Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

THE

WIDE WORLD

MAGAZINE

AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE

ADVENTURE TRAVEL CUSTOMS AND SPORT

+Vol. XXII.+

OCTOBER TO MARCH

1909

"TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION"

_LONDON:_

_GEORGE NEWNES, LTD. SOUTHAMPTON ST. STRAND_

INDEX.

PAGE

AIRSHIP, ACROSS AMERICA BY _Arthur Inkersley._ 216
Illustrations from Photographs.

ALASKAN CHRISTMAS, MY _W. E. Priestley._ 299
Illustrations by Inglis Sheldon-Williams and from
Photographs and Facsimiles.

ALGERIA, MY EXPERIENCES IN _The Baroness de Boerio._ 292, 377, 469
Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R. I., and from Photographs.

AT RANCH, THE FIGHT AT THE _Frank Bransted._ 509
Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood.

BARRACOLA, THE CAPTURE OF ANTONIO _Stephen Norman._ 91
Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon.

BEARS, WHEN "TENDERFEET" GO HUNTING--

+An Evening Call+ _Ernest Law._ 580
Illustrations by H. Sandham and from a Photograph.

+Two "Greenhorns" and a Bear+ _A. Wright._ 582
Illustrations by H. Sandham and from a Photograph.

+A Nightmare Adventure+ _G. Bennett._ 584
Illustration by H. Sandham.

BEULAH COUNTY "WAR," THE _H. M. Vernon._ 315
Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood and from a Photograph.

BILLIARD-CUE, ROUND THE WORLD WITH A _Melbourne Inman._ 573
Illustrations by G. L. Stampa and from Photographs and a Facsimile.

BRIGAND, EL VIVILLO, THE _Jose Mondego._ 3
Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott and from Photographs.

CANNIBAL-LAND, A WHITE WOMAN IN _Annie Ker._ 171, 278, 372
Illustrations from Photographs.

CHASE ON RECORD, THE LONGEST _Vincent M. Hemming._ 601
Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R. I.

CLIMBING IN THE "LAND OF FIRE" _Sir Martin Conway._ 145
Illustrations from Photographs.

CREEK, THE LAST _John Mackie._ 550
Illustrations by Norman H. Hardy.

CROSSING THE RIVER _J. T. Newnham-Williams._ 238
Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott.

CUPID AND THE DENTIST _Dr. Paul S. Coleman._ 464
Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott.

DALTON, MY FRIEND _Harry de Windt._ 538
Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon and from a Photograph.

DOCTOR TOLD, THE TALE THE _Stanley L. Wood._ 273
Illustrations by the Author.

DOLPHIN-HUNTING _Victor Forbin._ 161
Illustrations from Photographs.

DOWN THE CHUTE _C. A. O. Duggan._ 436
Illustrations by A. Pearse and from Photographs and a Facsimile.

FINCHES' FESTIVAL, THE _A. Pitcairn-Knowles._ 503
Illustrations from Photographs.

"FREAK" MEMORIALS, SOME _T. W. Wilkinson._ 428
Illustrations from Photographs.

GRAND CANYON, A DARING VOYAGE DOWN THE _David Allen._ 65
Illustrations by H. Sandham and from Photographs.

GREENVILLE, THE AFFAIR AT _N. H. Crowell._ 200
Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon and from a Photograph.

HIPPOPOTAMUS, HUNTING THE _Lieutenant Paul Durand._ 265
Illustrations from Photographs.

HORSE-RACE ON RECORD, THE GREATEST _Alan Gordon._ 111
Illustrations from Photographs.

ICE-FLOE, A VOYAGE ON AN _Dr. Wilfred T. Grenfell, C.M.G._ 403
Illustrations by C. J. Staniland, R.I., and from Photographs.

ISLANDS, A ROMANCE OF TWO.--II. _Frederic Lees._ 73
Illustrations by W. Edward Wigfull and from old Prints and
a Facsimile.

"JACK ASHORE." _Albert E. Craft._ 59
Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood and from a Photograph.

JAPAN, TWO GIRLS IN _Irene Lyon._ 544
Illustrations from Photographs.

LEOPARD HUNT, OUR _Thomas B. Marshall._ 331
Illustrations by A. Pearse.

LIONS IN A DAY, TEN _Walter Cooper._ 531
Illustrations by Lionel Edwards and from Photographs.

MALAYA, SOME EXPERIENCES IN _Lieut.-Col. Donald Mackenzie._ 52
Illustrations by F. C. Dickinson and from Photographs.

MARRIAGE OF LULU, THE _The Rev. A. Forder._ 361
Illustrations by W. Edward Wigfull and from Photographs.

MONTENEGRO, A STATE TRIAL IN _Mrs. Herbert Vivian._ 230
Illustrations from Photographs.

MOUNTAINEERING BY TELESCOPE _Harold J. Shepstone._ 40
Illustrations by F. C. Dickinson and from Photographs.

MOUNTAIN TRAGEDIES OF THE LAKE DISTRICT
_A Member of the Alpine Club._ 457
Illustrations from Photographs.

NILE, A TRAGEDY OF THE _Major D. G. Prendergast._ 165
Illustrations by D. MacPherson and from a Photograph.

ODDS AND ENDS
_From all parts of the World._ 101, 205, 308, 412, 516, 619
Illustrations from Photographs.

PERILOUS MISSION, A _E. F. Martin._ 394
Illustrations by Dudley Tennant and from a Photograph.

PETROFF, THE PROMOTION OF _Maxime Schottland._ 118
Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.I.

REBEL CHIEF, HOW WE CAPTURED THE _E. F. Martin._ 566
Illustrations by C. J. Staniland, R.I., and from a Facsimile.

RECORDS, THE BREAKER OF _Herbert G. Ponting, F.R.G.S._ 367
Illustrations by Tony Sarg.

RECTORIAL ELECTION, THE HUMOURS OF A "_One of the Electors._" 126
Illustrations by G. L. Stampa and from Photographs and a Facsimile.

REINDEER, IN THE LAND OF THE _H. Chusseau-Flaviens._ 489
Illustrations from Photographs.

RETRIBUTION _Captain G. F. Pugh._ 451
Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson.

SANCTUARY, THE TERROR IN THE _Mrs. K. Compton._ 211
Illustrations by S. Spurrier and from Photographs.

SAVAGE AFRICA, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE IN _The Rev. H. Cole._ 84
Illustrations from Photographs.

SAVAGE PASTIMES, SOME _E. Wav Elkington, F.R.G.S._ 354
Illustrations from Photographs.

SHORT STORIES.

+My Adventure at Arad+ _P. Harris Deans._ 185
Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.I., and from a Photograph.

+The Horror in the Pit+ _E. F. Martin._ 187
Illustrations by Alfred Pearse and from a Photograph.

+The Cruise of the "Crocodile."+
_Commander R. Dowling, R.N.R._ 190
Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson and from a Photograph.

+A Bluff That Worked+ _J. R. Strachan, J.P._ 285
Illustration by H. Sandham.

+The Yellow Fiend+ _Julian Johnson._ 288
Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon and from a Photograph.

+The Ambassador's Trunk+ _E. A. Morphy._ 343
Illustrations by G. L. Stampa.

+Half an Hour in a Blazing Furnace+ _George S. Guy._ 346
Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott and from Photographs and a
Plan.

+The Headless Woman+ _Charles Needham._ 350
Illustrations by A. J. Gough and from a Photograph.

+Whale+ _v._ +Sharks+ _Victor Pitt-Kethley._ 419
Illustrations by Harry Rountree and from a Facsimile.

+A Battle in Mid-Air+ _T. R. Porter._ 422
Illustrations by Harry Rountree and from Photographs.

+Up in a Balloon+ _A. Soden._ 425
Illustrations by Monteith Dodshon and from Photographs and
a Facsimile.

+How I Got My Jaguar-Skin+ _Dr. T. A. Stoddard._ 523
Illustrations by Harry Rountree and from Photographs.

+Out of the Skies+ _L. H. Brennan._ 525
Illustrations by Sheldon Williams and from a Photograph.

+A Night Adventure in Yokohama+ _P. V. Alpiser._ 528
Illustrations by Sheldon Williams and from Photographs.

"SHOT-GUN JIM" _Edward Franklin Campbell._ 385
Illustrations by George Soper and from Photographs.

"SIMPLICITY HALL," OUR ADVENTURES AT--III. _Mrs. Fred Maturin._ 45
Illustrations by G. L. Stampa.

SMOKING COMPETITION, A BELGIAN _A. Pitcairn-Knowles._ 244
Illustrations from Photographs.

SPIDER'S WEB, THE _George A. Raper._ 149
Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott.

SPORTING STORIES.

+IV.--Corker's Alligator+ _Frank E. Verney._ 16

+V.--A Brush With a Bear+ _R. W. Martin, Junior._ 19

+VI.--Man+ _v._ +Python+ _Victor Pitt-Kethley._ 21
Illustrations by A. Pearse and from Photographs.

STEEPLECHASE, BARMAID'S _C. C. Paltridge._ 107
Illustrations by Norman H. Hardy and from a Photograph.

STEEPLEJACK, THE LIFE OF A _Will Larkins._ 589
Illustrations from Photographs.

SUPERSTITION, THE LAND OF _Frederic Lees._ 610
Illustrations from Photographs.

"TAPU" _D. W. O. Fagan._ 497
Illustrations by Harry Rountree and from Photographs.

TEXAS RANGER, RECOLLECTIONS OF A _Isaac Motes._ 178
Illustrations by George Soper and from a Photograph.

TURTLE-FARMING _H. J. Shepstone._ 336
Illustrations from Photographs.

TYPHOON, FIGHTING A _A. P. Taylor._ 221
Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson and from Photographs and a
Facsimile.

VOLCANO IN ERUPTION, PHOTOGRAPHING A _Frank Davey._ 323
Illustrations from Photographs.

WAILING WOMAN, THE LEGEND OF THE _D. W. O. Fagan._ 35
Illustrations by Harry Rountree and from a Photograph.

WALRUS-HUNT IN THE ARCTIC, A _David Gove._ 8
Illustrations from Photographs.

WAYS THAT ARE DARK.

+I.--My Adventures in 'Frisco+ _Ralph Stock._ 476
Illustrations by A. J. Gough.

+II.--A Sharp Lesson+ _R. I. C. Morrison._ 480
Illustrations by Tony Sarg.

+III.--"Seeing It Out"+ _Albert E. MacGrotty._ 485
Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon and from a Photograph.

WEATHER, PROPITIATING THE _Mrs. Herbert Vivian._ 194
Illustrations from Photographs.

"WIDE WORLD" ARTISTS, THE ADVENTURES OF _J. Sydney Boot._ 135, 253
Illustrations by H. Sandham, A. Pearse, A. J. Gough, C.M. Sheldon,
E. S. Hodgson, N. H. Hardy, and from Photographs.

WIDE WORLD, THE. +In Other Magazines+ 100, 204, 307, 411, 515, 618
Illustrations from Photographs.

WILD ANIMAL CATCHING, THE ROMANCE OF _Harold J. Shepstone._ 555
Illustrations from Photographs.

WILDERNESS, GUARDIANS OF THE _Henry Hale._ 23
Illustrations from Photographs.

WOMEN WEAR TROUSERS, WHERE _L. Van der Veer._ 443
Illustrations from Photographs.

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

SEE PAGE 4.]

+The Wide World Magazine+

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

El Vivillo, the Brigand.

+By Jose Mondego, of Madrid.+

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

_From a photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

A WALRUS-HUNT IN THE ARCTIC.]

+By David Gove.+

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

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

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

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

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

"No, we have _not_ seen any walrus," he growled, "although we have been looking for them for twenty-four hours. We got thirty miles beyond the shore-ice when a gale sprang up, and the little boat became so lively that I have had a dickens of a time trying to keep my inside in. Here, take my camera and come with me to get some refreshments."

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

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

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_From a photograph._]

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

_From a photograph._]

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

_From a Photograph._]

_From a Photograph._]

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

SPORTING STORIES.

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

IV.--CORKER'S ALLIGATOR.

+By Frank E. Verney.+

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

_From a Photograph._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

V.--A BRUSH WITH A BEAR.

+By R. W. Martin, Junior.+

_From a Photograph._]

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

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