THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN.By Bliss Carman.

“Do you write rapidly?”

“I write my verse easily, but my prose I sweat over. Don’t you?”

“I toil in revision even when I have what the other fellows call an inspiration.”

“I tell you, Garland, genius is not in it. It’s work and patience, and staying with a thing. Inspiration is all right and pretty and a suggestion, but it’s when a man gets a pen in his hand and sweats blood, that inspiration begins to enter in.”

“Well, what are your plans for the future—your readers want to know that?”

His face glowed as he replied, “I’m going to write a sentimental life of Horace. We know mighty little of him, but what I don’t know I’ll make up. I’ll write such a life as hemusthave lived. The life we all live when boys.”

The younger man put up his notes, and they walked down and out under the trees with the gibbous moon shining through the gently moving leaves. They passed a couple of young people walking slow—his voice a murmur, hers a whisper.

“There they go. Youth! Youth!” said Field.

Note.—A series of portraits of Mr. Field at different ages will be printed among the “Human Documents” in the September number.

205THE SHADOW BOATSWAIN.By Bliss Carman.

Don’t you know the sailing orders?It is time to put to sea,And the stranger in the harborSends a boat ashore for me.With the thunder of her canvas,Coming on the wind again,I can hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men.Is it firelight or morningThat red flicker on the floor?Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,When I sailed away before.Think of this last lovely summer!Love, what ails the wind to-night?What’s he saying in the chimneyTurns your berry cheek so white?What a morning! How the sunlightSparkles on the outer bay,Where the brig lies waiting for meTo trip anchor and away.That’s the Doomkeel. You may know herBy her clean run aft; and, then,Don’t you hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men?Off the freshening sea to windward,Is it a white tern I hearShrilling in the gusty weatherWhere the far sea-line is clear?What a morning for departure!How your blue eyes melt and shine!Will you watch us from the headlandTill we sink below the line?I can see the wind alreadySteer the scruf marks of the tide,As we slip the wake of beingDown the sloping world, and wide.I can feel the vasty mountainsHeave and settle under me,And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,Crumbling on the hollow sea.There’s a call, as when a white gullCries and beats across the blue;That must be the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow crew.There’s a boding sound, like winter,When the pines begin to quail;That must be the gray wind moaningIn the belly of the sail.I can feel the icy fingersCreeping in upon my bones;There must be a berg to windwardSomewhere in these border zones.Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,Always loved my shipmate sun.How the sunflowers beckon to meFrom the dooryard one by one!How the royal lady-rosesStrew this summer world of ours.There’ll be none in Lonely Haven,It is too far north for flowers.There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.What should touch my wife with tears?There’s no danger with the Master,He has sailed the sea for years.With the sea-wolves on her quarter,And the white bones in her teeth,He will steer the shadow cruiser,Dark before and doom beneath,Down the last expanse till morningFlares above the broken sea,And the midnight storm is over,And the isles are close alee.So some twilight, when your rosesAre all blown, and it is June,You will turn your blue eyes seaward,Through the white dusk of the moon.Wondering, as that far sea-cryComes upon the wind again,And you hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men.

Don’t you know the sailing orders?It is time to put to sea,And the stranger in the harborSends a boat ashore for me.

Don’t you know the sailing orders?

It is time to put to sea,

And the stranger in the harbor

Sends a boat ashore for me.

With the thunder of her canvas,Coming on the wind again,I can hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men.

With the thunder of her canvas,

Coming on the wind again,

I can hear the Shadow Boatswain

Piping to his shadow men.

Is it firelight or morningThat red flicker on the floor?Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,When I sailed away before.

Is it firelight or morning

That red flicker on the floor?

Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart,

When I sailed away before.

Think of this last lovely summer!Love, what ails the wind to-night?What’s he saying in the chimneyTurns your berry cheek so white?

Think of this last lovely summer!

Love, what ails the wind to-night?

What’s he saying in the chimney

Turns your berry cheek so white?

What a morning! How the sunlightSparkles on the outer bay,Where the brig lies waiting for meTo trip anchor and away.

What a morning! How the sunlight

Sparkles on the outer bay,

Where the brig lies waiting for me

To trip anchor and away.

That’s the Doomkeel. You may know herBy her clean run aft; and, then,Don’t you hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men?

That’s the Doomkeel. You may know her

By her clean run aft; and, then,

Don’t you hear the Shadow Boatswain

Piping to his shadow men?

Off the freshening sea to windward,Is it a white tern I hearShrilling in the gusty weatherWhere the far sea-line is clear?

Off the freshening sea to windward,

Is it a white tern I hear

Shrilling in the gusty weather

Where the far sea-line is clear?

What a morning for departure!How your blue eyes melt and shine!Will you watch us from the headlandTill we sink below the line?

What a morning for departure!

How your blue eyes melt and shine!

Will you watch us from the headland

Till we sink below the line?

I can see the wind alreadySteer the scruf marks of the tide,As we slip the wake of beingDown the sloping world, and wide.

I can see the wind already

Steer the scruf marks of the tide,

As we slip the wake of being

Down the sloping world, and wide.

I can feel the vasty mountainsHeave and settle under me,And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,Crumbling on the hollow sea.

I can feel the vasty mountains

Heave and settle under me,

And the Doomkeel veer and tremor,

Crumbling on the hollow sea.

There’s a call, as when a white gullCries and beats across the blue;That must be the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow crew.

There’s a call, as when a white gull

Cries and beats across the blue;

That must be the Shadow Boatswain

Piping to his shadow crew.

There’s a boding sound, like winter,When the pines begin to quail;That must be the gray wind moaningIn the belly of the sail.

There’s a boding sound, like winter,

When the pines begin to quail;

That must be the gray wind moaning

In the belly of the sail.

I can feel the icy fingersCreeping in upon my bones;There must be a berg to windwardSomewhere in these border zones.

I can feel the icy fingers

Creeping in upon my bones;

There must be a berg to windward

Somewhere in these border zones.

Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,Always loved my shipmate sun.How the sunflowers beckon to meFrom the dooryard one by one!

Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight,

Always loved my shipmate sun.

How the sunflowers beckon to me

From the dooryard one by one!

How the royal lady-rosesStrew this summer world of ours.There’ll be none in Lonely Haven,It is too far north for flowers.

How the royal lady-roses

Strew this summer world of ours.

There’ll be none in Lonely Haven,

It is too far north for flowers.

There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.What should touch my wife with tears?There’s no danger with the Master,He has sailed the sea for years.

There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you.

What should touch my wife with tears?

There’s no danger with the Master,

He has sailed the sea for years.

With the sea-wolves on her quarter,And the white bones in her teeth,He will steer the shadow cruiser,Dark before and doom beneath,

With the sea-wolves on her quarter,

And the white bones in her teeth,

He will steer the shadow cruiser,

Dark before and doom beneath,

Down the last expanse till morningFlares above the broken sea,And the midnight storm is over,And the isles are close alee.

Down the last expanse till morning

Flares above the broken sea,

And the midnight storm is over,

And the isles are close alee.

So some twilight, when your rosesAre all blown, and it is June,You will turn your blue eyes seaward,Through the white dusk of the moon.

So some twilight, when your roses

Are all blown, and it is June,

You will turn your blue eyes seaward,

Through the white dusk of the moon.

Wondering, as that far sea-cryComes upon the wind again,And you hear the Shadow BoatswainPiping to his shadow men.

Wondering, as that far sea-cry

Comes upon the wind again,

And you hear the Shadow Boatswain

Piping to his shadow men.

206THE SLAPPING SAL.By Conan Doyle.PICTURES BY A. BRENNAN.

HAIRY HUDSON.

It was in the days when France’s power was already broken upon the seas, and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway than were to be found in Brest Harbor. But her frigates and corvettes still scoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival. At the uttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet names of girls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the honor of the four yards of bunting that flapped from their gaffs.

It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with the dawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm wrack as it dwindled into the west, and glinted on the endless crests of the long green waves. To north and south and west lay a sky-line which was unbroken, save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic seas dashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island, jutting out into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of palm-trees, and a pennant of mist streaming out from the bare conical hill which capped it. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and at a safe distance from it the British 32-gun frigate “Leda,” Captain A. P. Johnson, raised her black, glistening side upon the crest of a wave, or swooped down into an emerald valley, dipping away to the nor’ard under easy sail. On her snow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff, little, brown-faced man, who swept the horizon with his glass.

“Mr. Wharton,” he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.

A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton.”

A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the first lieutenant. The “Leda” had sailed with her consort the “Dido” from Antigua the week before, and the admiral’s orders had been contained in a sealed envelope.

“We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero, lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitude sixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the northeast from our port bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton.”

207

The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom friends from childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the navy together, fought again and again together, and married into each other’s families; but as long as their feet were on the poop the iron discipline of the service struck all that was human out of them, and left only the superior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took a blue paper from his pocket, which crackled as he unfolded it.

“The 32-gun frigates, ‘Leda’ and ‘Dido’ (Captains A. P. Johnson and James Munro), are to cruise from the point at which these instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in the hope of encountering the French frigate ‘La Gloire’ (48), which has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter. H. M. frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft known sometimes as the ‘Slapping Sal’ and sometimes as the ‘Hairy Hudson,’ which has plundered the British ships as per margin, inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade forward. She was last seen upon the 23d ult., to the northeast of the island of Sombriero.”(Signed)James Montgomery,Rear-Admiral.H. M. S. “Colossus,” Antigua.

(Signed)

James Montgomery,

Rear-Admiral.

H. M. S. “Colossus,” Antigua.

“We appear to have lost our consort,” said Captain Johnson, folding up his instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. “She drew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this heavy Frenchman without the ‘Dido,’ Mr. Wharton, eh?”

The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.

“She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,” said the captain. “She carries four hundred to our two hundred and thirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French service. O Bobby, boy, I’d give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up against her!” He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse. “Mr. Wharton,” said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, “get those square sails shaken out, and bear away a point more to the west.”

“A brig on the port bow,” came a voice from the forecastle.

“A brig on the port bow,” said the lieutenant.

CAPTAIN JOHNSON AND MR. WHARTON.

The captain sprang up on the bulwarks, and held on by the mizzen shrouds, a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes. The lean lieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the second, while officers and men came popping up from below and clustered along the weather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands, for the tropical sun was already clear of the palm trees. The strange brig lay at anchor in the throat of a curving estuary, and it was already obvious that she could not get out without passing under the guns of the frigate. A long rocky point to the north of her held her in.

“Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton,” said the captain. “Hardly worth while clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by the guns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bowchasers, and send the small arm men on to the forecastle.”

A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quiet serenity of men on their daily routine. In a208few minutes, without fuss or sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines were drawn up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate’s bowsprit pointed straight for her little victim.

“Is it the ‘Slapping Sal,’ sir?”

“I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton.”

“They don’t seem to like the look of us, sir. They’ve cut their cable and are clapping on sail.”

It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. One little patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people could be seen working like mad men in the rigging. She made no attempt to pass her antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed his hands.

“She’s making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut her out, sir. She’s a footy little brig, but I should have thought a fore-and-after would have been more handy.”

“It was a mutiny, sir.”

“Ah, indeed!”

“Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla—a bad business, sir. Captain and two mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson, as they call him, led the mutiny. He’s a Londoner, sir, but a cruel villain as ever walked.”

“His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems heavily manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but they would be enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton.”

Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenly the lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed to a deeper red.

“That’s Hairy Hudson on the afterrail, sir.”

“The low, impertinent blackguard! He’ll play some other antics before we are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr. Smeaton?”

“Another cable length will do it, sir.”

The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round, a spurt of smoke whiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for the gun could scarce carry half way. Then with a jaunty swing the little ship came into the wind again and shot round a fresh curve of the winding channel.

“The water’s shoaling rapidly, sir,” reported the second lieutenant.

“There’s six fathoms, by the chart.”

“Four, by the lead, sir.”

“When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought as much! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy.”

The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now, at the head of this river-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were seen to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as near shore as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside towards her pursuer, and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her mizzen. The lean lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a cutlass strapped to his side and two pistols rammed into his belt, peered curiously at the ensign.

“Is it the ‘Jolly Roger,’ sir?” he asked.

But the captain was furious. “He may hang where his breeches are hanging before I have done with him,” said he. “What boats will you want, Mr. Wharton?”

“We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat.”

“Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once, and I’ll work her in and help you with the long eighteens.”

With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats splashed into the water. Their crews clustered thickly into them—bare-footed sailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in the sheets of each the senior officers with their stern, schoolmaster faces. The captain, his elbows on the binnacle, still watched the distant brig. Her crew were tricing up the boarding netting, dragging round the starboard guns, knocking new portholes for them, and making every preparation for a desperate resistance. In the thick of it all a huge man, bearded to the eyes, with a red night-cap upon his head, was straining and stooping and hauling. The captain209watched him with a sour smile, and then snapping up his glass he turned upon his heel. For an instant he stood staring.

“Call back the boats!” he cried, in his thin, creaking voice. “Clear away for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the yards, Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weigh enough.”

Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her great yellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from the cluster of palm-trees, while high above them towered three immense masts, with the tricolor flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round she came, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore-foot, until her long, curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath, and of snow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered over her bulwarks were all in full view.

Her lower yards were slung, her ports triced up, and her guns run out all ready for action. Lying behind one of the promontories of the island the look-out men of the “Gloire” upon the shore had seen thecul-de-sacinto which the British frigate had headed, so that Captain de Milon had observed the “Leda” as Captain Johnson had the “Slapping Sal.”

THE ACTION.

But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in such a crisis. The boats flew back, their crews clustered aboard, they were swung up at the davits, and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks were brought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines opened, the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to quarters. Swarms of men set the head-sails and brought the frigate round, while the gun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts, tightened their belts, and ran out their eighteen-pounders, peering through210the open portholes at the stately Frenchman. The wind was very light. Hardly a ripple showed itself upon the clear blue water, but the sails blew gently out as the breeze came over the wooded banks. The Frenchman had gone about also, and both ships were now heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aft canvas, the “Gloire” a hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to cross the “Leda’s” bows, but the British ship came round also, and the two rippled slowly on in such a silence that the ringing of the ramrods, as the French marines drove home their charges, clanged quite loudly upon the ear.

“Not much sea room, Mr. Wharton,” remarked the captain.

“I have fought actions in less, sir.”

“We must keep our distance, and trust to our gunnery. She is very heavily manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in trouble.”

“I see the shakoes of soldiers aboard of her—two companies of light infantry from Martinique. Now we have her! Hard a port, and let her have it as we cross her stern!”

The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple which told of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across behind the big Frenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once past her, the “Leda” had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoal water. The manœuvre brought her on the starboard side of the Frenchman, and the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over under the crashing broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A moment later her topmen were swarming aloft to set her topsails and royals, and she strove to cross the “Gloire’s” bows and rake her again. The French captain, however, brought his frigate’s head round, and the two rode side by side within easy pistol shot, pouring broadsides into each other in one of those murderous duels which, could they all be recorded, would mottle our charts with blood.

ABOARD THE “LEDA.”

In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed a thick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts only protruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs of fire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and fired into a dense wall of vapor. On the poop and the forecastle the marines, in two little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but neither they nor the seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire was having. Nor, indeed, could they tell how far they211were suffering themselves, for standing at a gun one could but hazily see that upon the right and left. But above the roar of the cannon came the sharper sound of the piping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and the occasional heavy thud as spar or block came hurtling onto the deck. The lieutenants paced up and down behind the line of guns, while Captain Johnson fanned the smoke away with his cocked hat, and peered eagerly out.

“This is rare, Bobby,” said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then, suddenly restraining himself, “What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?”

“Our main-topsail yard and our gaff, sir.”

“Where’s the flag?”

“Gone overboard, sir.”

“They’ll think we’ve struck. Lash a boat’s ensign on the starboard arm of the mizzen cross jack-yard.”

“Yes, sir.”

A round shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A second knocked two marines into a bloody, palpitating mass. For a moment the smoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary’s heavier metal was producing a horrible effect. The “Leda” was a shattered wreck. Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholes were knocked into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been thrown right back onto her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky. The thin line of marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns were silent, and their crews were piled thickly around them.

“Stand by to repel boarders!” yelled the captain.

“Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!” roared Wharton.

“Hold your volley till they touch!” cried the captain of marines.

The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke. Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A final broadside leapt from her ports, and the mainmast of the “Leda,” snapping short off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and crashed down upon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the whole battery out of action. An instant later the two ships scraped together, and the starboard bower anchor of the “Gloire” caught the mizzen chains of the “Leda” upon the port side. With a yell the black swarm of boarders steadied themselves for a spring.

But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From somewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and another. The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and musket behind the silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses thinning and shredding away. At the same time the port broadside of the Frenchman burst into a roar.

“Clear away the wreck!” roared the captain. “What the devil are they firing at?”

“Get the guns clear!” panted the lieutenant. “We’ll do them yet, boys!”

The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun and then another roared into action again. The Frenchman’s anchor had been cut away, and the “Leda” had worked herself free from that fatal hug. But now suddenly there was a scurry up the shrouds of the “Gloire,” and a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse.

“They’re running! They’re running! They’re running!”

And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent only upon clapping on every sail that she could carry.

But that shouting hundred could not claim it all as their own. As the smoke cleared, it was not difficult to see the reason. The ships had gained the mouth of the estuary during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea, was the “Leda’s” consort bearing down under full sail to the sound of the guns. Captain de Milon had done his part for one day, and presently the “Gloire” was drawing off swiftly to the north, while the “Dido” was bowling along at her skirts, rattling away with her bowchasers, until a headland hid them both from view.

But the “Leda” lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarks212shattered, her mizzen topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like a beggar’s rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded. Close beside her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the stern post of a mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, was printed “The Slapping Sal.”

“By the Lord, it was the brig that saved us!” cried Mr. Wharton. “Hudson brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out of the water by a broadside.”

The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck. Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing and mending. When he came back the lieutenant saw a softening of the stern lines about his mouth and eyes.

“Are they all gone?”

“Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck.”

The two officers looked down at the sinister name and at the stump of wreckage which floated in the discolored water. Something black washed to and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halyards. It was the outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.

“He was a villain, but he was a Briton,” said the captain at last. “He lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!”

213“HUMAN DOCUMENTS.”

“For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.”—From “An Hymne in Honour of Beautie.”—Spenser.

“For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.”

“For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,

For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.”

—From “An Hymne in Honour of Beautie.”—Spenser.

Oliver Wendell Holmeswas born eighty-four years ago on the 29th of August, 1809. He was educated at the Phillips Andover Academy, and graduated at Harvard in 1829, and was one of the founders of theΦΒΚSociety of that university. His first general reception as a poet was gained by his successful lyrical effort to save the old frigate, “The Constitution,” from being broken up. He graduated in medicine in 1836 (after studying law in the Cambridge Law School), and in the same year published his first volume of verse. In 1839 he was made Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth, and in 1847 he filled the same position at Harvard. He has published several volumes of poems, and the famous books known, respectively, as “The Autocrat,” “The Poet,” and the “Professor at the Breakfast Table.” He has written many medical works, and of his novels, “Elsie Venner” and “The Guardian Angel” are best known.

John James Ingallswas born in Middleton, Massachusetts, on December 29th, 1833. He graduated at Williams College in 1855. He then studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1857. Going to Atchison, Kansas, in the following year, he there practised his profession, and from that time to the present has been closely connected with the development of his adopted State and that of the country. In 1862 he was elected a Senator in the State of Kansas, and in 1863 and 1864 was defeated for the Lieut.-Governorship. For some years he was editor of the Atchison “Champion.” In 1873 he was chosen United States Senator, and served without interruption until 1889.

Jules Vernewas born at Nantes in France on February 8, 1828, and was educated there. After leaving school he studied law in Paris, but, while still very young, he became known as a popular writer of dramas, comedies and burlesques for the Parisian theatres. “Les Pailles Rompues” was produced at the Gymnase Theatre in 1850, when Jules was but twenty-two years old, and “Onze Jours de Siége” shortly afterwards. He first became known as a writer of highly imaginative stories with a strong current of science in them in 1863, when his “Five Weeks in a Balloon” made a great success. Since then he has produced more than sixty novels of the same class, the most noted of which are “The Voyage to the Moon,” “20,000 Leagues under the Sea,” and “Michael Strogoff.” Many of his works have been successfully dramatized, and he has been translated into almost every modern language, including Arabic and Japanese.

214

ALL FROM DAGUERREOTYPES—THE TWO LAST ONES, BETWEEN 1845 AND 1855. THE FIRST IS THE EARLIEST PICTURE OF DOCTOR HOLMES, AND HE IS UNABLE TO PLACE A DATE UPON IT.

215MARCH, 1869. AGE 60.

MARCH, 1869. AGE 60.

AUGUST, 1874. AGE 65.

ABOUT 1882. AGE 73.

NOVEMBER, 1891. AGE 82.

216

1847. AGE 14.

1853. AGE 20.

1865. AGE 32.

2171873. AGE 40.

1873. AGE 40.

1877. AGE 44.

TO-DAY. AGE 60.

218

1848. AGE 20.

1858. AGE 30.

1868. AGE 40.

1886. AGE 58.

219SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVENTURES OF KARL HAGENBECK.By Raymond Blathwayt.

As Karl Hagenbeck stood with me, in his Hamburg Wild Beast Emporium, before the great cage of the boa constrictors and pythons, he naturally fell to relating some of the curious adventures that have befallen him with snakes and other brutes.

There was a great ugly looking boa constrictor coiled up in a corner by itself, a most repulsive looking animal.

“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said Mr. Hagenbeck, looking fondly on him. “He swallowed four whole sheep in one day, and only nine days after that he got another, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had been fasting for months. Come and look at this cage, where you can see a revengeful member of the species. He once had a companion, but now he’s alone through his own fault. He and his companion were peculiarly fond of rabbits, and we threw one into their cage one day. They both darted for it, and, while the poor little shivering animal crept into a corner in a fright, the snakes quarrelled as to whose ‘bonne bouche’ the rabbit was to be. The smaller one won, and this great wretch retired to a corner and watched his foe devour the rabbit, and then lie down in that state of repleteness which it is the highest ambition of these great snakes to attain. The big fellow then, seeing his rival’s helpless condition, roused himself, and a moment afterwards he vigorously attacked the creature that lay gorged in the corner. We all rushed to see what would happen, and I declare to you, that in a very short time the big snake had swallowed the small snake, rabbit and all.”

“Would you like to see them in action?” said Mr. Hagenbeck to me, and, as he spoke, he opened a cage door and boldly stepped in amongst a number of big sleepy reptiles. He coolly began lifting them up by their enormous coils, just as one would lift up great coils of rope, and there was soon a mighty stirring amongst the previously inert masses. They writhed to and fro, their scales glittering in the pale light of the winter sun, and with a great hissing, an irritated rearing back of their heads and a constant projection of their long forked tongues, they began to move about the cage—a hideous, mixed-up mass of repulsive life, that made one involuntarily step back from their bars.

“You don’t like the look of them,” said Mr. Hagenbeck, with a smile, as he stepped out and rejoined me. “They are queer fellows, certainly, and gave me a big fright once.”

“I should have imagined more than once,” I said, as we turned from the ugly mass of twisted snakes.

“Well, perhaps,” said Mr. Hagenbeck, “but this particular once was something to remember. In one cage I had eight full-grown pythons, which I wanted to put into one huge box to send them off to a menagerie. I handled the first six all right enough,220catching them, as is usual, by the back of the neck and dropping them into the box. Then I went for number seven, but as soon as I entered the cage she, the lady of the flock, flew at me with open mouth. Seeing her coming I took off my hat and thrust it at her. She bit her teeth into it. I then seized her with the right hand at the back of her neck, and I dragged her down into the lower partition of the cage. Just when I was going to fetch her out she reared her head to attack me again. I then made a cautious movement forward, and at the same moment she darted her head at me. I met the second attack with my hat in the same way that I had the first. With a quick dart I grabbed her by the back of the neck, only to find, to my horror, that I couldn’t let her go if I wanted to, as she had coiled herself firmly round my legs. One of my assistants, standing near, heard me yell, and he came rushing up to me with all the speed he could, for I fancy my shout told everybody within hearing that I had to do with a matter of life and death. I managed, however, to retain my nerve, and gave the order to the helper to try and uncoil the serpent, which with great difficulty and my assistance he at last managed to do.”

Mr. Hagenbeck laughed a little as he recalled the experience, but I confess I didn’t feel like laughing much. The horror of having those massive coils pressing tightly on your legs and bruising your muscles with irresistible strength seemed very real to me.

“I wasn’t done even then,” Mr. Hagenbeck resumed, “for just as I thought that I could get the big snake safely in the cage, another python, and really an enormous fellow, attacked me. I had just time to shout to my man to throw a blanket over it, and this he luckily managed to do. At the same moment I moved backwards out of the cage and got free of it altogether, and then I had a little rest. My men tried to dissuade me from going back, each of them saying he would do it. I felt very exhausted, but my temper was fairly up, and I determined I wouldn’t be beaten. So, after a few moments, I stepped again into the cage, caught them both round the backs of their necks, dragged them as quickly as I could to the edge of the cage, and then, all helping, we flung them into the box waiting for them. Had not my assistant been near me, nothing could have saved me from being squeezed to death.”

The wild-beast tamer then motioned me away from the serpent cages, and we went to those of their cousins, the crocodiles and alligators. We passed by an aviary of very great size, where parrots and other beautifully plumed birds chattered, laughed, quarrelled, and made love in a long, ear-piercing enjoyment of their captivity; and further on we came to a large tank, in which were slowly paddling round some spiteful-looking alligators—huge-jawed, soulless-eyed, each one a waiting, watching destroyer of life.

KARL HAGENBECK’S FATHER AND HIS FIRST SHOW IN BERLIN.

We looked at them for a little while, and then Mr. Hagenbeck said: “Once I had to pack sixteen of these fellows up for the Düsseldorf Zoölogical Gardens. I grappled hold of the first one and was pulling him ashore, when he gave me a frightful blow with his tail221and knocked me into the tank, where, for a brief moment, I was alone with fifteen alligators. Those who were standing by told me that as soon as I splashed in a number of them made a rush, but I was out again like an India-rubber ball. The swirl of the water and the open jaws of the disappointed beasts told me that I had not been one second too smart. This was a very narrow escape, as, if one of the crocodiles had happened to get hold of me, all the rest would have attacked me, snapping and biting at me at one and the same moment, until there would have been little, if anything, left of me at all. They are the most determined fighters even amongst themselves. Six of them, each about fourteen feet long, had a fight amongst themselves once, and so desperately did they set to, that within fourteen days they were all dead. Three of them had their jaws broken, and in some cases their legs were torn right out of their bodies. This occurred at night, and one of the keepers, happening to hear the frightful noise which was made by the clashing of their jaws, rushed off to tell me what was happening. We lit our lanterns and hurried to the scene of action, but, beyond trying to separate them with long poles, it was little we could do. When we managed to part them for a time they only renewed the fight with greater fierceness than ever, and so terribly were they wounded, that, as I said, they were all dead in a fortnight. Nowadays, when I get a new consignment of alligators I always muzzle them for four days with a rope. They then calm down, and I cut the rope off; otherwise, if I did not do that they would begin fighting as soon as they came out of the box, for the first sight of day-light after the long journey always seems to excite them. A fight amongst the snakes, also, is a terrible thing. I had once five big pythons in one cage. One of the keepers flung a dead rabbit amongst them, and two of them, being very hungry, attacked it at once. At the same moment the other four flew for the prey, and in one moment all the six were in one big writhing lump. The keepers fetched me, and I at once attempted to uncoil them. I succeeded, but hardly had I done so when the fight began again between the first two. The larger one threw his tail round the small one’s neck and squeezed it with such force against the wall that it lost all power. Then the bigger snake got hold of the rabbit and swallowed it, after which it gradually loosened its hold of the smaller snake. The little one then sought revenge, and flew at the big python, which was rendered almost helpless by its huge meal, bit it in the back, coiled round and round it,222and squeezed it till it could hardly breathe, although it screamed as I had never heard any living creature scream before. The funny thing was that when I went to see them next morning they were all right and perfectly good friends.

“Talking of fights, I was once turned out of bed at one o’clock in the morning by one of my keepers, who came in with the news that the big kangaroo had jumped a six-foot fence into the next stable, in which there was a large hippopotamus. When I came down there was the queerest kind of a duel going on. The kangaroo stood up to his belly in water, whilst the hippopotamus, with wide-open jaws, snapped at him right and left. However, the kangaroo managed to ‘get in’ a good right and left with his front legs, and scratched the hippopotamus in the face tremendously. When the amphibian came to close quarters, the kangaroo jumped up, gave him a tremendous blow with his hind legs, and then managed to get on to dry land. I caught the kangaroo with a big net, and after all the fighting there wasn’t so very much harm done.”

Just as Mr. Hagenbeck finished talking, the Polar bear at our rear began growling. Mr. Hagenbeck went up to soothe and pet him. Then he said:

“I expect I am pretty well the only man in the world who can say that he ever cut the toe nails of a Polar bear. It was this very beast, and I will tell you how it all happened. The poor beast’s nails had grown into its foot, causing it a great deal of pain. We tried to get the feet into a sling and pull them through the bars, but this proved to be too awkward an arrangement. So I got him into a narrow cage which had an iron barred front, and this I turned upside down so that the bear had to stand on the bars of the cage, which we lifted up about four feet above the ground. I went underneath with a sharp pair of pincers, and, as he stood there with his toes pressed through the bars, I managed to pull the nails out. Then I stood him in water to wash and cool his wounds, and in a few days he was all right. On yet another occasion a223royal Bengal tiger was suffering very much from toothache, so two of my men held him by the collar and, whilst one of my attendants opened his mouth, my brother-in-law and I took some pincers and pulled out the teeth which had been giving him so much pain, and which, indeed, had grown so badly that they had hindered him from biting his food properly.

“The most risky thing, however, that ever occurred to me happened in Munich during the Centennial Fête in 1888. I was passing in the long procession with eight elephants, and the streets were very much crammed. It chanced that we had to pass a great big iron dragon, which, by some mechanical contrivance, began to spit fire as soon as we got near it. Four of the elephants at once took fright and ran away, which was only natural, and the other four followed suit. The people rushed after them with sticks and loud cries, which of course only made matters worse. I managed to get between two of them, and caught hold of them, but it was of no use, as they ran with me for at least a mile. I was badly hurled from side to side and, indeed, at one moment I was very nearly crushed to death by them against the walls of a house. At last two other elephants came up, and I managed to persuade the lot of them to stand still; just as I had done so the stupid crowd again came rushing up, and away the elephants went again. I was too tired to do anything more. All four of them rushed into a house; the bottom gave way and the excited creatures fell into the cellar. A new house has now been built there which is called to this day ‘The four wild elephants.’ A lot of people were hurt, some indeed were killed, but, as the Police President had seen all that had happened, I was held free of blame. That was, however, the worst trouble with my captive friends I ever have had, and how I escaped being crushed to death then I cannot understand to this day.”

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