Chapter XIX: Part II (2)

Right well had it been named, for the very feeling one had in breathing its atmosphere was of death. It seemed more like a river than a lake, for though by its various windings and twistings it was several miles long, it was never, in its broadest part, over sixty yards wide, and throughout most of its length not over twenty yards. The banks were lined by immense cypress trees that towered upward to a height of eighty feet or more. From their branches hung long festoons and trails of Florida moss, while the roots of the trees, half out of water, assumed such weird and fantastic shapes that they seemed like immense serpents that had become suddenly petrified in their writhings. So dense was the foliage that it formed an impenetrable wall to both sun and wind, and the sunlight never touched the water except between the hours of 12 and 2 ~P. M.~ Not a breath had stirred the waters for years, and they were covered to a depth of several inches with a green vegetable slime, so that the first appearance was that of a beautiful level floor, on which one might walk.

We reached the lake about ten minutes before the sun, and there was consequently a very strange light over the water. It had much the effect of a twilight above, through which the sun was breaking, while close to the water hung a mist, heavy, silent and motionless. But the tops of the trees the sun had touched with his master-strokes, and created tints more beautiful than could any painter’s brush. So still was the place that the silence was actually oppressive, and, though we were startled at the sound of our own voices, we would have been glad to have heard the noise of some animal life.

But all round us was death; no sign of life anywhere. No birds in the trees; no insects in the air. Even the reptiles and snakes avoided the fearful place. To breathe such air for an hour, except when the sun was directly over the water, would be death to any living creature. Even the water was lifeless, and the trees and all vegetation were dead, except the moss, which lived at the expense of all else. The old man had told me in his queer parlance that the lake had no bottom, for although he had dropped 900 feet of line, he had never touched. I had taken the precaution to bring with me two of my sea trolling-lines, and fastening them together, I had a line 250 feet long. With this I sounded in several places, but only proved the old man’s words, for I never touched bottom. I afterwards learned, as the explanation of this, that all Western Florida is of a limestone formation, and so I presume this lake is one of those wonders that have their sources far away down in the bowels of the earth.

As soon as the sun touched the water we let our fish-lines down to a depth of about thirty feet, and soon began to pull out very quickly the “brim”--a corruption of the name of bream. Although, when the hand was thrust through the slime, the water had a horribly slimy, warm feeling, the fish came up cold and firm, showing that below the water was clear and cold. The fish had the same dull, opaque eyes as fish of subterranean caves, proving that the vegetable mould on the water’s surface had for many years formed a bar to any light in the water.

In the two hours we managed to nearly fill our boat, for the fish bit as fast as we could throw the line overboard; so about two o’clock we stopped, and paddled out as quickly as possible to avoid those poisonous vapors that killed all animal life. Notwithstanding the sport, so weird and unearthly strange was the place that I was glad to leave it. I could well understand its name now, and as we passed through the tortuous archway, I thought of the many negroes in the old slavery days, that escaping to this swamp to find liberty found death instead.

After reaching the river, the old man suggested our stopping at a place on the banks, where the ground rose in a little knoll, and cooking some of our freshly caught fish. I agreed to the proposition, and as we reached the bank I jumped out and took three or four steps inland, when the old man sharply cried, “Look out, Loot’nent! See there!” at the same time pointing, as he stood up in the boat, to something directly in front of me. I looked and beheld, about a yard from me, a huge moccasin snake, the most deadly poisonous reptile of the South upreared to strike me. I involuntarily took a step backward, and as I did so I heard another hiss behind me, and then others on all sides. One quick, horrified glance showed me that I was surrounded by at least a dozen of these fearful reptiles, all coiled and ready to strike. For an instant I was paralyzed and unable to move, and it was, perhaps, well that it was so, as I should probably have stepped on one and been bitten.

“Move carefully and come away,” the old man cried. “If you don’t git close to them they can’t hurt you; they’re casting their skins.”

So it proved. It seems that this spot of ground, being drier than its surroundings and more exposed to the sun, had, by the natural instinct of the creatures, been selected as the place for the annual changing of their skins. While this process is going on they are almost incapable of motion. As a rule they will move off when disturbed, provided they are not attacked, but in this case they could not; but had I got within striking distance they would have bitten me. I picked my way out very daintily, and stepped into the boat, with no further desire to eat fish till I got back to camp. Indeed, I felt quite faint as I realized my narrow escape. We paddled down the river, soon reached our landing-place, and then made a bee-line for camp, which we reached just at dark. With such a string of fish, my return was heartily welcomed; but after hearing my adventures, no one else seemed anxious to make the visit to the lake.

I wanted to revisit the lake, till one morning, about two weeks after my visit, I was taken suddenly ill, and before the day was over I was unconscious with the terrible “swamp fever.” I had a long and hard fight for my life, and though I conquered in the end, I lost all desire to ever see the horrible place again.

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

I.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

By J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

At Harvard, and at nearly all other American colleges, athletics are managed on a plan entirely different from that adopted by most of the amateur athletic associations of this country. As a rule, an athletic association has control of all contests played upon its grounds, track and field athletics, boating, football, baseball, and all other games; but at Cambridge, the origin and growth of each branch of athletics has been so distinct in itself, and has had so little direct connection with the development of the others, that, as a result, each athletic sport is managed by a separate organization--the Harvard University Boat Club managing the boating interests, the Baseball Club taking care of the nine, while the Athletic Association has control only of the winter meetings in the gymnasium and the track and field meetings out of doors.

Of all the Harvard athletic clubs the Athletic Association deserves first mention as the club which each year opens the athletic season. If on the first Saturday in March, a little after one o’clock in the afternoon, a stranger should happen to pass by the Hemenway Gymnasium, his attention would be attracted by an incongruous, closely packed crowd, patiently waiting upon the porch and steps. There are small boys with pennies tightly clasped in closed fists, poking their elbows into the sides of the “sport,” who is jotting down his last entry in the book he has just made up on to-day’s games; a few of the ubiquitous unwashed muddying the nicely polished shoes of some dainty youths with big canes and high collars, and even a few poorly clad individuals of studious mien, with perhaps a book under one arm, who look as if they had crowded into the press in order to keep warm, in marked contrast to the contented looking men, wrapped in large ulsters and leisurely puffing cigars, who stand just at the edge. The crowd is jolly--swaying, jostling, and cracking its jokes, while it eagerly waits till the doors are opened to swarm into the gymnasium; for this afternoon is held the first winter meeting of the Athletic Association. Presently, by the time the first sparrers or wrestlers appear in the ring, every seat is filled, and even standing room whence can be had a view of the contestants.

This meeting is but one of seven that the Athletic Association holds every year; two field meetings, the class games and university games held every fall and every spring, and three winter meetings held in the gymnasium. In 1873 the Athletic Association had not been formed, and the only gymnasium for the use of the students was a wretched little structure now used as a storehouse; now the Association leads all the other colleges in its records, owns a hard cinder quarter-mile track, and has the use of one of the best gymnasia, if not the best, in America.

In July, 1874, at Saratoga, was held the first intercollegiate athletic meeting between American colleges. Due notice of this meeting had been sent round to the leading colleges, and the interest aroused by the proposed contest led to the first athletic meeting at Cambridge. A notice appeared in the Harvard _Advocate_ that, if sufficient interest was felt by the students, some athletic sports would be held in the Jarvis Field on the afternoon of Wednesday, June 17th. The program was to consist of a mile running race, a mile walking race, a one hundred yards dash, a three hundred yards dash, a running high jump, running long jump, and a three-legged race; the entrance fee of 50 cents was to be used in purchasing cups for prizes, and the notice ended with an appeal to the students to give the games their generous support, so that the college might be enabled to select representative men to send to the intercollegiate games at Saratoga. No notice of the result of these games appeared in the college papers, but their success was sufficient to encourage four men to enter the Saratoga games, where they succeeded in winning last place in most of their events, none of their records being taken. The undergraduates seemed to have been stirred up by this signal defeat, and in the fall of 1874 the Harvard Athletic Association was formed for the purpose of encouraging track and field athletics--unknown factors in college games at that time--in order that the college might be fitly represented in intercollegiate contests.

It is strange in the present period of great athletic interest, crowded athletic meetings, and Faculty restrictions, to recall those days only fifteen years ago, when the undergraduate had to be encouraged to interest himself in athletic games. An editorial in the college paper in the winter of 1874-5, speaking of the formation of the Association, says: “While the bodies of the men now at the university do not receive a tithe of the attention they ought, it is cheering to note that more is being done towards inviting that attention than ever before. In no other exercise than baseball and rowing has there been any emulation, and never a general and systematic using of any set of muscles sustained throughout the year. The average student has been physically what he is now. At entering, President Eliot describes him as of ‘undeveloped muscle, a bad carriage and an impaired digestion, without skill in out-of-door games, and unable to ride, row, swim or shoot.’ During his four or six years, short of a little spasmodic work now and then, he does little towards becoming anything else, and with just that body and most of these defects he starts into his life’s work; and with growing labor and care, and little time to look after his body, and no one by to spur him to it, that is just about the sort of body he goes through life with, generally losing rather than gaining vigor and power. A new door has been opened for the men who really mean to be what they ought physically, and it is pleasant to see already signs of a brisk rivalry in this direction. The legs--long neglected members--are now to be put to their best, and at last we have the various foot contests so well known in the British universities. They began last fall, and the work done then was so little above mediocrity that there is strong ground to hope for new winners in May. All the running was slow, the jumping poor, and the walking nothing much.”

The Association when first formed was very primitive. Only about a couple of hundred men belonged to it; members were given tickets of admission to the games, which they could present to their friends, while the admission fee, entitling a person to a life-membership and free admission to all games ever held by the Association was only two dollars. Gradually, as the games grew in importance, and interest increased, the expenses of the Association became heavier; a track costing about $600 was laid out on Jarvis Field; the necessary expenses incurred in the winter meetings, held in the little gymnasium for the first time in 1876, added an annual increase of expenditure (the tickets of admission were then given away by members), until at last the expedient was adopted of laying an assessment of fifty cents on all members except Freshmen. The task of collecting this proved so great, that, of the collectors appointed, some resigned, while the others confessed their inability to proceed further.

In 1879 the Harvard Athletic Association, as well as the other athletic clubs, received a great stimulus in the erection of the Hemenway Gymnasium, the gift of Mr. Augustus Hemenway. Fifty years before, an attempt had been made to found a gymnasium out of doors in the Delta where Memorial Hall now stands, but the result had been unsuccessful. Again, in 1860, a small gymnasium was erected at the corner of Broadway and Cambridge Street, costing something less than $10,000; but this building had become entirely inadequate for the needs of the undergraduates, and in 1878 the ground was broken for the present erection. When finished, it cost, including all its apparatus, over $150,000, and is as complete as any gymnasium in the country. In the second story is a rowing-room for the crew, fitted up with hydraulic rowing-machines, while a gallery overlooking the main floor of the gymnasium makes an excellent running track. On the floor below is the gymnasium proper, fitted up with apparatus of every description, and at one side, under the rowing-room, are lockers and bath-rooms. In the basement is the “cage,” reserved for the winter practice of the nine and the lacrosse team; but room is left for nine bowling alleys, several hundred more lockers, a long open space for tug-of-war cleats, and a room for the use of fencers and sparrers.

In 1880 the management hit upon the happy expedient of setting apart one of the winter meetings in the gymnasium as a “Ladies’ Day,” on which only such events as the light gymnastics, bar performances, jumping, and light-weight sparring should be contested, the wrestling and the heavy-weight sparring being reserved for one of the other meetings. The next year another day was added as Ladies’ Day, so that only one of the meetings remained open to men alone. At first ladies were admitted free, the Association trusting to this additional attraction to fill their coffers from the pockets of the men; but after the success of Ladies’ Day was assured, the fair sex was put on an equal footing with their escorts, and have since been obliged to pay full price; indeed, they supply the principal source of revenue.

From the date of their first admission, however, they inaugurated a war against the sparring exhibitions which occur on one of their days. From that time to the present they have continually protested against it, and just as continually have they come in crowds to see it. There is in the first President’s report (Harvard Athletic Association), after the establishment of Ladies’ Day, a notice that “the ladies ought to understand that if blood be drawn in the sparring, the men will not leave the ring as they did last year;” and again in a report two years later: “We decided last year to have light and feather weight sparring on the first Ladies’ Day, and although there was at the time much talk against it among a certain number of men, we did not find the apparent interest of the ladies in any way less, or that their number decreased from the year before, although it had been extensively advertised for more than a month that there was to be sparring, and it is not to be supposed that many of the ladies were ignorant of the fact that they were to see it. Far would it be from me to force ladies to look at any event that was distasteful to them, but I fail to see why the large number who are entertained by sparring should be deprived of seeing it in our winter meetings because certain others object to it, more especially as the latter are in no way compelled to come unless they chose to.” The “large number” has continued to come, and the sparring still continues.

The financial status of the Association was assured by the success of the winter meetings in the gymnasium, until, in time, it was able to engage a track-master and trainer for the men, so that all competitors, poor as well as rich, trying for places in the team which annually competes for the intercollegiate cup, could have an equal chance of responsible training. It was also able to contribute $1,000 towards the construction of the hard cinder track round Holmes Field, finished in 1883, and now is able to pay all the expenses of the team which competes at the intercollegiate games. Besides the annual income received from the winter games, it receives a large sum annually from its membership roll. Though the fee is but small, only $3.00 for a life-membership entitling free admission to all games, a regulation forbidding any undergraduate to be present at the games unless he is a member, annually forces nearly the entire freshman class to join.

There is not space in the limits of an article of this nature to mention more than a few of the men who have been connected with the rise and success of this Association. Some of them have already a world-wide athletic reputation, while many stand at the head of all college athletes. The fact that not until four years after Harvard’s entry into the Intercollegiate Athletic Association did she win the championship cup, but that then she won it for seven successive years, shows the need that existed originally in the college for such an association, besides demonstrating the success that has since attended it. Mr. E. J. Wendell, ’82, did more in his day than any one else, not only to increase its prosperity at home, but also to win laurels for it in its intercollegiate contests; and the names of Soren, Goodwin, Easton, Baker, Rogers and Wells show what strong representatives the Association has had. Out of the twenty-four first prizes that Harvard won the first four years she held the cup, W. Soren, ’83, won seven; he gained first prize in every jump in the intercollegiate program--running high, running broad, standing high and standing broad--besides the pole vault, and in the standing high jump holds the best amateur record in the world.

The following table shows the best records made under the Harvard Athletic Association in events contested at the intercollegiate games:

100 Yards Dash 10s. E. J. Wendell, ’82.
220 Yards Dash 22s. W. Baker, ’86.
440 Yards Dash 50¼s. W. Baker, ’86.
Half-mile Run 1m. 59 1-5s. G. P. Coggswell, ’88.
Mile Run 4m. 38 3-5s. G. B. Morison, ’83.
Hurdle Race, 120 yards 17 3-5s. S. R. Bell, ’91.
Hurdle Race, 220 yards 26 4-5s. G. S. Mandell, ’89.
Mile Walk 6m. 59½s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Bicycle Race (2 miles) 6m. 2½s. R. H. Davis, ’91.
Running High Jump 5 ft. 10¾ in. H. L. Clark, ’87.
Pole Vault 10 ft. 5-8 in. R. G. Leavitt, ’89.
Throwing Hammer (16 lbs.) 93 ft. 2 in. H. B. Gibson, ’88.
Putting the Shot (16 lbs.) 40 ft. 1½ in. D. B. Chamberlain, ’86.
Running Broad Jump 20 ft. 10 in. W. Soren, ’83.

The following records have been made in other events:

125 Yards Dash 12 3-5s. W. Baker, ’86.
180 Yards Dash 18s. W. Baker, ’86.
Two-Mile Walk 15m. 10½s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Three-Mile Walk 24m. 24 2-5s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Seven-Mile Walk 58m. 52s. H. H. Bemis, ’87.
Standing High Jump 5 ft. 1¼ in. W. Soren, ’83.

Two days after Baker had graduated he made a record of 8s. in the 80-yard dash, 10s. in the 100-yard dash, and 47¾s. in the 440-yard dash, all three of them counting as best amateur American records; but, unfortunately, since he had received his degree, the Harvard Athletic Association cannot claim these records. W. H. Goodwin, ’84, while he was in college, also made a record of 1m. 56⅝s. in the half-mile run, but as he did not make it in college games, this record was also lost to the Harvard Athletic Association.

The tug-of-war is another event in which the Harvard Athletic Association can hold no record, but in which it has had no rival. The veteran anchor of the team, Easton, did more toward introducing science into this seemingly unskilful sport than any other collegian in the country. The amount of skill and team work cultivated in this contest at Cambridge is shown by the fact that at the last intercollegiate games, Harvard presented the class tug-of-war team of the senior class, because the men had had long experience in pulling together; and this class team defeated successively Princeton, Columbia, and Yale.

BASEBALL.

The game of baseball was first introduced into Cambridge in 1862. Until that year no ball club had existed in the college, and no record can be found of any games previously played. Baseball was brought to Cambridge from Phillips Exeter Academy, by the class which entered college from that school in 1862. “In December of that year,[3] George A. Flagg and Frank Wright, members of the then Freshmen class, and great enthusiasts over the game, established the ’66 Baseball Club. During the spring of 1863 the interest in the new game and class organization became very great, and the Cambridge city government granted a petition for leave to use that part of the Common near the Washington Elm for a practice-ground. Invitations to play were sent to many of the colleges, and among the first to the Yale class of ’66; but the latter replied that the game was not played by them, although they hoped soon to be able to meet a Harvard nine on the ball field.” A match was then arranged with the Sophomores of Brown University, and was played on June 23, 1863. This was the first intercollegiate baseball game ever played by Harvard, and resulted in the first of a long line of victories. Following is the official score of the game, a very different looking affair from our present complicated score card:

_Harvard, ’66._ _Pos._ _Outs._ _Runs._
Banker, H. 3 3
Wright, P. 1 5
Flagg, S. 5 2
Irons, A. 2 4
Fisher, B. 2 4
Greenleaf, C. 4 2
Nelson, L. 4 2
Abercrombie, M. 2 3
Tiffany, R. 4 2
-- --
27 27

_Brown, ’65._ _Pos._ _Outs._ _Runs._
Witter, P. 1 4
Finney, H. 4 2
Brown, S. 2 1
Rees, A. 4 1
Spink, B. 2 3
Deming, C. 4 1
Brayton, L. 2 3
Judson, M. 4 1
Field, R. 4 1
-- --
27 17

Umpire:--Miller, Lowell Club. Scorers, Harvard--J. J. Mason;
Brown--H. S. Hammond.

There were but few other college clubs at this time, and in order to keep alive the interest in the game it was necessary to play an annual championship series with the strongest local amateur nine that could be found. The Lowell Club, of Boston, was then the best amateur club in that part of the country, and the Harvards chose them for their regular opponents. The games played on the Boston Common for the championship and the possession of the silver ball offered as a trophy attracted immense crowds, sometimes as many as ten thousand people; and not only was college interest aroused, but also the worthy inhabitants of Boston and Cambridge became eager and enthusiastic partisans of their respective nines.

The first games with the Lowells were played by the class nine of ’66; but in 1864 the other classes, having taken up the game, united their forces and formed the University Baseball Club. The entire control of the University nine, from its organization until the fall of 1866, was left with the catcher, Flagg, and the pitcher, Wright--the former managing the players in the field. The old ground on Cambridge Common was abandoned, and the Delta, now covered in part by Memorial Hall, was turned into a ball-field. The games with the Lowells were continued as the principal event of the season until about 1870; for practice, the nine playing against the various college and professional nines, and occasionally getting a game with George Wright’s famous old team, the Red Stockings of Cincinnati.

In the summer of 1870 the nine spent nearly the entire vacation in an extended tour through the West, playing all the principal amateur clubs and many of the professionals, and winning forty-four out of the fifty-four games they played. Their greatest victory was over the Niagaras, in which they made 62 runs to their opponents’ 4, and 49 base hits with a total of 68, for 8 hits by the Niagaras. The latter philosophically accepted their defeat, declaring that they could not expect to play ball successfully against a nine whose reputation was comparatively world-wide. The account in a contemporary paper, of the game against the old Cincinnati Red Stockings is interesting as showing what the general opinion at that time was of Harvard’s club. The Red Stockings was the old champion nine in which the veterans George Wright, Harry Wright, Leonard and McVey first made their reputations as ball players. “Never before in the history of the Union Grounds has so exciting a struggle taken place as that of yesterday between the Harvard University and the first nine of the Cincinnati Club. We heard many intimate that if the local favorites were beaten on their own grounds, something hitherto unheard of, they preferred that the deed of baseball glory should be accomplished by the gentlemen players from Cambridge, rather than by the more dreaded professionals from the East. The game was remarkably close, the Harvards outplaying their opponents at the bat and in the field; but at a critical moment in the last innings, professional training showed its superiority over amateur excitability, and the Red Stockings won by 20 to 17.” The game at the time was considered “one of the most remarkable on record--remarkable for the inferiority both at the bat and on the field, of a club of professionals who ought on their record to defeat their amateur opponents easily. Nothing but sheer luck saved the Red Stockings from a defeat which would have been honorable because administered them by the Harvards.”

This was what might be called the uncollegiate period of Harvard baseball, for all of Harvard’s most important games were played with other than college teams; indeed, there were none of the latter who could compete with her. From 1867 until 1874 she did not lose a single game to any college, although annually playing their best nines. Of the many crack players during this period, A. McC. Bush, ’71, stands head and shoulder’s over all others. He played in one hundred and four games, was captain for one year, and his success in that office is shown by the fact that Harvard never lost a game to an amateur club during his captaincy.[4]

There is no time to trace further the development of baseball at Harvard, and, indeed, there would be little point in doing so; for the game there has simply kept pace with its progress throughout the rest of the country. I have purposely given this short sketch of the introduction of the game to show the early importance attached to it at Cambridge, the prominent part that the latter took in introducing the game among American colleges, and the general reputation that the nine had at that time. The significant remark in the Cincinnati papers about “the gentlemen players from Cambridge,” and many other comments of a similar kind, were made at a time when Harvard played many games against professionals--a privilege now forbidden.

Up to the present date, however, the game has retained its popularity, although no longer can the college boast of seven successive years without losing an intercollegiate game. After 1874 the team gradually began to find more formidable opponents among the other colleges, especially Princeton and Yale; but, nevertheless, Harvard won the college championship in 1876, 1877, 1878, and 1879. Tyng and Ernst, the famous battery of this period, still figure in the minds of the undergraduates as traditional heroes. Then an Intercollegiate Baseball Association was formed by a large number of the colleges; but not until 1885, under the captaincy of Winslow, ’85, and with the battery work of Nichols and Allen, did Harvard again win the college championship; but then she won every one of the ten championship games, and twenty-four out of the twenty-five played during the whole season. Then followed the withdrawal from the large college league, the formation of the smaller one with Yale and Princeton, and the discomfiture of the Harvard nine by the present Yale pitcher, Stagg. If any one wishes to understand the position that baseball occupies in the college, it is only necessary to go out on Holmes Field at the annual Harvard-Yale match the day after Class Day. Games are played then which throw the old Harvard-Lowell games on Boston Common completely in the shade. A large part of the unpleasantly critical element is excluded by enclosed grounds and an admission fee; but their places are taken by thousands and thousands of enthusiasts, less critical, but even more demonstrative.

To be continued.

[3] The Harvard Book, vol. ii., page 269.

[4] Most of my material on the history of baseball I have taken
from an article by W. D. Sanborn, published ten years ago in
the Harvard Book.--J. M. H.

A RIDE TO A RUSSIAN WEDDING.

BY C. M. LITWIN.

A friend of mine sent me, not long ago, the recently published translation of Count Tolstoï’s “The Snow Storm.” I had not read it in the original, but the translation was a good one, and this little picture of a ride in a snow-storm, drawn by a master’s hand, vividly recalled to my mind many of my traveling experiences during ten years of active service in Russia.

One of them--I don’t know why--presented itself to my mind with more persistence than the others, and I have not been able to resist the temptation of putting it on paper. I hasten to say, for fear of giving a bad opinion of myself beforehand, it will not be an account of a ride in a snow-storm, nor a description of such a storm, although I have seen many and have often felt their embraces. Who, after having read the Count’s little gem, would dare attempt a description of a snow-storm? Would it not be the same as to attempt to paint a subject treated by Rembrandt, or to mold another “Statue of Liberty?”

My tale is simply about an exciting ride taken in the winter, but early in the season, with but little snow on the ground--for Russia--while I was in a very excited state of mind over an event that was of more importance to me then than the still pending Oriental question or any other question of either hemisphere, namely, the wedding and the wedding-ball of a girl with whom we had all been, or imagined ourselves to be, a little in love. But I see that mature age is not always a sufficient safeguard against excitement, and I confess that with this glance back at those happy days I begin to feel something of that youthful nervousness, always aspiring to something, always wishing for something, and to put a check on it I begin my tale.

My headquarters were in Ladoga, the county seat of the district of the same name, in the Province of St. Petersburg. The town is situated on the Lake of Ladoga, at the mouth of the river Wolchow, which is large, but very dangerous for navigation on account of its rapids. This stream forms a link in the water-system connecting the Caspian Sea with St. Petersburg and the Baltic.

The situation of Ladoga, its streets and buildings, have little of picturesqueness, except the old church built on a slight elevation just where the river enters the lake. On the high tower of this church, almost at its summit, and on the side facing the lake, there is a niche, protected from rain and wind by a pane of glass. Within this niche is placed a picture of the Holy Mother, lighted by several lamps burning day and night. These are kept there by the donations of the fishermen and sailors, who hold the holy picture in great veneration. They look for it from afar, not only with the eagerness of a Cunarder’s captain watching through his glass for Sandy Hook or the Fastnet lights, but also as worshipers, raising their eyes and hearts to the Holy Mother with her Infant, imploring help and protection in their lives of hardship and danger; for navigation on the lake is very dangerous from undercurrents, and I have often heard marine officers say that they would rather cross the ocean than make a trip on this lake.

The town of Ladoga contains only a few thousand inhabitants, but, since it is a county seat, all the government officers, military and civil, are obliged to live there with their families. If you add the staffs of the various regiments which are stationed there in turn, and several wealthy landowners of the nobility, you can imagine that life in Ladoga is gay.

In no other country than Russia are there so many private dancing parties, suppers--or rather midnight dinners--and all sorts of amusements, any one of which is, for the most part, a pretext for eating, drinking and gambling. Even among ladies, every game of cards is played for money, in a country where the paternal government says: “You cannot read; I will read for you. You cannot write; I will write for you. You cannot think; I will think for you.” Questions of public interest there are none. If there is a vacancy in an office, every one knows the Czar will make the appointment. If there is a famine, every one says the Czar will send bread; thousands will die meanwhile, but this is no matter. If there is a war, every one proclaims, “Our little father, the Czar, will beat them; our mother, Russia, is invincible; let him [the enemy] come, we will bury him under our caps.” One is only permitted to think how to win more at cards, how to eat more and not make himself ill, how to drink more and not be made drunk, although this last condition is not considered at all degrading. On the contrary, it awakens in every one charitable feelings, quite naturally, for every one expects to be drunk himself, if not to-day, then, surely, to-morrow. It is really edifying to see how a mantle of charity is thrown over one who is drunk, and how tenderly he is carried home to bed--more tenderly, indeed, than one who may have had the misfortune to slip and break his leg. But the young men do not think merely of cards, eating and drinking, although they do not lose much time before entering upon these delights, and almost all show, very early, a genius for them, probably by way of inheritance. The adherents and the advocates of the theory of inherited inebriety would find in Russia their task greatly simplified. In case of a hiatus in the genealogical record, or in case of the utter impossibility of tracing one, they would not be obliged to make a _salto mortale_ to Noah. Stretching out their fingers triumphantly, they could at once point out son, father and grandfather drunk in company.

There is, however, a time when a young man, even in Russia, thinks more of dancing and flirtation than of anything else, and when he under no circumstances would omit a dancing party or a ball, to say nothing of a wedding-ball. A wedding and a wedding-ball were on the program for the next day. I was young, recently graduated, held quite an enviable office under government, and had been chosen by the bride to hold the crown--not of diamonds, but of tinsel--over her head at the wedding ceremony during her triple promenade round the pulpit, hand in hand with her _fiancé_, which, according to the Greek rite, is a symbol of the Gordian knot.

But something still better my stars had destined for me. It was that the dear girl, just lost to all others except her husband, had selected me from a score of aspirants to lead the mazurka with her at the end of the ball. No sympathetic soul will wonder that, under these circumstances, I thought myself of no less importance for the events of the coming day than Bismarck for the Vaterland, and that while hurrying on all the necessary preparations for my personal appearance, I was plotting to prolong the mazurka at least one hour beyond the usual time.

Perhaps some one will question how it was that the honor of dancing the principal dance with the bride was bestowed on me, and not reserved for the bridegroom. Well, there were two reasons of the best kind. The first--a secret I will not tell; but the other, known to all Ladoga, was as follows: The groom’s left leg was shorter than the right. This misfortune naturally prevented him from dancing that fiery dance. Besides this, he belonged to that body of dignitaries entrusted by the Father of all Russia with the power of deciding the fate of poor delinquents, no matter in what category. Russia has her points of etiquette. Was it possible for such a dignitary to hop for hours through a mazurka? Certainly not. Even if both his legs had been of the same length, he could not have done it, for his shoulders were already loaded with a terrible weight of responsibility. To please his own humane heart, and to please all the living steps above him, up to the highest, who--no matter what Roman numeral is appended to his name--is considered to be endowed with the most humane heart of all, our dignitary had often to decide a question, frequently put to Russian rulers: which penalty would be the most humane, several thousand strokes of the knout, under which the sufferer might possibly die; or twenty years in the mines, where he would probably die?

Now, since this subject is at present so eloquently presented before the world in a work--for which, oh, so many thousands of hearts are praying that it may bring the same blessed results as “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”--I will only say that my bridegroom, being in a constant dilemma himself on that point, carried his neck bent forward in addition to his mismatched legs.

The evening before the wedding and the ball my preparations were all accomplished to my satisfaction. My new uniform, new epaulets, new boots, fitting so tightly that I could scarcely walk in them, but made to my special order by the most reliable shoemaker in Ladoga, new white gloves--in one word, everything new--lay spread about in my room on tables and chairs. Imagine, then, my dismay, when, at five o’clock in the evening, I received a dispatch ordering me to go at once on a very important service to a place at a distance of ninety-six versts (about sixty miles) from Ladoga.

In spite of my own excited anticipation of to-morrow’s enjoyment, I must say that I was more tormented by the thought of the disappointment of the poor girl. What would she think? What would she feel? Would she not even consider my absence as a bad omen for all her future life? To be absent! No, even for the Czar’s sake I was incapable of such treachery. But what could I do? To report myself sick was impossible, for in that case I could not appear at the ball. Delay was out of the question. I was obliged to go. Fortunately I could calculate upon performing my duties there before noon of the next day, and it only remained to be sure if I could make the journey with the speed of the wind. But I would not allow any obstacles to give me uneasiness. I knew I could make the 192 versts easily in nineteen hours, and having twenty-seven hours before me, I calculated upon having plenty of time, both for the business and the journey.

So, without losing any time, I packed what was necessary for the trip, sent at once for the post-horses, and ran to communicate the bad news to my partner. As I anticipated, she was much startled, but by giving her the most solemn promises that I would return _coûte que coûte_ in time for the ball, at eight o’clock the next evening, I succeeded in calming her.

As I have mentioned before, it was in the beginning of winter, so I traveled in a sleigh. I left Ladoga at half-past six in the evening, and arrived at my destination about three o’clock in the morning, without any accident. Ordering at the post station a _samovar_, I made tea for myself, drank several cups, gave orders that I should be aroused at six in the morning, and without undressing, wrapped myself in my fur cloak, and, pushing under my head my leather traveling pillow, fell asleep on the station sofa.

I was aroused punctually as I had ordered at six, and after the blessing of Russia--the _samovar_--had fulfilled its morning duty, I hastened to mine. As I said, I had fully decided to rid my hands of the unwelcome business in a very few hours, but I counted without my host. Some individuals who were called as witnesses, but had not in view a wedding hop, arrived late, and the village authorities, who could not guess the reason of my feverish zeal in the Czar’s service, moved and acted with the habitual slowness and apathy of the Russian peasant. In short, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon when the last document was duly signed, witnessed, and packed in my portfolio. I rushed into my furs and through the door, before which the _trojka_ had been standing for more than an hour, the horses and the _jamszczyk_ shivering with the cold, and the bells tinkling.

I threw myself into the low, spacious sleigh, well filled with straw, and shouted to the _jamszczyk_:

“_Poszol!_” (Go.)

A promise of one ruble if he would make the next station, a distance of sixteen versts, in one hour, did not fail to produce the desired effect. The horses, stimulated by the wild shouts of the _jamszczyk_, and by the whip, on the end of which stuck the promised ruble, ran, as the French say, _ventre à terre_, and the next village was reached at but seven minutes past two.

The day was clear, but a strong northwester, blowing fiercely, made the air bitterly cold. Snow having fallen some few days previously, the road was excellent, and my only fear was that I might fail to find horses at some station. In this case there would be no help. Every one, even the Governor-general himself, if he arrives unexpectedly, must wait till the return of the first span, and till the regulation two hours for feeding the exhausted beasts passes away. But, trusting to my good luck, and still more to the secret prayers of my partner in the mazurka, I drove such gloomy anticipations as far as possible from my mind.

The _starosta_ met me at the door of the station, which was at the same time his house, invited me to enter and to warm myself with a cup of tea. I declined, and having no heart to ask the question dreaded by each traveler: “Are the horses at hand?” said that I was in a great hurry and wished to go at once. He said, “All right!” and I entered the room resolving to be polite and patient, knowing by experience that in many cases politeness and patience produce more effect than shouting and commands. Besides this, I was sure my former driver would not fail to tell his comrades that I was a “good fare.” Scarcely ten minutes had passed when the _starosta_ came in, announcing: “The horses are ready.”

With a light heart I hurried out, but my satisfaction was a little checked by seeing that instead of three horses there were only two. I asked the _starosta_ for the reason, and received the answer that all the _jamsczyks_ were out, and that he would send his own boy, whom he could not risk with a _trojka_. At the same moment a little bit of a chap came out of the _izba_. He was not more than twelve years old, but looked bright and smart: he was dressed in the full costume of a genuine _jamszczyk_, and held in his hand his short whip, which he snapped with the air of a connoisseur. Approaching the horses deliberately, he walked round them, and imitating in every movement an old _jamszczyk_, he began to examine and to try by shaking the different parts of the harness, showing an especial fondness for the big bell hanging over the head of the horse in the shafts. He was evidently convincing himself that everything was in order for the event--so important for him--of driving a real officer with a star on his cap, instead of a simple peasant-delegate. Meanwhile the _starosta_ helped me into the sleigh, seated me on my leather cushion, and piled heaps of straw round my legs and feet, pressing it so that it was impossible for me to move. As the cold was increasing, I abandoned myself to his tender care, which I could but consider as a mark of atonement for the missing third horse.

Everything being ready, I said “Go!” and the little boy, faithful to the end to the great rôle he was performing, took off his big cap, crossed himself hastily thrice--as every Russian does before any important, doubtful or dangerous occasion--seized the reins, threw himself coquettishly on the front edge of the sleigh, leaving his short legs hanging out, and in the manner of a well-bred _jamszczyk_, turned toward me his merry face, without disturbing his acrobatic posture, and asked, “Are you ready, sir?”

I gave a nod with my head just sticking out from the big collar of my fur coat, and the _starosta_ said, “With God, Vaniusha [Johnny], and take care.” Vaniusha replied, “All right!” and addressing the horses, sang out with his silvery voice, “Eh, you, my little doves!” The doves started, the bells jingled, and off we went.

Now, I must confess that in my heart I was wickedly glad to have for a driver a child; “_cet âge est sans pitié_,” as the great fabulist has said, and I knew he would not spare the little doves, even without the one ruble _pour boire_.

The village being situated on a steep hill, the road from the station went rapidly down at a grade which could delight only a tobogganist. Besides this the road was not wide, and was bordered with _izbas_ and fences on both sides. The passers-by greeted Vaniusha, and the village belles, attracted by the sounds of our chime, peeped out of the windows. That the little rogue, being well aware of the general admiration, felt himself in the seventh heaven, and was as proud as a peacock, he proved by an impatience which brought us both within a hair’s breadth of a bad end.

Not waiting to reach the plains, he began to tickle the tender parts of the side horse with his short whip. The tickled horse, knowing very well there are no flies in winter, instead of using his tail for self-protection, used his leg and kicked fiercely. Unfortunately, during this performance, the whiffle-tree became entangled in his legs. There is no difference between the animals of a civilized and an uncivilized country, and every one can easily guess what happened. The kicks were redoubled; and the shaft-horse, alarmed by his neighbor’s actions, kicked too, and both started on a wild race. The frightened Lilliputian dropped the lines and grasped the sleigh with both hands. I had no time to seize the reins before the sleigh tipped over. I was imprisoned in my seat by the straw tightly packed round my feet, so my body was forced to follow all the zigzags of the half-overturned sleigh, dragged furiously downward by the runaway “doves,” which seemed, indeed, to possess wings.

How long this lasted I cannot tell, for, thanks to the concussions that I received, and the dizzy speed in such an unaccustomed position, I lost all consciousness.

When I came to my senses I found myself stretched on the road. Hastening to get on my feet as quickly as I could, I began to examine myself, and was very glad to find everything all right.

I heard shouts of men running toward me, and perceived at some distance behind me the poor boy, now without his whip and without his big cap, standing in the middle of the road, bitterly crying and nursing one hand tenderly with the other. Far ahead spasmodic sounds of a bell resounded, and turning in that direction I saw my horses running round a mill which stood isolated beyond the village, just as if they had been performing a chariot-race at a circus.

I rushed to the boy and asked what was the matter. His pitiful sobs did not permit him to utter a single word, and I was afraid he had broken his arm.

Meanwhile the _starosta_ and a crowd of _moujiks_ reached us. Little Johnny was brought into the nearest _izba_ and undressed. A careful examination by a _znachar_ (village quack), fortunately present in the crowd, having been made, I was glad to learn from the mouth of the oracle that the bones were sound, though the wrist was sprained.

Several _moujiks_, who had run to catch the horses, brought them to the door, and my gun, portfolio, and other things scattered on the road were soon recovered.

This restored me to my full consciousness, and I exclaimed, “The mazurka!”

Without losing a moment, I thrust my hand into my pocket, gave to the still sobbing Vaniusha a “blue” (five paper rubles), and, addressing the _starosta_, said that I must go on at once.

The _starosta_, whose conscience now pricked him doubly for having economized on the third horse (for use of which he had already pocketed the post-fare), and for trusting a life precious to the Czar’s service to such childish hands, declared at once that he would drive himself. The station-house being now a half-mile away, not to lose time, he snatched, without much ceremony, from the nearest bystanders, things necessary to protect him from the cold, and we started.

Although this occurrence made me lose more than a half-hour, each minute of which was precious to me, I rendered thanks from my heart to Providence for my preservation from having my head split in two on a fence or on the corner of an _izba_.