" `And it's my business as office deputy,' says I, `to see that business is carried on according to law. Between us both we ought to keep things pretty well cleaned up.'
"So, the next day, Luke packs a blanket and some collars and his mileage book in a haversack, and him and me hits the breeze for New York. It was a powerful long ride. The seats in the cars was too short for six-footers like us to sleep comfortable on; and the conductor had to keep us from getting off at every town that had five-story houses in it. But we got there finally; and we seemed to see right away that he was right about it.
" `Luke,' says I, `as office deputy and from a law standpoint, it don't look to me like this place is properly and legally in the jurisdiction of Mojada County, Texas.'
" `From the standpoint of order,' says he, `it's amenable to answer for its sins to the properly appointed authorities from Bildad to Jerusalem.'
" `Amen,' says I. `But let's turn our trick sudden, and ride. I don't like the looks of this place.'
" `Think of Pedro Johnson,' says Luke, `a friend of mine and yours shot down by one of these gilded abolitionists at his very door!'
" `It was at the door of the freight depot,' says I. `But the law will not be balked at a quibble like that.'
"We put up at one of them big hotels on Broadway. The next morning I goes down about two miles of stairsteps to the bottom and hunts for Luke. It ain't no use. It looks like San Jacinto day in San Antone. There's a thousand folks milling around in a kind of a roofed-over plaza with marble pavements and trees growing right out of 'em, and I see no more chance of finding Luke than if we was hunting each other in the big pear flat down below Old Fort Ewell. But soon Luke and me runs together in one of the turns of them marble alleys.
" `It ain't no use, Bud,' says he. `I can't find no place to eat at. I've been looking for restaurant signs and smelling for ham all over the camp. But I'm used to going hungry when I have to. Now,' says he, `I'm going out and get a hack and ride down to the address on this Scudder card. You stay here and try to hustle some grub. But I doubt if you'll find it. I wish we'd brought along some cornmeal and bacon and beans. I'll be back when I see this Scudder, if the trail ain't wiped out.'
"So I starts foraging for breakfast. For the honor of old Mojada County I didn't want to seem green to them abolitionists, so every time I turned a corner in them marble halls I went up to the first desk or counter I see and looks around for grub. If I didn't see what I wanted I asked for something else. In about half an hour I had a dozen cigars, five story magazines, and seven or eight rail-road time-tables in my pockets, and never a smell of coffee or bacon to point out the trail.
"Once a lady sitting at a table and playing a game kind of like pushpin told me to go into a closet that she called Number 3. I went in and shut the door, and the blamed thing lit itself up. I set down on a stool before a shelf and waited. Thinks I, `This is a private dining-room.' But no waiter never came. When I got to sweating good and hard, I goes out again.
" `Did you get what you wanted?' says she.
" `No, ma'am,' says I. `Not a bite.'
" `Then there's no charge,' says she.
" `Thanky, ma'am,' says I, and I takes up the trail again.
"By and by I thinks I'll shed etiquette; and I picks up one of them boys with blue clothes and yellow buttons in front, and he leads me to what he calls the caffay breakfast room. And the first thing I lays my eyes on when I go in is that boy that had shot Pedro Johnson. He was setting all alone at a little table, hitting a egg with a spoon like he was afraid he'd break it.
"I takes the chair across the table from him; and he looks insulted and makes a move like he was going to get up.
" `Keep still, son,' says I. `You're apprehended, arrested, and in charge of the Texas authorities. Go on and hammer that egg some more if it's the inside of it you want. Now, what did you shoot Mr. Johnson, of Bildad, for?'
" `And may I ask who you are?' says he.
" `You may,' says I. `Go ahead'.
" `I suppose you're on,' says this kid, without batting his eyes. `But what are you eating? Here, waiter!' he calls out, raising his finger. `Take this gentleman's order.'
" `A beefsteak,' says I, `and some fried eggs and a can of peaches and a quart of coffee will about suffice.'
"We talk a while about the sundries of life and then he says:
" `What are you going to do about that shooting? I had a right to shoot that man,' says he. `He called me names that I couldn't overlook, and then he struck me. He carried a gun, too. What else could I do?'
" `We'll have to take you back to Texas,' says I.
" `I'd like to go back,' says the boy, with a kind of a grin—`if it wasn't on an occasion of this kind. It's the life I like. I've always wanted to ride and shoot and live in the open air ever since I can remember.'
" `Who was this gang of stout parties you took this trip with?' I asks.
" `My stepfather,' says he, `and some business partners of his in some Mexican mining and land schemes.'
" `I saw you shoot Pedro Johnson,' says I, `and I took that little popgun away from you that you did it with. And when I did so I noticed three or four little scars in a row over your right eyebrow. You've been in rookus before, haven't you?'
" `I've had these scars ever since I can remember,' says he. `I don't know how they came there.'
" `Was you ever in Texas before?' says I.
" `Not that I remember of,' says he. `But I thought I had when we struck the prairie country. But I guess I hadn't.'
" `Have you got a mother?' I asks.
" `She died five years ago,' says he.
"Skipping over the most of what followed—when Luke came back I turned the kid over to him. He had seen Scudder and told him what he wanted; and it seems that Scudder got active with one of these telephones as soon as he left. For in about an hour afterwards there comes to our hotel some of these city rangers in everyday clothes that they call detectives, and marches the whole outfit of us to what they call a magistrate's court. They accuse Luke of attempted kidnapping, and ask him what he has to say.
" `This snipe,' says Luke to the judge, `shot and willfully punctured with malice and forethought one of the most respected and prominent citizens of the town of Bildad, Texas, Your Honor. And in so doing laid himself liable to the penitence of law and order. And I hereby make claim and demand restitution of the State of New York City for the said alleged criminal; and I know he done it.'
" `Have you the usual and necessary requisition papers from the governor of your state?' asks the judge.
" `My usual papers,' says Luke, `was taken away from me at the hotel by these gentlemen who represent law and order in your city. They was two Colt's .45's that I've packed for nine years; and if I don't get 'em back, there'll be more trouble. You can ask anybody in Mojada County about Luke Summers. I don't usually need any other kind of papers for what I do.'
"I see the judge looks mad, so I steps up and says:
" `Your Honor, the aforesaid defendant, Mr. Luke Summers, sheriff of Mojada County, Texas, is as fine a man as ever threw a rope or upheld the statutes and codicils of the greatest state in the Union. But he——'
"The judge hits his table with a wooden hammer and asks who I am.
" `Bud Oakley,' says I. `Office deputy of the sheriff's office of Mojada County, Texas. Representing,' says I, `the Law. Luke Summers,' I goes on, `represents Order. And if Your Honor will give me about ten minutes in private talk, I'll explain the whole thing to you, and show you the equitable and legal requisition papers which I carry in my pocket.'
"The judge kind of half smiles and says he will talk with me in his private room. In there I put the whole thing up to him in such language as I had, and when we goes outside, he announces the verdict that the young man is delivered into the hands of the Texas authorities; and calls the next case.
"Skipping over much of what happened on the way back, I'll tell you how the thing wound up in Bildad.
"When we got the prisoner in the sheriff's office, I says toLuke:
" `You remember that kid of yours—that two-year-old that they stole away from you when the bust-up come?'
"Luke looks black and angry. He'd never let anybody talk to him about that business, and he never mentioned it himself.
" `Toe the mark,' says I. `Do you remember when he was toddling around on the porch and fell down on a pair of Mexican spurs and cut four little holes over his right eye? Look at the prisoner,' says I, `look at his nose and the shape of his head and—why, you old fool, don't you know your own son?—I knew him,' says I, `when he perforated Mr. Johnson at the depot.'
"Luke comes over to me shaking all over. I never saw him lose his nerve before.
" `Bud,' says he, `I've never had that boy out of my mind one day or one night since he was took away. But I never let on. But can we hold him?—Can we make him stay?—I'll make the best man of him that ever put his foot in a stirrup. Wait a minute,' says he, all excited and out of his mind—`I've got something here in my desk—I reckon it'll hold legal yet—I've looked at it a thousand times—"Cus-to-dy of the child," says Luke—"Cus-to-dy of the child." We can hold him on that, can't we? Le'me see if I can find that decree.'
"Luke begins to tear his desk to pieces.
" `Hold on,' says I. `You are Order and I'm Law. You needn't look for that paper, Luke. It ain't a decree any more. It's requisition papers. It's on file in that Magistrate's office in New York. I took it along when we went, because I was office deputy and knew the law.'
" `I've got him back,' says Luke. `He's mine again. I never thought——'
" `Wait a minute,' says I. `We've got to have law and order. You and me have got to preserve 'em both in Mojada County according to our oath and conscience. The kid shot Pedro Johnson, one of Bildad's most prominent and——"
" `Oh, hell!' says Luke. `That don't amount to anything. That fellow was half Mexican, anyhow.' "
By SARAH N. CLEGHORN
His roundabout of bottle-green,And pantaloons of fine nankeenWere Sunday best; the month was May,And this from school a holiday;But he had none with whom to play,And wandered wistful,up and down,All in a strange old Garden,And in a strange old Town.
An ancient chaise, a Dobbin grayHad brought him here to spend the day.Now his old aunt and uncle drowse;No chick nor child is in the house—No cat, no dog, no bird, or mouse;No fairy picture-book to spell,No music-box of wonder,Nor magic whispering-shell.
Unending is this afternoon,And strange this landscape as the moon,With home a thousand miles away—The pasture where his brothers playWith whoop and shout, in Indian fray;The porch where, even at this hour,His mother prunes the vine and flower,And hums the nursery melody,"I saw a ship a-sailing,A-sailing on the sea."
***************************************************************** VOL. XXIII September 1910 NO. 3
Lassoing Wild Animals In Africa
By GUY H. SCULL
Field Manager of the Buffalo Jones African Expedition
Editor's Note: The wild animals of Africa have been hunted with firearms for many a year, and photographed by more than one marksman of the lens. But here is the truly unique expedition into the jungle. The idea that any one should seriously contemplate a journey to Africa for the purpose of lassoing such creatures as sportsmen either shoot or photograph at the longest range possible, seems quite absurd. But an American frontiersman has done it, with American cowboys, cow-ponies, and hunting-dogs, and with wonderful moving pictures to prove it. It is a fine evidence of the sporting qualities of both parties to the undertaking that Colonel C. J. Jones, a Western plainsman, could so completely interest Mr. Charles S. Bird, an Eastern manufacturer, in the fantastic plan as to command his backing. And if there is such a thing as the glow of adventure by proxy, it must have been felt in the Nassau Street law office, where the Buffalo Jones African Expedition had its headquarters, when the cablegram from Nairobi announced that lion and rhino had been lassoed, and that the moving pictures were a complete success.
IT was a special train—loaded to capacity with horses and dogs, camp baggage, moving-picture cameras, cowboys, photographers, and porters; and when it pulled out of the Nairobi station on the way to the "up country" of British East Africa, the period of preparation passed away and the time of action began. As the faces of the people on the platform glided by the window of the slowly moving carriage, there was good will written on all of them; but also unbelief. There was no doubt as to what they thought of Buffalo Jones's expedition that was setting out to rope and tie and photograph the wild animals of the East African Veldt.
"How are you going to hold a rhino that weighs two tons and a half?"
"What are you going to do when the lion charges?"
Such were the questions asked us by the hunters of the country. They further took pains to explain that a rhino charges like a flash, and that a lion can catch a horse within a hundred yards.
These items of information, however, were well known to Buffalo Jones before the expedition was organized in New York, and his preparations to meet the difficulties had been made accordingly.
Colonel C. J. Jones is tall and spare, with a strong, rugged face and keen blue eyes. During his sixty-five years of life, he has roped and tied, often single-handed, every kind of wild animal of consequence to be found in our western country, and his experience with these has led him to believe implicitly that man is the master of all wild beasts.
He has climbed trees after mountain lions, and with a lasso over a branch has hauled grizzlies up into the air by one hind leg. And once he set out alone to journey over a country that no white man had ever traveled before, to reach the land of the musk-ox on the border of the Arctic Circle. The story is told of how he met a trapper on the way, and how these two, in the face of the hostility of all the Indian tribes, the wolves, and the cold of the northern winter, eventually came to the musk-ox and captured five calves. Then, deserted by their Indian guide, they started to return with their prizes, got lost in the wilderness, and fought the wolves till their cartridges ran out. And when at last they reached safety and fell asleep, exhausted, the Indians, obeying the laws of their religion, stole upon them in the night and killed the calves.
But the success he had achieved with the mountain lions of the Southwest, the musk-ox of the North, and the grizzly bears of the Rockies was not enough. For twenty years it had been the one ambition of his life to take an outfit to British East Africa to try his hand with the more ferocious big game of that country. But in his Western experience Colonel Jones had learned something else besides the mastery of man over beast. Precisely how an American cowboy was going to hold a rhinoceros that weighed two tons and a half was purely a matter of speculation. Yet of one thing the Colonel was certain—the experiment would result in a moving picture that would be well worth the taking. For this reason, what afterward came to be known as the "picture department" was added to the make-up of the expedition.
The preparations extended over a considerable length of time, and were carried on in various places. Unquestionably, the most important part of the outfit was the horses. It was absolutely essential that they should be Western cow-ponies, fast, well trained, and reliable in every way. The Colonel, who best of all could foresee the nature of the work they would have to do, selected them himself, ten in all, from the ranches of New Mexico, and shipped them to New York. The American dogs to be used for trailing were likewise chosen by the Colonel. Some of them belonged to him personally, and had been thoroughly tried out. The rest had reputations of their own. Of the two cowboys who were to act as his assistants, Marshall Loveless had worked with the Colonel before and knew his methods, and Ambrose Means came highly recommended for skill and daring from one of the largest ranch owners in the West.
When, at the last moment, the writer of these articles was introduced to the expedition in the capacity of acting field manager, the preparations were well under way. The horses and dogs had been already shipped, en route to Africa, in charge of the cowboys, and the date of our sailing for London had been fixed for the following day.
The meeting was held at a luncheon in the Railroad Club, in New York. There were present Colonel Jones, Mr. F. W. Bird, son of Charles S. Bird[1] who financed the expedition, Mr. W. G. Sewall, of the Boma Trading Company, of Nairobi, and myself. After certain matters of business had been disposed of, the talk at the luncheon table drifted to the probabilities and possibilities of success; to lions, rhinos, elands, and cheetahs; to cowboys, horses, and dogs. But the Colonel would hear of no possibilities, or even probabilities, of failure. He was peculiarly insistent upon this point. And when the hour of the business man's lunch time came to an end, and the room began to empty, Mr. Sewall said to me across the corner of the table:
"Of course, every one in Nairobi will think all of you either fakers or crazy. I know you're no fakers. I don't know whether you're crazy or not. But there is one thing in your favor: The Colonel's unshaken belief that the thing can be done will probably pull it through."
[1] EAST WALPOLE, MASS., July 8, 1910. Mr. GUY H. SCULL.
MY DEAR SCULLIt has been asked by some what the object of theBuffalo Jones African Expedition was. I will tell you.
You know my friend, Colonel C. J. Jones, broke his rifle a generation or so ago and vowed he would never again kill game save for food or in self-defense. Since taking that oath he has subdued and captured all kinds of wild animals in North America, including the musk-ox, buffalo, grizzly bear, and cougar.
I discovered that it was his dream to go to East Africa to prove that with American cowboys, horses, and dogs he could lasso and capture the savage animals of that country as readily as he has the wild animals of our country. As a sporting proposition, it seemed to me unique and fascinating, and so, as a small tribute to Colonel Jones, I volunteered to finance the expedition.
I somewhat doubt whether there is another man in the world who has the courage, skill, and determination to do what he has done in the animal kingdom, and he well deserves to be called "The Preserver of the American Bison."
I want to acknowledge our indebtedness to Mr. Arthur A. Fowler of New York for his assistance in helping us outfit the expedition in London and Nairobi, and to you and the others who have helped to make the expedition a success. Very truly,
On our arrival in London about the middle of January of this year, the work of preparation was continued at once. Outside of the minor details of the outfit, such as personal equipment, saddlery, medicines, bandages, and so forth, the first matter to receive attention was the organization of the picture department. Mr. Cherry Kearton was sought to take charge of this branch of the expedition. Kearton—a powerfully built Yorkshireman—is an experienced cinematograph photographer and a naturalist of no small reputation. He had taken moving pictures in Africa before, and so he knew the climatic conditions there—the heat radiation and the different intensities of light. He also knew the animals the Colonel was going to rope. But besides being a cinematograph expert and a naturalist, he was also a sportsman.
When Kearton learned of the nature of the undertaking, he was skeptical. He had no more than a slight acquaintance with the Colonel then, and only a vague, hearsay knowledge of what the American Cowboy could do. Evidently his mind was divided by the dictates of common sense and the sporting instinct. On many occasions during this time, he questioned the feasibility of the experiment in the light of what he knew of the African beasts. The agreement, in documentary form, was spread out on the table in the Boma Trading Company's London office when he finally wanted to know how in Heaven's name we thought this thing could be done.
"We'll do it," the Colonel said quietly. That was all.
"Well, there's a picture in it, anyway," said Kearton, and signed the papers.
With his assistant, David Gobbet, two cinematograph machines and tripods, hand cameras and developing apparatus, he set sail immediately for Africa, leaving an order for thirty thousand feet of film to be divided between two manufacturers and to be forwarded as soon as possible.
In the meantime, Colonel Jones was hard at work collecting a rather unusual assortment of articles. The experience of a life-time enabled him to foresee what kind of materials were absolutely necessary, and what kind might prove useful on the present expedition. Naturally, the articles required were not usually in stock, but the London shopkeeper is proverbially obliging and imperturbable.
One rainy morning the Colonel walked into a hardware store and asked to see some handcuffs. A pair was shown him.
"Not large enough," said the Colonel.
"How large would you want them, sir?"
"Twice that size."
"May I ask for what purpose you require them, sir?"
"For lions," said the Colonel.
"Precisely, handcuffs for lions; yes, you need large ones. I am afraid I have none in stock just now, but I can have them made for you within a few days."
It was the same with almost everything the Colonel wanted to purchase; everything had to be made especially for him after his own description—handcuffs, collars and belts, chains, branding irons, a block and fall, muzzles of different sizes, corkscrew picket-pins for holding the turn of a rope, and a nondescript article shaped like a huge pair of tongs, for which I feel sure there is no name in any trade, but which looked to be a handy implement for clamping the jaws of a beast. To have these things made according to specifications took time and an endless amount of running about. Besides, there was the more ordinary part of the equipment to procure: English dogs, both foxhounds and terriers, horse-blankets, extra ropes, horseshoes, and so on. When the last of the expedition sailed from Southampton, there were forty-eight pieces of baggage on the list.
This last contingent reached Nairobi at noon on March 3, and for the first time then all the members of the expedition met together. Loveless proved to be a man a little below the medium height; he held himself very erect, walked with quick, energetic steps, and wore a blond mustache. He made polite inquiries as to our voyage out, commented on the hot weather, and fully explained the condition of the horses and dogs. Means was taller. He carried his head slightly forward and wore his black hair brushed low down over his forehead. He stood slumped on one hip, so that one shoulder also was lower than the other.
"Please' to meet you," he said.
On our arrival at Nairobi the first matter to be decided was the district to be worked. The choice lay between the Sotik and the Kapeti Plains. According to the usual batch of contradictory stories in such cases, the game was said to be equally plentiful, or equally scarce, in both districts. Both had been shot over considerably of late, and, anyhow, no one could really tell us where the most game was to be found; because, as one informant explained, the game everywhere shifted so frequently and so fast. But the Sotik and the country approaching it—the Kedong and Rift Valleys, and the Mau—were reported to be more or less free from ticks, and, as the health of the horses was of the gravest importance to us, we determined to work this district first.
The Colonel and his two cowboys, Loveless and Means, were ready to start at once. Eight out of the ten horses were in fine condition. With but one exception, the dogs had come through safely, though all were suffering somewhat from distemper. It was concluded, however, that they would recover just as rapidly in the open country as they would in Nairobi.
Kearton and Gobbet were ready. Kearton had built a dark room in Nairobi, because his earlier experience had taught him that the pictures could not be developed with any degree of satisfaction in the field. His four special porters to carry the cameras and tripods—porters he had trained on previous safaris—were only waiting for the word to move. Mr. Ray Ulyate, the white hunter to the expedition, had already gone to Kijabe to prepare his ox-wagons against our coming, and the Boma Trading Company had engaged a special train to leave Nairobi on the fifth.
On the morning of that day we held the customary procession of an outgoing safari down the main street of Nairobi to the waiting train. The Colonel rode first, with the assorted pack of dogs at his horse's heels. Then came the cowboys with the led horses; then the picture department; then the long single line of black porters, bringing up the rear. Above the loads on the porters' heads two flags flashed their colors in the sunlight—the stars and stripes, and the house flag of the company, with the white buffalo skull against the red background, and underneath the motto, Sapiens qui Vigilat.
The night had already fallen black and cold when the special train crested the top of the divide and coasted down grade into Kijabe. The most imposing structure in the place is the railroad station, with its red wooden building propped up on piles, its tin guest-house alongside, and the neat gravel platform growing a clump of trees. The rest of Kijabe is composed of four other houses, the goods-shed, an open-faced Indian booth, the post-office, and the water-tank. Ulvate met us with a lantern, for the station lights are dim, and we detrained in the face of the high wind that always blows there from sunset to dawn, and picketed the horses among the trees of the station platform. Because a large part of the revenue of the country is derived from the visiting hunters, a safari is accorded privileges out of the ordinary. So, as a matter of course, we took possession of the station and camped in the tin guest-house for the night.
The morning came clear and hot and still. The railroad at Kijabe runs along the face of the hills, so that the land drops down abruptly to the plains below, and you can look away for miles over the Kedong and Rift valleys, with the two sentinel extinct volcanoes rising black against the heat-blurred sky;
The floors of the valleys are laid with volcanic ash. But on first appearances the land looks much the same as the regulation veldt or certain parts of our own Western plains. It is only by the fineness of the dust that hangs about the horses' feet, and the peculiar quality of the thirst that dries in the throat, that you know this is no ordinary soil.
The sun was high in the heavens before we finally started from Kijabe and descended the rough road to the level ground, with the brakes on the ox-wagons squealing harshly and the horses treading silently in the dust.
We had planned to camp at Sewell's farm that night. It was only about four hours away, but a short trek the first day is always a good rule to follow. It gives every one a chance, so to speak, to shake down well into the saddle. We had gone but a short distance, however, when one thing became strikingly apparent: Gobbet did not know how to ride! He was mounted on a white African pony that we had found it necessary to add to our string. The pony was stolid, lazy, and easy-gaited, but Gobbet's unfamiliar attitude toward his mount was unmistakable.
Now it is a delicate matter in any country to broach the question of a man's horsemanship, but presently Gobbet introduced the subject of his own accord.
"Of course I can't ride a horse," he said. "Have never been on one before. When Mr. Kearton spoke to me about coming out here with him, he just asked me if I could ride, and I told him surely I could ride—but I didn't tell him I meant a bicycle."
After all, the matter was of no great importance. Gobbet was young and thin and active, with sharp black eyes, and the work that lay ahead of us would probably teach him to ride in short order—and it did.
We had little expectation of finding either a lion or a rhino on that first day's trip. We were traveling on a regular road, making a kind of initial march. The fringe of scrub at the beginning of the valley had been left behind some three or four miles when Ulyate suddenly reined in his horse and pointed to three black dots on the veldt about half a mile away.
The black dots proved to he only wart-hogs, but we wanted them, and, so long as there was little chance of our finding any of the more important species of game, we took the opportunity that offered. The Colonel and the two cowboys tightened their cinches and then rode out to the westward to round up the beasts.
"Drive 'em back to us," Kearton called after them, and Means waved his hand by way of answer.
Behind us, the line of porters was coming up along the road. They were straggling badly, broken up into little sections of threes and fours, so that the last of them were not yet in sight. Gobbet was sent back to hurry forward the four special porters with the cameras, and when these finally arrived upon the scene, their faces covered with dust and sweat, the horsemen had dwindled to dots only a little larger than the hogs themselves.
Kearton placed the cameras a few yards apart, and there we waited, watching the distant specks.
Two of the riders disappeared into a far patch of scrub. The third began swinging to the southward. His horse was galloping after something we could not see.
In the meantime the safari was coming up, and as each section arrived it was halted, and the porters put down their loads and sat on them. Some of them turned their backs upon the scene in total indifference as to what was coming next; others regarded the cameras with expressions of mild curiosity.
Little by little the third horseman had swung round so that he was headed due east, riding straight at us. Rapidly the speck grew larger, and the two other riders came out of the scrub and joined the chase.
Nearer and nearer they came, with the dust cloud swirling behind them. Gobbet began turning the handle of his camera, and the whir of the machine sounded loud in the stillness. One or two of the porters jumped to their feet and pointed. Kearton waited.
"I hope they won't come straight into the lens," he said. "If they do, it won't make a good picture. They ought to come at an angle. So," he explained, placing his hand obliquely to the line of focus. Then he bent over, laid his eye to the gun-sight of the machine, and likewise began turning.
The thunder of the chase could be heard now, and we could see that it was Loveless leading, on his black, with Means and the Colonel close behind and the wart-hog some forty yards ahead. The beast was running strong. His huge snout was thrust forward, and his upturned tusks gleamed in the sunlight. But gradually the black horse gained on him, and Loveless loosened the rope from his saddle and began swinging the long noose round and round his head.
On came the wart-hog, straight for Kearton's camera.
Kearton straightened up above the machine and waved his helmet frantically.
"Give over, give over!" he shouted.
"You're driving him right into the picture. It's no good. Give over!"
The chase never swerved an inch, and Kearton bent to his work again, cursing in well-selected periods.
The next moment the hog drove past him. At the same instant Loveless threw his rope and caught the beast by one hind leg. The black horse stopped, fore feet planted firmly, and the dust cloud swept across and hid the scene.
When the dust cleared away, the hog was lying across the road, blowing comfortably, with the rope leading from his hind leg to the horn of Loveless' saddle. Loveless laughed.
"There's the first one for you," he said. "And my, can't he run!"
Gobbet, however, was indignant. "It's no use," he complained. "To bring an object that way straight into the lens is against the first principles of cinematography. It's no use, I tell you."
Means sat half slumped in his saddle, with his reeking horse panting heavily.
"Well, well, well," he finally drawled. "And didn't Mr. Pig come a-bending across that prairie? He most certainly come a-bending."
The porters gathered around and looked long at the beast; some of them spoke a few words in low tones, and the others nodded their heads and smiled.
Sometimes a wart-hog will act nasty, and his lower tusks are sharp as razors; but when this one was released he walked out of the circle of grinning natives, slowly, quietly, and apparently thoroughly disgusted.
At Sewell's farm there is a pan of water made by a dam across an almost waterless brook, and alongside of this pan we pitched our camp. When the sun set, the high wind rose again, whirling up the dust in heavy clouds and sending the sparks from the fire scurrying over the ground. But the Kedong Valley wind is more or less a phenomenon of the country. You can count upon it absolutely for every one of its disagreeable qualities. I think the citizens of Africa are a little proud of it.
There was now a fair chance that on our way into the Rift Valley we should flush one or another of the larger animals. Preparations for such a contingency were accordingly made before starting from Sewell's farm. Canteens and iron drums were filled with water, because the next camp would be a dry one. The cinematograph, cameras, and all the extra boxes were loaded with films the evening before, and the four special camera porters were given strict orders to keep well up with the advance of the safari. The lion-taming outfit—the tongs, muzzles, chains, and collars—was stowed on the first wagon, on top of the load, where it could be got at readily in case of need. The Colonel rode ahead, with the two cowboys close behind, all three ropers mounted on their best horses—the Colonel on "the paint," Loveless on his black, and Means on the big-boned bay. Every member of the party was especially cautioned to keep a sharp lookout on both sides of the road.
Just as the day before, the morning came hot and still, and for hour after hour the straggling safari crawled slowly over the long waves of the undulating veldt. The road was a wagon track always vanishing in front toward the head of the valley. The land lay silent beneath the glaring sunlight.
We outspanned at noon for an hour. Over the country here grew small, scattered thorn trees, thick with thorns but with scarcely any leaves, so that the shade beneath them was thin and could shelter no more than one horse. The water in the canteens, cold at the start, had become warm now.
When we mounted again, the sweat had dried on the horses, and the boots felt stiff on our feet. The line of the road still stretched away its interminable length until it disappeared in the distance.
And then, as we crawled sleepily ahead over the rises, theColonel was the first to notice the lion spoor in the dust.
With sudden animation the safari awoke from the lethargy of the hot, monotonous march. The spoor was judged to be at least four hours old, so there was no use putting the dogs on it. Then presently it disappeared. On the dead grass of the bordering veldt there was nothing to show which way the lion had gone. But there was a chance—a small one, yet still a chance—that the beast was lying up near by in the shade of a thorn tree. So all the horsemen spread out over the veldt to obtain a wider scope of vision, and for mile after mile the company moved forward, sweeping the immediate country.
Proceeding in this manner through the afternoon, we eventually crested a slightly higher rise and looked down into a shallow valley that was greener than the rest of the veldt. A few full-sized trees were growing in the bottom, and there were a number of outcroppings of rock. Large herds of antelope were grazing there.
The Colonel called a halt.
"There is no lion anywhere hereabouts," he said, "because the game are grazing peacefully. But there is a bunch of eland yonder. We might as well round them up while the light lasts."
The plan of operation was quickly made. The cameras were stationed about a mile to the southeast, partly concealed by the bole of a tree, and the bunch of eland were skillfully rounded up and a good specimen was singled out.
Everything was working to perfection. The three horsemen drove the eland toward the cameras—not directly at them, but a little to one side, at an angle, as Kearton wanted it done. At the proper moment Loveless roped the animal by the forelegs and neck, and threw it down. Loveless jumped from his horse and was running forward to tie the prize when something—the smell of the strange beast, perhaps—started the black horse bucking. With the rope made fast to the saddle and the eland acting as a pivot, the black went careering round and round. Both the Colonel and Means tried to rope him, and missed, and finally Loveless, on foot, caught him by the dangling reins.
Of course such a thing might have been readily foreseen, but somehow it came as a surprise and opened up grave possibilities. That night in camp at "Rugged Rocks" we were gathered about the cook s fire for the warmth it gave, when the Colonel spoke of the affair.
"Everything was going great till that horse started bucking," the Colonel remarked. "We've got to teach our horses not to mind the smell of these strange animals out here. We've got to be able to depend absolutely on our horses. Of course that eland wasn't dangerous. But when we tackle something else and a horse acts that way, it might be bad."
But Gobbet said it was good action, anyway, and would look fine when thrown on the screen.
March 8 was a day of disappointments. Between sunrise and sunset we traveled fifteen miles to the Wangai River and hunted in turn a pair of lions, a cheetah, and a rhinoceros—and lost them all. Two circumstances were held accountable: one was the necessity of getting the horses to water, and the other was the fact that it was just a bad luck day all through.
We came upon the lions early in the morning, close to the base of the southern volcano. This particular pair of lions must have been shot over at one time or another, for they did not wait to satisfy any curiosity as to our intentions, but fled at once for the safety of the mountain. Although we gave chase immediately, their lead was so great and the distance to the mountains so short, that they were soon lost to us in the gullies and crevices of the foothills.
It was while we were trying to pick up the lost trail of the lions that we flushed a cheetah out of one of the dongas.[2] It broke away along the foothills, and finally stopped at bay in a district where the going was so bad for the horses that we had to give up the attempt.
[2] Donga.—a gully.
With the rhinoceros we had scarcely any chance whatsoever. The Colonel, who was scouting the country to the northward of the line of march, caught a glimpse of the beast in the adjacent valley. By the time he had come back to get us and we had ridden in pursuit, the rhino had disappeared.
We found his trail leading still farther to the northward, and dismounted and looked down at it in silence. No comments were made. No comments were necessary. Every one knew that for lack of water the horses were too done up to follow.
Means had dismounted a little to one side of the group, and for a while he stood there with his arms resting on his saddle, gazing back over the way we had come. Presently he remarked to the world at large: Excitement has certainly been runnin' high all day. We mounted then; and, instead of hunting the rhino farther, we rode the jaded horses slowly into camp and put a proper finish to a bad luck day by holding a consultation.
The Wangai River is no river at all; merely a small spring in the shadow of the range that crosses the head of the valley. But the spring could supply sufficient water for all our needs. Also, the problem of transportation demanded that Ulyate should return to Kijabe and bring up another wagon with supplies before the journey over the Mau into the Sotik could be undertaken. Then, too, here in the Rift Valley we had seen both lion and rhino, and there was always the chance of finding them again. The consultation resulted in the decision to make a permanent camp here and hunt the neighboring country until Ulyate should return.
For the succeeding three days the Colonel laid out a plan of campaign; simple, but effective, and limited only by the necessity of keeping within reasonable distance of the water. The plan consisted of a series of drives; one in a northeasterly, one in an easterly, and one in a southeasterly direction. By this means we would cover in turn all the territory at the head of the valley.
The Colonel was anxious to try again for the rhino he had seen on the march the day before, and for this reason the drive to the northeast was inaugurated first. Every member of the expedition took part in these drives. The Colonel and the writer at one end, and the two cowboys at the other, occupied the extreme positions. Between the right and left wings stretched a long line of porters, under the command of two escaris, and with Kearton and Gobbet in the center with the cameras. The dogs on leash and the saises carrying water for the horses brought up the rear. When finally formed, the line of the drive extended approximately five miles, and the cameras and the dogs were so placed that they could be brought to either end of the line with the utmost despatch. Two shots fired in quick succession would be the signal to gather.
That first day's drive brought little success. To begin with, we were late in starting, so that the sun had already risen before we moved out of camp; and besides, the porters were new at that kind of work and had to be halted and reformed many times before they understood what was wanted.
The land across which we were driving lay at the very edge of the valley, and was consequently somewhat broken into small hills and hollows. By the time we came to the old rhino trail, the day was well advanced. But no fresh tracks were to be found up and down the entire length of the hollow, nor was anything to be seen of the beast from the next hill to the northward, which we climbed to search the country ahead. There was only a large herd of hartebeests grazing on the plains below.
The Colonel retreated halfway down the hill and fired two shots from his revolver. Somewhere beyond our range of vision we heard the two shots repeated, and at the end of a little more than half an hour all the members of the drive were gathered on the hillside below the crest.
Then the Colonel explained the reason for his signal. The rhino was not there. We might still find him, and we might not. The chances were now that we should not. He had probably left the country for good and was already miles away. In the meanwhile a good opportunity offered for rounding up the herd of hartebeests in the plain below and driving them up the hillside to the cameras.
On top of the hill was a small clearing, the edges of which were fringed with scrub. While the Colonel and the cowboys maneuvered to circle the herd, Kearton placed the cameras in the clearing, with the northern line of scrub as a background for the intended picture.
For a long time there was silence. Then suddenly the scrub sprang into life, and the next instant the herd dashed into the clearing in a cloud of dust that was pierced by a hundred startled eyes and tossing horns. At the sight of the cameras the herd broke and scattered in every direction; but the horsemen, pressing them close, roped one in the open, and held him to have his picture taken, and then let him go.
On the second drive, over the lowlands to the east, the porters worked better; but, although we covered a far greater territory, the total result was the roping and photographing of a serval-cat that we flushed on the way back to camp.
The third drive carried us well out toward the southern volcano where we had seen the lions on the march from Rugged Rocks, but this time there was no trace of them anywhere in the land. Means, however, found a cheetah, and the two faint reports of his signal brought us together on the run.
We came upon Means seated on his horse in a bit of the veldt that was covered all over with tufts of rank grass, so that it looked like a swamp that had been dry for ages. Near by ran a small, shallow donga.
When the rest of us rode up to him, he merely pointed at one of the tufts of grass behind which the cheetah lay crouched.
There followed a brief delay, while a plan of maneuver was made and expounded, while the tripods were set up, the cameras screwed on, and the ropers moved out to their appointed places.
Then all at once the cheetah started, and, instead of breaking away, as we had calculated he would, he doubled on his tracks and made for the shelter of the donga. It was a quick, sharp race—and the cheetah won. He hid in the scrub at the bottom of the ditch. The native porters collected there and complacently regarded the scene, and the members of the drive ranged themselves on either bank and offered innumerable suggestions as to what had better be done next.
But in the midst of it all the Colonel put an emphatic end to the discussion. He rode into the donga with his rope swinging free, and when the cheetah failed to spring at him, he dropped the noose over the animal's head and dragged him out on to the open veldt, where his picture could be properly taken.
The black porters looking on commenced speaking in low tones in their native tongue, and nodded and grinned at each other as they had done before. But this time Mac was among them. Mac was Kearton's tent-boy. He originally came from Somaliland and spoke English. He was called upon to explain what the porters said.
"Please," he began. "They are very bad men, these people, but don't be sorry. They say—they say that, of course, the white gentlemen are able to do what they want to do, but just the same they are all crazy."
That night we held our second consultation. Ulyate had returned from Kijabe with the extra wagonload of supplies, which placed us in a position to move again immediately. The question now arose as to whether it would be best to remain where we were a few days longer to gain more experience, or to trek at once over the Mau, with a chance at giraffe on the way, and so on into the Sotik country, with its alluring promises of both rhino and lion.
By this time we had hunted the Rift Valley thoroughly. During the seven days since we had left Kijabe, the expedition had roped and photographed a cheetah, a serval-cat, a hartebeest, an eland, and a wart-hog. Although we had been given no opportunity yet to find out how we were going to hold a rhino or what we would do when the lion charged, still, in addition to our success with the lesser animals, we had acquired something else of value. All the members of the expedition had learned to work well together—in all the usual emergencies each man knew what was expected of him and could likewise make a ready guess as to what the others intended doing. Thus, in spite of the fact that on an expedition of this kind it is the unexpected that always happens, our experience only added to our confidence that when we eventually encountered one of the larger beasts we should get him.
The consultation ended with the unanimous decision to start for the Sotik at dawn.
In the October number Mr. Scull will relate the; adventures of the Buffalo Jones African Expedition in Lassoing Giraffe and Rhinoceros.
***************************************************************** VOL. XXIII September 1910 NO. 3
THE WOMEN OF TO-MORROW {page 368-379 part 2.}
By WILLIAM HARD
Dear General Reader, please let that sentence stand for the thousand words (much like those of a competent barker at the door of a show-tent) which you usually oblige an author to expend on enticing you into reading his article. Think how much time you save by walking straight into the tent and observing that—
THE First International Congress on Domestic Science and Arts was held in 1908 at Freiburg in Switzerland. It as no improvised amateur uplift, private-theatricals affair.
The head of the organizing committee was M. Python, president of Freiburg's State Council. Seventy-two papers on technical topics were printed and circulated beforehand. The participating members numbered seven hundred. The discussions developed the characteristic points of the three rival breeds of household-arts instruction—the German, the Swiss, and the Belgian. Visits were made to the normal schools of Freiburg, Berne, and Zurich, in each of which there is an elaborate system for the training of household-arts teachers. In the end, in order that facts and ideas about the education of girls for their duties as house-keepers might be more rapidly circulated, it was voted to establish, at some place in Switzerland, a Permanent International Information Committee.
Thus, in an age in which the productive tasks of the home have almost all been surrendered to the factory; in an age in which even cooking and sewing, last puny provinces of a once ample empire, are forever making concessions of territory to those barbarian invaders, the manufacturers of ready-to-eat foods and ready-to-wear clothes; in an age in which home industry lies fainting and gasping, while Mrs. Charlotte Perkins Gilman begs the spectators to say "thumbs-down" and let her put it out of its agony altogether—in such an age there comes, at Freiburg, in this First International Congress on Domestic Science and Arts, the most serious, the most notable, recognition. ever given in any age to the home's economic value.
A real paradox? Well, at any rate, it gives wings to the fluttering thought that theories of industrial evolution, one's own as well as Mrs. Gilman's, are a bit like automobiles—not always all that they are cranked up to be.
Certainly the revival of the home seems to attract larger crowds to the mourners' bench every year.
At the University of Missouri the first crop of graduates in Home Economics was gathered this last spring. They were seven. And as most of them took likewise a degree in Education, it may be assumed that they will go forth to spread the gospel.
Their preceptress, Miss Edna D. Day, who next year will head the just-organized Department of Home Economics in the University of Kansas, is a novel type of new woman in that she has earned the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in "Woman's Sphere." She took graduate work in the Department of Home Administration in the University of Chicago and achieved her doctorate with an investigation into "The Effect of Cooling on the Digestibility of Starch." What she found out was subsequently printed as a bulletin by the United States Department of Agriculture.
In the midst of the festivities at the wake held over The Home, it perplexes the mourners to learn that some of those domestic science bulletins of the United States Department of Agriculture excite a demand for a million copies.
It is a wake like Mike McCarthy's.
Mike was lookin' iligantAs he rested there in state.
But
When the fun was at its heightMcCarthy sat up straight.
The ballad (one of the most temperately worded of literary successes) goes on to say that "the effect was great." So it has been in this case—great enough to be felt all the way around the world.
It is being felt in the Island Empire of the East. Miss Ume Tsuda's Institute at Tokyo (which stands so high that its graduates are allowed to teach in secondary schools without further government examination) has installed courses in English domestic science as well as in the domestic science of Japan.
It is being felt in the Island Empire of the West. King's College, of the University of London, has organized a three-year course leading to the degree of Mistress of Home Science, and has also established a "Post-Graduates' Course in Home Science," in which out of fourteen students (in this its first year of existence) four are graduates of the courses of academic study of Oxford or Cambridge.
It is being felt in the United States at every educational level.
It has familiarized us with household arts in the public schools, and we are not astonished to learn that in the public schools of Boston in every grade above the third, there is sewing or cooking, or both, for 120 minutes every week for every girl.
It has accustomed us to such news as that in Illinois there are fifty-eight public high schools in which instruction is offered in one or more of the three following subjects: Food, Clothing, or The Home.
It has brought us to the point of expecting domestic science in all schools of agriculture and of regarding it as natural for the legislature of Montana to appropriate $50,000 to the State Agricultural College for a woman's dormitory.
It has cushioned the shock of the tidings from the University of California to the effect that entrance credit will this fall be given for high school domestic science work.
We are reduced to equanimity in the face of the fact (which might have frenzied Alexander Hamilton) that Columbia University, through its Teachers College, is offering courses in Elementary Cookery, in Shirt-waists, in Domestic Laundering, and in Housewifery.
And at last, when we see the resuscitated home making its way even into the really-truly, more-than-masculinely, academic Eastern women's colleges, we rush up to the Mike McCarthy of this case and assure him warmly that we were not deceived for a moment by his apparent demise, having just learned that President Hazard of Wellesley College, in her latest commencement address, said: "I hope the time may soon come when we can have a department of domestic science, which shall give a sound basis for the problems of the household "
What does it all mean?
"Fellow-Citizens," said the colored orator reported by Dr. Paul Monroe of Columbia, "what am education? Education am the palladium of our liberties and the grand pandemonium of civilization."
But it does mean something, this Home Economics disturbance. ANDSOMETHING VERY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT IT SEEMS TO.
Mr. Edward T. Devine. of the New York Charity Organization Society, has distinguished himself in the field of economic thought as well as in the field of active social reform. Among his works is a minute but momentous treatise on "The Economic Function of Women." It is really a plea for the proposition that to-day the art of consuming wealth is just as important a study as the art of producing it.
"If acquisition," says Mr. Devine, "has been the idea which in the past history of economics has been unduly emphasized, expenditure is the idea which the future history of the science will place beside it."
We have used our brains while getting hold of money. We are going to use our brains while getting rid of it. We have studied banking, engineering, shop practice, cost systems, salesmanship. We are going to study food values, the hygiene of clothing, the sanitary construction and operation of living quarters, the mental reaction of amusements, the distribution of income, the art of making choices, according to our means, from among the millions of things, harmful and helpful, ugly and beautiful, offered to us by the producing world.
Mr. Devine ventures to hope that "we may look for a radical improvement in general economic conditions from a wiser use of the wealth which we have chosen to produce."
This enlarged view of the economic importance of Consumption brings with it a correspondingly enlarged view of the economic importance of the Home. "If the Factory," says Mr. Devine, "has been the center of the economics which has had to do with production, the Home will displace the Factory as the center of interest in a system which gives due prominence to Enjoyment and Use."
"There will result," continues Mr. Devine, "an increased respect on the part of economists for the industrial function which woman performs," for "there is no economic function higher than that of determining how wealth shall be used," so that "even if man remain the chief producer of wealth and woman remain the chief factor in determining how wealth shall be used, the economic position of woman will not be considered by those who judge with discrimination to be inferior to that of man."
Mr. Devine then lays out for the economist a task in the discharge of which the innocent bystander will sincerely wish him a pleasant trip and a safe return.
"It is the present duty of the economist," says Mr. Devine, "to accompany the wealth expender to the very threshold of the home, that he may point out, with untiring vigilance, its emptiness, caused not so much by lack of income as by lack of knowledge of how to spend wisely."
Mr. Deville's proposition therefore would seem finally to sanction some such conclusion as this:
Physical science and social science (and common sense) are making such important contributions to the subject of the rearing of children and to the subject of the maintenance of wholesome and beautiful living conditions and to the subject of the use of leisure that, while the home woman has lost almost all of the productive industries which she once controlled, she has simultaneously gained a whole new field of labor. Consumption has ceased to be merely PASSIVE and has become ACTIVE. It has ceased to be mere ABSORPTION and has become CHOICE. And the active choosing of the products of the world (both spiritual and material) in connection with her children, her house, and her spare time has developed for the home woman into a task so broad, into an art so difficult, as to require serious study.
We have quoted at length from Mr. Devine's discourse because it is recognized as the classic statement of the case and because it is warmly commended by such women as Mrs. Ellen H. Richards, of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, whose skill as scientist and vision as philosopher have made her the most authoritative personality in the American Home Economics Association. (That association, by the way, has some fifteen hundred due-paying members.)
The scales fall from our eyes now and we see at least one thing which we had not seen before. We had supposed that sewing and cooking were the vitals of the Home Economics movement. Not at all! The home woman might cease altogether to sew and to cook (just as she has ceased altogether to spin, weave, brew, etc.) without depriving the Home Economics movement of any considerable part of its driving power. Sewing and cooking are productive processes. They add economic value to certain commodities; namely, cloth and food. But it is not Production, it is Consumption, which the Home Economics movement is at heart devoted to.
This is plainly set forth by some of its most zealous workers. Thus Edna D. Day, at the Lake Placid Conference on Home Economics in 1908, was more or less sorry that "domestic science has come to be so largely sewing and cooking in our schools," was quite willing to look at the white of the eye of the fact that "more and more we are buying ready-made clothes and ready-cooked foods," and marked out the policy of her "Survey Course in Home Economics" at the University of Missouri in the statement that "sewing and cooking are decreasingly home problems, while the problems of wise buying, of adjusting standards of living to income, and of developing right feelings in regard to family responsibilities are increasingly difficult."
To choose and use the world's resources intelligently on behalf of family and community—in this Mr. Devine sees a new field of action, in this Mrs. Richards sees a new field of education.
Women will train themselves for their duties as consumers or else continue to lie under the sentence of condemnation pronounced upon them by Florence Nightingale. "Three-fourths of the mischief in women's lives," said she, "arises from their excepting themselves from the rule of training considered necessary for men."
But what, in this case, is the training proposed?
The answer to that question will cause some more scales to fall from our eyes. Just as we have seen that Home Economics does not consist essentially of sewing and cooking, we shall see that Consumption is not at all a specialized technique in the sense in which electrical engineering, department store buying, railroading, cotton manufacturing, medicine, and the other occupations of the outside world are specialized technigues. Home Economics will not narrow women's education but in the end will enlarge it, because Consumption, instead of being a specialty, is a generality so broad as almost to glitter.
AT Menomonie, Wisconsin, Mr. L. D. Harvey, lately president of the National Education Association, has established a Homemakers' School. It does not turn out teachers. Its course of instruction is solely for the prospective housewife.
The first grand division of study is The House.
We here observe that the housewife is going to be something of a Sanitary Engineer, since she studies Chemistry, Physics, and Bacteriology in their "application to such subjects as the heating, lighting, ventilation, and plumbing of a house." It is thought that knowledge of this sort "will go a long way toward improving the health conditions of the country."
We also observe that the housewife is going to be something of an Interior Decorator, since she studies "design, color, house planning and furnishing."
She also acquires some skill as Purchasing Agent, Bookkeeper, and Employer of Labor when she takes the course on Household Management and studies "the proper apportioning of income among the different lines of home expenditures, the systematizing and keeping of household accounts, and the question of domestic service."
The second grand division is Food Study and Preparation.
Here the housewife becomes, to some extent, a Dietitian, studying "the chemical processes in the preparation and digestion of foods," and considering the question "how she shall secure for the family the foods best suited to the various activities of each individual."
Here, likewise, she makes a start toward being a Pure Food Expert, through a study of "physical and chemical changes induced in food products by the growth of molds, yeasts, and bacteria," and a start toward being a Health Officer, through a study of "bacteria in their relation to disease, sources of infection, personal and household disinfection."
Nor does she omit to acquire some of the technique of the Physical Director through a course in Physiology bearing on "digestion, storage of energy, rest, sleep, exercise, and regularity of habits."
Of course, in her work in cookery, she pays some attention to special cookery for invalids.
The third grand division, that of Clothing and Household Fabrics, produces a Dressmaker, a Milliner, and an Embroiderer, as well as a person trained to see to it that "the expenditure for clothing shall be correct in proportion to the expenditure for other purposes."
The fourth grand division, the Care of Children, is of course limitless. The rearing of the human young is, as we all know and as Mr. Eliot of Harvard has insisted, the most intellectual occupation in the world. Here the homemaker applies all the knowledge she has gained from her study of the hygiene of foods and of the hygiene of clothes, and also makes some progress toward becoming a Trained Nurse and a Kindergartner by means of researches into "infant diseases and emergencies," "the stages of the mental development of the child," "the child's imagination with regard to truth-telling and deceit," "the history of children's books," and "the art of story-telling."
Passing over the fifth grand division, Home Nursing and Emergencies (in which the pupil learns simply "the use of household remedies," "the care of the sick-room," etc.), we come to the wide expanse of the sixth grand division, Home and Social Economics.
The work in this division begins with a study of the primitive evolution of the home and comes on down to the present time, when "the passing of many of the former lines of woman's work into the factory has brought to many women leisure time which should be spent in social service."
Note that last fact carefully. Home Economics is no attempt to drive women back into home seclusion. On the contrary, it is an attempt to bring the home and its occupants into the scientific and sociological developments of the outside world.
For this reason, in traversing the division of Home and Social Economics, the pupil encounters "an attempt to determine problems in civic life which seem to be a part of the duties of women."
Seventhly and lastly, there is a division dedicated to Literature, in which "a systematic course in reading is carried on through the two years." Indispensable! No degree of proficiency at inserting calories in correct numbers in to Little Sally's stomach could atone for lack of skill at leading Little Sally herself in morning strolls through the "Child's Garden of Verses," with trowel in hand to dig up the gayest plants and reset them in the memory.
Which brings us back to the observation that the Consumption ofWealth is a generality.
The homemaker may happen to be a specialist in some one direction, but it is clear that she cannot simultaneously know as much about food values as the real dietitian, as much about the physical care of her child as the real trained nurse, as much about the wholesomeness of her living arrangements as the real sanitarian, as much about music as the Thomas Orchestra, as much about social service as Mr. Devine, and as much about poems as Mr. Stevenson. Her peculiar equipment, if she is a good homemaker, is a round of experience and a bent of mind which make it possible for her to cooperate intelligently with the dietitian, the trained nurse, the sanitarian, the Thomas Orchestra, Mr. Devine, Mr. Stevenson, and the various other representatives of the various other specialized techniques of the outside world.
It follows that her school discipline cannot be too comprehensive. No other occupation demands such breadth of sense and sensibility. One could make a perfectly good cotton manufacturer on the basis of a very narrow training. One cannot make a good consumer without a really LIBERAL EDUCATION.