“I SUDDENLY HEARD A WILD SNORT, FOLLOWED BY AN AGONIZED SCREAM FROM THE REAR OF THE WAGON.”
“I SUDDENLY HEARD A WILD SNORT, FOLLOWED BY AN AGONIZED SCREAM FROM THE REAR OF THE WAGON.”
We had cut most of them loose and the water had risen above our waists, when I suddenly heard a wild snort, followed by an agonized scream from the rear of the wagon, and the next moment my horse was down, and three of the boys, with yells of terror, were making for the island. “Hurry up, baas,” remarked Jim,coolly; “lo ingwania” (crocodiles). As he spoke there was a huge splash alongside me, and down went one of the oxen, the water round us turning a sickening red.
I must confess that at that moment I lost heart completely, and shouting to the other two boys, who had climbed on to the wagon, to make for the island, I grabbed Jim by the arm and literally had to drag him away, the brave fellow wanting to remain and loosen the remainder of the oxen. We reached the land in safety, and, turning to look for the other two boys, saw that they were still on the wagon, being afraid to venture into the momentarily-deepening water. I shouted to them to come away, but without avail. Just then Jim touched me on the shoulder and pointed up the river. Looking in the direction indicated, I beheld a line of foam stretching from bank to bank, and coming towards us like an express train. The two boys on the wagon also saw it, and one of them plunged off into the water, which was now running swiftly, and in a few seconds was carried down to us, Jim catching hold of him and hauling him up on to the higher ground. There was not a moment to spare, for we could plainly see that the onrushing water would overwhelm us where we now stood.
Yelling to the boys to follow my example, I made a rush for a good-sized tree which stood on the summit of the island—now looking little more than a large mound. Getting a lift from Jim, I was soon in its topmost branches. Three of the boys were already perched in trees, but the fourth, the boy who had swum from the wagon, not having recovered his wind, was clinging helplessly round a tree-trunk, too exhausted to pull himself up. Noticing his predicament, Jim rushed across and, giving him a shove, sent him up on to the lower branches. The water was now almost upon us, and I shouted to Jim to follow the boy up the tree, but my voice was drowned by the roar of the flood. He ran towards me, then hesitated, glanced round, and saw the roaring wall of water within about fifty yards of him. The sight seemed to paralyze him for a moment; then, with a spring, he reached a small tree which was within a few yards of him, and, clambering like a monkey, reached the top just as the water struck the wagon. The heavy vehicle was picked up in the swirling tide as though it had been a straw, the boy Zuzi clinging to the top until it was nearly abreast with us. Then it rolled over and over, and he disappeared from view, never to be seen again.
I had scarcely had time to realize that the boy was gone when I noticed that the remainder of the oxen which had been standing beneath us were adrift. The poor beasts swam desperately, but it was no use—they were carried away like flies on the raging torrent.
Darkness was now falling fast, and the water had completely covered the island, while the trees were swaying in a manner which brought my heart into my mouth; I expected every moment to see them torn out by the roots. What made matters worse was that pieces of timber, uprooted trees, etc., coming down-stream at racing pace, would strike the trunks of the trees we were sheltered in with terrific force, and the smaller trees were one by one uprooted and carried away in this manner.
I clung desperately to my perch for about two hours, expecting every moment that my frail support would give way. By that time it was pitch-dark, and, feeling cold and stiff in my wet clothes, I shifted my position a little; I could see nothing of the boys in the darkness, and shouting brought me no answer. I moved about as carefully as possible, seeking a better position, and at length found a more comfortable place in a fork a little lower down. Here—cold, wet, and miserable—I could do nothing but wait for daylight. I had now lost everything I possessed, my wagon and oxen representing nearly the whole of my capital. I felt deeply for the loss of the poor boy Zuzi and my faithful old horse, and would willingly have sacrificed the wagon and oxen could I have saved these two. I blamed myself bitterly for having made the foolhardy attempt to cross, and with these and other equally bitter reflections the long hours of darkness dragged slowly through. When, after what had seemed ages, the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, I uttered a prayer of thankfulness; and as the daylight became clearer and surrounding objects visible, I looked anxiously round to see how my boys were faring.
I first caught sight of the three boys who had escaped when the crocodiles pulled my horse down, and a little farther on I saw Pete, who had been helped up by Jim, but of Jim himself I could see no trace. Trembling with horror, I began to realize that he had gone. The flood had by now practically spent itself, and the top of the island was again visible. I called out to the three boys who were nearest the spot where Jim’s tree had been, and, in a voice which I could scarcely recognise as my own, asked them where Jim was. Their answer only confirmed my worst fears.
“Jim hambili, baas, blakla futi” (“Jim gone, master, tree and all”).
“THE HEAVY VEHICLE WAS PICKED UP IN THE SWIRLING TIDE AS THOUGH IT HAD BEEN A STRAW.”
“THE HEAVY VEHICLE WAS PICKED UP IN THE SWIRLING TIDE AS THOUGH IT HAD BEEN A STRAW.”
This was the worst blow of all, for Jim, though only a raw native when I had first got him, had been with me for over five years and was deeplyattached to me. Bitterly I cursed my folly in not taking his advice, trying to console myself with the reflection that he might somehow have managed to reach the opposite bank, though in my inmost soul I knew this to be almost an impossibility, as the river was full of crocodiles, who lurked on the lower side of all the small islands, awaiting their opportunity to rush out and seize anybody or anything that might be carried past them by the water. The water was now going down slowly but surely; and, as it sank, our little island grew larger and larger. It must have been about nine o’clock when I climbed down out of the tree and stretched my stiffened limbs once again. I called the boys down, and they came gladly, but all the time casting anxious glances around them, fearful of a visit from the crocodiles again. I did not apprehend much danger from these brutes now, however, as those in theimmediate vicinity would probably have gone farther down the river after the cattle.
The morning passed slowly away and I began to feel hungry, but there was nothing to eat. About eleven o’clock some natives came down to the river-bank from the “staad” on the opposite side, and shouted to us to remain where we were until the afternoon; the river, they thought, would have gone down sufficiently by that time to enable us to make an attempt to reach the mainland. The sun had dried the greater part of the island by this time, and, telling one of the boys to keep a look-out, I lay down under a tree and was soon fast asleep. I slept on until about four o’clock, when a boy awakened me, and, glancing round, I saw that the water had gone down enough to warrant our making an attempt to get across. The natives who had been on the bank in the morning had meanwhile returned, and were gesticulating and shouting to us to come away. The boys, whilst I had been asleep, had made a long strip of “n’tambo” (rope) from the bark of the trees, and, fastening this around my waist, I secured the others to it, each boy being as far from the next as the length of the rope would permit. Then, with myself leading, we started off. The current was still very strong, and, had we not been roped together, would undoubtedly have carried us off our feet. We could stand all right in the shallower places, but when I came to a strip of deep water the boys let out the rope until I had got over, then I in turn would pull them over. In this manner we finally reached the bank and were helped out by the natives from the “staad.” After resting a little I accompanied them to their kraal, where my boys were fed and rested.
Learning from the headman that he had already sent a number of men down the river-bank in search of anything that might have been washed up, I partook of a little mealie meal, which was the best he could offer, and, having washed it down with copious draughts of new milk, lay down on a bundle of skins and once more fell asleep, being utterly exhausted by the previous night’s hardship and the struggle we had made to get out of the river.
I must have been asleep several hours when I was awakened by a light touch, and, sitting up, saw the headman, who explained that his boys had returned, having found several cases of provisions, etc., and asked me if I would not like some food. I made a good meal and once more retired to rest, sleeping soundly until sunrise the following morning. Rising early, I sent a number of men to search the river-banks whilst I was having my breakfast, telling them that I would follow later. They had been gone about an hour, and I was preparing to follow them, when one of my own boys came running towards me from the direction of the river, breathlessly informing me that they had found Jim, and that he was alive, but had been badly mauled about by a crocodile. I immediately started off at a run, the boy leading the way through the bush to a spot where the river turned off to the left, about a mile farther down. There, under a tree, surrounded by half-a-dozen natives, lay Jim. He was in a fearful plight, one arm being almost eaten away and the whole side of his body mangled in an awful manner; he was still conscious, however, and recognised me immediately. I at once set to work to construct a kind of litter with branches and boughs, and, laying him carefully on it, ordered the boys to carry him back to the kraal. As they were moving off I asked one of the natives where they had found him. Pointing to what at first sight looked like a large hole in the ground, the boy answered, “Lapa, baas, hya ka lo ingwania” (“Here, mas’er, in the crocodile’s house”). I approached the place and, looking down the hole, was astonished to see a large chamber beneath and a small tunnel which seemed to lead down to the water. The ground forming the roof of the chamber had been worn away a good deal, and the crocodile, in turning round in the hole with his victim, had evidently broken the crust above, thus exposing his hiding-place.
I followed the boys back to the kraal, and pulling poor Jim in a hut carefully washed his wounds, doing all I could for him. He remained conscious the whole morning and told me that during the night, whilst he was on the island, his tree, which was not a very strong one, had been struck several times by floating driftwood. Towards midnight, as near as he could remember, a heavier log than usual had crashed into it, carrying it away completely. He had clung desperately to the branches in the hope of reaching the bank when he got to the curve in the river, and had managed to keep himself above water until he found himself floating in a place where the water was smoother and running less rapidly. Divining that he must be near one of the banks, he tried to reach it by swimming, but had only made a few strokes when he suddenly felt himself seized by one arm, and was immediately dragged under the water. He had just had time to realize that it was a crocodile which had got him when he lost consciousness. When he recovered his senses again he found himself in a hole, lying on dry ground, with the sunlight streaming in through a small opening above. There was no sign of the crocodile, and suffering agonies from his wounds he managed to drag himself up to the orifice,where he at last gut out his hunting-knife, which still hung on to his belt, and, digging at the edges of the cavity, tried to enlarge it so that he could crawl through. Weakness overcame him, however, and he fainted again. At last, hearing voices above him, he once more tried to get out, and, managing to put his uninjured arm up through the hole, had attracted the attention of the boys, who were searching near.
“IN THIS MANNER WE FINALLY REACHED THE BANK.”
“IN THIS MANNER WE FINALLY REACHED THE BANK.”
I could plainly see that the poor fellow was past all hope, but I did all I could to ease his last moments for him. In the afternoon he became unconscious again, and at about five o’clock passed quietly away. I buried him under a large tree, near the entrance to the circle of small kopjes by which the “staad” was surrounded, and, cutting a small wooden cross, nailed it to the tree, with the simple inscription, “Jim. 21-10-’02.”
Next day, sad at heart, I started off to Pietersburg, having to walk the whole way. Here I reported the matter to the police, who sent out a patrol to investigate the affair, and there the matter ended so far as I was concerned. I never recovered any of the oxen, and the wagon, or the remains of it, so far as I am aware, still lies in the river-bed. I have never done any trading in that district since.
Illustrated version of the heading below
By A. Pitcairn-Knowles.
There is more tobacco per head consumed in Belgium than in any other country in the world. It is therefore fitting, perhaps, that one of the favourite pastimes of the menfolk should be smoking competitions, at which valuable prizes are awarded to the man who can make his pipeful of tobacco last the longest. Our representative was recently the guest of honour at a competition held by the premier smokers’ club of Belgium, and here describes and illustrates what he saw.
There is more tobacco per head consumed in Belgium than in any other country in the world. It is therefore fitting, perhaps, that one of the favourite pastimes of the menfolk should be smoking competitions, at which valuable prizes are awarded to the man who can make his pipeful of tobacco last the longest. Our representative was recently the guest of honour at a competition held by the premier smokers’ club of Belgium, and here describes and illustrates what he saw.
BRUGSCHE ROOKERSCLUB.Honoured Sir and Member,—Once more an honour is being bestowed upon us. Mr. A. Pitcairn-Knowles, the representative of three journals of world-wide reputation, will be present at our general meeting on Friday next, and will give an account of this gathering in one or perhaps in all of those papers. We have, therefore, decided to commence the meeting at an earlier hour. We shall assemble at 8.30 p.m., and open the entertainment with a grand prize competition, and we urgently beg you to put in an appearance, as the reputation of our club depends to a great extent upon the success of the fête. As true smokers you should look upon it as your duty to join us at 8.30 p.m. sharp, on Friday, the 11th inst. Accept, honoured Sir and Member, the greetings of your devoted committee.—(For the President) The Second Secretary,L. Monballiu.
BRUGSCHE ROOKERSCLUB.
Honoured Sir and Member,—Once more an honour is being bestowed upon us. Mr. A. Pitcairn-Knowles, the representative of three journals of world-wide reputation, will be present at our general meeting on Friday next, and will give an account of this gathering in one or perhaps in all of those papers. We have, therefore, decided to commence the meeting at an earlier hour. We shall assemble at 8.30 p.m., and open the entertainment with a grand prize competition, and we urgently beg you to put in an appearance, as the reputation of our club depends to a great extent upon the success of the fête. As true smokers you should look upon it as your duty to join us at 8.30 p.m. sharp, on Friday, the 11th inst. Accept, honoured Sir and Member, the greetings of your devoted committee.—(For the President) The Second Secretary,L. Monballiu.
THE GORGEOUS BANNER OF THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.From a Photograph.
THE GORGEOUS BANNER OF THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.
From a Photograph.
Such were the contents of a printed notice in Flemish sent out to all members of the Bruges Smoking Club, as a result of my expressing a desire to the indefatigable secretary of this most famous of all Belgian “Rookersclubs” to witness one of their quaint smokers’ competitions.
I am glad to be able to state that the invitation issued to the Bruges devotees of the fragrant weed had the desired effect, and when I reached the cosy Graenenburg Estaminet of the Grande Place I found the obliging secretary and the genial president of the Smokers’ Club preparing for a record attendance, which, judging from the number already present, seemed assured. My introduction to the assembly was looked upon as needless, since everyone present was acquainted with the reason for my admission within the precincts of the club, and the most strenuous efforts were made to render my visit to the Graenenburg an agreeable one.
In response to the invitation of the secretary, I ascended a steep staircaseleading from the café to a room reserved for the club. It was there that the solemn function of admitting new members took place, and general regrets were expressed that my visit had not been made upon a day which would have presented an opportunity for witnessing such a ceremony. As it was, I had to content myself with an inspection of the paten, to which, on such an occasion, the would-be member had to press his lips after taking an oath in the following words: “I pledge myself solemnly to be a faithful and honest member of the club, and to conform strictly to the rules.” Previously to installation, he had to furnish proof of his suitability for election by smoking a pipe in the presence of the committee.
A CURIOUS AND VERY ANCIENT PIPE-RACK IN THE POSSESSION OF THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.From a Photograph.
A CURIOUS AND VERY ANCIENT PIPE-RACK IN THE POSSESSION OF THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.
From a Photograph.
Although I had not the good fortune to be present at such an inauguration, time did not hang heavily on my hands while waiting for the smokers to prepare for the contest.
THE JUDGES WEIGHING OUT THE COMPETITORS’ ALLOWANCES OF TOBACCO AND FILLING THE PIPES.From a Photograph.
THE JUDGES WEIGHING OUT THE COMPETITORS’ ALLOWANCES OF TOBACCO AND FILLING THE PIPES.
From a Photograph.
Glancing around the room I noticed with interest a large shield adorning the wall, upon which was arranged an assortment of most curious pipes, representing all corners of the globe. In fact, the place was a veritable museum of pipes, giving silent testimony of the character and degree of culture attained, as well asof the individual taste of smokers of almost every nation of the world. The lordly meerschaum, elaborately carved; the Turkish chibouque; the “hubble-bubble,” in which the fumes pass through water; the long German pipe, with its china bowl adorned with a gay picture; the Indian’s pipe of peace—all, their functions finished, now hang side by side in idle repose. A huge pipe carved from the stump of a tree and a pipe with a sea-shell for a bowl were conspicuous among the curiosities of the collection.
After my inspection of the museum the labour of deciphering the rules of the club, in Flemish, came as a less welcome task, but the secretary, always ready to be of service, aided my efforts, and I was able to discover the real objects of the association.
A casual observer might be somewhat surprised to find that a society of this kind should require numerous laws and regulations, but a glimpse at the workings behind the scenes of a Belgian “Rookersclub” furnishes convincing proof that the number of rules is in no way excessive, considering the importance of the institution, for the strictest discipline is asine quâ nonin a well-conducted “Rookersclub.”
Many are the duties of the members and the regulations for competitions. No applicant can be elected unless he has reached the age of eighteen. Cigars and cigarettes are tabooed, the pipe being looked upon as the only justifiable means of satisfying that craving which makes us slaves to the weed. The chief object of the club being to teach, through its disciples, the world at large the use of tobacco and to guard against its abuse, it wisely refrains from over-indulgence, and asks no more from its members than that they should “smoke at least one pipe at every club meeting.”
THE CONTEST IN FULL SWING.From a Photograph.
THE CONTEST IN FULL SWING.
From a Photograph.
The picture the words “smoking competition” call up to the mind’s eye of the uninitiated, of competitors sitting in a room made almost unbearable by the dense volumes of smoke they are vigorously puffing from their pipes, is as far from the reality as it is possible to imagine. When I stepped into the spick and span Café Graenenburg I was certainly under the impression that I was conversant with the science of smoking, though I must own I had up to that time been willing to accept with blind faith its dictionary definition as “a continuous drawing in and puffing out of the fumes of burning tobacco,” which is, I assume, what nine hundred andninety-nine out of a thousand of my fellow-smokers look upon as the desideratum of their enjoyment.
“SMOKE, PLEASE!” A COMMITTEEMAN DEMANDING PROOF THAT A COMPETITOR’S PIPE IS STILL ALIGHT.From a Photograph.
“SMOKE, PLEASE!” A COMMITTEEMAN DEMANDING PROOF THAT A COMPETITOR’S PIPE IS STILL ALIGHT.
From a Photograph.
Now, however, after half the term usually allotted for mankind’s existence upon this earth had run out, the truth dawned upon me that I had hitherto been chasing shadows, and would have to learn all over again. Smoking was, I began to realize, not the simple, easy pastime I had considered it to be, but an art which one might only expect to master after careful study, silent pondering, and steady practice. In this humble frame of mind I lost no time in repairing to an expert for instruction in the management of a pipe, so that all fatal mistakes should be avoided at the outset of my second schooling; and now that I am on the high road towards experiencing hitherto dimly-conceived moments of unalloyed bliss, let me impart my experience as a valuable secret to those who lie under the same mistaken impression which I once fostered. In the words of my preceptor: “The true art of smoking consists in reducing the combustion to a minimum, and yet never allowing the pipe to go out while a particle of tobacco remains in the bowl. The object is not to smoke quickly or much—we are not locomotives bent upon producing force, but men on the quest of solace and enjoyment.”
But now let us see the outcome of his doctrine, as displayed by the members of the “Rookersclub” on the occasion of my visit to their meeting-place.
The preliminary arrangements for the battle of pipes having been completed, I was led back to the café, where the committee were busily engaged at a table putting the finishing touches to their work. Before them lay the empty pipes, all of equal length and size. Tobacco taken out of a jar was being apportioned into little heaps to be weighed on a small pair of scales. As each competitor’s share, consisting of exactly forty-five grains, left the scales to replenish the pipe awaiting it, the eyes of the judge roved anxiously from the balance to the hands of the colleague to whom the filling of the bowls had been entrusted. Unerring fairness characterized the operations of the committee. Around another table the competitors were seated indulging in “bocks” while waiting to take part in the struggle for supremacy in serious smoking.
At last a general wave of excitement showed that the proceedings were about to begin. The pipes were placed in the hands of their claimants, the matches put within easy reach, and the president, in his capacity of judge, called for attention.
“You have two minutes in which to light your pipes!” he announced, watch in hand;then, presently, “One minute!” “Half a minute!” “One quarter of a minute!” These successive announcements were followed by the ringing of a bell, and then, almost simultaneously, twenty hands holding burning matches were raised to set the pipes alight. All but one or two, whom anxiety to be in time had slightly flurried, delayed setting the match to the tobacco until the very last moment. One unfortunate competitor procrastinated too long, and was promptly disqualified before he could apply the light. No time had been wasted in removing the matches from the table, and as soon as the time-limit had been reached every one but the disappointed straggler was beginning very slowly to draw short puffs. At this critical moment, when all the rivals were applying themselves with slow caution to the initial whiffs, on which the final issue frequently depends, so complete a silence reigned that one might have heard the proverbial pin drop. It is said by many that the secret of success is found in the way of lighting, but as to which is the correctmodus operandithere exists a great diversity of opinion, for while one expert will attribute his success to the fact that he lights the tobacco nearest the side of the bowl, another equally practised smoker believes in applying the match to a central spot. Be that as it may, there is no denying the fact that to ensure obtaining a satisfactory start both experience and intelligence are essential factors.
“IN DISTRESS.”From a Photograph.
“IN DISTRESS.”
From a Photograph.
But to return to our friends of the “Rookersclub.” Ten minutes had elapsed, and all were still in the running except the disappointed man who had been ejected at the outset. Some had become quite communicative, trusting to their pipes to look after themselves while they exchanged views on politics. Others, not losing for one moment their sense of the importance of the occasion, kept the stems between their teeth, without allowing their tense expressions to relax into the faintest suspicion of a smile. One competitor in particular looked as if he were made of wax, even the chaffing of his colleagues failing to upset his gravity. He had been pointed out to me as a winner of many prizes and the fortunate possessor of a temperament any smoker might envy.
“Ting-a-ling” went the bell, the announcement of the extinction of a pipe—the first defeat—and this early failure was received with general merriment.
AN OPEN-AIR CONTEST IN THE COUNTRY.From a Photograph.
AN OPEN-AIR CONTEST IN THE COUNTRY.
From a Photograph.
A MEETING OF CHAMPIONS.From a Photograph.
A MEETING OF CHAMPIONS.
From a Photograph.
But hark! The bell was heard again. This time the victim was a man who had been trying to give me some faint idea of the magnitude of the feats he intended to accomplish, his loquacity being undoubtedly the cause of his premature downfall. As he made his exit amid roars of laughter I attempted to assuage his mortification by promising to convince myself on a future occasion of the grounds for his self-praise. He was forced to the indignity of becoming a looker-on, and tried to find consolation by critically regarding the performance of each candidate. Each time the judge’s bell gave the signal for the departure of another competitor he had some infallible theory toexpound in regard to the unsuccessful smoker’s faults and follies, and upon those who still possessed a winning chance he generously showered well-meant, but unsolicited, counsel.
Slowly but surely the tobacco of the remaining competitors burnt itself out, and every quarter of an hour, when the clock of the world-famed belfry on the opposite side of the square pealed forth one of its melodious airs, the number of the possible victors had diminished.
After the lapse of about three-quarters of an hour the judge’s bell set up a continuous tinkle. It was now time for those who acted as controllers to keep a sharp look-out, and every now and then the order “Smoke, please,” could be heard, as a committee-man pointed at the bowl of an apparently extinguished pipe, whereupon the faintest cloud of smoke would rise into the air from the clay of the cunning laggard, or the bell would announce another failure.
TOASTING THE WINNER AT A COUNTRY COMPETITION.From a Photograph.
TOASTING THE WINNER AT A COUNTRY COMPETITION.
From a Photograph.
Presently the fiftieth minute arrived, and the number of smokers had dwindled down to six. Opinions differed as to which would “live” to bear the palm. Among the favourites was the amiable secretary himself, one of the most skilful of the Bruges “Rookers,” who, strange as it may seem, is practically a non-smoker when outside the precincts of the club. In the president of the club he possesses a most formidable rival, who enjoys the reputation of being able to win one of the first prizes whenever he chooses to do so.
An hour and five minutes had passed when the secretary and three other members were found to be the sole survivors. Then the unexpected happened. The secretary was seen to be in distress. His efforts to entertain a guest of the club—I had been given the honour of sitting beside him—had diverted his attention from his difficult task; and once more the bell made itself heard as he laid down his pipe, unable to respond to the judge’s request of “Smoke, please.”
One hour and ten minutes had run their course, and only two men were competing. The excitement became intense as the members gathered round the two valiant champions to get a close view and offer encouragement to the one or the other. To outward appearance both were calm and confident. They allowed thetiniest cloud of smoke to escape at intervals from their pipes, and it looked as if these motionless and imperturbable men might survive long enough to eclipse the famous club-record achieved by a champion who succeeded in making sixty grains of tobacco last as long as one hundred and twenty minutes.
A SUCCESSFUL COMPETITOR RECEIVING A MONEY PRIZE.From a Photograph.
A SUCCESSFUL COMPETITOR RECEIVING A MONEY PRIZE.
From a Photograph.
But suddenly one of the rivals became agitated. He was beginning to realize that the end of his resources was last approaching, for the spark in his pipe became more and more difficult to keep alive. Anxiously he blew into the stem, but only with the wasteful result of dispersing a tiny particle of fire, the last that remained, as it proved, for the pipe was empty. Sadly he laid down his clay, leaving the victory to his opponent. The latter smoked on with an unmoved countenance, allowing not the smallest sign of elation to escape him, as he continued to foster, by an almost imperceptible inhalation, the tiny spark in the clay bowl which had now become the sole object of attention in the crowded room. A hasty movement on the part of the victor as if to settle himself more comfortably in his chair to prepare for a long-dreamt-of record, a slightly more animated whiff to counteract the effect of this incautious action, and the mischief was done—the smoker drew an extinguished pipe from his mouth. He had won, sure enough, but only by twelve short seconds. “One hour twenty-one minutes and thirty-three seconds,” announced the judge. “And to think that I might have held on another half-hour with a little more care!” sighed the disappointed winner.
Then followed the ceremony of presenting the prizes, the successful candidates being allowed to make their choice of rewards in the order in which they were placed. A bread-basket, a pocket-knife, a flower-vase, and other useful and ornamental souvenirs were handed over to the fortunate ones, after which victors and vanquished assembled once more around the long table to enjoy a pipe in the ordinary way, without restraint or restriction.
Nowhere in Belgium are competitions of the kind I have described conducted in a more correct and business-like manner than in Bruges; in fact, the “Brugsche Rookersclub” can be considered in every respect as authoritativeand exemplary in matters pertaining to the world of “pipenrookers,” as the smoker of the pipe is called in Flanders. It is among the quaint Flemish people that smoking clubs and smoking competitions enjoy more widespread popularity than in any other part of King Leopold’s little dominion, and nearly every village, no matter how small, can boast of a “Rookersmaatschappij,” which almost unpronounceable word is the equivalent for what we term “smokers’ club.” In the country districts it is the custom to compete for money prizes, and to decorate the winner with some floral adornment, which is pinned on his breast as a visible proof of the honour he has achieved. Many of theestaminets, which thrive in countless numbers in thirsty Flanders, endeavour to stimulate the desire of customers for refreshment by organizing a “Prijskamp in Het Rooken,” and offering prizes to those who best understand the art of making a little tobacco go a very long way.
THE JUDGE DISTRIBUTING ARTIFICIAL FLORAL FAVOURS AMONG THE PRIZE-WINNERS.From a Photograph.
THE JUDGE DISTRIBUTING ARTIFICIAL FLORAL FAVOURS AMONG THE PRIZE-WINNERS.
From a Photograph.
Smoking for prizes is a curious way of killing time and may not appeal to the Anglo-Saxon, who prefers to devote his leisure to more active and health-giving occupations, but it possesses certain advantages over other pastimes which must be taken into consideration. It is not costly, it is not dangerous, it is sociable, and, as my kind hosts of the “Brugsche Rookersclub” were at pains to convince me, it is a form of rivalry from which much excitement can be gained. But above all it teaches one the use, as distinguished from the abuse, of tobacco, which is undoubtedly the bestraison d’êtrefor smokers’ clubs and smokers’ contests in a country whose army of smokers forms no less than a third of its entire population, and whose annual consumption of tobacco is six and a quarter pounds per head. This is more than three times the amount consumed in the United Kingdom, and six times as much as in Italy. In fact, little Belgium’s appreciation of tobacco reaches limits unattained in any other part of the world.
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Illustrated version of the heading below
By J. Sydney Boot.
It has always been our rule, in order to obtain accurate pictures, to entrust the illustration of our stories only to artists who have actually visited or lived in the various countries referred to, and are consequently familiar with the conditions of life prevailing there. The result of this custom is that our artistic staff is composed of men who have travelled extensively, roughing it in many remote parts of the world. In the course of their journeyings our illustrators have themselves met with exciting and unusual experiences, some of the most interesting of which are here given, each artist depicting his own adventure.
It has always been our rule, in order to obtain accurate pictures, to entrust the illustration of our stories only to artists who have actually visited or lived in the various countries referred to, and are consequently familiar with the conditions of life prevailing there. The result of this custom is that our artistic staff is composed of men who have travelled extensively, roughing it in many remote parts of the world. In the course of their journeyings our illustrators have themselves met with exciting and unusual experiences, some of the most interesting of which are here given, each artist depicting his own adventure.
Mr. Charles M. Sheldon, the well-known war artist, who has done splendid work forThe Wide World, has had several exciting experiences in the course of his career. He was the special artist forBlack and Whiteduring the Dongola Campaign in 1896, and received the Khedivial medal with two clasps awarded to the correspondents. He went through the Spanish-American War in Cuba, was dispatched to South Africa at the time of the Jameson Raid, and has also represented his paper in India. Mr. Sheldon has a studio full of interesting souvenirs of his various campaigns.
MR. CHARLES M. SHELDON, WHOSE JOURNEY DOWN THE HANNOCK CATARACT ON THE SIDE OF A CAPSIZED BOAT IS HERE DESCRIBED.From a Photograph.
MR. CHARLES M. SHELDON, WHOSE JOURNEY DOWN THE HANNOCK CATARACT ON THE SIDE OF A CAPSIZED BOAT IS HERE DESCRIBED.
From a Photograph.
It was during the Dongola Campaign that Mr. Sheldon met with his most exciting adventure, and the fact that he is alive to-day is more owing to good fortune, he says, than to any skill on his part on that occasion.
Mr. Sheldon joined the column advancing on Dongola under the command of the Sirdar, then Sir Herbert Kitchener, at Wadi Halfa, and was present at the Battle of Firket. After the battle, and while the railway was being brought up, the army camped for a couple of months at Kosheh, where, in addition to the terrible heat and sandstorms, cholera broke out, and threatened at one time to annihilate the camp. When the railway was completed as far as Kosheh, the force marched across an arm of the desert to Hafir, where the gunboats drove the dervishes from their forts with such loss that Dongola fell after very little resistance. The country being cleared of the enemy, and the war for that year at an end, the correspondents made hasty preparations for their journey to Cairo on their way back to England. In order to reach rail-head, they decided to travel by boat down the Nile to Firket, Mr. Sheldon and Mr. Seppings Wright, the artist of theIllustrated London News, arranging to make the journey together. Having sold their horses and camels and discharged their native grooms, with the exception of one camel-man, they packed their baggage and war-trophies on board a boat—purchasedfrom Mr. H. A. Gwynne, now editor of theStandard—and started down the river. They expected to accomplish the journey in about six days and nights, and for the first three days the conditions were delightful, as, floating mainly with the swift current, they made rapid progress, enjoying to the full their enforced ease after the hard work of the campaign. As they approached the Hannock, or third cataract of the Nile, however, the voyage became more exciting, and extreme caution was necessary on the part of the pilot in charge of the boat. The Hannock cataract is, indeed, a formidable menace to navigation, consisting as it does of about sixty miles of shelving ledges of rock and groups of huge boulders, over and among which the water rushes headlong in a series of whirlpools and rapids. It was here that several of the boats taking part in Sir Garnet Wolseley’s campaign were overturned and many lives lost.
THE ROUGH SKETCH OF THE RAPIDS WHICH MR. SHELDON WAS MAKING WHEN THE DISASTER OCCURRED—IT WAS AFTERWARDS RECOVERED FROM THE WRECK OF THE BOAT.
THE ROUGH SKETCH OF THE RAPIDS WHICH MR. SHELDON WAS MAKING WHEN THE DISASTER OCCURRED—IT WAS AFTERWARDS RECOVERED FROM THE WRECK OF THE BOAT.
The first few miles of the cataract were negotiated in safety in the early morning, and Mr. Sheldon had just finished making a sketch of the rapids when sudden and dire disaster overtook the party. The boat was a stoutly built, three-quarter-decked craft, with one huge wing-like sail, and the pilot had given the sheet into the care of the camel-man, who, to save himself trouble, tied it, unobserved, to one of the seats. Finding it necessary to tack across the river, to take the boat through a safe channel between the rocks, the pilot, to bring the sail over, shouted to the man to let go the rope. As it was securely fastened to the seat, however, he was unable to do so, and in an instant, as the strong wind caught the tacking boat, it capsized, flinging its occupants with startling suddenness into the water.
Mr. Sheldon sank, but, after what seemed to him an interminable time, rose to the surface, and, dashing the water from his eyes, found himself battling with the full force of the seething current, which threatened every instant to hurl him against the rocks. He realized immediately that he would have a hard fight for his life, and at once struck out for the boat, which was floating on her side some distance off. The only other alternative was to swim to the nearest shore, but, as that was a quarter of a mile or more away, Mr. Sheldon knew that he would be unable to reach it alive in such a terrific current.
After a desperate struggle he gained the boat and pulled himself up astride the gunwale. Mr. Seppings Wright had also managed to reach the boat, which, under their combined weight, was floating but six inches out of the water; while the pilot and camel-man hung on to the mast and spar—all of them looking, as Mr. Sheldon says, more like half-drowned rats than anything else he can think of.
It was quite evident that their position was critical, their one hope being to cling to the boat, which was being carried down the Nile at an alarming rate. At any moment it might go to pieces among the great masses of rock and huge basalt boulders which projected from the surface of the river throughout the entire length of the cataract. Indeed, their chances of ever setting foot again on dry land appeared to be well-nigh hopeless. It was only with extreme difficulty that they managed to cling to the little craft as it plunged and kicked in the swirling eddies of the cataract, and, once at the mercy of the furious torrent, they knew full well that nothing short of a miracle could save them.
Both men discarded most of their clothing, for, as the wreck carried them down the smooth slides over the ledges of rock—for all the world like weirs—the boat was continually being sucked under the surface of the water. When this happened and they were unable to retain their hold, it was only by swimming with alltheir strength that they were able to regain the boat when she rose again. Their baggage and cherished war trophies had all been thrown into the water, and most of them went straight to the bottom. But here and there they could see saddles, valises, boxes, helmets, and other articles bobbing about in the current until hurled against the rocks and destroyed, or detained far behind in eddies.
“ON AND ON THE BOAT CARRIED THEM, SEEMINGLY ENDOWED WITH HUMAN INTELLIGENCE AS IT DODGED THE ROCKS.”
“ON AND ON THE BOAT CARRIED THEM, SEEMINGLY ENDOWED WITH HUMAN INTELLIGENCE AS IT DODGED THE ROCKS.”
On and on the boat carried them, seemingly endowed with human intelligence as it dodged the rocks and found a way for itself through theintricate channels of the cataract, while the shipwrecked crew could but cling to the gunwale with all their strength and trust to Providence for their ultimate safety.
In this way mile after mile of the cataract was passed, with Mr. Sheldon and his companions hoping against hope that the current would take them near enough to the shore to swim for it. In this, however, they were disappointed, for their craft kept well in the middle of the stream. Presently, moreover, they drifted into another and worse rapid, where, caught suddenly in a huge eddy, they were carried round and round until the boat, after twisting and ducking in a manner that threatened to break it up, incontinently sank beneath them—for good and all, it seemed. This time it was a swim for life, and they were all but exhausted when, dazed and spluttering, they succeeded in once more regaining the boat, which had come up, in this instance, behind them. The principal danger they feared was that the boat, which was continually swinging round, would drift broad-side on to the rocks and break up completely.
Again and again, as they continued their mad career, a huge boulder would loom up threateningly from out a smother of foam, and it looked as though nothing could save the wreck from final disaster, but invariably the self-navigated vessel would win a way for itself, at times actually shaving the very side of the rock.
During their passage down the cataract the artists saw several native villages and also some large ghyassas (native boats) drawn up on the bank, but their frantic signals for help were either absolutely ignored, or the natives, in their usual way, expended their energy in urging one another to do something until the capsized boat was far out of sight.
Hour after hour they raced along—sometimes for a mile or two in comparatively easy water, but more often struggling to retain their hold as the vessel rolled and pitched in the rapids.
The afternoon waned at last, and with evening came a welcome abatement of the sun’s pitiless rays, but still the anxious journey continued, with current and rapid in long succession. The strength of the two weary artists and the natives had by this time all but given out, and, thoroughly exhausted and battered as they were, it was evident that if they did not reach the shore before the rapidly-approaching darkness fell it would certainly be all up with them. Then, providentially, a curve in the river took the current close into the bank, carrying the boat to within some thirty yards of the shore. The castaways realized at once that this was a golden opportunity, but in their weak state it was exceedingly doubtful if they would be able to swim to the bank. As luck would have it, however, a number of natives appeared on the spot. They had been watching the capsized craft with evident curiosity, and now, in response to urgent signals for help, they put off to the assistance of Mr. Sheldon and his companions. They easily reached the boat, bringing with them the curious, wedge-shaped floats, constructed of reed-like sticks of ambatch wood, which they use in crossing the Nile. With the timely aid of this primitive form of river craft, Mr. Sheldon, Mr. Seppings Wright, and the natives reached the bank in safety. Their voyage down the dangerous Hannock cataract on the side of a derelict boat, lasting as it did from nine o’clock in the morning until sunset, in the course of which they were carried through some sixty miles of rock-strewn rapids, is, it is safe to say, unique as a record of endurance and long-drawn-out peril, fraught with possibilities of the most alarming description.
On reaching the shore they sank down dead-beat on the bank. Their condition was most wretched, such little clothing as they retained consisting of soaked and tattered rags. They had no means of making a fire, which they badly needed, as, with the setting of the sun, the terrific heat of the day was succeeded by the chill night air of the desert. To make matters worse, the natives either could not or would not give them anything to eat, and the only food they had of their own was a tin of preserved ginger, found in a valise which one of the natives rescued from the current.
The night, as may well be imagined, was passed in misery and discomfort, but with the morning the welcome discovery was made that directly opposite, a mile away on the farther bank, was one of the hospital camps established by the Egyptian field force. Mr. Sheldon thereupon bribed a native at the cost of a razor, also found in the valise, to swim the river and obtain help for the party.
Now, at length, their troubles were ended. The commandant of the camp signalled to a steamer, which carried them over to the other side, where the officer provided them with dry clothes and what they most appreciated, comfortable beds to sleep in.
There are but few artists, even marine artists, who have actually followed the sea as a profession. A well-known name among the few who have done so is that of Mr. E. S. Hodgson, whose strong, vigorous illustrations of seafaring adventures are a familiar feature in The Wide World. A casual glance at his drawings is sufficient to show that he has an intimate acquaintance with the life and customs of asailor, and they are executed with a realistic touch that could not be attained except by personal experience.
Mr. Hodgson, while on a voyage, once met with a serious accident which nearly cost him his life; and it was entirely owing to the effects of this mishap that he gave up the sea and decided to become an artist. Mr. Hodgson has provided us with the following account of what happened to him for inclusion in our series of “Adventures ofWide WorldArtists.” His ship, the barqueHer Majesty, six hundred tons register, sailed from the London Docks bound for the West Indies with a cargo of bricks and rice for the prisons in Martinique.
For some weeks nothing out of the ordinary routine of life aboard ship occurred,Her Majestybowling along with a favourable wind and making good headway.
The north-east trades had only just been reached, however, when bad weather was encountered, storms and squalls succeeding each other day after day.