SONG.By Thomas Carew.(1589-1639.)

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,When June is past, the fading rose,For in your beauty’s orient deepThese flowers, as in their causes, sleep.Ask me no more whither do strayThe golden atoms of the day,For, in pure love, heaven did prepareThose powders to enrich your hair.Ask me no more where those stars lightThat downwards fall in dead of night,For in your eyes they sit, and thereFixed become as in their sphere.Ask me no more whither doth hasteThe nightingale when May is past,For in your sweet dividing throatShe winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,When June is past, the fading rose,For in your beauty’s orient deepThese flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose,

For in your beauty’s orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do strayThe golden atoms of the day,For, in pure love, heaven did prepareThose powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day,

For, in pure love, heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more where those stars lightThat downwards fall in dead of night,For in your eyes they sit, and thereFixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more where those stars light

That downwards fall in dead of night,

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more whither doth hasteThe nightingale when May is past,For in your sweet dividing throatShe winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past,

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters, and keeps warm her note.

356AT THE THROTTLE.THE LIFE AND EXPERIENCES OF AN ENGINEER OF A LIMITED EXPRESS.By Cleveland Moffett.

“See the huge creature with muscles of steel, his heart a furnace of glowing coal, and the strength of a thousand horses nerving his sinews. See him strut forth from his stable, and, saluting the train of cars with a dozen sonorous puffs from his iron nostrils, stand panting to be gone. He would drag the pyramids across the Desert of Sahara if they could be hitched on.”

The average New Yorker who rides to Chicago in twenty hours on the World’s Fair flyer does an easy day’s work, in fact, does no work at all. He rests comfortably at night, enjoys well-served meals, and reaches his destination almost before he knows it. Having paid the price, such is the arrogance of money, he takes all that is done for him quite as a matter of course, and knows no more of the workings of this wonderful train than a school-boy, while he cares rather less. An engine pulls the cars, steam works the engine, and as for the engineer, the New Yorker never thinks of him except to growl at him when the train is late, and to advocate hanging him if there is an accident.

Meantime, what is the engineer of this fastest train in the world doing for the passenger? In the first place, the Chicago flyer is not driven by one but by many engineers. In order to cover the nine hundred and sixty-four miles between the two cities in twenty hours, including nine stops, there are required seven huge engines in relays, driven by seven grimy heroes. A run of less than one hundred and fifty miles is the limit per day for each engine, while three hours of the plunging rush wears out the strongest engineer. Sixty, seventy, eighty miles an hour—what does that mean to the man at the throttle? It means that the six and a half feet drivers turn five times every second and advance one hundred feet. Tic-tic-tic, and the train has run the length of New York’s highest steeple. The engineer turns his head for five seconds to look at the gauges, and in that time the terrible iron creature, putting forth the strength of a thousand horses, may have shot past a red signal with its danger warning five hundred feet away. Ten seconds, and one thousand feet are left behind—one-fifth of a mile. Who knows what horrors may lie within that thousand feet! There may be death lurking round a curve, death spreading its arms in a tunnel, and the engineer must see and be responsible for everything. Not only must he note instantly all that is before him, the signals, switches, bridges, the passing trains, and the condition of the rails, but he must act at the same moment, working throttle, air-brakes, or reversing-lever, not as quick as thought, but quicker, for there is no time to think. His muscles must do the right thing automatically under circumstances where a second is an age. In the three hours of his vigil there are ten thousand eight hundred seconds, during each one of which he must watch with the mental alertness of an athlete springing for357a flying trapeze from the roof of an amphitheatre, with the courageous self-possession of a matador awaiting the deadly rush of a maddened bull; and far more depends upon the engineer’s watching well, because, if he fails by a hair’s breadth in coolness or precision of judgment, there may come destruction, not only to himself, but to hundreds of passengers, who, while he stands guard, are perhaps grumbling at the waiters in the dining-car or telling funny stories in the smoker.

In addition to this constant mental tension the engineer on this hurling train has to endure material discomfort, often bodily suffering. The air sweeps back in his face with the breath of a hurricane, blowing smoke and cinders into his eyes. Most people know the intense pain a cinder causes in a man’s eye, particularly a hot cinder. The suffering is almost unbearable, and yet, suffering or no suffering, the engineer who gets a cinder in his eye can have no relief until the end of his relay. They shut their lips, these unflinching men, keep looking ahead, and bear it. Long after they leave the cab, the burning sensation in their eyes and eyelids continues, and even persists after hours of sleep. “It seems as if nothing would rest my eyes, sir,” said one of the new men after his first week on the flyer. No wonder the eyesight of engineers fails rapidly, no wonder many of them are removed from their positions every year because the examining doctors find them unable to distinguish the signals. The engineer suffers also from the plunging and tossing of the monster locomotive, which bruises his whole body with its violent rocking, and causes sharp pains in the back, particularly where there is any tendency to kidney trouble. One has only to watch these strong men as they stumble down from their engines at the end of a relay, has only to observe their white faces and unsteady gait, and see the condition of physical collapse which follows, to understand what it costs in vitality and grit to give the ease-loving public this incomparable train service.

“THE FLYER” LEAVING THE GRAND CENTRAL STATION, NEW YORK CITY.

Thus it is that while the New Yorker gets to Chicago with scarcely more discomfort than if he had remained at home, the same journey wears out seven engineers, all picked men; for many of them who have seen years of service on trains running forty miles an hour, break down entirely when put upon the flyer. So exhausted are these seven engineers by their comparatively short relays that they are obliged to lay off entirely during the following day to recover from the shock. They do not even take the opposite-bound flyer back over their stretch, but return with their engines to their respective starting-points, drawing slower trains. Thus, seven strong men do two days’ work every time the flyer runs from New York to Chicago, and seven other men do two days’ work every time it runs back. Each engineer works three hours on the flyer, returns home on an easy train, and then rests forty hours before his muscles and nerves and brain are in condition to repeat the operation.

So it results that twenty-eight engineers, one at a time, are required to run this wonderful train from New York to Chicago and back again. Fourteen veterans drive the great engines one way, and fourteen brother veterans drive them the other. Twenty-eight men for a single complete trip of a single train, and they the flower of American engineers, splendid fellows every one of them, with cool heads, stanch hearts, and the experience of years at the throttle. The fact is, these men of iron, who, after all, are made of flesh and blood, have been called upon of late years to bear a mental and physical strain which has increased steadily as the speed rates have advanced. Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, and now eighty miles an hour, each greater velocity has meant greater pressure, not only on the boilers and cylinders, but on men’s brains; has meant greater expenditure, not only of coal and dollars, but of nerve force, until now experts recognize with concern that the limit of human endurance has been almost reached. Science may remove the mechanical difficulties in the way of running a hundred miles an hour, or more, for such a rate has already been predicted; money may buy better axles, wheels, lubricators,358and machinery, but where are the men who will run these trains of the future when they are built? Can science breed us a race of giants? Can money purchase an immunity against suffering or eyes that are indestructible? If twenty-eight engineers are required to-day on the Chicago flyer, how many, pray, will be necessary on a train running fifty or one hundred per cent. faster?

I gained a vivid impression of what it means to drive one of these monster engines, by actually travelling from New York to Albany, a few days ago, in the cab of Engine 870, which takes the Empire State express over the first stretch of its journey—one hundred and forty-two miles—at a rate rather faster than that of the Chicago flyer. At the throttle was Archie Buchanan, a silent man with gray eyes and earnest face, who comes of a family of engineers, and is one of the most trusted of the New York Central employees. Buchanan’s brother John, a skilled engineer in his time, was cut in two some years ago in an accident near East Albany. His brother James is a master mechanic at the shops at West Albany, and his brother William, after serving for years as a New York Central engineer, was made Superintendent of Rolling Stock, a position he still holds.

Buchanan smiled quietly as I climbed upon the fireman’s seat at the left. It was a perfect July morning, and at 8.39 the shrill whistle sounded, worked by the conductor’s bell-rope, and we were off, nine minutes behind time on account of some trouble with the air-brakes.

“We must make up the delay, Al,” said the engineer to his fireman, as the wheels began to turn. Those were the only words he spoke until we reached Albany, and, had he spoken, neither Al nor I could have heard him for the roar.

Now the slow, heavy pant of the engine quickens, and we shoot under bridges and streets, passing out of New York. For a few minutes Buchanan, working the reversing-lever, lets the pistons go the full length of the cylinders, but he gradually cuts down their stroke to eight inches, making the steam expansion do the rest. This lessens the noise from the exhaust, but the noise from the pounding of the mountain of iron on the rails increases in geometrical ratio. A shower of cinders blows in with black smoke, and a hot one settles in my neck. The smoke tastes of oil, the cinder burns—this is but a foretaste of things to come. I turn my head to avoid suffocation and get a scorching blast from the fire-box, whose door is swung wide open. The fireman’s orders are to make up the lost time, and he proposes to do it. In goes coal at the rate of two shovelfuls a minute for the first half-hour. Before we reach Albany he has shovelled in more than three tons, and had the day been windy it would have taken more. In the intervals he rakes and prods the white-hot crater and rings the bell as we shoot past towns and cities. Buchanan tends to the whistle and air-brakes. The noise is dreadful, as if a thousand devils were dancing in one’s head. The motion is so violent from side to side that we all have to hold on tightly. A little more and one would be seasick.

As the hundred-ton engine pounds along with horrible din, a strange sense of exhilaration succeeds that of physical discomfort. One becomes indifferent to everything, and, courting now the smoke-laden hurricane, thrusts one’s head from the window into the sweeping air-billows, which dash against the face like breakers and with the same strangling force. I was seized with a wild desire to go faster; seventy miles an hour was not enough, and I would fain have opened everything to its full capacity, stop-cocks, levers, throttle, and all, and taken part in a furious, splendid runaway. Strange thoughts chased through my mind; the houses of flying towns seemed to be rushing at each other in battle from either side, a long line of loose ties between the tracks suggested an endless procession of turtles, the trees seemed to be dancing down the hills, and the people who stared up at us while stepping away from the dangerous suction seemed to be creatures of another race. I have359learned since that engineers often have that feeling of belonging to some other world, and it comes upon them particularly at night. A man of highly strung organization could easily go mad riding on an engine running seventy miles an hour.

These curious illusions of the senses were presently succeeded by a period of intense and perfectly normal curiosity. I counted the number of strokes made by the piston in a minute, and found there were about three hundred. I counted the number of puffs from the smoke-stack, and decided correctly that there were four times as many of these as there were piston-strokes, that is, about twenty to the second. Then I counted the oil-cans, the gauges, and made mental photographs of the inside of the cab.

From start to finish we made no stop and only slackened our speed twice to “pick up water,” this important operation being accomplished with a great splashing by a scoop under the tender, which drops into a trough running lengthwise of the track for about twelve hundred feet, and always kept full to the brim. The scoop is controlled by a lever in the tender, which the fireman directs. In the winter, steam-pipes through the troughs keep the water from freezing. During the whole distance Buchanan scarcely changed his position, and never turned his head. For two hours and thirty-six minutes he stood at the right of the boiler, an immovable figure in gray overalls and black skullcap, his left hand on the throttle, while his right clutched the window to steady him. I never once saw his eyes, which were fixed on the track ahead as if held there by a magnet. No matter how the smoke and cinders poured in through the open windows in front, no matter the bridges and tunnels nor the mad rush of air, his eyes stayed forward always, sweeping the line before us anxiously, constantly on the alert for signals, for switches, for obstructions, for the long tunnel, for the train side-tracked near Poughkeepsie, for the water troughs, for a score of things, the missing any one of which might mean disaster. And, as he watched, silent and motionless, there was one360thought in his mind and only one, whether we would make up the lost nine minutes and get into Albany on time. Al’s thoughts were the same, and, like one of Dante’s demons, he worked at the coal and the fire and the water, now oiling the drivers, now looking at the gauges, ever busy and ever growing blacker and oilier in hands and face.

Very proud we were as we ran into Albany at 11.15A.M.on time to the minute, having made the run of one hundred and forty-two miles in one hundred and fifty-six minutes, an average of 53.8 miles an hour. This exceeds the average of the Chicago flyer, which is 48.2 miles an hour, although for a much greater distance. Several times our speed had reached seventy miles an hour, and with better coal and other conditions equally favorable, Buchanan has driven 870 up to the eighty-mile point. With the sound devils still dancing in my head, I watched the engineer as he rubbed down his iron horse after the hard run. He was tired himself, and his face was white, but he went over the rods and cylinders as tenderly and carefully as if he was refreshing the muscles and sinews of a living creature.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he said, in a tone which bore witness to the love felt by the man for the machine. “You see, she has always been true to me, 870 has, and I’ve run her ever since she was built. She’s never cranky or sick, and she makes her three hundred miles a day three hundred and sixty-five times a year, and does her duty every time. That’s more than you can say of many men, or women either, isn’t it?”

It seems that there are about fifty engines in constant use on the New York Central with the power and dimensions of 870, and only the peerless 999, with her heavier build and smoke-consuming device, can boast any points of superiority. The life of an engine like 870 is about twenty years, during which time she makes several visits to the hospital for new cylinders, new flues, and a new fire-box. Aside from that, the engine needs about an hour’s care morning and night, and a washout and blowout of her boilers at the end of alternate weeks. Only at these periods is the engine’s fire allowed to go out.

I asked Buchanan what were the principal qualifications for a first-class engineer, and what was the training necessary to become one. “To begin with,” he said, “a man must be a first-class fireman, which is no easy matter. He must know just how much coal to put on the fire and when to put it on, so as to keep the steam at full pressure without burning too much fuel. The great secret of good firing is to put coal on often and a little at a time. You noticed Al did that on our run up. When a fireman has shown himself worthy of it, he is given a chance to drive an engine for switching work or on a freight train. The first years of his life as an engineer are very hard, for he has to run at all sorts of hours, day and night, winter and summer, and on the meanest kinds of trains. If this does not kill him he finally becomes engineer on an express and has a better time of it, but a good many of the boys prefer to remain firemen all their lives rather than stand such hardships. My man Al has tried driving an engine twice, and come back to me both times. You can be pretty sure that a man who gets to be an engineer on one of the fine trains to-day has earned his position. He must know his engine like a book, backwards and forwards, must know how to manage her when she is sick and well, and what to do if an eccentric breaks or a piston gets leaking or a valve-spindle is bent. He must know how to work the injector so as to keep water enough in the boiler without wasting any by the steam blowing off. He must be able to save power by working the steam expansively and yet keeping up his speed; he must know every inch of the road, the grades, bridges, switches, curves, and tunnels, and all the trains he has to pass or which may pass him. He must be able to control his train and engine at full speed, must understand the effect of the weather on the rails, must know how to use the air-brakes and the reversing-lever, and when not to use them.”

361

I listened and marvelled.

“What would you do in a collision?” I asked.

The engineer pushed back the little black skullcap from his iron-gray hair and said, in the low tone which is usual with him:

“It is pretty hard to say what a man should do when he hears the whistle of danger ahead or sees that a crash is coming. Even the best of us are liable to get confused at such a moment. What would you do if you woke up in the night and found a burglar holding a pistol at your head? There are no rules for such cases. What I would not do, though, is to reverse my engine, although many engineers are liable to lose their heads at a critical moment and make that mistake. It is a curious thing that reversing your engine suddenly when going at high speed makes the train go faster instead of slower. The reason is that the drivers slip and the locomotive shoots ahead as if she were on skates. The only thing to do is to put on the air-brakes and pray hard.”

The man’s words, all the more impressive for their rugged simplicity, brought to my mind again the thought of danger, for in spite of the wonderful system by which these flying trains are run, in spite of the elaborate precautions taken and the many eyes forever watching to see that they are carried out, it is impossible to go through such an experience as mine without realizing that there is danger in these desperate dashes. Suppose something goes wrong on the track ahead while the train is making sixty or seventy miles an hour. Suppose, as the whirling caravan rounds a curve or plunges through a tunnel, another whirling caravan is seen blocking the path. Then what? Would there be time to stop? Could the engineer, with all his skill and bravery, prevent disaster? With the old trains running forty miles an hour, seven hundred and sixty feet of track was necessary to bring the locomotive and six cars to a dead stop from full speed. No one has ever made the experiment with the Chicago flyer or the Empire State express, but unquestionably it would take at least a thousand feet of track to stop either of them, and many things can happen in a thousand feet. There are never more than a thousand feet, and very often only a few hundred, between the three sets of signals, with their red, green, and yellow bars, which are shown at each station of the block system all along the route. As there are a hundred of these stations between New York and Albany, that gives three hundred sets of signals to be instantly recognized and obeyed on this relay alone, and a man had better die than make a mistake. Now there are two difficulties with these signals; in the first place, some of them are so close together that no human power could stop the train in the space between them; and in the second place, going at such a speed, it is almost impossible to distinguish the green signals against the background of foliage. Already it has been found necessary to substitute yellow signals for green ones in a number of cases.

While we were talking, a trainman drew a dead chicken from between two bars of the cowcatcher, where its head was wedged. It had been struck so suddenly that the feathers were scarcely rumpled, and the lucky finder evidently proposed to have broiled poulet for dinner. I had noticed the poor fowl on the way up, scurrying along in front of the engine, and pitied its stupidity in refusing to leave the track, as it might perfectly well have done. Buchanan told me that they often catch chickens in this way, and find them excellent eating. Then he went on to describe the sensations of running over animals and men.

“It always seems to me, sir, that the engine hates to kill a man as much as we do. Of course, it’s only a fancy, but once, up at Germantown, when the sheet-iron flange around the tender cut off a man’s head clean as a razor, the fireman and I both felt the engine tremble in a queer way. Another time there was a man on the track who had just come out of a hospital, and, instead of killing him, old 870 just caught him gently on her cowcatcher and threw him off the track without doing him any injury except a broken arm.362It’s curious about animals. The ones we dread most are hogs. A fat hog will throw a train off the track quicker than a horse or a cow. When we see a cow or horse ahead we put on full speed and try to hurl them clear of the track. If we strike them going slow we are apt to get the worst of it.”

There is a sympathy which draws together two men who have ridden side by side on an engine running seventy miles an hour, and I was glad to accept Engineer Buchanan’s invitation to pay him a visit at his place up the Hudson. No contrast could be greater or more charming than that between the engineer at his post of danger and endurance, and the father and husband, in his pretty vine-covered home by the river. Mr. Buchanan in private life is a prosperous resident of Morris Heights, where he owns valuable property, and enjoys alternate days among the flowers, fruits, and vegetables of his garden. This garden is the pride of his life, and, next to bringing a train in on time, I believe he takes more pride in his roses, grapes, peas, and onions than in anything in the world. We sat for a long time on the engineer’s favorite bench, under a cool grape arbor, with the river running lazily at our feet. Buchanan, looking like a different man in citizen’s dress, talked unpretentiously of his life. There was no posing as a hero, no complaining about hardships, just a simple, straight-forward story of twenty-six years passed almost entirely on an engine—twenty-six years of constant danger. Surely that ought to have some curious influence on the human mind and character. In Buchanan’s case this influence certainly has been for good, for he told me how, as a young man, he had come out of the war with shiftless, lazy habits, fond of wasting his time and money in Eighth Avenue saloons, and then how he had become steady and saving, when he began to run regularly on an engine.

“When I used to be away on long stretches,” he said, “with nothing to do but think, I saw how foolish it was giving my money to a saloon keeper for him to put in the bank instead of putting it there myself. It used to come to me at night, as the engine ran along through the shadows, that the friends I had down in the city were not good for much, and that, if I lost my job or was hurt in an accident, they would be the first to turn their backs on me. At last I decided to get away from all my bad associations and from New York too; so I scraped together what money I could and bought this land, where I have lived ever since with my wife and children. That was the best day’s work I ever did. It was a hard-looking place when I bought it, nothing but rocks and weeds, but I was proud of it, and put in all my spare time fixing it up until I have made it what it is to-day.”

As he spoke the engineer’s eyes wandered complacently over the gardens, the trim gravel walks, and the pretty house—everything as neat and spic-span as the kitchen of a Dutch house-wife.

When not busy with his garden Buchanan’s favorite occupation is reading histories of the war and reminiscences of its great generals. He will sit in his rocking-chair on the shady piazza for hours, reading of Lincoln and McClellan and the stirring scenes in which he himself took part—the battles of Second Bull Run, Seven Days, Big Bethel, and Bristol Station. He has fought these battles over again hundreds of times in his fancy, and many a lonely hour on the track has been brightened by the memories of what he saw and did in the great struggle. His admiration for General McClellan knows no bound, and he entered into quite an argument to show that “McClellan did all the work, sir, and the other fellows got all the glory.” The only vacation Buchanan has taken in a quarter of a century was a few years ago, when he went South for a month to see the old battlefields once more; but they were all changed, and he came back saddened. “I shall never lay off again,” he said, “until I lay off for good.”

Archie Buchanan is but a fair type of the loyal fellows who drive the flying engines of to-day. Many of them are as thrifty as he is; he told me of one veteran in the company’s employ, Thomas Dormatty, who has363property in Schenectady valued at one hundred thousand dollars, and who, in spite of his seventy years, does his regular run between Albany and Syracuse. It is easy to see what that means of saving and prudent investment, when one remembers that the best engineers receive only from one hundred and forty to one hundred and sixty dollars per month. And when they have finished their terms of usefulness, and are unable to run any longer, that same day their pay stops, as it stops when they are ill; for railway companies are not philanthropists and have no pension system.

I was glad to learn that there is no truth in the popular notion that engineers are full of superstition. Buchanan told me he had never experienced any such feeling, and had never known a superstitious engineer, with the exception of Nat Sawyer, the veteran who is now at Chicago with Engine 999. It is Nat who runs “the bosses’ engine”—that is, the luxurious observation car which takes the directors and officials of the road on their tours of inspection. In spite of his well-proven courage, Engineer Sawyer always hesitates to go out on his engine if he meets a cross-eyed person in the morning on his way to the roundhouse. That, however, is only the exception which proves the rule.

As he was showing me about his house, which is furnished with taste and comfort, Buchanan stopped before two large portraits of his father and mother. Both of them are alive. His father is eighty-seven, his mother four years younger. Speaking of his parents, the engineer said reverently: “My father was a blacksmith and gave me a strong body, but my mother did more for me than that, because she has prayed for me every day of her life, and I have never had an accident on a train and never got so much as a scratch in the war.”

When I spoke of religion Buchanan showed some reticence. “How can I get time to go to church,” he said, “when I run my engine every other day in the year, Sundays, holidays, and all? I guess my religion is hard work, and I don’t know but it’s as good as any other.”

The religion of hard work! Is it possible for the man who drives one of our great modern trains to have any other religion than that? Fifteen days in the month, twelve months in the year, he runs his engine three hundred miles; and besides that, does extra work when a sick comrade must be replaced, or the occasion demands. The remaining days of the year he is resting for the strain and responsibility of the morrow. He worships in the same place that he does his duty, under the broad arch of heaven; his creed is to keep the train on time, his prayer that danger may be averted. And when his eyes fail or his health breaks down, he says good-by to the old engine which has been his comrade on many a thrilling ride, and spends the years that remain in some quiet, vine-covered home like the one I saw up the Hudson.

364AMONG THE GORILLAS.A VOICE FROM THE WILDERNESS.By R. L. Garner,Author of “The Speech of Monkeys,” etc.

An article written from the wilds of Africa may be expected to contain long tales of bloody deeds and great perils, of narrow escapes from hungry lions, battles with hordes of gory cannibals, and dramatic rescue in the nick of time, followed by a swift revenge and a grand flourish of trumpets; but as I have never been so fortunate in my travels as to meet with the romantic events that are so common to many travellers, I must ask my readers to be content with some plain facts, set forth in simple prose; and as my mission to Africa is in search of the truth in certain lines, I feel excused from any attempt to paint, in the rosy hues of fancy, such thrilling scenes as some depict.

I shall omit some details of travel which are full of interest, but as many of my detours have been over routes that have been travelled by others and described by some, in various tints of truth and fiction, I shall pass, with long strides, over the time since my arrival on the coast to the present.

As the chief object of my visit to this wilderness is to study the habits of the gorilla and chimpanzee in a state of nature, I shall confine myself chiefly to them, and to such things as I find among the natives in common with them.

After a long voyage of thirty-six days from England, I arrived in Gaboon, the capital of the French Congo, where I was kindly received by the governor and others, and assured of any aid that they could render me. They manifested great interest in my work and anxiety for its success.

During my stay of some weeks there I acquired much information, of great value to me, about the distribution of various tribes, and also of the apes. In the meantime I paid a visit to the king of the M’pongwè people, in his country called Denni, lying on the south side of the Gaboon River. The name of the king is Adandè Repontjombo, which meansthe sonof Repontjombo, who was king when Paul du Chaillu was in Africa.

The dignity of king, in Africa, does not rank with such a title in Europe. Here his powers are but little superior to those of any other native. He works, hunts, loafs, begs and lies just as others do. I must make an exception of the King of Denni, who is, by far, the best of all the royal Africans I have met, much of which is due to a good education, and his contact with white men. King Adandè is an intelligent man, and well informed on many subjects. He reads, writes and speaks English and French in addition to his native tongue.

A visit to the king, here, is not a matter of so much pomp and ceremony as such a visit to the sovereign of Great Britain, but to me it was novel and full of deep interest.

Leaving Gaboon near the beginning of the year, I came to this section, known as Fernan Vaz, but by the natives called Eliüe N’Ka̤mi. The portion to which this name belongs extends from about one degree south latitude to about one degree forty-five minutes south along the coast, and thence, toward the interior, about three or four days’ journey up the Rembo N’Ka̤mi, embracing the great lake and surrounding country; and this is the365true habitat of the gorilla, which the natives calledn’jina(n’geena).

After arranging here for a sojourn of a few months, I placed the most of my heavy effects in the custody of the Ste. Anne Mission, and began a journey up the Ogowe. I proceeded as far as N’djolè, which is about two hundred and twenty miles from the coast. Along the way I made many inquiries about the gorilla, but elicited little information of any value. At a village called Ouimbiana, near an outlet of a lake called Ezhanga, a native offered me quite a fine skull of a gorilla in exchange for rum or tobacco, but, not having either of these current articles of trade, I could not make the purchase. The animal had been killed near Lake Ezhanga, which lies on the south side of the Ogowe, and about four days from the coast. At Lambarenè, about one day higher up the river, I was presented with a fine skull from near that same lake. At N’djolè I was assured that five gorillas had been seen near there only a few weeks before my visit, and that two native Pangwès had been killed by them, on the south side of the river. But it is very rare that one is ever seen so far away from the coast. I did not hear of one on the north side of the river, and the natives all along told me that they were all on the south side.

On my return I went into the Lake Ezhanga section, where I had heard they were abundant, but, on reaching the south side of the lake, I was told that they lived far away in the bush, and that ten boys and a canoe could take me in one day to the very spot where schools of them revel all the day and howl most of the night; but I didn’t go.

I must digress for a moment to tell you what a superb lake the Ezhanga is, dotted with islands, among which366are some perfect gems of wild and varied beauty. It is a sublime panorama. Down to the very edge of the water hang perfect walls of trailing vines and weeping trees, which look like the ivy-clad ruins of mediæval England. Towers of green, of every shade the most vivid fancy can depict; crumbling turrets and broken arches, hung with garlands of flowers. Here are some of the most brilliant flowers and gorgeous foliage I have yet seen in this tropical land. In one part of the lake is a vast archipelago, which forms a gigantic labyrinth of coves and grottos. At places the boughs from island to island almost meet overhead, forming a grand archway of varied green set with the jewels of the floral queen, and looking as though Dame Nature and her maids had decked it for their own triumphal arch. Within the deep and solemn shadows of these sylvan naves no sunbeams kiss the limpid waters, and not a voice disturbs their quiet, save the harsh scream of the eagle or the wail of the lone ibis. Now and then is seen some bird with plumage of most brilliant tint, which looks as if its costume were designed for such a place, and here and there the fish disport in some retired nook.

When once this fairy land is passed, the waters broaden to an inland sea, with only a few islands of a larger size. Some of these are skirted with wide bands of grass, sometimes sweeping away between the trees in a long vista, on whose green expanse stands, perhaps, a solitary hut, and on which feed the herds of hippopotami which lead a life of idle luxury along these fertile shores and in the lonely waters of this sea of dreams.

Coming on down the Ogowe, I spent four days in a native village of the Orungo tribe. The town is called M’biro, but I do not know what the name signifies unless it ismud. I was kindly treated by the people, who delighted in hearing of some of the wonders of my country. The old king was in ecstasies at my efforts to speak a few phrases of his language, and vowed that nothing except a former betrothal restrained him from offering me his daughter for a wife, to go with me to my country and see some of the things of which I had told him. At this place I was again assured that the gorilla lived on the south side of the river.

My next point was Fernan Vaz, which I reached in two days’ journey along the Jimbogombi, one of the most beautiful rivers one can imagine. It is bordered with myriads of stately palms, bamboos, and ferns, relieved by vines, orchids, and flowers. Here the monkey revels in the plenitude of wild fruits, and the pheasant finds a safe retreat from crafty woodsmen, while birds of diverse kinds invoke the spirit of nature with the voice of song.

On reaching Ste. Anne I selected a site for my cage and erected it at once. It is located in the heart of the jungle, a trifle more than a mile from any human habitation, and I named it Fort Gorilla. It is in a spot where nothing but the denizens of the bush has any cause to come. It is near a grove of plantains, on which the gorilla feasts with the gusto of a charter member of the Gourmand Club. He does not care so much for the fruit, but takes out the tender heart of the young stalk, which is quite succulent, and eats it with an appetite peculiar to his race.

Before my cage was quite in order to receive, I had my first call from a young gorilla, who came within about ten yards, as if to see what was going on. I had my rifle in my hand, but did not fire at him, as I desired to have him call again and bring his friends. He didn’t tarry long, but hurried off into the bush as though he had something to tell.

The third day after my cage was complete, a family of ten gorillas crossed the rear of the open grounds belonging to the mission, and not more than two hundred yards from the house. A small native boy was within some twenty yards of them when they crossed the path in front of him. Within a few minutes I was notified of the fact, and took my rifle and followed them into the bush until I lost their trail. A few hours later they were seen again by some natives, not far away from my cage, but they did not call on me. The next day, however,367I had a visit from a group who came within some thirty yards of the cage. The bush was so dense that I could not see them, but I could easily distinguish four or five voices, which seemed to be engaged in a family broil of some kind. I suppose that they were the same family that had been seen the day before.

Père Buleon,le père supérieurof Ste. Anne, tells me that he has twice seen a family of gorillas feeding in a plantain grove, and that, on both occasions, the father gorilla sat quietly eating the fruit which the others gathered and brought to him. I have learned from other reliable sources that gorillas are often seen in groups or families of twelve or fifteen, and always have one which seems to be chief among them, and this one the natives callekombo n’jina, which means gorilla king.

It is the current belief that these groups consist of one adult male, and a number of females and their young. The gorilla is evidently polygamous, but when he once adopts a wife she remains so for years, and a certain degree of marital fidelity is observed. The same practice prevails with the natives, with one exception in favor of the gorilla, and that is that I have never heard of one selling one of his wives, which the natives frequently do.

As far as it can be said that the gorilla has any form of government, it is strictly patriarchal, and there are reasons to justify the belief that they have some fixed ideas of order and justice. Many of the natives declare that they have seen the gorillas holding a palaver, at which the king always presided, while the others stood or sat in a semicircle, talking in an excited manner. They do not claim to have interpreted what was said or understood the nature of the quarrel, but, as a rule, all natives believe that the gorilla has a language which is understood among themselves, and used in the same manner as man uses his speech.

To my mind it is quite evident that the habit of the gorilla is to go in groups, although it is a very common thing to see one quite alone, or to see a single pair of them. I think, as a rule, when you see one alone it is a young male who has set out in the world for himself, and the pair is perhaps a bridal couple.

The next visit I received was by a fine young chimpanzee, who came to an opening in the bush, where he stopped and took quite a look at the situation. He betrayed no sign of alarm, and seemed half-way tempted to come nearer, but after a halt of nearly a minute he resumed his march with an air of great leisure, nor did he deign to turn his head to see if I followed him.

On the day after this a young gorilla came within six or seven yards of my cage and took a good peep at me. He stood for a few seconds, holding on to a bush with one hand; his lips were relaxed and his mouth half open, as if surprised and perplexed at what he beheld. His countenance did not portray either fear or anger, but utter amazement. I heard him creeping through the bush before I saw him, and I don’t think he was aware of my presence until he was so near. During this short visit I sat as still as a statue, and I think he was in doubt as to whether I was alive or not; but when he turned away into the bush he lost no time in getting out of reach. He uttered no sound except a suppressedumph!

A day or two later I heard a couple among the plantains, but could only get the faintest glimpse of them. They were talking but little, and I don’t think they broke any of the stalks. As well as I could determine, there were only two, but they were of good size and alike in color.

At this moment I hear one tearing a plantain stalk within about thirty yards of me. I can only hear one voice, but as they do not talk much when alone, I presume there are more of them not far away. He is uttering a low murmuring sound which seems to express pleasure, but I am not yet able to translate it into English. Time and patience, however, will accomplish that, and much more.

It is a fact worthy of notice that some of the sounds uttered by the gorilla and chimpanzee are identical with368certain sounds in the native language, and it is quite as easy to find letters to represent them. One word in N’Ka̤mi, meaningyesorassent, is exactly the same as one sound that is much used by the chimpanzee, but is not within the scope of any known system of phonetic symbols. The same is true of the word forfivein one dialect of Kroo speech.

My visitor has gone from the plantain grove without calling to pay his respects, but I am now being closely inspected by a young porcupine, who doesn’t appear to be so shy as his elders are; and just in the rear of my domicile is a large school of mangaby monkeys who come frequently to visit me. There are about twenty of them, some very large, and as I have never disturbed them, they seem to be getting more familiar. In fact, I am seldom without something to interest, amuse, or edify me. Parrots, toucans, and scores of other birds keep up a constant babel, and it is no longer such a novelty to me to hear a gorilla near my fort. At night I frequently have a leopard or bush-cat visit me; it is then too dark to shoot them, but my interest is centr——s—s—st!—s—s—st! Oh, the precious moment! I have just had a new and grand experience. I am a trifle nervous, but I must tell you. While writing the last few lines above, a large dog from the mission came to pay me a visit. He has become attached to me, and has learned the way to my retreat. He soon found a bone which I had thrown into the bush, and began to gnaw with great vigor. Within a few feet of my cage is a small, rough path cut through the bush to mark the boundary of the mission lands. Suddenly there appeared on the edge of this path a huge female gorilla, carrying a young one on her back. She was not more than thirty feet from me when I first saw her, and her tread was so stealthy that I did not hear the rustle of a leaf. She peeped along the edge of the bush with the greatest caution, with her whole attention fixed upon the dog. In a few moments she advanced very softly towards him, with the evident purpose of attack, until she was within a measured distance of eleven feet of me, without having observed my presence, I think. The dog was not aware of her approach, and she was now within fourteen feet of him. With my rifle at my elbow I was prepared for action in an instant, as I did not want her to kill the dog. As I cocked my gun she stopped, sat down on the ground for a few seconds, and gave me such a look of scorn that I almost felt that I had done wrong to interfere. She then turned away uneasily and retraced her steps with moderate haste, but she did not run, or betray much sign of fear. In an instant she was lost in the bush, and not the faintest sound was uttered. There were doubtless more of them near by, as the natives say it is very rare to find one female and babe alone, but so far as I could see she was all alone. She may have been a widow, and if so, I should think her chances to remain so were very fine, if beauty goes at par among her beaux, for she certainly was one of the most hideous-looking things I have ever seen.

The temptation to shoot her was almost too great to resist, and the desire to capture the babe made it all the more so, but I have refrained, so far, from firing my gun anywhere near my cage. I could have shot this one to-day with such ease and safety that I almost regret that I did not, but she may return.

I have had the pleasure this afternoon of hearing three others howling in different directions, one of which appears to be a very large one.

I have been told that the gorilla builds a rude hut or shelter in which he makes his home, but, so far, I have found no trace of any kind of structure built by them, nor can any native tell me where one can be found. I do not believe that he has the most remote idea of a home. He is nomadic in habit, and I doubt if he ever spends two nights in the same place. During the day gorillas wander about from place to place in quest of food, and wherever night finds them they remain till morning. They are not nocturnal in habit, and the stories of their howling and talking all night are not well founded. They do sometimes yell at369night, I have no doubt, but I think it is not common with them, though at the first sign of dawn they make their presence known, and no one will mistake the cause of the sound. One morning, about five o’clock, I was startled from my sleep by one of the most terrific yells, within about one hundred feet of my cage. It was not simply one great shout, but a long series of sounds of varying pitch and loudness, and at intervals of something like a minute they were repeated, for about ten or twelve times, and to my ear appeared to be exactly the same each time. I quietly turned out of bed and dressed myself; I took my rifle and sat down, and watched until long after sunrise, in the hope that they would pass by my cage. All the sounds came from one direction until the last two, which indicated to me that the author of them was changing his location. My interpretation of the sound was that it was from the king gorilla, to arouse his family, who were doubtless scattered off into different trees for the night. The sound did not suggest to my mind any idea of fear, anger, or mirth, but business, and I am inclined to believe that the chief of the clan summons all to the march when he thinks it time to move. The succeeding morning I heard the same sounds repeated in another direction, and, I suspect, by the same gorilla.

The usual pictures of the gorilla do not represent him as I have seen him. He has not only a crouching habit, but he walks on all four of his legs, and has the motion of most quadrupeds, using his right arm and left leg at the same time, and alternates with the left arm and right leg. It is not exactly a walk or a trot, but a kind of ambling gait, while the chimpanzee uses his arms as crutches, but lifts one foot from the ground a little in advance of the other. They do not place the palm of the hand on the ground, but use the back of the fingers from the second joint, and at times the one I have described above seemed to touch only the back of the nails, but this was when she was scarcely moving at all. I am now preparing to photograph some of them, and I think I can give a more reliable picture of this animal than I have ever seen heretofore.

As to the stories about their howling all night, I would add that there is a large bird here which makes a sound very much like one sound made by the gorilla, and it is a very easy matter to mistake it. When I first came I was often deceived by it myself, but now I can detect it very easily. This bird cries at all hours, and I think it has imposed upon the honest credulity of many strangers.

It is said that at night the king gorilla selects a large tree in which he places his family, and then takes up position at the base of the tree to ward off any harm during the night. I very much doubt this story. I think it quite probable that the gorillas habitually sleep in trees at night, but from all I can learn of the king, he looks after his own comfort and safety first, and lets his family do as they can. I have also heard that the king always finds a place of safety for them before he will attack a foe, but this is not confirmed by any fact that I can obtain. The gorilla will avoid an attack unless surprised or wounded, and in such an event he wastes no time in formalities.

Two stories of the gorilla are in stereotype, and every native will furnish you with a certified copy, without the slightest variation of the text. One is, that when a gorilla kills a man he tears open the breast and drinks the blood of his victim; and the other, that a gorilla seizes the barrel of a gun and crushes it with his teeth. The uniform version of these two stories is such as to make one believe that they have been taught by rote, and I am in doubt as to their authorship; they have a strong tincture of the white man’s yarns.

The thrilling stories about gorillas stealing women and holding them as captives in the bush, and of their taking children and holding them for ransom, are mere freaks of fancy, and I can find no native of the land in which the gorilla is found who believes that such a thing ever occurred, but all assert that man, woman, and child fare alike in the hands of this cruel beast. Such stories abound in the parts where no gorillas were370ever seen, but when you get into his true range his real history loses much of its poesy.

Many of the stories told of him, however, in his own land, are novel and curious, but conflicting, and some of them absurd; yet all agree in one respect, and that is that his savage instincts and great strength make him the terror of the forest, and I have no doubt that when he is in a rage he is both fierce and powerful; but I am still inclined to believe that both his ferocity and his strength are rated far above their true value, and it is stated as a current fact that in combat with the chimpanzee the gorilla always gets whipped, and often killed. I cannot testify to this, as I have not seen such a fight, and they seldom occur, yet I have reason to believe it to be true.

I have heard a story of the origin of man and the gorilla, which I shall relate as a queer bit of native lore. It is confined to the Galoi tribe, and appears to be of recent origin, and, to my mind, has a strong Caucasian flavor; besides, no vestige of such a tale is found in any other tribe that I have seen.

They say that Einyambie (God) had four sons who lived with him in some aërial abode, and three of them came to the earth, leaving the oldest one with Einyambie. On their arrival here they held a big palaver as to what mode of life they should adopt. The oldest of the three wanted to build a town and plant some fruit, but the other two preferred to live in the forest and subsist upon the wild products of nature. Accordingly they separated, and the oldest went and built him a town, and planted some bananas and manioc, while the other two roamed about through the primeval bush, and ate such wild fruits as they could find, but they had no fire. After some talk about the matter, it was agreed that the older of the two should go to the brother in the town, and ask him for fire, while the younger should remain in the bush and gather up sticks of dry wood to burn. The one who had gone to town soon returned with fire, and the two got on quite well for a time, but when the wet season came on they found it more difficult to procure food, and at last it was decided that the elder should again visit the town to ask their brother to supply them, and the younger should remain to keep up the fire; but the youth went to sleep and let it die out, so, when the other returned with food, they had no fire to cook it. This vexed the elder very much and a quarrel ensued, in consequence of which they separated. The youngest brother was left alone in the deep bush, and, thus cut off from all fellowship with his brethren, he wandered about until he became wild and fierce, and for want of clothing was exposed to the weather, until a coat of hair grew all over him, and in this wise came the gorilla into the world.

The next older brother, on leaving the remote forest, took up his abode near the town, and by this means came in contact at times with his brother in the town, from whom he learned a few useful things, and thus became more wise and civil than the one left in the bush; and from this one came the “bushman;” while the progeny of the one who built the town arethe peopleof the world. Such is the origin on earth of these three kindred races, as told by the sages of Galoi.

You will observe that this novel has no woman in it, and her origin remains a question in Galoi.

As a rule, the natives do not eat the gorilla, and very seldom kill one, but this I attribute more to fear than to respect. That great tribe of cannibals known as Pangwe, however, slay and eat him without compunction. This tribe was scarcely known on the coast a few years ago, but they are shifting like the desert sands from the interior, northeast of the Gaboon, to the coast southwest, until to-day they are found throughout the valley of the Ogowe, and as far south as Selle Kama, on the coast. They are the Jews of West Africa, and the life and soul of the trade of this part. They go into the bush for ivory, ebony, piassava, and dye-woods, and carry them for days to find sale for them. They drink much less rum than other natives, and deprecate slavery in all forms, except as hostage; but they are cruel, savage,371and treacherous, and hold human life at small value.

Up to this time I have not told you of the chimpanzee, which I have long believed to be the social and mental superior of the gorilla. My opinion was based upon a study of their skulls, and I was aware that many great men of science held opposite views; but all the evidence that I can find here, where they are best known, tends to confirm my belief. Every instinct of the gorilla seems to be averse to all human society; he delights in a life of seclusion in the most remote and desolate parts of the jungle, and I have never heard of but one gorilla that became even tolerant to man, much less attached to him, and this one was a mere infant. I have seen a few in captivity, but all of them are vicious, and devoid of any sense of gratitude whatever. On the other hand, the chimpanzee delights in the society of man, and displays many good traits. It is not at all rare to find tame ones on this coast, going about the premises at large, and quite as much at home as any resident. With this short preface I desire to introduce my own young friend, who lives with me in my forest home. He is a fine specimen of the chimpanzee race, and I call him Moses, because he was found in a papyrus swamp of the Ogowe. He is devoted to me, and cries after me like a spoiled baby, and follows me like a pet dog. I do not confine him, so he goes about in the bush near the cage, and selects some of the tender buds of young plants and vines, and returns to me to be petted and caressed. He is a great pleasure to me as well as a great plague, for he wants to hug me all the time, and never wants me to put him down. About ten o’clock every day he comes for a nap, and when I wrap him up and lay him on a box by my side, he sleeps quietly till noon. After a good sleep he climbs on my lap and embraces me with devotion, until I really tire of him. Much of the time I write with him on my lap, and when I put him outside the cage he climbs up near me, and begs and pulls my sleeve until I relent, and let him come inside again. When I leave my cage I usually take him with me, and when he sees me take my rifle he begins to fret, until I let him mount my back, which he does with great skill, and hangs on to me like the ivy to a church wall. A few days since, as we were returning from a short tour, I saw a young chimpanzee crossing the path about thirty yards from us, and I tried to induce Moses to call his little cousin; but he declined to do so, and I accused him of being proud because he was mounted and the other was afoot, and hence he would not speak to him.

I am trying to teach Moses to speak English, but up to this time he has not succeeded. He tries to move his lips as I do, but makes no sound. However, he has only been in school a very short term, and I think he will learn by and by. I am also trying him on some simple problems with blocks, and sometimes I think he is doing quite well. I am giving him some lessons in cleanliness, and he listens with profound silence to my precepts, but when it comes to taking a bath, Moses is a rank heretic. He will allow his hands to be washed, but when it comes to wetting his face, no logic will convince him that he needs it. He has a great horror for large bugs, and when one comes near him he will talk like a phonograph, and brush at it with his hands until he gets rid of it. When he sees or hears anything strange, he always tells me in a low tone, unless it comes too near, and then he announces it with a yell. At times I refuse to pay any attention to him, and he will fall down, scream, and sulk like a very naughty child. He is extremely jealous, and does not want any one to come near me. I have made him a neat little house, with hammock and mosquito-bar, and at night I tuck him in, when he sleeps quietly until late in the morning. Then he crawls out, rubbing his eyes, and wants his breakfast. He wants to try everything he sees me eat.

I must now tell you of the most novel and singular thing known of the chimpanzee, the native name of which is “n’tyigo” (n’cheego). All native tribes in this part of Africa use some species of drum to make the music for372their frequent dances. The drum used by the N’Ka̤mi is calledn’gäma, and the dance is calledka̤njo. The chimpanzees have a similar fête, and set to similar music. They meet in great numbers at a certain place in the bush, and beat their strange tum-tum, which the natives call then’gäma n’tyigo. The performer makes a peculiar humming vocal sound while he beats on his mysterious drum with great zeal, during which time all the others go through a series of frantic motions which resemble a dance, and which the natives call theka̤njo n’tyigo. When the music ceases, the dance ends for the time, and all the group join in a loud, wild shout. After a brief pause the dance is resumed, and these festivities are often continued for two or three hours. At intervals the musician is relieved by another taking his place, and two at a time have been known to beat and hum.

I have heard of this in many parts of Africa with some slight changes of detail, but have as often been assured that it had defied the skill of all woodsmen to ascertain the real character of the drum used by them in this uniquen’ka̤njo. Some assert that they beat upon a dead tree, others that they use a concave piece of wood or bark, while some contend that they strike the breast with their hands; but, during my sojourn here, I have been shown what I believe is the genuinen’gäma n’tyigo. It is a peculiar spot of sonorous earth, of irregular shape but usually about two feet in diameter, and formed of clay superimposed upon a soil resembling peat. It appears to be artificial, but the natives cannot tell whether it is natural or made by then’tyigo, but it is fairly certain that it is used by the chimpanzee as described, and it is not a bad imitation of the nativen’gäma. I have examined one of these with much care, and I am inclined to believe that it is artificial, as it is isolated from all similar clay, and appears to have been kneaded.

I have, as yet, seen but few chimpanzees since I have taken up my abode at Fort Gorilla, but I hope to enjoy some private interviews with them before I decamp.

It is difficult for me to tell you what it is to be alone in the bosom of the N’Ka̤mi forest. No fancy can portray the solitude of such a time and place. Just now the elements are in an angry mood; the thunder rolls along the sky, until the earth recoils and trembles at the sound; the wind shrieks through the jungle as if to find a refuge from impending wrath; the pouring rain pursues it with the speed of fear; the lightning waves its torch, and glowing chains of fire fall. Such is the way in which the long and dreary nights approach my hermitage. And yet, I am content among the dismal shadows of the wilderness, for Nature makes me her confidant, and every hour divulges some new secret; and my cage affords me such immunity from danger that I can sit quiescently and witness all her sports, as no one ever witnessed them before.

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