The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE
WIDE WORLD
MAGAZINE

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE

ADVENTURE TRAVEL CUSTOMS AND SPORT

Vol. XXII.
OCTOBER TO MARCH
1909

"TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION"

LONDON:
GEORGE NEWNES, LTD.
SOUTHAMPTON ST.
STRAND

INDEX.

GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., SOUTHAMPTON STREET AND EXETER STREET, STRAND. W.C.

"HE HELD UP THE DILIGENCE ON ITS WAY TO THE VILLAGE OF VILLAMARTIN."

SEE PAGE [4].

The Wide World Magazine

Vol. XXII. OCTOBER, 1908. No. 127.

El Vivillo, the Brigand.

By Jose Mondego, of Madrid.

After close on twenty years of warfare with the police, alternated by brief spells of imprisonment and daring escapes, the notorious Spanish brigand known as "El Vivillo" has recently been laid by the heels for what is hoped to be the last time. Below will be found an account of the outlaw's exciting career, written by a Spanish journalist thoroughly familiar with the facts.

Few of the "blood and thunder" novels that have fired the imaginations of lovers of the sensational have dealt with so interesting and, at the same time, so fascinating a scoundrel as El Vivillo, an Andalusian bandit, who was recently arrested in Buenos Ayres, Argentine. At the moment of writing he lies imprisoned, under a very heavy guard, in the penal prison at Cadiz, but no one who knows anything about his career and his extraordinary capacity for wriggling out of difficulties expects that he will remain within the four walls of his jail very long. It is freely hinted in high circles in Madrid that the hearts of many fair and influential ladies of Sunny Spain have been lost to the daring desperado, and that their owners will move heaven and earth to secure his release.

EL VIVILLO, THE NOTORIOUS SPANISH BRIGAND.

From a Photograph.

Despite his life of crime and undoubted viciousness, El Vivillo has been the favourite hero of the youth of his country for more than eighteen years. This is not his first term behind prison bars; but all attempts to keep him there long have hitherto proved unsuccessful. Either by the expenditure of money in large sums, the influence of those in high places, or his own genius as a jail-breaker, he has walked out apparently when he pleased.

Like most heroes, either of fiction or reality, El Vivillo seems to have borne a charmed life. Of the reckless band of lawless characters he led during his eighteen years as premier "knight of the road," El Vivillo, with one exception, is the only one still alive. All the others have fallen in skirmishes with that very excellent and sure-shooting body of mounted police, the Civil Guards. El Vivillo's sole fellow-survivor of those strenuous times is Pajarita, his lieutenant, who is now undergoing a sentence of ninety-one years' penal servitude in Cordova prison. Pajarita yields only to his chief in his record of rascality.

A halo of romance has grown up around El Vivillo and his band. According to the general opinion among the ignorant Spaniards of the countryside, he is a sort of second Robin Hood, robbing the rich to assist the poor. Some of the stories which are told of him, and on which this view is based, are undoubtedly true, but the great majority of them are woven out of thin air by imaginative newspaper writers.

El Vivillo was born in the Andalusian town of Estepa as long ago as 1865. As a very young boy he acquired a remarkable dexterity with cards, and it was through the constant exercise of this talent that he earned the nickname by which he has always been known, to the exclusion of his family "handle." El Vivillo translated into English means "Lively Little One," and from all accounts the future bandit was a particularly "lively" youth. His parents appear to have been honest, simple folks, and made a real effort to train him for a commercial career. He was sent to Cordova to serve an apprenticeship in a business house, but his employer soon bundled him back home again because of his unruly ways. He then remained under the paternal roof until he reached the age of twenty-three, when both his parents died, and he inherited a small fortune.

THE HOUSE AT ESTEPA WHERE EL VIVILLO WAS BORN.

From a Photograph.

El Vivillo immediately started out to "paint the town red." His one idea seems to have been to get rid of his fortune in record time, and so successful was he that in two years he was penniless. At this embarrassing point in his career he fell violently in love with the girl who afterwards became his wife. She was a beautiful, dark-eyed lass, named Dolores Gomez, and had hosts of admirers. What she saw in El Vivillo to admire it is hard to say—indeed, what the scores of women who afterwards lost their hearts to the bold rascal saw in him it is equally difficult to discover. He is to-day a burly, ruddy-complexioned man, with distinctly vulgar and repulsive features, and it does not seem possible that he could ever have been attractive to feminine eyes. His manner is harsh and over-bearing, and he feels, and makes no bones about expressing, a supreme contempt for the softer passions of the heart.

With his fortune dissipated El Vivillo was in no condition to contemplate immediate marriage. He decided to remove the financial obstacle in the shortest, quickest, and easiest way. After an unsuccessful attempt to turn his skill with the cards to advantage at the Municipal Casino of his home town, he threw in his lot with a band of smugglers. The future bandit's ingenuity and nimble wit soon made him a favourite with the majority of his fellow-contrabandists, but they also aroused the jealousy of one of the leaders, nicknamed Lobo (Wolf). The latter was renowned for his dexterity with the dagger, and he took an early opportunity of attempting to prove to the newcomer that his fame in that respect was well deserved. One evening, when the members of the band were celebrating an especially successful day's work in a café in Estepa, a quarrel broke out between El Vivillo and Lobo over a game of cards. At the latter's suggestion it was decided to determine the merits of the dispute with the knife, so the two men adjourned to the street, where there was more room and a larger audience. Heated with wine, the combatants drew their long daggers, wrapped their coats around their free arms, and set to. A large crowd gathered and cheered the fighters. Much to his surprise, Lobo discovered that his opponent knew a trick or two about the use of the knife that he himself had failed to learn, and to the astonishment of the spectators, after a particularly lively mêlée, El Vivillo finally ran him through the heart with a well-directed thrust. Before he had an opportunity to get out of town El Vivillo was arrested and thrown into prison. But that mysterious personage, the influential friend, came to his assistance, and he was shortly at large again.

Instead of reforming him, this experience only seemed to strengthen El Vivillo in his career of lawlessness. Soon after his release he took to the countryside as a bandit, and rapidly organized one of the most famous bands of brigands that have ever infested that country.

From this point in his life it is difficult to trace El Vivillo's progress clearly. Various crimes attributed to him were undoubtedly committed by other men of inferior calibre. On the other hand, he was able to escape punishment for many outrages which there is no doubt that he committed, by establishing remarkably clever alibis. On one occasion, for instance, he held up the diligence on its way to the village of Villamartin. After safely hiding his spoils, the bandit, by means of a relay of horses which had been provided in advance, galloped to a favourite retreat forty miles away in an incredibly short space of time. There—apparently in an intoxicated condition—he showed himself to a posse of the Civil Guard. Later, he was arrested on suspicion and tried for the crime, but his cleverly-contrived alibi proved too much for the officers of the law to combat, and he was triumphantly acquitted.

Among the outrages definitely fastened upon El Vivillo are the sacking of a mansion at Torredonjimino, when he secured more than twenty thousand dollars; the seizure of an Andalusian millionaire on the high road to Anteguera, when the bandit shot three servants who attempted to defend their employer's property; and another highway robbery between Cabra and Priego, on which occasion the bandit was captured and placed in prison at the latter town, escaping, as usual, after two days' confinement.

THE SPANISH TOWN OF SETENIL, THE SCENE OF SOME OF EL VIVILLO'S MOST DARING EXPLOITS.

From a photograph.

Another exploit of El Vivillo occurred between Setenil and Villamartin. A wealthy landowner named Don Pedro Guzman was travelling towards the latter town, accompanied by his steward, when they were held up by El Vivillo's band on horseback and forced to dismount. They were ordered to throw their guns on the ground, and the bandits made a search of their persons, relieving the master of thirty-eight thousand Spanish reals in bank-notes and some cash—money which was destined for the purchase of live stock at the annual fair at Villamartin.

Master and man were then seated upon the ground with their elbows tied together at a spot hidden from the road. There they remained in their uncomfortable posture from ten o'clock in the morning until two in the afternoon, during which time the brigands "bagged" seven other travellers, also going to the Villamartin fair and all carrying considerable sums of money. The bandits then rode away, leaving their disconsolate victims to untie themselves as best they could.

In Estepa, his native town, El Vivillo has been several times imprisoned, usually for horse-stealing, but he invariably managed to escape in some extraordinary manner. Some four years ago his wife was suspected of maintaining secret correspondence with him. She was imprisoned, and remained under lock and key for eighteen months. It was subsequently proved that during all this time El Vivillo, although a fugitive from justice, had managed to visit her in jail whenever he pleased. An investigation was made, but it has never been discovered how he arranged it.

When El Vivillo went into hiding he employed an ingenious stratagem to put his pursuers off the scent. He would address letters to various well-known people of Andalusia and, enclosing them to Algiers or Tangier, would cause them to be sent to their destination, bearing, of course, French stamps and post-office marks. This ruse effectually convinced inquisitive police officials that El Vivillo was really out of the country.

Many anecdotes are told of the famous bandit. There is one that illustrates his kindness to the poor. Entering a farm-house not far from Setenil, one day, with the intention of robbing the inmates, he found the family in great distress. Times had been very hard with them. Cattle had strayed or been lost or stolen; the excessively dry season had almost ruined the crops and vines, and for some time they had been behind-hand with the rent. Now they were finally threatened with expulsion on the following morning if the amount due to the landlord—some ten pounds—was not forthcoming.

Greatly attached to their home, and absolutely without hope of raising even a peseta towards the sum required, the farmer and his family were sitting round the open fireplace in dumb despair. Careful of the duties of hospitality, however, they offered the stranger bread and a skin of rough, red wine to satisfy his appetite. El Vivillo, on discovering the cause of their unhappiness, declared that he, the next morning, would bring them the sum of money they so much stood in need of. Jumping into the saddle, he rode to the landlord's house and, placing a pistol to the man's head, forced him to hand over ten pounds—neither more nor less. Riding safely away he returned to the poor farmer, and thrusting the money into the astonished man's hand, went off chuckling over the knowledge that the landlord's rent would be punctually paid with his own money.

"HE FORCED HIM TO HAND OVER TEN POUNDS."

Perhaps the most daring of El Vivillo's exploits, however, was his robbing of his old enemies, the Civil Guard themselves, single-handed. He learnt that on a certain day a pair of them were going to bring a large sum in specie into Seville. Riding out into the country, he entered the posada where the two officers were about to commence their midday meal. He got into conversation with them, and they finally invited him to share their repast. El Vivillo proved himself a delightful table companion, and the two officers of the law congratulated themselves upon meeting such a good fellow. Their awakening was a rude one, therefore, when the bandit pulled out a brace of revolvers and said: "I am El Vivillo; kindly hand over the money in those two bags." The guards were helpless, and had the mortification of seeing their guest ride away in safety with his booty.

The bandit once escaped what appeared to be certain capture by remarkable coolness and presence of mind. While he was seated with some friends in a house in Setenil, playing the national card game, "tute," one of his numerous protégés ran into the room with the alarming news that the Civil Guard were approaching the house bent upon his capture. His companions offered all kinds of advice—he must hide under a pile of sheep-skins lying in the corner, he must drop out of a rear window, he must climb out upon the roof and lie quietly hidden there, and so on. El Vivillo, however, begged them to be quite at ease and continue their interrupted game as if nothing were about to happen. Descending the staircase he opened the front door and came face to face with a patrol of the Civil Guard. They inquired whether he had seen El Vivillo. In a firm voice he replied that he had—that he had even been playing cards with him, but that, half an hour before, the bandit had ridden off to a neighbouring village. The officers dashed off in hot haste in the direction indicated, but, needless to say, did not succeed in capturing El Vivillo on that occasion.

A DETACHMENT OF THE CIVIL GUARD WHICH WAS STATIONED AT SETENIL, AND WAS SEVERAL TIMES ENGAGED WITH EL VIVILLO AND HIS BAND.

From a Photograph.

The brigand's family is composed of five children—two sons and three daughters. One of the former is married, and resides in Estepa. The three girls—Dolores, Carmen, and Consuelo—are noted beauties, with the voluptuous figure, dark hair, eyes, and complexion that have made Andalusian women famous. They all speak French correctly—an unusual accomplishment in the children of a Spanish brigand; and in their small but comfortably furnished house in Estepa there is a piano, a luxury for Spain, which the second daughter plays with exceptional ability.

Expelled by the police to Gibraltar last November, the children took steamer to Buenos Ayres, and so unwittingly caused the Spanish authorities to suspect that El Vivillo, who was badly wanted, was in hiding there. Information was sent to the Spanish Legation in the Argentine capital, and a few days after the arrival of his family El Vivillo was prosaically arrested at a ranch tenanted by him at the village of Ensenada, near La Plata.

That misplaced admiration of, and sympathy for, those accused of crime is not confined to the fair sex of any one country is proved by the treatment El Vivillo has received since his arrest. While he was in jail at Buenos Ayres he received hundreds of letters of commiseration from women, many containing offers of assistance and money. It is said that he amassed a tidy sum by charging five dollars apiece for his autographs, which were in great demand among the Spanish señoritas of the South American city.

A WALRUS-HUNT IN THE ARCTIC.

By David Gove.

A graphic account, illustrated by some very striking photographs, describing an expedition in quest of walrus amid the ice-packs of the Alaskan coast. "So far as I know," writes the author, "these are the only snap-shots of the walrus in existence."

The scene was the beach at Nome, Alaska, on an unusually warm day towards the close of the winter of 1907. The ice had loosened its grip upon the shore, and was drifting lazily in the roadstead; the sudden spell of warm weather made it appear old, dirty, and rotten. I was looking out over the broken pack, when suddenly I caught sight of a black speck about five miles to the south-west. Noting that the keeper of the life-saving station had his glasses to his eyes observing the object, I inquired: "Is that a boat from the outside?"

"No," he replied; "it is the gasoline schooner Witch. Some people have been out in her for a walrus-hunt."

I made haste to the mouth of the river to meet the party, and see what the fruits of this unique expedition had been. The boat tied up to a large cake of ice that lay aground in the mouth of the river. The first man to come ashore I recognised as Mr. B.B. Dobbs, of the Nome Moving Picture Company, and he appeared to be in a very bad temper.

"Good morning, Dobbs," said I. "Have you seen any walrus?"

"No, we have not seen any walrus," he growled, "although we have been looking for them for twenty-four hours. We got thirty miles beyond the shore-ice when a gale sprang up, and the little boat became so lively that I have had a dickens of a time trying to keep my inside in. Here, take my camera and come with me to get some refreshments."

When he had in a measure recovered himself Dobbs continued the conversation. "Now, listen to me," he said. "I must have a cinematograph picture of the walrus. You are a better sailor than I am, so I want you to take the picture for me."

"Yes," I replied; "but how about finding the walrus?"

"Why, just go and hunt for them; I will pay you well for it. The boat is chartered, and you can sail this evening."

The thirst of the wild was on me, so I determined to add walrus-hunting to my list of Arctic adventures, particularly as I could combine business with pleasure. I thought that if we could locate the animals it would be a sight never to be forgotten, and would also be a splendid ending to the monotony of an Arctic winter.

That evening seven Eskimos piled their guns and spears into the boat, and everything was in readiness to start, but we needed a skipper to command the vessel. Accordingly I hurried up the beach to find some old salt to take charge, but the camp was deserted. Scarcely a man was to be seen in the streets; everybody was busy shovelling gravel into the sluice-boxes, for this was the season of harvesting gold in Alaska. Out on the creeks and along the ancient pay-streaks men were digging for gold; the only males left in the town were a few store-keepers, bar-keepers, and a pack of well-fed lawyers. I had bethought myself of Dick Byers, an old sea-rover in the Arctic, and I found him sitting in a wheelbarrow near the Breakers Saloon, his head pillowed upon his knees, dozing. "Halloa, Dick, do you want work?" I asked. "I want you to go on a walrus-hunt with me, and I will give you twenty-five dollars for twenty-four hours of your service."

THE AUTHOR, MR. D. GOVE, IN ARCTIC COSTUME.

From a Photograph.

He accepted my offer, and I got him aboard the boat dressed in his sealskin breeches and deerskin "parka." The ice had no terrors for this man: he had sailed the Arctic in whale-ships and with exploring expeditions until he believed cruising amongst the floes to be an ideal occupation.

We were soon out over the bar, though some little difficulty was experienced in getting past the large floes of shore ice that were floating in the roadstead. We did not unfurl the sails, for the atmosphere was still, the water being smooth and glassy in appearance; but the little boat was well engined, and cut along swiftly until the shore and the bald mountain-tops sank beyond the range of vision. It was now ten-thirty, and the sun was setting in streaky clouds. I felt restless, and thought a few hours of sleep might refresh me for the morrow. There seemed nothing to keep me on deck; Jim Flynn, the engineer, was gesticulating to one of the Eskimos, discussing the direction in which to look for walrus, while others were cleaning rifles, repairing harpoons, and chattering in their weird jargon. I crawled down into the hold, rolled myself into a piece of canvas, and bade the world good-night.

The next thing I knew was Flynn dragging me out from beneath the canvas. Arrived on deck, I saw some black specks on the ice. "They're walrus, right enough," said Flynn; "I can see their two white teeth hanging down." Closer and closer we got, until the creatures were plainly discernible and their discordant groaning and bellowing filled the air. The noise was like a thousand cattle, but the lowing was deeper and in a lower key.

I stood there spellbound, for such a panorama of uncouth animals, lying in compact masses as far as the eye could see, I had never beheld before. They presented a curious sight, their breath exhausting from their nostrils in clouds of steam, and they appeared to take little or no notice of the approaching boat. It was now the midnight twilight; on the northern horizon the rays from both the setting and the rising sun were strangely intermingled. With the boat still moving gently ahead, the skipper became so enraptured with the sight that he let the Witch bump into a piece of ice with such force that she started a seam in the starboard side and soon began to leak, though not seriously. Meanwhile the old Eskimo leader was strutting along the deck puffing at his big brass pipe as a solace for his growing excitement. Presently he ordered the oomiak (skin boat) to be brought alongside and the hunting paraphernalia to be placed therein.

The Eskimos, sitting in the boat ready for the fray, whined like so many coyotes, levelling their guns and trying their sights, while they waited in anxious expectancy for the word to start. The sun was rising under a black cloud, and there was not yet enough actinic light for me to take my photographs. While we waited the natives grew angry with me for not commencing the attack, but still I delayed.

Dick put the binocular to his eyes and scanned each herd in turn, the animals lying upon the ice in solid masses.

"There's not a female in the bunch," he announced. "Just a lot of love-sick bulls drifting towards the Arctic."

"Why don't they live with the females and help to look after the young?" asked Flynn.

"They are not like the polygamous seal, with his harem of twelve to fifteen wives," said the skipper, who was a surprisingly well-spoken man. "The walrus has one wife a season, with whom he lives upon the ice-floes. Sometimes they go ashore, climbing up the rocks and rolling in the green grass and fresh water; then they go back to the sea again. The young one is born in the month of May or June, upon the ice. Then the females, with the youngsters, separate from the bulls and migrate north until they reach the great permanent ice-pack. Those bulls that you see form the rear-guard of the annual migration."

THE FIRST HERD OF WALRUS SIGHTED—THE ANIMAL WITH UPRAISED HEAD IS THE SENTRY.

From a Photograph.

"What do they use their tusks for?" I inquired.

"They are used for fighting the Polar bear, but their principal use is when they dive down to the bed of the ocean, where they dig up clams and mussels out of the mud; bivalves and sea-urchins form their chief food. Their numbers have been greatly diminished in late years, for nothing can escape the wasteful slaughter of man with his scientific weapons of destruction. The natives, with their primitive weapons, did not do much damage, but modern rifles may cause their extermination. But for their inaccessibility the walrus would have vanished like the buffalo—only his impenetrable haunts save him from extinction."

Presently Dick and I launched the dory, and paddled close to the nearest herd. This afforded me a splendid opportunity to study those denizens of the ice-pack in their native haunts. We crawled over the ice to within thirty feet of where the huge brutes lay, unconscious of our presence.

"Don't make a noise," said Dick. "The one on this side is the sentry—he is on the qui vive, but I do not think he sees us. If he does, he is careless of our proximity."

At this moment one of the walrus began to perform some acrobatic feats in the water. These concluded, he attempted to get up on the ice. He had only one tusk, and using this like a boat-hook, tried to pull his unsymmetrical bulk up on to the floes. But trouble arose immediately. The sentry challenged his right to advance, raising his ponderous body to prepare for combat. His skin was wrinkled in heavy folds, covered with innumerable wounds, and he looked like the veteran of many battles. Roaring hoarsely, until his fat body swelled with exertion and rage, he plunged his tusks into the interloper's face, and forced him to retire.

The sentinel seemed proud of this victory, for he raised himself up and gave a great roar of satisfaction. Then he threw himself down upon his icy bed, rolled over upon his back, and, using his flippers like a dipper, threw the water over his body, as if attending to his morning toilet.

Presently an ice-raft with about twenty walrus on board went drifting slowly past us. The weight of the animals' bodies was so great that the ice was completely submerged, and the walrus looked as if they were lying upon the surface of the water.

THE ESKIMOS ADVANCING UPON THE WALRUS.

From a photograph.

"Unfortunate brutes," said Dick. "This will be a sorry day for you when the sun gets out! But here, my boy"—he turned quickly to me—"it's time you started your game; the light is here."

A FEW OF THE VICTIMS.

From a photograph.

The Eskimos were now coming towards us in their skin boat, paddling with muffled strokes. I put my Kodak in my pocket, got the cinematograph out, and we crawled to the lee side of fifty walrus, where I stole up to within thirty feet of where they lay, looking for all the world like a herd of great swine. Some of them were fighting; the rest lay still, with their heads pillowed upon one another. I arranged my picture machine and wound up the film, recording every movement they made. The six Eskimos then advanced with stealthy pace between me and the walrus. Simultaneously six rifles cracked, and fifty grizzly faces rose up and glared at the intruders. I kept on winding up the film, recording this extraordinary scene. Six more shots, and four of the huge brutes fell dead. The whole herd was now aroused, and never in my life have I seen such a sight. The clumsy animals made for the water, but the bullets flew fast, and presently three more fell, while with many a flop, hitch, and straddle the others wallowed off the ice—the clumsiest living creatures that ever attempted to walk. In the water, however, they were in their element, swimming with the grace and ease of a porpoise. Six mountains of heaving flesh lay upon the ice. One gave a lurch as though trying to roll into the water, but one of the natives fired a bullet into his brain, and a stream of blood from the wound spouted three feet into the air.

"THE WALRUS CAME BACK SLOWLY, TWISTING THEIR NECKS CURIOUSLY, AS IF TRYING TO COURT OUR ACQUAINTANCE."

From a Photograph.

The Eskimos believe in the effect of the human voice upon their prey, and when the walrus rolled into the sea they started grunting a strange guttural sound, "Huk—huk—huk."

While I watched, fascinated, the walrus came back slowly, twisting their rubber-like necks curiously, as if trying to court our acquaintance. Several shots were fired at them, but none hit a vital spot, though the beasts emitted weird sounds as they disappeared beneath the water. They came into view again at the back of the ice-floe, bellowing and roaring; their uncouth noises rang from floe to floe, and from every cake of ice within sight awakened monsters plunged in alarm. The sea became literally alive with them, and we soon became the centre of a herd of at least four hundred walrus, their grizzly heads bobbing up all round us—the long, white tusks gleaming conspicuously against their dark breasts. The ice-world that had been so still was now a roaring commotion of animals, tearing in frenzy through the water, curious and terror-stricken. Their unearthly yells filled the air with trembling echo.

"THE ICE-WORLD THAT HAD BEEN SO STILL WAS NOW A ROARING COMMOTION OF ANIMALS, TEARING IN FRENZY THROUGH THE WATER."

From a Photograph.

When the natives had given thanks to their gods for bringing plenty of walrus, they cut the heads off their prizes (for the ivory) and secured about three tons of the flesh for their families on shore. Then, in the launch, we started for the next herd that lay undisturbed, leaving the first mob to settle down again.

There were twelve walrus lying upon this floe, covering it from rim to rim. My picture-taking and shooting had to be done from the skin boat. I had my Kodak ready, and as the Eskimos leaned over the gunwale of the boat and took aim I "snapped" my pictures just as fast as they could shoot, making my exposures without a moment's hesitation, without the slightest regard for background, foreground, shadows, or anything else. Two of the walrus fell dead upon the ice-floe, and another arose in the water close to the boat, the blood streaming from his head. Two shots were fired, and a spear was launched into his body with a rope attached to keep him from sinking. He was soon pulled alongside, his head cut off, and his body allowed to sink to the bottom of the sea.

A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN FROM THE ESKIMO SKIN-BOAT.

From a Photograph.

Presently the old native leader saw a very large walrus fast asleep; it had wonderfully long tusks, and he set out to dispatch the monster by the primitive method used by his forefathers. He carried a spear about five feet long, with a rope of walrus hide attached to an inflated sealskin. Hanging the rope in a coil around his neck, he crawled upon his stomach with the stealth of a cat, until he got within three feet of where the animal lay. I expected to see him poise and throw the shaft, but instead he rammed it with all his force into the walrus's body. The creature started, turned its head round, and glared at him. Then the enormous mass of flesh arose, and with a few spasmodic jumps made for the water in a hobbling canter. With the spear stuck in his side and his splay feet working like paddles upon the ice, he rolled off the floe like a sack of wool, floundering and plunging wildly. At first he pulled the bladder under the surface of the water, but his great strength soon failed him, and the bladder appeared floating on the water. One of the natives, a boy about fifteen years, was out in the boat watching for him, and when he poked his head above the surface to breathe the lad shot him and hauled him alongside. At this stage of the hunt we all went back to the launch for lunch, and also to give our quarry time to recuperate. The menu consisted of one five-gallon can filled with walrus meat. The natives took large strips of the half-cooked marine beef, and with their hands forced as much of it into their mouths as the opening would contain. Then, with a knife they cut it off close to their lips. Dick was sitting on his haunches picking out the lean pieces and devouring it like a native, and I received a hearty invitation to join them in this Arctic banquet. I did try to eat a morsel, but without success—not only the odour of the meat but the mode of eating was repulsive to my taste. After the meal the slaughter continued until midnight. At dawn the sun arose in a mass of dangerous-looking red clouds; to the south the murky clouds hung low. The ice began to roll uneasily, and was soon pounding against the sides of the vessel. Dick jumped on deck and viewed the angry aspect of the weather.

FIRING AT THE WALRUS ON THE FLOE.

From a Photograph.

SOME OF THE TROPHIES—EIGHTY TUSKS WERE THE RESULT OF THE TRIP.

From a Photograph.

A WALRUS SKULL—THE BRAIN IS LOCATED TWELVE INCHES BACK FROM THE FOREHEAD, AT THE POINT INDICATED BY A CROSS.

From a Photograph.

"We are on the fringe of a south-easter," he exclaimed. "Let's scoot."

He set the course for Nome, all sails were bent to the wind, and the engine throbbed eagerly as the little vessel tore onwards with her port scuppers awash. I looked astern, but the scene of our carnage was already fading in the distance. Faintly I heard the wailing monotones of the walrus leaders calling their scattered herds together, and mourning the loss that had so suddenly befallen them. The wind was moaning through the rigging as we flew before the coming storm, and we left the tenants of the ice-fields slowly flitting north.

Eighty tusks were the result of our trip, together with a splendid moving picture of those strange animals.

We arrived in Snake River just in time to escape the coming storm. Some of the chechacos (newcomers, green-horns) came down to watch us, and gazed in astonishment at the ivory and the few heads which hung over the bow of the boat.

"Are them elephants?" one old gentleman whispered to Dick.

"Yes," said the skipper, gravely—"elephants of the sea." Then he turned and walked back to the Breakers. And so ended our walrus-hunt.

SPORTING STORIES.

A further batch of breezy little narratives—exciting, humorous, and curious—detailing the adventures of sportsmen in various parts of the world.

IV.—CORKER'S ALLIGATOR.

By Frank E. Verney.

There were four of us on the bungalow veranda. Behind us, grim and gaunt in the glow of the Southern Cross, rose the Blue Mountains; out ahead, six miles away, twinkled the lights of Kingston Harbour; whilst around us, from the profusion of tropical flowers, jewelled with flitting fireflies, came sweet incense and insects of a painfully inquisitive turn of mind.

It was not the charm of the night or the assaults of the mosquitoes that held our attention, however, but the prospect of an alligator-hunt on the morrow, led by the redoubtable Corker,[1] our host, who, under the influence of plentiful potions of "planters' punch" and the presence of two unsophisticated "subs" of the West India Regiment, had been telling us tales of mighty deeds done in obtaining the trophies which now covered his walls.

[1] For obvious reasons I have altered the real names of the parties concerned.—The Author.

THE BUNGALOW FROM WHICH THE AUTHOR AND HIS COMPANIONS STARTED OUT ON THEIR SHOOTING TRIP.

From a Photograph.

There was no planter in Jamaica to compare with Corker as a hunter—certainly there was none who could show so many pelts and heads; and if some of his stories were rather "tall," many of them had a strong basis of fact, as evidenced by the size of the "bags" which always accompanied his return from a shooting trip. As Jamaica itself contains no big game other than alligator, one has to go to the adjoining American continent for this class of shooting; and this fact formed the assailable spot in Corker's reputation, for there were those on the island who hinted darkly of New York naturalists, and suggested that literature lost a great light when Corker became a planter.

Anyhow, I refrained from intruding such rude remarks on the peace of our party out of respect for the feelings of my host and consideration for the enthusiasm of his other two listeners.

After Corker had told his customary concluding yarn, we fell to discussing where on Corker's walls could space be found to accommodate the alligator hides he, with us to help him, was about to secure.

The next morning we tumbled from under our mosquito-nets and, after a hasty breakfast, made a start. Corker had already sent on our arms, which, in addition to our shooting impedimenta and flaying-knives, consisted of a case of soda-water, a block of swathed ice, and two bottles of what Corker called "milk," to neutralize the effects of the swamp for which we were bound.

Mounting our native ponies, we rode down through the plantation by a short cut. Through tobacco fields and fields of guinea grass as high as our saddles, and down hill-sides as steep as the roof of a house, dodging palms and banana trees en route, our ponies took us, never faltering or making a false step, until, after a three-mile ride, we arrived at Constant Spring. At this place we sent back our mounts and did the remaining six miles into Kingston on an up-to-date electric tram-car.

Through the hot, dusty suburbs, past crowds of native women on their way to market, their heads laden with produce, their bare feet padding the scorched road, past dismantled residences with walls torn asunder by the earthquake of a year ago, into the stricken city of Kingston itself our car carried us, until at length we reached the harbour-side and inhaled deep breaths of the grand breeze which comes across the Caribbean Sea.

MR. VERNEY, THE AUTHOR.

From a Photograph.

By eleven o'clock we had ourselves and our gear, together with two black boys, stowed away in a large, open boat. Hoisting our sail, we were soon bowling over the blue waters of Kingston Bay on the way to alligatordom, the cooling breeze tempering the fierce sun-glare.

As usual, Corker was busy describing his phenomenal capacity for conquering the beasts of the field, and would permit no silent revelry in the beauty and joy of the scene. Sitting in the bows of the boat, playing cup and ball with a tumbler and its contents, he gave us innumerable hints as to the best way of stalking alligators, illustrating the success of his methods with several modest stories of what he had achieved at the very spot to which we were bound. I had shot "crocs" myself on the Indian Sunderbunds, but I offered no supplementary yarns, for I knew that Corker could easily cap anything I might say.

However, by the time we had imbibed about as much advice as we could comfortably hold without confusion, we rounded the western point of the bay and found ourselves at the estuary of the Rio Cobre. Up this river, far away from the coast, there are some of the fairest spots on God's earth; but at its mouth it is an inferno well worthy of its description as "Jamaica's death-hole."

A wide stretch of steaming swamp, intersected with inky streams of stinking water, a breeding-place for the fever-propagating mosquito and a home for all the loathsome creeping things of the island, it is almost as bad as some of the pestilential swamps of the West African coast, and seen in its beautiful setting of blue seas and golden beach dotted with graceful green palms, it looks even worse.

But since it held our quarry we were prepared to disregard its hygienic and scenic shortcomings, so we ran our craft on to a bank inshore, and, clambering out, waded through the warm sea to the rotting vegetation and repulsive mud and slime of the delta.

Fixing our rendezvous on a fairly dry spot close to our landing-place, we arranged our plan of action. At this juncture Corker very generously offered to stay behind to see that the boat and the "milk" came to no harm, but, of course, none of us would hear of such a sacrifice. Finally we decided to divide forces. Hunter and Madox, the two West India Regiment men, were to go together, accompanied by one of the black "boys," an accomplished 'gator tracker; whilst Corker and I joined guns, the other "boy" coming with us to flay anything we might get. Separating, in accordance with this plan, Corker and I squelched off through the fœtid slime toward the upper end of the delta.

As we slushed along we carefully scanned the banks of dried mud, intersecting the numerous lagoons, for "sign," listening keenly the while for snapping jaws and splashing bodies. We had to be very much on the qui vive, for at any moment, in stepping round the low bushes or wading waist-deep through the intersecting streams, we might have trodden on a sleeping saurian, with unpleasant results, for, despite an unwieldy-looking body, the 'gator is capable of very swift movement, and, what is more, both ends of him are dangerous—with his jaws he may lop off a leg; with his tail he may break one's back.

After trudging about for some time, filling our lungs with vapour from the steaming swamp, while our skins were irritated by the bites of myriads of insects, we reached a dark, evil-smelling lagoon crusted with cracking mud. At the side of it were several indentations, varying in size, which indicated that a 'gator family had but recently been taking the sun.

With such tangible evidence before me of the near presence of the brutes, I suggested waiting quietly for the family's reappearance. Corker, however, having his own idea about the wisdom of my suggestion, told me I should only be wasting time. He therefore elected to leave me with the boy, whilst he crossed to the middle stream "to make sure of a decent hide," asking me to join him when I was tired of my vigil.

"I FIRED CLEAN INTO HIS MAW."

As he tramped off through the inky slime I squatted down on a mud-bank, with my rifle across my knees. Between me and the indentations was a low clump of vegetation, which shielded me from observation without interfering with my vision. The boy I had stationed out of sight in a slight hollow on the far side of my mud perch. With these precautions I set myself to wait. The sun, well overhead, beat down pitilessly on my shadeless position, blistering the pattern of my thin shirt on to my skin; whilst all the most vicious mosquitoes of the swamp came to signify their appreciation of my succulent presence by dining on me, and other creeping things began the tour of investigation which my scanty attire of shirt, breeches, boots, and topée invited. Verily, ye men who grumble at the hardship of waiting for driven birds on a Scotch moor should try a day in a tropical swamp!

After enduring these manifold pleasures for an hour or more, the surface of the lagoon began to heave, and a black snout showed itself in the sunlight.

Looking round, and finding no cause for alarm, the wily 'gator slushed his way to his basking place, some twenty yards distant from where I sat. I raised my rifle slowly and covered him as he hoisted himself out of the slime. Just then the distant crack of Corker's rifle startled my 'gator. Raising his head he opened his capacious jaws, and as he did so I fired clean into his maw. He shut his teeth together with a resounding snap, coughed like a stricken cow, and slid back into the slime. I thought I had lost him, but after a final titanic convulsion, which spattered the blood-streaked mud almost to my position, he swung round on to the ooze again and lay still. Advancing to within five yards, I gave him another bullet through the eye, to prevent accidents; then, aided by my yelling boy, we levered him up on to the dry bank. From the end of his snout to the tip of his powerful tail he measured about eleven feet!

Well satisfied with the result of my uncomfortable wait, and instructing the black boy to go back to the boat with the skin when he had taken it off, I followed the direction which Corker had taken, wondering what luck the shots I had heard portended.

After hunting about for some time without finding him, and not hearing further shots, I concluded he had gone back to the lagoon to get the boy's assistance in flaying his "bag," and that therefore I had missed him.

As I picked my way round some low driftwood by one of the soapy streams, I stumbled over a half-buried log. In recovering my balance I noticed that one end of the log, which was some fourteen feet long, had been freshly splintered, and, strange to say, by rifle shots.

Suddenly the explanation dawned upon me. The doughty Corker, hero of wonderful stories and holder of many "spoils," had fallen into that facile error of the novice and shot a fallen log!

Picking up a stout splinter, which showed two neatly-drilled holes, I made my way, grinning hugely, back to the rendezvous.

That night, when all had retired to rest at Corker's bungalow, his three guests, clad in pyjamas and shaking with subdued mirth, crept on to the veranda and fastened up in a central position among their host's trophies a perforated redwood log splinter!

V.—A BRUSH WITH A BEAR.

By R. W. Martin, Junior.

MR. R. W. MARTIN, JUNIOR, WHO HERE DESCRIBES HIS EXCITING EXPERIENCE WITH A BEAR.

From a Photograph.

The fall of 1905 found me camping on the Lehigh River, in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, in company with two friends named George and Oscar Murray. This part of the country is wild and mountainous, the nearest railroad being at Bear Creek, twelve miles distant.

Our camp stood on rising ground about thirty feet higher than the level of the river, and was surrounded by towering pines fifty to sixty feet in height, one of which almost touched our shack.

On the evening of which I write my two companions had decided to visit a friend who lived in a small settlement known as Stoddartsville, some four miles down the river, where they intended to spend the night. After their departure I busied myself about the camp, cutting and stacking wood and cleaning up our cooking utensils. When darkness had put an end to work outside, I retired into the cabin and, settling myself comfortably, began to read an old magazine I had picked up. I must have been reading for about an hour when my attention was attracted by the snapping of a small branch or stick outside, seemingly at the front of the cabin.

"THE BEAR STRUCK AT ME WITH ITS CLAWS, RIPPING OFF MY HEAVY LEGGING AND SCRATCHING ME SEVERELY."

Although we kept our meat in a basket hung on the limb of a small tree in front of the dwelling, we did not fear molestation from the bears or wild-cats that were known to exist in the swamps and mountain ranges around us. Occasionally a sheep would be taken by an old she-bear which was known to have ranged the hills for the past twenty-five years, and which was said to be a huge, gaunt creature, weighing at least five hundred pounds; but, generally speaking, they did not cause much damage.

Neither bears nor wild-cats, however, entered my mind as I sat there wondering what had caused the disturbance outside. My first thought was that perchance one of the neighbours' cows or sheep, which were allowed to roam at will, had lost its way and, being attracted by the light, had wandered up to the cabin to investigate. With this idea in my mind, and being very comfortable, I did not bother to look into the matter. But just as I was about to resume my reading once more, the sharp crack of a breaking limb, accompanied by the thud of a heavy body striking the ground, caused me to jump to my feet in a hurry. Hastily snatching my breech-loading shot-gun from the corner, I quickly inserted two shells and quietly opened the door. There, in the dim moonlight, I made out the form of a huge bear, busily engaged in pillaging our meat basket! Without hesitation I brought the gun to my shoulder and fired both barrels at the dark mass. With a fierce growl of pain the wounded beast charged straight for the open door, and before I could close it rushed right into the cabin!

The next five minutes were probably the most exciting I have ever spent. The bear, blinded in one eye by shot and dazzled by the light, gave me the opportunity—which I speedily seized—of rushing past it out into the open. I ran round the cabin for my life, with the brute at my heels, and quickly ascended the ladder at the back of the cabin to the roof, thinking to throw my pursuer off the track. While busily engaged in trying to push the ladder down, I was horrified to find the bear already upon it, coming my way. Thoroughly bewildered by this time, I commenced to climb the tall pine tree alongside the house, hoping to hide myself on one of the upper branches. It seemed that I made no progress at all, for the dead branches upon which I placed my feet broke continually, and my fingers and legs, in my frantic hurry, acted as though they were not part of my body. Almost exhausted, I finally stopped to rest upon a stout limb about twelve feet above the roof of the cabin. Glancing down, I saw the maddened bear preparing to pursue me. In a panic I began to climb again, but as I reached up for the limb above my hand came in contact with the rope we had strung across the river to a lofty old pine about forty yards distant on the opposite shore. Fastened to this large rope was a smaller dangling rope with a loop, which we used, on account of the swift current, to keep us in our course when ferrying across in the boat.

Finding that the rope would bear my weight, I started to go hand over hand over it out across the river. At this juncture the bear, which was but a few feet below me, struck at me with its claws, ripping off my heavy legging and scratching me severely. This unlooked for attack almost caused me to lose my hold, which would have resulted in a nasty fall to the ground below. How I managed to escape being struck again I do not know, but somehow or other I managed to keep out of reach of those deadly claws until I had swung well out from the tree. It was slow work making any progress, but, thinking only of the danger behind and below me, I continued the journey until I was compelled to stop to rest my weary arms. This I tried to do by throwing one leg and arm over the line, the rope resting under my knee and armpit. Beneath me I could hear the swiftly-running river, while the swaying limbs on the pine I had just left told me that my late pursuer was moving about.

When I had somewhat rested my aching muscles, I started once more on that heart-breaking journey to the opposite shore. Several times the rope swung so violently I thought I must let go and fall into the swift river beneath me, but each time I gritted my teeth and kept on. At last, after what seemed ages, I reached the friendly pine to which the rope was attached and lay for some time on a large branch, like a man in a dream. After resting for a few minutes I ventured to gaze across to the bank I had lately left, but could see nothing. Once or twice I heard Bruin moving about along the bank; then all was quiet.

Fixing myself as comfortably as possible I stayed all night in the tree, scarcely daring to move for fear of attracting attention. Shortly after daybreak my friends put in their appearance, having decided to make an early start after grouse in the neighbouring swales. Upon their arrival I descended from my uncomfortable position and related my experience of the night. Great was their wonder and surprise at my nerve-racking experience, and a hunt for Bruin was immediately suggested, George Murray starting off at once for men and dogs from the settlement. Upon his return with the hunting party the dogs took up the trail and followed it for nine miles down the ridge. At Long Pond, twelve miles below us, the bear was finally brought to bay and shot by another party. Upon examination, it was found that my two shots had put out one eye and almost torn her ear off—hence her blind fury and revengefulness. She tipped the scales at four hundred and sixty-eight pounds.

VI—MAN v. PYTHON.

By Victor Pitt-Kethley.

On April 27th of last year, Mr. W. J. Cocklin, of Sequani viâ Mochudi, South Africa, accompanied a party of friends on a shooting expedition in the neighbourhood of Sequani.

Arrived at the point selected, some five miles distant from the township, the party separated. For some little time Mr. Cocklin pursued his way without incident; then he suddenly espied a guinea-fowl, which he brought down with a well-aimed shot.

Hurrying over the veldt to secure his prize, he was just descending a little fall in the ground when, to his horror, he suddenly discovered that he was almost on top of a large python, which lay coiled up in front of him. Catching sight of the startled sportsman, the great snake moved. Its tail caught Mr. Cocklin between the legs, tripping him up, and before he could save himself he was flung headlong into the deadly, irresistible coils, which immediately closed around his body in a vice-like grip. Desperately the hunter tried to extricate himself, but all in vain; the python had him fast in such a way that his left arm, holding his gun, was pinned to his side.

With the cold perspiration breaking out upon his flesh, Cocklin threw himself this way and that in a frenzy of desperation, for he realized only too well the horrible nature of the death-trap into which he had walked.

He essayed to shout, hoping to make his friends hear and bring them to his rescue, but no answer came to his calls; no human being appeared in sight. And all the time man and snake lay there on the sunny veldt, the reptile's mighty coils growing always a little tighter as it endeavoured to lessen its victim's struggles.

"MR. COCKLIN GRIPPED THE SNAKE BY THE THROAT, STRIVING WILDLY TO FREE HIMSELF."

Presently, finding the pressure upon his body becoming unendurable, Mr. Cocklin gripped the snake by the throat, striving wildly to free himself. Over and over, this way and that, the pair rolled, the python seeking all the time to free its hideous head or tighten its coils sufficiently to put an end to Cocklin's struggles.

For, perhaps, ten to fifteen minutes—minutes that seemed like hours of torture—this unequal, terrifying fight went on, and still neither had gained any decided advantage; the man still lived, though fast in the coils of the snake, which in turn, though it held its captive securely, was unable to crush him outright or to release his hold upon its throat, which prevented it throwing a coil round his neck and strangling him.

Now, a python is so constructed that it can exert its crushing powers to the full only when it is able to get a leverage upon some fixed object—say, by taking a turn with its tail round a tree. Presently—apparently realizing that something of this kind was required to enable it to finish off its prisoner—the great snake altered its tactics and commenced to drag Mr. Cocklin over the ground towards a large hard-wood tree which stood some distance away.

The man saw and understood—the battle was about to enter on its last and most dreadful phase! Desperately he fought against the snake, trying to get at his knife, which was in his right-hand coat-pocket, with the idea of cutting the creature's throat; but, to his horror, he found that the reptile's coils passed over the place where the weapon lay.

"Finding I could not get my knife," said Mr. Cocklin, in a letter which he wrote to the Cape Times subsequently, "and thinking that my chances of surviving were not very bright, I determined I would not die alone. I saw that the barrel of my gun projected just about an inch through between my arm and body, where the arm was pinned to the side, and luckily I managed to reach the trigger with my left hand. Gripping the python firmly by the throat, and holding its head well away, I pulled the trigger, and the bullet, fortunately for me, caught the snake through the back. It then relaxed its grip, and I got rid of its coils as fast as I could.

"When I got upon my feet, I put my gun down and looked for a big stone to finish the brute with. Not finding one, I was about to put my foot on its head and cut its throat, when the snake made another attack upon me, getting hold of my coat sleeve, and again pulling me to the ground. Once more it attempted to get its coils round me, but I escaped them. It still retained its bite on my sleeve, however. I managed to get my foot on its throat, which made it open its mouth. Then I got my arm free, and called for my friends again. One of them heard me and came running up. He saw that there had been a struggle, and shot the python through the head, thus putting the finishing touch to what was for me the narrowest shave I have ever had. It seems to me remarkable that I have felt no ill effects from the encounter beyond being a little short-winded and nervous for a few days."

Guardians of the Wilderness.

By Henry Hale.

The United States Government maintains a little army of twelve hundred men whose duty it is to look after the vast national forests, whose area is about five times that of Great Britain. Here, monarchs of all they survey, these rangers of the wild lead solitary and strenuous lives, sometimes not meeting a fellow human being for months on end.

The United States Government maintains a curious little force of policemen who do not patrol posts in the cities or towns, but may well be called the guardians of the wilderness, for it is their business to look after vast forests where few human beings live. It may seem odd that it is necessary to have Nature's police to go here and there in the forests and amid the mountains, but it is very necessary in order to protect one of the great resources of America. Some of these rangers of the wild have "beats" so extensive that one man may be the sole protector of a miniature empire, comprising two hundred thousand acres of primeval forest.

Mere figures cannot give the stay-at-home reader any adequate idea of the vastness of some of the great "reserves" in which the patrolmen live month after month. If the whole of London is measured it will be found to contain over seventy-five thousand acres, yet no fewer than eighty cities the size of London could easily be placed in a single one of the American "national parks." Washington Park, situated in the State of that name, and the greatest of them all, contains no less than ten thousand square miles of territory.

A FOREST RANGERS' PACK-TRAIN ON THE TRAIL.

From a Photograph.

RANGERS MEASURING TIMBER IN A SWAMP.

From a Photograph.

For many years most European countries have had forest guardians and rangers. France, Germany, Holland, and even little Switzerland, have their armies of rangers, the French foresters being so numerous that there is one to every thousand acres of trees under the protection of the Government. This is quite different from the United States, where, as has been stated, one man may be the sole protector of an area of two hundred thousand acres; for this force of woodland policemen comprises only about twelve hundred men all told, scattered between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Coast, ranging the valleys and slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and even living far out in snow-covered Alaska.

The rank-and-file of the American Forest Service are the patrolmen or rangers. Over them are supervisors, one of whom may have charge of a group of national forests, and may be obliged to travel several thousand miles a year in order to perform his duties. In Washington is the chief forester, who is at the head of the service, and has under him a staff of assistants, inspectors, and clerks. But the men who do the hard work, endure the privations, and brave the dangers are the forest rangers and supervisors, who spend their lives in looking after the domains to which they are assigned. There are far more perils to be encountered in the wilderness than the town-dweller might think. The wild animals that roam here and there form but a slight danger compared with the terrible weather to which the guardians of the woodlands are sometimes exposed. While in many regions the summers are so warm that the heat is almost unbearable, in the higher lands, such as the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, winter may last for four or five months, with the temperature so far below freezing-point that a man must be muffled in furs up to the eyes in order to keep himself alive. Storms sometimes prevail for days at a time, covering the ground with great snow-drifts higher than one's head, and frequently almost burying the little huts or cabins in which the foresters live when they are not doing patrol duty. It is the loneliness of the life, however, which forms its worst feature. For months the forester may not see the face of a white man, or even an Indian—going day by day amid the trees, fording streams, climbing mountain sides, with never a person to speak to. This is why several rangers have at different times become insane and have been found aimlessly wandering about, while others have suffered death from starvation while mentally unbalanced. Remembering that a man may be sole guardian of a tract of land as large as an entire English county, it is not to be wondered at that occasionally the sense of their loneliness should overpower them.

THE METHOD USED IN CLIMBING BIG TREES.

From a Photograph.

It takes a good type of man to make a successful forester—he is obliged to undertake so many different tasks and perform them all well. His daily round does not mean merely going from this place to that in his territory, looking out for fires and for unauthorized persons who may come into the woods to cut down the valuable timber. True, forest fires are perhaps the ranger's greatest anxiety, but he must also keep a keen watch for what are called in the West "squatters"—families who steal into the parts controlled by the Government and try to make homes in open spots without permission. They cut down valuable trees for fuel, occupy ground to which they have no right, and frequently seriously injure the forest growth before they are discovered. In a region covering two hundred thousand acres squatters may live for months, or perhaps even a year, before being discovered by the forester and driven out. And this eviction work is very dangerous, for the squatter may be armed, and if he thinks he will not be detected he does not hesitate to shoot down the guardian in fighting for the place he calls his home. More than one murder of this kind has been committed since the United States began taking charge of the great forests ten years ago.

The forester must also supervise any lumbering operations which are permitted by the Government in the region under his care. Someone may get authority from the Forest Service to cut certain trees and make them into lumber, and the ranger in that district must look to it that they do not cut more than they should, that they do not damage other trees—especially young ones—and that they do not set fire to the woodlands during their operations. He measures the timber they cut, and makes a report to his supervisor of what they do from month to month. If the Government allows stock-raisers to turn cattle and sheep into one of the woodland parks, the forester must watch the animals and prevent them feeding at places where they would do damage. He also oversees the stock-men and herders—and here again is liable to be injured, if not killed, since some of these ranchmen of the Far West belong to a desperate class, and are usually well armed and only too ready to use their weapons.

The ranger is not only a policeman, but is frequently called upon to act as judge when a dispute arises on his territory between rival settlers. Sometimes he is obliged to arrest trespassers and other wrongdoers, and take them perhaps fifty miles through the wilderness before he can place them in the hands of the nearest magistrate. This is one of the most dangerous features of his work, for many of the people who go into the wild forest districts are desperadoes, who set little value upon human life. Therefore, the ranger must be strong and courageous, able to endure the hardships of an outdoor life, and to "keep his end up" in a fight. For this reason the foresters are picked men; but hard as is their life, the Government have no difficulty in securing recruits who measure up to the necessary standard.

TESTING WOULD-BE RECRUITS IN THE DETAILS OF SADDLING-UP.

From a Photograph.

Once a year men who wish to enter the Forest Service are given a chance to show their qualifications. Examinations are held at different places in the West, conducted by a forest supervisor or inspector. One was held recently in Colorado which I will describe. Most of the candidates who "sat" for it were cowboys and ranchmen. The first day of the examination was given up to "school-house work," and it is likely that this unaccustomed ordeal of figures and composition caused more grey hairs to sprout on the heads of the candidates than anything suggested by the forestry expert in the succeeding two days. Finally, when the examiner, with a sly smile, informed the assembled men that they might as well put away their pens, the clerical test being over, there was a general chorus of "Bully!" and one cowboy, with a blot of ink on his nose and a look of despair in his eyes, rose on his high-legged boots and fervently exclaimed, "Thank Heaven!"

The second day the applicants brought out their saddle-horses, and at an early hour started on the trail. The forestry expert led the way, riding with an ease that challenged the admiration of all the cow hands. After proceeding five or six miles into the mountains, the candidates were given axes and told to show their skill in cutting and "scaling" (measuring) timber. Some of the cowboys, who had had little experience with the axe beyond cutting wood for a round-up camp-fire, had rather ludicrous experiences, but two forest guards, who were skilled in such work, made the chips fly in a manner that excited universal admiration.

After the candidates had been examined as to their fitness with the axe they were given work in following obscure or "blind" trails and reading signs. Here nearly all proved expert, for the man who rides the range for any length of time soon acquires the ability to read the wilderness signs like a book. A long, hard journey across the mountains, testing the men in rough-riding, ended the day's work.

On the third day the field tests were continued. A brisk ride was made to a water-course, where camp was pitched and notes made of the manner in which each man proceeded to make fires and prepare a temporary resting place. In order to test the accuracy of the men in judging distances, the forestry expert rode over a huge triangle, and then required the men to pace it in Indian file. The candidates were next told to reduce their estimates to feet, and finally the examiner went over the course with a surveyor's tape and compared the result with the estimates. This is an important part of the forester's work, as a ranger is often required to estimate distances with no other facilities than his eye or the length of his stride.

One of the most interesting tests was that of packing. A pack-horse was brought out in front of the building and each candidate in turn was told to show what he could do in the way of putting a load on the animal's back. They put on the blanket and the little pack-saddle, and then stowed away the bags of feed, the tarpaulin covering, the shovel and axe, and tied the whole load with the well-known "diamond hitch," which can be loosened with a single pull at the rope. It never slips, and when it is correctly "thrown" on a well-packed animal the load cannot be "bucked off."

THE INTERIOR OF A TYPICAL RANGER'S CABIN.

From a Photograph.

Each man had a different style of packing, but all were good in their way, and all threw the diamond hitch with a celerity that spoke well for their experience. Each pack was critically inspected by the expert while in process of construction and after it had been completely tied. Then the pack-animal was stripped again and another would-be forester took up the work. After the packing, which consumed the greater part of the day, some compass-work was done, to show the familiarity of the candidates with this valuable instrument. Then, to test the ability of the men in the saddle, each candidate was sent a few hundred rods down the trail and told to come in at a gentle lope. This trial, the cowboys admitted, was one of the hardest of the examinations, because they are accustomed to riding very rapidly when not going at a dead walk. Several of the men were unhorsed by the unusual gait and were disqualified as a result, but most of the candidates passed the examination and were given their uniform and other equipment.

The outfit of the American forest-ranger is unique. He is usually provided with a rifle and revolver, but in addition to this has a kit of fire-fighting tools, as well as other implements. Entering one of the little cabins which form the homes of the rangers you will see coils of rope hanging from the walls, and axes and shovels piled in the corners. An army cot, or perhaps a framework of boughs, forms the bed, two or three logs the chairs, and the food is usually cooked in the big mud-plastered fireplace which occupies one end of the cabin. A single room is generally enough for all purposes, unless the ranger is married, when the Government may provide him a larger house with two or three apartments. He clears a little patch of land around his dwelling, where he can raise a few vegetables, and is allowed to kill game and catch fish if there are streams near him. In this way he adds to the stock of rations furnished by the Government.

A FOREST FIRE SWEEPING ALONG AT TWELVE MILES AN HOUR BEFORE A BREEZE. From a Photograph.

The ranger must always be on the lookout for fires, especially in summer, when, in many portions of America, the temperature becomes so hot that even rivers are dried up, leaves drop from the trees, and the underbrush of the woodlands is like a vast tinder-heap, ready to burst into flame at the contact of a single spark.

At such times the greatest care must be taken about kindling fires near the woods, for if one spreads over a considerable area of ground, the intense heat creates a wind which grows stronger and stronger until it becomes a veritable hurricane, driving the fire before it and burning scores of miles of forest before it is extinguished. The havoc wrought by the fires was one of the chief reasons for the organization of the Forest Service. One of the worst of these conflagrations is well remembered in the States, although it occurred in what is known as Miramichi Valley, in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. It is an actual fact that for three months of summer no rain fell in this valley. Then, one afternoon in the month of October, a fire started in the Upper Miramichi—no one knows how—but it was supposed a woodsman did not take the trouble to extinguish the faggots by which he had cooked his dinner. The first man who discovered the blaze found a space about one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide in flames in the midst of a patch of bushes and young trees. He alarmed a camp of wood-choppers about two miles distant, and on returning half an hour later the party found that the fire had reached a thicket of pines, the flames running furiously along the top branches. It had spread so rapidly that a thousand men could not now have arrested its progress, and the choppers were obliged to run for their lives to escape. A small pond at the edge of the forest probably saved them, as by crossing it they reached the open country and a spot where half a mile of ploughed field kept the flames in check.

As in other forests of this kind, the ground was covered with a mixture of dead leaves and other débris a foot or more in thickness. This burned like tinder, and it was discovered afterwards that in many cases roots five feet deep in the earth had been reduced to ashes by the terrific heat. When it is stated that a single tree two or three feet in thickness will burn to a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and ten thousand were on fire at the same time, a faint idea can be gained of the magnitude of the "Miramichi fire," as it is still called. Every condition favoured its spread, for in addition to the draught created by the hot air meeting the cooler atmosphere about it, a strong breeze sprang up which blew directly toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and forced the living wall of flame down the valley.

At the Miramichi River the flames nearly leapt across the narrow channel, and thousands of burning embers speedily ignited the timber on the other side. Along swept the great conflagration, turning everything in its path to ashes. Several settlements in the woods were abandoned only just in time for the inhabitants to escape, although the roar and crackle of the flames could be heard three miles distant. Animals and birds, confused and blinded by the noise, smoke, and heat, perished by thousands, though only carcasses of such beasts as deer and bears were found afterwards to show how deadly had been the fire.

A FOREST FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. From a Photograph.

The end was only reached where the forest ended at a stretch of open country skirted by a salt-marsh. Here there was absolutely nothing inflammable for the flames to feed on, and the fire burned itself out. For a month it smouldered in the burned area, occasionally starting up here and there, and then finally dying down for want of material to consume. It reached the boundary-line ten hours after being discovered, and in that time had spread over a territory eighty miles long and twenty-five miles wide, travelling at the rate of eight miles an hour.

The Hinkly fire, as it is called, was the worst in the history of America, for it actually consumed a large town in Minnesota, and nearly five hundred persons who could not escape in time met their death in the flames. A spark from a locomotive fell into a pile of dried leaves in the forest at a spot about ten miles from Hinkly. For four months not a drop of rain had fallen in this part of the State; yet when a track labourer saw the leaves on fire he passed on, thinking they would soon burn out. The fire did die down, but for two days the ashes remained smouldering. Then a little breeze sprang up and spread some of the embers, still red, to other leaves. The resulting flames shot up from the ground to the underbrush and then to the trees, and in a twinkling a forest fire had started. What wind there was blew directly towards Hinkly, and in that direction the fire travelled, widening as it went and gradually forming an inverted semicircle, with the village opposite the centre, so that the ends of the circle were a mile beyond the town before the fire in the centre had reached it. Three miles away the people heard the roar of the flames as they shot a hundred feet above the tree-tops, while every moment a huge trunk, burned through, fell with a crash. The smoke came through the woods, filling the air with thick clouds. Everybody seized what valuables he could lay hands upon, and started to escape. Some, blinded by the smoke, ran directly into the burning area, and never returned. Most of the people left by the wagon-roads, only to find they were going into a furnace. More than a hundred were burned to death or suffocated while trying to get away by the roads.

As the flames reached the town, and the nearest rows of dwellings were ignited, the whistle of a locomotive was heard. Through the opening which marked the cut for the railroad track dashed a passenger train. The roofs of the cars were smoking from the heat, and every window was shut to keep the interiors from igniting. The engine-driver stood at the throttle-valve, while the fireman drenched him with pails of water from the tank in the tender. The crowds of people, running hither and thither in the streets, rushed for the train, and everyone who could get a foothold on the platforms was allowed to do so. Then the engine-driver reversed the lever and backed his train into the advancing fire. Luckily no débris had fallen across the track. For six miles that gallant man drove his engine through the flames and blistering heat. Several times his clothing caught fire, but the water-bucket extinguished it. In places the flames literally swept under and up the sides of the coaches, while the metal-work on the outside of the engine was so hot that it could not be touched. At last the train reached a small clearing near a swamp, and the order was given to all to leave the cars and save themselves. Everyone left but two Chinamen, who were burned to ashes. The rails were twisted by the heat and in some places partly melted. This fire swept over an area about twenty-five miles long and ten miles wide.

FIGHTING THE FLANKS OF A FIRE WITH TREE-BRANCHES.

From a Photograph.

Since the Forest Service was established many heroic incidents have occurred where rangers have risked their lives in preventing the spread of a conflagration, knowing that if it got beyond control it might cause untold damage. In fighting fires they use curious weapons. Water is seldom at hand, but in any case it is not of much value in stopping a forest fire, for it is useless to merely attempt to extinguish the flames; all efforts are concentrated upon preventing the fire from spreading, and so it is fought on the edge of the fire-line. The scene of a recent fire in West Kansas was near a town, and the rangers were assisted in their work by the anxious inhabitants. The fire was so close, and spread so fast, that it began burning up the dry prairie land on which the town was situated. Men, women, and all the children old enough to be of service hurried to the locality, while a dozen ploughs were loaded on wagons and hauled to a point on the prairie several miles from the line of burning vegetation. Then the ploughs were unshipped and the horses fastened to the implements, four to each. As fast as it could be driven each team dragged its plough through the ground, turning up the fresh soil and burying the dry stubble which afforded food for the flames. The furrows were dug about five feet apart, in ten parallel rows, each as long as it was calculated the fire-line would be, should it reach the spot. While the ploughmen were thus creating a sort of breastwork to resist the flames, the others were placed at intervals in front digging earth with hoes and shovels, forming piles to be used as ammunition to be thrown on the flames, or spread over the fields as a further obstacle to the advance of the conflagration. The children, supplied with branches, were stationed on the leeward side of the burning area to beat down any blaze which might spring up, thus preventing the fire-line from widening.

AN "OLD BURN," SHOWING THE TERRIBLE HAVOC WROUGHT BY THE FIRE DEMON.

From a Photograph.

Although there were fully five hundred persons in this improvised fire brigade, they were unable to check the progress of the blaze until it had reached the ploughed area. The flames leaped over the first furrow, but the stubble and dried grass between it and the second one had been covered with earth, and only a part ignited. Realizing the desperate nature of the situation, the people devoted all their efforts to extinguishing the flames at this spot. As many as could procure them obtained branches and beat savagely at the blaze, while others used their hoes and shovels, some literally running into the fire in their efforts to stamp it out.

Finally the breach was closed, and, encouraged by their progress, the fighters redoubled their efforts. By midnight the long row of flames had been turned into a mass of smoking embers. But the fire, though conquered, was not wholly dead. Squads of men were left to prevent another outbreak, and the others scattered to their homes to snatch a few hours' rest until called to relieve those on watch, for prairie fires are treacherous and may smoulder for several days, only to break out with renewed energy. They must be entirely extinguished, or watched closely until they die out.

Recently another fire occurred, its history conclusively demonstrating the great value of the Forest Service. In Long Pine National Forest a sawmill has been permitted to be operated by the Government, under the control of the foresters. The supervisor of Long Pine Forest is one Charles Ballenger, who has his head-quarters at Camp Crook, South Dakota, some distance away. Camp Crook is connected with the mill town by a telephone line, and one day Ballenger received a message that a fire had started in the vicinity of the mill. He hurried to the place on horseback as soon as possible, reaching there the same day the fire started; but it spread so rapidly that a large area was ablaze by the time he got to the spot, although the mill-hands and people in the town had fought it as best they could. They began fighting the fire when it was only a spot about twenty feet square, but the earth was covered with so much dry wood and other inflammable material that the flames were carried through the forest at a great speed, driven by the high wind.

A FOREST IN EMBRYO—MILLIONS OF YOUNG TREES ARE RAISED ANNUALLY FROM SEED TO BE PLANTED OUT FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS.

From a Photograph.

Ballenger realized that strenuous efforts must be made if the fire was to be checked, and that it would be useless to try to work against it in the direction which it was spreading. He accordingly organized the fire-fighters into squads, and directed them how to use earth and tree branches in working against the flames. Then an effort was made to change the course of the fire, all hands working along one side of the burning area. Thus its course was gradually changed towards what are called the Bad Lands, which are destitute of trees, and where the fire would not have enough material to keep it alive. This plan proved successful, although it was necessary to keep up the fight for forty-eight hours before the danger-point was passed. During this time, however, the flames had actually covered nearly ten thousand acres, eating into the forest at the rate of over two hundred acres an hour.

No one thought of changing the course of the fire until Ballenger's arrival. His skill and experience, however, showed him that it was the only method which could be taken, on account of the extent of the forest and its extreme dryness.

The smoke of the fire could be distinctly seen from the town of Camp Crook, and after Ballenger left for the scene several of the men went into the second storey of a building to look at it. While there, someone dropped a match or cigar-end, with the result that the building was soon in flames. As all the forest rangers and most of the citizens had gone to the forest to put out the fire there, the few who remained could do nothing to extinguish the blaze, and most of the town was destroyed, including the head-quarters of the Forest Service, so that when poor Ballenger and his weary comrades returned they found they had lost all their possessions except the clothes they stood in!

MAKING A HOLE TO PLANT A YOUNG TREE IN.

From a Photograph.

At present the rangers have to care for no fewer than a hundred and sixty-six of these national forests, so called because they are controlled by the American Government. They cover a territory which is in all nearly five times the size of England. In many places past fires as well as storms and the work of the lumbermen have destroyed so many trees, that miles and miles of the woodland are ruined. From these devastated tracks spring only bushes and shrubs, with an occasional young tree. The ground is covered with charred trunks, while the skeletons of what were once forest monarchs rise skyward.

To reafforest these denuded tracts is a part of the duty of the rangers, and the supervisors and their men have the work of cultivating young trees and setting them out in such places. To obtain the necessary tree-shoots for planting they grow them from seed. For instance, young pines are secured by taking the seed from pine cones, which are opened by exposing them to the rays of the sun. Then the seed is sown in the forest nurseries. There are eight of these, situated on reserves in various parts of the West. They contain enough land to grow five million trees at one time, and as the nurseries have been in existence for several years, each year a million or more of these trees are large enough to be taken to the denuded lands and planted. Already a large area of land made worthless by the ravages of man and the elements has been reafforested in this way, and will again be ready to furnish a timber supply at the end of the next twenty years or so.

A TYPICAL STRETCH OF FOREST CLEARED OF PARASITICAL UNDERGROWTH AND GUARDED BY THE GOVERNMENT RANGERS.

From a Photograph.

It does not seem possible that this mere handful of men could perform all the duties of the American Forest Service and yet cover such an immense region as they do, but the records of the Government show that since these police of the wilderness began going their lonely rounds the number of fires has greatly diminished, while the various national parks are in a far better condition than ever before. One of the best things about the department is that it is educating the settler in the Far West to a better sense of the value of the forests, and the wasteful and extravagant methods formerly pursued by the farmer and lumberman are gradually being abandoned.

The Legend of the Wailing Woman.

By D. W. O. Fagan, of Mangapai, Whangarei, Auckland, New Zealand.

The author writes: "In a cave under the cliffs of Manaia is a 'blow-hole' only actuated once in every month, at the time of the highest spring tides, when it sends forth a wailing shriek. Below I have set down the native legend concerning it, as told to me by my old Maori friend Puketawa. Allowing for idiomatic differences, the narrative is in his own words."

We beached our boat on the shore of the islet and waited the coming of the flood-tide to help us against the river current in the harbour narrows. Night had already fallen, but the sands were still warm from the heat of the sun, and though the sky was clear and full of stars, the shadows were very dark under the Pohotokawas, where we lay. Our fire had sunk to a few dull embers, and Puketawa's pipe glowed like a red eye from the darkness. Across the channel opposite, a quarter of a mile away, rose the dark mass of Manaia, its crags among the stars. Presently, the moon, rising from the sea behind us, lit the dark rocks with a flood of silver light.

On three sides of the headland cliffs rose sheer from the water to a height of two hundred feet. On the flat, table-like top a cone-shaped mass of limestone rocks, piled one above the other, rose to a further height of a hundred feet or so. The cliff of the seaward face was pierced at its base by a dark cave, into which the swell broke with gurgling echoes. On the fourth side the ground fell away in a grassy slope from the base of the rock-cone to the white sands of the bay.

At the top of the slope were the mound and ditch of an old "pah" (fort). Whence I wonder did those old-time Maoris obtain their knowledge of military fortification? Vallum and fosse, scarp and counter-scarp, the place looked like a Roman "castrum." It needed no great stretch of fancy to imagine the glint of moonbeams on brazen armour, the clang of shields and steady tramp of the legionaries on the ramparts.

I glanced at Puketawa, and saw by the sheen of his eyes through the shadows and the fierce short puffs at his pipe that his mind was back in the old legendary days, when these same cliffs rang to the clash of weapons, the fierce shouts of contending warriors, and the dying screams of the vanquished.

As the tide rose and a heavier swell rolled into the cave, there came from its dark mouth a long, sobbing cry—half wail, half shriek—the anguished cry of a woman in distress.