark  Hamilton,  ig- 
nore him.  He'll  soon  take  the  hint 
and  stay  away." 

Mark  came  the  very  next  day,  and 
I  heard  Angelica  coolly  tell  him  that 
I  had  a  headache  and  could  not  see 
him.  The  day  after  that  he  went  with 
a  carload  of  cattle  to  San  Antonio  and 
was  gone  a  week.  When  he  returned 
he  came  to  see  me  again,  but  I  had 
seen  him  down  the  trail  and  scribbled 
a  hasty  note  which  I  gave  to  Angelica 
to  give  to  him.  I  merely  told  him  that 
I  did  not  care  to  see  him  any  more, 
and  that  he  probably  would  not  have 
to  search  long  to  find  my  reason.  The 
murmur  of  their  voices  reached  me 
where  I  stood  with  clenched  hands  in 
the  middle  of  my  room,  but  presently 
he  was  gone.  My  heart  seemed  dead 
and  cold  within  me  like  a  lump  of  ice; 
but  a  deep  resentment  took  the  place 
of  all  other  feeling  when  I  thought  of 
Mark  Hamilton. 

The  winter  slowly  passed  and  spring 
came.  Still  I  taught  in  the  little  white 
school-house  and  had  only  seen  Mark 
once.  I  passed  him  on  the  street  with- 
out recognition,  my  head  held  high. 
He  had  paused  as  if  to  speak  to  me, 
but  seeing  my  manner,  he  passed  me 
with  a  head  held  as  high  as  my  own. 
How  my  truant  heart  beat !  I  resolved 
to  conquer  the  feeling  if  I  died  for  it. 

I  was  very  lonely  now.  Every  night 
I  listened  to  the  bugle  blowing  taps 
and  wondered  if  we  were  as  safe  from 
the  Mexicans  as  Howard  seemed  to 
think.  One  night — shall  I  ever  forget 
it? — I  was  sitting  as  usual  by  my 
window,  occupied  with  the  sad 
thoughts  that  were  becoming  habitual 


to  me.  I  longed  for  my  mother — for 
her  ready  sympathy,  but  she  was  gone 
from  me  now.  I  got  up  and  took  her 
little  ivory  miniature  from  its  velvet 
case,  gazing  at  it  long  and  earnestly. 
Then  I  hung  it  on  a  nail  by  my  dresser 
where  I  could  always  see  it,  and  sat 
down  again  by  my  window. 

Leaning  my  head  on  my  arms,  I 
gazed  pensively  out  into  the  moon- 
light, across  the  river  toward  Mexico, 
then  toward  Mark's  ranch  farther  down 
and  almost  on  its  bank.  I  wondered 
if  he  were  as  unhappy  as  I  was.  Some- 
how, I  did  not  wish  him  ill. 

A  clock  in  the  next  room  struck 
three,  slowly  and  musically. 

Suddenly  I  sat  up.  A  horseman  was 
crossing  the  river,  and  I  strained  my 
eyes  to  see  what  kind  of  person  he 
was.  Was  he  Mexican  or  American? 
I  sprang  to  my  feet..  There  were 
others  behind  him,  a  whole  string  of 
them,  riding  apparently  with  caution. 
They  reached  the  bank  and  made  a 
dash  for  the  camp.  I  heard  shots  and 
shouts,  but  waited  to  see  no  more, 
and  rushing  to  Howard's  room,  pound- 
ed on  the  door  with  all  my  might. 

"The  Mexicans,  Howard,  the  Mexi- 
cans!" I  cried  breathlessly.  "Quick, 
they  are  surprising  the  camp!" 

Howard  sprang  from  bed,  and  in 
another  moment  he  was  beside  me, 
rather  sketchily  dressed,  cramming 
the  loads  into  two  revolvers.  He 
gave  one  to  me  and  the  other  to  An- 
gelica, who  by  this  time  had  come 
running  from  the  bedroom,  her  face 
white  with  terror. 

"They  are  burning  the  town!"  she 
gasped.  "The  bank  and  the  hotel  are 
in  flames." 

Howard  ran  back  to  see.  I  heard 
him  exclaim :  "By  Jove,"  and  he  came 
dashing  back. 

"Quick,  help  me  barricade  the 
door,"  he  shouted.  "Ten  or  twelve  are 
headed  right  for  this  house,  and  we 
haven't  a  moment  to  lose." 

He  sprang  to  the  big  couch  and  bar- 
ricated  the  front  door  with  it,  putting 
the  heavy  library  on  top,  and  Angelica 
and  I  piled  on  chairs,  books,  anything 
we  could  find. 


342 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


"That  will  hold  them  a  minute  while 
we  make  a  dash  out  the  back  door. 
Got  your  revolvers  ?  Don't  hesitate  to 
use  them  if  you  get  a  chance,"  he  said. 
"I'll  see  you  safe  and  come  back."  He 
seized  Angelica's  hand  and  we  all 
dashed  out  of  the  back  door  and  made 
for  the  barn  a  few  yards  away,  bent 
almost  double  and  keeping  in  the 
shadow  to  avoid  detection. 

We  could  hear  the  trampling  of  their 
horses'  hoofs  in  the  road  in  front  of 
the  house — they  were  on  the  porch. 
Now  they  began  pounding  on  the  door. 
We  crept  along  like  shadows  or  In- 
dians until  we  reached  the  dry  creek- 
bed  behind  the  barn,  its  banks  high 
enough  to  conceal  a  man  walking  up- 
right. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  stopped.  My 
mother's  miniature!  I  had  left  it  be- 
hind and  the  bandits  would  take  it. 
They  should  not  have  it — I  would  die 
first.  What  sacrilege  for  their  blood- 
stained hands  even  to  touch  it! 

Howard  turned  around. 

"Come  along,  Marcia,  you're  almost 
safe.  See  that  clump  of  cotton-woods 
— you  and  Angelica  can  hide  there 
while  I  go  back  and  get  a  shot  at  the 
devils." 

But  I  was  running  back  toward  the 
house  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  could  hear 
the  Mexicans  talking  excitedly  on  the 
front  porch,  but  it  evidently  had  not 
occurred  to  them  to  try  the  back  door, 
or  else  they  were  having  some  kind 
of  an  altercation.  I  had  no  time'  to 
wonder  at  them,  but  ran  across  to  the 
door,  and  leaving  it  open  behind  me, 
sped  to  my  room  and  snatched  my 
treasure  from  its  nail. 

The  blows  on  the  door  recom- 
menced, and  just  as  I,  with  my  heart 
in  my  mouth,  was  flying  toward  the 
dining  room  door,  a  panel  splintered. 
I  was  seen!  My  heart  stopped  beat- 
ing, but  I  made  a  dash  for  the  back 
door  and  ran  into  a  tall  man  in  a  som- 
brero with  a  bandana  handkerchief 
knotted  around  his  neck.  Without  a 
word  he  caught  me  in  his  arms  and 
ran  out  of  the  door  and  toward  the 
barn. 

I  struggled  desperately,  but  stopped 


abruptly  when  Mark's  voice  said: 

"Be  quiet,  Marcia,  if  you  want  to 
save  your  life.  My  car  is  back  here." 
Then  I  insisted  on  using  my  feet,  and 
we  had  almost  reached  the  friendly 
shelter  of  the  barn  when  the  bandits 
came  swarming  around  the  house  and 
saw  us !  Mark  turned  and  faced  them, 
revolver  in  hand. 

"Hurry,  Marcia,  start  the  car,  and 
I'll  hold  them  at  bay,"  he  cried. 

In  an  instant  I  was  in  the  little  car 
and  had  run  it  across  the  bridge  which 
spanned  the  dry  gully  just  behind  the 
barn.  I  stopped  and  Mark  backed  to- 
ward me,  firing  all  the  time.  Once  I 
turned  and  fired  my  revolver  at  a  hor- 
rid dark  man  who  was  creeping  upon 
Mark  from  the  side.  Suddenly  Mark 
made  a  dash  and  was  beside  me.  The 
bullets  spattered  around  us  like  hail, 
falling  with  little  vicious  spurts  to 
right  and  left.  One  of  them  hit  the 
back  of  the  car,  but  luckily  none  of 
them  hit  our  tires  or  us. 

"I  got  one  that  time,"  I  heard  Mark 
cry  triumphantly,  but  I  hadn't  time  to 
look.  Then  something  hit  my  left 
arm,  and  a  great  pain  made  me  cry 
out.  One  of  the  shots  had  found  a 
mark,  at  least.  I  set  my  teeth  and 
increased  the  speed,  and  soon  we  were 
out  of  range  and  whizzing  over  the 
road  toward  the  north  at  a  pace  that 
exceeded  all  the  speed  limits  I  had 
ever  heard  of. 

Then  in  the  gray  dawn  when  the  ter- 
rible tension  was  relaxed  and  we  were 
out  of  danger,  everything  turned  black 
before  me,  my  hand  fell  from  the 
wheel  and  I  fainted. 

I  struggled  back  to  consciousness  at 
last,  through  a  black  fog,  and  lay  for 
a  moment  with  my  eyes  closed.  Then 
I  realized  that  the  car  had  stopped  and 
that  I  was  in  Mark's  arms.  I  felt  his 
breath  on  my  cheek,  and  then — he 
kissed  me. 

That  brought  back  my  recollection 
effectively,  and  I  struggled  away  from 
him  and  sat  up. 

"Don't  touch  me.  How  dare  you?" 
I  cried,  angry  at  myself  and  him.  I 
realized  that  my  arm  throbbed  and 
beat  with   pain   and  vaguely   felt-  it 


COMPENSATION 


343 


with  my  hand.  It  was  neatly  ban- 
daged with  Mark's  handkerchief.  I 
glanced  up  and  met  his  eyes  looking 
miserably  at  me  from  his  white  face, 
thinner  and  more  gaunt  than  I  had 
ever  seen  it  before. 

"What  has  changed  you,  Marcia?" 
he  asked.  "I  felt  once  that  you  were 
almost  won,  but  now,  apparently  with 
no  reason,  you  seem  to  hate  me.  What 
have  I  done,  dear?  Tell  me,  and  I 
will  do  all  I  can  to  atone." 

"You  know  very  well.  What  I  can't 
understand  is  how  you  dare  to  speak 
to  me,  knowing  that  you  have  a  wife 
in  California." 

My  voice  trembled,  and  I  could 
hardly  restrain  the  tears  that  threaten- 
ed to  fall  and  cover  me  with  disgrace. 

"A  wife  in  California!"  His  voice 
held  stupefied  amazement. 

"Yes,"  I  cried.  "Angelica  received 
a  letter  from  a  woman  in  Midvale  who 
knew  all  about  it.  No  doubt  you 
thought  no  one  would  ever  know  it 
here." 

Mark  took  off  his  hat,  the  big  Mexi- 
can sombrero,  and  ran  his  fingers  in  a 
puzzled  manner  through  his  thick 
brown  hair,  the  hair  that  I  had  often 
longed  to  touch.  I  caught  my  breath 
in  a  sob.  With  a  sudden  movement 
he  drew  my  head  to  his  breast.  His 
face  was  against  my  hair. 


"Don't  hate  me  just  yet,  little  girl," 
he  whispered;  "I'm  not  married,  never 
have  been  and  never  shall  be  except 
to  you,  sweetheart,  if  you  will  have 
me. 

I  raised  my  head  and  looking  into 
his  eyes  I  knew  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"But  that  letter?"  I  faltered. 

"It  was  not  about  me.  Don't  you 
remember  that  I  told  you  that  I  have 
a  brother  in  California!?  Well,  he 
married  a  girl  and  six  months  later 
deserted  her.  That's  the  reason  I 
have  never  spoken  of  him.  He's  liv- 
ing with  another  woman  in  Sacra- 
mento, and  his  wife'has  a  divorce.  Do 
you  believe  me,  sweetheart?" 

He  bent  and  kissed  me,  and  this 
time  I  did  not  protest. 

"Did  you  ever  love  any  one  before, 
Mark,"  I  asked,  thinking  of  Angelica. 

He  smiled.  "I  never  loved  any  one 
but  you,  Marcia.  You  are  the  first, 
last  and  only  one,  dear." 

Then  we  turned  the  car  around  and 
started  back. 

Mark  and  I  were  married  soon  af- 
ter that,  so  I  am  writing  this  on  the 
big  porch  of  his  little  white  ranch 
house.  I  am  wonderfully  happy,  but 
I  often  puzzle  over  one  question  to 
which  I  can  never  find  an  answer.  Had 
Angelica  loved  Mark  or  not?  Mark 
apparently  neither  knows  nor  cares. 


COMPENSATION 


This  wild,  bitter  pain  than  the  thing  that  men  call 

The  best,  the  truest,  the  highest  of  all 

That  life  can  give  ?    Is  this  what  they  prize, 

Permission  to  suffer,  to  agonize  ? 

To  yearn  for  a  voice,  to  look  for  a  face, 

To  stretch  aching  arms  and  clasp  empty  space? 

To  count  life  the  same  have  you  friends  or  have  none, 

But  miss  with  a  madness  of  longing  just  one, 

Only  one !    Is  it  worth  it,  I  say, 

This  torture  called  Love?    Yes!    We  made  up  to-day! 


Lannie  Haynes  Martin. 


The  Story  of  the  /Miracle 


Told  in    California 

By  Otto  von  Geldern 

(All  rights  reserved.) 
(Continued  from  last  month) 


(SYNOPSIS — A  number  of  prominent  characters  in  the  old  pioneer  town 
of  Sonoma,  Northern  California,  drop  into  the  hotel's  cheerful  gathering 
room,  during  the  evening  hours,  and  swap  tales,  experiences  and  all  that 
goes  to  make  entertaining  conversation.  The  subject  of  miracles  starts 
a  discussion,  joined  in  by  the  old  Spanish  padre,  lovingly  christened 
Father  Sunday.  The  judge,  or  Jux,  as  he  was  nicknamed  by  his  cronies, 
begins  a  story  based  on  a  recent  dream,  in  which  a  supposed  miracle  was 
wrought.  He  dreamed  that  he  had  died,  and  that  his  soul  wandered  in 
space,  visiting  celestial  palaces,  hearing  rhythmic  harmonies  and  scenes  of 
soul-stirring  splendor,  grandeur  and  beauty.  He  visited  the  Palace  of 
God,  where  all  spoke  in  whispers,  but  none  there  had  seen  Him.  He 
failed  to  find  his  name  in  the  record  of  the  dead.  Later  he  was  conducted 
to  the  Realm  of  Satan.  His  satanic  majesty  entertains  Jux  in  his  library, 
where  he  shows  himself  to  be  an  astute  philosopher  of  negation.  No 
trace  of  Jux'  record  on  earth  is  found  in  hell.  Thereupon  the  archangel 
Gabriel  is  sent  from  celestial  headquarters  to  adjust  the  difficulty  with 
Satan.  A  discussion  arises  between  the  two  as  to  the  just  disposal  of  this 
soul.  Not  finding  any  clause  in  the  corpus  juris  of  the  other  world  appli- 
cable to  this  case,  Satan  suggests  to  Gabriel  that  they  shake  the  dice  for 
the  possession  of  this  unfortunate  soul.  Reluctantly,  Gabriel  agrees  to 
one  throw  of  three  dice,  the  highest  number  of  points  to  decide.  Satan 
has  the  first  throw  and  shakes  eighteen;  Gabriel  follows  him  and  throws 
nineteen.  That  is  the  Miracle,  and  the  soul  is  saved.  Father  Sunday  is 
asked  to  give  his  version  of  a  Miracle,  and  he  agrees  to  do  so.  He  tells 
his  friends  that  God  is  not  only  the  Light,  but  that  God  is  Love — the  great 
sacrificing  Love  of  the  Universe.  His  miracles  surround  us  everywhere, 
and  they  are  wrought  for  the  benefit  of  His  creatures  on  every  day  of  their 
lives.  To  prove  to  his  friends  that  it  is  possible  to  throw  nineteen  with 
three  dice,  Father  Sunday  tells  them  the  Tale  of  Ancient  Rome. 


Chapjer  IV. 

A   Tale  of  Ancient  Rome. 

I   AM  going  to  take  you  back  to  the 
time  of  Nero,  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago,  when  this  tyrant  held 
sway  as  the  fourth  emperor  of  the 
great  Roman  empire. 

"History  depicts  him  as  the  most 
cruel,  revengeful,  remorseless  and 
lecherous  of  men;  one  who  knew  nei- 
ther scruple  nor  hesitation  in  consider- 


ing any  crime,  no  matter  how  revolt- 
ing, to  gain  an  ambitious  end  or  to 
satisfy  a  foul  desire.  It  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  such  blood-thirsty  demons 
in  human  shape  ever  existed,  but  there 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  this  man 
combined  within  his  nature  all  the 
vices  that  accompany  cruelty,  treach- 
ery and  lust. 

"The  great  lesson  taught  by  the  life 
of  such  a  character  is  this,  that  when- 
ever power  and  authority  are  placed 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


345 


into  weak  hands,  and  wherever  weak 
minds  govern,  the  catastrophe  is  in- 
evitable; and  the  greater  the  authority 
the  more  calamitous  will  be  the  re- 
sulting upheaval. 

"But  even  in  a  case  like  that  of 
Nero,  we  should  not  be  too  hasty  in 
our  condemnation.  He  was  a  mere 
boy  when  the  purple  of  imperial 
power  was  cast  upon  him  by  elements 
ready  to  make  him  what  he  readily  be- 
came, because  he  was  unripe  to  form 
opinions  of  his  own.  He  was  the  result 
of  a  cruel  system  which  fostered  the 
aggrandization  of  a  large  faction  or 
clique  of  idlers  and  iniquitous  seekers 
after  wealth  and  carnal  pleasures  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 

"Rome  had  seen  the  beginning  of 
its  end,  although  it  continued  its  ex- 
istence for  three  more  centuries.  Pow- 
erful as  it  had  been,  this  mighty  mis- 
tress of  the  world  was  slowly  begin- 
ning to  crumble  before  that  greater 
power  of  which  I  have  spoken  to  you. 
Remember,  my  friends,  that  this 
power  of  love  is  certain  to  rule  the 
world  in  the  end  in  spite  of  all  the  ty- 
rants that  were  ever  born  of  woman. 

"A  lowly  Nazarene  had  brought 
these  glad  tidings,  which  were  her- 
alded by  the  star  of  Bethlehem  on  the 
holy  night,  and  this  humble  and 
mighty  messenger  was  ignominiously 
put  to  death  by  the  Romans  thirty-two 
years  before  the  events  took  place 
that  I  am  now  narrating. 

"A  holy  structure  built  of  ethics, 
morality  and  faith  had  been  founded 
or  a  solid  rock,  an  edifice  which  stands 
to-day  as  firmly  as  ever.  The  vicissi- 
tudes of  centuries  and  the  calumnies 
heaped  upon  it  by  its  innumerable 
enemies  have  not  been  able  to  shake 
a  single  stone  from  its  foundation. 

"The  golden  seed  having  been  put 
into  the  earth,  the  plant  grew.  It  was 
nourished  with  floods  of  tears  and 
with  the  most  precious  blood — and  it 
had  to  grow.  Those  in  sorrow  and  in 
perplexity  turned  to  it  and  plucked 
from  it  the  blossom  of  hope.  And  so 
there  were  many  followers.  But  there 
was  at  that  time  only  a  handful,  com- 
paratively speaking,  who  had  the  te- 


merity to  acknowledge  the  authority 
of  the  church  and  to  seek  its  teachings 
in  the  open.  You  have  been  taught  in 
your  history  how  those  who  dared  to 
do  so  were  persecuted,  tortured  and 
killed. 

"Horrible  methods  of  death  were  in- 
vented by  the  tyrant  and  his  syco- 
phants for  these  early  martyrs  who 
were  willing  and  ready  to  lay  "down 
their  lives  for  their  faith. 

"Lions  devoured  them;  racks  and 
pinions  distorted  their  writhing  bod- 
ies. Men  and  women  were  turned  into 
living  torches  to  shed  light  on  still 
other  excruciating  cruelties  too  hor- 
rible to  relate. 

"But  the  demons  were  reckoning 
without  the  host.  Christianity  is  not 
a  weed  to  be  stamped  out,  but  a  vigor- 
ous tree,  spreading  new  limbs  and 
branches  with  tender  blossoms,  in 
spite  of  all  the  cruel  efforts  to  extermi- 
nate it.  It  appealed  to  many  and  many 
who  were  sorrow-laden  and  full  of 
trouble,  and  those  who  joined  the 
humble  band  of  the  lowly  were  not 
only  from  the  common  people,  or  the 
uncultured  who  had  suffered  most,  but 
not  infrequently  from  the  very  ranks 
of  the  noblest  of  Roman  aristocracy. 

"Many  of  these  young  noblemen 
were  put  to  death,  for  no  mercy  was 
shown  to  those  who  abetted  these  ac- 
cursed fishmongers,  as  they  were 
called,  because  they  recognized  each 
other  by  the  ridiculous  symbol  of  a 
fish. 

"There  was  one,  however,  for  whom 
the  cruel  monster  Nero  had  a  fond  af- 
fection, one  whom  he  had  sought  out 
time  and  time  again  in  order  to  shower 
his  royal  favors  upon  him. 

"Do  not  think  this  strange,  for  in- 
consistent fancies  are  not  rare  in  this 
world  so  full  of  inexplicable  motives. 
Even  in  a  tyrant  an  extreme  of  violent 
hate  may  alternate  at  times  with  an 
extreme  of  equally  strong  affection. 

"The  name  of  this  young  aristocrat 
was  Auriga,  and  he  was  known  as  the 
most  noble  chariot  racer  of  the  Circus 
Maximus. 

"Physically  perfect,  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  behold  him.    He  was  brave,  he 


346                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

was  daring,  he  was  intelligent.     His  called  guilt  established  beyond  denial, 

manners  were  courteous,  amiable  and  gave  a  great  delight  to  many  who  knew 

elegant,  for  he  had  been  drilled  in  a  him  and  who  had  been  dependent  up- 

school  where  politeness  and  faultless  on  his  generosity  for  years,  and  for 

behavior  were   considered  the  prime  the  following  reason : 

necessities  of  a  young  noble.  "Those  in  high  favor  of  the  mighty 

"A  change  of  heart  had  come  over  have  many  enemies.    Let  the  tide  of 

him.     Perhaps  the  sensual  court  life  fortune  turn,  and  the  men  and  women 

and  the  voluptuous  idleness    of    the  who  were  at  one  time  oversmooth  and 

daily  routine  had  satiated  this  youth  profuse  in  their  flattery,     will     face 

to  the  fill.     He  probably  realized,  as  about  very  readily   and  malign   and 

all  stronger  characters  will,  that  a  life  slander  with  the   same  avidity  with 

without  a  content  is  not  worth  living,  which  they  fawned  before, 

and  that  there  must  be  an  end  to  the  "Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  this  to 

round  of  profligacy,  if  one  spark  of  you,  for  the  reason  that  we  should  be 

manhood  is  to  remain  in  the  human  ever  ready  to  look  for  some  condona- 

breast.  tion  even  in  those  who  do  us  evil;  but 

"I  am  not  going  to  repeat  to  you  the  it  is  human  nature  to  take  the  part  of 

story  of  the  last  days  of  Pompeii,  for  the  one  who  is  suffering;  in  this  case 

you  are  all  familiar  with  it  and  have  the  one  who,  reaching  the  brink  of  a 

wept  over  its  pages,   but  I  want  to  precipice,  is  pushed  over     into     the 

say  to  you,  that    in    this    case,    too,  abyss  by  an  old  friend  of  his  days  of 

the    love     of     a     pure     woman,     the  plenty. 

noblest  of  passions,  conquered  within  "This  is  symbolized  by  the  Judas 
him  all  desire  for  wealth,  power  and  kiss  of  betrayal,  and  it  would  show,  a 
worldly  achievement,  and  when  the  weakness  of  character  to  attempt  to 
crisis  came,  this  young  man,  Auriga,  condone  such  treachery, 
the  favorite  of  Nero,  became  a  fol-  "This  great  evil  is  the  product  of  a 
lower  of  the  lowly,  for  the  sake  of  the  frivolous  world  falsely  devoted  to  car- 
Christian  maiden  Senoiande,  for  whom  nality  and  pleasure;  those  who  seek  its 
he  cherished  a  pure  and  unselfish  af-  preferment  are  scaling  a  ladder.  The 
fection.  lucky  ones  on  the  upper  rounds  will 

"Clandestinely  his  visits  were  made  step  deliberately  on  the  fingers  of 
to  the  hidden  places  of  worship,  to  the  others  clinging  to  a  lower  rung,  re- 
secret  alleys  and  by-ways,  and  even  gardless  of  the  pain  they  may  inflict; 
to  the  fornices,  the  abodes  of  the  and  the  greedy  ones  below,  if  they  pos- 
fallen.  The  golden  truth  had  to  be  sess  a  grip  of  sufficient  strength,  will 
sought  by  the  devout  within  the  char-  snatch  away  a  predecessor  and  hurl 
nel  vaults  of  the  city  and  in  the  very  him  to  the  bottom.  If  he  break  his 
midst  of  its  defilement  and  contami-  neck,  what  of  it?  It  is  all  in  the  race, 
nation.  in  the  race  for  worldly  ambition. 

"But  the  spies  of  the  emperor  dis-  "Slay  him!  that  is  the  cry.    Destroy 

covered  them  in  the  end,  and  many  a  him — that  means,  take  from  him  thy 

community  of  these  harmless  and  ear-  favors  and  bestow  them  upon  us  who 

nest  worshipers  was    brought    before  are  so  much  more  worthy  of  them.  This 

the  blood-stained  tribunal  to  be  con-  ingrate  failed  you.    We  knew  that  he 

demned  to  the  torments  of  the  most  would,  and  did  we  not  tell  you  so  ? 

agonizing  death.    And  in  one  of  these  "And  such  was  the  natural  outcome 

secret  places  of  hiding,  where  an  al-  in  this  case.    The  climbers  were  fully 

tar  had  been  raised  to  the  glory  of  the  prepared  to  pull  Auriga  out  of  their 

Unseen,  amidst  environments  unclean,  way  and  they  were  successful.    When 

they  found  Auriga,  the  young  noble,  Nero  heard  through  his  vile  mouth- 

the  best-beloved  of  Nero.  pieces  that  his  friend  had  been  found 

"To  find  him  there  in  this  forbidden  a  worshiper  among  those  whom    he 

company,  with  the  proof  of  his  so-  detested  more  than  his  blackest  slaves 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


347 


his  wrath  was  unbounded. 

"  'Auriga,  the  noble  of  Rome !  Im- 
possible!' he  cried,  his  face  distorted 
with  rage  and  his  body  in  a  horror- 
foreboding  attitude. 

"  'What  base  ingratitude  has  been 
returned  for  all  my  imperial  favors  so 
willingly  granted  to  one  whom  I  loved 
better  than  a  brother.  My  court 
seemed  empty  and  joyless  to  me  when 
he  was  absent,  and  when  he  came  his 
smiles  and  genial  bearing  filled  me 
with  unreserved  delight' 

"  'And  while  I  grieved  his  absence 
in  melancholy  verse  expressive  of  my 
longing  for  him,  he  preferred  the  fav- 
ors of  a  Christian  wench  to  those  of 
Rome,  the  mistress  of  the  world !' 

"Dire  vengeance  occupied  his  fero- 
cious mind.  He  swore  that  he  would 
exterminate  the  whole  accursed  Christ- 
ian race;  that  he  would  search  for  the 
last  one  of  these  whimpering,  moan- 
ing, sniveling  vipers,  and  if  it  should 
take  the  light  of  burning  Rome  to  find 
him.  The  vermin  were  to  be  crushed 
forever  by  his  imperial  heel.  His  fe- 
rocity had  been  goaded  to  the  highest 
degree  of  intensity  and  it  knew  no 
bounds. 

"I  will  leave  a  scene  of  this  kind  to 
your  own  imagination,  to  picture  it  to 
yourselves  as  vividly  as  you  may 
wish,  because  it  is  difficult  for  me  to 
give  you  an  adequate  description  of  a 
tyrant  mad  in  his  fury.  My  early  edu- 
cation has  not  been  conducive  toward 
perfecting  me  in  drawing  mental  pic- 
tures of  horror  and  depravity. 

"I  will  pass  over  all  these  details 
very  quickly  and  take  up  at  once  the 
outcome  of  Nero's  rage. 

"  'Auriga  is  to  die.  He  is  to  be 
slowly  tortured  to  death  before  the 
eyes  of  Senoiande,  who  is  to  be  a  wit- 
ness to  the  pangs  and  the  pains  of  her 
lover  from  the  beginning  of  his  agony 
to  his  last  breath.  To  her,  however,  a 
punishment  worse  than  death  has  been 
dictated  by  imperial  decree.  She  is  to 
become  a  slave  of  the  lowest  order  of 
slaves,  an  inmate  of  the  fornix,  of  the 
vault  that  contains  living  death  in  its 
most  repulsive  form. 

"When  Auriga  was  informed  of  the 


decision  of  the  tribunal  he  was  over- 
come with  grief.  Not  that  he  feared 
death  with  all  its  tortures,  for  will- 
ingly would  he  lay  down  his  life  to 
save  that  of  Senoiande,  but  the  cruel 
decree  made  death  to  her  more  prefer- 
able than  life. 

"In  all  perplexities  we  begin  to 
think  intensely;  that  is,  we  search 
with  the  light  of  hope,  be  it  ever  so 
stunted  and  flickering,  for  some 
method  by  which  we  may  avoid  or 
overcome  the  threatening  avalanche. 

"Auriga  in  his  confinement  gave 
himself  to  such  thought,  and  the  end 
of  all  his  deliberation  was  one  conclu- 
sion. An  audience  with  Nero,  that 
was  it.  He  would  plead  to  him,  not 
for  his  life  but  for  her  death.  He 
would  humiliate  himself  before  the  ty- 
rant to  seek  a  favor.  He  had  never 
sought  one  before ;  favors  were  always 
granted  to  him  before  he  asked  them. 
But  now  he  would  ask  the  only  one; 
he  would  beg  of  Nero  to  let  Auriga 
and  Senoiande  die  together. 

"He  still  possessed  gold.  This  is  a 
very  peculiar  metal.  It  not  only 
shapes  itself  readily  into  trinkets  and 
ornaments,  but  it  also  lends  itself  to 
making  useful  articles.  For  instance, 
it  makes  the  best  kind  of  a  key.  A 
little  thin  key  of  gold  will  fit  any  lock, 
and  doors  will  open  to  this  instrument 
even  though  they  be  rodded  with  steel 
bars  as  thick  as  an  arm.  It  is  a  very 
precious  metal  this  yellow  gold.  It 
required  thirty  pieces  of  silver  to  be- 
tray the  Redeemer;  one  small  piece  of 
gold  would  have  done  the  same  thing. 

"Understand  me,  my  friends;  I  do 
not  wish  to  imply  that  in  the  hands  of 
the  righteous  gold  may  not  be  a  pre- 
cious metal,  indeed;  it  may  become  a 
medium  of  great  good  and  carry  bless- 
ings to  those  who  give  it  and  to  those 
who  accept  it.  It  depends  entirely  on 
the  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered  and  on 
the  mental  attitude  of  those  who  are 
willing  to  take  it. 

"Auriga's  gold  paved  the  way  to 
Nero's  court.  He  accomplished  that 
v/hich  he  desired,  to  be  permitted  to 
speak  once  more  to  his  august  master, 
his  one-time  imperial  companion,  and 


348 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


to  bid  him  farewell  forever. 

"Nero  would  not  deny  him  this  last 
request.  He  had  just  lost  Burrhus, 
one  who  had  been  very  close  to  him 
also,  and  this  death  somewhat  relaxed 
the  temper  of  his  hardened  soul. 

"Let  him  humble  himself  before 
me ;  it  will  give  me  the  gratification  of 
seeing  him  crouch  and  lick  the  dust, 
and  of  hearing  him  beg  miserably  for 
a  life  that  I  would  have  been  willing 
to  shelter  with  my  own  body,  had  the 
occasion  arisen.     Thus  Nero. 

"And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Auriga 
was  permitted  to  enter,  for  the  last 
time,  the  court  of  the  mighty  ruler  of 
the  Roman  empire. 

"It  visibly  affected  Nero,  the  cruel 
fiend,  to  see  before  him  and  at  his  feet 
the  former  companion  of  his  pleasures. 
The  love  he  had  borne  him  for  so  long 
had  not  been  entirely  obliterated  even 
by  this  act  which  Nero,  from  his  view- 
point, considered  the  blackest  of  trea- 
cheries. 

"Then  came  Auriga's  passionate 
plea  for  her.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
shield  himself.  In  a  fervent  state- 
ment he  declared  openly  his  faith  in 
the  suffering  Nazarene,  whose  teach- 
ings of  love  had  softened  the  atrophy 
of  his  heart;  and  he  told  the  Emperor 
and  his  court  that  he  had  found  at  last 
the  great  spiritual  stimulus  for  which 
his  soul  had  thirsted  during  many 
years  of  frivolity,  until  this  change 
came  upon  him  as  a  divine  revelation. 
He  admitted  his  affection  for  Senoi- 
ande,  whom  he  loved  more  than  all  else 
on  earth;  more  than  his  people,  more 
than  his  life  and  more  than  his  Cae- 
sar. 

"  'Her  God  is  my  God,  and  whither 
she  goeth  I  shall  go,  if  thou,  O,  Nero, 
wilt  not  hold  her  from  me.' 

"He  called  back  to  mind,  with  tears 
choking  his  voice,  their  friendship  of 
the  olden  days,  when  Nero,  himself  a 
boy,  cherished  a  tender  and  pure  af- 
fection, and  he  built  upon  this  the  hope 
that  the  emperor  would  grant  him  the 
only  favor  ever  asked,  the  one  last 
wish — to  let  them  die  together. 

"The  court  was  silent  and  in  deep 
thought.     The  culprit  had  pleaded — 


not  for  his  life,  but  for  the  death  of  a 
person  as  insignificant  as  a  house  fly, 
a  female,  who  under  any  other  circum- 
stance or  condition  would  have  met 
this  fate,  anyway. 

"Generosity  was  never  more  easily 
purchasable  than  by  granting  the  de- 
mand of  this  pleading  idiot,  who  asked 
as  a  favor  what  both  deserved  as  a 
punishment.  Let  him  have  her  and 
let  them  cross  the  Stygean  river  to- 
gether. Lamenting  misery  loves  com- 
pany ;  away  with  them  to  the  Tartarus. 
Grant  them  their  wish  in  thy  great 
humanity,  noble  Nero! 

"Nero,  unlike  himself,  sat  upon  his 
seat  of  state  resembling  a  statue.  If 
emotions  filled  his  stone  heart  at  that 
moment,  his  features  gave  no  indica- 
tion of  them.  His  ugly,  cruel  face  re- 
mained immobile  and  his  glassy  stare 
was  riveted  to  a  distant  point;  his 
flabby  cheeks  were  deathly  pale  and 
his  lips  compressed. 

"At  last  he  spoke,  but  the  tone  of  his 
voice  did  not  betoken  a  spark  of  sym- 
pathy. It  was  as  icy  as  his  exterior. 
His  words  were  as  cruel  javelins 
hurled  to  inflict  pain. 

"What  he  said  was  that  this  con- 
spirator had  betrayed  his  state.  His 
crime  had  been  weighed  in  a  balance 
by  a  duly  constituted  tribunal ;  he  had 
been  found  guilty  of  sedition  and  the 
death  sentence  had  been  imposed  upon 
him.  All  had  been  regular  and  the 
incident  ended. 

"The  case  of  this  traitor  did  not 
concern  the  girl;  her  life  was  not  in 
jeopardy;  may  she  live — within  her 
proper  environment — for  all  eternity. 

"Now  came  this  fallen  noble  and 
asked  that  she  die  with  him,  and — 
under  the  laws  of  Rome — that  cannot 
be. 

"After  being  silent  for  some  time, 
Nero  spoke  again  and  said — and  he 
said  it  slowly  and  deliberately,  as  if 
in  deep  thought: 

"  'But  it  is  my  imperial  prerogative 
to  recognize  this  case  from  another 
point  of  view  and  that  is — that  both 
may  live.' 

"  'Thus  have  I  cogitated :  it  lies 
within  my  power  to  let  him  die  or  to 


THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIRACLE 


349 


let  him  live,  and  neither  mental  incli- 
nation hath  as  yet  obtained  the  mastery 
over  the  other.  I  shall  therefore  abide 
by  the  deed  of  chance  to  make  a  de- 
cision that  I,  myself,  feel  unprepared 
to  render.' 

"Those  of  the  court  who  witnessed 
this  strange  behavior  of  their  emperor 
felt  intuitively  that  it  would  be  dan- 
gerous to  dwell  on  this  subject  any 
longer,  or  to  suggest  discussion,  and 
so  they  silently  acquiesced. 

"And  thus  it  all  came  to  pass.  Au- 
riga is  to  consider  his  person  a  stake 
to  be  gambled  for;  he  is  to  raffle  for 
his  life,  with  whom?  with  the  man  who 
executes  the  sentences  of  death,  as  an 
antagonist. 

"If  he  v/in  back  his  life — this  gift  of 
God  which  is  held  so  cheaply — he  may 
share  it  with  the  Christian  girl  under 
one  condition,  that  both  leave  Rome 
for  foreign  lands  forever.  If  he  lose, 
his  life  is  forfeited  to  the  State,  and 
the  tribunal's  sentence  is  to  be  exe- 
cuted in  all  its  diabolical  cruelty."  .  . 

"It  has  taken  some  time,  my  dear 
friends,  to  get  to  the  point  of  my  story, 
and  I  crave  pardon  for  wearying  you, 
but  it  seemed  necessary  to  me,  in  or- 
der to  make  the  lesson  an  attractive 
one,  to  dwell  briefly  on  the  characters 
involved,  and  also  on  their  environ- 
ment, which  may  have  been  incorrect- 
ly drawn  because  of  my  lack  of  knowl- 
edge in  historical  detail. 

"I  shall  rely  somewhat  on  my  own 
imagination  in  describing  to  you  a 
method  of  casting  dice  in  Rome  as  a 
state  function  to  which  the  public  had 
access.  The  cubes  then  in  use  were 
much  larger  than  those  in  the  custody 
of  the  keeper  of  the  inn  dedicated  to 
the  antlers  of  the  elk,  but  in  all  other 
respects  they  were  the  same." 

Jux  smiled  significantly. 

"They  were  put  into  an  urn,  which 
was  agitated  for  a  few  moments,  and 
were  then  spilled  from  above  into  a 
masonry  pit,  some  ten  feet  deep  and 
six  feet  in  diameter,  on  the  stone  floor 
of  which  they  rolled  about  until  they 
came  to  rest.  The  result  was  read 
from  the  upper  edge  of  the  pit,  which 
was  encircled  by  a  highly  ornamented 


stone  railing. 

"The  same  plan  of  procedure  was 
followed  in  this  case  that  you  have  so 
interestingly  described,  Jux,  in  the 
story  of  your  Satanic  friend.  The  pre- 
rogative of  the  first  throw  was  held  by 
the  state  official,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  the  highest  number  of  points 
shaken  at  one  single  cast  of  three  dice 
should  decide  the  question  of  the  life 
or  the  death  of  a  human  being. 

"The  events  preceding  the  ominous 
day  of  this  trial  by  chance  are  unneces- 
sary to  this  narrative. 

"Auriga's  heart  was  filled  with  joy- 
ous hope,  and  his  prayers,  combined 
with  those  of  the  pure  maiden  Senoi- 
ande,  were  fervent  and  frequent. 

"  'God  help  Thy  humble  servants  so 
that  they  may  be  permitted  to  continue 
to  labor  in  Thy  field;  to  bring  Thy 
heavenly  balsam  to  bleeding  wounds 
and  Thy  manna  to  those  who  are  hun- 
gry of  soul.  But  let  Thy  will  be  done. 
If  death  is  to  be  the  sequel,  then  give 
us  strength  and  fortitude  to  meet  it 
for  Thine  own  sake,  and  take  us  to 
Thy  heavenly  garden  and  plant  these 
wilted  flowers  in  Thy  field  of  eternal 
peace.' 

"The  sombre  day  arrived  and  the 
solemn  hour  brought  the  participants 
to  the  pit  that  yawned  upon  them  like 
an  open  sepulchre. 

"Many  of  the  morbid  had  gathered 
there  to  witness  this  struggle  between 
a  fair  youth  on  one  side  and  horrible, 
grinning  death  on  the  other.  It  prom- 
ised an  interesting  excitement. 

"There  were  few  preliminaries.  The 
chief  executioner  of  the  tribunal's  de- 
cisions prepared  the  dice  for  the  first 
throw.  They  were  placed  within  the 
urn,  and  after  rattling  them  about,  he 
cast  them  to  the  floor  below.  They 
rolled  about  for  a  few  moments  and 
finally  came  to  rest,  each  with  its  six 
uppermost — just  as  in  your  case,  Jux 
— eighteen. 

"The  suspense  depicted  on  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  prisoner  gave  way  to 
an  expression  of  hopeless  woe  and 
despondency.  The  hope  that  had 
buoyed  up  his  spirit  left  him  for  the 
moment,  and  he  felt  like  one  stunned 


350 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


and  stricken  to  the  earth.  Defeat,  tor- 
ture and  the  grave  for  him;  and  for 
her  .  .  . 

"The  probability  of  casting  the  same 
number  was  so  far  removed  from  him 
that  it  seemed  needless  to  make  the 
effort.  But  while  grief,  prosternation 
and  bitter  disappointment  were  filling 
his  heart,  his  soul  was  suddenly  quick- 
ened by  that  implicit  faith  in  an  al- 
mighty power ;  and  the  thought  flashed 
upon  him,  kindled  by  a  new  spark  of 
hope: — the  same  throw  and  we  will 
try  again — to  win. 

"The  dice,  having  been  recovered, 
were  replaced  within  the  urn  which 
was  handed  to  Auriga.  He  held  it  to 
his  heart  for  one  brief  moment,  and 
with  a  fervent  prayer  he  threw  the 
dice  violently  into  the  pit  below. 

"And  here  happened  the  great  mir- 
acle. 

"Two  of  the  dice  rolled  about  the 
stone  floor  and  came  to  rest  with  their 
sixes  uppermost;  the  third  one,  by  rea- 
son of  the  violence  with  which  they 
had  been  thrown,  was  cleft  in  twain, 
in  such  wise  as  to  leave  a  six  and  a 
one,  and  these  two  numbers  now  set- 
tled themselves  into  position  along- 
side of  the  two  sixes  already  lying 
there.  So  that  there  were  in  reality 
nineteen,  three  sixes  and  a  one. 

"When  this  remarkable  coincidence, 
as  it  was  called,  was  brought  to  Nero's 
ears,  it  must  have  softened  his  stone 
heart  for  the  moment.  He  said  stern- 
ly :  'Auriga  hath  won.  Nero  is  beaten.' 

"Now,  my  good  friends,  you  will 
probably  adhere  strictly  to  your  view 
of  such  things,  and  you  will  call  an 
occurrence  of  this  kind  a  coincidence, 
but  I  shall  cling  to  my  belief  in  a  di- 
vine intercession,  and  I  want  to  im- 
press upon  your  minds  this  great  les- 
son: that  if  it  be  God's  wish  to  have 
recourse  to  a  miracle,  it  lies  within 
His  power  to  do  so  without  violating 
a  single  law  of  nature  about  which  you 
are  always  concerning  yourselves  so 
seriously  and  know  so  little.  These 
laws  are  His  laws  and  He  will  not 
break  them;  on  the  contrary,  He  will 
substantiate  them  by  the  numerous 
miracles  wrought  in  His  infinite  wis- 


dom on  every  day  of  our  lives  for  the 
benefit  of  His  children  whom  He 
loves. 

"And  as  for  you,  my  dear  friends, 
keep  a  clean  and  sane  mind  in  a  clean 
and  healthy  body,  and — leave  the  rest 
to  Him." 

•S*  *i»  *l»  5p 

After  Father  Dimanche  had  com- 
pleted his  narrative  there  was  neither 
applause  nor  visible  sign  of  approba- 
tion, but  a  long  silence  indicated  that 
the  story,  which  he  had  drawn  extem- 
poraneously from  his  imagination,  had 
not  failed  in  impressing  his  hearers. 

No  one  laughed;  the  frame  of  mind 
at  the  moment  appeared  not  to  be  pro- 
pitious to  boisterous  humor. 

The  Father  laughingly  broke  the 
stillness  himself  by  saying : 

"Now,  landlord,  after  this  long  story 
of  mine  with  which  I  have  afflicted  our 
friends,  I,  too,  would  like  something 
to  refresh  my  parched  palate.  A  glass 
of  your  renowned  Burgundy  will  find 
within  me  a  most  thankful  apprecia- 
tion. 

"Come,  Dry-dock,  let  us  enjoy  a 
glass  of  wet  wine ;  your  dry  wines  sug- 
gest to  me  the  barrenness  of  a  desert 
without  an  oasis. 

"And  why  so  silent,  my  friends? 
What  is  the  matter  with  you,  friend 
Naphtali;  have  you  taken  cold?  Your 
eyes  appear  to  be  running." 

The  astute  Naphtali  replied,  with  a 
pronounced  disappointment  in  his  tone, 
and  accompanying  his  remarks  by  cer- 
tain inimitable  gesticulations  peculiar 
to  his  own : 

"I  taught  I  vould  learn  about  mir- 
acles someting;  but  I  vont  to  tell  you, 
Fadder  Sunday,  dot  I  am  shust  as  wise 
before  as  I  vas  now." 

That  broke  the  lull,  and  all  seemed 
to  desire  to  talk  at  once;  finally,  they 
separated  into  groups  of  three  or  four, 
seating  themselves  around  small 
tables  to  indulge  in  an  individual  dis- 
cussion of  the  evening's  entertainment 
which  had  given  them  so  much  food 
for  thought. 

Later  on,  Jux  complimented  Father 
Sunday,  and  in  the  name  of  the  assem- 
bled citizens  of  the  free  State  of  Cali- 


THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIRACLE 


351 


fornia,  he  thanked  him  for  his  kind- 
ness and  for  his  interest  in  their  daily 
affairs.  He  admitted  gracefully  that 
in  this  particular  argument  he  had  been 
worsted. 

"But,  there  is  one  thing  I  want  you 
to  tell  me,  Father  Sunday,  and  that  is 
this :  where  did  you  ever  learn  so  much 
about  dice  as  to  know  that  the  six  and 
the  one  are  immediately  opposite  to 
one  another?  Even  my  rather  intri- 
cate technical  knowledge  of  the  vari- 
ous apparatus  of  this  kind,  as  depos- 
ited in  the  archives  of  the  Elkhorn  Sa- 
loon, never  led  me  as  deeply  into  de- 
tails as  that." 

"It  shows  you,"  answered  the 
Father,  "that  I  am  not  a  dreamer." 

The  end  of  the  evening's  gathering 
had  arrived,  and  the  adjournment  was 
general.  A  post-pioneer  town  was 
fast  asleep  at  ten  post  meridiem.  The 
"better  halves"  were  at  home  and 
alone,  and  it  was  dangerous  for  the 
"lesser  halves"  to  extend  the  absence 
from  the  respective  nuclei  of  their  do- 
mestic felicities  beyond  a  certain  hour. 
On  several  occasions  when  this  had 
happened,  the  more  determined  ones 
cf  the  post-pioneer  wives  appeared  in 
person,  under  the  leadership  of  the 
"equation  of  time,"  and  like  the  wo- 
men of  Weinsberg  in  1140,  took  away 
their  tardy  treasures  by  some  rather 
energetic  muscularity. 

And  now  the  guests  of  the  inn  dis- 
persed, and  it  did  not  take  them  long 
to  find  the  modest  little  homes  that 
sheltered  and  protected  their  families. 
They  walked  through  the  lonesome 
streets,  in  groups  at  first  and  then 
alone,  until  one  after  another  had  dis- 
appeared. 

But  Jux,  the  dreamer,  he  remained 
out  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  alone 
with  it  in  meditation,  until  sleep  should 
take  him  to  his  abode  later  on. 

It  was  then  somewhat  after  ten 
Vclock  on  a  cool,  clear  night  in  the 
early  January,  Anno  Domini,  1867. 
There  was  no  moon,  but  the  sky  was 
brilliant.  The  air  was  so  clear  that 
the  heavens  appeared  to  be  ablaze 
with  countless  stars. 

Look,  gentle  dreamer  Jux,  this  dome 


of  sparkling  resplendence  covered  an- 
cient Rome,  with  all  these  precious 
jewels  in  position  as  you  see  them 
now. 

Let  us  gaze  at  it  in  wonderment,  and 
let  it  inspire  us  all  with  its  overpower- 
ing grandeur. 

While  Pegasus  droops  its  wings  be- 
hind the  western  mountain  range,  the 
roaring  Lyon  is  slowly  appearing  in 
the  east.  The  northern  heavens  are 
somewhat  obscured  by  a  range  of  low 
hills  on  which  the  forefathers  of  the 
hamlet  sleep  in  hallowed  earth.  Look- 
ing in  that  direction  and  to  the  left, 
immediately  over  God's  acre,  there 
stands  the  symbol  of  California,  the 
great  Bear,  emblazoned  in  lines  of 
burning  gold  on  the  eternal  sky. 

And  immediately  opposite,  how 
beautiful  the  southern  canopy.  On 
such  a  January  night  a  diadem  of  the 
most  brilliant  jewels  embraces  like  a 
mighty  aureola  a  part  of  that  glorious 
galaxy  which  is  stunning  to  the  senses 
in  its  expansive  display  of  magnifi- 
cence. 

Starting  with  Capella  (the  gem  of 
Auriga),  the  eye  seeks  involuntarily 
the  circular  sweep  downwards  to  Cas- 
tor and  Pollux,  to  Procyon  and  to  the 
great  burning  jewel  Sirius;  following 
the  river  Eridanus  to  Cetus  the  whale, 
the  curve  ascends  through  Aries  to 
Perseus  in  the  Milky  Way.  And  with- 
in this  embrasure  shine  out  its  deni- 
zens, the  daughters  of  Atlas : 

"The  bashful,  twinkling  Pleiades 
Leading  the  weeping  Hyades," 

while  below,  in  all  his  majestic  splen- 
dor blazons  forth  the  great  Orion,  the 
gigantic  huntsman,  the  son  of  Neptune. 
One  look  into  the  depth  of  such  a 
sky,  and  the  over-awed  human  mind 
will  realize  the  insignificance  of  mortal 
man,  and  with  deep  emotion  it  will 
awaken  to  a  solemn  recognition  of  this 
fact:  that,  as  in  the  smallest  flowret 
that  our  feet  may  crush  on  earth  below, 
so  there  above  us  in  all  its  vastness,  it 
lies,  spread  out  for  all  eternity — the 
Miracle. 

(The  End.) 


Sunk 


By   Ralph   N.  Varden 


SHE  WAS  an  old  battleship  whose 
day  of  power  was  long  past.  At 
the  great  naval  review  held  to 
celebrate  the  sixtieth  year  of 
Queen  Victoria's  reign,  you  might  have 
seen  her  in  one  of  the  proudest  sta- 
tions of  the  Fleet ;  but  when  the  Great 
War  broke  out  hers  was  the  least  of 
the  Battle  Squadrons,  and  she  herself 
a  neglected  unit  at  the  very  tail  of 
British  Sea  Power,  almost  ready  for 
the  ship-breaker's  yard.  War  brought 
her  to  life  again  and  to  a  glorious  end. 
Being  one  of  the  ships  concerned  in 
the  much  discussed  Test  Mobilization 
of  the  Third  Fleet  which  took  the  place 
of  Naval  Maneuvres  in  1914,  she  was 
unusually  ready  when  war  broke  out: 
full  complement  on  board,  guns'  crews 
less  rusty  than  usual,  and  showing  a 
remarkable  turn  of  speed  for  a  lady 
of  her  years,  though  slow  as  a  dray 
compared  with  her  younger  sisters.  In 
company  with  others  of  her  age  and 
kind  she  made  part  of  that  strange 
squadron,  a  motley  of  ancient  and 
modern,  headed  by  the  greatest  ship 
in  the  world,  which  won  renown  at  the 
Dardanelles.  Written  off  by  the  cal- 
lous Lords  Commissioners  of  the  Ad- 
miralty as  "of  no  military  signifi- 
cance," she  yet  told  her  tale  of  shell- 
ing sound  and  fury  to  the  Turkish  en- 
emy in  such  a  fashion  as  to  make  it 
signify  some  considerable  damage  to 
him,  and  to  show  that  even  the  tail  of 
our  Sea  Power  had  a  good  deal  of 
nasty  sting  left  in  it. 

One  morning  in  May,  1915,  she  en- 
tered the  Straits,  the  last  of  five  bat- 
tleships in  line  ahead  told  off  to  sup- 
port an  advance  of  the  troops  on  shore. 
With  their  guns  trained  on  the  Euro- 
pean side  they  turned  their  backs,  as 
it  were,  upon  the  Turkish  batteries  on 
the  Asiatic  shore,  and  when  the  latter 
began  to  bother  them  our  ship  was  or- 
dered to  take  station  somewhere  off 


Kum  Kale  and  enfilade  the  Turkish  po- 
sition with  her  12-inch  guns.  Steadily 
ail  day  the  booming  of  the  guns 
sounded  across  the  water  and  went 
echoing  up  the  Hellespont:  and,  as  if 
to  prove  that  this  was  something  more 
than  Battle  Practice  at  last,  a  spout 
of  water  would  rise  now  and  then  not 
a  cable's  length  ahead  and  others  of 
the  same  round  about.  Rarely,  and 
even  then  without  great  effect,  did  en- 
emy shells  fall  aboard;  but  they  came 
near  enough  to  keep  the  ship's  com- 
pany awake  and  lively  all  day.  In 
the  soft  evening  light  the  guns  of  this 
enfilading  ship  looked  like  long  gray 
pencils,  but  where  the  lead  should 
have  been  there  came  ever  and  anon 
a  red  tongue  that  flashed  and  van- 
ished :  and  after  the  red  tongue  a  great 
cloud:  and  after  the  cloud  a  voice  of 
thunder:  and  far  up  the  Asiatic  shore 
the  shell  found  its  mark.  Then  sunset 
came  and  put  an  end  to  the  noisy  day's 
work;  and  the  ship  took  her  night  sta- 
tion under  the  lea  of  the  European 
shore,  put  out  her  torpedo  netting 
anew  like  a  great  steel  skirt,  and  lay 
awaiting  the  return  of  day.  Darkness 
gathered  about  her  with  that  sudden 
descent  which  surprises  men  from  the 
north  used  to  the  long  twilight  of  sum- 
mer, and  long  before  midnight  land 
and  sea  were  lost  to  view  under  the 
heavy  cloak  of  a  black  starless  sky. 

The  officer  of  the  watch,  a  Royal 
Naval  Reserve  lieutenant  from  the 
Orkneys,  peered  into  the  night  and  lis- 
tened to  the  low  gurgle  and  murmur  of 
the  tide  running  strongly  through  the 
torpedo  netting  and  making  the  ship 
swing  slowly  to  her  anchor.  And  as 
he  listened  an  old  Orcadian  rhyme 
came  into  his  head: 

"Eynhallow  frank,  Eynhallow  free, 
Eynhallow  stands  in  the  middle  of  the 
sea; 


SUNK 


353 


With  a  roarin'  roost  on  every  side, 
Eynhallow  stands  in  the  middle  of  the 
tide." 

So  he  stood :  in  the  middle  of  an- 
other tide  with  a  roarin'  roost  on  every 
side,  and  a  ship  under  his  feet  which 
seemed  as  firm  as  the  Eynhallow  rock 
itself.  Little  did  he  think  that  before 
dawn  she  would  prove  but  a  frail  ref- 
uge. As  little  did  he  realize  that  the 
campaign  on  which  he  was  engaged 
was  but  the  latest  link  in  a  long  chain 
of  stirring  events  that  had  made  the 
Hellespont  famous  from  the  most  dis- 
tant times.  Had  he  been  of  a  reflec- 
tive turn  of  mind  he  might  have  con- 
jured up  before  him  the  whole  match- 
less pageant  of  history  that  lies  folded 
in  those  narrow  waters :  the  Trojan 
scene :  the  oft-repeated  passage  of  that 
great  sea-river  by  conquerors  from 
East  and  West:  the  glory  of  Byzan- 
tium and  its  decay:  the  prowess  and 
cruelty  of  the  Ottoman  Turks :  and  all 
the  lore  of  those  waters  on  ancient 
memory.  But  he  was  a  simple  sea- 
man from  the  merchant  service,  drawn 
into  the  service  of  the  King  at  war, 
and  no  such  high  historic  thoughts 
came  to  distract  him  from  the  duties 
of  his  watch. 

Presently  he  was  joined  by  another 
officer  who  come  up  from  below  for  a 
breath  of  night  air.  They  talked  to- 
gether for  a  while,  recalling  the  inci- 
dents of  the  day's  work,  speculating 
upon  the  old  theme  of  Ships  vs.  Forts, 
pitying  the  "poor  devils  ashore"  who 
were  never  out  of  fire,  and  wondering 
when  Achi  Baba  would  fall.  They 
talked  "shop"  because  there  was  noth- 
ing else  to  talk  about;  and  though  the 
subjects  never  varied  they  never 
seemed  to  lose  their  zest.  In  every 
ward-room  of  the  motley  fleet  assem- 
bled round  the  snout  of  the  Gallipoli 
Peninsula,  the  same  kind  of  talk  might 
be  heard,  varied  a  little  in  each  ship, 
and  alwavs  flavored  with  the  expres- 
sive service  slang  so  beloved  and  so 
little  understood  by  the  Gentlemen  of 
the  Press  who  accompanied  them.  The 
officer  of  the  watch  and  his  companion 
continued  their  conversation     in     low 


tones  for  a  while,  and  then  stood  for  a 
moment  silent.  With  a  "Good  night: 
I'm  going  to  turn  in,"  the  latter  had  set 
his  foot  on  the  topmost  rail  of  the  steel 
ladder  and  was  about  to  descend  when 
2  sudden  exclamation  arrested  him. 
He  turned. 

"What's  that?"  said  the  officer  of 
the  watch  in  a  sharp  whisper. 

"Where?" 

"Over  there,"  he  pointed  to  the  shore 
on  the  port  side. 

"I  can't  see  a  thing." 

They  strained  their  eyes,  peering 
out  into  the  night.  They  listened  in- 
tently, but  heard  nothing  except  the 
murmuring  tide  now  sounding  its  eerie 
accompaniment  to  the  inaudible  move- 
ment out  of  sight.  They  strained 
their  ears;  but  neither  sight  nor  hear- 
ing but  some  other  uncanny  sense  was 
awake  in  them  hinting  of  something 
about  to  happen. 

The  officer  of  the  watch  spoke 
again : 

"I  can't  see  a  thing  and  I  can't  hear 
anything;  but  I  swear  there's  some- 
thing moving  out  there."  He  pointed 
again  to  the  European  shore. 

"Troops,  perhaps?" 

"Can't  be;  we'd  have  been  warned." 

They  waited  again  in  silence.  How 
long  they  stood  tense,  neither  could 
afterwards  say:  each  second  was  a 
long  agony  of  suspense.  The  eddying 
tide  whispered  and  bubbled  beneath 
them.  A  faint  stirring  of  the  night  air 
caressed  their  faces.  But  to  their 
anxious  questions  no  answer  came.  In 
the  deep  shadow  under  the  land  there 
was  a  secret,  holding  life  or  death  per- 
haps, a  moving  threat  hidden  in  the 
night?  But  what  it  was?  or  whence? 
or  why?  they  could  not  tell. 

Suddenly  the  officer  of  the  watch 
clutched  his  companion's  arm. 

"A  destroyer.    Look!" 

Just  where  a  gully  dipped  to  the 
sea  there  was  a  patch  where  land  and 
water  met  that  was  faintly  luminous. 
It  was  not  light:  merely  less  black 
than  the  rest:  but  the  contrast  was 
enough  to  give  the  eye  an  impression 
of  light.  With  bursting  pulses  the 
watch-keeper  saw  a  long,  low,  black 


354 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


shape  pass  stealthily  across  the  patch. 

"Shall  I  challenge?  It  may  be  one 
of  our  'Beagles'  coming  back  from  the 
Narrows.  They  went  up  towards  Cha- 
nak,  two  of  them,  after  dinner.  I  saw 
them." 

"No;  it  can't  be.  They'd  never 
come  like  that.  You've  had  no  signal 
from  the  Flagship?" 

"No." 

"Then  it's  der  Tag  for  us,  old  man ! 
Keep  your  eye  on  him,  and  I'll  tell  the 
skipper.  You'd  better  pass  the  word 
foi  'Action  Stations'  to  the  port  bat- 
tery. We  must  be  quick  about  it,  and 
quiet;  otherwise  our  number's  up." 

He  went  to  rouse  the  captain.  The 
officer  of  the  watch  made  his  prepara- 
tions, watched  his  orders  being  swiftly 
and  almost  noiselessly  carried  out,  and 
turned  again  to  peer  through  the  dark- 
ness. Two  minutes  passed.  He  in- 
flated his  "Gieve,"  and  as  he  tucked 
away  the  tube,  a  faint  splash  was 
heard  in  the  darkness  away  on  the 
port-beam. 

"God!    A  torpedo,"  he  exclaimed. 

He  waited  for  the  torpedo  to  strike 
— another  long  suspense:  but  within 
thirty  seconds  the  splash  was  an- 
swered by  a  roar  from  the  4-inch  port 
battery  of  his  own  ship.  Tongues  of 
flame  leapt  from  the  muzzles,  lighting 
up  the  night,  and  the  shells  whistled 
to  their  all  but  invisible  mark.  But 
before  they  could  fire  another  round, 
the  torpedo  struck.  The  ship  quiv- 
ered, a  tremor  running  through  every 
plate  and  rivet:  her  stern  shivered 
like  the  hind-quarters  of  a  dog  coming 
out  of  water.  Then  she  was  heaved 
upwards  by  some  monstrous  power 
beneath.  A  great  spout  of  water  rose, 
and  a  great  flame  leapt  out  of  the 
ship's  belly  with  a  deafening  roar, 
sending  its  licking  tongues  high  in  the 
midnight  sky.  And  all  this  was  sim- 
ultaneous: the  quiver,  the  heave,  the 
spout,  and  the  flame  were  all  blended 
in  one  vast,  hot,  terrifying  chaos.  A 
second  explosion;  followed,  rending  the 
ship  to  her  very  vitals.  Guns,  boats, 
men,  all  were  flung  into  the  air  like 
leaves  in  a  whirlwind:  one  of  the 
steamboats  was  seen  spinning  like  a 


blazing  top  a  hundred  feet  up  in  the 
air.  The  great  ship  herself  reeled  over 
to  port,  hung  awhile  with  her  decks 
steep  aslant,  and  then  plunged  with  a 
terrible  hiss  and  roar  to  the  bottom. 
The  spot  where  she  had  been  was 
thick  with  men  and  debris,  the  awful 
flotsam  of  a  torpedoed  battleship  now 
lit  up  by  a  searchlight's  occasional 
gleam.  The  risk  to  other  ships  was 
too  great  at  first  to  permit  anything 
more  than  a  momentary  and  fitful  use 
of  their  welcome  beams  by  the  de- 
stroyers and  auxiliary  craft  hastening 
to  the  rescue.  Death  might  still  lurk 
in  the  dark  corners  of  the  land  on 
either  side.  And  so,  until  the  screen- 
ing patrols  had  swept  the  strait,  a 
wholesome  caution  shrouded  the  life- 
saving  operations  in  gloom.  Even 
without  the  pall  of  darkness  the  night 
was  eerie  enough.  The  cries  of  the 
injured  men  suffering  agonies  in  the 
ice  cold  water  rang  hideously  through 
the  still  air;  and  though  the  work  of 
rescue  was  well  and  quickly  done  as 
the  picket  boats  and  trawlers  nosed 
their  way  about,  death  was  too  often 
too  quick  for  them;  and  of  those  that 
lived,  even  with  all  the  dispatch  and 
skill  of  the  rescuers,  many  a  survivor 
suffered  the  tortures  of  the  damned  in 
a  desperate  struggle  with  the  freezing 
cold  and  the  still  more  freezing  fear 
that  in  the  confusion  and  darkness  he 
would  not  be  picked  up. 

Two  hours  later  the  last  search-light 
had  swept  the  eddying  surface,  the  last 
picket  boat  had  returned.  The  sudden 
danger  had  passed,  leaving  a  wreck  in 
its  track;  and  the 

"Waters   of   Asia,  westward  beating 

waves 
Of  estuaries,    and     mountain-warded 

straits, 
Whose  solitary  beaches  long  had  lost 
The  ashen  glimmer  of  the  dying  day, 
Listened  in  darkness  to  their  own  lone 

sound 
Moving  about  the  shores  of  sleep  .  ." 

II 

The  following  evening  four  officers 
sat  at  a  bridge  table  in  the  deck 
smoking  room  of  an  auxiliary  lying 


SUNK  355 

in  Mudros  harbor.    A  burly  merchant  wore  the  tweeds  of  a  war  correspond- 

captain,  wearing  the  woven  stripes  of  ent,  who  had  doubtless  exacted  "copy" 

a  lieutenant  commander  in  the  R.  N.  R.  as  interest  on  the  loan  of  his  clothes; 

— the  "tea-cosy"  decoration,  as  a  face-  and  the  rest  of  them,  in  various  ways, 

tious  merchant  skipper  once  called  it;  completed  the  picture  of  incongruity, 

his  chief  engineer,  a  good     Scot,  in  But  for  all  that  they     had     passed 

great  demand  all  over  the  harbor  for  through  one  of  the  greatest  ordeals  of 

his  inexhaustible  stock  of     yarns;  a  war,  they  showed  but  little  sign  of 

lieutenant  commander,  R.  N.,  rescued  strain  or  fatigue,  and  only  asked  whe- 

ten  days  before  from  a  torpedoed  bat-  ther  they  might  have   something  to 

tleship,  and  now  awaiting  "disposal";  smoke  and  whether  they  could  write 

and  a  King's  messenger  in  the  uniform  home.     Their   needs  were    supplied ; 

of  the  Volunteer  Reserve — as     well-  and  the  skipper  repeated  his  question : 

mixed  a  foursome  as  ever  played  a  "Come  on  and  tell  us  what  it's  like 

hand.     The  call  of  war  had  brought  being  torpedoed." 

them  together  from  their  vocations  of  "It's  always  the  same,"  broke  in  the 

peace  and  had  dumped  them  tempor-  lieutenant-commander    at    the    card- 

arily  in  the  good  ship  Fauvette,  which  table.    "A  frightful  din :  and  a  bit  of 

was  wont  in  happier  times  to  ply  a  a  shake  an'  a  heave,  and  then  you're 

busy  trade  between  London  and  Bor-  in  the  water.    Your  'Gieve'  does  the 

deaux.     They  had  hardly     dealt  the  rest.    That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

cards  for  a   second  game     when     a  "/  wish  to  God  it  was,"  said  a  new 

movement  on  deck  disturbed     them,  hollow  voice  at  the  door.     "I  was  on 

and  before  they  could  rise  to  ascertain  watch  when  the  damned  thing  struck 

the  cause  a  troupe  of  strangely  clad  us,  and  I  was  in  the  water  among  the 

youngsters  appeared  at  the  door.  bodies  for  a  hell  of  a  time ;  and  if  that's 

"May  we  come  in,  sir?"  said  one  of  all  you  know  when  your  packet  sank, 
them,  who  was,  in  sober  truth,  a  "thing  you're  lucky.  Damned  lucky!"  he  re- 
ef shreds  and  patches."  peated  slowly  in  a  dull  voice. 

"Make  yourselves  at  home,  boys,"  The  figure  in  the  doorway  was  at 

said  the  skipper,  waving     a     chubby  once  familiar  and  strange,  like  that  of  a 

hand  round  the  room.  strong  man  grown  suddenly  wizened. 

A  signal  man  entered  with  his  pad,  He  was  visibly  shrunken;  and  as  he 

and  handed  it  to  the  skipper.  walked  unsteadily  across  the  room  and 

"Gad!  Of  course,"  he  cried,  "you  sat  down  on  a  swivel  seat,  he  talked 
are  the  stowaways  we've  been  expect-  continuously  but  almost  incoherently, 
ing  all  day.  Well,  what's  it  like  be-  half  to  himself  and  half  to  the  watch- 
ing torpedoed?"  ing  group.    The  contrast  between  him 

There  was  silence.     None  of  these  and  the  unscathed    midshipmen    was 

midshipmen    was    adept    at    public  very  strong  and  unexpected.    He  and 

speech  in  the  presence  of     unknown  they  had  come  from  the  same  ship, 

superiors.     So  for  the    moment    the  passed  through  the  same  night  of  alarm 

skipper's    question    remained    unan-  and  been  hauled  out  of  the  same  cold 

swered.    As  they  settled  in  a  group  in  waters  by  the  same  rescuing  hands, 

the  corner  of  the  smoking  room  they  The  experience  had  set  no  mark  upon 

presented  a  fine  study  in  motley.  Every  the  boys :  yet  in  the  grown  man  it  had 

stitch  on  their  backs  had  been  bor-  wrought  such  a  sea-change  as  made  one 

rowed  from  willing  lenders.    One  wad-  almost  fear  to  look  at  him.    His  tanned 

died  in  the  blue  overalls  of  a  benevo-  cheeks  were  still  brown,  but  it  was  a 

lent   but  too   burly   friend;     another  bloodless  tint;     and    the    lines    that 

looked  like  an  example  of  record  pro-  seamed  his  face  gave  him  a  sepulchral 

motion,  for  there  were     three     gold  look.    His  eyes  alone  were  bright — too 

stripes  half  concealed  under  the  fold-  bright.    The  softer  quality  that  makes 

ed  cuff  of  a  sleeve  that  was  a  hand's-  the  human  eye  so  expressive  was  gone, 

length  too  long  for  the  wearer;  a  third  and  there  remained  a  vivid  stare  as 


356 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


of  eyes  straining  to  see  the  invisible. 
There  he  was,  in  our  company,  but  cer- 
tainly not  of  it;  for  his  brain  was  work- 
ing and  wandering  whither  we  could 
not  follow,  and  the  words  that  came 
from  his  lips  were  the  half-automatic 
expression  of  an  absent  mind.  "Gimme 
a  cig'ret,"  he  said  with  the  husky, 
slurred  articulation  of  a  drunken  man: 
and  he  sat  puffing  and  biting  the  end  of 
it  into  pulp.  Then  he  would  grip  the 
short  arms  of  his  seat,  start  up  and  look 
downwards  between  his  knees,  and 
then  sit  down  again  with  a  look  of 
shamed  annoyance.  He  was  clearly 
struggling  hard  to  get  away  from  some- 
thing, and  we  were  powerless  to  help 
him. 

We  tried  to  distract  him.  The  stew- 
ard brought  a  tray  loaded  with  sand- 
wiches and  drinks,  which  he  refused. 
We  were  getting  a  little  uneasy  about 
our  strange  guest;  the  doctor  whom 
the  skipper  had  sent  for  was  long  in 
coming,  and  each  renewal  of  our  ef- 
forts to  divert  the  patient  failed.  We 
gave  him  the  "Bystander"  and  "Punch" 
but  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  Bairns- 
father  and  George  Morrow;  we  tried  to 
draw  him  into  a  game  at  the  table — 
poker,  bridge,  patience,  anything — but 
he  remained  immovable. 

At  last  the  doctor,  a  thick  set  beard- 
ed Fleet  Surgeon,  came  and  took 
charge,  and  reversed  our  procedure. 
Where  we  had  been  gentle,  almost 
timid,  he  was  rough.  Where  we  had 
coaxed,  he  ordered.  Where  we  had 
fumbled  and  faltered  with  the  unknown 
he  acted  with  the  confidence  of  experi- 
ence. After  a  rapid  examination  and 
cross-examination,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  drew  more  from  his  victim  in 
five  minutes  than  we  had  extracted  in 
an  hour  and  more,  he  hustled  him  be- 
low and  packed  him  into  a  bunk  with 
various  aids  to  sleep  which  he  did  not 
specify.  Then  the  Fleet  Surgeon  re- 
turned to  the  smoking  room. 

"You're  a  bright  lot,"  he  said :  "why 
didn't  you  put  him  to  bed  at  once  ?  He's 
absolutely  done :  but  if  he  can  sleep  he 
will  be  all  right  soon.  Never  seen  a 
man  quite  so  worn  out." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he's  only 


tired?  He  looked  like  going  off  his 
chump." 

"So  would  you  if  your  nerves  had 
been  living  on  shocks  without  any  solid 
support.  What  he  went  through  has 
got  such  a  hold  on  him  that  until  he's 
had  a  good  twenty-four  hours'  sleep  as 
a  preliminary  and  a  course  of  feeding 
up  and  regular  sleep  without  any  work 
to  do  after  that,  he  won't  quite  know 
where  he  is.  But  I  bet  he's  sitting  up 
and  taking  nourishment  this  time  to- 
morrow. He  was  on  the  verge  of  be- 
ing a  bad  case,  but  we've  caught  him 
just  in  time." 

The  doctor  was  right.  Our  patient 
slept  till  midday  next  day,  took  a  light 
meal  and  slept  again  till  sunset.  Then 
he  awoke  and  dined;  but  in  an  hour 
he  was  asleep  again.  Clearly  he  had 
been  put  to  bed  at  the  psychological 
moment.  By  the  following  afternoon 
he  was  taking  the  air  in  a  deck  chair, 
and  ready — perhaps  a  little  too  ready 
for  his  health — to  talk  about  the  sink- 
ing of  his  ship. 

When  the  explosion  occurred  he  was 
thrown  clear  of  the  ship  on  the  star- 
board side.  He  was  half-stunned,  but 
his  swimming  waistcoat  kept  him 
afloat.  The  rest  must  be  told  in  his 
own  words : 

"I  don't  know  how  long  it  was  be- 
fore I  realized  where  I  was :  but  it  was 
long  enough  to  let  me  get  pretty  cold. 
You  know  what  the  water's  like.  I 
picked  up  two  men  close  by  me,  still 
swimming,  but  pretty  nearly  done. 
Neither  of  them  had  belts  on.  One,  I 
knew  by  his  voice,  was  a  ward  room 
steward.  They  hung  on  to  me  for  a 
while,  the  "Gieve"  keeping  us  all  afloat 
so  long  as  we  made  a  bit  of  an  effort 
ourselves.  We  could  hear  the  picket- 
boats  going  about,  and  sometimes  a 
searchlight  picked  us  up;  but  nothing 
came  near  enough  to  rescue  us.  And 
before  long  one  of  the  fellows  hanging 
on  to  me  began  to  groan  and  his  teeth 
chattered,  I  told  him  to  keep  moving : 
but  it  was  no  good.  He  slipped  off, 
and  I  never  saw  him  again.  That  was 
bad  enough;  but  when  the  other  fel- 
low's teeth  began  the  same  game,  I 
got  the  creeps;  but  I  couldn't     save 


IN  THE  REALM  OF  BOOKLAND 


357 


him,  and  after  a  few  moments  he  went 
too. 

It  was  a  ghastly  feeling.  The 
sudden  silence,  and  the  cold  creeping 
right  into  me  made  me  want  to  give  up 
too,  when  suddenly  I  thought  I  had 
touched  bottom.  I  tried  to  walk,  but 
the  thing  I  touched  slipped  away,  and 
I  realized  with  a  shudder  what  it  was. 
And  after  that  I  swear  I  must  have 
touched  a  dozen  of  them  before  I  was 
picked  up.    That's  what  knocked  me 


out.    But,  I  say,  let's  chuck  it.    I  must 
get  away  from  it." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 
The  old  troubled  look  came  back:  and 
for  the  moment  I  could  see  that,  like 
Orestes  pursued  by  the  Furies,  his 
spirit  was  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of 
the  men  whose  bodies  his  feet  had 
touched  in  the  dark  waters  of  the 
Hellespont.  He  had  indeed  suffered 
a  sea  change,  and  the  war  was  over 
for  him. 


In  the  Realm  of  Bookland 


"The  Duality  of  the  Bible,"  by  Sidney 
C.  Tapp,  Ph.  B. 

In  his  latest  book,  "Duality  of  the 
Bible,"  Sidney  Tapp,  the  Kansas  City 
philosopher,  has  followed  the  lines  of 
thought  which  individualized  his  pre- 
vious writings.  During  the  years 
which  he  spent  as  a  practicing  attor- 
ney, the  author  became  convinced  that 
practically  all  crime,  insanity,  degener- 
acy and  disease  resulted  directly  or  in- 
directly, from  sex  abuse,  and  origi- 
nated in  the  sex  brain. 

These  observations,  reinforced  by 
further  research,  resulted  in  his  series 
of  books,  of  which  "Duality  of  the 
Bible"  is  the  fourth.  The  basis  of  the 
theory  is  that  sex  being  the  fundamen- 
tal principle  of  organic  existence,  the 
sex  impulse  is  the  parent  of  other  im- 
pulses. 

Man  is  considered  as  a  dual  nature 
or  existence.  Spirituality  is  non-sex- 
ual as  opposed  to  carnality  which  is 
sexual.  Love  and  charity  are  recog- 
nized as  the  products  of  spirituality, 
while  the  base  passions,  greed,  envy 
and  hate,  are  considered  as  being  the 
offsprings  of  carnality  or  sexuality. 
Thus  as  spirituality  increases  the  no- 
ble impulses  increase  in  a  like  ratio, 
while  carnality  with  its  attendant  evils 
decrease  conversely. 

"Duality  of  the  Bible"  is  a  book  of 
many  angles.  In  the  manner  of  its 
presentation  it  is  unique,  radical,  revo- 
lutionary.   The  author  cannot  hope  for 


its  universal  acceptance,  neither  need 
he  fear  its  universal  condemnation.  To 
some  it  may  appear  as  the  asceticism 
of  the  early  centuries  of  Christianity, 
to  some  as  a  work  on  sociology,  to 
some  as  a  treatise  on  metaphysics,  to 
some  merely  as  a  morbid  idea.  The 
magnitude  of  the  subject,  its  many 
ramifications,  its  endless  possibilities, 
tend  to  controversy  in  an  age  in  which 
scientific  research  and  discussion  are 
uncensored. 

In  submitting  his  book  to  the  public 
the  author  says : 

"The  purpose  of  this  book,  and  of 
my  other  books  on  the  Bible,  is  to  pro- 
duce a  pure  and  clean  race;  to  empty 
the  insane  asylums,  hospitals  and  jails, 
to  produce  a  stronger  race  physically 
and  mentally,  and  a  pure  race  spirit- 
ually. Christianity  in  its  purity,  as 
Christ  taught  it,  will  do  this,  and  the 
purpose  of  my  books  is  to  educate  the 
race  in  its  purity." 

While  the  thought  is  old,  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  author  has  presented 
it  is  so  unusual  as  to  create  interest. 
_  Sidney  C.  Tapp,  International  Bib- 
lical Society,  Kansas  City,  Mo. 


"The  Pan-German  Unmasked,"  by 
Andre  Cheradame,  with  an  Introduc- 
tion by  the  Earl  of  Cromer,  O.  M. 

M.  Cheradame  is  a  diplomat  of  prac- 
tical experience,  but  he  is  chiefly 
known  as  one  of  the  few  far-sighted  in- 
dividuals who  have  for  many     years 


358 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


foreseen  and  prophesied  the  German 
aggression  and  its  consequences  in  the 
present  stupendous  war.  His  prophe- 
cies, reiterated  at  frequent  periods  in 
the  past,  have  been  fulfilled  with  un- 
canny precision  in  the  events  of  the 
last  two  and  a  half  years,  and  his  "Pan- 
German  Plot  Unmasked,"  completed 
before  the  recent  important  occur- 
rences in  the  Balkans,  forecasts  with 
equal  fidelity  the  German  "peace 
trap,"  or  the  menace  of  "the  drawn 
war,"  foreseen  by  him  long  before  the 
recent  proposals  had  emanated  from 
Berlin,  and  which  he  regards  as  the 
most  dangerous  and  sinister  card  in 
the  hands  of  the  Central  Powers. 

The  book  goes  to  the  root  of  the 
whole  matter,  and  exposes  the  basic 
causes  and  purposes  of  the  German 
war  of  conquest — a  catastrophe  which 
has  been  slowly  developing  in  accord- 
ance with  certain  very  definite  and  in- 
exorable principles.  The  entire  up- 
heaval is  revealed  as  the  logical  fruit- 
age of  the  long  and  carefully  prepared 
Pan-German  plot  for  world  dominion, 
and  the  author,  who  has  made  an  al- 
most lifelong  study  of  this  phenome- 
non, shows  us  just  what  significance  it 
has  for  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world 
— including  neutrals. 

The  central  and  almost  indisputable 
contention  granted,  it  is  marvelous  to 
note  how  all  other  problems  fall  into 
proper  place.  The  book  gives  the  key 
to  the  world-war — and  at  its  touch  all 
doors  to  a  clear  understanding  of 
many  perplexing  issues  are  flung  open 
as  if  by  magic,  and  the  distinct  and 
common  object  of  all  the  Allies,  in  its 
political,  territorial  and  spiritual  as- 
pects, is  at  once  revealed. 

$1.25  net.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
New  York. 


and  she  wins  the  affections  of  both 
man  and  horse.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  a  man  whose  pride  in  his  horses  is 
almost  greater  than  his  love  for  her. 
She  rides  Wildfire  in  her  father's  race 
and  beats  his  favorite.  The  stallion 
becomes  the  center  and  cause  of  hu- 
man loves,  jealousies  and  crimes.  The 
girl  is  kidnapped  and  a  terrible  fate  is 
upon  her  when  Wildfire,  ridden  by  his 
captor,  runs  the  greatest  race  of  his 
life.  Those  dramatic  scenes  take 
place  against  the  dramatic  background 
of  Colorado  canyons. 

Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


"An  Adequate  Diet,"  by  Percy  G. 
Stiles,  Ph.  D.,  Assistant  Professor 
of  Physiology,  Harvard  University. 

A  brisk  survey  of  the  eternal  diet 
problem  is  furnished  in  succinct  form. 
The  author  covers  the  field  ranging 
from  the  instincts  of  animals  in  eat- 
ing to  the  gourmet  dining  in  lavish 
freedom  of  taste.  Somewhere  across 
this  field  lies  the  diet  that  affords  the 
best  results  to  the  average  man,  and 
the  author  endeavors  to  approximate 
this  point  through  scientific  study  and 
practical  experiment. 

Harvard  University  Press,  Cam- 
bridge. 


Another  of  John  Masefield's  earlier 
works  has  just  been  republished.  This 
is  "Lost  Endeavour,"  a  stirring  story  of 
adventure,  dealing  with  pirates  and 
buccaneers  and  life  on  the  seas  in  a 
day  when  an  ocean  trip  was  beset  with 
all  kinds  of  dangers  and  excitements. 
Those  who  have  enjoyed  "Captain 
Margaret"  and  "Multitude  and  Soli- 
tude" will  find  this  tale  equally  exhil- 
arating. 


"Wildfire,"  by  Zane  Grey. 

Wildfire  is  a  wild  stallion  which  is 
finally  captured  by  a  man  who  has  put 
his  whole  soul  into  the  pursuit  of  this 
magnificent  creature.  A  girl  chances 
upon  the  spot  where  the  captor  lies 
wounded  after  his  successful  pursuit, 


Parker  in  California. 

Sir  Gilbert  Parker,  whose  novel, 
"The  World  for  Sale,"  was  published 
last  autumn,  has  gone  to  California, 
where  he  expects  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  winter,  working  on  his  next  novel, 
which  will  appear  serially  in  Harper's 
Magazine. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When    Writing   Advertisers 


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Washington,    D.    C. 

The  "Apache  Trail" 

Rail  and  Auto  side  trip,  Maricopa  to  Bowie 

via  Phoenix,  Roosevelt  Dam  and  Globe 

through  "Oldest  America" 

THROUGH    SLEEPER: 

Globe  to  El   Paso 
Sunday,    Tuesday   and    Friday 

Connects  at  New  Orleans  with  trains  to  East- 
ern cities,  also  with  Southern  Pacific's  splendid 
steamers  to  New  York,  sailing  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays;  and  to  Havana,  Cuba,   Saturdays. 

Unexcelled    Dining    Car    Service. 
Automatic    Block    Safety    Signals 


For  Fares  and  Berths,  Ask  Agents 

Southern  Pacific 

Write  for  Folder  on  the  Jlpache  Trail  of  Jlrizona 


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ix 


Construction  News 
Press  Clippings 

Contractors,  Material  Men,  Builders,  Manu- 
facturers, in  fact,  anybody  interested  in  con- 
struction news  of  all  kinds,  obtain  from  our 
daily  reports  quick,  reliable  Information. 
Gur  special  correspondents  all  over  the 
country  enable  us  to  give  our  patrons  the 
news  in  advance  of  their  competitors,  and 
before  it  has  become  common  property. 

Let  us  know  what  you  want,  and  we  will 
send  you  samples  and  quote  you  prices. 

Press  clippings  on  any  subject  from  all 
the  leading  current  newspapers,  magazines, 
trade  and  technical  Journals  of  the  United 
States  and  Canada.  Public  speakers,  writ- 
ers, students,  club  women,  can  secure  re- 
liable data  for  speeches,  essays,  debates,  etc. 
Special  facilities  for  serving  trade  and  class 
Journals,  railroads  and  large  industrial  cor- 
porations. 

We  read,  through  our  staff  of  skilled 
readers,  a  more  comprehensive  and  better 
selected  list  of  publications  than  any  other 
bureau. 

We  aim  to  give  prompt  and  intelligent  ser- 
vice at  the  lowest  price  consistent  with 
good  work. 

Write  us  about  it.  Send  stamp  for  book- 
let. 

United  States  Press  Clipping  Bureau 

Rand  McNally  Bldg. 


CHICAGO,  ILL- 


THE 

Paul  Gerson 

DRAMATIC  SCHOOL 

Incorporated  Under  the  Laws  of  the  State  of  California 

The  Largest  Training  School 
of  Acting  in  America 

The  Only  Dramatic  School  on  the  Pacific  Coast 

TENTH  YEAR 

Elocution,  Oratory, 
Dramatic  Art 

Advantages: 
Professional  Experience  While  Study- 
ing. Positions  Secured  for  Graduates. 
Six  Months  Graduating  Course.   Stu- 
dents Can  Enter  Any  Time. 

Arrangements  can  be  made  with  Mr.  Gerson 
for   Amateur   and    Professional    Coaching 

Paul  Gerson  Dramatic  School  Bldg. 

McAllister  and   hyde  street 

San    Francisco,   Cal. 
Write  for  Catalogue. 


A  Perfect  Complexion 

Your  social  duties  demand  that  you 
look  your  best  at  all  times  and  that 
your  appearance  be  in  good  taste. 
Ladies  of  Society  for  nearly  three' 
quarters     of     a     century    have     used 

Gouraud's 


15 


Oriental  Cream 

to  obtain   the  perfect  complexion.      It 

purifies,  protects    and   beautifies.     The 

ideal   liquid  face  cream.     Non-greasy. 

Its  use  cannot 

b  e     detected. 

Use  it  on  the, 

hands.     R« 

moves    all 

discolorations. 

Send  10c.  for 
trial  size 

FERD.  T.  HOPKINS 
&S0N 

S7  Great  Jones  St. 
New  York  City 


The 
Real  Estate  Educator 

By  F.  M.  PAYNE 

A  book  for  hustling  Real  Estate  "Boosters/ 
Promoters,  Town  builders,  and  everyone 
who  owns,  sells,  rents  or  leases  real  estate 
of  any  kind. 

Containing  inside  information 
not  generally  known.  "Don'ts"  in 
Real  Estate  "Pointers,"  Specific 
Legal  Forms,  etc. 

Apart  from  the  agent,  operator 
or  contractor,  there  is  much  to  be 
found  in  its  contents  that  will 
prove  of  great  value  to  all  who 
wish  to  be  posted  on  Valuation, 
Contracts,  Mortgages,  Leases, 
Evictions,  etc.  The  cost  might  be 
saved  many  hundred  times  over  in 
one  transaction. 

The  new  I91f>  edition  contains 
the  Torren's  system  of  registra- 
tion. Available  U.  8.  Lands  for 
Homesteads.  The  A.  B.  C.'i  of 
Realty. 

Workmen's  Compensation  Act, 
Income  Tax  Law,  Employer's  Li- 
ability Act,  Statute  of  Frauds. 
How  to  Sell  Real  Estate,  How  to 
Become  a  Notary  Public,  or  Com. 

of  Deeds,  and  other  Useful  Information. 

Cloth.    256  Pages.    Price  Sl.OO  Postpaid. 

OVERLAND    MONTHLY 

SAN    FRANCISCO,    CAL. 


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Four 

Routes 

East! 


SUNSET  ROUTE:  Along  the 
Mission  Trail,  and  through  the 
Dixieland  of  song  and  story. 
To  New  Orleans  via  Los  An- 
geles, El  Paso,  Houston,  and 
San  Antonio.  Southern  Paci- 
fic Atlantic  Steamship  Line, 
sailings  Wednesdays  and  Sat- 
urdays, New  Orleans  to  New 
York. 

OGDEN  ROUTE:  Across  the 
Sierras  and  over  the  Great 
Salt  Lake  Cut-off.  To  Chicago 
via  Ogden  and  Omaha;  also  to 
St.  Louis  via  Ogden,  Denver 
and  Kansas  City. 

SHASTA  ROUTE:  Skirting  ma- 
jestic Mount  Shasta  and  cross- 
ing the  Siskiyous.  To  Port- 
land, Tacoma  and  Seattle. 

EL  PASO  ROUTE:  The  "Golden 
State  Route"  through  the 
Southwest.  To  Chicago  and 
St.  Louis  via  Los  Angeles, 
Tucson,  El  Paso  and  Kansas 
City. 

Oil   Burning  Locomotives 

No    Cinders,    No   Smudge,    No   Annoying    Smoke 

Unexcelled    Dining    Car    Service 


For  Fares  and  Berth  Reservations 
Ask  Any  Agent 

SOUTHERN  PACIFIC 


"Write  for  folder  on  the  Apache  Trail  of  Arizona 


Bush  Car  Delivered  Free 


Ride  in  a  Bush  Car.    Pay  for  it  out  % 

of  your  commissions  on  sales,  my 
"^agents  are  making  money. 
Shipments   are  prompt. 
Bush    Cars     guaran- 
teed or  money  back. 
Write  at  once  for 
my   48-page    catalog 
and  all  particulars. 

...j  Wheelbase         ^^^    &A^LeBa  ^  »£». 
Delco  Ignition-Elect.  Stg.  &  Ltg.  "eB-       Dept  4-FK 

BUSH  MOTOR  COMPANY,   Bush  Temple,  Chicago,  III.  I 


MISS    HARKER'S    SCHOOL 

PALO  ALTO        -      -         CALIFORNIA 

•      •      • 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 
College  Preparatory 

Grammar  and  Primary  Departments 

•   •   • 

SPECIAL  CARE  GIVEN  TO  YOUNGER  CHILDREr- 

FP7FMA  Psoriasis,  cancer,  goitre,  tetter 
\~. \^ £.. L.  1V1  ^V  0|d  Sores,  catarrah,  dandruff 
sore  eyes,  rheumatism,  neuralgia,  stiff  joints 
piles;  cured  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particular! 
and  free  samples. 
ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO.  Hot  Springs,  Ark 

Reduce! 

rates  6\ 

household  goods  to  and  from  all  points  on  th 

Pacific  Coast  446  Marquette  Building,  Chicago 


JIPS£ 

V  Pacific 


N  Freight  Forwarding  Co. 


640  Old  South  Bidg..  Boston 
324  Whitehall  Bldg..  N.  Y. 
435  Oliver  Bldg..  Pittsburgh 
272  Drexel  Bldg.,  Phil.  Pa. 


1537  Boatmen's  Bank  Bldg. 
St.  Louis 

855  Monadnock  Bldg., 
San  Francisco 


518  Central  Bldg.,  Los  Angeles 
Write  nearest  office 


E«UkU.h»*  July  *  1*4 


PRICE  10  CENTS 


EVERY  SATURDAY 


MOO  PER  YEAR 


Timely  Editorials.     Latest  News  of  Society 

Events.    Theatrical   Items  of  Interest. 

Authority  on  Automobile,  Financial 

and  Automobile  Happenings. 

10  Cts.  the  Copy.  $5.00  the  Yeai 


Do  Business  by  Mail 

It's  profitable,  with  accurate  lists  of  prospects. 
Our  catalogue  contains  vital  information  on  Mail 
Advertising.  Also  prices  and  quantity  on  6.000 
national  mailing  lists,  99%  guaranteed.     Such  as: 


War  Material  Mfrs. 
Cheese  Box  Mfrs. 
Tin  Can  Mfrs. 
Druggists 
Auto  Owners 


Wealthy  Men 

Farmers 

Axle  Grease  Mfrs. 

Railroad  Employees 

Contractors,  Etc.,  Etc. 


Write  for  this  valuable  reference  book;  also 
prices  and  samples  of  fac-simile  letters. 

Have  us  write  or  revise  your  Sales  Letters. 


Ross-Gould 

St.  Louis 


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xl 


The  Vose  Player  Piano 

Is  so  constructed  that  even  a  little 
child  can  play  it.  It  combines  our  superior  player 
action  with  the  renowned  Vose  Pianos  which  have 
been  manufactured  during  63  years  by  three  gene- 
rations of  the  Vose  family.  In  purchasing  this  in- 
strument you  secure  quality,  tone,  and  artistic  merit 
at  a  moderate  price,  on  time  payments,  if  desired. 
Catalogue  and  literature  sent  on  request  to  those 
interested.    Send  today. 

You  should  become  a  satisfied  owner  of  a      .  fi 

vose  ftssts 

VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO.,  189  B.ylrton  St.,  Boston,  Mats. 


g   Leghorn   Breeders!   j) 

£       Send  in  your  subscription  to   The  p» 


Leghorn  Journal  and  keep  posted  on 
the  progress  of  the  Leghorn  industry; 
as  it  is  devoted  exclusively  to  the  dif- 
ferent Leghorn  fowls.  Subscription 
price  50c.  per  year.  Special  offer- 
Send  us  10c.  and  the  names  of  five 
of  your  neighbors  interested  in  Leg- 
horns and  we  will  send  you  The 
Leghorn  Journal  for  three   months. 

THE    LEGHORN    JOURNAL 

APPOMATTOX,  VA. 


iUwKB 


I 


MANfF  Eczema,  ear  canker,  goitre,  cured 
1t1/*1~v»Ei  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particulars 
describing  the  trouble.  ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO. 
Hot  Springs,  Ark. 

Gouraud's  Oriental  beauty  Leaves 

A.  dainty  little  booklet  of  exquisitely  perfumed 
powdered  leaves  to  carry  in  the  purse.  A  handy 
article  for  all  occasions  to  quickly  improve  the 
complexion.  Sent  for  10  cents  in  stamps  or  coin. 
F.   T.   Hopkins     37   Or*»at   Jones   St.     New   York. 


P 


60  years  ago,  Gail 
Borden  worked  out 
a  method  whereby 
milk  could  be  car- 
ried anywhere,  used 
any  time,  and  a- 
ways  be  found  clean, 
fresh,  wholesome 
and  pure.  The  result 
of  his  discovery  is 

EAGLE 

BRAND 

CONDENSED 

MILK 

™«        ORIGINAL 


the  most  widely  known  food  product  in  the  world. 
E=  Wherever  civilized  man  has  gone,  "Eagle  Brand" 
2  has  followed — to  the  frozen  North,  the  trackless  West, 
=  the  Tropics.  And  what  is  more  important,  thous- 
E  ands  of  mothers  here  and  abroad,  who  could  not 
2  nurse  their  babies,  have  found  in  "  Eagle  Brand  "  a 
=  safe,  wholesome  substitute  for  Mothers'  Milk. 

Write  today  for  our  booklets 

\  Borden's  Condensed  Milk  Co 

NEW  YORK 

=  "Leaders  of  Quality"  Founded  1 857 


fl 


DANGEROUS  COUNTERFEITS 

ARE  ON   THE   MARKET 

LADIES     BEWARE! 

Buy  LABLACHE  FACE  POW.DER  of  reli- 
able dealers.  Be  sure  and  get  the  genuine. 
Women  who  knowfrankly  say— "I  haveTR/jsjD 
other  face  powders,  but  I  use  Lablache." 

The  Standard  for  over  forty  years.  Flesh, 
White,  Pink,  Cream.  50c  a  box,  of  Drug- 
gists or  by  mail.  Over  two  million  boxes 
sold  annually.    Send  lOc  for  sample  box. 

BEN.  LEVY  CO.,  French  Perfumer. 

Dept.  52, 125  Kingston  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


E6e 


Tooth  Brush     tft^°^l 


xil 


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II 


o 


SAN  FRANCISCO 


HOTEL  PLAZ; 


O 

Bad 


HOTEU  PUAiA 

san  francisco 

(union   square) 


European  Plan 
$1.50  up 

American  Plan 
$3.50  up 

Our  Main  Cafe 
Being  Operated 
on  the  a  la 
Carte  and  Table 
d'Hote  Plans. 


Special  Rooms 
for  Banquets  and 
Private   Parties. 


II 


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xill 


m 


'EWEST  HOTEL 

\CING  BEAUTIFUL  UNION  SQUARE 

)RNER    OF    POST    AND    STOCKTON    STREETS 


^  Hotel  Plaza  offers  the  tour- 
ist Traveler  more  for  his 
money  than  is  usually  antici- 
pated. 


-IOTEL  PLAZA 

San  Francisco's  Most  Centrally  Located  High-Class 
Hotel  and  the  House  of  Harmony 


Management  of  C.  A.  Gonder 


SI 


xiv 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly  When   Writing   Advertisers 


Hotel  Powhatan 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

Pennsylvania  Avenue,  H  and  Eighteenth  St«.,  N.  W. 


Showing  the  Hotel  Powhatan  upon 
the  completion  of  its  new  addition. 

Overlooking  the  White  House,  offers  every  comfort 

and  luxury,  also  a  superior  service.    European  Plan. 

Rooms,  detached  bath,   $1.50  and  up 

Rooms,     private    bath,     $2.50  and    up 

Write  for  Souocnir  Booklet  and  Map 

E.  C.  OWEN,  Manager. 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 
BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN 


FIREPROOF 


A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
quiet  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest— popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
—cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 

Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

May  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of  "Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  complete  rates? 

C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

1 ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in   Western  America 

M AN AGEMENT  -  J AM ES     WOODS 


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xv 


Meet  Me  at  the 
TULLRR 


For  Value,  Service 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand   Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY    FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50 Single, $2.50  Up  Double 

2U0        "  "  "        2.00     "  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  "  $:Uo$5   "  4.50  " 

Total.  600  Outside  Rooms       All  Absolutely  Quiet 

Two  Floors— Agent's  New  Unique  Cafes  and 

Sample  Rooms  Cabaret  Excellente 


Herald  Square  Hotel 

114-120  West  34th  Street 

Just  West  of  Broadway 

NEW  YORK 

Across  the  street,  next  door  and  around  the  cor- 
ner to  the  largest  department  stores  In  the 
world. 

Cars  passing  our  doors  transfer  to  all  parts  of 
New  York. 

One  block  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 

Ail  the  leading  theatres  within  five  minutes' 
walk. 

Club   Breakfast — Business   Men's   Lunch. 

Dancing  afternoons  and  evenings. 

Rooms  $1.50  up.     All  first  class  hotel  service. 

J.  FRED  SAYERS 

Manager  Director 


OIL  and  MINING 

If  you  are  interested  our  special 
articles  covering  the  new  develop- 
ments will  delight  you. 

SAMPLE     COPY     FREE 

A  limited  number  of  last  month's 
issue  now  on  hand  will  be  sent 
out  as  sample  copies  for  asking 

WESTERN    STORIES    of    adventure.     Pictures    of   THE 
GREAT  GLORIES   OF  THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

OC   f*+c      o    VaaK    17  Colored  Views  of  Rocky  Mountains    O    Voarc     RO   Otc 
£.13   ^Li>.    d      Tticir  Sent  Free  With  Your  Subscription         °      TCeU£>    OWV^LS. 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  MAGAZINE 


704  QUINCY   BUILDING 


DENVER,  COLORADO 


xvi 


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The  Two  Most  Famous  Hotels  in  the  World 


The  Sun  Court  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  San  Francisco 

The  only  hotels  anywhere  in  which  every  room  has 
attached  bath.  All  the  conveniences  of  good  hotels  with 
many  original  features.    Accommodations  for  over  lOOO. 


The  Fairmont  Hotel,  San  Francisco 

European   Plan.      $2.50  per  day,  upward— Suites  $10.00,  upward 

Under  Management  of  Palace  Hotel  Company 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When    Writing    Advertisers  xvii 

FOR  SALE!    $2,100 

EASY    TERMS 

20  Acres  on  "Las  Uvas"  Creek 

Santa  Clara  County,  Cal. 


"Las  Uvas"  is  the  finest  mountain  stream 
in  Santa  Clara  County. 

Situated  9  miles  from  Morgan  Hill,  between 
New  Almaden  and  Gilroy. 

Perfect  climate. 

Land  is  a  gentle  slope,  almost  level,  border- 
ing on  "Las  Uvas." 

Several  beautiful  sites  on  the  property  for 
country  home. 

Numerous  trees  and  magnificent  oaks. 

Splendid    trout   fishing. 

Good  automobile  roads  to  Morgan  Hill  9 
miles,  to  Madrone  8  miles,  to  Gilroy  12  miles, 
to  Almaden  11  miles,  and  to  San  Jose  21 
miles. 


For  Further  Particulars  Address, 

Owner,  259  Minna  Street 
San  Francisco  -         -  California 


J 


xvill  Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When    Writing    Advertisers 


Scientific  Dry  Farming 

Are  you  a  dry  farmer?  Are  you  interested  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  dry  farm?  Are  you  thinking  of  securing  a  home- 
stead or  of  buying  land  in  the  semi-arid  West  ?  In  any  case  you 
should  look  before  you  leap.  You  should  learn  the  principles 
that  are  necessary  to  success  in  the  new  agriculture  of  the  west. 
You  should 

Learn  the  Campbell  System 

Learn  the  Campbell  System  of  Soil  Culture  and  you  will  not 
fail.  Subscribe  for  Campbell's  Scientific  Farmer,  the  only  au- 
thority published  on  the  subject  of  scientific  soil  tillage,  then 
take  a  course  in  the  Campbell  Correspondence  School  of  Soil 
Culture,  and  you  need  not  worry  about  crop  failure.  Send  four 
cents  for  a  catalog  and  a  sample  copy  of  the  Scientific  Farmer. 

Address, 

Scientific   Soil   Culture   Co. 

BILLINGS,  MONTANA 


WHEN  THINKING  OF  GOING  EAST 


\ 


§ 


%  THINKOFTHE  5 

2  TRAINS  DAILY  ^^^^^^^^       Through  Standard  and      J 

the  *WP?fH"?R        Tourist  Sleeping  Cars 


g 


SCENIC  111  Efl|  M  I  I  kl      CHICAGO         ST.  LOUIS 


DAILY  TO 


limited  HBBHIHHB     Kansas  city      omaha  % 

AND  THE  3  )F1  J  I  d  I  j|      And  All  Other  Points  East  2 

PACIFIC  y-T^^^J  SALT  LAKE  city  J 

EXPRESS     ^^^^^^™  and  DENVER 

|       "THE  FEATHER  RIVER  ROUTE" 

Through  the  grand  canyon  of  the  feather  river  4 


s 


s 


DINING  CARS       Service  and  Scenery  Unsurpassed     OBSERVATIONJCARS    ^ 


5 

For  Full  Information  and  Literature  Apply  to  ^ 

^    WFQTTTOM  T>&rTT?ir  TTriZWT  OFFTrF^l    \ 

1 


WESTERN  PACIFIC  TICKET  OFFICES  f 

665  MARKET  ST.  and  UNION  FERRY  STATION,  SAN  FRANCISCO— TEL.  SUTTER  1651     £ 
£  1326  Broadway  and  3rd  and  Washington  Sts.,OakIand,Cal.,  Tel.Oakland  132  and  Oakland  574  «^ 


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xix 


Make  Moving  a  Comfort 

The  Nezv  Way— The  Easy  Way 

By  auto  trucks  and  employing  the  well  known 
reliable  expert  San  Francisco  firm 

Dixon  Transfer 
Storage  Company 

ECONOMY  AND  TIME  SAVERS 

Manager  Leo  Dixon  has  had  many  years  of 
varied  experience  in  this  special  and  intricate 
business  from  moving  the  goods  and  outfit- 
tings  of  a  hugh  store  to  the  intricate  and 
varied  furnishings  of  a  home.  The  firm  has 
the  best  up-to-date  equipment  to  meet  the 
most  difficult  problems,  and  guarantees  satis- 
faction at  moderate  rates. 

Packing  Pianos  and  Furniture  for 

Shipment  a  Specialty 

Fire-proof  Storage  Furnished 

TRY   THEM! 

Headquarters :  86-88  Turk  St. 

San  Francisco,  Cal. 


Three  generations 

of  the  Vose  family  have  made  the  art  of  man- 
ufacturing the  Vose  Piano  their  lile-work.  For 
63  years  they  have  developed  their  instruments 
with  such  honesty  of  construction  and  materials, 
and  with  such  skill,  that  the  Vose  Piano  of  to- 
day is  the  ideal  Home  Piano. 

Oolitered  in  four  horn*  free  of  charge.  Old  instruments 
taken  as  partial  payment  in  exchange.  Time  Payment! 
accepted.     If  interested,  send  fcr  catalogues  today. 


VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO. 

189  Boylston  Street  Boston,  Mass. 


TEN  CENT  MUSIC:  Popular  and  Classic 

Why  pay  from  25c  to  75c 

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By  Courtesy  of  "  The  New  York,  Times  " 


MR.   HARRIS*    BEST 
KNOWN  BOOKS 


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and  Confessions.  2 vols.    1"»~ 

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Author  &,tfd  Editor 

XJt  JpxGfi  the  war  |broke  out  ft 
\\  Harris  was  in  Paris  hard 
work  >n  a  new  book.  He  says,  "T 
horror  of  the  war  made  it  impossit 
for  me  to  work.  I  decided  to  coi 
back  to  America,  the  country  whi 
adopted  me  in  my  youth." 

In  July,  1916,  Mr.  Arthur  W.  Liti 
invited  Mr.  Harris  to  become  Edit 
of  PEARSON'S  MAGAZINE. 

Mr.  Harris  entered  upon  his  wo 
with  that  vigor  and  enthusias 
which  has  marked  his  wide  ai 
varied  career. 

The  good  fruits  of  that  choi 
are  already  demonstrable  inam 
PEARSON'S  and  a  growing  circle 
eager  readers. 

In  greater  New  York  PEARSON 
sales  have  multiplied  fivefold  sin 
Mr.  Harris  became  editor. 

A  New  Harris  Story 

ON  THE  TRAI] 

"On  the  Trail"  will  run  serially  in  PEARSON'S  MA 
AZINE  beginning  with  the  May  number. 

"On  the  Trail"  is  a  story  of  the  southwest  frontier  as 
was  in  the  early  70's  when  Wichita,  Kansas,  was  an  o 
post  of  civilization,  when  Indians  still  lifted  the  wl 
man's  scalp,  and  when  cowboys  were  real  cowboys. 

In  these  stirring  days  of  frontier  life  Editor  Harris  t 
himself  a  cowboy.  He  knew  intimately  Bill  Hitchc( 
(Wild  Bill)  and  W.  F.  Cody  (Buffalo  Bill).  Harris  p 
real  battles  with  Indians  and  pictures  of  the  rough  cowl 
life  of  the  time  into  his  story.  There  is  a  thrilling  k 
story  also  interwoven  with  the  tale,  n  Spanish  beai 
whose  charms  lure  the  hero  across  the  Mexican  border 
to  a  cattle  stealing  foray. 

A  picture  of  the  Great  Chicago  Fire,  as  seen  by  J 
Harris,  forms  a  thrilling  chapter. 

This  story  will  come  as  a  pleasing  surprise  to  readers 
PEARSON'S,  exhibiting  as  it  does  a  first-hand  knowlec 
of  America  unsuspected  of  our  Editor. 

"ON  THE  TRAIL"  is  a  story  with  a  thrill  in  ev« 
chapter. 

INITIAL  CHAPTERS  WILL  APPEAR  IN  PEA 
SON'S   FOR   MAY,    1917 


1.35 


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ZUI}lt\l*nWij-*     l*\  L.  „*tl.l    *      '-J'-Ult  .» 


**  «*•<■  !■«  * 


JACK  LONDON  EDITION 


H*G£OORN 


Mii^uv^M^A^:»tiumTi^mMAtfA&ittl*;jg 


Meeting  the  Universal  Need 


In  the  high  passes  of  the  moun- 
tains, accessible  only  to  the  daring 
pioneer  and  the  sure-footed  burro, 
there  are  telephone  linemen  string- 
ing wires. 

Across  bays  or  rivers  a  flat-bot- 
tomed boat  is  used  to  unreel  the 
message-bearing  cables  and  lay  them 
beneath  the  water. 

Over  the  sand-blown, treeless  desert 
a  truck  train  plows  its  way  with  tele- 
phone material  and  supplies. 

Through  dense  forests  linemen  are 
felling  trees  and  cutting  a  swath  for 
lines  of  wire-laden  poles. 


Vast  telephone  extensions  are  pr 
gressing  simultaneously  in  the  was 
places  as  well  as  in  the  thickly  popi 
lated  communities. 

These  betterments  are  ceaseless  an 
they  are  voluntary,  requiring  the  e: 
penditure  of  almost  superhuma 
imagination,  energy  and  large  capita 

In  the  Bell  organization,  besides  tri 
army  of  manual  toilers,  there  is  a 
army  of  experts,  including  almost  tt 
entire  gamut  of  human  labors.  The* 
men,  scientific  and  practical,  are  coi 
stantly  inventing  means  for  supplyin 
the  numberless  new  demands  of  th 
telephone  using  public. 


American  Telephone  and  Telegraph  Company 

And  Associated   Companies 

One  Policy  One  System  Universal  Serjfc 


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To  insure  Victor  quality,  always  look 
for  the  famous  trademark,  "His  Mas- 
ter's Voice."  It  is  on  every  Victrola 
and  every  Victor  Record.  It  is  the 
identifying  label  on  all  genuine 
Victrolas  and  Victor  Records. 


i°^^ 


'J  HIS  MASTER'S  VOICE' 


Every  kind  of  music 
for  everybody 


Your  kind  of  music  for  you!     The  kind  of  music  you  like  best! 

Do  you  prefer  to  hear  magnificent  operatic  arias,  portrayed  by 
Caruso  or  Farrar  or  Melba?  Or  are  your  favorites  the  charming 
old  songs  of  yesteryear — the  ballads  so  sweetly  sung  by  Gluck  and 
McCormack? 

Or  it  may  be  that  your  tastes  run 
to  instrumental  solos — the  exquisite 
renditions  of  Elman  or  Kreisler  or 
Paderewski.  Then  again,  perhaps, 
you  would  rather  hear  Sousa's  Band 
play  some  of  his  own  stirring  marches, 
or  enjoy  Harry  Lauder's  inimitable 
witticisms. 

No  matter — you  can  hear  them 

all  on  the  Victrola.     It  is  supreme  in 

all  fields  of  musical  endeavor.     It  is 

the  instrument  for  every  home. 

Hear  your  favorite  music  today  at  any 
Victor  dealer's.  He  will  gladly  play  any 
music  you  wish  to  hear,  and  demonstrate 
the  various  styles  of  the  Victor  and  Victrola 
—$10  to  $400. 

Victor  Talking  Machine  Co. 
Camden,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Berliner  Gramophone  Co.,  Montreal,  Canadian  Distributors 


I 


Victrola  XVII,  $250 
Victrola  XVII,  electric,  $300 

Mahogany  or  oak 


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patented  and  are  only  licensed,  and  with  right  of  use 
with  Victor  Records  only.  All  Victor  Records  are  pat- 
ented and  are  only  licensed,  and  with  right  of  use  on 
Victor  Talking  Machines  only.  Victor  Records  and 
Victor  Machines  are  scientifically  coordinated  and  synchronized  by  our  special  processes  of  manufac- 
ture; and  their  use,  except  with  each  other,  is  not  only  unauthorized,  but  damaging  and  unsatisfactory. 

"Victrola"  is  the  Registered  Trade-mark  of  the  Victor  Talking  Machine  Company  designating  the 
products  of  this  Company  only.  Warning:  The  use  of  the  word  Victrola  upon  or  in  the  promotion 
or  sale  of  any  other  Talking  Machine  or  Phonograph  products  is  misleading  and  illegal. 

Vi  c  t ro  1  a 


New  Victor  Records  demonstrated  at  all  dealers  on  the  28th  of  each  month 


LXVIII 


©ittrlatti  • 


iMotttljIt} 


AN  ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE  WEST 


-»»»CCC«c- 


CONTENTS   FOR   MAY   1917 


FRONTISPIECES: 

"To    Jack    London."      Verse.       Illustrated     .         .         GEORGE  STERLING 

Illustrations  to  accompany     Valley  of  the  Moon     Ranch 

Illustration  to  accompany  a  Study  of  Jack  London    in    His    Prime  .... 

A   STUDY  OF  JACK   LONDON    IN    HIS  PRIME         .         GEORGE   WHARTON   JAMES 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
MRS.    JACK    LONDON'S   NEW    VIEWPOINT     .         .         L.   RUDIO  MARSHALL 

JACK    LONDON'S   PLEA   FOR   THE   SQUARE    DEAL  

THE    REAL  JACK   LONDON    IN    HAWAII  0       e        MAE  LACY  BAGGS 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON   RANCH      Q        Q       Q       BAILEY  MILLARD 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
JACK  LONDON.     An  Appreciation.     Verse  o  BERTON  BRALEY 

THE   SON   OF  THE  WOLF.      Story       ....         JACK    LONDON 
THE   DIVINE   PLAN   OF   THE  AGES  .         .  (The  Late)   PASTOR  RUSSELL 

PERSONAL    QUALITIES    OF    JACK    LONDON  JOHN  D.   BARRY 

ARE   THERE  ANY  THRILLS   LEFT   IN    LIFE?         .         JACK   LONDON 
RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE    LATE  JACK    LONDON         EDGAR   LUCIEN   LARKIN 

JACK    LONDON    ON    THE    GREAT    WAR 

GUNS  OF  GALT.      Serial     .......         DENISON  CLIFT 

JACK    LONDON'S    RESIGNATION    FROM    THE 

SOCIALIST  PARTY 

MRS.   JACK    LONDON'S  "LOG   OF  THE   SNARK"     .       BEATRICE    LANGDON 


357 

358-359 

360 

361 

400 
404 
405 

ti1 

415 
416 
425 
431 
432 
433 
434 
435 

446 
447 


■»>»XC«CO 


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Copyrighted,   1917,   by  the   Overland    Monthly   Company. 

Entered  at  the  San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Postoffice  as  second-class  matter. 

Published    by   the    OVERLAND    MONTHLY    COMPANY,  San   Francisco,  California. 

259    MINNA   STREET. 


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Mi 


Hotel  Powhatan 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

Pennsylvania  Avenue,  H  and  Eighteenth  Sts.,  N.  W. 


Showing  the  Hotel  Powhatan  upon 

the  completion  of  its  new  addition. 

Overlooking  the  White  House,  offers  every  comfort 

and  luxury,  also  a  superior  service.     European  Plan. 

Rooms,  detached  bath,    $1.50   and   up 

Rooms,     private    bath,     $2.50  and    up 

Write  for  Soaoenir  Booklet  and  Map 

E.  C.  OWEN,  Manager. 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 
BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN 


FIREPROOF 


A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
quiet  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest— popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
—cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 

Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

May  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of  "Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  complete  rates? 

C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

1 ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in   Western  America 

M AN AGEMENT  —  J AMES     WOODS 


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II 


SAN  FRANCISCO 


HOTEL  PLAZ/ 


European  Plan 
$1.50  up 

American  Plan 
$3.50  up 

Our  Main  Cafe 
Being  Operated 
on  the  a  la 
Carte  and  Table 
d'Hote   Plans. 


Special  Rooms 
for  Banquets  and 
Private   Parties. 


II 


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H 


IEWEST  HOTEL 

ACING  BEAUTIFUL  UNION  SQUARE 

ORNER    OF    POST    AND    STOCKTON    STREETS 


^  Hotel  Plaza  offers  the  tour- 
ist Traveler  more  for  his 
money  than  is  usually  antici- 
pated. 


HOTEL  PLAZA 

San  Francisco's  Most  Centrally  Located  High-Class 
Hotel  and  the  House  of  Harmony 


Management  of  C.  A.  Gonder 


IS 


vi 


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Meet  Me  at  the 
TULLER 


For  Value,  Service 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand  Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY    FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50Single,$3.00Up Double 

200       "  "  "        2.00     "'  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  "  |3  to  $5   "  4.50  " 

Total,  600  Outside  Rooms      All  Absolutely  Quiet 

Two  Floors— Agent'*  New  Unique  Cafes  and 

Sample  Room*  Cabaret  Excellente 


Herald  Square  Hotel 

114-120  West  34th  Street 

Just  West  of  Broadway 

NEW  YORK 

Across  the  street,  next  door  and  around  the  cor- 
ner to  the  largest  department  stores  In  the 
world. 

Cars  passing  our  doors  transfer  to  all  parts  of 
New  York. 

One  block  to  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 

All  the  leading  theatres  within  five  minutes' 
walk. 

Club   Breakfast — Business   Men's   Lunch. 

Dancing  afternoons  and  evenings. 

Rooms  $1.50  up.     All  first  class  hotel  service. 

J.  FRED  SAYERS 

Manager  Director 


OIL  and  MINING 

If  you  are  interested  our  special 
articles  covering  the  new  develop- 
ments will  delight  you. 

SAMPLE     COPY     FREE 

A  limited  number  of  last  month's 
issue  now  on  hand  will  be  sent 
out  as  sample  copies  for  asking 

WESTERN    STORIES    of    adventure.     Pictures    of   THE 
GREAT  GLORIES   OF  THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

OK  r^fc      a    Year    I7  Colored  Views  of  Rocky  Mountains    O    Yoarc     RO   f^+c 
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THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  MAGAZINE 


704  QUINCY   BUILDING 


DENVER,  COLORADO 


To  Jack  London 


By  George  Sterling 


Oh,  was  there  ever  face,  of  all  the  dead, 

In  which,  too  late,  the  living  could  not  read 

A  mute  appeal  for  all  the  love  unsaid — 

A  mute  reproach  for  careless  word  and  deed? 

And  now,  dear  friend  of  friends,  we  look  on  thine, 
To  whom  we  could  not  give  a  last  farewell, — 
On  whom,  without  a  whisper  or  a  sign, 
The  deep,  unfathomable  Darkness  fell. 

Oh!    Gone  beyond  us,  who  shall  say  how  far? 
Gone  swiftly  to  the  dim  Eternity, 
Leaving  us  silence,  or  the  words  that  are 
To  sorrow  as  the  foam  is  to  the  sea. 

Unf earing  heart,  whose  patience  was  so  long ! 
Unresting  mind,  so  hungry  for  the  truth ! 
Now  hast  thou  rest,  O  gentle  one  and  strong, 
Dead  like  a  lordly  lion  in  its  youth! 

Farewell !  although  thou  know  not,  there  alone. 
Farewell !  although  thou  hear  not  in  our  cry 
The  love  we  would  have  given  had  we  known. 
Ah !    And  a  soul  like  thine — how  shall  it  die  ? 


^^ 


^^ 


Cruising  up  the  wide  reaches  of  the  San  Joaquin   River,  California.   (1914.) 


I 


OVERLAND 


Founded  1868 


MONTHLY 


BRET  HARTE 


**d8fi££^— - 


AT  THE  beginning  of  the  year 
(1912),  Jack  London  was 
thirty-six  years  old.  In  those 
thirty-six  years  he  has  man- 
aged to  crowd  the  experiences  of  a 
country  lad  on  a  farm,  a  street  news- 
boy, a  schoolboy,  a  member  of  a 
street-gang,  a  boy  Socialist  street  ora- 
tor, a  voracious  reader  of  books  from 
the  public  library,  an  oyster  bed  pa- 
trol to  catch  oyster  pirates,  a  long- 
shoreman, a  salmon  fisher,  able  to  sail 
any  kind  of  a  rude  vessel  on  the  none 
too  smooth  waters  of  San  Francisco 
Bay,   a   sailor  before   the  mast,   seal 


hunting  in  the  Behring  Sea,  a  member 
of  the  Henry  Clay  debating  club,  a 
strenuous  advocate  of  the  Socialist 
Labor  party,  a  student  in  the  Oakland 
high  school,  a  freshman  in  the  Univer- 
sity of  California,  a  gold  seeker  in  the 
Klondike,  a  driver  of  wolf-dogs  over 
the  snows  of  the  frozen  North,  stricken 
with  scurvy,  one  of  three  who  em- 
barked in  an  open  boat  and  rode  nine- 
teen hundred  miles  in  nineteen  days 
down  the  Yukon  to  the  Behring  Sea,  an 
orphan  compelled  to  support  his  wid- 
owed mother  and  a  nephew,  a  short 
story  writer,  a  war  correspondent,  a 


On  the  Snark's  lifeboat,  Solomon   Islands,  South  Seas,  1908.  Mrs.  London  is 
laughing  at  the   amateur   photographer's  efforts  to   get  a   "good"   picture. 


novelist,  an  essayist,  the  owner  and 
worker  of  a  magnificent  estate  of  over 
a  thousand  acres,  the  builder  of  the 
"Snark,"  which  he  navigated  through 
the  Pacific  and  the  South  Seas  to  Aus- 
tralia, and  taught  himself  navigation 
while  in  actual  charge  of  the  "Snark" 
on  the  high  seas;  the  planter  of  two 
hundred  thousand  eucalyptus  trees  on 
his  estate;  the  engineer  and  construc- 
tor of  miles  of  horse  trails  or  bridle- 
paths through  the  trees,  on  the  hill- 
sides and  in  the  canyons  of  his  estate ; 
and  now  the  builder  of  one  of  the  most 


striking,  individualistic,  comfortable 
and  endurable  home  mansions  ever 
erected  on  the  American  continent.  He 
has  a  list  of  thirty-one  books  to  his 
credit,  seven  of  them  novels,  one  of 
them  being  one  of  the  most  popular 
books  of  its  time  and  still  selling  by 
the  thousand,  another  a  book  of  social 
studies  of  the  underworld  of  London 
that  ranks  with  General  Booth's  "Sub- 
merged Tenth,"  Jacob  Riis'  "How  the 
Other  Half  Lives,"  William  T.  Stead's 
"If  Christ  Came  to  Chicago,"  and  sur- 
passes them  all  in  the  vivid  intensity 


Aboard    the    "Roamer,"    in    the    confluences    of    the    Sacramento    and    San 
Joaquin    River,    California    (1915). 


of  its  descriptions  and  the  fierce  pas- 
sion for  the  downtrodden  that  it  dis- 
plays. His  "War  of  the  Classes," 
"The  Iron  Heel,"  and  "Revolution," 
are  bold  and  fearless  presentations  of 
his  views  on  present-day  social  condi- 
tions, and  what  they  are  inevitably 
leading  to,  unless  the  leaders  of  the 
capitalistic  class  become  more  human 
and  humane  in  dealing  with  the  work- 
ing classes.  His  "Before  Adam,"  one 
of  the  best  and  most  comprehensive 
of  books  on  authropology,  whether 
written  by  English,  French,   German 


or  American,  sets  before  the  reader  a 
clear  and  scientifically  deduced  con- 
ception of  the  upgrowth  of  the  human 
race  prior  to  the  historic  era  when 
Adam  and  Eve  appear. 

His  books  have  been  translated  into 
German,  French,  Swedish,  Norwegian, 
Italian,  Spanish  and  Russian,  and 
wherever  men  think  and  talk  and  read, 
Jack  London  and  his  stories,  his  nov- 
els, his  social  theories  are  talked 
about,  praised,  abused,  lauded  and  dis- 
cussed. In  Sweden  he  is  the  most 
popular  foreign  author.     There  Cali- 


Jack  London  and  Mrs.   London  aboard  the  U.  S.  S.  Kilpatrick  at  Galveston, 

Texas,  at  the  time  that  vessel   sailed  to  Vera   Cruz,   Mexico,  with   General 

Funston   and  troops  to  handle  the   Mexican  disturbances.      Spring   of  1914. 

London   was  acting   as  a   war  correspondent   should   trouble   ensue. 


fornia  is  known  as  Jack-London-Land. 

Who,  then,  shall  say  that  he  has  not 
lived?  For  good  or  evil  he  has  made 
a  profound  impression  upon  his  gen- 
eration. Hundreds  of  thousands  of 
words  have  been  written,  pro  and  con, 
about  him  and  his  work  by  critics  of 
every  school,  country  and  type.  Thou- 
sands buy  and  read  his  books  and 
swear  by  him  and  his  ideas;  other 
thousands  borrow  and  read  and  fiercely 
assail  him. 

Hence  it  seems  to  me  it  cannot  fail 
to  be  more  than  usually  interesting  to 
take  a  close  look  at  the  man,  seen 
through  the  eyes  of  one  who  is  proud 
to  call  him  friend,  and  who  thinks  he 
knows  and  understands  him  as  well  as 
any  other  living  man. 

One  day  while  being  favored  by  Lu- 
ther Burbank  to  watch  him  at  work  in 


his  "proving  gardens,"  he  explained 
that  often  one  particular  seed  out  of  a 
batch  grown  under  exactly  the  same 
conditions  would  develop  into  some- 
thing so  much  ahead  of  the  others  as 
to  be  startling  in  its  advancement.  To 
watch  for  and  capture  these  naturally 
developed  and  superior  types  was  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  important 
phases  of  his  great  work. 

Remembering  this,  and  recalling 
London's  vast  and  varied  achieve- 
ments with  his  rude  early  environment, 
I  asked  him  one  day :  "Where  did  you 
come  from?  What  are  you  the  pro- 
duct of?"  and  here  is  his  answer: 

"Have  you  ever  thought  that  in  ten 
generations  of  my  ancestors  1,022  peo- 
ple happened  to  concentrate  in  some 
fashion  on  the  small  piece  of  proto- 
plasm that  was  to  eventuate  in  me.  All 


Mrs.   Jack  London  on   a   morning   ride  over  the  Valley  of  the   Moon   ranch. 


the  potentialities  of  these  1,022  people 
were  favorable  in  my  direction.  I 
was  born  normal,  healthy  in  body  and 
mind.  Many  a  life  has  been  ruined  by 
inheriting  a  tendency  to  a  weak  sto- 
mach, or  liver,  or  lungs.  In  my  case 
all  were  perfectly  strong  and  vigorous. 
Then,  too,  you  know  that  in  a  row  of 
beans,  all  grown  from  the  same  seed, 
you  will  find  one  pod  that  surpasses 
all  the  others,  and  in  that  pod  one 
bean  that  you  may  call  'the  king  bean.' 
It  is  so  in  humanity.  All  the  acci- 
dents of  environment  favor  the  par- 
ticular bean;  they  all  favored  me. 
Most  people  look  upon  the  conditions 
of  my  early  life  as  anything  but  fa- 
vorable, but  as  I  look  back  I  am  sim- 
ply amazed  at  my  chances,  at  the  way 
opportunity  has  favored  me.  As  a 
child  I  was  very  much  alone.  Had  I 
been  as  other  children,  'blessed'  with 
brothers  and  sisters  and  plenty  of 
playmates,  I  should  have  been  men- 
tally occupied,  grown  up  as  the  rest 
of  my  class  grew,  become  a  laborer 
and  been  content.  But  I  was  alone. 
Very  much  so.  This  fostered  contem- 
plation.    I  well  remember  how  I  used 


to  look  upon  my  mother.  To  me  she 
was  a  wonderful  woman  with  all  power 
over  my  destiny.  She  had  wisdom 
and  knowledge,  as  well  as  power  in 
her  hands.  Her  word  was  my  law. 
But  one  day  she  punished  me  for 
something  of  which  I  was  not  guilty. 
The  poor  woman  had  a  hard  life,  and 
all  her  energies  were  spent  in  chasing 
the  dollar  that  she  might  feed  and 
clothe  us,  and  she  was  worn  out,  ner- 
vous, irritable  and  therefore  disin- 
clined to  take  the  time  and  energy  nec- 
essary to  investigate.  So  I  was  pun- 
ished unjustly.  Of  course  I  cried  and 
felt  the  injustice.  Now,  had  I  had 
companions,  it  would  not  have  been 
long  before  I  should  have  found  them, 
or  they  me,  and  we  should  have  en- 
gaged in  some  fun  or  frolic,  and  my 
attention  would  have  been  diverted.  I 
should  soon  have  'laughed  and  forgot.' 
But  it  was  not  so.  I  thought,  and 
thought,  and  thought,  and  my  brooded 
thought  soon  incubated.  I  began  to 
see  differently.  I  began  to  measure. 
I  saw  that  my  mother  was  not  as  large 
as  I  had  thought.  Her  infallibility 
was  destroyed.    She  had  seen  all  there 


0> 


Jack    London    enjoying    himself   among    his   guests   after   doing    his   regular 
morning  stunt  of  one  thousand  words  in  one  of  his  popular  stories. 


was  to  see.  Her  knowledge  was  lim- 
ited, and  therefore  she  was  unjust.  I 
can  well  remember  that  I  absolved  her 
from  any  deliberate  intention  to  hurt 
me,  but  henceforth  I  decided  for  my- 
self as  to  the  right  and  wrong  of 
things. 

"This  contemplative  spirit  was  fed 
by  the  accidents  of  the  environment 
of  childhood.  I  was  born  in  San 
Francisco  January  12,  1876,  and  for 
the  first  three  and  a  half  years  lived 
in  Oakland.  Then  my  father  took  a 
truck  farm  (which  is  now  a  pottery) 
in  Alameda,  and  I  was  there  until  I 
was  seven  years  old.  It  was  on  my 
birthday  that  we  moved.  I  can  re- 
member the  picture  as  if  it  were  but 
yesterday.  We  had  horses  and  a 
farm  wagon,  and  onto  that  we  piled 
all  our  household  belongings,  all  hands 


climbing  up  on  the  top  of  the  load,  and 
with  the  cow  tied  behind,  we  moved 
'bag  and  baggage'  to  the  coast  in  San 
Mateo  County,  six  miles  beyond  Co- 
lina.  It  was  a  treeless  bleak,  bar- 
ren and  foggy  region,  yet  as  far  as  I 
was  concerned,  fate  favored  me.  The 
only  other  people  of  the  neighborhood 
were  Italians  and  Irish.  Ours  was  the 
only  'American'  family.  I  had  no 
companions.  I  went  to  the  regular, 
old-fashioned  country  school,  where 
three  or  four  of  us  sat  on  the  same 
bench,  and  were  'licked'  as  regularly 
as  could  be,  'good  or  bad.'  My  spirit 
of  contemplation  was  fostered  here, 
for  I  had  no  companions.  I  was  a 
solitary  and  lonely  child.  Yet  I  was 
a  social  youngster,  and  always  got 
along  well  with  other  children.  I  was 
healthy,  hearty,  normal  and  therefore 


L      Jm 

PI^^B                         Sj**f^' 

! 

ak                -1 ' 

^bs  ^^^  '^m^H^^H                      T»yj 

; 

^^WMlkl                           ^^ 

-swESL' 

One  of  the  last  photographs  taken  of  Jack  London,  1916.  He  is  seated  in 
his  study,  reading  part  of  the  manuscript  of  one  of  the  stories  which  was 
later  contributed  to  this  issue  of  Overland  Monthly. 

— Photo  by  Louis  J.  Stellmann. 


happy,  but  I  can  now  see  that  I  lived 
a  dual  life.  My  outward  life  was  that 
of  the  everyday  poor  man's  son  in  the 
public  school:  rough  and  tumble, 
happy  go  lucky,  jostled  by  a  score,  a 
hundred,  rough  elements.  Within 
myself  I  was  reflective,  contemplative, 
apart  from  the  kinetic  forces  around 
me. 

"From  here  we  moved,  in  less  than 
a  year,  to  Livermore,  where  I  lived  un- 
til I  was  nine  years  old.  We  had  a 
rude  kind  of  a  truck  farm,  and  I  was 
the  chore  boy.  How  I  hated  my  life 
there.  The  soil  had  no  attractions  for 
me.  I  had  to  get  out  early  in  the 
frosty  mornings  and  I  suffered  from 
chilblains.  Everything  was  squalid 
and  sordid,  and  I  hungered  for  meat, 
which  I  seldom  got.  I  took  a  violent 
prejudice — nay,  it  was  almost  a  hatred 
— to  country  life  at  this  time,  that  later 
I  had  to  overcome.  All  this  tended  to 
drive  me  into  myself  and  added  to  my 
inward  powers  of  contemplation. 

"Then  we  moved  to  Oakland,  where 


my  real,  active  life  began.  I  had  to 
fish  for  myself." 

Certainly  he  had  if  the  following 
story,  related  by  Ninetta  Payne,  the 
aunt  and  foster-mother  of  Charmian, 
his  wife,  be  true : 

"After  school  hours  he  sold  news- 
papers on  the  streets,  and  not  infre- 
quently did  battle  to  establish  his 
right  to  route.  An  instance  of  the  kind, 
told  by  an  old  neighbor  of  the  Lon- 
dons,  is  illustrative  not  only  of  Jack's 
grit  and  courage  at  thirteen,  but  of  a 
certain  phlegm  and  philosophic  jus- 
tice in  his  father.  Jack  had  borne  in- 
numerable affronts  from  a  sixteen  year 
old  boy  until  patience  was  exhausted 
and  he  resolved  to  fight  it  out.  Ac- 
cordingly at  their  next  encounter  the 
two  fell  to  blows,  Jack,  cool  and  de- 
termined, as  one  predestined  to  con- 
quer, and  his  antagonist  swelling  with 
the  surface  pride  and  arrogance  of  the 
bully.  For  more  than  two  hours  they 
stuck  to  it  manfully,  neither  winning 
a  serious  advantage  over  the     other. 


368 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


The  neighbor  watcher  thought  it  time 
to  put  a  stop  to  the  pummeling  and 
ran  to  the  London  cottage,  where  she 
found  the  old  man  sunning  himself  on 
the  doorstep. 

"  'O  Mr.  London,'  she  cried,  'Jack's 
been  fighting  for  hours !  Do  come  and 
stop  it!' 

"He  composedly  returned:  'Is  my 
boy  fighting  fair?' 

"  'Yes,  sir,  he  is.' 

"He  nodded,  his  pleased  eyes  twink- 
ling. 'An'  t'other  one — is  he  fighting 
fair?' 

"  'Yes — leastwise  it  looks  so.' 

"  'Well,  let  'em  alone.  There  don't 
seem  no  call  to  interfere.' 

"That  this  placidity  did  not  argue 
indifference  was  seen  by  the  father's 
appearing  a  few  minutes  later  on  the 
field  of  action.  He  did  nothing,  how- 
ever; only  pulled  steadily  at  his  pipe 
and  looked  on,  one  of  a  motley  ring  of 
spectators.  Jack's  opponent  was  get- 
ting winded  and  bethought  him  of  a 
subterfuge.  He  gave  a  blow  and  then 
threw  himself  on  the  ground,  knowing 
that  Jack  would  not  hit  him  when  he 
was  down.  The  latter  saw  his  little 
game,  and  when  it  was  thrice  repeated, 
struck  low,  with  a  telling  punch  on  the 
chin  of  his  falling  adversary. 
-  "There  was  a  yell  of  'Foul  blow!' 
from  the  two  younger  brothers  of  the 
vanquished  pugilist,  and  the  older,  an 
overgrown  boy  of  fifteen,  sprang  red- 
hot  into  the  circle  and  demanded  satis- 
faction. Jack,  panting  and  holding  to 
his  swollen  wrist  (that  last  blow  of  his 
had  strained  the  tendons) ,  pranced  into 
position,  and  fired  back  the  answer: 
'Come  on!    I'll  lick  you,  too!' 

"It  was  observed  that  his  father  for- 
got to  smoke  during  the  spirited  tussle 
that  ensued,  though  he  said  never  a 
word,  even  when  Jack,  dripping  gore 
and  sweat,  drew  off  victorious  from  his 
prostrate  foe,  only  to  face  the  third 
brother,  a  lad  of  his  own  age.  Him 
he  downed  with  a  single  thrust  of  his 
fist,  for  his  blood  was  up  and  he  felt 
cordial  to  himself  and  invincibly  con- 
fident in  his  strength  to  overcome  a 
host  of  irate  brothers. 

"Then  it  was  that     John     London, 


bright  of  eye  and  smiling,  took  a  gen- 
tle grip  of  his  son's  arm  and  marched 
him  in  triumph  from  the  field. 

"Between  school  hours  and  work, 
Jack  found  time  to  pore  over  books  of 
history,  poetry  and  fiction,  and  to 
nurse  the  secret  wish  to  become  a 
writer.  He  was  graduated  from  the 
Oakland  grammar  school  at  fourteen, 
and  a  few  months  later  drifted  into  an 
adventurous  life  'long  shore.  Here  he 
shared  the  industries  and  pastimes  of 
the  marine  population  huddled  along 
the  water-front,  taking  his  chances  at 
salmon  fishing,  oyster  pirating, 
schooner  sailing,  and  other  bay-faring 
ventures,  never  holding  himself  aloof 
when  comrades  were  awake,  but  when 
they  slept  turning  to  his  book  with  the 
avidity  of  a  mind  athirst  for  knowl- 
edge." 

Yet  in  spite  of  his  general  camara- 
derie he  was  a  solitary  youth.  Speak- 
ing again  of  his  mental  and  spiritual 
isolation  from  his  fellows  at  this  time, 
London  said: 

"I  belonged  to  a  'street  gang'  in 
West  Oakland,  as  rough  and  tough  a 
crowd  as  you'll  find  in  any  city  in  the 
country.  Yet  while  I  always  got  along 
well  with  the  crowd — I  was  sociable 
and  held  up  my  end  when  it  came  to 
doing  anything — I  was  never  in  the 
center  of  things ;  I  was  always  alone,  in 
a  corner,  as  it  were. 

"Then  it  was  that  I  learned  to  hate 
the  city.  I  suppose  my  father  and 
mother  looked  upon  it  as  childish  pre- 
judice, but  I  clearly  saw  the  futility  of 
life  in  such  a  herd.  I  was  oppressed 
with  a  deadly  oppression  as  I  saw  that 
all  the  people,  rich  and  poor  alike, 
were  merely  mad  creatures,  chasing 
phantoms.  Now  and  again  my  inner 
thoughts  were  so  intense  that  I  could 
not  keep  them  to  myself.  My  sympa- 
thies and  emotions  were  so  aroused 
that  I  would  talk  out  to  a  few  of  the 
gang  that  which  surged,  boiled  and 
seethed  within  me.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  the  preacher  about  me,  but  a 
spirit  of  rebellion  against  the  hypnot- 
ism that  had  fallen  upon  the  poor. 
They  had  it  in  their  own  hands  to  rem- 
edy the  evils  that  beset  them,  yet  they 


Mrs.   Jack    London.      (Jack   London's  favorite   picture  of   his  wife.) 


were  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  their 
lot  was  God-ordained,  fixed,  immov- 
able. How  that  cursed  idea  used  to  ir- 
ritate me.  How  it  fired  my  tongue. 
The  boys  would  listen  open  mouthed 
and  wide  eyed,  but  few  of  them  catch- 
ing even  a  glimmer  of  the  thoughts 
that  were  surging  through  me.  Then 
men  would  be  attracted  to  the  little 
crowd  of  boys,  hearing  the  tense,  fierce 
voice  assailing  them.  Thus,  little  by 
little,  I  was  led  on — urged  at  the  same 
time  by  the  voice  within — to  harangue 
the  crowds  on  Oakland  streets,  and  be- 


came known  as  the  Boy  Socialist. 

"Doubtless  it  was  all  crude  and  rude, 
illogical  and  inconsequential,  but  it 
was  the  most  serious  matter  to  me,  and 
has  had  much  to  do  with  shaping  my 
later  thought  and  life.  At  the  same 
time  the  hopelessness  of  arousing  my 
own  class  so  smote  me,  and  the  heart- 
lessness  of  the  moneyed  class  so 
wounded  me  that  I  begged  and  urged 
my  father  and  mother  to  let  me  go  to 
_sea. 


"Accordingly,  when  I  was  seventeen, 
in  the  fall  of  1893,  I  was  allowed  to 


370                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

ship  before  the  mast  on  a  sailing  ling  consequences  if  he  were  not 
schooner  which  cruised  to  Japan  and  obeyed,  but  Jack  kept  silent,  his  sup- 
up  the  North  Coast  to  the  Russian  side  pie  hands  nimbly  intent  on  the  rope 
of  the  Behring  Sea.  We  touched  at  strands,  though  the  tail  of  his  eye  took 
Yokohama,  and  I  got  my  first  seduc-  note  of  his  enemy, 
tive  taste  of  the  Orient.  We  stayed  "Another  threat,  met  by  exasperat- 
in  Japan  three  weeks.  While  we  were  ing  indifference,  and  the  incensed 
on  the  high  seas  the  captain  tried  to  Swede  dropped  the  coffee  pot  to  give 
pay  the  crew  in  foreign  coin.  We  re-  a  back  handed  slap  on  the  boy's  curled 
fused  to  take  it,  as  there  was  a  dis-  mouth.  The  instant  after  iron  hard 
count  on  it  which  meant  considerable  knuckles  struck  squarely  between  the 
loss  to  us.  He  insisted.  We  rebelled,  sailor's  eyes,  followed  by  the  crash  of 
and  for  a  time  had  a  real  mutiny  on  crockery.  The  Swede,  choking  with 
board,  and  if  the  captain  hadn't  finally  rage,  made  a  lunge  at  Jack  with  a 
given  in,  there's  no  knowing  what  sledge-hammer  fist,  but  the  latter 
might  have  happened  to  me,  as  I  was  dodged,  and  like  a  flash  vaulted  to  the 
just  as  forward  in  protesting  as  any  ruffian's  back,  his  fingers  knitting  in 
of  the  others,  though  I  was  the  young-  the  fellow's  throat-pipes.  He  bellowed 
est  sailor  aboard."  and  charged  like  a  mad  bull,  and  with 

That  Jack  not  only  resented  injus-  every  frenzied  jump,  Jack's  head  was 

tice  from  the  captain,  but  from  his  a  battering  ram     against     the     deck 

messmates,  the  following  incident,  re-  beams.    Down  crashed  the  slush  lamp 

lated  by  Mrs.  Eames,  clearly  shows :  and  the  lookers-on  drew  up  their  feet 

"Our  sailor  man  one  day  sat  on  his  in  the  bunks  to  make  room  for  the 
bunk  weaving  a  mat  of  rope  yarn  when  show ;  they  saw  what  the  Swede  did 
he  was  gruffly  accosted  by  a  burly  not — that  Jack  was  getting  the  worst 
Swede  taking  his  turn  at  'peggy-day'  of  it.  His  eyes  bulged  horribly  and 
(a  fo'castle  term,  signifying  a  sailor's  his  face  streamed  blood,  but  he  only 
day  for  cleaning  off  the  meals,  washing  dug  his  fingers  deeper  into  that  flesh- 
up  the  dishes,  and  filling  the  slush-  padded  larynx  and  yelled  through  his 
lamps),  a  part  of  which  disagreeable  shut  teeth:  'Will  you  promise  to  let  me 
tasks  the  man  evidently  hoped  to  bull-  alone  ?  Eh — will  you  promise  ?' 
doze  the  green  hand  into  doing  for  "The  Swede,  tortured  and  purple  in 
him.  the  face,  gurgled  an  assent,  and  when 

"  'Here,  you  landlubber,'  he  bawled  that  viselike  grip  on  his  throat  loos- 

with  an  oath,  'fill  up  the  molasses.  You  ened,  reeled  and  stumbled  to  his  knees 

eat  the  most  of  it!'  like  a  felled  bullock.    The  sailors,  jam- 

"Jack,  usually  the  most  amiable  of  ming  their  way  through  a  wild  clutter 

the  hands,  bristled  at  his  roughness;  of  food  and  broken  dishes,  crowded 

besides,  he  had  vivid  memories  of  his  around  the  jubilant  hero  of  the  hour 

first  and  only  attempt  to  eat  the  black,  with  friendly  offers  of  assistance  and 

viscous  stuff  booked  'molasses'  on  the  a  noticeable  increase  of  respect  in  their 

fo'castle  bill  of  fare,  and  so  indignant-  tone  and  manner.    Thence  on  Jack  had 

ly  denied  the  charge.  his  'peggy-day'  like  the  rest,  his  mates 

"  'I  never  taste  it.  'Tain't  fit  for  a  risking  no  further  attempt  to  take  ad- 
hog.  It's  your  day  to  grub,  so  do  it  vantage  of  his  youth  or  inexperience." 
yourself.'  On  his  return  to  California  he  ielt, 

"Not  a  messmate  within  hearing  of  more  than  ever  before,  his  need  for 

the  altercation  but  pictured  disaster  to  study.    He  joined  the  "Henry  Clay  De- 


this  beardless,  undersized  boy.  bating  Society,"  and  entered  into  its 

"Jack's  defiant  glance  again  dropped  work  with  a  fierce  zest  that  his  com- 

to  his  mat,  and  he  quietly  went  on  pan  ions   were    unable   to   understand, 

twisting  the  yarn.    At  this  the  sailor,  Reflection  while  doing  solitary  duties 

both  arms  heaped  with  dishes,  swore  on  the  high  seas  had  led  him  to  see 

the  harder,  and  threatened  blood  curd-  also  that  he  had  better  seek  to  know 


The  author  on  horseback  rounds  over  his  extensive  land  holdings,  Sonoma  County,  California. 


the  ideas  of  the  leading  men  of 
thought.  Surely  somewhere  he  would 
find  the  explanation  of  the  inconsist- 
encies and  inhumanities  of  life.  As 
he  himself  says  in  his  "What  Life 
Means  to  Me.": 

"I  had  been  born  in  the  working 
class,  and  I  was  now,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  beneath  the  point  at  which  I 
had  started.  I  was  down  in  the  cellar 
of  society,  down  in  the  subterranean 
depths  of  misery  about  which  it  is  nei- 
ther nice  nor  proper  to  speak.  I  was  in 
the  pit,  the  abyss,  the  human  cesspool, 
the  shambles  and  the  charnel  house  of 
our  civilization.  This  is  the  part  of 
the  edifice  of  society  that  society 
chooses  to  ignore.  Lack  of  space  com- 
pels me  here  to  ignore  it,  and  I  shall 
say  only  that  the  things  I  there  saw 
gave  me  a  terrible  scare. 

"I  was  scared  into  thinking.  I  saw 
the  naked  simplicities  of  the  compli- 


cated civilization  in  which  I  lived.  Life 
was  a  matter  of  food  and  shelter.  In 
order  to  get  food  and  shelter  men  sold 
things.  The  merchant  sold  shoes,  the 
politician  sold  his  manhood,  and  the 
representative  of  the  people,  with  ex- 
ceptions, of  course,  sold  his  trust; 
while  nearly  all  sold  their  honor.  All 
things  were  commodities,  all  people 
bought  and  sold.  The  one  commodity 
that  labor  had  to  sell  was  muscle.  The 
honor  of  labor  had  no  price  in  the  mar- 
ket place.  Labor  had  muscle  and  mus- 
cle alone,  to  sell. 

"But  there  was  a  difference,  a  vital 
difference.  Shoes  and  trust  and  honor 
had  a  way  of  renewing  themselves. 
They  were  imperishable  stocks.  Mus- 
cle, on  the  other  hand,  did  not  renew. 
As  the  shoe  merchant  sold  shoes,  he 
continued  to  replenish  his  stock.  But 
there  was  no  way  of  replenishing  the 
laborer's  stock  of  muscle.    The  more 


372 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


he  sold  of  his  muscle  the  less  of  it  re- 
mained to  him.  It  was  his  one  com- 
modity, and  each  day  his  stock  of  it 
diminished.  In  the  end,  if  he  did  not 
die  before,  he  sold  out  and  put  up  his 
shutters.  He  was  a  muscle  bankrupt, 
and  nothing  remained  to  him  but  to  go 
down  into  the  cellar  of  society  and  per- 
ish miserably. 

"I  learned  further  that  brain  was 
likewise  a  commodity.  It,  too,  was 
different  from  muscle.  A  brain  seller 
was  only  at  his  prime  when  he  was 
fifty  or  sixty  years  old,  and  his  wares 
were  fetching  higher  prices  than  ever. 
But  a  laborer  was  worked  out  or 
broken  down  at  forty-five  or  fifty.  I 
had  been  in  the  cellar  of  society,  and 
I  did  not  like  the  place  as  a  habitation. 
The  pipes  and  drains  were  unsanitary, 
and  the  air  was  bad  to  breathe.  If  I 
could  not  live  on  the  parlor  floor  of 
society,  I  could,  at  any  rate,  have  a  try 
at  the  attic.  It  was  true  the  diet  there 
was  slim,  but  the  air  at  least  was  pure. 
So  I  resolved  to  sell  no  more  muscle 
and  to  become  a  vender  of  brains. 

"Then  began  a  frantic  pursuit  of 
knowledge.  While  thus  equipping 
myself  to  become  a  brain  merchant,  it 
was  inevitable  that  I  should  delve  into 
sociology.  There  I  found,  in  a  certain 
class  of  books,  scientifically  formu- 
lated, the  simple  sociological  concepts 
I  had  already  worked  out  for  myself. 
Other  and  greater  minds,  before  I  was 
born,  had  worked  out  all  that  I  had 
thought,  and  a  vast  deal  more.  I  dis- 
covered that  I  was  a  Socialist." 

He  had  long  been  a  Socialist  with- 
out knowing  it,  but  now  he  was  con- 
scious of  his  real  affiliations.  This 
led  him  into  a  singular  experience. 
The  "Henry  Clay"  had  planned  for  an 
open  debate  in  which  London  was  to 
take  an  important  part.  When  the 
time  arrived  Jack  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  Coxey  had  left  Oakland  a  few 
days  before  with  his  army  of  the  un- 
employed. The  sudden  impulse  had 
thereupon  seized  Jack  to  follow.  The 
result  of  this  experience  has  been  told 
with  graphic  power  by  London  in  his 
"The  Road."  I  suppose  no  book  of 
his  has  been  so  severely  criticised  as 


this.  It  has  been  stated  again  and 
again  that  he  took  this  trip  for  the 
purpose  of  making  sociological  studies. 
The  fact  is,  he  was  a  mere  lad,  worked 
to  death,  because  he  was  forced  to  do 
the  work  of  men  to  earn  enough  to 
keep  the  family  going.  He  had  no 
idea  at  the  time  of  making  an  investi- 
gation or  writing  so  far  as  "The  Road" 
was  concerned.  Curiosity,  adventure, 
freedom — all  these,  but  study,  as  Pro- 
fessor Wyckoff  did,  never  entered  his 
imagination. 

When  he  discovered  his  gift  of  writ- 
ing, here,  however,  was  a  wonderful 
mine  of  personal  material  ready  made 
to  his  hand.  It  had  never  before  been 
handled  as  he  could  handle  it.  For 
the  first  time  he  exposes  the  inner- 
most life  of  the  tramp. 

In  effect  he  says :  "This  I  was,  and 
what  I  was  the  .  .  .  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  tramps  and  hoboes  that  daily 
walk  this  country  are."  His  is  no 
fancy  picture.  It  is  a  stern  setting 
forth  of  facts,  and  whether  I  approve 
of  London's  method  of  getting  the  facts 
or  not,  I  have  sense  enough  to  perceive 
the  importance  of  them  to  me  and  to 
every  other  decent  and  law  abiding 
citizen.  Here  is  this  vast  army  of  ly- 
ing, thieving,  prowling,  festering  man- 
stuff.  What  are  we  doing,  intelligently 
and  wisely,  to  break  it  up  and  change 
its  individual  elements  into  useful  citi- 
zenship? Personally  I  am  grateful  to 
London  for  giving  me  the  inner  facts, 
and  I  will  not  quarrel  with  his  con- 
science if  he  is  able  to  reconcile  it  with 
doing  what  he  did  on  my  behalf. 

There  is  more,  however,  to  the  book 
than  I  have  indicated.  As  a  reviewer 
in  the  Los  Angeles  Times  wrote : 

"The  book  is  valuable  also  in  other 
ways.  London  is  a  powerful  and  virile 
writer,  and  he  has  both  material  and 
manner  in  the  present  case.  The  chap- 
ter telling  how  a  tramp  steals  a  ride  on 
a  railway  train  is  as  thrilling  and 
breath-bating  as  a  fragment  from  Du- 
mas— it  is  a  veritable  novel  of  adven- 
ture put  in  a  score  of  pages.  London's 
record  of  his  experiences  in  the  peni- 
tentiary is  another  chapter,  where  the 
material  of  a  report  on  prison  condi- 


Jack   London    inspecting  one  of  the  vineyards  on   his  ranch,   Valley  of  the   Moon. 


tions,  a  melodrama  and  a  novel  are 
condensed  into  a  sharp,  incisive  short 
story,  all  done  with  fine  literary  skill." 

That  penitentiary  experience  is  one 
that  every  American  ought  to  read  and 
ponder.  We  pride  ourselves  on  our 
Constitution  and  our  deference  to  law. 
London  shows  that  the  tramp  has  no 
rights  according  to  the  Constitution, 
and  that  the  law  is  ruthlessly  trampled 
upon  by  men  who  are  sworn  to  uphold 
it.  He  was  arrested,  thrust  into  prison, 
brought  before  a  magistrate,  refused 
his  inherent  right  to  plead  guilty  or  not 
guilty,  compelled  by  threats  of  severer 
punishment  to  keep  silent  while  he  was 
being  sentenced  contrary  to  law,  and 
then  illegally,  by  brute  force,  exactly 
as  if  he  were  in  Russia  and  being  sent 
to  the  mines  of  Siberia,  was  marched 
to  the  State  penitentiary  and  compelled 
to  serve  out  his  sentence. 

Personally  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  the  Court  which  so  sen- 
tenced him  and  the  officers  who  know- 
ingly carried  out  the  sentence  are  more 
dangerous  to  this  country  and  subver- 


sive of  its  high  ideals  than  all  the 
tramps  and  hoboes  that  can  be  found 
in  a  day's  journey. 

To  London,  however,  this  was  but 
one  more  experience,  adding  to  his 
store  of  knowledge  and  giving  more 
grist  for  the  literary  mill  that  he  felt 
sure  at  some  time  soon  would  be  set  in 
motion.  He  returned  to  California 
mainly  on  the  brake-beam  route  of  the 
Canadian  Pacific.  Arrived  here,  he 
plunged  into  securing  an  education 
with  his  characteristic  energy  and  de- 
termination. But  his  tramp  experi- 
ences had  not  lessened  his  zeal  on  be- 
half of  "his  class."  More  than  ever  he 
resolved  to  help  ameliorate  their  hard 
condition.  Like  William  Morris,  and 
fired  with  the  same  passion  for  hu- 
manity, he  placed  himself  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  Socialist  Labor  Party,  and 
they  sent  him  here  and  there  to  speak 
on  their  behalf.  Fearless  and  bold  to 
the  last  degree,  he  refused  to  obey  the 
policeman  set  to  enforce  a  newly 
passed  ordinance  prohibiting  public 
speaking  on  the  streets.     He  was  ar- 


374 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


rested.  But  when  the  case  came  to 
trial  he  defended  himself  with  such 
dignity  and  logic  that  he  was  imme- 
diately acquitted. 

This,  however,  was  only  a  part  of  his 
life.  His  deepest  need  and  cry  now 
was  for  an  education.  And  how  ear- 
nest he  was  to  secure  it.  For  awhile 
he  attended  the  high  school  in  Oak- 
land ;  then,  to  hurry  up  matters,  took  a 
three  months'  course  at  Anderson's 
Academy.  But  the  private  school  was 
both  too  tedious  and  too  expensive,  so 
he  determined  to  prepare  himself  for 
the  university  by  private  study.  In 
"Martin  Eden"  he  thus  tells  of  his  re- 
ply when  urged  to  go  to  a  night  school. 

"It  seems  so  babyish  for  me  to  be 
going  to  night  school.  But  I  wouldn't 
mind  that  if  I  thought  it  would  pay. 
But  I  don't  think  it  will  pay.  I  can 
do  the  work  quicker  than  they  can 
teach  me.  It  would  be  a  loss  of  time, 
etc.  ...  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  a 
natural  student.  I  can  study  by  my- 
self. I  take  to  it  kindly,  like  a  duck 
to  water.  You  see  yourself  what  I  did 
with  grammar.  And  I've  learned  much 
of  other  things — you  would  never 
dream  how  much." 

With  all  his  preparation  for  the 
University,  the  pressure  of  life  and  its 
needs  was  so  great  that  he  was  able 
only  to  attend  during  his  freshman 
year.  It  was  during  this  time  that  he 
began  to  attend  socialistic  meetings  in 
San  Francisco  and  came  in  personal 
contact  with  some  of  the  leaders.  In 
"What  Life  Means  to  Me"  he  tells  of 
his  experiences:  "Here  I  found  keen- 
flashing  intellects  and  brilliant  wits; 
for  here  I  met  strong  and  alert-brained, 
withal  horny-handed  members  of  the 
working  class ;  unfrocked  preachers  too 
wide  in  their  Christianity  for  any  con- 
gregation of  Mammon  worshipers; 
professors  broken  in  the  wheel  of  uni- 
versity subservience  to  the  ruling  class 
and  flung  out  because  they  were  quick 
with  knowledge  which  they  strove  to 
apply  to  the  affairs  of  mankind. 
//"Here  I  found  also  warm  faith  in 
the  human,  glowing  idealism,  sweet- 
ness of  unselfishness,  renunciation  and 
martyrdom — all  the  splendid,  stinging 


things  of  the  spirit.  Here  life  was 
clean,  noble  and  alive.  Here,  life  re- 
habilitated itself,  became  wonderful 
and  glorious;  and  I  was  glad  to  be 
alive.  I  was  in  touch  with  great  souls 
who  exalted  flesh  and  spirit  over  dol- 
lars and  cents;  and  to  whom  the  thin 
wail  of  the  starved  slum  child  meant 
more  than  all  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  commercial  expansion  and 
world-empire.  All  about  me  were 
nobleness  of  purpose  and  heroism  of 
effort,  and  all  my  days  and  nights 
were  sunshine  and  star  shine,  all  fire 
and  dew,  with  before  my  eyes,  ever 
burning  and  blazing,  the  Holy  Grail, 
Christ's  own  Grail,  the  warm  human, 
long-suffering  and  maltreated,  but  to 
be  rescued  and  saved  at  the  last."  J^~ 

•F  n*  "I*  n» 

In  "Martin  Eden"  he  tells  us  some- 
what more  in  detail  one  of  his  first 
meetings  with  the  Socialist  leaders. 
The  "Brissenden"  of  "Martin  Eden"  is 
based  upon  George  Sterling,  the  poet, 
who  in  those  days  was  warmly  stirred 
with  earnest  desire  to  help  improve 
the  condition  of  his  fellow-men.  With 
him  he  visited  some  of  the  leaders  in 
San  Francisco.  Here  is  part  of  Lon- 
don't  description  of  that  meeting: 

"At  first,  the  conversation  was  desul- 
tory. Nevertheless,  Martin  could  not 
fail  to  appreciate  the  keen  play  of  their 
minds.  They  were  men  with  opinions, 
though  the  opinions  often  clashed,  and, 
though  they  were  witty  and  clever,  they 
were  not  superficial.  He  swiftly  saw, 
no  matter  upon  what  they  talked,  that 
each  man  applied  the  correlation  of 
knowledge  and  had  also  a  deep-seated 
and  unified  conception  of  society  and 
the  Cosmos.  Nobody  manufactured 
their  opinions  for  them;  they  were  all 
rebels  of  one  variety  or  another,  and 
their  lips  were  strangers  to  platitudes. 
Never  had  Martin,  at  the  Morses', 
heard  so  amazing  a  range  of  topics 
discussed.  There  seemed  no  limit 
save  time  to  the  things  they  were  alive 
to.  The  talk  wandered  from  Mrs. 
Humphrey  Ward's  new  book  to  Shaw's 
latest  play,  through  the  future  of  the 
drama  to  reminiscences  of  Mansfield. 
They  appreciated  or  sneered  at  the 


The   half  finished    patio   of   "Wolf   House"    before  the   ruinous  fire. 


morning  editorials,  jumped  from  labor 
conditions  in  New  Zealand,  to  Henry 
James  and  Brander  Matthews,  passed 
on  to  the  German  designs  in  the  Far 
East  and  the  economic  aspects  of  the 
Yellow  Peril,  wrangled  over  the  Ger- 
man elections  and  Bebel's  last  speech, 
and  settled  down  to  local  politics,  the 
latest  plans  and  scandals  in  the  union 
labor  party  administration,  and  the 
wires  that  were  pulled  to  bring  about 
the  Coast  Seamen's  strike.  Martin 
was  struck  by  the  inside  knowledge 
they  possessed.  They  knew  what  was 
never  printed  in  the  newspapers — the 
wires  and  strings  and  the  hidden  hands 
that  made  the  puppets  dance.  To  Mar- 
tin's surprise,  the  girl,  Mary,  joined 
in  the  conversation,  displaying  an  in- 
telligence he  had  never  encountered 
in  the  few  women  he  had  met.  They 
talked  together  on  Swinburn  and  Ro- 
setti,  after  which  she  led  him  beyond 
his  depths  into  the  by-paths  of  French 
literature.  His  revenge  came  when 
she  defended  Maeterlinck,  and  he 
brought  into  action  the  carefully 
thought  out  thesis  of  'The  Shame  of 
the  Sun.' 

"Several  other  men  had  dropped  in, 


and  the  air  was  thick  with  tobacco 
smoke,  when  Brissenden  waved  the 
red  flag. 

"  'Here's  fresh  meat  for  your  axe, 
Kreis,'  he  said,  'a  rose  white  youth 
with  the  ardor  of  a  lover  for  Herbert 
Spencer.  Make  a  Haeckelite  of  him — 
if  you  can.' 

"Kreis  seemed  to  wake  up  and  flash 
like  some  metallic,  magnetic  thing, 
while  Norton  looked  at  Martin  sympa- 
thetically, with  a  sweet,  girlish  smile, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  he  would  be 
amply  protected. 

"Kreis  began  directly  on  Martin, 
but  step  by  step  Norton  interfered,  un- 
til he  and  Kreis  were  off  and  away  in 
a  personal  battle.  Martin  listened  and 
fain  would  have  rubbed  his  eyes.  It 
was  impossible  that  this  should  be, 
much  less  in  the  labor  ghetto  south  of 
Market.  The  books  were  alive  in 
these  men.  They  talked  with  fire  and 
enthusiasm,  the  intellectual  stimulant 
stirring  them  as  he  had  seen  drink  and 
anger  stir  other  men.  What  he  heard 
was  no  longer  the  philosophy  of  the 
dry,  printed  word,  written  by  half- 
mythical  demigods  like  Kant  and  Spen- 
cer.    It  was  living  philosophy,  with 


376 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


warm,  red  blood,  incarnated  in  these 
two  men  till  its  very  features  worked 
with  excitement.  Now  and  again  other 
men  joined  in,  and  all  followed  the 
discussion  with  cigarettes  going  out  in 
their  hands,  and  with  alert,  intent 
faces. 

"Idealism  had  never  attracted  Mar- 
tin, but  the  exposition  it  now  received 
at  the  hands  of  Norton  was  a  revela- 
tion. The  logical  plausibility  of  it,  that 
made  an  appeal  to  his  intellect,  seemed 
missed  by  Kreis  and  Hamilton,  who 
sneered  at  Norton  as  a  metaphysician, 
and  who,  in  turn,  sneered  back  at  them 
at  metaphysicians.  Phenomenon  and 
noumenon  were  bandied  back  and 
forth.  They  charged  him  with  attempt- 
ing to  explain  consciousness  by  itself. 
He  charged  them  with  word-jugglery, 
with  reasoning  from  words  to  theory 
instead  of  from  facts  to  theory.  At 
this  they  were  aghast.  It  was  the  car- 
dinal tenet  of  their  mode  of  reasoning 
to  start  with  the  facts  and  to  give 
names  to  the  facts. 

"When  Norton  wandered  into  the  in- 
tricacies of  Kant,  Kreis  reminded  him 
that  all  good  little  German  philoso- 
phies when  they  died  went  to  Oxford. 
A  little  later  Norton  reminded  them 
of  Hamilton's  Law  of  Parsimony,  the 
application  of  which  they  immediately 
claimed  for  every  reasoning  process 
of  theirs.  And  Martin  hugged  his 
knees  and  exulted  in  it  all.  But  Nor- 
ton was  no  Spencerian,  and  he,  too, 
strove  for  Martin's  philosophic  soul, 
talking  as  much  at  him  as  to  his  two 
opponents. 

"  'You  know  Berkeley  has  never 
been  answered,'  he  said,  looking  di- 
rectly at  Martin.  'Herbert  Spencer 
came  the  nearest,  which  was  not  very 
near.  Even  the  staunchest  of  Spen- 
cer's followers  will  not  go  farther.  I 
was  reading  an  essay  of  Saleeby's  the 
other  day,  and  the  best  Saleeby  could 
say  was  that  Herbert  Spencer  nearly 
succeeded  in  answering  Berkeley.' 

"'You  know  what  Hume  said?' 
Hamilton  asked.  Norton  nodded,  but 
Hamilton  gave  it  for  the  benefit  of  the 
rest.  'He  said  that  Berkeley's  argu- 
ments admit  of  no  answer  and  produce 


no  conviction.' 

"  'In  his,  Hume's  mind,'  was  the  re- 
ply. 'And  Hume's  mind  was  the  same 
as  yours,  with  this  difference:  he  was 
wise  enough  to  admit  there  was  no 
answering  Berkeley.' 

"Norton  was  sensitive  and  excitable 
though  he  never  lost  his  head,  while 
Kreis  and  Hamilton  were  like  a  pair 
of  cold-blooded  savages,  seeking  out 
tender  places  to  prod  and  poke.  As 
the  evening  grew  late,  Norton,  smart- 
ing under  the  repeated  charges  of  be- 
ing a  metaphysician,  clutching  his 
chair  to  keep  from  jumping  to  his  feet, 
his  gray  eyes  snapping  and  his  girlish 
face  grown  harsh  and  sure,  made  a 
grand  attack  upon  their  position. 

"  'All  right,  you  Haeckelites,  I  may 
reason  like  a  medicine  man,  but,  pray, 
how  do  you  reason?  You  have  noth- 
ing to  stand  on,  you  unscientific  dog- 
matists, with  your  positive  science 
which  you  are  always  lugging  about 
into  places  it  has  no  right  to  be.  Long 
before  the  school  of  materialistic  mon- 
ism arose,  the  ground  was  removed  so 
there  could  be  no  foundation.  Locke 
was  the  man,  John  Locke.  Two  hun- 
dred years  ago — more  than  that,  even 
— in  his  "Essay  concerning  the  Hu- 
man Understanding/  he  proved  the 
non-existence  of  innate  ideas.  The 
best  of  it  is  that  that  is  precisely  what 
you  claim.  To-night,  again  and  again, 
you  have  asserted  the  non-existence 
of  innate  ideas.' 

"  'And  what  does  that  mean  ?  It 
means  that  you  can  never  know  ulti- 
mate reality.  Your  brains  are  empty 
when  you  are  born.  Appearances,  or 
phenomena,  are  all  the  content  your 
minds  can  receive  from  your  five 
senses.  Then  noumena,  which  are  not 
in  your  minds  when  you  are  born,  have 
no  way  of  getting  in ' 

"  T  deny '  Kreis  started  to  inter- 
rupt. 

"  'You  wait  till  I'm  done,'  Norton 
shouted.  'You  can  know  only  that 
much  of  the  play  and  interplay  of 
force  and  matter  as  impinges  in  one 
way  or  another  on  your  senses.  You 
see,  I  am  willing  to  admit,  for  the  sake 
of  the  argument,  that  matter  exists; 


"Wolf    House"    before   the   destructive   fire. 


and  what  I  am  about  to  do  is  to  efface 
you  by  your  own  argument.  I  can't 
do  it  any  other  way,  for  you  are  both 
congenitally  unable  to  understand  a 
philosophic   abstraction. 

"  'And  now,  what  do  you  know  of 
matter,  according  to  your  own  positive 
science?  You  know  it  is  only  by  its 
phenomena,  its  appearances.  You  are 
aware  only  of  its  changes,  or  of  such 
changes  in  it  as  cause  changes  in  your 
consciousness.  Positive  science  deals 
only  with  phenomena,  yet  you  are 
foolish  enough  to  strive  to  be  ontolo- 
gists  and  to  deal  with  noumena.  Yet, 
by  the  very  definition  of  positive  sci- 
ence, science  is  concerned  only  with 
appearances.  As  somebody  has  said, 
phenomenal  knowledge  cannot  tran- 
scend phenomena. 

"  'You  cannot  answer  Berkeley,  even 
if  you  have  annihilated  Kant,  and  yet, 
perforce,  you  assume  that  Berkeley  is 
wrong  when  you  affirm  that  science 
proves  the  non-existence  of  God,  or, 
as  much  to  the  point,  the  existence  of 
matter.  You  know  I  granted  the  real- 
ity of  matter  only  in  order  to  make 
myself  intelligible  to  your  understand- 
ing.     Be   positive    scientists,     if   you 


please,  but  ontology  has  no  place  in 
positive  science,  so  leave  it  alone. 
Spencer  is  right  in  his  agnosticism, 
but  if  Spencer ' 

"But  it  was  time  to  catch  the  last 
ferry  boat  to  Oakland,  and  Brissenden 
and  Martin  slipped  out,  leaving  Nor- 
ton still  talking  and  Kreis  and  Hamil- 
ton waiting  to  pounce  on  him  like  a 
pair  of  hounds  as  soon  as  he  finished. 

"  'You  have  given  me  a  glimpse  of 
fairyland,'  Martin  said  on  the  ferry 
boat.  'It  makes  life  worth  while  to 
meet  people  like  that.  My  mind  is  all 
worked  up.  I  never  appreciated  ideal- 
ism before.  Yet  I  can't  accept  it.  I 
know  that  I  shall  always  be  a  realist. 
I  am  made  so,  I  guess.  But  I'd  like  to 
have  made  a  reply  to  Kreis  and  Ham- 
ilton, and  I  think  I'd  have  had  a  word 
or  two  for  Norton.  I  didn't  see  that 
Spencer  was  damaged  any.  I'm  as 
excited  as  a  child  on  its  first  visit  to 
the  circus.  I  see  I  must  read  up  some 
more.  I'm  going  to  get  hold  of  Saleeby. 
I  still  think  Spencer  is  unassailable, 
and  next  time  I'm  going  to  take  a  hand 
myself.' 

"But  Brissenden,  breathing  pair- 
fully,  had  dropped  off  to   sleep,  hr 


The  ruins  of  the  "House  that  Jack  Built."     Three  years  were  spent  in  the 
keen  enjoyment  of  its  planning  and  construction.     Fire  destroyed   it,  1913. 


chin  buried  in  a  scarf  and  resting  on 
his  sunken  chest,  his  body  wrapped 
in  the  long  overcoat  and  shaking  to  the 
vibration  of  the  propellers." 

While  still  at  the  University  the 
Klondike  gold  excitement  struck  San 
Francisco.  London  was  one  of  the 
first  to  yield  to  the  lure.  As  Mrs. 
Payne  writes:  "He  was  among  the 
few  doughty  argonauts  who  at  this 
season  made  it  over  the  Chilcoot  Pass, 
the  great  majority  waiting  for  spring. 
As  charges  were  forty-three  cents  per 
pound  for  carrying  supplies  a  distance 
of  thirty  miles,  from  salt  water  to 
fresh,  he  packed  his  thousand  pound 
outfit,  holding  his  own  with  the  strong- 
est and  most  experienced  in  the  party. 

"And  here  in  this  still  white  world 
of  the  North,  where  nature  makes  the 
most  of  every  vital  throb  that  resists 
her  cold,  and  man  learns  the  awful 
significance  and  emphasis  of  Arctic 
life  and  action,  young  London  came 
consciously  into  his  heritage.  He 
would  write  of  these — the  terrorizing 
of  an  Alaskan  landscape,  its  great 
peaks  bulging  with  century-piled 
snows,   its  woods  rigid,     tense     and 


voiced  by  the  frost  like  strained  cat- 
gut; the  fierce  howls  of  starving  wolf- 
dogs;  the  tracks  of  the  dog-teams 
marking  the  lonely  trail ;  but  more  than 
all  else,  the  human  at  the  North  Pole. 

"Thus  it  would  seem  that  his  actual 
development  as  a  writer  began  on  the 
trail,  though  at  the  time  he  set  no 
word  to  paper,  not  even  jottings  by  the 
way  in  a  note-book.  A  tireless  brood- 
ing on  the  wish  to  write  shaped  his 
impulse  to  definite  purpose,  but  out- 
wardly he  continued  to  share  the  in- 
terests and  labors  of  his  companion 
prospectors. 

"After  a  year  spent  in  that  weirdly 
picturesque  but  hazardous  life,  he  suc- 
cumbed to  scurvy,  and,  impatient  of 
the  delay  of  homebound  steamers,  he 
and  two  camp-mates  decided  to  em- 
bark in  an  open  boat  for  the  Behring 
Sea.  The  three  accordingly  made  the 
start  midway  in  June,  and  the  voyage 
turned  out  to  be  a  memorably  novel 
and  perilous  one — nineteen     hundred 

miles  of  river  in  nineteen  days!" 
*  *  *  * 

It  was  on  his  return  from  the  Klon- 
dike that  he  found  himself  as  a  liter- 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


379 


ary  artist.  He  wrote  an  Alaskan  story 
entitled  "The  Man  on  Trail,"  and  sent 
it  to  the  Overland  Monthly.  Its  vivid 
and  picturesque  realism  won  it  imme- 
diate acceptance,  and  soon  thereafter 
the  author,  "a  young  man,  plainly 
dressed,  of  modest  and  even  boyish 
appearance,"  entered  the  editor's  sanc- 
tum with  a  second  story,  "The  White 
Silence." 

In  less  than  six  months  his  fame 
was  made.  As  he  says  in  "What  Life 
Means  to  Me":  "As  a  brain-merchant 
I  was  a  success.  Society  opened  its 
portals  to  me.  I  entered  right  in  on 
the  parlor  floor.  I  sat  down  to  dinner 
with  the  masters  of  society  and  with 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  mas- 
ters of  society.  The  women  were 
gowned  beautifully,  I  admit;  but  to 
my  naive  surprise  I  discovered  that 
they  were  of  the  same  clay  as  all  the 
rest  of  the  women  I  had  known  down 
below  in  the  cellar.  'The  colonel's 
lady  and  Judy  O'Grady  were  sisters 
under  their  skins' — and  gowns." 

From  that  day  to  this,  his  power 
and  popularity  have  never  waned. 
Granted  that  some  books  and  stories 
are  less  powerful  than  others — that  is 
merely  to  acknowledge  that  he  is  hu- 
man and  is  not  always  at  the  supreme 
height  of  invention  and  creation.  But 
certainly  his  last  volume  of  South  Sea 
stories,  published  under  the  title  "A 
Son  of  the  Sun,"  shows  no  diminution 
of  power  either  in  observation,  reflec- 
tion or  word  picturing. 

In  appearance,  London  is  a  broad- 
shouldered  fellow,  with  small  hands 
and  feet,  standing  five  feet  eight 
inches  high,  weighing  one  hundred 
and  eighty  pounds  stripped,  with  a 
flexible  mouth  over  a  strong,  resolute 
chin.  He  has  the  look  of  an  athlete, 
and  his  shoulders  and  aggressive 
movements  clearly  suggest  that  he  is 
prepared  physically  to  force  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  taking  his  share  of 
the  jostle  and  giving  as  good  as,  or 
better,  than  he  takes.  While  not  de- 
fiant of  his  fellows,  he  quietly  enjoys 
the  comments  sometimes  made  on  his 
appearance.  On  one  occasion  I  stood 
by  him  and  we  distinctly     heard     a 


passerby  exclaim:  "That's  Jack  Lon- 
don. He  looks  like  a  prize-fighter, 
doesn't  he?"  Jack  looked  at  me  and 
winked  a  clear  wink  of  appreciation  of 
the  honor  thus  conferred  upon  him. 
In  the  copy  of  "The  Game,"  which  he 
described  and  sent  to  me,  he  wrote: 
"I'd  rather  be  champion  of  the  world 
than  President  of  the  United  States." 
One  of  his  proud  moments  was  when, 
in  Quito,  Ecuador,  he  was  mistaken 
by  a  group  o|  small  Spaniards  for  a 
bull-fighter.  J 

He  believes  fully  in  keeping  his 
physical  frame  in  order.  He  is  essen- 
tially a  physical  culturist.  He  swims, 
rows,  canoes,  fences,  boxes,  swings  a 
sledge,  throws  a  hammer,  runs  and 
rides  horseback  fifty  miles  a  day  if 
necessary.  A  year  ago  I  called  on 
him  when  he  had  just  returned  from  a 
three  months'  driving  trip,  where  he 
tooled  a  coach,  with  four-in-hand,  over 
the  steep  and  rough  mountainous  roads 
of  California  and  Oregon.  Baring  his 
arm  he  bade  me  feel  his  muscles — 
biceps  and  lower  arm — as  he  relaxed 
and  then  tightened  them.  They  were 
like  living  steel. 

He  sleeps  in  an  open-air  porch  with 
lights,  books  and  writing  material  al- 
wavs  at  hand.  Directly  he  awakens 
he  begins  either  to  read  or  make  notes, 
always  using  a  pencil  for  his  writing. 
When  breakfast  time  comes,  if  he  has 
any  intimate  friends  as  guests  whom 
he  cares  to  meet,  he  rises  and  eats 
and  chats  with  them  for  half  an  hour 
or  so.  His  breakfasts  are  very  sim- 
ple. After  breakfast  he  retires  to  his 
library,  and  nothing  is  allowed  to  dis- 
turb him  until  he  has  completed  his 
daily  "stint."  This  is  never  less  than 
one  thousand  words,  and  he  generally 
keeps  at  it  until  noon,  making  his 
work  as  perfect  as  possible  and  out- 
lining what  he  will  undertake  on  the 
following  day.  Hej^y^r_r^wntes.  In 
all  my  many  visits  to  him  I  have 
never  known  him  to  deviate  from  his 
regular  routine  but  once,  and  that  was 
on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  my  Bos- 
ton friend. 

Many  people,  like  myself,  have 
wondered  where  he  obtains  all  his  in- 


Another   view  of  "Wolf    House"    ruins. 


finite  variety  of  plots  for  his  short  stor- 
ies and  novels.  Month  after  month, 
year  after  year,  he  pours  forth  his 
stream  of  short  stories,  all  of  them 
good,  though  some  are  better  than 
others.  Not  one,  however,  fails  in  hu- 
man interest;  it  may  not  please  you, 
but  it  grips  you,  fascinates  you,  com- 
pels you.  For  it  is  human,  powerful 
and  full  of  a  robust  life. 

Where  does  he  get  the  germ  of 
these  stories?  Where  do  they  come 
from?  Are  they  pure  pieces  of  fic- 
tion, or  cleverly  disguised  stories  of 
fact?  If  the  former,  one  wonders  at 
the  fecundity  of  his  brain;  it  becomes 
one  of  the  marvels  of  genius;  if  the 
latter,  one  wonders  equally  at  the  mar- 
velous genius  of  his  observation. 

That  his  imagination  is  a  fertile  and 
brilliant  one  there  can  be  no  question, 
and  undoubtedly  such  a  virile  and 
creative  mind  as  his  finds  far  less  dif- 
ficulty in  the  construction  of  plots  than 
most  writers  do.  But  here  is  an  illus- 
tration which  he  himself  gave  to  me, 
of  his  methods  of  taking  a  dramatic 
episode  that  had  come  to  his  attention 
and  weaving  an  apparently  entirely 
different  story  from  it.  We  were  talk- 
ing upon  this  subject,  and  he  took 
down  from  his  book  shelf  "Wigwam 
and  War  Path,"  by  A.  B.  Meacham. 
Mr.  Meacham  was   suoerinterdent  of 


Indian  affairs  and  chairman  of  the  Mo- 
doc Peace  Commission  of  which  Gen- 
eral Canby  and  Dr.  Thomas  were  also 
members.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
the  Modoc  Indians  of  the  Klamath  re- 
gion in  Southern  Oregon  and  Northern 
California  had  long  been  insolent  and 
on  the  war  path.  Meacham  shows  that 
their  insolence  and  hostility  were  gen- 
dered by  the  wicked,  cruel  and  mur- 
derous conduct  of  unprincipled  white 
men.  There  had  been  several  con- 
flicts between  the  whites  and  the  In- 
dians, and  finally  it  was  decided  to  ap- 
point a  Peace  Commission.  One  of 
Meacham's  good  friends  was  Frank 
Riddle,  who,  having  married  a  Modoc 
wife,  who  was  known  as  Tobey,  was 
allowed  to  sit  in  council  with  the  In- 
dians. Tobey,  though  an  Indian,  was 
a  woman  of  natural  refinement,  high 
integrity  and  deep  devotion.  She  was 
loyalty  itself.  Having  bestowed  her 
friendship  upon  Mr.  Meacham  nothing 
could  prevail  upon  her  to  betray  him. 
Consequently  when  she  learned  that 
the  leaders  of  the  Modocs  contem- 
plated the  treacherous  murder  of  the 
members  of  the  Peace  Commission, 
she  stealthily  went  by  night  and  gave 
warning  to  Mr.  Meacham,  though  she 
was  well  aware  that  by  this  act  she 
signed  her  own  death  warrant.  For 
she   knew  the   Indians   would   reason 


US  PRIME  ^81 


the  matter  out,  and,  if  their  plans  were 
foiled,  would  know  that  some  one  had 
betrayed  them,  and  that  she  was  the 
only  one  who  would  be  guilty  of 
treachery  to  her  own  race.  "Now," 
said  Mr.  London,  "look  at  that  woman. 
She  was  loyal  to  Mr.  Meacham  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  hated  by  her 
people.  He  was  a  representative  of 
the  whites  who  in  every  way  had  in- 
jured her  own  tribe.  Yet  she  gave 
him  a  devotion  that  she  knew  would 
certainly  bring  a  vindictive  death  up- 
on herself. 

"I  intend  to  use  that  woman  as  the 
main  character  of  a  strong  story.  I 
do  not  know  where  I  will  place  her, 
but  in  the  South  Seas,  in  the  frozen 
North,  in  the  sunny  South,  in  Austra- 
lia, somewhere,  somehow,  I  am  going 
to  use  that  woman." 

In  "Martin  Eden"  he  sets  this  idea 
before  his  reader  in  his  own  way,  as 
follows : 

"Martin  began,  that  morning,  a  story 
which  he  had  sketched  out  a  number 
of  weeks  before  and  which  ever  since 
had  been  worrying  him  with  its  in- 
sistent clamor  to  be  created. 

"Apparently  it  was  to  be  a  rattling 
sea  story,  a  tale  of  twentieth  century 
adventure  and  romance,  handling  real 
characters,  in  a  real  world,  under  real 
conditions.  But  beneath  the  swing 
and  go  of  the  story  was  to  be  some- 
thing else — something  that  the  super- 
ficial reader  would  never  discern,  and 
which,  on  the  other  hand,  would  not 
diminish  in  any  way  the  interest  and 
enjoyment  for  such  a  reader.  It  was 
this,  and  not  the  mere  story,  that  im- 
pelled Martin  to  write  it.  For  that 
matter,  it  was  always  the  great,  univer- 
sal motif  that  suggested  plots  to  him. 
After  having  found  such  a  motif,  he 
cast  about  for  the  particular  persons 
and  particular  location  in  time  and 
space  wherewith  and  wherein  to  utter 

the  universal  thing." 

*  *  *  * 

While  London  is  essentially  and 
primarily  an  artist  in  his  literary  work, 
he  is  also  a  profound  philosopher  and 
humanitarian.  Hence  everything  he 
writes  has   a   distinct  purpose.     That 


purpose  may  not  always  be  apparent 
to  the  careless  and  casual  observer, 
but  it  is  there,  all  the  same.  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  wrote  a  single  thing  in 
which  some  philosophy  is  not  clearly 
taught  or  some  humanizing  influence 
deliberately  interwoven.  "The  Call 
of  the  Wild"  is  a  clear  lesson  in  "re- 
version to  type,"  for  London  is  a  firm 
believer  in  the  doctrine  of  evolution. 
At  least  he  accepts  it  as  the  best  work- 
able theory  at  present  advanced  by  the 
scientists  to  account  for  the  upward 
and  onreaching  tendencies  of  mankind. 
On  the  other  hand  "White  Fang"  is  a 
marvelous  story  of  the  controlling  and 
modifying  influences — the  civilizing 
and  uplifting  power — of  love  and  ten- 
derness, of  the  real  spirit  of  humanity. 
"Burning  Daylight"  contains  a  dozen 
lessons.  It  shows  how  any  great 
minded  man  can  become  a  "master  of 
finances"  if  he  wishes  to  so  limit  him- 
self, and  then,  with  graphic  power,  it 
shows  how  such  a  one  gradually  be- 
comes absorbed  in  his  business  until 
he  is  a  mere  money-getting  machine. 
The  fact  that  the  hero,  in  spite  of  his 
millions,  could  not  win  his  typewriter 
to  marry  him,  is  London's  defense  of 
the  "workers"  against  a  too-sweeping 
charge  of  money-hunger  or  unworthy 
cupidity,  while  his  hero's  return  to 
sanity  (as  he  regards  it)  comes  when 
he  deliberately  throws  away  his 
wealth — that  which  has  demoralized 
him  and  keeps  him  from  winning  the 
woman  of  his  affections — and  retires, 
a  poor  man,  to  the  simple  life  of  a 
rancher  in  the  beautiful  Sonoma  Val- 
lev. 

"Before  Adam"  is  a  scientific  trea- 
tise in  popular  form  on  ore-Adamic 
evolution,  and  "Martin  Eden"  is  a 
studied  incitement  to  the  highest 
achievement. 

His  various  "Social  Studies"  are 
important  philosophical  and  sociologi- 
cal oresentments.  set  forth  with  a  soul 
asurge  and  a  brain  afire  with  the  rights 
of  the  common  man.  However  much 
we  mav  differ  from  London  we  cannot 
deny  the  fierv  power,  the  tremendous 
forcefulness  of  what  he  says,  and  the 
graphic  intensity  of   his     convictions. 


382                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

"The  Iron  Heel"  is  a  lesson  and  a  stress  upon  the  marvelous  power  and 
warning,  based  upon  historic  studies,  influence  of  environment." 
and  he  is  a  short-sighted  reader  of  the  In  spite,  therefore,  of  the  superfi- 
analyses  of  the  causes  of  the  decline  cial  criticisms  London's  work  has  en- 
of  other  nations  who  pooh-poohs  the  countered,  I  venture  the  prediction  that 
solemn  and  portentous  prophecies  of  this  feature  will  more  and  more  re- 
this  book.  The  imaginary  horrors  de-  ceive  recognition,  until  he  will  be  re- 
picted  are  to  be  averted  only  by  garded  not  only  as  a  master  writer  of 
changing  our  mental  attitude  toward  fiction,  but  as  a  keen  philosopher,  rug- 
certain  of  the  social  and  economic  gedly,  but  none  the  less  earnestly,  bent 
problems  of  the  day.  on  helping  upward  and  forward  his 
„,               #               „,               *  fellow-men. 

I  suppose  after  "The  Call  of  the 

All  his  short  stories  have  also  a  fine  Wild,"  "Martin  Eden"  is  one  of  the 
purpose.  Take  his  story  of  "The  Na-  most  popular  of  London's  books.  This 
ture  Man."  How  full  it  is  of  the  was  originally  published  in  the  Paci- 
healthful  and  curative  powers  of  pure  fie  Monthly,  a  western  magazine  for- 
air,  pure,  fresh  vegetable  and  fruit  merly  published  at  Portland,  but  now 
food,  the  sunlight  and  a  natural  life,  absorbed  by  the  Sunset  at  San  Fran- 
All  the  Naturopaths  combined  never  cisco. 

wrote  as  strong  a  plea  for  their  theo-  The  manuscript  of  this  novel  had 

ries  as  this  story  presents.  father  an  interesting  history.    London 

In  speaking  with  London  one  day  had  had  some  dispute  with  the  former 

about  this  phase  of  his  work  he  ex-  editor  of  the  Pacific  Monthly,  and  he 

claimed:  "Certainly!     I  no  more  be-  had  vowed  that  they  should  never  have 

lieve  in  the  'art  for  art's  sake'  theory  anything  more  from  his  pen.    Soon  af- 

than  I  believe  that  a  human  and  hu-  ter  his  departure  on  the  "Snark"  voy- 

mane  motive  justifies  an  inartistic  tell-  age,  his  business  agent  happening  to 

ing  of  a  story.     I  believe  there  are  meet  a  representative  of  the  Pacific 

saints  in  slime  as  well  as  saints  in  Monthly  in  San  Francisco,  told  him 

heaven,  and  it  depends  how  the  slime  what  a  great  story  "Martin  Eden"  was 

saints  are  treated — upon  their  environ-  and  suggested  that  it  would  make  a 

ment — as  to  whether  they    will    ever  first  class  serial  which  he  could  use 

leave  the  slime  or  not.     People  find  for  pushing  up  the  circulation  of  his 

fault  with  me  for  my  'disgusting  real-  magazine.     He  asked  the  price  and 

ism.'     Life  is  full  of  disgusting  real-  rather  gasped  when  told  that  the  ser- 

ism.    I  know  men  and  women  as  they  ial     rights     would     cost  $9,000.     He 

are — millions  of  them  yet  in  the  slime  then  asked  how  much  a  week's  option 

stage.    But  I  am  an  evolutionist,  there-  would  cost.     "Five  hundred  dollars," 

fore  a  broad  optimist,  hence  my  love  was  the  reply.    He  signed  a  check  for 

for  the  human  (in  the  slime  though  he  this  amount  and  took  the  manuscript, 

be)  comes  from  my  knowing  him  as  Before  the  end  of  the  week  he  met  the 

he  is  and  seeing  the  divine  possibili-  agent  in  San  Francisco  and  paid  the 

ties  ahead  of  him.    That's  the  whole  $9,000  for  the  story.  It  certainly  made 

motive  of  my  'White  Fang.'     Every  a  great  impression  and  was  doubtless 

atom  of  organic  life  is  plastic.     The  well  worth  the  amount, 

finest  specimens  now  in  existence  were  The  unconventionality,   the   simpli- 

once  all  pulpy  infants  capable  of  be-  city,  the  daring  and  the  absolute  au- 

ing  moulded  this  way  or  that.    Let  the  dacity  of  Jack  London,  which  in  an 

pressure  be  one  way  and     we     have  Academically  trained  man  might     be 

atavism — the  reversion  to  the     wild;  considered  unpardonable  and  appall- 

the  other  the  domestication,  civiliza-  ing  egotism,  is  best  illustrated  in  this 

tion.     I  have  always  been  impressed  wonderful  book  of  veiled  biography, 

with  the  awful  plasticity  of  life,  and  Where  else  before  has  a  man  so  dared 

I  feel  that  I  can  never  lay  enough  to  reveal  himself  before  the     world? 


This  photograph  was  taken  the  day  Mrs.  London  first  met  Jack  London 
(1900.)  It  was  taken  to  illustrate  a  story  he  was  at  that  time  writing  for 
Overland  Monthly,  the  first  magazine  to  recognize  his  genius  and  to  pub- 
lish his  stories.  The  six  stories  of  the  first  series  were  colored  with  his 
then   recent  experiences   in  Alaska. 


Even  Rousseau  in  his  "Confessions," 
Jean  Paul  Richter  in  his  varied  books 
upon  himself,  Goethe  in  "Wilhelm," 
never  so  freely,  so  fully,  so  explicitly 
analyzed  themselves,  their  ambitions, 
motives  and  inner  characters  as  has 
Jack  London  in  "Martin  Eden."  And 
it  is  more  in  the  concluding  chapters, 
where,  with  an  artistry  that  is  perfect 


in  its  illusion  of  simplicity  and  nai- 
vete he  analyzes  his  successes  and  the 
effect  they  have  upon  the  world  at 
large,  upon  editors  and  publishers,  up- 
on his  loving  but  ignorant  sister  and 
her  irretrievably  vulgar  and  commer- 
cial husband,  upon  the  father  and 
mother  of  the  girl  he  loved,  and  finally 
upon  her  (all  fictitious  characters,  of 


384 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


course)  that  he  reveals  the  independ- 
ence of  his  genius,  the  solitariness  of 
his  methods  and  the  influence  of  this 
shut-off  Western  World  upon  his  soul. 

JfC  if!  Sfi  Jjl 

Let  me  here  interject  a  few  words  to 
those  literary  aspirants  who  are  find- 
ing difficulty  in  getting  their  efforts 
accepted  by  editors,  and  who  imagine 
that  Jack  London  leaped  instantly  in- 
to fame  at  his  first  endeavors.  There 
never  was  a  greater  mistake  made 
than  this  supposition.  For  years 
prior  to  the  success  of  his  Alaska  stor- 
ies he  had  been  bombarding  the  mag- 
azines, just  as  he  relates  the  story  in 
"Martin  Eden."  First  he  tried  poetry, 
but  it  all  came  back.  He  varied  the 
forms,  tried  everything  from  couplets 
and  limericks  to  sonnets  and  blank 
verse,  but  all  were  equally  ineffective. 
Then  he  wrote  plays,  two-act,  three- 
act,  and  four-act,  but  they  had  no  bet- 
ter success.  Then  he  tried  the  "soci- 
ety stunt,"  both  in  prose  and  verse,  but 
he  failed  to  catch  the  proper  swing. 
Next  he  wrote  Emersonian  essays,  and 
thundering  philippics  after  Carlyle, 
occasionally  varying  his  efforts  with 
historic  sketches  and  descriptions.  But 
all  alike  failed,  and  a  less  resolute 
being  would  have  been  utterly  and 
completely  discouraged.  This  made 
his  triumph  all  the  more  wonderful 
when  it  did  come,  especially  as  he 
seemed  to  leap  into  fame  at  a  single 
bound. 

London  is  most  systematic  in  his 
method  of  work.  "He  devotes  him- 
self to  his  labors  with  care  and  pre- 
cision, coining  his  time  with  miserly 
stint  and  observng  a  method  of  col- 
lecting and  classification  as  amusing 
as  it  is  effective.  Across  an  angle  of 
his  study  he  stretches  what  he  calls 
his  'clothes  line,'  a  wire  on  which  are 
strung  batches  of  excerpts  and  notes 
fastened  on. by  clothes'  pins,  the  kind 
with  a  wire  spring.  A  hastily  scrib- 
bled thought  and  an  extract  bearing 
upon  the  same  theme  are  duly  clamped 
in  their  proper  place,  and  the  'clothe? 
line'  usually  dangles  a  dozen  or  more 
of  these  bunched  tatters  of  literature. 

"His  plan  of  reading  has  also  a  like 


simplicity,  with  a  hazard  at  economy 
of  vital  force.  He  does  not  read  books 
consecutively,  but  collectively.  A 
dozen  volumes  are  selected  on  divers 
subjects — science,  philosophy,  fiction, 
et  cetera,  and  arranged  with  regard  to 
their  relative  profundity.  Then  he  be- 
gins with  the  weightiest  matter,  reads 
it  until  his  brain  is  a  trifle  wearied, 
when  he  lays  the  work  aside  for  one 
requiring  less  effort,  and  so  on  all 
down  the  graded  list,  until  at  one  sit- 
ting he  has  delved  into  each,  always 
bringing  up  finally  with  the  novel  or 
poetry  as  the  wine  and  walnuts  of  his 
literary  feast." 

London  has  been  fiercely  criticized 
and  assailed  for  his  intense  and  vivid 
pictures  of  the  primitive,  the  rude,  the 
savage,  the  uncontrolled  in  man.  Some 
have  said  he  has  wildly  exaggerated, 
others  that  nothing  is  gained  by  mak- 
ing such  record,  even  if  true.  I  take 
issue  with  both  kinds  of  critics.  It  is 
impossible  to  exaggerate  what  man 
has  done  and  the  how  of  its  doing.  No 
man's  imagination  can  go  beyond  what 
man  has  actually  done.  As  London 
himself  says  in  his  "Burning  Day- 
light," after  describing  a  Klondike 
carouse  on  his  hero's  birthday:  "Men 
have  so  behaved  since  the  world  be- 
gan, feasting,  fighting  and  carousing, 
whether  in  the  dark  cave  mouth  or  by 
the  fire  of  the  squatting  place,  in  the 
palaces  of  imperial  Rome  and  the  rock 
strongholds  of  robber  barons,  or  in  the 
sky-aspiring  hotels  of  modern  times 
and  in  the  boozing  dens  of  sailor- 
town." 

It  was  not  until  I  read  London's  stor- 
ies on  the  Alaska  Indians  that  my  en- 
tire heart  warmed  thoroughly  toward 
him.  For  thirty  years  I  have  studied 
the  Indians  of  the  Southwest,  and  by 
intimate  association  I  have  come  to 
know  them  and  love  them.  I  have  al- 
ways resented  what  to  me  was  a  wick- 
ed and  cruel  attitude  of  certain  Ameri- 
cans who  declare  "the  only  good  In- 
dian is  a  dead  Indian."  I  have  learned 
to  appreciate  their  true  worth,  and  to 
know  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  their 
character  when  rightly  understood. 

As   I  read   London's   stories  under 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


385 


the  general  title  of  "Children  of  the 
Frost,"  I  saw  that  he  had  gained  the 
same  opinion  of  the  Indians  that  I 
had.  He  had  penetrated  below  the 
rude  exterior  to  the  manhood  within, 
and  I  have  no  hesitancy  whatever  in 
stating  my  belief  that  as  a  true  in- 
terpreter of  the  Indian,  Jack  London 
deserves  fo  rank  with  Fenimore 
Cooper,  Major  J.  W.  Powell,  Lieuten- 
ant F.  H.  Cushing,  Dr.  J.  W.  Fewks, 
and  Frederick  W.  Starr,  whom  I  re- 
gard as  the  greatest  ethnologists  Am- 
erica has  yet  produced. 

In  one  of  our  conversations  the 
question  arose  as  to  which  of  his  stor- 
ies I  liked  best.  I  immediately  turned 
the  question  upon  him  and  asked: 
"Which  do  you  like  best?"  He  laugh- 
ingly replied:  "Guess."  I  replied:  "I 
venture  to  assert  that  I  can  not  only 
guess  accurately,  but  that  my  judg- 
ment will  be  different  from  that  of 
any  critic  who  has  yet  ventured  such 
an  opinion  upon  your  work."  Then 
picking  up  this  book,  I  opened  to  the 
last  story  in  it,  entitled:  "The  League 
of  the  Old  Men,"  and  exclaimed: 
"There  is  your  best  story.  In  it  you 
have  expressed  the  cry  of  an  expiring 
people,  and  I  know  you  could  not  have 
written  it  had  you  not  felt  it  to  the 
very  depths." 

Tears  sprang  into  his  eyes,  and 
reaching  out  his  hand,  he  gave  me  a 
warm  handclasp  and  said:  "You  are 
right.  Yet  fewer  people  have  seemed 
to  appreciate  that  story  than  any  story 
I  have  written,  and  my  publishers  re- 
port that  a  less  number  of  that  volume 
have  been  sold  than  any  other  of  my 

books." 

*  *  *  * 

London,  like  Joaquin  Miller,  was  the 
victim  of  much  and  persistent  misrep- 
resentation. He  is  an  avowed  Social- 
ist. Many  newspapers  do  not  like  So- 
cialists, and  they  seize  every  possible 
opportunity  to  spread  unpleasant  news 
about  those  who  are  known  to  profess 
that  faith.  Sometimes  they  are  not 
very  particular  as  to  whether  their  as- 
sertions are  true  or  not.  In  speaking 
of  this  several  times,  and  then  giving 
my  personal  impressions  of  London, 


people  have  said  to  me :  "Why  do  you 
not  make  these  things  known?" 

In  order  to  help  make  them  known, 
let  me  tell  an  experience  I  had  a  few 
months  ago  with  a  distinguished  and 
well  known  Eastern  writer  and  play- 
wright. He  had  been  an  editorial 
writer  on  one  of  the  foremost  Boston 
dailies  of  high  standing,  was  a  univer- 
sity man  of  high  ideals  and  academic 
standards,  who  a  year  or  so  before 
had  become  transplanted  to  the  Pacific 
Coast  and  was  then  doing  special  edi- 
torial writing  on  one  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco papers.  We  dined  together  sev- 
eral times,  and  on  one  occasion  the 
name  of  London  came  up.  Naturally, 
I  spoke  of  the  things  in  London  that 
pleased  and  interested  me.  To  my 
amazement,  my  Boston  friend  opened 
up  with  a  tirade,  denouncing  London 
from  every  possible  standpoint.  There 
was  nothing  good  about  him  in  any 
way. 

Seeing  that  he  was  rabid,  I  decided 
to  let  him  have  his  talk  out  and  then 
quietly  informed  him  that  his  tirade 
was  nothing  but  a  mass  of  prejudice, 
for,  said  I,  "I  refuse  to  accept  this  un- 
just and  untruthful  tirade  as  your 
judgment.  Judgments  imply  knowl- 
edge. You  have  no  knowledge,  but 
simply  a  mass  of  erroneous  beliefs 
gained  from  mendacious  newspapers 
and  other  unreliable  sources." 

I  happened  to  be  planning  to  go  up 
to  Sacramento  to  see  the  Governor  and 
thence  to  London's  home  at  Glen 
Ellen  the  following  day,  and  asked  my 
editorial  friend  if  he  would  not  like  to 
meet  me  and  accompany  me  to  see 
London  and  his  wife.  In  his  finest 
Bostonese  he  exclaimed:  "But,  my 
dear  fellow,  I  have  received  no  invita- 
tion." 

Heartily  laughing,  I  replied :  "I  have 
given  you  an  invitation!" 

"But,"  said  he,  "what  about  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  London?" 

Again  I  laughed  and  said:  "Let 
your  New  England  conscience  be  per- 
fectly at  rest.  I  have  invited  you,  and 
that  is  enough.  You  ought  to  know 
enough  of  me  already  to  be  sure  that 
I  should  not  invite  you  to  any  place 


386 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


'  where  you  would  not  be  welcome." 

"That  being  the  case,"  said  he, 
"nothing  will  give  me  greater  pleas- 
ure. I  shall  love  to  study  him  at  first 
hand,  and  after  your  severe  criticism 
upon  my  'prejudice,'  I  am  more  anx- 
ious than  ever  to  see  Mr.  London  and 
find  out  what  I  think  of  him  after  close 
personal  contact." 

According  to  arrangement  we  met 
the  next  evening.  On  our  arrival  at 
Glen  Ellen  we  found  the  cart  waiting 
for  us,  and  after  a  delightful  drive 
through  the  cool  twilight  we  entered 
the  spacious  yard,  where  gigantic  live- 
oaks  of  a  thousand  years'  growth,  bid 
one  enter  and  rest.  When  we  entered 
the  large,  long  room  of  the  old  ranch 
house,  now  used  by  the  Londons  until 
their  new  home  is  finished,  we  found 
Mrs.  London  seated  at  the  Steinway 
grand  piano  immediately  on  our  left, 
and  Jack  with  outstretched  hands  and 
cheery  voice  bidding  us  welcome.  This 
was  the  first  surprise  my  friend  ex- 
perienced. Our  simple  and  hearty 
meal — served  specially,  as  we  had 
come  upon  a  late  evening  train — 
shook  him  up  a  little  more.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  Hallowe'en — a  fact  I  had 
forgotten,  but  Jack  and  his  wife  and 
other  guests  were  most  wide  awake  to 
it,  for  they  had  announced  that  fun 
was  to  be  free  and  fast  that  night.  The 
other  guests  were  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
London's — the  sister  of  one  of  Cali- 
fornia's proudest  artists — a  young  ar- 
chitect of  San  Francisco,  and  a  So- 
cialist comrade  of  Jack's,  who  had  just 
happened  in  as  he  was  tramping  across 
the  country.  These,  with  Jack  and  his 
wife,  my  editorial  friend  and  myself, 
made  the  party  total  up  to  seven,  with 
the  Japanese  helper,  Nakata,  now  and 
again  assisting  in  making  eight.  I 
was  in  the  mood  for  fun,  so  we  plunged 
in.  First,  we  hung  up  apples  from  a 
point  above  and  sought  to  make  bites 
in  them  without  touching  the  "bobbing 
and  dodging  things"  with  our  hands. 
Then  a  large  plate  of  white  flour  was 
brought,  the  flour  mounded  up  about 
five  inches  high,  and  in  the  center  on 
the  top  of  it  was  placed  a  dime.  The 
seven  of  us  now  commenced  a  march 


around  the  table,  each  taking  up  a 
table  knife  as  we  approached  the  plate 
and  cutting  off  a  greater  or  less  mass 
of  the  flour  as  we  willed.  At  first  this 
was  easy,  but  as  we  cut  nearer  to  the 
center  it  became  a  more  delicate  and 
risky  task.  For  the  game  consisted 
in  continuing  to  cut  until  the  dime 
rested  on  the  merest  pedestal  of  flour, 
ready  to  crumble  at  a  touch,  and  who- 
ever gave  that  final  touch  was  then  re- 
quired to  place  his  hands  behind  his 
back  and  fish  out  the  dime  from  the 
flour  with  his  teeth.  It  was  also  freely 
stipulated  beforehand  that  there 
should  be  no  "dodging"  and  wiping 
off  of  the  flour  from  the  face  until  the 
victor  stood  alone  with  unfloured  face. 
The  hope  and  expectation,  of  course, 
was  that  I,  with  moustache  and  full 
beard  of  black  should  fall  an  early 
victim,  but  somehow  the  Fates  fav- 
ored me.  First  the  "Comrade"  guest 
failed,  then  Mr.  London,  then  the  wo- 
man guest,  then  my  editorial  friend — 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  his 
cheeks  and  closely  trimmed  sandy 
moustache  and  wisp  of  beard,  even  his 
eyelashes,  did  look  excruciatingly 
funny  all  whitened  up  with  flour  in 
dabs  and  patches — then  the  architect 
and  finally  Mrs.  London,  leaving  me 
the  proud  and  unfloured  victor. 

This  only  paved  the  way  for  an- 
other game  and  greater  fun.  We  all 
laughed  until  our  sides  ached,  and 
when  finally  we  retired  it  was  way  into 
the  "wee,  sma'  hours." 

Now,  as  I  have  elsewhere  explained, 
as  it  is  London's  custom  to  stick  rigid- 
ly to  his  work  in  the  morning,  my  edi- 
torial friend  and  I  would  have  been 
left  to  our  own  devices  until  after 
lunch,  but,  just  before  we  went  to  bed 
I  said  to  Jack:  "Why  not  take  a  holi- 
day to-morrow,  and  instead  of  waiting 
till  afternoon  for  our  horseback  ride, 
let's  all  go  out  together  in  the  morn- 
ing." Somewhat  to  my  surprise  he 
consented,  and  the  horses  were  duly 
ordered.  No  sooner  was  breakfast 
over  than  we  were  off — the  whole 
party  of  us.  And  what  a  ride  it  was! 
Let  me  give  you  here  a  part  of  Lon- 
don't  own  description  of  his  ranch  on 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


387 


which  this  wonderful  ride  took  place. 

"We  let  down  the  bars  and  crossed 
an  upland  meadow.  Next  we  went 
over  a  low,  oak  covered  ridge  and  de- 
scended into  a  smaller  meadow  Again 
we  climbed  a  ridge,  this  time  riding 
under  red-limbed  madronos  and  man- 
zanitas  of  deeper  red.  The  first  rays 
of  the  sun  streamed  upon  our  backs  as 
we  climbed.  A  flight  of  quail  thrum- 
med off  through  the  thickets.  A  big 
jack-rabbit  crossed  our  path,  leaping 
swiftly  and  silently  like  a  deer.  And 
then  a  deer,  a  many  pronged  buck, 
the  sun  flashing  red-gold  from  neck 
and  shoulders,  cleared  the  crest  of  the 
ridge  before  us  and  was  gone. 

"We  followed  in  his  wake  a  space, 
then  dropped  down  a  zigzag  trail  that 
he  disdained  into  a  group  of  noble 
redwoods  that  stood  about  a  pool  of 
water  murky  with  mineral  from  the 
mountain  side.  I  knew  every  inch  of 
the  way.  Once  a  writer  friend  of  mine 
had  owned  the  ranch ;  but  he,  too,  had 
become  a  revolutionist,  though  more 
disastrously  than  I,  for  he  was  already 
dead  and  gone,  and  none  knew  where 
nor  how.  He  alone,  in  the  days  he 
had  lived,  knew  the  secret  of  the  hid- 
ing place  for  which  I  was  bound.  He 
had  bought  the  ranch  for  beauty  and 
paid  a  round  price  for  it,  much  to  the 
disgust  of  the  local  farmers.  He  used 
to  tell  with  great  glee  how  they  were 
wont  to  shake  their  heads  mournfully 
at  the  price,  to  accomplish  ponderously 
a  bit  of  mental  arithmetic,  and  then  to 
say:  'But  you  can't  make  six  per  cent 
on  it.' 

"Out  of  it  he  had  made  a  magnifi- 
cent deer  park,  where,  over  thousands 
of  acres  of  sweet  slopes  and  glades 
and  canyons,  the  deer  ran  almost  in 
primitive  wilderness." 

There  are  many  springs,  and  these 
unite  to  make  a  stream  which  ever 
flows. 

"A  glade  of  tangled  vines  and 
bushes  ran  between  two  wooded 
knolls.  The  glade  ended  abruptly  at 
the  steep  bank  of  a  stream.  It  was  a 
little  stream,  rising  from  springs,  and 
the  hottest  summer  never  dried  it  up. 
On  every  hand     were     tall     wooded 


knolls,  a  group  of  them,  with  all  the 
seeming  of  having  been  flung  there 
from  some  careless  Titan's  hand. 
There  was  no  bed-rock  in  them.  They 
rose  from  their  bases  hundreds  of  feet, 
and  they  were  composed  of  red  vol- 
canic earth,  the  famous  wine-soil  of 
Sonoma.  Through  these  the  tiny 
stream  had  cut  its  deep  and  precipi- 
tous channel." 

The  arrangement  for  the  purchase 
of  part  of  the  estate  was  made  while 
London  was  away  on  the  "Snark"  trip. 
A  crafty  and  cunning  seller  practically 
deceived  Jack's  agent  by  allowing  to 
be  inserted  in  the  lease  a  clause  en- 
titling the  owners  of  a  brickyard  near- 
by to  excavate  certain  clays  from  a 
part  of  the  ranch,  which  they  needed 
for  their  business.  But  as  they  had  to 
pay  for  it  at  a  good  price  and  soon 
found  it  the  only  profitable  part  of 
their  business,  Jack  made  a  good  thing 
out  of  it,  so  did  not  complain. 

"This  brickyard  was  close  at  hand," 
so  he  writes  in  "Burning  Daylight,  "on 
the  flat  beside  the  Sonoma  Creek.  The 
kilns  were  visible  among  the  trees, 
when  he  glanced  to  the  left  and  caught 
sight  of  wooded  knolls  half  a  mile 
away,  perched  on  the  rolling  slopes  of 
Sonoma  Mountain.  The  mountain,  it- 
self wooded,  towered  behind.  The 
trees  on  the  knoll  seemed  to  beckon 
to  him.  The  dry,  early  summer  air, 
shot  through  with  sunshine,  was  wine 
to  him.  Unconsciously  he  drank  it  in 
in  deep  breaths.  The  prospect  of  the 
brickyard  was  uninviting.  He  was 
jaded  with  all  things  business,  and  the 
wooded  knolls  were  calling  to  him.  A 
horse  between  his  legs — a  good  horse, 
he  decided;  one  that  sent  him  back  to 
the  cayuses  he  had  ridden  during  his 
eastern  Oregon  boyhood.  He  had  been 
somewhat  of  a  rider  in  those  early 
days,  and  the  champ  of  bit  and  creak 
of  saddle-leather  sounded  good  to  him 
now. 

"Resolving  to  have  his  fun  first  and 
to  look  over  the  brickyard  afterward, 
he  rode  up  the  hill,  prospecting  for  a 
way  across  country  to  get  to  the  knolls. 
He  left  the  country  road  at  the  first 
gate  he  came  to  and  cantered  through 


388                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

a  hayfield.    The  grain  was  waist-high  It  was  a  wonderful  flower,     growing 

on  either  side  the  wagon  road,  and  he  there  in  the  cathedral  nave  of  lofty 

sniffed  the  warm  aroma  of  it  with  de-  trees.    At  least  eight  feet  in  height,  its 

lighted  nostrils.     Larks  flew  up   be-  stem  rose  straight  and  slender,  green 

fore  him,  and  from  everywhere  came  and  bare,  for  two-thirds  its  length,  and 

mellow  notes.     From  the  appearance  then  burst  into  a  shower  of  snow-white 

of  the  road  it  was  patent  that  it  had  waxen  bells.    There  were  hundreds  of 

been  used  for  hauling  clay  to  the  now  these  blossoms,  all  from  the  one  stem, 

idle     brickyard.     Salving     his     con-  delicately  poised  and  ethereally  frail, 

science  with  the   idea  that  this  was  Daylight  had  never  seen  anything  like 

part  of  the  inspection,  he  rode  on  to  it.    Slowly  his  gaze  wandered  from  it 

the  clay  pit — a  huge  scar  in  a  hillside,  to  all  that  was  about  him.     He  took 

But  he  did  not  linger  long,  swinging  off  his  hat,  with  almost  a  vague  reli- 

off  again  to  the  left  and  leaving  the  gious  feeling.    This  was  different.  No 

road.    Not  a  farmhouse  was  in  sight,  room  for  contempt  and  evil  here.  This 

and  the  change  from  the  city  crowding  was  clean  and  fresh  and  beautiful — 

was  essentially  satisfying.     He  rode  something  he  could  respect.     It  was 

now  through  open  woods,  across  little  like  a  church.     The  atmosphere  was 

flower-scattered  glades,  till  he  came  one  of  holy  calm.    Here  man  felt  the 

upon  a  spring.    Flat  on  the  ground,  he  promptings  of  nobler  things.    Much  of 

drank  deeply  of  the  clear  water,  and,  this  and  more  was  in  Daylight's  heart 

looking  about  him,  felt  with  a  shock  as  he  looked  about  him.     But  it  was 

the  beauty  of  the  world.    It  came  to  not  a  concept  of  his  mind.    He  merely 

"him  like  a  discovery;  he  had  never  felt  it  without  thinking  about  it  at  all. 

realized  it  before,  he  concluded,  and  "On  the  steep  incline     above     the 

also,  he  had  forgotten     much.     One  spring  grew   tiny  maiden-hair   ferns, 

could  not  sit  in  at  high  finance  and  while  higher  up  were  larger  ferns  and 

keep  track  of  such  things.     As     he  brakes.     Great,  moss-covered  trunks 

drank  in  the  air,  the  scene,  and  the  of   fallen  trees   lay  here   and   there, 

distant  song  of  larks,  he  felt  like  a  slowly  sinking  back  and  merging  into 

poker  player  rising  from  a  night  long  the  level  of  the  forest  mould.    Beyond, 

table  and  coming  forth  from  the  pent  in  a  slightly  clearer  space,  wild  grape 

atmosphere  to  taste  the  freshness  of  and  honeysuckle  swung  in  green    riot 

the  morn.  from  gnarled  old  oak  trees.    A  gray 

"At  the  base  of  the  knolls  he  en-  Douglas  squirrel  crept  out  on  a  branch 
countered  a  tumbledown  stake-and-  and  watched  him.  From  somewhere 
rider  fence.  From  the  look  of  it  he  came  the  distant  knocking  of  a  wood- 
judged  it  must  be  forty  years  old  at  pecker.  This  sound  did  not  disturb 
least — the  work  of  some  first  pioneer  the  hush  and  awe  of  the  place.  Quiet 
who  had  taken  up  the  land  when  the  woods'  noises  belonged  there  and 
days  of  gold  had  ended.  The  woods  made  the  solitude  complete.  The  tiny 
were  very  thick  here,  yet  fairly  clear  bubbling  ripple  of  the  spring  and  the 
of  underbrush,  so  that,  while  the  blue  gray  flash  of  tree-squirrel  were  as 
sky  was  screened  by  the  arched  yardsticks  with  which  to  measure  the 
branches,  he  was  able  to  ride  beneath,  silence  and  motionless  repose. 
He  now  found  himself  in  a  nook  of  "  'Might  be  a  million  miles  from 
several  acres,  where  the  oak  and  man-  anywhere,'  Daylight  whispered  to  him- 
zanita  and  madrono  gave  way  to  clus-  self. 

ters  of  stately  redwoods.    Against  the  "But  ever  his  gaze  returned  to  the 

foot  of  a  steep-sloped  knoll  he  came  wonderful  lily  beside     the     bubbling 

upon  a  magnificent  group  of  redwoods  spring. 

that  seemed  to  have  gathered  about  a  "He  tethered  the  horse  and  wan- 
tiny  gurgling  spring.  dered  on  foot  among  the  knolls.    Their 

"He  halted  his  horse,  for  beside  the  tops  were  crowned  with     century-old 

spring  uprose  a  wild  California  lily,  spruce  trees,  and  their  sides  clothed 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


389 


with  oaks  and  madronos  and  native 
holly.  But  to  the  perfect  redwoods 
belonged  the  small  but  deep  canyon 
that  threaded  its  way  among  the 
knolls.  Here  he  found  no  passage  out 
for  his  horse,  and  he  returned  to  the 
lily  beside  the  spring.  On  foot,  trip- 
ping, stumbling,  leading  the  animal,  he 
forced  his  way  up  the  hillside.  And 
ever  the  ferns  carpeted  the  way  of  his 
feet,  ever  the  forest  climbed  with  him 
and  arched  overhead,  and  ever  the 
clean  joy  and  sweetness  stole  in  upon 
his  senses. 

"On  the  crest  he  came  through  an 
amazing     thicket     of     velvet-trunked 


which  his  horse  dropped  slowly,  with 
circumspect  feet  and  reluctant  gait." 

I  have  quoted  thus  liberally  from 
London's  own  descriptions  that  my 
readers  might  know  something  of  the 
delight  and  charm  of  the  place  he  has 
bought,  and  also  of  what  my  Boston 
friend  was  to  enjoy. 

Purposely  I  placed  him  next  to 
London  as  we  rode,  and  one  can  well 
understand  what  a  delightful  saddle 
companion  he  was.  With  that  unusu- 
ally keen  power  of  observation  of  his, 
with  an  appreciation  of  beauty  equal 
to  his  powers  of  observation;  alive  to 
the  finger  tips  to  every  impression  of 


The   sleeping    mountain    lake   on    the    London    Ranch,    Valley   of  the    Moon. 


young  madronos,  and  emerged  on  an 
open  hillside  that  led  down  into  a  tiny 
valley.  The  sunshine  was  at  first  daz- 
zling in  its  brightness,  and  he  paused 
and  rested,  for  he  was  panting  from 
the  exertion.  Not  of  old  had  he 
known  shortness  of  breath  such  as  this 
and  muscles  that  so  easily  tired  at  a 
stiff  climb.  A  tiny  stream  ran  down 
the  tiny  valley  through  a  tiny  meadow 
that  was  carpeted  knee-high  with  grass 
and  blue  and  white  nemophila.  The 
hillside  was  covered  with  Mariposa 
lilies  and  wild  hyacinth,  down  through 


joy  or  beauty;  thoroughly  informed  on 
trees,  plants,  flowers,  animals,  birds, 
fishes  and  instincts,  and  gifted  with 
unusual  imagination,  he  fairly  deluged 
my  friend  with  his  vivid  and  intense 
descriptions.  It  was  needless  for  him 
to  tell  me  how  much  he  enjoyed  it.  I 
could  tell  by  the  rapid  fire  of  question 
and  answer,  expression  and  reply,  how 
eagerly  he  was  taking  it  in.  And  it 
certainly  was  a  morning  ride  fit  for 
the  gods,  one  of  incomparable  charm 
and  exquisite  delight. 

Returned  to  the  house,  we  had  mu- 


390  OVERLAND    MONTHLY 

sic  from  voice,  piano  and  Victrola,  and  And  there,  dear  reader,  you  have  it. 

Jack  related  a  number  of  interesting  Contact  with  London  reveals  him  what 

stories  in  connection  with  his  trip  on  my  Boston  friend  discovered  him  to 

the  "Snark."     But  more   than  all,   I  be.     Whatever  one's  opinions  of  his 

wanted  my  friend  to  see  the  intellec-  sociological  ideas,  or  of  his  literary 

tual  workings  of  London's  mind,  so  I  work  may  be,  his  home  life  to-day  is 

started  arguments  with  him  on  socio-  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  his  devotion 

logical     questions.     I     aroused     him  to  his  wife,  as  also  to  his  art,  sincere 

enough  by  antagonism  to     stimulate  and  true.  ,  . 

his  natural  eloquence.    Naturally,  my         Now  let  me  attempt  a  description  of 

friend  prodded  him  also,  for  he  prided  the  house  that  struck  my  Boston  friend 

himself  upon  his  wide  reading  of  all  as  so  marvelously  adapted  to  its  re- 

the  schools  of  sociology.    When  I  had  quirements  as  a  home  and  equally  well 

got  the  two  head  over  heels  into  red-  fitted  to  its  environment, 
hot  debate,  I  let  them  "go  it,"  ham-  ^i      If  in  the  building  of  a  home  the 
mer  and  tongs,  for  I  knew  what  the  ^builders    should    express  themselves, 

result  would  be.     London's    memory  then  Jack  and  Charmian  London  are 

seldom  fails  him,  and  his  reading  was  building  one  of  the  most  individualis- 

as  four  to  one  compared  with  that  of  tic  homes  in  the  world.    It  is  located 

the  Eastern  scholar.    The  result  was  on  the  London  ranch  in  the  Sonoma 

the  latter  found  himself  utterly  unable  Valley — the  valley  of  the  moon,  as  the 

to  hold  his  own,  and  yet  in  his  defeat  poetic  Indian  name  suggests.     Since 

felt  that  peculiar     consciousness    of  his  first  land  purchase  he  has  bought 

pride  that  only  a  well  educated  man  two  or  three  other  adjoining  ranches, 

can  feel,  viz.,  that  it  has  taken  a  man  until  now  the  estate  comprises  about 

wonderfully  well  equipped  with  natu-  twelve  hundred  acres.    Of  this,  nearly 

ral  endowment  and  extraordinary  read-  eight  hundred  acres  are  wild  hillside 

ing  to  be  able  to  cope  with  him.  and  four  hundred  are  under  cultiva- 

The  day  was  gone  all  too  soon.    Af-  tion.    With  a  glorious  outlook  on  all 

ter  a  tasty  dinner  the  cart  was  brought  four  sides  over  fertile     fields,     with 

and  as  we  rode  out  to  the  train  I  turned  woods  and  mountain  slopes,  the  house 

and  asked:  "Well,  how  is  it?"    And  is  being  built  on  a  knoll,  with  a  most 

then,  for  an  hour,  I  listened  to  the  picturesque  clump  of  redwoods  at  the 

Boston  man's  superlative  expressions  back.  Being  out-of-door  people,  fond 

of  the  situation,  the  gist  of  which  was  of  water,  the  home  is  built  around  a 

as  follows :  "Why,  sir,  that  man's  life  patio,  in  the  center  of  which  is  a  water 

is  the  most  ideal  life  of  any  literary  pool  or  tank  of  solid  concrete  forty  by 

man  I  know.    His  home  is  as  near  to  fifteen  feet  and  six  feet  deep,  fed  by 

perfection  as  I  have  ever  seen  a  home  water  from  a  cold  mountain  spring, 

and  his  companionship  with  his  wife  and  in  which  black  bass  will  be  kept, 

is  something  wonderful.     It  does  not  and  where  one  may  occasionally  take 

require  any  intelligence  to  discover  the  a  plunge — if  he  is  brave  and  hardy 

secret  of  his   immense   capacity  for  enough. 

work.    He  is  living  in  an  artistic  at-         Weeks  have  been  spent  upon  the 

mosphere,  every  element  of  which  is  concrete  bed  which  is  practically  the 

perfectly  congenial.    And  think  of  that  foundation  of  the  house.    Mr.  London 

ride!     What  a  joy  and  privilege  to  has  here  carried  out  an  idea  of  his 

have  been  able  to  take  it  with  him!  own,  viz.,  that  in  an  earthquake  coun- 

I  never  heard  any  one  who  so  thor-  try  as  California,  a  house  designed  to 

oughly  entered  into  the  spirit  of  Na-  be  permanent  should     be     especially 

ture  and  the  beauty  of  things  as  did  guarded  in  its  foundation.    He  reasons 

this  man  who  has  always  been  de-  that  a  house  built  on  a  gigantic  slab  of 

scribed  to  me  as  so  rude  and  primitive  concrete  will  move  as  a  unit,  and  not 

as  to  be  absolutely  brutal."     And  a  one  wall  incline  in  one  direction  and 

great  deal  more  along  the  same  line,  another  in  the  opposite  direction  when 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


391 


the  quake  occurs.  Anyhow  the  archi- 
tect has  supervised  the  putting  in  of  a 
bed  of  concrete  sufficiently  deep,  thick 
and  strong  to  sustain  a  forty-story 
skyscraper  on  a  sandy  foundation. 

The  architect  is  Mr.  Albert  Farr  of 
San  Francisco,  a  man  of  knowledge, 
experience  and  imagination,  and  as 
soon  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  London  laid  be- 
fore him  their  ideas,  he  went  to  work 
to  materialize  them.  The  house  is 
built  chiefly  of  five  materials,  all  of 
which  are  local  products — redwood 
trees,  a  deep  chocolate-maroon  vol- 
canic rock,  blue  slate,  boulders  and 
concrete.  The  London  ranch  furnishes 
the  redwoods  which  are  to  be  used 
with  their  jackets  on,  the  rough  deep- 
red  colored  bark  harmonizing  perfect- 
ly with  the  rough  rock  of  the  founda- 
tion. The  rock  is  used  exactly  as 
blasted.  It  is  not  quarried  in  the  sense 
of  being  worked  regularly.  It  is  sim- 
ply blasted  out  and  some  chunks 
weigh  several  hundred  pounds,  some 
merely  a  few  pounds  and  some  as 
much  as  a  ton  or  more.  Just  as  they 
come  they  are  hauled  and  placed  in 
appropriate  places.  The  result  is  im- 
mensely effective  and  attractive.  The 
first  floor  is  already  built  so  that  the 
effect  is  definitely  known,  and  can  be 
properly  estimated.  This  house  is 
1 — I  shaped,  the  main  portion  being 
eighty-six  feet  wide,  with  two  eighty- 
two  feet  wings.  The  concrete  water 
tank  occupies  the  center  of  the  patio, 
or  open  court.  Around  the  tank  will 
be  a  five-foot  strip  of  garden,  and  this 
is  the  only  piece  of  formal  or  conven- 
tional flower  garden  on  the  estate. 
Balconies  built  Qf  redwood  trunks  are 
to  surround  the  court. 

The  steps  leading  to  the  second  story 
and  the  second  story  itself  are  to  be 
built  of  the  great  boulders  or  cobble 
stones  found  on  the  estate,  also  the 
outside  chimneys,  and  a  builder  has 
been  found  whose  artistic  work  in  the 
handling  of  these  boulders  is  a  joy  and 
a  delight. 

The  rough- tree  trunks  will  form  the 
architectural  lines  of  the  porte-cochere, 
pergolas  and  porches,  while  the  rafters 
are  to  be  hewn  out  of  rough  redwood 


logs  and  kept  in  the  natural  finish.  A 
charming  effect  is  to  be  obtained  by 
interlacing  the  tree  trunks  in  the  gables 
and  balconies  with  fruit  tree  twigs.  The 
roof  will  be  of  Spanish  tile,  colored  to 
harmonize  with  the  maroon  of  the  rock 
and  the  redwood. 

The  interior  is  to  be  finished  after 
the  same  rustic  and  individualistic 
fashion.  It  is  to  be  essentially  a  home 
for  the  two  people  who  are  building  it 
— a  workshop  for  Mr.  London,  a  home 
for  Mrs.  London,  and  a  place  where 
they  can  gather  and  entertain  their 
friends.  Hence  these  three  ideas  have 
been  kept  distinctly  in  the  foreground. 
Mr.  London's  workroom  is  on  the  sec- 
ond floor,  and  is  to  be  a  magnificent 
room,  nineteen  by  forty  feet,  with  the 
library,  exactly  the  same  size,  directly 
underneath,  and  the  two  connected  with 
a  spiral  staircase.  These  two  rooms 
are  entirely  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
house,  thus  affording  perfect  seclusion 
to  the  author  while  engaged  at  his 
work.  His  regular  habit  is  to  get  to 
writing  directly  after  breakfast,  and 
he  never  writes  less  than  one  thousand 
words,  his  regular  daily  stunt.  If  this 
requires  five  hours,  six,  nine  or  merely 
two,  it  is  always  accomplished,  and 
then  the  rest  of  the  day  is  given  over 
to  hospitality,  recreation  or  farming. 

The  chief  feature  of  the  house  is  the 
great  living  room,  eighteen  by  fifty- 
eight  feet,  and  extending  over  two 
stories  high,  with  rough  redwood  bal- 
conies extending  around  the  second 
floor.  Open  rafers  for  ceiling  and  ga- 
bles, and  an  immense  stone  fireplace, 
which  will  be  fed  daily  with  gigantic 
logs  from  the  woods  on  the  estate,  will 
give  it  a  cheerful,  homelike,  though 
vast  and  medieval  appearance. 

The  entrance  way  begins  between 
two  gigantic  redwoods — and  then  leads 
to  the  porte-cochere,  a  roomy  place 
big  enough  for  the  handling  of  the 
largest  touring  cars. 

Immediately  from  the  porte-co- 
chere one  enters  the  large  hall,  which, 
except  for  massive,  handsomely 
wrought  iron  gates,  will  be  perpetually 
open,  reaching  completely  from  the 
front  to  the  rear  of  the  building.  From 


392 


OVERLAND   MONTHLY 


this  hall  three  large  guest  rooms,  the 
patio  and  the  author's  workshop  are 
reached  on  the  left  hand  side,  and  on 
the  right  a  reception  room,  with  coat 
rooms,  toilets  and  all  conveniences,  a 
gun-room,  the  stairs  and  the  large  liv- 
ing room.  One  of  the  two  large  al- 
coves of  the  living  room  is  to  be  es- 
pecially arranged  for  Mrs.  London's 
Steinway  grand  piano,  a  kingly  instru- 
ment, which  gives  her  intense  pleas- 
ure, and  which  will  assuredly  afford 
great  joy  and  entertainment  to  her 
guests. 

Long  ago  Mr.  and  Mrs.  London  fully 
decided  the  question  that  city  life  had 
not  enough  compensations  to  offer  for 
home  life.  So  they  are  building  with 
this  thought  in  view — to  make  a  home 
for  themselves  where  they  can  wel- 
come and  entertain  all  the  friends  they 
desire.  They  both  laugh  heartily  at 
the  comment  of  a  city  lady  who,  visit- 
ing the  growing  house  and  not  know- 
ing that  any  one  could  hear  her,  ex- 
claimed :  "What  fools  they  are !  build- 
ing such  a  glorious  house  where  none 
can  see  it!"  as  if  the  chief  end  of 
building  a  home  was  for  "some  one  to 
see  it."  The  Londons  have  a  right  ap- 
preciation of  values,  and  they  know 
how  to  place  things.  The  first  re- 
quirement of  a  house  is  that  it  shall 
be  a  home  for  those  who  are  to  live  in 
it — the  appreciation  of  others  is  a  sec- 
ondary consideration.  From  this  view- 
point the  London  house  will  be 
ideal. 

It  is  to  contain  its  own  hot  water, 
heating,  electric  lighting,  refrigerat- 
ing, vacuum  cleaning  and  laundry 
plants — the  latter  with  steam  dryer 
rotary  wringer — a  milk  and  store  room, 
root  and  wine  cellar. 

Its  name  is  "Wolf  House,"  a  re- 
minder of  London's  book  plate  which 
is  the  big  face  of  a  wolf  dog,  and  of 
his  first  great  literary  success,  "The 
Call  of  the  Wild." 

At  present  the  Londons  are  living  in 
a  group  of  the  old  houses  they  found 
on  the  estate.  It  has  been  renovated, 
fixed  over,  added  to,  repainted  and  re- 
furnished, and  it  makes  a  most  com- 
fortable home  until  the  new    one     is 


completed.  How  long  that  will  be 
Jack  laughingly  declares  no  one  knows 
— as  he  stops  building  as  soon  as  his 
money  gives  out.  So  he  and  his  mate 
are  enjoying  the  building  more  than 
most  people  enjoy  such  work,  one  rea- 
son, doubtless,  being  because  of  this 
element  of  uncertainty. 

In  my  personal  touches  with  London 
he  reveals  more  and  more  of  the  phil- 
osophy that  controls  him.  One  day 
we  were  talking  about  what  life  is, 
and  what  its  conflicts  mean,  and  he 
said  in  effect: 

"I  judge  my  life  largely  by  the  vic- 
tories I  have  been  able  to  gain!  The 
things  I  remember  best  are  my  great 
victories.  Two  of  these  were  won 
when  I  was  a  very  small  child,  and 
one  was  won  in  a  dream.  When  I 
was  about  three  years  old  we  were 
moving  from  one  part  of  Oakland  to 
another.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  not 
known  fear,  but  this  particular  after- 
noon when  I  went  into  the  house  and 
saw  the  vacant  rooms,  the  boxes  and 
furniture  moved  here  and  there,  and 
everything  different,  and  suddenly 
realized  that  I  was  alone  in  the  house, 
a  deadly  fear  came  upon  me.  I  was  in 
a  room  one  window  of  which  looked 
out  into  a  yard  where  some  of  the  folks 
were  beating  carpets,  and  with  this 
horrible  dread  upon  me,  unable  to  call 
out,  afraid,  I  suppose,  to  do  so,  I  could 
only  find  relief  in  going  to  the  window 
and  looking  out.  I  thought  of  running 
to  those  outside,  but  one  look  into  the 
room,  and  realizing  that  I  had  to  go 
through  two  rooms  before  I  reached 
the  outside  door,  effectually  deterred 
me.  For  awhile  I  succeeded  in  beat- 
ing down  the  fear.  Then,  suddenly,  I 
realized  that  the  carpet  beating  was 
stopped  and  the  folks  had  gone  some- 
where, that  I  was  entirely  alone,  and 
that  it  was  twilight  and  night  was 
speedily  coming  down  with  its  dark 
pall.  For  awhile  I  was  terror-stricken 
and  I  suffered  more  torture  than  even 
now  I  care  to  recall.  But  by  and  by 
I  braced  up  and  resolutely  I  deter- 
mined to  face  the  terror.  Gathering 
myself  together,  bracing  up  my  will, 
I  sturdily  walked  through  the  rooms 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME  393 

to  the  outside,  feeling  the  thrill  of  vie-  from  the  hospital  in  Australia,  when 

tory  as  I  did  so.  we  decided  to  give  up  the  Snark  trip, 

"My  other  childish  victory  was  over  I  had  a  five  weeks'  growth  of  heavy 
a  peculiar  nightmare.  I  had. lived  in  moustache  and  beard.  I  went  to  a 
the  country  and  was  one  day  brought  barber's,  where  there  were  eight 
to  town  and  stood  on  a  railway  plat-  chairs,  took  my  seat  and  the  barber 
form  as  a  railway  engine  came  in.  Its  began.  After  he  had  lathered  me  and 
ponderous  size,  its  easy  and  resistless  taken  off  a  part  of  my  beard,  I  sud- 
onward  movement,  its  panting,  its  fire  denly  noticed  that  the  hand  that  rested 
and  smoke,  its  great  noises,  all  im-  on  me  was  shaking  frightfully.  I 
pressed  me  so  powerfully  that  that  looked  and  saw  the  razor  hand  ap- 
night  I  dreamed  of  it,  and  when  the  proaching  me,  but  jerking,  as  if  the 
dream  turned  to  a  nightmare  was  filled  man  was  in  a  fit.  It  barely  touched 
with  dread  and  horror  at  what  seemed  my  skin  when  he  drew  it  back.  At 
to  be  the  fact  that  this  locomotive  was  first  I  was  speechless  with  fright.  A 
pursuing  me  and  that  I  could  not  get  panic  seized  me,  and  I  wanted  to  jump 
out  of  its  way.  For  weeks  thereafter  up  and  rush  out.  Then  I  pulled  my- 
I  was  haunted  by  this  dreadful  fear,  self  together  and  asked  what  it  all 
and  night  after  night  I  was  run  down,  meant.  I  recalled  to  my  mind  the 
But,  strange  to  say,  I  always  rose  up  mental  conflicts  I  had  recently  had 
again  after  suffering  the  pangs  of  a  while  face  to  face  with  myself  on  the 
horrible  death,  to  go  over  it  all  again,  hospital  cot.  What  did  all  my  argu- 
The  torture  those  nightmares  gave  me  ments  and  assertions  as  to  the  suprem- 
none  can  understand  except  those  who  acy  of  mind  over  body  really  mean, 
have  gone  through  a  similar  experi-  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  test  them, 
ence.  Then  one  night  came  release.  I  could  dodge  the  issue  by  slipping  in- 
In  the  distance,  as  the  mighty  modern  to  another  seat.  But  I  determined  to 
Juggernaut  came  towards  me,  I  saw  test  myself.  Quietly  looking  up,  I 
a  man  with  a  stepladder.  I  was  un-  asked  the  barber:  'What's  up?'  He 
able  to  cry  out,  but  I  waved  my  hand  answered  in  effect  that  he  had  been 
to  him.  He  hailed  me  and  bade  me  out  with  the  boys  on  Saturday  night — 
come.  That  broke  the  spell.  I  ran  to  this  was  Monday — and  for  the  first 
him,  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  step-  time  in  his  life  his  dissipation  had  pro- 
ladder,  and  thereafter  lost  all  terror  duced  the  'shakes.'  In  a  hoarse  whis- 
at  the  sight  of  a  locomotive.  But  the  per  he  begged  me  not  to  give  him 
victory  gained  in  climbing  the  ladder  away,  as  that  would  mean  losing  his 
was  as  real  as  any  I  ever  had  in  my  job,  and  places  were  scarce  just  then, 
waking  life.  "'Take  your  time,'  I  said;  'I'll  give 

"Another  victory  was  gained  when  you  a  chance,  but  be  careful.' 

I  learned  that  fame  didn't  count,  and  "Then  for  fully  three-quarters  of  an 

another  when  I  learned  that  I  could  hour  I  waited  and  watched  that  fellow 

do  without  money.     To-day  I  could  — his  hand   shaking  uncontrollably — 

look  upon  the  loss  of  all  my  income  bring  that  razor  to  my  cheek,  lip  or 

with  equanimity,  for  I  know  I    have  chin,  knowing  that  a  moment's  shake 

strength  enough  to  go  out  and  earn  at  the  wrong  time  might  mean  the  tak- 

enough  for  Charmian  and  me  to  live  on  ing  off  of  a  piece  of  me. 

healthfully  and  simply.    Another  was  "That  I  call  a  great  victory." 

when  I  ceased  to  fear  death,  and  one  As  throwing  small  sidelights  upon 

of  my  latest  triumphs  was  the  victory  London's  inner  thoughts,  the  following 

gained  over  my  dread  of  death  by  a  may  assist.    They  are  the  inscriptions 

knife.    I  have  always  had  a  terror  of  written  by  his  own  hand  in  the  various 

being  killed  by  cutting  with  a  knife,  books  he  has  sent  me : 

Often  have  I  faced  death,  in  a  variety  In  the  "People     of     the     Abyss"; 

of  ways,  but  an   open   knife   always  "Walk  with  me  here,  among  the  crea- 

gave  me  the  horrors.    After  I  got  up  tures  damned  by  man,  and  then  won- 


394 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


der  not  that  I  sign  myself,  Yours  for 
the  Revolution." 

In  "Children  of  the  Frost" :  "Find 
herein  my  Indians;  I  imagine  they  do 
not  differ  very  much  from  yours." 

In  his  "War  of  the  Classes"  he 
wrote :  "Read  here  some  of  the  reasons 
of  my  socialism,  and  some  of  my  so- 
cialism." 

In  another  copy  of  "The  War  of  the 
Classes,"  knowing  that  I  was  a  con- 
tinuous student  of  Browning,  he  wrote : 
"God's  still  in  his  heaven,  but  all's  not 
well  with  the  world." 

How  suggestive  this  from  "The 
Kempton-Wace  Letters":  "I'd  rather 
be  ashes  than  dust." 

In  "Tales  of  the  Fish  Patrol": 
"Find  within  these  pages  my  youthful 
stamping  ground,  when  I  first  went  'on 
my  own'  into  the  world." 

In  "The  Sea  Wolf":  "Find  here,  in 
the  mouth  of  the  Sea  Wolf,  much  of 
the  philosophy  that  was  mine  in  my 
'long  sickness.'  It  is  still  mine,  though 
now  that  I  am  happy,  I  keep  it  cov- 
ered over  with  veils  of  illusion." 

The  chief  character  in  this  book  is 
Wolf  Larsen.  He  is  a  wonderful  con- 
ception, wonderfully  drawn,  a  strong 
and  impelling  character,  a  human  be- 
ing devoid  of  all  morality,  all  senti- 
ment, save  that  of  living  solely  for  his 
own  pleasure  and  interest.  He  is  pic- 
tured as  being  neither  moral  nor  im- 
moral, simply  unmoral,  knowing  no 
standard  of  right  and  wrong,  recogniz- 
ing no  impelling  duty  save  that  of 
personal  interest.  He  is  the  incarna- 
tion of  materialism  and  selfish  indi- 
vidualism, which,  as  London  says 
above,  was  for  a  time  his  "great  sick- 
ness." 

Yet  he  is  made  the  instrument  for 
good.  It  would  be  immeasurably  bet- 
ter for  the  individual,  and  therefore 
for  the  race,  if  all  the  "Sissies"  and 
"Miss  Nancys,"  the  bloodless,  super- 
refined,  super-sensitive,  super-civil- 
ized creatures  of  the  Van  Weyden 
type  were  compelled  to  undergo  some 
such  treatment  as  Wolf  Larsen  gave 
to  him.  In  the  Wolf's  words  they 
would  learn  to  "stand  upon  their  own 
legs"  instead  of  walking  upon  those  of 


their  fathers.  "The  Sea  Wolf"  clearly 
teaches  Jack  London's  philosophies 
upon  this  subject.  Van  Weyden,  the 
scholar  and  dilettante,  says  of  himself : 
"I  had  never  done  any  hard  manual 
labor  or  scullion  labor  in  my  life.  I 
had  lived  a  placid,  uneventful,  seden- 
tary existence  all  my  days — the  life  of 
a  scholar  and  a  recluse  on  an  assured 
and  comfortable  income.  Violent  life 
and  athletic  sports  had  never  appealed 
to  me.  I  had  always  been  a  book- 
worm; so  my  sisters  and  my  father 
had  called  me  during  my  childhood. 
I  had  gone  camping  but  once  in  my 
life,  and  then  I  left  the  party  almost 
at  the  start  and  returned  to  the  com- 
forts and  conveniences  of  a  roof.  And 
here  I  was,  with  dreary  and  endless 
vistas  before  me  of  table  setting,  po- 
tato peeling  and  dish  washing,  and  I 
was  not  strong.  The  doctors  had  al- 
ways said  that  I  had  a  remarkable  con- 
stitution, but  I  had  never  developed  it 
or  my  body  through  exercise.  My 
muscles  were  small  and  soft  like  a 
woman's,  or  so  the  doctors  had. said 
time  and  again  in  the  course  of  their 
attempts  to  persuade  me  to  go  in  for 
physical  culture  fads.  But  I  had  pre- 
ferred to  use  my  head  rather  than  my 
body;  and  here  I  was,  in  no  fit  condi- 
tion for  the  rough  life  in  prospect." 

There  you  have  it :  a  dreamy,  sensu- 
ous, half  life  he  had  lived,  his  body 
rusting  and  rotting  for  want  of  use. 
How  could  health  of  thought  come 
from  such  a  body?  Half  the  thought 
that  controls  the  world  is  diseased 
thought,  rotten  thought,  born  of  dis- 
eased and  rotten  bodies.  For  thought 
to  be  strong  and  virile  and  pure  it  must 
come  through  strong,  virile  and  pure 
bodies.  The  man  who  lives  a  lazy,  sel- 
fish, self-indulgent  life  cannot  think 
other  than  lazy,  selfish,  self-indulgent 
thoughts.  And  it  was  the  mission  of 
Wolf  Larsen,  cruel,  horrible,  terrible 
though  it  seemed  at  first  to  Hum- 
phrey Van  Weyden,  to  show  him  the 
uselessness  and  inutility  of  his  own 
life,  the  helplessness  of  it  and  to  de- 
velop within  him  powers  of  usefulness, 
or  self-reliance,  of  mental  grasp.  As 
you  read  of  Van  Weyden's  treatment 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


395 


your  blood  boils  at  times  with  anger 
and  indignation,  yet  the  ultimate  out- 
come was  good,  in  the  highest  degree 
good.  It  taught  the  hitherto  useless 
and  selfish  man  a  sympathy  with  the 
hard  and  cruel  work  of  others;  it  de- 
veloped his  body,  his  mind,  his  inven- 
tion, his  soul.  See  him  there,  as  Lon- 
don pictures  him,  when  cast  ashore 
on  Endeavor  Island,  with  the  woman 
he  loved,  struggling  with  the  masts  of 
the  dismasted  "Ghost"  in  order  that  he 
may  get  back  to  civilization.  Day  af- 
ter day  he  grapples  with  problems  of 
weight,  levers,  fulcrums,  blocks  and 
tackles,  and  little  by  little  knows  the 
joy  of  overcoming  them.  He  learns 
what  it  is  to  really  live — to  live  in  ac- 
tive battling  with  the  real  problems 
that  meet  men  and  women  in  real  life. 
So,  in  the  end,  one  is  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  his  experiences  were 
good  for  him  in  every  way.  They  had 
made  a  man  of  him — a  real  man,  not  a 
semblance  of  a  man.  A  self-reliant, 
self-competent,  self-dependent  man, 
full  of  sympathy  for  his  fellows,  know- 
ing the  hardships  and  difficulties  of 
their  lives  and  realizing  the  joys  of 
their  triumphs.  And  to  be  a  man  is 
much.  Welcome  the  teacher,  hard 
though  he  be,  that  teaches  us  man- 
hood. 

So  Jack  London's  book  comes  to  me 
with  the  highest  sanction.  It  teaches 
human  puppets  to  be  men  through  the 
strenuous  endeavor  of  compelling  life. 

In  his  later  books  his  humor  asserts 
itself  more  than  formerly.  He  is  far 
more  jolly,  human  and  humorous  than 
most  of  his  readers  conceive.  For  in- 
stance, when  he  was  living  at  Wake 
Robin  Lodge,  where  I  first  met  him, 
he  had  a  notice  on  the  front  door  of  his 
library  or  studio :  "No  Admittance  Ex- 
cept on  Business!"  Then  underneath, 
"Positively  no  Business  Transacted 
Here."  On  the  back  door  were  these 
legends:  "No  one  admitted  without 
knocking."    "Please  do  not  knock." 

Yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  humor 
is  a  secondary  or  tertiary  thing  to  him. 
He  has  been  compelled  by  the  hard 
knocks  of  life  to  be  so  deadly  in  ear- 
nest, and  he  has  so  thoroughly  taken 


upon  himself  the  burden  of  the  down- 
trodden classes  that,  while  he  fully  ap- 
preciates humor,  can  tell  a  good  story 
and  laughs  as  heartily  as  any  man,  the 
serious  side  of  life  is  ever  uppermost 
to  him. 

This  is  clearly  seen  in  the  conclud- 
ing words  of  his  compelling  paper, 
"What  Life  Means  to  Me."  He  there 
says: 

"I  discovered  that  I  did  not  like  to 
live  on  the  parlor  floor  of  society.  In- 
tellectually I  was  bored.  Morally  and 
spiritually  I  was  sickened.  I  remem- 
bered my  intellectuals  and  idealists, 
my  unfrocked  preachers,  broken  pro- 
fessors, and  clean-minded,  class  con- 
scious workingmen.  I  remembered  my 
days  and  nights  of  sunshine  and  star- 
shine,  where  life  was  all  a  wild,  sweet 
wonder,  a  spiritual  paradise  of  unsel- 
fish adventure  and  ethical  romance. 
And  I  saw  before  me,  ever  blazing  and 
burning,  the  Holy  Grail. 

"So  I  went  back  to  the  working  class 
in  which  I  had  been  born  and  where  I 
belonged.  I  care  no  longer  to  climb. 
The  imposing  edifice  of  society  above 
my  head  holds  no  delights  for  me.  It 
is  the  foundation  of  the  edifice  that 
interests  me.  There  I  am  content  to 
labor,  crowbar  in  hand,  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  intellectuals,  idealists 
and  class-conscious  workingmen,  get- 
ting a  solid  pry  now  and  again  and  set- 
ting the  whole  edifice  rocking.  Some 
day,  when  we  get  a  few  more  hands 
and  crowbars  to  work,  we'll  topple  it 
over,  along  with  all  its  rotten  life  and 
unburied  dead,  its  monstrous  selfish- 
ness and  sodden  materialism.  Then 
we'll  cleanse  the  cellar  and  build  a 
new  habitation  for  mankind,  in  which 
there  will  be  no  parlor  floor,  in  which 
all  the  rooms  will  be  bright  and  airy, 
and  where  the  air  that  is  breathed  will 
be  clean,  noble  and  alive. 

"Such  is  my  outlook.  I  look  forward 
to  a  time  when  man  shall  progress  up- 
on something  worthier  and  higher  than 
his  stomach,  when  there  will  be  a  finer 
incentive  to  impel  men  to  action  than 
the  incentive  of  to-day,  which  is  the 
incentive  of  the  stomach.  I  retain  my 
belief  in  the  nobility  and  excellence  of 


396 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


the  human.  I  believe  that  spiritual 
sweetness  and  unselfishness  will  con- 
quer the  gross  gluttony  of  to-day.  And, 
last  of  all,  my  faith  is  in  the  working 
class.  As  some  Frenchman  has  said: 
'The  stairway  of  time  is  ever  echoing 
with  the  wooden  shoe  going  up,  the 
polished  boot  descending.'  " 

Let  me  here  say  a  few  words  as  to 
London's  socialism. 

It  is  useless  to  say  that  his  theories 
and  ideas  are  impracticable.  It  is  im- 
possible to  ignore  them.  He  and  his 
compeers  argue  with  relentless  logic 
that  will  not  be  gainsaid.  The  capital- 
istic class,  they  say,  has  had  up  to  now 
the  management  of  the  affairs  of  the 
world.  The  laboring  class,  perforce, 
has  had  to  accept  this  management, 
live  by  the  laws  the  capitalists  have 
formulated,  accept  the  wages  paid,  pay 
the  prices  demanded  for  rents,  com- 
modities, clothing  and  food,  and  live 
in  rigid  conformity  to  the  will  of  the 
capitalists — as  expressed  in  the  laws 
and  in  social  requirements — with  little 
more  than  a  pretended  voice  of  sug- 
gestion in  the  making  of  these  laws. 
They  openly  claim  that  this  manage- 
ment has  been  a  failure  as  far  as  the 
higher  development  of  mankind  is  con- 
cerned. They  point  with  bitterness 
to  the  evidences  of  material  and  finan- 
cial prosperity  side  by  side  with  in- 
creasing misery  and  wretchedness  and 
the  growing  fierceness  of  the  struggle 
for  existence.  In  his  essay  entitled 
"Revolution,"  London  compares  the 
existence  of  the  cave-man  with  the 
conditions  of  life  among  the  poor  to- 
day, and  calls  upon  the  poor  to  assert 
their  rights,  show  their  power  at  the 
ballot-box  and  claim  their  own.  The 
red  banner,  by  the  way,  symbolizes 
the  brotherhood  of  man  and  does  not 
symbolize  the  incendiarism  that  in- 
stantly connects  itself  with  the  red 
banner  in  the  affrighted  bourgeois 
mind.  The  comradeship  of  the  revolu- 
tionists is  alive  and  warm.  It  passes 
over  geographical  lines,  transcends 
race  prejudice,  and  has  even  proven 
itself  mightier  than  the  Fourth  of  July, 
spread-eagle  Americanism  of  our  fore- 
fathers.   The  French  socialist  working- 


men  and  the  German  socialist  working- 
men  forget  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and, 
when  war  threatens,  pass  resolutions 
declaring  that  as  workingmen  and 
comrades,  they  have  no  quarrel  with 
each  other.  When  Japan  and  Russia 
sprang  at  each  other's  throats,  the  rev- 
olutionists of  Japan  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing message  to  the  revolutionists 
of  Russia: 

"Dear  Comrades:  Your  government 
and  ours  have  recently  plunged  into 
war  to  carry  out  their  imperialistic  ten- 
dencies, but  for  us  socialists  there  are 
no  boundaries,  race,  country,  national- 
ity. We  are  comrades,  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  have  no  reason  to  fight. 
Your  enemies  are  not  the  Japanese 
people,  but  our  militarism  and  so- 
called  patriotism.  Patriotism  and 
militarism  are  our  mutual  enemies." 

Here  is  another  utterance  that  should 
be  calmly  weighed  and  duly  consid- 
ered : 

"One  thing  must  be  clearly  under- 
stood. This  is  no  spontaneous  and 
vague  uprising  of  a  large  mass  of  dis- 
contented and  miserable  people — a 
blind  and  instinctive  recoil  from  trust. 
On  the  contrary,  the  propaganda  is  in- 
tellectual ;  the  movement  is  based  upon 
economic  necessity  and  is  in  line  with 
social  evolution;  while  the  miserable 
people  have  not  yet  revolted.  The 
revolutionist  is  no  starved  and  diseased 
slave  in  the  shambles  at  the  bottom  of 
the  social  pit,  but  is,  in  the  main,  a 
hearty,  well  fed  workingman  who  sees 
the  shambles  waiting  for  him  and  his 
children  and  declines  to  descend.  The 
very  miserable  people  are  too  helpless 
to  help  themselves.  But  they  are  be- 
ing helped,  and  the  day  is  not  far  dis- 
tant when  their  numbers  will  go  to 
swell  the  ranks  of  the  revolutionists." 

There  are  those  who  ask,  Why  ex- 
ploit the  socialistic  ideas  of  London? 
Is  there  not  something  of  the  ostrich 
hiding  its  head  in  the  sand  in  this 
mental  attitude?  If  socialism  is  dan- 
gerous, the  sooner  we  who  profess  to 
be  less  radical  know  it  the  better.  Let 
us  fully  understand  the  ideas,  the  pro- 
paganda, the  methods  these  men  and 
women  have  in  their  minds;  then,  if 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


397 


they  are  to  be  combatted,  we  can  the 
more  intelligently  go  to  work  to  com- 
bat them.  But  to  shut  our  eyes  and 
ears,  to  remain  wilfully  blind  and  deaf 
until  the  storm  is  upon  us  is  both  fool- 
ish, absurd  and  suicidal.       ~~~~~ 

About  five  years  ago  on  one  of  my 
visits  to  Glen  Ellen,  Jack  and  his  wife 
were  full  of  their  contemplated  trip 
on  "The  Snark."  They  had  decided 
to  make  it,  and  Jack  and  "Roscoe" 
spent  hours  going  over  their  plans.  I 
used  to  watch  and  listen  and  enjoy  it 
all  in  anticipation  with  them.  They 
planned  to  be  gone  for  seven  years,  to 
circumnavigate  the  globe  and  visit 
every  place  that  appealed  to  them. 

A  few  days  after  I  left  them  I  wrote 
the  following,  gendered  by  the  unfold- 
ing of  London's  philosophy  as  it  ap- 
peared to  me  at  the  time : 

"Seven  years  on  a  small  vessel,  jour- 
neying through  storms  and  calms,  in 
all  kinds  of  seas  in  all  kinds  of  wea- 
thers. Seven  years  of  risk,  of  uncer- 
tainty, of  danger — so  it  appears  to  a 
landsman.  But  how  does  it  seem  to 
him?  Read  his  stories  of  the  Fish  Pa- 
trol in  San  Francisco  harbor;  get  it 
well  into  your  understanding  that  as  a 
lad  of  sixteen  he  was  the  hero  of  ad- 
venture, of  daring  and  bravery  that 
were  taken  as  the  everyday  work  of 
capturing  desperate  and  armed  men 
who  violated  the  laws  of  the  Fish 
Commissioners;  men  who  defiantly 
pirated  the  oyster  beds ;  men  to  whom 
the  sailing  of  their  vessels  in  all  wea- 
thers and  in  the  fogs  and  darkness  of 
night  was  part  of  their  everyday  life; 
men  whose  whole  lives  had  been  spent 
on  the  sea — I  say  he  entered  into  the 
task  of  foiling  these  men  in  their  il- 
legal work  when  but  a  mere  lad  of  six- 
teen. With  his  superior,  or  alone,  he 
sailed  the  vessel  of  the  fish  patrol  and 
sought  to  outsail  and  outwit  defiant 
and  mocking  men.  Here,  then,  was 
his  school.  Here  was  his  training 
ground.  As  you  read  his  fish  and  sea 
stories  you  see  that  the  uncertain  deck 
of  the  tossing  vessel,  the  uprearing  and 
downfalling  of  the  ship  as  it  is  lifted 
by  the  wild  and  boisterous  waves  is  a 
place  of  sure  footing  to  him.     Masts 


and  sails  and  oars  and  tackles  and 
keels  and  center-boards  and  the  like 
are  all  as  familiar  to  him  as  fashions 
are  to  the  dude,  and  not  in  a  dilettante 
way,  but  in  the  stern,  real,  positive 
way  that  comes  in  the  discharge  of  ar- 
duous, wearisome,  dangerous  and  ex- 
citing daily  labor. 

"His,  therefore,  will  be  no  amateur 
trip.  He  knows  what  he  is  about.  He 
is  an  expert  sailor.  He  as  thoroughly 
understands  the  handling  and  working 
of  a  vessel  as  an  expert  mechanic 
trained  as  a  chauffeur  understands  the 
manipulation  of  an  automobile. 

"And  yet  more  than  this  is  neces- 
sary for  the  master  of  a  vessel.  He 
must  understand  the  art  of  navigation. 
That  is,  he  must  understand  not  only 
all  about  the  actual  working  of  the  ves- 
sel, but  how  to  determine  his  course  in 
the  night,  in  a  fog,  how  to  find  his  lo- 
cation when  wind,  adverse  current  and 
storm  have  forced  him  out  of  his  ex- 
pected path.  This  knowledge  he  does 
not  possess.  But  this  is  no  real  ob- 
stacle. Here  is  where  his  superb  men- 
tal training  and  self-discipline  come  in. 
He  knows  that  a  few  days'  reading  up 
will  give  him  the  scientific  knowledge 
necessary  to  learn  these  things.  What 
a  school  man  must  spend  months  to 
learn,  he  knows  that  his  well-disci- 
plined intellect,  with  its  powers  of  con- 
centration, absorption  and  retention 
can  master  in  a  few  weeks.  So  with 
supreme  self-reliance  he  looks  upon 
the  necessary  knowledge  as  almost  at- 
tained, and  goes  on  with  his  prepara- 
tion without  a  flutter  of  fear  at  his 
heart." 

London  himself,  in  his  book,  "The 
Cruise  of  the  Snark,"  enlarges  upon 
this  crude  presentation  of  his  ideas  in 
the  following  vigorous  fashion: 

"The  thing  I  like  most  of  all  is  per- 
sonal achievement — not  achievement 
for  the  world's  applause,  but  achieve- 
ment for  my  own  delight.  It  is  the 
old 'I  did  it!  I  did  it!  With  my  own 
hands  I  did  it!'  But  personal  achieve- 
ment, with  me,  must  be  concrete.  I'd 
rather  win  a  water-fight  in  the  swim- 
ming pool,  or  remain  astride  a  horse 
that  is  trying  to  get  out  from  under 


398                                     OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

me,  than  write  the    great    American  "My  delight  was  in  that  I  had  done 

novel.    Each  man  to  his  liking.    Some  it — not  in  the  fact  that  twenty-two  men 

other  fellow  would  prefer  writing  the  knew  I  had  done  it.    Within  the  year 

great  Ameircan  novel  to  winning  the  over  half  of  them  were  dead  and  gone, 

water-fight  or  mastering  the  horse.  yet  my  pride  in  the  thing  performed 

"Possibly  the  proudest  achievement  was  not  diminished  by  half, 
of  my  life,  my  moment  of  highest  liv-  "Life  that  lives  is  life  successful, 
ing,  occurred  when  I  was  seventeen.  I  and  success  is  the  breath  of  its  nos- 
was  in  a  three-masted  schooner  off  the  trils.  The  achievement  of  a  difficult 
coast  of  Japan.  We  were  in  a  typhoon,  feat  is  successful  adjustment  to  a 
All  hands  had  been  on  deck  most  of  sternly  exacting  environment.  The 
the  night.  I  was  called  from  my  bunk  more  difficult  the  feat,  the  greater  the 
at  seven  in  the  morning  to  take  the  satisfaction  at  its  accomplishment, 
wheel.  Not  a  stitch  of  canvas  was  set.  Thus  it  is  with  the  man  who  leaps  for- 
We  were  running  before  it  with  bare  ward  from  the  springboard,  out  over 
poles,  yet  the  schooner  fairly  tore  the  swimming  pool,  and  with  a  back- 
along.  The  seas  were  all  of  an  eighth  ward  half-revolution  of  the  body,  en- 
of  a  mile  apart,  and  the  wind  snatched  ters  the  water  head  first.  Once  he  left 
the  whitecaps  from  their  summits,  fill-  the  springboard  his  environment  was 
ing  the  air  so  thick  with  driving  spray  immediately  savage,  and  savage  the 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see  more  than  penalty  it  would  have  exacted  had  he 
two  waves  at  a  time.  The  schooner  failed  and  struck  the  water  flat.  Of 
was  almost  unmanageable,  rolling  her  course,  the  man  did  not  have  to  run 
rail  under  to  starboard  and  to  port,  the  risk  of  the  penalty.  He  could  have 
veering  and  yawing  anywhere  be-  remained  on  the  bank  in  a  sweet  and 
tween  southeast  and  southwest,  and  placid  environment  of  summer  air, 
threatening  when  the  huge  seas  lifted  sunshine  and  stability.  Only  he  was 
under  her  quarter,  to  broach  to.  Had  not  made  that  way.  In  the  swift  mid- 
she  broached  to,  she  would  ultimately  air  moment  he  lived  as  he  could  never 
have  been  reported  with  all  hands  and  have  lived  on  the  bank, 
no  tidings.  "The  trip  around  the  world  means 

"I  took  the  wheel.  The  sailing  mas-  big  moments  of  living.  Bear  with  me 
ter  watched  me  for  a  space.  He  was  a  moment,  and  look  at  it.  Here  am  I, 
afraid  of  my  youth,  feared  that  I  a  little  animal  called  a  man — a  bit  of 
lacked  the  strength  and  the  nerve.  But  vitalized  matter,  one  hundred  and 
when  he  saw  me  successfully  wrestle  sixty-five  pounds  of  meat  and  blood, 
the  schooner  through  several  bouts,  he  nerve,  sinew,  bones  and  brain — all  of 
went  below  to  breakfast.  Fore  and  aft  it  soft  and  tender,  susceptible  to  hurt, 
all  hands  were  belcw  at  breakfast.  Had  fallible  and  frail.  I  strike  a  light 
she  broached  to,  not  one  of  them  would  back-handed  blow  on  the  nose  of  an 
ever  have  reached  the  deck.  For  forty  obstreperous  horse,  and  a  bone  in  my 
minutes  I  stood  there  alone  at  the  hand  is  broken.  I  put  my  head  under 
wheel,  in  my  grasp  the  wildly  career-  the  water  for  five  minutes  and  I  am 
ing  schooner  and  the  lives  of  twenty-  drowned.  I  fall  twenty  feet  through 
two  men.  Once  we  were  pooped.  I  the  air  and  I  am  smashed.  I  am  a 
saw  it  coming,  and,  half-drowned,  with  creature  of  temperature.  A  few  de- 
tons  of  water  crushing  me,  I  checked  grees  one  way  and  my  fingers  and  toes 
the  schooner's  rush  to  broach  to.  At  blacken  and  drop  off.  A  few  degrees 
the  end  of  the  hour,  sweating  and  the  other  way,  and  my  skin  blisters 
played  out,  I  was  relieved.  But  I  had  and  shrivels  away  from  the  raw,  quiv- 
done  it!  With  my  own  hands  I  had  ering  flesh.  A  few  additional  degrees 
done  the  trick  at  the  wheel  and  guided  either  way,  and  the  life  and  the  light 
a  hundred  tons  of  wood  and  iron  in  me  go  out.  A  drop  of  poison  in- 
through  a  few  million  tons  of  wind  jeered  into  my  body  from  a  snake,  and 
and  waves.  I  cease  to  move — forever  I  cease  to 


A  STUDY  OF  JACK  LONDON  IN  HIS  PRIME 


399 


move.  A  splinter  of  lead  from  a  rifle 
enters  my  head,  and  I  am  wrapped 
around  in  the  eternal  blackness. 

"Fallible  and  frail,  a  bit  of  pulsat- 
ing, jelly-like  life — it  is  all  I  am.  About 
me  are  the  great  natural  forces — colos- 
sal menaces,  Titans  of  destruction,  un- 
sentimental monsters  that  have  less 
concern  for  me  than  I  have  for  the 
grain  of  sand  I  crush  under  my  foot. 
They  have  no  concern  at  all  for  me. 
They  do  not  know  me.  They  are  un- 
conscious, unmerciful  and  unmoral. 
They  are  the  cyclones  and  tornadoes, 
lightning  flashes  and  cloud-bursts, 
tide-rips  and  tidal  waves,  under-tows 
and  waterspouts,  great  whirls  and 
sucks  and  eddies,  earthquakes  and 
volcanoes,  surfs  that  thunder  on  rock- 
ribbed  coasts  and  seas  that  leap 
aboard  the  largest  crafts  that  float, 
crushing  humans  to  pulp  or  licking 
them  off  into  the  sea  and  to  death — 
and  these  insensate  monsters  do  not 
know  that  tiny  sensitive  creature,  all 
nerves  and  weaknesses,  whom  men  call 
Jack  London,  and  who  himself  thinks 
he  is  all  right  and  quite  a  superior  be- 
ing. 

"In  the  maze  and  chaos  of  the  con- 
flict of  these  vast  and  draughty  Titans, 
it  is  for  me  to  thread  my  precarious 
way.  The  bit  of  life  that  is  I  will  ex- 
ult over  them.  The  bit  of  life  that  is 
I,  in  so  far  as  it  succeeds  in  baffling 
them  or  in  bidding  to  its  service,  will 
imagine  that  it  is  godlike.  It  is  good 
to  ride  the  tempest  and  feel  godlike.  I 
dare  to  assert  that  for  a  finite  speck 
of  pulsating  jelly  to  feel  godlike  is  a 
far  more  glorious  feeling  than  for  a 
god  to  feel  godlike. 

"Here  is  the  sea,  the  wind  and  the 


wave.  Here  are  the  seas,  the  winds 
and  the  waves  of  all  the  world.  Here 
is  ferocious  environment.  And  here 
is  difficult  adjustment,  the  achievement 
of  which  is  delight  to  the  small  quiv- 
ering vanity  that  is  I.  I  like.  I  am  so 
made.  It  is  my  own  particular  form 
of  vanity,  that  is  all." 

They  made  *a  "WoUderful  start  and 
did  some  remarkable  voyaging,  all  of 
which  is  told  in  graphic  fashion  in 
London's  "Cruise  of  the  Snark."  But 
circumstances  over  which  they  had  no 
control  compelled  the  giving  up  of  the 
trip  when  they  reached  Australia,  and 
they  returned  to  their  home  in  Glen 
Ellen,  there  to  furbish  up  the  old 
ranch  house,  begin  the  building  of  the 
new  and  wonderful  home,  construct  the 
trails  and  be  happy,  as  I  have  de- 
scribed in  the  earlier  pages  of  this  al- 
ready prolonged  sketch.  That  they 
are  not  compulsorily  anchored  is  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  a  few  months 
ago  they  decided  to  take  a  trip  to  New 
York.  While  there,  one  or  the  other 
or  both  decided  that  a  sailing  vessel 
trip  to  California  around  Cape  Horn 
would  suit  them,  and  in  twenty-four 
hours  arrangements  were  made  and 
they  were  off. 

Whatever  else  may  be  said  of  Lon- 
don, no  one  can  truthfully  say  of  him 
that  he  has  not  lived.  In  his  less  than 
forty  years  of  life  he  has  played  on  a 
gamut  of  several  octaves,  and  from 
present  indication  life  is  just  as  in- 
tense, as  vivid,  and  as  full  with  him 
as  when  he  fought  his  battle  with  the 
bully  newsboy  on  the  streets  of  Oak- 
land, or  the  bully  sailor  on  the  deck 
of  the  Behring  Sea  whaler. 

He  is  very  much  alive. 


Ars.    Jack    London's   New  Viewpoint 


By  L.  Rudio  Marshall 


AS  I  STEPPED  from  the  car- 
riage that  brought  me  from 
Glen  Ellen  to  the  vine-covered 
home  on  the  London  ranch  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Moon,  a 'bright  sun- 
beam seemed  to  slip  out  of  the  door 
and  greet  me  with  the  informal  kind- 
liness of  a  young  girl.  In  the  delight- 
ful feeling  of  this  cordial  spirit  of  pure 
friendliness  I  realized  the  full  meaning 
of  the  old-time  saying  of  Jack's 
friends:  "Jack's  home  is  the  real 
home."  The  trail  to  that  home  is  well 
worn  with  footprints,  and  is  an  ever- 
ready  remembrance  to  his  hosts  of 
staunch  friends  in  all  quarters  of  the 
globe.  Perhaps  there  is  no  place  of 
its  kind  in  the  West  that  has  attracted 
so  many  and  such  a  variety  of  visitors 
as  the  Home  That  Jack  Built  with  the 
latch  string  always  hanging  out — and 
beckoning. 

"It  is  so  good  of  you  to  come,"  Mrs. 
London  exclaimed  warmly,  making  me 
completely  at  home  with  her  radiant 
kindliness.  "There  is  so  much  to  tell 
and  I  know  that  you  will  enjoy  your- 
self. Come  in  and  let  me  make  you 
comfortable." 

After  we  had  chatted  awhile  in  a 
lovely  arcade  overlooking  a  glorious 
panoramic  view  of  the  valley,  backed 
by  the  rising  hills,  she  began  in  low 
tones :  "I  will  carry  out  Jack's  work  as 
he  planned  it.  He  left  behind  enough 
material  to  write  books  for  at  least  one 
hundred  years." 

She  reached  to  a  shelf  nearby,  which 
was  covered  with  scattered  photo- 
graphs. "Here  are  Jack  and  I  at  Hon- 
olulu. Here  we  are  in  the  Sierras." 
She  shuffled  many  photographs,  all  de- 
picting Jack  and  herself  in  many 
places  in  the  Western  world.  Occa- 
sionally she  paused  meditatively  over 


a  picture  that  recalled  some  striking 
incident  in  their  far-ranging  journeys 
into  happiness.  She  held  a  bunch  of 
photographs  close  to  her  and  said, 
brightly:  "I  believe  that  Jack  is  al- 
ways with  me.  I  live  and  hope  under 
that  impression.  He  would  wish  it,  I 
know,  and  I  love  the  idea." 

We  talked  of  his  early  work  and 
how,  after  persistent  and  desperate 
endeavors,  he  at  last  "found  himself" 
and  attained  the  first  recognition 
through  publication  in  Overland 
Monthly,  oddly  enough  the  magazine 
founded  by  Bret  Harte,  in  1868,  to 
furnish  a  vehicle  whereby  California 
writers  might  be  developed. 

London's  first  contribution  to  Over- 
land was  the  five  "Malemute  Kid" 
series,  "The  Son  of  the  Wolf,"  etc., 
beginning  January,  1899,  all  dealing 
with  his  then  recent  Alaskan  experi- 
ences. 

Mrs.  London  selected  several  pho- 
tographs and  handed  them  to  me. 
"Take  them  to  Overland  Monthly," 
she  said,  "as  a  compliment  to  the 
management  for  what  it  did  to  start 
Jack  on  his  literary  career." 

After  the  publication  of  these  Alas- 
kan stories,  London's  further  contribu- 
tions were  readily  accepted  by  East- 
ern publishers,  and  his  success  wid- 
ened with  each  story  printed. 

Later  I  was  invited  by  Mrs.  Shepard 
— Jack  London's  sister  and  manager 
of  the  ranch — to  take  a  stroll  and  be- 
come better  acquainted  with  the  se- 
questered trails  and  the  roads  thread- 
ing the  woodland  slopes  and  the  glori- 
ous prospect  they  offered.  Mrs.  She- 
pard showed  all  the  supple  and  exhil- 
arating signs  of  outdoor  life.  Being 
in  ideal  physical  condition,  she 
promptly  developed  into  one  of  the 


MRS.  JACK  LONDON'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT.  401 

most  enthusiastic  and  persistent  walk-  mirror  reflecting  the  heavens  and  the 

ers  I  ever  hope  to  keep  pace  with.  An  serenity     of     the     picturesque  scene, 

invitation  to  join  her  for  a  little  ram-  came  suddenly  into  view.    Later,  Mrs. 

ble,  "just  to  view  some  of  the  more  London  told  me  of  the  profound  affec- 

captivating    prospects,"    is    doing    a  tion  she  and  Jack  entertained  for  that 

marathon  for  which  one     should     be  sacred  little  spot,  the  site  where  they 

crowned  as  in  the  Olympian  games.  and  their  most  intimate  friends  spent 

It  was  Jack  London's  spurring  ambi-  many  happy  evening  hours  with  the 

tion  to  make  his  extensive  land-hold-  canopy  of  stars  overhead  and  the  gen- 

ing  of  hill  and  dale  provide  everything  tly  nodding  sentinel  trees  looking  ap- 

needful  for  its  consumption  and  use.  proval. 

Independence  was  his  motto.     Along         There  is  where  Jack  took  his  cronies 

this  line  he  had  developed  his  plans  when  they  came  up  from  San  Fran- 

to  a  point  where  he  was  preparing  to  cisco,  Oakland  and  other  places  for  a 

inaugurate  his  own  school  house  for  "time."     Hampers  of  food  were  car- 

the  benefit  of  the  many  children  on  ried  along,  and  drinkables.    Fish  were 

the  ranch,  as  well  as  his  own  store,  caught  from  the  lake  and  popped  into 

furnished  with  all  kinds  of  merchan-  a  hot  pan     and     crackling     potatoes 

dise   for  the  numerous  families   em-  seared  with  the  coals  were  raked  out 

ployed,  and  a  post-office.    With  his  ar-  as  they  reached  the  point  of  bursting 

dent  enthusiasm  he  was  always  plan-  like  a  boll  of  cotton.    And  as  the  good 

ning  new  benefits  for     the     workers  fellows  and  their  mates  stretched  out 

around  him,  heartfelt     endeavors     to  before  the  glowing  embers  of  the  big 

ameliorate  their  condition  and  educate  log  fire,  the  stars     gradually     faded 

them  to   advantages   superior  to  any  while  the  talk  ranged  its  devious  way 

they  might  attain  under  their  own  in-  round  the  circle,    weird    experiences, 

itiative.  wonderful  adventures,  the  pet  theories 

Jack  never  skimped  on  any  cost  that  of  philosophers,  prophets  and  radicals, 

might  make  his  holding  more  attrac-  the  uncanny  rim  of  life,  freedom  of 

tive.     So  when  he  decided  to  have  a  the  will,  revelations  of  their  wildest 

colorful  background  of  Western  bronco  and  most  fantastic  dreams — a  mental 

busters  on  his  range,  he  brought  out  a  giant  swing  to  loop  the  loop  between 

number  of  real  thoroughbred  cowboys  a  Walpurgis  night  and  the  Miltonian 

from  Cheyenne,  headed  by  a  genius  in  heavens.    Jack's  wolves  and  elemental 

that   line,     named     Hayes.     London  humans,       the       while      fantastically 

loved  horses,  and  the  pride  and  gem  of  threading  the  themes  of  discussion, 
the  display  on  his  ranch  was  the  prize         From  an  eminence  near    the    lake, 

stallion,  Neuadd  Hillside.     Singularly  Mrs.   Shepard  pointed  out  a  hillside 

enough  Jack  died  on  the  22d  of  the  with  terrace  after    terrace     dropping 

month;  so  did  the  stallion  on  the  same  stairwise  down  the  slope, 
date  of  the  preceding  mouth,  and  the         "There  you  see  one  of  Jack's  many 

ambitious  House  That  Jack  Built,  his  striking    hobbies,"     she    explained — 

famous  castle,   burned  down   on  the  "terrace  farming.    When  Jack  bought 

22d,  some  three  years  prior.  these  1,500  acres  they  had  been  aban- 

On  my  hike  with  Mrs.  Shepard,  we  doned  by  six  different  ranchers,  and 

gradually  threaded  the  main  depart-  each  had  done  his  level  best  to  ex- 

ments   of   the   ranch,  the   storehouse,  haust  the  soil  and  squeeze  it  of  the 

blacksmith   shop,  the   cool   rooms  of  last  profit  possible,  till  the  ground  was 

the   dairy  and  the   specklessly  clean  as  sterile  as  a  piece  of  cement.    Jack 

slaughter  house,  where     the     animals  attacked  the  problem  with  his  usual 

are  killed  and  dressed  to  supply  the  zeal,  and  by  degrees   stimulated  the 

families  working  on  the  place.     Then  impoverished  soil  with  proper  nutri- 

by  easy  ascent  we  climbed  the  wooded  tives.    There  you  see  the  result  of  his 

trails,  and  as  we  turned  a  corner  of  efforts,   an   abundant  profitable   crop, 

trees,   a  gem-like   lake,   an   exquisite  Along  this  line,  Jack's  ambition  was  to 


402                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

develop  a  model  farm;  one  of  the  best  bilities.  By  dealers  she  is  accounted 
all-round  ranches  in  the  State,  com-  as  a  keenly  competent  woman.  Mrs. 
bining  a  stock  ranch,  fruit,  grain,  Shepard  was  evidently  born  for  the 
vegetables,  vineyard  and  the  like.  He  position,  as  she  took  to  it  like  a  duck 
would  have  accomplished  his  plan  had  to  water.  Five  years  ago  she  visited 
he  lived,  for  his  enthusiasm  was  un-  her  brother's  ranch  for  a  month's  va- 
quenchable.  His  intense  energy  sim-  cation  to  recuperate  her  health.  She 
ply  rioted  in  work.  Success  seemed  has  remained  there  ever  since,  an  ideal 
only  to  stimulate  him  to  greater  and  overseer,  enjoying  to  the  full  her 
wider  efforts."  healthy  and  happy  capacity  of  "doing 
'  By  this  time,  being  somewhat  things  well  worth  while." 
plump,  I  was  becoming  a  bit  nervous  We  walked  back  to  the  London 
regarding  the  many  surrounding  hills  house,  and  there  in  a  room  I  found 
about  me  which  Mrs.  Shepard  seemed  Mrs.  London  combing  over  numberless 
determined  to  climb  in  order  to  show  relics  which  she  and  Jack  had  col- 
me  the  many  other  interesting  points,  lected  on  the  thousand  and  one  jour- 
I  suggested  that  for  a  change  it  might  neys  taken  to  divers  places  scattered 
prove  a  relief  to  go  down  the  hills  in-  about  the  world.  Hundreds  of  pic- 
stead  of  everlastingly  climbing  them,  tures  of  Jack,  it  seemed  to  me,  taken 
Apparently  she  did  not  catch  my  gasp-  in  various  foreign  garbs.  Many  of 
ing  hope,  for  suddenly  she  shot  a  them  were  entitled  "The  Wolf,"  as 
sharp  glance  at  me.  Jack  was  familiarly  called  by  those 

"You're  a  tenderfoot,"     she     said,  who  knew  him  best.     His   laughing 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  her  eye  and  eyes  peeped  from  all  quarters  of  the 

about  the  corners  of  her  mouth  a  lurk-  room.    Every  glance  by  Mrs.  London 

ing  expression  of  teasing.  at  "The  Wolf"  was  an  adoration. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  frankly.  "My  feet  Mrs.  London  picked  up  one  of  the 
are  tender,  more  tender  than  I  ever  photographs,  kissed  it  fondly,  and  ex- 
suspected  on  such  high  hills."  claimed:  "Dear  old  Jack;     no     one 

She  laughed.  And  later,  when  we  knows  how  I  miss  him.  What  is  the 
reached  the  house,  Mrs.  London  use  of  weeping  and  moping?  He 
laughed  too,  when  I  caricatured  my  wouldn't  want  it.  I  shall  always  live 
experiences  in  hillside  climbing.  She  in  the  way  he  would  want  me  to." 
explained  to  me  the  extraordinary  And  so  she  fills  out  her  life  in  sin- 
self  service  Jack's  sister  was  doing  cere  effort  to  carry  out  the  work  left 
for  the  ranch.  Mrs.  Shepard  alone  by  him  according  to  his  ideas, 
handles  all  the  important  business,  Presently  she  brought  out  one  of 
crop  problems  and  other  responsibili-  her  special  treasures;  her  private  copy 
ties.  The  bungalow  in  which  she  lives  of  the  "Log  of  the  Snark,"  which  she 
is  the  business  headquarters  of  the  wrote  on  the  notable  voyage  of  that 
ranch.  Mrs.  Shepard  is  out  and  over  vessel  to  describe  the  happy  trip  she 
the  hills  and  the  valley  at  all  hours,  and  her  husband  made  in  the  South 
looking  sharply  after  the  manifold  de-  Seas ;  a  book  that  throws  more  inti- 
tails  in  the  proper  development  of  the  mate  light  on  their  happy,  buoyant  life 
ranch.  She  thinks  nothing  of  a  day's  of  camaraderie  than  can  be  found  in  all 
hike  up  hill  and  down  dale,  checking  the  other  "London"  books  published, 
up  the  hands  and  the  various  special  The  volume  is  dedicated  to  Jack  Lon- 
jobs  scattered  over  the  broad  acreage,  don,  and  was  recently  issued  by  the 
Aside  from  this  she  has  the  responsi-  Macmillan  Publishing  Company,  New 
bility  of  watching  market  prices  in  or-  York.  It  is  Mrs.  London's  first  at- 
der  to  dispose  the  crops  at  advantage-  tempt  at  authorship,  and  has  proved 
ous  figures,  the  purchase  of  new  ma-  a  wonderful  success  because  of  its 
chinery,  agricultural  implements,  and  sincere  naturalness  and  the  delightful 
the  thousand  and  one  things  required  spirit  which  pervades  it.  In  that  book 
on  a  ranch  of  such  extent  and  possi-  the  reader  sees  and  realizes  the  true 


MRS.  JACK  LONDON'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT. 


403 


Jack  London ;  his  daily  life  is  pictured 
familiarly,  his  writing  hours,  his  day 
dreaming,  his  exuberant  spirits  and 
cosmic  plans,  his  sincere  thoughtful- 
ness  of  his  host  of  friends,  his  canny 
hunches,  his  aspirations,  his  plans  for 
a  tangible  eternity,  and  the  deep  de- 
votion between  man  and  wife.  He  had 
a  score  of  pet  names  for  her,  love 
names  that  he  had  selected:  "Mate," 
"Mate  Woman,"  "Cracker jack." 

Every  mail  to  Glen  Ellen  these  days 
brings  bundles  of  letters  to  Mrs.  Lon- 
don congratulating  her  upon  the  im- 
mediate success  of  the  "Log  of  the 
Snark."  With  beaming  pride  she  read 
to  me  a  letter  written  by  a  prominent 
publisher  in  Paris  thanking  her  for  an 
article  she  had  recently  written  for 
him,  and  enclosing  a  check  of  cheer- 
ful figures,  the  first  she  had  ever  re- 
ceived. Laying  down  the  letter  she 
exclaimed  radiantly:  "My!  Wouldn't 
Jack  be  proud  of  me?" 

The  remarkable  success  of  Mrs. 
London's  first  book  is  an  augury  that 
many  popular  books  from  her  pen  will 
follow. 

Jack  died  on  a  couch  screened  in  on 
a  wide  porch  overlooking  a  beautiful 
panoramic  view  of  the  Valley  of  the 
Moon,  so  appropriately  named  by  him. 
All  over  his  couch  and  about  him 
were  coverings  of  the  wonderful  col- 
lection of  furs  of  wild  animals  he  had 
gathered  from  the  Western  world. 

Mrs.  London  walked  over  to  a  couch 
and  pointed  to  a  dial  on  the  wooden 
frame  above.  "Dear  Jack,"  she  said; 
"for  years  he  had  set  this  alarm  clock 
to  strike  at  6  a.  m.  See,  the  hour  hand 
is  now  pointing  at  8  o'clock.  On  the 
last  night  his  strength  failed,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  many  years  of  his 
writing  the  dial  was  not  set  at  6 
o'clock,  his  regular  hour  of  rising. 

"In  one  of  the  very  last  talks  we 
had  he  expressed  his  deep  sympathy 
for  those  in  low  circumstances  who 
were  striving  with  all  kinds  of  shifts 
arid  economies  to  acquire  a  home.  He 
had  been  considering  plans  to  locate 
them  on  country  land  tracts.  The 
problem  had  not  been  worked  out  in 
detail,  but  his  persistent  enthusiasm 


regarding  it,  during  even  his  sickness, 
indicated  how  determined  he  was  in 
efforts  to  materialize  it.  Jack  was  the 
incarnation  of  loyalty  to  a  friend,  and 
no  matter  what  the  friend's  position 
was  in  the  world,  whether  he  lacked 
money,  influence  or  position,  or  was 
a  radical  driven  at  bay,  Jack  had  ever 
a  ready  hand  to  help  him." 

During  the  ebb  and  flow  of  his  sink- 
ing spells,  Jack  became  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  perhaps  after  all  his 
rugged  and  robust  constitution  might 
not  pull  him  through.  At  once  he  rig- 
idly insisted  that  nobody  should  attend 
his  funeral  except  his  wife,  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Shepard,  and  George  Sterling,  his 
fidue  Achates,  through  years  of  hard- 
ship, toil  and  success,  each  recogniz- 
ing the  stable  qualities  of  the  other, 
and  the  genius. 

Jack  was  buried  on  the  spot  which 
he  had  carefully  selected  a  long  time 
before;  a  spot  commanding  a  sweep- 
ing view  of  the  Valley  of  the  Moon, 
and  embracing  the  ruins  of  his  beloved 
former  home,  so  endearingly  planned 
by  his  wife  and  himself,  the  House 
That  Jack  Built.  A  huge  red  stone 
boulder  marks  his  resting  place. 

Later  Mrs.  London  and  I  rambled 
along  a  smooth  road  with  stately  trees 
lining  each  side,  and  on  a  bend  of  the 
hillside  we  came  out  on  a  point  over- 
looking the  beautiful  sweep  of  the 
ranch.  In  the  middle  distance  were 
the  ruins  of  the  House  That  Jack 
Built,  resembling  the  remains  of  an 
old  castle  that  had  already  accumu- 
lated its  legends.  Mrs.  London  stead- 
fastly regarded  the  beloved  spot,  lost 
in  silence.  Suddenly  she  shook  her 
head:  "I  never  would  care  to  rebuild 
it,"  she  said. 

The  site  is  on  a  noble  eminence.  I 
suggested  that  she  should  donate  the 
place  for  a  prominent  State  building 
as  a  memorial  to  Jack  London.  She 
had  never  thought  of  such  a  solution. 

In  considering  the  matter,  I  told  her 
of  a  number  of  precedents  where  land 
had  been  donated  by  private  parties 
to  State  institutions,  notably  to  the 
University  of  California,  where  Jack 
London  had  been  a  student,  and  I  re- 


404 


JACK  LONDON'S  PLEA  FOR  A  SQUARE  DEAL. 


counted  to  her  the  great  success  the 
University  was  making  on  its  farm  at 
Davis,  where  students  were  trained 
in  the  practical  details  of  various  ag- 
ricultural pursuits.  And  as  I  looked 
over  the  beautiful  prospect,  I  felt  that 
Jack  London,  with  all  his  generosity 
and  humanity,  his  deep  concern  to 
benefit  his  fellow  men,  would  heartily 
approve  the  idea. 

All  Mrs.  London's  ideas  are  cradled 
in  the  thought  of  what  Jack  would  want 
her  to  do.  Jack  keenly  and  appreci- 
atively   sensed    how    implicitly    she 


would  follow  his  pet  views,  and  it  fol- 
lowed naturally  that  practically  the 
whole  estate  was  bequeathed  to  his 
wife.  Surely  Jack  London  had  every 
reason  to  call  her  his  "Mate." 

Aside  from  such  plans,  Mrs.  Jack 
London  is  now  bent  on  assisting  as 
best  she  can  in  the  education  of  her 
two  step-daughtejs.  It  is  known  only 
to  a  very  few  of  the  most*  intimate 
friends  that  the  Londons  had  a  little 
baby  girl,  born  in  1910.  She  lived 
only  a  few  days.  That  was  the  only 
real  sorrow  that  came  into  their  lives. 


JACK  LONDON'S  PLEA  FOR  THE  SQUARE  DEAL 

Editor  "The  Overland  Monthly." 
Dear  Sir: 

At  the  present  time  I  am  undergoing  a  pirate  raid  on  the  part  of  men 
who  have  not  given  one  bit  of  their  brain  to  create  what  I  have  written, 
one  cent  of  their  money  to  help  me  write  what  I  have  written,  nor  one  mo- 
ment of  their  time  to  aid  me  to  write  what  I  have  written.  This  is  a  straight, 
brazen,  shameless  pirate  raid  that  is  being  made  upon  me.  My  back  is 
up  against  the  wall,  and  I  am  fighting  hard,  and  I  am  calling  upon  you  to 
help  me  out. 

In  the  past  you  have  bought  work  of  mine  and  published  it  in  your  mag- 
azine. You  will  know  the  method  of  copyrighting  you  pursued  at  that  time 
without  my  going  into  the  details  of  this  here. 

I  am  asking  you  now,  to  assign  to  me,  and  to  send  to  me  the  document  in 
which  you  assign,  any  and  all  rights,  with  the  exception  of  first-serial 
rights  in  the  United  States  and  Canada,  in  all  stories,  articles,  essays,  nov- 
els and  plays  written  by  me  and  purchased  and  published  and  copyrighted 
by  you  between  the  years  and  months  of  years  beginning  January  1,  1898, 
and  ending  October  12,  1913,  inclusive. 

The  portion  of  the  period  above  inclosed  in  dates  practically  covers  the 
days  previous  to  the  appearance  in  the  publishing  game  of  second-serial 
rights,  during  which  time  you  were  publishing  my  work. 

The  basis  of  this  request  which  I  am  making  you  in  this  letter  is  that 
when  you  copyrighted  the  various  numbers  of  your  publication,  you  did 
copyright  all  rights  in  the  contents  thereof,  and  that  you  did  hold  in  trust 
for  me  all  other  rights  except  those  first-serial  rights  already  described  in 
the  foregoing  part  of  this  letter. 

If  you  will  kindly  have  a  clerk  run  through  your  index  for  the  data,  and 
in  the  assignment  you  send  to  me,  specify  by  title  and  date  of  publication, 
it  will  be  of  immense  assistance  to  me  in  this  my  hour  of  rush,  in  which 
I  am  writing  some  eighty-odd  periodicals  which  have  published  my  work 
serially  since  I  entered  the  writing  game.  Also,  I  beg  of  you,  because  of 
this  necessity  for  haste  on  my  part,  that  you  will  forgive  the  manner  and 
method  of  this  request  I  am  preferring  to  you. 

If  you  can  see  your  way  to  it,  please  help  me  out  by  sending  me  this  as- 
signment at  your  very  earliest  convenience. 

Sincerely  yours, 

JACK  LONDON. 


The  Real  Jack  London  in  Hawaii 


By   Mae    Lacy  Baggs 


1HAD  known  Jack  London  in  San 
Francisco,  I  had  visited  the  Lon- 
don ranch  house  at  Santa  Rosa,  but 
never  had  I  known  the  real  Jack 
London  until  I  saw  him  in  Hawaii. 

Before  I  had  scented  in  him  some- 
thing of  the  Wolf  Larsen  of  "The  Sea 
Wolf,"  cruel,  relentless,  tyrannical; 
something  of  the  breeder  in  his  "Little 
Lady  of  the  Big  House,"  cold,  scien- 
tific, materialist;  but  in  Hawaii — a 
land  loving  and  lovely — he  was  dif- 
ferent. I  like  to  think  that  I  know  it 
to  be  true  that  this  was  the  real  Lon- 
don, that  this  land  had  shown  him  his 
real  self. 

It  was  our  first  morning  in  Honolulu, 
early  in  the  new  year  of  1915.  We 
had  come  out  from  the  Moana  Hotel  at 
Waikiki  for  an  early  morning  plunge. 
I  knew  that  the  Londons  had  one  of 
the  adjacent  Seaside  Hotel  cottages, 
but  my  delight  was  great  to  find  Mrs. 
London  already  on  the  beach.  Greet- 
ings were  scarcely  over  when  Mr.  Lon- 
don walked  out  of  the  water  with  his 
surf -board  under  his  arm. 

"Aloha !"  was  his  first  word,  intoned 
with  the  true  Hawaiian  quaver.  And 
then,  "You  had  to  come  too?" 

He  referred,  of  course,  to  the  well 
known  and  strong  impelling  force  that 
sooner  or  later  reaches  all  lovers  of  the 
rare  and  beautiful,  and  draws  them  to 
Hawaii,  maybe  for  a  month's  stay, 
maybe  forever.  Time  and  circum- 
stance, not  place,  decides  the  length  of 
stay.  If  it  were  just  place  Hawaii 
would  have  to  spread  its  shores  and 
take  in  the  whole  world. 

It  was  destined  that  I  see  much  of 
the  Londons,  both  in  Honolulu  and  on 
the  other  islands.  Their  cottage  at 
Waikiki  Beach  was  not  a  stone's  throw 
from  the  lanai  (Hawaiian  for  veranda) 


of  our  beach  hotel.  Hour  after  hour, 
while  rainbows  played  their  elusive 
game,  now  back  up  through  the  Mo- 
ana Valley,  now  through  sifting  spray, 
liquid  sunshine,  as  the  Hawaiian  has 
it,  of  the  dreamlike  coral  sea,  a  group 
of  congenial  spirits  sat  around  a  table 
on  the  lanai  and  talked  of  strange 
lands,  strange  seas  and  stranger  peo- 
ples. 

The  Jack  London  of  popular  concep- 
tion had  no  relation  to  the  man  him- 
self. In  a  measure  he  was  responsible 
for  this  misunderstanding.  He  never 
tried  to  cover  up  the  facts  of  his  lowly 
birth,  his  lowly  struggles  for  existence, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  struggle  for  rec- 
ognition as  a  writer.  Instead,  his  life 
was  one  long  attempt  to  convince  the 
world  through  his  pen  that  the  condi- 
tions which  produced  his  pitiful  be- 
ginnings were  all  wrong. 

His  method  was  chiefly  to  show  up 
every  man  as  a  primitive,  with  primi- 
tive passions — brutes.  Now  a  brute, 
an  animal,  in  other  words,  he  would  ar- 
gue, never  strikes  except  in  self-de- 
fence; the  corporation,  organized  capi- 
tal, itself  beyond  the  reach  of  a  blow, 
strikes  deep  and  crushes  the  soul  of 
this  primitive,  which  left  to  itself 
would  not  harm  a  flea. 

But  Mr.  London  did  not  always  talk 
on  such  deep,  headaching  topics.  His 
remarks,  his  observations,  his  stories, 
were  as  light  and  as  frothy  as  the 
spray  that  dashed  over  the  coral  reef 
and  broke  on  the  shore  at  our  feet. 

He  was  at  his  best  when  telling 
South  Sea  tales,  sometimes  of  the 
petty,  mimick  kingdoms  set  up  by  con- 
quering Polynesians  on  an  atoll,  some- 
times of  a  hog  of  a  trader,  as  he 
dubbed  the  usual  white  man  found  at 
out  of  the  way  ports  of  call.    But  we 


The  London  party  at  Honolulu,  1915.     Mrs.  London  is  standing  on  the  left. 


were  always  subjected  to  his  wife's  re- 
vision of  the  stories  he  set  out  to  tell, 
yet  always  between  them  was  perfect 
trust  and  understanding. 

"Let  me  see,  Jack,"  she  would  inter- 
pose, a  merry  twinkle  dancing  in  her 
eyes,   "just — what — story — is — that  ?" 

Without  any  show  of  resentment 
ever,  he  would  come  back  with  a  word 
that  would  at  once  act  as  a  cue.  As 
often  as  not,  looking     the     assembly 


over,  Mrs.  London  would  say: 

"No,  mate.  Tell  this  one "  start- 
ing him  off  with  a  keynote. 

One  night  he  was  particularly  eager 
to  go  beyond  his  wife's  ruling,  and, 
looking  us  over,  his  eyes  rested  on  me, 
when  he  said : 

"I  do  wish  I  knew  all  of  you  better 
— for  this  is  a  good  story." 

It  was  plain  Mr.  London's  contact 
with  a  life  that  had  few  frills  had  made 


THE  REAL  JACK  LONDON  IN  HAWAII. 


407 


him  indifferent  to  social  amenities,  to 
the  small  conventions  that  brand  a 
thing  too  risque,  taboo. 

You  must  know  that  Mr.  London 
had  no  parlor  upbringing  and  few  par- 
lor manners  did  he  acquire.  He  never 
got  over  feeling  self-conscious  in  the 
presence  of  some  one  born  into  a  walk 
of  life  commonly  considered  above  his. 
Never  by  a  word  did  he  recognize 
class,  but  his  manner  betrayed  instinc- 
tive reverence  for  that  elusive  yet  un- 
mistakable something  known  as 
"breeding." 

His  greeting  always  bore  that 
"Pleased  to  meet  you"  smile.  Some- 
how his  diffidence  matched  his  ap- 
pearance, matched  his  shambling  gait, 
his  shock  or  unruly  hair,  his  soft  col- 
lared shirts,  his  loose  belted,  unpress- 
ed  trousers.  For,  as  to  looks,  Mr.  Lon- 
don was  not  a  lady's  man,  if  we  ac- 
cept the  model  men  writers  place  to 
our  credit.  But  Mr.  London  was  a 
man's  man,  therefore,  a  woman's  man. 
More  than  that,  he  was  a  child's  man. 

Illustrative  of  the  latter  trait  is  the 
following  incident: 

On  a  ranch  on  Maui,  the  high  island 
three  islands  away,  as  distance  is  mea- 
sured in  the  Hawaiian  archipelago, 
where  the  Londons  had  gone  when  the 
weather  had  become  too  hot  for  crea- 
tive work  in  Honolulu,  Mr.  London 
had  taken  a  marked  interest  at  once  in 
the  little  daughters  of  his  host,  Louis 
von  Temsky.  The  first  night  after  din- 
ner we  were  sitting  on  the  large  lanai 
overlooking  a  valley  that  reached  down 
to  the  sea.  One  of  the  children,  a  lit- 
tle girl  of  9,  encouraged  by  a.  friendly 
smile  in  Mr.  London's  eyes,  sidled  up 
to  the  writer  and  said  shyly: 

"Mr.  London,  we,"  indicating  her 
sister  of  twelve  who  took  herself  seri- 
ously as  an  artist  and  liked  to  be  read 
to  in  her  garret  studio  while  so  em- 
ployed, "we  have  been  reading  one  of 
your  books." 

In  a  manner  not  quite  sure  of  him- 
self and  shy  as  the  child's  he  replied: 

"Have  you?    Which  one?" 

"The  Valley  of  the  Moon,'"  re- 
plied the  little  girl. 

"How  far  have  you  read  ?"  Mr.  Lon- 


don was  as  hesitant  as  the  little  bread 
and  butter  girl  herself. 

With  a  choke  in  her  throat  from 
holding  a  conversation  with  the  book's 
author,  the  big  man  himself,  she  looked 
helplessly  at  her  sister. 

"Oh,  sister — where  were  we  reading 
yesterday — when  we  got  so  sleepy?" 

For  a  moment  the  air  was  tense; 
then  Mrs.  London,  who  is  graciousness 
itself,  broke  the  spell  with  a  ringing 
laugh. 

"There,  mate,"  she  crowed,  "I  hope 
that  will  hold  you  for  a  while." 

The  little  maiden  blanched,  not  sure 
just  what  she  had  done,  but  Mr.  Lon- 
don was  the  first  to  her  assistance.  His 
big  heart  dominated  the  moment  and 
presently  they  were  deep  in  child 
stuff. 

Of  Jack  London's  relation  with  his 
wife,  Charmian,  he  always  called  her, 
it  hurts  me  to  talk,  now  that  he  is 
gone.  Always  she  was  his  "mate." 
They  were  constantly  together — more 
so  in  Hawaii  than  eleswhere,  for  his 
interests  on  the  ranch  or  his  big  hold- 
ings down  in  the  Imperial  Valley  of 
Southern  California  called  him  far 
afield.  In  Hawaii  it  was  different. 
Even  while  her  husband  was  writing 
his  thousand  words  a  day,  his  "bit,"  he 
called  it,  she  was  always  hovering 
near,  ready  at  a  word  to  do  his  bidding. 

Mr.  London's  Japanese  secretary, 
who  typed  his  "stuff" — Mr.  London  al- 
ways wrote  in  long  hand — on  a  small 
aluminum  typewriter,  married  a  pretty 
little  Japanese  maiden  while  in  Hono- 
lulu. The  Londons'  treatment  of  the 
pair  was  beautiful  to  see.  They  ac- 
corded them  all  the  forms  and  cere- 
monies of  the  Nipponese  in  addition 
to  American  ways. 

Mr.  London  first  visited  the  Ha- 
waiian Islands  when  on  his  projected 
world  tour  with  the  Snark.  Unfortu- 
nately, for  a  while  at  least,  the  people 
of  Hawaii  felt  rather  unkind  toward 
the  writer  because  of  the  writeup  he 
gave  the  leper  colony  on  Molokai. 
Later,  however,  they  recognized  that 
his  criticism  had  been  most  friendly 
and  provocative  of  good  results,  and 
no  man  has  ever  set  foot  on  those  most 


Jack    London    in   swimming   rig   to   ride  the   huge   beach   combers  with    the 

natives  at  Honolulu. 


hospitable  shores  who  has  received,  in 
the  years  since,  such  a  warm,  wet  wel- 
come as  that  accorded  Jack  London. 
Last  year,  when  the  committee  ap- 
pointed by  Congress  to  investigate  the 
sugar  conditions  in  the  islands  was  be- 
ing entertained,  it  was  to  Jack  London 


that  the  Hawaiian  Promotion  Club 
looked  for  first  aid  in  showing  visitors 
the  real  charms  and  wonders  of  the 
islands.  He  had  a  free  hand,  and  was 
told  to  stop  at  no  length  in  the  way  of 
entertainment.    And  he  didn't. 

But   like   another  master   mind   he 


THE  REAL  JACK  LONDON  IN  HAWAII. 


TmfC&siJ 


409 


could  save  others  from  being  denied 
their  wants,  himself  he  could  not  save. 
It  was  up  at  the  Volcano  House,  the 
hotel  that  sits  at  the  edge  of  Kilauea's 
crater.  Well,  it  was  a  hot  day.  And 
the  Congressmen,  surely  to  a  man,  had 
been  thirsty.  Julian  Monsarrat,  man- 
ager of  the  Kapapala  ranch,  felt  him- 
self suddenly  pulled  by  the  coat  tails. 

"I  say,  Julian,  the  Scotch  is  all  gone. 
Er — is  there — any  down  at  your 
ranch?" 

"Sure!"  And  Mr.  Monsarrat  called 
to  his  Jap  driver,  who  was  gazing  at 
the  spewing  sulphur  beds.  "Just  look 
up  Wang,  he  has  the  keys  to  the  cel- 
larette!"  he  sang  out  after  the  disap- 
pearing car. 

A  few  weeks  later  we  were  guests 
at  the  ranch.  Mr.  Monsarrat  told  us 
the  story. 

It  seems  Wang,  the  Chinese  butler, 
was  not  in  sight  when  the  ranch  house 
was  reached,  and  of  course  Mr.  London 
could  not  lose  any  time  looking  for 
keys.  The  handsome  koa  wood  door 
was  splintered.  I  think  he  must  have 
used  ai  meat  axe.  But  Mr.  Monsarrat 
only  fondled  the  door  to  his  cellarette 
lovingly  and  laughed  at  "Jack's  play- 
fulness." 

And  Jack  was  playful.  The  act  of 
wilfully,  willingly  destroying  a  hand- 
some piece  of  property  seems  incon- 
gruous to  us,  but  to  him  it  was  simply 
a  good  joke  on  his  friend.  We  have 
to  take  into  account  his  untamed  na- 
ture. He  probably  didn't  stop  to  re- 
flect upon  his  act,  but  it  was  at  once 
his  interpretation  of  life — a  rebellion 
against  standards  and  established  or- 
der. 

Along  the  Oakland  waterfront  the 
old  salts  will  now  be  recounting  rip- 
ping tales  of  the  "young  daredevil 
London"  who  could  drink  any  man 
down  at  the  bar,  and  knock  any  two  of 
then  down  at  once  who  had  the  temer- 
ity to  refuse  his  invitation  to  "line  up." 
Yet  it  is  difficult  to  think  of  such  co- 
lossal strength  as  ascribed  to  him. 

For  Mr.  London  was  barely  of  av- 
erage height.  True,  his  shoulders  were 
a  bit  more  than  medium  broad,  but  his 
chest  was  far  from  a  full  one.     And 


then  there  was  a  looseness  about  his 
frame  that  kept  down  the  suggestion 
of  strength  or  physical  prowess. 

He  was  probably  underfed  as  a  lad, 
and  his  early  dissipation,  which  he 
tells  of  without  hesitation  in  his  "John 
Barleycorn,"  which  is  largely  autobio- 
graphical— he  bought  beer  instead  of 
peanuts — accounts  for  his  failure  to 
fill  out  later.  Then,  too,  no  man  or 
boy  who  ships  before  the  mast  on  a 
wind-jammer  or  its  equivalent  in  the 
guise  of  a  deckhand  is  going  to  have 
half  enough  sleep,  much  less  enough 
hard-tack.  If  they  did,  they'd  get 
lazy,  the  rascals,  an  old  salt  would 
tell  you,  and  unfit  for  work. 

Now,  Mr.  London  may  have  lived 
— but  his  face  and  his  figure  told  in 
their  lines  of  deprivation  and  struggle 
that  the  after  years  of  plenty  could 
not  erase  what  the  effort  of  making 
each  phase  of  life  give  its  secret  had 
cost  him. 

No  doubt  the  reason  Hawaii  ap- 
pealed to  him  so  intensely  was  be- 
cause here  life  was  virtually  without 
effort.  Back  on  the  ranch  were  the 
tremendous  breeding  problems  his  an- 
thropological mind  had  set  as  his  task; 
down  on  his  vast  holdings  in  the  Im- 
perial valley  was  being  tried  out  plant 
breeding  and  cross  breeding,  but  here 
in  Hawaii,  which  he  was  beginning  to 
call  his  real  home,  he  warmed  to  the 
suggestion  of  ease  that  each  zephyr 
whispered. 

To  him  the  lull  of  the  swishing  sea 
was  a  new  language,  and  the  whole  of 
the  islands  spoke  of  a  life  he  had 
failed  to  grasp,  the  joys  really  to  be 
found  in  a  dolce  far  niente  existence. 
"All  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er 
gave"  was  here  within  reach.  And 
there  was  more  still. 

There  was  the  Hawaiian  aloha.  Ha- 
waiian love.  Not  only  is  this  beauti- 
ful spirit  of  love  found  in  the  natives, 
but  each  man,  woman  and  child,  haole, 
malihini  or  kamaaina,  even  though  he 
has  it  not  upon  arrival,  finds  it  soon 
sinking  into  his  soul 

And  Jack  London  early  breathed  it 
out. 

And   they'll   miss   him   in   Hawaii. 


410 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


And  they'll  pay  his  memory  respect 
with  a  memorial  service  in  the  native 
church,  and  wave  high  huge  black 
feather  kahilis  on  a  staff  back  and 
forth  to  the  recurrent  beat  of  tne  an- 
cient song  of  the  native  wailers.  And 
then  there  will  follow  stories  of  Lon- 
don, stories  of  his  kindness  and  at- 
tention to  scores  of  their  number,  for 
his  face  and  ambling  gait  had  become 
as  familiar  to  them  as  one  of  their 
kind. 

Fishers  by  the  sea,  with  spear 
poised,  stopped  their  spear  in  mid- 
air to  sing  out  "alohas"  to  his  call 
from  a  neighbor  crag;  ofttimes  in  the 
same  spirit  was  he  welcomed  by  the 
waders  on  the  beach  at  night  who 
flashed  a  torch  to  attract  the  finny 
tribe.  Like  them  too  he  wore  sandals 
with  wooden  heels  and  toe  pieces  to 
save  the  bare  feet  from  the  coral  peb- 
bles in  the  shallow  waters.  From  the 
native,  too,  he  had  learned  to  manage 
a  surfboat  as  skillfully  as  any  Ka- 
naka, a  thing  possible  to  only  a 
strangely  privileged  few  who  have  not 
grown  up  in  the  "strange  South  Seas." 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  just  when  Mr. 
London  did  the  quantity  of  writing 
that  came  from  his  pen.  He  was  so 
much  in  evidence  in  Honolulu  and  else- 
where in  the  islands  that  it  seemed 
hardly  possible  to  associate  him  with 
the  prolific  writer  he  was  known  to  be. 
A  novel  of  his,  "Jerry,"  a  dog  story, 
announced  to  begin  as  a  serial  in  one 
of  the  magazines  next  month,  was  fin- 
ished in  Honolulu  early  in  1915,  while 
another  dog  novel  to  be  called  "Mi- 
chael" (each  of  about  80,000  words) 
was  about  completed  when  he  and 
Mrs.  London  sailed  for  San  Francisco 
in  July  of  that  year. 

They  returned  to  the  islands  in 
January  following,  and  in  a  high  pow- 
ered Jap  sampan  made  a  trip  to  the 
outlying  islands  and  as  far  as  Mid- 
way. Only  recently — in  early  August, 
in  fact — the  press  reported  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  London  had  again  returned 
from  their  new  love,  Hawaii,  that  Mr. 
London  might  be  present  at  the  Bo- 
hemian Club's  annual  outing,  its  High 
Jinks. 


For  years  Mr.  London  has  been  its 
guiding  spirit,  and  although  celebrities 
belong  to  this  unique  organization  and 
come  from  all  over  the  world  to  at- 
tend its  annual  outing,  there  was  none 
whose  laugh  was  listened  for  as  was 
London's.  From  the  night  of  the  Low 
Jinks,  when  the  ceremony  of  "cre- 
mating care"  takes  place,  until  a  week 
later,  when  the  Grove  play  ushers  in 
the  High  Jinks,  this  man  who  had  the 
spirit  of  boy  eternal  in  him,  played 
pranks  and  practical  jokes  on  the  un- 
suspecting. The  same  press  report, 
said  the  Londons  would  again  return 
to  Honolulu  after  the  first  of  the  new 
year. 

How  little  one  knows  of  what  fate 
holds  in  store  is  shown  in  some  advice 
Mr.  London  gave  to  young  writers  a 
few  years  ago.  He  spoke  of  his  first 
acceptance. 

He  had  built  up  his  case  cleverly  as 
to  his  willingness  to  accept  the  mini- 
mum rate,  which  by  some  form  of  rea- 
soning his  unseasoned  experience  had 
told  was  $40.  And  the  check  was  for 
$5.  To  quote:  "That  I  did  not  die 
then  and  there  convinces  me  that  I  am 
possessed  of  a  singular  ruggedness  of 
soul  which  will  permit  me  to  qualify 
for  the  oldest  inhabitant." 

And  had  it  been  possible  to  pur- 
chase a  lease  on  mortal  lift  by  "rug- 
gedness of  soul,"  succeeding  genera- 
tions would  have  known — and  also 
loved — Mr.  London  in  his  Hawaiian 
home.    But  it  was  not  to  be. 

Yet  to  Hawaii  there  has  fallen  a  lot 
drawn  by  four  places,  to  be  chosen 
from  all  the  world — for  Mr.  London 
had  traveled  far — as  the  preferred 
home  of  a  man  of  such  unusual  char- 
acter and  ability.  What  Stevenson 
was  to  Samoa,  London  was  to  Ha- 
waii, and  more.  Hawaii  is  come  more 
and  more  to  the  public  eye ;  it  is  more 
in  the  beaten  path.  It  will  have  those 
who  come  after  who  would  sing  its 
paeans  of  praise.  But  the  "aloha"  of 
the  Hawaiian  is  a  faithful  one.  Just 
as  Mr.  London's  last  few  stories  were 
headed  "My  Hawaiian  Aloha,"  so  will 
Mr.  London  be  the  Hawaiian's  aloha, 
last  and  best. 


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Jack   London   and  his  prize  stallion   Neuadd    Hillside.      The    horse    died    some    two    weeks    before 

his  master. 


Valley  of  the  /Aoon  Ranch 


A   Recent  Visit  There 


By  Bailey  /Aillard 


EVEN  the  pig-pens  on  Jack  Lon- 
don's ranch  are  models  of  so- 
lidity, service  and  sanitation, 
his  two  enormous  silos  are  tow- 
ers of  concrete  strength,  his  stables 
are  good  examples  of  stability,  his 
corrals  are  high  and  strong,  and  his 
livestock  is  the  finest,  the  sleekest  and 
the  most  high-bred  and  altogether  de- 
sirable to  be  found  in  all  Sonoma 
County.  Indeed,  some  of  his  horses 
are  famed  throughout  the  nation  and 


have  taken  Exposition  and  State  Fair 
honors. 

Jack  London's  ranch  is  near  Glen 
Ellen,  in  Sonoma  County,  Cal.,  and 
most  of  it  is  on  gently  sloping  hill- 
sides that  were  formerly  covered  with 
vines  and  fruit  trees.  Mr.  London  has 
grubbed  up  most  of  the  vines,  not  for 
Prohibitionist,  but  for  utilitarian  rea- 
sons. The  old  winehouses,  most  of 
them  built  many  years  ago  by  Kohler 
&  Frohling,  are  now  occupied  as  sta- 


412                                        OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

bles,   shops  and   sheds,  and  one     of  wanted   beauty.     So   I   extended   the 

them,  near  the  London  residence,  is  boundary  up  to  the  top  of  that  ridge 

used  as  a  dining  room.  and  all  along  it.    In  order  to  do  that  I 

There  are  over  1,300  acres  in  the  had  to  buy  a  big  piece  of  this  lower 

ranch,    which    includes    five    or    six  land,  for  the  watershed  went  with  the 

smaller  holding,  among  them  being  one  valley  estates,  and  was  hardly  separ- 

of  the  very  first  commercial  vineyards  able  from  them.     That  is  the  reason 

in  California.  why  I  now  have  over  two  sections  of 

Literature  and  livestock  seem  a  land,  but  it  all  plays  into  my  game, 
happy  combination  when  viewed  from  which  is  beauty  first  and  livestock  see- 
the front  veranda  of  the  London  home.  ond.  There's  plenty  of  fine  grazing 
Inside,  one  may  see  the  author  of  land  up  there  on  that  ridge,  and  along 
"The  Valley  of  the  Moon"  writing  a  the  sides  of  the  canyon,  and  if  the  sea- 
story,  and  outside  may  be  seen  the  son  hadn't  been  such  a  dry  one  you 
pleasant  terraces  where  he  or  rather  would  see  a  pretty  little  stream  run- 
his  men  have  written  even  more  large-  ning  down  that  way."  He  pointed  up 
ly  and  legibly  with  plow  and  cultiva-  through  a  green  rift  of  the  hills.  There 
tor.  For  the  farmer,  after  all,  whe-  were  tall,  straight  redwoods  there,  and 
ther  he  sells  stories  to  publishers  or  firs,  live  oaks,  madrones,  manzanitas 
keeps  them  in  his  own  head,  has  writ-  and  laurels. 

ten  bigger  things  than  the  magazinist,  "I  bought  beauty,"  he  went  on,  "and 

bigger  indeed  than  Dante    or  Milton,  with  beauty  I  was  content  for  awhile. 

The  work  of  the  mere  literat  may  not  It  pleases  me  more  than  anything  else 

be  in  the  least  nutritious  to  body  or  now,  but  I  am  putting  this  ranch  into 

soul,  but  there  is  not     the     slightest  first-class  shape  and     am     laying     a 

doubt  as  to  the    food  value    of    the  foundation  for  a  good  paying  industry 

farmer's  product.  here. 

"I  call  this  place  'The  Ranch  of  "Everything  I  build  is  for  the  years 
Good  Intentions,"  said  Mr.  London  to  to  come.  Those  walls  you  see  along 
me,  as  we  went  over  the  smooth  roads  this  road  ought  to  last  a  long  time, 
in  an  automobile  that  probably  repre-  don't  you  think?" 
sented  the  price  of  a  single  short  story,  The  walls  were  certainly  solid  look- 
written  in  three  or  four  days.  No,  Mr.  ing  and  strong  enough,  being  con- 
London  was  not  at  the  wheel.  The  structed  of  good  hard  rock,  quarried  on 
best  of  cars  is  not  of  as  much  attrac-  the  ranch.  Men  were  at  work  in  the 
tion  to  him  as  a  good  riding  horse,  and  fields  removing  the  nigger-heads  and 
the  highland  trail  is  more  pleasing  piling  them  along  the  fences.  Much 
than  the  smoothest  of  State  highways,  of  this  field  rock  is  used  in  building 
"At  first  my  ranching  was  more  or  less  foundations  for  water  troughs  and 
of  a  joke,  but  it  has  turned  to  earnest  tanks,  the  basins  of  which  are  of  solid 
at  last.  When  I  first  came  here,  tired  concrete  which  put  to  shame  the  old 
of  cities  and  city  people,  I  settled  wooden  affairs  used  by  most  of  the 
down  on  a  little  farm  over  there  in  Sonoma  Valley  farmers, 
what  is  now  a  corner  of  my  holding.  "I  designed  those  hog  houses  and 
The  land  was  all  worn  out  from  years  pens  myself,"  said  the  author  proudly, 
and  years  of  unintelligent  farming,  as  There  was  a  round  central  structure  of 
is  this  whole  ranch  for  that  matter,  rock  and  cement  with  a  peaked  con- 
and  I  didn't  attempt  to  raise  much  of  crete  roof,  surrounded  by  sheds  of  the 
anything.  All  I  wanted  was  a  quiet  same  material.  When  the  Childe  Ro- 
place  in  the  country  to  write  and  loaf  land  pig  comes  to  that  round  tower  he 
in,  and  to  get  out  of  Nature  that  some-  gets  a  good  square  meal  of  ground  al- 
thing  which  we  all  need,  only  the  most  falfa  and  grain,  for  it  is  the  feed 
of  us  don't  know  it.  house,  down  from  the  upper  story  of 

"I  liked  those  hills  up  there.    They  which  the  feed    pours    automatically 

were  beautiful,  as  you  see,     and     I  through  square  galvanized  iron  leaders 


414 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


into  a  cement  basin,  where  it  is  mixed 
with  water  from  a  big  pipe  and  is  then 
conveyed  out  to  the  surrounding 
troughs,  where  the  Duroc  Jerseys 
munch  and  grunt  contentedly.  The 
hog  pens  all  have  concrete  floors,  but 
the  hogs  lie  upon  movable  wooden 
planks  at  night.  The  pens  are  ranged 
all  around  the  central  tower,  which 
stands  in  the  inclosure  made  by  them. 
There  are  corrals  surounding  the 
whole  place,  which  is  well  shaded  by 
oaks  and  madrones. 

Everything  in  the  hog  department  is 
spick  and  span,  as  the  hose  is  played 
upon  the  floors,  cleansing  them  at  reg- 
ular intervals  and  making  them  cleaner 
than  the  floors  of  many  a  squalid 
ranch  house  I  have  seen  elsewhere. 

Ah,  and  do  you  think  to  enter  this 
hog  swine  sanctuary  without  becom- 
ing genuflections  and  prostrations! 
Well,  at  least,  before  you  pass  the 
gate  you  must  step  aside  into  a  little 
pagoda  and  rub  your  feet  upon  the 
prayer  rug.  On  that  rug  is  a  sticky 
carbolized  mixture  to  disinfect  your 
feet,  so  that  your  profane,  microbe- 
laden  shoes  shall  not  carry  to  that  pre- 
cious, cleanly  band  any  germs  of  chol- 
era. Never  but  once  has  the  dread 
disease  been  borne  within  the  inclo- 
sure, and  that  was  when  somebody 
walked  upon  a  butcher's  floor  and 
then  into  the  pens.  But  now  cholera  is 
unknown  among  the  London  swine. 

"I  am  not  raising  livestock  for  the 
butcher,"  said  Mr.  London,  "but  for 
the  breeder  or  anybody  who  wants  the 
best  of  thoroughbreds.  Of  course,  the 
culls  will  be  killed,  but  my  idea  is  not 
to  raise  anything  here  that  can't  be 
driven  out  on  hoof." 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Shepard,  who  is  the 
manager  of  the  ranch,  showed  me  the 
horses  and  cattle.  Among  them  are 
many  prize  winners.  Neuadd  Hill- 
side, a  $25,000  English  shire  stallion,  is 
among  the  most  imposing  of  the  bunch. 
He  won  the  grand  championship  at  the 
State  fair  in  1912,  and  with  other 
London  horses  and  mares  picked  up 
most  of  the  horse  prizes  at  the  recent 
Santa  Rosa  fair.  Another  beautiful 
stallion  is  Mountain  Lad,  named  for 


the  horse  hero  in  "The  Little  Lady  of 
the  Big  House."  Beside  there  are  five 
brood  mares  and  four  wonderful  colts 
coming  on.  The  grade  horses  include 
seven  work  teams,  which  are  kept 
busy  most  of  the  time.  Mrs.  London 
takes  great  interest  in  the  horses,  and 
is  a  fine  rider. 

The  cattle  include  some  beautiful 
Jersey  cows  and  one  magnificent  bull. 

Mrs.  Shepard  is  sure  of  further  hon- 
ors for  her  equine  and  bovine  charges 
at  the  coming  Sacramento  Fair. 

Fifty-five  Angora  goats  and  600 
White  Leghorn  fowls,  with  a  flock  of 
beautiful  pheasants,  go  to  make  up 
the  rest  of  the  stock  and  poultry. 

Mr.  London  employs  some  of  the 
best  horsemen  to  be  found  anywhere, 
among  them  being  Hazen  Cowan,  who 
won  the  world's  championship  for 
handling  bucking  horses  at  the  San 
Jose  round-up,  and  Thomas  Harrison, 
who  not  only  knows  horses,  but  is  an 
expert  cattleman. 

A  feature  of  the  ranch  is  the  big  eu- 
calyptus grove,  now  three  years  old. 
Mr.  London  is  raising  65,000  of  these 
trees  for  hardwood  lumber. 

Although  he  knows  far  more  about 
literature  than  he  does  about  farming, 
Mr.  London  has  learned  many  things 
from  his  agricultural  experience.  On 
the  hillsides  his  contours  are  fine  ex- 
amples of  how  to  retain  moisture  upon 
sloping  land.  He  believes  in  fertili- 
zing by  tillage  and  has  gotten  excel- 
lent results  by  plowing  in  rye  and 
vetch.  He  has  studied  soil  innocula- 
tion  by  legumes  and  other  means,  and 
next  year  he  expects  to  reap  some 
famous  crops  of  barley,  hay,  alfalfa 
and  corn. 

"It  is  all  very  interesting,"  he  told 
me,  "and  has  a  literary  value  to  me. 
Wherever  I  travel,  when  I  see  any 
growing  crop,  it  means  something  to 
me  now,  though  it  never  did  before. 
Yes,  I  am  a  believer  in  the  spineless 
cactus  as  animal  food,  and  have  set 
out  quite  a  patch  of  it.  Those  who 
contend  that  cactus,  being  90  per  cent 
water,  is  of  no  food  value  to  stock, 
should  go  down  to  Hawaii,  where  some 
of  the  finest,  fattest  cattle  in  the  world 


JACK  LONDON  415 

live  on  cactus  that  is  covered  with  so  that,  of  course,  it  is  not  on  a  paying 
spines  in  the  unproductive  months,  basis  at  present,  but  the  intelligent  and 
getting  both  food  and  water  from  it."  really  scientific  methods  now  em- 
The  Ranch  of  Good  Intentions  has  ployed  there  are  bound  to  make  it 
been  cultivated  by  its  present  proprie-  profitable  in  time.  Among  his  pro- 
tor  only  three  years,  and  in  a  really  ducts  this  season  are  ten  tons  of 
effective  way,  for  only  a  year  or  two,  prunes. 


Jack    London 


An  Appreciation 


Here'  to  you,  Jack,  whose  virile  pen 
Concerns  itself  with  Man's  Size  Men; 
Here's  to  you,  Jack,  whose  stories  thrill 

With  savor  of  the  Western  breeze, 
With  magic  of  the  south — and  chill, 

Shrill  winds  from  icy  floes  and  seas, 
YOU  have  not  wallowed  in  the  mire 
And  muck  of  tales  of  foul  desire, 
For,  though  you've  sung  of  fight  and  fraud, 

Of  love  and  hate — ashore,  afloat — 

You  have  not- struck  a  ribald  note, 
Nor  made  your  Art  a  common  bawd. 

Here's  to  you,  Jack,  I've  loved  your  best, 

Your  finest  stories  from  the  first, 
Your  sagas  of  the  North  and  West — 

But  what  is  more — I've  loved  your  Worst! 
For,  in  the  poorest  work  you  do, 
There's  something  clean  and  strong  and  true, 
A  tang  of  big  and  primal  things, 

A  sweep  of  forces  vast  and  free, 
A  touch  of  wizardry  which  brings 

The  glamour  of  the  Wild  to  me. 

So  when  I  read  a  London  tale, 

Forthwith  I'm  set  upon  a  trail 
Of  great  enchantment,  and  track 
Adventure  round  the  world  and  back, 
With  you  for  guide — here's  to  you,  Jack. 

Berton  Braley. 


The  Son  of  the  Wolf 


By   Jack  London 


(Like  all  young  and  untried  authors,  Jack  London  spent  laborious  years  in  preparing  stories  for  the 
regular  monthlies  and  weeklies  throughout  the  country,  without  attracting  any  attention.  In  the  latter 
part  of  1898,  the  then  editor  of  Overland  Monthly  accepted  the  first  of  five  stories,  The  Malemute  Kid 
series,  all  dealing  with  Jack  London's  recent  experiences  in  Alaska.  The  tales  readily  illustrate  the  vivid 
art  of  story  telling  which  the  author  was  rapidly  acquiring.  He  had  found  himself.  The  Malemute  Kid 
stories  attracted  wide  attention  and  a  little  later  London  found  no  difficulty  in  placing  his  stories  with 
eastern  publications.  Before  the  close  of  that  year  London  was  well  on  his  successful  career.  The  follow- 
ing story,  "The  Son  of  the  Wolf"  is  the  third  of  "The  Malemute  Kid"  series.) 


M 


AN  rarely  places  a  proper  valu- 
ation upon  his  womankind,  at 
least  not  until  deprived  of 
them.  He  has  no  conception 
of  the  subtle  atmosphere  exhaled  by 
the  sex  feminine,  so  long  as  he  bathes 
in  i$;  but  let  it  be  withdrawn,  and  an 
evergrowing  void  begins  to  manifest 
itself  in  his  existence,  and  he  becomes 
hungry,  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  for  a 
something  so  indefinite  that  he  cannot 
characterize  it.  If  his  comrades  have 
no  more  experience  than  himself,  they 
will  shake  their  heads  dubiously  and 
dose  him  with  strong  physic.  But  the 
hunger  will  continue  and  become 
stronger;  he  will  lose  interest  in  the 
things  of  his  every-day  life  and  wax 
morbid;  and  one  day,  when  the  empti- 
ness has  become  unbearable,  a  revela- 
tion will  dawn  upon  him. 

In  the  Yukon  country,  when  this 
comes  to  pass,  the  man  usually  provi- 
sions a  poling-boat,  if  it  is  summer, 
and  if  winter,  harnesses  his  dogs,  and 
heads  for  the  Southland.  A  few 
months  later,  supposing  him  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  a  faith  in  the  country,  he  re- 
turns with  a  wife  to  share  with  him  in 
that  faith,  and  incidentally  in  his  hard- 
ships. This  but  serves  to  show  the 
innate  selfishness  of  man.  It  also 
brings  us  to  the  trouble  of  "Scruff" 
Mackenzie,  which  occurred  in  the  old 
days,  before  the  country  was  stam- 
peded and  staked  by  a  tidal-wave  of 
che-cha-quas,  and  when  the  Klondike's 
only  claim  to  notice  was  its  salmon 
fisheries. 

"Scruff"  Mackenzie  bore  the  ear- 
marks of  a  frontier  birth  and  a  fron- 
tier life.    His  face  was  stamped  with 


twenty-five  years  of  incessant  struggle 
with  Nature  in  her  wildest  moods — the 
last  two  the  wildest  and  hardest  of  all, 
having  been  spent  in  groping  for  the 
gold  which  lies  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Arctic  Circle.  When  the  yearning 
sickness  came  upon  him,  he  was  not 
surprised,  for  he  was  a  practical  man 
and  had  seen  other  men  thus  stricken. 
But  he  showed  no  sign  of  his  malady, 
save  that  he  worked  harder.  All  sum- 
mer he  fought  mosquitoes  and  washed 
for  the  sure-thing  bars  of  the  Stuart 
River  for  a  double  grub-stake.  Then 
he  floated  a  raft  of  house  logs  down 
the  Yukon  to  Forty  Mile,  and  put  to- 
gether as  comfortable  a  cabin  as  any 
the  camp  could  boast  of.  In  fact,  it 
showed  such  cozy  promise  that  many 
men  elected  to  be  his  partner  and  to 
come  and  live  with  him.  But  he 
crushed  their  aspirations  with  rough 
speech,  peculiar  for  its  strength  and 
brevity,  and  bought  a  double  supply 
of  grub  from  the  trading  post. 

As  has  been  noted,  "Scruff "Macken- 
zie was  a  practical  man.  If  he  wanted 
a  thing  he  usually  got  it,  but  in  doing 
so,  went  no  farther  out  of  his  way  than 
was  necessary.  Though  a  son  of  toil 
and  hardship,  he  was  averse  to  a  jour- 
ney of  six  hundred  miles  on  the  ice, 
a  second  of  two  thousand  miles  on  the 
ocean,  and  still  a  third  thousand  miles 
or  so  to  his  last  stamping-grounds — all 
in  the  mere  quest  of  a  wife.  Life  was 
too  short.  So  he  rounded  up  his  dogs, 
lashed  a  curious  freight  to  his  sled, 
and  faced  across  the  divide  whose 
westward  slopes  were  drained  by  the 
head-reaches  of  the  Tanana. 

He  was  a  sturdy  traveler,  and  his 


THE  SON  OF  THE  WOLF 


417 


wolf-dogs  could  work  harder  and 
travel  farther  on  less  grub  than  any 
other  team  in  the  Yukon.  Three  weeks 
later  he  strode  into  a  hunting-camp  of 
the  Upper  Tanana  Sticks.  They  mar- 
veled at  his  temerity;  for  they  had  a 
bad  name  and  had  been  known  to  kill 
white  men  for  as  trifling  a  thing  as  a 
sharp  ax  or  a  broken  rifle.  But  he 
went  among  them  single-handed,  his 
bearing  being  a  delicious  composite 
of  humility,  familiarity,  sang-froid, 
and  insolence.  It  required  a  deft  hand 
and  deep  knowledge  of  the  barbaric 
mind  effectually  to  handle  such  diverse 
weapons ;  but  he  was  a  past-master  in 
the  art,  knowing  when  to  conciliate 
and  when  to  threaten  with  Jove-like 
wrath. 

He  first  made  obeisance  to  the  Chief 
Thling-Tinneh,  presenting  him  with  a 
couple  of  pounds  of  black  tea  and  to- 
bacco, and  thereby  winning  his  most 
cordial  regard.  Then  he  mingled  with 
the  men  and  maidens,  and  that  night 
gave  a  pot-lach.  The  snow  was  beaten 
down  in  the  form  of  an  oblong,  per- 
haps a  hundred  feet  in  length,  and 
quarter  as  many  across.  Down  the 
center  a  long  fire  was  built,  while 
either  side  was  carpeted  with  spruce 
boughs.  The  lodges  were  forsaken, 
and  the  fivescore  or  so  members  of  the 
tribe  gave  tongue  to  their  folk-chants 
in  honor  of  their  guest. 

"Scruff"  Mackenzie's  two  years  had 
taught  him  the  not  many  hundred 
words  of  their  vocabulary,  and  he  had 
likewise  conquered  their  deep  guttu- 
rals, their  Japanese  idioms,  construc- 
tions and  honorific  and  agglutinative 
particles.  So  he  made  oration  after 
their  manner,  satisfying  their  instinc- 
tive poetry-love  with  crude  flights  of 
eloquence  and  metaphorical  contor- 
tions. After  Thling-Tinneh  and  the 
Shaman  had  responded  in  kind,  he 
made  trifling  presents  to  the  menfolk, 
joined  in  their  singing,  and  proved  an 
expert  in  their  fifty-two-stick  gambling 
game. 

And  they  smoked  his  tobacco  and 
were  pleased.  But  among  the  younger 
men  there  was  a  defiant  attitude,  a 
spirit   of   braggadocio,   easily   under- 


stood by  the  raw  insinuations  of  the 
toothless  squaws  and  the  giggling  of 
the  maidens.  They  had  known  few 
white  men,  "Sons  of  the  Wolf,"  but 
from  those  few  they  had  learned 
strange  lessons. 

Nor  had  "Scruff"  Mackenzie,  for  all 
his  seeming  carelessness,  failed  to 
note  these  phenomena.  In  truth,  rolled 
in  his  sleeping-furs,  he  thought  it  all 
over,  thought  seriously,  and  emptied 
many  pipes  in  mapping  out  a  cam- 
paign. One  maiden  only  had  caught 
his  fancy — none  other  than  Zarinska, 
daughter  to  the  chief.  In  features, 
form  and  poise,  answering  more  near- 
ly to  the  white  man's  type  of  beauty, 
she  was  almost  an  anomaly  among  her 
tribal  sisters.  He  would  possess  her, 
make  her  his  wife,  and  name  her — ah, 
he  would  name  her  Gertrude !  Having 
thus  decided,  he  rolled  over  on  his 
side  and  dropped  off  to  sleep,  a  true 
son  of  his  all-conquering  race,  a  Sam- 
son among  the  Philistines. 

It  was  slow  work  and  a  stiff  game; 
but  "Scruff"  Mackenzie  maneuvered 
cunningly,  with  an  unconcern  which 
served  to  puzzle  the  Sticks.  He  took 
great  care  to  impress  the  man  that  he 
was  a  sure  shot  and  a  mighty  hunter, 
and  the  camp  rang  with  his  plaudits 
when  he  brought  down  a  moose  at  six 
hundred  yards.  Of  a  night  he  visited 
in  Chief  Thling-Tinneh's  lodge  of 
moose  and  caribou  skins,  talking  big 
and  dispensing  tobacco  with  a  lavish 
hand.  Nor  did  he  fail  to  likewise 
honor  the  Shaman;  for  he  realized  the 
medicine-man's  influence,  with  his 
people,  and  was  anxious  to  make  of 
him  an  ally.  But  that  worthy  was  high 
and  mighty,  refused  to  be  propitiated, 
and  was  unerringly  marked  down  as 
a  prospective  enemy. 

Though  no  opening  presented  for  an 
interview  with  Zarinska,  Mackenzie 
stole  many  a  glance  at  her,  giving  fair 
warning  of  his  intent.  And  well  she 
knew,  yet  coquettishly  surrounded  her- 
self with  a  ring  of  women  whenever 
the  men  were  away,  and  he  had  a 
chance.  But  he  was  in  no  hurry;  be- 
sides, he  knew  she  could  not  help  but 
think  of  him,  and  a  few  days  of  such 


418 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


thought  would  only  better  his  suit. 

At  last,  one  night,  when  he  deemed 
the  time  to  be  ripe,  he  abruptly  left  the 
chief's  smoky  dwelling  and  hastened 
to  a  neighboring  lodge.  As  usual,  she 
sat  with  squaws  and  maidens  about 
her,  all  engaged  in  sewing  moccasins 
and  beadwork.  They  laughed  at  his 
entrance,  and  badinage,  which  linked 
Zarinska  to  him,  ran  high.  But  one  af- 
ter the  other  they  were  unceremonious- 
ly bundled  into  the  outer  snow,  whence 
they  hurried  to  spread  the  tale  through 
all  the  camp. 

His  cause  was  well  pleaded,  in  her 
tongue,  for  she  did  not  know  his,  and 
at  the  end  of  two  hours  he  rose  to  go. 

"So  Zarinska  will  come  to  the  White 
Man's  lodge?  Good!  I  go  now  to 
have  talk  with  thy  father,  for  he  may 
not  be  so  minded.  And  I  will  give  him 
many  tokens;  but  he  must  not  ask  too 
much.  If  he  say  no  ?  Good !  Zarinska 
shall  yet  come  to  the  White  Man's 
lodge." 

He  had  already  lifted  the  skin  flap 
to  depart,  when  a  low  exclamation 
brought  him  back  to  the  girl's  side. 
She  brought  herself  to  her  knees  on 
the  bearskin  mat,  her  face  aglow  with 
true  Eve-light,  and  shyly  unbuckled 
his  heavy  belt.  He  looked  down,  per- 
plexed, suspicious,  his  ears  alert  for 
the  slightest  sound  without.  But  her 
next  move  disarmed  his  doubt,  and  he 
smiled  with  pleasure.  She  took  from 
her  sewing  bag  a  moosehide  sheath, 
brave  with  bright  beadwork,  fantasti- 
cally designed.  She  drew  his  great 
hunting-knife  gazed  reverently  along 
the  keen  edge,  half  tempted  to  try  it 
with  her  thumb,  and  shot  it  into  place 
in  its  new  home.  Then  she  slipped  the 
sheath  along  the  belt  to  its  customary 
resting-place,  just  above  the  hip. 

For  all  the  world,  it  was  like  a 
scene  of  olden  time — a  lady  and  her 
knight.  Mackenzie  drew  her  up  full 
height  and  swept  her  red  lips  with  his 
moustache — the,  to  her,  foreign  caress 
of  the  Wolf.  It  was  a  meeting  of  the 
stone  age  and  the  steel;  but  she  was 
none  the  less  a  woman,  as  her  crimson 
cheek  and  the  luminous  softness  of  her 
eyes  attested. 


There  was  a  thrill  of  excitement  in 
the  air  as  "Scruff"  Mackenzie,  a  bulky 
bundle  under  his  arm,  threw  open  the 
flap  of  Thling-Tinneh's  tent.  Children 
were  running  about  in  the  open,  drag- 
ging dry  wood  to  the  scene  of  the  pot- 
lach,  a  babble  of  women's  voices  was 
growing  in  intensity,  the  young  men 
were  consulting  in  sullen  groups,  while 
from  the  Shaman's  lodge  rose  the  eerie 
sounds  of  an  incantation. 

The  chief  was  alone  with  his  blear- 
eyed  wife,  but  a  glance  sufficed  to  tell 
Mackenzie  that  the  news  was  already 
old.  So  he  plunged  at  once  into  the 
business,  shifting  the  beaded  sheath 
prominently  to  the  fore  as  advertise- 
ment of  the  betrothal. 

"O  Thling-Tinneh,  mighty  chief  of 
the  Sticks  and  the  land  of  the  Tanana, 
ruler  of  the  salmon  and  the  bear,  the 
moose  and  the  caribou!  The  White 
Man  is  before  thee  with  a  great  pur- 
pose. Many  moons  has  his  lodge  been 
empty,  and  he  is  lonely.  And  his  heart 
has  eaten  itself  in  silence,  and  grown 
hungry  for  a  woman  to  sit  beside  him 
in  his  Jodge,  to  meet  him  from  the 
hunt  with  warm  fire,  and  good  food. 
He  has  heard  strange  things,  the  pat- 
ter of  baby  moccasins  and  the  sound 
of  children's  voices.  And  one  night  a 
vision  came  upon  him,  and  he  beheld 
the  Raven,  who  is  thy  father,  the  great 
Raven,  who  is  the  father  of  all  the 
Sticks.  And  the  Raven  spake  to  the 
lonely  White  Man,  saying:  'Bind  thou 
thy  moccasins  upon  thee,  and  gird  thy 
snow-shoes  on,  and  lash  thy  sled  with 
food  for  many  sleeps  and  fine  tokens 
for  the  Chief  Thling-Tinneh.  For  thou 
shalt  turn  thy  face  to  where  the  mid- 
spring  sun  is  wont  to  sink  below  the 
land  and  journey  to  this  great  chief's 
hunting-grounds.  There  thou  shalt 
make  big  presents,  and  Thling-Tinneh, 
who  is  my  son,  shall  become  to  thee 
as  a  father.  In  his  lodge  there  is  a 
maiden  into  whom  I  breathed  the 
breath  of  life  for  thee.  This  maiden 
shalt  thou  take  to  wife.' 

"0  Chief,  thus  spake  the  great 
Raven;  thus  do  I  lay  many  presents  at 
thy  feet;  thus  am  I  come  to  take  thy 
daughter!" 


THE  SON  OF  THE  WOLF 


419 


The  old  man  drew  his  furs  about 
him  with  crude  consciousness  of  roy- 
alty, but  delayed  reply  while  a  young- 
ster crept  in,  delivered  a  quick  mes- 
sage to  appear  before  the  council,  and 
was  gone. 

"O  White  Man,  whom  we  have 
named  Moose-killer,  also  known  as  the 
Wolf,  and  the  Son  of  the  Wolf!  We 
know  thou  comest  of  a  mighty  race; 
we  are  proud  to  have  thee  our  potlach 
guest;  but  the  king-salmon  does  not 
mate  with  the  dog-salmon,  nor  the 
Raven  with  the  Wolf." 

"Not  so!"  cried  Mackenzie.  "The 
daughters  of  the  Raven  have  I  met  in 
the  camps  of  the  Wolf — the  squaw  of 
Mortimer,  the  squaw  of  Tregidgo,  the 
squaw  of  Barnaby,  who  came  two  ice- 
runs  back,  and  I  have  heard  of  other 
squaws,  though  my  eyes  beheld  them 
not." 

"Son,  your  words  are  true;  but  it 
were  evil  mating,  like  the  water  with 
the  sand,  like  the  snow-flake  with  the 
sun.  But  met  you  one  Mason  and  his 
squaw?  No?  He  came  ten  ice-runs 
ago — the  first  of  all  the  Wolves.  And 
with  him  there  was  a  mighty  man, 
straight  as  a  willow-shoot,  and  tall; 
strong  as  the  bald-faced  grizzly,  with 
a  heart  like  the  full-summer  moon; 
his " 

"Oh!"  interrupted  Mackenzie,  rec- 
ognizing the  well  known  Northland  fig- 
ure—"Malemute  Kid!" 

"The  same — a  mighty  man.  But 
saw  you  aught  of  the  squaw?  She 
was  full  sister  to  Zarinska!" 

"Nay,  Chief ;  but  I  have  heard.  Ma- 
son— far,  far  to  the  north,  a  spruce- 
tree,  heavy  with  years,  crushed  out  his 
life  beneath.  But  his  love  was  great, 
and  he  had  much  gold.  With  this,  and 
her  boy,  she  journeyed  countless  sleeps 
toward  the  winter's  noonday  sun,  and 
there  she  yet  lives — no  biting  frost,  no 
snow,  no  summer's  midnight  sun,  no 
winter's  noonday  night." 

A  second  messenger  interrupted 
with  imperative  summons  from  the 
council.  As  Mackenzie  threw  him  into 
the  snow,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
swaying  forms  before  the  council-fire, 
heard  the  deep  basses  of  the  man  in 


rhythmic  chant,  and  knew  the  Shaman 
was  fanning  the  anger  of  his  people. 
Time  pressed.  He  turned  upon  the 
chief. 

"Come !  I  wish  thy  child.  And  now, 
see !  Here  are  tobacco,  tea,  many  cups 
of  sugar,  warm  blankets,  handker- 
chiefs, both  good  and  large;  and  here, 
a  true  rifle,  with  many  bullets 
and  much  powder." 

"Nay,"  replied  the  old  man,  strug- 
gling against  the  great  wealth  spread 
before  him.  "Even  now  are  my  peo- 
ple come  together.  They  will  not  have 
this  marriage." 

"But  thou  art  chief!" 

"Yet  do  my  young  men  rage  because 
the  Wolves  have  taken  their  maidens 
so  that  they  may  not  marry." 
<  "Listen,  O  Thling-Tinneh!  Ere  the 
night  has  passed  into  the  day,  the 
Wolf  shall  face  his  dogs  to  the  Moun- 
tains of  the  East  and  fare  forth  to  the 
Country  of  the  Yukon.  And  Zarinska 
shall  break  trail  for  his  dogs." 

"And  ere  the  night  has  gained  its 
middle,  my  young  men  may  fling  to  the 
dogs  the  flesh  of  the  Wolf,  and  his 
bones  be  scattered  in  the  snow  till  the 
springtime  lays  them  bare." 

It  was  threat  and  counter-threat. 
Mackenzie's  bronzed  face  flushed 
darkly.  He  raised  his  voice.  The  old 
squaw,  who  till  now  had  sat  an  impas- 
sive spectator,  made  to  creep  by  him 
for  the  door.  The  song  of  the  men 
broke  suddenly  and  there  was  a  hub- 
bub of  many  voices  as  he  whirled  the 
old  woman  roughly  to  her  couch  of 
skins. 

"Again  I  cry — listen,  O  Thling-Ten- 
neh!  The  Wolf  dies  with  teeth  fast- 
locked,  and  with  him  there  shall  sleep 
ten  of  thy  strongest  men — men  who 
are  needed,  for  the  hunting  is  but  be- 
gun, and  the  fishing  is  not  many  moons 
away.  And  again,  of  what  profit 
should  I  die?  I  know  the  custom  of 
thy  people;  thy  share  of  my  wealth 
shall  be  very  small.  Grant  me  thy 
child,  and  it  shall  be  all  thine.  And 
yet  again,  my  brothers  will  come,  and 
they  are  many,  and  their  maws  are 
never  filled ;  and  the  daughters  of  the 
Raven  shall  bear  children  in  the  lodges 


420 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


of  the  Wolf.  My  people  are  greater 
than  thy  people.  It  is  destiny.  Grant, 
and  all  this  wealth  is  thine!" 

Moccasins  were  crunching  the  snow 
without.  Mackenzie  threw  his  rifle  to 
cock,  and  loosened  the  twin  Colts  in 
his  belt. 

"Grant,  0  Chief!" 

"And  yet  will  my  people  say  no." 

"Grant,  and  the  wealth  is  thine. 
Then  shall  I  deal  with  thy  people  af- 
ter." 

"The  Wolf  will  have  it  so.  I  will 
take  his  tokens — but  I  would  warn 
him." 

Mackenzie  passed  over  the  goods, 
taking  care  to  clog  the  rifle's  ejector, 
and  capping  the  bargain  with  a  kaleid- 
oscopic silk  kerchief.  The  Shaman 
and  half  a  dozen  young  braves  en- 
tered, but  he  shouldered  boldly  among 
them  and  passed  out. 

"Pack!"  was  his  laconic  greeting  to 
Zarinska  as  he  passed  her  lodge  and 
hurried  to  harness  his  dogs.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  swept  into  the  council 
at  the  head  of  the  team,  the  woman  by 
his  side.  He  took  his  place  at  the  up- 
per end  of  the  oblong,  by  the  side  of 
the  chief.  To  his  left,  a  step  to  the 
rear,  he  stationed  Zarinska — her  pro- 
per place.  Besides,  the  time  was  ripe 
for  mischief,  and  there  was  need  to 
guard  his  back. 

On  either  side,  the  men  crouched  to 
the  fire,  their  voices  lifted  in  a  folk- 
chant  out  of  the  forgotten  past.  Full 
of  strange,  halting  cadences  and  haunt- 
ing recurrences,  it  was  not  beautiful. 
"Fearful"  may  inadequately  express 
it.  At  the  lower  end,  under  the  eye  of 
the  Shaman,  danced  half  a  score  of 
women.  Stern  were  his  reproofs  to 
those  who  did  not  wholly  abandon 
themselves  to  the  ecstasy  of  the  rite. 
Half  hidden  in  their  heavy  masses  of 
raven  hair,  all  dishevelled  and  falling 
to  their  waists,  they  slowly  swayed  to 
and  fro,  their  forms  rippling  to  an 
ever-changing  rhythm. 

It  was  a  weird  scene;  an  anachron- 
ism. To  the  south,  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  reeling  off  the  few  years  of 
its  last  decade;  here  flourished  man 
primeval,  a  shade  removed  from  the 


prehistoric  cave-dweller,  a  forgotten 
fragment  of  the  Elder  World.  The 
tawny  wolf-dogs  sat  between  their  skin 
clad  masters  or  fought  for  room,  the 
firelight  cast  backward  from  their  red 
eyes  and  dripping  fangs.  The  woods, 
in  ghostly  shroud,  slept  on  unheeding. 
The  White  Silence,  for  the  moment 
driven  to  the  rimming  forest,  seemed 
ever  crushing  inward ;  the  stars  danced 
with  great  leaps,  as  is  their  wont  in  the 
time  of  the  Great  Cold ;  while  the  Spir- 
its of  the  Pole  trailed  their  robes  of 
glory  athwart  the  heavens. 

"Scruff"  Mackenzie  dimly  realized 
the  wild  grandeur  of  the  setting  as  his 
eyes  ranged  down  the  fur-fringed 
sides  in  quest  of  missing  faces.  They 
rested  for  a  moment  on  a  new-born 
babe,  suckling  at  its  mother's  naked 
breast.  It  was  forty  below — seventy 
and  odd  degrees  of  frost.  He  thought 
of  the  tender  women  of  his  own  race 
and  smiled  grimly.  Yet  from  the  loins 
of  some  such  tender  woman  had  he 
sprung  with  a  kingly  inheritance — an 
inheritance  which  gave  to  him  and  his 
dominance  over  the  land  and  sea,  over 
the  animals  and  the  peoples  of  all  the 
zones.  Single-handed  against  five- 
score, girt  by  the  Arctic  winter,  far 
from  his  own,  he  felt  the  promptings 
of  his  heritage,  the  desire  to  possess, 
the  wild  danger-love,  the  thrill  of  bat- 
tle, the  power  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

The  singing  and  the  dancing  ceased, 
and  the  Shaman  flared  up  in  rude  elo- 
quence. Through  the  sinuosities  of 
their  vast  mythology,  he  worked  cun- 
ningly upon  the  credulity  of  his  peo- 
ple. The  case  was  strong.  Opposing 
the  creative  principles  as  embodied  in 
the  Crow  and  the  Raven,  he  stigma- 
tized Mackenzie  as  the  Wolf,  the  fight- 
ing and  destructive  principle.  Not 
only  was  the  combat  of  these  forces 
spiritual,  but  men  fought,  each  to  his 
totem.  They  were  the  children  of 
Jelchs,  the  Raven,  the  Promethean 
fire  bringer;  Mackenzie  was  the  child 
of  the  Wolf,  or  in  other  words,  the 
Devil.  For  them  to  bring  a  truce  to 
this  perpetual  warfare,  to  marry  their 
daughters  to  the  arch  enemy,  were 
treason  and  blasphemy  of  the  highest 


THE  SON  OF  THE  WOLF 


421 


order.  No  phrase  was  harsh  nor  fig- 
ure vile  enough  in  branding  Macken- 
zie as  a  sneaking  interloper  and  emis- 
sary of  Satan.  There  was  a  subdued, 
savage  roar  in  the  deep  chests  of  his 
listeners  as  he  took  the  swing  of  his 
peroration. 

"Aye,  my  brothers,  Jelchs  is  all- 
powerful!  Did  he  not  bring  heaven- 
born  fire  that  we  might  be  warm?  Did 
he  not  draw  the  sun,  moon  and  stars 
from  their  holes  that  we  might  see? 
Did  he  not  teach  us  that  we  might  fight 
the  Spirits  of  Famine  and  of  Frost? 
But  now  Jelchs  is  angry  with  his  child- 
ren, and  they  are  grown  to  a  handful, 
and  he  will  not  help.  For  they  have 
forgotten  him,  and  done  evil  things, 
and  trod  bad  trails,  and  taken  his  ene- 
mies into  their  lodges  to  sit  by  their 
fires.  And  the  Raven  is  sorrowful  at 
the  wickedness  of  his  children;  but 
when  they  shall  rise  up  and  show  they 
have  come  back,  he  will  come  out  of 
the  darkness  to  aid  them.  0  brothers ! 
the  Fire-Bringer  has  whispered  mes- 
sages to  thy  Shaman;  the  same  shall 
ye  hear.  Let  the  young  men  take  the 
young  women  to  their  lodges ;  let  them 
fly  at  the  throat  of  the  Wolf ;  let  them 
be  undying  in  their  enmity !  Then  shall 
their  women  become  fruitful  and  they 
shall  multiply  into  a  mighty  people! 
And  the  Raven  shall  lead  great  tribes 
of  their  fathers  and  their  fathers' 
fathers  from  out  of  the  North;  and 
they  shall  beat  back  the  Wolves  till 
they  are  as  last  year's  camp  fires; 
and  they  shall  again  come  to  rule  over 
all  the  land!  'Tis  the  message  of 
Jelchs,  the  Raven." 

This  foreshadowing  of  the  Messiah's 
coming  brought  a  hoarse  howl  from 
the  Sticks  as  they  leaped  to  their 
feet. 

Mackenzie  slipped  the  thumbs  of  his 
mittens  and  waited.  There  was  a 
clamor  for  the  "Fox,"  not  to  be  stilled 
till  one  of  the  young  men  stepped  for- 
ward to  speak. 

"Brothers!  The  Shaman  has  spoken 
wisely.  The  Wolves  have  taken  our 
women  and  our  men  are  childless.  We 
are  grown  to  a  handful.  The  Wolves 
have  taken  our  warm  furs  and  given 


for  them  evil  spirits  which  dwell  in 
bottles,  and  clothes  which  come  not 
from  the  beaver  or  the  lynx,  but  are 
made  from  the  grass.  And  they  are 
not  warm,  and  our  men  die  of  strange 
sicknesses.  I,  the  Fox,  have  taken  no 
woman  to  wife ;  and  why  ?  Twice  have 
the  maidens  which  pleased  me  gone 
to  .the  camps  of  the  Wolf.  Even  now 
have  I  laid  by  skins  of  the  beaver,  of 
the  moose,  of  the  caribou  that  I  might 
win  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Thling-Tinneh 
that  I  might  wed  Zarinska,  his  daugh- 
ter. Even  now  are  her  snow  shoes 
bound  to  her  feet,  ready  to  break  trail 
for  the  dogs  of  the  Wolf.  Nor  do  I 
speak  for  myself  alone.  As  I  have 
done,  so  has  the  Bear.  He,  too,  had 
fain  been  the  father  of  her  children, 
and  many  skins  has  he  cured  thereto. 
I  speak  for  all  the  young  men  who 
know  not  wives.  The  Wolves  are 
ever  hungry.  Always  do  they  take 
the  choice  meat  at  the  killing.  To  the 
Ravens  are  left  the  leavings. 

"There  is  Gugkla,"  he  cried,  bru- 
tally pointing  out  one  of  the  women, 
who  was  a  cripple.  "Her  legs  are  bent 
like  the  ribs  of  a  birch  canoe.  She 
cannot  gather  wood  nor  carry  the  meat 
of  the  hunters.  Did  the  Wolves 
choose  her?" 

"Ai!  ai!"  vociferated  his  tribesmen. 

"There  is  Moyri,  whose  eyes  are 
crossed  by  the  Evil  Spirit.  Even  the 
babes  are  affrighted  when  they  gaze 
upon  her,  and  it  is  said  the  bald- 
face  gives  her  the  trail.  Was  she 
chosen?" 

Again  the  cruel  applause  rang  out. 

"And  there  sits  Pischet.  She  does 
not  hearken  to  my  words.  Never  has 
she  heard  the  cry  of  the  chit-chat,  the 
voice  of  her  husband,  the  babble  of 
her  child.  She  lives  in  the  White  Si- 
lence. Cared  the  Wolves  aught  for 
her  ?  No !  Theirs  is  the  choice  of  the 
kill;  ours  is  the  leavings. 

"Brothers,  it  shall  not  be!  No  more 
shall  the  Wolves  slink  among  our 
camp-fires.    The  time  is  come." 

A  great  streamer  of  fire,  the  aurora 
borealis,  purple,  green  and  yellow,  shot 
across  the  zenith,  bridging  horizon  to 
horizon.    With  head  thrown  back  and 


422 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


arms  extended,  he  swayed  to  his  cli- 
max. 

"Behold!  The  spirits  of  our  fathers 
have  arisen,  and  great  deeds  are  afoot 
this  night." 

He  stepped  back,  and  another  young 
man  somewhat  diffidently  came  for- 
ward, pushed  on  by  his  comrades.  He 
towered  a  full  head  above  them,  his 
broad  chest  defiantly  bared  to  the 
frost.  He  swung  tentatively  from  one 
foot  to  the  other.  Words  halted  upon 
his  tongue,  and  he  was  ill  at  ease.  His 
face  was  horrible  to  look  upon,  for  it 
had  at  one  time  been  half  torn  away 
by  some  terrific  blow.  At  last  he 
struck  his  breast  with  his  clenched 
fist,  drawing  sound  as  from  a  drum, 
and  his  voice  rumbled  forth  as  does 
the  surf  from  an  ocean  cavern. 

"I  am  the  Bear — the  Silver-Tip  and 
the  Son  of  the  Silver-Tip!  When  my 
voice  was  yet  as  a  girl's,  I  slew  the 
lynx,  the  moose  and  the  caribou; 
when  it  whistled  like  the  wolverines 
from  under  a  cache,  I  crossed  the 
Mountains  of  the  South  and  slew  three 
of  the  White  Rivers;  when  it  became 
as  the  roar  of  the  Chinook,  I  met  the 
bald-faced  grizzly,  but  gave  no  trail." 

At  this  he  paused,  his  hand  signi- 
ficantly sweeping  across  his  hideous 
scars. 

"I  am  not  as  the  Fox.  My  tongue  is 
frozen  like  the  river.  I  cannot  make 
great  talk.  My  words  are  few.  The 
Fox  says  great  deeds  are  afoot  this 
night.  Good!  Talk  flows  from  his 
tongue  like  the  freshets  of  the  spring, 
but  he  is  chary  of  deeds.  This  night 
shall  I  do  battle  with  the  Wolf.  I 
shall  slay  him,  and  Zarinska  shall  sit 
by  my  fire.    The  Bear  has  spoken." 

Though  pandemonium  raged  about 
him,  "Scruff"  Mackenzie  held  his 
ground.  Aware  how  useless  was  the 
rifle  at  close  quarters,  he  slipped  both 
holsters  to  the  fore,  ready  for  action, 
and  drew  his  mittens  till  his  hands 
were  barely  shielded  by  the  elbow 
gauntlets.  He  knew  there  was  no 
hope  in  attack  en  masse,  but  true  to 
his  boast,  was  prepared  to  die  with 
teeth  fast-locked.  But  the  Bear  re- 
strained his   comrades,  beating  back 


the  more  impetuous  with  his  terrible 
fist.  As  the  tumult  began  to  die  away 
Mackenzie  shot  a  glance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Zarinska.  It  was  a  superb  pic- 
ture. She  was  leaning  forward  on  her 
snow-shoes,  lips  apart  and  nostrils 
quivered,  like  a  tigress  about  to  spring. 
Her  great  black  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  tribesmen,  in  fear  and  in  defiance. 
So  extreme  the  tension,  she  had  forgot- 
ten to  breathe.  With  one  hand  pressed 
spasmodically  against  her  breast  and 
the  other  as  tightly  gripped  about 
the  dog-whip,  she  was  as  turned  to 
stone.  Even  as  he  looked,  relief  came 
to  her.  Her  muscles  loosened;  with 
a  heavy  sigh  she  settled  back,  giving 
him  a  look  of  more  than  love — of 
worship. 

Thling-Tinneh  was  trying  to  speak, 
but  his  people  drowned  his  voice.  Then 
Mackenzie  strode  forward.  The  Fox 
opened  his  mouth  to  a  piercing  yell 
but  so  savagely  did  Mackenzie  whirl 
upon  him  that  he  shrank  back,  his 
larynx  all  a-gurgle  with  suppressed 
sound.  His  discomfiture  was  greeted 
with  roars  of  laughter,  and  served  to 
soothe  his  fellows  to  a  listening  mood. 

"Brothers!  The  White  Man,  whom 
ye  have  chosen  to  call  the  Wolf,  came 
among  you  with  fair  words.  He  was 
not  like  the  Innuit;  he  spoke  not  lies. 
He  came  as  a  friend,  as  one  who 
would  be  a  brother.  But  your  men 
have  had  their  say,  and  the  time  for 
soft  words  is  past.  First,  I  will  tell 
you  that  the  Shaman  has  an  evil 
tongue  and  is  a  false  prophet,  that  the 
messages  he  spake  are  not  those  of 
the  Fire-Bringer.  His  ears  are  locked 
to  the  voice  of  the  Raven,  and  out  of 
his  own  head  he  weaves  cunning  fan- 
cies, and  he  has  made  fools  of  you. 
He  has  no  power.  When  .  the  dogs 
were  killed  and  eaten  and  your  stom- 
achs were  heavy  with  untanned  hide 
and  strips  of  moccasins;  when  the  old 
men  died,  and  the  old  women  died, 
and  the  babes  at  the  dry  dugs  of  the 
mothers  died;  when  the  land  was 
dark,  and  ye  perished  as  do  the  sal- 
mon in  the  fall;  aye,  when  the  famine 
was  upon  you,  did  the  Shaman  bring 
reward  to  your  hunters  ?    did  the  Sha- 


THE  SON  OF  THE  WOLF 


423 


man  put  meat  in  your  bellies?  Again 
I  say,  the  Shaman  is  without  power. 
Thus  I  spit  upon  his  face!" 

Though  taken  aback  by  the  sacri- 
lege, there  was  no  uproar.  Some  of 
the  women  were  even  frightened,  but 
among  the  men  there  was  an  uplifting, 
as  though  in  preparation  or  anticipa- 
tion of  the  miracle.  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  the  two  central  figures. 
The  priest  realized  the  crucial  mo- 
ment, felt  his  power  tottering,  opened 
his  mouth  in  denunciation,  but  fled 
backward  before  the  truculent  ad- 
vance, upraised  fist  and  flashing  eyes 
of  Mackenzie.  He  sneered  and  re- 
sumed : 

"Was  I  stricken  dead?  Did  the 
lightning  burn  me  ?  Did  the  stars  fall 
from  the  sky  and  crush  me?  Pish!  I 
have  done  with  the  dog.  Now  will  I 
tell  you  of  my  people,  who  are  the 
mightiest  of  all  the  peoples,  who  rule 
in  all  the  lands.  At  first  we  hunt  as 
I  hunt,  alone.  After  that  we  hunt  in 
packs;  and  at  last,  like  the  caribou- 
run,  we  sweep  across  all  the  land. 
Those  whom  we  take  into  our  lodges 
live ;  those  who  will  not  come  die.  Za- 
rinska  is  a  comely  maiden,  full  and 
strong,  fit  to  become  the  mother  of 
Wolves.  Though  I  die,  such  shall  she 
become;  for  my  brothers  are  many, 
and  they  will  follow  the  scent  of  my 
dogs.  Listen  to  the  Law  of  the  Wolf : 
"Whoso  taketh  the  life  of  one  Wolf, 
the  forfeit  shall  ten  of  his  people  pay." 
In  many  lands  has  the  price  been  paid, 
in  many  lands  shall  it  yet  be  paid. 

"Now  will  I  deal  with  the  Fox  and 
the  Bear.  It  seems  they  have  cast 
eyes  upon  the  maiden.  So?  Behold, 
I  have  bought  her!  Thling-Tinneh 
leans  upon  the  rifle ;  the  goods  of  pur- 
chase are  by  his  fire.  Yet  will  I  be 
fair  to  the  young  men.  To  the  Fox, 
whose  tongue  is  dry  with  many  words, 
will  I  give  of  tobacco  five  long  plugs. 
Thus  will  his  mouth  be  wetted  that 
he  may  make  much  noise  in  the  coun- 
cil. But  to  the  Bear,  of  whom  I  am 
well  proud,  will  I  give  of  blankets 
two;  of  flour,  twenty  cups;  of  tobacco, 
double  that  of  the  Fox;  and  if  he 
fare  with  me  over  the  mountains  of 


the  East,  then  will  I  give  him  a  rifle, 
mate  to  Thling-Tinneh's.  If  not? 
Good !  The  Wolf  is  weary  of  speech. 
Yet  once  again  will  he  say  the  Law: 
"Whoso  taketh  the  life  of  one  Wolf, 
the    forfeit   shall    ten   of   his   people 

pay." 

Mackenzie  smiled  as  he  stepped 
back  to  his  old  position,  but  at  heart 
he  was  full  of  trouble.  The  night 
was  yet  dark.  The  girl  came  to  his 
side,  and  he  listened  closely  as  she 
told  of  the  Bear's  battle-tricks  with 
the  knife. 

The  decision  was  for  war.  In  a 
trice,  scores  of  moccasins  were  wid- 
ening the  space  of  beaten  snow  by  the 
fire.  There  was  much  chatter  about 
the  seeming  defeat  of  the  Shaman; 
some  averred  he  had  but  withheld 
his  power,  while  others  conned  past 
events  and  agreed  with  the  Wolf.  The 
Bear  came  to  the  center  of  the  battle- 
ground, a  long  naked  hunting  knife 
of  Russian  make  in  his  hand.  The 
Fox  called  attention  to  Mackenzie's 
revolvers;  so  he  stripped  his  belt, 
buckling  it  about  Zarinska,  into  whose 
hands  he  also  intrusted  his  rifle.  She 
shook  her  head  that  she  could  not 
shoot — small  chance  had  a  woman  to 
handle  such  precious  things. 

"Then,  if  danger  come  by  my  back, 
cry  aloud,  'My  husband!'  No,  thus: 
'My  husband!'" 

He  laughed  as  she  repeated  it, 
pinched  her  cheek,  and  re-entered  the 
circle.  Not  only  in  reach  and  stature 
had  the  Bear  the  advantage  of  him, 
but  his  blade  was  longer  by  a  good  two 
inches.  "Scruff"  Mackenzie  had  look- 
ed into  the  eyes  of  men  before,  and 
he  knew  it  was  a  man  who  stood 
against  him;  yet  he  quickened  to  the 
glint  of  light  on  the  steel,  to  the  domi- 
nant pulse  of  his  race. 

Time  and  again  he  was  forced  to  the 
edge  of  the  fire  or  the  deep  snow,  and 
time  and  again,  with  the  foot  tactics 
of  the  pugilist,  he  worked  back  to 
the  center.  Not  a  voice  was  lifted  in 
encouragement,  while  his  antagonist 
was  heartened  with  applause,  sugges- 
tions and  warnings.  But  his  teeth  only 
shut  the  tighter  as  the  knives  clashed 


424 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


together,  and  he  thrust  or  eluded  with 
a  coolness  born  of  conscious  strength. 
At  first  he  felt  compassion  for  his 
enemy;  but  this  fled  before  the  primal 
instinct  of  life,  which  in  turn  gave  way 
to  the  lust  of  slaughter.  The  ten  thou- 
sand years  of  culture  fell  from  him, 
and  he  was  a  cave-dweller,  doing  bat- 
tle for  his  female. 

Twice  he  pricked  the  Bear,  getting 
away  unscathed;  but  the  third  time 
caught,  and  to  save  himself,  free 
hands  closed  on  fighting  hands,  and 
they  came  together.  Then  did  he  real- 
ize the  tremendous  strength  of  his 
opponent.  His  muscles  were  knotted 
in  painful  lumps,  and  cords  and  ten- 
dons threatened  to  snap  with  the 
strain;  yet  nearer  and  nearer  came  the 
Russian  steel.  He  tried  to  break  away, 
but  only  weakened  himself.  The  fur 
clad  circle  closed  in,  certain  of  and 
anxious  to  see  the  final  stroke.  But 
with  wrestler's  trick,  swinging  partly 
to  the  side,  he  struck  at  his  adversary 
with  his  head.  Involuntarily  the 
Bear  leaned  back,  disturbing  his  cen- 
ter of  gravity.  Simultaneously  with 
this,  Mackenzie  tripped  properly  and 
threw  his  whole  weight  forward,  hurl- 
ing him  clear  through  the  circle  into 
the  deep  snow.  The  Bear  floundered 
out  and  came  back  full  tilt. 

"O  my  husband!"  Zarinska's  voice 
rang  out,  vibrant  with  danger. 

To  the  twang  of  a  bow-string, 
Mackenzie  swept  low  to  the  ground, 
and  a  bone-barbed  arrow  passed  over 
him  into  the  breast  of  the  Bear,  whose 
momentum  carried  him  over  his 
crouching  foe.  The  next  instant  Mac- 
kenzie was  up  and  about.  The  Bear 
lay  motionless,  but  across  the  fire  was 
the  Shaman,  drawing  a  second  arrow. 

Mackenzie's  knife  leaped  short  in 
the  air.  He  caught  the  heavy  blade 
by  the  point.  There  was  a  flash  of 
light  as  it  spanned  the  fire.  Then  the 
Shaman,  the  hilt  alone  appearing 
without  his  throat,  swayed  a  moment 
and  pitched  forward  into  the  glowing 
embers. 

Click!  click! — the  Fox  had  pos- 
sessed himself  of  Thling-Tinneh's  rifle 
and  was  vainly  trying  to  throw  a  shell 


into  place.  But  he  dropped  it  at  the 
sound  of  Mackenzie's  laughter. 

"So  the  Fox  has  not  learned  the 
way  of  the  plaything?  He  is  yet  a 
woman.  Come!  Bring  it,  that  I  may 
show  thee!" 

The  Fox  hesitated. 

"Come,  I  say!" 

He  slouched  forward  like  a  beaten 
cur. 

"Thus,  and  thus;  so  the  thing  is 
done." 

A  shell  flew  into  place,  and  the  trig- 
ger was  at  cock  as  Mackenzie  brought 
it  to  shoulder. 

"The  Fox  has  said  great  deeds 
were  afoot  this  night,  and  he  spoke 
true.  There  have  been  great  deeds, 
yet  least  among  them  were  those  of 
the  Fox.  Is  he  still  intent  to  take 
Zarinska  to  his  lodge?  Is  he  minded 
to  tread  the  trail  already  broken  by 
the  Shaman  and  the  Bear?  No? 
Good!" 

Mackenzie  turned  and  drew  his 
knife  from  the  priest's  throat. 

"Are  any  of  the  young  men  so 
minded?  If  so,  the  Wolf  will  take 
them  by  two  and  three  till  none  are 
left.  No?  Good!  Thling-Tinneh,  I 
now  give  thee  this  rifle  a  second  time. 
If,  in  the  days  to  come,  thou  shouldst 
journey  to  the  Country  of  the  Yukon, 
know  thou  that  there  shall  always  be 
a  place  and  much  food  by  the  fire  of 
the  Wolf.  The  night  is  now  passing 
into  the  day.  I  go,  but  I  may  come 
again.  And  for  the  last  time  remem- 
ber the  Law  of  the  Wolf!" 

He  was  supernatural  in  their  sight 
as  he  rejoined  Zarinska.  She  took  her 
place  at  the  head  of  the  team,  and  the 
dogs  swung  into  motion.  A  few  mo- 
ments later  they  were  swallowed  up 
by  the  ghostly  forest.  Till  now  Mac- 
kenzie had  waited;  he  slipped  into  his 
snow-shoes  to  follow. 

"Has  the  Wolf  forgotten  the  five 
long  plugs?" 

Mackenzie  turned  upon  the  Fox  an- 
grily; then  the  humor  of  it  struck  him. 

"I  will  give  thee  one  short  plug." 

"As  the  Wolf  sees  fit,"  meekly  re- 
sponded the  Fox,  stretching  out  his 
hand. 


The  Divine  Flan  of  the  Ages 

Earth's  Dark  Night  of  Weeping  to  Terminate  in  a  Morning  of  Joy 

The  first  installment  of  a  Series  of  Articles  from  the  pen  of  the  late 
Pastor    Russell,    Prepared    Specially    for    the    Overland  Monthly 


THE  TITLE,  "The  Divine  Plan 
of  the  Ages,"  suggests  progres- 
sion in  the  outworking  of  the 
Divine  arrangement  of  things, 
foreknown  to  our  God  and  orderly.  We 
believe  that  the  teachings  of  Divine 
Revelation  can  be  seen  to  be  both 
beautiful  and  harmonious  from  this 
standpoint  and  from  no  other. 

The  period  in  which  sin  has  been 
permitted  has  been  a  dark  night  to  hu- 
manity, never  to  be  forgotten;  but  the 
glorious  Day  of  Righteousness  and 
Divine  favor,  to  be  ushered  in  by 
Messiah,  who  as  the  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness shall  arise  with  healing  in  His 
wings  and  shine  fully  and  clearly  into 
and  upon  all,  bringing  life,  health  and 
blessing,  will  more  than  counterbal- 
ance the  dreadful  night  of  weeping, 
sighing,  pain,  sickness  and  death,  in 
which  the  groaning  creation  has  been 
so  long.  Thus  man's  experience  under 
the  reign  of  sin  and  death,  and  his  ul- 
timate deliverance  in  a  New  Dispen- 
sation, is  definitely  referred  to  by  the 
prophet,  "Weeping  may  endure  for  a 
night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  Morning." 
— Psa.  30:5. 

The  fact  that  the  greater  portion  of 
the  civilized  world  to-day  is  plunged 
into  the  most  cruel  and  horrible  war  of 
history,  causing  unspeakable  suffering 
and  the  loss  of  millions  of  lives,  does 
not  prove  that  the  night-time  will  last 
forever,  or  that  the  Morning  will  never 
come.  To  the  contrary,  it  is  observed 
by  the  careful  student  of  prophecy  that 
the  great  European  war,  which  at  this 
writing  threatens  to  involve  also  the 
American  Continent,  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  world's  civilization,  is  but 
the  harbinger  of  a  new  System,  a  New 
Dispensation,  or  Order  of  things;  and 
portends  the  Morning-time  of  deliver- 
ance from  sin  and  death  about  to  dawn 
upon  humanity. 

The  great  Apostle  Paul  describes 
very  vividly  the  state  of  the  human 
family  under  the  curse — "The  whole 


creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in 
pain  together  until  now" — and  then  de- 
clares the  hope:  "For  the  earnest  ex- 
pectation of  the  creation  waiteth  for 
the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God." 
As  though  by  instinct  the  entire  crea- 
tion, while  it  groans  and  travails  in 
pain,  waits  for,  longs  for,  the  day,  call- 
ing it  the  Golden  Age;  yet  men  grope 
blindly,  because  not  aware  of  the  great 
Jehovah's  gracious  purposes.  But  the 
student  of  revelation  learns  that  his 
highest  conceptions  of  such  an  Age 
fall  far  short  of  what  the  reality  will 
be.  He  learns  that  the  great  Creator 
is  preparing  a  "feast  of  fat  things," 
which  will  astound  His  creatures,  and 
be  exceedingly,  abundantly,  beyond 
what  they  could  reasonably  ask  or  ex- 
pect. And  to  His  wondering  creatures, 
looking  at  the  length  and  breadth,  the 
height  and  depth  of  the  love  of  God, 
surpassing  all  expectation,  He  ex- 
plains, "My  thoughts  are  not  your 
thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways  My 
ways,  saith  the  Lord;  for  as  the  heav- 
ens are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are 
My  ways  higher  than  your  ways,  and 
My  thoughts  than  your  thoughts." — 
Isaiah  55:8,  9. 

Though  in  this  series  of  articles  we 
shall  endeavor,  and  we  trust  with  suc- 
cess, to  set  before  the  interested  and 
unbiased  reader  the  Plan  of  God  as  it 
relates  to  and  explains  the  past,  the 
present  and  the  future  of  His  dealings 
in  a  way  more  harmonious,  beautiful 
and  reasonable  than  is  generally  un- 
derstood, yet  that  this  is  the  result  of 
extraordinary  wisdom  or  ability  is 
positively  disclaimed.  It  is  the  light 
of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  in  this 
dawning  of  the  New  Era  that  reveals 
these  things  as  "Present  Truth,"  now 
due  to  be  appreciated  by  the  sincere — 
the  pure  in  heart.  The  promise  of  the 
great  Teacher  was,  "They  that  hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness  shall  be 
filled." 

Since   skepticism   is 'rife,  the  very 


426 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


foundation  of  true  religion,  and  the 
foundation  of  Truth,  is  questioned  of- 
ten, even  by  the  sincere.  We  are  en- 
deavoring therefore  to  uncover  enough 
of  the  foundation  upon  which  all  faith 
should  be  built — the  Word  of  God — 
to  give  confidence  and  assurance  in  its 
testimony,  even  to  the  unbeliever.  And 
we  trust  to  do  this  in  a  manner  that 
will  appeal  to  and  can  be  accepted  by 
reason  as  a  foundation.  Then  we 
shall  endeavor  to  build  upon  that  foun- 
dation the  teachings  of  Scripture,  in 
such  a  manner  that,  so  far  as  possible, 
purely  human  judgment  may  try  the 
squares  and  angles  of  these  teachings 
by  the  most  exacting  rules  of  justice 
which  it  can  command. 

How  to  Obtain  the  Harmony  of  the 
Scriptures. 

Believing  that  the  Scriptures  reveal 
a  consistent  and  harmonious  Plan, 
which,  when  seen,  must  commend  it- 
self to  every  sanctified  conscience, 
these  articles  are  written  in  the  hope 
of  assisting  all  honest,  Truth-hungry 
people,  by  suggesting  lines  of  thought 
which  harmonize  with  each  other  and 
with  the  inspired  Word.  Those  who 
recognize  the  Bible  as  the  Revelation 
of  God's  Plan  will  doubtless  agree  that, 
if  inspired  of  God,  its  teachings  must, 
when  taken  as  a  whole,  when  fully 
and  carefully  examined,  reveal  a  Plan 
harmonious  and  consistent  with  itself 
and  with  the  character  of  its  Divine 
Author.  Our  object  as  Truth-seekers 
should  be  to  obtain  the  complete,  har- 
monious whole  of  God's  revealed  Plan; 
and  this  as  God's  children  we  have  a 
right  to  expect,  since  it  is  promised 
that  the  Spirit  of  Truth  shall  guide  us 
into  all  Truth. — John  16:13. 

In  the  past  we  have  been  so  intent 
on  following  our  own  sectarian 
schemes  and  theories  that  we  have  neg- 
lected the  proper  study  of  the  Bible. 
Indeed,  not  until  our  day  has  such 
study  been  possible  for  the  masses. 
Only  now  do  they  have  in  convenient 
form  the  Word  of  God  in  every  fam- 
ily; and  only  now  is  education  so  gen- 
eral as  to  permit  all  to  read,  all  to 
study,  all  to  know  the  good  things  of 
the  Divine  promises. 


As  inquirers,  we  have  two  methods 
open  to  us.  One  is  to  seek  among  all 
the  views  suggested  by  the  various 
Church-sects,  and  to  take  from  each 
that  element  which  we  might  consider 
Truth — an  endless  task.  And  a  diffi- 
culty which  we  should  meet  by  this 
method  would  be,  that  if  our  judgment 
were  warped  and  twisted  or  our  preju- 
dices bent  in  any  direction — and  whose 
are  not? — these  difficulties  would  pre- 
vent our  correct  selection,  and  we 
might  choose  the  error  and  reject  the 
Truth. 

Again,  if  we  should  adopt  this  as 
our  method  we  should  lose  much,  be- 
cause Truth  is  progressive,  "shining 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day," 
to  those  who  search  for  it  and  walk  in 
its  light;  while  the  various  creeds  of 
the  various  sects  are  fixed  and  sta- 
tionary, and  were  made  so  centuries 
ago.  And  each  of  them  must  contain 
a  large  proportion  of  error,  since  each 
in  some  important  respects  contradicts 
the  others.  This  method  would  lead 
into  a  labyrinth  of  bewilderment  and 
confusion. 

The  other  method  is  to  divest  our 
minds  of  all  prejudice,  and  to  remem- 
ber that  none  can  know  more  about  the 
plans  of  God  than  He  has  revealed  in 
His  Word,  and  that  this  Word  was 
given  for  the  meek  and  lowly  of  heart ; 
and  as  such,  earnestly  and  sincerely 
seeking  its  guidance  and  instruction 
only,  we  shall  by  its  great  Author  be 
guided  to  an  understanding  of  it,  as  it 
becomes  due  to  be  understood,  by  mak- 
ing use  of  the  various  helps  divinely 
provided.    See  Eph.  4:11-16. 

As  an  aid  to  this  class  of  students, 
our  suggestions  are  especially  de- 
signed. It  will  be  noticed  that  our 
references  are  to  Scripture  only,  ex- 
cept where  secular  history  may  be 
called  in  to  prove  the  fulfillment  of 
Scripture  statements.  Since  modern 
theology  denies  the  inspiration  of  the 
Bible — the  miracles  and  prophecies  of 
both  the  Old  and  New  Testaments — as 
well  as  discredits  the  historical  fea- 
tures, we  can  give  no  weight  to  the  tes- 
timony of  modern  theologians,  and  that 
of    the    so-called    Early    Fathers    is 


THE  DIVINE  PLAN  OF  THE  AGES 


427 


omitted.  Many  of  them  have  testified 
in  harmony  with  thoughts  herein  ex- 
pressed; but  we  believe  it  to  be  a  com- 
mon failing  of  the  present  and  all 
times  for  men  to  believe  certain  doc- 
trines because  others  did  so  in  whom 
they  had  confidence.  This  is  mani- 
festly a  fruitful  source  of  error,  for 
many  good  people  have  believed  and 
taught  error  in  all  good  conscience. 
(Acts  26:9.)  Truth-seekers  should 
empty  their  vessels  of  the  muddy  wat- 
ers of  tradition  and  fill  them  at  the 
Fountain  of  Truth — God's  Word.  And 
no  religious  teaching  should  have 
weight  except  as  it  guides  the  Truth- 
seeker  to  that  Fountain. 
The  Angels  Desire  to  Look  into  the 
Revealed  Purposes  of  God. 

We  have  no  apology  to  offer  for 
treating  many  subjects  usually  neg- 
lected by  Christians — among  others, 
the  Second  Coming  of  our  Lord,  and 
the  prophecies  and  symbolisms  of  the 
Old  and  the  New  Testaments.  No  sys- 
tem of  theology  should  be  presented 
or  accepted  which  overlooks  or  omits 
the  most  prominent  features  of  Scrip- 
ture teaching.  We  trust,  however,  that 
a  wide  distinction  will  be  recognized 
between  the  earnest,  sober  and  rever- 
ent study  of  prophecy  and  other  Scrip- 
tures, in  the  light  of  accomplished  his- 
toric facts,  to  obtain  conclusions  which 
sanctified  common  sense  can  approve, 
and  a  too  common  practice  of  general 
speculation,  which,  when  applied  to 
Divine  prophecy,  is  too  apt  to  give 
loose  rein  to  wild  theory  and  vague 
fancy.  Those  who  fall  into  this  dan- 
gerous habit  generally  develop  into 
prophets  ( ?)  instead  of  prophetic  stu- 
dents. 

It  was  the  inspired  St.  Peter  who 
urged  us  to  take  heed  to  the  more  sure 
word  of  prophecy.  (2  Pet.  1:19.)  No 
work  is  more  noble  and  ennobling  than 
the  reverent  study  of  the  revealed  pur- 
poses of  God — "which  things  the  an- 
gels desire  to  look  into."  (1  Pet.  1 :12.) 
The  fact  that  God's  wisdom  provided 
prophecies  of  the  future  as  well  as 
statements  regarding  the  present  and 
the  past,  is  of  itself  a  reproof  by  Jeho- 
vah of  the  foolishness  of  some  of  His 


children,  who  have  excused  their  ig- 
norance and  neglect  of  the  study  of 
His  Word  by  saying,  "There  is  enough 
in  the  fifth  chapter  of  Matthew  to  save 
any  man." 

Nor  should  we  suppose  that  proph- 
ecy was  given  merely  to  satisfy  curi- 
osity concerning  the  future.  Its  ob- 
ject evidently  is  to  make  the  conse- 
crated child  of  God  acquainted  with 
his  Father's  plans,  thus  to  enlist  his 
interest  and  sympathy  in  the  same 
plans  and  to  enable  him  to  regard  both 
the  present  and  the  future  from  God's 
standpoint.  When  thus  interested  in 
the  Lord's  work,  he  may  serve  both 
with  the  spirit  and  with  the  under- 
standing; not  as  a  servant  merely,  but 
as  a  child  and  heir.  Revealing  to  such 
what  shall  counteract  the  influence  of 
what  now  is.  The  effect  of  careful 
study  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
strengthening  to  faith  and  stimulating 
to  holiness. 

The  World  in  Ignorance  of  God's  Plan 
For  Its  Recovery. 

In  ignorance  of  the  Plan  of  God  for 
the  recovery  of  the  world  from  sin  and 
its  consequences,  and  under  the  false 
idea  that  the  Nominal  Church  in  its 
present  condition  is  the  sole  agency  for 
its  accomplishment,  the  condition  of 
the  world  to-day,  after  the  Gospel  has 
been  preached  for  nearly  nineteen  cen- 
turies, is  such  as  to  awaken  serious 
doubt  in  every  thoughtful  mind  so  mis- 
informed. And  such  doubts  are  not 
easily  surmounted  with  anything  short 
of  the  truth.  In  fact,  to  every  thought- 
ful observer,  one  of  two  things  must 
be  apparent:  either  the  Church  has 
made  a  great  mistake  in  supposing 
that  in  the  present  Age,  and  in  her 
present  condition,  her  office  has  been 
to  convert  the  world,  or  else  God's 
Plan  has  been  a  failure.  Which  horn 
of  the  dilemma  shall  we  accept  ?  Many 
have  accepted,  and  many  more  doubt- 
less will  accept,  the  latter,  and  swell 
the  ranks  of  infidelity,  either  covertly 
or  openly.  To  assist  such  as  are  fall- 
ing thus  is  one  of  the  objects  of  these 
presentations. 

We  are  submitting  herewith  a  dia- 
gram, published  by  the  "London  Mis- 


428 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


sionary  Society"  a  number  of  years  fresh  missionary  efforts  in  many  di- 

ago,  and  afterwards     in    the     United  rections,  of  one  country  after  another 

States,  by  the  "Woman's  Presbyterian  opening  to  the  Gospel,  and  of  large 

Board  of  Missions."    It  is  termed  "A  sums  being  devoted  to  its  spread;  and 

Mute   Appeal   on   Behalf   of   Foreign  we  get  the  idea  that  adequate  efforts 

Missions."    It  tells  a  sad  tale  of  dark-  are  being  made  for  the  evangelization 

ness  and  ignorance  of  the  only  Name  of  the  nations  of  the  earth.    It  is  esti- 


given  under  heaven  or  among  men 
whereby  we  must  be  saved.  A  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  journal  published  this  same  dia- 
gram, and  commenting  on  it,  said: 

"The  ideas  of  some  are  misty  and  in- 
definite in  regard  to  the  world's  spirit- 
ual condition.  We  hear  of  glorious  re- 
vival work  at  home  and   abroad,  of 

DIAGRAM 

Exhibiting  the  Actual  and   Relative  Numbers  of  Mankind  Classified 
According  to  Religion. 


Heathen, 

856 
millions. 


Mohamme- 
dans, 
170 
millions. 


Jews, 

8 

millions. 


Roman 
Catholics, 

IQO 

millions. 


Greek 
Catholics, 

84 
millions. 


mated  to-day  that  the  world's  popu- 
lation is  1,000,000,000;  and  by  study- 
ing the  diagram  we  will  see  that  con- 
siderably more  than  one-half — nearly 
two-thirds — are   still    totally  heathen, 
and  that  the  remainder     are     mostly 
either  followers   of     Mohammed     or 
members     of     those     great     apostate 
churches   whose   reli- 
gion  is   practically  a 
Christianized      idoKa- 
try,     and     who     can 
scarcely  be     said     to 
hold     or     teach     the 
Gospel  of  Christ. 

"Even  as  to  the  116 
millions    of    nominal 
Protestants,     we     re- 
member how  large  a 
proportion     in     Ger- 
many,    England    and 
this       country     have 
lapsed   into   infidelity 
— a  darkness  which  is 
deeper,    if    possible, 
than     even    that    of 
heathenism. 

And  how  many  are 
blinded  by  supersti- 
tion or  buried  in  ex- 
treme ignorance ;  so 
that  while  8  millions 
of  Jews  still  reject 
Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
and  while  more  than 
300  millions  who 
bear  His  name  have 
apostatized  from  His 
faith  170  millions 
more  bow  before  Mo- 
hammed, and  the  vast 
remainder  of  man- 
kind are  to  this  day 
worshipers  of  stocks 
and  stones,  of  their 
own  ancestors,  of 
dead  heroes  or  of  the 
Devil  himself;  all  in 


Protest- 
ants, 
116 
millions. 


THE  DIVINE  PLAN  OF  THE  AGES 


429 


one  way  or  another  worshiping  and 
serving  the  creature  instead  of  the 
Creator,  who  is  God  over  all,  blessed 
forever.  Is  there  not  enough  here  to 
sadden  the  heart  of  thoughtful  Christ- 
ians?" 

Truly  this  is  a  sad  picture!  And 
though  the  diagram  represents  shades 
of  difference  between  heathens,  Mo- 
hammedans and  Jews,  all  are  alike  in 
total  ignorance  of  Christ.  Some  might 
at  first  suppose  that  this  view  with 
reference  to  the  proportion  of  Christ- 
ians is  too  dark  and  rather  overdrawn, 
but  we  think  the  reverse  of  this.  It 
shows  nominal  Christianity  in  the 
brightest  colors  possible.  For  be  it  re- 
membered that  a  large  proportion  of 
church  members  always  numbered  in 
the  reckoning  are  young  children  and 
infants. 

Especially  is  this  the  case  in  the 
countries  of  Europe.  In  many  of  these 
children  are  reckoned  church  members 
from  earliest  infancy.  In  fact,  in  such 
countries  as  Germany  and  Great  Brit- 
ain, ninety-six  per  cent  of  the  entire 
population  is  classified  as  Christian; 
and  in  Italy  the  whole  population  is 
considered  Christian.  It  is  claimed 
that  when  that  portion  of  our  globe 
termed,  "The  Heathen  World,"  is 
brought  to  the  condition  of  Christian- 
ity represented  by  these  European  na- 
tions, it  will  mean  that  the  whole  world 
will  have  been  converted — and  that 
our  Lord's  Prayer,  "Thy  Kingdom 
come,"  will  have  been  answered. 

Nay,  verily!  What  sane  person  dis- 
ciplined in  the  spirit  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  who  remembers  that  Jesus  said, 
"Love  one  another,"  will  claim  that 
the  hordes  of  Europe  who  are  viciously 
flying  at  each  other's  throats  daily 
with  deadly  weapons,  and  slaughter- 
ing each  other  by  the  millions,  are 
really  followers  of  the  Savior!  Then 
from  this  standpoint  is  it  not  seen  that 
the  116,000,000  put  down  as  Protestant 
Christians  is  far  in  excess  of  the  true 
number!  Sixteen  millions  would,  we 
believe,  more  nearly  express  the  num- 
ber of  professing  church  members  of 
adult  years;  and  one  million  would, 
we  fear,  be  far  too  liberal  an  estimate 


of  the  "little  flock,"  the  sanctified  in 
Christ  Jesus,  "who  walk,  not  after  the 
flesh,  but  after  the  Spirit." 

Creeds  Teach  That  These  Billions  are 
on  Straight  Road  to  Eternal  Torment. 

But  dark  as  this  picture  appears,  it 
is  not  the  darkest  picture  that  fallen 
humanity  presents.  The  cut  foregoing 
represents  only  the  living  generations. 
When  we  consider  the  fact  that  cen- 
tury after  century  of  the  six  thousand 
years  has  swept  away  other  vast  mul- 
titudes, nearly  all  of  whom  were  en- 
veloped in  the  same  ignorance  and 
sin,  how  dark  is  the  scene!  Viewed 
from  the  popular  standpoint,  it  is  truly 
an  awful  picture! 

The  various  creeds  of  to-day  teach 
that  all  of  these  billions  of  humanity, 
ignorant  of  the  Only  Name  under 
heaven  by  which  we  must  be  saved, 
are  on  the  straight  road  to  everlasting 
torment;  and  not  only  so,  but  that  all 
of  those  116,000,000  Protestants,  ex- 
cept the  very  few  saints,  are  sure  of 
the  same  fate.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
those  who  believe  such  awful  things 
of  Jehovah's  plans  and  purposes 
should  be  zealous  in  forwarding  mis- 
sionary enterprises!  The  wonder  is, 
that  they  are  not  frenzied  by  it.  Real- 
ly to  believe  thus,  and  to  appreciate 
such  conclusions,  would  rob  life  of 
every  pleasure  and  shroud  in  gloom 
every  bright  prospect  of  nature. 

To  show  that  we  have  not  misstated 
"Orthodoxy"  on  the  subject  of  the 
fate  of  the  heathen,  we  quote  from  the 
pamphlet  in  which  the  diagram  was 
published — "A  Mute  Appeal  on  Behalf 
of  Foreign  Missions."  Its  concluding 
sentence  is,  "Evangelize  the  mighty 
generations  abroad — the  one  thousand 
million  souls  who  are  dying  in  Christ- 
less  despair  at  the  rate  of  100,000  a 
day." 

The  Gross  Darkness  Lighted  by  the 
Bow  of  Promise. 
But  though  this  is  the  gloomy  out- 
look from  the  standpoint  of  human 
creeds,  the  Scriptures  present  a 
brighter  view,  which  it  is  the  purpose 
of  these  pages  to  point  out.  Instructed 
by  the  Word,  we  cannot  believe  that 


430 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


God's  Great  Plan  of  Salvation  was 
ever  designed  to  be,  or  ever  will  be, 
such  a  failure.  It  will  be  a  relief  to 
the  perplexed  child  of  God  to  notice 
that  the  Prophet  Isaiah  foretells  this 
very  condition  of  things,  and  its  rem- 
edy, saying:  "Behold,  the  darkness 
shall  cover  the  earth,  and  gross  dark- 
ness the  people;  but  the  Lord  shall 
arise  upon  thee;  and  His  glory  shall 
be  seen  upon  thee.  And  the  Gentiles 
(heathen)  shall  come  to  thy  light." 

Not  only  have  the  continued  misery 
and  darkness  of  the  world  and  the 
slow  progress  of  Truth  been  a  mystery 
to  the  Church,  but  the  world  itself  has 
known  and  felt  its  condition.  Like  that 
which  enveloped  Egypt,  it  has  been  a 
darkness  that  could  be  felt.  In  evi- 
dence of  his,  note  the  spirit  of  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  clipped  from  a  Philadel- 
phia journal.  The  doubts  and  gloom 
intensified  by  the  clashing  creeds  of 
the  various  schools  had  not  yet  been 
dispelled  from  the  writer's  mind  by 
the  rays  of  Divine  Truth,  direct  from 
the  Word  of  God: 

"Life!  great  mystery!    Who  shall  say 
What  need  hath   God  for  this  poor 

clay? 
Formed  by  His  hand  with  potent  skill : 
Mind,  matter,  soul,  and  stubborn  will; 
Born  but  to  die:  sure  destiny — death. 
Then  where,  oh!  where  this    fleeting 

breath  ? 
Not  one  of  all  the  countless  throng, 
Who  lived  and  died  and  suffered  long, 
Returns  to  tell  the  great  design — 
The  future  which  is  yours  and  mine. 
We  plead,  O  God!  for  some  new  ray 
Of  light  for  guidance  on  our  way, 
Based  not  on  faith,  but  clearer  sight, 
Dispelling  these  dark  clouds  of  night, 
This  doubt,  this  dread,  this  trembling 

fear, 
This  thought  that  mars  our  blessings 

here. 
This  restless  mind,  with  bolder  sway, 
Rejects  the  dogmas  of  the  day 
Taught  by  jarring  sects  and  schools, 
To  fetter  reason  with  their  rules. 
We  seek  to  know  Thee  as  Thou  art — 
Our  place  with  Thee — and  then  the 

part 


We  play  in  this  stupendous  plan, 
Creator  infinite,  and  man. 
Lift  up  this  veil-obscuring  sight; 
Command  again,  "Let  there  be  Light!" 
Reveal  this  secret  of  Thy  throne; 
We  search  in  darkness  the  unknown." 

To  this  we  reply: 

"Life's  unsealed  mystery  soon   shall 

say 
What  joy  hath  God  in  this  poor  clay, 
Formed  by  His  hand  with  potent  skill, 
Stamped  with  His  image — mind  and 

will; 
Born  not  to  die — no,  a  second  birth 
Succeeds     the     sentence — "earth     to 

earth;" 
For  One  of  all  the  mighty  host, 
Who  lived  and  died  and  suffered  most, 
Arose  and  proved  God's  great  design — 
That  future,  therefore,  yours  and  mine. 
His  Word  discloses  this  new  ray 
Of  light  for  guidance  on  our  way, 
Based  now  on  faith,  but  sure  as  sight, 
Dispelling  these  dark  clouds  of  night: 
The  doubt,  the  dread,  the  trembling 

fear, 
The  thoughts  that  marred  our  blessings 

here. 
Now,  Lord,  these  minds  whose  bolder 

sway 
Reject  the  dogmas  of  to-day, 
Taught  by  jarring  sects  and  schools, 
Who  fetter  reason  with  their  rules, 
May  seek  and  know  Thee  as  Thou  art, 
Our  place  with  Thee,  and  then   the 

part 
We  play  in  this  stupendous  Plan — 
Creator  infinite,  and  man; — 
The  veil  uplifts,  revealing  quite, 
To  those  who  walk  in  Heaven's  light, 
The  glorious  Mystery  of  His  Throne, 
Hidden  from  ages,  now  made  known." 

In  view  of  the  clearer  light  now 
shining  from  the  pages  of  Divine  Rev- 
elation, may  we  not  surely  believe  that 
such  a  blessing  is  now  coming  to  the 
world  through  the  opening  of  the  Di- 
vine Word?  It  is  our  trust  that  this 
and  succeeding  articles  may  prove  to 
be  a  part  of  such  blessing  and  re- 
vealing. 

(To  be  continued.) 


Personal  Qualities  of  Jack  London 


By  John  D.  Barry 


IT  WAS  terrible  about  Jack  London, 
wasn't  it?"  said  the  barber,  as  I 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Did  you  know  him?"  I  asked. 

"I've  known  him  for  years.  When- 
ever he  was  staying  near  here  for  a 
few  days  he'd  drop  in,  generally  every 
day.  He  was  always  in  a  rush,  and 
he  never  let  me  shave  him  more  than 
once  over.  It  was  funny  when  I  was 
cutting  his  hair  to  see  how  particular 
he  was.  He  wanted  it  done  just  so; 
not  fancy,  you  know,  but  rough.  He 
didn't  want  to  look  fussed  up.  I  guess 
he  had  a  way  of  his  own.  Gee,  but 
how  he  did  enjoy  himself.  He  had  a 
good  time  every  minute.  When  he 
was  here  he  was  always  telling  stories 
and  talking  about  that  ranch  of  his. 
He  wanted  me  to  go  up  some  day  and 
see  it." 

Those  words  were  characteristic  of 
much  of  the  talk  going  on  about  Jack 
London  since  his  death.  After  his 
success,  when  he  might  have  become 
conventional  and  confine  himself  to 
the  paths  of  the  conventional,  he  re- 
mained independent  and  free.  He  en- 
joyed the  wide  variety  of  his  con- 
tacts. The  man  in  the  street  he  met 
with  as  much  pleasure  as  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth  that  he  was  privi- 
leged to  know  in  his  years  of  pros- 
perity, often  with  much  more  plea- 
sure. For  he  had  his  moments  of  em- 
barrassment. There  were  people  that 
could  afflict  him  with  their  over-refine- 
ment and  their  importance.  He  liked 
best  to  be  among  those  he  could  be  on 
equal  terms  with,  bursting  into  loud 
talk  and  laughter. 

And  yet  he  enjoyed  being  quiet,  too. 
His  love  of  retirement  and  peace  were 
among  the  forces  that  led  him  away 
from  the  life  of  cities,  where  he  might 
have  been  a  great  figure,  into  the  com- 
parative solitude  of  the  country.  But 
he  could  not  escape  being  a  great  fig- 
ure everywhere.     "He  will  be  missed 


in  the  Valley  of  the  Moon,"  said  one 
of  his  friends,  who  had  long  had  him 
for  a  neighbor.  "He  was  a  big  influ- 
ence there.  His  enterprise  and  en- 
ergy were  an  inspiration  to  the  whole 
valley." 

Socialist  as  he  was,  lover  of  democ- 
racy, democrat  not  only  in  his  theories 
but  in  his  feeling  as  well,  Jack  London 
enjoyed  being  the  possessor  of  a  great 
domain.  He  took  pleasure  in  sitting 
on  his  high  cart  and  driving  a  string 
of  horses  through  gateway  after  gate- 
way, his  round,  boyish  face  glowing 
under  his  gray  felt  sombrero.  Some 
day  he  expected  to  reap  a  great  har- 
vest from  the  thousands  of  eucalyptus 
trees  that  he  had  planted  there.  He 
took  delight  in  watching  their  growth. 

Like  many  literary  men,  he  had  a 
fondness  for  reading  aloud.  His  own 
stories  he  read  in  a  way  that  was  at- 
tractive on  account  of  its  spontaneity 
and  freedom  from  self-consciousness. 
Better  than  his  own  stories  he  liked 
to  read  the  verses  of  George  Sterling. 
When  I  last  saw  him  he  spoke  with 
enthusiasm  of  the  lyrics  that  Sterling 
had  been  writing,  remarkable  for  their 
simplicity  and  grace  of  diction  and  for 
their  delicacy  of  thought  and  feeling. 

If  Jack  London  had  been  given  his 
way  in  the  writing  of  fiction,  he  would 
not  have  devoted  himself  so  much  to 
adventure.  He  was  greatly  drawn  to 
those  psychological  themes  that  had  a 
special  interest  for  a  few  readers  and 
no  interest  whatsoever  for  the  multi- 
tude. Now  and  then  he  would  venture 
on  this  forbidden  ground,  only  to  find 
that  some  of  his  warmer  admirers 
among  magazine  editors,  would  become 
obdurate.  Even  at  the  height  of  his 
fame  he  wrote  short  stories  that  could 
not  get  into  the  magazines  and  that  he 
could  get  to  the  public  only  between 
the  covers  of  a  book. 

So  far  as  the  drama  was  concerned, 
he  used  to  say  that  he  had  never  had 


432 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


any  luck.  Other  writers  would  often 
ask  for  permission  to  dramatize  his 
stories,  and  several  of  them  succeeded 
in  getting  dramatic  versions  on  the 
stage.  But  none  of  them  greatly  pros- 
pered. When  moving  pictures  be- 
came popular  it  looked  as  if,  among 
contemporary  American  writers,  Jack 
London  would  reap  the  richest  har- 
vest. And  he  might  have  been  won- 
derfully successful  if  the  moving  pic- 
ture rights  of  his  stories  had  been 
more  adroitly  marketed.  Many  fine 
pictures  were  made  from  his  work, 
and  they  were  seen  by  hundreds  of 
thousands;  but  what  the  author  de- 
rived from  them  consisted  largely  of 
vexatious  law  suits. 

There  probably  never  was  a  more 
photographed  author  than  Jack  Lon- 
don. He  took  boyish  delight  in  see- 
ing himself  reproduced  in  a  vast  num- 
ber of  poses.  Visitors  at  his  ranch  on 
leaving,  if  they  expressed  an  interest 
in  photographs,  were  likely  to  go  away 
with  a  half  dozen  or  more  in  their 
pockets.  His  closest  friends  have 
photographs  of  him  in  scant  costume, 


or  no  costume  at  all,  taken  for  the  pur- 
pose of  displaying  his  extraordinary 
muscular  development.  The  lifetime 
of  roughing  it  had  given  him  a  phy- 
sique that  seemed  capable  of  resisting 
any  kind  of  attack,  and  yet  he  sub- 
jected himself  to  ways  of  living  that 
were  too  much,  even  for  his  vitality. 
Of  those  ways  he  spoke  himself  with 
greatest  frankness  in  his  autobio- 
graphical books. 

In  spite  of  his  claim  that  he  did  not 
like  the  kind  of  writing  he  had  to  do 
to  make  money,  Jack  London  never- 
theless enjoyed  the  literary  career  in 
itself,  and  all  that  it  brought  in  the 
way  of  interest  and  friends.  But 
when  his  day's  work  was  done  he  did 
not  wish  to  bother  over  it  again.  He 
was  very  different  from  those  writers 
who  were  continually  revising.  The 
reading  of  proof  he  regarded  as  a 
great  bore,  and  he  was  glad  to  have 
friends  whose  judgment  he  trusted 
takethe  burden  off  his  mind.  Some 
of  his  books  he  would  allow  to  go  be- 
fore the  public  without  looking  over 
them  in  type. 


Are  There  Any  Thrills  Left  in  Life? 

By  Jack  London 

When  I  lie  on  the  placid  beach  at  Waikiki,  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  as 
I  did  last  year,  and  a  stranger  introduces  himself  as  the  person  who  settled 
the  estate  of  Captain  Keeler;  and  when  that  stranger  explains  that  Captain 
Keeler  came  to  his  death  by  having  his  head  chopped  off  and  smoke- 
cured  by  the  cannibal  head-hunters  of  the  Solomon  Islands  in  the  West 
South  Pacific ;  and  when  I  remember  back  through  the  several  brief  years, 
to  when  Captain  Keller,  a  youth  of  22  and  master  of  the  schooner  Eugenie, 
was  sailed  deep  with  me  on  many  a  night,  and  played  poker  to  the  dawn, 
and  took  hasheesh  with  me  for  the  entertainment  of  the  wild  crew  of  Pen- 
duffryn;  and  who,  when  I  was  wrecked  on  the  outer  reef  of  Malu,  on  the 
island  of  Malaita,  with  1,500  naked  Bushmen  and  head-hunters  on  the 
beach  armed  with  horse-pistols,  Snider  rifles,  tomahawks,  spears,  war- 
clubs  and  bows  and  arrows,  and  with  scores  of  war-canoes,  filled  with  salt- 
water head-hunters  and  man-eaters  holding  their  place  on  the  fringe  of 
the  breaking  surf  alongside  of  us,  only  four  whites  of  us,  including  my 
wife,  on  board — when  Captain  Keller  burst  through  the  rain-squalls  to 
windward,  in  a  whale-boat,  with  a  crew  of  negroes,  himself  rushing  to  our 
rescue,  bare-footed  and  bare-legged,  clad  in  loin-cloth  and  six-penny  un- 
dershirt, a  brace  of  guns  strapped  about  his  middle — I  say,  when  I  remem- 
ber all  this,  that  adventure  and  romance  are  not  dead  as  I  lie  on  the  placid 
beach  of  Waikiki. 


Recollections  of  the  Late  Jack  London 


By  Edgar  Lucien  Larkin 


ON     SEPTEMBER     13,  1906,  I 
spent  a  night  at  Jack  London's 
home  in  Sonoma.     The  house 
was  crowded  with  guests.  Jack 
took  me  to  the  place  he  had  chosen 
for  me  .  .  . 

Jack  opened  the  door  of  his  den, 
bade  me  enter,  and  pointed  to  a  huge 
arm  chair.  He  lighted  up,  said  a  few 
pleasant  words,  opened  a  door  looking 
into  the  other  half  of  the  building, 
showed  me  his  bed,  bade  me  good- 
night. And  when  all  alone  I  tore  up 
things  in  an  exploration  exercise.  I 
was  in  one  of  the  greatest  literary  cen- 
ters of  the  world.  The  working  table 
was  wide  and  long.  It  was  heaped 
up  with  an  incredible  stock  of  writing 
paper  of  varying  sizes,  pens  by  the 
gross,  pencils,  not  one  well  sharpened, 
quart  bottles  of  ink,  sheets  of  postage 
stamps  and  the  like. 

But  see  these  things,  stories  almost 
finished,  others  half,  a  third  or  fourth 
written;  tense,  exceedingly  dramatic 
humanity  plots  and  plans  of  other 
writings;  sketches  for  illustrations  of 
books,  highly  ideal,  letters  in  heaps 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  and  from 
many  publishers. 

I  was  glad  there  was  no  room  for  me 
in  the  house. 

*  *  * 

There!  I  heard  a  sweetly  sad  and 
solemn  bell,  tuneful  bell,  then  another, 
and  soon  another,  no  two  sounding  the 
same  note.  But  they  had  been  at- 
tuned by  a  master  of  harmonics.  They 
were  three  sacred  Korean  temple  ser- 
vice bells  secured  when  Mr.  London 
was  Russian- Japanese  war  correspond- 
ent. They  had  been  fastened  to  twigs. 
The  well  known  "Valley  of  the  Moon" 
breeze,  just  in  from  the  ocean,  swayed 


the  branches  and  rang  them  with  deli- 
cate, excessively  harmonic  notes.  But 
I  didn't  know  they  were  there. 

Finally  a  gust  caused  one  to  strike 
the  window  pane.  I  explored  and 
solved  this  apparently  esoteric  mys- 
tery. Esoteric,  indeed,  for  the  bells 
had  been  in  use,  maybe,  for  centuries, 
in  archaic  Asiatic  mysteries  greater 
than  those  of  Eleusis  in  Greece. 

*  *  * 

On  a  shelf  across  a  corner  above  the 
chairback  I  counted  thirteen  books.  I 
arose  and  took  them  down,  one  by  one, 
looked  at  their  dates.  They  had  all 
been  written  by  Mr.  London  within 
five  years.  He  was  born  in  San  Fran- 
cisco on  January  12, 1876.  I  was  look- 
ing them  over  at  1  a.  m.,  September 
14,  1906.  Go  do  this  work,  and  you 
will  begin  to  sense  the  true  meaning 
of  the  word  work. 

There  were  Mr.  London's  Arctic  and 
Klondike  outfits,  curios  from  Asia  and 
many  things  belonging  to  his  dogs  for 
their  comfort  in  cold. 

No  matter  where  the  reader  of  these 
lines  may  be,  it  is  an  honor  for  him  to 
love  our  brothers,  the  animals,  as  did 
their  well  known  friend  Jack.  Do  you 
suppose  for  an  instant  that  Jack  Lon- 
don would  rise,  brace  himself  and 
then  jerk  and  twist  steel  bits  against 
quivering  flesh,  the  mouths  of  his  be- 
loved horses? 

Here  I  was  in  a  world  of  pure  litera- 
ture— story,  drama — these  that  rock 
the  soul  like  the  rocking  of  a  baby's 
cradle.  I  could  not  wait  longer.  I 
seized  Jack's  pen  and  a  lot  of  paper  at 
1 :40  and  "wrote  a  piece"  for  the  Ex- 
aminer, which  was  published  a  few 
days  later.  Then  to  Jack's  bed  at  3 :15 
a.  m. 


434 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Breakfast  early,  a  few  words  for  the 
ranch  employees,  and  they  were  glad 
to  be  laborers  on  land  owned  by  Jack 
London,  an  employer  kind  to  the  ex- 
treme to  man  and  beast. 

Then  the  guests  to  the  porch,  and 
Mr.  London  entertained  us  with  the 
most  fascinating  conversation.  And 
we  talked  some. 

Then  out  came  Charmian.  She 
broke  up  the  party  in  one  minute,  and 
without  saying  one  word.  Silently  she 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  her  husband, 
then  she  looked  at  each  of  her  guests. 
We  knew,  and  we  went.  It  was  time, 
8 :30  a.  m.,  for  Mr.  London  to  go  to  the 
den  and  write.  Not  a  person  in  So- 
noma County  would  ask  Charmian's 
permission  to  interrupt  Mr.  London. 
None  could  see  the  little  16  feet 
square,  9  feet  high,  California  red- 
wood building,  even  if  passing  within 
twenty  feet,  so  completely  was  it  hid- 
den by  the  luxuriant  California  un- 
dergrowth, chapparal,  vines  and  trees. 

We  all  held  the  forenoon  to  be  sa- 
cred to  Mr.  London.  That  one  look  of 
Charmian  was  enough.  He  "skipped," 
went  to  the  edge  of  the  wildwood, 
lifted  a  great  hanging  vine,  bent  be- 
neath and  vanished.  I  saw  a  pile  of 
proof,  just  as  sent  from  a  publisher. 
At  once  I  took  it,  plunged  into  the 
wildwood,  sat  on  a  log,  motionless, 
from  8:40  to  11  a.  m.     I  read  every 


word.    It  was  the  wondrous  book,  "Be- 
fore Adam." 

*  *  * 

So  remarkable  was  the  personality 
of  Mr.  London  that  I  am  now  under 
high  pressure,  hour  by  hour,  all  the 
day  long  and  part  of  the  night,  writing 
a  book,  his  biography,  a  true  life  his- 
tory. It  will  soon  appear,  possibly  in 
January,  1917.  I  have  the  materials, 
the  accurate  data,  much  personal,  and 
the  book  as  it  grows  under  the  flying 
pen  is  fascinating  to  one  at  least — its 
writer.  I  wish  to  analyze  the  psychol- 
ogy of  these  mystic  sayings  of  Mr. 
London,  and  as  I  am  now  writing  this 
hurried  note,  I  express  the  hope  that 
analytical  words  will  come  when  I  am 
exploring  the  literary  labors  of  Cali- 
fornia's great  native  son,  Jack  London. 

And  now  the  telegraphs  of  the  world 
and  the  great  newspapers,  as  well  as 
small,  are  telling  of  the  sudden  passing 
of  the  soul  and  of  its  flight.  And  of 
the  burial  of  his  ashes  in  the  wondrous 
Sonoma  County,  his  beloved  "Valley 
of  the  Moon." 

His  funeral  services  were  of  the 
highest  religious  type  of  burial.  The 
rites  were  performed  by  his  widow, 
Charmian,  who  placed  flowers  all 
around  the  urn  containing  the  mortal 
remains  of  her  illustrious  husband. 
This  is  religious. 


Jack  London  on  the  Great  War 


I  believe  intensely  in  the  pro-Ally  side  of  the  war.  I  believe  that  the 
foundation  of  civilization  rests  on  the  pledge,  the  agreement,  and  the 
contract.  I  believe  that  the  present  war  is  being  fought  out  to  determine 
whether  or  not  men  in  the  future  may  continue  in  a  civilized  way  to  de- 
pend upon  the  word,  the  pledge,  the  agreement,  and  the  contract. 

As  regards  a  few  million  terrible  deaths,  there  is  not  so  much  of  the 
terrible  about  such  a  quantity  of  deaths  as  there  is  about  the  quantity  of 
deaths  that  occur  in  peace  times  in  all  countries  in  the  world,  and  that  has 
occurred  in  war  times  in  the  past.. 

Civilization  at  the  present  time  is  going  through  a  Pentecostal  cleansing 
that  can  only  result  in  good  for  humankind. 

JACK  LONDON. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 

By  DENISON  CLIFT 


(SYNOPSIS — Jan  Rantzau,  a  handsome  young  giant  among  the  ship- 
builders of  Gait,  joins  pretty  little  Jagiello  Nur  at  a  dance  in  the  Pavilion. 
There  the  military  police  seek  Felix  Skarga,  a  revolutionist.  Jagiello  fears 
that  a  lover,  Captain  Pasek,  of  the  Fusiliers,  will  betray  her  presence 
at  the  dance  to  old  Ujedski,  the  Jewess,  with  whom  Jagiello  lives  in  terror. 
Jan  rescues  Jagiello.  Later  when  Pasek  betrays  Jagiello  to  Ujedski,  and 
seeks  to  remain  at  the  hovel  with  her,  she  wounds  him  in  a  desperate  en- 
counter. Ujedski  turns  her  out,  and  she  marries  Jan.  Later  Pasek  indi- 
cates that  he  will  take  a  terrible  revenge  upon  the  bridal  pair.  A  son  is 
born  to  Jan,  and  he  idealizes  his  future  even  as  he  idealizes  the  growth 
of  the  world's  greatest  superdreadnaught,  the  Huascar,  on  the  ways  at 
Gait.  After  the  birth  of  Stefan,  Jagiello  tries  to  tell  Jan  of  her  sin  with 
Pasek,  but  her  strength  fails  her  at  the  supreme  moment.  Jan  buys  a  new 
house  for  Stefan's  sake.  Ujedski  visits  Jagiello  and  threatens  to  reveal 
her  sin  to  Jan.  Jagiello  goes  away,  and  Jan,  helpless,  calls  in  Ujedski 
to  care  for  Stefan.  Meanwhile,  Pasek  presses  the  military  tax  revenge- 
fully against  Jan.  Desperate,  Jan  works  day  and  night  to  meet  the  tax, 
but  at  last  loses  his  house  and  moves  into  Ujedski's  hovel.) 


Chapter  XXII. 

THE  Destroyer  of  Bureaucracies 
was  convinced  that  the  govern- 
ment's policy  of  militarism  was 
wrong.  The  government,  real- 
izing that  the  Destroyer  was  a  thinker, 
was  endeavoring  to  render  him  harm- 
less for  all  time. 

The  Destroyer  was  Felix  Skarga. 

Jan  had  saved  him  from  the  military 
police  five  years  before,  on  the  night 
that  Jagiello  had  come  into  his  life. 
Ever  after,  Skarga  had  sought  Jan. 

Skarga's  history  was  thrilling  and 
eventful. 

Before  him  his  father  had  been  an 
inventor.  He  had  discovered  a  new 
explosive,  smokeless,  noiseless,  the 
combination  of  properties  in  effect  ter- 
rible beyond  words.  For  years  he  had 
been  employed  in  the  gun  factory.  Be- 


ing ambitious  for  his  son  Felix,  he  had 
sent  him  to  be  educated  in  the  St. 
Amiens  University  at  Nagi-Aaros. 
There  Felix  had  specialized  in  politi- 
cal economy.  The  government  sought 
to  defend  the  extension  of  the  Carlma- 
nian  frontiers  by  militarism,  urging  the 
future  of  national  existence.  Felix,  the 
thinker,  did  not  agree  with  the  govern- 
ment. 

While  at  the  university  he  had  re- 
ceived letters  from  his  father  telling  of 
the  combination  of  lyddite  with  two 
compounds  that  formed  the  new  explo- 
sive. The  discovery  had  been  made 
by  accident.  In  one  letter  the  father 
had  detailed  the  formula.  Felix  had 
carefully  preserved  this  letter.  In  the 
weeks  that  followed,  his  father  wrote 
of  progress  in  using  certain  proportions 
of  three  chemicals  to  secure  maximum 
force.    Once  he  wrote :  "A  cylinder  of 


Copyright,  1 9 1 7,  by  Denison  Clift.      All  Rights  Reserved. 


436 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


lyddite  would  lift  the  Imperial  Palace 
a  thousand  feet  into  the  sky,  dispers- 
ing its  parts  so  that  not  a  square  inch 
of  the  original  stone  blocks  would  be 
found  intact." 

Obviously,  such  an  explosive  was  in 
high  demand  by  the  government.  It 
was  not  long  before  news  of  the  great 
discovery  leaked  out.  A  youth  who 
assisted  Skarga  in  the  gun  factory  first 
bruited  the  story.  It  quickly  reached 
the  ears  of  government  officials.  With- 
in a  week  a  deputation  waited  upon 
Skarga.  He  acknowledged  his  discov- 
ery, but  prudently  avoided  all  refer- 
ence to  the  formula.  The  government 
representatives  asked  for  a  demonstra- 
tion.    The  inventor  agreed  to  a  test. 

Ten  miles  south  of  Gait,  beyond  the 
rice  paddies,  an  ancient  fort  was  se- 
lected for  annihilation.  It  was  a  gar- 
rison that  had  once  sheltered  Napo- 
leon. Its  walls  were  four  feet  thick. 
The  central  building  was  two  hundred 
feet  long  by  over  a  hundred  feet  wide. 
The  walls  sloped  upward  and  back- 
ward, so  that  the  pile  resembled  a  pyr- 
amid severed  through  the  center.  The 
doors  opening  into  the  fort  were  of 
iron,  six  inches  thick.  Embrasures  for 
guns  dotted  the  gray  walls.  The  fort 
had  been  constructed  to  withstand 
siege  for  one  year.  It  had  accom- 
plished this  for  a  period  longer  than  a 
year.  Huge  fissures  told  of  artillery 
attack.  Sections  of  the  walls  had  been 
carried  away.  It  was  this  impregnable 
pile  that  Skarga  proposed  to  reduce  to 
atoms. 

The  deputation  consisted  of  the  Min- 
ister of  War  and  three  generals,  gaily 
dressed  in  service  uniforms. 

Skarga  entered  the  fort  by  the  east 
wall.  He  placed  a  crystalline  cylinder 
of  the  explosive  beneath  a  bastion,  at- 
tached a  long,  slow-burning  fuse.  He 
retreated  hastily,  closing  the  iron  door 
behind  him.  Then  mounting  horses, 
the  inventor  and  the  deputation  rode 
swiftly  away,  warning  all  peasants 
from  the  fields.  In  twenty  minutes 
they  were  a  mile  from  the  ancient  fort, 
in  the  seclusion  of  a  ravine.  Through 
field  glasses  the  five  men  watched  the 
fort.  An  instant  it  was  a  low-lying,  grim 


monolith — then  lo!  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  it  had  been  lifted  from  the 
earth,  it  had  folded  outward  and  up- 
ward, and  disappeared !  Where  it  had 
crouched  like  a  sphinx  in  the  sunshine 
a  few  moments  before,  it  had  now  van- 
ished, and  only  a  huge  cavern  in  the 
earth  marked  its  resting  place  for  near 
a  century.  The  air  was  filled  with  a 
muffled  detonation  as  the  great  blocks 
of  stone  ground  asunder. 

And  then  the  aftermath. 

It  rained  dust — dust  only.  There 
were  no  boulders,  no  fragments  of 
stone — only  the  constant  sifting  of  a 
fine,  powdery  mist,  not  unlike  a  sand- 
storm in  a  desert — a  golden  rain 
through  which  the  sun  burned  like  an 
orb  of  brass. 

And  after  this  sifting  of  atoms  for 
half  an  hour,  the  atmosphere  cleared 
again,  and  the  distant  mountains  be- 
came as  sharply  defined  as  in  the  still- 
ness of  dawn. 

Immediately  Skarga  was  elevated  in 
the  employ  of  the  government.  He 
was  offered  a  million  rubles  outright 
for  his  formula.  The  government  real- 
ized that  with  such  an  explosive  with 
which  to  create  bombs,  the  aeroplane 
corps  would  be  the  determining  factor 
in  modern  warfare.  Whole  cities  could 
be  wiped  from  the  map  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye. 

But  Skarga  refused  the  government's 
offer  until  he  could  further  perfect  the 
terrible  qualities  of  lyddite.  He  an- 
nounced that  he  would  then  sell  the 
formula  for  five  million  rubles.  The 
government  assented  to  the  price.  In 
another  year  the  explosive  was  per- 
fected. Skarga  announced  his  willing- 
ness to  meet  again  the  government's 
deputation. 

And  then  the  unexpected  happened. 

A  stroke  of  paralysis  reduced  the  old 
man  to  the  point  of  death.  On  his 
death  bed  an  agent  of  the  government 
sought  to  learn  his  formula.  But  the 
aged  inventor  was  unable  to  express 
himself,  and  the  secret  of  the  century 
died  with  him. 

Instantly  an  assault  was  made  upon 
his  private  papers.  His  letters  were 
read   through,  his   clothes   and   desk 


GUNS  OF  GALT  437 

were  searched;  not  a  move  was  over-  where  it  clinked  musically  and  glis- 

looked  to  find  some  writing  bearing  on  tened  in  the  golden  glow  of  the  sun. 

the  formula.    But  not  a  scratch  of  the  Felix  Skarga  spoke  in  the  low  ac- 

pen  revealed  the  precious  secret.  cents  of  one  fraught  with  emotion.    He 

After  a  month  of  futile  probing,  the  took  from  his  pocket  a  faded  bit  of 
government  agent  remembered  the  white  paper — his  father's  letter  which 
son.  A  courier  was  despatched  at  once  contained  the  formula, 
to  find  Felix  Skarga.  After  the  death  "It  gives  me  peculiar  pleasure  to 
of  his  father,  he  had  gone  south  into  hear  your  appreciation  of  my  dear 
Risegard.  Within  a  week  the  courier  father,  who,  I  need  scarcely  say,  meant 
found  him  sojourning  at  the  Stanislaus  more  than  life  to  me,"  he  began,  bold- 
Inn  near  Jarolsau.  There  he  admitted  ly  facing  the  deputation, 
to  the  courier  that  he  possessed  the  "That  he  was  noble  I  believe  in  truth ; 
formula  that  his  father  had  once  sent  that  he  was  fired  with  patriotism  as  he 
him.  interpreted  patriotism  I  also  believe. 

The  courier  was  overjoyed  at  the  When  he  invented  this  explosive  he  lit— 

success  of  his  mission.    Would  Skarga  tie  dreamed  of  the  havoc  he  might  cre- 

not,  for  the  good  of  his  beloved  Carl-  ate  in  the  centuries  to  come,  of  the  ter- 

mania,  part  with  the  formula  for  a  rible   sufferings  he  would  cause  hu- 

million    rubles  ?  .  .  .  Ah,    the  courier  manity.    Fortunately  I  am  the  only  liv- 

knew  that  patriotism  burned  loyally  in  ing  soul  who  possesses  the  secret  of 

the  breast  of  the  young  man  whose  this  awful  force.    This  letter  contains 

father  had  discovered  the  secret  that  the  few  words  that  would  make  possi- 

would  render  Carlmania  the  dominant  ble  the  destruction  of  whole  nations 

nation  of  the  earth!  overnight.    You  offer  me  a  million  ru- 

Felix  Skarga  agreed  to    meet    the  bles  for  it.     You  are  very  generous, 

deputation  that  had  once  waited  upon  But  I  am  not  selling  a  few  words  on  a 

his  father.    On  the  twelfth  of  August  scrap  of  paper;  I  am  selling  the  souls 

he  met  the  Minister  of  War  and  the  and  hearts  of  my  fellow  men;  I  am 

three  generals  in  the  big  dining-room  selling  the  flesh  and  blood  of  my  bro- 

of  the  Inn.     He  was  a  slender,  dark  thers  of  all  nations;  I  am  selling  the 

young  man,  and  in  his  eyes  glowed  a  pitiful  lives  of  the  toilers  of  the  world; 

fire  that  had  been  diversely  explained.  I  am  selling  that  which  will  bring  an- 

The  courier  held  it  to  be  the  fire  of  guish  to  mothers  and  destitution  to  lit- 

patriotism;  the  generals  maintained  it  tie  children — and  that,  my  friends,  is 


t» 


was  the  fire  of  greed.  not  mine  to  sell!' 

Stanislaus  Inn  was  surrounded  by  a  Quick  as  a  flash,  before  the  aston- 

great  courtyard  backed  by  a  sunlit  cas-  ished  generals  could  realize  what  was 

tie  wall.     In  the  ancient  dining-room  taking  place,  Felix  Skarga  tore  the 

the  five  men  gathered  around  an  oak  faded  paper  containing  the    precious 

table  before  a  cheerful  wood  fire,  and  formula  into  bits  and  cast  them  into 

the  Minister  of  War    addressed    the  the  blazing  fire.    An  instant  of  bright 

young  man.  flame,  and  the  secret  of  lyddite  was 

"Skarga,"  he  said,  "it  is  with  plea-  lost  to  the  world  forever. 

sure  that  we  greet  you  in  the  name  of  Angered,  like  a  pack  of  wolves,  the 

our  glorious  country,  and  offer  you  in  three  soldiers  threw  themselves  upon 

behalf  of  the  Emperor  these  million  Skarga.     Their  sabres  gleamed,  steel 

rubles  in  exchange  for  the  formula  of  ringing  against  steel,  in  their  mad  rush 

the  new  lyddite,  the  discovery  of  your  to  cut  him  down, 

noble  father."  But  prepared  for  such  an  attack,  the 

The  young  man  smiled.    The  door  youth  dashed  quickly  from  the  room 

opened,  and  two  fusiliers  bore  in  a  through  high  windows  leading  out  upon 

chest  of  gold.     The  Minister  opened  a  narrow  iron  balcony.    He  hurled  the 

the  chest,  took  out  a  bag  of  money  and  door  shut  in  the  faces  of  the  infuriated 

spread  the  yellow  pile  across  the  table,  generals.     They  burst  through,  shat- 


438 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


tering  the  glass  panes  with  their  sa- 
bres. But  too  late!  Skarga  braved 
death,  leaped  to  the  ground  and 
was  off  like  a  hare  under  the  castle 
walls.  No  trace  was  found  of  him  af- 
terward. 

Yet  he  was  known  to  be  in  Carl- 
mania,  and  from  time  to  time  the  mili- 
tary police  had  found  his  trail.  He  had 
become  a  Red — a  revolutionary  social- 
ist; he  devoted  his  life  to  fanning  into 
flame  the  smoldering  revolt  in  the 
hearts  of  his  countrymen  against  mili- 
tarism. 

So  he  became  known  to  the  govern- 
ment agents  as  the  "Firebrand." 

This  was  the  Felix  Skarga  whom  Jan 
had  unwittingly  saved  from  the  fusil- 
iers that  night  of  the  dance  in  the  pa- 
vilion. 

This  was  the  Felix  Skarga  who  was 
now  seeking  Jan. 

Chapter  XXIII. 

The  candles  in  all  the  houses  had 
long  ago  been  put  out.  There  were 
no  sounds,  save  the  spasmodic  wind- 
ing of  the  watchman's  horn.  The  sky 
was  blue,  the  wonderful  blue  night  sky 
of  Carlmania,  with  the  stars  luminous 
like  jewels  in  the  frosted  sky.  On 
this  night,  as  on  all  nights,  Jan  Rant- 
zau  left  the  shipyard  at  twelve  o'clock 
and  started  home.  He  was  exhausted. 
Every  fibre  of  his  body  dragged  under 
a  dead  weight;  his  brain  throbbed;  his 
eyes  saw  green :  the  result  of  the  blind- 
ing glare  from  the  blast  furnaces  un- 
der the  Huascar.  The  terrific  strain  of 
eighteen  hours  of  labor  out  of  each 
twenty-four  was  telling  upon  his 
strength.  Utter  weariness  dominated 
his  body.  This  could  not  continue 
much  longer.  Racking  pains  crisped 
his  nerves  each  night;  his  brain  was 
becoming  a  chaotic,  benumbed  mass. 
What  would  the  end  be?  Eighteen 
hours  out  of  twenty-four !  He  repeated 
this  over  and  over  to  himself.  Eighteen 
hours  out  of  twenty-four — and  no  rest 
on  Sunday!  But  he  must  do  this  for 
Stefan,  for  his  little  blue-eyed,  curly- 
haired  Stefan,  the  little  man  in  the  im- 
age of  himself.    It  was  worth  all  this 


driving  of  his  flesh  to  help  the  lad  of 
his  flesh! 

When  Jan  reached  Ujedski's  hovel 
he  saw  a  light  in  the  window.  On  en- 
tering the  house  he  came  face  to  face 
with  a  man  in  a  student's  long  black 
overcoat.  The  stranger  rose  to  greet 
him.  He  was  tall,  slender,  with  a 
white,  ethereal  face  and  closely- 
cropped  mustache.  "Jan  Rantzau — 
you  at  last?"  He  spoke  guardedly. 
"Madame  Ujedski  permitted  me  to 
wait  here  for  you." 

"Who  are  you  ?"  asked  Jan. 

"You  do  not  know  me  ?" 

"No." 

"My  voice?" 

"No." 

"Nor  my  face?" 

"No." 

"It  was  dark  that  night  in  the  pavil- 
ion. I  am  the  man  whose  life  you 
saved.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you,  to- 
night I  should  be  a  political  prisoner 
without  hope  of  freedom,  facing  slow 
death,  perhaps  torture,  at  the  hands  of 
men  who  hate  me." 

"Tell  me  your  name." 

"My  name  is  hated  in  Carlmania: 
Felix  Skarga." 

"Felix  Skarga!" 

"I  am  your  friend." 

Jan  peered  closer,  and  distinguished 
the  features  of  the  man  he  had  helped 
to  escape  from  the  pavilion  five  years 
before.  He  motioned  Skarga  to  a  seat 
and  himself  sat  upon  a  stool  near  the 
table. 

"Since  that  night,"  continued 
Skarga,  "it  has  always  been  my  desire 
to  find  you  and  express  my  gratitude. 
I  remembered  your  face,  for  I  had  one 
glimpse  of  it  as  you  burst  the  grille. 
You  endangered  your  life  for  mine.  We 
both  escaped  death  by  a  miracle.  You 
proved  yourself  a  worthy  comrade.  I 
hope  the  day  will  come  when  I  can  do 
as  much  for  you.  Here  in  Carlmania 
I  must  not  let  myself  be  known.  There 
are  five  thousand  rubles  on  my  head — 
and  I  judge  the  Emperor  does  not  care 
whether  I  am  taken  dead  or  alive.  Be- 
cause I  love  my  fellow  man  I  am  con- 
sidered an  enemy  of  the  Empire.  I 
have  set  up  an  opposition  to  militar- 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


439 


ism:  it  is  growing  like  the  waves  of 
the  sea,  like  the  wheat  of  the  field.  It 
is  born  in  Truth.  'Thou  shalt  not  kill!' 
Because  I  want  to  save  my  brothers 
from  the  horrors  of  war  I  am  looked 
upon  as  an  Enemy — a  Red.  The  Em- 
peror proclaims  himself  a  herald  of 
peace — falsely,  for  we  are  preparing 
for  war.  Throughout  Carlmania  ear- 
nest bands  of  men  are  secretly  organ- 
izing to  fight  militarism.  We  meet  af- 
ter midnight — when  the  wide  world  is 
asleep.  In  an  hour  a  group  of  Reds 
will  meet  on  the  Navarin  Road.  Com- 
rade, will  you  join  us?" 

Jan  lit  his  pipe,  thinking  hard.  He 
could  plainly  see  Skarga's  face :  white, 
tragically  earnest,  his  eyes  glowing  like 
red  coals. 

Something  in  Jan  responded.  The 
man,  crushed,  blindly  attacked  by  an 
insidious  military  system,  bereft  of  all 
that  he  could  call  his  own  in  the  world, 
reached  out  for  the  sympathy,  the  pro- 
mise of  help,  that  Skarga  offered,  the 
last  hope  in  his  soul  seeking  its  chance. 

"Will  you  join  us?"  repeated  the 
young  socialist. 

"Yes." 

Stefan  and  Ujedski  were  sound 
asleep,  so  Jan  slipped  out  into  the 
night  with  Skarga.  Under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  they  silently  made  their 
way  along  the  street,  arm  in  arm,  mys- 
terious figures  in  the  gloom. 

"There  is  an  old  barn  on  the  Nava- 
rin Road,"  said  Skarga.  "It  is  there 
that  we  meet,  secretly,  about  thirty 
comrades,  sowing  the  seed  that  will 
one  day  overthrow  the  Emperor  and 
give  the  people  a  democracy.  If  we 
are  found  out! — hark! — what  is  that?" 

The  men  stood  stark  still. 

Two  soldiers  went  swinging  down 
the  street,  bibulous,  singing.  Their 
ribald  laughter  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Jan  and  Skarga  went  on  across  a 
bridge  with  waters  rippling  away  be- 
low, reflecting  the  yellow  points  of 
stars.  Jan  was  aching  in  every  bone 
and  nerve,  yet  his  body  responded 
with  new  hope.  Here  was  an  opportu- 
nity to  strike  at  the  system  that  had 
rendered    him    a    pauper — that    now 


threatened  his  boy. 

A  black  lane,  smothered  in  darkness, 
led  across  a  field  into  an  open  country 
with  houses  far  apart.  The  humid 
breath  of  the  river  hung  close  to  the 
earth.  There  was  no  sound  except  the 
faint  whistle  of  the  night  mail  going 
down  to  Bazias.  Surely  they  had 
walked  far  enough !  Jan's  eyes  burned 
for  want  of  sleep :  his  body  was  shot 
with  spasms  of  pain. 

Skarga  came  to  a  halt  at  last.  He 
pointed  across  the  downs  to  a  low, 
black  building  snuggled  in  a  hollow. 
"There  is  the  barn,"  he  declared. 

Now  alert  and  eager,  Jan  followed 
him  across  the  downs,  knee-deep  in 
fescue,  and  in  a  moment  they  came  to 
the  barn.  Skarga  knocked  three  times 
on  the  door. 

"Who  knocks?"  asked  a  voice  with- 
in. 

"Liberty!" 

There  was  a  sound  of  bolts  thrown 
back,  the  door  opened  cautiously,  and 
Jan  followed  Skarga  into  a  vestibule. 
A  second  door  opened  inward.  Beyond 
was  a  room  with  a  petroleum  lamp 
flaring  on  a  table.  About  the  room 
were  young  men  and  old,  with  tense, 
serious  faces,  silent  and  waiting.  Jan 
sat  down  in  an  obscure  corner. 

Chapter  XXIV. 

One  of  the  old  men  had  been  speak- 
ing. He  rose  again,  a  venerable  patri- 
arch, sublime  with  his  whitened  hair. 
Jan  saw  that  his  face  was  sad,  his  eyes 
dim  and  tired,  and  his  bent  shoulders 
eloquent  of  a  life  of  toil  and  sorrow. 
A  deep  silence  settled  over  the  room, 
and  the  old  man's  voice,  mellow  and 
low  and  tremulous  with  music,  was 
heard  again. 

"Youthful  brothers,  O  sons  of  mine, 
heed  the  voice  of  one  who  has  lived. 
You  are  eager  for  the  new  day  in  Carl- 
mania,  when  a  monarch  shall  be 
chosen  by  the  people,  and  the  tread 
of  marching  men  shall  die  from  the 
face  of  the  earth.  It  has  come  to  my 
ears  that  death  is  awaiting  the  Imper- 
ial Chancellor.  O  my  brothers,  that 
would  be  a  terrible  mistake!     Never 


440 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


through  violence  can  we  win  our  free- 
dom. Only  by  sowing  the  seeds  of 
resistance  to  militarism  among  our 
comrades  can  we  blot  out  sorrow  and 
save  our  country." 

There  was  a  rumble  of  dissent.  Sev- 
eral students  leaped  to  their  feet.  One, 
a  dark,  slender  youth,  passionately  ad- 
dressed the  old  man.  "You  abhor  vio- 
lence," he  cried,  "but  do  you  know 
what  happened  to  my  brother  in  Sa- 
milo  ?  Stanislaus  Andronivo  was  trav- 
eling from  Sant  to  Javo.  On  the  train 
he  was  reading  my  letter  to  him,  tell- 
ing of  the  death  of  our  mother.  Two 
military  police  seized  him.  They  read 
the  letter — signed  by  me!  That  was 
enough.  They  took  him  from  the  train 
at  Samilo  and  threw  him  into  prison. 
He  lay  in  a  filthy  cell  without  food  for 
seventy  hours,  charged  with  dis- 
loyalty to  the  Emperor.  Now  I  cannot 
find  him.  No  one  knows  what  has  be- 
come of  him.  When  I  ask  the  police 
they  shake  their  heads  and  shrug  their 
shoulders.  My  brother!  What  is  your 
answer  to  that,  comrade?" 

The  words  snapped  from  the.  youth's 
mouth  like  bullets.  He  sat  down, 
shaking  with  excitement.  A  dozen 
men  started  to  speak.  Plainly,  the 
young  man's  distress  was  a  common 
experience.  Suddenly  a  woman — who 
had  entered  softly  and  heard  the  youth 
— lifted  her  voice  in  earnest  appeal. 

"0  comrades" — and  her  voice  was 
tremulous  with  sorrow — "I  had  two 
sons,  one  Jurgis  Rantoverno,  the  other 
Frederick  Rantoverno,  both  captains 
in  the  18th  Army  Corps.  Last  sum- 
mer they  traveled  home  to  me  at  Caye, 
and  we  rambled  a  fortnight  through 
the  forest  of  Novogavve.  I  besought 
them  to  leave  the  army  and  forever 
cease  to  kill  their  brothers.  At  first 
they  would  not  listen.  They  violently 
opposed  me.  But  after  days  of  tear- 
ful beseeching  a  mother's  love  won. 
They  returned  to  the  Army  Corps — 
and  resigned.  A  week  later  they  were 
at  home  with  me.  We  were  so  happy. 
One  day  three  military  police  called 
at  the  house.  They  arrested  my  sons, 
and  took  them  to  the  Czemo  Barracks. 
The  next  morning  I  went  to  the  Bar- 


racks to  see  them.  An  Artillery  Cap- 
tain met  me,  and  told  me  that  they 
had  been  tried  for  treason,  stood  up 
against  a  stone  wall,  and  shot!" 

The  woman  stood  panting,  her  eyes 
wild  with  rebellion,  her  breasts  heav- 
ing like  subdued  volcanoes.  The  yel- 
low glare  of  the  lamp  fell  across  her 
face.  Jan  saw  that  she  was  the  woman 
who  had  been  Skarga's  companion  in 
the  pavilion  five  years  before.  The 
old  man  who  had  first  spoken  rose, 
and  with  kindly  words  tried  to  comfort 
her.    "My  sister "  he  began. 

The  woman  turned  like  a  tigress  at 
bay.  "Good  God!"  she  cried,  "you 
talk  of  peace,  and  they  shot  my  sons 
against  a  stone  wall!  You  talk  of 
brotherly  love,  and  they  riddled  the 
children  of  my  womb  with  steel- 
coated  bullets!" 

Her  voice  rang  out  like  the  clangor 
of  trumpets.  It  was  given  to  her  to 
move  the  hearts  of  men — to  sway  em- 
pires.   They  had  shot  her  sons ! 

The  blood  mounted  to  Jan's  face. 
His  nerves  tingled.  His  great  heart 
bled  for  the  woman.  Her  sad  face 
was  gray  and  bloodless;  she  stood 
erect,  hands  clenched,  surging  with  the 
revolution  flaming  in  her  heart. 

Skarga  rose.  A  hush  greeted  him. 
Every  eye  was  turned  upon  his  serious 
face.  "My  friends,"  he  said,  simply, 
"whose  heart  to-night  does  not  bleed 
with  the  heart  of  Marja  Rantoverno? 
Who  would  not  avenge  the  death  of 
her  sons,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  life? 
Marja  Rantoverno,  to-night  in  a  thou- 
sand towns  our  comrades  are  meeting 
as  we  are  here.  The  die  is  cast.  Mili- 
tarism shall  pass  from  the  earth." 

Again  the  woman : 

"But  that  will  not  give  me  back  my 
sons!"  Her  voice  was  heavy  with 
sorrow,  heartrending,  bitter.  Sudden- 
ly she  sank  to  the  floor,  her  face  bur- 
ied in  her  hands.  Her  voice  was  the 
voice  of  the  forest  mother  whose 
young  had  been  killed.  "That  will  not 
give  me  back  my  sons!"  she  sobbed, 
over  and  over.  The  men  shuffled 
restlessly.  Eyes  were  dimmed  with 
tears. 

At  that  moment,  at  first  afar  off, 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


441 


there  was  a  rumble  as  of  low  thunder. 
It  grew  quickly  into  an  uproar — the 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs ! 

Instantly  the  meeting  was  in  confu- 
sion. 

There  were  no  outcries,  but  every- 
one was  aquiver.  In  all  likelihood 
there  was  to  be  an  attack  by  the  mili- 
tary police. 

Chapter  XXV. 

Skarga  leaped  to  the  table  and  ex- 
tinguished the  lamp.  The  room  was 
plunged  in  darkness.  Through  the 
chinks  in  the  low  roof  the  starlight 
could  presently  be  seen,  powdery  and 
radiant.  Some  one  threw  up  a  win- 
dow.   Half  a  dozen  men  looked  out. 

The  thud!  thud!  of  hoofs  was  now 
close  to  the  barn.  The  riders  were 
coming  down  the  hard  Navarin  mili- 
tary road.  Were  they  cavalry  return- 
ing to  the  Barracks  or  mounted  police 
closing  in  for  a  raid? 

In  the  gloom  a  man  opened  a  trap  in 
the  floor.  By  the  light  of  a  match  it 
could  be  seen  that  a  ladder  led  down 
twelve  feet  to  the  ground  on  the  north 
side.  Here  the  earth  fell  away  toward 
the  river,  less  than  a  quarter  mile  dis- 
tant. At  the  foot  of  the  ladder  a  path 
turned  off  to  the  left  from  under  the 
building  and  led  away  beneath  the 
trees  to  another  road,  the  Donas  Rio, 
past  the  cemeteries,  and  into  the  heart 
of  Gait. 

The  Revolutionists  were  not  unpre- 
pared. The  way  of  escape  had  long 
ago  been  planned  in  case  of  attack.  A 
dozen  men  whipped  out  revolvers  and 
held  them  ready  for  extreme  emer- 
gency. They  knew  the  character  of 
the  military  police,  and  were  ready  to 
fire  only  if  fired  upon. 

The  thudding  of  the  horses  ceased; 
with  startling  swiftness  the  door  of 
the  barn  opened  inward,  and  a  man,  a 
guard,  plunged  into  the  room,  closing 
the  door  behind  him  and  throwing  the 
bolts.     His  voice  rang  with  alarm. 

"We  are  surrounded  by  armed  fusi- 
liers!" he  cried. 

The  men  gripped  their  revolvers 
tighter;  their  faces  became  set.  Some- 
one called  out : 


"Let  the  women  go  first!" 

In  a  flash  the  two  women  descended 
the  ladder  protected  by  the  armed 
men.  Then  followed  the  other  men, 
one  by  one,  quickly,  but  in  perfect  or- 
der, until  there  were  only  two  men 
left  in  the  room. 

These  two  men  were  Jan  and  Skarga. 

At  the  instant  that  Jan  was  about  to 
place  his  foot  on  the  top  rung  of  the 
ladder,  there  was  a  cry  below,  a  flash 
of  white  fire,  the  report  of  a  revolver 
shot,  and  the  ladder  was  seized  and 
torn  from  its  position. 

Springing  back  into  the  room,  Jan 
seized  the  heavy  trap-door  and 
slammed  it  shut. 

"Too  late!"  he  cried  to  Skarga.  "We 
are  trapped!" 

Hardly  had  he  spoken  the  words 
than  the  rifles  of  the  fusiliers  rang 
out,  and  the  trap-door  was  splintered. 
From  below  came  a  whir  of  voices. 

"They  are  up  there!" 

"See,  here  is  their  ladder!" 

"We  have  caught  the  whole  crowd!" 

"The  Reds— damn  them— at  last!" 

"Light  a  light  .  .  .  Ah,  there  is 
their  path.  They  planned  to  make  off 
under  those  trees,  if  caught.  Ha,  ha, 
ha !  Clever,  eh  ?  Look,  there  are  their 
footprints !" 

"Those  are  their  steps  coming!" 

"Some  are  steps  going!" 

"No  doubt  from  last  night." 

Now  a  voice,  gruff,  and  with  the 
temper  of  cold  steel,  commanded  the 
inmates  to  surrender. 

"In  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  sur- 
render! Or  we  will  fire  the  barn  and 
shoot  as  you  come  out!" 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

It  was  broken  only  by  the  click  of 
a  trigger  inside  the  barn. 

Chapter  XXVI. 

The  click  of  Skarga's  revolver  was 
eloquent.  It  spoke  of  death  to  the  fusi- 
liers surrounding  the  barn.  It  left  to 
their  imagination  the  possible  number 
of  the  enemy  within ;  and  the  imagina- 
tion of  men  whose  lives  are  in  peril  is 
remarkably  keen. 

Through  a  chink  in  the  wall  of  the 


442 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


barn  Jan  and  Skarga  could  look  into 
the  circle  of  the  fusiliers,  note  their 
force,  position  and  the  gleam  of  their 
rifle  barrels. 

The  barn  stood  seventy  paces  from 
two  roads.  The  road  on  the  south  was 
the  hard  military  road,  built  by  the 
government.  It  was  intended  for  the 
transport  of  troops  in  the  event  of  war. 
It  was  along  this  road  that  the  attack- 
ing party  had  ridden.  Their  horses 
were  now  standing  under  a  clump  of 
poplars  exactly  twenty  paces  from  the 
barn.  Midway  between  the  poplars 
and  the  barn  was  an  old  well.  Its  ma- 
sonry had  recently  been  whitewashed, 
and  it  was  clearly  distinguishable  in 
the  star-lit  gloom. 

Northward  from  the  barn  was  a  ver- 
itable forest  of  trees:  larches,  poplars 
and  thickly  matted  cypresses.  These 
grew  in  wild  profusion  close  up  to  the 
old  building,  and  the  heavy  branches 
hung  down,  almost  covering  the  roof. 
They  formed  a  canopy  under  which  a 
heavy  trellis  extended  forty  paces  into 
what  had  once  been  the  luxurious  gar- 
den of  a  manor.  The  house  had  stood 
upon  the  grounds  thirty  years  before, 
when  it  had  been  seized  for  an  arsenal 
during  an  uprising  in  Northern  Carl- 
mania,  and  subsequently  had  been 
burned.  The  trees  and  ivy,  once 
pruned  so  carefully,  now  grew  in  prod- 
igal abandon.  So  dense  had  the  wall 
of  leaves  and  branches  become  that  a 
perfect  ai  boreal  tunnel  was  formed, 
leading  to  the  Donas  Rio,  which  was 
corduroy-marked  from  the  wheels  of 
hay  carts  sinking  through  the  winter 
mud.  It  was  through  this  tunnel  of 
trees  that  the  Revolutionists  had  es- 
caped before  the  soldiers  had  been  able 
to  dismount  and  reach  the  building. 

As  Jan  and  Skarga,  with  eyes  glued 
to  the  chinks  in  the  wall,  looked  out, 
they  beheld  seven  fusiliers  conferring 
together  in  the  shadow  of  the  poplars, 
studying  the  building.  From  their 
manner  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they 
were  confident  they  had  trapped  a 
large  gathering  of  Reds.  Within  three 
minutes  after  dismounting,  several  of- 
ficers had  lighted  lanterns  to  deter- 
mine the  positions  of  the  doors  and 


windows;  the  red  lights  danced  about 
as  the  men  reconnoitered;  in  their 
faint  glow  Jan  could  distinguish  the 
red  and  white  uniforms,  and  the  glint 
of  Mauser  tubes.  A  captain  was 
directing  the  police;  he  wore  a  high 
hat  with  a  tufted  pompon,  and  at  his 
side  a  sabre  swung  freely.  Realizing 
quickly  that  there  were  men  in  the 
barn,  and  seeing  the  trap-door  swing 
shut,  they  withdrew  into  the  shadow  of 
the  trees.  As  a  precautionary  mea- 
sure they  now  put  out  their  lanterns. 
This  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  be 
singled  out  as  targets  for  the  Reds. 
Meanwhile  their  leader  advanced  to 
the  door  of  the  barn  to  begin  negotia- 
tions with  the  entrapped  men. 
This  man  was  Pasek. 
Jan  recognized  his  voice  at  once. 
"In  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  I  com- 
mand you  to  surrender!" 

"In  the  name  of  God,  we  surrender 
to  no  man!"  replied  Felix  Skarga,  de- 
fiantly. 

"Who  are  you,  conspiring  in  secret 
at  this  hour  of  the  morning  ?" 

"That  concerns  only  those  gathered 
here." 

"Will  you  come  out,  or  shall  we  fire 
the  barn?" 

"We  will  not  come  out!    If  you  fire 
the  barn  you  take  the  consequences!" 
"How  many  of  you  are  there  ?" 
"Hearts    enough    to    match     your 
seven!" 
"Will  you  surrender — alive?" 
"No!" 

"Very  well,  Revolutionist!" 
Pasek  withdrew  into  the  shadow  of 
the  poplars. 

In  the  barn  Jan  clutched  Skarga's 
arm. 

"He  is  Captain  Pasek!"  declared 
Jan. 

"Ha,  don't  I  know  that  voice?" 
laughed  Skarga.  "An  old  friend,  and 
I  know  how  he  longs  to  meet  me 
again!" 

Bent  on  escape  at  any  cost,  the  two 
men  began  a  search  of  the  barn,  its 
walls  and  floor,  and  the  position  of  the 
stalls. 

The  south  end  of  the  barn  rested  on 
a  hard  mud  floor.     The  ground  fell 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


443 


away  suddenly,  so  that  the  north  end 
was  twelve  feet  above  the  outer  earth, 
supported  by  heavy  underpinning,  and 
reached  by  the  ladder  rising  to  the 
trap  in  the  floor.  Rotten  boards  rough- 
ly covered  that  portion  of  the  floor  that 
was  of  mud;  here  wooden  walls  rose 
between  the  stalls  where  oxen  had 
once  been  sheltered.  Jan  entered  a 
stall,  his  hands  groping  about  the 
wooden  sides.  Presently  his  foot 
struck  the  sharp  edge  of  a  floor  cover- 
ing under  the  boards;  it  was  of  metal. 
Quickly  reaching  down,  he  dug  the 
earth  from  under  the  edge,  inserted 
his  two  hands,  and  with  a  tremendous 
heave  lifted  a  great  iron  plate  that  had 
once  been  imbedded  in  the  mud  to  pre- 
vent the  burrowing  of  weasels  intent 
on  devouring  the  grain. 

The  plate  was  over  three  feet  square 
and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  As  he 
carried  it  to  the  center  of  the  room  an 
idea  for  escape  came  to  him. 

He  revealed  his  discovery  to 
Skarga. 

"This  plate  will  serve  as  a  shield  if 
we  can  once  gain  the  tunnel  under  the 
trees.  It  is  seventy  paces  to  the  Donas 
Rio,"  he  explained.  "Once  there  we 
must  trust  our  legs  to  get  us  to  the 
river  bank  before  we  are  struck  by 
their  bullets,  or  ridden  down.  The 
river  is  our  only  salvation." 

Hardly  had  he  finished  than  a  bright 
flare  appeared  outside  the  window.  A 
shower  of  light  streamed  through  the 
cracks  and  chinks  onto  the  floor.  The 
fusiliers  were  firing  the  building. 

Skarga  gripped  his  revolver. 

"Quick!"  Jan  whispered  intensely. 
"Ready  to  leap  down !  I  will  open  the 
trap.  Fire  your  revolver  out  of  the 
window  overlooking  the  well.  That 
will  direct  their  attention  to  the  other 
side  of  the  building  while  we  make  a 
break  under  the  trees." 

"But  if  they  ride  us  down  before  we 
reach  the  river?" 

"God  forbid!"  answered  Jan.  "Their 
bullets  would  be  more  merciful  than 
that!" 

A  lurid  tongue  of  flame  licked  up- 
ward through  the  window.  Smoke 
poured  into  the  room.    Through  every 


cranny  curling  wreathes   circled,   the 
forerunners  of  a  terrible  death. 

Leaping  to  the  window,  carefully 
keeping  out  of  range  of  the  fusiliers' 
rifles,  Skarga  fired  his  revolver.  Six 
bullets  spat  against  the  masonry  of  the 
well. 

In  answer,  the  roar  of  seven  rifles 
split  the  stillness  of  the  night.  The 
bullets  whizzed  through  the  window, 
now  brightly  outlined  amid  the  crack- 
ling flames.  Spat!  spat!  spat!  and  they 
ripped  through  the  boards,  chipped  off 
splinters,  and  sank  with  a  dull  ping! 
into  the  old  wood. 

Skarga  leaped  back  to  the  center  of 
the  room,  bowed  his  head  to  escape 
the  deadly  rifle  fire,  and,  spinning  the 
cylinder  of  his  revolver,  swiftly  re- 
loaded the  chambers.  Once  more  he 
crept  to  the  window,  and  once  more  his 
revolver  challenged  the  enemy.  The 
rifles  barked  out  savagely.  Skarga 
had  been  careful  not  to  aim  at  the  men 
whose  outlines  he  could  distinguish 
moving  cautiously  through  the  trees. 
He  saw  a  figure  run  up  and  cower  be- 
hind the  rim  of  the  well.  In  the  glow 
of  the  burning  building  Skarga  could 
have  shot  him  as  he  ran.  This  he  did 
not  choose  to  do,  because  he  knew  the 
consequences  would  be  doubly  terrible 
in  the  event  of  his  capture. 

Returning  now  to  Jan,  he  reloaded 
his  revolver  and  got  ready  for  the 
leap  to  the  ground.  It  was  life  or 
death  now.  There  could  be  no  com- 
promise. The  ruse  had  been  success- 
ful in  drawing  the  attention  of  the  po- 
lice to  the  south  side  of  the  building. 
The  rain  of  bullets  made  it  clear  that 
at  least  five  of  the  enemy  were  hidden 
on  that  side. 

Jan  slowly  lifted  the  the  heavy  trap- 
door. 

"Quick,  jump!"  he  commanded. 

He  laid  back  the  door  until  the  iron 
hinges  were  flush  with  the  floor.  Then 
seizing  the  iron  shield  he  leaped  into 
the  opening  and  dropped  with  a  soft 
thud  twelve  feet  to  the  ground.  Skarga 
followed,  and  once  in  the  protection  of 
the  shield,  the  two  comrades  began 
their  race  with  death. 


444 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Chapter  XXVII. 

The  avenue  of  trees  stretched  away 
into  the  black  shadows  toward  the  cor- 
duroy road.  Here  and  there  through 
openings,  long  yellow  shafts  of  light 
streaked  the  ground  as  the  barn  col- 
lapsed into  a  whirlpool  of  flame.  Jan 
and  Skarga  looked  straight  ahead  with 
eager  eyes  and  began  racing  with  all 
their  strength  for  the  Donas  Rio  .  .  . 
One,  two,  three — ten  paces,  and  a  great 
shout  rose  behind  them.  They  had 
been  detected. 

Then  suddenly  spat!  spat!  spat!  The 
rifles  spoke  behind  them.  Bullets 
whizzed  dangerously  close  to  their 
heads. 

Turning  an  instant,  Jan  brought  the 
iron  shield  face  about,  and,  crouching 
behind  it,  Skarga  emptied  his  revolver 
in  the  direction  of  the  approaching 
fusiliers. 

He  could  see  the  flash  of  their  red 
uniforms  through  the  trees,  for  all  the 
world  like  fantastic  figures  at  a  mas- 
querade. Their  shadows  fell  like  huge 
goblins.  Their  rifles  were  at  their 
shoulders  as  they  ran,  and  they  cracked 
out  in  a  vain  effort  to  pierce  the  iron 
plate.  With  a  ringing  sound  the  bul- 
lets flattened  against  the  shield. 

There  were  just  three  fusiliers  fol- 
lowing, for  the  other  four  remained  be- 
hind to  cover  the  burning  barn.  Skarga 
refilled  the  chambers  of  his  revolver 
with  his  last  five  cartridges.  No  sooner 
had  he  clicked  the  cylinder  into  posi- 
tion and  dropped  the  pistol  into  a 
handy  pocket  than  he  heard  the  clat- 
ter of  horses'  hoofs  above  the  sucking 
roar  of  the  fire.  The  hoof-beats  struck 
terror  to  his  soul.  If  the  soldiers 
reached  the  head  of  the  avenue  first, 
all  escape  would  be  cut  off,  and  they 
would  be  caught  in  the  passage  like 
rats. 

Jan  held  the  shield  behind  them, 
and  they  raced  ahead  toward  the  mouth 
of  the  tunnel.  Their  feet  seemed  to 
move  sluggishly,  as  in  a  horrible 
dream;  but  at  length  they  staggered 
into  the  Donas  Rio. 

Behind  them  shouts  arose — men 
calling  to  each  other:  bellowing  com- 


mands, advice,  information,  maledic- 
tions. 

The  mounted  fusiliers  were  closing 
in  in  a  circle  from  the  barn  toward  the 
river.  Ahead  lay  the  Ule,  its  waters 
silver-grey  in  the  starlight.  Black 
patches  indicated  the  positions  of 
barges. 

Jan  now  threw  away  the  iron  plate, 
and,  close  beside  Skarga,  sped  for  the 
water's  edge.  Their  breaths  wheezed 
from  their  throats;  their  staring  eyes 
were  riveted  on  the  river ;  their  nostrils 
dilated  from  supreme  exertion. 

Even  if  they  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  river  ahead  of  their  pursuers,  they 
knew  that  the  man-hunt  would  be 
prosecuted  with  relentless  fury,  that 
the  river  would  be  lined  with  police, 
and  at  first  sight  of  them  bullets  would 
end  their  lives  in  the  name  of  the  Em- 
peror, or- 


They  dared  not  think  of  what  might 
follow. 

To  Jan,  the  river  seemed  miles  away, 
further  and  further  receding  as  he  ran 
toward  it.  Flaming  catherine-wheels 
circled  before  his  eyes.  Then  all  at 
once,  as  though  playing  a  trick  upon 
his  tortured  senses,  the  river  rose  to 
meet  him,  black,  ghost-like.  He  could 
have  cried  aloud  in  his  joy.  The  next 
moment  he  plunged  into  the  icy  depth. 
Skarga  followed. 

The  strength  of  the  two  men  had 
been  drained  by  their  race.  The  shock 
of  the  cold  water  gave  them  renewed 
energy.  To  have  gained  the  river 
ahead  of  the  enemy  filled  their  hearts 
with  hope.  They  might  yet  escape,  if 
only  the  dawn  would  not  betray  them. 

Already  the  banners  of  the  new  day 
were  unfolding  across  the  eastern  sky. 
Presently  the  sun  would  encarmine  the 
river,  and  every  foot  of  ground  up  and 
down  the  stream  would  be  combed  for 
evidence  of  the  escaped  Reds. 

In  a  wide  circle  Jan  struck  out  for 
the  center  of  the  river  with  long,  even 
strokes.  He  was  slightly  in  advance 
of  Skarga.  He  was  cautious  to  avoid 
all  splashing  of  the  water,  turning  his 
face  toward  the  opposite  shore. 

The  current  bore  him  rapidly  down 
stream.     Once  he  turned    to     glance 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


445 


back  and  saw  along  the  bank  they  had 
just  left,  bobbing  lanterns.  The  next 
moment,  in  their  faint  radiance,  he  dis- 
cerned the  necks  of  charging  horses 
abruptly  reined  in. 

Then  he  heard  voices  calling  on  the 
shore,  and  the  lights  were  put  out,  and 
only  the  blackness  of  the  night  re- 
mained, yielding  slowly  to  the  ap- 
proach of  morning. 

Down  the  stream  Jan  swam,  swiftly 
and  noiselessly,  until  fatigue  made  his 
arms  leaden,  and  the  chill  waters  froze 
him  to  the  marrow.  Once  he  heard  an 
enfeebled  cry,  and,  looking  back,  saw 
Skarga  twenty  strokes  behind,  strug- 
gling to  keep  afloat,  waving  his  arms 
frantically.  A  sense  of  horror  over- 
spread Jan.  Turning  quickly  ,  he 
struck  back  and  reached  his  comrade. 
He  was  exhausted  and  sinking  when 
Jan  caught  him  in  his  arms.  Straight 
toward  the  bank  Jan  swam,  pulling 
Skarga  after  him,  with  only  a  remnant 
of  his  great  strength  left.  How  he 
managed  to  climb  the  bank  with 
Skarga  in  his  arms  he  never  knew,  but 
climb  it  he  did ;  and  ten  minutes  later, 
when  Skarga  had  sufficiently  recov- 
ered to  continue,  the  two  men  pushed 
ahead  through  the  sedge  and  young 
willows  along  the  red-ochreous  river 
bank  toward  the  town. 

Chapter  XXVIII. 

Neither  man  spoke,  fearing  to  arouse 
any  lurking  fusiliers,  and  by  and  by 
they  came  to  a  turn  in  the  stream, 
crossed  a  bridge,  and  come  out  into  a 
shell  road.  They  passed  a  number  of 
little  white  houses,  and  shortly  the 
great  stone  Gate  of  Kings  lifted  before 
them.  The  iron  grille  was  shut.  Jan 
began  fumbling  with  the  lock. 

Suddenly  there  were  footsteps  be- 
hind him.  Turning,  he  beheld  three 
fusiliers  almost  upon  him.  By  the  sil- 
houettes of  their  crested  hats  he  made 
them  out  to  be  the  three  soldiers  that 
had  followed  him  and  Skarga  down  the 
avenue  after  the  escape  from  the  barn. 
It  was  clear  to  Jan  that  they  had  rid- 
den down  stream,  crossed  a  bridge, 
and  made  their  way  to  the  Gate  to 
await  their  prey. 


Jan  cursed  himself  for  being  a  fool 
in  taking  an  open  road.  He  had  not 
anticipated  this  move  of  the  fusiliers. 
But  it  was  too  late  now  for  misgivings. 

The  soldiers  closed  in  with  fixed 
bayonets. 

"Halt!" 

The  leader's  command  rang  through 
the  quiet  street. 

Jan  and  Skarga  halted.  The  fusi- 
lier who  had  uttered  the  command 
stepped  forward.  The  soldier  behind 
him  lighted  a  lantern. 

Jan  moved  swiftly.  Risking  imme- 
diate death,  he  lunged  forward,  threw 
his  whole  tremendous  weight  upon  the 
leader  and  reached  for  the  tube  of  his 
rifle. 

Skarga,  as  quickly,  threw  himself  at 
the  Mauser  of  the  second  fusilier.  The 
third  soldier  was  still  working  with  his 
lantern. 

There  was  a  burst  of  flame  and  a 
sharp  report,  and  Jan  swerved  to  the 
right,  bearing  the  fusilier  to  the 
ground.  He  seized  the  discharged 
rifle,  and,  swinging  it  about  his  head, 
brought  it  down  upon  the  head  of  the 
man  with  the  lantern.  That  worthy, 
caught  unaware,  sank  to  the  ground, 
his  rifle  flying  one  way,  his  lantern 
shattering  against  the  grille. 

Jan  picked  up  the  loaded  rifle  and 
brought  it  to  his  shoulder  with  the 
tube  aimed  at  the  heart  of  Skarga's 
man. 

"Halt,  or  I  fire!"  Jan  cried. 

The  second  fusilier  ceased  his  strug- 
gling, and  Skarga  wrested  the  gun 
from  his  clutching  fingers. 

Jan  knew  that  the  single  shot  would 
soon  bring  more  fusiliers  to  the  Gate, 
so  he  took  the  soldier's  sabre  and 
broke  the  lock  of  the  grille.  He  and 
Skarga  ran  through.  Even  as  they  did 
so  the  second  fusilier  was  on  his  feet, 
sabre  drawn,  rushing  at  Jan  in  a  frenzy. 

Jan  turned,  and,  not  daring  to  excite 
the  night  watch  by  a  second  shot, 
pressed  his  bayonet  to  the  onrushing 
body  of  the  avenging  soldier.  He 
forced  him  back  against  the  grille.  But 
in  that  instant  the  uplifted  sabre  de- 
scended with  terrific  force.  Jan  thrust 
out  his  hand  to  save  his  face ;  the  steel 


446 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


slashed  through  his  palm,  and,  bearing 
down,  laid  open  his  wrist.  Blood 
gushed  from  the  wound,  and  the  big 
man  dropped  the  rifle  and  seized  his 
left  forearm  with  his  right  hand, 
stanching  the  flow  with  a  vice-like 
grip. 

Skarga  had  already  dealt  the  fusi- 


lier a  blow  that  quieted  him.  He 
dropped  without  a  groan. 

Both  men  rushed  on  through  the 
great  Gate  of  Kings,  for  morning  had 
come,  and  the  gray  fabric  of  dawn  was 
gorgeous  with  the  sunrise. 

Stefan  was  still  asleep  when  Jan  and 
Skarga  stole  into  Ujedski's  hovel. 


(To  be  continued.) 


Jack  London's  Resignation  from  the  Socialist  Party 


Honolulu,  March  7,  1916. 
Glen  Ellen, 

Sonoma  County,  California. 

Dear  Comrades : 

I  am  resigning  from  the  Socialist  Party,  because  of  its  lack  of  fire  and 
fight,  and  its  loss  of  emphasis  on  the  class  struggle. 

I  was  originally  a  member  of  the  old  revolutionary,  up-on-its-hind-legs, 
fighting,  Socialist  Labor  Party.  Since  then,  and  to  the  present  time,  I  have 
been  a  fighting  member  of  the  Socialist  Party.  My  fighting  record  in  the 
Cause  is  not,  even  at  this  late  date,  already  entirely  forgotten.  Trained 
in  the  class  struggle,  as  taught  and  practiced  by  the  Socialist  Labor  Party, 
my  own  highest  judgment  concurring,  I  believed  that  the  working  class,  by 
fighting,  by  never  fusing,  by  never  making  terms  with  the  enemy,  could 
emancipate  itself.  Since  the  whole  trend  of  Socialism  in  the  United  States 
during  recent  years  has  been  one  of  peaceableness  and  compromise,  I  find 
that  my  mind  refuses  further  sanction  of  my  remaining  a  party  member. 
Hence  my  resignation. 

Please  include  my  comrade  wife,  Charmian  K.  London's,  resignation 
with  mine. 

My  final  word  is  that  liberty,  freedom  and  independence  are  royal 
things  that  cannot  be  presented  to,  nor  thrust  upon,  races  or  classes.  If 
races  and  classes  cannot  rise  up  and  by  their  strength  of  brain  and  brawn, 
wrest  from  the  world  liberty,  freedom  and  independence,  they  never  in 
time  can  come  to  these  royal  possessions  .  .  .  and  if  such  royal  things 
are  kindly  presented  to  them  by  superior  individuals,  on  silver  platters, 
they  will  know  not  what  to  do  with  them,  will  fail  to  make  use  of  them, 
and  will  be  what  they  have  always  been  in  the  past  .  .  .  inferior  races 
and  inferior  classes. 

Yours  for  the  Revolution, 

JACK  LONDON. 


Ars.  Jack  London's  "Loe  of  the  Snark' 


By  Beatrice  Langdon 


IN  THE  absence  of  other  lengthy 
biography  of  Jack  London,  Mrs. 
London's  "Log  of  the  Snark" 
serves  well,  for  she  has  given  us  an 
intimate  study  of  her  husband  in  the 
day-to-day  life  of  their  remarkable 
adventure.  One  learns  of  Jack's  dis- 
position, his  habits  of  work  and  play, 
in  a  way  that  would  be  impossible  for 
any  one  but  his  hourly  companion  to 
handle.  The  book  is  full  of  intimate 
touches  that  picture  the  exuberant 
Jack  in  all  his  variety. 

Their  union  was  ideal,  each  con- 
stantly striving  to  find  some  more  en- 
dearing term  to  confer  on  the  other. 
Jack  had  a  shower  of  names  to  which 
he  was  everlastingly  adding — "The 
"Skipper's  Sweetheart,"  "Jack's 
Wife,"  "Mate  Woman,"  "Mate," 
"Crackerjack,"  "Pal."  She  showered 
him  with  as  many.  Their  exuberant 
enthusiasm,  vitality  and  spontaneity 
kept  pace  with  the  dancing  hours. 
Everything  was  a  delight,  especially 
adventure,  a  word  they  both  spelled 
in  huge  capital  letters.  All  this  is  set 
forth  in  Charmion  London's  "Log  of 
the  Snark,"  her  first  book.  The  way 
it  came  to  be  written  "was  mostly  due 
to  Jack.  Be  it  known  that  he  detests 
letter  writing,  although  a  more  enthu- 
siastic recipient  of  correspondence 
never  slit  an  envelope.  When  I  de- 
cided to  keep  a  typewritten  diary  of 
the  voyage  to  be  circulated  in  lieu  of 
individual  letters,  my  husband  hailed 
the  scheme  with  delight." 

The  Snark  measured  fifty-seven  feet 
over  all,  with  a  fifteen  foot  beam, 
drawing  six  feet  and  fifty  tons  of 
metal  on  her  beam.  Friends  of  the 
Londons  suggested  such  names  as 
"Petrel,"  "Sea  Bird,"  "White  Wings" 
and  "Sea  Wolves,"  but  Jack  and  Char- 


mian,  with  a  higher  flight  of  imagina- 
tion, settled  on  "The  Snark,"  so  hap- 
pily invented  by  Lewis  Carroll.  The 
vessel  was  planned  in  1905.  But  the 
great  fire  in  San  Francisco  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  upset  the  work,  and  the 
vessel  was  finally  completed,  April 
25,  1907.  So  gallant  a  little  craft  de- 
served some  consideration,  but  the 
contractors  had  their  own  opinion  on 
this  score.  London  had  naturally 
specified  for  the  best  materials  to  be 
had.  Later  it  was  discovered  that  in- 
ferior supplies  had  been  used,  with 
the  result  that  several  times  the  lives 
of  the  voyagers  were  imperiled  during 
heavy  storm  stress,  and  were  saved 
only  by  Jack's  splendid  seamanship 
and  ingenuity. 

The  happy  adventurers  passed 
through  the  Golden  Gate,  outward 
bound,  on  April  25, 1907  sighting  Maui 
May  17.  At  Pearl  Harbor  they  spent  a 
month  of  delight  at  Hilo  (Hawaiian 
Islands),  a  month  of  vexatious  delay 
for  engine  repairs,  weaknesses  that 
had  developed  during  the  trip  from 
San  Francisco.  Crossing  the  line,  No- 
vember 30th,  they  sighted  land  in  the 
Marquesas,  December  6th,  to  the  pro- 
fit of  Jack.  He  had  wagered  with  a 
fellow  voyager  who  declared  they 
would  not  reach  Nuva-Hiva  by  Dec. 
12.  They  made  Tahiti  April  5,  and  en- 
tered Pago  Pago  harbor,  May  3.  That 
same  month  they  touched  at  Apia,  Sa- 
moa and  Savaii.  From  the  Fijis  they 
sailed  to  the  New  Hebrides,  reaching 
Fort  Resolution,  June  11th.  In  July 
they  became  the  guests  of  the  owner 
of  the  Pennduffryn  Plantation,  Island 
of  Guadalcanal,  Solomon  Islands. 
There  they  spent  several  weeks  before 
resuming  the  progress  from  island  to 
island.     It  was  during  this  period  of 


448 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


the  voyage  that  Jack  began  to  show 
signs  of  serious  illness.  The  malady 
manifested  itself  by  intense  burning  in 
the  skin,  due,  it  was  thought,  to  the 
nervousness  experienced  in  whipping 
the  Snark  into  sailing  shade. 

He  and  Mate  discussed  the  situa- 
tion. Jack  declared  that  if  he  could 
slip  back  to  his  home  in  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Moon,  California,  he  would 
be  able  to  pull  himself  together 
with  a  rush.  And  he  did.  The  party 
went  to  Sydney,  Australia,  and  took 
passage  to  California.  They  had 
planned  to  be  gone  seven  years,  and, 
because  of  Jack's  sudden  illness,  re- 
turned in  eighteen  months. 

Up  to  almost  the  last  minute,  the 
skipper  and  the  skipper's  wife,  exub- 
erant with  life  and  adventure,  never 
met  a  dull  day.  There  were  games  of 
cribbage  and  poker,  much  writing  and 
reading,  and  family  boxing  matches. 
(Mrs.  Jack  is  an  experienced  boxer, 
tutored  early  by  her  husband.)  They 
fished  for  dolphin,  bonita  and  shark, 
and  used  baited  hooks,  harpoon  and 
rifle  shot  at  the  larger  fish.  They  slept 
on  the  deck  in  the  beautiful  tropic 
moonlight,  took  their  trick  at  the 
watches  at  the  wheel,  and  stood  by  in 
gales  and  in  patching  recalcitrant  ma- 
chinery. The  crew  of  half  a  dozen 
found  only  exhilaration  in  everything 
about  them. 

Charmian  London  in  her  diary  sets 
out  all  this  in  intimate  form,  even  to 
the  sea  she  learned  to  know  so  well: 

"The  sea  is  not  a  lovable  monster. 
And  monster  it  is.  It  is  beautiful,  the 
sea,  always  beautiful  in  one  way  or 
another;  but  it  is  cruel  and  unmindful 
of  life  that  is  in  it  and  upon  it.  It  was 
cruel  last  evening,  in  the  lurid,  low 
sunset  that  made  it  glow,  dully  to  the 
cold,  mocking  ragged  moonrise  that 
made  it  look  like  death.  The  waves 
positively  beckoned  when  they  arose 
and  pitched  toward  our  boat  laboring 
in  the  trough.  And  all  the  long  night 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  voices 
through  the  planking,  talking,  talking 
aimlessly,  monotonously,  querulously; 
and  I  couldn't  make  out  whether  it 
was  the  ocean  calling  from  the  out- 


side of  the  ship,  herself  muttering 
gropingly,  finding  herself.  If  the 
voices  are  of  the  ship,  they  will  soon 
cease,  for  she  must  find  herself.  But 
if  they  are  the  voices  of  the  sea,  they 
must  be  sad  sirens  that  cry,  restlessly, 
questioning,  unsatisfied,  quaint,  home- 
less little  sirens. 

*  *  * 

"Jack  enticed  me  out  to  the  tip  end 
of  the  bowsprit,  with  a  heavy  sea  roll- 
ing. I  must  frankly  admit  that  I  felt 
shaky  climbing  out,  with  my  feet  on 
a  stell-stay  only  a  few  inches  above 
the  crackling  foam,  and  my  hands 
clinging  to  the  lunging  spar.  But  it 
was  wonderful  to  watch  the  yacht 
swing  magnificently  over  the  undulat- 
ing blue  hills,  now  one  side  hulled  in 
the  rushing,  dazzling  smother,  now  the 
other,  the  sunshot  turquoise  water  roll- 
ing back  from  the  shining,  cleaving 
bows,  and  mixing  with  the  milky  froth 
pressed  under.  Now  the  man  at  the 
wheel  would  be  far,  far  below  us,  slid- 
ing down  that  same  mountain.  But  he 
never  overtook  us,  for  about  that  time 
we  were  raising  our  feet  from  the  wet 
into  which  we  had  been  plunged,  and 
were  holding  on  for  dear  life  as  the 
Snark's  doughty  forefoot  pawed  an- 
other steep  rise." 

*  *  * 

At  Tahae  in  the  Marquesas  the  trav- 
elers, on  renting  the  only  available 
cottage,  were  happy  to  find  that  it  was 
the  old  clubhouse  where  Stevenson 
frequently  dropped  in  on  his  visits  to 
that  place.  The  Marquesas  women's 
looks  were  disappointing  to  the  white 
.women,  but  the  race  has  not  been  im- 
proving since  the  far  off  days  when 
Norman  Melville  called  them  the  fair- 
est and  handsomest  women  of  the 
South  Sea  islanders.  There  was  feast- 
ing in  honor  of  the  Snark's  advent: 
calabashes  of  poi-poi,  made  from 
bread  fruit,  where  the  Hawaiians  use 
taro;  and  purke  (pig) — fourteen  huge 
cocoanut-fed  hogs  roasted  whole  in 
ovens  of  hot  stones.  The  barbaric 
music  was  up  to  all  expectations,  and 
there  was  dancing  not  to  be  found 
fault  with  by  seekers  of  the  outland- 
ish.   The  procession  to  the  feast  sup- 


MRS.   JACK   LONDON'S    "LOG  OF  THE  SNARK."  449 

plied  a  "vivid,  savage  picture."  One  Snark  a  basket  filled  with  clear  white 

man  wore  a  silk  hat  and  a  "tattered  rag  honey,  two  ripe     mangoes,     cocoanut 

of  a  calico  shirt;"  there  were  several  cream  and  alligator  pears, 
battered   derbys,  and  the   king's   son 
wore  ducks  and  a     straw     hat.     The 

hula-hula  was  danced  to  the  music  of         And  Mrs-  Jack  London  goes  on  with 

an  accordion.    And  when  Mrs.  London  "er  narrative : 

visited  the  vai,  she  mourned;  Melville  "I  am  writing  at  a  little  green- 
saw  it  blooming  and  happy,  now  it  is  topped  table  on  which  lie  my  five- 
unwholesome,  the  remnant  of  the  peo-  shooter  and  a  Winchester  automatic 
pie  ragged  in  civilized  calico,  and  T1^Q  containing  eleven  cartridges.  Out- 
wretched.  But  in  Ho-o-umi  Valley  the  side  is  an  intermittent  gale  of  wind, 
explorers  found  "a  little  vale  that  thrashing  the  banyans  and  palms, 
looks  as  Typpe  must  have  looked  in  whipping  the  breakers  into  hoarse, 
her  hey-day,"  a  bit  of  aboriginal  fairy-  coarse  roaring,  varied  by  blasts  of 
land.  Here  was  a  "prospect  of  plenty."  thunder  and  lightning  of  all  descrip- 
Rich  lands  border  the  stream  that  tions;  and  through  the  clamor  I  can 
threads  the  valley,  breadfruit,  bananas  just  catch  the  pulling-calls  of  desper- 
and  cocoanut  palms  thrive.  Copper-  ately  hauling  men  on  yacht  and  reef, 
skinned  natives  fish  in  the  river.  Grass  as  they  work  to  clear  the  vessel  at 
huts,  "the  quintessence  of  savage  pic-  high  water  ...  I  hear  no  shots,  and 
turesqueness,"  dot  the  landscape.  In  am  fairly  certain  our  crowd  is  not  be- 
the  little  village  at  the  mouth  of  the  mg  annoyed  by  the  scoundrelly  man- 
valley  the  explorers  met  "a  Marque-  eaters  ashore.  I  am  not  exactly  happy 
san  Adonis,"  a  lithe,  strong  specimen  with  my  man  out  there,  tired  and  anx- 
of  manhood,  whose  memory  they  cher-  ious  and  supperless ;  and  the  yacht,  in 
ish  as  of  the  approximation  to  the  Ty-  spite  of  almost  unbelievable  staunch- 
pean  of  older  chronicles.  ness,  may  break  up  in  the  night. 
Going  into  Papeete,  after  being  sa-  They  could  get  away  in  the  whaleboats 
luted  by  the  U.  S.  Cruiser  Annapolis,  — but  what  would  they  meet  if  they 
the  Snarkers  were  hailed  from  a  na-  tried  to  land  on  the  beach — the  sav- 
tive  craft  flying  a  red  flag.  Standing,  ages  knowing  the  ship  had  been  de- 
in  the  canoe,  was  "a  startling  Biblical  serted!" 


*  *  * 


figure,"  a  tall,  tawny  blonde  man,  clad 

only  in  a  sleeveless  shirt  of  large  mesh  «T  1  u  •  r-  •  i  1  i  -,  i 
fishnet  and  a  scarlet  loin  cloth.  "Hul-  Q  Jackc  has  ,]Ust  fini^ed  a  beautiful 
loa,  Jack;hulloa,  Charmian!"  It  was  South  Sea  story  entitled  The  Hea- 
astonishing.  Suddenly  they  recog-  the*'  an,d  *  n™  df  P  m  f  noye1'  Ag- 
nized him  as  a  friend  last  met  in  Call-  7e nture'  ™thjh£  stage  °f  act.lon  nght 
fornia,  some  years  before,  and  whom  h.e.re  0n  ^duffryn  Mountains.  Be- 
they  called  the  "Nature  Man."  slde.s  oursteady  work  these  past  three 
"What's  the  red  flag  for?"  asked  weeksu and  over,  we  have  boxed,  ridden 
London  horseback  and  swum  at  sunset,  some- 
"  "Socialism,  of  course."  times  jn   trop!cal    fhowers  when   the 

"Oh,  I  know  that;  but  what  are  you  palms  lay  against  the,  storpy ^  llkf 

doing  with  it?"  green  enamel  on  a  slate  background, 

"Delivering 'the  message,"  and  the  wi*f  evf  an  eye  *°r  ?\ligato"\' 

flag-bearer  made  a  sweeping  gesture  ,    Mrs.  Jack  called  Jack  s  work    Two 

towards  Papeete  hours  of  creation  a  day.      Jack  vilified 

"To  Tahiti?" "asked     London,     in-  *e   stunt  by  dubbing  it  "bread  and 

credulously.  butter- 

"Sure."  *  *  * 

The  Nature  Man     brought     better         All  very  fascinating  is  this  record 

things  to  his  white  friends  than  to  his  of  voyaging   in  the   South   Seas.     It 

dusky  proteges,  for  he  left  aboard  the  was  in  these   same   Solomon  Islands 


450 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


that  the  greatest  adventure  befell  the 
party.  Some  of  the  inhabitants  in  the 
interior  still  reflect  the  avatism  of 
their  forebears,  and  are  charged  with 
being  head-hunters  and  cannibals. 
Danger  signs,  in  landing  in  such 
places,  by  no  means  passed  with  the 
day  of  Captain  Cook;  there  is  an  add- 
ed nuisance :  some  of  these  islanders 
now  carry  rifles  with  soft-nosed  bul- 
lets. A  fact  which  explains  that  Mrs. 
Jack  London,  while  in  that  locality, 
slept  with  a  rifle  by  her  side  and 
carried  a  revolver  in  her  holster  by 
day.  Jack  found  occasion  to  give  a 
little  exhibition  of  quick  firing  with 
an  automatic  pistol,  just  to  impress 
the  natives. 

It  was  in  this  situation  that  the  party 
one  day  heard  the  news  of  the  mur- 
der of  friends  near  by,  Claud  Bernays 
of  the  Penduffryn  Mountain  Planta- 
tion, and  Captain  Keller  of  the  ship 
Eugenie.  Jack  made  a  note  of  this 
cannibalism  in  order  to  meet  in  this 
country  the  attacks  of  certain  critics 
who  derided  his  "realistic"  stories  of 
the  South  Seas  regarding  cannibalism 
and  other  forms  of  murder.  Since  then 
other   authentic   cases  have   come   to 


light  to  fortify  Jack  London's  posi- 
tion. 

And  what  of  the  good  ship,  "The 
Snark?"  She  was  sold  "for  a  fraction 
of  her  cost,"  estimated  at  $25,000,  to 
an  English  syndicate,  and  handily  was 
used  by  them  for  trading  purposes 
in  the  New  Hebrides.  Later  the 
Londons  heard  of  her  in  the  Bering 
Sea,  off  Alaska,  and  later  still  they 
met  friends  who  had  been  aboard  her 
at  Kodiak,  Alaska,  in  1911.  In  1912, 
she  was  reported  to  have  donned  a 
coat  of  new  green  paint  and  was  har- 
boring around  Seattle.  The  Londons 
had  reached  that  city  a  short  time 
before,  from  a  five  months'  wind-jam- 
ming voyage  from  Baltimore  around 
Cape  Horn,  and  had  left  just  before 
the  Snark  reached  Seattle. 

In  whatever  part  of  the  Seven  Seas 
"The  Snark"  may  poke  her  adventur- 
ous nose  she  is  certain  to  make  his- 
tory, for  it  was  written  all  over  her 
during  her  planning,  building  and  the 
extraordinary  experiences  she  gave 
the  Londons  and  their  friends  in  the 
adventurous  South  Seas,  as  is  most  en- 
tertainingly set  forth  by  Mrs.  Jack 
London  in  her  "Log"  of  that  vessel. 


^^?£- 


«& 

•j»- 


Spiritual  Healing  Divested  of  Mystery 


By  Peter  V.  Ross,  Christian  Science  Committee  on  Publication 


ONE  of  the  writers  in  "The  Over-  that  it  has  become  almost  a  matter  of 

land"  for  April  brings  out  some  common  knowledge  that  all  forms  of 

rather   interesting    phenomena  disease  yield  to  this  Science,  and  any- 

of  what  he  calls  "mental  and  body  who,  through  study  and  practice, 

spiritual  healing"  as  practiced  during  is  competent  to  speak  on  the  subject, 

the  past  three  centuries.     He  distin-  would  hesitate  to  say  that  one  form  of 

guishes  between  cures  effected  by  men-  disease  offers  more  resistance  than  an- 

tal   processes   and  those  wrought  by  other.     For    anyone     to     argue    that 

spiritual  influence.     He  affirms     that  Christian  Science  cures  some  kinds  of 

pain  may  be  allayed,  and  even  some  disease  but  cannot  cure  others,  amounts 

physical  disorders  "due  to  subjective  to  nothing  more  than  to  argue  a  lack 

conditions,"  be  relieved,  through  men-  of  information  on  his  part.    The  ques- 

tal  means.     Cures  which,  unaided  by  tion,  then,  is  not,  Does  Christian  Sci- 

material  means,  produce  actual  physi-  ence  heal?   but,  rather,     How     does 

cal  results  or  changes  that  can  be  seen  Christian  Science  heal,  even  to  the  ex- 

in  the  patient's  tissues  are,  he  admits,  tent  of  working  changes   in  what  is 

accomplished  through  spiritual   inter-  called  the   physical   structure   of   the 

position  as  distinguished  from  mental  body? 

operations.  These  latter  healings  are  When  Mrs.  Eddy  wrote  on  page  86 
to  him  inexplicable ;  they  represent,  he  of  Science  and  Health  that  "Mortal 
says,  "miracles  in  our  day.  They  are  mind  sees  what  it  believes  as  certainly 
not,  he  declares,  like  the  cures  of  as  it  believes  what  it  sees,"  she  threw 
Christian  Science,  which  is,  he  claims,  in  sharp  relief  a  truth  which  previously 
"neither  Christian  nor  scientific."  had  been  hinted  in  the  popular  pro- 
So  much  has  been  said  and  written  verbs,  "As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart, 
as  to  whether  Christian  Science  is  a  so  is  he,"  and  "There  is  nothing  either 
misnomer  that  any  direct  discussion  of  good  or  bad  but  thinking  makes  it  so," 
the  question  at  this  time  would  per-  and  she  thereby  reminded  us,  more  de- 
haps  not  only  be  profitless  but  actually  finitely,  perhaps,  than  had  ever  before 
tiresome.  However,  a  presentation  of  been  done,  of  the  illusory  character  of 
the  fact  that  Christian  Science  effects  the  testimony  of  the  corporeal  senses, 
cures  plainly  observable  in  structural  A  man  believes  in  ghosts,  and 
changes  as  well  as  cures  of  nervous  straightway,  especially  if  stimulated 
and  functional  ailments,  and  some  ex-  by  a  guilty  conscience,  he  may  see  one. 
planation  of  the  modus  operandi  of  What  he  sees  corresponds  with  what 
such  healings,  can  hardly  fail  to  inter-  he  believes.  His  companion  who  does 
est  the  inquirer  and  at  the  same  time  not  believe  in  ghosts,  and  whose  con- 
afford  him  the  most  convincing  evi-  science  is  clear,  sees  none.  Normalize 
dence,  next  to  actual  demonstration,  the  first  man's  thought  by  substituting 
that  Christian  Science  is  precisely  what  for  his  superstitious  belief  the  under- 
its  name  indicates — both  Christian  and  standing  that  ghosts  do  not  exist,  and 
scientific.  by  destroying  the  sin  and  fear  which 
Christian  Science  has  been  so  fre-  disturb  his  mentality,  and  he  can  no 
quently  and  successfully  employed  in  longer  see  a  spectre, 
recent  years  as  a  system  of  healing  The  individual  is  educated  to  be- 


452 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


lieve  in  disease  and  to  fear  it.  With 
his  thought  thus  fixed  on  disease  and 
perturbed  by  apprehension  for  his  own 
safety,  he  presently  seems  to  experi- 
ence sickness  and  suffering.  Correct 
the  mistaken  belief  in  disease  and  re- 
move the  fear  of  it  by  instilling  in 
thought  the  truth  that  disease  has  no 
actual  existence  and  that  there  is  noth- 
ing to  fear  when  God  is  all  presence 
and  all  power,  and  disease  with  its  at- 
tendant symptoms  vanishes. 

The  human  mind  sees  in  the  human 
body  not  what  is  actually  there,  but 
rather  its  own  thoughts  objectified.  Ob- 
sessed by  false  beliefs,  and  perhaps 
tormented  as  a  consequence  of  sinful 
indulgences,  this  mind  may  see,  or 
suppose  that  it  sees,  a  member  of  the 
body  diseased  or  wasted  or  even 
broken.  Enlightened  by  spiritual  un- 
derstanding, the  hitherto  darkened  hu- 
man mind  gains  a  more  accurate  con- 
cept of  things,  and  in  place  of  a  dis- 
eased organ  or  a  wasted  sinew,  or  a 
fractured  bone,  will  see  and  experience 
health,  harmony,  wholeness,  symmetry. 

We  have  supposed  that  what  we  call 
physical  forms  and  objects  are  fixed 
and  substantial,  but  are  they  so?  Are 
they  not  rather  thoughts  projected  or 
embodied  ?  If  so,  a  change  in  thought 
necessarily  produces  a  change  in  the 
outward  form  in  which  the  thought  has 
clothed  itself.  The  human  body  is  it- 
self simply  the  product  of  the  human 


mind.  It  is  that  mind's  concept  of  a 
man.  As  the  mind  and  the  concept 
change,  the  man's  so-called  form  and 
physical  structure  change.  Dominated 
by  error,  the  human  mind  forms  a  very 
imperfect  concept  of  man — a  man  sick 
and  sensual;  controlled  by  truth,  this 
mind  forms  a  more  nearly  perfect  con- 
cept— a  man  free  from  blemishes 
either  moral  or  physical. 

The  corrective  power  which  disillu- 
sionizes the  human  mind  and  estab- 
lishes a  consciousness  of 'health  and 
harmony  in  place  of  supposed  discord 
and  disease  is  thus  seen  to  be  spiritual 
truth;  and  the  practical  application  of 
Jesus'  precept,  "Ye  shall  know  the 
truth  and  the  truth  shall  make  you 
free,"  is  at  once  discerned.  What  is 
the  truth  which  will  liberate  us  from 
disease?  Is  it  not  that  truth,  incul- 
cated by  the  Bible,  that  God  is  Life,, 
the  life  of  every  animate  being,  and 
therefore  that  Life  is  eternal  and  inde- 
structible? When  the  truth  dawns  on 
human  consciousness  that  -_Life  and_ 
Deity  are  one  and  the  same,  then  Life 
is  seen  to  be  omnipotent  and1  nmnipres- 
ent,  and  disease,  which  is  opposed  to 
aricT  destructive  of  Life,  is  recognized 
as  having  no  power,  presence  or  actu- 
ality. Viewed  in  this  light  the  healing 
of  disease  by  metaphysical  processes 
or  spiritual  means,  though  it  produces 
so-called  physical  changes,  is  neither 
mysterious  nor  miraculous. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When   Writing    Advertisers 


vii 


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delightfully  smooth  and  adher- 
ing— makes  friends  and  keeps 
them.      It's    a    pleasure    to 
handle  it." 
Refuse    Substitutes 

They  may  be  dangerous. 
Flesh,  White.  Pink  or  Cream, 
50c.  a  box  of  druggists  or  by 
mail.  Over  two  million  boxes 
sold  annually.  Send  10c. 
I   for  a  sample  box. 

BEN.    LEVY   CO. 

I    French    Perfumers,    Dept.    52 
1      125  Kingston  St.,  Boston,  Ma, 


MANPiF  Eczema,  ear  canker,  goitre,  cured 
*»*^*»'V»i-  or  no  charge.  Write  for  particulars 
describingthetrouble.  ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO. 
Hot  Springs,  Ark. 

GOURAD'S  ORIENTAL  BEAUTY  LEAVES 

A  dainty  little  booklet  of  exquisitely  perfumed 
powdered  leaves  to  carry  in  the  purse.  A  handy 
article  for  all  occasions  to  quickly  improve  the 
complexion.  Sent  for  10  cents  in  stamps  or  coin. 
F.  T.   Hopkins,  37  Great  Jones  St.,  New  York. 


Vili 


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Subscribe  for  the 

LIVING  AGE 


IF  YOU  WANT  every  aspect  of  the  great  European  War  pre- 
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Subscription — $6  a  Year.  Specimen  Copies  Free 


The    Living   Age   Co. 

6  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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ix 


Construction  News 
Press  Clippings 


Contractors,  Material  Men,  Builders,  Manu- 
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country  enable  us  to  give  our  patrons  the 
news  in  advance  of  their  competitors,  and 
before    it   has   become   common   property. 

Let  us  know  what  you  want,  and  we  will 
send   you   samples   and   quote   you   prices. 

Press  clippings  on  any  subject  from  all 
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porations. 

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let. 

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Rand  McNally  Bldg. 


CHICAGO,  ILL. 


THE 

Paul  Gerson 

DRAMATIC  SCHOOL 

Incorporated  Under  the  Laws  of  the  State  of  California 

The  Largest  Training  School 
of  Acting  in  America 

The  Only  Dramatic  School  on  the  Pacific  Coast 

TENTH  YEAR 

Elocution,  Oratory, 
Dramatic  Art 

Advantages: 
Professional  Experience  While  Study- 
ing. Positions  Secured  for  Graduates. 
Six  Months  Graduating  Course.   Stu- 
dents Can  Enter  Any  Time. 

Arrangements  can  be  made  with  Mr.  Gerson 
for   Amateur   and    Professional    Coaching 

Paul  Gerson  Dramatic  School  Bldg. 

McAllister  and   hyde  street 

San    Francisco,    Cal. 
Write  for  Catalogue. 


A  Question 
of    Beauty 

is  always  a 
question  of 
complexion. 
With  a  per- 
fect  complexion  you 


overcome 
deficiencies 


natures 


Gouraud's 


16 


Oriental  Cream 

renders  to  the  skin  a  clear,  refined, 
pearly-white  appearance — the  per- 
fect beauty.  Healing  and  refreshing. 
Non-greasy.     In  use  68  years. 

Send  10c.  for  trial  size 

FERD.  T.  HOPKINS  &  SON 

37  Great  Jones  Street     NewYoikCity 


The 
Real  Estate  Educator 

By  F.  M.  PAYNE 

A  book  for  hustling  Real  Estate  "Boosters," 
Promoters,  Town  builders,  and  everyone 
who  owns,  sells,  rents  or  leases  real  estate 
of  any  kind. 

Containing  inside  information 
not  generally  known,  "Don'ts"  in 
Real  Estate  "Pointers,"  Specific 
Legal  Forms,  etc. 

Apart  from  the  agent,  operator 
or  contractor,  there  is  much  to  be 
found  in  its  contents  that  will 
prove  of  great  value  to  all  who 
wish  to  he  posted  on  Valuation, 
Contracts,  Mortgages,  Leases, 
Evictions,  etc.  The  cost  might  he 
saved  many  hundred  times  over  in 
one  transaction. 

The  new  1916  edition  contains 
the  Torren's  system  of  registra- 
tion. Available  U.  S.  Lands  for 
Homesteads.  The  A.  B.  C.'s  of 
Realty. 

Workmen's  Compensation  Act, 
Income  Tax  Law,  Employer's  Li- 
ability Act.  Statute  of  Frauds, 
How  to  Sell  Real  Estate,  How  to 
Become  a  Notary  Public,  or  Com- 

of  Deeds,  and  other  Useful  Information. 

Cloth.    2S6  Pages.    Price  Sl.OO  Postpaid. 

OVERLAND    MONTHLY 

SAN    FRANCISCO,    CAL. 


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Scientific  Dry  Farming 

Are  you  a  dry  farmer?  Are  you  interested  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  dry  farm?  Are  you  thinking  of  securing  a  home- 
stead or  of  buying  land  in  the  semi-arid  West?  In  any  case  you 
should  look  before  you  leap.  You  should  learn  the  principles 
that  are  necessary  to  success  in  the  new  agriculture  of  the  west. 
You  should 

Learn  the  Campbell  System 

Learn  the  Campbell  System  of  Soil  Culture  and  you  will  not 
fail.  Subscribe  for  Campbell's  Scientific  Farmer,  the  only  au- 
thority published  on  the  subject  of  scientific  soil  tillage,  then 
take  a  course  in  the  Campbell  Correspondence  School  of  Soil 
Culture,  and  you  need  not  worry  about  crop  failure.  Send  four 
cents  for  a  catalog  and  a  sample  copy  of  the  Scientific  Farmer. 

Address, 

Scientific   Soil   Culture   Co. 

BILLINGS,  MONTANA 


fWHEN  THINKING  OF  GOING  EAST*i 

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THINK     OF     THE 

2  TRAINS  DAILY  ^^^^^^^^       Through  Standard  and 

Tur  ,,v^^^,r      >,-         Tourist  Sleeping  Cars 

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AND  THE  I  |FV    fil  |1  And  Ali  other  Points  East 

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DINING  CARS       Service  and  Scenery  Unsurpassed     OBSERVATION  CARS 
For  Full  Information  and  Literature  Apply  to 

fo  WESTERN  PACIFIC  TICKET  OFFICES 

J      665  MARKET  ST.  and  UNION  FERRY  STATION,  SAN  FRANCISCO— TEL.  SUTTER  1651 
£k    1326  Broadway  and  3rd  and  Washington  Sts.,Oakland,Cal.,  Tel.Oakland  132  and  Oakland  574  ^ 

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fMONAMOBILE  OIlA 

S  A    HIGH    GRADE     EASTERN    OIL 

ine  |] 

IT  | 

I  INSIST    ON     MONAMOBILE  I 


Run  A  Whole  Season  Without  Fouling  the  Engi 
YOUR    DEALER    HAS  IT    OR  CAN  GET 


\ 


MISS    HARKER'S    SCHOOL 

PALO  ALTO        -      -         CALIFORNIA 

•  •   • 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

College  Preparatory 
Grammar  and  Primary  Departments 

•  •    • 
SPECIAL  CARE  GIVEN  TO  YOUNGER  CHILDREN 


The  Vose  Player  Piano 

is  so  constructed  that  even  a  little 
child  can  play  it.  It  combines  our  superior  player 
action  with  the  renowned  Vose  Pianos  which  have 
been  manufactured  during  63  years  by  three  gene- 
rations of  the  Vose  family.  In  purchasing  this  in- 
strument you  secure  quality,  tone,  and  artistic  merit 
at  a  moderate  price,  on  time  payments,  if  desired. 
Catalogue  and  literature  sent  on  request  to  those 
interested.    Send  today. 

You  should  become  a  satisfied  owner  of  a 


FP7FMA     Psoriasis,   cancer,  goitre,  tetter, 
J-.  V^  t-.  J-  1V1  .rt.    0|d     soreS|     catarrah,     dandruff, 

sore    eyes,    rheumatism,    neuralgia,    stiff  joints 
piles;  cured  or  no  charge.    Write  for  particular's 
and  free  samples. 

ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO.  Hot  Springs,  Ark. 


vose 


PLAYER 
PIANO 


VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO.,  189  Boylston  St.,  Boston.  Man. 


JIPS2 

v  Pacific. 


N  Freight  Forwarding  Co.  ggf*; 

household  goods  to  and  from  all  points  on  the 
Pacific  Coast  446  Marquette  Building,  Chicago 


640  Old  South  Bldg..  Boston 
324  Whitehall  Bldg.,  N.  Y. 
435  Oliver  Bldg..  Pittsburgh 
272  Drexel  Bldg.,  Phil.  Pa. 


1537  Boatmen's  Bank  Bldg., 
St.  Louis 

855  Monadnock  Bldg., 
San  Francisco 


518  Central  Bldg.,  Los  Angeles 
Write  nearest  office 


EiUblUhcJ  July  JO.  mt 


T\T7 

\l  SAN  FRANCISCO 


Do  Business  by  Mail 

It's  profitable,  with  accurate  lists  of  prospects. 
Our  catalogue  contains  vital  information  on  Mail 
Advertising.  Also  prices  and  quantity  on  6,000 
national  mailing  lists,  99%  guaranteed.     Such  as: 

War  Material  Mfrs.      Wealthy  Men 


AND 

(California  KbvtrtiBtr 


PRICE  10  CENTS  EVERY  SATURDAY  S4.00  PER  YEAR 

Timeiy  Editorials.     Latest  News  of  Society 

Events.    Theatrical   Items  of  Interest. 

Authority  on  Automobile,  Financial 

and  Automobile  Happenings. 

10  Cts.  the  Copy.  $5.00  the  Year 


Cheese  Box  Mfrs. 
Tin  Can  Mfrs. 
Druggists 
Auto  Owners 


Fanners 

Axle  Grease  Mfrs. 
Railroad  Employees 
Contractors,  Etc.,  Etc. 


Write  for  this  valuable  reference  book;  also 
prices  and  samples  of  fac-simile  letters. 

Have  us  write  or  revise  your  Sales  Letters. 

Ross-Gould  1025-H  Olive  St.,  St.  Louis 


Ross-Gould 

_  Mailing 


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Miss  Hamlin's  School 


For  Girls 


Home  Building  on  Pacific  Avenue 
of  Miss  Hamlin's  School  for  Girls 


Boarding  and  day  pupils.  Pupils  received 
at  any  time.  Accredited  by  all  accredit- 
ing institutions,  both  in  California  and  in 
Eastern  States.  French  school  for  little 
children.      Please  call,  phone  or  address 


MISS  HAMLIN 


2230  PACIFIC  AVENUE 


TELEPHONE  WEST  546 

2117 


2123 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


BROADWAY 


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XII 


Make  Moving  a  Gomfor 

The  Nezv   Way— The  Easy  Way 

By  auto  trucks  and  employing  the  well  known 
reliable  expert  San  Francisco  firm 

Dixon  Transfer 
Storage  Company 

ECONOMY  AND  TIME  SAVERS 

Manager  Leo  Dixon  has  had  many  years  of 
varied  experience  in  this  special  and  intricate 
business  from  moving  the  goods  and  outfit- 
tings  of  a  huge  store  to  the  intricate  and 
varied  furnishings  of  a  home.  The  firm  has 
the  best  up-to-date  equipment  to  meet  the 
most  difficult  problems,  and  guarantees  satis- 
faction  at    moderate   rates. 

Packing  Pianos  and  Furniture  for 

Shipment  a  Specialty 

Firetproof  Storage  Furnished 

TRY    THEM! 

Headquarters :  86-88  Turk  St. 

San  Francisco,   Cal. 


Three  generations 

of  the  Vose  family  have  made  the  art  of  man- 
ufacturing the  Vose  Piano  their  life-work.  For 
63  years  they  have  developed  their  instruments 
with  such  honesty  of  construction  and  materials, 
and  with  such  skill,  that  the  Vose  Piano  of  to- 
day is  the  ideal  Home  Piano. 

Delirered  in  your  home  free  of  charge.  Old  instruments 
taken  as  partial  payment  in  exchange.  Time  Payments 
accepted.     If  interested,  send  fcr  catalogues  today. 

VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO. 

189  Boylston  Street  Boston,  Mass 


m 


J^ri^Shi^WJS^ 


W/W/W/WA&> 


TEN  CENT  MUSIC:  Popular  and  Classic 

Why  pay  from  25c  to  75c 

a  copy  for  your  music  when  you  can  get  the  same  and  Detter  in  the  "  CEN- 
TURY EDITION"  for  only  10c  a  copy  postpaid.  Positively  the  only  difference 
is  the  price. 

Send   10c  for  one  of  the  following  and  if  not  more  than  satisfied  we  will 
refund  the  money: 


HUGUENOTS 

Smith 

IL  TROVATORE 

Smith 

LAST  HOPE 

Gottschalk 

MOCKING  BIRD 

Hoffman 

NORMA 

Leybach 

RIGOLETTO 

Liszt 

SILVER  SPRING 

Mason 

MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM 

Smith 

MOONLIGHT  SONATA 

Beethoven 

LAST  SMILE 

Wollenhaupt 

Regular  Price 

$1  00 

1  25 

1  00 

1  00 

1  00 

1  00 

1  00 

1  25 

1  25 

1  25 

COMPLETE  CATALOG   OF  1600  TITLES  SENT    FREE   ON  REQUEST 

Music  Department,  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

259  MINNA  STREET  SAN  FRANCISCO.  CAL. 


xiv  Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When   Writing    Advertisers 

FOR  SALE!    $2,100 

EASY    TERMS 

20  Acres  on  "Las  Uvas"  Creek 

Santa  Clara  County,  Cal. 


"Las  Uvas"  is  the  finest  mountain  stream 
in  Santa  Clara  County. 

Situated  9  miles  from  Morgan  Hill,  between 
New  Almaden  and  Gilroy. 

Perfect  climate. 

Land  is  a  gentle  slope,  almost  level,  border- 
ing on  "Las  Uvas." 

Several  beautiful  sites  on  the  property  for 
country  home. 

Numerous  trees  and  magnificent  oaks. 

Splendid    trout   fishing. 

Good  automobile  roads  to  Morgan  Hill  9 
miles,  to  Mad  rone  8  miles,  to  Gilroy  12  miles, 
to  Almaden  11  miles,  and  to  San  Jose  21 
miles. 


For  Further  Particulars  Address, 

Owner,  259  Minna  Street 
San  Francisco  -         -  California 


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ARE   YOUR    CIRCULARS   AND    BUSINESS 
LETTERS  GETTING  RESULTS? 


DO  THEY  PERSUADE  ? 


DO  THEY  CONVINCE? 


DO  THEY  BRING  ORDERS  ? 


We  are  writers  of  EXPERT  adver- 
tising. 

By  that,  we  mean  the  kind  of  ad- 
vertising that  GETS  THE  ORDERS. 

No  advertising  is  worth  a  straw  that 
does  not  COMPEL  RESULTS. 

We  write  business-getting  letters, 
full  of  force  and  fire,  power  and 
"punch."    They  pull  in  the  ORDERS. 

The  same  qualities  mark  the  circu- 
lars, booklets,  prospectuses  and  ad- 
vertisements that  we  prepare  for  our 
customers.  We  have  a  passion  FOR 
RESULTS! 

We  resurrect  dead  business,  cure 
sick  business,  stimulate  good  business. 
Our  one  aim  is  to  arouse  attention, 
create  desire,  compel  conviction  and 
MAKE  people  buy. 

Let  Us  Try  to  Double  Your 
Sales 

We  want  to  add  you  to  our  list  of 
clients.  If  you  have  a  shady  propo- 
sition, don't  write  to  us.  We  handle 
nothing  that  is  not  on  a  100  per  cent 
truth  basis.    But  if  you  are 

A  Manufacturer,  planning  to  increase 
your  output, 

A  Merchant,  eager  to  multiply  your 
sales, 

An  Inventor,  looking  for  capital  to 
develop  your  device, 

A  Mail  Order  Man,  projecting  a 
campaign, 

An  Author,  wanting  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  a  publisher, 


A  Broker,  selling  shares  in  a  legiti- 
mate enterprise, 

We  Will  Do  Our  Best  To 
Find  You  a  Market! 

We  put  at  your  service  trained  intel- 
ligence, long  and  successful  experi- 
ence in  writing  business  literature  and 
an  intense  enthusiasm  for  GETTING 
RESULTS. 

Tell  us  exactly  what  your  proposi- 
tion is,  what  you  have  already  done, 
what  you  plan  to  do.  We  will  examine 
your  project  from  every  angle,  and  ad- 
vise you  as  to  the  best  and  quickest 
way  to  get  the  RESULTS  you  want. 
We  make  no  charge  for  this  consulta- 
tion. 

If,  then,  you  should  engage  us  to 
prepare  your  literature — booklets, 
prospectuses,  advertisements,  circu- 
lars, letters,  follow-ups — any  or  all  of 
these,  we  will  bend  every  energy  to- 
ward doing  this  work  to  your  complete 
satisfaction.  We  slight  nothing.  To 
the  small  order  as  well  as  the  large, 
we  devote  all  the  mastery  of  language 
and  power  of  statement  we  command. 
We  will  try  our  utmost  to  make  your 
proposition  as  clear  as  crystal  and  as 
powerful  as  a  42  centimetre  gun. 

The  only  thing  that  is  HIGH  about 
our  work  is  its  quality.  Our  charges 
are  astonishingly  LOW. 

Let  us  bridge  the  gulf  between  you 
and  the  buyer.  Let  us  put  "teeth"  in 
your  business  literature,  so  that  it  will 
get  "under  the  skin." 

Write  to  us  TODAY. 


It  Costs  You  Nothing  to  Consult  Us 
It  May  Cost  You  Much  if  You  Don't 


DUFFIELD 


New  York 


156  Fifth  Ave,  NeU 


XVI 


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GET  6  NEW  SUBSCRIBERS 
TO  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


AND 


Receive  a  MANDEL-ETTE  CAMERA,  the 
new  one  minute  photographic  creation, 
the  latest  thing  in  cameras. 


The  Mandel-ette  takes  and  finishes  original  post-card  photographs  in  one  minute 
without  plates  or  films.  No  printing;  no  dark  rooms;  no  experience  required. 
Press  the  button,  and  the  Mandel-ette  turns  out  three  completed  pictures  in  one 
minute.  It  embodies  a  camera,  developing  chamber,  and  dark  room  all  in  one — 
a  miniature  photograph  gallery,  reducing  the  cost  of  the  ordinary  photograph 
from  10  cents  to  ll/2  cents.  The  magazine  holds  from  16  to  50  2%x3%  post 
cards,  and  can  be  loaded  in  broad  day-light;  no  dark  room  necessary.  Simple 
instructions  accompany  each  camera. 

A  child  can  take  perfect  pictures  with  it. 

Price  on  the  market,  $5. 

OVERLAND  MONTHLY  for  one  year  and  a  Mandel-ette  Camera,  $5. 
Get  6  NEW  SUBSCRIBERS  for  OVERLAND  MONTHLY,  and  forward    the 
subscriptions  and  $9.00,  and  you  will  receive  a  Mandel-ette  Camera  FREE. 

Address,  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

259  Minna  Street,  San  Francisco 


YOUR 

SUMMER 

VACATION! 

NOW   IS  THE  TIME 

TO   PLAN— 

Round  Trip  Excursion 

Tickets  on  Sale  All  Summer 

Beginning 

April  27th 

to  Hundreds  of  Mountain 

and  Seaside  Resorts 

Some  Suggestions 

Santa  Cruz  and  Santa  Cruz  Moun- 
tain Resorts — 

Del  Monte,  Monterey  and  Pacific 
Grove — 

Alameda  Beaches — 

Crater  Lake  and  Klamath  Coun- 
try— 

Shasta  Resorts — 

Lake  Tahoe — 

Yosemite    National    Park   and   the 

Big  Trees — 
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Resorts  in  the  High  Sierras — 
Southern  California  Beaches — 
San   Bernardino   Mountain   Resorts 

SEND  FOR  BOOKLETS- 

STATE  REGION  YOU   PREFER 

f  [lines]  j 

SOUTHERN 
PACIFIC 

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Write  for  folder  on  the 

^gj^X 

"Apache  Trail"  of  Arizona 

t  mi  ir 


GOODYEAR  FOUNTAIN  PEN 

The  Ever  Ready  and  Reliable  Pen  You  Want 

H   OFFERED  to  NEW  and  OLD  SUBSCRIBERS 

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This  popular  pen  is  made  by  the  Goodyear  Pen  Company,  one  of  the 

old,  reliable  pen  factories.    The  pen  is  solid  fourteen  karat  gold 

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also  printed  guarantee,  are  furnished  with  each  pen. 

This  pen  is  doubly  guaranteed.    The  factory  guarantees  them.     We 
know  them.    We  guarantee  them.    You  know  us. 

The  point  and  other  parts  of  this  pen  are  full  standard  size. 
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AN  ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE  OF  THE  WEST 

CONTENTS   FOR  JUNE   1917 

FRONTISPIECES: 

Early  Summer  in  California 449-459 

Nearing     the     Summit 460 

Illustration  to  accompany  "The  Ruler  of  the  Range." 

THE   RULER  OF  THE  RANGE CLARENCE  CULLIMORE  461 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

THREE  YEARS  A  CAPTIVE  AMONG  INDIANS         .  J.  A.  LEEMAN,  M.  D.  466 

Illustrated  from   photographs. 

OREGON   WOMEN    IN    POLITICS           ....  FRED  LOCKLEY  475 

A  VISIT  WITH   JOSE  TORIBIO   MEDINA           .  CHAS.   E.    CHAPMAN,    Ph.   D.  477 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 

THE    SOLDIER.       Verse DOROTHY   DE  JAGERS  483 

GUNS  OF  GALT.      Serial DENISON  CLIFT  284 

THE    OFFERING.      Verse ARTHUR  "WALLACE  PEACH  493 

A  LETTER  FROM  THE  BOY L.  W.   HUNTINGTON  494 

PROGRESS.       Verse M.  C.  500 

COTTON    GROWING    UNDER    IRRIGATION    IN 

THE  SOUTHWEST           .         .         .  PERCY  L.  EDWARDS  501 

A   SIERRA    DELL.      Verse STANTON  ELLIOTT  504 

PATERNITY.     Story MARY  BLISS  WHITED  505 

YOUTH    NEVER    GOES    UNTIL    WE    THRUST 

HIM   OUT.      Verse           .         .         .  EDWARD  H.   S.   TERRY  509 

THE   MIRAGE.     Story CHARLES  W.  PETTIT  510 

THE   OLD    REDWOOD   SPEAKETH.      Verse       .         .  C.  E.   BARNES  513 

SOLDIER    POETS                LORING  SEAVERS*  514 

PATTY     REED KATHERINE  W.  COOPER  517 

BOYHOOD    DAYS    ON    THE    BANKS    OF    THE 

SACRAMENTO  IN  THE  SEVENTIES         .         .  ROCKWELL  D.  HUNT  521 

WAS    IT  A    DREAM?      Verse BURTON    JACKSON    WYMAN  526 

CHINESE   FOOD  AND   RESTAURANTS       .         .         .  ALICE  A.  HARRISON  527 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIONS  ON    FOODS   RICH 

IN    IRON           ....  EVALINE  M.  KERR  533 

WM.    ROWLANDS,    CALIFORNIA    PIONEER     .         .  BERTHA  M.  PAYNE  535 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 

A    TRIP    TO    DRAKE'S    BAY 536 

THE    DIVINE   PLAN    OF  THE   AGES  .         .         .  (The  Late)   PASTOR  RUSSELL  538 

o>>»xc<rccc- 

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Three  generations 

of  the  Vose  family  have  made  the  art  of  man- 
ufacturing the  Vose  Piano  their  life-work.  For 
63  years  they  have  developed  their  instruments 
with  such  honesty  of  construction  and  materials, 
and  with  such  skill,  that  the  Vose  Piano  of  to- 
day ic  the  ideal  Home  Piano. 

DelWered  in  your  home  freo  of  charge.  Old  instrument! 
taken  as  partial  payment  in  exchange.  Time  Payment! 
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Nearing    the    summit. 


OVERLAND 


Founded  1868 


MONTHLY 


BRET  HARTE 


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^SKasei^: 


VOL.  LXIX 


San  Francisco,  June,  1917 


No.  6 


Mt.   Whitney   from   the   West. 


The  Ruler  of  the  Range 


By  Clarence  Cullimore 


IF  YOU  have  followed  the  rocky  zig- 
zags that  lead  to  the  mountain  tops, 
if  you  have  been  lured,  by  the  siren 
of  the  open  trail,  up  to  the  heights 
of  exhilaration  that  set  every  nerve 
a-jumping,  then,  each  successive  sea- 
son you  will  search  for  some  plausible 
excuse  to  cast  aside  the  shackles  that 
bind  to  civilization,  and  leave  the  sti- 
fling valley  for  more  abundant  living 


in  the  rugged  wilderness  among  the 
mighty  peaks.  Here  you  will,  on  a 
frosty  July  night,  sit  by  the  crackling 
juniper  logs,  and  know  that  in  all  these 
old  woods  of  ours  there  is  naught  of 
consequence  in  the  list  of  human  at- 
tributes, save  it  be  a  man's  character 
and  a  man's  manhood. 

If   you  are  not  of   this  great  fra- 
ternity of  mountaineers,  you  still  pos- 


Mt.  Whitney,  from  the  plateau  at  its  base. 


sess  a  latent  gem  of  primitive  man- 
hood that  may  blossom  forth  and  lead 
you  to  the  wilderness.  Come  with 
me,  and  we  will  travel  to  the  ruler  of 
the  range.  It  is  not  a  lonely  crest, 
dominating  its  surroundings  in  soli- 
tary independence,  but,  rather,  a  Ti- 
tian brow  whose  dignity  and  awesome 
grandeur  are  enhanced  by  the  lofty 
group  of  wild  and   savage  pinnacles 


that  stand  attendant  on  the  sharp,  ter- 
rible crest. 

Mt.  Whitney,  clothed  in  ramparts 
of  bronzed  pines  and  sunken  snow 
banks,  glacier-burnished  and  ice-chis- 
eled, from  the  huge,  broad  buttresses 
up  through  wild  ravines  and  spacious 
galleries  ornamented  by  deep-fluted, 
slender  minarets  and  a  profusion  of 
broad  domes,  rears  its  crown  above  all 


On    the   edge   of  the  timber   line,    Mt.    Whitney,    California. 


other  mountains  in  the  United  States, 
exclusive  of  Alaska. 

Its  altitude  is  14,502  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  It  is  situated,  in  an 
air-line,  about  twelve  miles  directly 
west  of  the  village  of  Lone  Pine  in 
Inyo  County,  California.  This  ap- 
proach is  very  precipitous,  but,  by  its 
western  side,  travelers  from  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley  may  reach     its     base 


through  a  series  of  easy  climbs,  con- 
suming not  more  than  ten  days'  time. 
At  Crabtree  Meadow  by  the  moun- 
tain's foot,  you  will  lie  awake  at  night 
on  a  fragrant  bed  of  pine  needles  to 
look  far  above  at  patches  of  snow  that 
linger  late  into  the  summer.  Over- 
head, the  cold,  white  stars  sparkle 
with  a  new  and  more  compelling  bril- 
liancy.   Your  very  being  tingles  with 


The   lone    Smithsonian    cabin    on   the    crest   of    Mt.    Whitney. 


desire  for  daylight  to  dawn  on  the 
morning  of  your  ascent  of  the  loftiest 
peak  in  the  land. 

From  Crabtree  the  climb  is  difficult 
but  not  hazardous.  There  are  no  pre- 
cipitous heights  to  scale,  but,  withal, 
it  requires  a  stout  heart  and  toughened 
muscles  to  labor  through  the  rock- 
rooted  foxtail  pines  up  to  the  knarled 
junipers   that   fringe   the   timber-line. 


This  sparse  and  tragic  growth  is  sprin- 
kled, here  and  there,  with  bleached 
and  barkless  sentinels  that  have  lost 
their  struggle  for  existence  against 
the  fierceness  of  the  winter's  blasts. 

The  winding,  zizzag  trail  leads  over 
slippery,  polished  rocks,  through  a 
bog  or  two,  and  then  over  patches  of 
last  winter's  snow,  where,  underneath 
a  snow  bridge  hung  with  crystal  icy- 


Shivering   on    the   sheltered    side   of  the   cabin   on   the   summit. 


THE    RULER    OF    THE    RANGE 


465 


cles,  rushes  a  sparkling  rivulet.  Now, 
the  common  trail  leads  you  through  an 
abrupt  chimney,  carved  out  of  solid 
rock.  There  are  other  chimneys  that 
lead  almost  to  the  summit.  Which- 
ever way  you  go,  hands  and  arms  will 
be  of  service  in  the  climb. 

From  the  mountain's  side  you  look 
back  at  a  wild,  forbidding  wall  of  rock, 
scarred  and  ice-hewn,  at  whose  feet 
there  blinks  two  eye-like  sapphire 
lakes  from  out  their  sockets  of  snow 
and  ice.  Pushing  upward,  the  rock, 
on  which  you  have  for  a  moment  bal- 
anced, slips  to  leap  with  tremendous 
bounds  into  the  chasm  below.  Each 
time  you  pause  for  breath,  you  behold 
a  more  expansive,  wilder-growing 
panorama,  until  at  last  you  struggle 
over  the  jagged  blocks  of  rock  to  the 
highest  jutting  ledge  of  all.  Here 
stands  the  stone  cabin,  built  in  1909 
for  observations  by  the  Smithsonian 
Institute. 

Shivering  on  its  sheltered  side,  you 
look  below.  Almost  two  miles  beneath, 
to  the  east,  there  stretches  a  dreamlike 
picture  of  the  Owen's  Valley.  Its 
river  winds  through  desert  olive,  sagy 
waste  to  touch  the  vivid  green  spots 
where  lie  the  villages  of  Independence 
and  Lone  Pine,  then  on  to  a  broad  ex- 
panse of  shimmering  sunlit  blue  of 
Owen's  Lake. 

Beyond  this  valley  is  another  range 
that  shuts  from  view  the  lowest  land 
in  the  United  States — Death  Valley. 

Turning  to  the  west,  you  find  a  more 
tremendous  awe-inspiring  sight.  Down 
thousands  of  feet  and  far  away  lies 
the  valley  of  the  Kern,  nourished  by 
a  hundred  snow-fed  branches.  To  the 
south  of  this  appears  the  vague  blue 
where  lurk  the  thousand  wonders  of 
the  canyon  of  the  King's;     and     all 


A    lone    sentinel    on    the    mountainside. 

about,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  from 
the  snowy  ranks  of  Kaweah  and  far 
beyond  Mt.  Brewer,  myriads  of  snow- 
crowned  peaks,  passes  and  amphi- 
theatres stretch  in  wild,  surpassing 
magnificence. 

It  is  here  that  for  one  brief  moment 
you  can  forget  the  petty  quibblings 
far  below,  and  lose  your  own  identity 
in  the  exhilarated  freedom  and  rever- 
ent exultation  that  cries  aloud  your 
kinship  to  the  maker  of  the  hills. 


A  camp   in    Indian  territory. 


Three  Years  a  Captive  Among  Indians 


By  J.  A.  Leeman,  M.  D. 


AMONG  those  who  came  to 
Texas  in  the  early  days  was 
Joseph  Sowell,  from  Tennes- 
see. He  came  with  his  young 
family  and  two  negro  women,  and 
settled  on  Red  River  at  a  place  still 
known  as  "Sowell's  Bluff."  Later  he 
moved  back  from  the  river  and  settled 
within  the  present  limits  of  Funnin 
County.  The  county  was  very  sparse- 
ly settled,  and  often  raided  by  bands 
of  hostile  Indians,  and  Joseph  Sowell 
was  authorized  to  raise  a  company  of 
minute  men  for  the  protection  of  the 
settlers. 

These  minute  men  were  to  always 
be  in  readiness  at  a  moment's  warning 
to  mount  their  horses  and  go  in  pur- 
suit of  a  band  of  hostiles.  '  They  had 
no  regular  camp,  but  remained  at  their 
homes,  always  having  a  horse  ready 
and  their  guns  in  order.  When  In- 
dians were  discovered  in  the  country 


the  man  who  first  saw  them  was  the 
runner  to  notify  the  minute  men.  On 
one  occasion,  Captain  Sowell  and  his 
men  followed  a  band  of  raiding  In- 
dians and  overtook  them  near  Red 
River,  and  a  severe  fight  ensued  in 
which  eight  Indians  were  killed  and 
three  minute  men  wounded. 

The  home  of  Captain  Sowell  was 
in  the  edge  of  a  prairie,  the  timber 
circling  around  his  place  from  the 
east  to  the  northwest,  the  distance 
north  to  the  timber  line  being  about 
half  a  mile. 

Late  one  evening  in  the  summer  of 
1842,  John  Sowell,  a  boy  13  years  of 
age,  was  sent  by  his  father  across  the 
prairie,  north,  to  drive  up  the  milk 
cows,  which  had  a  habit  of  stopping 
in  the  edge  of  the  prairie  to  graze,  in- 
stead of  coming  on  to  the  cow  pen.  On 
this  occasion  the  boy  had  crossed  the 
prairie  and  was  near  the  edge  of  the 


THREE  YEARS  A  CAPTIVE    AMONG  INDIANS 


467 


timber  when  two  Indians  rose  up  out 
of  the  tall  grass  within  a  few  yards 
of  him.  He  turned  and  ran,  but  one 
of  the  Indians  soon  caught  him  and 
dragged  him  into  the  woods,  at  the 
same  time  choking  him,  so  that  he 
could  give  no  alarm. 

The  Indians  had  their  horses  tied 
in  the  timber,  and  when  they  arrived 
at  the  place  where  the  horses  were 
they  stripped  all  of  the  clothing  from 
the  boy,  even  to  his  hat,  and  threw 
them  on  the  ground.  They  then  placed 
him,  naked,  behind  one  of  the  Indians 
on  the  bare  back  of  the  horse. 

They  then  set  out  towards  the  north- 
west, rapidly,  keeping  in  the  timber. 
All  night  they  rode  fast,  and  all  the 
following  day  in  the  hot  sun,  and  the 
boy's  b*rCk  was  badly  blistered.  He 
had  a  thick  head  of  hair,  which  came 
down  over  his  neck,  and  was  a  pro- 
tection to  those  parts.  The  Indians 
expected  pursuit,  and  often  looked 
back  the  way  they  came. 

Just  before  sundown  they  came  to 
a  creek,  and  the  Indians  dismounted 


and  staked  out  their  horses,  and  while 
one  started  a  fire  the  other  went  to 
hunt  a  deer.  When  John  was  lifted 
from  the  horse  and  his  feet  placed 
upon  the  ground  he  was  unable  to 
stand,  and  fell.  His  back  was  very 
sore  from  the  sunburn,  and  he  turned 
over  on  his  chest  and  lay  with  his  face 
on  his  arms  during  the  night.  He 
knew  after  the  long  night  ride  that  his 
father  had  no  chance  to  rescue  him. 
Trailing  could  only  be  done  by  day- 
light. The  hunter  soon  returned  with 
a  small  deer,  and  the  two  Indians  sat 
and  broiled  and  ate  of  the  meat,  and 
talked  in  a  low  guttural  tone  until 
far  into  the  night. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  great  ex- 
citement at  the  Sowell  home,  and  in 
fact  all  over  the  settlement.  The 
cows  discovered  the  presence  of  the 
Indians  when  they  arose  from  the 
grass  to  catch  the  boy,  and  at  once 
ran  across  the  prairie  towards  the 
house,  holding  their  heads  high,  and 
some  of  them  occasionally  stopping 
to  look  back.    Captain  Sowell  noticed 


A  corner  of  a  group  of   Indians. 


Visitors  in  the   Indian  camp. 


the  commotion  among  the  cattle,  and 
at  first  thought  his  son  was  running 
them  in,  but  soon  abandoned  that 
idea  when  he  saw  that  the  cows  were 
frightened  as  they  dashed  up.  They 
were  used  to  the  boy,  and  would  not 
run  from  him  in  that  manner.  Sowell 
now  thought  of  Indians,  and  became 
uneasy  about  the  boy,  and  walked  out 
a  short  distance  to  see  if  he  was  com- 
ing, but  seeing  nothing  of  him  hurried 
to  the  house  and  told  his  wife  that  he 
believed  Indians  were  around  and  he 
was  going  to  see  about  John.  He  took 
down  his  rifle  and  pistols  (muzzle- 
loaders)  and  hurriedly  left  the  house. 
The  mother  and  the  two  negro  wo- 
men now  greatly  excited,  went  out 
and  looked  across  the  prairie  as  long 
as  they  could  distinguish  objects.  The 
captain  hurried  around  the  prairie, 
concealed  from  view  in  the  timber. 
It  was  now  getting  dark,  and  he  could 
see  nothing  of  the  boy  or  hear  any- 
thing that  would  give  a  clue  as  to  what 
was  transpiring.  He  knew  that  it 
would  not  do  to  call,  as  that  would 
disclose  his  presence  to  the  Indians,  if 


it  were  Indians,  and  they  would  slip 
up  on  him  in  the  darkness  and  kill 
him,  and  no  assistance  rendered  the 
boy.  So  he  went  cautiously,  alert  to 
every  sound,  determined,  however,  if 
he  heard  an  outcry  from  the  lad  to 
go  to  him  regardless  of  consequences. 
But  all  was  still,  and  he  retraced  his 
steps  to  the  house,  hoping  that  the  boy 
might  have  arrived,  but  such  was  not 
the  case.  His  wife  and  the  negro  wo- 
men were  almost  frenzied,  and  it  was 
all  the  captain  could  do  to  keep  them 
from  crying  aloud. 

Those  old-time  plantation  slave  wo- 
men were  almost  as  devoted  to  the 
children  of  their  masters  as  their 
mothers,  and  would  risk  their  lives 
or  even  die  for  them.  The  captain 
now  told  his  wife  and  the  negro  wo- 
men that  they  must  keep  quiet  and 
watch  and  listen,  and  if  they  detected 
the  presence  of  Indians  to  quit  the 
house  and  take  to  the  woods  and  hide 
themselves  in  the  darkness.  He  had 
to  leave  them  alone  and  go  to  notify 
the  minute  men  that  he  was  not  satis- 
fied the  Indians  had  killed  John  or 


Holding  a  pow-wow. 


470 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


taken  him  captive.  Saddling  his  horse 
he  hurried  away  to  the  nearest  minute 
man,  four  miles  away,  told  him  of  the 
situation,  and  instructed  him  to  make 
haste  and  notify  the  others,  and  aH  to 
meet  at  his  house.  He  then  hurried 
back  home,  and  found  the  situation  as 
he  had  left  it. 

Before  midnight  all  of  the  minute 
men  had  arrived,  fifteen  in  number, 
and  a  bold  search  commenced  with 
lights,  hunting  for  the  body  if  the 
boy  had  been  killed.  Nothing  was 
revealed,  however,  until  daylight,  and 
then  the  clothes  were  found.  The  lack 
of  blood  stains  or  marks  of  violence 
on  the  garments,  gave  some  assurance 
that  the  boy  had  not  been  killed,  and 
was  a  captive.  It  gave  the  wretched 
mother  some  relief  when  the  clothing 
was  carried  to  the  house,  and  she  eag- 
erly examined  them.  Only  a  torn 
place  in  the  collar  of  the  shirt  where 
the  Indian  gripped  him  hard  while 
dragging  him  to  the  horses. 

It  was  soon  discovered  that  only 
two  Indians  had  been  present,  and  the 
captain  picked  five  of  the  men  who 
had  the  best  horses  to  go  with  him  on 
the  trail,  and  sent  two  young  fellows 
to  stay  as  guards  at  his  house.  The 
others  he  sent  back  home,  fearing  that 
other  Indians  were  in  the  country, 
these  two  only  branching  off  from  the 
main  band.  What  anxious  hours  were 
these  while  the  mother  waited  to  hear 
tidings  of  her  boy,  her  only  child. 

All  day  the  pursuers  rode  as  fast  as 
they  could  under  the  circumstances, 
following  a  trail,  but  only  twenty  miles 
were  made  by  dark,  when  the  trail 
could  no  longer  be  followed  until  day- 
light again.  That  night  the  captain 
correctly  reasoned  thus:  The  Indians 
had  covered  forty  miles  the  night  be- 
fore and  at  least  fifty  on  this  day,  and 
were  now  sixty  miles  ahead.  He  saw 
that  it  was  hopeless  to  continue  the 
pursuit,  and  the  party  returned,  the 
minute  men  to  their  various  homes, 
and  the  captain  to  his  and  also  to  an 
almost  broken-hearted  wife  and 
mother. 

T>  *p  *F  •!» 

Next  morning  the  Indians  ate  some 


more  of  their  meat,  and  then  one  of 
them  approached  John,  who  was  still 
lying  on  his  chest,  and  seeing  the 
large  puffed  up  blisters  on  his  back, 
struck  them  hard  blows  with  his  hand 
and  burst  them.  He  then  jerked  the 
boy  to  a  sitting  position  and  offered 
him  some  meat,  but  he  was  sick  and 
mad,  and  refused  to  take  it.  His  back 
felt  like  it  had  been  salted  and  pep- 
pered. 

The  Indian  now  thought  of  a  plan 
to  make  his  captive  eat.  He  sharpened 
a  stick,  and  then  cutting  off  a  morsel 
of  meat,  stuck  the  stick  through  it,  and 
then  held  it  to  the  boy's  mouth.  John 
kept  his  mouth  closed.  The  Indian 
then  commenced  jabbing  the  stick  to 
his  mouth,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
open  it  and  take  the  meat  to  keep  his 
lips  and  gums  from  being  lacerated  by 
the  sharp  stick.  Both  Indians  laughed 
and  then  another  bite  was  held  to  his 
mouth,  and  he  took  that  also.  A  large 
piece  was  then  handed  to  him,  which 
he  took,  and  commenced  to  eat. 

The  Indians  packed  up  and  set  out 
again,  still  making  John  ride  naked  be- 
hind one  of  them.  Before  noon  they 
met  a  large  band  of  Indians  of  their 
own  tribe,  Comanches,  and  led  by  their 
head  chief,  "Buffalo  Hump.*' 

He  talked  to  the  two  Indians,  and 
then  rode  around  and  closely  examined 
the  captive.  He  seemed  to  be  angry 
at  the  way  they  had  treated  him,  and 
sent  John  on  to  the  main  camp  in 
charge  of  only  one  Indian  taken  from 
his  band,  and  to  punish  the  other  two 
made  them  join  his  band  and  go  on  the 
raid  which  he  was  now  starting  out  on. 
He  also  furnished  a  buffalo  skin  for 
the  captive  to  ride  on. 

When  the  main  camp  was  reached, 
it  proved  to  be  a  large  village,  situ- 
ated on  the  Wichita  River,  near  where 
the  town  of  Wichita  Falls  is  now  on  the 
Fort  Worth  and  Denver  Railroad.  The 
rows  of  tepees  or  wigwams  extended 
a  mile  or  more  along  the  river,  but  far 
enough  back  to  be  out  of  danger  of 
high  water. 

John  was  taken  to  the  center  of  the 
village,  where  there  was  a  large  tepee, 
and  turned  over  to  an  old  Indian  squaw 


Squaws  on   the  way  to  the   gathering. 


— the  chief's  wife.  The  first  thing  the 
Indian  woman  did  for  John  was  to 
wrap  a  dressed  deer  skin  around  his 
naked  and  blistered  body,  and  tie  it 
on  with  a  leather  string  around  the 
waist.  In  the  next  few  days  she  made 
him  some  Indian  clothes  out  of 
dressed  skins,  leggins,  moccasins,  cap, 
etc.  She  also  painted  a  red  spot  on 
each  cheek  and  one  on  the  end  of  his 


nose.  She  treated  him  well,  except 
she  made  him  work  nearly  all  the  time 
bring  water  and  wood,  dressing  skins, 
attending  to  horses  and  other  things. 
There  were  many  horses  being  herded 
in  the  valley,  and  a  good  per  cent  of 
them  belonged  to  the  head  chief. 
These  horses  had  been  stolen  at  vari- 
ous times  from  the  settlers.  The  great 
chief  had  now  gone  to  get  more  horses, 


472                                     OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

scalps  and  captives.  up  near     "Buffalo     Hump's"     tepee, 

There  were  other  prisoners  in  camp,  where  the  fight  was  to     take     place, 

boys  and  girls,  and  John  often  saw  When  the  young  Indian  was  brought 

them,  but  they  were  not  allowed  to  up  whom  John  had  to  fight,  he  took  a 

converse  with  one  another.  good  look  at  him  and  was  satisfied  that 

In  the  center  of  the  village  and  near  this  boy  was  not  in  the  scrap  which  he 

the  chief's  tepee  was  a  pole  set  up  in  had  with  the  other  Indian  boys,  and 

the  ground,  and  it  was  hung  full  of  also  that  he  was  well  made  and  taller 

scalps  of  all  sizes     and    colors,    red  than  he  was.    He  dreaded  the  encoun- 

scalps,  black  scalps,  long  hair  of  wo-  ter  with  this  Indian  lad.     The  great 

men,  and  baby  scalps.     At  night  the  chief  of  the  Comanches  was  betting  a 

Indians  would  gather  around  this  pole  horse  on  him,  and  he  must  fight  to  win. 

and  dance  and  sing.     The  scene,  lit  If  he  lost,  what  could  a  poor  captive 

up  by  numerous  fires.     War     parties  pale   face   boy   expect   from   a   mad- 

were  coming  and  going  most  of  the  dened  savage  who  held  human  life  so 

time,  bringing  in  horses  and  hanging  lightly. 

fresh  scalps  on  the  pole.     One  party  The  fight  was  long  and  desperate, 

brought  in  the  scalp  of  a  woman  with  and  soon  both     were     covered     with 

long,  thick  hair,  and  John  imagined  blood.     John  could  clinch  and  throw 

that  it  was  the  scalp  of  his  mother.  It  the  Indian,  but  could  not  keep  him 

looked  like  her  hair  when  she  would  down  and  beat  him  until  the  victory 

take  it  down  at  home  to  comb  it.  was  won,  as  he  tried  time  and  again 

The  Indians  were  not  always  sue-  to  do.    The  Comanche  boy  could  whirl 

cessful  in  their  raids.     Many  brave  as  quick  as  a  cat  and  throw  John  off, 

pioneers  were  in  the  settlements,  and  and  he  had  to  regain  his  feet  quickly 

the   Indians  were  often  beaten  with  to  keep  himself  from    being    pinned 

the  loss  of     warriors.     Occasionally,  down.    At  last  the  Indian  boy  began  to 

also,  in  their  raids  among  ttie  whites  weaken.     John's  hard    knuckles    had 

they  encountered  the  Texas  Rangers  beaten  the  skin  from  his  head  and  face 

and  generally  got  the  worst     of     it.  and  his  lungs  almost  knocked  loose  by 

When  meeting  up  with  one  of  these  hard  blows  and  kicks  in  the  side.    Af- 

disasters  they  would  hurry  back  to  the  ter  a  few  more  rounds  the  young  brave 

village  and  have  a  big  pow-wow  for  turned  his  back,     staggered     to     his 

several  days  of  mourning.    The  Indian  father  and   stood  with   bowed  head, 

boys  annoyed  John  very  much.    They  mutely  admitting  his  defeat, 

gathered  around  him,  pulled  his  hair,  "Buffalo  Hump"  claimed  the  horse 

slapped  him  in  the  face  and  did  many  and  took  hold  of  the  rope  which  the 

other  things  to  annoy  and  hurt  him.  other  chief  was  holding,  but  this  chief 

For  fear  of  the  other  Indians,  he  made  was  not  satisfied  and  would  not  turn 

no  resistance,  but     finally     the     old  loose.    He  went  to  the  white  boy  and 

squaw  became  tired  of  these  attacks,  examined  his  knuckles,  as  if  he  sus- 

and  made  signs  to  John  to  hit  them,  pected  some  trick,  and  still  would  not 

John  was  a  stout  frontier  boy,  and  he  give  up  the  horse.    Loud,  angry  words 

went  at  the  young  Indians  like  a  wild-  ensued,   and   both  chiefs   drew  their 

cat.    He  caught  hold  of  their  long  hair,  tomahawks    and    stood    facing    each 

jerked  them  to  the  ground,  stamped  other  in  a  menacing  attitude.    At  this 

upon  them  and  soon  had  a  dozen  or  crisis,  the  squaw  of  "Buffalo  Hump" 

more  running  away.    After  that  drub-  rushed  between  them  and  held  up  her 

bing  they  left  him  alone.  hands.    Strange  to  say,  both  chiefs  at 

When  the  chief  came     back,     his  once  belted  their  tomahawks,  and  the 

squaw  evidently    told    him    what    a  horse  was  duly  delivered  to  "Buffalo 

fighter  their  captive  was,  for  soon  he  Hump." 

made  a  bet  with  another  chief  that  the  For  several  days  after  the  fight  John 

white  boy  could  whip  his  boy.    They  could  hardly  walk  or  move  about,  and 

bet  a  horse  each,  and  led  the  two  boys  his  right  hand  was  swollen  to  twice  its 


\ 


THREE  YEARS  A  CAPTIVE    AMONG  INDIANS 


473 


natural  size,  and  he  could  not  sleep  for 
pain.  Finally  the  old  squaw  beat  up 
some  herbs  and  made  a  poultice,  which 
she  bound  to  the  hand,  which  soon  had 
a  good  effect  and  the  swelling  de- 
creased. 

As  time  went  on,  the  chief  allowed 
John  to  have  a  bow  and  some  arrows, 
but  without  spikes  in  the  arrows,  and 
let  him  go  out  with  the  Indian  boys  to 
shoot  rabbits  and  prairie  dogs.  The 
Indian  boys  were  not  allowed  to  have 
spikes  on  their  arrows,  either,  but  the 
arrows  were  sharpened,  not  flat,  but 
round,  to  a  small,  tapering  point,  and 
then  burnt  black  in  hot  ashes  to  harden 
them.  Small  game  was  killed  by 
them.  From  then  on  John  and  the  In- 
dian boys  got  along.  He  and  the  boy 
whom  he  fought  often  hunted  together 
and  became  great  friends.  They  had 
many  friendly  bouts  of  wrestling,  run- 
ning foot  races,  etc.,  to  see  who  was 
the  better  in  these  things.  John 
learned  the  Comanche  dialect,  and 
could  understand  the  Indians.  He 
found  out  that  when  he  and  the  Indian 
youth,  whose  name  was  Nacona,  were 
out  alone  that  Nacona  was  responsible 
for  him,  and  must  bring  him  back  or 
kill  him  if  he  attempted  to  escape. 

When  John  was  about  15  years  of 
age  he  was  allowed  to  have  spikes  in 
his  arrows,  and  go  out  with  the  war- 
riors to  kill  deer  and  antelopes.  The 
buffalo  range  was  some  distance  off, 
and  he  was  not  allowed  to  go  that  far. 
They  would  not  let  him  go  on  raids, 
even  to  fight  other  tribes  of  Indians, 
which  they  often  did.  On  one  occa- 
sion a  band  started  out  to  make  a  raid 
in  the  white  settlements,  but  soon  re- 
turned minus  six  warriors.  They  stated 
that  long  before  they  reached  the  set- 
tlements they  were  attacked  by  a 
party  of  white  men  who  rode  splendid 
horses,  and  who  fought  so  fiercely  and 
so  close  up  that  they  were  bound  to 
give  way  with  the  loss  of  six  warriors. 
This  encounter  created  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  in  the  village.  The  men 
whom  these  defeated  warriors  encoun- 
tered were  Texas  Rangers. 

During  the  years  of  captivity  when 
John  had  become  an  Indian  to  all  out- 


A    wickiup    on    the    plains. 

side  appearances,  he  still  longed  to 
see  the  folks  at  home,  and  laid  plans 
to  escape.  He  had  become  satisfied 
that  his  mother  had  not  been  killed  by 
the  Indians,  as  he  feared.  From  the 
conversation  of  warriors,  he  learned 
that  most  of  their  raids  were  near  Red 
River.  When  he  laid  a  plan  to  escape 
and  thought  of  the  long  stretch  of 
wilderness  country,  200  miles,  which 
lay  between  him  and  his  home,  a  ter- 
ritory constantly  being  crossed  by  rov- 
ing bands  of  Indians,  Comanches,  Kio- 
was,  Lipans,  Caddoes,  Wacoes  and 
other  tribes,  he  felt  almost  certain  he 
would  be  recaptured. 

More  than  three  years  passed,  and 
in  the  meantime  General  Houston  had 
made  a  treaty  with  the  Comanches  at 
the  "Wichita  Village,"  as  it  was  now 
called  by  the  whites,  for  the  Texas 


A  group  of  rangers 


Rangers  had  been  making  expeditions 
into  that  country,  and  had  fought  and 
defeated  a  band  of  warriors  and  lo- 
cated their  stronghold.  Part  of  the 
stipulation  of  the  treaty  was  that  the 
Comanches  should  bring  all  of  their 
captives  to  the  State  capital,  Austin, 
and  there  turn  them  over  to  their 
friends  and  relatives. 

The  three  long  years  had  been  a 
sorrowful  period  to  the  inmates  of  the 
Sowell  home.  They  had  no  idea  of 
the  fate  of  John,  whether  killed  or  yet 
alive.  His  father  went  about  attend- 
ing to  affairs  at  home,  or  following 
and  fighting  hostile  bands  of  raiding 
Indians.  He  seldom  mentioned  the 
name  of  his  son  where  the  mother 
could  hear. 

The  time  came  for  the  treaty  propo- 
sion  to  be  put  into  execution,  and  the 
people  were  notified  far  and  near  for 
all  those  who  had  lost  children  by  In- 
dian capture  to  come  to  Austin  on  a 
certain  date  to  identify  the  captives 
that  would  be  brought  there. 

Here  was  a  gleam  of  hope  for  the 
bereaved  home  of  the  Sowells.  The 
mother  wept  for  joy,  and  the  negro 
women  shouted.  Captain  Sowell,  how- 


ever, left  home  for  Austin  with  a 
heavy  heart,  hoping  against  hope  and 
fearing  and  dreading  to  come  back 
without  John.  When  the  captain  ar- 
rived at  Austin  the  Indians  had  not  yet 
come  in,  but  General  Houston  was 
there,  and  told  Captain  Sowell,  whom 
he  knew,  that  they  were  being  escorted 
in  by  a  company  of  rangers  and  a  run- 
ner who  had  arrived  that  morning  re- 
ported that  they  would  be  in  on  the 
following  day.  It  was  known  that  the 
Indians  had  quite  a  lot  of  captives. 

When  the  Indians  arrived  at  Austin 
great  excitement  prevailed.  Friends 
and  relatives  rushed  here  and  there 
calling  names  and  occasionally  shouts 
of  joy  announcing  that  some  lost  one 
had  been  found.  Captain  Sowell  was 
under  the  impression  that  he  would 
pick  his  son  out  of  any  crowd.  With 
these  thoughts  he  walked  slowly 
through  the  noisy  crowd,  looking  here 
and  there.  John  recognized  his  father, 
but  sat  erect  and  still  on  his  pony, 
waiting  to  see  if  his  father  would  rec- 
ognize him.  Three  times  the  old  man 
walked  around  his  horse,  but  merely 
glanced  at  the  tall,  straight  young  war- 
rior, as  he  supposed,  who  sat  still  and 


OREGON   WOMEN    IN    POLITICS 


475 


looked  way  off  towards  the  Colorado 
River.  The  captain  finally  gave  up 
his  search. 

General  Houston  was  watching  the 
father,  and  was  very  much  interested, 
for  he  held  the  frontier  captain  in  great 
esteem. 

Sowell  sat  down,  bowed  his  head, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

John,  who  had  been  watching  him 
out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye,  sprang 
lightly  to  the  ground.  He  was  directly 
behind  his  father,  and  taking  a  few 
steps  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
said: 

"Hello,  Pap !    Don't  you  know  me  ?" 

The  captain  sprang  up  as  if  shot,  and 
whirled  around.  He  knew  the  voice, 
but  not  the  wild  looking  painted  In- 
dian, but  something  in  the  eyes  and 
merry  smile  convinced  him  that  this 
was  his  son,  and  with  open  arms 
clasped  him  in  a  strong  embrace  and 
with  great  emotion  exclaimed: 

"Johnny!    My  son,  my  son!" 


General  Houston  witnessed  the 
scene,  and  tears  rolled  down  his  cheek, 
and  he  came  (forward  to  greet  the 
lost  boy.  Then  came  a  long  exchange 
of  explanations  between  father  and 
son.  After  they  had  satisfied  each 
other  with  an  account  of  the  three  lost 
years,  John't  hair  was  cut,  the  paint 
washed  off,  and  he  was  clad  in  the 
clothes  of  his  own  race. 

It  was  a  long  ride  to  the  Sowell 
home,  but  the  two  finally  arrived  there. 
While  riding  over  the  prairies  and 
some  distance  from  the  house,  they 
were  discovered  by  John's  mother  and 
the  negro  women.  The  captain  beck- 
oned with  his  hand.  This  removed  all 
doubts,  and  the  mother  and  her  ser- 
vants came  running.  The  negro  women 
shouted  and  madly  clapped  their 
hands. 

"Bless  de  Lawd,  here's  Johnny! 
Bless  de  Lawd,  here's  Johnny!" 

And  John  was  folded  in  his  over- 
joyed mother's  arms. 


Oregon  Women  in  Politics 


By  Fred  Lockley 


LET  the  women  of  the  Nation  look 
to  Oregon.  Oregon  women  are 
pointing  the  way  to  political 
equality.  If  you  don't  believe 
it  see  what  happened  at  Umatilla  in 
Eastern  Oregon  at  the  recent  city  elec- 
tion. Umatilla  is  on  the  main  line  of 
the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  and  is  on 
the  south  bank  of  the  Columbia  River 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Umatilla  River. 
It  is  the  junction  point  of  the  Waluula- 
Spokane  branch  of  the  C.  W.  R.  &  N. 


Railroad.  In  the  early  days  it  was  the 
head  of  river  navigation  to  the  mines 
of  Eastern  Oregon  and  Idaho,  and  it 
has  never  recovered  from  the  old-time 
atmosphere  of  the  days  when  it  was 
a  wide  open  town.  For  years  the  wo- 
men of  the  town  have  asked  the  men 
to  "clean  it  up,"  but  the  men  have  put 
the  women  off  with  vague  promises  or 
the  statement  that  women  don't  under- 
stand politics. 

This  year  the  women  were  particu- 


/ 


476 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


larly  insistent  that  the  candidates  who 
were  running  for  office  make  some  de- 
finite pledge  of  making  the  town  of 
Umatilla  a  cleaner  and  better  town  to 
raise  their  children  in,  but  the  men, 
as  usual,  told  them  to  attend  to  their 
house  work  and  their  sewing  societies. 
The  polls  were  open  on  election  day, 
December  5th,  from  8  a.  m.  to  7  p.  m. 
Up  to  2  o'clock  the  election  was  strict- 
ly a  stag  affair,  no  women  having  come 
to  the  polls.  The  clerks  and  judges  of 
election  decided  the  women  folks  had 
decided  to  boycott  the  election  be- 
cause the  men  candidates  would  make 
no  promises. 

At  two  o'clock  the  women  began 
coming  to  the  polls,  until  it  was  evi- 
dent that  every  woman  in  town  had 
cast  her  ballot.  Their  appearance  was 
greeted  at  first  with  amusement  and 
afterwards  with  consternation.  It  was 
evident  that  there  was  a  slate,  and  it 
looked  as  if  the  regular  slate  was  to 
be  cracked  and  possibly  would  be 
badly  broken. 

Regular  candidates  laughed  at  the 
efforts  of  the  women  to  mix  in  politics 
— that  is,  they  laughed  till  the  vote 
was  counted,  since  which  time  not  one 
of  them  has  even  smiled. 

E.  E.  Starcher,  who  is  the  chief  dis- 
patcher, was  up  for  re-election  as 
Mayor.  He  knew  he  was  safe  because 
he  had  the  solid  railroad  vote,  and 
that  means  election  at  Umatilla.  When 
the  final  count  of  votes  was  officially 
reported  it  showed  that  Mayor  Star- 
cher had  received  73  votes  while  his 
wife  had  received  101,  and  he,  poor 
man,  didn't  even  know  his  wife  was 
running.     R.  F.  Paulu,  the  candidate 


for  City  Treasurer,  is  still  wondering 
what  struck  him,  for  the  vote  showed 
a  landslide  to  Mrs.  Robert  Merrick. 
Robert  Merrick  was  running  for  coun- 
cilman, but  he  didn't  run  very  far  or 
very  fast,  for  Mrs.  R.  F.  Paulu  made 
a  race  that  made  it  seem  that  Mr.  Mer- 
rick was  standing  still.  Mrs.  G.  C. 
Brownell  defeated  A.  W.  Duncan,  one 
of  the  best  known  merchants  in  East- 
ern Oregon,  for  Councilman.  R.  B. 
Murton  was  easily  defeated  for  Coun- 
cilman by  Mrs.  B.  Spinning.  Mrs.  H. 
C.  Means  defeated  H.  Barkley  for  the 
Council,  and  Mrs.  J.  H.  Cherry  demon- 
strated to  H.  B.  Hull,  the  regular  can- 
didate for  City  Recorder,  that  a  wo- 
man has  forgotten  more  about  politics 
than  a  man  ever  knew. 

When  the  shouting  and  the  tumult 
was  over,  and  there  was  no  sound  but 
the  low  moaning  of  the  defeated  can- 
didates, the  women  said:  "We  de- 
cided to  clean  up  the  town.  We  were 
tired  of  the  old  style  of  politics  in 
which  indifference,  inefficiency  and  in- 
eptitude prevailed.  There  has  been  an 
utter  lack  of  business  ability  shown  in 
the  administration  of  our  civic  affairs. 
We  are  going  to  make  Umatilla  a  city 
in  which  its  citizens  may  take  pride. 
We  are  tired  of  apologizing  for  condi- 
tions here  that  long  ago  should  have 
been  remedied." 

The  women  made  a  clean  sweep. 
There  is  not  a  man  left  in  office.  They 
took  office  January  1st,  at  which  time 
the  Mayor  appoints  a  city  marshall. 
The  men  are  bringing  all  the  pressure 
possible  to  bear  on  the  new  officials  to 
appoint  a  man  for  city  marshall,  but 
the  women  are  making  no  promises. 


Jose  Toribio  Medina  and  His  Wife 


A  Visit  With  Jose  Toribio  Aedina 


• 


By  Charles  E.  Chapman,  Ph.  D. 

Assistant  Professor  of  History,  University  of  California 


IN  CHILE  one  hears  a  great  deal  of 
the  heroes  of  the  war  of  independ- 
ence against  Spain,  O'Higgins, 
Cochrane  and  San  Martin,  of  the 
beloved  hero  of  the  war  of  1879  with 
Peru,  Arturo  Prat,  of  the  poet  Bello, 
and  of  the  historians  Vicuna  Mac- 
kenna  and  Claudio  Gay.  These  are 
but  dimly  known  names  in  the  north- 
ern world,  except  to  men  who  have 
specialized  in  the  Latin-American 
field,  but  where  will  one  go  in  the 
scholarly  world  and  find  a  man  who 
has  not  heard  of  the  colossus  of  bib- 
liographical lore,  Jose  Toribio  Me- 
dina of  Santiago  de  Chile?  It  was 
with  something  of  the  feelings  of  a 
pilgrim  entering  Jerusalem  or  Mecca 
that  I  approached  the  Calle  Doce  de 
Febrero,  in  which  street,  at     number 


49,  is  the  house  of  Senor  Medina.  A 
sumptuous  and  elegant  street?  Far 
from  it !  There  were  only  two  houses  in 
the  block  that  were  two  stories  high, 
and  neither  bore  the  number  49.  The 
servant  girl  who  took  my  card  when  I 
had  reached  the  house  informed  me 
that  Senor  Medina  was  not  at  home, 
but  if  I  would  come  the  next  morning 
at  eight,  I  would  certainly  find  him.  I 
half  wondered  if  he  had  given  orders 
to  return  that  answer  to  all  who  called 
— so  as  not  to  be  disturbed  in  his  in- 
valuable work,  or  so  as  to  test  their 
sincerity — but  I  resolved  to  make  a  su- 
preme effort  and  be  there  next  morn- 
ing at  eight! 

Later  on,  this  day,  I  paid  a  visit  to 
the  Biblioteca  Nacional.  As  I  was  tak- 
ing my  leave  of  Senor  Laval,  one  of 


*I  have  borrowed  freely,  especially  for  exact  biographical  data,  from  a  pamphlet  of  Armando  Donoso 
entitled:  Uida y  Viajes  de  un  eruJito—Jose  Toiibw  Medina.  (Santiago,  1915.)  I  Lave  used  nothing,  however,  that 
did  not  come  up  in  my  conversation  with  Senor  Medina. 


478                                      OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

the  librarians,  he  asked  me  to  meet  other  man  related,  in  some  indefinable 

Senor  Blanchard-Chessi,  head  of  one  manner,  to  himself, 

of  the  most  important  sections  of  the  And  yet,  what  a  life  this  man  has 

library.    We  went  into  the  latter's  of-  had,  and^  what  a  work  he  has  done! 

fice,  and  I  was  presented  in  due  form.  His  life  in  large  measure  explains  his 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  meet  this  work,  and  is  perhaps  a  very  worthy 

gentleman  who  is  working  here,"  said  lesson  in  the  science  of  bibliography. 

Senor  Laval,  in  an  absolutely  casual  His  father,  though  a  man  of  literary 

tone,  indicating  a  little  old  gentleman  talent  himself,  frowned  on  the  similar 

who  had  three  or  four  volumes  open  aspirations  of  his   son,  planning  for 

before  him.     "Senor  Medina,  permit  him  instead  a  career  of  practical  util- 

me !"      Senor    Medina,     indeed!  ity  in  the  field  of  law  and  politics.  Me- 

Perhaps  I  did  want  to  meet  him !  There  dina,  in  fact,  became  a  lawyer,  and  a 

was  nothing  in  Santiago     I     wanted  national  deputy  and  secretary  of  his 

more!     I  nearly  "jumped  out  of  my  Party,  but  even  in  these  active  years 

boots"  with  enthusiasm.     So     I     sat  ne  was  preparing  himself  for  his  later 

down  and  chatted  awhile  with  Medina  career.    He  read  with  avidity  the  old 

and  Blanchard-Chessi,  and  pretty  soon  chroniclers  of  the  colonial  era,  and  by 

I  prepared  to  leave,  for  it  seemed  al-  way  of  variety  displayed  an  interest 

most  criminal  to  take  the  time  of  Jose  \n  literature  in  general,  in  folklore  and 

Toribio  Medina.     But  no — he     would  in  ethnology,  writing  several  articles 

not  have  it!    On  the  contrary,  he  said  on  these^  subjects,  among  which  may  be 

that  he  had  done  enough  work  for  one  noted  his^  translation  of  Longfellow's 

day,  and  suggested     that    we     stroll  "Evangeline."     In  succeeding     years, 

down  to  his  house,  where  he   could  to°'  he  studied  not  a  little  in  the  field 

show  me  his  library  and  his  printing  °*  natural  science  and  astronomy,  all 

establishment.    So  we  walked  down —  °f  which  subjects  he  considers  to  have 

went    all    through    the    house — were  Dee.n  of  great  help  to  him  in  his  his- 

joined  by  Senora  Medina  and  had  tea.  torical  deductions.     In  1874  he  was 

Nor  was  this  all,  for  I  was  invited  to  appointed  secretary  of  the  Chilean  le- 

come  to  luncheon  next  day,  an  oppor-  gation  in  Lima,  a  fortunate  appoint- 

tunity    of    which    I    most    certainly  ment  which  marked  the  turning  point 

availed  myself.  of  his  career.    Despite  the  hard  work 

I  had  visualized  Medina  as  a  man  °f  the  legation,  Medina  found  time  to 
of  tremendous,  almost  forbidding  eru-  vlsli  the  libraries  and  archives  of  Lima 
dition,  cold  and  precise  in  speech,  and  and  to  publish  several  historical  stud- 
bent  in  figure  with  the  weight  of  his  ies-.  In  1876  he  decided  to  visit  the 
learning.  I  was  right,  certainly,  as  to  United  States,  in  order  to  attend  the 
the  vastness  of  his  knowledge,  but  in  Centennial  Exposition  at  Philadelphia, 
everything  else  I  was  wide  of  the  a.nd  although  this  necessitated  his  re- 
mark. At  the  time  I  visited  him  (in  signation  from  the  service,  he  carried 
August,  1916),  he  was  not  quite  64  his  resolution  into  effect.  For  three 
(born  October  21,  1852),  a  small  man,  months  he  was  in  the  United  States, 
certainly  not  over  five  feet  four  inches  By  this  time  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
tall,  and  with  a  youthful  vigor  and  a  to  foH°w  the  career  toward  which  he 
pair  of  eyes  of  such  exceptional  keen-  had  all  along  been  inclined ;  so  he  now 
ness  that  one  might  place  him  in  the  set  out  for  a  journey  of  study  in  Eu- 
forties,  despite  the  partial  appearance  r°Pe-  For  several  months  he  was 
of  gray  hair.  His  conversation,  too,  m  London,  working  by  the  side  of 
has  a  lively  sparkle,  full  of  anecdote  Pascual  de  Gayangos  in  the  British 
and  jovial  reminiscence.  Withal,  he  is  ."Museum.  He  then  went  to  Paris, 
a  simple  and  modest  man.  He  has  where  he  frequented  the  Bibliotheque 
been  told  of  his  world-wide  fame,  but  Nationale,  going  later  to  Spain,  where 
hardly  seems  to  realize  it;  he  views  he  stayed,  on  this  occasion,  but  a  short 
his  reputation  as  if  it  belonged  to  an-  time-     In  June,  1877,  he     was     back 


A  VISIT  WITH    JOSE  TORIBIO  MEDINA 


419 


again  in  Chile,  and  in  the  following 
year  he  published  his  three  volume 
"Historia  de  la  Literatura  Colonial," 
the  fruits  of  his  journey  to  Europe. 

Possibly  the  keenest  and  most  per- 
sistent desire  of  Medina's  literary 
career,  cherished  since  boyhood,  ana 
only  now  about  to  be  realized  with  the 
publication  of  the  third  and  fourth 
volumes  of  his  work,  has  been  the 
study  of  the  life  of  Ercilla,  author  of 
the  famous  poem,  "La  Araucana."  It 
was  this  which  led  him  soon  to  under- 
take a  dangerous  journey  to  Arauca- 
nia  in  southern  Chile,  a  journey  ren- 
dered difficult,  not  only  by  the  lack  of 
means  of  communication  in  that  day, 
but  also  by  the  hostility  of  the  Arau- 
canian  Indians,  whom  he  came  to  study 
at  close  range.  Upon  his  return,  Me- 
dina plunged  into  his  work,  which  was 
to  appear  later  as  "Los  Aborigines  de 
Chile,"  but,  before  he  could  finish  it, 
war  broke  out,  in  1879,  against  Peru 
and  Bolivia.  At  first,  Medina  was  con- 
nected with  the  manufacture  of  car- 
tridges for  the  army,  but,  having  in- 
vented a  method  which  facilitated  that 
manufacture,  he  was  promoted  and 
sent  north  to  Iquique.  His  principal 
service  in  that  region  was  as  judge  of 
the  district,  a  post  which  he  held  for 
a  year  and  a  half. 

A  fortunate  acquaintance  in  Iquique 
with  Patricio  Lynch  procured  for  Me- 
dina an  appointment  as  secretary  of  le- 
gation in  Madrid  when  the  former  was 
sent  as  minister  to  Spain.  For  several 
years  Medina  made  the  most  of  the  op- 
portunity which  had  been  given  to  him, 
being  encouraged  in  his  researches  by 
the  Chilean  government,  which  granted 
a  small  sum  of  money  for  the  making 
of  copies.  No  less  than  365  volumes 
of  copies,  of  500  pages  each,  were  the 
result  of  his  labors.  Furthermore,  he 
formed  valuable  friendships  at  this 
time  with  men  like  the  Duke  of  T'  Ser- 
claes  and  the  Marquis  of  Jerez  de  los 
Caballeros,  with  Monsignor  Delia  Chi- 
esa  (now  Pope  Benedict  XV),  and  es- 
pecially with  men  of  letters  like  Men- 
endez  y  Pelayo,  Campoamor,  Nunez 
de  Arce,  Tamayo  y  Baus,  Fernandez 
Guerra,  Zaragoza,     Fernandez     Duro, 


and  a  host  of  others.  Laden  with  rich 
materials,  Medina  returned  to  Chile  in 
1886,  in  which  year  he  married  Mer- 
cedes Ibanez  y  Rondizzoni.  From  that 
year  until  1892  he  was  engaged  in  a 
mad  fever  of  publication,  no  less  than 
24  volumes  appearing  over  his  name, 
among  them  his  "Historia  del  Tribu- 
nae  del  Santo  Oficio  de  la  Inquisicion 
en  Lima"  (2  v.),  "Historia  del  Tribu- 
nal del  Santo  oficio  de  la  Inquisicion 
en  Chile"  (2  v.),  "Coleccion  de  Docu- 
mentos  para  la  Historia  de  Chile" 
(4  v.),  "Coleccion  de  Historiadores  de 
Chile  y  Documentos  Relativos  a  la 
Historia  Nacional  (4  v.),  and  various 
of  his  "Imprenta"  series  and  other 
bibliographical  works. 

In  the  midst  of  his  work  there  came 
the  Chilean  revolution  of  1891.  As  a 
partisan  of  the  Liberal  president,  Bal- 
maceda,  he  was  regarded  with  suspi- 
cion, by  the  other  side,  and  his  house 
was  searched  three  times  in  the  belief 
that  it  was  his  printing  press  which 
was  publishing  the  Balmacedan  litera- 
ture being  circulated  in  Santiago.  At 
length,  Medina  was  obliged  to  take 
refuge  in  Argentina.  Eight  months 
he  remained  in  Argentina  an  exile,  but 
in  this  period  he  became  the  friend  of 
General  Bartolome  Mitre  and  other 
outstanding  figures  in  the  scholarly 
ranks  of  that  country,  besides  prepar- 
ing his  "Historia  y  Bibliografia  de  la 
Imprenta  en  el  Antiguo  Virreinato  del 
Rio  de  la  Plata.  In  October,  1892,  he 
went  again  to  Spain,  where  he  re- 
mained four  years.  If  his  previous 
journey  had  been  remarkable  in  its 
results,  this  was  even  more  so.  Not  to 
mention  several  works  of  his  that  ap- 
peared while  he  was  still  in  Spain,  he 
published,  in  the  seven  years  follow- 
ing his  return  to  Chile  in  1896,  no  less 
than  78  volumes.  Some  of  these  were 
of  documents,  with  notes  by  Medina; 
others,  works  of  bibliography;  and  still 
others,  volumes  of  history  proper. 

Late  in  1902  he  left  Chile  on  a  new 
voyage  of  discovery,  going  successive- 
ly to  Lima,  Guatemala  and  to  various 
cities  of  Mexico,  always  in  search  of 
bibliographical  data  and  always  add- 
ing new  friends,  such,  for  example,  as 


480 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Presidents  Estrada  Cabrera  and  Por- 
firio  Diaz  of  Guatemala  and  Mexico, 
and  the  Mexican  scholars  Vicente  An- 
drade,  Nicolas  Leon,  Genaro  Garcia, 
and  others.  Then  he  went  to  France, 
and  later  on  to  Italy,  working,  among 
other  places,  in  the  library  of  the  Vati- 
can. In  1904  he  was  in  Chile  again, 
with  the  materials  for  a  fresh  cam- 
paign of  publication.  In  the  next  eight 
years  he  published  more  than  60  vol- 
umes, bringing  to  a  close  his  monu- 
mental works  on  the  bibliography  of 
the  Americas. 

In  1912  Medina  made  a  fourth  visit 
to  Spain,  this  time  resolved  to  realize 
his  ambition  of  procuring  materials 
about  the  poet  Ercilla.  After  over- 
coming innumerable  difficulties,  he 
was  successful  in  his  task,  and  the 
years  since  1913  have  seen  the  pre- 
paration of  his  four  volume  work  on 
Ercilla,  two  of  which  have  already  ap- 
peared, while  the  other  two  were  in 
page  proof  at  the  time  of  my  visit 
with  Medina.  Naturally,  this  phe- 
nomenon who  exudes  publications  has 
put  forth  several  other  volumes  in  the 
past  three  years.  By  a  narrow  margin 
Senor  Medina  missed  yet  another  long 
trip,  in  1915.  In  that  year,  President 
H.  Morse  Stephens  of  the  American 
Historical  Association  invited  him  to 
attend  the  meeting  of  the  association 
in  San  Francisco,  offering  to  pay  the 
cost  of  the  journey.  When  the  letter 
came,  the  Medinas  were  in  the  country 
at  a  point  where  mails  arrived  very  in- 
frequently. Thus  it  was  that  the  in- 
vitation was  received  too  late.  Other- 
wise, according  to  Medina  himself,  he 
would  have  accepted. 

And  now  the  house.  Although  it  is 
but  one  story  high  on  the  street  front, 
it  gets  to  be  quite  big,  farther  back. 
The  greater  part  of  it  is  devoted  to 
Medina's  library  and  his  printing  es- 
tablishment. Naturally,  Medina  could 
not  afford  a  first  class  printing  press, 
for  he  is  not  a  wealthy  man.  His  is 
nothing  more  than  a  hand-press,  the 
third  which  he  has  had  since  1877,  and 
from  these  three  have  issued  the 
greater  number  of  his  works.  Ordi- 
narily, he  employs  three  or  four  men 


in  his  printing  establishment,  and 
sometimes  many  more,  when  there  is 
a  pressure  of  work,  but  on  this  day,  a 
Monday,  there  was  only  one  man  at 
work,  for  Monday  in  Chile  "is  a  day 
lost,"  said  Medina,  the  national  curse 
of  a  drunken  week-end  requiring  an 
extra  day  to  get  over  the  effects.  The 
great  Medina  himself  often  sets  type 
and  turns  the  wheel  of  the  hand-press. 
What  a  sensation  every  lover  of  learn- 
ing must  feel  to  be  in  this  house  which 
has  meant  so  much  to  the  world,  where 
miracles  have  been  wrought  in  the  face 
of  tremendous  difficulties!  As  Me- 
dina stood  by  his  hand-press  talking 
with  me,  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  in  the 
house  of  a  Gutenberg,  with  Gutenberg 
himself  accompanying  me.  In  another 
room  we  found  a  quantity  of  paper  to 
be  used  in  future  volumes.  The  pres- 
ent scarcity  of  paper,  due  to  the  Euro- 
pean war,  has  not  affected  Senor  Me- 
dina. "I  foresaw  what  was  going  to 
happen,"  he  said,  "and  procured  an 
extra  supply." 

Medina's  library,  or  rather  his  series 
of  libraries,  is  one  of  extraordinary  in- 
terest and  value.  Of  books  of  a  gen- 
eral nature  there  are  few.  One  room 
is  devoted  to  his  own  publications,  and 
others  to  his  bibliographical  treasures 
and  manuscripts.  Each  room  has  little 
more  than  a  passage  way,  for  the 
books  have  overflowed  from  the  stacks 
into  huge  piles  on  the  floor.  He  has 
accumulated  about  12,000  volumes  of 
other  men's  works,  virtually  all  of 
them  being  of  a  date  prior  to  the  end 
of  Spanish  rule  on  the  American  con- 
tinents, a  hundred  years  ago.  On 
Mexico  alone  he  has  no  less  than  8,000 
volumes,  all  published  before  1821. 
His  particular  hobby  has  been  the  col- 
lection of  editions  of  Ercilla's  "La 
Araucana,"  although  he  has  not  been 
able  to  get  all  of  them.  Many  other 
rare  works  are  in  his  possession,  such, 
for  example,  as  the  "Thesoro  Spirit- 
ual de  pobres  en  lenguas  Michuacal," 
published  in  Mexico  in  1575,  of  which 
only  four  copies  are  known  to  be  in 
existence,  and  even  more  the  "Manu- 
ale  Sacramentorum"  and  the  "Cere- 
monial  y  Rubricas   Generales,"   pub- 


A  VISIT  WITH    JOSE  TORIBIO  MEDINA 


481 


lished  in  Mexico,  respectively  in«  1568 
and  1579,  and  each,  so  far  as  can  be 
ascertained,  the  only  known  copy  in 
the  world.  "What  a  task  you  must 
have  had,"  I  said,  "not  only  to  collect 
this  wonderful  library,  but  also  to  get 
the  bibliographical  data  about  the 
other  volumes  referred  to  in  your 
works!"  "Yes,"  he  said,  "but  the  hard- 
est work  is  not  collecting;  rather,  it  is 
in  verifying  references  to  books  or 
editions  of  doubtful  authenticity.  One 
item  may  require  the  work  of  a  histori- 
cal monograph — and  then  you  reject 
it." 

An  account  of  the  life  of  Medina,  or 
even  of  such  a  visit  as  I  had,  would  be 
incomplete  if  it  should  fail  to  give 
generous  space  to  Dona  Mercedes  Iba- 
nez  de  Medina,  wife  of  the  great  bibli- 
ographer. The  Ibanez  family  claim  de- 
scent from  the  Marquises  of  Monde- 
jar,  a  noble  Spanish  house,  but  they 
are  famous  on  their  own  account,  be- 
cause of  their  participation  in  the  po- 
litical life  of  Chile.  Senora  Medina 
had  traveled  widely  before  her  mar- 
riage, for  her  father  was  in  the  diplo- 
matic service.  For  a  year  she  was  in 
Washington,  during  Grant's  adminis- 
tration, where  she  learned  to  speak 
English.  President  Grant  once  talked 
with  her  for  half  an  hour  at  a  recep- 
tion, which  was  the  longest  he  had 
ever  spoken  with  any  one  person  at 
such  an  affair,  according  to  the  next 
day's  papers.  "I  was  only  a  little  girl 
then,"  she  said,  and  indeed  she  looks 
as  if  she  were  still  in  the  forties.  She 
is  both  immensely  proud  of  her  hus- 
band, and  unaffectedly  devoted  to  him. 
"The  two  principal  duties  of  a  wife," 
she  said,  "are  to  help  her  husband 
when  she  can,  and  not  to  disturb  him  at 
other  times."  She  herself  reads  proof, 
makes  out  bibliographical  cards,  and 
in  fine  does  every  little  bit  of  intel- 
lectual drudgery  within  her  power,  to 
help  the  work  along.  One  day  an 
American  professor  and  his  wife  came 
to  the  house  when  Medina  was  out, 
whereupon  the  senora    showed    them 


about.  She  did  it  with  such  enthusi- 
asm and  understanding  that  the  gentle- 
man said:  "I  now  understand  why 
Senor  Medina  has  been  able  to  do  so 
much  work.     He  is  two." 

It  is  at  the  table  that  one  sees  Jose 
Toribio  Medina  at  his  best.*  There 
he  is  full  of  joviality  and  anecdote. 
"Did  you  know  that  I  came  near  be- 
ing an  American?"  he  said.  And  then 
he  told  how  he  and  a  friend  took  rooms 
with  a  private  family  in  Philadelphia, 
the  year  he  went  to  the  Exposition. 
For  the  fifteen  nights  that  they  were 
there,  neither  went  out  of  the  house  at 
night,  so  attractive  were  the  two 
daughters  of  the  family.  Medina's 
friend,  a  well  known  diplomat  to-day, 
married  one  of  the  young  ladies.  Me- 
dina likes  to  talk  of  the  American  scho- 
lars he  has  known,  such  as  Bingham, 
Coolidge,  Lichtenstein,  Moses,  Rowe, 
and  Shepherd.  "Most  travelers  who 
come  to  Santiago  go  to  the  hill  of 
Santa  Lucia,"  said  Senora  Medina, 
"but  the  Americans  come  here.".  Re- 
ferring to  his  copy  of  the  "Laudationes 
quinque"  of  Bernabe  Echenique,  pub- 
lished at  Cordoba  in  1766,  the  first 
work  in  the  history  of  printing  in  Ar- 
gentina, he  told  the  following  curious 
tale  of  how  he  came  to  acquire  it.  Dur- 
ing his  stay  in  Argentina  he  became 
intimately  acquainted  with  a  biblio- 
maniac whose  instinct  for  collection 
was  so  great  that  he  did  not  refrain 
from  stealing  rare  volumes,  when  other 
means  of  acquiring  them  failed.  One 
day,  this  man  visited  the  rich  library 
of  the  Franciscans  of  Cordoba.  He 
was  shown  about  the  library,  but  as 
his  habits  were  not  unknown  to  the 
friars,  the  attendant  who  went  with 
him  was  told  not  to  leave  him  for  an 
instant.  At  length,  in  an  out  of  the 
way  corner  he  saw  no  less  than  five 
copies  of  the  "Laudationes  quinque," 
which  he  felt  that  he  must  obtain.  How 
to  get  rid  of  the  attendant  was  the 
question.  An  idea  occurred  to  him ;  he 
pretended  to  faint,  and  fell  like  one 
dead  to  the  floor.    The  startled  attend- 


*— As  we  were  finishing  our  luncheon  Senor  Don  Domingo  Amunategui  Solar,  President  of  the  University  of 
Chile,  came  in.  He  has  heen  in  the  habit  of  dropping  in  for  &  moment  at  this  hour,  every  day  for  the  past 
twenty  years,  for  a  word  or  two  with  his  friends  the  Medinas.  Senor  Amunategui  is  not  only  a  university 
president,  but  also  a  distinguished  historian. 


482                                    OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

ant  ran  for  help — and  the  bibliophile  dence   of   Chile's   great  man;   so  the 

pocketed  all  five  of  the  rare  volumes,  gentleman  said  no  more.    Presently  he 

One  of  these  he  gave  to  General  Mitre,  arrived  at  the  house  of  Senor  Medina, 

who  in  turn  gave  it  to  Medina.  but  it  proved  to  be,  not  that  of  Jose  To- 

While  he  was  in  Guatemala,  Medina  ribio,  but  that  of  a  certain  Medina, 
worked  in  a  building  which  was  only  a  known  as  a  proprietor  of  race-horses, 
step  from  police  headquarters.  Now  Gradually,  due  to  the  honors  accord- 
and  then,  his  bibliographical  toil  was  ed  him  in  foreign  countries,  a  realiza- 
interrupted  by  the  sound  of  shots  at  tion  is  dawning  in  Chile  that  Jose  To- 
the  latter  edifice,  for  people  were  exe-  ribio  Medina  is  a  man  of  note.  This 
cuted  there  almost  daily.  One  day  he  feeling  has  not  gone  very  far,  however, 
was  invited  to  an  audience  with  Presi-  On  several  occasions  the  government 
dent  Estrada  Cabrera.  A  friend  told  has  given  small  sums  to  assist  in  his 
him  that  various  officers  were  posted  publications,  but  on  several  others  it 
behind  curtains  in  the  audience  hall,  has  promised  funds,  and  then  with- 
with  revolvers  cocked,  ready  to  shoot  drawn  them.  The  government's  action 
any  visitor  who  made  the  least  motion  in  the  case  of  the  Ercilla  documents  is 
which  seemed  to  them  suspicious —  in  point.  In  1903  the  owner  of  the  docu- 
whereupon  Medina  did  not  accept  the  ments  offered  to  grant  the  privilege  of 
invitation.  As  evidence  of  the  unsta-  copying  them  for  6,000  francs.  A  bill 
ble  state  of  affairs  at  that  time,  Me-  for  that  sum  in  the  Chilean  congress 
dina  tells  of  having  to  get  a  permit  failed,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  a  use- 
f rom  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  to  less  expense.  Several  years  later,  that 
leave  the  country,  and  in  order  to  em-  sum  was  voted  by  the  government,  but 
bark  at  San  Jose,  a  telegram  from  the  not  paid  over.  After  Medina  had  corn- 
President  was  necessary.  Nobody  was  pleted  his  work  and  published  two  of 
excepted  from  these  requirements,  not  the  volumes,  the  government  withdrew 
even  foreign  diplomats.  the  grant,  on  grounds  of  economy,  leav- 

Of  another  type  is  the  story  he  told  ing  Medina  to  pay  the  bills.  Verily,  a 
about  the  poet  Bello.  Bello  married  an  prophet  is  without  honor  in  his  own 
English  girl,  who  never  learned  to  country.  "I  sometimes  wish  my  hus- 
speak  Spanish  well,  in  particular  mix-  band  had  been  born  in  England  or  in 
ing  her  genders,  using  the  masculine  the  United  States,"  said  Senora  Me- 
when  she  should  have  used  the  f emi-  dina ;  "there  they  esteem  a  man  for  his 
nine  and  vice  versa.  On  one  occasion,  work,  but  here,  if  one  says  nothing 
when  she  had  said  la  caballa  (for  el  about  himself ,  people  think  he  does  not 
caballo),  Bello  said  to  her:  "For  amount  to  anything.  My  husband  is 
heaven's  sake,  woman,  either  use  the  too  modest;  he  will  not  praise  himself." 
masculine  all  the  time  or  the  feminine  One  wonders  at  the  short-sight- 
all  the  time,  and  then  occasionally  you  edness  of  the  Chilean  millionaires  who 
will  hit  it  right."  have  lost  a     chance    to     immortalize 

These  anecdotes  tell  something  of  themselves  by  failing  to  finance  this 

the  nature  of  this  amiable  gentleman,  man,  whose  reputation  will  live  when 

but  there  were  others  which  tend  to  even  their  family  names  have  passed 

prove  that  the  man  who  is  recognized  away.     "If  some  wealthy  Americans, 

abroad  as  possibly  the  greatest  that  like  Carnegie  or  Huntington,  could  be 

Chile  has  produced,  is  not  fully  ap-  brought  to  realize  under  what  difficul- 

preciated  in  his  own  land.    On  one  oc-  ties  you  are  doing  your  work,"  said 

casion  a  distinguished  foreigner  came  James  Bryce,  on  the  occasion  of  his 

to  Santiago,  and  desired  to    call     on  visit  to  the  house  of  Medina,  "they 

Senor  Medina.    "Do  you  know  where  would  almost  certainly  want  to  assist 

Jose  Toribio  Medina  lives?"  he  asked  you  financially."     A  Chilean  Senator 

a  cab  driver.    "Certainly,"  was  the  re-  was  present  at  the  time.     "No,"  said 

ply.     It  did  not  seem   strange,  even  Medina,  "it  is  not  necessary;  the  Chi- 

that  a  cab  driver  should  know  the  resi-  lean  government  gives  me  all  I  need." 


THE  SOLDIER 


483 


"Out  of  patriotism,"  said  Senora  Me- 
dina, who  was  telling  the  story,  "he 
would  not  tell  the  truth,  which  was 
quite  different."  "Furthermore,"  added 
Medina,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "I 
was  trying  to  produce  an  effect  on 
Senator  X — but  it  did  not  work." 

And  yet,  could  Jose  Toribio  Medina 
have  done  much  more  under  any  cir- 
cumstances? Up  to  two  years  ago  he 
had  published  226  volumes,  since 
which  time  a  number  of  others  have 


appeared,  to  say  nothing,  not  only  of 
his  collection  of  books  and  manu- 
scripts, but  also  of  his  collections  of 
medals,  coins  and  what  not.  It  is  won- 
derful to  have  done  so  much  in  any 
event,  and  still  more  wonderful  to  have 
done  it  in  far-away  Chile,  with  such 
slight  means  at  hand.  If  Chile  and  the 
Chileans  have  done  little  to  help,  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  they  will  make 
amends,  some  day,  by  recognizing  the 
merit  of  this  extraordinary  man. 


THE    SOLDIER 


What  care  he  if  wood's  abud 
With  the  thorn's  spring  offertory, 

Tears  of  fag  and  dust  encrud 

Eyes  now  blind  to  Nature's  glory, 

And  he  sees  but  meadows  gory 
With  his  comrades'  pooling  blood; 

What  care  he  if  moors  are  sweet 
With  the  thrush's  lyric  wonder, 

On  his  ears,  resurgent,  beat 

Shrapnel-skirl  and  cannon  thunder, 

And  the  moans  of  mangled  under 
His  ontrampling,  bleeding  feet. 

What  care  he  if  lilac's  blow 

Gardens  with  her  perfume  drenches, 

Quivering  his  nostrils  know 

Fetors  from  the  muck  of  trenches, 

And  the  warm,  wet  fever-stenches — 
Reek  with  wounds'  ensanguin'd  flow. 

What  care  he  if  spring,  unfurled, 
Thrills  anew  his  homeland  neighbor, 

Dulled  to  seasons'  sway,  he's  hurled 
On  towards  bayonet  and  sabre, 

Busy  with  the  bloody  labor 
Of  a  hate-envenomed  world. 

Dorothy  DeJagers. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 

An  Epic  of  the  Family 

By  DENISON  CLIFT 


(SYNOPSIS — Jan  Rantzau,  a  handsome  young  giant  among  the  ship- 
builders of  Gait,  joins  pretty  little  Jagiello  Nur  at  a  dance  in  the  Pavilion. 
There  the  military  police  seek  Felix  Skarga,  a  revolutionist.  Jagiello  fears 
that  a  lover,  Captain  Pasek,  of  the  Fusiliers,  will  betray  her  presence 
at  the  dance  to  old  Ujedski,  the  Jewess,  with  whom  Jagiello  lives  in  terror. 
Jan  rescues  Jagiello.  Later  when  Pasek  betrays  Jagiello  to  Ujedski,  and 
seeks  to  remain  at  the  hovel  with  her,  she  wounds  him  in  a  desperate  en- 
counter. Ujedski  turns  her  out,  and  she  marries  Jan.  Later  Pasek  indi- 
cates that  he  will  take  a  terrible  revenge  upon  the  bridal  pair.  A  son  is 
born  to  Jan,  and  he  idealizes  his  future  even  as  he  idealizes  the  growth 
of  the  world's  greatest  superdreadnaught,  the  Huascar,  on  the  ways  at 
Gait.  After  the  birth  of  Stefan,  Jagiello  tries  to  tell  Jan  of  her  sin  with 
Pasek,  but  her  strength  fails  her  at  the  supreme  moment.  Jan  buys  a  new 
house  for  Stefan's  sake.  Ujedski  visits  Jagiello  and  threatens  to  reveal 
her  sin  to  Jan.  Jagiello  goes  away,  and  Jan,  helpless,  calls  in  Ujedski 
to  care  for  Stefan.  Meanwhile,  Pasek  presses  the  military  tax  revenge- 
fully against  Jan.  Desperate,  Jan  works  day  and  night  to  meet  the  tax, 
but  at  last  loses  his  house  and  moves  into  Ujedski's  hovel.  Skarga  now 
induces  him  to  join  the  Revolutionists.  The  meeting  is  attacked  by  the 
police,  and  after  a  thrilling  fight,  Jan  escapes  with  a  terrible  wrist  wound.) 


Chapter  XXIX.  lay  on  her  pallet,  eyes  staring  at  the 

ceiling,  ears     alert     to     interpret  the 

JAN  QUICKLY  closed  and  bolted  strange   whisperings   she   heard.     At 

the  door.  length,  overcome  by  curiosity,  she  cau- 

Safe   for   the  moment,  he   and  tiously  got  up,  climbed  upon  her  stool, 

Skarga   set  about  changing  their  and  peeked  through   a   crack   in  the 

river-drenched  clothes,  and  removing  flimsy  partition.     The  vision  of  Jan's 

all  traces  of  their  night  adventure.  arm  covered  with  blood  startled  her. 

The  first  thing  Jan  did  was  to  bind  She  remained  on  tiptoe,  staring  fasci- 

his  left  arm  with  a  tourniquet  to  stop  nated,  at  moments  resting  with  her  ear 

the  flow  of  blood  at  his  wrist.     The  to  the  wall  to  catch  every  word, 

wound  was  a  nasty  one.     The  little  From  a  wooden  chest  in  the  corner 

fusilier's  sabre  had  laid  open  the  flesh  at  the  head  of  his  pallet,  Jan  brought 

to  the  bone.     Skarga  took  a  strip  of  forth  some  old  clothes;  coats,  trousers, 

linen  and  bound  it  tightly  around  Jan's  and  waistcoats  with  frayed  edges,  long 

wrist.  since  abandoned.    These  he  shook  out. 

The  men  moved  stealthily  about  the  Slowly,  for  his  hand   throbbed  with 

little   room  to   avoid    awakening   the  pain,  he  exchanged  a  rough  suit  for  his 

Jewess.    But  Ujedski  had  heard  them  soaked,       mud-spattered       garments, 

come  in,  and  their  panting  had  aroused  Skarga  donned  a  second  old  suit,  fitted 

her  suspicions.    For  many  minutes  she  a  round  astrakhan  cap  on  his  head,  and 

Copyright,  1 9 1 7,  by  Denison  Clift.      AH  Rights  Reserved. 


GUNS  OF  GALT  485 

pulled  the  vizor  well  down  over  his  the  world  might  go  its  merry  way. 

eyes.    When  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  Then,  as  Jan  bent  above  his  boy,  a 

was  low-pitched.  fearful  thought  dawned  upon  him. 

"Comrade,  I  owe  my  life  to  you."  Suppose  the  three  fusiliers  that  he 

Jan  smiled  in  a  quiet  way,  depreciat-  had  encountered  an  hour  ago  under  the 

ing  his  own  heroism.  Gate  of  Kings,  had  recognized  him? 

"I  must  now  bid  you  farewell,"  con-      Suppose ? 

tinued  Skarga.    "It  is  five  o'clock," and  Sinister  conjectures  rushed  through 

soon  the  streets  will  be  filled  with  toil-  his  mind.     Suppose  he  was  known  to 

ers.     I  dare  not  remain  here  longer,  them?     Suppose  they  should  come  to 

for  fear  of  compromising  you.     The  arrest  him  ?    Suppose  they  should  find 

police  will  search  for  me,  and  if  they  him  guilty  and  send  him  to  gaol?  or 

find  me  here  they  will  hold  you.  Then  out  of  the  country,  exiled  ?  or  mur- 

we  should  both  be  punished — perhaps  dered  him,  as   it  was  rumored  they 

by  military  murder.     I  shall  return  to  had  often  done  to  men  dangerous  to 

Guor,  for  after  last  night's  adventure  the  government? 

there  will  be  a  heavier  price  on  my  What,  then,  would  happen  to  Ste- 

head."  fan,  his  boy,  the  most  wonderful  thing 

He  smiled  thinly.    He  extended  his  in  all  the  world  to  Jan?    Who  would 

hand.    Jan  grasped  it  warmly.  take  care  of  him  ?     Who  would  buy 

"Comrade,"  said  the  big  man,  "after  him  warm  winter  clothes?  Who  would 
listening  last  night  to  the  woman  who  send  him  to  school,  or  teach  him  any- 
had  lost  her  sons,  I  am  one  of  your  thing? 

Reds!"     He  winced   with  pain,   and  The   horror   of   these   things   burst 

continued:  "Jagiello — my  wife — came  upon  Jan   suddenly,     numbing     him, 

from  Guor.    Should  you  hear  anything  overwhelming  him :  the  fact   that   he 

of  her,  I  beg  you  to  let  me  know."  had  endangered  his  life,  that  he  might 

Skarga  promised.     Jan  pressed  his  be   discovered  in  the   silent  room,  a 

hand  with    fervent    wishes    of    god-  piteous,  desperate  creature,  a  human 

speed.  soul  swept  with  terror. 

So  Skarga  went  out  into  the  morn-  And  any  of  these  things  might  easily 

ing,  a  staff  in  his  hand,  a  limp  in  his  happen!     He  had   attended   a   secret 

walk,  his  face  concealed  under  the  as-  meeting  of  the  Revolutionists ;  he  had 

trakhan  cap.     He  was  transformed  in  defied  the  soldiers  of  the  Emperor,  he 

appearance  from  the  pursued  Revolu-  had  met  in  fierce  combat  with  three 

tionist  who  had  entered  the  house  not  fusiliers,  had  wounded  and  possibly 

a  half  hour  before.     He  disappeared  killed  one  or  more,  had  had  his  hand 

along  the  tortuous  street,  limping  away  almost  severed  from  his  body — a  fatal, 

under  the  trees,  more  a  poor  mendicant  tell-tale  sign  of  his  night's  exploits ! 

than  an  enemy  of  the  Empire.  He  knew  that  a  political  prisoner 

When  he  was  out  of  sight,  Jan  shut  was  the  most  helpless,  pitiable  thing 

the  door  and  sat  down  at  the  table  in  in  Carlmania.     Whoever  defied     the 

the  corner.  Emperor  did  so  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 

He  ate  his  breakfast  of  rye  bread  With  deadly  cunning  the  military  po- 

and  cold  lentil  soup,  which  he  poured  lice  traced  him  to  earth,  threw  him 

over  his  bread.  into  prison,  and  often  he  was  never 

Stefan  had  not  yet  awakened.    The  heard  of  again.    There  was  no  escape, 

little   lad    slept  peacefully,   his   face  no  relenting.     Punishment  was  inex- 

resting   upon  his   chubby   arms,  'his  orable. 

breath  sweet  and  regular.     Jan  went  What  hope,  then,  had  Jan  of  escape? 

over  to  him,  bent  above  him  lingering-  The  more  he  reflected  the  more  ter- 

ly,  kissed  his  soft,  warm  cheek  and  his  rified  he  became.    His  instinct  was  to 

stubby  little  nose,  and  his  eyes,  and  seize  his  boy  as  he  lay  asleep,  dress 

his  golden  hair — his  mother's  hair.  So  him,  and  strike  out  for  the  frontier  im- 

long  as   Stefan  was  safe  from  harm  mediately,  burying  himself  in  the  fast- 


486 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


nesses  of  Russia  or  Austria.  His 
face  became  gray  with  acute  mental 
suffering,  dwarfing  the  agony  of  his 
hand.  Fear  shook  him  like  a  leaf — 
deadly  fear  for  his  boy.  His  eyes  be- 
came in  a  moment  sunken  and  horror- 
struck — the  eyes  of  a  beast  at  bay. 

Then  suddenly  Stefan  stirred,  rolled 
over,  stretched  his  little  body,  and 
settled  himself  for  further  sleep. 

In  that  moment  Jan  heard  Ujedski 
moving  about  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall.  The  new  day  with  its  routine 
was  upon  the  house.  And  somehow  all 
seemed  for  the  moment  so  safe,  so 
free  from  peril,  that  the  big  man 
laughed  at  his  fears,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  as  though  shaking  off  the 
memory  of  a  hideous  dream,  pulled  on 
his  cap,  and  prepared  to  join  the  Toil- 
ers thronging  the  street  on  their  way 
to  the  shipyard. 

He  washed  the  blood  from  his  hand 
and  removed  the  tourniquet,  hoping 
thus  to  prevent  discovery.  He  tucked 
in  little  Stefan  tenderly,  wrapping  the 
bit  of  red  blanket  snugly  around  his 
body.  Then  kissing  him  he  went  out 
quickly,  and  closed  the  door. 

Chapter  XXX. 

Jan  clenched  his  fingers  in  a  moment 
of  pain.  The  deep  red  wound  was 
concealed  in  his  long  coat  sleeve.  It 
burned  like  fire,  crisping  his  nerves. 
In  moments  of  greatest  anguish  he 
thoughj;  of  Stefan,  and  the  pain  sub- 
sided, so  overshadowing  was  his  love 
for  his  boy. 

As  he  had  done  each  day  for  years, 
Jan  went  down  to  the  shipyard  and 
took  his  place  under  the  towering  side 
of  the  Huascar.  On  this  morning  the 
Superintendent  of  Construction  or- 
dered Jan's  gang  to  the  work  of  cast- 
ing ingots  in  the  furnace  room. 

Great  vats  of  molten  metal,  white- 
hot,  were  conveyed  on  cars  dragged  by 
little  snorting  locomotives  along  a 
smoky  wall  to  the  huge  Siemens-Mar- 
tin converters,  which  pour  the  smoking 
streams  of  metal  into  the  molds.  Here 
a  man,  stripped  to  the  waist,  regulates 
the  machinery  that  tips  the  vats  and 


sends  the  stream  of  living  fire  to  be 
cast  into  ingots  of  soft  steel  weigh- 
ing three  tons.  In  the  converter  a 
stream  of  air  blown  upward  under  the 
metal  by  powerful  force  pumps  puri- 
fies the  quivering,  livid  mass,  shooting 
forth  jets  of  violet-crimson  flame  and 
clouds  of  sparks. 

Jan  took  his  place  beside  the  con- 
verter lever.  Below  him,  Nicholas 
and  Androkoff  were  regulating  the 
cars. 

"Just  now  I  saw  two  fusiliers  by  the 
Pump  House  looking  for  somebody," 
confided  Nicholas  in  a  whisper. 

Androkoff  knew  of  this.  "Some- 
body that's  got  something  the  matter 
with  his  hand,"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"The  men  are  showing  their  hands." 

"What  are  they  doing  that  for?" 

"Don't  know.  Strange,  eh?  Nothing 
the  matter  with  my  hands.  Perfectly 
good  hands.  See!  They  want  some- 
body that's  got  something  the  matter 
with  his  hand." 

"Slower!    Slower!" 

Jan's  voice  bellowed  out  to  the  en- 
gineer of  a  locomotive.  When  the  cars 
sidled  into  the  exact  position  for 
dumping,  Jan  bent  nearer  to  Nicholas 
to  catch  every  word. 

"But  what's  wrong  with  the  hand  of 
the  man  they  are  looking  for?" 

"How  should  I  know?  The  Super- 
intendent's with  the  fusiliers — he's 
helping  them  find  their  man.  God 
pity  him!  I  do!  Probably  a  Red.  I 
pity  them.  Easy  to  send  them  to 
prison  and  worse.  Sometimes  they're 
murdered,  I've  heard  tell.  Remember 
little  JohanEdda?" 

"He  went  to  Belgium  when  he  got 
out." 

"He  never  got  out!" 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"I've  tried  to  find  him.  He  lived 
with  me  near  a  year.  God  pity  him! 
I've  searched  everywhere  .  .  .  He 
never  got  out!  .  .  .  And  now  they're 
after  another  one.  Poor  devil!  I 
hope  he  makes  away.  I  hate  to  see 
them  sent  down  to  Nisegrad.  Salt 
mines!  The  dampness  gets  into  their 
throats — takes  them     off     quick-like. 


GUNS  OF  GALT  487 

Poor     little   Johan   Edda!  .  .  .  Look  not  be!     Surely  there  were  not  two 

there!"  soldiers  near    the     lapping-hammers! 

Nicholas  faced  the  long  tracks  that  Surely  they  were  not  coming  nearer 
converged     near      the      Construction  and  nearer  to  him,  with  the  irresistible 
House.     Two  fusiliers  had  suddenly  onrush  of  the  sea ! 
come  into  view.    The  Superintendent  Oh,  God !    His  senses  must  be  play- 
accompanied  them.     They  were    in-  ing  him  false! 

specting  the  hands  of  each  toiler  as  He  started  violently.     The  spectre 

they  approached  the  converters.  Jan  of  the  grim-visaged  line  filing  past  be- 

gazed  with  fear-struck  eyes.  Who  was  came   sharper  as  his  vision  cleared, 

the  fusilier  with  the  tufted  pompon  Now  he  saw  Captain  Pasek  distinctly, 

in  his  hat?    Pasek?    Did  that  builder  He  was  nattily  attired  with  red  tunic 

extend  his  left  hand?     Did  Captain  and  white  trousers.    He  looked  out  of 

Pasek  glance  at  the  man's  hand  ?  Now  place  in  this  world  of  grime  and  soot 

was  he  looking  at  the  hand  of  yet  an-  and  dinning  sounds.    Oh,  surely  they 

other  toiler  ?    And  yet  another  ?    And  would  come  no  closer !    They  were  the 

another  .  .  .   ?  fanciful  creatures  of  a  sickly  imagina- 

A  thick,  black  dizziness  appeared  tion;  they  moved  with  elaborate  ges- 

bef ore  Jan's  eyes.    He  staggered  and  tures ;  they  were  now  but  twenty  paces 

would  have  fallen  had  he  not  felt  the  away! 

rear  of  a  car  at  his  back.     He  was  Jan's     wounded     wrist     no     longer 

weak  from  loss  of  blood.     Could  he  pained  him.    The  wound  in  his  heart 

be  mistaken?    Ah,  surely  he  had  not  was  greater — raw,  bleeding;  and  be- 

seen  true!    The  green  light  from  the  fore  his  eyes  was  no  longer  the  violet 

blinding-white  metal  was  plying  hell-  light  of  the  flowing  metal,  but  a  little 

ish  tricks  with  his  vision  .  .   !  lad's  face,  peacefully  sleeping.     The 

Now  another  car  trundled  along  the  cry  that  was  in  his  heart,  the  impetu- 
track,  its  great  vat  seething  with  the  ous,  passionate  revolt,  the  formidable 
liquid  metal.  Instantly  he  was  alert,  instinct  to  strike — shook  him  like  a 
The  fusiliers  were  forgotten.  "Hoist!"  cataclysm.  In  a  moment  Captain  Pa- 
he  commanded.  A  huge  crane  lifted  sek  would  face  him — cornered  at  last 
the  vat.  "Down!"  The  derrick  chain  where  there  was  no  escape.  Nisegrad 
settled.  Down  came  the  vat  with  its  — and  a  lingering  death  in  the  salt 
boiling  metal.  He  bent  forward  into  mines !  Or  Floryanska — locked  in  the 
the  scorching  nimbus  of  the  metal;  his  heart  of  a  stone  cliff!  But  what  mat- 
body  tingled  with  the  fierce  heat;  his  tered  that?  "Stefan!  Stefan!"  was 
eyes  saw  only  a  violet  flood  of  fire  as  the  cry  that  ruptured  his  heart, 
he  pressed  the  lever  controlling  the  "Nicholas!  .  .  .  Andiokoff!" 
force  pumps.  Then  in  a  flash  he  re-  The  Superintendent  shouted  up  to 
leased  the  little  Jeva  cock,  threw  the  the  two  builders. 

crane  pin,  and  the  metal  hurtled  into  "Here,   Nicholas,   your   hands  .  .  . 

the  molds  in  quivering  cascades.  Androkoff,  your  hands  .  .  .  And  you, 

He  leaped  back,  jumped     to     the  Jan!" 
ground  from  the  car,  and  the  vat  trun-  Nicholas  and  Androkoff,  with  quiz- 
died  on.  zical  smiles  upon  their  faces,  stepped 

Blinking,  he  looked  down  along  the  down  to  the  ground  before  the  fusi- 

tracks,  beyond  the  panting  little  loco-  Hers.    They  extended  their  hands  for 

motives.  inspection.    With  a  quick  gesture  Pa- 

The  fusiliers  had  drawn  nearer.  One  sek  dismissed  them, 

by  one  a  group  of  toilers  filed  past  "Jan!" 

them,  each  holding  out  his  hands  for  A  car  trundled  down  the  track  to- 

inspection.     Could  this  thing  be  pos-  ward  Jan,  with  a  great  vat  of  fresh 

sible?     Ah,  surely  the  blinding  light  metal  for  the  molds, 

was  playing  havoc  with  him.  Surely  "Yes,"  responded  Jan. 

this  thing  that  he  seemed  to  see  could  "Come  down  here !" 


488 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


"Yes!" 

Jan  had  already  climbed  up  onto  the 
moving  car,  which  now  came  to  a  stop. 
He  lunged  forward,  released  the  black 
little  Jeva  cock  at  the  side  of  the  vat, 
and  threw  up  the  crane  pin,  releasing 
the  metal. 

"Oh,  Jan!" 

"Yes." 

Pasek  glanced  up  as  the  flood  of 
fiery  metal  danced  from  the  vat. 

"Jan!    Jan!    Jan  Rantzau — you!" 

The  eyes  of  the  Captain  of  the  Fu- 
siliers met  the  eyes  of  Jan  in  an  in- 
stant of  grinding  hate. 

In  that  instant  the  vat  swerved ;  the 
chain  loosened,  permitted  it  to  settle 
until  it  dropped  to  the  level  of  the 
car-tail.  The  cascade  of  blinding- 
white  metal  rushed  over  the  edge!  Be- 
low, a  dozen  men  were  at  work!  The 
devouring  stream  would  bake  them 
alive,  withering  them  beyond  recog- 
nition ! 

Even  as  the  metal  rushed  to  the  edge 
of  the  vat,  Pasek's  voice  rang  out  like 
a  clarion  call  of  triumph. 

"Jan  Rantzau — you!  Your  hand, 
please!" 

Jan  no  longer  saw  the  Captain 
of  the  Fusiliers — nor  did  he  hear  his 
voice. 

His  eyes  were  fascinated  by  the 
tipping  vat.  Like  lost  souls  in  a  roar- 
ing inferno,  the  toilers  in  the  pit  be- 
low raised  their  arms  above  their 
heads  in  pitiful  gestures  to  shield  their 
faces — raised  their  voices  in  croaking, 
fearful  cries. 

Jan  had  neglected  the  vat  an  instant 
— and  this  was  the  penalty!  .  .  .  The 
giant  of  the  shipyard  lunged  ahead, 
reached  out  with  his  left  hand  and 
steadied  the  vat!  The  metal  poured 
across  his  hand.  The  man,  naked, 
primeval,  shut  his  jaws  with  a  click, 
closed  his  eyes,  lifted  the  vat  back 
with  his  tremendous  strength,  locked 
it  into  place,  and  directed  the  flowing 
metal  back  into  the  mold! 

The  deed  was  over  in  an  eye-twin- 
kling. 

Jan  staggered  against  the  car-tail, 
swinging  his  left  hand  behind  his 
scorched  body. 


Pasek  had  run  around  the  side  of 
the  car,  to  climb  up  to  where  he  could 
behold  Jan's  hand. 

When  he  leaped  upon  the  car  he 
came  face  to  face  with  the  giant. 

"Jan,  your  hand!"  he  cried  exult- 
antly. 

Jan  drew  the  brown  thing  that  had 
once  been  his  hand  from  behind  his 
back  and  held  it  up  for  the  Captain 
of  the  Fusiliers  to  see.  His  eyes 
glowed  with  triumphant  glory. 

Chapter  XXXI. 

After  the  swift  and  unspeakable 
horror,  Captain  Pasek  passed  on  with 
his  companion. 

Jan  stared  as  he  disappeared  from 
the  shipyard.  His  eyes  were  dulled; 
his  face  was  pale  as  death.  In  agony 
he  bit  his  lip  until  the  blood  spurted. 
In  unutterable  pain  he  opened  and 
closed  his  remaining  hand  spasmodi- 
cally. 

For  the  moment  Jan  was  the  victor. 
He  had  destroyed  the  evidence  that 
linked  him  with  the  Revolutionist 
meeting. 

He  stood  like  a  bronze  statue,  trans- 
fixed with  anguish,  but  triumphant 
over  the  man  who  had  persecuted  him. 
He  breathed  defiance,  his  powerful 
chest  heaving  tumultuously. 

He  climbed  slowly  from  the  car  onto 
the  ground.  The  car,  having  depos- 
ited its  burden,  rumbled  away  along 
the  narrow  tracks. 

Nicholas,  Androkoff  and  a  dozen 
workmen  rushed  frantically  to  him. 

"Jan,  come  with  me!"  cried  Nicho- 
las. 

"Wrap  your  hand  in  this  waste!"  ex- 
claimed Androkoff. 

Jan  gazed  with  maniacal,  staring 
eyes  at  the  crowd  surrounding  him.  He 
heard  the  babel  of  voices,  the  cries 
of  sympathy,  the  cheers  and  exhorta- 
tions of  his  friends  as  waves  breaking 
on  a  far-off  shore.  Impulsively  he 
started  forward,  towering  above  them 
all;  he  pushed  the  men  aside  like  so 
many  pygmies,  and  staggered  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  shipyard  gates. 

"He  is  mad!"  cried  Nicholas,  aghast. 

"God!  did  you  see  his  eyes?" 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


489 


Jan  groped  his  way  out  of  the  yard, 
bent  and  misshapen,  a  monstrous,  tor- 
tured wreck,  silent  in  the  awful  trag- 
edy that  had  come  upon  him.  In- 
stinctively he  went  toward  Ujedski's 
house. 

He  was  no  longer  the  dominant  giant 
of  the  shipyard,  straight  and  hand- 
some ;  all  in  a  moment  he  had  collapsed 
— broken  like  a  reed,  twisted  with 
grief  and  suffering.  He  had  become 
an  old,  old  man;  his  breath  whistled 
from  his  body;  his  eyes  were  dulled 
and  agonized.  The  arms  that  had  once 
been  steel  fibres  were  now  gnarled 
trunks  of  trees.  Days  and  nights  of 
toil  had  marked  him  with  fatal  im- 
press. His  hair  hung  low  over  his 
forehead,  thickly  matted,  lowering  like 
a  cypress.  His  body  heaved  and  rolled 
like  the  prow  of  a  ship  bucking  the 
mountains  of  the  sea. 

On  and  on  he  went,  and  not  a  whis- 
per of  the  terrible  pain  that  lashed 
him  like  a  hurricane  came  from  his 
lips;  only  the  blood  that,  jetting  un- 
der the  grip  of  his  teeth,  trickled  from 
his  mouth.  His  face  was  slashed  and 
scarred  from  flying  strands  of  steel, 
and  ashen  under  the  grime. 

Now  blind  and  insensate,  he  entered 
the  Street  of  the  Larches.  One 
thought  burned  in  his  chaotic  brain: 
Pasek  had  determined  to  ruin  him,  to 
send  him  to  prison,  if  indeed  he  es- 
caped the  horrors  of  a  military  death 
for  treason.  For  the  moment  Jan  had 
beaten  him,  beaten  him  with  fearful 
toll — but  what  of  the  days  to  come? 
That  Pasek  would  double  his  efforts 
to  obtain  evidence  against  him  was  in- 
evitable. The  Captain  knew  that  Jan 
had  attended  the  secret  meeting  of  the 
Revolutionists.  The  sabre  cut  across 
his  hand  would  have  been  eloquent 
evidence,  and  combined  with  the  story 
of  the  three  fusiliers,  would  have  sent 
him  to  his  doom.  Jan  had  destroyed 
the  evidence  of  the  sabre  cut.  But  he 
knew  that  Pasek  would  find  fresh  evi- 
dence, and  the  court,  eager  to  believe 
suspicions  of  treason  against  the  mili- 
tary policy  of  the  government,  would 
find  him  guilty.  It  was  the  fate  of 
hundreds  before  him.    It  would  be  the 


same  with  him. 

What  happened  to  him  mattered  lit- 
tle, he  reflected.  But  what  would  be- 
come of  his  boy?  At  best  Ujedski 
was  a  poor  makeshift;  and  with  Jan  in 
prison  there  was  no  telling  what  hard- 
ships and  persecutions  might  be  vis- 
ited upon  Stefan.  It  became  clear  to 
him  that  there  was  only  one  thing  for 
him  to  do :  to  go  away  with  his  boy. 

Thus  determined,  he  reached  Ujed- 
ski's hovel.  The  old  crone  was  away. 
Stefan  saw  him  coming  and  ran  up 
and  threw  his  arms  around  his  father's 
neck. 

"What  did  you  come  home  so  early 
for?"  he  asked,  childishly. 

Jan  laughed,  hoarsely.  "Get  your 
hat  and  coat,  sonny;  we're  going  on  a 
long  journey." 

"Where  to?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Over  those  hills,  papa?" 

"Over  those  hills,  sonny." 

"And  is  mamma  over  those  hills?" 

"I  hope  so,  sonny." 

"Are  we  going  to  find  mamma?" 

"Perhaps." 

"When  are  we  going?" 

"Now,  sonny." 

The  nights  would  be  cold,  so  Jan 
buttoned  on  Stefan's  warm  little  coat 
and  fastened  his  black  astrakhan  cap 
on  his  yellow  head.  His  eyes  roamed 
around  the  little  room  that  had  once 
been  Jagiello's.  Folded  away  in  a 
drawer  he  came  upon  the  red  bodice 
that  he  had  given  her  on  that  wonder- 
ful night  years  before.  By  it  he  re- 
membered her  best,  so  he  kissed  it  and 
laid  it  near  his  heart.  Then  swinging 
Stefan  up  to  his  shoulders  he  went  out 
through  the  gate. 

Ujedski,  returning  home,  came  face 
to  face  with  him. 

"Jan,  it  is  only  noon,  and  you  are 
home  from  work?" 

"I  am  going  away." 

"Going  away!    Going  away!" 

"Ujedski,  I  am  in  trouble.  You  must 
not  ask  me.  Some  day  I  will  come 
back.    I  will  send  you  rubles  .  .  ." 

"Not  much,  Jan  Rantzau!  If  you 
are  going  away,  you  must  pay  me 
first!" 


490 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


"I  will  send  you  rubles,"  repeated 
Jan. 

"You  will  pay  me  before  you  go!" 
"I  have  no  rubles  for  you  now." 
"Then  you  are  not  going!" 
Swift  and  terrible  anger  rose  in  Jan. 
The  time  to  escape  was  short  enough, 
and  the  old  crone  was  holding  him 
for  a  few  miserable  rubles!  She  had 
been  hard  enough  on  his  boy  since  Ja- 
giello  had  gone  away.  She  had  been 
mean  to  his  mother  before  him.  She 
had  given  Jan  only  a  pallet  of  straw 
and  a  few  old  rags  with  which  to  cover 
his  body;  and  on  winter  nights  he  had 
been  too  cold  to  sleep.  She  had  made 
Stefan  care  for  her  ducks  and  sheep, 
had  sent  him  on  long  trips  to  the  shops 
to  carry  home  heavy  bags  of  beans 
and  lentils  upon  his  tender  back.  She 
had  beaten  the  boy  when  the  mood 
came  upon  her.  And  she  had  made 
Jan  pay  for  all  this,  pay  her  ruble  af- 
ter ruble,  far  in  excess  of  the  service 
she  had  rendered,  until  he  had  been 
driven  to  toil  at  night  and  suffer  un- 
known sacrifices.  This  was  the  bel- 
dam who  now  confronted  him,  threat- 
ening him  if  he  did  not  pay  to  her  the 
last  ruble  that  he  had  chastised  his 
body  and  soul  to  earn. 

Blind-driven  hate  choked  Jan.  He 
glared  at  Ujedski,  transfixed.  The 
glitter  in  his  eye  frightened  her  out  of 
her  wits.  She  clutched  her  shawl  and 
started  back  from  him. 

"So  I  am  not  going!"  cried  Jan  in  a 
voice  deep  and  horrible  to  hear,  hoarse 
like  a  raven's  croak.  "So  I  am  not 
going!"  He  reached  forward  with  his 
claw,  waving  it  toward  Ujedski. 

When  she  beheld  it  a  spasm  of  fear 
swept  over  her.  Turning,  she  ran 
swiftly  into  the  hut  and  slammed  the 
door.  She  remained  peering  out  of  the 
window,  her  face  yellow  and  drawn, 
her  bony  fingers  trickling  across  her 
throat. 

Jan  laughed :  deep,  noiseless,  mock- 
ing laughter,  and  turning  quickly, 
strode  away  toward  the  Jena  bridge. 
This  he  crossed,  and  went  up  on  the 
heights,  climbing  with  great  strides, 
his  back  bent,  his  face  staring  at  the 
sodden  ground. 


It  was  July,  and  the  hills  were 
brown  under  the  blazing  sun.  Brilliant 
steel-blue  flies  darted  through  the 
grasses.  Thousands  of  white  butterflies 
rose  from  the  coppice.  The  somno- 
lent hush  of  noon  lay  upon  forest  and 
stream,  far  mountains  and  great  sunny 
fields. 

As  Jan  mounted,  the  town  fell  away 
below.  Ahead  was  the  forest  of  Lasz- 
lovar,  lifting  straight  and  dense.  For 
the  last  time  Jan  looked  back  at  Gait 
a  free  man.  The  giant  Huascar  lay 
peacefully  in  the  sunshine.  Her  sides 
were  honeycombed  with  swarming  fig- 
ures. Jan  had  been  one  of  her  build- 
ers— nothing  more. 

In  another  moment  he  was  striding 
through  the  forest. 

He  wondered,  dully,  if  the  police 
had  yet  learned  of  his  departure,  and 
were  on  his  track.  Would  Ujedski 
tell  of  his  hasty  retreat?  Or  would 
fear  restrain  her?  And  how  much  did 
she  know? 

Stefan  leaned  forward  and  kissed 
his  shoulder.  "Dear,  big  papa,"  he 
said. 

"Dear  sonny!" 

"Can  I  have  a  drink,  papa?" 

He  swung  Stefan  to  the  ground,  and 
they  walked  through  forest  aisles 
where  the  sun  laughed  deep  within  the 
glades.  A  stream  flashed  away  through 
a  shallow  ravine.  He  made  a  cup  of 
his  good  hand,  and  Stefan  drank  the 
cool,  clear  water.  Wild  figs  and 
grapes  grew  along  the  bank,  and  these 
they  ate  together. 

As  the  afternoon  waned  they  came 
out  into  a  sun-gold  meadow.  There  was 
a  vigor  in  the  air,  and  Jan  stretched 
his  arms,  and  lifted  his  face  to  meet 
the  vagrant  sea-winds.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful meadow,  carpeted  with  trem- 
bling wind-flowers  and  blue  lobelias. 

But  he  must  not  linger,  for  the  sun 
was  setting.  He  must  reach  O-Mol- 
dovo  town  before  night.  So,  swinging 
Stefan  once  more  to  his  shoulders,  he 
pressed  on. 

An  hour  later  he  came  to  the  edge  of 
the  forest.  The  setting  sun  was  shin- 
ing red  upon  the  roofs  and  spires  of 
O-Moldovo. 


GUNS  OF  GALT 


491 


Twenty  miles  he  had  come,  and  now 
the  rutted  cart-way  of  the  ox-teams  be- 
came visible  through  the  white  larch 
trunks.  -  A  peasant,  driving  a  cart  of 
hay,  appeared  on  the  road.  As  he 
drew  nearer,  the  little  bells  on  the 
straps  of  the  buff-colored  bullocks 
jangled  musically. 

"Ho,  there!"  cried  Jan,  as  the  peas- 
ant came  up.  "Will  you  take  us  to 
O-Moldovo?  We  have  come  a  long 
way,  and  are  tired." 

The  peasant  responded  cheerfully, 
and  drew  in  the  lumbering  bullocks. 

Jan  and  Stefan  climbed  up  into  the 
cart  and  sank  into  the  hay. 

Jan  concealed  his  left  arm  in  his 
blouse  so  the  peasant  could  not  iden- 
tify him  by.  the  appearance  of  his 
hand. 

"Coming  from  Gait?"  asked  the 
ruddy-faced  stranger. 

"No,"  replied  Jan,  fearing  that  this 
man  might  be  asked  about  him  later; 
"from  Bazias — from  the  monastery, 
where  I  was  a  gardener." 

The  bullocks  ambled  slowly  down  to 
O-Moldovo,  and  the  sun  sank,  a  ball 
of  fire,  behind  the  towers  of  the  town. 

Night  was  coming  on,  with  all  its 
shadows  and  its  terrors,  but  what  mat- 
tered it  then,  for  suddenly  all  the  bells 
of  O-Moldovo  set  up  a  lively  carillon, 
a  melancholy  farewell  to  the  changing 
day.  O  bells  of  O-Moldovo !  Chiming 
soft  and  sweet,  from  temple  and  cha- 
pel, pealing  out  across  the'  sunny 
downs  and  shadowy  hills,  bells  lan- 
guorous and  stately,  bells  clangorous 
and  rebellious,  bells  tolling  with  brave 
abandon,  sending  their  echoes  ringing 
through  the  countryside!  Of  all  the 
bells  of  O-Moldovo  there  are  none  so 
sweet  as  the  convent  bells  at  dusk. 

Chapter  XXXII. 

While  O-Moldovo's  bells  were  still 
ringing,  and  the  last  ruddy  shafts  of 
the  sunlight  were  playing  upon  the 
towers  and  ancient  battlements,  Jan 
entered  the  town  in  the  hay-cart,  and, 
thanking  the  peasant  for  the  ride, 
climbed  down  and  made  his  way 
through  the  village  streets. 

The  shops  were  closing  up  for  the 


day.  The  shop-keepers  were  busily 
engaged  in  fastening  doors  and  win- 
dows. In  a  pork  shop  Jan  bought  food 
with  a  ruble.  Then  swinging  Stefan 
once  more  to  his  shoulders,  he  went 
in  the  direction  of  the  citadel  and  the 
ruins  beyond  the  broad  river  that  di- 
vided O-Moldovo. 

The  quaint  streets  were  filled  with 
children  shouting  at  play;  and  upon 
the  doorsteps  squatted  women  gossip- 
ing. Jan  went  unnoticed  through  the 
dusk,  and  as  night  shut  down,  came  to 
a  road  that  wound  through  a  lonely 
churchyard  to  the  ruins  of  an  old  cas- 
tle. The  building  lifted  out  of  the 
blue  twilight,  a  grey-green  pile,  its  an- 
cient stones  covered  with  ivy,  haunted 
by  strange  birds  that  flitted  in  and  out 
of  the  balconies  on  silent,  eerie  wings. 
The  ruins  were  unspeakably  lonely. 

"I'm  getting  sleepy,"  said  Stefan  at 
last.  His  little  head  nodded  on  Jan's 
shoulder. 

"We're  going  asleep  soon,"  said 
Jan. 

"Where?    Inhere?" 

"Yes,  sonny." 

"But  it's  so  dark,  papa,  in  there !" 

"It  will  be  sunrise  soon." 

"But  you  won't  let  anything  happen 
to  me?" 

"No,  sonny." 

"I  know  you  won't,  papa  .  .  What's 
that?" 

"That's  an  owl,  telling  us  'good- 
night,' sonny." 

The  owl  continued  to  hoot,  and  pres- 
ently a  crescent  moon  appeared  in  the 
west.  In  its  sickly  glow  Jan  felt  his 
way  along  the  facade  of  the  ruins.  He 
entered  the  portals  and  came  to  a  ser- 
ies of  heavy  pillars,  thickly  entwined 
with  ivy,  out  of  which  bats  and  night 
birds  darted  in  alarm.  The  place  was 
open,  and  above  the  stars  burned 
brightly.  He  saw  the  huge  monolithic 
structure  of  an  arch,  and  entering  be- 
neath it,  came  to  a  sheltered  place  that 
once  had  been  a  causeway. 

He  felt  a  tiny  mouth  close  to  his 
ear.  "Papa,  you  won't  let  anything 
happen  to  me?" 

"No,  sonny.  We're  going  asleep 
now." 


492                                       OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

He  set  Stefan  down.     He  gathered  had  wandered  off  toward  the  castle, 

dry  grass  into  a  corner,  and  presently  An  hour  later  Captain  Pasek  and  his 

had  prepared  a  soft  pallet  for  his  boy.  guard  entered  the  portals  of  the  castle. 

Then  wrapping  him  snugly  and  ten-  The  new  day  was  paling  the  eastern 

derly  in  his  coat,  he  lay  down  beside  sky.  The  ancient  pile  was  ghostly  with 

him  and  took  the  little  hands  in  his  solitude.    In  the  center  of  the  grounds 

big  right  one,  and  kissed  the  little  man  there  had  once  been  a  wonderful  gar- 

to  sleep.  den ;  here  were  the  remains  of  a  white 

After  the  gentle  breathing  had  be-  marble  summer-house  with  walls  of 
come  regular,  Jan  lay  awake  through  lace-like  fretwork.  The  sun,  coming 
the  midnight  hour,  flat  on  his  back  up-  up  over  the  hill,  burst  with  golden 
on  the  hard  ground,  staring  up  at  the  splendor  through  the  tracery  .  .  .  Pa- 
stars,  his  mind  recounting  the  horrors  sek  stepped  silently  from  pillar  to  pil- 
of  the  day.  His  hand  burned  and  lar.  He  held  his  rifle  ready.  But  he 
throbbed  with  increasing  pain,  as  it  did  not  need  it  this  morning.  For  sud- 
had  for  hours;  but  he  had  stifled  his  denly,  while  passing  under  the  arch, 
anguish  to  hide  it  from  his  boy.  His  he  came  upon  his  quarry  in  a  corner, 
hand,  terribly  burned,  was  wrapped  in  Jan  lay  stretched  on  the  ground,  his 
strips  of  rag,  and  he  kept  it  concealed  arms  thrown  wide,  and  upon  his  chest 
in  his  blouse.  .  .  But  the  pain  in  his  slumbered  his  lad.  Even  these  fusi- 
hand  was  less  than  his  mental  suffer-  liers,  with  hearts  steeled  against  hu- 
ing.  The  horror  of  suspense,  the  Iread  man  appeal,  paused  in  the  hunt  to 
fear  that  his  pursuers  might  discover  gaze  in  silence  at  the  father  and  son, 
him — kept  him  awake  until  exhaustion  cheek  side  by  side,  slumbering  peace- 
overcame  him,  and  he  sank  into  a  fully.  Little  did  the  slumberers  dream 
heavy  sleep.  at  that  moment  that  three  Mauser  tubes 

were  pointing  down  at  them. 

Chapter  XXXIII.  Finally  Pasek  said:  "He's  a  match 

for  the  three  of  us.     Better  take  him 

At  dawn,  three  soldiers  came  steal-  while  he  sleeps." 
thily  to  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  castle.  At  a  nod  from  their  Captain,  the  fu- 
They  left  a  white-roofed  house  in  the  siliers  advanced  cautiously,  and  quick- 
Foreign  Quarter,  passed  like  shadows  ly  pinioning  Jan's  arms,  locked  the 
through  the  Street  of  the  Eastern  Gate,  heavy  police  chains  upon  them.  With 
and  reached  the  great  bronze  doors  a  convulsive  heave  of  his  body,  Jan 
studded  with  rusted  iron  bosses.  awoke,  vaguely  realizing  that  he  had 

The  three  soldiers  wore  long  mili-  been  trapped.    Stefan  opened  his  eyes 

tary  capes.    Rifles  with  blue  steel  bar-  and  began  to  cry  in  a  frightened  little 

rels  glinted  on  their  shoulders.  Their  way.    Jan  tried  to  leap  to  his  feet,  but 

faces  were  set  and  determined — hard  the  chains  held  him,  and  he  fell  back 

faces,  made  hard  by  the  business  of  with  a  cry  as  of  a  wounded  animal  at 

killing.  bay:  "Oh-e-e!    Oh!    Oh!"    Instantly 

These  men  had  arrived     overnight  he  was  up  again,  his  eyes  wide  open, 

from  Gait.    They  had  questioned  every  his  senses  clearing,  chest  heaving,  the 

peasant   who   had   traveled   over   the  great  muscles  of  his  arms  biting  into 

cart-ways  the  day  before.    They  had  the  chains.     He  was  a  giant  after  a 

found  the  rustic  who  had  given  Jan  a  century's  sleep,  rising,    throwing    off 

ride,  and  him  they  questioned  relent-  slumber,  making  the     earth     tremble 

lessly.    The  peasant  was  a  simple  fel-  with  violent  convolutions.    Finally  he 

low,   afraid  of  the  law.    In   excited,  got  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  flaming.    Ste- 

broken  sentences  he  told  of  meeting  a  fan  wound  his  arms  about  his  legs.  "I 

big  man  with   a  little  boy  upon  his  won't  let  them  hurt  you,  papa,"  he 

shoulder,  and  letting  them  ride  in  his  sobbed. 

cart  into  O-Moldovo.     He     had     left  "Take  the  boy  away!"  commanded 

them  near  the  railway  station,  and  they  Pasek. 


THE  OFFERING. 


493 


Jan's  right  arm  enfolded  his  lad. 
"No!  No!"  he  cried,  deathly  fear 
clutching  his  heart. 

A  fusilier  advanced  to  carry  out  the 
order. 

"Papa,  don't  let  them  take  me 
away!"  begged  Stefan. 

The  soldier  reached  forward  and 
seized  the  boy  by  the  arm. 

In  that  instant,  with  incredible  swift- 
ness, Jan  struck.  All  the  strength  of 
his  body  poured  into  his  huge  arms, 
and,  lifting  them  above  his  head, 
locked  with  stout  chains,  he  brought 
them  down  with  terrific  force  upon  the 
head  of  the  fusilier.  The  soldier 
crumpled  upon  the  ground. 

Pasek  raised  his  rifle  and  struck  Jan 
over  the  head,  felling  him.  Then  he 
and  the  third  soldier  chafed  the  wrists 
of  the  unfortunate  fusilier  until  he  was 
able  to  rise  to  his  feet  and  sit  upon  a 
stone  bench.  Pasek  seized  Stefan 
roughly  and  set  him  down  beside  the 
wounded  fusilier.  Jan's  eyes  opened 
and  he  stared  about  dully,  through  a 
black  haze,  looking  for  his  boy.  He 
tried  to  lift  himself  to  his  elbows,  but 
the  pains  in  his  head  increased,  and  he 
sank  back  wearily.  He  was  like  a 
wounded  lion  in  a  net,  helpless  before 
his  captors,  watching  with  sorrowful 
eyes  his  young  taken  from  him. 

When  Pasek  spoke  his  voice  was 
low  and  triumphant:  "Where  is  Jagi- 
ello  Nur?" 

Jan  gazed  at  him,  stupefied. 

"If  she  were  here  now  she  might 
bind  up  your  hand  and  your  head," 
laughed  Pasek.  Blood  was  trickling 
from  Jan's  forehead.  Pasek  changed 
his  tone  to  that  of  a  pitiless  inquisi- 


tor: "Where  is  Skarga?" 

After  a  moment  Jan  managed  to  re- 
ply: "I  do  not  know." 

"Don't  lie  to  me!  You  do  know. 
Madame  Ujedski  saw  him  with  you  in 
your  room  after  the  meeting  in  the 
barn.  'The  Firebrand'  was  not  in  your 
room  after  you  left  yesterday  morn- 
ing. He  departed  about  six  o'clock. 
Where  did  he  go?" 

Again  Jan  replied :  "I  do  not  know." 

Pasek's  voice  became  adament;  his 
eyes  glinted  cruelly;  he  came  nearer 
Jan,  unsheathing  his  sabre. 

"You  do  know !  You  do  know !  Tell 
me,  where  is  The  Firebrand?" 

Jan  remained  silent.  Suddenly  he 
felt  an  edge  of  cold  steel  upon  his  arm 
— his  left  arm!  And  a  voice  roared 
above  him:  "You  do  know!  You  do 
know!  Where  is  Skarga?"  Then 
darkness  shut  in  about  him,  and 
through  the  swirling  maelstrom,  like 
the  boom  of  breakers  on  a  far  strand, 
he  heard  the  insistent  cry  of  his  en- 
emy: "Where  is  Skarga?  Where  is 
Skarga?"  The  cadence  rose  and  fell 
with  the  surge  of  the  blood  through 
his  veins.  He  would  not  answer.  He 
swooned.  The  loss  of  blood  left  him  a 
shattered  wreck,  his  great  strength 
ebbing  away.  To  him  the  world  be- 
came a  black  whirlpool  shot  with  stars. 

But  there  was  no  darkness  in  the 
universe. 

Rose  and  crimson  morning  lights 
danced  through  the  balconies  and  tow- 
ers. 

Presently  a  peasant  drew  up  at  the 
castle  with  his  cart,  and  Jan  and  Ste- 
fan began  a  weary  journey  back  to 
Gait.  (To  be  Continued.) 


THE    OFFERING 

Sweet  with  the  incense  of  the  night 
In  golden  urns  of  twilight  brewed, 

The  winds  of  evening  bear  to  me 
A  peace  renewed. 

But  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  bloom 

And  attar  that  the  roses  brew, 
The  gift  the  twilight  brings  to  me — 

My  dreams  of  you! 

Arthur  Wallace  Peach. 


A  Letter  From  the  Boy 


By  L.  W.  Huntington 


Camp   "Recuperate,"   Shasta   County, 
California. 

July  10,  1916. 

DEAR  MOTHER: 
Am  enclosing  you  Dr.  L — 's 
account  of  his  experiences  in 
Southern  California  after  leav- 
ing medical  college  away  back  in  '86. 
The  Doctor  don't  know  that  I  took  his 
words  in  short  hand,  because  if  he  did 
he  would  not  have  given  so  much  pro- 
fessional  detail.     He  thought  that  I 

was  writing  a  letter  to  F ,  so  he 

talked  along  for  an  hour  or  two  to 
Fritz.  We  were  lying  on  our  cots  in 
the  tent  after  a  hard  day's  fishing  in 
the  upper  Sacramento,  and  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  the  Doctor  got  started 
on  the  subject  of  prohibition.  He 
maintains  that  legislation  is  not  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  abolish  the  over- 
consumption  of  alcohol,  as  nowadays 
intemperance  is  dying  a  natural  death 
wherever  men  assert  the  sense  that 
God  gave  geese.  They  know  in  their 
hearts  that  it  doesn't  pay,  and  for  that 
reason  alone  time  will  see  an  end  to 
it.  He  said  that  of  course  there  are 
still  those  backwaters  of  civilization 
where  law  and  order  is  in  inverse  ratio 
to  the  amount  of  whisky  consumed, 
but  that  even  these  places  will  know 
reform  if  the  manufacturers  of  "red- 
eye" ever  thoroughly  realize  that  the 
welfare  of  their  busines  depends  upon 
proper  regulation. 

To  illustrate  his  point  the  Doctor 
compared  the  tendency  in  California 
to-day  with  the  rough  and  ready  con- 
ditions he  found  when  he  started  to 
practice  medicine.  I  wish  you  could 
have  heard  him,  mother.  Our  M.  D. 
is  a  fine  fellow,  and  he  talks  in  such 
a  simple,  straightforward  manner  that 
a  fellow  don't  feel  any  doubt  whatever, 


the  way  you  do  when  some  people  start 
to  reminisce.  I  had  an  awful  job  to 
keep  up  with  him  some  of  the  time,  as 
I  was  pretty  tired  and  the  river  pound- 
ing along  outside  almost  lulled  me  to 
sleep,  but  I  guess  you  and  Dad  can 
read  it  all  right.  When  you  finish, 
please  put  it  away  in  my  desk  where 
I  can  get  it  when  I  come  home,  as  I 
want  to  work  some  of  the  local  color 
into  a  story  for  O — if  possible.  All 
well — except  the  Doctor,  who  has  got 
too  much  pep.  for  an  ordinary  mortal. 
He  may  have  come  up  here  to  rest  and 
recuperate,  but  you  wouldn't  think  so 
to  see  him  rough-house  us  boys  or  out- 
walk us  every  time  we  hit  the  trails. 
He  leads  the  simple  life  instead  of 
follows  it.  The  candy  arrived  O.  K, 
It  tasted  like  more.  Thank  you  for 
sending  my  sweater. 

Your  loving  son, 

J. 

P.  St — You  ought  to  hear  Fritz's  new 
matutinal  ditty  which  he  chants  every 
time  it  is  his  turn  to  cook  breakfast. 
Some  lumberjack  "sang"  it  to  him 
(with  profane  variations)  the  other 
day  up  on  the  mountain,  and  he  can't 
get  it  out  of  his  head.  What  with  said 
"song"  and  the  Doctor's  wet  towel  (he 
being  a  cold  bath  enthusiast,  prescrib- 
ing COLD  water  as  the  best  liquid 
stimulant),  there  are  great  opportuni- 
ties for  prolonged  slumber  in  this 
camp  in  the  early  morning  hours!  As 
per  Fritz: 

"Arise,  you  husky  buckos,  and  dress 

by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
The  coffee's  boiling  on  the  stove  and 

breakfast's  ready  soon. 
What  right  has  a  man  to  lie  abed  who 

works  a  twelve  hour  day? 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    BOY 


495 


It's  not  for  the  likes  of  such  as  you  to 

sleep  when  you  hit  the  hay." 

Yrs, 

J. 
*  *  *  * 

"...  those  wild  times  are  especi- 
ally interesting  to  me  because  of  my 
own  experiences  in  San  Diego  County 
as  a  physician  during  the  years  '86  and 
'89.  That  was  the  period  in  the  his- 
tory of  Southern  California  when  the 
big  real  estate  'boom'  was  on  and  life 
was  very  exciting  throughout  the 
southern  part  of  the  State.  Many  for- 
tunes were  made  and  many  more  un- 
doubtedly lost  in  the  mad  frenzy  of 
speculation.  Of  course,  this  boom- 
ing condition  had  its  bad  as  well  as 
its  good  effect  upon  the  South,  there 
being  a  decided  influx  of  "hard"  char- 
acters, especially  of  the  gambling  fra- 
ternity. 

"I  graduated  from  college  on  April 
2,  1886,  and  about  May  1st  began  look- 
ing about  for  a  professional  opening. 
Considering  possibilities  of  future  in- 
crease of  population,  I  decided  to  go 
to  San  Diego,  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore I  found  myself  on  a  California 
Southern  train  bound  for  new  fields  and 
a  career.  I  was  only  twenty-four  years 
of  age,  so  you  can  imagine  the  great- 
ness of  my  desire  to  relieve  the  suf- 
ferings of  humanity!  I  made  up  in 
enthusiasm  what  I  lacked  in  practice 
as  my  practical  experience  was  very 
limited.  In  fact,  I  had  yet  to  attend 
my  first  case  in  private  capacity,  but 
it  to  happened  that  the  Fates  did  not 
keep  me  waiting  long.  That  very  day, 
after  leaving  Colton,  I  received  my 
initiation.  The  train  had  stopped  at 
the  small  way  station  of  Temecula  (the 
scene  of  Allesandro's  escape  to  San 
Jacinto  in  Helen  Hunt  Jackson's  "Ra- 
mona")  where  an  old  box  car  on  a  sid- 
ing served  as  a  ticket  and  telegraph 
office.  Soon  after  our  arrival  I  noticed 
through  the  car  window  a  hilarious 
eow-puncher  parading  back  and  forth 
upon  the  small  station  platform.  From 
all  appearances  he  was  well  fortified 
with  "100  proof,"  for  he  waved  his 
long  "45"  in  the  air,  shooting  promis- 
cuously, and  accompanying  each  shot 


with  wild  cowboy  yells.  Evidently  it 
was  great  fun  for  him,  but  as  a  sport 
it  was  short  lived,  for  I  noticed  that 
one  of  his  shots  penetrated  the  wall  of 
the  box  car  office  and  instantly  there 
was  a  great  commotion  about  the  door- 
way. The  drunken  vaquero  sobered 
immediately,  and  the  last  I  saw  of  him 
was  as  he  started  to  run  down  the  rail- 
road track.  About  that  time  the  brake- 
man  came  through  the  train  calling  for 
a  doctor.  I  responded  instantly,  and 
started  a  still  hunt  for  my  ever  elusive 
medicine  case. 

"In  the  box  car  I  found  that  the  tele- 
graph operator  had  been  shot  while 
seated  at  a  table  taking  train  orders 
from  the  wire.  As  I  entered,  the  man 
was  still  in  an  upright  position  at  the 
table,  though  looking  ghastly  pale  and 
holding  one  hand  to  his  bleeding  side. 
With  the  other  hand  he  continued  to 
operate  the  telegraph  key. 

"I  immediately  urged  the  man  to  lie 
down  and  allow  me  to  learn  the  extent 
of.  his  injury,  but  the  plucky  fellow 
said,  'No,  wait  a  minute,  Doc,  until  I 
get  an  answer  to  this  message.  It's  the 
last  one  I'll  ever  take.'  And  he  ac- 
tually made  me  wait  until  he  received 
the  reply  which,  in  itself,  was  inter- 
esting, for  it  seems  that,  after  the  first 
shock  of  his  wound,  he  had  wired  the 
nearest  railroad  hospital  that  the  Te- 
mecula agent  had  just  been  fatally 
shot.  The  answer  read,  'Special  with 
surgeon  on  way.' 

"I  did  all  that  was  possible  to  re- 
lieve the  poor  fellow  before  the  special 
arrived,  and  my  train  left,  but,  even  so, 
he  was  overwhelmingly  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  his  wound  was  fa- 
tal. He  imagined  that  he  was  bleed- 
ing internally,  and  I  learned  a  day  or 
two  later  that  he  never  really  reacted 
from  the  shock,  but  died  in  complete 
collapse.  An  autopsy  disclosed  the 
fact  that  the  wound  was  entirely  super- 
ficial, with  very  little  loss  of  blood,  the 
ball  being  removed  from  the  muscular 
tissue  near  the  spine,  thus  proving  to 
a  marked  degree  the  effect  of  mind 
over  matter. 

"My  headquarters  for  the  days  in 
San   Diego   were    in  the   old   Horton 


496 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


House,  which  was  then  the  principal 
hotel  of  the  city.  The  boom  then  in 
progress  had  filled  the  house  with  a 
fine  assortment  of  'sharks,'  speculators 
and  Eastern  visitors.  Business  was 
flourishing.  The  city  was  overflowing 
with  'boomers'  of  all  kinds,  some  liv- 
ing in  tents  and  others  in  hastily  con- 
structed shacks,  as  a  man  might  buy 
a  lot  on  a  business  street  one  day,  put- 
ting up  a  rough  shelter  along  with  his 
deposit,  and  the  next  day  sell  out  for 
twice  as  much  as  his  purchase  price.  I 
can  remember  cases  where  such  trans- 
fers of  property  were  repeated  several 
times  in  a  week,  each  sale  netting  from 
50  per  cent  to  200  per  cent  profit  over 
the  preceding  exchange.  A  lot  worth 
$2,500  would  in  seven  days  enhance 
to  the  value  of  $20,000!  Of  course, 
such  feverish  inflation  was  bad,  very 
bad,  that  is,  from  an  economic  point 
of  view.  Some  one  had  to  pay  the 
fiddler.  In  my  purely  medical  opinion, 
this  sort  of  frenzied  finance  is  psycho- 
logical, a  form  of  hysterical  insanity, 
and  San  Diego  has  suffered,  as  much 
as  any  city  I  know,  from  repeated  at- 
tacks or  relapses  of  this  disease,  al- 
though its  present  state  of  delightful 
permanence  shows  no  evidence  of  its 
growing  pains. 

"At  the  end  of  two  weeks  I  began  to 
realize  that  my  professional  business 
was  failing  my  youthful  expectations. 
It  seemed  that  people  were  too  busy  to 
waste  time  in  sickness.  I  became  rest- 
less, and  accordingly  decided  that  my 
professional  skill  might  be  better  ap- 
preciated in  the  nearby  country  where 
young  M.  D.'s  were  not  so  plentiful. 
Through  information  given  me  by  one 
Charley  Chase  (old-time  druggist  of 
San  Diego)  who  evidently  realized 
how  anxious  I  was  to  get  busy,  I 
learned  that  there  was  a  good  opening 
for  a  doctor  in  the  mining  camp  of 
Julian.  Among  other  things  I  learned 
that  Julian  was  a  little  town  in  the 
Cuyamaca  Mountains,  about  60  miles 
north  of  San  Diego,  and  that  the  first 
stage  left  for  there  in  the  morning. 

"Well,  you  can  believe  me,  I  caught 
that  stage  with  a  high  heart.  You 
have  no  idea  how  eager  I  had  become 


to  be  among  people  who  needed  a  doc- 
tor. Why,  that  long  trip  to  Julian 
seemed  heavenly  to  me,  and  indeed  it 
was  most  enjoyable.  We  traveled 
through  a  wild  and  interesting  country 
which,  to  this  day,  remains  indelible 
in  my  mind,  due,  I  suppose,  to  the  gla- 
mor of  newness  and  the  elation  conse- 
quent upon  my  brighter  prospects. 
There  was  but  one  other  passenger  on 
the  stage,  and  I  was  indeed  fortunate 
in  having  him  for  a  traveling  compan- 
ion, as  I  soon  discovered  that  he  was 
none  other  than  Professor  H.  G. 
Hanks,  California  State  Mineralogist. 
His  words  of  wisdom  and  kindly  ad- 
vice to  the  ambitious  young  M.  D.  that 
day  will  always  be  treasured. 

"Fortune  smiled  from  the  first  day 
of  my  stay  in  Julian.  We  arrived  some 
time  after  nine  o'clock  at  night,  and  I 
had  hardly  settled  myself  to  rest  after 
the  jouncing  of  the  old  concord  when 
I  was  summoned  to  a  case.  With  the 
ice  thus  broken,  it  was  but  a  little 
while  until  I  had  work  in  abundance. 
And  I  had  to  meet  it  all  single-handed, 
consultation  being  almost  impossible, 
with  no  other  practitioner  nearer  than 
sixty  miles.  Cases  which  to-day  seem 
simple  enough  caused  me  great  mental 
agony  under  those  circumstances.  Of- 
ten I  was  at  my  wits  end,  but  expe- 
diency and  good  fortune  saved  many 
a  patient.  Due  to  the  lawlessness  of 
the  town  and  its  nearness  to  the  Mexi- 
can border,  most  of  my  cases  were 
surgical  rather  than  medical,  consist- 
ing of  gunshot  and  knife  wounds,  and 
the  many  forms  of  accidental  injury 
connected  with  mining.  There  was 
more  use  for  catgut  than  quinine.  The 
town  being  'wide  open,'  was  infested 
with  renegades,  desperadoes  and  gun- 
fighters,  whose  main  occupation  was 
the  pursuit  of  trouble,  and  I  can  vouch 
for  the  many  times  they  found  it — es- 
pecially on  pay  nights,  when  the  min- 
ers were  in  town.  At  such  times  my 
hands  were  full  caring  for  torn  and 
battered  humanity.  These  men  seemed 
to  think  that  they  could  carouse  and 
fight  as  much  as  they  pleased,  now  that 
they  had  a  'Doc'  to  'fix  'em  up,'  and 
I,  for  one,  saw  the  havoc  which  whisky 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    BOY 


497 


wrought  since  my  duties  exposed  to 
me  the  seamy  side  of  life  in  the  wild 
and  woolly  West.  It  was  depressing, 
that  continual  inflaming  of  the  senses 
with  bad  whisky.  Why,  I  patched  up 
men  repeatedly,  only  to  have  them 
come  back  to  me  again  after  some  wild 
and  vicious  jamboree.  And  this  con- 
dition was  not  confined  to  the  whites 
alone.  Though  it  is  illegal  to  sell 
firewater  to  an  Indian,  drunken  red- 
skins were  a  very  common  sight,  and 
it  is  common  knowledge  that  if  you 
give  an  Indian  enough  to  drink  he  will 
fight  his  weight  in  wildcats.  Accord- 
ingly, I  was  often  called  upon  to  repair 
the  damage  following  the  periodical 
influx  of  natives  from  the  nearby  San 
Isabel  Indian  Rancheria.  Oh,  it  was 
a  jolly  life! 

"There  was  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  in 
Julian.  Also  there  was  a  Constable, 
and  they  both  kept  saloons.  They 
would  sell  anybody  whisky  regardless 
of  his  age,  color  or  degree  of  intoxi- 
cation. And,  strange  to  relate,  if  a 
man  got  into  trouble  from  drinking 
said  whisky  the  Constable  would  ar- 
rest him  and  be  paid  by  the  county  for 
doing  so.  Following  this,  the  unfortu- 
nate would  be  haled  before  the  J.  P., 
who  held  court  in  the  rear  of  his  sa- 
loon. That  officer  of  the  law  would 
discontinue  serving  drinks  long  enough 
to  preside,  and  thus  earn  a  fat  fee  him- 
self. Of  course,  all  reports  and  testi- 
mony had  to  be  sent  to  the  county-seat 
and  here  also  the  Justice  made  money 
at  the  rate  of  seventy-five  cents  a  page. 
Oh,  it  was  certainly  rich  picking  for 
the  guardians  of  the  peace. 

"Well,  sir,  I  had  a  great  time  estab- 
lishing offices  in  Julian.  There  were 
no  vacant  rooms  of  any  description  to 
be  had,  and  it  was  not  until  Howard 
Wilson,  postmaster  and  general  mer- 
chant, came  to  my  rescue  that  I  was 
sure  of  a  location.  He  offered  to  build 
an  addition  to  his  store.  I  accepted  the 
offer  gladly  and  within  a  week  was 
proudly  installed  in  my  first  office.  Be- 
ing thus  settled  on  Main  Street,  I  came 
to  feel  that  I  was  of  some  importance 
in  the  metropolis,  and  it  was  not  long 
until  I  had  met  most  of  the  'Prominent 


Citizens.'  Among  them  I  remember 
there  was  a  Jewish  merchant,  Levy  by 
name,  who,  beside  his  regular  hard- 
ware and  general  merchandise  busi- 
ness, acted  as  coroner  when  occasion 
arose.  As  to  the  frequency  of  occa- 
sion, I  might  add  that  this  latter  occu- 
pation kept  Levy  quite  busy.  You 
could  not  doubt  that  fact  had  you  seen 
a  few  of  our  really  bad  men.  They 
were  the  genuine  article,  prehensile 
trigger  finger  and  all.  Of  course, 
among  them  were  some  characters  typ- 
ical of  our  present  movie  gunmen, 
swaggering,  loud-mouthed  lead  sprink- 
lers, cowards  at  heart,  but  the  inher- 
ent badness  of  the  majority  was  real 
enough.  They  did  not  require  Dutch 
courage  of  a  Saturday  night.  Whisky 
was  only  necessary  to  make  them  reck- 
less, and  when  once  properly  primed 
with  'forty  rod'  these  fellows  were  in- 
deed a  menace  to  life,  being  hypersen- 
sitive to  insult,  and  as  ready  to  put  out 
a  human  light  as  they  were  to  shoot 
the  flame  from  a  lamp  behind  the  bar. 
"As  usual,  among  all  these  village 
drunks,  there  was  one  who  predomi- 
nated by  right  of  might  and  quickness 
of  eye  and  'draw.'  In  this  case  it  was 
old  Pat  O'Day,  ex-prizefighter  and 
Arizona  'malo  hombre.'  Pat  was  no 
beauty,  as  masculine  beauty  goes,  as 
he  had  been  very  much  disfigured  by 
wounds  received  in  a  gunfight  in  a 
Julian  saloon  some  sixteen  years  be- 
fore. Just  to  enlighten  you  as  to  Pat's 
character  and  to  show  you  how  gritty 
a  real  badman  can  be,  I'll  tell  you 
about  that  fight  as  it  was  told  to  me  by 
a  certain  'old  timer'  who  witnessed  it. 
Of  course,  the  brawl  was  disgusting 
and  sordid,  but  it  was  no  more  so  than 
the  times  in  which  it  occurred.  It  seems 
that  somebody  who  was  'after'  Pat  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  'the  drop'  on  him  and 
pulled  trigger  first.  Pat  fell  shot 
through  the  side,  but  still  as  game  as 
his  name  implies.  He  returned  the  fire 
from  the  floor,  and  the  fusilade  be- 
came hot  and  heavy.  His  opponent 
continued  his  gun  play  from  behind 
a  card  table,  shooting  Pat  point-blank 
in  the  face  several  times.  The  old  fel- 
low never  quailed,  but  spat  blood  and 


498 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


teeth,  shouting,  'Shoot, 


ye,  shoot.' 


"When  the  '45s'  were  empty  and  the 
smoke  of  battle  had  cleared  away  suf- 
ficiently for  the  bartender  to  come 
from  behind  the  safe  and  the  patrons 
to  emerge  from  the  back  room,  they 
found  Pat  still  breathing  and  his  op- 
ponent dead. 

"The  first  time  I  saw  Pat  was  one 
Saturday  afternoon.  You  can  judge 
from  the  day  of  the  week  just  what 
Pat's  condition  was.  His  attire  con- 
sisted of  what  is  known  as  a  miner's 
'full  dress,'  being  nothing  more  than 
shoes  and  trousers.  He  was  pacing  up 
and  down  Main  street  daring  anybody 
in  the  world  to  come  out  and  fight  him. 
I  learned  from  casual  passers-by,  who 
paid  little  heed  to  his  challenges,  that 
this  performance  was  a  favorite  'stunt' 
of  Pat's  when  in  his  cups.  It  did  not 
necessarily  mean  trouble,  but,  even  so, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  he  presented  a 
rather  ominous  and  forbidding  sight. 
He  seemed  a  walking  epitome,  a  gro- 
tesque example  of  the  effect  of  that 
liquid  hell  that  comes  in  bottles.  In 
his  prime,  Pat  had  evidently  been  a 
very  powerful  man,  but  as  I  saw  him 
there,  with  the  terrible  scars  on  his  left 
side  exposed,  and  his  right  side  still 
magnificently  developed  despite  the 
ravages  of  innumerable  drunks,  I  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  half  repul- 
sion and  half  pity. 

"Now,  the  queer  thing  about  Pat's 
sprees  was  the  fact  that,  after  satisfy- 
ing himself  that  everybody  in  town 
was  a  coward,  he  would  march  into 
Howard  Wilson's  store  in  the  post- 
office  building  and  there  buy  himself 
a  new  shirt,  whether  he  needed  it  or 
not.  This  habit  of  entering  the  store 
half  naked  had  become  very  disagree- 
able to  the  proprietor,  and  Pat  was 
warned  that  if  it  occurred  again  he 
could  surely  expect  trouble.  Well,  Pat 
followed  in  the  rut  of  habit,  and  was 
unfortunate  enough  to  interrupt  Mr. 
Wilson  as  he  was  waiting  upon  some 
women  customers.  I  suppose  this  lat- 
ter fact  incensed  Mr.  Wilson  more 
than  usual,  for  he  seized  a  chair  and 
felled  the  man  on  the  spot,  after  which 
he  dragged  him  out  and  dropped  him 


over  the  store  porch. 

"I  was  informed  of  the  occurrence 
and  had  Pat  carried  to  my  office,  where 
I  worked  over  him  for  two  hours  be- 
fore he  regained  consciousness.  Sev- 
eral times  I  thought  he  would  die.  He 
was  such  a  battered  and  worn  old 
wreck ! 

"Upon  investigation  I  found  that 
Pat  had  no  home,  not  even  a  room  that 
he  could  call  his  own.  The  emer- 
gency hospital  facilities  of  Julian  were 
limited  to  my  small  office,  or,  as  I 
found  by  a  happy  thought,  the  hay 
mow  of  the  livery  stable  nearby.  We 
removed  Pat  to  the  haven  of  the  hay, 
and  there  I  attended  him  until  he  was 
again  able  to  use  his  good  right  arm  at 
his  job  as  windlass  man  in  a  mine  near 
town. 

"Pat  expressed  much  gratitude  to 
me  for  my  care  of  him,  and  told  me 
that  he  would  never  forget  the  kind- 
ness. At  the  time  I  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  his  words,  little  knowing  that 
within  a  short  while  I  would  have  oc- 
casion to  thank  my  lucky  stars  that  he 
was  my  friend.  Which  fact  is  a  com- 
mentary upon  the  life  of  a  physician 
under  most  circumstances.  The  path 
of  duty  is  often  a  dark  and  devious 
way  wherein  one  encounters  much 
thin  ice.    It  was  like  this : 

"I  was  awakened  one  night  about 
one  o'clock  by  a  loud  rapping  on  my 
door.  A  number  of  voices  called  to 
me  to  'come  quick,  Doc,  all  hell  has 
broke  loose  down  at  Davis's  saloon, 
and  about  a  dozen  o'  the  boys  has  been 
shot  up.'  On  hurrying  out,  I  found  my 
way  to  the  scene  of  the  'scrape,'  light- 
ed by  a  number  of  men  with  lanterns. 
They  were  all  very  excited,  as  well 
they  might  be,  for  the  scene  that  met 
my  eyes  upon  entering  the  saloon  was 
indeed  terrible.  The  place  was  a 
wreck.  Four  men  had  been  shot  in  an 
argument  as  to  the  straightness  of  a 
poker  deal,  and  they  lay  in  a  welter 
of  blood  and  broken  tables,  mirrors 
and  glassware.  In  the  center  of  the 
circle  of  devastation  lay  the  cause  of 
the  trouble,  one  Jack  O'Brien,  a  noto- 
rious gambler.  He  was  badly  wounded 
in  the  chest,  just  over  the  heart,  and 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    BOY 


499 


as  the  life  blood  flowed  he  shouted 
in  a  maudlin  fashion:  'Git  my  boots 
off,  boys,  git  my  boots  off.  Don't  let 
me  cash  in  with  my  boots  on.' 

"A  hasty  examination  of  the  wound- 
ed convinced  me  that  O'Brien  was  the 
most  seriously  hurt,  so,  after  adminis- 
tering first  aid  to  the  others,  I  confined 
my  attention  to  the  gambler.  Fortu- 
nately, I  was  able  to  check  the  exces- 
sive hemorrhage,  and,  with  the  help  of 
a  number  of  his  friends,  had  O'Brien 
placed  on  a  window  shutter  and  car- 
ried to  his  room.  There  I  made  a  care- 
ful examination  and  discovered  that 
one  of  the  large  arteries  supplying  the 
left  arm  and  shoulder  had  been  sev- 
ered and  that  the  internal  blood  pres- 
sure had  forced  a  way  into  the  soft 
tissues  of  the  neck.  The  man's  hold 
upon  life  was  decidedly  precarious, 
and  I  told  his  friends  that  I  did  not 
see  how  he  could  possibly  live  more 
than  a  few  hours.  I  applied  dressings 
and  gave  him  every  attention  through 
the  night,  momentarily  expecting  him 
to  die,  but  with  the  coming  of  daylight 
I  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  he 
was  reacting  somewhat  for  the  better. 
It  seemed  a  miracle  to  me  then  that  a 
man  could  live  in  such  a  condition,  and 
I  am  sure  that  the  average  man  could 
not  have  rallied  from  it. 

"As  O'Brien  improved  from  day  to 
day,  I  became  quite  jubilant.  His  re- 
covery would  be  a  feather  in  my  cap, 
without  a  doubt,  as  the  community  was 
well  aware  of  his  condition.  I  watched 
the  man  closely,  fearing  possible  com- 
plications in  his  left  arm  and  shoulder, 
which  were  paralyzed  and  pulseless, 
but  as  he  continued  to  mend  I  became 
confident  that  a  few  weeks  of  quiet 
would  put  him  upon  his  feet,  though 
he  would  always  be  crippled.  Well, 
so  much  for  my  hopes.  In  about  ten 
days,  my  patient  became  unruly  and 
announced  to  me  one  morning  that  he 
was  feeling  'bully'  and  intended  to  go 
down  and  see  the  boys.  There  was  a 
foot  of  snow  on  the  ground  at  the  time 
and  it  was  bitterly  cold,  but  he  per- 
sisted in  spite  of  my  warning  that 
to  move  from  his  bed  would  cause  his 
death.    'Aw,  what's  the  dif,  Doc,'  he 


said,  and  sometime  during  my  absence 
he  arose  and  made  his  way  down  to 
the  very  saloon  where  he  had  been 
shot.  He  'sat  in'  at  a  game  until  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he  be- 
came delirious,  and  when  I  was  noti- 
fied I  found  him  lying  on  a  billiard 
table  more  dead  than  alive,  with  a 
raging  fever.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
O'Brien  died  very  shortly. 

"Following  the  gambler's  death  I 
was  called  upon  by  Levy,  the  coroner, 
to  perform  certain  requirements  of  the 
law  in  regard  to  the  location  of  the 
bullet  that  had  been  the  indirect  cause 
of  O'Brien's  demise.  Shortly  after- 
ward I  was  notified  by  a  deputation  of 
O'Brien's  gang  that  there  was  to  be 
'no  cuttin'  of  Jack,'  as  it  was  a  gam- 
bler's superstition  that  an  autopsy 
brought  bad  luck  to  camp.  I  paid  no 
attention  to  the  warning,  but  went 
ahead  with  the  work,  as  is  customary 
in  any  civilized  community.  You  can 
imagine  the  shock  it  was  to  me  when, 
later  on,  I  was  confronted  by  a  mur- 
derous looking  mob  of  desperadoes, 
bent  on  'taking  care'  of  me.  The  reali- 
zation of  what  I  was  'up  against'  and 
the  suddenness  of  it  fairly  made  my 
hair  stand  on  end,  for  it  is  a  fact  that 
a  man  in  the  hands  of  such  a  lawless 
crew  would  hardly  be  considered  a 
safe  hazard  by  a  life  insurance  com- 
pany. For  a  few  moments  I  did  not 
know  just  what  to  do,  as  these  repre- 
sentatives of  Judge  Lynch  were  bris- 
tling with  '45s'  and  bad  humor,  but  I 
backed  myself  against  the  door  I  had 
just  left,  and  asked  them  as  boldly  as 
possible  just  what  they  meant  by  hold- 
ing me  up  in  such  a  manner.  Their 
answer  would  not  bear  repeating,  but 
their  actions  were  so  extremely  obvi- 
ous that  I  would  have  traded  places 
gladly,  under  any  conditions,  with — 
well,  even  with  the  president  of  Mex- 
ico. There  was  no  room  for  argument, 
as  my  friends  were  as  one  in  their  de- 
termination to  decorate  a  nearby  tree, 
but,  and  I  am  thankful  to  be  able  to 
say  that  little  word,  about  that  time 
a  ruthless  tornado  descended  upon 
them  in  the  form  of  Pat  O'Day.  He 
used  his  heavy  pistol  as  a  club,  knock- 


500 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


ing  men  right  and  left,  until  he  was 
at  my  side,  where  he  turned  and  loosed 
a  volley  of  rough  and  ready  eloquence 
that  would  have  made  a  wooden  Indian 
blush.  The  effect  was  instantaneous 
and  complete.  Pat  was  master  of  the 
situation  in  a  twinkling.  'Come  on, 
docthor,'  he  said,  'and  I'll  let  daylight 
through  the  first  wan  who  lays  a  hand 
on  ye.'  I  followed  my  fighting  Irish- 
man through  the  crowd  of  glowering 
individuals  who,  each  and  all,  knew 
that  Pat  was  as  good  as  his  word.  It 
was  beautifully  done,  and  to  this  day 
I  marvel  at  the  prowess  of  the  de- 
formed old  drunkard  whose  sangui- 
nary eye  instilled  the  fear  of  sudden 
death,  and  incidentally  saved  me  from 
becoming  a  notch  on  some  badman's 
pistol  butt. 

"Thereafter,  and  until  the  wrath  of 
the  gang  subsided,  Pat  was  my  self- 
appointed  bodyguard.  It  was  an  ef- 
fort for  him,  poor  fellow,  but  he  re- 
mained sober,  and  appeared  at  my  side 
whenever  I  had  occasion  to  pass 
through  town.  'Docthor,  dear,'  he 
would  say,  'the  thirst  is  pullin'  at  me 
vitals,  but  I'll  see  yez  through  this, 
God  bless  ye,  and  th'  devil  take  th' 
black  buzzards  that  would  do  yez 
harm.' 

"So  on  ad  infinitum.  Each  day 
brought  its  new  problems,  its  new 
cases  of  bodily  injury,  and  always  it 
seemed  that  in  the  background  was  the 
spectre  of  the  cause,  whisky,  whisky, 
whisky.  Sometimes  I  would  be  called 
away  into  the  pine-clad  mountains  to 
some  miner's  cabin  where,  perhaps, 
two  miners,  partners  and  the  best  of 
pals,  had  sought  solace  in  that  which 
'enters  the  mouth  to  steal  away  the 


brain,'  and  had  ended  in  mortal  com- 
bat or  had  rolled  into  the  open  fire  of 
their  hearth,  there  to  be  horribly 
burned.  Then  again  I  might  receive 
a  call  from  my  old  friend  Hicks,  a  half 
breed  Indian,  who  would  announce 
that  I  was  needed  at  the  Rancheria  to 
sew  up  the  bucks  and  squaws  that  had 
carved  each  other  to  ribbons  at  the 
prompting  of  John  Barleycorn.  Hicks 
himself  would  usually  be  in  need  of 
surgical  attention,  and  as  for  his  peo- 
ple, I  would  find  them  undergoing  the 
reaction  of  the  white  man's  curse  and 
lying  in  their  pitiful  mud  and  willow 
huts  nursing  every  manner  of  wound 
that  drunken  hands  could  inflict. 

"Oh,  yes,  and  I  should  mention  the 
time  that  Hicks  dragged  himself  to  my 
office  after  receiving  a  friendly  slash 
across  the  face  by  a  'representative' 
citizen  simply  because  he  was  'too 
good  lookin'  for  an  Injun.'  You  should 
understand  that  this  was  done  in  a 
playful  mood  by  a  white  man  who  was 
only  'happy  drunk.'  It  will  serve  to 
show  the  status  of  the  Indian  in  those 
times,  and  may  throw  a  little  light  up- 
on the  reason  why  the  white  man  in 
'Ramona'  could  kill  Allesandro  with  so 
little  compunction. 

"Such  was  life  in  the  far,  far  West, 
when  every  freight  team  brought  its 
barrels  of  liquid  fight  to  the  mountain 
towns  of  our  State.  In  the  years  that 
have  passed  since  then  and  now,  I 
often  wonder  if  conditions  have 
changed  very  much  under  the  pressure 
of  our  twentieth  century  enlighten- 
ment. I  doubt  it.  Also  I  will  continue 
to  doubt  it  as  long  as  human  nature  re- 
mains the  same  and  our  gin  mills  grind 
on  undisturbed." 


PROGRESS 


Wave  followed  wave  to  "Westward  Ho!" 
And  touched  the  Pacific  strand, 

Reflecting  to  the  East  a  glow 

Through  the  charming  OVERLAND. 


m.  c. 


Cotton  Growing  Under  Irrigation  in  the  Southwest 


By  Percy  L.  Edwards 


IN  THE  Imperial  Valley  of  Califor- 
nia cotton  is  a  paying  crop  on  land 
under  the  influence  of  a  semi-arid 
climate.  The  Colorado  River  is  the 
great  life  giving  artery  supplying  a 
system  of  irrigating  ditches  that  carry 
the  water  into  the  cotton  fields  of  this 
section.  The  combination  of  soil,  cli- 
matic conditions  and  water  have  pro- 
duced results  very  satisfactory  to 
growers  and  somewhat  remarkable. 
Had  the  cotton  growers  of  the  South, 
in  ante-bellum  days,  been  confronted 
with  the  problems  of  expensive  irri- 
gation projects  and  wages,  it  is  not  al- 
together improbable  that  less  cotton 
would  have  been  produced  in  the 
South.  But  these  days  in  which  we 
live  are  fraught  with  wonderful  ac- 
complishment in  scientific  agriculture. 

A  late  special  government  report  on 
the  cotton  crop  gives  conditions  in  the 
Imperial  Valley  better  than  in  any 
other  section  of  the  cotton  belt.  With- 
in six  years  cotton  growing  in  this  part 
of  the  country  has  become  important 
enough  to  be  mentioned  in  government 
reports.  To-day  the  crop  in  the  Im- 
perial Valley  has  not  only  arisen  to 
the  dignity  of  being  mentioned;  it  is 
referred  to  as  likely  to  help  out  the 
serious  shortage  that  has  driven  prices 
to  the  highest  notch  in  the  experience 
of  the  cotton  market. 

Such  a  condition  relating  to  one  of 
the  world's  greatest  staples,  suggests 
the  telling  of  a  story  of  much  interest, 
especially  in  these  times  of  "war  and 
rumors  of  war,"  when  cotton  is  con- 
traband more  prized  than  gold. 

An  Empire  Regained  from  the  Desert. 

What  is  known  as  Imperial  Valley 
lies   along  the   western   bank  of   the 


Colorado  River,  in  Imperial  County, 
in  the  State  of  California,  and  extends 
to  the  southwest  into  Mexico.  The 
valley  on  both  sides  of  the  interna- 
tional line  is  about  110  miles.  On  the 
California  side  the  valley  is  forty 
miles  wide,  and,  geographically  speak- 
ing, is  below  sea  level.  A  time  not  so 
very  long  ago,  it  was  known  as  a  part 
of  the  "Colorado  Desert."  In  1900 
the  population  was  mostly  Gila  mon- 
sters and  horned  toads,  where  now  are 
the  homes  of  45,000  industrious,  well- 
to-do  people.  The  settlers  of  this 
section  are  not  alone  growing  cotton, 
for  this  little  empire,  borne  of  desert 
conditions,  a  few  years  ago,  now  leads 
all  sections  of  his  big  State  in  dairy 
products. 

Imperial  County  is  about  twice  the 
size  of  Delaware  and  nearly  one-half 
the  size  of  New  Jersey.  It  seems  to 
be  ideal  in  both  soil  and  climatic  con- 
ditions for  this  staple.  Nearly  110,- 
000  acres  of  cotton  were  planted  in 
this  and  the  little  Palo  Verde  Valley 
to  the  north,  just  over  the  county  line 
in  Riverside  County.  The  crop  of  this 
season  is  estimated  at  75,000  bales,  of 
500  pounds  each.  To  put  this  crop  in 
shape  for  marketing,  there  are  sixteen 
gins,  three  cotton-seed  oil  mills,  and 
two  compressors  now  in  operation  in 
Southern  California. 

Some  idea  of  the  growth  of  cotton 
planting  in  the  Southwest  may  be  un- 
derstood from  the  following  figures: 
Three  years  ago  the  crop  harvested 
was  7,250  bales  from  8,500  acres.  Last 
year  43,000  bales  were  harvested; 
that  amount  is  nearly  doubled  for  the 
present  year.  From  creditable  sources 
it  is  learned  that  upwards  of  140,000 
acres  will  be  planted  next  season. 
Over  on  the  Mexican  side  there  was 


502 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


harvested  an  estimated  acreage  of  60,- 
000.  This  acreage  is  along  the  lower 
Colorado,  where  the  lands  are  very 
fertile  and  the  long  staple  variety  of 
cotton  called  Durango  does  best.  The 
acreage  on  this  side  of  the  boundary 
line  is  controlled  by  American  plant- 
ers, and  the  product  is  ginned  on  the 
American  side,  mostly  at  Calexico. 

Just  inside  the  international  border 
is  located  the  intake  from  the  Colorado 
River.  To  avoid  the  high  hills  directly 
facing  the  beginning  of  the  great 
canal,  it  takes  a  sudden  sweep  to  the 
south  down  into  the  cotton  lands  on 
the  Mexican  side,  then  turns  to  the 
northwest  into  the  channel  of  the  Al- 
amo River,  and  thence  distributes  the 
water  through  its  laterals  into  the  Im- 
perial Valley.  There  are  subject  to 
this  great  irrigation  project  700,000 
acres  of  land  in  this  valley,  and,  at  the 
time  of  writing  this,  nearly  380,000 
acres  are  now  within  reach  of  the  main 
canal  and  its  laterals.  The  cost  to  the 
settler  is  about  $3.50  per  acre. 

The  Colorado  River  of  Agriculture  Use 

The  greatest  stream  in  all  the  South- 
west, for  its  great  benefit  to  agricul- 
ture, is  the  Colorado.  For  it  gathers 
to  itself  the  drainage  of  all  the  section 
of  this  country  lying  west  of  the  Rock- 
ies and  having  a  natural  outlet  at  the 
Gulf  of  California.  Engineers  tell  us 
that  16,000,000  acre  feet  of  water  is 
annually  distributed  through  its  course. 
That  is  sufficient  water  to  irrigate  5,- 
000,000  acres  of  land  throughout  the 
year,  if  it  is  properly  distributed  on  the 
land.  This  river,  like  the  Nile  of 
Egypt,  attains  its  greatest  volume  when 
most  needed  during  the  growing  sea- 
son. True  to  the  calendar,  the  high 
water  mark  in  its  course  to  the  ocean  is 
reached  at  Yuma,  about  the  time  of  the 
summer  solstice,  June  21st. 

The  Colorado,  in  the  past,  has  been 
credited  with  a  reputation  in  keeping 
with  the  wild  bronco  that  roamed  the 
pasture  places  along  its  banks  and 
kicked  its  heels  in  the  face  of  the  ven- 
turesome cowboy.  But  the  unruly  habit 
of  kicking  over  the  traces  has     been 


conquered  by  astute  engineers  in  the 
government  service,  and  now  the  great 
river  has  become  a  most  valuable  aid 
to  man's  efforts  in  this  semi-arid  land. 

This  section  of  the  United  States, 
commonly  referred  to  as  the  South- 
west, appears  to  be  in  a  state  of  evo- 
lution, notwithstanding  that  great  pro- 
gress has  been  made  along  certain 
lines  of  endeavor.  It  is  essentially  a 
country  depending  on  the  water  sup- 
ply from  the  Colorado  to  render  it  of 
agricultural  importance.  Up  to  the 
time  when  the  great  irrigation  canal 
brought  the  life  giving  waters  of  the 
river  to  the  dry  farms  of  the  hardy 
pioneers,  there  were  many  misgivings 
about  the  future  of  this  country. 

Since  then  the  face  of  things  has 
undergone  a  wonderful  change.  And 
the  most  wonderful  of  the  new  crops  is 
cotton.  A  remarkable  thing  about  it 
is  that  this  great  staple,  heretofore  be- 
lieved to  be  in  its  natural  home  in  the 
Gulf  States  and  the  Carolinas,  here 
flourishes  to  an  extent  unknown  in  the 
South,  and  at  the  same  time  is  found 
growing  alongside  great  alfalfa  fields, 
where  herds  of  the  best  dairy  cows  to 
be  found  anywhere  in  the  country  graze 
about  the  open  fields  the  year  around. 

The  Palo  Verde  strip  of  cotton  land 
lying  close  under  the  western  bank  of 
the  river,  in  Riverside  County,  is  about 
25  miles  long  and  contains  upwards 
of  100,000  acres.  This  soil  is  made 
rich  by  years  of  feeding  from  the  over- 
flow of  organic  matter  from  the  river, 
which  has  decomposed  in  mixing  with 
the  soil.  These  lands  are  found  to  be 
suitable  for  cotton  and  some  remark- 
able crops  have  been  produced.  From 
a  seventeen  acre  field  was  harvested 
281/2  bales,  the  average  weight  being 
500  pounds  per  bale.  This  is  the  short 
staple  variety,  and  sold  on  the  market 
for  $1,705.  Charles  Donlon,  the  owner 
of  the  land,  gave  the  cost  of  production 
as  $640.  This  would  leave  a  net  return 
of  $1,065,  which  is  above  $62.50  per 
acre.  When  the  average  acre  produc- 
tion in  the  cotton  States  of  the  South 
is  only  $22  per  acre,  the  advantage  to 
cotton  growers  in  this  section  may  be 
easily  figured.    It  is  true  that  the  cost 


COTTON  GROWING  UNDER  IRRIGATION                     503 

of  production  of  cotton  in  Southern  methods  of  farm  operation  in  the  South 
California  is  much  more  than  in  the  and  many  of  the  old  cotton  plantations 
Gulf  States,  on  account  of  irrigation  are  now  very  productive.  The  advent 
expenses  and  the  higher  price  paid  for  of  live  stock,  cattle  and  sheep,  on  the 
the  labor  necessary  to  produce  the  farms,  is  doing  wonders  for  depleted 
crop.  However,  the  returns  seem  to  soils.  Farmers  of  the  Southwest  have 
Justify  this.  Mr.  Donlon,  who  is  rais-  learned  this  lesson.  Most  farms  of  a 
ing  cotton  in  this  section  is  one.  of  the  general  character  are  plentifully  sup- 
well  known  lima  bean  growers  of  Ven-  plied  with  cattle,  hogs  and  sheep.  The 
tura  County.  He  is  now  dividing  his  growing  of  alfalfa  for  pasturage  and 
time  between  the  two  crops.  This  hay,  the  latter  fed  on  the  farms,  is  the 
coming  year  he  is  preparing  the  ground  making  of  the  irrigated  lands  of  the 
for  200  acres  of  cotton.  Southwest.    It  is  now  known  that  the 

cotton  plant  does  not  take     so  much 

Cotton  Growing  Under  Old  and  New  strength  from  the  soil  as  either  corn  or 

Conditions.  oats.    With  a  better  knowledge  of  crop 

rotation  and  soil  feeding,  the  cotton 

Of  the  fourteen  States  producing  planters  of  the  Southwest  are  in  no 
cotton  a  year  ago,  Southern  California  danger  of  repeating  the  experiences  of 
is  credited  with  the  highest  production,  the  planters  of  the  Old  South. 
500  pounds  per  acre.  The  average  for  An  inexhaustible  water  supply  for 
the  United  States  was  182.  Virginia,  irrigating  the  fields  and  the  selection 
with  330  pounds,  came  next.  The  av-  of  varieties  of  cotton  seed  peculiarly 
erage  price  paid  for  California  pro-  adapted  to  climatic  conditions  here- 
duced  cotton,  thirteen  cents,  was  the  abouts,  warrant  the  assumption  that 
highest  paid  for  cotton  in  this  country,  the  Southwest  will  be  an  important 
for  that  year.  The  value  per  acre  cotton  producing  section  of  this  coun- 
yield  was  for  California  $79.95,  as  try.  Besides,  there  are  no  evidences 
compared  with  the  next  highest  yield,  of  the  presence  of  the  boll  weevil  pest 
$32.50,  and  the  average  for  the  United  up  to  this  date.  There  are,  from  care- 
States,  $22.36.  ful  estimates,  upwards    of    2,000,000 

The  lack  of  proper  soil  feeding  and  acres  of  available  cotton  land  in  Im- 
rotation  in  the  South,  has  reduced  ma-  perial  and  Riverside  Counties  alone, 
terially  productive  values  of  the  cot-  An  acreage  about  equal  to  that  of  the 
ton  fields.  Under  old  conditions,  the  State  of  North  Carolina, 
cotton  crop  was  left  to  ignorant  super- 
vision, and  there  was  almost  entire  Varieties  and  Qualities. 
lack  of  crop  rotation.  With  such  con-  i 
ditions  prevailing  and  the  lack  of  stock  While  the  short-staple  cotton,  the 
for  fertilizing,  the  best  of  the  cotton  variety  generally  grown  in  the  South, 
lands  of  the  South  never  produced  up  is  at  the  present  planted  in  larger 
to  their  capacity,  and  such  as  did  pro-  acreage,  the  Durango  variety,  a  long- 
duce  a  paying  crop  were  soon  sapped  staple  upland  cotton  similar  to  that 
of  their  vitality.  Many  of  the  overseers  grown  in  the  Yazoo  River  delta  in 
were  as  ignorant  of  proper  methods  of  Mississippi,  is  becoming  a  favorite 
soil  treatment  as  the  negroes  who  did  with  the  later  planters.  This  Durango 
the  work.  Under  such  conditions,  cot-  cotton  has  a  fibre  about  l1/^  inches  in 
ton  planting  in  the  Old  South  became  length,  and  sells  at  from  two  to  five 
either  a  sentiment  to  which  the  owners  cents  per  pound  more  than  the  short 
of  the  old  plantations  clung,  as  they  did  staple.  This  long  staple  variety  costs 
to  slavery,  or  a  desperate  attempt  to  a  trifle  more — less  than  a  cent  to  a 
make  the  land  produce  a  living  from  pound — to  grow  it,  and  it  produces 
the  only  crop  the  farmers  of  the  South  quite  as  much  per  acre.  About  40,000 
knew  how  to  raise.  bales  of  the  Durango  variety  was  har- 

A  great  change  has  taken  place  in  vested  in  Southern  California  this  sea- 


504 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


son.  With  prices  at  the  top  notch  this 
season,  cotton  is  one  of  the  best  pay- 
ing crops  in  the  Southwest.  In  the  Im- 
perial Valley,  especially,  there  are  pre- 
parations going  forward  for  a  large  in- 
crease of  cotton  acreage.  The  new  ex- 
tension of  railway  facilities  to  the 
town  of  Blythe  has  given  great  impe- 
tus to  cotton  planting  in  that  section, 
and  the  acreage  will  be  doubled.  The 
short  staple  variety,  up  to  this  year, 
generally  grown  in  this   section,  will 


give  way  to  the  long  fibre  variety,  the 
conditions  in  this  valley  being  especi- 
ally favorable.  Egyptian  cotton  can 
be  grown  successfully  also,  but  at 
present  the  wages  paid  help  make  it 
less  profitable  than  either  of  the  others. 
A  fitting  acknowledgment  of  the  ef- 
forts of  cotton  growers  of  the  South- 
west td  build  up  this  industry,  is  found 
in  the  projected  erection  of  a  large  fac- 
tory at  Los  Angeles  for  the  purpose  of 
spinning  the  cotton. 


A   SIERRA   DELL 


Within  a  wood  where  willows  droop 

And  summer's  sun  is  cool, 
The  nixies  and  the  shade-elves  troop 

Across  an  em'rald  pool; 

And  cascades  play  in  rainbow-flight 

Upon  a  spangled  screen, 
To  merge  amid  the  shimm'ring  light 

Within  the  mirrored  green; 

While  lilies  cup  the  amber  spray 

And  waft  their  breath  through  space 

To  draw  each  iridescent  ray 

Through  boughs  that  interlace; 

And  margin-stones  in  opal-hue 

Glint  sun-waves  through  the  air, 
That  catch  in  gems  of  sparkling  dew 

On  webs  of  filmy  hair, 

That  cling  along  the  water's  edge 

Where  pearl-beads  kiss  the  fern, 
And  breezes  woo  the  tangled  sedge 

Through  days  of  unconcern. 

Stanton  Elliott. 


^W 


Paternity 


By  A\ary  Bliss  Whited 


IT  WAS  Indian  summer  in  Califor- 
nia, and  for  days  the  big,  four- 
horse  wagons  from  Bavousette's 
vineyard  had  been  crawling  over 
the  mountain  roads,  carrying  wine- 
grapes  to  the  Italians.  Each  morning 
men  and  teams  went  forth;  to  Pi- 
chilli's,  to  Corrello's,  to  Cassini's. 

On  Thursday,  Louis  Bavousette 
himself  delivered  the  purple  freight 
to  old  Andrew  Martinoni,  down  on  In- 
dian Creek,  and  on  Friday  the  neigh- 
bors, John  Costello,  Rafael  Borlini 
and  Frank  Pastori  came  to  help  An- 
drew make  his  wine.  In  the  evening, 
when  the  work  was  done,  they  sat  on 
the  porch  of  Andrew's  house,  smoking 
and  talking  about  the  family  who  had 
moved  into  Fahtozzi's  old  place.  An- 
drew said  little,  but  he  was  glad  that 
some  one  had  taken  the  old  cabin.  It 
would  be  pleasant  to  have  such  near 
neighbors.  For  Andrew  considered 
the  little  house  perched  on  the  steep 
side  of  the  mountain,  a  mile  above, 
near. 

He  had  been  lonely  since  Victoria 
deserted  him.  Most  people  pitied  him 
when  she  ran  away  with  Luigi  from 
Massini's  ranch,  but  some  of  the  older 
Italians  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
said  old  Andrew  had  been  foolish  to 
expect  his  young,  city-bred  wife  to  be 
contented  in  his  lonely  little  house  on 
the  creek. 

Andrew  never  complained  of  Vic- 
toria's defection.  Secretly  he  thought 
it  was  punishment  for  his  treatment  of 
Rosa.  The  neighbors  did  not  know 
about  Rosa,  for  Andrew  had  a  still 
tongue,  and  Rosa  was  an  episode  of 
his  youth.  But  since  Victoria's  flight, 
Andrew  had  thought  a  good  deal  about 
Rosa. 

Eighteen  years  before,  Andrew  and 


Rosa  had  married  in  Italy,  and  a  few 
months  afterward,  Andrew  had  left 
for  America.  Like  hundreds  of  his 
countrymen,  he  had  intended  to  send 
for  his  wife  later,  and  like  hundreds 
of  others  he  had  not  done  so. 

When  he  was  a  prosperous,  middle- 
aged  man  he  had  met  Victoria,  and 
she  had  set  about  to  marry  him  for  his 
money.  It  was  she  who  took  him  to 
the  smart  American  lawyer,  who  se- 
cured a  divorce  for  him,  she  who 
laughed  away  his  scruples  about  re- 
marriage and  suggested  a  civil  cere- 
money.  And  Andrew,  dazzled  by  her 
youth  and  good  looks,  had  half-guilt- 
ily  consented,  without  consulting  a 
priest  as  he  wished. 

A  brief  winter  with  his  bride,  cry- 
ing, sulking,  complaining  of  the  lone- 
liness, the  snow,  the  monotony  of  life 
on  Indian  Creek,  had  convinced  An- 
drew that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and 
when  he  returned,  one  day,  from  a 
hunting  trip,  to  find  that  Victoria  and 
Luigi  had  decamped,  it  had  been  with 
feelings  not  unmixed  with  relief  that 
he  accepted  the  situation.  Months  af- 
terward, when  word  came  to  him  that 
his  wife  was  dead,  he  was  glad.  The 
news  removed  the  fear  that  Victoria 
might  inherit  his  property  after  his 
death.  The  thought  of  her  squander- 
ing his  money  had  disturbed  Andrew 
not  a  little.  As  time  went  on,  he  grew 
to  think  more  and  more  about  adding 
to  the  hoard  in  the  rusty  can  buried 
beneath  the  peach  tree  in  the  garden; 
less  and  less  about  what  he  wore, 
or  ate,  or  had  in  his  rough  cabin. 
The  neighborhood  Italians  said  that 
each  year  Andrew  grew  more  avari- 
cious in  money  matters. 

The  day  after  the  wine  making  An- 
drew climbed  the  zig-zag  trail  to  call 


506 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


on  the  new  comers.  He  carried  a  cab- 
bage and  a  few  late  tomatoes  as  a 
friendly  offering.  As  he  rounded  the 
last  turn  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
house,  he  saw  a  powerfully  built, 
black-bearded  Italian  sitting  on  a 
bench  before  the  door.  Inside,  a  wo- 
man sat  with  a  pillow  on  her  knee 
making  lace.  Andrew  could  see  her 
swift  fingers  plying  the  wooden  bob- 
bins, but  he  could  not  see  her  face. 
He  presented  the  vegetables  and  in- 
troduced himself  as  "old  Andrew." 
When  the  black-bearded  man  asked 
his  name,  Andrew  with  much  geticu- 
lation  and  hoarse  laughter  repeated: 
"Old  Andrew,  just  old  Andrew."  It 
was  in  truth  the  name  he  went  by. 
Those  who  knew  him  best  called  him 
Martin.  Only  in  business  dealings 
was  he  referred  to  as  Martinoni. 

Presently,  the  host,  whose  name 
was  Peter  Raffo,  called  to  the  woman 
within  to  bring  wine  for  the  visitor, 
and  when  she  appeared,  bearing  bot- 
tle and  glasses,  the  flaming  dogwood 
and  brilliant  poison  oak  on  the  hill- 
side whirled  and  merged  into  one  be- 
fore Martinoni's  vision.  The  woman 
in  the  doorway  was  Rosa.  Fat,  swart 
and  sadly  changed  indeed,  but  there 
was  no  mistake — it  was  Rosa. 

Rosa  placed  the  glasses  and  bottle 
of  wine  on  the  table  beside  the  door 
and  silently  returned  to  her  lace-mak- 
ing. Small  wonder  that  in  the  stooped 
and  bearded  miner  she  saw  no  resem- 
blance to  the  trim,  natty  bridegroom, 
fresh  from  service  in  the  Italian  army. 

As  Raffo  poured  the  wine  a  shower 
of  stones  and  gravel  announced  the 
arrival  of  impetuous  feet,  and  a  boy 
and  girl  of  seventeen  or  thereabouts, 
so  much  alike  that  no  one  could  doubt 
they  were  twins,  clattered  down  the 
steep  trail  above  the  house.  They 
carried  tin  buckets  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  luscious  wild  plums,  and  ran 
into  the  yard,  eager  to  display  their 
find,  but  Raffo  scowled  at  the  red  fruit 
and  harshly  demanded  why  they  had 
not  brought  back  mushrooms,  which,  it 
appeared,  he  had  sent  them  in  search 
of.  The  joy  died  out  of  the  faces  of 
the    twins,   and   they   slunk    into   the 


house,  suddenly  dull  and  stolid. 

The  wine  in  Andrew's  glass  slopped 
over  the  rim  and  spilled  in  a  red  stain 
on  his  blue  and  white  jumper.  This 
ugly,  black  man  had  called  the  boy 
Andrew.     Could  it  be  possible 

All  the  way  down  the  crooked  trail, 
old  Andrew  stumbled  in  a  daze.  He 
had  a  son.  Taller,  straighter,  finer 
looking  even  than  Arturo  Bolini,  who 
had  been  to  the  Brother's  School  in 
San  Francisco,  where  he  had  learned 
to  keep  accounts  and  write  a  beautiful 
hand.  And  Rosie,  the  girl,  was  his 
daughter.  Rosie,  who  in  looks  far  out- 
shone Julia  Borlini.  What  would  he 
not  do  for  these  children!  In  the  can 
under  the  peach  tree  was  gold  enough 
to  send  young  Andrew  to  the  great 
university  at  Berkeley,  if  need  be;  to 
buy  Rosie  silk  dresses,  a  gold  chain 
with  a  dangling  cross,  a  watch  like 
Julia's. 

Andrew's  tiny  cabin  was  in  full 
view  before  it  occurred  to  him  that 
there  were  a  number  of  things  which 
might  prevent  an  avowal  of  his  pater- 
nity. He  did  not  know  whether  Rosa 
was  legally  married  to  Raffo.  Andrew 
had  always  distrusted  the  quick  de- 
cree of  Victoria's  lawyer  friend.  Lay- 
ing claim  to  the  children  might  only 
disgrace  them.  Then  there  was  Peter 
to  be  reckoned  with.  Peter  had  an 
evil  look,  and  if  antagonized  might 
prove  an  ugly  factor  in  the  case. 

During  the  months  that  followed, 
Andrew  learned  that  fatherhood  was 
not  unalloyed  joy  if  one  must  stand 
helplessly  by  and  see  another  mistreat 
and  abuse  one's  children.  Peter 
proved  to  be  vicious  and  lazy,  and  it 
cut  the  old  man  to  the  heart  to  see 
young  Andrew's  slim  shoulders  bent 
to  the  task  of  earning  the  living  for  the 
four  while  Peter  hunted,  fished,  idled 
and  drank  wine.  Andrew's  wrinkled 
face  grew  red  with  rage  when  he 
heard  that  Raffo  compelled  his  wife 
and  little  Rosa  to  chop  the  stove-wood 
and  drag  it  up  the  steep  trail  to  the 
cabin,  and  beat  them  both  besides. 

Martinoni  did  what  he  could  to  ame- 
liorate the  condition  of  Rosa  and  the 
children.     He  hired  the  boy  to  work 


PATERNITY 


507 


on  the  creek  with  him,  and  many  a 
gift  of  late  fruit  and  vegetables  An- 
drew, Jr.,  carried  up  the  hill  to  Rosie, 
but  the  father  did  not  dare  offer  the 
silk  dresses  and  jewelry  with  which 
he  longed  to  deck  the  girl.  He 
gnashed  his  teeth  impotently  when  at 
a  gathering  of  his  countrymen,  he  saw 
Julia  Borlini  nudge  her  sister  to  look 
at  Rosie's  coarse  dress  and  ill-fitting 
shoes. 

Bit  by  bit  Andrew  gathered  proof 
of  his  relationship  to  Rosa  and  the 
twins.  Chance  references  to  the  old 
country,  photographs  taken  in  Italy, 
names  of  friends  and  relatives  almost 
forgotten,  established  his  parenthood. 

On  one  of  Martinoni's  rare  visits  to 
the  Raffo  household  he  discovered 
something  which  not  only  enraged  but 
frightened  him.  Peter  was  permitting 
Chris  Anderson  to  force  his  unwel- 
come attentions  on  the  helpless  Rosa. 
Anderson  was  fifty  and  unclean  of 
body  and  soul,  but  because  he  had  cat- 
tle and  horses  and  much  money  Raffo 
regarded  his  suit  with  favor. 

Martinoni,  sick  with  terror,  kept 
close  watch  on  affairs  at  Raffo's.  The 
old  man  meant  to  stop  the  marriage  at 
any  cost,  but  he  was  not  yet  ready  to 
make  a  move.  On  Easter  Sunday  the 
good  Father  Brady  would  celebrate 
mass  at  Borlini's  place,  and  he  would 
lay  the  matter  before  the  priest.  Then 
he  would  act. 

Easter  came  late  that  year,  and  the 
days  that  preceded  it  were  warm  and 
alluring.  Andrew  noted  that  the  boy 
was  distrait,  preoccupied;  that  he 
worked  spasmodically,  often  leaning 
on  his  shovel  and  staring  up  the  creek 
at  the  mountains  beyond.  The  old 
fellow  blamed  himself  for  keeping  the 
lad  at  work  so  steadily  and  planned  to 
give  him  a  holiday.  He  was  wonder- 
ing how  to  introduce  the  subject,  as  the 
two  sat  resting  during  the  noon  hour, 
when  Andrew,  Jr.,  who  had  been  gaz- 
ing out  over  the  creek,  suddenly  ex- 
claimed : 

"By  golly,  I  like  to  find  some  bur- 
ied money!" 

The  old  man  was  filling  his  pipe, 
and  the  tobacco  pouch  fluttered  from 


his  fingers  and  fell  unheeded  to  the 
floor. 

"Wat  you  say?" 

"I  say  I  like  to  find  ole  man  Nel- 
son's buried  money." 

"Who  tell  you  dat  fool  story?" 

"Arturo." 

"Ole  man  Nelson  one  ver-a  poor 
man.  Arturo  1-e-e-tle  boy,  only  so 
big,  when  old  Nelson  die;  he  not  know 
what  he  talk  about." 

"Oh,  but  o-dders  say  so  too!  Old 
Angelo  down  on  the  river  say  he  know 
old  Nelson  haf  money  somewhere." 

"Angelo  lies.  I  know  old  man  Nel- 
son ver-a  well.  When  he  get  se-ek  I 
go  often  and  take  him  eggs  and  wine. 
Sometimes  I  shoot  quail  and  take 
over.  If  I  not  do  dat  I  tink  he 
starve." 

"Sure,  he  rather  starve  than  spend 
his  money!  He  w'at  you  call  a  miser." 
The  boy  came  near  adding:  "Angelo 
says  you're  one  too,"  but  checked  him- 
self and  wound  up  somewhat  lamely: 
"Some  day  I  go  hunt  for  dat  money." 

"You  go  fe-e-sh  in  the  river,  boy; 
you  get  more." 

The  old  man  puffed  sturdily  at  his 
pipe.     Finally  he  asked: 

"W'at  you  do  if  you  find  some 
money?" 

"I  go  to  San  Franc-e-esco  to  school 
like  Arturo,  then  I  come  back  and 
wear  fine  clothes  and  be  a  big  man  like 
Mr.  Borlini." 

"Humph!  If  you  find  any  money, 
Peter — your  fadder  he  take  it  away 
from  you,  boy.    You  not  twenty-one." 

"Not  much!  Peter  Raffo  only  my 
step-fadder.  I  never  see  my  own  fad- 
der— he  dead,  I  guess.  If  I  find  ole 
Nelson's  money  I  take  it  straight  to 
Mr.  Borlini  to  keep  for  me.  D'en  my 
mudder  she  sign  paper  an'  Peter  no 
can  touch.    Mr.  Borlini  fix  dat." 

"I  guess  you  tink  M-e-e-ster  Borlini 
know  more  den  anybody  roun'  here." 

"Sure  I  do." 

"If  you  go  way  to  school  and  wear 
fine  clothes,  I  guess  you  forget  your 
1-e-e-tle  sister,  Rosie.  You  do  nothing 
for  Rosie?" 

"Sure  I  will.  I  send  Rosie  to  the 
convent." 


508  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

There  was  a   little   pile   of   quartz         "Why  don't  you  go  dig  under  dat 

specimens  lying  by  the  door.    Andrew  tree,  Andrew?" 
selected  one  of  these  and  aimed  care-         "Bah !    I  no  believe  in  dreams." 
fully  before  throwing  it  at  a  chipmunk         But  the  next  day  he  seemed  a  little 

which  was  running  about  on  the  pine  less  positive, 
needles  below.  "Boy,  I  dream  dat  same  dream  las' 

"Arturo  say  my  s-e-e-ster  the  pret-  night." 
tiest  girl  roun'  here — maybe,  if  she  go  "Oh,  Andrew,  go  dig  under  dat  pine 

way  an'  learn  a  lot  an'  come  back  with  tree !    I  bet  you  find  some  money." 
some  nice  dresses,  maybe  Arturo  an'         "No,  no,  dreams  all  foolishness." 
her  get  married.    Den  I  be  relation  to  On  the  following  morning  the  boy 

the  Borlinis.    Maybe  I  go  there  to  live  asked  eagerly : 
and  help  run  the  ranch."  "Andrew,  w'at  you  dream  'bout  las' 

"You  sure  your  ma-ma     sign     dat  night?" 
paper?"  "T'ree  nights,  now,  boy,  I  dream  dat 

"You  bet  she  sign  it  qu-e-e-k.    She  same  dream.     Always  I  go  dat  pine 

no  want  Chris  Anderson     to     marry  tree  in  front  of  ole  Nelson's  cabin  an' 

Rosie."  I  dig  an'  dig ;  always  I  find  money." 

The  old  man  got  up,  walked  to  the         "Andrew,  it  sure  mus'  be  true !  T'ree 

end  of  the  porch  and  stood  looking  nights,  always  the  same  dream.    Why 

down  at  his  sidehill  garden.    From  the  don't  you  go  ?" 

spring  above,  he  had  dug  a  little  ditch  Old  Andrew  shook  his  head  stub- 
to  carry  water  to  his  young  onions  and  bornly.  "I  no  waste  my  time.  I  tink 
lettuce.  Part  of  the  stream  had  been  too  much  cheese  in  the  spaghetti  make 
diverted  by  a  clod,  and  was  washing  funny  dreams." 

away  the  earth  about  the  peach  tree.         But  the  boy  could  see  that  the  old 

Andrew  descended  the  steps  and  care-  fellow  was  disturbed.    All  day  he  was 

fully  dammed  up  the  break,  then  he  unsettled,  restless,  uneasy, 
threw  a  few  shovelfuls  of  earth  about         The  next  day  he  was  even  more  so, 

the  roots  of  the  tree.     When  he  re-  but  there  was  no  one  to  observe  him, 

turned,  he  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  for  it  was  Sunday.     He  tried  to  read 

pipe,  laid  it  on  the  shelf  inside  the  "LTtalia,"  threw  it  down,  went  into 

door  and  said:  the  garden,  came  back  and  wandered 

"I  know  Rafael  Borlini  a  good  many  restlessly  through  the  rooms.  Finally, 

year.     I  never  know  him  cheat  any-  he  picked  up  his  gun,  whistled  to  his 

body."     Then  he  grinned   slyly,  and  dog  and  left  the  house.    After  he  had 

added :  "Maybe  you  come  back  from  gone  a  few  rods,  he  looked  back.    The 

San  Francisco  and  marry  Julia."  little   cabin   stood   darkly   silent   and 

The  boy  rose  and     stretched     his  desolate  in  the  hot     sunshine — inex- 

arms.     "I  tink  we  better  quit  talking  pressibly  lonely.    He  went  on,  not  up 

foolishness  and  go  back  to  work."  the  hill  past  Raffo's,  but  down  the  trail 

The  next  day  was  unusually  warm,  that   followed   the   creek  to   Borlini's 

and  in  the  forenoon  old  Andrew  leaned  place. 

on  his  shovel  handle  and  mopped  his         Andrew  found  a  number  of  his  coun- 

face  vigorously  with  a  red  bandana.  trymen  seated  on  Borlini's  porch,  Giu- 

"Boy,  I  haf  funny  dream  las'  night."  seppe  Camozzi,  Emilio,  Zerga,  old  An- 

"W'at  you  dream?"  gelo  from  the  river,  Steve  Petroni  and 

"I  dream  I  go  to  dat  pine  tree  in  several  others.     They     greeted     him 

front  of  ole  man  Nelson's  cabin,  an'  I  noisily  and  Arturo  rose  and  gave  the 

dig  an'  dig  an'  pretty  soon     I     find  old  man  his  chair,  seating  himself  on 

money."  the  steps  from  whence  he  commanded 

"Oh-ho,  I  fought  you  say  ole  man  an  unobstructed  view  of  Indian  Creek, 

Nelson  no  haf  money."  the  bridge  that  spanned  it,     and    the 

"I  no  tink  he  haf.    I  just  tell  you  w'at  trail  that  wound  up  the  mountain  oppo- 

I  dream."  site.    Presently  he  leaned  forward. 


YOUTH  NEVER  GOES  UNTIL  WE  THRUST  HIM  OUT. 


509 


"Here  comes  Andrew  Raffo.  He's 
running.  He's  lost  his  hat.  He's 
carrying  something." 

The  group  on  the  porch  turned,  mild- 
ly interested. 

In  a  few  minutes  Andrew's  silky, 
black  head  emerged  from  the  bushes 
below  the  house,  a  second  later  he 
came  into  full  view,  his  face  white  and 
tense,  his  brown  eyes  staring  straight 
ahead.  Against  the  bosom  of  his  flan- 
nel shirt  he  clasped  a  cylindrical  ob- 
ject. Without  replying  to  Arturo's  sal- 
utation, without  looking  to  left  or  right 
he  mounted  the  steps,  walked  to  the 
table  by  the  door,  and  deposited  there- 
on a  rusty  tin  can. 


"Look!  Look!  I've  found  ole  Nel- 
son's money." 

Years  afterward,  Andrew  was  dis- 
cussing the  incident  with  his  brother- 
in-law. 

"There  is  one  point  on  which  I  have 
always  been  skeptical,  Arturo." 

"What  is  that?" 

"As  near  as  I  can  ascertain,  old  man 
Nelson  died  in  1897." 

"Yes,  it  was  the  winter  of  the  deep 
snow.  I  was  a  little  fellow  then,  but 
I  remember  the  men  going  to  the  fun- 
eral on  snow  shoes." 

"Well,  some  of  those  twenties  were 
coined  as  late  as  1910." 


YOUTH  NEVER  GOES  UNTIL  WE  THRUST  HI/A  OUT 

Spring  and  the  song-birds  go, 
And  many  lovely  things — 

Yet,  though  they  come  again, 
Youth  stays,  despite  the  snow, 
And  to  the  young  heart  sings, 

Careless  of  Age,  as  if  she  had  been  slain! 

His  name  is  Constancy; 

His  light  shines  from  the  eyes 
Of  faces  rough  and  worn. 
Ah,  heart,  grieve  not,  lest  he, 
Before  our  awed  surprise, 

Go  with  the  night,  and  we  face  Age  at  morn! 

Youth  never  goes  until 

Our  own  words  make  him  yearn 
To  say:  "I  must  depart." 
Spring  and  the  summer  spill 
Their  beauty,  and  return, 

But  Youth,  once  gone,  forever  leaves  the  heart! 

Edward  H.  S.  Terry. 


fi^^                       m  TIT    nM 

^ 

2r     Q     -*r 

The    Airage 


Charles  W.  Fettit 


HE  DIDN'T  know  any  more  about 
the  desert  than  a  coyote  or 
jackrabbit  did  about  the  city. 
In  fact,  it  was  less  than  forty- 
eight  hours  since  he,  a  tenderfoot  from 
the  East,  had  got  off  the  train  at  Yuma, 
Arizona.  Not  the  Yuma  of  to-day,  but 
the  old  Yuma  of  thirty  years  ago,  with 
its  one-story,  sunburned  adobe  build- 
ings, its  population  mostly  Indians, 
Mexicans,  a  few  whites,  merchants, 
miners,  prospectors,  cow-boys  and 
United  States  soldiers,  for  old  Fort 
Yuma  stood  on  a  high  bluff  just  across 
the  river.  Like  other  Arizona  towns 
at  that  time,  Yuma  had  its  faro-bank, 
roulette  wheel,  monte,  poker  and  other 
gambling  games  running  wide  open. 
The  tenderfoot  had  stood  around  and 
watched  the  games  until  the  fever  to 
play  had  caught  him.  Then  he 
bought  a  stack  of  chips  from  the  faro 
bank  and  bucked  the  tiger.  Losing 
there,  he  tried  his  luck  at  the  roulette 
wheel,  and,  when  he  had  gone  dead 
broke,  as  he  had  seen  several  cowboys 
and  miners  do,  consoled  himself  with 
the  thought  that  he  was  becoming  a 
Westerner  and  was  sure  some  game 
sport.  Later  on,  when  he  began  to 
feel  hungry  and  searched  his  pockets 
and  couldn't  even  find  the  price  of  a 
meal,  he  thought  perhaps  he  had 
played  the  part  of  a  fool  rather  than 
that  of  a  sport.  However,  he  went  to 
a  pawnshop,  where  he  raised  a  little 
over  three  dollars  on  his  valise  and 
overcoat. 

At  noon  that  day  the  thermometer 
that  hung  in  the  big  dining  room  of  the 
railroad  eating  house  registered  127 
degrees.  As  the  tenderfoot  was  pay- 
ing for  his  supper  he  remarked  that  it 
had  been  an  awful  hot  day. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  clerk,  "but  a  trifle 


cooler  than  the  day  before  when  the 
thermometer  had  gone  up  to  130." 

The  tenderfoot  strolled  out  onto  the 
bridge,  and,  looking  down  into  the 
muddy  waters  of  the  Colorado,  he 
thought  the  thing  out.  He  had  lost  all 
desire  to  be  either  a  cowboy  or  miner. 
Whew!  This  country  was  too  hot  for 
him.  He  wasn't  a  hobo ;  he  had  never 
beat  his  way  on  a  train  in  his  life.  He 
wished  he  had  bought  his  ticket 
through  to  California.  Why  not  walk 
at  night  and  rest  at  some  station  dur- 
ing the  heat  of  the  day? 

Two  hours  later  he  passed  El  Rio. 
There  the  river  turns  and  runs  south- 
west while  the  railroad  continues  due 
west.  As  he  entered  the  Colorado 
desert  he  began  to  really  enjoy  the 
walk,  the  pure,  sweet  air,  the  smell  of 
the  sage-brush,  the  strangeness  of  it 
all ;  for  the  desert  has  a  lure  and  fasci- 
nation all  its  own,  and  yet,  while  under 
the  soft  light  of  the  moon,  the  desert 
is  filled  with  mystery  and  dreamy  ro- 
mance, the  same  desert,  under  the 
glare  of  the  hot  summer's  sun  or  in  the 
furnace  breath  of  a  scorching  wind  or 
sandstorm,  writes  a  different  story. 

Midway  between  Pilot  Knob  and 
Mammoth  Tank  the  tenderfoot  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  take  off  his  coat  and 
carry  it  over  his  arm,  for  the  sun  was 
coming  up  early,  coming  up  hot.  He 
glanced  south,  and,  seemingly  not  more 
than  seven  or  eight  miles  distant,  was 
a  lake  of  water  and  back  of  it  at  a  lit- 
tle higher  elevation,  rising  almost 
phantom  like  out  of  the  sands  of  the 
desert,  was  a  good-sized  town  or  city. 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  thirsty, 
and  that  lake  of  water  certainly  looked 
enticing;  so  he  left  the  railroad  track 
and  started  south  over  the  sands.  Af- 
ter he  had  been  walking  several  hours, 


I 


UNI  V 

OF 


THE  MIRAGE  511 


he  thought  he  must  have  made  a  mis-  red,  ripe,  juicy  meat.  He  sat  down 
take  in  calculating  the  distance  of  the  beside  it,  and  digging  into  it  with  his 
lake,  for  it  seemel  almost  as  far  away  hand  he  scooped  out  a  large  piece  of 
as  ever.  As  he  traveled  along,  the  the  heart.  He  was  about  to  place  it 
heat  and  the  long  walk  began  to  tell  to  his  lips,  when  a  slight  rustling 
on  him.  He  must  stop  and  rest  for  a  sound  caught  his  ear.  He  looked  up, 
few  moments.  He  spread  his  coat  out  and  his  eyes  were  held  and  fascin- 
over  a  low  sage  brush,  and  as  he  laid  ated  at  the  sight  of  a  large  rattlesnake 
down  and  pillowed  his  head  on  his  el-  not  more  than  two  or  three  feet  from 
bow,  it  made  just  shade  enough  to  him,  its  body  outstretched  in  graceful 
shelter  his  face  from  the  glare  of  the  curves,  its  head  slightly  lifted.  With 
sun.  He  took  out  his  cheap  Water-  its  dull,  beady  eyes,  it  was  looking  at 
bury  watch;  it  was  six  minutes  to  him  in  a  fixed  stare,  and  for  fully  a 
eleven.  Of  course,  he  hadn't  any  sleep  minute's  time  (although  it  seemed 
the  night  before.  He  felt  drowsy —  more  like  an  hour  to  the  man)  save  for 
and  then — well,  he  had  reached  the  the  lightning-like  darting  of  its  forked 
mysterious  city  of  the  desert.  How  tongue,  the  snake  remained  as  motion- 
strangely  quiet  the  city  was;  although  less  as  though  it  had  been  carved  into 
it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  not  a  the  landscape. 

horse  or  wagon  could  be  seen  on  the  Then  it  slowly  drew  its  body  into 
street,  nor  a  man,  woman  or  child  on  a  coil,  raised  its  rattle  tipped  tail 
the  sidewalk.  Perhaps  they  were  tak-  with  a  buzz  of  warning,  and  drew 
ing  a  siesta  as  he  had  read  they  do  in  back  its  head  to  strike.  But,  as  the 
Old  Mexico  during  the  middle  of  the  snake  moved,  the  charm  was  broken, 
day;  but  here  was  what  he  was  looking  The  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and  blinked 
for,  a  drug  store  with  its  beautiful  mar-  his  eyes  in  the  dazzling  sunlight ;  but 
ble  soda  fountain.  He  took  a  coin  out  there  was  no  snake  to  be  seen,  only  a 
of  his  pocket,  and  jingled  it  on  the  harmless  little  lizzard  that  darted 
counter,  but  no  one  made  his  appear-  frightened  away.  He  turned  and 
ance  to  wait  on  him.  He  took  up  the  looked  around;  instead  of  a  row  of 
largest  glass  he  could  find,  and  put  in  cottonwood  trees  and  the  cornfield,  he 
a  dash  of  lemon,  then  touched  the  saw  a  low  sage  bush  with  his  coat 
large  spigot  and  filled  it  to  the  brim,  spread  over  it.  He  took  out  his  watch 
but  it  was  not  until  he  had  drained  the  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  one  minute 
contents  of  two  glasses  that  his  thirst  to  eleven.  He  had  been  asleep  just 
was  quenched.  He  left  the  coin  lying  five  minutes.  But  where  was  the  city 
on  the  counter  and  walked  out  and  that  he  had  seen  from  the  railroad 
down  the  street.  He  must  have  walked  track  ?  Gone !  Even  the  lake  had  dis- 
pretty  fast,  for  already  he  found  him-  appeared.  All  he  could  see  around 
self  out  in  the  country.  He  crossed  him  was  a  desolate  waste  of  gray  sand, 
through  a  row  of  cottonwood  trees  Then  a  memory  that  had  been  asleep 
and  entered  a  cornfield.  in  his  mind  for  years  awoke.  He  re- 
Again  he  felt  the  terrible  thirst.  He  membered  such  a  long  time  ago,  yes, 
remembered  that  when  he  was  working  it  was  even  when  he  was  a  little  boy, 
on  the  farm  back  home,  husking  corn,  he  had  read  that  men  went  out  on 
often  they  would  come  to  a  small  patch  prairies  and  deserts,  and  had  some- 
of  water  melons,  and  they  they  would  times  seen  an  optical  illusion  called  a 
stop  and  rest  for  a  few  moments  and  mirage — sometimes  of  cities,  but  more 
enjoy  a  melon.  He  wondered  if  he  often  of  water,  and,  as  they  traveled 
could  find  a  small  patch  or  a  vine  toward  the  water  it  seemed  to  recede 
in  this  cornfield.  As  he  crossed  over  from  them,  and,  after  luring  them  on 
into  the  next  row  he  almost  stumbled  for  miles,  had  vanished  altogether, 
over  a  large  watermelon.  He  picked  Well,  he  must  get  back  to  the  rail- 
it  up,  and  then  dropped  it  on  the  road  track;  but,  now  that  he  was  be- 
ground.     It  burst  open,  revealing  its  wildered,  which  was  north  and  which 


512 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


was  south  ?  Well,  he  could  retrace  his 
own  footprints;  but  the  hot  desert 
wind  which  had  just  commenced  to 
puff  and  blow,  had  shifted  the  loose 
sand  and  obliterated  his  tracks.  Well, 
to  stay  there  was  to  perish,  so  he  start- 
ed out  in  the  direction  he  believed  to 
be  north.  Really  it  was  more  west 
than  north.  As  he  traveled  on,  his  eyes 
grew  weary  of  looking  at  the  glare  of 
the  sand.  He  sought  to  rest  a  mo- 
ment by  looking  up  at  the  azure,  but 
alas !  the  tide  was  out.  The  waters  of 
the  sky  had  gone  back  to  join  the  cool 
waters  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  left 
the  heavens  as  barren  as  the  grounds 
beneath,  and  the  sun  was  the  king  of 
the  desert  above  and  the  desert  be- 
low. 

The  air  ceased  to  move,  save  that  it 
quivered  a  little  in  heat  waves,  and, 
as  the  wind  was  hushed,  the  silence 
deepened  into  the  awful  stillness  of  the 
desert,  and  the  man  could  hear  the 
beating  of  his  heart  and  the  faint 
crunch  of  the  sand  under  his  feet  as 
he  walked.  But  he  couldn't  under- 
stand why  the  sun  should  be  so  fierce 
and  cruel.  Once  he  stopped  and  shook 
his  fist  at  it,  but  the  sun  only  glared 
at  him,  and  threatened  to  burn  his  eyes 
out,  so  he  turned  and  walked  on,  but 
then — oh,  well,  it  didn't  matter  any- 
way, because  it  was  cool  enough  now, 
for  he  was  back  on  the  old  farm. 

The  ground  was  white  with  snow. 
Only  a  few  yards  in  front  of  him  stood 
the  little  house  where  he  was  born.  It 
was  early  in  the  evening;  there  was  a 
light  shining  in  the  window,  the  door 
opened  and  his  mother  stepped  out  and 
beckoned  for  him  to  hurry.  He  wasn't 
a  man,  he  was  only  a  little  boy;  so 
he  ran  quickly  to  her  and  entered  the 
house.  In  a  jiffy  he  was  in  his  high 
chair,  seated  at  the  table  with  his 
supper  before  him.  He  had  a  piece 
of  brown  bread  in  his  hand;  his  little 
dog  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and 
begged  for  a  piece.  As  he  reached 
around  to  hand  it  to  him  his  elbow 
struck  the  lamp.  Crash!  In  an  in- 
stant the  room  was  in  flames.  His 
mother  gave  a  terrified  scream,  and 
then  the  house,  his  mother,  the  snow, 


had  vanished.  He  wasn't  a  little  boy 
any  more;  he  was  a  man,  alone  and 
lost,  and  walking  on  the  hot  desert 
sands. 

He  hadn't  been  asleep  this  time,  so 
he  couldn't  have  dreamed  this.  Mer- 
ciful heavens!  Was  this  terrific  heat 
driving  him  mad?  Yes,  it  was  only 
in  his  delirium  that  he  had  seen  his 
old  home.  He  would  have  laughed 
out  loud,  only  he  couldn't  laugh,  be- 
cause his  tongue  was  so  swollen;  but, 
with  his  parched,  dry  lips,  he  smiled 
grimly  to  himself  at  the  very  idea  of 
only  one  house  burning  up.  Why,  the 
sun  had  dropped  out  of  the  sky  and  set 
the  whole  world  on  fire!  Everything 
was  gone.  Even  the  water  was  all 
burned  up.  There  wasn't  a  drop  of 
water  in  all  the  world  to  drink.  Not 
even  a  drop,  and  yet  he  was  so  thirsty. 
What  a  fool  he  was  to  carry  his  coat 
around  on  such  a  hot  day.  He  threw 
it  down  in  disgust,  but  something  felt 
heavy  on  his  head.  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  looked  at  it  as  though  it  had 
been  some  strange  thing  that  he  had 
never  seen  before.  Then  he  threw  it 
away.  Well,  his  head  felt  lighter  now 
anyway.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  to 
do  that  before.  Now  his  feet  seemed 
to  drag  and  feel  heavy.  He  stooped 
for  a  minute,  unlatched  and  drew  off 
his  shoes  and  threw  them  away.  Then 
he  started  to  run,  not  in  a  straight  line, 
but  around  and  around  in  rings,  then 
zig-zag  crazily  on  for  a  short  distance, 
and  then  again  around  and  around  in 
rings,  and  as  he  ran,  he  tore  the  shirt 
off  his  back,  but  he  wouldn't  throw 
that  away.  He'd  save  that  to  flag  a 
train  with  when  he  got  back  to  the  rail- 
road tracks,  but  just  then  a  strange 
and  unlooked  for  thing  happened  to 
him.  The  ground  came  up  and  struck 
him  in  the  face. 

He  uttered  a  smothered  cry,  and 
then  lay  still — so  still — that  a  coyote 
slinking  by  stopped  and  sat  down  on 
his  haunches  and  waited.  Three  or 
four  buzzards  idly  drifting  and  float- 
ing around  on  the  air  currents,  com- 
menced to  slowly  circle.  The  circles 
grew  narrower.  Would  it  be  a  race 
between  them  and  the  coyote  to  see 


THE  OLD  REDWOOD  SPEAKETH. 


513 


which  would  be  first  at  the  banquet? 
Just  then  the  desert  wind,  as  it 
ofttimes  does,  suddenly  blew  strong 
and  began  to  lift  and  pile  the  sand 
against  the  body  of  the  fallen  man. 
Soon  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
save  a  low  mound  of  sand.  The  coy- 
ote slunk  away.  The  buzzards  moved 
their  wings  lazily  and  ceased  to  cir- 
cle, but  they  stayed  close  within  sight 
of  that  low  mound  of  sand.    For  they 


were  wise  old  buzzards,  they  knew  the 
desert  well.  They  knew  that  either 
that  night  or  the  next  night  the  change- 
able wind  would  shift  the  sand  again 
and  uncover  the  feast  and  so  they 
would  wait.  The  coyote,  perhaps  he 
also  knew,  and  had  only  gone  a  short 
distance  away  to  howl  and  howl,  and 
soon  he  would  return  and  bring  other 
coyotes  with  him,  and  then  they,  too, 
would  wait. 


THE  OLD  REDWOOD  SPEAKETH 


Upon  my  head  they've  set  a  price, 

Upon  my  days  the  Evil  Eye; 
With  ring-rule  and  the  loaded  dice 

I've  thrown  my  fate  and  I  must  die. 
Break,  hour-glass,  ere  thy  sands  be  run! 
Not  mine,  but  Mammon's  will,  be  done. 

Ere  Tyre  and  Ninevah  was  I, 

Proud  symbol  of  my  noble  clan; 
When  Israel  crossed  the  Red  Sea  dry 

I  was  a  joy  to  God  and  man. 
For  all  these  ages  did  I  wait 
For  human  love  to  meet  this  fate  ? 

"No  persons  have  respect  with  God," 

So  man  the  compliment  repays, 
Dooms  back  to  the  primeval  sod 

The  color-guards  of  nobler  days — 
Earth's  only  living  indices 
Of  Ptolemy  and  Pericles! 

Tho'  power  be  his  by  stress  or  stealth, 

Dares  man  the  golden  precept  face? 
To  civilize  him  up  in  wealth, 

Decivilize  him  down  in  grace? 
Such  is  the  price  of  low  intrigue : 
Each  forward  mile  a  backward  league. 

Thus  I,  ambassador-at-large 

To  courts  of  Solomon  and  Kings, 
Stand  here  non  grata  at  your  charge — 

On  evil  days  with  meaner  things. 
Three  thousand  years  an  honored  name: 
Can  ye,  my  headsmen,  boast  the  same? 

So  be  it,  vandal  breeds!  swing  wide, 

Strike  deep  and  bring  your  landmarks  low! 

Judged  be  your  mortal  suicide, 

Your  unborn  kin  must  bear  the  blow, 

And  on  your  graves  hands  yet  unknown 

For  every  chip  shall  cast  a  stone. 

C.  E.  Barns. 


Soldier  Poets 

Music  From  The  Trenches  That  Never  Dies 
By  Loring  Seavers 


THESE  are  days  when  our  poets,  One,  indeed,  looks  in  vain  for  any 

like  Keats,  die  very  young.  No  vainglorious  line  or  execration  of  the 

sooner  is  their     music     heard  Huns. 

than  it  is  hushed  in  the  world  No  wonder  the  neutral  is  inclined 
tumult.  Just  when  the  notes  of  the  to  marvel  at  the  altruism  of  such  war- 
singers  have  become  full-throated  and  riors  and  to  be  moved  by  a  poem  like 
magical  with  new  songs  comes  the  that  on  the  burial  of  a  nameless  Ger- 
silence,  and  they  sing  no  more.  man  boy — "The  Grave,"  by     Private 

It  is  one  of  the  most  awesome  and  Halliday: 

beautiful  circumstances  of  the  conflict  ) 

that  just  as  our  soldiers  fall   in  the  They  dug  his  grave  by  lantern  light, 

battle  line  and  more  come  forward  to  A  nameless  German  boy: 

fill  their  places,  so  do  others  take  up  A  remnant  from  that  hurried  flight, 

the  singing  of  the  soldier-poets  who  Lost,  wounded,  left  in  hapless  plight 

are    slain.     Thus   it    seems   that   the  For  carrion  to  destroy, 

music  from  the  trenches  never  really  They  thought  him  dead  at  first  until 

dies  away.  They  felt  the  heart's  slow  beat: 

The  spirit  of  Wordsworth  and  Keats  So  calm  he  lay,  serene  and  still, 

and  Shelley  that  was  reborn  in  Rupert  It  seemed  a  butchery  to  kill 

Brooke,  "Edward     Melbourne,"     and  An  innocence  so  sweet. 
Julian  Grenfell — all  three  now  gone — 

is  still  living  in  men  in  the  trenches  In  the  new  issue  of  the  Poetry  Re- 
to-day.  view  are  printed  several  poems  by  sol- 

This  outpouring  of  song  which  is  so  diers,  one  or  two  of  whom  have  been 

significant  of  the  lofty  idealism  that  in-  killed  since  they  wrote, 

spires  the  British  armies  to-day  has  Fleet  Street  knew  Leslie     Coulson 

already  made  a  profound  impression  well  as  a  youth  of  a  sweet  and  gentle 

in  quarters  which  have  not  been  so  nature  with  the  soul  of  a  poet,  who 

responsive  to  other  influences  on  be-  went  to  fight  in  the  second  month  of 

half  of  the  causes  of  the  Allies.  the  war,  and  was  killed     leading     a 

Mr.  Galloway  Kyle,  the  editor  of  the  charge  against  the  Germans  in  Octo- 

Poetry  Review,  recently     received     a  ber  last.     Leslie  Coulson  was  one  of 

letter  from  a  distinguished  American  those  rare  spirits  who  make  no  ene- 

reviewer,  who  declared  that  the  circu-  mies  on  this  earth  and  who  are  never 

lation  of  a  book  like  "Soldier  Poets —  known  to  say  a  hard  thing  about  any- 

Songs  of  the  Fighting  Men"  (Erskine  one.     Yet  he  became  a  sergeant  and 

Macdonald)    in  the  United  States   is  a  fine  soldier.  Here  are  his  last  verses, 

doing  more  good  than     many     Blue-  "But  a  short  time  to  live." 
books  in  the  presentation  of  the  British 

case.     This  American  was  impressed  Our  little  hour — how  swift  it  flies 

by  the  noble  aspirations  of  the  fight-  When  poppies  flare  and  lilies  smile ; 

ing  men — the  entire  absence  of  jingo-  How  soon  the  fleeting  minute  dies, 

ism.  Leaving  us  but  a  little  while 


SOLDIER  POETS 


515 


To  dream  our  dream,  to  sing  our  song, 
To  pick  the  fruit,  to  pluck  the  flower, 
The  Gods — They  do  not  give  us  long — 
One  little  hour. 

Our  little  hour — how  short  it  is 

When  Love  with  dew-eyed  loveli- 
ness 
Raises  her  lips  for  ours  to  kiss 

And  dies  within  our  first  caress. 
Youth    flickers    out    like   windblown 

flame, 

Sweets  of  to-day  to-morrow  sour, 
For  Time  and  Death,  relentless,  claim 

One  little  hour. 

j 

Our  little  hour — how  short  a  time 

To  wage  our  wars,  to  fan  our  fates, 
To  take  our  fill  of  armored  crime, 
To  troop  our     banner,     storm     the 
gates. 
Blood  on  the  sword,  our  eyes  blood- 
red, 
Blind  in  our  puny  reign  of  power, 
Do  we  forget  how  soon  is  sped 
One  little  hour. 

Our  little  hour — how  soon  it  dies; 

How  short  a  time  to  tell  our  beads, 
To  chant  our  feeble  Litanies, 

To  think  sweet  thoughts,  to  do  good 
deeds. 
The  altar  lights  grow  pale  and  dim, 

The  bells  hang  silent  in  the  tower — 
So  passes  with  the  dying  hymn 
Our  little  hour. 

It  was  like  Coulson  to  sing  of 
"good"  rather  than  "great"  deeds. 

Shortly  Erskine  Macdonald  will  be 
publishing  a  collection  of  about 
twenty-four  of  his  poems — they  will 
be  a  valuable  addition  to  the  volumes 
by  soldier  poets. 

A  premonition  that  death  is  very 
near  seems  to  have  inspired  more  than 
one  of  the  poets  in  their  last  poems. 
Here  is  the  final  verse  of  "Before  Ac- 
tion," by  Edward  Melbourne — the  late 
Lieutenant  W.  N.  Hodgson,  M.  C,  as 
printed  in  "Soldier  Poets": 

I  that  on  my  familiar  hill, 

Saw,  with  uncomprehending  eyes 

A  hundred  of  thy  sunsets  spill 
Their  fresh  and  sanguine  sacrifice, 


Ere  the  sun  swings  his  noonday  sword 
Must  say  Good-bye  to  all  of  this : — 

By  all  delights  that  I  shall  miss, 
Help  me  to  die,  O  Lord. 

Corporal  Harold  John  Jarvis,  in  the 
Duke  of  Cornwall's  Light  Infantry,  is 
at  pains  to  show  that  every  sacrifice  is 
worth  making  for  the  cause  he  is  fight- 
ing for: 

If  England  calls  this  day — 
With  yet  one  aim  unwon, 
Of  all  aims  just  the  one 
Far  dearer  than  the  rest 
To  woo  and  win  the  best 
Thing  that  the  world  can  give — 
The  Gift  of  Love — To  live 
I  would  not  wish. 

If  England  calls  this  day — 
Then  shall  I  die  that  she 
May  live  in  Liberty — 
That  she  may  still  be  great 
To  rise  above  blind  Hate 
Of  Foes — Her  Flag  unfurled, 
God's  England  to  the  world 
For  aye  to  be. 

An  almost  prayerful  humility  per- 
vades many  of  these  poems.  This  is 
how  "A  Soldier's  Litany,"  by  Lieu- 
tenant "Richard  Raleigh,"  closes: 

And  when  night's  shadows  round  us 

close, 
God  of  battles  succor  those, 
Those  whose  hearts  shall  ever  burn 
For  loved  ones  never  to  return, 

Lord  of  Hosts,  we  cry  to  Thee, 
Livera  nos  Domine! 

Next  to  Rupert  Brooke's  now  im- 
mortal lines,  perhaps  the  best  poem 
that  expresses  the  soldier-poet's  pas- 
sion for  England  has  come  from  Lieu- 
tenant Geoffrey  Howard: 

Her  seed  is  sown  about  the  world.  The 
seas 

For  Her  have  path'd  their  waters.  She 
is  known 

In  swamps  that  steam  about  the  burn- 
ing zone, 

And  dreaded  in  the  last  white  lands 
that  freeze. 


516 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


For  Her  the  glory  that  was  Nineveh's 
Is  naught:  the  pomp  of     Tyre     and 

Babylon 
Naught:  and  for  all  the  realms  that 

Caesar  won — 
One  tithe  of  hers  were  more  than  all 

of  these. 

And  she  is  very  small  and  very  green, 

And  full  of  little  lanes  all  dense  with 
flowers 

That  wind  along  and  lose  themselves 
between 

Mossed  farms  and  parks,  and  fields  of 
quiet  sheep. 

And  in  the  hamlets  where  her  stal- 
warts sleep 

Low  bells  chime  out  from  old  elm- 
hidden  towers. 

A  new  arresting  voice  that  comes 
from  a  naval  dockyard  is  that  of  Eg- 
bert Sandford.  He  talks  like  this  in 
"At  the  Top  of  the  Town" : 

God,  here  I  am — 

Right  in  the  heart  of  the  Real, 

And  the  Sham. 

— Strange  truths  to  tell: 

First — Streets  of  Heaven 
By  suburbs  of  Hell. 
Sainthood  and  Sin — 
Parading  their  best  .  .  .  their  worst? 
.  .  .  Covered  in  .  .  . 

Full-throated  swears — 

Some  strengthened  with  curses — 

Some  sweetened  with  prayers. 

Hovels,  fun-folked: 
Where  Love,  Lust,  Longing 
Run  riot — uncloaked; 

God,  here  I  am — 

Right  in  the  heart  of  the  Real, 

And  the  Sham. 

There  have  just  been  published  in 
New  York  the  poems  of  Alan  Seeger, 


a  young  American,  who  enlisted  in  the 
French  Foreign  Legion  and  was  killed 
in  battle  on  July  4th — Independence 
Day.  His  muse,  exalted  by  the  life 
he  led  in  the  glorious  ranks  of  our 
Ally,  in  the  following  lines  expresses 
a  fatalism  which  is  perhaps  character- 
istic of  the  fighting  race  with  whom 
he  fought  and  died : 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

At  some  disputed  barricade; 

When  spring  comes  back  with  rustling 

shade 
And  apple  blossoms  fill  the  air — 
I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death, 
Where  spring  brings  back  blue  days 

and  fair. 
It  may  be  he  shall  take  my  hand 
And  lead  me  into  his  dark  land, 
And  close  my  eyes  and  quench  my 

breath ; 
It  may  be  I  shall  pass  him  still. 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

On  some  scarred  slope  of  battered  hill 

When  spring  comes  round  again  this 

year 
And  the  first  meadow  flowers  appear. 
God  knows  'twere  better  to  be  deep 
Pillowed  on  silk  and  scented  down, 
Where  Love  throbs  out    in     blissful 

sleep, 
Pulse  right  to  pulse,  and    breath    to 

breath, 
Where  hushed  awakenings  are  dear — 

But  I've  a  rendezvous  with  Death, 
At  midnight  in  some  flaming  town, 
When   spring   trips   north   again   this 

year, 
And  I  to  my  pledged  word  am  true, 
I  shall  not  fail  that  rendezvous. 

Such  songs  as  these  will  make  up 
the  "golden  treasury"  of  the  songs  of 
our  soldiers — one  of  the  beautiful  heri- 
tages of  this  war. 


Fatty  Reed 


By  Katherine   Wakeman   Cooper 


(All  Rights  Reserved) 


IT  IS  MY  great  privilege  to  be  al- 
lowed to  undertake  a  tribute  to 
Patty  Reed  Lewis,  a  member  of  the 
famous  Dormer  party,  known  and 
revered  by  all  Pioneers,  Native  Sons 
and  Daughters. 

It  is  fitting  that  I  should  contribute 
this  article  about  her,  feeble  though 
it  be,  for  she  was  my  mother's  girl- 
hood friend  and  a  life-long  friend  to 
me,  but  I  take  the  task  up  with  mis7 
givings,  as  I  know  my  pen  is  too  weak 
to  set  forth  the  virtues  of  this  noble 
woman,  so  I  bring  to  my  assistance  two 
great  poets,  their  words  best  describe 
her :  "A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned 
to  warn,  to  comfort  and  command." 
"When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the 
brow,  a  ministering  angel  thou."  For 
whoever  has  come  in  contact  with  this 
little  woman  acknowledges  the  power 
she  has  for  good;  small  in  stature 
great  in  gifts. 

There  have  been  many  errors  com- 
mitted in  California  history,  none  more 
erroneous  than  the  Little  Donner  party, 
for  it  was  Mr.  James  Frazier  Reed, 
Mrs.  Lewis'  father,  who  organized  the 
expedition  and  fitted  it  out ;  late  though 
the  recognition  be,  those  who  know 
now  call  it  the  Reed  Donner  party.  I 
asked  Mrs.  Lewis  how  the  mistake  oc- 
curred, and  she  said  it  had  been  called 
the  Donner  party  because  a  number  of 
the  Donners  died  up  there;  the  lake 
also  took  their  name. 

I  have  listened  to  many  tales  from 
the  lips  of  Patty  Reed,  and  through 
them  all  I  instinctively  perceive  the 
love  of  home  and  family,  the  love  of 
country,  the  great  love  of  California, 
the  love  of  the  Native  Sons  and 
Daughters,  a  kind  friend  to  them  she 
is,  pity  for  the  sick  and  helpless,  and 


to  the  stranger  a  hearty  hand  shake 
and  good  will. 

The  dark  days  of  the  Donner  party 
are  looked  back  upon  not  with  horror 
or  dread,  but  with  the  thought  that  the 
kind  hand  of  Providence  provided  for 
them  in  their  extremity.  The  Native 
Sons  and  Daughters  here  honor  her 
every  Christmas;  this  year  the  Native 
Daughters  sent  her  a  bouquet  of  car- 
nations on  Christmas  day,  and  the  Na- 
tive Sons  sent  a  committee  of  three  to 
visit  her  on  New  Year's  day;  one  car- 
ried a  note  from  the  Parlor,  another  a 
cut-glass  vase,  and  a  third  a  beautiful 
bouquet  of  orchids. 

Patty  Reed  was  but  a  child  of  eight 
years  when  the  expedition  started  out 
from  Springfield,  111.,  in  April,  1846, 
to  reach  the  foreign  lands  of  Califor- 
nia, but  her  memory  is  startlingly  per- 
fect as  to  those  events,  even  to  de- 
tails, and  as  I  sat  and  listened  to  the 
wondrous  tale  from  her  own  lips,  the 
picture  passed  before  me  as  vividly  as 
the  motion  picture  screen  could  have 
shown  it,  and  I  remained  wrapped  in 
interest  for  many  hours,  for  it  took  that 
time  in  the  telling  of  it,  but  for  want 
of  space  I  shall  have  to  be  more  con- 
cise than  it  pleases  me. 

Mr.  James  Frazier  Reed  was  im- 
pelled to  take  this  trip  by  the  condition 
of  his  wife's  health,  which  at  that  time 
was  so  precarious  that  a  change  of 
scene  and  climate  was  imperative. 

By  the  time  the  expedition  was  ready 
to  start  it  had  gathered  a  nucleus  of 
eighty  souls;  meeting  George  and  Ja- 
cob Donner  one  day,  he  was  asked 
by  them  to  unfold  his  plans,  and  when 
they  were  disclosed,  they  signified 
intention  to  join  the  party;  he  told 
them  he  would  be  ready  to  start  in 


518  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

about  nine  months,  and  it  took  about  ters.  Finally  the  little  spring  was 
that  time  to  complete  his  preparations,  found  near  Marysville,  and  an  old 
Mr.  Reed's  family  consisted  of  Mr.  man  consented  to  plow  up  his  fields 
and  Mrs.  James  Frazier  Reed,  their  for  twenty-five  dollars  to  try  and  find 
children,  Virginia  Reed,  known  to  her  the  cottonwood  coffin  if  it  had  resisted 
friends  as  Puss  Reed;  Martha  Reed,  the  ravages  of  time,  but  he  died  be- 
affectionately  called  Patty  Reed;  fore  the  effort  was  made,  and  Mrs. 
James  and  Thomas  K.  Reed,  also  Lewis  found  so  many  difficulties  in  the 
Grandma  Keyes,  who  was  in  very  deli-  way  that  she  finally  was  obliged  to 
cate  health  at  this  time,  and  for  that  abandon  the  plan  with  great  regret, 
reason  Mr.  Reed  thought  it  best  for  When  they  reached  Fort  Hall,  they 
her  to  remain  in  Springfield,  but  she  found  at  a  place  where  they  stopped 
desired  to  be  with  them  as  long  as  for  water  that  Mr.  Hastings  had  left 
possible,  and  it  was  so  arranged.  a  note  in  a  cleft  stick  advising  the  corn- 
Mr.  Reed  had  a  wagon  fitted  out  for  ing  party  that  if  they  would  take  the 
her  and  his  wife's  comfort,  it  was  cut-off  instead  of  the  much  used  Ore- 
divided  in  two  compartments,  with  gon  trail  they  would  save  about  four 
comfortable  beds,  the  one  in  the  back  hundred  miles.  This  would  bring  them 
for  Grandma  Keyes  and  the  two  girls,  to  the  California  trail.  This  seemed 
and  the  one  in  front  for  Mrs.  Reed  and  feasible,  yet  it  was  their  undoing,  for 
the  two  boys;  steps  were  at  the  side  they  had  not  gone  one-half  hour  be- 
and  a  stove  inside  for  warmth.  fore  they  began  to  cut  their  way 
Grandma  Keyes  seemed  better  at  through  brush  and  timber,  and  this 
first,  but  by  the  time  they  had  reached  caused  them  to  be  thirty  days  late,  and 
a  place  named  by  Mr.  Reed,  Alcove  therefore  they  could  not  avoid  the 
Springs,  in  Kansas,  she  became  worse  snows  as  they  expected,  while  other 
and  died.  parties  who  took  the  old  trail  got 
They  had  neither  coffin  nor  anything  through  without  difficulty.  This  road 
available  in  which  to  bury  her,  so  Na-  they  blazed  is  now  the  only  road  into 
ture  was  called  upon,  and  a  cottonwood  the  Salt  Lake  Basin, 
tree  was  hewed  down,  split  in  two  and  They  had  water  for  forty  miles,  but 
hollowed  out,  her  body  placed  therein  by  this  new  road  it  was  eighty  miles 
and  the  halves  bolted  together,  and  before  they  found  any,  and  they  were 
they  buried  her  there  in  the  wilder-  in  the  desert  when  their  water  gave 
ness,  and  built  a  log  cabin  over  her  out. 

grave  with  an  inscription  cut  in  sand-  Mr.  Reed  started  to  look  for  water, 
stone  to  mark  it,  which  was  correctly  but  before  he  went,  he  told  his  men 
done,  as  they  had  a  stonecutter  with  to  unhitch  but  not  unyoke  the  oxen, 
them.  Patty  Reed  says  it  was  the  that  they  would  find  water  for  them- 
greatest  grief  to  her  to  have  her  selves,  but  his  orders  were  disobeyed; 
grandmother  resting  alone  in  that  wil-  the  oxen  were  unyoked,  and  finally 
derness,  and  that  night  she  prayed  most  of  them  disappeared ;  it  was  sup- 
most  earnestly:  "Dear  God,  watch  posed  the  Indians  acquired  them.  Mr. 
over  and  protect  dear  Grandmother,  Reed  was  now  in  difficulty,  as  the 
and  don't  let  the  Indians  dig  her  up."  greater  part  of  their  means  of  trans- 
She  has  never  forgotten  this  sorrow,  portation  had  vanished,  and  he  real- 
and  some  years  ago  she  proceeded  to  ized  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to 
carry  out  her  dearest  wish  to  bring  the  cache  as  much  of  their  belongings  as 
remains  of  her  grandmother  to  the  for-  they  could  possibly  spare,  and  this 
eign  lands  of  California.  Accordingly  was  done  accordingly;  he  then  made 
she  wrote  to  the  postmaster  at  Manhat-  arrangements  with  others  of  the  party 
tan,  near  where  she  supposed  the  grave  to  assist  him  in  transporting  his  fam- 
to  be,  and  asked  him  to  publish  her  ily,  and  divided  three  years'  supply 
letter  that  some  one  might  locate  the  among  them,  most  of  them  having  only 
place.     She  received  about  sixty  let-  a  month's  supply  of  provisions. 


PATTY    REED 


519 


One  day  two  Indians  appeared  be- 
fore them.  Mr.  Reed  tried  to  concili- 
ate them,  and  asked  them  by  signs 
how  far  it  was  to  water,  but  only  re- 
ceived a  grunt  in  reply.  He  then 
knew  them  to  be  hostile,  and  saw 
others  approaching.  Turning  to  his 
wife,  he  asked  for  his  spyglass,  that 
he  might  see  how  many  were  coming. 
As  he  pulled  it  out,  all  disappeared  as 
if  by  magic ;  the  spyglass  was  thought 
t>y  them  to  be  a  hostile  weapon. 

Mr.  Reed  finally  left  the  party  with 
four  or  five  days'  provisions,  to  go 
ahead  and  get  supplies;  his  objective 
point  was  Sutter's  Fort,  which  he 
reached  with  great  difficulty;  Captain 
Sutter  immediately  agreed  to  send  sup- 
plies, which  he  did;  he  also  sent  Mr. 
Stanton  with  two  Indians  who  joined 
the  party  beyond  Reno.  The  Indians 
were  to  guide  them,  but  when  it 
snowed  three  feet  an  hour  on  the  4th 
of  November,  the  Indians  lost  their 
head  and  took  them  around  the  wrong 
side  of  the  lake.  When  they  found 
they  were  making  no  progress,  they 
decided  to  return  to  the  cabin,  they 
had  passed.  It  was  built  by  the  Mur- 
phy family,  and  occupied  by  Mose 
Shellan  the  previous  year.  Other 
cabins  were  then  erected.  Mr.  Breen 
cut  the  first  stump  for  wood  for  his, 
and  this  is  now  the  site  for  the  Don- 
ner  monument. 

The  cabins  were  situated  in  this 
way:  Reed  and  Graves  cabin,  the  site 
of  the  Donner  cross,  together;  Breen 
cabin  one-half  mile  nearer  the  lake, 
Murphy  cabin  one-half  mile  northwest 
of  Breen  cabin;  Donner  cabin  eight 
miles  further  east. 

There  were  about  eighty  in  the  party 
when  it  started  from  Springfield,  111. 
About  forty  reached  California. 

Mr.  Dolan  had  some  meat,  about 
one  pound.  Mrs.  Reed  bought  it  from 
him;  in  addition  to  the  money,  he 
wanted  Mr.  Reed's  watch  and  Royal 
Arch  Mason's  jewel,  and  a  steer.  Mr. 
Reed  was  the  first  Mason  to  cross  the 
mountains;  it  was  supposed  that  Mr. 
Dolan  died  or  was  killed,  as  Mr.  John- 
son later  bought  the  watch  and  jewel 
from  some  Indians.    It  was  afterwards 


restored  to  the  family,  and  is  now  in 
Mrs.  Lewis'  possession. 

Mrs.  Reed  and  her  children  were 
now  in  desperate  condition,  and  would 
have  starved  except  for  two  things: 
the  little  dog  that  they  had  with  them 
made  several  meals  and  helped  to  sus- 
tain life;  the  children  were  told  that 
Mr.  Breen  had  gone  out  with  his  gun, 
and  thus  they  were  not  aware  that  lit- 
tle Cash  had  given  his  life  for  them. 
Mrs.  Reed  had  bought  some  hides 
with  which  to  cover  her  cabin  and  keep 
out  the  cold.  Gradually  one  by  one 
they  disappeared,  as  she  was  forced 
to  use  them  for  food.  She  burnt  the 
hair  off  in  the  fire  and  then  boiled 
them  into  a  kind  of  glue. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Reed  had  left 
Sutter's  Fort  for  San  Francisco,  then 
called  Yerba  Buena,  to  seek  further 
assistance.  He  reached  San  Jose, 
when  they  tried  to  enlist  him  to  fight 
the  Mexicans,  but  he  resisted,  saying 
he  was  seeking  relief  for  his  starving 
family  and  could  not  be  delayed;  fin- 
ally he  consented  to  take  part  in  the 
battle  of  Santa  Clara,  when  he  acted 
as  lieutenant,  and  he  wrote  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  battle  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle,  and  continued  to  Yerba  Buena ; 
when  he  reached  there,  Commodore 
Hull  consented  to  send  relief  to  the 
starving  immigrants,  and  men  were 
paid  four  dollars  a  day  to  enlist  in 
their  behalf.  The  Commodore  sent 
an  order  by  Mr.  Reed  to  Mr.  Yount  at 
Napa  for  meat  and  flour;  Mr.  Yount 
had  a  presentiment  of  starving  immi- 
grants, and  at  the  time  the  order 
reached  him  had  Indians  drying  meat 
and  grinding  flour. 

While  Mr.  Reed  was  gone  some  of 
the  party  got  impatient  and  started  to 
reach  California,  not  realizing  that 
they  were  then  in  that  State.  In  the 
party  were  Mr.  Graves,  Mr.  Rice,  Mr. 
Foster,  Mr.  Fosdick,  Mr.  Dolan  and 
five  women.  All  the  women  got 
through  finally,  and  two  men ;  they  had 
not  gone  far  at  this  time,  however,  be- 
fore they  were  in  trouble,  and  becom- 
ing discouraged,  returned  to  camp. 

Patty  and  Tom  had  been  left  in  the 
Breen  cabin  while  little  Jim  was  to  re- 


520 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


main  at  the  Graves  cabin.  One  day 
little  Jim,  who  was  at  another  cabin, 
started  towards  them,  when  little  Tom 
ran  out  to  meet  him  a  man  named 
Keyesburg  threatened  to  shoot  him, 
saying  he  would  make  a  good  meal. 
Patty  ran  out  and  rescued  him,  and  he 
afterwards  stayed  inside. 

None  of  the  Reed  family  ate  human 
flesh,  though  most  of  the  others  did. 

On  the  7th  of  February  the  first  re- 
lief party  consisting  of  Mr.  Glover  and 
six  men  reached  the  Donner  camp; 
they  were  to  bring  out  all  who  could 
walk;  Mrs.  Reed  and  four  children 
started  out,  but  Tom  and  Patty  soon 
gave  out  and  were  taken  back  to  camp. 
Mr.  Glover  had  given  Patty  a  salt  sack 
of  flour  and  meat  for  herself  and  bro- 
ther; she  was  to  make  a  spoonful  of 
broth  each  day,  but  this  was  taken 
from  them,  and  all  they  had  to  eat  was 
the  remaining  portion  of  the  hide 
which  had  not  been  used.  They  were 
so  exhausted  when  Mr.  Reed,  with  the 
second  relief  party,  found  them,  that 
he  was  just  barely  able  to  resuscitate 
them. 

Lieutenant  Selim  Woodworth  com- 
manded the  third  relief  party. 

They  were  first  taken  to  a  rendez- 
vous, where  there  were  two  French- 
men, John  Droe  and  Dufore,  in  charge 
of  government  supplies;  and  then 
they  stayed  at  Squire  St.  Clair's  one 
month. 

Mr.  Yount  sent  a  team  for  them 
from  Napa,  where  they  stayed  for 
some  time.  On  the  4th  of  July  they 
had  a  barbecue,  and  cake.  Mrs.  Reed 
made  the  cake. 

Those  unfortunate  enough  to  lose 
their  lives  at  Donner  Lake  were,  first, 
Bayliss  Williams,  on  the  17th  of  De- 
cember, followed  by  Jacob  and  George 
Donner,  their  wives  and  five  children 
of  Jacob. 

Mrs.  Graves  died  the  first  night  out; 
that  night  Patty  Reed  heard  her  say 
that  she  had  dropped  it,  meaning  that 
she  had  buried  some  money  at  the 


foot  of  a  tree ;  several  years  ago  a  son 
of  Mrs.  Graves  was  searching  for  it, 
but  could  not  locate  the  spot.  About 
that  time  some  woodchoppers  found  a 
piece  of  money  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  examination  disclosed  the  rest  of 
it. 

Several  years  ago  Mrs.  Patty  Reed 
Lewis  and  Mrs.  Virginia  Reed  Murphy 
attended  as  special  guests  a  conven- 
tion of  Native  Sons  assembled  at 
Truckee,  and  were  taken  by  Mr.  Mc- 
Glashan  to  the  scene  of  the  Donner 
Camp,  the  first  time  since  those  mem- 
orable days.  He  asked  Mrs.  Lewis  if 
she  thought  she  could  recognize  the 
spot  where  Starve  Camp  had  been; 
she  said  she  was  sure  she  could,  and 
did  accordingly,  the  split  rock  assist- 
ing her  memory.  "There,"  she  said, 
"is  where  Starve  Camp  was,  by  that 
split  rock,"  and  Mr.  McGlashan  re- 
plied: "And  there  by  the  root  of  that 
tree  is  where  we  found  the  money." 

There  are  living  to-day  the  follow- 
ing members  of  the  Reed-Donner 
party :  Mrs.  Virginia  Reed  Murphy,  re- 
siding at  Capitola,  Santa  Cruz  County; 
Mrs.  Patty  Reed  Lewis,  also  at  Capi- 
tola; Mr.  Tom  Reed,  Capitola;  four 
Donner  girls,  Mrs.  Jean  App,  Knight's 
Landing,  Mrs.  Frances  Wilder  of  By- 
ron; Elitha  Wilder,  Eliza  Donner 
Houghton,  Hynes,  Los  Angeles  County 
— and  one  of  the  Breens,  Mrs.  McMa- 
han  of  San  Francisco. 

Recognition  is  generally  delayed, 
sometimes  fatally  so.  "De  mortuis  nil 
nisi  bonum,"  but  I  think  to  speak  good 
of  the  living  is  more  to  the  point.  The 
virtues  of  the  pioneer  father  have 
been  known,  but  those  of  the  pioneer 
mother  have  been  obscured  by  his 
greatness.  At  last  they  receive  recog- 
nition through  the  Pioneer  Mother's 
Monument,  a  worthy  tribute  to  the 
mothers  of  our  State.  Would  that 
Patty  Reed  Lewis  had  been  its  model, 
a  woman  who  combines  all  the  attri- 
butes of  her  race,  courage,  nobility 
and  kindness. 


Boyhood  Days  on  the  Banks  of  the 
Sacramento  in  the  Seventies 


By  Rockwell  D.  Hunt 


1  COUNT  myself  happy  to  be  num- 
bered among  those  who  were 
born  in  Sacramento,  the  Capital 
City  of  the  Empire  State  of  the 
Pacific. 

The  event  occurred  far  too  late  to 
admit  any  claim  on  my  part  to  being 
a  real  Argonaut:  yet  it  has  always 
seemed  to  me  that  I  have  succeeded  in 
imbibing  a  goodly  measure  of  the  pio- 
neer spirit,  since  my  father  came  to 
California  in  the  gold  days  by  way  of 
"the  Isthmus,"  my  mother  a  little  later 
following  the  ox-team  "across  the 
Plains,"  and  my  own  rearing  was  in  an 
atmosphere  vibrant  with  the  echoes  of 
early  days. 

At  the  tender  age  of  but  a  few  weeks 
I  was  taken,  along  with  older  brothers, 
my  father  and  mother,  to  the  home  of 
my  boyhood,  along  the  banks  of  the 
Sacramento,  eight  miles  south  of  the 
city.  The  little  country  settlement — 
it  is  scarcely  more  even  to-day — is 
called  Freeport,  and  its  most  conspicu- 
ous feature,  fit  monument  to  the  name, 
was  the  great  120-foot  liberty  pole, 
erected  during  the  Grant-Colfax  cam- 
paign, surmounted  by  a  curious  red- 
colored  weather  cock.  This  magnifi- 
cent flag-pole — now  long  since  brought 
low  by  time  and  the  elements — was  the 
pride  and  wonder  of  us  boys  in  those 
years  following  the  Civil  War,  admir- 
ably serving  as  a  landmark  for  miles 
round  about. 

In  addition  to  this  central  attraction 
the  humble  settlement  boasted  its 
blacksmith,  boot-and-shoe  maker,  inn- 
keeper, and — most  consequential  of  all 
— grocer,  postmaster  and  saloon  keeper 
combined  in  one  rather  pompous  per- 


sonage. Each  had  his  individual  his- 
tory; each  was  of  institutional  import- 
ance to  the  neighborhood  boys. 

But  the  one  commanding  presence 
in  the  days  of  my  boyhood  was  the  sa- 
cred river  itself.  "If  ever  river  de- 
served idolatry,  adoration,"  to  borrow 
a  phrase  from  the  Poet  of  the  Sierras, 
"it  was  this  generous  Sacramento 
River  of  ours — the  river  that  saved  the 
nation  with  its  gold."  Moreover,  it  re- 
quires no  Herodotus  to  tell  us  that  a 
vast  empire  is  the  gift  of  this,  the 
California  Nile.  The  dear  old  Sacra- 
mento, broad  and  constant,  was  the 
companion  of  my  childhood  days :  that 
it  wielded  a  subtle  influence  upon  my 
life  I  cannot  entertain  a  doubt. 

The  backward  glance  now  shows  a 
goodly  group  of  pioneer  farmers, 
neighbors  of  my  father,  up  and  down 
the  east  bank  of  the  willow  lined  Sac- 
ramento. The  Hack's,  Lufkin's,  Hu- 
ber's,  Johnson's,  Hollister's,  Runyon's, 
Green's,  and  many  others,  form  a  list 
of  notables  in  the  eyes  of  my  earlier 
days  whose  solid  worth  has  not  been 
diminished  by  the  maturer  vision  of 
manhood's  estate.  Often  have  I  in 
later  days  marveled  at  the  dogged  per- 
sistence and  untiring  industry  of  those 
sturdy  men  in  the  long  and  dubious 
fight  for  mastery  of  their  fertile  acres 
during  the  years  when  the  hydraulic 
mining  along  the  tributaries  of  the  Up- 
per Sacramento  sent  its  millions  of 
tons  of  "slickens"  and  debris  down  the 
once  clear  current  to  fill  the  river  bed 
and  cause  flood  after  flood  to  run  riot 
in  the  lower  valley. 

But  to  a  healthy  boy  the  "high  water 
times"  were  full  of  the  charm  of  var- 


522 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


ied  excitement.  What  mattered  it  if 
the  faithful  cows,  carefully  stanch- 
ioned in  the  barn,  were  found  some 
winter  morning  standing  knee-deep  in 
the  flood  waters  that  had  risen  over- 
night, and  must  needs  be  hurried  off 
to  the  distant  foothills?  What  if 
fences  and  bridges  were  ruthlessly 
swept  away  and  the  season's  planting 
ruined  beyond  repair?  What  if  for 
weeks  the  only  vehicle  capable  of  run- 
ning on  the  county  road  was  the  in- 
dispensable rowboat,  and  the  levees 
were  patrolled  night  and  day  by  anx- 
ious men  armed  with  rifle  and  shovel, 
on  the  look-out  for  a  fresh  "break?" 
It  was  fun  for  the  boy. 

A  good  rowboat  was  the  sine  qua 
non:  ditto  a  shot-gun.  Think  of  the 
exhilaration  of  rowing,  with  clear 
keel,  over  the  submerged  fields — 
fences  and  all — ever  on  the  watch  for 
'coons  and  skunks  on  unsubmerged 
tops  of  fence  posts,  and  for  jack-rab- 
bits and  squirrels  imprisoned  on  bits 
of  levee  or  knobs  of  land.  How  inter- 
esting to  come  upon  huge  gopher 
snakes  or  "blue  racers"  coiled  tightly 
about  some  isolated  fence  post  whose 
base  was  surrounded  by  an  expanse  of 
many  acres  of  flood  waters. 

And  then  to  think  of  the  feathered 
game:  the  undrained  swamp  lands 
stretching  along  the  Sacramento  were 
in  their  season  a  veritable  hunter's 
paradise.  From  zig-zagging  jack- 
snipe  to  graceful  swan  and  high-cir- 
cling sand-hill  crane,  myriads  of  cov- 
eted birds  attracted  the  adventurous 
Nimrod.  Who  of  those  days  will  ever 
forget  Beach's  Lake,  or  the  Willow 
Slough,  or  the  far  famed  "Pocket?" 
No  school  room  instruction  in  nature 
study  was  necessary  to  distinguish  the 
many  varieties  of  ducks,  from  the 
whizzing  blue-winged  teal  to  stately 
canvasback  or  swift  black-jack;  every 
boy  acquired  such  knowledge  very 
much  as  the  "husky"  schoolboy  of  to- 
day masters  the  intricacies  of  modern 
football,  altogether  without  conscious 
effort.  Full  well  did  he  know  the  call 
of  the  "honker,"  the  gray  goose,  and 
the  brant,  even  though  perchance 
nightfall  had  shut  out  from  view  the 


birds  in  their  flight;  likewise  he  knew 
which  species  of  curlew  was  good  to 
eat;  he  was  not  deceived  into  mistak- 
ing the  ubiquitous  mudhen  for  a  real 
duck;  he  unerringly  recognized  the 
meadow  mush-room  which  his  city 
cousin  could  never  be  quite  sure  was 
not  a  noxious  toadstool. 

In  these  latter  days,  when  the  game 
laws  set  up,  as  it  were,  a  strong  pre- 
sumption against  shooting  anything 
not  specifically  permitted,  it  must  be 
difficult  for  a  red-blooded  boy  to  un- 
derstand and  appreciate  the  liberty  of 
action  in  that  time  when  the  general 
presumption  favored  shooting  any- 
thing not  specifically  forbidden.  And 
the  only  thing  that  could  at  all  com- 
pensate for  not  owning  a  faithful  muz- 
zle-loading shotgun  was  an  older  bro- 
ther who  did  own  one.  For  him  the 
youngster  would  be  an  abject  and 
obedient  slave  on  hunting  days,  fol- 
lowing him  like  a  dog,  carrying  the 
quarry,  and  hoping  ever  that  he  might 
be  given  at  least  "just  one  shot."  My 
personal  recollections  of  such  happy 
serviture,  as  retriever  to  an  older  bro- 
ther, are  vivid.  Many  a  time  have  I 
dashed  into  the  muddy  and  icy  waters 
of  the  lake,  with  breeches  tightly 
rolled  almost  to  my  hips,  to  capture 
and  bring  to  land  a  duck  wounded  by 
the  proud  hunter  shooting  from  the 
shore. 

The  bags  of  game  that  were  some- 
times brought  in  were  marvelous  to 
behold.  No  bag  limit  prescribed  by 
law  in  those  halcyon  days !  Wondrous 
tales  were  told  of  the  slaughter  of 
wagon  loads  of  geese,  and  of  the  num- 
bers brought  down  by  a  single  charge 
from  a  number  four  "blunderbus." 
But  duck  hunting  was  keener  sport 
than  shooting  geese.  It  was  in  some 
localities  necessary  to  herd  the  geese 
from  the  fields  just  growing  green  with 
the  young  and  tender  grain,  where  in 
truth  they  often  proved  a  real  pest. 
The  tantalizing  part  of  this  was  that 
the  sagacious  goose  invariably  learned 
to  detect  the  herder  who  carried  a 
gun,  and  to  pay  correspondingly  little 
heed  to  the  unarmed.  Of  this  form 
of  morning  exercise  the     lady     who 


BOYHOOD  DAYS  523 

now  prepares  my  meals  has  very  dis-  gripped  by  rope  and  spike,  so  great 

tinct  remembrance — for  herding  geese  was  the  force  of  the  swift  current  that 

on  horseback  was  a  task  that  often  fell  it  required  all  haste  and  heavy  pulling 

to  the  lot  of  the  farmer's  little  daugh-  to  bring  the  boat  with  its  tow  safely  to 

ter,  over  in  Solano  County.  land  on  our  own  river  bank.    Many  a 

When  the  river  was  high,  pleasure  great  drift  proved  too   formidable   a 

was  often  combined  with  profit  in  the  freight  and  was  allowed  haughtily  to 

catching  of  drift-wood.    He  was  an  un-  pursue  its  course,  tempting  other  and 

fortunate  lad  that  did  not  possess  a  possibly  more   fortunate  crews   as   it 

good  long  "pike-pole,"  with  which  to  sped  onward. 

secure  the  pieces  of  wood  that  floated  Each  winter  left  us  a  supply  of  good 
within  his  reach,  or  lodged  on  his  wood  which,  supplemented  by  cut- 
"drift."  Far  more  exciting  than  this,  tings  from  our  own  oak  and  willow 
however,  was  the  practice  of  pulling  timber,  made  it  totally  unnecessary  to 
out  into  the  main  current  in  the  full-  purchase  fuel  for  home  use.  It  is  still 
manned  rowboat.  By  full-manned  I  a  matter  of  something  like  boyish 
mean  that  two  sturdy  youths  plied  the  pride  to  recall  how  the  group  of  bro- 
four  oars,  a  third  acted  as  lookout  in  thers,  during  a  part  of  one  season, 
the  bow,  while  the  fouth,  seated  in  the  caught  and  worked  up  for  the  market 
stern,  managed  the  rudder  and  cap-  seven  cords  of  stove  wood,  the  re- 
tured  the  bulk  of  the  wood.  It  was  ceits  from  the  sale  of  which  (being 
thus  that  I,  on  many  a  happy  occasion,  among  our  first  independent  earnings) 
in  the  dawning  days  of  youth,  made  paid  for  certain  coveted  sets  of  pho- 
one  in  the  quartet  of  brothers.  Ex-  tographs  of  farmer  boys, 
perience  had  early  taught  the  wisdom  While  the  flood-time  and  the  high 
of  rowing  up-stream  a  half  mile  or  water  brought  excitement  and  moving 
more  close  in  along  the  bank  where  incidents  without  number,  I  would  be 
the  current  was  moderate:  then  we  loath  to  admit  that  the  pleasures  of 
launched  forth  into  the  middle  of  the  the  summer  were  one  whit  less  than 
great,  swift-running  river,  yellow  with  those  of  winter,  along  the  banks  of  the 
"slickens"  from  the  placer  mines.  All  Sacramento.  Who  of  those  days  can 
the  strength  of  the  oarsmen  was  re-  ever  forget  the  old  buckeye  tree  that 
quired  to  hold  to  a  given  point  amid-  sent  its  branches  far  out  over  the 
stream.  The  third  and  fourth  parties  river's  edge  at  the  neighborhood's  fav- 
of  the  crew  began  at  once  to  reap  the  orite  swimming  place !  And  was  there 
harvest  and  fill  the  boat  with  the  drip-  ever  a  boy  or  a  girl  within  a  score  of 
ping  wood.  Now  it  came  in  the  form  miles  round-about  whose  initials  were 
of  isolated  blocks,  with  good-sized  not  carved  thereon  Then,  standing 
pebbles  deeply  imbedded,  hinting  of  immediately  adjacent,  there  was  the 
the  far-distant  sluice-box,  or  of  billets  more  lofty  sycamore  whose  lower 
of  pine,  oak,  willow  and  cottonwood;  limb,  parallel  to  the  water's  surface, 
anon  a  great  tree,  with  banners  flying,  seemed  specially  grown  as  a  spring- 
that  had  been  uprooted  by  a  mountain  board  for  the  venturesome  young 
torrent  perhaps  hundreds  of  miles  diver.  Some  rods  further  down  the 
away;  again — richest  harvest  of  all —  stream  were  the  willows,  with  here 
floating  majestically  along  came  great  and  there  a  wild  grape  vine  climbing 
masses  of  piling  and  beams  wrenched  upward  and  clinging  to  the  very  top; 
from  some  bridge  or  wharfage  that  then  came  the  massive  oaks,  one  of 
had  been  ruthlessly  swept  from  its  which — a  fallen  monarch  for  years — 
place  by  the  angry  on-rush  of  the  formed  a  great  drift,  to  circle  which 
flood  waters.  In  the  quick  struggle  taxed  the  strength  and  courage  of  the 
to  capture  such  a  prize  the  half-mile  best  young  swimmers, 
or  more  gained  by  rowing  up-stream  But  the  crowning  achievement  was 
proved  indeed  a  boon.  For  by  the  reached  when,  for  the  first  time,  a  boy 
time  the  great  logs     were     securely  found  himself  able  to  swim  from  shore 


524  OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

to  shore  across  the.  wide  Sacramento,  the  steamer  had  rounded  the  "bend," 
How  well  I  yet  remember  the  proud  which  sent  us  scampering  up  the  wind- 
day  when  I  ventured  forth,  accompan-  mill  tower  in  gleeful  eagerness  to 
ied  by  the  reassuring  rowboat,  and  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  river  pal- 
succeeded  in  buffeting  the  current  and  ace.  Happiness  was  supreme  when, 
the  river,  finally  reaching  the  drooping  in  response  to  the  waving  and  cheers 
boughs  of  the  overhanging  willows  on  from  the  windmill  and  levee  the  fav- 
the  opposite  bank.  orite  steamboat  would  swing  close  in 

Like  all  small  boys  of  Yankeedom  to  our  shore,  and  then,  ah  then!  the 

we  had  a  fondness  for  earning  trifling  calliope  began  to  play! 
amounts  of  money;  the  means  most         In  those  days  also  the  river  traffic 

commonly  employed  during  the  "good  in  freight  was  of  huge  proportions.  We 

old   summer  time"  was  the  frequent  used  to  marvel  at  the  amount  of  grain, 

expedition  along  the  river's  edge  in  especially  wheat,  that  passed  by  our 

search  of  bottles  and  corks  that  had  river  bank;  but  when  we  grew  large 

been  washed  ashore  by  the  waves  of  and  strong  enough  to  assist     in     the 

chance.    What  a  delight  to  wade  along  loading,  and  observed  the  golden  grain 

knee-deep  in  the  yellow     "slickens,"  brought  to  the  levee  from  a  hundred 

when  to  the  natural  love  of  innocent  fertile    farms,     our     wonder     ceased, 

adventure  was  thus  added  the  prospect  There  was  something  inspiring  about 

of  selling  our  finds  for  a  few  cents  or  watching  a  stanch  river  boat  like  the 

trading  them  for    the     little     "prize-  "San  Joaquin  No.  2"  hauling  a  string 

boxes"  of  candy,  so  alluring  to  that  of   three   or   even   four  great  barges 

generation  of  children.  deeply  laden  with  thousands  of  tons 

And  then  those  wonderful  steam-  of  wheat  destined  for  the  markets  of 
boats !  Not  merely  the  light-draft  the  world  by  way  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
stern-wheelers,  but  the  large,  palatial  But  the  boyish  joys  peculiar  to  the 
side-wheelers — some  of  them  with  happy  spring-time  must  not  be  over- 
great  walking-beams — that  competed  looked.  Memories  of  glad  spring 
for  the  passenger  traffic  between  the  crowd  and  jostle  one  another:  only  a 
metropolis  at  the  bay  and  the  Capital  few  may  be  uttered,  many  must  re- 
City.  It  is  a  happy  memory  to  recall  main  unexpressed, 
their  names  now — the  "S.  M.  Whip-  It  was  a  great  day  when  by  virtue 
pie,"  the  "Amador,"  the  "Chin  Du  of  the  genial  warmth  of  old  Sol  we 
Wan,"  the  "Chrysopolis,"  the  "Sacra-  were  permitted  to  throw  aside  for  the 
mento,"  the  "Yosemite,"  "El  Capitan,"  season  our  shoes  and  stockings  and 
and  the  rest  of  them.  And  a  pity  it  enjoy  the  touch  of  Nature  that  makes 
was  that  these  splendid  vessels  had  all  boys  kin. 

to  be  taken  from  the  river,  as  its  bed         With  the  approach  of  the  month  of 

filled,  year  after  year  with  "slickens,"  May  our  eager  thoughts  were  turned 

and  navigation  by  anything  but  very  toward  the  Grangers'     Picnic:     were 

light-draft  boats  became     impossible  there  ever,  anywhere  else,  such  won- 

during  the  summer  season     of     low  derful  occasions  of  festivity  as  the  an- 

water.  nual    May    Day    picnic    at    Beach's 

With  us  the  "Whipple"  was  a  gen-  Grove?     That  was  the  day  of  days, 

eral  favorite,  and  for  two  reasons —  when  we   were  willingly  waked  and 

because  of  her  splendid  speed,  almost  called  early.     Mother     had     already 

uniformly  out-distancing  her  competi-  baked  the  great  chicken  pie,  both  wide 

tor  in  the  frequent  river  races ;  and  be-  and  deep;  for  the  picnic  dinner  was 

cause   of  that  marvelous   instrument,  the  feast  of  feasts,  and  her  piece  de 

the  steam  caliope,  on  her  deck,  play-  resistance  was  the  chicken  pie,  ample 

ing  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  and  for  the  group  of  families  that     thus 

other  popular  airs.     What  wondrous  yearly  united  in  joyous  conclave.  The 

music  that  was  to  our  boyish   ears!  ice-cream,  the  golden     oranges,     the 

And   sometimes   audible   long   before  merry-go-round,  the  brass  band  music, 


BOYHOOD  DAYS  525 

and  best  of  all,  the  afternoon  sports  here  and  mar  the  present  picture  of 
and  races — pleasures  with  which  the  joyous  boyhood  days.  Pleasanter  far 
children  of  to-day  are  surfeited — of  it  is,  as  with  the  unfailing  exuberance 
such  were  the  allurements  to  the  unso-  of  youth,  to  cherish  only  the  happy 
phisticated  country  boy  on  the  banks  memories,  which  indeed  may  easily  be 
of  the  Sacramento  back  in  the  seven-  held  to  have  crowded  out  into  the  Uni- 
ties, bo  of  everlasting  forgetfulness  every- 

Then  came  haying  ^  time — not     al-  thing  of  minor  key  or  of  sombre  hue. 

ways  filled  with  unmixed  pleasure  to  *               *               *               * 

the  older  brothers  needed  in  field  or  The  other  day  it  was  my  fortune  to 

hay  mow,  not  wholly  free  from  the  revisit  the  scenes  of  early  childhood 

song  of  the  pestiferous  gnat,  nor  yet  at  dear  old  Freeport.     How  all  has 

without  its  painful  memories  of  the  changed. 

grind-stone  to   us   younger  ones,  yet  The  old  homestead  that  in  days  of 

withal  a  happy,  busy,  rollicking  time  yore  faced  the  river  and  was  fronted 

on  the  farm.     The  search  for  birds'  by  that  beautiful  flower  garden  (fra- 

nests  in  the  meadow    was    rewarded  grant  of  memory) — the  handiwork  of 

with  many  an  interesting  find — nests  a  devoted  mother — is  but  a  precious 

of  many  varieties,  from  gold-finch  to  remembrance:  the  shrill  whistle  and 

valley  quail,  and  from  quail  to  mal-  clanging  bell  of  the  locomotive  offer 

lard  duck  and  squawking  bittern.  sufficient   explanation.     Gone    is   the 

A  favorite  pastime  was  to  follow  apple  tree  that  stood  not  far  from  the 
closely  behind  the  mowing  machine,  flag  pole,  and  faithfully  furnished  its 
ever  on  the  look-out  for  nests,  especi-  juicy  red  astrachans  to  the  boys  year 
ally  those  of  the  wild  duck,  which  after  year,  always  so  early  in  the  sea- 
were  easily  located  when  the  approach  son;  and  the  sugar  pear  tree,  where 
of  the  machine  drove  the  mother  bird  the  saucy  linnets  vied  with  the  boys 
to  reluctant  flight.  And  what  could  be  for  the  first  ripening  fruit;  the  lovely 
more  engaging  than  the  spirited  chase  oak  grove  is  no  more,  and  the  "little 
after  a  flock  of  young  wild  ducks  grove,"  which  had  always  seemed  a 
headed  for  lake  or  river!  The  chase  favorite  nesting  place  for  the  birds, 
was  all  the  more  exciting  if  perchance  A  solitary  stroll  down  along  the 
there  was  handy  by  the  light-draft  river  bank  discloses  no  overhanging 
"duck-boat,"  which  furnished  its  full  buckeye  tree,  with  its  myriad  of 
quota  of  adventure,  in  summer  and  carved  initials;  the  lofty  sycamore  is 
winter,  in  lake  and  river.  gone ;  the  giant  oaks  are  as  if  they  had 

Neither  time  nor  space  will  permit  never  been.  The  river  bank  itself 
me  to  continue.  The  apparently  sim-  seems  cruelly  and  unnaturally  muti- 
ple  and  uneventful  life  of  the  farmer  lated,  the  sloping  water-front  thrown 
boy  on  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento  back  upon  a  huge  levee  to  afford  a 
was,  after  all,  neither  simple  nor  dull  solid  bed  for  the  encroaching  railroad. 
— it  was  filled  with  well-nigh  endless  In  the  river,  instead  of  the  side-wheel- 
variety,  affording  opportunity  for  ers-  that  made  such  powerful  appeal  to 
countless  activities  and  a  wealth  of  the  boyish  imagination,  with  wonder- 
wholesome  pleasures.  Every  season  working  walking-beams  and  all,  are 
of  the  year  yielded  distinctive  experi-  noted  now  the  stoutly  built  tug,  the 
ences — all  dropped  invisible  riches  in-  great  dredger,  and  the  pepper-pop- 
to  young  lives.  ping  motor  boat ;  but  also  an  improved 

To  be  sure,  there  were  hardships  type  of  stern  wheeler  for  passengers 

and  deprivations,  there  was  the  disci-  as  well  as  freight, 

pline  of  early  toil  and  the  absence  of  Out  in  the  fields  the  mile  race-track 

many  blessings  that  to-day  are  count-  has  long  since  passed ;  the  great  patch 

ed  mere   commonplaces;   but  that   is  of  willows,  which  had  been   a  won- 

another  story — such  evil  portents  must  drous  field  for  exploration  for  many 

not  bs  suffered  to  obtrude  themselves  a  boy,  has  years  ago  succumbed  to  the 


526 


OVERLAND    MONTHLY 


woodman's  axe;  and  even  the  upper 
lake,  fringed  by  many  acres  of  tall 
tules — the  scene  of  unnumbered  win- 
ter hunts  and  exciting  summer  fires — 
has  virtually  yielded  itself  an  unwill- 
ing sacrifice  to  the  better  drainage  of 
a  more  "scientific"  age. 

And  the  old  boys  of  the  seventies 
are  not  there  now.  Their  parents — 
that  roll  of  worthies  of  forty  years 
ago — have  all  crossed  the  great  di- 
vide, my  own  father  of  powerful  frame 
the  last  of  all;  and  they  themselves 
are  widely  scattered  by  their  respec- 
tive callings.  Some  of  them  have 
died.  Was  it  an  indication  of  weak- 
ness that  my  heart  secretly  yearned 
for  a  momentary  restoration  of  the 
things  that  were,  for  a  taste  of  the 
companionships  of  my  early  child- 
hood? 

But  no — not  all  is  changed.  Twitter- 
tering  birds  from  neighboring  tree- 
tops  still  announce  the  break  of  day: 
the  note  of  the  linnet  and  the  oriole, 
of  the  lark  and  the  gold-finch  are  yet 
true  to  type.  The  same  gorgeous  sun- 
rise gladdens  the  opulent  valley  that 
has  become  an  inland  empire.  Out  in 
the  meadow  it  is  springtime  again: 
colts  and  calves  are  gamboling  as  of 
long  ago. 

Best  of  all,  yonder  continues  to  flow 


the  sacred  river,  pouring  out  the  bless, 
ing  of  riches  to  all  the  people.  If  the 
buck-eye  and  the  sycamore  are  gone, 
the  great  dyke  gives  added  security 
against  overflow;  if  the  jungle  of  early 
days,  with  its  bounty  of  wild  black- 
berries and  grapes,  is  gone  forever,  in 
its  place  are  the  fertile  fields  of  fine 
alfalfa  and  richly  laden  orchards  of 
pears,  peaches  and  cherries;  if  the 
side-wheelers  do  not  ply  the  river's 
waters,  neither  is  the  debris  permitted 
now  to  clog  the  river  bed,  and  the 
presence  of  the  giant  dredger  gives 
prophecy  of  even  better  days  for  nav- 
igation. 

The  rapidly  growing  Capital  City, 
more  serious  attention  to  intensive  and 
scientific  farming,  the  movement  for 
good  roads  and  the  conquering  spirit 
of  enterprising  people  have  already 
brought  about  a  transformation  along 
the  banks  of  the  Sacramento,  and 
doubtless  foretoken  still  more  of  ma- 
terial prosperity. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  we  who 
were  there  as  boys  four  decades  ago 
shall  never  cease  to  cherish  the  mem- 
ories of  that  earlier  though  more 
primitive  time,  but  shall  ever  be  grate- 
ful to  the  God  of  fields  and  rivers  for 
the  joys  of  living  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sacramento  back  in  the  seventies. 


WAS  IT  A   DREA/A? 


Was  it  a  dream,  or  did  the  one 
Of  long  ago  steal  back  and  brush 
Her  hand  across  my  fevered  brow? 
Or  could  it  be  the  night-cooled  wind, 
Had  through  my  vine-hid  window  crept 
And  waked  me  from  my  troubled  sleep? 

The  choice  is  mine — I'd  rather  think 
That  she,  whose  mother-life  well  knew 
The  cares  of  earth  were  hard  to  bear 
Came  back;  and  while  her  tired  son  slept, 
A  silent,  night-long  vigil  kept, 
Beside  the  one  who  mourns  her  still. 

Burton  Jackson  Wyman. 


Carriers  getting  supplies  of  food  stuffs. 


Chinese  Food  and  Restaurants 


By  Alice   A.  Harrison 


THERE  is  a  Chinese  proverb 
which  reads:  "The  man  who 
eats  fears  not  his  wife."  This 
may  help  to  explain  the  sleek, 
fat,  unbeaten  look  of  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  inhabitants  of  San  Fran- 
cisco's Chinatown.  In  the  year  1915, 
according  to  the  report  of  the  San 
Francisco  Chamber  of  Commerce,  the 
import  of  rice  from  China  alone 
amounted  to  over  sixty-eight  million 
pounds,  valued  at  nearly  a  million  and 
a  half  of  dollars.  No  doubt  many  a 
"Chink"  was  thereby  saved  a  flaying 
at  the  hands  of  his  spouse. 

In  spite  of  Chinatown's  Western 
environs  the  spirit  of  the  Orient  sur- 
vives extensively,  in  markets,  mar- 
riage, medicine,  Mohammedanism,  mu- 


sic and  moneys,  but  in  nothing  more 
than  in  meats  and  the  preparation 
thereof.  A  Chinaman  is  naturally  en- 
dowed with  Epicurean  tendencies. 
Hence,  he  eats  what  he  wants  when  he 
wants  it.  It  may  be  sea-weed  soup 
with  lotus  berries,  or  Bow  Yee  Gong, 
his  euphonious  name  for  abalone  soup 
with  bamboo  shoots,  but  when  the  in- 
ner Chinaman  sounds  the  dinner  gong 
he  finds  the  outer  Chinaman  usually 
prompt  to  respond.  "Me  bleakfast 
nine  o'clock,"  says  Wong  Him,  "din- 
ner four  o'clock,"  but  he  makes  no 
mention  of  the  gay  succession  of 
snacks  that  lend  joy  and  variety  to  his 
days. 

All  Chinatown  seems  more  or  less 
busy  minding  the  matter  of  its  eats. 


528 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Along   the    leading   shopping   street   of   China- 
town,   San    Francisco. 


The  narrow  streets  teem  with  errand- 
going  Chinese.  Up  and  down  the  side- 
walks, discreet,  uncommunicative, 
they  pass  and  repass,  earnest  getters 
of  grub  in  the  vast  grub-getting 
scheme  of  things. 

Proverbially  silent  of  foot,  the  pre- 
dominant sound  is  of  banging  doors 
as  they  push  into  the  markets,  but 
once  within  the  food  precincts  noises 
and  odors  battle  royally  for  suprem- 
acy, and  many  a  barking  bargain  is 
driven,  punctuated  by  nods  and  stac- 
cato grunts. 

Markets  there  are  a-many,  some- 
times three  or  four  in  one  block,  us- 
ually liberally  and  suggestively  inter- 


spersed with  drug  stores.  They  bear 
a  generic  resemblance.  Overhead 
hang  plump-bodied  rabbits,  squabs 
and  chickens  ready  dressed  for  the 
rites  of  that  dietary  dignitary,  the 
cook.  A  series  of  coops  rises  tier  on 
tier  to  the  ceiling.  In  the  lowest  of 
these  live  rabbits  rustle  disconsolately 
nibbling  greens.  Distracted  hens  on 
the  next  story  crane  inquisitive  necks 
through  the  bars  and  cluck  in  a  minor 
key.  Ducks  and  geese  lend  aroma 
and  tune,  and  over  all  the  unvanquish- 
ed  scent  of  fish  arises  and  pervades  the 
premises.  For  every  fish  that  floats 
or  swims  lies  shimmering  on  an  im- 
mense counter:  great  black-bellied 
sturgeon,  spotted  sharks,  rows  and 
rows  of  carp  and  strangely  yellow  cod, 
heaps  of  flounder,  sole,  sardines,  hali- 
but without  number,  and  like  a  great 
patch  of  silver,  the  inevitable  "pen- 
and-ink''  fish"  lie  in  a  flaccid  heap. 
Owing  to  a  love  of  piscatorial  produce 
the  best  that  the  briny  affords  makes 


A   corner  of  a    Chinatown   restaurant. 


CHINESE  FOOD  AND  RESTAURANTS 


529 


a  Chinaman's  staple  of  diet.  Every 
variety  of  fish  known  to  the  coast 
waters  is  marshalled  for  Chinese  con- 
sumption. Many  northern  varieties 
are  brought  from  Seattle,  and  the  wat- 
ers of  the  Sacramento  River  must  give 
up  their  living  to  stock  the  Grant  ave- 
nue markets.  Shell-fish  of  every  sort, 
crawfish,  lobsters,  shrimps,  crabs,  oys- 
ters, abalones  and  tanks  full  of  torpid 
turtles  flank  the  fish  counters. 

Here  and  there  a  restaurant  waves 
an  inviting  yellow  finger  in  the  form 
of  a  "Chop  Suey"  sign  to  such  as  have 
the  courage  to  venture  within.  The 
man  of  timorous  spirit  or  sensitive 
stomach  who  survives  the  ordeal  of  a 
Chinese  dinner  should  be  awarded  a 
chop-stick  badge  for  courage. 

It  begins  with  Chop  Suey,  the  Ori- 
ental device  which  makes  our  poor  old 
hash  blush  for  its  simplicity.  It  may 
be  water  chestnut  Chop  Suey,  as  the 
bill  of  fare  declares  it  is.  Then  again 
it  may  be,  as  the  taste  swears  it  is,  a 
few  old  shoes,  brass-buttons     and     a 


In     Fish     Alley,     Chinatown. 


Where  the  hawkers  of  Chinese  dishes  ply 
their  trade. 

wornout  pipe.  At  any  rate  it  swims 
about  in  a  bedragoned  bowl,  and  you 
eat  it  if  you  can.  Hard  upon  its  heels 
comes  fried  rice  with  chicken,  pork 
and  shrimps,  lots  of  it,  soon  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  that  devil  inspired  concoc- 
tion, Cho  Go  Gong,  a  mess  of  meat, 
eggs,  grass  mushrooms  and  bean  cakes 
liquidated  into  soup  consistency.  Then 
eggs  await  your  attention.  Eggs!  Ah, 
now  you  know  what  happens  to  the 
eggs  of  yesteryear.  If  after  their  con- 
sumption you  have  not  become  delir- 
ious, you  may  be  invited  to  partake 
of  the  grandparent  of  those  eggs, 
whose  flavor  has  been  enhanced  by 
liberal  applications  of  bitter  melon. 

The  meal  is  quite  sure  to  be  butter- 
less,  as  butter  is  a  food  despised.  "You 
smellee  all  same  butter,"  is  an  indict- 
ment often  brought  against  the  Occi- 
dental by  the  yellow  folk.  The  five 
flavorings,  salt,  sweet,  sour,  bitter  and 


530 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


Side   entrance   of  one   of   the   Chinese 
restaurants. 

acrid  are  ever  pronouncedly  present. 
For  such  as  survive  the  menu  a  re- 
ward awaits  in  the  form  of  dessert  and 
tea.  A  reward  in  truth,  for  the  poetic 
and  fanciful  names  applied  to  teas 
and  sweets  are  amply  justified.  "Water 
fairy"  suggests  a  light  and  delicious 
beverage,  which  indeed  it  is.  "Peace- 
fulness"  soothes  even  as  it  cheers. 
"Dragon's  Beard"  is  a  stronger  brew 
for  another  mood,  and  "Butterfly's 
Eyebrow"  is  as  ethereal  and  choice  as 
its  name.  The  nectar  and  ambrosia  of 
the  gods  were  not  more  celestial  dain- 
ties than  star  fruit,  green  apricots  in 
honey,  golden  limes  and  luscious  li- 
chee fruit. 


That  discreet  female,  the  Sphinx, 
must  have  been  a  cousin  of  the  first 
Chinaman,  and  between  them  they 
have  kept  a  number  of  secrets.  One 
of  these  is  the  reason  for  the  Chinese 
predilection  for  dried  foods.  The 
most  delicious  and  juicy  of  all  the  sea 
tribes  of  shell  fish  are  divorced  from 
their  native  element  and  dried  beyond 
all  recognition.  The  desert  is  a  swamp 
compared  to  the  aridity  of  this  field 
of  Chinese  "eats." 

"To  revel  and  to  roister  with  the 
succulent  oyster"  is  a  dear  delusion  at 
an  Oriental  table  d'hote.  The  leathery 
and  extremely  disagreeable  looking 
mass  of  brown  substance  there  served 
would  never  have  tempted  the  Carpen- 
ter nor  the  Walrus  either. 

The  dried  shrimp,  so  lately  pink 
and  juvenile,  is  almost  unrecognizable, 
crisp,  crackly  and  malodorous.  Black 
and  blue,  and  altogether  beetling,  the 
abalone  takes  the  prize  for  general 
savor  and  appearance  of  prolonged  en 
tombment.  Even  ducks,  most  Lucul- 
lan of  morsels,  are  reduced  to  the  ap- 
pearance and  proportions  of  bats 
through  the  process  of  penitential 
drying  for  past  watery  wanderings. 

Nor  is  the  getting  and  selling  of  food 
limited  within  the  confines  of  China- 
town proper.  Witness  the  fields  of 
vegetables,  outside  the  city  limits, 
wherein  American  vegetables,  with 
the  exception  of  celery,  are  con- 
spicuous by  their  absence.  Instead  of. 
our  unromantic  Po-Ta-To,  here  are  the 
Chu-ko  and  the  Hawaiian  Taro,  ex- 
ceeding in  nutriment  if  not  in  flavor 
our  own  beloved  tuber.  The  Chinese 
have  a  fondness  for  melons  equal  to 
a  corporation,  and  grow  them  in  an  as- 
tonishing variety.  The  zit-kwa  is  the 
prize  fruit,  often  weighing  as  much  as 
30  pounds. 

This  is  eaten  in  a  number  of  forms, 
and  finally  as  a  delicious  confection 
calls  glaced  fruit  to  an  efficiency  test. 

With  an  admirable  economy,  the 
seeds  of  this  wonderful  fruit  have  a 
ceremonial  function,  and  are  partaken 
of  on  the  grounds  of  friendship  as  a 
cocktail  preliminary  to  a  meal.  (Pro- 
hibitionists take  notice!)     No  statis- 


-" 


si-->^A-  \ 


■4a~. 


" 


ahMj ... 


.^■-iKJ^i 


The   front   of   a    noted    Chinese   restaurant,    San    Francisco. 


tics  are  available  as  to  friendships  ce- 
mented by  this  indulgence. 

Yet  undisputed  ruler,  lord  of  all 
lesser  greens,  reigns  the  almighty 
bean.  Boston  has  adopted  the  baked 
bean,  but  China  had  it  first.  Not  only 
baked,  but  boiled,  made  into  pastes, 
soups,  oil  and  cheese.  Thus  has  China 
whole-heartedly  spilled  the  beans. 

Bean  oil  is  a  favorite  medium  in 
which  most  Chinese  cooking  is  done, 
and  is  largely  responsible  for  the 
oblique  flavor  so  unpalatable  to  "white 
devils." 

In  the  window  of  almost  every  Chi- 
nese grocer  is  a  bilious  pyramid  of 


yellow-green  cakes  of  bean  cheese, 
and  there  is  no  margin  for  choice  be- 
tween the  flavor  and  appearance  of 
this  delicacy.  The  bean  as  we  know  it 
is  a  gregarious  vegetable.  Taken 
alone  and  reduced  to  an  essence,  the 
result  is  a  feeling,  not  a  flavor.  De- 
spite these  few  vagaries  John  China- 
man eats  wisely  and  well.  Also  he 
preserves  a  holy  silence  as  to  his 
daily  fare.  This  stoic  silence  fre- 
quently seems  to  conceal  thoughts  too 
deep  for  utterance,  but  trust  him  not, 
fair  lady.  He  is  bamboozling  thee! 
More  often  it  but  cloaks  the  "epicure 
serenely  full." 


Practical    Suggestions  on  Foods  Rich  in  Iron 


By  Evaline  M.  Kerr,  Dietitian  German  Hospital,  San  Francisco 


A  QUESTION  often  asked  is: 
"How  shall  we  supply  the 
anemic  person  with  iron?" 
The  person  who,  for  some  rea- 
son, lacks  his  share  of  good  red  blood 
needs  to  know  the  foods  that  furnish 
iron.  Iron  is  so  important  to  proper 
nutrition  that  most  persons  are  famil- 
iar with  it  through  the  advertisements 
of  the  numerous  iron  tonics  on  the  mar- 
ket. The  use  of  these  tonics  would 
be  greatly  diminished  by  a  knowledge 
of  food  values,  for  food  iron  is  what 
is  needed  rather  than  the  iron  which  is 
sold  in  a  bottle  of  "tonic." 

Among  the  foods  of  animal  origin, 
meat,  fowl  and  fish  have  much  iron  in 
them,  especially  if  the  blood  is  in  the 
tissues,  but  eggs,  principally  the  yolk, 
(each  yolk  containing  1.5  milligrams 
of  iron)  which  furnishes  blood  and 
muscle  for  the  prospective  chick,  are 
rich  in  iron.  Milk  furnishes  little  iron, 
but  is  rich  in  lime,  which  stimulates 
the  absorption  of  iron. 

The  iron  compounds  of  meat  do  not 
yield  as  readily  to  the  digestive  fer- 
ments as  do  those  of  vegetables  and 
fruits,  so  that  the  iron  of  the  latter  is 
better  absorbed  and  become  more 
completely  available  for  nutrition. 
Moreover,  the  use  of  too  much  meat 
(especially  by  persons  of  sedentary 
habits  or  indoors  occupation)  tends  to- 
wards intestinal  putrefaction,  with  re- 
sulting absorption  of  putrefactive  pro- 
ducts, which  are  detrimental  to  the 
red  blood  cells  and  probably  in  other 
ways  interfere  with  the  economy  of 
iron  in  the  body. 

Fruits  and  vegetables,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  the  opposite  effect.  Iron  is 
present  in  milk  only  in  very  small 
quantities,  as  was  heretofore  men- 
tioned, but  is  in  a  form  exceptionally 


favorable  for  assimilation.  Notwith- 
standing the  low  iron  content,  a  diet  of 
milk  and  white  bread  appears  to  be 
adequate  for  the  maintenance  of  iron 
equilibrium  in  normal  man,  but  not  in 
sufficient  quantities  to  restore  iron 
where  a  deficiency  exists. 

Vegetable  foods  are  strong  in  flavor, 
which  means  mineral  matter,  includ- 
ing iron.  All  mineral  matter  is  valu- 
able when  combined  by  nature  in  food 
material,  and  we  find  the  minerals 
close  under  t£e  skins  of  fruits  and 
vegetables,  especially  potatoes ; 
therefore,  cook  potatoes  with  their 
jackets  on)  even  if  you  wish  to  mash 
them.  Wherever  green  color  is  pres- 
ent in  vegetables,  as  in  salads  and 
greens,  you  find  iron  in  abundance, 
and  spinach  heads  the  list.  When  the 
green  color  of  fruits  has  matured  to 
red  or  brown,  we  find  iron,  with  other 
minerals,  and  these  are  strongest  close 
under  the  skin. 

Dried  fruits  are  valuable  souices  of 
iron;  figs,  dates,  prunes  and  raisins 
head  the  list. 

The  outer  coats  of  grain  have  much 
mineral  matter  in  them,  and  we  should 
cultivate  a  taste  for  graham  bread 
and  select  only  breakfast  cereals  with 
an  eye  to  their  brown  color,  as  whole 
or  cracked  wheat,  shredded  wheat, 
oatmeal  or  rolled  oats. 

A  varied  diet  is  necessary.  For  in- 
stance, if  one  kind  of  meat  is  served 
at  dinner,  have  fish  at  the  night  meal ; 
or  if  eggs  are  not  served  at  breakfast, 
have  them  for  the  lighter  meal. 

Perhaps  few  of  our  readers  know 
of  the  Government  Bulletins  on  Food, 
obtainable  from  the  Department  of 
Agriculture,  most  of  them  given  free 
on  application — others  at  a  very  small 
fee.     The  Farmers'  Bulletin  numbers 


534 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


are  256,  526,  128,  391,  487,  808,  298, 
468,  293,  565,  121,  653. 

Following  are  some  of  the  foods 
containing  iron:  Spinach,  asparagus, 
celery,  beets,  cabbage,  lettuce,  squash, 
onions,  beans,  peas,  tomatoes,  rad- 
ishes, potatoes,  lentils,  barley,  whole 
wheat,  oatmeal,  rice,  plums,  pears,  ap- 
ples, bananas,  pineapples,  strawber- 
ries, currants,  oranges,  grapes,  olives, 
peaches,  honey,  cocoa,  walnuts,  rai- 
sins, figs,  prunes,  dates,  eggs  (yolks), 
beef,  ham,  codfish,  salmon. 

MENUS 
Breakfast. 

1.  Cereal  (preferably  those  contain- 
ing the  outer  layers),  fruit,  egg,  toast, 
coffee. 

2.  Fruit,  bran  muffins,  bacon,  coffee. 

3.  Fruit  (cooked  or  raw),  cereal, 
egg  (omelet  of  yolks,  1  tablespoon 
water  added  to  each  *yolk),  brown 
bread  (or  toast  of  same),  coffee. 

4.  Fruit,  eggs,  graham  biscuit  or 
muffins,  coffee. 

5.  Fruit,  bacon  and  eggs  (not  fried 
eggs),  bread  or  toast,  coffee. 

6.  Fruit,  cereal  (or  shredded  wheat), 
cocoa,  toast. 

7.  Whole  wheat  muffins,  scrambled 
eggs,  coffee. 

Luncheon. 

1.  Cream  soup  (celery)  or  creamed 
chops  on  toast,  bread,  apple  sauce, 
crisp  cookies,  tea  or  milk. 

2.  Salad  (stuffed  eggs),  plenty  of 
lettuce,  olives,  bread,  peaches,  sponge 
cake,  cocoa. 


3.  Scalloped  rice  (with  cheese  or 
oysters),  fruit  salad,  bread,  graham 
wafers,  tea. 

4.  Scrambled  eggs  on  toast  (if  eggs 
not  served  for  breakfast),  bread  or 
tea  biscuit,  fruit,  tea. 

5.  Cream  of  pea  soup,  croutons,  gra- 
ham bread,  prune  whip,  tea  or  cocoa. 

6.  Cheese  souffle,  hearts  of  lettuce 
salad,  whole  wheat  bread,  fruit,  tea. 

7.  Creamed  fish  on  toast,  baked  ap- 
ple, graham  cookies,  cocoa  or  tea. 

Dinner. 

1.  Chops,  baked  potatoes,  celery, 
baked  cream  squash,  rice  pudding 
(plenty  of  raisins),  brown  bread. 

2.  Roast  beef,  mashed  or  steamed 
potatoes  (cooked  in  jackets),  green 
salad,  peas,  fruit  (stewed  or  baked), 
bread. 

3.  Broiled  chicken,  brown  rice,  as- 
paragus (or  asparagus  salad),  puree  of 
turnips,  steamed  fig  pudding,  graham 
bread. 

4.  Consomme  (marrow  balls),  Turk- 
ish pilof,  carrots,  custard  (baked  or 
boiled),  bread. 

5.  Steak,  scalloped  onions,  boiled 
potatoes  (with  jackets  on),  artichoke 
(cold  or  hot),  Brown  Betty  (dates  in- 
stead of  apples,  fruit  sauce),  bread. 

7.  Macaroni  and  cheese,  lettuce 
salad,  spinach,  pineapple  (or  other 
fruit),  cookies  (crisp),  graham  bread. 

7.  Pot  roast  or  leg  of  lamb,  baked 
potato,  cauliflower  (flowers  only  if 
distressing  to  one),  radishes  (if  toler- 
ated), apple  pie,  bread. 


William   Rowlands,  California   Pioneer 


By    Bertha   M.  Payne 


THERE  is  still  living  in  Califor- 
nia, not  far  from  San  Jose,  a 
pioneer,  William  Rowlands  by 
name,  who  was  a  resident  of 
Omaha  at  the  time  of  the  discovery  of 
gold  in  Colorado,  and  who  was  one 
of  the  first  to  make  the  trip  overland 
from  Omaha  to  what  is  now  Denver. 
This  is  the  story,  as  told  by  him,  of 
how  it  came  about : 

In  1858  I  was  working  in  Omaha. 
Somehow  a  rumor  got  started  that  gold 
had  been  found  at  Cherry  Creek,  and 
there  was  great  excitement.  News- 
papers were  gotten  out  on  gold-col- 
ored papers,  proclaiming  the  discov- 
ery, and  everybody  was  wild  to  start 
for  Colorado. 

"In  September,  1858,  I  was  one  of 
a  party  of  forty-five  men  who  started 
out  across  the  plains  with  fourteen 
prairie  schooners  drawn  by  oxen.  We 
took  with  us  provisions  enough  to  last 
a  year,  with  what  game  we  could 
shoot.  The  country  between  Omaha 
and  what  is  now  Denver  was  a  track- 
less prairie  inhabited  only  by  Indians, 
and  over  which  thousands  of  buffaloes 
roamed.  The  Indians  were  for  the 
most  part  friendly — and  so  were  the 
buffaloes — the  latter  far  more  so  than 
was  exactly  comfortable  for  us.  When 
we  stopped  for  the  night  they  would 
come  close  to  our  camp  and  try  to  lure 
our  cattle  away,  and  we  had  a  hard 
time  to  keep  them  from  going.  At 
night  we  would  draw  up  our  wagons 
in  the  form  of  a  circle,  and  then,  after 
allowing  the  oxen  to  graze  until  bed- 
time, we  would  drive  them  inside  of 
the  ring,  and  a  guard  would  keep 
watch  at  the  entrance  all  night.  But 
one  night,  when  we  were  about  forty 
miles  west  of  Fort  Kearney,  a  big 
herd  of  buffaloes  came  up   so  close 


Wm.     Rowlands,     California     Pioneer. 

that  the  call  of  the  wild  took  posses- 
sion of  our  cattle,  and  there  was  a 
regular  stampede;  they  broke  out  of 
the  enclosure,  and,  in  a  minute,  every 
one  was  gone.  We  stayed  there  sev- 
eral days  trying  to  get  them  back, 
but  some  of  them  we  were  never  able 
to  capture.  We  killed  several  buffa- 
loes on  the  way,  so  we  had  plenty  of 
meat. 

"We  arrived  at  the  Platte  river,  near 
the  present  site  of  Denver,  in  Octo- 
ber, and  there  built  our  cabins  for  the 
winter.  Deer  were  so  plentiful  that 
I  shot  thirty  of  them  myself  during 
the  winter,  and  we  had  more  venison 
than  we  could  eat,  and  plenty  of 
'jerked'  buffalo  meat. 

"We  learned,  on  arriving  there,  that 


536 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


the  report  which  had  started  us  off 
was  false,  and  that  no  gold  had  been 
discovered  on  Cherry  Creek.  None  of 
our  party  were  practical  miners,  and 
we  knew  nothing  about  prospecting  or 
mining,  and  so  we  found  no  trace  of 
gold.  But  in  the  spring  of  1859  a 
party  from  Georgia,  under  the  leader- 
ship of  a  man  named  Gregory  were 
going  through  on  their  way  to  Califor- 
nia. When  they  got  to  Fort  Laramie 
they  heard  a  rumor  that  gold  had 
been  discovered  at  Pike's  Peak,  so 
they  changed  their  route  and  started 
for  there.  They  were  experienced 
prospectors,  and  knew  how  to  hunt  for 
gold,  and  it  was  not  long  before  they 
found,  in  the  mountains,  about  forty 
miles  from  Denver,  what  was  called 
the  'Gregory  Lead,'  very  rich  in  gold. 
Soon  other  leads  were  found,  and 
more  and  more  gold,  and  then  the  gold 
rush  began  in  earnest.  It  was  an  easy 
matter  to  build  a  railroad  from  Omaha 
because  much  of  the  way  the  country 
was  so  level  that  the  ties  could  be 
laid  right  on  the  ground,  and  many 


miles  built  in  a  day,  and  it  did  not 
take  long  to  finish  the  road.  Denver 
was  laid  out,  and  a  bonus  was  offered 
to  any  one  who  would  build  a  house 
there.  I  was  given  a  donation  of  four 
lots,  and  built  one  of  the  first  houses 
where  the  city  of  Denver  now  stands. 

"Then,"  added  Mr.  Rowlands,  rem- 
iniscently,  "last  fall  I  went  back  East 
on  a  visit,  over  this  same  route  that 
I  had  traversed  by  ox-team  nearly 
sixty  years  ago — and  what  a  change! 
Then,  a  trackless  wilderness ;  now  only 
cultivated  fields  and  towns — and  not 
a  buffalo  to  be  seen.  Time  certainly 
does  bring  changes." 

Time  has  been  good  to  Mr.  Row- 
lands, however,  for,  in  spite  of  the 
hardships  of  pioneer  days  (or  per- 
haps, because  of  them),  he  is  still  hale 
and  hearty,  enjoying  life,  and  able  to 
do  more  work  every  day  than  many  a 
man  twenty  years  his  junior;  and  he 
is  now,  at  the  age  of  84,  contemplat- 
ing a  trip  to  Australia  to  visit  a  bro- 
ther from  whom  he  has  been  sepa- 
rated for  more  than  sixty  years. 


A  Trip  to  Drake's  Bay 


THE  first  sojourn  of  Englishmen 
on  the  American  continent  was 
thirty  miles  north  of  San  Fran- 
cisco— a  fact  deserving  to  be 
better  known.  The  location  can  be 
reached  in  two  hours  by  rail  from  San 
Francisco.  It  was  on  June  17,  1579, 
that  "Ye  Golden  Hinde,"  the  gallant 
galleon  of  Francis  Drake,  rounded 
Point  Reyes  and  cast  anchor  in  the  bay 
which  now  bears  the  famous  captain's 
name.  After  a  stormy  voyage  the  ship 
was  in  need  of  refitting,  and  while  the 
work  was  going  forward  and  store  of 
wood  and  water  was  being  laid  in,  the 
crew  were  glad  to  encamp  ashore,  rev- 
eling in  the  glorious  sunshine  of  Cali- 


fornia. The  white  bluffs  which  at  this 
place  face  the  sea  reminded  Drake 
of  the  chalk  cliffs  of  Dover,  and  he 
called  the  country  New  Albion,  claim- 
ing it  in  the  name  of  "Good  Queen 
Bess." 

Drake's  men  erected  a  stockade  fort 
as  a  defense  against  the  Indians,  al- 
though the  coast  tribes  proved  more 
than  friendly,  worshiping  the  English- 
men as  gods.  Several  quaint  accounts 
have  been  left  by  the  voyagers  as  to 
the  manners  of  these  simple  people 
and  the  nature  of  their  country.  The 
Englishmen  marveled  at  the  mighty 
trees  (redwoods)  and  at  the  thousands 
of  deer   and  other  animals.     Stories 


A  TRIP  TO  DRAKE'S  BAY 


537 


were  told  them  by  the  natives  about 
the  great  wealth  in  gold  and  silver 
abounding  in  the  interior  highlands. 
Drake  and  his  men  visited  a  number 
of  the  Indian  villages  and  were  re- 
ceived with  great  ceremony  by  the 
king  of  the  country,  Hioh  by  name. 

Many  times  they  must  have  gazed 
upon  the  lofty  peaks  of  Tamalpais,  but 
these  seamen  of  Devon  were  better  at 
climbing  masts  than  climbing  moun- 
tains, and  they  were  content  to  let 
Tamalpais  remain  always  above  them. 
Had  Sir  Francis  Drake  scaled  its  sum- 
mit his  eye  would  have  delighted  in 
the  first  sight  of  the  finest  landlocked 
harbor  in  the  world,  whose  narrow  en- 
trance had  been  hidden  by  a  strip  of 
mist  as  he  scudded  past  in  "Ye  Golden 
Hinde."  With  his  own  little  bay  he 
was  pleased  immensely,  terming  it  a 
"faire  and  good  harborow." 

It  was  during  this  time  that  the  first 
religious  service  held  in  the  English 
language  on  the  Pacific  Coast  was  con- 
ducted at  Drake's  Bay  by  the  chaplain 
of  the  expedition,  Francis  Fletcher. 
This  event  is  commemorated  by  the 
Prayer  Book  Cross  in  Golden  Gate 
Park,  San  Francisco. 

After  a  stay  of  thirty-seven  days, 
on  July  23d  the  English  left  New  Al- 
bion, followed  by  the  lamentations  of 
the  natives,  and  shaped  their  course 
for  the  Farallones,  where  they  laid  in 
a  supply  of  seal  meat  before  continu- 
ing their  memorable  voyage.  This 
stop  in  California  has  been  an  event 
in  the  first  circumnavigation  of  the 
globe  by  Englishmen,  and  when  they 
came  safely  back  to  old  England  their 


commander  knelt  upon  the  deck  of  his 
ship  and  was  knighted  by  Queen 
Elizabeth  herself.  For  many  years  all 
the  Pacific  Coast  country  was  known 
to  English  geographers  as  "Drake's 
Land,  back  of  Canada." 

It  is  probable  that  Drake's  Bay  had 
previously  been  entered  in  1542  by 
Cabrillo,  the  discoverer  of  California. 
In  1595  a  Spanish  ship,  the  "San  Au- 
gustin,"  was  wrecked  on  Point  Reyes 
and  the  captain,  Cermenon,  and  his 
men  made  their  way  back  to  Mexico 
in  a  small  boat.  The  harbor  in  the 
shelter  of  Point  Reyes  they  called  San 
Francisco,  and  as  such  it  was  known 
to  Vizcaino,  who  was  here  in  1603. 
Later  the  name  was  attached  to  all  that 
body  of  water  between  Point  Reyes 
and  Point  San  Pedro,  and  long  after- 
ward was  transferred  to  the  inner  bay 
of  San  Francisco,  which  lay  undiscov- 
ered until  Portola  came  upon  it  by 
land  in  1769.  Vizcaino  anchored  be- 
hind the  bold  promontory  on  January 
7,  1603,  the  day  of  the  Holy  Kings 
(the  three  Wise  Men  of  the  East),  and 
thus  he  bestowed  the  name  Punta  de 
los  Reyes — Cape  of  the  Kings. 

The  shores  of  Drake's  Bay  may  be 
visited  from  Point  Reyes  station  on 
the  Northwestern  Pacific.  There  are 
delightful  walks  in  the  hills  round- 
about, to  the  summit  of  Mount  Witten- 
berg, which  rises  1,350  feet  above  the 
breakers,  and  to  the  lighthouse  pictur- 
esquely situated  on  Point  Reyes.  If 
the  new  coast  defense  plans  for  San 
Francisco  are  carried  out,  Point  Reyes, 
the  Farallones  and  Point  San  Pedro 
will  be  strongly  fortified. 


The  Divine  Plan  of  the  Ages 


The  Golden  Age  Rapidly  Nearing 


PART  II. 


WE  HAVE  all  noted  the  fact 
that  ours  is  the  most  wonder- 
ful day  of  earth's  history.  As 
we  contrast  the  blessings 
which  surround  us  with  those  enjoyed 
by  our  fathers,  our  eyes  open  wide.  We 
are  amazed  at  what  we  see  of  progress 
in  the  invention  of  labor-saving  ma- 
chinery, of  educational  advantages,  of 
improvements  in  stock-breeding,  hor- 
ticulture, etc.  It  must  be  admitted  by 
all  that  the  world  has  made  far  greater 
progress  during  the  last  fifty  years  than 
during  all  the  preceding  six  thousand 
years  since  man's  creation.  We  re- 
flect further  that,  with  the  progress  of 
invention,  the  necessity  for  arduous 
labor  and  sweat  of  face  for  the  daily 
bread  will  soon  be  at  an  end,  and  that 
the  necessary  comforts  and  leisure 
which  will  enable  every  man  to  be  a 
nobleman  will  soon  be  available  to  all. 
What  do  all  these  things  mean?  Why 
have  they  come  suddenly  upon  us  in 
one  generation,  and  give  no  indication 
of  slacking,  but  rather  of  advancing 
to  still  greater  wonders  ?  What  is  the 
explanation  of  this?  The  Bible  alone 
gives  the  reply  to  these  queries.  To 
our  astonishment  it  opens  the  door  of 
the  future  and  bids  us  look  adown  the 
vista  of  years  and  see  the  better  day 
which  God  has  promised.  With  no 
uncertain  voice  it  points  us  down  to 
this  very  time  and  condition  in  which 
we  now  are,  where  knowledge  is  so 
wonderfully  increased  and  as  a  result 
of  which  we  have  our  present  blessings 
and  advantages.  Note  how  clear-cut 
is  the  language  of  Daniel's  prophecy, 
"And  at  that  time  shall  Michael  stand 
up  .  .  .  Many  shall  run  to  and  fro, 
and  knowledge  shall     be     increased; 


.  .  .  the  wise  shall  understand;  .  .  . 
and  there  shall  be  a  Time  of  Trouble 
such  as  never  was  since  there  was  a 
nation."— Daniel  12:1,  4,  10. 

Additionally,  the  Bible  calls  this 
present  time  "the  day  of  His  prepara- 
tion" (Nahum  2:3),  because  it  is  the 
time  when  the  Lord  is  making  ready, 
making  special  preparation,  to  usher 
the  world  into  the  New  Dispensation — 
the  Golden  Age — so  long  promised. 
Incidentally  we  observe,  too,  that  the 
coming  of  these  blessings  is  in  one 
sense  premature,  in  that  they  have 
come  to  us  before  the  establishment  of 
the  New  Regime.  Consequently,  in- 
stead of  being  happier  because  of 
these  favors,  the  world  is  more  un- 
happy, more  discontented  than  ever, 
owing  to  their  depraved  condition.  The 
Scriptures  show  that  this  discontent 
will  culminate  in  a  short,  sharp  period 
of  terrible  anarchy,  such  as  we  now 
see  approaching,  and  from  which  the 
world  will  be  rescued  by  the  estab- 
lishment of  Messiah's  Kingdom. 

But  let  it  be  borne  in  mind  that  in 
advance  of  these  events,  and  of  the 
ushering  in  of  the  glorious  Day  in 
which  all  ignorance  and  superstition 
will  be  cleared  away,  there  is  provided 
for  the  child  of  God  a  Lamp,  whose 
light  dispels  from  his  pathway  much 
of  the  present  darkness.  "Thy  Word 
is  as  a  lamp  unto  my  feet  and  a  light 
unto  my  path."  (Psalm  119:105.) 
Therefore,  those  who  will  turn  away 
from  the  mere  speculation  of  men  and 
devote  time  to  searching  the  Scrip- 
tures, not  excluding  reason,  which  God 
invites  us  to  use  (Isaiah  1.18),  will 
find  that  a  blessed  bow  of  promise 
spans  the  heavens.     But  it  is  a  mis- 


THE  DIVINE  PLAN  OF  THE  AGES  539 

take  to  suppose  that  those  without  would  use  them  as  His  agency  for 
faith  should  be  able  to  apprehend  blessing  all  the  families  of  the  earth, 
clearly  the  Truth;  it  is  not  for  such.  The  offer  that  Jesus  made  to  the 
The  Psalmist  says,  "Light  (Truth)  is  Jews  of  certain  special  favors — heir- 
sown  for  the  righteous." — Psalm  ship  in  the  Kingdom  of  God,  etc. — 
97:11.  and  the  conditions  upon    which    that 

It  is  only  "the  path  of  the  just"  that  great  honor  could  be  secured,  were  so 

is  as  the  shining  light,  that     shineth  different  from  what  they  had  expected 

more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  Day."  that  the  attainment  of  such  a  reward 

(Proverbs  4:18.)     Actually,  there  is  was  considered     utterly     improbable, 

none  just,  "none  righteous,  no,  not  one"  Hence  all  but  the  few  were  blinded  to 

(Romans  3:10) ;  the  class  referred  to  the  Message.    And  their  blindness  and 

is  "justified  by  faith."    It  is  the  privi-  hostility  to  it  were  naturally  increased 

lege  of  this  class  only  to  walk  in  the  when,  in  the  process  of  God's  Plan, 

pathway  that  shines  more  and  more —  the  due  time  came  for  extending  the 

to  see  not  only  the  present  unfoldings  Message,  and  making  the  invitation  to 

of  God's  Plan,  but  also  things  to  come,  share  in  the  promised  Kingdom  appli- 

and  even  to  behold  what  has  not  been  cable  also  to  individuals  of  other  na- 

seen  in  previous  ages.    The  Spirit  of  tions,  who  should  by  the  exercise  of 

God,  given  to  guide  the  Church  into  faith  be  reckoned  children  of  faithful 

Truth,  will  take  of  the  things  written  Abraham  and  heirs  of  the     Promise 

and  show  them  unto  us;  but  beyond  made  to  him. 

what  is  written  we  need  nothing,  for  But  when  the  Gospel  taught  by  Je- 
the  Holy  Scriptures  are  able  to  make  sus  came  to  be  understood  after  Pen- 
wise  unto  salvation,  through  faith  tecost,  it  was  seen  by  His  followers 
which  is  in  Christ  Jesus. — 2  Timothy  that  the  blessings  for  the  world  were 
3:15.  to  be  of  an  enduring  character,  and 

Therefore,  "Rejoice  in  the  Lord,  ye  that  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
righteous,"  in  the  fulfillment  of  these  purpose  the  Kingdom  would  be  spirit- 
promises.  Many  have  so  little  faith  ual,  and  composed  of  Israelites  indeed, 
that  they  do  not  look  for  more  light,  a  "little  flock,"  selected  from  among 
and  because  of  their  unfaithfulness  both  Jews  and  Gentiles  to  be  exalted 
and  unconcern  they  are  permitted  to  to  spirit  nature  and  power.  Hence  we 
sit  in  darkness,  when  they  might  have  read  that  Jesus  brought  lige  and  im- 
been  walking  in  the  increasing  light.  mortality  to  light  through  the  Gospel. 

rj,,      j         ,.,  ,  ..     TI/    .-■  .     -  (2  Timothy  1:10.)     And  since  Jesus' 

The  Jews  Expected  the  World  to  be  d  t  more  H  ht  shi        as  he  fore_ 

Blessed  Through  them  at  the  told  -t  would>  saying.  „j  haye    many 

tirst  Advent.  things  to  say  unto  you,  but  ye  cannot 

Looking  into  the  past,  we  find  that  bear  them  now;  howbeit  when  it,  the 

then  the  light  shone  but  feebly.  Dim  Spirit  of  Truth,  is  come,  it  shall  guide 

and  obscure  were  the  promises  of  past  you  into  all  Truth  .  .  .  and  will  show 

ages.    The  Promise  made  to  Abraham  you  things  to  come." — John  16:12,  13. 

and  others,  and  typically  represented  Emphatic  Diaglott. 

in  the  Law  and  ceremonies  of  the  Jew-  TT         ~   „         ,Tr       „,    ,     „      rr 

ish  nation,  were  only  shadows,  and  HoPe  deferred  Has  Made  the  Heart 
gave  but  a  vague  idea  of  God's  won-  oick. 

derful  and  gracious  designs.     As  we         There  came  a  time,  however,  soon 

reach  the  days  of  Jesus,  the  light  in-  after  the  Apostles  fell  asleep,  when 

creases.     The  height  of  expectancy,  the  majority  of  the  Church  began  to 

until  then,  had  been  that  God  would  neglect  the  lamp  of  the  Word  and  to 

bring  a  Deliverer  to  save  Israel  from  look  to  human  teachers  for  leading; 

their  enemies  and  to  exalt  them  as  the  and  the  teachers,  puffed  up  with  pride, 

chief  nation  of  the  earth,  in  which  po-  assumed  titles  and  offices,  and  began 

sition  of  power  and     influence     God  to  lord  it  over  God's  heritage.     Then 


540 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


by  degrees  there  came  into  existence 
a  special  class  called  "the  clergy,"  who 
regarded  themselves,  and  were  re- 
garded by  others,  as  the  proper  guides 
to  faith  and  practice,  aside  from  the 
Word  of  God.  Thus  in  time  the  great 
system  of  Papacy  was  developed  by 
an  undue  respect  for  the  teachings  of 
fallible  men  and  a  neglect  of  the  Word 
of  the  infallible  God. 

Serious  indeed  have  been  the  evil 
results  brought  about  by  this  neglect 
of  the  Divinely  provided  "lamp."  As 
all  know,  both  the  Church  and  the  civ- 
ilized world  were  almost  wholly  en- 
slaved by  that  Papal  system,  and  were 
led  to  worship  the  creeds  and  tradi- 
tions of  men.  From  this  slavery  a 
bold  and  blessed  strike  for  liberty  and 
the  Bible  was  made,  in  what  is  known 
as  The  Reformation.  God  raised  up 
bold  champions  for  His  Word,  among 
were  Luther,  Zwingli,  Melanchthon, 
Wycliffe,  Knox  and  others.  These 
called  attention  to  the  fact  that  Papacy 
had  laid  aside  the  Bible  and  substi- 
tuted the  creeds  and  dogmas  of  the 
Church,  and  pointed  out  a  few  of  its 
erroneous  teachings  and  practices, 
showing  that  they  were  built  upon  tra- 
dition, contrary  to  Truth,  and  opposed 
to  God's  Word. 

The  reformers  and  their  adherents, 
who  were  called  Protestants  because 
they  protested  against  Papacy,  claimed 
the  Word  of  God  as  the  only  correct 
rule  of  faith  and  practice.  Many  faith- 
ful souls  in  the  days  of  the  Reforma- 
tion walked  in  the  light,  so  far  as  it 
was  then  shining.  But  since  their  day, 
Protestants  have  made  little  progress, 
because,  instead  of  walking  in  the 
light,  they  have  halted  around  their 
favorite  leaders,  willing  to  see  as  much 
as  they  saw,  but  nothing  more.  They 
set  boundaries  to  their  progress  in  the 
way  of  Truth,  hedging  in,  with  the  lit- 
tle Truth  they  had,  a  great  deal  of  er- 
ror brought  along  from  the  "Mother" 
church.  For  the  creeds  thus  formu- 
lated many  years  ago,  the  majority  of 
Christians  have  a  superstitious  rever- 
ence, supposing  that  no  more  can  be 
known  of  God's  plans  now  than  was 
known  by  the  Reformers. 


This  mistake  has  been  an  expensive 
one;  for  aside  from  the  fact  that  but 
few  great  principles  of  Truth  were 
then  recovered  from  the  rubbish  of 
error,  there  are  special  features  of 
Truth  constantly  becoming  due,  and  of 
these  Christians  have  been  deprived 
by  their  creed  fences.  To  illustrate: 
It  was  a  truth  in  Noah's  day,  and  one 
which  required  the  faith  of  all  who 
walked  in  the  light  then,  that  a  great 
Flood  was  coming;  while  Adam  and 
others  had  known  nothing  of  it.  It 
would  not  be  preaching  truth  now  to 
preach  a  coming  Flood;  but  there  are 
other  dispensational  truths  constantly 
becoming  due,  of  which,  if  walking  in 
the  light  of  the  Lamp,  God's  Word,  we 
shall  know;  so  if  we  have  all  the  light 
which  was  due  several  hundred  years 
ago,  and  that  only,  we  are  measurably 
in  darkness. 

Neglect  of  the  Word  Responsible  for 
All  the  Confusion. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  creeds 
which  have  come  down  from  the  Dark 
Ages,  many  of  God's  people  to-day 
apparently  are,  greatly  confused,  be- 
cause these  creeds  in  large  measure 
are  of  human  manufacture  and  distort 
and  misapply  the  Word  of  God  and 
are  not  based  upon  the  Bible.  There- 
fore Bible  students  who  are  now 
arousing  from  their  sleep  are  finding 
that  they  have  long  suffered  from  noc- 
turnal hallucinations;  that  in  their 
dreams  they  have  been  entertaining 
every  kind  of  unreasonable  miscon- 
ception concerning  the  Heavenly 
Father  and  His  plans.  But  now  the 
true  Message  is  spreading,  and  with  it 
goes  increase  of  faith,  together  with 
joy,  peace  and  godliness.  God's  Word 
is  a  great  Storehouse  of  food  for  hun- 
gry pilgrims  on  the  shining  pathway. 
There  is  milk  for  babes,  and  strong 
meat  for  those  more  developed  (1 
Peter  2:2;  Heb.  5:14.)  Not  only  so, 
but  it  contains  food  adapted  to  the  dif- 
ferent seasons  and  conditions;  and  Je- 
sus said  that  the  faithful  servant 
should  bring  forth  meat  in  due  season 
for  the  Household  of  Faith — "things 
new  and  old"  from  the  Storehouse. — 


THE  DIVINE  PLAN  OF  THE  AGES 


541 


Luke  12:42;  Matthew  13:52. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  bring 
forth  any  new  Truth  from  any  sectar- 
ian creed  or  storehouse.  We  might 
bring  some  things  old  and  good  from 
each,  but  nothing  new. 

The  Truth  contained  in  the  creeds 
of  the  various  sects  is  so  covered  and 
mixed  with  error  that  its  inherent 
beauty  and  real  value  are  not  discern- 
ible. The  various  creeds  continually 
conflict  and  clash;  and  as  each  claims 
a  Bible  basis,  the  confusion  of  thought 
and  evident  discord  are  charged  to 
God's  Word.  This  has  given  rise  to 
the  common  proverb,  "The  Bible  is 
an  old  fiddle  upon  which  any  tune  may 
be  played."  And  this  saying,  which 
is  so  expressive  of  the  infidelity  of  our 
times,  is  occasioned  by  misrepresen- 
tations of  God's  Word  and  character 
by  human  traditions,  together  with  the 
growth  of  intelligence,  which  will  no 
longer  bow  in  blind  and  superstitious 
reverence  to  the  opinions  of  fellow- 
men,  but  demands  a  reason  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  any  hope.  The  faithful 
student  of  the  Word  should  be  able 
always  to  give  a  reason  for  his  hope. 
The  Word  of  God  alone  is  able  to 
make  wise,  and  is  profitable  for  doc- 
trine, instruction,  etc.,  "that  the  man  of 
God  may  be  perfect,  thoroughly  fur- 
nished."—! Peter  3:15;  2  Timothy 
3:15-17. 

Only  this  one  Storehouse  contains 
an  exhaustless  supply  of  things  new 
and  old — meat  in  due  season  for  the 
Household.  Surely  no  one  who  be- 
lieves the  Scripture  statement  that 
"the  path  of  the  just  shineth  more  and 
more  unto  the  perfect  Day"  will  claim 
that  the  perfect  Day  came  in  Luther's 
time;  and  if  not,  we  do  well  to  take 
heed  unto  our  Lamp  as  "unto  a  light 
that  shineth  in  a  dark  place  UNTIL 
THE  DAY  DAWN.— 2  Peter  1 .19. 

In  natural  things,  men  to-day  would 
not  think  of  going  back  to  the  crude 
and  unimproved  methods  of  their 
fathers;  only  a  few  years  back,  the 
best  light  that  could  be  produced  was 
by  means  of  the  oil  lamp  and  the  tal- 
low dip.  Now  we  have  wonderful 
light  from   electricity  and  from  gas, 


enabling  us,  in  our  largest  cities,  to 
turn  the  darkest  night  into  broad  day- 
light. 

So  in  spiritual  matters,  we,  as 
searchers  after  Truth,  should  not  be 
content  with  that  amount  of  spiritual 
light  handed  down  to  us  by  our  fathers 
— the  Reformers.  Finding  ourselves  in 
the  path  of  the  light,  we  must  "WALK 
IN  THE  LIGHT,"  continue  to  make 
progress,  else  the  light,  which  does  not 
stop,  will  pass  on  and  leave  us  in  dark- 
ness. The  difficulty  with  many  is  that 
they  sit  down  and  do  not  follow  on  in 
the  path  of  light. 

Perfection  of  knowledge  is  not  a 
thing  of  the  past  but  of  the  future — 
the  very  near  future,  we  trust;  and 
until  we  recognize  this  fact,  we  are  un- 
prepared to  appreciate  and  expect 
fresh  unfoldings  of  our  Father's  Plan. 
True,  we  still  go  back  to  the  words  of 
the  Prophets  and  Apostles  for  all 
knowledge  of  the  present  and  the  fu- 
ture; not,  however,  because  they  al- 
ways understand  God's  plans  and  pur- 
poses better  than  we,  but  because  God 
used  them  as  His  mouthpieces  to  com- 
municate to  us,  and  to  all  the  Church 
throughout  the  Christian  Age,  Truth 
relative  to  His  plans,  as  fast  as  it  be- 
comes due. 

This  fact  is  abundantly  proven  by 
the  Apostles.  St.  Paul  tells  us  that 
God  has  made  known  to  the  Christian 
Church  the  Mystery  (secret)  of  his 
will  which  He  has  purposed  in  Him- 
self and  had  never  before  revealed, 
though  He  had  it  recorded  in  dark 
sayings  which  could  not  be  understood 
until  due,  in  order  that  the  eyes  of  our 
understanding  should  be  opened  to  ap- 
preciate the  "HIGH  CALLING,"  de- 
signed exclusively  for  believers  of  the 
Christian  Age. — Ephesians  1 :9,  10,  17, 
18;  3:4-6. 

This  shows  us  clearly  that  neither 
the  prophets  nor  the  angels  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  prophecies  uttered. 
St.  Peter  says  that  when  they  inquired 
anxiously  to  know  their  meaning,  God 
told  them  that  the  truths  covered  up 
in  their  prophecies  were  not  for  them- 
selves, but  for  us  of  the  Christian  or 
Gospel  Age.    And  he  exhorts  the  be- 


542 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 


lievers  to  hope  for  still  further  grace 
(favor,  blessing)  in  this  direction — 
yet  more  knowledge  of  God's  plans. — 
1  Peter  1:10-13. 

It  is  evident  that  though  Jesus  prom- 
ised that  His  followers  should  be 
guided  into  all  Truth,  it  was  to  be  a 
gradual  unfolding.  While  the  Church 
in  the  days  of  the  Apostles  was  free 
from  many  of  the  errors  which  sprang 
up  under  and  in  Papacy,  yet  we  cannot 
suppose  that  the  early  Church  saw  as 
deeply  or  as  clearly  into  God's  Plan  as 
it  is  possible  to  see  to-day.  It  is  evi- 
dent, too,  that  the  different  Apostles 
had  different  degrees  of  insight  into 
God's  Plan,  though  all  their  writings 
were  guided  and  inspired  of  God  as 
truly  as  were  the  words  of  the  Pro- 
phets. To  illustrate,  differences  of 
knowledge,  we  have  but  to  remember 
the  wavering  course,  for  a  time,  of  St. 
Peter  and  the  other  Apostles,  except 
St.  Paul,  when  the  Gospel  was  begin- 
ning to  go  to  the  Gentiles.  (Acts  10: 
28;  11:1-3;  Galatians  2:11-14.)  St. 
Peter's  uncertainty  was  in  marked 
contrast  with  St.  Paul's  assurance,  in- 
spired by  the  words  of  the  Prophets, 
God's  past  dealings,  and  the  direct 
revelations  made  to  himself. 

God's  Plans  for  the  Ages  to   Come 
Glorious. 

St.  Paul  evidently  had  more  abun- 
dant revelations  than  any  other  Apos- 
tle. These  revelations  he  was  not  al- 
lowed to  make  known  to  the  Church, 
nor  fully  and  plainly  to  the  other 
Apostles  (2  Corinthians  12:4;  Gala- 
tians 2:2),  yet  we  can  see  a  value  to 
the  entire  Church  in  these  visions  and 
revelations  given  to  St.  Paul;  for 
though  he  was  not  permitted  to  tell 
what  he  saw,  nor  to  particularize  all 
that  he  knew  of  the  mysteries  of  God 
relating  to  the  "ages  to  come,"  yet 
what  he  saw  gave  a  force,  shading  and 
depth  of  meaning  to  his  words  which, 
in  the  light  of  subsequent  facts,  pro- 


phetic fulfillments  and  the  Spirit's 
guidance,  we  are  able  to  appreciate 
more  fully  than  could  the  early 
Church. 

As  corroborative  of  the  foregoing 
statement,  we  call  to  mind  the  last 
book  of  the  Bible — Revelations — writ- 
ten about  A.  D.  96.  The  introductory 
words  announce  it  as  a  special  revela- 
tion of  things  not  previously  under- 
stood. This  proves  conclusively  that 
up  to  that  time,  at  least,  God's  Plan 
had  not  been  fully  revealed.  Nor  has 
that  book  ever  been,  until  now,  all  that 
its  name  implies— an  unfolding,  a 
REVELATION.  So  far  as  the  early 
Church  was  concerned,  probably  none 
understood  any  part  of  the  book.  Even 
St.  John,  who  saw  the  visions,  was 
probably  ignorant  of  the  significance  of 
what  he  saw.  He  was  both  a  Prophet 
and  an  Apostle ;  and  while  as  an  Apos- 
tle he  understood  and  taught  what  was 
then  "meat  in  due  season,"  as  a  Pro- 
phet he  uttered  things  which  would 
supply  "meat"  in  seasons  future  for  the 
Household. 

During  the  Christian  Age,  some  of 
the  saints  sought  to  understand  the 
Church's  future  by  examining  this 
symbolic  book,  and  doubtless  all  who 
read  and  understood  even  a  part  of  its 
teachings  were  blessed  as  promised. 
(Rev.  1:3.)  The  book  kept  opening 
to  such,  and  in  the  days  of  the  Refor- 
mation was  an  important  aid  to  Luther 
in  deciding  that  the  Papacy,  of  which 
he  was  a  conscientious  minister,  was 
indeed  the  "Antichrist"  mentioned  by 
the  Apostle,  the  history  of  which  we 
now  see  fills  so  large  a  part  of  that 
prophecy. 

Thus  gradually  God  opens  up  His 
Truth  and  reveals  the  exceeding  riches 
of  His  Grace;  and  consequently  much 
more  light  is  now  due  than  at  any  pre- 
vious time  in  the  Church's  history. 

"And  still  new  beauties  shall  we  see, 
And  still  increasing  light." 


(To  be  Continued.) 


In  the  Realm  of  Bookland 


"The    Dance    of    Youth    and    Other 
Poems,"  by  Julia  Cooley,  author  of 
"Poems  of  a  Child,"  etc. 
The  book  is  interesting  for  its  vari- 
ety and  its  individualities.    It  allies  it- 
self neither  with  the  old  school  of  poe- 
try nor  with  the  new  developments, 
yet  it  is  tinged  with  both  phases.    In 
themes,  it  is  novel,  different,  and  it 
presents  Reality  from  many  new  and 
altered  angles.    It  is  the  production  of 
an   original,   independent,   clairvoyant 
mind. 

1.25  net.     Sherman,  French  &  Co., 
Boston,  Mass. 


Theodore  Roosevelt,  in  an  article 
headed  "Put  the  Flag  on  the  Firing 
Line"  in  the  June  Metropolitan  Maga- 
zine, published  recently,  outlines  what 
our  peace  terms  should  be. 

Roosevelt's  peculiar,  virile  style  of 
writing  is  here  shown  to  remarkable 
advantage. 


mans  intercept  a  message  that  Great 
Britain  and  Germany  are  at  war. 

Being  an  Irishman,  bone  and  sinew, 
Blood  straightway  considers  it  his 
duty  to  intern  the  Germans  and  at  the 
same  time  make  war  against  their  na- 
tion. He  holds  up  and  robs  a  German 
sailing  vessel.  He  thereupon  sails  to 
a  German  Island  in  the  South  Pacific 
and  plunders  it,  considering  not  at  all 
the  niceties  of  right  or  wrong.  But  be- 
fore he  can  commit  further  depreda- 
tions, he  is  overhauled  by  a  British 
cruiser,  of  course  with  an  incidental 
mission. 

Other  adventures  of  a  wild  charac- 
ter follow,  principally  in  the  South 
Seas, 

1.30  net.  John  Lane  &  Co.,  New 
York. 


"Bad  Men  of  the  Sea." 

H.  De  Vere  Stacpool  re- 
counts experiences  in  the 
shady  career  of  Capt.  Mi- 
chael Blood  and  his  crony, 
Bill  Harmon,  one  time  sailor. 
Like  the  teller  of  a  good  sea 
yarn  that  he  is,  Mr.  Stacpool 
first  takes  his  readers  to  the 
San  Francisco  water  front 
and  makes  them  familiar 
with  ships  hailing  from  all 
quarters.  Captain  Blood, 
who  enjoys  the  doubtful  rep- 
utation of  having  lost  some 
ships  in  a  questionable  man- 
ner, obtains  command  of  a 
ship,  owned  by  two  Germans, 
which  sails,  with  the  own- 
ers on  board,  on  to  the  South 
Pacific. 

Having  no  reputation  to 
protect,  it  is  not  in  the  cap- 
tain's code  to  ask  questions. 
With  the  job  done,  the  Ger- 


"A  Desk  Book  of  Words  Frequently 
Mispronounced"  has  been  issued  by 
Funk  &  Wagnalls,  N.  Y.  The  price  of 
the  book  is  $1.50  net,  by  mail  $1.62. 


STATEMENT  OF  THE  OWNERSHIP,  MANAGE- 
MENT, CIRCULATION,  ETC.,  REQUIRED  BY 
THE  ACT  OF  CONGRESS  OF  AUGUST  24,  1912, 
of  OVERLAND  MONTHLY,  published  Monthly  at 
San  Francisco,  Calif.,  for  April  1,  1917. 
State   of   California,    County   of   San   Francisco|ss. 

Before  me,  a  Notary  Public  in  and  for  the  State 
and  county  aforesaid,  personally  appeared  F.  MAR- 
RIOTT, who,  having  been  duly  sworn  according  to 
law,  deposes  and  says  that  he  is  the  publisher  of 
the  Overland  Monthly,  and  that  the  following  is, 
to  the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief,  a  true 
statement  of  the  ownership,  management,  etc.,  of 
the  aforesaid  publication  for  the  date  shown  in 
the  above  caption,  required  by  the  Act  of  August 
24,  1912,  embodied  in  section  443,  Postal  Laws  and 
Regulations,  printed  on  the  reverse  of  this  form,  to 
wit: 

1.  That  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  pub- 
lisher, editor,  managing  editor  and  business  man- 
agers are: 

Publisher — P.  Marriott,  San  Francisco,  Cal.  Edi- 
tor, O.  Black,  San  Francisco,  Cal.  Managing  Edi- 
tor, O.  Black,  San  Francisco,  Cal.  Business  Mana- 
ger,  F.  Marriott,   San  Francisco,   Cal. 

2.  That  the  owner  is  F.  MARRIOTT,  San  Fran- 
cisco,  California. 

3.  That  the  known  bondholders,  mortgagees  and 
other  security  holders  owning  or  holding  1  per  cent 
or  more  of  total  amount  of  bonds,  mortgages,  or 
other  securities  are:  None. 

F.   MARRIOTT,    Owner. 
Sworn  to  and  subscribed  before  me  this  4th  day 
of    April,    1917. 

(Seal)  MARTIN    ARONSOHN. 

Notary  Public  in   and   for  the   City  and   County  of 
San  Francisco,   State  of  California. 
(My    commission     expires    September    20th,     1919.) 


iv 


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Twenty  Million  Miles  of  Telephone  Wire 


The  telephone  wire  in  use  in  the 
Bell  System  is  long  enough  to  run 
from  the  earth  to  the  moon  and  back 
again  forty  times. 

The  Bell  System  has  about  twice 
as  much  telephone  wire  as  all  Europe. 

More  than  500,000  new  telephones 
are  being  added  to  the  Bell  System 
yearly — almost  as  many  as  the  total 
number  of  telephones  in  England. 

In  twelve  months  the  Bell  System 
adds  enough  telephones  to  duplicate 


the  entire  telephone  systems  of  France, 
Italy  and  Switzerland  combined. 

In  proportion  to  population  the 
extension  of  the  Bell  System  in  the 
United  States  is  equal  in  two  years 
to  the  total  telephone  progress  of 
Europe  since  the  telephone  was  in- 
vented— a  period  of  about  forty  years. 

The  Bell  System  fills  the  telephone 
needs  of  the  American  people  with  a 
thoroughness  and  a  spirit  of  public 
service  which  are  without  parallel  the 
world  over. 


i 


NY 


"<m^M 


American  Telephone  and  Telegraph  Compa 

And  Associated   Companies 

Universal  Service 


m0r      One  Policy 


One  System 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When   Writing   Advertisers 


Your 
Vacation 

SHOULD    MEAN 

Rest  ^-Health -Pleasure 


There  are  hundreds  of  Mountain  and 
Seaside  resorts  only  a  few  hours  away. 

SUGGESTIONS : 

Alameda  Beaches 

Monterey  Bay  Points 

Santa  Cruz  Mountain  Resorts 

Shasta  Resorts — Sierra  Resorts 

Yosemite — Lake  Tahoe 

Lake  County  Resorts 

Klamath  Lake  Region 

Crater  Lake — Huntington  Lake 

Los  Angeles  and  its  Beaches 

Write  for  Free  Booklet — state  region  you 
prefer.  We  will  gladly  assist  you  in  arrang- 
ng  a  delightful  trip.    ASK  ANY  AGENT 

SOUTHERN  PACIFIC 

Write  for  folder   on    the    Apache 
Trail  of  Arizona 


r 


Timely  Talk  on 
a  Vital  Subject 


Wife:  "  If  <we  must  cut  down  expenses, 
nvhy  not  drop  your  life  insurance?" 

Husba  d:  "Not  much.  That's  your  insur- 
ance, not  mine.  And  I'm  going  to  take  out 
another  Postal  Policy,  too— -while  I  can  get  it. 
You  and  the  kiddie  may  be  glad  some  day.  " 

Wife:  (thoughtfully):  "I  guess  you're  right 
at  that,  James. " 

Put  life  insurance  in 
your  family  budget 
— and  keep  it  there 

Whether  confronted  by  war  or  peace  the 
real  husband  always  makes  a  liberal  allow- 
ance for  life  insurance  whether  his  wife 
wants  him  to  or  not,  but  the  sensible  woman 
does  want  him  to.  And  they  both  want 
the  most  protection  possible  for  their  money, 
and  therefore  turn  to  the 

Postal   Life 
Insurance    Company 

Resources  more  than  $9,000,000 
Insurance  in  force  $40,000,000 

The  Postal  Life  employs  no  agents,  but  issues  its 
Policies  direct.  Agents'  renewal-commissions  and 
office-expenses  are  thus  saved  for  policyholders.  It 
is  not  alone  the  Company  of  Safety  and  Service, 
but  also  of  Saving,  for  policyholders  receive, 
among  other  benefits,  an 


Annual 
Dividend   of 


9i% 


Guaranteed 
in  the  Policy 


Besid»s  this,  the  Company  pays  the  usual  contingent  dividends 
each  year,  depending  on  earnings. 

Find  Out  How  Much  You  Can  Save 

at  your  age  on  any  standard  form  of  Policy. 

Simply  write  and  say:  "Mail  insurance  particulars  as 
mentioned  in  OVERLAND  MONTHLY  for  June."  In 
your  letter  be  rare  to  give:  1.  Your  full  name.  2.  Your  occu- 
pation.   3.  The  exact  date  of  your  birth. 

No  agent  will  be  sent  to  visit  you  The  Postal  Life  employs  no 
agents;  resultant  commission-savings  go  to  you  because  you  deal 
direct. 


Postal  Life  Insurance  Company 

WM.  R.  MALONE,  President 
U    511  Fifth  Avenue  :  :  :  :  NEW  YORK  J] 


vi 


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II 


SAN  FRANCISCO'S  NEWEST  HOTEL 

HOTEL  PLAZA 

FACING  BEAUTIFUL  UNION  SQUARE 
CORNER  OF  POST  AND  STOCKTON  STREETS 


European  Plan 
$1.50  up 

American  Plan 
$3.50  up 

Our  Main  Cafe 
Being  Operated 
on  the  a  la 
Carte  and  Table 
d'Hote  Plans. 


Special  Rooms 
for  Banquets  and 
Private   Parties. 

Management  of 
C.  A.  Gonder 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When   Writing    Advertisers 


vll 


Hotel  Powhatan 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

Pennsylvania  Avenue,  H  and  Eighteenth  Sts.,  N.  W. 


Showing  the  Hotel  Powhatan  upon 

the  completion  of  its  new  addition. 

Overlooking  the  White  House,  offers  every  comfort 

and  luxury,  also  a  superior  service.     European  Plan. 

Rooms,  detached  bath,   $l.SO  and  up 

Rooms,     private    bath,     $2.50  and    up 

Write  for  Souvenir  Booklet  and  Map 

E.  C.  OWEN,  Manager. 


The 
J,  Outdoor 
Girl 


» 


who  loves  her  favorite  sports  and 
takes  interest  in  her  social  duties 
must  protect  her  complexion.  Con- 
stant exposure  means  a  ruined  skin. 

Gouraud's 

Oriental     Cream 

affords  the  complexion  perfect  pro- 
tection under  the  most  trying  con- 
ditions and  renders  a  clear,  soft, 
pearly-white  appearance  to  the  skin. 
In  use  for  nearly  three  quarters  of  a 
century. 

Send  lOc.  for  trial  size  17 

FERD.  T.  HOPKINS  &  SON 

37  Great  Jones  Street        New  York  City 


HOTEL    ST.   FRANCIS 

SAN       FRANCISCO 

1 ,000  Rooms  —  Largest  Hotel  in   Western  America 

M AN AGEMENT  —  J AMES     WOODS 


viii 


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Meet  Me  at  the 
TULLER 


For  Value,  Service 
Home  Comforts 


NEW 

HOTEL    TULLER 

DETROIT,     MICHIGAN 

Center  of  business  on  Grand  Circus  Park.      Take 
Woodward  car,  get  off  at  Adams  Ave. 

ABSOLUTELY     FIREPROOF 

200  Rooms,  Private  Bath,  $1.50Single, $3.00 Up  Double 

200       "  "  "        2.00     "  3.00  " 

100        "  "  "        2.50    "  4.00  " 

100        "  "  $3  to  $5   "  4.50  " 

Total.  600  Outside  Rooms      All  Absolutely  Quiet 

Two  Floors — Agent's  New  Unique  Cafes  and 

Sample  Rooms  Cabaret  Excellente 


HOTEL  LENOX 

NORTH  STREET  AT  DELAWARE  AVENUE 
BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK 


MODERN 


FIREPROOF 


A  unique  Hotel,  with  a  desirable  location,  insuring 
quiet  and  cleanliness. 

Convenient  to  all  points  of  interest — popular  with 
visitors  to  Niagara  Falls  and  Resorts  in  the  vicinity 
— cuisine  and  service  unexcelled  by  the  leading 
hotels  of  the  larger  cities. 

EUROPEAN    PLAN 
$1.50  per  day  up 

Take  Elmwood  Ave,  Car  to  North  St.,  or  Write 
for  Special  Taxicab  Arrangement. 

May  we  send  with  our  compliments  a  "Guide  of  "Buffalo 
and  Niagara  Falls"  also  our  complete  rates? 
C.  A.  MINER,  Managing  Director 


OIL  and  MINING 

If  you  are  interested  our  special 
articles  covering  the  new  develop- 
ments will  delight  you. 

SAMPLE     COPY     FREE 

A  limited  number  of  last  month's 
issue  now  on  hand  will  be  sent 
out  as  sample  copies  for  asking 

WESTERN    STORIES    of    adventure.     Pictures    of   THE 
GREAT  GLORIES   OF  THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 

OC   f^fc      a    Yoar    17  Colored  Views  of  Rocky  Mountains    O    Y^arQ    RO   f^tc: 
£.Z)  OUd.    d      T  tJcU  Sent  Free  With  Your  Subscription         °      ,cc"3    JU   UL:>. 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  MAGAZINE 


704  QUINCY   BUILDING 


DENVER,  COLORADO 


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ix 


The  Vose  Player  Piano 

is  so  constructed  that  even  a  little 
child  can  play  it.  It  combines  our  superior  player 
action  with  the  renowned  Vose  Pianos  which  have 
been  manufactured  during  63  years  by  three  gene- 
rations of  the  Vose  family.  In  purchasing  this  in- 
strument you  secure  quality,  tone,  and  artistic  merit 
at  a  moderate  price,  on  time  payments,  if  desired. 
Catalogue  and  literature  sent  on  request  to  those 
interested.    Send  today. 

You  should  become  a  satisfied  owner  of  a 


vose 


PLAYER 
PIANO 


VOSE  &  SONS  PIANO  CO.,  189  Boyliton  St.,  Boston,  Matt. 


MISS   HARKER'S    SCHOOL 

PALO  ALTO       -       -       CALIFORNIA 

•      •      • 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

College  Preparatory 
Grammar  and  Primary  Departments 

•   •   • 
SPECIAL  CARE  GIVEN  TO  YOUNGER  CHILDREN 

Do  Business  by  Mail 

It's  pi  ofitable,  with  accurate  lists  of  prospects. 
Our  catalogue  contains  vital  information  on  Mail 
Advertising.  Also  prices  and  quantity  on  6,000 
national  mailing  lists,  99%  guaranteed.     Such  as: 


War  Material  Mfrs. 
Cheese  Box  Mfrs. 
Tin  Can  Mfrs. 
Druggists 
Auto  Owners 


Wealthy  Men 

Farmers 

Axle  Grease  Mfrs. 

Bailroad  Employees 

Contractors,  Etc.,  Etc. 


Write  for  this  valuable  reference  book;  also 
prices  and  samples  of  fac-simile  letters. 

Have  us  write  or  revise  your  Sales  Letters, 

Ross-Gould  1025-H  Olive  St.,  St.  Louis 


Ross-Gould 

_  Mailing 

St.  Louis 


"We  have  a  steady  demand  for  LABLACHE  from  our  best 
customers.     It  is  very  popular,  protects 
a    fine    complexion — improves    a 
poor  one.     Is  daintily  perfumed, 
delightfully  smooth  and  adher- 
ing— makes  friends  and  keeps 
them.     It's    a    pleasure    to 
handle  it." 
Refuse    Substitutes 

They   may   be    dangerous. 
Flesh, White.  Pink  or  Cream,  ■  I  fcfr^lj  , :-z- 

50c.  a  box  of  druggists  or  by 
mail.  Over  two  million  boxes 
sold  annually.  Send  10c. 
for  a  sample  box. 

BEN.   LEVY   CO 

French    Perfumers,    Dept.    52 
125  Kingston  St..  Boston,  Mass 


at  no" expense- 

--see  the  country   while  earn- 
ing big  pay  in  short  hour*  as  a 

TRAFFIC  INSPECTOR 

We  train  you  in  3  to  4  months  to  fill  this 
desirable  position.  Learn  railroading' 
Irom  the  inside  —  get  the  experience  of 
travel  —  meet  influential  men  —  get  in 
line  lor  sure  promotion.  Every  U.  S.  rail- 
road and  steamship  line  Is  on  the  watch 
lor  capable  traffic  men  —  on  the  watch 
for  men  able  to  rise  to  big  positions.  It's  up  to  you  to  seize  the 
chance.  Today,  write  for  booklet  H6  giving  full  information.  Learn  how 
our  Employment  Bureau  helps  graduates  to  good  positions. 

FRONTIER  PREP.  SC  HOOL,  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 


JUDSPo 

•J  Pacific 


N  Freight  Forwarding  Co.  gfg^J 

household  goods  to  and  from  all  points  on  the 
Pacific  Coast  446  Marquette  Building,  Chicago 


640  Old  South  Bldg.,  Boston 
324  Whitehall  Bldg.,  N.  Y. 
435  Oliver  Bldg..  Pittsburgh 
272  Drexel  Bldg.,  Phil.  Pa. 


1537  Boatmen's  Bank  Bldg. 
St.  Louis 

855  Monadnock  Bldg., 
San  Francisco 


518  Central  Bldg.,  Los  Angeles 
Write  nearest  office 


Wear    a   Truss 


DROOKS'  APPLIANCE,  the 
*-*  modern  scientific  inven- 
tion, the  wonderful  new  dis- 
covery that  relieves  rupture 
will  be  sent  on  trial.  No  ob- 
noxious springs  or  pads.  Has 
automatic  Air  Cushions.  Binds 
and  draws  the  broken  parts  to- 
gether as  you  would  a  broken 
limb.  No  salves.  No  lies. 
Durable,  cheap.  Sent  on  trial 
to  prove  it.  Protected  by 
U.  S.  patents.  Catalogue  and 
measure  blanks  mailed  free 
Send  name  and  address  today' 


C.  E.  BROOKS,  263  State  Street,  Marshall,  Mich. 


ECZEMA,  PSORIASIS  tceattnecreoridgs0oV% 

catarrh,  dandruff, sore  eyes,  rheumatism,  neural- 
gia, stiff  joints,  piles,  cured  or  no  charge.    Write 
for  particulars  and  free  samples. 
ECZEMA  REMEDY  CO.  Hot  Springs,  Ark. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When    Writing    Advertisers 


The 
Real  Estate  Educator 

By  F.  M.  PAYNE 

A  book  for  hustling  Real  Estate  "Boosters." 
Promoters,  Town  builders,  and  everyone 
who  owns,  sells,  rents  or  leases  real  estate 
of  any  kind. 

Containing  inside  information 
not  generally  known,  "Don'ts"  in 
Real  Estate  "Pointers,"  Specific 
Legal  Forms,  etc. 

Apart  from  the  agent,  operator 
or  contractor,  there  is  much  to  be 
found  in  its  contents  that  will 
prove  of  great  value  to  all  who 
wish  to  be  posted  on  Valuation, 
Contracts,  Mortgages,  Leases, 
Evictions,  etc.  The  cost  might  be 
saved  many  hundred  times  over  in 
one  transaction. 

The  new  1910  edition  contains 
the  Torren's  system  of  registra- 
tion. Available  U.  S.  Lands  for 
Homesteads.  The  A.  B.  C.'s  of 
Realty. 

Workmen's  Compensation  Act, 
Income  Tax  Law,  Employer's  Li- 
ability Act.  Statute  of  Frauds. 
How  to  Sell  Real  Estate,  How  to 
Become  a  Notary  Public,  or  Com 

of  Deeds,  and  other  Useful  Information. 

Cloth.    256  Pages.    Price  S1.00  Postpaid. 

OVERLAND    MONTHLY 

SAN    FRANCISCO,     CAL. 


THE 

Paul  Gerson 

DRAMATIC  SCHOOL 

Incorporated  Under  the  Laws  of  the  State  of  California 

The  Largest  Training  School 
of  Acting  in  America 

The  Only  Dramatic  School  on  the  Pacific  Coast 

TENTH  YEAR 

Elocution,  Oratory, 
Dramatic  Art 

Advantages: 
Professional  Experience  While  Study- 
ing. Positions  Secured  for  Graduates. 
Six  Months  Graduating  Course.   Stu- 
dents Can  Enter  Any  Time. 

Arrangements  can  be  made  with  Mr.  Gerson 
for  Amateur   and    Professional   Coaching 

Paul  Gerson  Dramatic  School  Bldg. 

McAllister  and   hyde  street 

San    Francisco,   Cal. 
Write  for  Catalogue. 


Make  Moving  a  Comfort 

The  New  Way— The  Easy  Way 

By  auto  trucks  and  employing  the  well  known 
reliable  expert  San  Francisco  firm 

Dixon  Transfer 
Storage  Company 

ECONOMY  AND  TIME  SAVERS 

Manager  Leo  Dixon  has  had  many  years  of 
varied  experience  in  this  special  and  intricate 
business  from  moving  the  goods  and  outfit- 
tings  of  a  huge  store  to  the  intricate  and 
varied  furnishings  of  a  home.  The  firm  has 
the  best  up-to-date  equipment  to  meet  the 
most  difficult  problems,  and  guarantees  satis- 
faction   at    moderate   rates. 

Packing  Pianos  and  Furniture  for 

Shipment  a  Specialty 

Fire-proof  Storage  Furnished 

TRY   THEM! 

Headquarters :  86-88  Turk  St. 

San  Francisco,   Cal. 


FOR  SALE 

Six  Cylinder     Five  Passenger 

PREMIER 

Perfect  Condition  Cost  $4200 

For  Sale  at  a  Bargain 

ADDRESS 

Box  100,  S.  F.  NEWS  LETTER 
259  Minna  Street 

San  Francisco,  California 


GOURAD'S  ORIENTAL  BEAUTY  LEAVES 

A  dainty  little  booklet  of  exquisitely  perfumed 
powdered  leaves  to  carry  in  the  purse.  A  handy 
article  for  all  occasions  to  quickly  improve  the 
complexion.  Sent  for  10  cents  in  stamps  or  coin. 
F.  T.  Hopkins,  37  Great  Jones  St.,  New  York. 


Book  on  Destroying  Hair 


New  Book  by  Prof.  Hayes.  A.  M.,  M.  D.,  lato  of  Woman  s 
Medical  College,   Chicago  ColleKe   of    Pharmacy,  etc.     Tells 
cause  and  cure  of  superfluous  hair  and  facial  disfigurements 
Non-technical.      Send  2  stamps  for  descriptive  matter. 

l)ept.L-6R,VERSII,E  FMUMIIIMI  CO.,  Riverside,  R.  k. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   When    Writing    Advertisers  xl 


Scientific  Dry  Farming 

Are  you  a  dry  farmer?  Are  you  interested  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  dry  farm?  Are  you  thinking  of  securing  a  home- 
stead or  of  buying  land  in  the  semi-arid  West  ?  In  any  case  you 
should  look  before  you  leap.  You  should  learn  the  principles 
that  are  necessary  to  success  in  the  new  agriculture  of  the  west. 
You  should 

Learn  the  Campbell  System 

Learn  the  Campbell  System  of  Soil  Culture  and  you  will  not 
fail.  Subscribe  for  Campbell's  Scientific  Farmer,  the  only  au- 
thority published  on  the  subject  of  scientific  soil  tillage,  then 
take  a  course  in  the  Campbell  Correspondence  School  of  Soil 
Culture,  and  you  need  not  worry  about  crop  failure.  Send  four 
cents  for  a  catalog  and  a  sample  copy  of  the  Scientific  Farmer. 

Address, 

Scientific  Soil   Culture   Co. 

BILLINGS,  MONTANA 


/when  thinking  of  going  east\ 

THINKOFTHE 

%            2  TRAINS  DAILY  ^^^^^^^^  Through  Standard  and 

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THE  I  "ill  "I1!    I  DAILY  TO 

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LIMITED                         WUBRHUEk  KANSAS  CITY        OMAHA 

am^  rur                   III  1 1 J  I  d  f  \M  And  All  Other  Points  East 

I 


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THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  FEATHER  RIVER  § 

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XII 


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Subscribe  for  the 

LIVING  AGE 


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H ALFTON  E 
ENGRAVINGS 


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The  halftone  engravings  that  have  appeared  in 
the  various  issues  of  the  Overland  Monthly  re- 
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Overland   Monthly 

259  MINNA  STREET  SAN  FRANCISCO 


The  Overland  Monthly 


Vol.  LXIX — Second  Series 
January- June   1917 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY  CO.,  Publishers 

259  MINNA  STREET  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


INDEX 

A    "BACK    TO    NATURE    MAID"            ....  EDITH  KINNEY  STELLMANN  89 

Illustrated. 

A  CALIFORNIA  DUVAL EUGENE  T.  SAWYER  37 

A    CONFIRMED    BACHELOR.      Story           .         .         .  JOSEPHINE  S.  SCHUPP  164 

A    CONVERT   TO    CONSCRIPTION        ....  ALBERT  LARSON  198 

A    KINDERGARTEN    OF   ROMANCE.      Story     .  WILL  McCRACKEN  141 

A  LETTER  FROM  THE  BOY L.  W.   HUNTINGTON  494 

A    PEACEFUL    PIRATE DELLA  PHILLIPS  327 

A    SIERRA    DELL.      Verse STANTON  ELLIOTT  504 

A  SOLDIER  OF  FRANCE.     Story          ....  ELSIE  McCORMICK  205 

A   STUDY   OF  JACK   LONDON    IN    HIS   PRIME  GEORGE   WHARTON   JAMES  361 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

A    TRIP    TO    DRAKE'S    BAY 536 

A   VISIT  WITH   JOSE  TORIBIO   MEDINA           .         .  CHAS.   E.    CHAPMAN,    Ph.   D.  •  477 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 

ACHIEVEMENT.      Verse           ....                .  JOE  WHITNAH  239 

AH-PURA-WAY EDNA   HILDEBRAND    PUTNAM        277 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

ARE   THERE  ANY  THRILLS   LEFT   IN    LIFE?         .  JACK   LONDON  432 

ARIZONA   ANN.      Verse GUNTHER  MILTON  KENNEDY       222 

AT    CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA.       Verse            .         .         .  HENRIETTA  C.  PENNY  283 
BOYHOOD    DAYS    ON    THE    BANKS    OF    THE 

SACRAMENTO   IN  THE  SEVENTIES         .         .  ROCKWELL  D.  HUNT  521 

CHINESE   FOOD  AND   RESTAURANTS       .         .         .  ALICE  A.  HARRISON  527 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

COMPENSATION.       Verse LANNIE  HAYNES  MARTIN  343 

COTTON    GROWING    UNDER    IRRIGATION    IN 

THE  SOUTHWEST           .         .         .  PERCY  L.  EDWARDS  501 

DARIUS  OGDEN    MILLS 87 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

DEVIL'S   POINT.      Story ALFRED  ERNEST  KEET  213 

DIES    IRAE.      Verse ROBERT   D.   WORK  132 

EDUCATING  THE   ALASKA  NATIVES       .         .         .  DAVID  GOVE  189 

Illustrated  from  Photographs. 

EL.  PASO   DE  ROBLES.     Verse              ....  BURTON  JACKSON  WYMAN  230 

ENEMIES.     Story PARNSWORTH  WRIGHT  156 

EXPERIENCES   OF  AN    OREGON    PIONEER             .  FRED  LOCKLEY  245 

Illustrated  from  a  Photograph. 

FOOTHILL    FALL                ELSINGRE  R.  CROWELL  149 

FROM     MANHATTAN.       Verse JAMES  NORMAN  HALL  335 


INDEX 


WH1TTIER   WELLMAN 


FRONTISPIECES: 

"Up   From   the   South.      Verse      Illustrated 

Scenes  from  Tahiti 

Photograph  of  D.  O.   Mills 

FRONTISPIECES— Pictures  of  Golden  Gate  Park 

FRONTISPIECES 

When  Darkness  Creeps  Over  the  Gallery.     Verse         EUGENE   AMMON 
Illustrated. 

Six  Views  of  California  Scenery 

Reindeer  Used  in  Hauling  the  Game  Killed  in   a    Winter    Hunt 
FRONTISPIECES: 

Six    Touring    Scenes    in    California 

Illustration    to    accompany    "Ah-Pura-Way" 

FRONTISPIECES: 

"To    Jack    London."      Verse.      Illustrated     .        .        GEORGE  STERLING 

Illustrations  to  ""accompany     Valley  of  the  Moon     Ranch     .... 

Illustration  to  accompany  a  Study  of  Jack  London    in    His   Prime 
FRONTISPIECES: 

Early  Summer  in  California       . 

Nearing     the     Summit 

Illustration  to  accompany  "The  Ruler  of  the  Range." 


GOLDEN    GATE    PARK  

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
GRACE   VERSUS   LAIRD.      Story  .... 

GUNS  OF  GALT.      Continued  story       .... 

An   Epic  of  the  Family. 
THE   GUNS  OF  GALT.      Continued   Story 
GUNS    OF    GALT        

Continued    Story. 
GUNS  OF  GALT.      Continued  Story       .... 

GUNS  OF  GALT.      Serial 

GUNS  OF  GALT.     Serial 

"IN    CITY   PENT."      Verse 

INDIAN    VS.   WHITE    MAN.      Story       .... 
IN  THE  REALM  OF  BOOKLAND  .  .      _»^— 

IN  THE  REALM  OF  BOOKLAND  .... 

IN    THE    SUN.       Verse 

JACK    LONDON.      Verse 

JACK  LONDON.     An  Appreciation.     Verse 
JACK    LONDON    ON    THE    GREAT    WAR 
JACK    LONDON'S   PLEA    FOR   THE   SQUARE    DEAL 
JACK    LONDON'S    RESIGNATION    FROM    THE 
SOCIALIST  PARTY 

L'AMOUR.      Verse  

LIFE    OF    PASTOR    RUSSELL 

LOST    HORSES.       Story 

LOVE    AND    THE    RAID.      Story  .... 

MANUEL    LISA 

MAXIMILIAN    I    OF   MEXICO 

Illustrated   from   Photographs. 
MAYBECK'S    MASTERPIECE.      Verse  . 

MISUSE.       Verse 

MRS.   JACK    LONDON'S   "LOG   OF  THE   SNARK"     . 
MRS.    JACK    LONDON'S    NEW    VIEWPOINT     . 

MY  COMMERCE.      Verse 

NO    QUESTIONS  ASKED.      Story  .... 

OREGON    WOMEN    IN    POLITICS  .... 

PASTOR  RUSSELL.     Verse  

PASTOR  RUSSELL'S  WRITINGS  TO  BE  CONTINUED 

PATERNITY.      Story 

PATHFINDERS  OF  '49.      Story 

PATIENCE,       Verse 

PATTY     REED  

PERSONAL    QUALITIES    OF    JACK    LONDON 

PICTURE   OF   JACK    LONDON 

PIONEER    EXPERIENCES   IN    CALIFORNIA     . 

Illustrated  from  photographs  and  Old  Prints. 

PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIONS  ON    FOODS   RICH 

IN    IRON  .... 

PROBLEMS     OF     MENTAL     AND     SPIRITUAL 

HEALING         .... 


RALPH  SPRINGER 

EPHRAIM  A.  ANDERSON 
DENISON  CLIFT 

DENISON  CLIFT 
DENISON  CLIFT 

DENISON  CLIPT 
DENISON  CLIPT 
DENISON  CLIFT 
VERNE  BRIGHT 
N.   K.   BUCK 


FRANCES  HATHAWAY 
VERA  HEATHMAN  COLE 
BERTON  BRALEY 


V 


STANTON  ELLIOTT 
E.  D.   STEWART 
R.   T.   CORYNDON 
OLIVE  COWLES  KERNS 
CARDINAL   GOODWIN 
EVELYN  HALL 


IDA  P.  PATTIANI 
MABEL  RICE  BIGLER 
BEATRICE    LANGDON 
L.   RUDIO   MARSHALL 
EVA  NAVONE 
WILLIAM  DE  RYEE 
FRED   LOCKLEY 
RUTH  E.   HENDERSON 

MARY  BLISS  WHITED 
MRS.  ALFRED  IRBY 
JO.   HARTMAN 
KATHERINE  W.  COOPER 
JOHN  D.   BARRY 


LELL    HAWLEY    WOOLLEY 


EVALINE  M.  KERR 


1 

2-7 

8 

93-100 

181 

182-187 
188 

270-275 
276 

357 

358-359 

360 

449-459 
460 

101 

216 
9 

117 
231 

315 

435 
284 
295 
325 
90 
181  • 
207 
160 
415 
434 
404 

446 
170 
126 
80 
336 
151 
240 

61 

249 

447 

400 

41 

146 

475 

56 

79 

505 

171 

155 

517 

431 

24 

66 


533 

306 


INDEX 


LATE   JACK    LONDON 


PROGRESS.       Verse 
RECOLLECTIONS   OF   THE 
REVERBERATION.      Verse 

SANG.     Story 

SOLDIER    POETS  .         .         . 

SOLITAIRE.      Verse 

SUNK.       Story 

SYMBOLISM.       Verse 

THE    AMERICANIZED    CHINESE   STUDENT 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

THE    BROOK.      Verse 

THE    DIVINE    PLAN    OF   THE   AGES 
THE    DIVINE    PLAN    OF   THE   AGES 
THE   DRIVING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SPIKE 
THE   DRUM    MAJOR.      Verse 
"THE   FALL   OF   BABYLON."      Story 
THE   FOREIGN   LEGION  .... 

THE   GOAD.      Verse 

THE  GOOD  WORD.      Story 

THE   GORGAS  OF  THE   PHILIPPINES       . 

THE   HIDDEN  SONG.     Verse 

THE    LATE    PASTOR    RUSSELL 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 
THE   MIRAGE.      Story       ..... 
THE   MISSION   OF  SANTA  CRUZ 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
THE  MUSE  OF  THE  LOCKED  DOOR.     Story 
THE    OFFERING.       Verse 
THE   OLD   REDWOOD   SPEAKETH.      Verse 
THE   PASSING  OF  A  ZEPPELIN 
THE    PROPHECY.      Story        .... 
THE    REAL  JACK    LONDON    IN    HAWAII 

Illustrated   from   photographs. 
THE    REMARKABLE    ELEPHANT   SEAL 

Illustrated  from  a  Photograph. 
THE   RULER  OF  THE   RANGE        . 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
THE    SOLDIER.       Verse             .... 
SON   OF  THE  WOLF.      Story       . 
SONG.      Verse 


THE 
THE 
THE 
THE 


Continued  Story 


SPIRIT   OF   '49.      Verse 
STORM    KING.      Verse 
THE  STORY  OF  THE    MIRACLE 

Continued  story. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIRACLE. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIRACLE 

Continued   Story. 
THE    STORY    OF    THE    MIRACLE.      Concluded 
THE    SUPREME    TRAGEDY.      Verse 
THE   TERRIBLE    TURK 
THE  THRESHOLD  OF   FATE.      Story 
THE  TREND  OF   EVENTS 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON   RANCH 

Illustrated   from    photographs. 
THE  WIT  OF  DON  JOSE.     Story 
THREE  YEARS  A  CAPTIVE  AMONG  INDIANS 

Illustrated  from   photographs. 
TO   ABRAHAM    LINCOLN.      Verse 

TO  JACK.      Verse 

TO  THE  MAN  ON  THE  TRAIL       . 

A  Klondike  Christmas  Story. 
TO  THE  OLD  STAGE   DRIVER.      Verse 
TRAGEDY    OF    THE    DONNER    PARTY 

Illustrated   from    sketches. 
TROUBLES   OF   AN    AERIAL   SCOUT 
VIA   THE   STRAITS   OF    MAGELLAN 
WAS    IT   A    DREAM?      Verse 
WM.    ROWLANDS,    CALIFORNIA    PIONEER 

Illustrated  from  a  photograph. 
YOUTH    NEVER    GOES    UNTIL    WE    THRUST 
HIM   OUT.      Verse 


M.  C. 

EDGAR   LUCIEN   LARKIN 
R.  R.  GREENWOOD 
LUCY  FORMAN  LINDSAY 
LORING  SEAVERS 
WILLIAM  DeRYEE 
RALPH  N.   VARDEN 

A.  E. 

FRANK  B.  LENZ 

ELIZABETH  REYNOLDS 
(The  Late)   PASTOR  RUSSELL 
(The  Late)   PASTOR  RUSSELL 
BERNETTA  A.  ATKINSON 
LLEWELLYN  B.   PECK 
CHARLES   OLIVER 
ANSLEY  HASTINGS 
LANNIE  HAYNES  MARTIN 

B.  C.  CABLE 
MARIAN  TAYLOR 
MARY    CAROLYN    DAVIES 
J.   F.   RUTHERFORD 


charles  w.  pettit 
robert  cosmo  harding 

elsie  Mccormick 
arthur  wallace  peach 
c.  e.  barnes 
lewis  r.  freeman 
lora  d.  patterson 
mae  lacy  baggs 

lillian  e.  zeh 

clarence  cullimore 

dorothy  de  jagers 
jack  london 
mary  carolyn  davies 
mabel  rice  bigler 
eugenia  lyon  dow 
otto  von  geldern 

otto  von  geldern 
otto  von  geldern 

ctto  von  geldern 

arthur  powell 

h.  ahmed  noureddin  addis 

edith  hecht 

cornett  stark 

bailey  millard 

randal  charlton 
j.  a.  leeman,  m.  d. 

jo  hartman 
juan  l.  kennon 
jack  london 

lucien  m.  lewis 
alice  stevens 

william  palmer 

james  w.  milne 

burton  jackson  wyman 

bertha  m.  payne 

edward  h.  s.  terry 


500 
433 
169 

57 
514 

49 
352 
331 
284 

291 
425 
538 
255 
314 
109 
53 
212 
257 
247 
253 
296 

510 
292 

50 
493 
513 
262 
332 
405 

242 

461 

483 
416 
150 
268 
140 
42 

133 

223 

344 

174 
30 
161 
250 
411 

208 
466 

244 
36 

25 

52 
62 

303 

175 
526 

535 

509 


BACK  EAST 
EXCURSIONS 


SALE  DATES : 

June  1,2,11,12,16,17,26,27,30 
July  1,2,  16,  17,24,25,31 
August  1,  14,  15,  28,  29 
September  4,  5 


SOME     FARES: 

(DIRECT  ROUTES) 

Denver,  Pueblo  $  62.50 

Omaha,  Kansas  City 67.50 

Dallas,  Houston,  San  Antonio.  . .  70.00 

New  Orleans,  Memphis,  St.  Louis  77.50 

Chicago    80.00 

Minneapolis,  St.  Paul 84.45 

Washington,  D.  C,  Baltimore 116.00 

New  York,  Philadelphia 118.20 

Boston  120.20 

Proportionately  low  fares  to  many  other 
points. 

Going  Limit — 15  days;  Return  Limit — 
3  mos.  from  date  of  sale  (but  not  later 
than  Oct.  31.)  STOPOVERS:  Going- 
east  of  California  state  line ;  Returning — 
at  all  points.    See  Agents. 


Southern   Pacific 

Write  for  folder  on  the  Apache  Trail  of  Arizona 


P; 


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