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- font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: none; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; font-size: 80%} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indentq {text-indent: -3.5em;} - -/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ -@media handheld, print { .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 4.5em;} } - - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp100 {width: 100%;} @media handheld { .illowp100 {width: 100%;} } -.illowp48 {width: 48%;} @media handheld { .illowp48 {width: 100%;} } -.illowp49 {width: 49%;} @media handheld { .illowp49 {width: 100%;} } -.illowp56 {width: 56%;} @media handheld { .illowp56 {width: 100%;} } -.illowp97 {width: 97%;} @media handheld { .illowp97 {width: 100%;} } - - - </style> - </head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Happy Hunting-Grounds, by Kermit Roosevelt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Happy Hunting-Grounds - -Author: Kermit Roosevelt - -Release Date: December 19, 2020 [EBook #64079] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Susan Carr and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter illowp49" id="cover" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1 class="pb10">The Happy<br /> -Hunting-Grounds</h1> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="figcenter illowp56" id="ifrontispiece" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Arab sheikhs who had ridden in, camel-back, from the desert -to pay their respects</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs240 pb2">The<br /> -Happy Hunting-Grounds</p> - -<p class="pfs180"><span class="small">By</span><br /> -Kermit Roosevelt<br /> -<span class="fs40">Author of “War in the Garden of Eden”</span></p> - -<p class="pfs100 p4 pb6">Illustrated from Photographs by the Author</p> - -<p class="pfs100">London<br /> -Hodder & Stoughton<br /> -1920</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs80 p10">Copyright, 1912, 1920, by Charles Scribner’s Sons, for the<br /> -United States of America</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="pfs80 pb10">Printed by the Scribner Press<br /> -New York, U. S. A.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs90 p10 pb10">TO<br /> -<span class="fs80">THE MISTRESS OF SAGAMORE</span></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak p4" id="Contents">Contents</h2> -</div> - -<table class="autotable" width="65%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"></td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs60">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">I.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">The Happy Hunting-Grounds</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_3">3</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">II.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">In Quest of Sable Antelope</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_53">53</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">III.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">The Sheep of the Desert</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_71">71</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">IV.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">After Moose in New Brunswick</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_103">103</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">V.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">Two Book-Hunters in South America</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_123">123</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdrb">VI.</td> -<td class="tdlb"><span class="smcap">Seth Bullock—Sheriff of the Black Hills Country</span></td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak p4" id="Illustrations">Illustrations</h2> -</div> - - -<table class="autotable" width="90%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Arab sheikhs who had ridden in, camel-back, from the desert to pay their respects</td> -<td class="tdr fs80"><a href="#ifrontispiece"><em>Frontispiece</em></a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs60">FACING</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs60">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Sir Alfred Pease’s sketch of our first giraffe hunt</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i024fp">24</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Father and R. H. Munro Ferguson at the Elkhorn Ranch, after the return from a successful hunting trip</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i034fp">34</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Facsimile of a picture letter by father</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i038fp">38</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Putting the tape on a tusker</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i042fp">42</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Launching a newly made dugout on the Dúvida</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i044fp">44</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">A relic of the Portuguese occupation; an old well beside the trail</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i056fp">56</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">The Death Dance of the Wa Nyika children in memory of the chieftain’s little son</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i058fp">58</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Across the bay from Mombasa; the porters ready to shoulder loads and march</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i066fp">66</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">A desert camp in old Mexico</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i078fp">78</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Casares on his white mule</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i088fp">88</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Making fast the sheep’s head</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i096fp">96</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">A noonday halt on the way down river, returning from the hunting country</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i106fp">106</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">Bringing out the trophies of the hunt</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i118fp">118</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">The Captain makes advances to a little Indian girl</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i152fp">152</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlb">A morning’s bag of prairie chicken in South Dakota</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#i170fp">170</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="chaphead">I<br /> - -The Happy<br /> -Hunting-Grounds</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br /> -THE HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS</h2> -</div> - - -<p>There is a universal saying to the effect -that it is when men are off in the wilds that -they show themselves as they really are. As -is the case with the majority of proverbs there -is much truth in it, for without the minor comforts -of life to smooth things down, and with -even the elemental necessities more or less -problematical, the inner man has an unusual -opportunity of showing himself—and he is not -always attractive. A man may be a pleasant -companion when you always meet him clad in -dry clothes, and certain of substantial meals at -regulated intervals, but the same cheery individual -may seem a very different person when -you are both on half rations, eaten cold, and -have been drenched for three days—sleeping -from utter exhaustion, cramped and wet.</p> - -<p>My father had done much hunting with -many and varied friends. I have often heard -him say of some one whom I had thought an -ideal hunting companion: “He’s a good fellow,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -but he was always fishing about in the -pot for the best piece of meat, and if there was -but one partridge shot, he would try to roast -it for himself. If there was any delicacy he -wanted more than his share.” Things assume -such different proportions in the wilds; after -two months living on palm-tree tops and -monkeys, a ten-cent can of condensed milk -bought for three dollars from a rubber explorer -far exceeds in value the greatest delicacy of -the season to the ordinary citizen who has a -varied and sufficient menu at his command -every day in the year.</p> - -<p>Even as small children father held us responsible -to the law of the jungle. He would -take us out on camping trips to a neck of land -four or five miles across the bay from home. -We would row there in the afternoon, the boats -laden with blankets and food. Then we -would make a driftwood fire on which to fry -our supper—usually bacon and chicken. I -do not know whether it was the, to us, wild -romance of our position, or the keen appetite -from the row, but never since then have I -eaten such bacon. Not even the smallest -child was allowed to show a disposition to -grab, or select his pieces of chicken—we were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -taught that that was an unpardonable offense -out camping, and might cause the culprit to -be left behind next time. And woe to any one -who in clumsily walking about kicked sand -into the frying-pan. After supper we would -heap more driftwood on the fire, and drape -ourselves in our blankets. Then we would -stretch ourselves out in the sand while father -would tell us ghost stories. The smallest of -us lay within reach of father where we could -touch him if the story became too vivid for -our nerves and we needed the reassuring feel -of his clothes to bring us back to reality. -There was, however, a delicious danger in being -too near him. In stories in which the -“haunt” seized his victim, father generally -illustrated the action by making a grab at -the nearest child. After the stories were finished -we rolled up in our blankets and, thoroughly -permeated with sand, we slept until the -first faint light of dawn. Then there was the -fire to be built up, and the breakfast cooked, -and the long row home. As we rowed we -chanted a ballad, usually of a seafaring nature; -it might be “The Rhyme of the Three -Sealers,” or “The Galley Slave,” or “Simon -Danz.” Father taught us these and many<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -more, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">viva voce</i>, when he was dressing for -dinner. A child was not taken along on these -“campings out” until he was six or seven. -They took place three or four times a summer, -and continued until after the African expedition. -By that time we were most of us -away at work, scattered far and wide.</p> - -<p>Father always threw himself into our plays -and romps when we were small as if he were -no older than ourselves, and with all that he -had seen and done and gone through, there was -never any one with so fresh and enthusiastic -an attitude. His wonderful versatility and -his enormous power of concentration and absorption -were unequalled. He could turn from -the consideration of the most grave problems -of state to romp with us children as if there -were not a worry in the world. Equally could -he bury himself in an exhaustive treatise on -the <cite>History of the Mongols</cite> or in the <cite>Hound -of the Baskervilles</cite>.</p> - -<p>Until father sold his ranches in North Dakota -he used to go out West each year for a month -or so. Unfortunately, we were none of us -old enough to be taken along, but we would -wait eagerly for his letters, and the recipient of -what we called a picture letter gloried in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -envy of the rest until another mail placed a -substitute upon the pedestal. In these picture -letters father would sketch scenes and incidents -about the ranch or on his short hunting trips. -We read most of them to pieces, unluckily, -but the other day I came across one of the -non-picture letters that father wrote me:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="right"><span class="padr1">August 30, ’96.</span><br /> -Out on the prairie.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I must send my little son a letter too, for his father -loves him very much. I have just ridden into camp -on Muley,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> with a prongbuck strapped behind the -saddle; I was out six hours before shooting it. Then -we all sat down on the ground in the shade of the wagon -and had dinner, and now I shall clean my gun, and then -go and take a bath in a big pool nearby, where there -is a large flat stone on the edge, so I don’t have to get -my feet muddy. I sleep in the buffalo hide bag and -I never take my clothes off when I go to bed!</p></div> - -<p>By the time we were twelve or thirteen we -were encouraged to plan hunting trips in the -West. Father never had time to go with us, -but we would be sent out to some friend of his, -like Captain Seth Bullock, to spend two or -three weeks in the Black Hills, or perhaps we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -would go after duck and prairie-chicken with -Marvin Hewitt. Father would enter into all -the plans and go down with us to the range -to practise with rifle or shotgun, and when we -came back we would go over every detail of the -trip with him, revelling in his praise when he -felt that we had acquitted ourselves well.</p> - -<p>Father was ever careful to correct statements -to the effect that he was a crack shot. He -would explain how little being one had to do -with success and achievement as a hunter. -Perseverance, skill in tracking, quick vision, -endurance, stamina, and a cool head, coupled -with average ability as a marksman, produced -far greater results than mere skill with a rifle—unaccompanied -to any marked extent by -the other attributes. It was the sum of all -these qualities, each above the average, but -none emphasized to an extraordinary degree, -that accounted for father’s great success in -the hunting-field. He would point out many -an excellent shot at a target who was of no use -against game. Sometimes this would be due -to lack of nerve. Father himself was equally -cool and unconcerned whether his quarry was a -charging lion or a jack-rabbit; with, when it -came to the question of scoring a hit, the resultant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -advantage in the size of the former as -a target. In other instances a good man at -the range was not so good in the field because -he was accustomed to shooting under conventional -and regulated conditions, and fell down -when it came to shooting under disadvantageous -circumstances—if he had been running -and were winded, if he were hungry or wet, -or tired, or feeling the sun, if he were uncertain -of the wind or the range. Sometimes, of -course, a crack shot possesses all the other -qualities; such is the case with Stewart Edward -White, whom Cuninghame classified as the -best shot with whom he had hunted in all his -twenty-five years in the wilds. Father shot -on a par with Cuninghame, and a good deal -better than I, though not as well as Tarleton.</p> - -<p>I have often heard father regret the fact -that he did not care for shooting with the shotgun. -He pointed out that it was naturally -the most accessible and least expensive form -of hunting. His eyesight made it almost -impossible for him to attain much skill with a -shotgun, and although as a boy and young -man he went off after duck for sport, in later -years he never used a shotgun except for -collecting specimens or shooting for the pot.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -He continually encouraged us to learn to shoot -with the gun. In a letter he wrote me to Europe -when I was off after chamois he said: “I -have played tennis a little with both Archie -and Quentin, and have shot with the rifle with -Archie and seen that he has practised shotgun -shooting with Seaman.”</p> - -<p>When my brother and myself were ten and -eight, respectively, father took us and four of -our cousins of approximately the same ages to -the Great South Bay for a cruise, with some -fishing and bird-shooting thrown in, as the -guest of Regis Post. It was a genuine sacrifice -on father’s part, for he loathed sailing, -detested fishing, and was, to say the least, lukewarm -about bird-shooting. Rowing was the -only method of progression by water for which -he cared. The trip was a great success, however, -and father enjoyed it more than he anticipated, -for with the help of our host he instructed -us in caring for ourselves and our -firearms. I had a venerable 12-bore pin-fire -gun which was the first weapon my father ever -owned. It was usually known in the family as -the “rust bore” because in the course of its -eventful career it had become so pitted and -scarred with rust that you could put in as much<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -time as you wished cleaning and oiling without -the slightest effect. I stood in no little awe of -the pin-fire because of its recoil when fired, and -as I was in addition a miserably poor shot, my -bag on the Great South Bay trip was not -large. It consisted of one reedbird, which -father with infinite pains and determination -at length succeeded in enabling me to shoot. -I am sure he never spent more time and effort -on the most difficult stalk after some coveted -trophy in the West or in Africa.</p> - -<p>Father’s hunting experiences had been confined -to the United States, but he had taken -especial interest in reading about Africa, the -sportsman’s paradise. When we were small he -would read us incidents from the hunting books -of Roualeyn Gordon Cumming, or Samuel -Baker, or Drummond, or Baldwin. These we -always referred to as “I stories,” because they -were told in the first person, and when we were -sent to bed we would clamor for just one more, -a petition that was seldom denied. Before -we were old enough to appreciate the adventures -we were shown the pictures, and through -Cornwallis Harris’s beautiful colored prints -in the <cite>Portraits of Game and Wild Animals of -Southern Africa</cite> we soon learned to distinguish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -the great beasts of Africa. The younger -Gordon Cumming came to stay with us at -Sagamore, and when father would get him to -tell us hunting incidents from his own varied -career, we listened enthralled to a really living -“I story.” To us he was known as the “Elephant -Man,” from his prowess in the pursuit of -the giant pachyderm.</p> - -<p>Then there was also the “Shark Man.” -He was an Australian who told us most thrilling -tales of encounters with sharks witnessed -when among the pearl-divers. I remember -vividly his description of seeing a shark attack -one of the natives working for him. The -man was pulled aboard only after the shark -had bitten a great chunk from his side and exposed -his heart, which they could see still -beating. He said, “Master, master, big fish,” -before he died.</p> - -<p>The illustrations in Millais’s <cite>Breath from the -Veldt</cite> filled us with delight, and to this day I -know of no etching that affects me as does the -frontispiece by the author’s father. It is -called the “Last Trek.” An old hunter is lying -dead beside his ox-wagon; near him squat -two of his Kafir boys, and in the distance graze -herds of zebra and hartebeeste and giraffe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<p>Of the mighty hunters that still survived -at that time, father admired most Mr. F. C. -Selous. His books he knew almost by heart. -Whenever Selous came to the United States -he would stay with us, and father would sit -up till far into the night talking of wild life -in the open. Selous, at sixty-five, enlisted in -the late war as a private; he rose to be captain, -and was decorated with the D. S. O. for gallantry, -before he fell, fighting the Germans -in East Africa. No one could have devised a -more fitting end for the gallant old fellow than -to die at the head of his men, in a victorious -battle on those plains he had roamed so often -and loved so well, fighting against the worst -and most dangerous beast of his generation.</p> - -<p>In 1887 father founded a hunting club -called the “Boone and Crockett” after two -of the most mighty hunters of America. No -one was entitled to membership who had not -brought down in fair chase three species of -American big game. The membership was -limited to a hundred and I well remember my -father’s pride when my brother and I qualified -and were eventually elected members. The -club interests itself particularly in the conservation -of wild life, and the establishment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -of game refuges. Mr. Selous and other English -hunters were among the associate members.</p> - -<p>In the summer of 1908 my father told me -that when his term in the White House ended -the following spring, he planned to make a -trip to Africa, and that if I wished to do so I -could accompany him. There was no need -to ask whether I wanted to go. At school -when we were writing compositions, mine almost -invariably took the form of some imaginary -journey across the “Dark Continent.” -Still, father had ever made it a practice to talk -to us as if we were contemporaries. He would -never order or even tell us to follow a certain -line; instead, he discussed it with us, and let -us draw our own conclusions. In that way we -felt that while we had his unreserved backing, -we were yet acting on our own initiative, and -were ourselves responsible for the results. If -a boy is forced to do a thing he often makes -but a half-hearted attempt to succeed, and lays -his failure to the charge of the person who -forced him, although he might well have come -through with flying colors had he felt that he -was acting on his own responsibility. In his -discussions with us, father could of course<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -shape our opinions in what he thought the -proper mould.</p> - -<p>In like manner, when it came to taking me -to Africa father wanted me to go, but he also -wanted me to thoroughly understand the pro’s -and con’s. He explained to me that it was a -holiday that he was allowing himself at fifty, -after a very busy life—that if I went I would -have to make up my mind that my holiday -was coming at the beginning of my life, and -be prepared to work doubly hard to justify -both him and myself for having taken it. He -said that the great danger lay in my being unsettled, -but he felt that taken rightly the experience -could be made a valuable asset instead -of a liability. After we had once finished the -discussion and settled that I was to go, father -never referred to it again. He then set about -preparing for the expedition. Mr. Edward -North Buxton was another African hunter -whom he greatly admired, and it was to him -and to Selous that he chiefly turned for aid -in making his plans. It was often said of -father that he was hasty and inclined to go -off at half-cock. There was never any one who -was less so. He would gather his information -and make his preparations with painstaking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -care, and then when the moment came -to act he was thoroughly equipped and prepared -to do so with that lightning speed that -his enemies characterized as rash hot-headedness.</p> - -<p>Father always claimed that it was by discounting -and guarding against all possible -causes of failure that he won his successes. -His last great battle, that for preparedness for -the part that “America the Unready” would -have to play in the World War, was true to -his life creed. For everything he laid his -plans in advance, foreseeing as far as was -humanly possible each contingency to be encountered.</p> - -<p>For the African expedition he made ready -in every way. I was at the time at Harvard, -and almost every letter brought some reference -to preparations. One day it would be: “The -Winchester rifles came out for trial and all -of them were sighted wrong. I sent them -back with rather an acid letter.” Then again: -“You and I will be so rusty when we reach -Sir Alfred Pease’s ranch that our first efforts -at shooting are certain to be very bad. In -March we will practise at Oyster Bay with the -30-30 until we get what I would call the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -‘rifle sense’ back again, and this will make it -easier for us when, after a month’s sea trip, we -take up the business of hunting.”</p> - -<p>A group of thirty or forty of the most famous -zoologists and sportsmen presented my father -with a heavy, double-barrelled gun. “At last -I have tried the double-barrelled Holland -Elephant rifle. It is a perfect beauty and it -shoots very accurately, but of course the recoil -is tremendous, and I fired very few shots. -I shall get you to fire it two or three times at a -target after we reach Africa, just so that you -shall be thoroughly familiar with it, if, or when, -you use it after big game. There is no question -that except under extraordinary circumstances -it would be the best weapon for elephant, -rhino, and buffalo. I think the 405 -Winchester will be as good for everything -else.”</p> - -<p>“About all my African things are ready now, -or will be in a few days. I suppose yours are -in good trim also [a surreptitious dig at a -somewhat lackadaisical son.] I am pursuing -my usual plan of taking all the precautions in -advance.”</p> - -<p>A few days later came another reference to -the Holland & Holland: “The double-barrelled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -four-fifty shot beautifully, but I was -paralyzed at the directions which accompanied -it to the effect that two shots must always be -fired in the morning before starting, as otherwise -from the freshly oiled barrels the first -shot would go high. This is all nonsense and -I shall simply have to see that the barrels are -clean of the oil.” The recoil of the big gun -was so severe that it became a standing joke -as to whether we did not fear it more than a -charging elephant!</p> - -<p>Father gave the closest attention to every -detail of the equipment. The first provision -lists prepared by his friends in England were -drawn up on a presidential scale with champagne -and pâté de foies gras and all sorts of -luxuries. These were blue-pencilled and two -American staples substituted—baked beans -and canned tomatoes. Father always retained -the appreciation of canned tomatoes gained in -the early ranching days in the West. He would -explain how delicious he had found it in the -Bad Lands after eating the tomatoes to drink -the juice from the can. In hunting in a temperate -climate such as our West, a man can -get along with but very little, and it is difficult -to realize that a certain amount of luxury is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -necessary in the tropics to maintain oneself -fit. Then, too, in Africa the question of transportation -was fairly simple—and almost everywhere -we were able to keep ourselves and the -porters amply supplied with fresh meat. Four -years later during the descent of the Dúvida—the -“River of Doubt”—we learned to our bitter -cost what it meant to travel in the tropics as -lightly equipped as one could, with but little -hardship, in the north. It was not, however, -through our own lack of forethought, but due -rather to the necessities and shifting chances -of a difficult and dangerous exploring expedition.</p> - -<p>Even if it is true as Napoleon said, that an -army marches on its belly, still, it won’t go far -unless its feet are properly shod, and since my -father had a skin as tender as a baby’s, he -took every precaution that his boots should -fit him properly and not rub. “The modified -duffle-bags came all right. I suppose we will -get the cotton-soled shoes, but I do not know. -How do you like the rubber-soled shoes? -Don’t you think before ordering other pairs -it would be as well to wait until you see the -army shoes here, which are light and somehow -look as if they were more the kind you ordinarily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -use? How many pairs have you now -for the African trip, and how many more do -you think you want?”</p> - -<p>Father was fifty years old in the October before -we left for Africa, and the varied experiences -of his vigorous life had, as he used to -say, battered and chipped him. One eye was -to all intents useless from the effects of a -boxing-match, and from birth he had been so -astigmatic as to be absolutely unable to use a -rifle and almost unable to find his way in the -woods without his glasses. He never went off -without eight or ten pairs so distributed -throughout his kit as to minimize the possibility -of being crippled through any ordinary -accident. Even so, any one who has worn -glasses in the tropics knows how easily they -fog over, and how hopeless they are in the -rains. It was a continual source of amazement -to see how skilfully father had discounted this -handicap in advance and appeared to be unhampered -by it.</p> - -<p>Another serious threat lay in the leg that -had been injured when the carriage in which -he was driving was run down by a trolley-car, -and the secret service man with him was -killed. In September, 1908, he wrote me from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -Washington: “I have never gotten over the -effects of the trolley-car accident six years ago, -when, as you will remember, they had to cut -down to the shin bone. The shock permanently -damaged the bone, and if anything -happens there is always a chance of trouble -which would be serious. Before I left Oyster -Bay, while riding, I got a rap on the shin -bone from a branch. This was either the cause -or the occasion of an inflammation, which had -grown so serious when I got back here that -Doctor Rixey had to hastily take it in hand. -For a couple of days it was uncertain whether -we would not have to have another operation -and remove some of the bones of the leg, but -fortunately the doctor got it in hand all right, -and moreover it has enabled me to learn just -what I ought to do if I am threatened with -similar trouble in Africa.”</p> - -<p>His activity, however, was little hampered -by his leg, for a few weeks later he wrote: -“I have done very little jumping myself, and -that only of the small jumps up to four feet, -because it is evident that I have got to be -pretty careful of my leg, and that an accident -of at all a serious character might throw me -out of gear for the African trip. This afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -by the way, Archie Butt and I took a -scramble down Rock Creek. It was raining -and the rocks were slippery, and at one point -I slipped off into the creek, but merely bruised -myself in entirely safe places, not hurting my -leg at all. When we came to the final and -stiffest cliff climb, it was so dark that Archie -couldn’t get up.” From which it may be -seen that neither endurance nor skill suffered -as a result of the accident to the leg. Still, as -Bret Harte says, “We always wink with the -weaker eye,” and when anything went wrong, -the leg was sure to be implicated. Father -suffered fearfully with it during the descent -of the River of Doubt. One of the most constant -pictures of father that I retain is at Sagamore -after dinner on the piazza. He would -draw his chair out from the roofed-over part -to where he could see the moon and the -stars. When things were black he would often -quote Jasper Petulengro in Borrow’s <cite>Lavengro</cite>: -“Life is sweet, brother.... There’s day and -night, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, -and stars, all sweet things; ... and likewise -there’s a wind on the heath,” and would add: -“Yes, there’s always the wind on the heath.” -From where he sat he looked across the fields<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -to the dark woods, and over the tree-tops to -the bay with the changing twinkling lights of -the small craft; across the bay to the string -of lamps along the causeway leading to Centre -Island, and beyond that again Long Island -Sound with occasionally a “tall Fall Steamer -light.” For a while father would drink his -coffee in silence, and then his rocking-chair -would start creaking and he would say: “Do -you remember that night in the Sotik when -the gun-bearers were skinning the big lion?” -or “What a lovely camp that was under the -big tree in the Lado when we were hunting the -giant eland?”</p> - -<p>We get three sorts and periods of enjoyment -out of a hunting trip. The first is when the -plans are being discussed and the outfit assembled; -this is the pleasure of anticipation. The -second is the enjoyment of the actual trip itself; -and the third is the pleasure of retrospection -when we sit round a blazing wood-fire -and talk over the incidents and adventures of -the trip. There is no general rule to know -which of the three gives the keenest joy. I -can think of a different expedition in which -each sort stands out in pre-eminence. Even -if the trip has been exceptionally hard and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -luck unusually bad, the pleasures of anticipation -and preparation cannot be taken away, -and frequently the retrospect is the more satisfactory -because of the difficulties and discomforts -surmounted.</p> - -<p>I think we enjoyed the African trip most in -the actuality, and that is saying a great deal. -It was a wonderful “adventure” and all the -world seemed young. Father has quoted in the -foreword to <cite>African Game Trails</cite>: “I speak -of Africa and golden joys.” It was a line -that I have heard him repeat to himself many -times. In Africa everything was new. He -revelled in the vast plains blackened with herds -of grazing antelope. From his exhaustive -reading and retentive memory he knew already -the history and the habits of the different -species of game. When we left camp -in the early morning we never could foretell -what we would run into by nightfall—we were -prepared for anything from an elephant to -a dik-dik—the graceful diminutive antelope -no larger than a hare. In the evening, after -we had eaten we would gather round the camp-fire—for -in the highlands the evenings were -chilly—and each would tell the adventures of -his day, and discuss plans for the morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -Then we would start paralleling and comparing. -Father would illustrate with adventures -of the old days in our West; Cuninghame -from the lore gathered during his twenty years -in Africa would relate some anecdote, and -Mearns would talk of life among the wild -tribes in the Philippines.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp97" id="i024fp" style="max-width: 81.4375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_024fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Sir Alfred Pease’s sketch of our first giraffe hunt</div> -</div> - -<p>Colonel Mearns belonged to the medical -corps in the army. He had come with us as -an ornithologist, for throughout his military -career he had been actively interested in sending -specimens from wherever he was serving -to the Smithsonian National Museum in Washington. -His mild manner belied his fearless -and intrepid disposition. A member of the -expedition once came into camp with an account -of the doctor, whom he had just run -across—looking too benevolent for this world, -engaged in what our companion described as -“slaughtering humming-birds, pursuing them -from bush to bush.” One of his Philippine -adventures filled us with a delighted interest -for which I don’t believe he fully appreciated -the reason. He told us how with a small force -he had been hemmed in by a large number of -Moros. The Americans took refuge in a -stockade on a hilltop. The Moros advanced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -time and again with the greatest gallantry, -and Mearns explained how sorry he felt for -them as they fell—some under the very walls -of the stockade. In a musing tone at the -end he added: “I slipped out of the stockade -that night and collected a most interesting -series of skulls; they’re in the Smithsonian -to-day.”</p> - -<p>Father was the rare combination of a born -raconteur—with the gift of putting in all the -little details that make a story—and an equally -good listener. He was an adept at drawing -people out. His interest was so whole-hearted -and obvious that the shyest, most tongue-tied -adventurer found himself speaking with -entire freedom. Every one with whom we came -in contact fell under the charm. Father invariably -thought the best of a person, and for -that very reason every one was at his best with -him—and felt bound to justify his confidence -and judgment. With him I always thought -of the Scotch story of the MacGregor who, -when a friend told him that it was an outrage -that at a certain banquet he should have been -given a seat half-way down the table, replied: -“Where the MacGregor sits is the head of the -table!” Where father sat was always the head<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -of the table, and yet he treated every one with -the same courtesy and simplicity, whether it -was the governor of the Protectorate or the -poorest Boer settler. I remember how amazed -some were at the lack of formality in his relationship -with the members of the expedition. -Many people who have held high positions -feel it incumbent on them to maintain a certain -distance in their dealings with their less -illustrious fellow men. If they let down the -barrier they feel, they would lose dignity. -They are generally right, for their superiority -is not innate, but the result of chance. With -father it was otherwise. The respect and -consideration felt for him could not have been -greater, and would certainly not have been -so sincere, had he built a seven-foot barrier -about himself.</p> - -<p>He was most essentially unselfish, and wanted -no more than would have been his just due if -the expedition, instead of being owing entirely -to him, both financially and otherwise, had -been planned and carried out by all of us. -He was a natural champion of the cause of -every man, and not only in his books would he -carefully give credit where it was due, but he -would endeavor to bring about recognition<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -through outside channels. Thus he felt that -Colonel Rondon deserved wide acknowledgment -for the years of exploring in the Brazilian -Hinterland; and he brought it to the attention -of the American and British Geographical -Societies. As a result, the former awarded -the gold medal to Colonel Rondon. In the -same way father championed the cause of -the naturalists who went with him on his expeditions. -He did his best to see that the -museums to which they belonged should appreciate -their services, and give them the opportunity -to follow the results through. When -an expedition brings back material that has -not been described, the museum publishes -pamphlets listing the new species, and explaining -their habitats and characteristics. This -is rarely done by the man who did the actual -collecting. Father, whenever it was feasible, -arranged for the naturalists who had accompanied -or taken part in the collecting to have -the credit of writing the pamphlets describing -the results of their work. To a layman this -would not seem much, but in reality it means -a great deal. Father did all he could to encourage -his companions to write their experiences, -for most of them had led eventful lives<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -filled with unusual incident. When, as is -often the case, the actor did not have the power -of written narrative, father would be the first -to recognize it, and knew that if inadequately -described, the most eventful careers may be -of no more interest than the catalogue of ships -in the <cite>Odyssey</cite>, or the “begat” chapters in the -Bible. If, however, father felt that there existed -a genuine ability to write, he would spare -no efforts to place the articles; in some cases -he would write introductions, and in others, -reviews of the book, if the results attained to -that proportion.</p> - -<p>One of the most careful preparations that -father made for the African expedition was -the choosing of the library. He selected as -wide a range as possible, getting the smallest -copy of each book that was obtainable with -decent reading type. He wanted a certain -number of volumes mainly for the contrast -to the daily life. He told me that he had -particularly enjoyed Swinburne and Shelley -in ranching days in the Bad Lands, because -they were so totally foreign to the life and the -country—and supplied an excellent antidote -to the daily round. Father read so rapidly -that he had to plan very carefully in order to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -have enough books to last him through a -trip. He liked to have a mixture of serious -and light literature—chaff, as he called the -latter. When he had been reading histories -and scientific discussions and political treatises -for a certain length of time, he would plunge -into an orgy of detective stories and novels -about people cast away on desert islands.</p> - -<p>The plans for the Brazilian expedition came -into being so unexpectedly that he could -not choose his library with the usual care. -He brought Gibbon’s <cite>Decline and Fall of the -Roman Empire</cite> in the Everyman’s edition, -and farmed out a volume to each of us, and -most satisfactory it proved to all. He also -brought <cite>Marcus Aurelius</cite> and <cite>Epictetus</cite>, but -when he tried to read them during the descent -of the Rio da Dúvida, they only served to fill -him with indignation at their futility. Some -translations of Greek plays, not those of Gilbert -Murray, for which he had unstinted praise, -met with but little better success, and we were -nearly as badly off for reading matter as we -were for provisions. I had brought along a -selection of Portuguese classics and a number -of French novels. The former were useless -to father, but Henri Bordeaux and Maurice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -Leblanc were grist to the mill. It was father’s -first introduction to Arsène, and he thoroughly -enjoyed it—he liked the style, although for -matter he preferred Conan Doyle. Father -never cared very much about French novels—the -French books that he read most were -scientific volumes—histories of the Mongols—and -an occasional hunting book, but he afterward -became a great admirer of Henri Bordeaux.</p> - -<p>At last the time came when there was -nothing left but the Oxford books of English -and French verse. The one of English verse -he had always disliked. He said that if there -were to be any American poetry included, it -should be at any rate a good selection. The -choice from Longfellow’s poems appealed to -him as particularly poor, and I think that it -was for this reason that he disapproved of the -whole collection. Be that as it may, I realized -how hard up for something to read father must -be when he asked me for my Oxford book of -English verse. For French verse father had -never cared. He said it didn’t sing sufficiently. -“The Song of Roland” was the one exception -he granted. It was, therefore, a still greater -proof of distress when he borrowed the Oxford<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -book of French verse. He always loved to -tell afterward that when he first borrowed it -he started criticising and I had threatened to -take it away if he continued to assail my -favorites. In spite of all this he found it infinitely -preferable to <cite>Epictetus</cite> and <cite>Marcus -Aurelius</cite>, and, indeed, became very fond of -some of the selections. Villon and Ronsard -particularly interested him.</p> - -<p>When riding along through the wilderness -father would often repeat poetry to himself. -To learn a poem he had only to read it through -a few times, and he seemed never to forget -it. Sometimes we would repeat the poem together. -It might be parts of the “Saga of King -Olaf,” or Kipling’s “Rhyme of the Three -Sealers,” or “Grave of a Hundred Head,” or, -perhaps, “The Bell Buoy”—or again it might -be something from Swinburne or Shelley or -Keats—or the “Ballad of Judas Iscariot.” He -was above all fond of the poetry of the open, -and I think we children got much of our love -for the outdoor life, not only from actual example, -but from the poetry that father taught -us.</p> - -<p>There was an indissoluble bond between -him and any of his old hunting companions,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -and in no matter what part of the world he -met them, all else was temporarily forgotten -in the eager exchange of reminiscences of old -days. On the return from Africa, Seth Bullock, -of Deadwood, met us in London. How -delighted father was to see him, and how he -enjoyed the captain’s comments on England -and things English! One of the captain’s first -remarks on reaching London was to the effect -that he was so glad to see father that he -felt like hanging his hat on the dome of Saint -Paul’s and shooting it off. We were reminded -of Artemus Ward’s classic reply to the guard -who found him tapping, with his cane, an inscription -in Westminster Abbey: “Come, -come, sir, you mustn’t do that. It isn’t permitted, -you know!” Whereupon Artemus -Ward turned upon him: “What, mustn’t do -it? If I like it, I’ll buy it!” It was never -difficult to trail the captain. When my sister -and I were going through Edinburgh Castle, -the local guide showed us an ancient gun, -firing a cluster of five or six barrels. With -great amusement he told us how an American -to whom he was showing the piece a few days -previously had remarked that to be shot at -with that gun must be like taking a shower-bath.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -A few questions served to justify the -conclusion we had immediately formed as to -the identity of our predecessor. Father had -him invited to the dinner given by the donors -of the Holland & Holland elephant rifle.</p> - -<p>Of the hunting comrades of his early days, -he told me that Mr. R. H. Munro Ferguson -was the most satisfactory of all, for he met -all requirements—always good-humored when -things went wrong, possessing a keen sense of -humor, understanding the value of silent companionship, -and so well read and informed as -to be able to discuss appreciatively any of the -multitudinous questions of literature or world -affairs that interested my father.</p> - -<p>In Washington when an old companion -turned up he would be triumphantly borne off -to lunch, to find himself surrounded by famous -scientists, authors, senators, and foreign diplomats. -Father would shift with lightning rapidity -from one to the other—first he might -be discussing some question of Indian policy -and administration, next the attitude of a -foreign power—then an author’s latest novel—and -a few moments later, he would have led -on Johnny Goff to telling an experience with -the cougar hounds.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i034fp" style="max-width: 97.4375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_034fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Father and R. H. Munro Ferguson at the Elkhorn Ranch, after the return from a successful -hunting trip</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span></p> - -<p>Any man who had hunted with father was -ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, -and no passage of time could diminish his -loyalty. With father the personal equation -counted for so much. He was so whole-heartedly -interested in his companions—in -their aspirations and achievements. In every -detail he was keenly interested, and he would -select from his library those volumes which -he thought would most interest each companion, -and, perhaps, develop in him the love -of the wonderful avocation which he himself -found in reading. His efforts were not always -crowned with success. Father felt that -our African companion, R. J. Cuninghame, the -“Bearded Master,” as the natives called him, -being Scotch should be interested in Scott’s -novels, so he selected from the “Pigskin Library” -a copy of one of them—<cite>Waverley</cite>, I -think it was. For some weeks Cuninghame -made progress, not rapid, it is true, for he -confessed to finding the notes the most interesting -part of the book, then one day when -they were sitting under a tree together in a -rest during the noonday heat, and father in -accordance with his invariable custom took out -a book from his saddle-pocket, R. J. produced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -<cite>Waverley</cite> and started industriously to work on -it. Father looked over his shoulder to see -where he had got to, and to his amused delight -found that Cuninghame had been losing -ground—he was three chapters farther back -than he had been two weeks before!</p> - -<p>We more than once had occasion to realize -how largely the setting is responsible for much -that we enjoy in the wilds. Father had told -me of how he used to describe the bellowing -of the bull elk as he would hear it ring out in -the frozen stillness of the forests of Wyoming. -He thought of it, and talked of it, as a weird, -romantic call—until one day when he was -walking through the zoological gardens accompanied -by the very person to whom he had -so often given the description. As they passed -the wapitis’ enclosure, a bull bellowed, and -father’s illusions and credit were simultaneously -shattered, for the romantic call he had -so often dwelt upon was, in a zoological park, -nothing more than a loud and discordant sort -of bray.</p> - -<p>In spite of this lesson we would see something -among the natives that was interesting -or unusual and get it to bring home, only to -find that it was the exotic surroundings that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -had been responsible for a totally fictitious -charm. A wild hill tribe in Africa use anklets -made from the skin of the colobus, a graceful, -long-haired monkey colored black and white. -When father produced the anklets at home, -the only thing really noticeable about them -was the fact that they smelt!</p> - -<p>Another equally unfortunate case was the -affair of the beehives. The same hill tribe -was very partial to honey. An individual’s -wealth was computed in the number of beehives -that he possessed. They were made -out of hollowed logs three or four feet long -and eight or ten inches in diameter. A wife -or a cow was bought for an agreed upon number -of beehives, and when we were hunting, no -matter how hot the trail might be, the native -tracker would, if we came to a clearing and -saw some bees hovering about the forest flowers, -halt and offer up a prayer that the bees -should deposit the honey in one of his hives. -It seemed natural to bring a hive home, but -viewed in the uncompromising light of the -North Shore of Long Island it was merely a -characterless, uninteresting log.</p> - -<p>Not the least of the many delights of being -a hunting companion of father’s was his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -humor. No one could tell a better story, -whether it was what he used to call one of -his “old grouse in the gunroom” stories, or -an account, with sidelights, of a contemporaneous -adventure. The former had to do -with incidents in his early career in the cow-camps -of the Dakotas, or later on with the -regiment in Cuba—and phrases and incidents -of them soon became coin-current in the expedition. -Father’s humor was never under -any circumstances ill-natured, or of such a -sort as might make its object feel uncomfortable. -If anything amusing occurred to a member -of the expedition, father would embroider -the happening in inimitable fashion, but always -in such a way that the victim himself was -the person most amused. The accompanying -drawing will serve as illustration. Father and -I had gone out to get some buck to eke out the -food-supply for the porters. We separated, -but some time later I caught sight of father -and thought I would join him and return to -camp. I didn’t pay particular attention to -what he was doing, and as he was some way -off I failed to notice that he was walking -stooped to keep concealed by a rise of ground -from some buck he was stalking. The result -was the picture.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="i038fp" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_038fp.jpg" alt="Facsimile of a picture letter by father" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> - -<p>Before we started on the serious exploring -part of the Brazilian trip, we paid visits to -several fazendas or ranches in the state of -Matto Grosso, with the purpose of hunting -jaguar, as well as the lesser game of the country. -One of the fazendas at which we stayed -belonged to the governor of the state. When -we were wakened before daylight to start off -on the hunt we were given, in Brazilian fashion, -the small cup of black coffee and piece of bread -which constitutes the native Brazilian breakfast. -We would then sally forth to return -to the ranch not before noon, and sometimes -much later, as the hunting luck dictated. -We would find an enormous lunch waiting for -us at the house. Father, who was accustomed -to an American breakfast, remarked regretfully -that he wished the lunch were divided, -or that at least part of it were used to supplement -the black coffee of daybreak. The second -morning, as I went down the hall, the -dining-room door was ajar, and I caught sight -of the table laden with the cold meats and -salads that were to serve as part of our elaborate -luncheon many dim hours hence. I -hurried back to tell father, and we tiptoed -cautiously into the dining-room, closing the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -door noiselessly behind us. While we were -engaged in making rapid despatch of a cold -chicken, we heard our hosts calling, and the -next minute the head of the house popped in -the door! As father said afterward, we felt -and looked like two small boys caught stealing -jam in the pantry.</p> - -<p>The Brazilian exploration was not so carefully -planned as the African trip, because -father had not intended to make much of an -expedition. The first time he mentioned the -idea was in April, 1913, in reply to a letter I -wrote from São Paulo describing a short hunting -expedition that I had made. “The forest -must be lovely; some time I must get down to -see you, and we’ll take a fortnight’s outing, -and you shall hunt and I’ll act as what in the -North Woods we used to call ‘Wangan man,’ -and keep camp!”</p> - -<p>Four months later he wrote that he was -planning to come down and see me; that he -had been asked to make addresses in Brazil, -Argentina, and Chile, and “I shall take a -naturalist with me, if, as I hope, I return via -Paraguay and the Amazon.” At the time it -did not look as if it would be possible for me to -go on the trip. In father’s next letter he said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -that after he left me, “instead of returning in -the ordinary tourist Bryan-Bryce-way, I am -going to see if it is possible to work across from -the Plata into the valley of the Amazon, and -come out through the Brazilian forest. This -may not be possible. It won’t be anything like -our African trip. There will be no hunting -and no adventures, so that I shall not have the -pang I otherwise would about not taking you -along.” These plans were amplified and extended -a certain amount, but in the last letter -I received they didn’t include a very serious -expedition.</p> - -<p>“I shall take the Springfield and the Fox -on my trip, but I shall not expect to do any -game-shooting. I think it would need the -Bwana Merodadi, [My name among the natives -in Africa] and not his stout and rheumatic -elderly parent to do hunting in the Brazilian -forest. I shall have a couple of naturalists -with me of the Heller stamp, and I shall hope -to get a fair collection for the New York -Museum—Fairfield Osborn’s museum.”</p> - -<p>It was at Rio that father first heard of the -River of Doubt. Colonel Rondon in an exploring -expedition had crossed a large river -and no one knew where it went to. Father<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -felt that to build dugouts and descend the -river offered a chance to accomplish some genuine -and interesting exploration. It was more -of a trip than he had planned for, but the -Brazilian Government arranged for Colonel -Rondon to make up an accompanying expedition.</p> - -<p>When father went off into the wilds he was -apt to be worried until he had done something -which would in his mind justify the expedition -and relieve it from the danger of being -a fiasco. In Africa he wished to get at least -one specimen each of the four great prizes—the -lion, the elephant, the buffalo, and the -rhinoceros. It was the lion for which he was -most keen—and which he also felt was the -most problematical. Luck was with us, and -we had not been hunting many days before -father’s ambition was fulfilled. It was something -that he had long desired—indeed it is -the pinnacle of most hunters’ ambitions—so -it was a happy cavalcade that rode back to -camp in the wake of the natives that were -carrying the lioness slung on a long pole. -The blacks were chanting a native song of -triumph, and father was singing “Whack-fa-lal -for Lannigan’s Ball,” as a sort of “chant pagan.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i042fp" style="max-width: 86.625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_042fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Putting the tape on a tusker<br /> -Reading from left to right: unknown gun-bearer, Kasitura, Father, Juma Johari, Tarlton, Cuninghame -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> - -<p>Father was more fluent than exact in expressing -himself in foreign languages. As he -himself said of his French, he spoke it “as if -it were a non-Aryan tongue, having neither gender -nor tense.” He would, however, always -manage to make himself understood, and never -seemed to experience any difficulty in understanding -his interlocutor. In Africa he had -a most complicated combination of sign-language -and coined words, and though I could -rarely make out what he and his gun-bearer -were talking about, they never appeared to -have any difficulty in understanding each other. -Father could read Spanish, and he had not -been in Brazil long before he could make out -the trend of any conversation in Portuguese. -With the Brazilians he always spoke French, -or, on rare occasions, German.</p> - -<p>He was most conscientious about his writing. -Almost every day when he came in from hunting -he would settle down to work on the articles -that were from time to time sent back to -<cite>Scribner’s</cite>. This daily task was far more -onerous than any one who has not tried it -can imagine. When you come in from a long -day’s tramping, you feel most uninclined to -concentrate on writing a careful and interesting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -account of the day’s activities. Father -was invariably good-humored about it, saying -that he was paying for his fun. In Brazil -when the mosquitoes and sand-flies were intolerable, -he used to be forced to write swathed -in a mosquito veil and with long gauntlets to -protect hands and wrists.</p> - -<p>During the descent of the River of Doubt in -Brazil there were many black moments. It -was impossible to hazard a guess within a -month or more as to when we would get through -to the Amazon. We had dugout canoes, -and when we came to serious rapids or waterfalls -we were forced to cut a trail around to -the quiet water below. Then we must make -a corduroy road with the trunks of trees over -which to haul the dugouts. All this took a -long time, and in some places where the river -ran through gorges it was almost impossible. -We lost in all six of the ten canoes with which -we started, and of course much of our food-supply -and general equipment. It was necessary -to delay and build two more canoes—a -doubly laborious task because of the axes -and adzes which had gone down in the shipwrecks. -The Brazil nuts upon which we had -been counting to help out our food-supply had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -had an off year. If this had not been so we -would have fared by no means badly, for these -nuts may be ground into flour or roasted or -prepared in a number of different ways. Another -source upon which we counted failed -us when we found that there were scarcely -any fish in the river. For some inexplicable -reason many of the tributaries of the Amazon -teem with fish, while others flowing through -similar country and under parallel conditions -contain practically none. We went first onto -half rations, and then were forced to still -further reduce the issue. We had only the -clothes in which we stood and were wet all -day and slept wet throughout the night. -There would be a heavy downpour, then out -would come the sun and we would be steamed -dry, only to be drenched once more a half-hour -later.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i044fp" style="max-width: 97.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_044fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Launching a newly made dugout on the Dúvida</div> -</div> - -<p>Working waist-deep in the water in an attempt -to dislodge a canoe that had been thrown -upon some rocks out in the stream, father -slipped, and, of course, it was his weak leg that -suffered. Then he came down with fever, and -in his weakened condition was attacked with -a veritable plague of deep abscesses. It can -be readily understood that the entourage and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -environment were about as unsuitable for a -sick man as any that could be imagined. Nothing -but father’s indomitable spirit brought -him through. He was not to be downed by -anything, although he knew well that the -chances were against his coming out. He -made up his mind that as long as he could, he -would go along, but that once he could no -longer travel, and held up the expedition, he -would arrange for us to go on without him. -Of course he did not at the time tell us this, -but he reasoned that with our very limited -supply of provisions, and the impossibility of -living on the country, if the expedition halted -it would not only be of no avail as far as he -was concerned, but the chances would be -strongly in favor of no one coming through. -With it all he was invariably cheerful, and in -the blackest times ever ready with a joke. -Sick as he was, he gave no one any trouble. -He would walk slowly over the portages, resting -every little while, and when the fever was -not too severe we would, when we reached the -farther end with the canoes, find him sitting -propped against a tree reading a volume of -Gibbon, or perhaps the Oxford book of verse.</p> - -<p>There was one particularly black night;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -one of our best men had been shot and killed -by a useless devil who escaped into the jungle, -where he was undoubtedly killed by the Indians. -We had been working through a series -of rapids that seemed interminable. There -would be a long carry, a mile or so clear going, -and then more rapids. The fever was -high and father was out of his head. Doctor -Cajazeira, who was one of the three Brazilians -with us, divided with me the watch during the -night. The scene is vivid before me. The -black rushing river with the great trees towering -high above along the bank; the sodden -earth under foot; for a few moments the stars -would be shining, and then the sky would -cloud over and the rain would fall in torrents, -shutting out sky and trees and river. Father -first began with poetry; over and over again -he repeated “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a -stately pleasure dome decree,” then he started -talking at random, but gradually he centred -down to the question of supplies, which was, of -course, occupying every one’s mind. Part of -the time he knew that I was there, and he -would then ask me if I thought Cherrie had -had enough to eat to keep going. Then he -would forget my presence and keep saying to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -himself: “I can’t work now, so I don’t need -much food, but he and Cherrie have worked -all day with the canoes, they must have part -of mine.” Then he would again realize my -presence and question me as to just how much -Cherrie had had. How good faithful Cajazeira -waked I do not know, but when his -watch was due I felt him tap me on the shoulder, -and crawled into my soggy hammock to -sleep the sleep of the dead.</p> - -<p>Father’s courage was an inspiration never to -be forgotten by any of us; without a murmur -he would lie while Cajazeira lanced and drained -the abscesses. When we got down beyond -the rapids the river widened so that instead of -seeing the sun through the canyon of the trees -for but a few hours each day, it hung above us -all the day like a molten ball and broiled us -as if the river were a grid on which we were -made fast. To a sick man it must have been -intolerable.</p> - -<p>It is when one is sick that one really longs -for home. Lying in a hammock all unwashed -and unshaven, suffocating beneath a mosquito-net, -or tortured by mosquitoes and sand-flies -when one raises the net to let in a breath -of air—it is then that one dreams of clean<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -pajamas and cool sheets and iced water. I -have often heard father say when he was -having a bout of fever at home, that it was -almost a pleasure to be ill, particularly when -you thought of all the past discomforts of -fever in the wilds.</p> - -<p>Father’s disappointment at not being able to -take a physical part in the war—as he has -said, “to pay with his body for his soul’s desire”—was -bitter. Strongly as he felt about -going, I doubt if his disappointment was much -more keen than that of the British and French -statesmen and generals, who so readily realized -what his presence would mean to the Allied -cause, and more than once requested in Washington -that he be sent. Marshal Joffre made -such a request in person, meeting with the -usual evasive reply. Father took his disappointment -as he had taken many another in -his life, without letting it harm his usefulness, -or discourage his aggressive energy. “In the -fell clutch of circumstance he did not wince -or cry aloud.” Indeed, the whole of Henley’s -poem might well apply to father if it were -possible to eliminate from it the unfortunate -marring undercurrent of braggadocio with -which father’s attitude was never for an instant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -tinged. With the indomitable courage -that knew no deterrent he continued to fight -his battle on this side to make America’s -entry no empty action, as it threatened to be. -He wrote me that he had hoped that I would -be with him in this greatest adventure of all, -but that since it was not to be, he could only -be thankful that his four boys were permitted -to do their part in the actual fighting.</p> - -<p>When in a little town in Germany my brother -and I got news of my father’s death, there kept -running through my head with monotonous -insistency Kipling’s lines:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“He scarce had need to doff his pride,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or slough the dress of earth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">E’en as he trod that day to God</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So walked he from his birth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In simpleness and gentleness and honor and clean mirth.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>That was my father, to whose comradeship -and guidance so many of us look forward in -the Happy Hunting-Grounds.</p> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<p class="chaphead">II<br /> -In Quest of Sable Antelope</p> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br /> -IN QUEST OF SABLE ANTELOPE</h2> - - -<p>It was a bright, sunny day toward the end -of October, and I was walking along the streets -of the old Portuguese town of Mombasa on the -east coast of Equatorial Africa. Behind me, -in ragged formation, marched some twenty-five -blacks, all but four of them with loads -on their heads; the four were my personal -“boys,” two gun-bearers, a cook, and a tent-boy. -They were scattered among the crowd, -hurrying up those that tried to lag behind -for a last farewell to the wives and sweethearts -who were following along on either side, clad -in the dark-blue or more gaudily colored sheets -that served them for clothes.</p> - -<p>At length our heterogeneous assembly -reached the white sands of the harbor, and -amid much confusion we stowed away into a -couple of long, broad dugouts and were ferried -out to a dhow that lay moored not far from the -shore. We set sail amid the shrill cries of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -women and a crowd of small children who, on -our approach, had scurried out of the water -like so many black monitor lizards.</p> - -<p>We steered out across the bay toward a -headland some two miles distant. There was -just enough breeze to ruffle the water, but the -dhow sped along at a rate that belied appearances. -Sprawling among their loads the men -lit cigarettes and chatted and joked, talking -of the prospects of the trip, or the recent gossip -of Mombasa. The sailors, not knowing that -I understood Swahili, began to discuss me -in loud tones. An awkward silence fell upon -the porters, who didn’t quite know how to -tell them. Mali, my tent-boy, who was -sitting near me, looked toward me and smiled. -When the discussion became a little too personal, -I turned to him and made a few pertinent -remarks about the crew. The porters -grinned delightedly, and rarely have I seen -more shamefaced men than those sailors.</p> - -<p>In far too short a time for all of us the dhow -grounded on the other side and we jumped -out and started to unload. A giant baobab-tree -stood near the beach; a cluster of huts -beneath it were occupied by some Swahilis -who fished, and ran a small store, where my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -porters laid in a final supply of delicacies—sugar -and tobacco.</p> - -<p>It is customary to have a native head man, -but on this short trip I had decided to do without -one, for though the porters were new, my -personal boys were old friends. Accordingly, -when all the loads were ready and neatly arranged -in line, I shouted “Bandika!” Great -muscular black arms caught the packs and -swung them up into place on the head, and off -we started, along the old coast trail, worn deep -with the traffic of centuries, and leading on -for several hundred miles with native villages -strung along its length. Behind me strode -my two gun boys, then came the porters, all -in single file, their present regular order a -strong contrast with our disordered progress -through the streets of Mombasa. Mali and -Kombo, the cook, brought up the rear to look -out for stragglers, and help unfortunates to -rearrange their loads more comfortably.</p> - -<p>A little way from the shore we passed an -old Arab well; some women were drawing -water from it, but at our approach they deserted -their earthen jars and hurried away -with shrill ejaculations. Fresh from the more -arid interior, I imagined that the men would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -fill their gourds, but they filed past without -stopping, for this was a land of many streams.</p> - -<p>We continued on our way silently, now -through stretches of sandy land covered with -stunted bushes, now through native shambas, -or cultivated fields, until we came upon a -group of natives seated under a gigantic wide-spreading -tree. It was a roadside shop, and -the porters threw down their loads and shouldered -their way to where the shopkeeper was -squatting behind his wares—nuts, tobacco, -tea, bits of brass wire, beads, and sweetmeats -of a somewhat gruesome appearance. -He was a striking-looking old fellow with a -short gray beard. Pretty soon he came to -where I was sitting with a measure of nuts -for the white man; so in return I took out -my tobacco-pouch and presented him with -some of the white man’s tobacco.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes’ rest we set out again -and marched along for some time until we -came to a cocoanut-palm grove, where I decided -to camp for the night. The natives we -were among were called the WaNyika—the -“children of the wilderness.”</p> - -<p>Leaving the men to arrange camp under -the supervision of the gun-bearers, I strolled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -over to a nearby village where there was a -dance in full swing. The men were regaling -themselves with cocoanut-wine, an evil-tasting -liquid, made from fermented cocoanut-milk, -they told me. The moon, almost at -full, was rising when I returned to camp, and -after supper I sat and smoked and watched -“the night and the palms in the moonlight,” -until the local chief, or Sultani, as they called -him, came up and presented me with some -ripe cocoanuts, and sitting down on the ground -beside me he puffed away at his long clay -pipe, coughing and choking over the strong -tobacco I had given him, but apparently enjoying -it all immensely. When he left I remained -alone, unable for some time to make -up my mind to go to bed, such was the spell -of the tropic moonlight and the distant half-heard -songs of the dancing “children of the -wilderness.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i056fp" style="max-width: 96.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_056fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A relic of the Portuguese occupation; an old well beside the trail</div> -</div> - -<p>Early next morning we were on our way, -and that night were camped a few hundred -yards from the village of a grizzled old Sultani, -whose domains lay in the heart of the sable -country, for it was in search of these handsome -antelopes that I had come. In southern Africa -the adult males of the species are almost black,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -with white bellies, but here they were not so -dark in color, resembling more nearly the -southern female sable, which is a dark reddish -brown. Both sexes carry long horns that -sweep back in a graceful curve over the shoulders, -those of the male much heavier and -longer, sometimes, in the south, attaining five -feet in length. The sable antelope is a savage -animal, and when provoked, will attack man -or beast. The rapier-like horns prove an effective -weapon as many a dog has learned to its -cost.</p> - -<p>My tent was pitched beneath one of the large -shade-trees in which the country abounds. -This one was the village council-tree, and when -I arrived the old men were seated beneath it -on little wooden stools. These were each -hacked out of a single log and were only five -or six inches high. The owner carried his -stool with him wherever he went, slinging it -over his shoulder on a bit of rawhide or a -chain.</p> - -<p>There was trouble in the village, for after -the first formal greetings were over the old -chief told me that one of his sons had just -died. There was about to be held a dance in -his memory, and he led me over to watch it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -We arrived just as the ceremony was starting. -Only small boys were taking part in it, and it -was anything but a mournful affair, for each -boy had strung round his ankles baskets filled -with pebbles that rattled in time with the -rhythm of the dance. In piping soprano they -sang a lively air which, unlike any native -music I had hitherto heard, sounded distinctly -European, and would scarcely have been -out of place in a comic opera.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i058fp" style="max-width: 97.3125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_058fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">The Death Dance of the Wa Nyika children in memory of the chieftain’s little son -</div> -</div> - -<p>When the dance was finished the Sultani -came back with me to my tent, and sitting -down on his stool beside me, we gossiped until -I was ready to go to bed. I had given him a -gorgeous green umbrella and a most meritorious -knife, promising him further presents should -success attend me in the chase. He, in addition -to the customary cocoanuts, had presented -me with some chickens and a large -supply of a carrot-shaped root called mihogo; -by no means a bad substitute for potatoes, -and eaten either raw or cooked; having in -the former state a slight chestnut flavor.</p> - -<p>The first day’s hunting was a blank, for although -we climbed hill after hill and searched -the country with my spy-glasses, we saw nothing -but some kongoni (hartebeeste), and I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -no intention of risking disturbing the country -by shooting at them, much as the men would -have liked the meat. It was the rainy season, -and we were continually getting drenched -by showers, but between times the sun would -appear and in an incredibly short time we -would be dry again. The Sultani had given -me two guides, sturdy, cheerful fellows with -no idea of hunting, but knowing the country -well, which was all we wanted. We loaded -them down with cocoanuts, for in the middle -of the day when one was feeling tired and hot -it was most refreshing to cut a hole in a cocoanut -and drink the milk, eating the meat afterward.</p> - -<p>The following day we made a very early -start, leaving camp amid a veritable tropical -downpour. For half an hour we threaded -our way through the semi-cultivated native -shambas; the rain soon stopped, the sun rose, -and we followed an overgrown trail through a -jungle of glistening leaves. Climbing a large -hill, we sat down among some rocks to reconnoitre. -Just as I was lighting my pipe I -saw Juma Yohari, one of my gun-bearers, -motioning excitedly. I crept over to him -and he pointed out, three-quarters of a mile<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -away, a small band of sable crossing a little -open space between two thickets. The country -was difficult to hunt, for it was so furrowed -with valleys, down the most of which there ran -streams, that there was very little level land, -and that little was in the main bush country—the -Bara, as the natives called it. There were, -however, occasional open stretches, but during -the rainy season, as at present, the grass -was so high everywhere that it was difficult -to find game. We held a hurried consultation, -Juma, Kasitura—my other gun-bearer—and -myself; after a short disagreement we decided -upon the course, and set out as fast as we -safely could toward the point agreed on. It -was exhausting work: through ravines, up -hills, all amid a tangle of vines and thorns; -and once among the valleys it was hard to -know just where we were. When we reached -what we felt was the spot we had aimed at, we -could find no trace of our quarry, though we -searched stealthily in all directions. I led -the way toward a cluster of tall palms that -were surrounded by dense undergrowth. A -slight wind rose, and as I entered the thicket -with every nerve tense, I heard a loud and most -disconcerting crackle that caused me to jump<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -back on to Yohari, who was close behind me. -He grinned and pointed to some great dead -palm-leaves pendant along the trunk of one -of the trees that the wind had set in motion. -The next instant I caught sight of a pair of -horns moving through the brush. On making -out the general outline of the body, I fired. -Another antelope that I had not seen made off, -and taking it for a female I again fired, bringing -it down with a most lucky shot. I had -hoped to collect male, female, and young for -the museum, so I was overjoyed, believing that -I had on the second day’s hunting managed to -get the two adults. Yohari and Kasitura -thought the same, but when we reached our -quarry we found them to be both males; the -latter a young one, and the former, although -full grown in body, by no means the tawny -black color of an old bull. We set to work on -the skins, and soon had them off. Juma took -one of the Shenzies<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and went back to camp -with the skins, while Kasitura and I went on -with the other. We returned to camp by -moonlight that night without having seen -any more game. The porters had gone out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -and brought in the meat and there was a grand -feast in progress.</p> - -<p>After some antelope-steak and a couple of -cups of tea I tumbled into bed and was soon -sound asleep. The next thing I knew I was -wide awake, feeling as if there were fourscore -pincers at work on me. Bounding out of -bed, I ran for the camp-fire, which was still -flickering. I was covered with ants. They -had apparently attacked the boys sleeping -near me at about the same time, for the camp -was in an uproar and there was a hurrying of -black figures, and a torrent of angry Swahili -imprecations. There was nothing for it but -to beat an ignominious retreat, and we fled -in confusion. Once out of reach of reinforcements -we soon ridded ourselves of such of our -adversaries as were still on us. Fortunately -for us the assault had taken place not long before -dawn, and we returned to camp safely by -daylight.</p> - -<p>That day we moved camp to the top of a -neighboring hill, about a mile from the village. -I spent the morning working over the -skins which I had only roughly salted the night -before; but in the afternoon we sallied forth -again to the hunt.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p> - -<p>We went through several unsuccessful days -before I again came up with sable. Several -times we had met with fresh tracks, and in -each case Kasitura, who was a strapping Basoga -from a tribe far inland and an excellent tracker, -took up the trail and did admirable work. -The country was invariably so dense and the -game so wary that in spite of Kasitura’s remarkable -tracking, only on two occasions did -we sight the quarry, and each time it was only -a fleeting glimpse as they crashed off. I could -have had a shot, but I was anxious not to kill -anything more save a full-grown female or an -old master bull; and it was impossible to determine -either sex or age.</p> - -<p>On what was to be our last day’s hunting -we made a particularly early start and pushed -on and on through the wild bushland, stopping -occasionally to spy round from some vantage-point. -We would swelter up a hill, down into -the next valley among the lovely tall trees -that lined the brook, cross the cool, rock-strewn -stream, and on again. The sable fed -in the open only in the very early morning -till about nine o’clock, then they would retreat -into the thickets and doze until four or five -in the afternoon, when they would again come<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -out to feed. During the intervening time our -only chance was to run across them by luck, -or find fresh tracks to follow. On that particular -day we climbed a high hill about noon to -take a look round and have a couple of hours’ -siesta. I found a shady tree and sat down with -my back against the trunk. Ten miles or so -away sparkled and shimmered the Indian -Ocean. On all sides stretched the wonderful -bushland, here and there in the distance -broken by little patches of half-cultivated -land. There had been a rain-storm in the -morning, but now the sun was shining -undimmed. Taking from my hunting-coat -pocket Borrow’s <cite>Wild Wales</cite>, I was soon climbing -far-distant Snowdon with Lavengro, and -was only brought back to realities by Juma, -who came up to discuss the afternoon’s campaign. -We had scarcely begun when one of -the Shenzies, whom I had sent to watch from a -neighboring hill, came up in great excitement -to say that he had found a large sable bull. -We hurried along after him, and presently he -pointed to a thicket ahead of us. Leaving -the rest behind, Juma and I proceeded cautiously -toward the thicket. We found two -sable cows, which Juma felt sure were all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -that there were in the thicket, whereas I could -not help putting some faith in the Shenzi -who had been very insistent about the “big -bull.” I was convinced at length that Juma -was right, so I took aim at the better of the -cows. My shooting was poor, for I only -crippled her, and when I moved up close for a -final shot she attempted to charge, snorting -savagely, but too badly hit to cause any -trouble.</p> - -<p>We had spent some time searching for the -bull, so that by the time we had the skin off, -the brief African twilight was upon us. We -had been hunting very hard for the last week, -and were all of us somewhat fagged, but as we -started toward camp I soon forgot my weariness -in the magic of the night. Before the -moon rose we trooped silently along, no one -speaking, but all listening to the strange -noises of the wilderness. We were following a -rambling native trail, which wound along a -deep valley beside a stream for some time -before it struck out across the hills for camp. -There was but little game in the country, still -occasionally we would hear a buck that had -winded us crashing off, or some animal splashing -across the stream. In the more open<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -country the noise of the cicadas, loud and -incessant, took me back to the sound of the -katydids in summer nights on Long Island. -The moon rose large and round, outlining the -tall ivory-nut palms. It was as if we were -marching in fairyland, and with real regret I -at length caught the gleam of the camp-fire -through the trees.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i066fp" style="max-width: 97.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_066fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Across the bay from Mombasa; the porters ready to shoulder loads and march</div> -</div> - -<p>It was after ten o’clock, when we had had -something to eat, but Juma, Kasitura, and I -gathered to work on the sable, and toiled until -we began to nod off to sleep as we skinned.</p> - -<p>Next morning I paid my last visit to the old -Sultani, rewarding him as I had promised and -solemnly agreeing to come back and live with -him in his country. The porters were joyful, -as is always the case when they are headed -for Mombasa. Each thought of the joyous -time he would have spending his earnings, -and they sang in unison as they swung along -the trail—careless, happy children. I, too, -was in the best of spirits, for my quest had been -successful, and I was not returning empty-handed.</p> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p class="chaphead">III<br /> -The Sheep of the Desert</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br /> -THE SHEEP OF THE DESERT</h2> -</div> - - -<p>I wished to hunt the mountain-sheep of the -Mexican desert, hoping to be able to get a -series needed by the National Museum.</p> - -<p>At Yuma, on the Colorado River, in the -extreme southwestern corner of Arizona, I -gathered my outfit. Doctor Carl Lumholtz, -the explorer, had recently been travelling and -hunting in that part of Mexico. In addition -to much valuable help as to outfitting, he told -me how to get hold of a Mexican who had -been with him and whom he had found trustworthy. -The postmaster, Mr. Chandler, and -Mr. Verdugo, a prominent business man, had -both been more than kind in helping in every -possible way. Mr. Charles Utting, clerk of -the District Court, sometime Rough Rider, -and inveterate prospector, was to start off with -me for a short holiday from judicial duties. -To him the desert was an open book, and from -long experience he understood all the methods -and needs of desert travel. Mr. Win Proebstel,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -ranchman and prospector, was also to -start with us. He had shot mountain-sheep -all the way from Alaska to Mexico, and was -a mine of first-hand information as to their -habits and seasons. I had engaged two -Mexicans, Cipriano Dominguez and Eustacio -Casares.</p> - -<p>On the afternoon of the 10th of August we -reached Wellton, a little station on the Southern -Pacific, some forty miles east of Yuma. -Win and his brother, Ike Proebstel, were ready -with a wagon, which the latter was to drive -to a water-hole some sixteen miles south, near -some mining claims of Win’s. August is the -hottest month in the year in that country, a -time when on the desert plains of Sonora the -thermometer marks 140 degrees; so we decided -to take advantage of a glorious full moon and -make our first march by night. We loaded as -much as we could of our outfit into the wagon, -so as to save our riding and pack animals. We -started at nine in the evening. The moon rode -high. At first the desert stretched in unbroken -monotony on all sides, to the dim and far-off -mountains. In a couple of hours we came to -the country of the saguaro, the giant cactus. -All around us, their shafts forty or fifty feet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -high, with occasional branches set at grotesque -angles to the trunk, they rose from the level -floor of the desert, ghostly in the moonlight. -The air seemed cool in comparison with the -heat of the day, though the ground was still -warm to the touch.</p> - -<p>Shortly before one in the morning we reached -Win’s water-hole—tank, in the parlance of -the country—and were soon stretched out on -our blankets, fast asleep.</p> - -<p>Next day we loaded our outfit on our two -pack-mules and struck out across the desert -for the Tinajas Altas (High Tanks), which -lay on the slopes of a distant range of mountains, -about four miles from the Mexican -border. For generations these tanks have -been a well-known stepping-stone in crossing -the desert. There are a series of them, worn -out in the solid rock and extending up a cleft -in the mountainside, which, in time of rain, -becomes the course of a torrent. The usual -camping-place is a small plateau, a couple of -hundred yards from the lowest tank. This -plateau lies in a gulch and is sheltered on either -hand by its steep and barren sides. A few -hundred feet from the entrance, on the desert -and scattered about among the cactus, lie<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -some hundred and fifty graves—the graves of -men who have died of thirst; for this is a grim -land, and death dogs the footsteps of those -who cross it. Most of the dead men were -Mexicans who had struggled across the deserts -only to find the tanks dry. Each lay where he -fell, until, sooner or later, some other traveller -found him and scooped out for him a shallow -grave, and on it laid a pile of rocks in the -shape of a rude cross. Forty-six unfortunates -perished here at one time of thirst. They -were making their way across the deserts to -the United States, and were in the last stages -of exhaustion for lack of water when they -reached these tanks. But a Mexican outlaw -named Blanco reached the tanks ahead of -them and bailed out the water, after carefully -laying in a store for himself not far away. By -this cache he waited until he felt sure that his -victims were dead; he then returned to the -tanks, gathered the possessions of the dead, -and safely made his escape.</p> - -<p>A couple of months previously a band of -insurrectos had been camped by these tanks, -and two newly made graves marked their -contribution. The men had been killed in -a brawl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p>Utting told us of an adventure that took -place here, a few years ago, which very nearly -had a tragic termination. It was in the -winter season and there was an American -camped at the tanks, when two Mexicans -came there on their way to the Tule tanks, -twenty-five miles away, near which they intended -to do some prospecting. Forty-eight -hours after they had left, one of them turned -up riding their pack-mule and in a bad way -for water. He said that they had found the -Tule tanks dry, but had resolved to have -one day’s prospecting anyway; they had -separated, but agreed at what time they -were to meet. Although he waited for a long -while after the agreed time, his companion -never appeared, and he was forced to start -back alone.</p> - -<p>Twenty-four hours after the return of this -Mexican, the American was awakened in the -night by hearing strange sounds in the bed -of the arroyo. When he went down to investigate -them he found the lost Mexican; he -was in a fearful condition, totally out of his -head, and was vainly struggling to crawl up -the bank of the arroyo, in order to make the -last hundred yards across the plateau to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -water-hole. He would never have reached it -alone. By careful treatment the American -brought him round and then listened to his -story. He had lost himself when he went off -prospecting, and when he finally got his bearings -he was already in a very bad way for -water. Those dwelling in cool, well-watered -regions can hardly make themselves realize -what thirst means in that burning desert. -He knew that although there was no water in -the Tule wells, there was some damp mud in -the bottom, and he said that all he wished to -do was to reach the wells and cool himself off -in the mud before he died. A short distance -from the tanks the trail he was following divided, -one branch leading to the Tule wells -and the other back to the Tinajas Altas, twenty-five -miles away. The Mexican was so crazed -that he took the wrong branch, and before he -realized his mistake he had gone some way past -Tule; he then decided that it was the hand of -providence that had led him past, and that he -must try to make Tinajas Altas; a feat which -he would have just missed accomplishing but -for the American encamped there.</p> - -<p>The morning after we reached the tanks, -the Tinah’alta, as they are called colloquially,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -Win and I were up and off for the hunting-grounds -by half past three; by sun-up we -were across the border, and hunted along the -foot of the mountains, climbing across the out-jutting -ridges. At about nine we reached the -top of a ridge and began looking around. -Win called to me that he saw some sheep. -We didn’t manage things very skilfully, and -the sheep took fright, but as they stopped I -shot at a fine ram, Win’s rifle echoing my shot. -We neither of us scored a hit, and missed -several running shots. This missing was mere -bad luck on Win’s part, for he was a crack shot, -and later on that day, when we were not together, -he shot a ram, only part of which was -visible, at a distance of three hundred and -fifty yards. As the sun grew hotter we hunted -farther up on the mountains, but we saw no -more sheep, and returned to camp with Utting, -who met us at a ravine near the border.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i078fp" style="max-width: 97.5625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_078fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A desert camp in old Mexico</div> -</div> - -<p>After we got back to camp, Win and I -filled some canteens, threw our blankets on -one of the pack-mules, took Dominguez, and -rode back over the border to camp in the dry -bed of an arroyo near where we had been hunting -in the morning. We sent back the animals, -arranging with Dominguez to return with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -them the following day. Next morning at a -little after three we rolled out of our blankets, -built a little fire of mesquite wood, and after -a steaming cup of coffee and some cold frying-pan -bread we shouldered our rifles and set -out. At the end of several hours’ steady walking -I got a chance at a fair ram and missed. -I sat down and took out my field-glasses to -try to see where he went; and I soon picked -up three sheep standing on a great boulder, -near the foot of a mountain of the same range -that we were on. They were watching us -and were all ewes, but I wanted one for the -museum. So I waited till they lost interest -in us, got down from the rock, and disappeared -from our sight. I then left Win and started -toward the boulder; after some rather careful -stalking I got one of them at about two hundred -yards by some fairly creditable shooting. -The side of the mountain range along which -we were hunting was cut by numerous deep -gullies from two to three hundred yards across. -After I had dressed the ewe I thought I would -go a little way farther, on the chance of coming -upon the ram I had missed; for he had -disappeared in that direction. When I had -crossed three or four ridges I sat down to look<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -around. It was about half past nine, the heat -was burning, and I knew the sheep would soon -be going up the mountains to seek the shelter -of the caves in which they spend the noonday -hours. Suddenly I realized that there were -some sheep on the side of the next ridge standing -quietly watching me. There were four -bunches, scattered among the rocks; three -were of ewes and young, and there was one -bunch of rams; in all there were sixteen sheep. -I picked out the best ram, and, estimating -the distance at two hundred and fifty yards, -I fired, hitting, but too low. I failed to score -in the running shooting, but when he was out -of sight I hurried over and picked up the trail; -he was bleeding freely, and it was not difficult -to follow him. He went half a mile or so and -then lay down in a rock cave; but he was up -and off before I could labor into sight, and -made a most surprising descent down the -side of a steep ravine. When I caught sight -of him again he was half-way up the opposite -wall of the ravine though only about a hundred -yards distant; he was standing behind a -large rock with only his quarters visible, but -one more shot brought matters to a finish. -The heat was very great, so I started right to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -work to get the skin off. A great swarm of -bees gathered to the feast. They were villainous-looking, -and at first they gave me many -qualms, but we got used to each other and I -soon paid no attention to them, merely brushing -them off any part that I wanted to skin. -I was only once stung, and that was when a -bee got inside my clothing and I inadvertently -squeezed it. Before I had finished the skinning -I heard a shot from Win; I replied, and -a little while afterward he came along. I shall -not soon forget packing the skin, with the -head and the leg-bones still in it, down that -mountainside. In addition to being very -heavy, it made an unwieldy bundle, as I had -no rope with which to tie it up. I held the -head balanced on one shoulder, with a horn -hooked round my neck; the legs I bunched -together as best I could, but they were continually -coming loose and causing endless trouble. -After I reached the bottom, I left Win -with the sheep and struck off for our night’s -camping-place. It was after eleven and the -very hottest part of the day. I had to be -careful not to touch any of the metal part of -my gun; indeed, the wooden stock was unpleasantly -hot, and I was exceedingly glad that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -there was to be water waiting for me at -camp.</p> - -<p>I got Dominguez and the horses and brought -in the sheep, which took several hours. That -afternoon we were back at Tinah’alta, with a -long evening’s work ahead of me skinning out -the heads and feet by starlight. Utting, who -was always ready to do anything at any time, -and did everything well, turned to with a will -and took the ewe off my hands.</p> - -<p>The next day I was hard at work on the -skins. One of the tanks, about four hundred -yards from camp, was a great favorite with the -sheep, and more than once during our stay the -men in camp saw sheep come down to drink -at it. This had generally happened when I -was off hunting; but on the morning when I -was busy with the skins two rams came down -to drink. It was an hour before noon; for -at this place the sheep finished feeding before -they drank. The wind was blowing directly up -the gulch to them, but although they stopped -several times to stare at the camp, they eventually -came to the water-hole and drank. -Of course we didn’t disturb these sheep, for -not only were they in the United States, but -they were drinking at a water-hole in a desert<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -country; and a man who has travelled the -deserts, and is any sort of a sportsman, would -not shoot game at a water-hole unless he were -in straits for food.</p> - -<p>I had been hunting on the extreme end of -the Gila Range and near a range called El -Viejo Hombre (The Old Man). After I shot -my ram, in the confusion that followed, two -of the young rams broke back, came down the -mountain, passing quite close to Win, and -crossed the plain to the Viejo Hombre Range, -some mile and a half away. The bands of -sheep out of which I shot my specimens had -been feeding chiefly on the twigs of a small -symmetrical bush, called by the Mexicans El -Yervo del Baso, the same, I believe, that Professor -Hornaday in his <cite>Camp-Fires on Desert -and Lava</cite> calls the white Brittle bush. They -had also been eating such galleta-grass as -they could find; it was on this grass that we -depended for food for our horses and mules. -Apparently the sheep of these bands had not -been going to the water-hole; there were numerous -places where they had been breaking -down cactus and eating the pulp. In this -country Win said that the rams and the ewes -began to run together in October, and that in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -February the young were born. When the -rams left the ewes, they took with them the -yearling rams, and they didn’t join the ewes -again until the next October.</p> - -<p>On the following day I left Utting and Proebstel -and took the trail to the Tule tank. The -two Mexicans were with me and we had two -horses and three mules. We were travelling -very light, for we were bound for a country -where water-holes were not only few and far -between but most uncertain. My personal -baggage consisted of my washing kit, an extra -pair of shoes, a change of socks, and a couple -of books. Besides our bedding we had some -coffee, tea, sugar, rice, flour (with a little bacon -to take the place of lard in making bread), and -a good supply of frijoles, or Mexican beans. -It was on these last that we really lived. As -soon as we got to a camp we always put some -frijoles in a kettle and started a little fire to -boil them. If we were to be there for a couple -of days we put in enough beans to last us the -whole time, and then all that was necessary in -getting a meal ready was to warm up the beans.</p> - -<p>It was between four and five in the afternoon -when we left Tinah’alta, and though -the moon did not rise until late, the stars<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -were bright and the trail was clear. The -desert we were riding through was covered -with mesquite and creosote and innumerable -choya cactus; there were also two kinds of -prickly-pear cactus, and ocatillas were plentiful. -The last are curious plants; they are -formed somewhat on the principle of an umbrella, -with a very short central stem from -which sometimes as many as twenty spokes -radiate umbrella-wise. These spokes are generally -about six feet long and are covered with -thorns which are partially concealed by tiny -leaves. The flower of the ocatilla is scarlet, -and although most of them had stopped flowering -by August, there were a few still in bloom. -After about six hours’ silent riding we reached -Tule. The word means a marsh, but, needless -to say, all that we found was a rock-basin -with a fair supply of water and a very generous -supply of tadpoles and water-lice.</p> - -<p>Next morning when we came to get breakfast -ready we found we had lost, through a -hole in a pack-sack, all of our eating utensils -except a knife and two spoons; but we were -thankful at having got off so easily. By three -in the afternoon we were ready for what was -to be our hardest march. We wished to get<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -into the Pinacate country; and our next water -was to be the Papago tank, which Casares -said was about forty-five miles south of us. -He said that in this tank we were always sure -to find water.</p> - -<p>For the first fifteen miles our route lay over -the Camino del Diablo, a trail running through -the Tule desert—and it has proved indeed a -“road of the devil” for many an unfortunate. -Then we left the trail, the sun sank, twilight -passed, and in spite of the brilliancy of the -stars, the going became difficult. In many -places where the ground was free from boulders -the kangaroo-rats had made a network of -tunnels, and into these our animals fell, often -sinking shoulder-deep. Casares was leading, -riding a hardy little white mule. While he -rode he rolled cigarette after cigarette, and as -he bent forward in his saddle to light them, -for a moment his face would be brought into -relief by the burning match and a trail of sparks -would light up the succeeding darkness. Once -his mule shied violently, and we heard the angry -rattling of a side-winder, a sound which once -heard is never forgotten.</p> - -<p>At about eight o’clock, what with rocks and -kangaroo-rat burrows, the going became so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -bad that we decided to offsaddle and wait -till the moon should rise. We stretched out -with our heads on our saddles and dozed until -about midnight, when it was time to start on -again. Soon the desert changed and we were -free of the hills among which we had been -travelling, and were riding over endless rolling -dunes of white sand. As dawn broke, the twin -peaks of Pinacate appeared ahead of us, and -the sand gave place to a waste of red and black -lava, broken by steep arroyos. We had been -hearing coyotes during the night, and now a -couple jumped up from some rocks, a hundred -yards away, and made off amongst the lava.</p> - -<p>By eight o’clock the sun was fiercely hot, -but we were in among the foot-hills of Pinacate. -I asked Casares where the tanks were, and he -seemed rather vague, but said they were beyond -the next hills. They were not; but -several times more he felt sure they were -“just around the next hill.” I realized that -we were lost and resolved to give him one more -try, and then if I found that he was totally at -sea as to the whereabouts of the tank, I intended -to find some shelter for the heat of the -day, and, when it got cooler, to throw the -packs off our animals and strike back to Tule.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -It is difficult to realize how quickly that fierce -sun dries up man and beast. I doubt if in -that country a really good walker could have -covered ten miles in the noonday heat without -water and without stopping. We could have -made Tule all right, but the return trip would -have been a very unpleasant one, and we -would probably have lost some of our animals.</p> - -<p>However, just before we reached Casares’s -last location of the Papago tanks, we came -upon an unknown water-hole, in the bed of an -arroyo. The rains there are very local, and -although the rest of the country was as dry as -tinder, some fairly recent downpour had filled -up this little rocky basin. There were two -trees near it, a mesquite and a palo verde, and -though neither would fit exactly into the category -of shade-trees, we were most grateful -to them for being there at all. The palo verde -is very deceptive. When seen from a distance, -its greenness gives it a false air of being a -lovely, restful screen from the sun, but when -one tries to avail oneself of its shade, the -fallacy is soon evident. It is only when there -is some parasitical mistletoe growing on it -that the palo verde offers any real shade. -The horses were very thirsty, and it was a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -revelation to see how they lowered the water -in the pool.</p> - -<p>Dominguez was only about thirty years -old, but he seemed jaded and tired, whereas -Casares, who was white-haired, and must -have been at least sixty, was as fresh as ever. -Two days later, when I was off hunting on -the mountains, Casares succeeded in finding -the Papago tanks; they were about fifteen -miles to our northwest, and were as dry as a -bone! I later learned that a Mexican had -come through this country some three weeks -before we were in there. He had a number of -pack-animals. When he found the Papago -dry, he struck on for the next water, and succeeded -in making it only after abandoning his -packs and losing most of his horses.</p> - -<p>We sat under our two trees during the heat -of the day; but shortly after four I took my -rifle and my canteen and went off to look for -sheep, leaving the two Mexicans in camp. -Although I saw no rams, I found plenty of -sign and got a good idea of the lay of the land.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="i088fp" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_088fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Casares on his white mule</div> -</div> - -<p>The next four or five days I spent hunting -from this camp. I was very anxious to get -some antelope, and I spent three or four days -in a fruitless search for them. It was, I believe,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -unusually dry, even for that country, -and the antelope had migrated to better feeding-grounds. -Aside from a herd of nine, -which I saw from a long way off but failed -to come up with, not only did I not see any -antelope, but I did not even find any fresh -tracks. There were many very old tracks, -and I have no doubt that, at certain times of -the year, there are great numbers of antelope -in the country over which I was hunting.</p> - -<p>The long rides, however, were full of interest. -I took the Mexicans on alternate days, and we -always left camp before daylight. As the -hours wore on, the sun would grow hotter and -hotter. In the middle of the day there was -generally a breeze blowing across the lava-beds, -and that breeze was like the blast from -a furnace. There are few whom the desert, -at sunset and sunrise, fails to fascinate; but -only those who have the love of the wastes -born in them feel the magic of their appeal -under the scorching noonday sun. Reptile -life was abundant; lizards scuttled away in -every direction; there were some rather large -ones that held their tails up at an oblique -angle above the ground as they ran, which -gave them a ludicrous appearance. A species<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -of toad whose back was speckled with red was -rather common. Jack-rabbits and cottontails -were fairly numerous, and among the birds -Gambel’s quail and the whitewings, or sonora -pigeons, were most in evidence. I came upon -one of these later on her nest in a palo-verde-tree; -the eggs were about the size of a robin’s -and were white, and the nest was made chiefly -of galleta-grass. The whitewings are very -fond of the fruit of the saguaro; this fruit is -of a reddish-orange color when ripe, and the -birds peck a hole in it and eat the scarlet pulp -within. It is delicious, and the Indians collect -it and dry it; the season was over when I -was in the country, but there was some late -fruit on a few of the trees. When I was back -in camp at sunset it was pleasant to hear the -pigeons trilling as they flew down to the pool -to drink.</p> - -<p>One day we returned to the camp at about -two. I was rather hot and tired, so I made a -cup of tea and sat under the trees and smoked -my pipe until almost four. Then I picked up -my rifle and went out by myself to look for -sheep. I climbed to the top of a great crater -hill and sat down to look around with my field-glasses. -Hearing a stone move behind, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -turned very slowly around. About a hundred -and fifty yards off, on the rim of the crater, -stood six sheep, two of them fine rams. Very -slowly I put down the field-glasses and raised -my rifle, and I killed the finer of the rams. -It was getting dark, so, without bestowing more -than a passing look upon him, I struck off for -camp at a round pace. Now the Mexicans, -although good enough in the saddle, were no -walkers, and so Dominguez saddled a horse, -put a pack-saddle on a mule, and followed me -back to where the sheep lay. We left the -animals at the foot of the hill, and although -it was not a particularly hard climb up to the -sheep, the Mexican was blown and weary by -the time we reached it. The ram was a good -one. His horns measured sixteen and three-fourths -inches around the base and were -thirty-five inches long, so they were larger -in circumference though shorter than my -first specimen. He was very thin, however, -and his hair was falling out, so that one could -pull it out in handfuls. All the sheep that I -saw in this country seemed thin and in poor -shape, while those near Tinah’alta were in -very fair condition. The extreme dryness and -scarcity of grass doubtless in part accounted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -for this, although the country in which I got -my first two sheep was in no sense green. -Making our way back to camp through the -lava-fields and across the numerous gullies -was a difficult task. The horses got along -much better than I should have supposed; indeed, -they didn’t seem to find as much difficulty -as I did. Dominguez muttered that if -the road past Tule was the Camino del Diablo, -this certainly was the Camino del Infierno! -When we reached camp my clothes were as -wet as if I had been in swimming. I set right -to work on the headskin, but it was eleven -o’clock before I had finished it; that meant -but four hours’ sleep for me, and I felt somewhat -melancholy about it. Indeed, on this -trip, the thing that I chiefly felt was the need -of sleep, for it was always necessary to make -a very early start, and it was generally after -sunset before I got back to camp.</p> - -<p>The Mexicans spoke about as much English -as I spoke Spanish, which was very little, and -as they showed no signs of learning, I set to -work to learn some Spanish. At first our conversation -was very limited, but I soon got so -that I could understand them pretty well. We -occasionally tried to tell each other stories<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -but became so confused that we would have -to call it off. Dominguez had one English expression -which he would pronounce with great -pride and emphasis on all appropriate or inappropriate -occasions; it was “You betcher!” -Once he and I had some discussion as to what -day it was and I appealed to Casares. “Ah, -quien sabe, quien sabe?” (who knows, who -knows?) was his reply; he said that he never -knew what day it was and got on very comfortably -without knowing—a point of view -which gave one quite a restful feeling. They -christened our water-hole Tinaja del Bévora, -which means the tank of the rattlesnake. -They so named it because of the advent in -camp one night of a rattler. It escaped and -got in a small lava-cave, from out of which the -men tried long and unsuccessfully to smoke it.</p> - -<p>At the place where we were camped our arroyo -had tunnelled its way along the side of a -hill; so that, from its bed, one bank was about -ten feet high and the other nearer fifty. In -the rocky wall of this latter side there were -many caves. One, in particular, would have -furnished good sleeping quarters for wet -weather. It was about twenty-five feet long -and fifteen feet deep, and it varied in height<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -from four to six feet. The signs showed that -for generations it had been a favorite abode -of sheep; coyotes had also lived in it, and in -the back there was a big pack-rat’s nest. -Pieces of the bisnaga cactus, with long, cruel -spikes, formed a prominent part of the nest.</p> - -<p>After I had hunted for antelope in every -direction from camp, and within as large a -radius as I could manage, I was forced to admit -the hopelessness of the task. The water-supply -was getting low, but I determined to -put in another good long day with the sheep -before turning back. Accordingly, early one -morning, I left the two Mexicans in camp to -rest and set off for the mountains on foot. I -headed for the main peak of Pinacate. It was -not long before I got in among the foot-hills. -I kept down along the ravines, for it was -very early, and as a rule the sheep didn’t begin -to go up the hills from their night’s feeding -until nine or ten o’clock; at this place, -also, they almost always spent the noon hours -in caves. There were many little chipmunks -running along with their tails arched forward -over their backs, which gave them rather a -comical look. At length I saw a sheep; he -was well up the side of a large hill, an old<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -crater, as were many of these mountains. I -made off after him and found there were steep -ravines to be reckoned with before I even -reached the base of the hill. The sides of -the crater were covered with choyas, and the -footing on the loose lava was so uncertain that -I said to myself, “I wonder how long it will -be before you fall into one of these choyas,” -and only a few minutes later I was gingerly -picking choya burrs off my arms, which had -come off worst in the fall. The points of the -spikes are barbed and are by no means easy -to pull out. I stopped many times to wait for -my courage to rise sufficiently to start to work -again, and by the time I had got myself free -I was so angry that I felt like devoting the -rest of my day to waging a war of retaliation -upon the cactus. The pain from the places -from which I had pulled out the spikes lasted -for about half an hour after I was free of them, -and later, at Yuma, I had to have some of the -spines that I had broken off in my flesh cut -out.</p> - -<p>An hour or so later I came across a very -fine bisnaga, or “niggerhead,” cactus. I was -feeling very thirsty, and, wishing to save my -canteen as long as possible, I decided to cut<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -the bisnaga open and eat some of its pulp, -for this cactus always contains a good supply -of sweetish water. As I was busy trying to -remove the long spikes, I heard a rock fall, -and looking round saw a sheep walking along -the opposite side of the gully, and not more than -four hundred yards away. He was travelling -slowly and had not seen me, so I hastily made -for a little ridge toward which he was heading. -I reached some rocks near the top of the ridge -in safety and crouched behind them. I soon -saw that he was only a two-year-old, and -when he was two hundred yards off I stood up -to have a good look at him. When he saw -me, instead of immediately making off, he -stood and gazed at me. I slowly sat down and -his curiosity quite overcame him. He proceeded -to stalk me in a most scientific manner, -taking due advantage of choyas and rocks; -and cautiously poking his head out from behind -them to stare at me. He finally got to -within fifty feet of me, but suddenly, and for -no apparent reason, he took fright and made -off. He did not go far, and, from a distance -of perhaps five hundred yards, watched me as -I resumed operations on the cactus.</p> - -<p>Not long after this, as I was standing on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -top of a hill, I made out two sheep, half hidden -in a draw. There was a great difference in -the size of their horns, and, in the hasty glance -I got of them, one seemed to me to be big -enough to warrant shooting. I did not discover -my mistake until I had brought down my -game. He was but a two-year-old, and, although -I should have been glad of a good specimen -for the museum, his hide was in such poor -condition that it was quite useless. However, -I took his head and some meat and headed -back for camp. My camera, water-bottle, -and field-glasses were already slung over my -shoulder, and the three hours’ tramp back -to camp, in the very hottest part of the day, -was tiring; and I didn’t feel safe in finishing -my canteen until I could see camp.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i096fp" style="max-width: 97.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_096fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Making fast the sheep’s head</div> -</div> - -<p>The next day we collected as much galleta-grass -as we could for the horses, and, having -watered them well, an operation which practically -finished our pool, we set out for Tule at -a little after three. As soon as the Mexicans -got a little saddle-stiff they would stand up -in one stirrup, crooking the other knee over -the saddle, and keeping the free heel busy at -the horses’ ribs. The result was twofold: the -first and most obvious being a sore back for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -the horses, and the second being that the horses -became so accustomed to a continual tattoo to -encourage them to improve their pace, that, -with a rider unaccustomed to that method, -they lagged most annoyingly. The ride back -to Tule was as uneventful as it was lovely.</p> - -<p>On the next day’s march, from Tule toward -Win’s tank, I saw the only Gila monster—the -sluggish, poisonous lizard of the southwestern -deserts—that I came across throughout -the trip. He was crossing the trail in -leisurely fashion and darted his tongue out -angrily as I stopped to admire him. Utting -told me of an interesting encounter he once -saw between a Gila monster and a rattlesnake. -He put the two in a large box; they were in -opposite corners, but presently the Gila monster -started slowly and sedately toward the -rattler’s side of the box. He paid absolutely -no attention to the snake, who coiled himself -up and rattled angrily. When the lizard got -near enough, the rattler struck out two or -three times, each time burying his fangs in -the Gila monster’s body; the latter showed not -the slightest concern, and, though Utting -waited expectantly for him to die, he apparently -suffered no ill effects whatever from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -encounter. He showed neither anger nor pain; -he simply did not worry himself about the rattler -at all.</p> - -<p>We reached Wellton at about nine in the -evening of the second day from Pinacate. -We had eaten all our food, and our pack-animals -were practically without loads; so we -had made ninety miles in about fifty-five hours. -Dominguez had suffered from the heat on -the way back, and at Win’s tank, which was -inaccessible to the horses, I had been obliged -myself to pack all the water out to the animals. -At Wellton I parted company with the Mexicans, -with the regret one always feels at leaving -the comrades of a hunting trip that has -proved both interesting and successful.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p class="chaphead">IV<br /> -After Moose in New Brunswick</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br /> -AFTER MOOSE IN NEW BRUNSWICK</h2> -</div> - - -<p>It was early in September when the four of -us—Clarke, Jamieson, Thompson, and myself—landed -at Bathurst, on Chaleur Bay, and -took the little railroad which runs twenty -miles up the Nepisiquit River to some iron-mines. -From that point we expected to pole -up the river about forty miles farther and -then begin our hunting.</p> - -<p>For the four hunters—“sports” was what -the guides called us—there were six guides. -Three of them bore the name Venneau; there -were Bill Grey and his son Willie, and the -sixth was Wirre (pronounced Warry) Chamberlain. -Among themselves the guides spoke -French—or a corruption of French—which -was hard to understand and which has come -down from generation to generation without -ever getting into written form. A fine-looking -six they were,—straight,—with the Indian -showing in their faces.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> - -<p>At the end of the third day of poling—a lazy -time for the “sports,” but three days of marvellously -skilful work for the guides—our -heavily laden canoes were brought up to the -main camp. From here we expected to start -our hunting expeditions, each taking a guide, -blankets, and food, and striking off for the -more isolated cabins in the woods. My purpose -was to collect specimens for the National -Museum at Washington. I wanted moose, -caribou, and beaver—a male and female of -each species. Whole skins and leg-bones were -to be brought out.</p> - -<p>A hard rain woke us, and the prospects -were far from cheerful as we packed and prepared -to separate. Bill Grey was to be my -guide, and the “Popple Cabin,” three miles -away, was to be our shelter. Our tramp -through the wet woods—pine, hemlock, birch, -and poplar—ended at the little double lean-to -shelter. After we had started a fire and -spread our blankets to dry we set off in search -of game.</p> - -<p>We climbed out of the valley in which we -were camped and up to the top of a hill from -which we could get a good view of some small -barren stretches that lay around us. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -the blueberry season, and these barrens were -covered with bushes, all heavily laden. We -moved around from hill to hill in search of -game, but saw only three deer. We’d have -shot one of them for meat, but didn’t care to -run the chance of frightening away any moose -or caribou. The last hill we climbed overlooked -a small pond which lay beside a pine -forest on the edge of a barren strip. Bill intended -to spend a good part of each day watching -this pond, and it was to a small hill overlooking -it that we made our way early next -morning.</p> - -<p>Before we had been watching many minutes, -a cow moose with a calf appeared at the edge -of the woods. She hesitated for several minutes, -listening intently and watching sharply, -and then stepped out across the barren on her -way to the pond. Before she had gone far, -the path she was following cut the trail we -had made on our way to the lookout hill. She -stopped immediately and began to sniff at -our tracks, the calf following her example; -a few seconds were enough to convince her, -but for some reason, perhaps to make doubly -sure, she turned and for some minutes followed -along our trail with her nose close to the ground.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -Then she swung round and struck off into the -woods at a great slashing moose trot.</p> - -<p>Not long after she had disappeared, we got -a fleeting glimpse of two caribou cows; they -lacked the impressive ungainliness of the moose, -and in the distance might easily have been -mistaken for deer.</p> - -<p>It was a very cold morning, and throughout -the day it snowed and sleeted at intervals. -We spent the time wandering from hill to hill.</p> - -<p>For the next week we hunted industriously -in every direction from the Popple Cabin. In -the morning and the evening we shifted from -hill to hill; the middle of the day we hunted -along the numerous brooks that furrowed the -country. With the exception of one or two -days, the weather was uniformly cold and -rainy; but after our first warm sunny day we -welcomed rain and cold, for then, at least, we -had no black flies to fight. On the two sunny -days they surrounded us in swarms and made -life almost unbearable; they got into our -blankets and kept us from sleeping during the -nights; they covered us with lumps and sores—Bill -said that he had never seen them as -bad.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i106fp" style="max-width: 96.4375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_106fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A noonday halt on the way down river, returning from the hunting country</div> -</div> - -<p>It was lovely in the early morning to stand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -on some high hill and watch the mist rising -lazily from the valley; it was even more lovely -to watch the approach of a rain-storm. The -sunlight on some distant hillside or valley -would suddenly be blotted out by a sheet of -rain; a few minutes later the next valley would -be darkened as the storm swept toward us, -and perhaps before it reached us we could see -the farther valleys over which it had passed -lightening again.</p> - -<p>We managed to cover a great deal of ground -during that week, and were rewarded by seeing -a fair amount of game—four caribou, of -which one was a bull, a bull and three cow -moose, and six does and one buck deer. I -had but one shot, and that was at a buck deer. -We wanted meat very much, and Bill said that -he didn’t think one shot would disturb the -moose and caribou. He was a very large -buck, in prime condition; I never tasted better -venison. Had our luck been a little better, -I would have had a shot at a moose and a caribou; -we saw the latter from some distance, -and made a long and successful stalk until -Wirre, on his way from the main camp with -some fresh supplies, frightened our quarry -away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> - -<p>On these trips between camps, Wirre several -times saw moose and caribou within range.</p> - -<p>After a week we all foregathered at the main -camp. Clarke had shot a fine bear and Jamieson -brought in a good moose head. They -started down-river with their trophies, and -Thompson and I set out for new hunting-grounds. -As Bill had gone with Jamieson, I -took his son Willie, a sturdy, pony-built fellow -of just my age. We crossed the river and -camped some two miles beyond it and about -a mile from the lake we intended to hunt. -We put up a lean-to, and in front of it built a -great fire of old pine logs, for the nights were -cold.</p> - -<p>My blankets were warm, and it was only -after a great deal of wavering hesitation that -I could pluck up courage to roll out of them in -the penetrating cold of early morning. On -the second morning, as we made our way -through dew-soaked underbrush to the lake, -we came out upon a little glade, at the farther -end of which stood a caribou. He sprang -away as he saw us, but halted behind a bush -to reconnoitre—the victim of a fatal curiosity, -for it gave me my opportunity and I brought -him down. Although he was large in body, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -had a very poor head. I spent a busy morning -preparing the skin, but in the afternoon we -were again at the lake watching for moose. -We spent several fruitless days there.</p> - -<p>One afternoon a yearling bull moose appeared: -he had apparently lost his mother, for -he wandered aimlessly around for several hours, -bewailing his fate. This watching would have -been pleasant enough as a rest-cure, but -since I was hunting and very anxious to get -my game, it became a rather irksome affair. -However, I could only follow Saint Augustine’s -advice, “when in Rome, fast on Saturdays,” -and I resigned myself to adopting Willie’s -plan of waiting for the game to come to us -instead of pursuing my own inclination and -setting out to find the game. Luckily, I had -some books with me, and passed the days -pleasantly enough reading Voltaire and Boileau. -There was a beaver-house at one end -of the lake, and between four and five the -beaver would come out and swim around. I -missed a shot at one. Red squirrels were very -plentiful and would chatter excitedly at us -from a distance of a few feet. There was one -particularly persistent little chap who did -everything in his power to attract attention.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -He would sit in the conventional squirrel attitude -upon a branch, and chirp loudly, bouncing -stiffly forward at each chirp, precisely as if he -were an automaton.</p> - -<p>When we decided that it was useless to hunt -this lake any longer, we went back to the -river to put in a few days hunting up and down -it. I got back to the camp in the evening and -found Thompson there. He had had no luck -and intended to leave for the settlement in -the morning. Accordingly, the next day he -started downstream and we went up. We -hadn’t been gone long before we heard what -we took to be two shots, though, for all we -knew, they might have been a beaver striking -the water with his tail. That night, when we -got back to camp, we found that, on going -round a bend in the river about a mile below -camp, Thompson had come upon a bull and a -cow moose, and had bagged the bull.</p> - -<p>The next morning it was raining as if it -were the first storm after a long drought, and -as we felt sure that no sensible moose would -wander around much amid such a frozen -downpour, we determined to put in a day -after beaver. In one of my long tramps with -Bill we had come across a large beaver-pond,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -and at the time Bill had remarked how easy it -would be to break the dam and shoot the -beaver. I had carefully noted the location of -this pond, so managed successfully to pilot -Willie to it, and we set to work to let the water -out. This breaking the dam was not the -easy matter I had imagined. It was a big -pond, and the dam that was stretched across -its lower end was from eight to ten feet high. -To look at its solid structure and the size of -the logs that formed it, it seemed inconceivable -that an animal the size of a beaver could -have built it. The water was above our -heads, and there was a crust of ice around the -edges. We had to get in and work waist-deep -in the water to enlarge our break in the -dam, and the very remembrance of that cold -morning’s work, trying to pry out logs with -frozen fingers, makes me shiver. It was even -worse when we had to stop work and wait -and watch for the beavers to come out. They -finally did, and I shot two. They were fine -large specimens; the male was just two inches -less than four feet and the female only one inch -shorter. Shivering and frozen, we headed -back for camp. My hunting costume had -caused a good deal of comment among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -guides; it consisted of a sleeveless cotton undershirt, -a many-pocketed coat, a pair of short -khaki trousers reaching to just above my -knees, and then a pair of sneakers or of high -boots—I used the former when I wished to -walk quietly. My knees were always bare -and were quite as impervious to cold as my -hands, but the guides could never understand -why I didn’t freeze. I used to hear them -solemnly discussing it in their broken French.</p> - -<p>I had at first hoped to get my moose by fair -stalking, without the help of calling, but I -had long since abandoned that hope; and -Willie, who was an excellent caller, had been -doing his best, but with no result. We saw -several cow moose, and once Willie called out -a young bull, but his horns could not have had -a spread of more than thirty-five inches, and -he would have been quite useless as a museum -specimen. Another time, when we were crawling -up to a lake not far from the river, we found -ourselves face to face with a two-year-old -bull. He was very close to us, but as he hadn’t -got our wind, he was merely curious to find out -what we were, for Willie kept grunting through -his birch-bark horn. Once he came up to -within twenty feet of us and stood gazing.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -Finally he got our wind and crashed off through -the lakeside alders.</p> - -<p>As a rule, moose answer a call better at -night, and almost every night we could hear -them calling around our camp; generally they -were cows that we heard, and once Willie -had a duel with a cow as to which should -have a young bull that we could hear in an -alder thicket, smashing the bushes with his -horns. Willie finally triumphed, and the bull -headed toward us with a most disconcerting -rush; next morning we found his tracks at -the edge of the clearing not more than twenty -yards from where we had been standing; -at that point the camp smoke and smells -had proved more convincing than Willie’s -calling-horn.</p> - -<p>Late one afternoon I had a good opportunity -to watch some beaver at work. We -had crawled cautiously up to a small lake in -the vain hope of finding a moose, when we -came upon some beaver close to the shore. -Their house was twenty or thirty yards away, -and they were bringing out a supply of wood, -chiefly poplar, for winter food. To and fro -they swam, pushing the wood in front of them. -Occasionally one would feel hungry, and then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -he would stop and start eating the bark from -the log he was pushing. It made me shiver -to watch them lying lazily in that icy water.</p> - -<p>I had already stayed longer than I intended, -and the day was rapidly approaching when I -should have to start down-river. Even the -cheerful Willie was getting discouraged, and -instead of accounts of the miraculous bags -hunters made at the end of their trips, I began -to be told of people who were unfortunate -enough to go out without anything. I made -up my mind to put in the last few days hunting -from the Popple Cabin, so one rainy noon, -after a morning’s hunt along the river, we -shouldered our packs and tramped off to the -little cabin from which Bill and I had hunted. -Wirre was with us, and we left him to dry out -the cabin while we went off to try a late afternoon’s -hunt. As we were climbing the hill -from which Bill and I used to watch the little -pond, Willie caught sight of a moose on the -side of a hill a mile away. One look through -our field-glasses convinced us it was a good -bull. A deep wooded valley intervened, and -down into it we started at headlong speed, -and up the other side we panted. As we -neared where we believed the moose to be, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -slowed down in order to get my wind in case I -had to do some quick shooting. I soon picked -up the moose and managed to signal Willie -to stop. The moose was walking along at -the edge of the woods somewhat over two -hundred yards to our left. The wind was favorable, -so I decided to try to get nearer before -shooting. It was a mistake, for which I -came close to paying dearly; suddenly, and -without any warning, the great animal swung -into the woods and disappeared before I could -get ready to shoot.</p> - -<p>Willie had his birch-bark horn with him and -he tried calling, but instead of coming toward -us, we could hear the moose moving off in the -other direction. The woods were dense, and -all chance seemed to have gone. With a -really good tracker, such as are to be found -among some of the African tribes, the task -would have been quite simple, but neither -Willie nor I was good enough. We had given -up hope when we heard the moose grunt on -the hillside above us. Hurrying toward the -sound, we soon came into more open country. -I saw him in a little glade to our right; he -looked most impressive as he stood there, -nearly nineteen hands at the withers, shaking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -his antlers and staring at us; I dropped to -my knee and shot, and that was the first that -Willie knew of our quarry’s presence. He -didn’t go far after my first shot, but several -more were necessary before he fell. We hurried -up to examine him; he was not yet dead, -and when we were half a dozen yards away, he -staggered to his feet and started for us, but -he fell before he could reach us. Had I shot -him the first day I might have had some compunction -at having put an end to such a huge, -handsome animal, but as it was I had no such -feelings. We had hunted long and hard, and -luck had been consistently against us.</p> - -<p>Our chase had led us back in a quartering -direction toward camp, which was now not -more than a mile away; so Willie went to -get Wirre, while I set to work to take the -measurements and start on the skinning. -Taking off a whole moose hide is no light task, -and it was well after dark before we got it -off. We estimated the weight of the green -hide as well over a hundred and fifty pounds, -but probably less than two hundred. We -bundled it up as well as we could in some -pack-straps, and as I seemed best suited to the -task, I fastened it on my back.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span></p> - -<p>The sun had gone down, and that mile back -to camp, crawling over dead falls and tripping -on stones, was one of the longest I have ever -walked. The final descent down the almost -perpendicular hillside was the worst. When -I fell, the skin was so heavy and such a clumsy -affair that I couldn’t get up alone unless I -could find a tree to help me; but generally -Willie would start me off again. When I -reached the cabin, in spite of the cold night-air, -my clothes were as wet as if I had been in -swimming. After they had taken the skin off -my shoulders, I felt as if I had nothing to -hold me down to earth, and might at any -moment go soaring into the air.</p> - -<p>Next morning I packed the skin down to -the main camp, about three miles, but I found -it a much easier task in the daylight. After -working for a while on the skin, I set off to -look for a cow moose, but, as is always the -case, where they had abounded before, there -was none to be found now that we wanted -one.</p> - -<p>The next day we spent tramping over the -barren hillsides after caribou. Willie caught a -glimpse of one, but it disappeared into a pine -forest before we could come up with it. On<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -the way back to camp I shot a deer for meat on -our way down the river.</p> - -<p>I had determined to have one more try for -a cow moose, and next morning was just -going off to hunt some lakes when we caught -sight of an old cow standing on the opposite -bank of the river about half a mile above us. -We crossed and hurried up along the bank, -but when we reached the bog where she had -been standing she had disappeared. There -was a lake not far from the river-bank, and we -thought that she might have gone to it, for -we felt sure we had not frightened her. As -we reached the lake we saw her standing at -the edge of the woods on the other side, half -hidden in the trees. I fired and missed, but as -she turned to make off I broke her hind quarter. -After going a little distance she circled -back to the lake and went out to stand in the -water. We portaged a canoe from the river -and took some pictures before finishing the -cow. At the point where she fell the banks of -the lake were so steep that we had to give -up the attempt to haul the carcass out. I -therefore set to work to get the skin off where -the cow lay in the water. It was a slow, cold -task, but finally I finished and we set off downstream,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -Wirre in one canoe and Willie and myself -in the other. According to custom, the -moose head was laid in the bow of our canoe, -with the horns curving out on either side.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="i118fp" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_118fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Bringing out the trophies of the hunt</div> -</div> - -<p>We had been in the woods for almost a -month, and in that time we had seen the -glorious changes from summer to fall and fall -to early winter, for the trees were leafless and -bare. Robinson’s lines kept running through -my head as we sped downstream through the -frosty autumn day:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Come away! come away! there’s a frost along the marshes,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And a frozen wind that skims the shoal where it shakes the dead black water;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">There’s a moan across the lowland, and a wailing through the woodland</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of a dirge that sings to send us back to the arms of those that love us.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">There is nothing left but ashes now where the crimson chills of autumn</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Put off the summer’s languor, with a touch that made us glad</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For the glory that is gone from us, with a flight we cannot follow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To the slopes of other valleys, and the sounds of other shores.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p class="chaphead">V<br /> - -Two Book-Hunters in<br /> -South America</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br /> -TWO BOOK-HUNTERS IN SOUTH -AMERICA</h2> -<p class="pfs120 pb2"><em>In Collaboration with Mrs. Kermit Roosevelt</em></p> -</div> - - -<p>The true bibliophile will always find time -to exercise his calling, no matter where he -happens to be, or in what manner he is engaged -in making his daily bread. In some -South American cities, more particularly in -Buenos Ayres, there is so little to do outside -of one’s office that were there more old bookstores -it would be what Eugene Field would -have called a bibliomaniac’s paradise. To -us wanderers on the face of the earth serendipity -in its more direct application to book-collecting -is a most satisfactory pursuit; for it -requires but little capital, and in our annual -flittings to “somewhere else” our purchases -necessitate but the minimum of travelling -space. There are two classes of bibliophiles—those -to whom the financial side is of little or -no consequence, and those who, like the clerk<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -of the East India House, must count their -pennies, and save, and go without other things -to counterbalance an extravagance in the purchase -of a coveted edition. To the former -class these notes may seem overworldly in -their frequent allusion to prices; but to its -authors the financial side must assume its -relative importance.</p> - -<p>Among the South American republics, Brazil -undeniably takes precedence from a literary -standpoint. Most Brazilians, from Lauro Muller, -the minister of foreign affairs, to the postmaster -of the little frontier town, have at some -period in their lives published, or at all events -written, a volume of prose or verse. It comes -to them from their natural surroundings, and -by inheritance, for once you except Cervantes, -the Portuguese have a greater literature than -the Spaniards. There is therefore in Brazil -an excellent and widely read native literature, -and in almost every home there are to be found -the works of such poets as Gonçalves Diaz and -Castro Alves, and historians, novelists, and -essayists like Taunay, Couto de Magalhãens, -Alencar, and Coelho Netto. Taunay’s most famous -novel, <cite>Innocencia</cite>, a tale of life in the -frontier state of Matto Grosso—“the great<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -wilderness”—has been translated into seven -languages, including the Japanese and Polish. -The literature of the mother country is also -generally known; Camões is read in the schools, -and a quotation from the Lusiads is readily -capped by a casual acquaintance in the remotest -wilderness town. Portuguese poets -and playwrights like Almeda Garret, Bocage, -Quental and Guerra Junquera; and historians -and novelists such as Herculano, Eça de -Queiroz, or Castello Branco are widely read.</p> - -<p>In Brazil, as throughout South America, -French is almost universally read; cheap editions -of the classics are found in most homes, -and bookstores are filled with modern French -writers of prose or verse—sometimes in translation, -and as frequently in the original. Rio -de Janeiro and São Paulo abound in old bookstores, -which are to be found in fewer numbers -in others of the larger towns, such as Manaos, -Para, Pernambuco, Bahia, Curytiba, or Porto -Alegre. In the smaller towns of the interior -one runs across only new books, although occasionally -those who possess the “flaire” may -chance upon some battered treasure.</p> - -<p>The line which is of most interest, and in -South America presents the greatest latitude,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -is undoubtedly that of early voyages and discoveries. -Probably it was because they were -in a greater or less degree voyagers or explorers -themselves that the Americans and English -who came to South America seventy or eighty -years ago brought with them books of exploration -and travel, both contemporary and ancient. -Many of these volumes, now rare in -the mother country, are to be picked up for a -song in the old bookstores of the New World.</p> - -<p>The accounts of the Conquistadores and -early explorers, now in the main inaccessible -except in great private collections or museums, -have frequently been reprinted, and if written -in a foreign tongue, translated, in the country -which they describe. Thus the account of -Père Yveux was translated and printed in -Maranhão in 1878, and this translation is now -itself rare. We picked up a copy for fifty -cents in a junk-store in Bahia, but in São Paulo -had to pay the market price for the less rare -translation of Hans Stade’s captivity. Ulrich -Schmidel’s entertaining account of the twenty -years of his life spent in the first half of the -sixteenth century in what is now Argentina, -Paraguay, and Brazil, has been excellently -translated into Spanish by an Argentine of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -French descent, Lafoyne Quevedo, the head of -the La Plata museum. We had never seen -the book until one day at the judicial auction -held by the heirs of a prominent Argentine -lawyer. Books published in Buenos Ayres -are as a whole abominably printed, but this -was really beautiful, so we determined to get -it. The books were being sold in ill-assorted -lots, and this one was with three other volumes; -one was an odd volume of Italian poetry, one -a religious treatise, and the third a medical -book. Bidding had been low, and save for -standard legal books, the lots had been going -at two or three dollars apiece. Our lot quickly -went to five dollars. There was soon only one -man bidding against us. We could not understand -what he wanted, but thought that perhaps -the Schmidel was worth more than we -had imagined. Our blood was up and we began -trying to frighten our opponent by substantial -raises; at fourteen he dropped out. -The dealers in common with every one else were -much intrigued at the high bidding, and clearly -felt that something had escaped them. The -mystery was solved when our opponent hurried -over to ask what we wanted for the odd volume -of Italian verse—it belonged to him and he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -had loaned it to the defunct lawyer shortly -before his death. We halved the expenses -and the lot, and, as a curious sequel, later found -that the medical book which had quite accidentally -fallen to our share was worth between -fifteen and twenty dollars.</p> - -<p>Prices in Brazil seemed very high in comparison -with those of Portugal and Spain, -but low when compared with Argentina. On -the west coast we found books slightly less -expensive than in Brazil, where, however, the -prices have remained the same as before the -war, though the drop in exchange has given -the foreigner the benefit of a twenty-five per -cent reduction. There are a fair number of -auctions, and old books are also sold through -priced lists, published in the daily papers. We -obtained our best results by search in the -bookshops. It was in this way that we got -for three dollars the first edition of Castelleux’s -<cite>Voyage dans la Partie Septentrionale de l’Amerique</cite>, -in perfect condition, and for one dollar -Jordan’s <cite>Guerra do Paraguay</cite>, for which a bookseller -in Buenos Ayres had asked, as a tremendous -bargain, twelve dollars.</p> - -<p>In São Paulo after much searching we found -Santos Saraiva’s paraphrase of the Psalms, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -famous translation, quite as beautiful as our -own English version. The translator was born -in Lisbon. His father was a Jewish rabbi, but -he entered the Catholic Church, became a -priest, and went to an inland parish in southern -Brazil. After some years he left the Church -and settled down with a Brazilian woman in -a small, out-of-the-way fazenda, where he -translated the Psalms, and also composed a -Greek lexicon that is regarded as a masterpiece. -He later became instructor in Greek in Mackenzie -College in São Paulo, confining his versatile -powers to that institution until he died.</p> - -<p>The dearth of native literature in Buenos -Ayres is not surprising, for nature has done -little to stimulate it, and in its fertility much -to create the commercialism that reigns supreme. -The country is in large part rolling -prairie-land, and although there is an attraction -about it in its wild state, which has called -forth a gaucho literature that chiefly takes -form in long and crude ballads, the magic of -the prairie-land is soon destroyed by houses, -factories, dump-heaps, and tin cans. At first -sight it would appear hopeless ground for a -bibliophile, but with time and patience we -found a fair number of old bookstores; and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -there rarely passes a week without a book -auction, or at any rate an auction where some -books are put up.</p> - -<p>Among the pleasantest memories of our life -in Buenos Ayres are those of motoring in to a -sale from our house in Belgrano, along the -famous Avenida Alvear, on starlit nights, with -the Southern Cross high and brilliant. Occasionally -when the books we were interested in -were far between, we would slip out of the -smoke-laden room for a cup of unrivalled coffee -at the Café Paulista, or to watch Charlie -Chaplin as “Carlitos” amuse the Argentine -public.</p> - -<p>The great percentage of the books one sees -at auctions or in bookstores are strictly utilitarian; -generally either on law or medicine. -In the old bookstores there are, as in Boston, -rows of religious books, on which the dust lies -undisturbed. In Argentine literature there -are two or three famous novels; most famous -of these is probably Marmol’s <cite>Amalia</cite>, a bloodthirsty -and badly written story of the reign of -Rosas—the gaucho Nero. Bunge’s <cite>Novela de -la Sangre</cite> is an excellently given but equally -lurid account of the same period. <cite>La Gloria -de Don Ramiro</cite>, by Rodriguez Larreta, is a well-written<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -tale of the days of Philip the Second. -The author, the present Argentine minister -in Paris, spent some two years in Spain studying -the local setting of his romance. Most -Argentines, if they have not read these novels, -at least know the general plots and the more -important characters. The literature of the -mother country is little read and as a rule -looked down upon by the Argentines, who are -more apt to read French or even English. -<cite>La Nacion</cite>, which is one of the two great morning -papers, and owned by a son of Bartholomé -Mitre, publishes a cheap uniform edition, -which is formed of some Argentine reprints -and originals, but chiefly of French and English -translations. The latest publication is advertised -on the front page of the newspaper, and -one often runs across “old friends” whose -“new faces” cause a momentary check to the -memory; such as <cite>La Feria de Vanidades</cite>, the -identity of which is clear when one reads that -the author is Thackeray. This “Biblioteca -de la Nacion” is poorly got up and printed on -wretched paper, but seems fairly widely read, -and will doubtless stimulate the scarcely existent -literary side of the Argentine, and in due -time bear fruit. Translations of Nick Carter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -and the “penny dreadfuls” are rife, but a native -writer, Gutierrez, who wrote in the seventies -and eighties, created a national hero, -Juan Moreira, who was a benevolent Billy the -Kid. Gutierrez wrote many “dramas policiales,” -which are well worth reading for the -light they throw in their side touches on -“gaucho” life of those days.</p> - -<p>Argentines are justifiably proud of Bartholomé -Mitre, their historian soldier, who was -twice president; and of Sarmiento, essayist -and orator, who was also president, and who -introduced the educational reforms whose application -he had studied in the United States. -At an auction in New York we secured a presentation -copy of his <cite>Vida de Lincoln</cite>, written -and published in this country in 1866. Mitre -first published his history of General Belgrano, -of revolutionary fame, in two volumes in 1859. -It has run through many editions; the much-enlarged -one in four volumes is probably more -universally seen in private houses than any -other Argentine book. The first edition is -now very rare and worth between forty and -fifty dollars; but in a cheap Italian stationery-store -we found a copy in excellent condition -and paid for it only four dollars and fifty cents.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -The edition of 1887 brings anywhere from -twenty to thirty dollars. Many copies were -offered at sales, but we delayed in hopes of a -better bargain, and one night our patience -was rewarded. It was at the fag end of a -private auction of endless rooms of cheap and -tawdry furniture that the voluble auctioneer -at length reached the contents of the solitary -bookcase. Our coveted copy was knocked -down to us at eight dollars.</p> - -<p>In native houses one very rarely finds what -we would even dignify by the name of library. -Generally a fair-sized bookcase of ill-assorted -volumes is regarded as such. There are, however, -excellent legal and medical collections to -be seen, and Doctor Moreno’s colonial quinta, -with its well-filled shelves, chiefly volumes of -South American exploration and development -from the earliest times, forms a marked exception—an -oasis in the desert. We once went -to stay in the country with some Argentines, -who seeing us arrive with books in our hands, -proudly offered the use of their library, to -which we had often heard their friends make -reference. For some time we were greatly -puzzled as to the location of this much-talked-of -collection, and were fairly staggered on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -having a medium-sized bookcase, half of which -was taken up by a set of excerpts from the -“world’s great thinkers and speakers,” in -French, pointed out as “the library.”</p> - -<p>As a rule the first thing a family will part -with is its books. There are two sorts of auctions—judicial -and booksellers’. The latter -class are held by dealers who are having bad -times and hope to liquidate some of their stock, -but there are always cappers in the crowd -who keep bidding until a book is as high and -often higher than its market price. The majority -of the books are generally legal or medical; -and there is always a good number of -young students who hope to get reference books -cheaply. Most of the books are in Spanish, -but there is a sprinkling of French, and often -a number of English, German, and Portuguese, -though these last are no more common in Argentina -than are Spanish books in Brazil. -At one auction there were a number of Portuguese -lots which went for far more than they -would have brought in Rio or São Paulo. -Translations from the Portuguese are infrequent; -the only ones we can recall were of -Camões and Eça de Queiroz. In Brazil the -only translation from Spanish we met with was -of <cite>Don Quixote</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<p>English books generally go reasonably at -auctions. We got a copy of Page’s <cite>Paraguay -and the River Plate</cite> for twenty-five cents, but -on another occasion had some very sharp bidding -for Wilcox’s <cite>History of Our Colony in the -River Plate</cite>, London, 1807, written during the -brief period when Buenos Ayres was an English -possession. It was finally knocked down to us -at twelve dollars; and after the auction our -opponent offered us twice what he had let us -have it for; we don’t yet know what it is -worth. The question of values is a difficult -one, for there is little or no data to go upon; -in consequence, the element of chance is very -considerable. From several sources in the -book world, we heard a wild and most improbable -tale of how Quaritch and several -other London houses had many years ago sent -a consignment of books to be auctioned in the -Argentine; and that the night of the auction -was so cold and disagreeable that the exceedingly -problematical buyers were still further -reduced. The auction was held in spite of -conditions, and rare incunabula are reported -to have gone at a dollar apiece.</p> - -<p>There was one judicial auction that lasted -for the best part of a week—the entire stock<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -of a large bookstore that had failed. They -were mostly new books, and such old ones as -were of any interest were interspersed in lots -of ten or more of no value. The attendance -was large and bidding was high. To get the -few books we wanted we had also to buy a -lot of waste material; but when we took this -to a small and heretofore barren bookstore to -exchange, we found a first edition of the three -first volumes of <cite>Kosmos</cite>, for which, with a number -of Portuguese and Spanish books thrown -in, we made the exchange. We searched long -and without success for the fourth volume, -but as the volumes were published at long -intervals, it is probable that the former owner -had only possessed the three.</p> - -<p>Our best finds were made not at auctions -but in bookstores—often in little combination -book, cigar, and stationery shops. We happened -upon one of these latter one Saturday -noon on our way to lunch at a little -Italian restaurant, where you watched your -chicken being most deliciously roasted on a -spit before you. Chickens were forgotten, -and during two hours’ breathless hunting we -found many good things, among them a battered -old copy of Byron’s poems, which had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -long since lost its binding. Pasted in it was -the following original letter of Byron’s, which -as far as we know has never before been published:<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">A Monsieur</span>,<br /> -<span class="smcap pad2">Monsieur Galignani</span>,<br /> -<span class="pad3">18 Rue Vivienne,</span><br /> -<span class="pad4">Paris.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>: In various numbers of your journal I have -seen mentioned a work entitled <cite>The Vampire</cite>, with the -addition of my name as that of the author. I am not -the author, and never heard of the work in question until -now. In a more recent paper I perceive a formal annunciation -of <cite>The Vampire</cite>, with the addition of an account -of my “residence in the Island of Mitylane,” an -island which I have occasionally sailed by in the course -of travelling some years ago through the Levant—and -where I should have no objection to reside—but where I -have never yet resided. Neither of these performances -are mine—and I presume that it is neither unjust nor -ungracious to request that you will favour me by contradicting -the advertisement to which I allude. If the -book is clever, it would be base to deprive the real -writer—whoever he may be—of his honours—and if -stupid I desire the responsibility of nobody’s dulness but -my own. You will excuse the trouble I give you—the -imputation is of no great importance—and as long as -it was confined to surmises and reports—I should have -received it as I have received many others—in silence. -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>But the formality of a public advertisement of a book -I never wrote, and a residence where I never resided—is -a little too much—particularly as I have no notion of -the contents of the one—nor the incidents of the other. -I have besides a personal dislike to “vampires,” and the -little acquaintance I have with them would by no means -induce me to divulge their secrets. You did me a much -less injury by your paragraphs about “my devotion” -and “abandonment of society for the sake of religion”—which -appeared in your <cite>Messenger</cite> during last Lent—all -of which are not founded on fact—but you see I -do not contradict them, because they are merely personal, -whereas the others in some degree concern the -reader....</p> - -<p>You will oblige me by complying with my request for -contradiction. I assure you that I know nothing of the -work or works in question—and have the honour to be -(as the correspondents to magazines say) “your constant -reader” and very</p> - -<p class="center">obedt<br /> -<span class="pad20pc">humble Servt,</span><br /> -<span class="smcap pad40pc">Byron</span>.</p> - -<p>To the editor of <cite>Galignani’s Messenger</cite>. Etc., etc., etc. -Venice, April 27, 1819.</p></div> - -<p>Curiously enough, the book itself had been -published by Galignani in 1828. The cost of -our total purchases, a goodly heap, amounted -to but five dollars.</p> - -<p>The balance in quantity if not in quality -in old books is held in Buenos Ayres by three -brothers named Palumbo—Italians. The eldest -is a surly old man who must be treated with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -severity from the very beginning. How he -manages to support himself we do not know, -for whenever we were in his store we were sure -to hear him assail some customer most abusively. -In a small subsidiary store of his, -among a heap of old pamphlets, we came upon -the original folios of Humboldt’s account of -the fauna and flora of South America. Upon -asking the price, the man said thirty-five apiece—we -thought he meant pesos, and our surprise -was genuine when we found he meant -centavos—about fifteen cents. From him we -got the first edition of Kendall’s <cite>Santa Fé Expedition</cite>. -One of his brothers was very pleasant -and probably, in consequence, the most prosperous -of the three. The third was reputed -crazy, and certainly acted so, but after an -initial encounter we became friends and got on -famously. All three had a very fair idea of -the value of Argentine books, but knew little -or nothing about English.</p> - -<p>Another dealer who has probably a better -stock than any of the Palumbos is a man -named Real y Taylor. His grandmother was -English, and his father spent his life dealing in -books. At his death the store was closed and -the son started speculating in land with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -money his father had left him. Prices soared -and he bought, but when the crash came he -was caught with many others. Bethinking -himself of his father’s books, he took them out -of storage and opened a small booth. The -stock was large and a good part of it has not -yet been unpacked. Taylor has only a superficial -knowledge of what he deals in. He shears -folios, strips off original boards and old leathers -to bind in new pasteboard, and raises the price -five or ten dollars after the process. In this -he is no different from the rest, for after a fairly -comprehensive experience in Buenos Ayres -we may give it as our opinion that there is not -a single dealer who knows the “rules” as they -are observed by scores of dealers in America -and England. Taylor had only one idea, and -that was that if any one were interested in a -book, that book must be of great value; he -would name a ridiculous price, and it was a -question of weeks and months before he would -reduce it to anything within the bounds of -reason. We never really got very much from -him, the best things being several old French -books of early voyages to South America and -a first edition of Anson’s <cite>Voyage Around the -World</cite>. Just before we left he decided to auction<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -off his stock, putting up five hundred -lots a month. The first auction lasted three -nights. The catalogue was amusing, giving a -description of each book in bombastic fashion—all -were “unique in interest,” and about -every third was the “only copy extant outside -the museums.” He had put base prices on -most, and for the rest had arranged with -cappers. The attendance was very small and -nearly everything was bid in. It was curious -to see how to the last he held that any book -that any one was interested in must be of -unusual worth. There was put up a French -translation of Azara’s <cite>Quadrupeds of Paraguay</cite>. -The introduction was by Cuvier, but it was -not of great interest to us, for a friend had -given us the valuable original Spanish edition. -Taylor had asked fifteen dollars, which we had -regarded as out of the question; he then took -off the original binding, cut and colored the -pages, and rebound it, asking twenty dollars. -At the auction we thought we would get it, -if it went for very little; but when we bid, -Taylor got up and told the auctioneer to say -that as it was a work of unique value he had -put as base price fifteen dollars each for the -two volumes. The auction was a failure, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -as it had been widely and expensively advertised, -the loss must have been considerable.</p> - -<p>As a whole, we found the booksellers of -a disagreeable temperament. In one case we -almost came to blows; luckily not until we -had looked over the store thoroughly and -bought all we really wanted, among them a -first edition of Howells’s <cite>Italian Journeys</cite>, in -perfect condition, for twenty-five cents. There -were, of course, agreeable exceptions, such as -the old French-Italian from whom, after many -months’ intermittent bargaining, we bought Le -Vaillant’s <cite>Voyage en Afrique</cite>, the first edition, -with most delightful steel-engravings. He at -first told us he was selling it at a set price -on commission, which is what we found they -often said when they thought you wanted a -book and wished to preclude bargaining. This -old man had Amsterdam catalogues that he -consulted in regard to prices when, as could -not have been often the case, he found in them -references to books he had in stock. We know -of no Argentine old bookstore that prints a -catalogue.</p> - -<p>In the larger provincial cities of Argentina -we met with singularly little success. In -Cordoba the only reward of an eager search<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -was a battered paper-covered copy of <cite>All on -the Irish Shore</cite>, with which we were glad to -renew an acquaintance that had lapsed for -several years. We had had such high hopes of -Cordoba, as being the old university town and -early centre of learning! There was indeed -one trail that seemed to promise well, and we -diligently pursued vague stories of a “viejo” -who had trunks of old books in every language, -but when we eventually found his rooms, -opening off a dirty little patio, they were empty -and bereft; and we learned from a grimy brood -of children that he had gone to the hospital -in Buenos Ayres and died there, and that his -boxes had been taken away by they knew not -whom.</p> - -<p>As in Argentina, the best-known Chilian -writers are historians or lawyers; and in our -book-hunts in Santiago we encountered more -or less the same conditions that held in Buenos -Ayres—shelf upon shelf of legal or medical -reference books and technical treatises. The -works of certain well-known historians, such as -Vicuña Mackenna and Amonategui, consistently -command relatively high prices; but, -as a whole, books are far cheaper on the west -side of the Andes. One long afternoon in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -the Calle San Diego stands out. It was a -rich find, but we feel that the possibilities of -that store are still unexhausted. That afternoon’s -trove included the first edition of -Mungo Park’s <cite>Travels</cite>, with the delightful -original etchings; a <cite>History of Guatemala</cite>, -written by the Dominican missionaries, published -in 1619, an old leather-bound folio, in -excellent shape; a first edition of Holmes’s -<cite>Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table</cite> and three of -the eight volumes of <cite>State Papers and Publick -Documents of the United States</cite>. In these last -there was James Monroe’s book-plate, and it -was curious to imagine how these volumes -from his library had found their way to a country -where his “doctrine” has been the subject -of such bitter discussion and so much misinterpretation. -The value of the original covers -was no more understood in Chile than in Argentina, -and we got a complete set of Vicuña -Mackenna’s <cite>Campaña de Tacna</cite> in the original -pamphlets, as published, for but half what -was currently asked for bound and mutilated -copies.</p> - -<p>Valparaiso proved a barren field, and although -one of the chief delights in book-hunting -lies in the fact that you can never feel that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -you have completely exhausted the possibilities -of a place, we came nearer to feeling that way -about Valparaiso than we ever had about a -town before. We found but one store that -gave any promise, and from it all we got were -the first seven volumes of Dickens’s <cite>Household -Words</cite> in perfect condition, and the <cite>Campaign -of the Rapidan</cite>.</p> - -<p>The little coast towns of Chile and Peru -are almost as barren as the desert rocks and -sand-hills that surround them; but even here -we had occasional surprises, as when we -picked up for fifty cents, at Antofogasta, a -desolate, thriving little mining-port in the -north of Chile, Vicuña Mackenna’s <cite>Life of -O’Higgins</cite>, for which the current price is from -ten to fifteen dollars. Another time, in Coquimbo, -we saw a man passing along the street -with a hammered-copper bowl that we coveted, -and following, we found him the owner of a -junk-shop filled with a heterogeneous collection -of old clothes, broken and battered furniture, -horse-trappings, and a hundred and one odds -and ends, among which were scattered some -fifty or sixty books. One of these was a first -edition of Hawthorne’s <cite>Twice-Told Tales</cite> in -the familiar old brown boards of Ticknor & -Company.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<p>Our South American book-hunting ended in -Lima, the entrancing old city of the kings, -once the capital of the New World, and not -yet robbed by this commercial age of all its -glamour and backwardness. We expected -much, knowing that when the Chilians occupied -the city in 1880 they sacked the national -library of fifty thousand volumes that their -own liberator, San Martin, had founded in -1822, and although many of the books were -carried off to Chile, the greater part was scattered -around Lima or sold by weight on the -streets. We shall always feel that with more -time, much patience, and good luck we could -have unearthed many treasures; although at -first sight the field is not a promising one, and, -as elsewhere, one’s acquaintances assure one -that there is nothing to be found. In spite of -this, however, we came upon a store that appeared -teeming with possibilities. Without -the “flaire” or much luck it might be passed -by many times without exciting interest. -Over the dingy grated window of a dilapidated -colonial house is the legend “Encuadernacion -y Imprenta” (“Binding and Printing.”) -Through the grimy window-panes may be seen -a row of dull law-books; but if you open the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -big gate and cross the patio, with its ancient -hand-well in the centre, on the opposite side -are four or five rooms with shelves of books -along the walls and tottering and fallen piles -of books scattered over the floor. Here we -picked up among others an amusing little old -vellum-covered edition of Horace, printed in -England in 1606, which must have early found -its way to South America, to judge from the -Spanish scrawls on the title-page. We also -got many of the works of Ricardo Palma, -Peru’s most famous writer, who built up the -ruined national library, which now possesses -some sixty thousand volumes, of which a -twelfth part were donated by our own Smithsonian -Institution. One of the volumes we -bought had been given by Palma to a friend, -and had an autograph dedication which in -other countries would have greatly enhanced -its value, but which, curiously enough, seems -to make no difference in South America. In -Buenos Ayres we got a copy of the <cite>Letters from -Europe</cite> of Campos Salles, Brazil’s greatest -president, which had been inscribed by him to -the Argentine translator. Once in São Paulo -we picked up an autographed copy of Gomes -de Amorim, and in neither case did the autograph<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -enter into the question of determining -the price.</p> - -<p>We had heard rumors of possibilities in -store for us in Ecuador, Colombia, and Venezuela, -but Lima was our “farthest north,” -for there our ramblings in South America were -reluctantly brought to a close. We feel, however, -that such as they were, and in spite of -the fact that the names of many of the authors -and places will be strange to our brethren who -have confined their explorations to the northern -hemisphere, these notes may awaken interest -in a little-known field, which, if small in comparison -with America or the Old World, offers -at times unsuspected prizes and rewards.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<p class="chaphead">VI<br /> -Seth Bullock—<br /> -Sheriff of the Black Hills Country</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br /> -SETH BULLOCK—SHERIFF OF THE<br /> -BLACK HILLS COUNTRY</h2> -</div> - - -<p>With the death of Captain Seth Bullock, of -Deadwood, South Dakota, there came to us -who were his friends not only a deep sense of -personal loss, but also the realization that one -of the very last of the old school of frontiersmen -had gone, one of those whom Lowell characterized -as “stern men with empires in their -brains.” The hard hand of circumstance -called forth and developed the type, and for -a number of generations the battle with the -wilderness continued in bitter force, and a race -was brought forth trained to push on far beyond -the “edge of cultivation,” and contend in -his remote fastnesses with the Red Indian, and -eke out a hard-earned existence from the grim -and resentful wilds. In the wake of the vanguard -came the settler and after him the merchant, -and busy towns sprang up where the -lonely camp-fire of the pioneer had flared to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -the silent forest. The restless blood of the -frontiers pressed ever onward; the Indian -melted away like “snow upon the desert’s dusty -face”; the great herds of game that formerly -blackened the plains left the mute testimony -of their passing in the scattered piles of -whitened skulls and bleached bones. At last -the time came when there was no further frontier -to conquer. The restless race of empire-makers -had staring them in the face the same -fate as the Indian. Their rough-and-ready -justice administered out of hand had to give -way before the judge with his court-house and -his jury. The majority of the old Indian -fighters were shouldered aside and left to end -their days as best they could, forgotten by -those for whom they had won the country. -They could not adapt themselves to the new -existence; their day had passed and they went -to join the Indian and the buffalo.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="i152fp" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_152fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">The Captain makes advances to a little Indian girl</div> -</div> - -<p>Captain Seth Bullock, however, belonged to -the minority, for no turn of the wheel could -destroy his usefulness to the community, and -his large philosophy of the plains enabled him -to fit into and hold his place through every -shift of surroundings. The Captain’s family -came from Virginia, but he was born in Windsor,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -Ontario, in 1849. Before he was twenty -he had found his way to Montana, and built -for himself a reputation for justice which at -that day and in that community could only be -established by cold and dauntless courage.</p> - -<p>One of the feats of his early days of -which he was justly proud was when he had -himself hung the first man to be hung by law -in Montana. The crowd of prospectors and -cow-punchers did not approve of such an unusual, -unorthodox method of procedure as the -hanging of a man by a public hangman after -he had been duly tried and sentenced. They -wished to take the prisoner and string him up -to the nearest tree or telegraph-pole, with the -readiness and despatch to which they were -accustomed. To evidence their disapproval -they started to shoot at the hangman; he fled, -but before the crowd could secure their victim, -the Captain had the mastery of the situation, -and, quieting his turbulent fellow citizens with -a cold eye and relentless six-shooter, he himself -performed the task that the hangman had -left unfinished. The incident inspired the -mob with a salutary respect for the law and -its ability to carry out its sentences. I do not -remember whether the Captain was mayor or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -sheriff at the time. He was trusted and admired -as well as feared, and when he was -barely twenty-two he was elected State senator -from Helena, the largest town in the then -territory of Montana.</p> - -<p>It was in 1876 that the Captain first went -to the Black Hills, that lovely group of mountains -in the southwestern corner of South -Dakota. He came with the first rush of -prospectors when the famous Hidden Treasure -Mine was discovered. On the site of what is -at present the town of Deadwood he set up a -store for miners’ supplies, and soon had established -himself as the arm of the law in that -very lawless community. That was the Captain’s -rôle all through his life. In the early -years he would spend day and night in the -saddle in pursuit of rustlers and road-agents. -When he once started on the trail nothing -could make him relinquish it; and when he -reached the end, his quarry would better surrender -without drawing. He had a long arm -and his district was known throughout the -West as an unhealthy place for bad men. -Starting as federal peace officer of the Black -Hills, he later became marshal and sheriff of -the district, and eventually marshal of South<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -Dakota, which position he held until 1914. -As years passed and civilization advanced, -his bag of malefactors became less simple in -character, although maintaining some of the -old elements. In 1908 he wrote me:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I have been very busy lately; pulled two horse thieves -from Montana last week for stealing horses from the -Pine Ridge Indians. I leave to-day for Leavenworth -with a bank cashier for mulling a bank. He may turn -up on Wall Street when his term expires, to take a post -graduate course.</p></div> - -<p>In 1907 he told me that he was going off -among the Ute Indians, and I asked him to -get me some of their pipes. He answered: -“The Utes are not pipe-makers; they spend -all their time rustling and eating government -grub. We had six horse-thieves for the pen -after the past term of court, and should get -four more at the June term in Pierre. This -will keep them quiet for a while. I am now -giving my attention to higher finance, and -have one of the Napoleons—a bank president—in -jail here. He only got away with $106,000—he -did not have time to become eligible -for the Wall Street class.”</p> - -<p>It was when the Captain was sheriff of the -Black Hills that father first met him. A horse-thief<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -that was “wanted” in the Deadwood district -managed to slip out of the Captain’s -clutches and was captured by father, who was -deputy sheriff in a country three or four hundred -miles north. A little while later father -had to go to Deadwood on business. Fording -a river some miles out of town he ran into the -Captain. Father had often heard of Seth Bullock, -for his record and character were known -far and wide, and he had no difficulty in identifying -the tall, slim, hawk-featured Westerner -sitting his horse like a centaur. Seth Bullock, -however, did not know so much about father, -and was very suspicious of the rough, unkempt -group just in from two weeks’ sleeping out in -the gumbo and sage-brush. He made up his -mind that it was a tin-horn gambling outfit -and would bear close watching. He was not -sure but what it would be best to turn them -right back, and let them walk around his district -“like it was a swamp.” After settling -father’s identity the Captain’s suspicions vanished. -That was the beginning of their lifelong -friendship.</p> - -<p>After father had returned to the East to live, -Seth Bullock would come on to see him every -so often, and whenever my father’s campaigning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -took him West the Captain would join the -train and stay with him until the trip was -finished. These tours were rarely without incident, -and in his autobiography father has -told of the part Seth Bullock played on one of -them.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>When, in 1900, I was nominated for Vice-President, -I was sent by the National Committee on a trip into -the States of the high plains and the Rocky Mountains. -These had all gone overwhelmingly for Mr. Bryan on -the free-silver issue four years previously, and it was -thought that I, because of my knowledge of and acquaintanceship -with the people, might accomplish something -toward bringing them back into line. It was an -interesting trip, and the monotony usually attendant -upon such a campaign of political speaking was diversified -in vivid fashion by occasional hostile audiences. -One or two of the meetings ended in riots. One meeting -was finally broken up by a mob; everybody fought so -that the speaking had to stop. Soon after this we reached -another town where we were told there might be trouble. -Here the local committee included an old and valued -friend, a “two-gun” man of repute, who was not in the -least quarrelsome, but who always kept his word. We -marched round to the local opera-house, which was -packed with a mass of men, many of them rather rough-looking. -My friend the two-gun man sat immediately -behind me, a gun on each hip, his arms folded, looking -at the audience; fixing his gaze with instant intentness -on any section of the house from which there came so -much as a whisper. The audience listened to me with -rapt attention. At the end, with a pride in my rhetorical -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>powers which proceeded from a misunderstanding of -the situation, I remarked to the chairman: “I held that -audience well; there wasn’t an interruption.” To which -the chairman replied: “Interruption? Well, I guess -not! Seth had sent round word that if any son of a -gun peeped he’d kill him.” (<cite>Autobiography</cite>, p. 141.)</p></div> - -<p>Father had the greatest admiration and -affection for the Captain. It was to him that -he was referring in his autobiography when -he wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I have sometimes been asked if Wister’s <cite>Virginian</cite> is -not overdrawn; why, one of the men I have mentioned -in this chapter was in all essentials the “Virginian” in -real life, not only in his force but in his charm.</p></div> - -<p>When we were hunting in Africa father -decided that he would try to get Seth Bullock -to meet us in Europe at the end of the trip. -I remember father describing him to some of -our English friends in Khartoum, and saying: -“Seth Bullock is a true Westerner, the finest -type of frontiersman. He could handle himself -in any situation, and if I felt that I did -not wish him to meet any particular person, -the reflection would be entirely on the latter.”</p> - -<p>The Captain wrote me that he was afraid he -could not meet us in London because of the -illness of one of his daughters, but matters<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -eventually worked out in such a way that he -was able to go over to England, and when he -met father there he said he felt like hanging -his Stetson on the dome of Saint Paul’s and -shooting it off, to show his exhilaration at the -reunion. He thoroughly enjoyed himself in -England, and while at bottom he was genuinely -appreciative of the Britisher, he could -not help poking sly fun at him. I remember -riding on a bus with him and hearing him -ask the conductor where this famous Picalilly -Street was. The conductor said: “You must -mean Piccadilly, sir.” The Captain entered -into a lengthy conversation with him, and with -an unmoved stolidity of facial expression that -no Red Indian could have bettered, referred -each time to “Picalilly,” and each time the -little bus conductor would interpose a “You -mean Piccadilly, sir,” with the dogged persistency -of his race.</p> - -<p>The major-domos and lackeys at the Guildhall -and other receptions and the “beefeaters” -at the Tower were a never-failing source of -delight; he would try to picture them on a -bad pony in the cow country, and explain that -their costume would “make them the envy -of every Sioux brave at an Indian dog-dance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p> - -<p>When my sister and I were in Edinburgh, -the local guide who took us through the Castle -showed us an ancient gun, which instead of -being merely double-barrelled, possessed a -cluster of five or six barrels. With great -amusement he told us how an American to -whom he had been showing the piece a few -days previously had remarked that to be shot -at with that gun must be like taking a shower-bath. -A few questions served to justify the -conclusion we had immediately formed as to -identity of our predecessor.</p> - -<p>The summer that I was fourteen father -shipped me off to the Black Hills for a camping -trip with Seth Bullock. I had often seen him -in the East, so the tall, spare figure and the -black Stetson were familiar to me when the -Captain boarded the train a few stations before -reaching Deadwood. Never shall I forget the -romance of that first trip in the West. It was -all new to me. Unfortunately I had to leave -for the East for the start of school before the -opening of the deer season; but we caught a -lot of trout, and had some unsuccessful bear-hunts—hunts -which were doomed to unsuccess -before they started, but which supplied the -requisite thrill notwithstanding. All we ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -found of the bear was their tracks, but we had -a fleeting glimpse of a bobcat, and that was -felt amply to repay any amount of tramping. -Our bag consisted of one jack-rabbit. The -Captain told us that we were qualified to join -a French trapper whom he had known. The -Frenchman was caught by an unusually early -winter and snowed in away off in the hills. -In the spring, a good deal to every one’s surprise, -he turned up, looking somewhat thin, -but apparently totally unconcerned over his -forced hibernation. When asked what he had -lived on, he replied: “Some day I keel two -jack-rabeet, one day one, one day none!”</p> - -<p>The Captain and I took turns at writing my -diary. I find his entry for August 26:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Broke camp at Jack Boyden’s on Sand Creek at 6.30 -<span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span>, and rode via Redwater Valley and Hay Creek to -Belle Fourche, arriving at the S. B. ranch at two o’clock; -had lunch of cold cabbage; visited the town; returned -to camp at five <span class="allsmcap">P. M.</span>; had supper at the wagon and -fought mosquitoes until ten o’clock.</p> - -<p>Broke camp and rode via Owl Creek divide and Indian -Creek through several very large towns inhabited -chiefly by prairie dogs, to our camp on Porcupine Creek. -Fought mosquitoes from 3 <span class="allsmcap">A. M.</span> to breakfast time.</p></div> - -<p>I had long been an admirer of Bret Harte, -and many of the people I met might have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -stepped from the pages of his stories. There -was the old miner with twenty-two children, -who couldn’t remember all their names. His -first wife had presented him with ten of them, -but when he married again he had told his -second wife that it was his initial venture in -matrimony. He gave a vivid description of -the scene when some of the progeny of his first -marriage unexpectedly put in an appearance. -Time had smoothed things over, and the knowledge -of her predecessor had evidently only acted -as a spur to greater deeds, as exemplified -in the twelve additions to the family.</p> - -<p>Then there was the old lady with the vinegar -jug. She was the postmistress of Buckhorn. -We had some difficulty in finding the -post-office, but at length we learned that the -postmistress had moved it fifteen miles away, -to cross the State border, in order that she -might live in Wyoming and have a vote. We -reached the shack to find it deserted, but we -had not long to wait before she rode in, purple -in the face and nearly rolling off her pony -from laughter. She told us that she had got -some vinegar from a friend, and while she was -riding along the motion exploded the jug, and -the cork hit her in the head; what with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -noise and the blow she made sure the Indians -were after her, and rode for her life a couple -of miles before she realized what had happened.</p> - -<p>What could have surpassed the names of the -trails along which we rode and the canyons in -which we camped? There was Hidden Treasure -Gulch and Calamity Hollow, and a score -more equally satisfying. That first trip was -an immense success, and all during the winter -that followed whenever school life became particularly -irksome I would turn to plans for the -expedition that we had scheduled for the next -summer.</p> - -<p>When the time to leave for the West arrived -I felt like an old stager, and indulged for the -first time in the delight of getting out my -hunting outfit, deciding what I needed, and -supplementing my last summer’s rig with other -things that I had found would be useful. Like -all beginners I imagined that I required a lot -for which I had in reality no possible use. -Some men always set off festooned like Christmas-trees, -and lose half the pleasure of the -trip through trying to keep track of their belongings. -They have special candles, patented -lanterns, enormous jack-knives with a blade -to fulfil every conceivable purpose, rifles and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -revolvers and shotguns galore; almost anything -that comes under the classification of “it might -come in handy.” The more affluent hunter -varies only in the quality and not the quantity -of his “gadjets.” He usually has each -one neatly tucked away in a pigskin case. -The wise man, however, soon learns that although -anything may “come in handy” once -on a trip, you could even on that occasion -either get along without it or find a substitute -that would do almost as well. It is surprising -with what a very little one can make out perfectly -comfortably. This was a lesson which I -very quickly learned from the Captain.</p> - -<p>The second trip that we took was from -Deadwood, South Dakota, to Medora, North -Dakota. I had never seen the country in -which father ranched, and Seth Bullock decided -to take me up along the trail that father -had been travelling when they met for the -first time.</p> - -<p>We set off on Friday the 13th, and naturally -everything that happened was charged up to -that inauspicious day. We lost all our horses -the first night, and only succeeded in retrieving -a part of them. Thereafter it started in -raining, and the gumbo mud became all but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -impassable for the “chuck-wagon.” The mosquitoes -added to our misery, and I find in my -diary in the Captain’s handwriting a note to -the effect that “Paul shot three mosquitoes -with a six-shooter. Stanley missed with a -shotgun.”</p> - -<p>The Captain was as stolid and unconcerned -as a Red Indian through every change of -weather. He had nicknamed me “Kim” from -Kipling’s tale, and after me he had named a -large black horse which he always rode. It -was an excellent animal with a very rapid -walk which proved the bane of my existence. -My pony, “Pickpocket,” had no pace that -corresponded, and to adapt himself was forced -to travel at a most infernal jiggle that was not -only exceedingly wearing but shook me round -so that the rain permeated in all sorts of crevices -which might reasonably have been expected to -prove water-tight. With the pride of a boy -on his second trip, I could not bring myself -to own up to my discomfort. If I had, the -Captain would have instantly changed his -pace; but it seemed a soft and un-Western -admission to make, so I suffered in external -silence, while inwardly heaping every insult I -could think of upon the Captain’s mount. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -were travelling long distances, so the gait was -rarely changed unless I made some excuse to -loiter behind, and then walked my pony in slow -and solitary comfort until the Captain was -almost out of sight, and it was time to press -into a lope which comfortably and far too -rapidly once more put me even with him.</p> - -<p>The Captain was a silent companion; he -would ride along hour after hour, chewing a -long black cigar, in a silence broken only by -verses he would hum to himself. There was -one that went on interminably, beginning:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“I wonder if ever a cowboy</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Will be seen in those days long to come;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I wonder if ever an Indian</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Will be seen in that far bye-and-bye.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Every now and then some butte would suggest -a reminiscence of the early days, and a -few skilfully directed questions would lure him -into a chain of anecdotes of the already vanished -border-life. He was continually coming -out with a quotation from some author with -whose writings I had never thought him acquainted. -Fishing in a Black Hills stream, I -heard him mutter:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“So you heard the left fork of the Yuba</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As you stood on the banks of the Po.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span></p> -<p>He had read much of Kipling’s prose and -poetry, but what he most often quoted were -the lines to Fighting Bob Evans.</p> - -<p>In his house in Deadwood he had a good -library, the sort of one which made you feel -that the books had been selected to read and -enjoy, and not bought by the yard like window-curtains, -or any other furnishings thought -necessary for a house. Mrs. Bullock was president -of the “Women’s Literary Club,” and I -remember father being much impressed with -the work that she was doing.</p> - -<p>As I have said before, the Captain was a man -whom changing conditions could not throw -to one side. He would anticipate the changes, -and himself take the lead in them, adapting -himself to the new conditions; you could count -upon finding him on top. He was very proud -of the fact that he had brought the first alfalfa -to the State, and showed me his land near -Belle Fourche, where he had planted the original -crop. Its success was immediate. He -said that he could not claim the credit of having -introduced potatoes, but an old friend of -his was entitled to the honor, and he delighted -in telling the circumstances. The Captain’s -friend, whom we can call Judge Jones, for I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -forgotten his name, had opened a trading-post -in what was at that time the wild territory of -Dakota. The Indians were distinctly hostile, -and at any good opportunity were ready to -raid the posts, murdering the factors and looting -the trading goods. In the judge’s territory -there was one particularly ugly customer, -half Indian and half negro, known as Nigger -Bill. The judge was much interested in the -success of his adventure in potatoes, and the -following was one of the letters he received -from his factor, as Seth Bullock used to quote -it to me:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Judge</span>,</p> - -<p>This is to tell you all is well here and I hope is same -with you. Nigger Bill came to the door of the stockade -to-day and said “I am going to get in.” I said “Nigger -Bill you will not get in.” Nigger Bill said “I will get -in.” I shot Nigger Bill. He is dead. The potatoes is -doing fine.</p></div> - -<p>Although realizing to the full that the change -was inevitable and, of course, to the best interests -of the country, and naturally taking -much pride in the progress his State was making, -the Captain could not help at times feeling -a little melancholy over the departed days -when there was no wire in the country, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -one could ride where one listed. He wrote me -in 1911: “The part of South Dakota which -you knew has all been covered with the shacks -of homesteaders, from Belle Fourche to Medora, -and from the Cheyenne agency to the -Creek Where the Old Woman Died.” The old -times had gone, never to return, and although -the change was an advance, it closed an existence -that could never be forgotten or relived -by those who had taken part in it.</p> - -<p>The Captain gave me very sound advice -when I was trying to make up my mind whether -or not to go to college. I was at the time -going through the period of impatience that -comes to so many boys when they feel that -they are losing valuable time, during which -they should be starting in to make their way -in the world. I had talked it over with the -Captain during one of the summer trips, and -soon afterward he wrote me:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Ride the old studies with spurs. I don’t like the idea -of your going out to engage in business until you have -gone through Harvard. You will have plenty of time -after you have accomplished this to tackle the world. -Take my advice, my boy, and don’t think of it. A man -without a college education nowadays is badly handicapped. -If he has had the opportunity to go through -college and does not take advantage of it, he goes through -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>life with a regret that becomes more intensified as he -gets older. Life is a very serious proposition if we -would live it well.</p></div> - -<p>I went through college and I have often -realized since how excellent this advice was, -and marvelled not a little at the many-sidedness -of a frontiersman who could see that particular -situation so clearly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i170fp" style="max-width: 96.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_170fp.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A morning’s bag of prairie chicken in South Dakota<br /> -<span class="fs80 fwnormal">Seth Bullock is second from the left, and R. H. Munro Ferguson third</span></div> -</div> - -<p>The year before I went with my father to -Africa, R. H. Munro Ferguson and myself -joined the Captain in South Dakota for a -prairie-chicken hunt. We were to shoot in -the vicinity of the Cheyenne Indian reservation, -and the Captain took us through the reservation -to show us how the Indian question was -being handled. The court was excellently run, -but what impressed us most was the judge’s -name, for he was called Judge No Heart. -Some of our hunting companions rejoiced in -equally unusual names. There were Spotted -Rabbit, No Flesh, Yellow Owl, and High -Hawk, not to forget Spotted Horses, whose -prolific wife was known as Mrs. Drops-Two-at-a-Time. -We had with us another man named -Dave Snowball, who looked and talked just -like a Southern darky. As a matter of fact, -he was half negro and half Indian. In the old<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -days negro slaves not infrequently escaped and -joined the Indians. I went to see Dave’s -father. There was no mistaking him for what -he was, but when I spoke to him he would -answer me in Sioux and the only English words -I could extract from him were “No speak -English.” He may have had some hazy idea -that if he talked English some one would -arrest him and send him back to his old masters, -although they had probably been dead for -thirty or forty years. Possibly living so long -among the Sioux, he had genuinely forgotten -the language of his childhood.</p> - -<p>High Hawk and Oliver Black Hawk were -old “hostiles.” So was Red Bear. We came -upon him moving house. The tepee had just -been dismantled, and the support poles were -being secured to a violently objecting pony. -A few weeks later when we were on the train -going East, Frederic Remington joined us. -He was returning from Montana, and upon -hearing that we had been on the Cheyenne -reservation he asked if we had run into old -Red Bear, who had once saved his life. He -told us that many years before he had been -picked up by a party of hostiles, and they had -determined to give him short shrift, when Red<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -Bear, with whom he had previously struck -a friendship, turned up, and successfully interceded -with his captors. One reminiscence led -to another, and we were soon almost as grateful -to Red Bear for having opened such a -store as Remington had been for having his -life spared. Frederic Remington was a born -raconteur, and pointed his stories with a bluff, -homely philosophy, redolent of the plains and -the sage-brush.</p> - -<p>The night before we left the Indians the -Captain called a council. All the old “hostiles” -and many of the younger generation -gathered. The peace-pipes circulated. We -had brought with us from New York a quantity -of German porcelain pipes to trade with -the Indians. Among them was one monster -with a bowl that must have held from an -eighth to a quarter of a pound of tobacco. -The Indians ordinarily smoke “kinnikinick,” -which is chopped-up willow bark. It is mild -and gives a pleasant, aromatic smoke. The -tobacco which we had was a coarse, strong -shag. We filled the huge pipe with it, and, -lighting it, passed it round among the silent, -solemn figures grouped about the fire. The -change was as instantaneous as it was unpremeditated.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -The first “brave” drew deeply -and inhaled a few strong puffs; with a choking -splutter he handed the pipe to his nearest -companion. The scene was repeated, and as -each Indian, heedless of the fate of his comrades, -inhaled the smoke of the strong shag, he -would break out coughing, until the pipe had -completed the circuit and the entire group was -coughing in unison. Order was restored and -willow bark substituted for tobacco, with satisfactory -results. Then we each tried our -hand at speaking. One by one the Indians -took up the thread, grunting out their words -between puffs. The firelight rose and fell, -lighting up the shrouded shapes. When my -turn came I spoke through an interpreter. -Coached by the Captain as to what were their -most lamentable failings—those that most frequently -were the means of his making their -acquaintance—I gave a learned discourse upon -the evils of rustling ponies, and the pleasant -life that lay before those who abstained from -doing so. Grunts of approval, how sincere I -know not, were the gratifying reply to my -efforts. The powwow broke up with a substantial -feast of barbecued sheep, and next -morning we left our nomadic hosts to continue<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -their losing fight to maintain their hereditary -form of existence, hemmed in by an ever-encroaching -white man’s civilization.</p> - -<p>Near the reservation we came upon two old -outlaw buffaloes, last survivors of the great -herds that not so many years previously had -roamed these plains, providing food and clothing -for the Indians until wiped out by the -ruthless white man. These two bulls, living -on because they were too old and tough for -any one to bother about, were the last survivors -left in freedom. A few days later we -were shown by Scottie Phillips over his herd. -He had many pure breeds but more hybrids, -and the latter looked the healthier. Scottie -had done a valuable work in preserving these -buffalo. He was a squaw-man, and his pleasant -Indian wife gave us excellent buffalo-berry -preserves that she had put up.</p> - -<p>Scottie’s ranch typified the end of both -buffalo and Indian. Before a generation is -past the buffalo will survive only in the traces -of it left by crossing with cattle; and the -same fate eventually awaits the Indian. No -matter how wise be the course followed in governing -the remnants of the Indian race, it can<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -only be a question of time before their individuality -sinks and they are absorbed.</p> - -<p>The spring following this expedition I set -off with father for Africa. The Captain took -a great deal of interest in the plans for the -trip. A week before we sailed he wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I send you to-day by American Express the best -gun I know of for you to carry when in Africa. It is a -single action Colts 38 on a heavy frame. It is a business -weapon, always reliable, and will shoot where you hold -it. When loaded, carry it on the safety, or first cock -of the hammer.</p></div> - -<p>Seth Bullock was a hero-worshipper and -father was his great hero. It would have -made no difference what father did or said, the -Captain would have been unshakably convinced -without going into the matter at all -that father was justified. There is an old -adage that runs: “Any one can have friends -that stand by him when he’s right; what you -want is friends that stand by you when you’re -wrong.” Seth Bullock, had occasion ever demanded -it, would have been one of the latter.</p> - -<p>In the Cuban War he was unable to get into -the Rough Riders, and so joined a cowboy -regiment which was never fortunate enough to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -get over to Cuba, but suffered all its casualties—and -there were plenty of them—from typhoid -fever, in a camp somewhere in the South. He -was made a sort of honorary member of the -Rough Riders, and when there were informal -reunions held in Washington he was counted -upon to take part in them. He was a favorite -with every one, from the White House ushers -to the French Ambassador. As an honorary -member of the Tennis Cabinet he was present -at the farewell dinner held in the White House -three days before father left the presidency. -A bronze cougar by Proctor had been selected -as a parting gift, and it was concealed under a -mass of flowers in the centre of the table. The -Captain had been chosen to make the presentation -speech, and when he got up and started -fumbling with flowers to disclose the cougar -father could not make out what had happened.</p> - -<p>The Captain, as he said himself, was a poor -hand at saying good-by. He was in New -York shortly before we sailed for Africa, but -wrote: “I must leave here to-day for Sioux -Falls; then again I am a mollycoddle when it -comes to bidding good-by; can always easier -write good-by than speak it.”</p> - -<p>His gloomy forebodings about the Brazilian<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -trip were well justified. He was writing me to -South America:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I was glad to hear you will be with your father. I -have been uneasy about this trip of his, but now that -I know you are along I will be better satisfied. I don’t -think much of that country you are to explore as a -health resort, and there are no folks like home folks -when one is sick.</p></div> - -<p>The Captain made up his mind that if his -regiment had failed to get into the Cuban -War the same thing would not happen in the -case of another war. In July, 1916, when the -Mexican situation seemed even more acute -than usual, I heard from the Captain:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>If we have war with Mexico you and I will have to -go. I am daily in receipt of application from the best -riders in the country. Tell the Colonel I have carried -out his plan for the forming of a regiment, and within -fifteen days from getting word from him, will have a -regiment for his division that will meet with his approval. -You are to have a captaincy to start with. I -don’t think Wilson will fight without he is convinced it -will aid in his election. He is like Artemus Ward—willing -to sacrifice his wife’s relations on the altar of -his country.</p></div> - -<p>The Mexican situation continued to drag -along, but we at length entered the European<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -war, and for a while it looked as if my father -would be allowed to raise a division and take -it over to the other side. The Captain had -already the nucleus of his regiment, and the -telegrams passed fast and furiously. However, -for reasons best known to the authorities -in Washington, it all turned out to be to -no purpose. The Captain was enraged. He -wrote me out to Mesopotamia, where I was -serving in the British forces:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I was very much disgusted with Wilson when he -turned us down. I had a splendid organization twelve -hundred strong, comprising four hundred miners from -the Black Hills Mines, four hundred railroad boys from -the lines of the Chicago and Northwestern, and the -C. B. and Q. in South Dakota, Western Nebraska, and -Wyoming, and four hundred boys from the ranges of -Western South Dakota, Montana, and Wyoming. It -was the pick of the country. Your troop was especially -good; while locally known as the Deadwood troop, most -of the members were from the country northwest of -Belle Fourche; twenty of your troop were Sioux who -had served on the Indian police. Sixty-five per cent of -the regiment had military training. Damn the dirty -politics that kept us from going. I am busy now locally -with the Red Cross and the Exemption Board of this -county, being chairman of each. We will show the -Democrats that we are thoroughbreds and will do our -bit even if we are compelled to remain at home with -the Democrats.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<p>After expatiating at some length and with -great wealth of detail as to just what he thought -of the attitude of the administration, the Captain -continued with some characteristic advice:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I am going to caution you now on being careful when -you are on the firing line. Don’t try for any Victoria -Cross, or lead any forlorn hopes; modern war does not -require these sacrifices, nor are battles won that way -nowadays. I wouldn’t have you fail in any particular -of a brave American soldier, and I know you won’t, but -there is a vast difference between bravery and foolhardiness, -and a man with folks at home is extremely selfish -if unnecessarily foolhardy in the face of danger.</p></div> - -<p>All of it very good, sound advice, and just -such as the Captain might have been expected -to give, but the last in the world that any one -would have looked for him to personally follow.</p> - -<p>The letter ended with “I think the war will -be over this year. I did want to ride a spotted -cayuse into Berlin, but it don’t look now as if -I would.”</p> - -<p>The next time that I heard from the Captain -was some time after I had joined the -American Expeditionary Forces in France. In -characteristic fashion he addressed the letter -merely “Care of General Pershing, France,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -and naturally the letter took three or four -months before it finally reached me. The Captain -had been very ill, but treated the whole -matter as a joke.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I have just returned from California, where I was on -the sick list since last December, six months in a hospital -and sanitarium while the doctors were busy with -knives, and nearly took me over the divide. I am -recovering slowly, and hope to last till the Crown Prince -and his murdering progenitor are hung. I was chairman -of the Exemption Board in 1917 and stuck to it -until I was taken ill with grippe, which ended in an -intestinal trouble which required the services of two -surgeons and their willing knives to combat. The folks -came to California after the remains, but when they -arrived they found the remains sitting up and cussing -the Huns.</p> - -<p>Now, Kim, take care of yourself; don’t get reckless. -Kill all the Huns you can, but don’t let them have the -satisfaction of getting you.</p></div> - -<p>My father’s death was a fearful blow to the -old Captain. Only those who knew him well -realized how hard he was hit. He immediately -set to work to arrange some monument to my -father’s memory. With the native good taste -that ever characterized him, instead of thinking -in terms of statues, he decided that the -dedication of a mountain would be most fitting, -and determined to make the shaft to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -placed upon its summit simple in both form -and inscription. Father was the one honorary -member of the Society of Black Hills Pioneers, -and it was in conjunction with this society -that the Captain arranged that Sheep Mountain, -a few miles away from Deadwood, should -be renamed Mount Roosevelt.</p> - -<p>General Wood made the address. A number -of my friends who were there gave me the -latest news of the Captain. He wrote me that -he expected to come East in September; that -he was not feeling very fit, and that he was -glad to have been able to go through with the -dedication of the mountain. He was never a -person to talk about himself, so I have no way -of knowing, other than intuition, but I am -certain that he felt all along that his days were -numbered, and held on mainly in order to -accomplish his purpose of raising the memorial.</p> - -<p>I waited until the middle of September and -then wrote to Deadwood to ask the Captain -when he would be coming. I found the reply -in the newspapers a few days later. The Captain -was dead. The gallant old fellow had -crossed the divide that he wrote about, leaving -behind him not merely the sorrow of his friends -but their pride in his memory. Well may we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -feel proud of having been numbered among -the friends of such a thoroughgoing, upstanding -American as Seth Bullock. As long as our -country produces men of such caliber, we may -face the future with a consciousness of our -ability to win through such dark days as may -confront us. The changes and shiftings that -have ever accompanied our growth never found -Seth Bullock at a loss; he was always ready to</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“Turn a keen, untroubled face</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Home to the instant need of things.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Throughout his well-rounded and picturesque -career he coped with the varied problems that -confronted him in that unostentatious and -unruffled way so peculiarly his own, with -which he faced the final and elemental fact of -his recall from service.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES:</h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Fifteen years later when I was in Medora with Captain Seth Bullock, -Muley was still alive and enjoying a life of ease in Joe Ferris’s -pastures.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Shenzi really means bushman, but it is applied, generally in a derogatory -sense, by the Swahilis to all the wild natives, or “blanket -Indians.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Since writing this we have heard from a friend who is learned in -books. He tells us that he believes the letter to be an excellent -facsimile pasted in the edition concerned.</p> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Happy Hunting-Grounds, by Kermit Roosevelt - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS *** - -***** This file should be named 64079-h.htm or 64079-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/0/7/64079/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Susan Carr and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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