+By Commander R. Dowling, R.N.R. (Captain in the Imperial Ottoman Navy).+
In December, 1900, I left Port Said for London in command of a small
"hopper." For the benefit of the uninitiated, I should explain that
this is a vessel with a bottom which opens out and allows the contents
of the hold to fall into the sea. The "hopper" had formerly been
employed in widening the Suez Canal, but had since been converted into
a tank steamer for carrying oil. I had undertaken to bring her to
England in tow of another steamer of some seven thousand tons burden.
[Illustration: COMMANDER R. DOWLING, R.N.R., WHO DESCRIBES A PERILOUS
VOYAGE HE MADE FROM PORT SAID TO LONDON IN A "HOPPER."
_From a Photo. by Apollon Studio._]
I got the crew together with some difficulty. When I explained the
project to English-speaking seamen, they all refused, in a most
emphatic manner, to have anything to do with it, and in the end I had
to fall back on a number of men to whom I was unable to explain it at
all properly. They were one Swede, the mate; a Greek and a Frenchman,
whom I understood to be engineers; four Italian seamen and four Greek
firemen, and an Italian cook. Excepting the Swede, who understood
English with difficulty, not one of the crew could make out a word I
said, so that during the first part of the voyage I was compelled to
give orders to the ship's company in a kind of pantomimic dumb-show.
We managed to bend on two five-inch hawsers to the other steamer and
started on our voyage, using our own engines to assist the towing ship.
The engineer was full of zeal, which he showed by repeatedly "ramming"
our consort, through his failure to understand the orders sent below
through the tube--we had no telegraph--and this, needless to say,
caused a great deal of unpleasantness, shown chiefly in personal abuse
of myself from the big vessel, though I repeatedly tried to gesticulate
explanations as to the position.
The Italian cook turned out an utter fraud, giving repeated proofs
of his incapacity. I endeavoured to instruct him by practical
demonstration in the art of boiling pork and cabbage, but it came on to
blow and, the sea rising rapidly as it does in the Mediterranean, the
galley was washed out and the cooking difficulty disposed of for ever,
for we had to live on cocoa, biscuit, and onions during nearly the
whole of that eventful voyage.
The seas grew bigger and bigger, and the _Crocodile_ rolled horribly.
Finally we had to abandon the quarters forward for fear of being washed
overboard. I had twice tried to get to my cabin, for I had stowed away
all the medical comforts, my sextant, cigars, and so forth in my bunk.
At the first attempt I got knocked down and nearly had my leg broken by
a heavy sea; at the second I came as close to being washed overboard
as possible. By a desperate effort, however, I finally got down to my
cabin, where I found everything--my clothes included--washing about in
a depth of bilge water and oil, while my precious sextant was smashed.
I managed to rescue the barometer--an excellent one, lent me by the
towing ship, but useless under the circumstances--but I was obliged to
let everything else go.
[Illustration: "THE SEAS GREW BIGGER AND BIGGER, AND THE 'CROCODILE'
ROLLED HORRIBLY."]
When I clambered back on deck I found the crew simply torpid with
fright. Our two little engines raced as we lifted in such a way as to
threaten a smash-up of the whole of the machinery. In spite of all my
threats, and even some muscular persuasion, I was unable to induce a
single man of the crew, with the exception of the mate, to stir. The
ship, I may remark, was an awkward one to handle; she had no bulwarks,
except a small piece forward and aft, with a single chain in between.
Bunker lids were being continually washed off, but, as the men were too
scared to reship them, the mate and myself had to do this ourselves to
prevent our going down.
In the middle of the night, the weather growing steadily worse, one of
the anchors got adrift. By a mingling of menace and persuasion I got
one of the Italians to go forward with me to secure it. The mate, dead
beat, was lying asleep on the engine-room gratings. We watched our time
and made a rush for it, when a tremendous sea came over, simply burying
us in water. I smashed my left toe against a pump, got a big piece
taken out of one forefinger, and felt blood running into my eyes from a
wound in my head. Looking round, I saw the Italian overboard, hanging
on convulsively to a rail, and made a rush to his rescue. I managed to
get hold of him, and finally hauled him on deck--and an awful bundle
he was, having seemingly put all the clothes he had in the world on
his back. However, we contrived to pass a lashing round the anchor and
secure it as well as could be done under the circumstances. We were
also successful in getting back aft, though the luckless Italian was
bowled over and rolled about beneath another heavy sea, but the clothes
he had on seemed to protect him, and he got to the stokehold uninjured.
Throughout the grim days and black nights that followed we laboured
incessantly, led by the two hawsers that held us to the other ship.
These hawsers had to be watched incessantly, and pieces of wood kept
under the places where they came on board to prevent them from being
cut. There was not a chair, or a stool, or a dry rag on board the ship.
The crew spent their time praying or lamenting, and when we wanted
to sleep the only place on which we could lie was the engine-room
gratings, from which we got up as black as sweeps with coal-dust and
grime. The seas were constantly washing over us from stem to stern,
though the ship ahead had been dropping oil for three days to make
things better for us. She herself was in difficulties, as we could see
from the seas which continually rushed out from her water ports and
scuppers.
About daybreak on the fourth day a loud report sounded through the din
of wind and weather, and I saw our port hawser snap close up to the
towing ship. We were then, of course, towing the broken part astern,
and for hours I was in dread that it would foul our propeller. Luckily
the weather moderated somewhat, and the larger vessel eased up,
endeavouring to drop a line down to our end of the hawser so that we
might heave it aboard. Owing to the drift to leeward, however, we found
it impossible to do anything in this way, so, after waiting some hours
longer, the towing vessel launched a boat to bring in the end. The boat
was stove in as soon as it touched the water, and it was hauled on
board again only just in time to save the crew from drowning. In the
meantime I started to get out one of our own small steel boats. For
four hours we laboured at this task, for the steamer rolled so much
that at one moment the boat would be hanging over the water quite a
distance from the side, and at another threatening to knock the funnel
off. In the end we managed to launch her, pick up the end of the broken
hawser, connect up again, and make a fresh start. But I defy anyone who
has not gone through it to realize the labour, the difficulties, and
danger we went through. Tossed about by mountainous seas, expecting
every moment to be capsized, to fish up a five-inch steel hawser
trailing deep below the surface, and pull back with it to the towing
vessel, is a labour the arduousness of which my pen is utterly unable
to describe. At last we got started again, and two days later, one
lovely clear morning, we arrived at Algiers, the first port of call on
our voyage.
Here the captain of the towing ship went ashore with me to obtain two
Manila hawsers, these having more "give" and "spring" in them than
wire ropes. We ransacked Algiers in vain, and accordingly cabled home
for instructions. These were to the effect that the "hopper" was to be
brought to England under her own steam, and I was given twenty-four
hours to decide whether I would undertake the task. I made up my mind,
now I had got so far, to see the thing through.
Most of the crew had cleared off at Algiers the moment they had the
chance, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I managed to get
another lot together. Having seen my friend the towing ship off, I
started myself two days later for Gibraltar.
Scarcely had we got to sea again when we began to encounter the
same diabolical weather as before. I made a discovery, too, that
disconcerted me more almost than anything that we had already
experienced--I found we had no instruments! During the voyage from Port
Said all the navigation, of course, was done by the towing vessel, and
the necessity of independent navigation, in consequence of the altered
arrangements, had never entered our heads. I had neither a chronometer
nor sextant; only a small-scale chart and a very questionable and
erratic compass on the bridge. After much cogitation I found the only
thing I could do was to get the bearing of the North Star, and this I
did by laying a broomstick along the top of the compass and pointing it
as straight as possible. By this I was able to shape a course to Cape
de Gat, the south-east corner of Spain, making due allowance for wind
and current.
But trouble soon began. At Algiers I had picked up a French engineer
who was in perpetual trouble with his engines. He spoke no English,
I spoke no French; so that after various altercations in our own
languages I was obliged to intimate to him, in a fashion it was
difficult for him to misunderstand, that further discussions were
useless. One morning, however, when between blowing and pitching it was
hard to stand upright, the engineer came tumbling on deck frantic with
excitement, gesticulating madly and shouting, "Monsieur le Commandant,
oily, oily!" while he pointed a quivering forefinger below.
I rushed down and found the starboard engine bearings grinding away
just about red-hot for want of oil, the stench and steam being
indescribable. I cursed him for an idiot, for he might have known we
were half full of oil, and he promptly shut off steam. During this
time our tiny vessel (she was only a hundred and thirty-five tons),
having but little way on her, was tossed about like a chip, and the
rest of the crew lay in a jumble in the stokehold--sick, praying and
groaning--neither persuasion nor kicks having the least effect on them.
It was under these cheerful conditions that, having restarted the
engines, we reached Gibraltar a day or two later.
The Officer of Health at Gibraltar received my account of the voyage,
first with incredulity, and then astonishment. He heard my proposal
to navigate home under the prevailing conditions with a stare of
stupefaction, and then remarked, significantly, "Well, rather you than
me, captain."
I had literally to hold the chief engineer down at starting in order
to frustrate his frantic struggles to get overboard. We made for Cape
St. Vincent, the weather being bad, though endurable, thence I steered
for Cape Roca and the Burlings, but made neither. Finally we picked up
Cape Finisterre and were in the Bay of Biscay, where, sure enough, we
caught it. It blew hard from the north-west, and the vessel at times
nearly stood on end. Nevertheless, we had to be continually shifting
coal and water to keep the propeller under water. In the middle of the
night the second engineer crawled along to me on the bridge to tell me
the piston packings of the port engine had blown out, and those of the
other engine were leaking so badly that they were expected to blow out
also at any moment.
Now, if the engine had gone, there was not a spar or a sail of any
kind on the vessel to keep her before the wind, and our fate, had we
once been cast into the trough of the sea, would have been certain.
Accordingly we had to keep one engine running at half speed while we
patched up the other with some valuable hose which had been used for
pumping oil out. When we had finished one we turned to the other, and
managed to make a tolerable job of both. This kept us going for nearly
two days.
On the fourth day from Finisterre, about one in the morning, we sighted
a light. At first I thought it was the coast of France, but after a
while I saw the familiar stump of the Eddystone, and then I knew where
I was. On receiving the joyful news the crew worked up some sort of
enthusiasm, and I determined to put out to sea again and face it. The
firemen threw their hearts into their work and we breasted the waves
gallantly. Soon, however, I heard a muffled report and yells from the
engine-room, and, rushing below, found we had to stop the port engine
for a time; so we went on with the starboard one pretty comfortably for
about twenty-four hours, when the repairs were roughly completed. Then
the wind rose again to almost hurricane force, and the ship rolled and
pitched quite in her best style. Even this was not the worst, for near
Dungeness a heavy sea threw a water-tank on top of me, and when I was
hauled out I found I had broken a bone in my left wrist, in addition
to other injuries. At that point, too, the electric light went out.
The ship was now in total darkness; we had no mast or side-lights, and
presently, to crown all, a dense fog settled upon us. At that moment a
nautical Mark Tapley would have been hard put to it to muster up any
cheerfulness worth mentioning.
However, to make an end to a long story, we worried through our
troubles somehow or other, got a pilot on board, and at last arrived
off the Royal Albert Docks, where very thankfully we made fast to the
Galleon buoys on December 22nd. To show one difficulty I had to contend
with during this ever-memorable voyage I may mention that the compass
was so untrue that to make a true east course I had to steer south a
quarter west.
For ten days after our arrival I was laid up and unable to get off to
the ship. When I did I found that nearly the whole of my things had
been stolen. I received from the owners, in recognition of the danger
and arduousness of the voyage, a gratuity of ten pounds!
Propitiating the Weather.
+By Mrs. Herbert Vivian.+
In various parts of Europe the simple peasant-folk observe
some extraordinary customs--strange blendings of religion and
superstition--in their attempts to avert drought and hailstorms and
obtain favourable weather for harvesting their crops. This chatty
article deals with a number of the most curious methods employed.
In many parts of the world the peasant and the countryman are dependent
for a whole year's daily bread on the sort of weather Providence is
good enough to send them. In England we are perhaps more independent
than any other land, for our much-abused climate seldom runs to wild
extremes. A drought makes a serious difference certainly, but it rarely
ruins the entire crop. In the great plains of Hungary and Roumania,
however, a winter without plentiful snow means a miserable harvest, and
under the blazing sun of summer a drought there is a very much more
tragic affair than it is with us. In parts of Northern Italy and the
Tyrol what they most dread is not drought, but the terrible hailstorms
and tempests which sweep down with sudden and relentless fury upon the
country-side, doing irreparable damage in an incredibly short time.
It is interesting to notice the different ways in which country-folk
meet these trials. In England after long drought we pray for rain in
our churches, and in most Roman Catholic countries processions and
pilgrimages are the order of the day. In Macedonia the Greeks organize
great demonstrations in dry summers. A procession of children visits
all the local wells and springs, accompanied by a maiden covered with
garlands and masses of flowers. This sounds as romantic as our Queen of
the May, and it could surprise no one if, like Tennyson's heroine, she
came to a sad end, for at each of the stopping-places the poor dear is
drenched with water, whilst the children sing a rhyming prayer for rain.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL SCENE IN THE SALZKAMMERGUT, WHERE THE PEASANTS
STILL OBSERVE SOME VERY CURIOUS CUSTOMS IN CONNECTION WITH THE WEATHER.
_From a Photograph._]
The Russian peasants say prayers to Elisha, whom they consider a very
potent rain-producer. In some countries the images of the saints are
immersed in water when rain is wanted. On the other hand, sometimes
more rain falls than is needed, and in parts of Westphalia they say
that it is fatal to kill a swallow, for such a crime will bring at
least four weeks' deluge. Swallows are considered lucky birds in that
part of the world, and if they are driven away all the vegetables of
the neighbourhood are sure to be destroyed by frost.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF KAPRUN AND THE CHAPEL OF ST. JACOB, WHERE
HANGS ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS "WEATHER AND WITCH BELLS" IN THE TYROL.
_From a Photograph._]
Weather-wise peasants know more or less at what time hailstorms may be
expected, and are on the alert for danger-signals. In Northern Italy
cannons are fired off to disperse the clouds, and enough powder is
expended to supply an army, while in some parts of France they rely on
bombs for the same purpose.
Perhaps the most interesting methods of propitiating the skies are
to be found in parts of the Tyrol, where the peasants are still
refreshingly simple and full of piety. The Salzkammergut is one of the
most interesting parts of Austria, from an ethnological point of view.
It teems with ancient survivals and customs, and is a treasure-house of
legendary lore. A certain imagination is displayed in all their tales;
sly humour, picturesque turns of phrases, and distinct kindliness
peep out everywhere. Few Englishmen can live in the Tyrol without
acquiring an affection for the friendly folk. They are like a lot of
big children, with their yellow hair, dancing blue eyes, and honest,
sunburnt faces. Moreover, they are thoroughgoing sportsmen, first-rate
at all games and athletics.
It is just about the time that the harvest is ripening that the farmer
begins to feel qualms of anxiety concerning the weather, and keeps
his eye fixed on the sky. Any particularly black clouds fill him with
gloomy forebodings, for in the course of a few moments the work of the
whole year may be swept away. Hoping to shield his property from the
powers of evil, he employs all the means that his brain can devise, and
some of these are distinctly original and curious.
As soon as low, rumbling thunder is heard in the far-off hills the
house-bells that are usually found in the roofs of Tyrolese cottages
begin to ring. This is known as "Ringing in the storm," and is
considered an absolutely necessary precaution. As the weather grows
worse you may hear the church bells all along the valleys peal as well.
Hailstorms in August are most dreaded, and if the sky seems to indicate
that they are coming the priest is warned and goes to stand at the door
of the church, bearing the Host, to pronounce the storm blessing. Some
priests are considered more gifted than others in giving this blessing,
and are supposed to be able to stave off disaster by their peculiar
powers. They become popular far and wide with the peasantry and are
known as "storm-fighting gentlemen."
Not only the priests, but also the bells of certain churches have a
great reputation for their miraculous powers of checking bad weather.
The "witches' bell" in the wood at Pinzgau and the one at Muhr, in
Lungau, are famous in this connection; while the two little bells of
St. Jacob's chapel in Kaprun Castle are supposed to be very potent,
both to avert hailstorms and to frighten away witches. In past days the
peasants used to believe that many of the storms were caused by witches
who flew through the air on broomsticks, scattering a powder as they
went and raising the blizzard. These were called "manufactured storms."
[Illustration: THE GREAT "STORM CRUCIFIX" AT GRÖDIG, NEAR SALZBURG.
_From a Photograph._]
A mischievous spirit called Zabera Jaggl is said to bewail bitterly the
difficulties that certain bells put in his path when he wants to ride
out on the wings of the storm. He is supposed to explain his troubles
thus: "When I want to dash through the pass of Lueg the watch-dog of
Werpener will not let me by"--the watch-dog being the great bell of
Werpener Castle, which was always rung at the approach of a storm
till the inhabitants of Abtenau, near by, implored the castle folk to
cease, since in consequence of their ringing all the tempest swept on
to Abtenau. He goes on to say: "If by any chance the watch-dog sleeps
and I get safely past Hell Bridge across the Fritzbach, then I knock up
against the big Altenmarker hound (the church bell of Altenmark), and
he will not let me fly up the forest of Kreisten, where I ought to be
able to do great damage. Supposing I try to turn back and ride to St.
Martin's, then the mastiff at the inn howls and all the whelps yap (the
big bell of the inn and the smaller ones found on every house-top in
St. Martin), and I must vent my rage as best I can on Hell Mountain.
Wherever I turn a watch-dog faces me, till in despair I climb the
mighty mountain, tear the trees down, and whirl around the summits,
lying down at last, dead tired, to rest on Dachstein."[1]
[1] Dachstein is one of the great mountains of the Tyrol. Round it
endless legends and romances are woven.
A legend is told of the witch bell of Muhr, in Lungau, which is of a
peculiar shape, very ancient in appearance, and very much chipped.
It hangs in the middle of the peal of bells in the village church,
and the story runs that the devil once rode down to Muhr, determined
to enjoy himself, on the back of one of the biggest hurricanes ever
seen. But the witches' bell was rung for Ave Maria, and every man in
the village fell on his knees to pray for the defeat of the Evil One.
So fervent were their prayers and so potent was the Ave Maria bell
that Satan had to turn again. The memory rankled, and he determined
to revenge himself. Now it happened that he was in league with one
of the very worst witches of the neighbourhood, so he went to give
her instructions, taking with him a "hell hammer," which is a very
infernal weapon. According to instructions, she mounted her broomstick
at midnight and flew away to the belfry at Muhr. She went straight to
the middle bell and began hitting it with all her might with the hell
hammer. But the bell had been consecrated, and resisted all her efforts
till just before one o'clock, when she managed to chip it. At one
o'clock, however, the hour for witches, ghosts, and ghouls is over, and
so she had to pick up her hammer and fly home again. Since that time,
however, the bell has lost most of its tone, and instead of being heard
for miles around it can now only protect its own little parish.
Among the sights that strike one most in passing through the villages
of the Salzkammergut are the "storm crucifixes" and "hail crosses."
Sometimes you find them in the church porches, sometimes in the
graveyards, and sometimes right out in the fields. They stand about
fifteen feet high, and are often painted a reddish brown. There is
almost always a second and shorter plank nailed across to form two
extra arms. The figure of Christ is usually carved out of wood in a
primitive fashion and highly coloured. All around, fixed on to the four
arms, are the emblems of the Passion. These are the chains, the ladder,
the sword, the staves, the lantern, the cock, the dice, the seamless
robe, the sponge, the purse of Judas, and many more. Village artists
and carvers frequently employ their winter evenings in making every
emblem that they can think of, and they call them "Christ's weapons."
On the 3rd of May, the day of the finding of the true Cross, they take
them to the parish priest, who blesses them and fixes them to the
crucifix.
[Illustration: THE "HAIL CROSS" AT UNTER ECHING.
_From a Photograph._]
The storm crucifix at Grödig, near Salzburg, of which we give a
photograph, is a very curious-looking and primitive erection, standing
in a great open field behind the village. Another photograph shows the
hail cross of Unter Eching, an immense thing over twenty feet high. It
does not bear the figure of our Lord, but, on the other hand, there
is a great collection of "Christ's weapons." A leaden cock always
stands on the very top of all the crucifixes. At the foot is usually
found a little pew where pious pilgrims frequently come to pray for
fine weather at harvest time, and close by there will frequently be
seen a frame of wood across which is stretched a piece of wire. Ten
little wooden balls run along the wire and are used by passers-by as a
roadside rosary.
[Illustration: BUNCHES OF CATKINS ARE GIVEN AWAY IN THE CHURCHES ON
PALM SUNDAY, AND THESE ARE BURNT AT HARVEST-TIME TO AVERT THE EVIL
EFFECTS OF STORMS.
_From a Photograph._]
The Tyrolese peasants have a strongly superstitious as well as a
religious side to their characters. They invoke the aid of Heaven, but
they also place a good deal of reliance in the help of amulets and
charms. It is only fair to say that these have usually been blessed by
the Church. For instance, little bunches of catkins are blessed and
given away in the churches on Palm Sunday, and are carefully preserved
by the country-folk till harvest time. Then if the weather becomes
threatening and they fear for their crops they fling them into the fire
to avert the evil effects of the storm.
St. John's Wort or Hypericum is regarded in most countries as a plant
with every sort of wonderful power. When lightning is heard a bunch of
it is hung up in front of the window to protect the house. If it is
picked before breakfast it is almost infallible as a talisman against
lightning. St. John's Wort gathered on Midsummer Eve has marvellously
magical properties.
In some parts of the Tyrol it is considered dangerous to touch anyone
who has been struck by lightning till the priest has said a prayer over
the body. There are even countries where it is considered a Divine
favour to be killed by lightning. Another protection against being
struck is the _Antlass Ei_, an egg laid on the Thursday before Easter
and then placed in the roof.
[Illustration: A "STORM CANDLE"--THESE ARE LIGHTED TO DRIVE AWAY
HAILSTORMS.
_From a Photograph._]
Summer hailstorms are feared more than anything else, and in cases of
severe hail the farmers have a "hail Mass" performed in church. In some
places where storms are much dreaded hail processions take place every
Sunday from Whitsuntide till the end of August. When the big stones
come pelting down, black and red "storm candles" are lighted. These are
kept in readiness for such occasions in every well regulated household.
I am told that in Belgium blessed wax is burnt in times of tempest.
Among the various recipes for avoiding danger the following may be
mentioned: Never point your finger at a thunderstorm. Do not eat or
drink while it lasts, but wrap yourself in silk and put a candle under
the table. If you are caught by a storm out of doors, go and lie down
under an elder tree. There can then be no danger, for the Cross was
made of elder wood.
Evidently the curious four-armed cross given below must have some
special connection with storms. It is a little metal one intended for
personal use, and is inscribed with mystic letters which seem to have
no meaning, but must convey some subtle sense of protection to the
wearer. In the middle is a little medallion representing the Host.
[Illustration: A TALISMAN INTENDED TO PROTECT THE PERSON CARRYING IT
AGAINST LIGHTNING AND TEMPEST.
_From a Photograph._]
The photograph reproduced on the next page shows a "Letter of
Protection" against storms and other evils, which is regarded as a
very potent charm by the Tyrolese peasant. At the top of the page
on the right-hand side, St. Anthony of Padua is expelling demons,
unpleasant-looking creatures with wings and forked tails. Beneath him
is St. Roch, protecting from pests, and St. Benet from sorcerers. Here
again we see the cross with four arms. The two heads are those of St.
Anastasius and St. Anastasia, both beheaded martyrs, who are invoked
against ghosts and demons, and below them, in the corner, is St.
Francis Xavier, repulser of tempests. The hands, feet, and heart of our
Lord preserve from serpents.
On the left hand side comes, first, St. Francis. Below him are St.
Michael and St. George, on either side of a cross. St. George preserves
the believer from lapses of faith and St. Michael keeps malign spirits
at a distance. The three kings sitting in a row beneath are invoked as
protectors of faithful travellers, and a very evil-looking beast is
seen grovelling before the uplifted cross of St. Ignatius. Right in the
middle is a particle of earth from the Holy Land and three relics as
safeguards against fever, fire, and lightning.
In the Tyrol the labourer when sowing the seed scatters his field with
charcoal "for luck." In Bohemia a splinter of wood from which a coffin
has been made is stuck upright in the fields to protect them from
sparrows. Another idea is that a piece of wood from a coffin that has
been dug up will defend crops from caterpillars.
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT "LETTER OF PROTECTION," REGARDED AS A VERY
POTENT CHARM BY THE TYROLESE PEASANTS.
_From a Photograph._]
It is all very well for us to laugh at these superstitions, but not so
long ago in parts of Scotland the farmers used to leave one portion
of their land uncropped year after year. The spot was supposed to be
dedicated to the devil, and known as the good-man's croft or landlord's
acre. This was done so that the Evil One should busy himself with it
and leave the rest of the place alone.
In conclusion, I should like to acknowledge the kind help I have
received from Mr. Adrian, of Salzburg, the well known authority on
folklore, who furnished me with much information for the purpose of
this article.
The Affair at Greenville.
+By N. H. Crowell.+
An account of a tragic happening which abruptly broke in upon the
peaceful routine of life in a small American village. But for
the important part played by the cross-country telephones it is
probable that the desperate trio with whom the narrative deals
would have got clear away to continue their career of crime.
The fall of the year 1901 was remarkable for the number of bank
robberies occurring in the States of Iowa, South Dakota, and Minnesota.
The daring of the travelling bands of criminals, commonly known as
"yeggmen," manifested itself in frequent and generally successful
attempts on the vaults of various financial institutions. In Iowa alone
there had been no fewer than thirteen robberies without a single arrest
up to the date of the Greenville Bank case, which I am about to set
forth.
On Saturday morning, November 16th, 1901, a Greenville business man,
rising early, was attracted by a peculiar object lying in the middle of
the main thoroughfare. Greenville, being only a small village of some
three hundred people, possessed but one principal street, which ran
through it from east to west. Upon approaching the object the man saw
that it was the door of a bank-safe, and his surprise may be imagined
when, looking about him, he discovered that the large glass front of
the bank building near by was entirely shattered.
In a very few moments he had gathered an anxious crowd, and the more
daring ventured into the ruined building. It then became apparent
that the safe had been blown open by nitroglycerine and its precious
contents carried away. On the bank counters were found a small dark
lantern, two bars of soap, some chisels, and a silk handkerchief. The
completeness of the job showed it to have been the work of persons who
were either unacquainted with the terrific power of the explosive used,
or of extraordinary daring and recklessness.
The cashier of the bank, Mr. E. B. Harrington, lost no time in reaching
the local telephone office, from which point he immediately notified
the sheriff of the county at Spencer, nine miles north, of the robbery,
afterwards reporting it to the town marshals of all the surrounding
towns.
While thus engaged an employé of the Minneapolis and St. Louis Railway
arrived with the intelligence that the station tool-house had been
broken open and a hand-car taken therefrom. The operators on the line
at Spencer to the north, and at Sioux Rapids to the south, were at once
called up, but both protested that no hand-car had passed their station
at any hour of the night. The mystery was solved half an hour later by
the discovery of a broken hand-car at the crossing of the Rock Island
and Minneapolis and St. Louis roads, one mile south of the town. It was
evident that the robbers, fleeing on the car, had met with an accident
and had been forced to abandon it. The clue was serviceable, however,
in that it pointed out the direction of the miscreants' escape, and the
officials at Marathon, Laurens, and Albert City--towns in the general
line of flight--were promptly advised to be on the alert to intercept
all suspicious characters and hold them till examined.
At this juncture a young lady employed in the Spencer telephone
exchange imparted the information that she had observed three
nasty-looking strangers the night before eating a late supper at a
Spencer restaurant. The restaurant proprietor corroborated this, and
added that one of the men was of very dark complexion, and, in his
judgment, was a mulatto.
The wires were again resorted to and neighbouring officials given
the fresh information. At nine o'clock on the morning of the robbery
the marshals of every place within a radius of forty miles were
in possession of the facts, and had trusted deputies guarding all
approaches to their respective towns. Assuming it to be a fact that
the robbery had been committed by two white men and one black man, who
were now travelling on foot in a south-easterly direction, it seemed
but a question of hours before they would be halted by some one of the
representatives of the law.
An hour passed by, then two, and a third. Not a word came from
Marathon, the nearest town in the line of flight. It was impossible
for the men to escape by train, as all depôts were under close
surveillance; it was equally impossible to conceal themselves in
a farming community so thickly inhabited as the one they were now
traversing. It appeared inevitable, therefore, that their whereabouts
must soon be reported.
Just before noon a farmer living five miles east of Sioux Rapids drove
into that town and, upon being questioned, stated that he had given
three strangers breakfast less than an hour before. He stated that one
was a negro, and that all three were well armed and were apparently
desperate characters. Upon being informed that the trio had burglarized
the Greenville Bank, the farmer was considerably surprised, but was
able to give a minute description of the robbers to the marshal.
It being now evident that the men were heading for Albert City, a
small town on the Milwaukee railroad, fifteen miles to the south-east,
Marshal Snyder, of Sioux Rapids, lost no time in picking a posse to aid
him in the capture of the desperate men. In twenty minutes he, with
three others, whirled away in a carriage drawn by the fleetest team in
the town. Marshal Snyder knew that a freight train was due to leave
Albert City shortly after the dinner-hour, and he hoped to reach the
depôt in time to thwart this method of escape.
While Snyder and his deputies were speeding toward Albert City, the
town marshal of that little place, Mr. C. J. Lodine, received definite
word by telephone that the robbers were moving in his direction. Barely
had he hung up the instrument when he learnt that three men answering
the descriptions sent out were in the waiting-room of the Albert City
depôt, awaiting the arrival of the freight train, concerning which they
had been questioning the agent.
Marshal Lodine, a brave and efficient officer, knew that there was no
time to lose. The train was due in a very few minutes, and he felt that
upon him devolved the success or failure of all the efforts that had
been put forth for the capture of the three criminals.
Seizing a Winchester rifle, he started out to secure men to assist him
in the capture. No one refused his call. He darted into a forage store,
and the proprietor grasped his hat and followed readily. A doctor's
office came next, and the physician was added to the little party. At
the bank he secured the cashier, while a farmer who was hitching up his
team joined him with alacrity. In the space of ten minutes Lodine had
five armed and determined men behind him, and speedily made his way to
the waiting-room of the little depôt.
Far to the north sounded the whistle of the approaching freight train,
and the posse stepped a trifle faster at its summons. They knew the
crucial moment was soon to arrive.
Down the length of the narrow platform they walked and approached the
door of the waiting-room. With his men close at his back Marshal Lodine
entered, and located his men seated in the corner of the room. Rifle in
hand, he took a step in their direction and commanded:--
"Hands up! We want you!"
[Illustration: "THE THREE MEN WHIPPED OUT REVOLVERS AND OPENED A
FURIOUS FIRE."]
Immediately, without warning or replying, the three men whipped out
revolvers and opened a furious fire. Marshal Lodine was hit in the
body and staggered out on to the platform, where he dropped the rifle.
Mr. M. H. Conlin, a farmer, snatched it up and ran for cover from the
galling fusillade that was being poured in his direction.
The posse, unprepared for such an unexpected onslaught, scattered
wildly, and as they ran the desperadoes emerged upon the platform and
fired repeatedly upon them. Lodine, sorely wounded, secreted himself
near the depôt, while Conlin and the forage-store proprietor, John
Sundblad, dropped behind a pile of rocks. Conlin was uninjured, but a
bullet found poor Sundblad, and he fell writhing in agony.
[Illustration: JOHN SUNDBLAD, WHO DIED FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE WOUND
RECEIVED IN THE FIGHT.
_From a Photograph._]
Having cleared the field, the robbers ran across the railroad tracks
and entered a barn belonging to one Johnson. Finding a horse therein,
one of the white men led it out and began a hurried attempt to hitch
it up to a buggy standing near, being protected in his efforts by the
negro, who stood by firing at every hiding-place where lurked a member
of the posse.
From his cover behind the rock-pile Farmer Conlin began shooting at the
horse, intending to kill it and thus prevent escape by that means. In
his excitement, and being under a severe fire, Conlin was unsuccessful,
and desisted. A moment later, however, as the men were about to leap
into the buggy, he resolved to make one more effort. At the crack of
his rifle the white man dropped to the earth, struck squarely in the
breast. The negro at once ran up and stripped his fallen comrade of his
guns and money.
At this point the freight train drew in and separated the combatants.
A delay ensued, during which the two remaining robbers leaped into a
farmer's wagon and compelled him to drive north at breakneck speed. As
rapidly as was possible three rigs were dispatched in hot pursuit, and
the chase became so warm that the fleeing men were forced to stop a
single rig driven by two boys, whom they threw out and thus continued
their flight. This rig was soon exchanged for another, a lady's vehicle
being commandeered in this instance. This team failed them shortly, and
a farmer, fixing fence along the highway, was next required to deliver
his team. Stripping the harness off, the men mounted the animals
bareback and started away at a gallop. The horse ridden by the negro,
however, suddenly "bucked" and threw his rider off. He was unable to
mount, and, seeing the pursuers approaching, dropped the reins and
turned into a cornfield at one side of the road. His partner, observing
this, also dropped off his horse and dashed into the cornfield.
The men were now practically cornered. From the east the posse from
Marathon was just in sight, and would have intercepted them in another
mile.
Conlin, with the Winchester rifle, sent big bullets screaming through
the corn-shocks (sheaves), and as the field was not an extensive one
the men were in considerable danger of being struck down unless they
surrendered, and this they finally decided to do. The desperadoes,
having thrown down their guns, were directed to approach with their
hands in the air. Thereupon they were securely tied with straps taken
from the harness.
At this moment Farmer Conlin discovered that he had fired his last
cartridge. Brooks, the negro, then stated that had he known this a
moment before he would never have been taken, as it was the fear of the
big rifle alone that had caused them to surrender.
The two robbers were driven rapidly back to Albert City, at which place
Marshal Snyder had arrived. He searched the men, and, not satisfied
with a superficial examination revealing more guns and ammunition,
ordered the men to strip. This they did with evident reluctance. Around
the negro's neck was tied a razor and a bag containing a quantity of
some liquid. As Snyder removed the latter the negro remarked:--
"Be careful of that; it's dangerous!"
Needless to say this liquid was nitroglycerine, and as there was enough
of it to have blown off at least twelve safe-doors it is not difficult
to understand the ferocious nerve of the man who carried it when
exposed to bullets and the eccentricities of bucking horses.
The examination over, the negro hastily snatched up his under-garments
and began donning them hurriedly. This aroused Snyder's suspicion
further, and realizing the calibre of the men with whom he was dealing
he searched the garments. Sewn in the seams of the shirt he found two
fine saws nearly twelve inches in length, with which he cut an iron
stove-poker as easily as a dull knife cuts cheese. This discovery was a
serious one for the negro, and his spirits fell noticeably thereafter.
The men were now turned over to the sheriff and deputies who had
arrived from Storm Lake, and by them taken to that city and lodged in
the county jail.
[Illustration: "THEY WERE DIRECTED TO APPROACH WITH THEIR HANDS IN THE
AIR."]
John Sundblad died on Sunday afternoon from the effects of the wound
received in the fight, and Marshal Lodine, after battling bravely for
eight days, also succumbed to his injuries. The robber shot by Farmer
Conlin lingered until Sunday noon, and before dying confessed that it
was he and his companions who had robbed the Greenville Bank. He stated
that his name was Dolan, although he was apparently of Italian descent.
The two surviving men, giving the names of Albert Phillips and Louis
Brooks, were tried for murder, found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged.
Upon appeal to the Supreme Court errors were found, and a new trial
granted the accused. They were found guilty of manslaughter at this
trial and sentenced to life imprisonment at hard work. At the present
time they are in the Iowa State Penitentiary at Anamosa.
The money stolen from the bank was subsequently recovered, being found
concealed in the field where the desperate men made their last stand.
THE WIDE WORLD: In Other Magazines.