+By R. W. Martin, Junior.+
[Illustration: MR. R. W. MARTIN, JUNIOR, WHO HERE DESCRIBES HIS
EXCITING EXPERIENCE WITH A BEAR.
_From a Photograph._]
The fall of 1905 found me camping on the Lehigh River, in Luzerne
County, Pennsylvania, in company with two friends named George and
Oscar Murray. This part of the country is wild and mountainous, the
nearest railroad being at Bear Creek, twelve miles distant.
Our camp stood on rising ground about thirty feet higher than the level
of the river, and was surrounded by towering pines fifty to sixty feet
in height, one of which almost touched our shack.
On the evening of which I write my two companions had decided to visit
a friend who lived in a small settlement known as Stoddartsville, some
four miles down the river, where they intended to spend the night.
After their departure I busied myself about the camp, cutting and
stacking wood and cleaning up our cooking utensils. When darkness had
put an end to work outside, I retired into the cabin and, settling
myself comfortably, began to read an old magazine I had picked up.
I must have been reading for about an hour when my attention was
attracted by the snapping of a small branch or stick outside, seemingly
at the front of the cabin.
[Illustration: "THE BEAR STRUCK AT ME WITH ITS CLAWS, RIPPING OFF MY
HEAVY LEGGING AND SCRATCHING ME SEVERELY."]
Although we kept our meat in a basket hung on the limb of a small tree
in front of the dwelling, we did not fear molestation from the bears or
wild-cats that were known to exist in the swamps and mountain ranges
around us. Occasionally a sheep would be taken by an old she-bear which
was known to have ranged the hills for the past twenty-five years, and
which was said to be a huge, gaunt creature, weighing at least five
hundred pounds; but, generally speaking, they did not cause much damage.
Neither bears nor wild-cats, however, entered my mind as I sat there
wondering what had caused the disturbance outside. My first thought was
that perchance one of the neighbours' cows or sheep, which were allowed
to roam at will, had lost its way and, being attracted by the light,
had wandered up to the cabin to investigate. With this idea in my mind,
and being very comfortable, I did not bother to look into the matter.
But just as I was about to resume my reading once more, the sharp crack
of a breaking limb, accompanied by the thud of a heavy body striking
the ground, caused me to jump to my feet in a hurry. Hastily snatching
my breech-loading shot-gun from the corner, I quickly inserted two
shells and quietly opened the door. There, in the dim moonlight, I
made out the form of a huge bear, busily engaged in pillaging our meat
basket! Without hesitation I brought the gun to my shoulder and fired
both barrels at the dark mass. With a fierce growl of pain the wounded
beast charged straight for the open door, and before I could close it
rushed right into the cabin!
The next five minutes were probably the most exciting I have ever
spent. The bear, blinded in one eye by shot and dazzled by the light,
gave me the opportunity--which I speedily seized--of rushing past it
out into the open. I ran round the cabin for my life, with the brute
at my heels, and quickly ascended the ladder at the back of the cabin
to the roof, thinking to throw my pursuer off the track. While busily
engaged in trying to push the ladder down, I was horrified to find the
bear already upon it, coming my way. Thoroughly bewildered by this
time, I commenced to climb the tall pine tree alongside the house,
hoping to hide myself on one of the upper branches. It seemed that I
made no progress at all, for the dead branches upon which I placed my
feet broke continually, and my fingers and legs, in my frantic hurry,
acted as though they were not part of my body. Almost exhausted, I
finally stopped to rest upon a stout limb about twelve feet above the
roof of the cabin. Glancing down, I saw the maddened bear preparing
to pursue me. In a panic I began to climb again, but as I reached up
for the limb above my hand came in contact with the rope we had strung
across the river to a lofty old pine about forty yards distant on the
opposite shore. Fastened to this large rope was a smaller dangling rope
with a loop, which we used, on account of the swift current, to keep us
in our course when ferrying across in the boat.
Finding that the rope would bear my weight, I started to go hand over
hand over it out across the river. At this juncture the bear, which
was but a few feet below me, struck at me with its claws, ripping off
my heavy legging and scratching me severely. This unlooked for attack
almost caused me to lose my hold, which would have resulted in a nasty
fall to the ground below. How I managed to escape being struck again
I do not know, but somehow or other I managed to keep out of reach of
those deadly claws until I had swung well out from the tree. It was
slow work making any progress, but, thinking only of the danger behind
and below me, I continued the journey until I was compelled to stop to
rest my weary arms. This I tried to do by throwing one leg and arm over
the line, the rope resting under my knee and armpit. Beneath me I could
hear the swiftly-running river, while the swaying limbs on the pine I
had just left told me that my late pursuer was moving about.
When I had somewhat rested my aching muscles, I started once more on
that heart-breaking journey to the opposite shore. Several times the
rope swung so violently I thought I must let go and fall into the swift
river beneath me, but each time I gritted my teeth and kept on. At
last, after what seemed ages, I reached the friendly pine to which the
rope was attached and lay for some time on a large branch, like a man
in a dream. After resting for a few minutes I ventured to gaze across
to the bank I had lately left, but could see nothing. Once or twice I
heard Bruin moving about along the bank; then all was quiet.
Fixing myself as comfortably as possible I stayed all night in the
tree, scarcely daring to move for fear of attracting attention. Shortly
after daybreak my friends put in their appearance, having decided to
make an early start after grouse in the neighbouring swales. Upon
their arrival I descended from my uncomfortable position and related
my experience of the night. Great was their wonder and surprise at
my nerve-racking experience, and a hunt for Bruin was immediately
suggested, George Murray starting off at once for men and dogs from the
settlement. Upon his return with the hunting party the dogs took up
the trail and followed it for nine miles down the ridge. At Long Pond,
twelve miles below us, the bear was finally brought to bay and shot by
another party. Upon examination, it was found that my two shots had
put out one eye and almost torn her ear off--hence her blind fury and
revengefulness. She tipped the scales at four hundred and sixty-eight
pounds.
VI--MAN _v._ PYTHON.
+By Victor Pitt-Kethley.+
On April 27th of last year, Mr. W. J. Cocklin, of Sequani _viâ_
Mochudi, South Africa, accompanied a party of friends on a shooting
expedition in the neighbourhood of Sequani.
Arrived at the point selected, some five miles distant from the
township, the party separated. For some little time Mr. Cocklin pursued
his way without incident; then he suddenly espied a guinea-fowl, which
he brought down with a well-aimed shot.
Hurrying over the veldt to secure his prize, he was just descending a
little fall in the ground when, to his horror, he suddenly discovered
that he was almost on top of a large python, which lay coiled up in
front of him. Catching sight of the startled sportsman, the great snake
moved. Its tail caught Mr. Cocklin between the legs, tripping him up,
and before he could save himself he was flung headlong into the deadly,
irresistible coils, which immediately closed around his body in a
vice-like grip. Desperately the hunter tried to extricate himself, but
all in vain; the python had him fast in such a way that his left arm,
holding his gun, was pinned to his side.
With the cold perspiration breaking out upon his flesh, Cocklin threw
himself this way and that in a frenzy of desperation, for he realized
only too well the horrible nature of the death-trap into which he had
walked.
He essayed to shout, hoping to make his friends hear and bring them to
his rescue, but no answer came to his calls; no human being appeared
in sight. And all the time man and snake lay there on the sunny veldt,
the reptile's mighty coils growing always a little tighter as it
endeavoured to lessen its victim's struggles.
[Illustration: "MR. COCKLIN GRIPPED THE SNAKE BY THE THROAT, STRIVING
WILDLY TO FREE HIMSELF."]
Presently, finding the pressure upon his body becoming unendurable,
Mr. Cocklin gripped the snake by the throat, striving wildly to free
himself. Over and over, this way and that, the pair rolled, the python
seeking all the time to free its hideous head or tighten its coils
sufficiently to put an end to Cocklin's struggles.
For, perhaps, ten to fifteen minutes--minutes that seemed like hours
of torture--this unequal, terrifying fight went on, and still neither
had gained any decided advantage; the man still lived, though fast
in the coils of the snake, which in turn, though it held its captive
securely, was unable to crush him outright or to release his hold upon
its throat, which prevented it throwing a coil round his neck and
strangling him.
Now, a python is so constructed that it can exert its crushing
powers to the full only when it is able to get a leverage upon some
fixed object--say, by taking a turn with its tail round a tree.
Presently--apparently realizing that something of this kind was
required to enable it to finish off its prisoner--the great snake
altered its tactics and commenced to drag Mr. Cocklin over the ground
towards a large hard-wood tree which stood some distance away.
The man saw and understood--the battle was about to enter on its last
and most dreadful phase! Desperately he fought against the snake,
trying to get at his knife, which was in his right-hand coat-pocket,
with the idea of cutting the creature's throat; but, to his horror, he
found that the reptile's coils passed over the place where the weapon
lay.
"Finding I could not get my knife," said Mr. Cocklin, in a letter
which he wrote to the _Cape Times_ subsequently, "and thinking that my
chances of surviving were not very bright, I determined I would not die
alone. I saw that the barrel of my gun projected just about an inch
through between my arm and body, where the arm was pinned to the side,
and luckily I managed to reach the trigger with my left hand. Gripping
the python firmly by the throat, and holding its head well away, I
pulled the trigger, and the bullet, fortunately for me, caught the
snake through the back. It then relaxed its grip, and I got rid of its
coils as fast as I could.
"When I got upon my feet, I put my gun down and looked for a big stone
to finish the brute with. Not finding one, I was about to put my foot
on its head and cut its throat, when the snake made another attack upon
me, getting hold of my coat sleeve, and again pulling me to the ground.
Once more it attempted to get its coils round me, but I escaped them.
It still retained its bite on my sleeve, however. I managed to get my
foot on its throat, which made it open its mouth. Then I got my arm
free, and called for my friends again. One of them heard me and came
running up. He saw that there had been a struggle, and shot the python
through the head, thus putting the finishing touch to what was for me
the narrowest shave I have ever had. It seems to me remarkable that
I have felt no ill effects from the encounter beyond being a little
short-winded and nervous for a few days."
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| _Guardians of the Wilderness._ |
| |
| +By Henry Hale.+ |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
The United States Government maintains a little army of twelve
hundred men whose duty it is to look after the vast national
forests, whose area is about five times that of Great Britain.
Here, monarchs of all they survey, these rangers of the wild
lead solitary and strenuous lives, sometimes not meeting a
fellow human being for months on end.
The United States Government maintains a curious little force of
policemen who do not patrol posts in the cities or towns, but may well
be called the guardians of the wilderness, for it is their business to
look after vast forests where few human beings live. It may seem odd
that it is necessary to have Nature's police to go here and there in
the forests and amid the mountains, but it is very necessary in order
to protect one of the great resources of America. Some of these rangers
of the wild have "beats" so extensive that one man may be the sole
protector of a miniature empire, comprising two hundred thousand acres
of primeval forest.
Mere figures cannot give the stay-at-home reader any adequate idea of
the vastness of some of the great "reserves" in which the patrolmen
live month after month. If the whole of London is measured it will be
found to contain over seventy-five thousand acres, yet no fewer than
eighty cities the size of London could easily be placed in a single
one of the American "national parks." Washington Park, situated in the
State of that name, and the greatest of them all, contains no less than
ten thousand square miles of territory.
[Illustration: A FOREST RANGERS' PACK-TRAIN ON THE TRAIL.
_From a Photograph._]
[Illustration: RANGERS MEASURING TIMBER IN A SWAMP.
_From a Photograph._]
For many years most European countries have had forest guardians and
rangers. France, Germany, Holland, and even little Switzerland, have
their armies of rangers, the French foresters being so numerous that
there is one to every thousand acres of trees under the protection
of the Government. This is quite different from the United States,
where, as has been stated, one man may be the sole protector of an area
of two hundred thousand acres; for this force of woodland policemen
comprises only about twelve hundred men all told, scattered between the
Mississippi River and the Pacific Coast, ranging the valleys and slopes
of the Rocky Mountains, and even living far out in snow-covered Alaska.
The rank-and-file of the American Forest Service are the patrolmen
or rangers. Over them are supervisors, one of whom may have charge
of a group of national forests, and may be obliged to travel several
thousand miles a year in order to perform his duties. In Washington is
the chief forester, who is at the head of the service, and has under
him a staff of assistants, inspectors, and clerks. But the men who do
the hard work, endure the privations, and brave the dangers are the
forest rangers and supervisors, who spend their lives in looking after
the domains to which they are assigned. There are far more perils to be
encountered in the wilderness than the town-dweller might think. The
wild animals that roam here and there form but a slight danger compared
with the terrible weather to which the guardians of the woodlands are
sometimes exposed. While in many regions the summers are so warm that
the heat is almost unbearable, in the higher lands, such as the slopes
of the Rocky Mountains, winter may last for four or five months, with
the temperature so far below freezing-point that a man must be muffled
in furs up to the eyes in order to keep himself alive. Storms sometimes
prevail for days at a time, covering the ground with great snow-drifts
higher than one's head, and frequently almost burying the little huts
or cabins in which the foresters live when they are not doing patrol
duty. It is the loneliness of the life, however, which forms its worst
feature. For months the forester may not see the face of a white man,
or even an Indian--going day by day amid the trees, fording streams,
climbing mountain sides, with never a person to speak to. This is why
several rangers have at different times become insane and have been
found aimlessly wandering about, while others have suffered death from
starvation while mentally unbalanced. Remembering that a man may be
sole guardian of a tract of land as large as an entire English county,
it is not to be wondered at that occasionally the sense of their
loneliness should overpower them.
[Illustration: THE METHOD USED IN CLIMBING BIG TREES.
_From a Photograph._]
It takes a good type of man to make a successful forester--he is
obliged to undertake so many different tasks and perform them all well.
His daily round does not mean merely going from this place to that in
his territory, looking out for fires and for unauthorized persons who
may come into the woods to cut down the valuable timber. True, forest
fires are perhaps the ranger's greatest anxiety, but he must also keep
a keen watch for what are called in the West "squatters"--families
who steal into the parts controlled by the Government and try to make
homes in open spots without permission. They cut down valuable trees
for fuel, occupy ground to which they have no right, and frequently
seriously injure the forest growth before they are discovered. In a
region covering two hundred thousand acres squatters may live for
months, or perhaps even a year, before being discovered by the forester
and driven out. And this eviction work is very dangerous, for the
squatter may be armed, and if he thinks he will not be detected he does
not hesitate to shoot down the guardian in fighting for the place he
calls his home. More than one murder of this kind has been committed
since the United States began taking charge of the great forests ten
years ago.
The forester must also supervise any lumbering operations which are
permitted by the Government in the region under his care. Someone may
get authority from the Forest Service to cut certain trees and make
them into lumber, and the ranger in that district must look to it that
they do not cut more than they should, that they do not damage other
trees--especially young ones--and that they do not set fire to the
woodlands during their operations. He measures the timber they cut,
and makes a report to his supervisor of what they do from month to
month. If the Government allows stock-raisers to turn cattle and sheep
into one of the woodland parks, the forester must watch the animals
and prevent them feeding at places where they would do damage. He also
oversees the stock-men and herders--and here again is liable to be
injured, if not killed, since some of these ranchmen of the Far West
belong to a desperate class, and are usually well armed and only too
ready to use their weapons.
The ranger is not only a policeman, but is frequently called upon to
act as judge when a dispute arises on his territory between rival
settlers. Sometimes he is obliged to arrest trespassers and other
wrongdoers, and take them perhaps fifty miles through the wilderness
before he can place them in the hands of the nearest magistrate. This
is one of the most dangerous features of his work, for many of the
people who go into the wild forest districts are desperadoes, who set
little value upon human life. Therefore, the ranger must be strong and
courageous, able to endure the hardships of an outdoor life, and to
"keep his end up" in a fight. For this reason the foresters are picked
men; but hard as is their life, the Government have no difficulty in
securing recruits who measure up to the necessary standard.
[Illustration: TESTING WOULD-BE RECRUITS IN THE DETAILS OF SADDLING-UP.
_From a Photograph._]
Once a year men who wish to enter the Forest Service are given a chance
to show their qualifications. Examinations are held at different places
in the West, conducted by a forest supervisor or inspector. One was
held recently in Colorado which I will describe. Most of the candidates
who "sat" for it were cowboys and ranchmen. The first day of the
examination was given up to "school-house work," and it is likely that
this unaccustomed ordeal of figures and composition caused more grey
hairs to sprout on the heads of the candidates than anything suggested
by the forestry expert in the succeeding two days. Finally, when the
examiner, with a sly smile, informed the assembled men that they might
as well put away their pens, the clerical test being over, there was a
general chorus of "Bully!" and one cowboy, with a blot of ink on his
nose and a look of despair in his eyes, rose on his high-legged boots
and fervently exclaimed, "Thank Heaven!"
The second day the applicants brought out their saddle-horses, and
at an early hour started on the trail. The forestry expert led the
way, riding with an ease that challenged the admiration of all the
cow hands. After proceeding five or six miles into the mountains, the
candidates were given axes and told to show their skill in cutting and
"scaling" (measuring) timber. Some of the cowboys, who had had little
experience with the axe beyond cutting wood for a round-up camp-fire,
had rather ludicrous experiences, but two forest guards, who were
skilled in such work, made the chips fly in a manner that excited
universal admiration.
After the candidates had been examined as to their fitness with the axe
they were given work in following obscure or "blind" trails and reading
signs. Here nearly all proved expert, for the man who rides the range
for any length of time soon acquires the ability to read the wilderness
signs like a book. A long, hard journey across the mountains, testing
the men in rough-riding, ended the day's work.
On the third day the field tests were continued. A brisk ride was made
to a water-course, where camp was pitched and notes made of the manner
in which each man proceeded to make fires and prepare a temporary
resting place. In order to test the accuracy of the men in judging
distances, the forestry expert rode over a huge triangle, and then
required the men to pace it in Indian file. The candidates were next
told to reduce their estimates to feet, and finally the examiner went
over the course with a surveyor's tape and compared the result with
the estimates. This is an important part of the forester's work, as a
ranger is often required to estimate distances with no other facilities
than his eye or the length of his stride.
One of the most interesting tests was that of packing. A pack-horse
was brought out in front of the building and each candidate in turn
was told to show what he could do in the way of putting a load on the
animal's back. They put on the blanket and the little pack-saddle, and
then stowed away the bags of feed, the tarpaulin covering, the shovel
and axe, and tied the whole load with the well-known "diamond hitch,"
which can be loosened with a single pull at the rope. It never slips,
and when it is correctly "thrown" on a well-packed animal the load
cannot be "bucked off."
[Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF A TYPICAL RANGER'S CABIN.
_From a Photograph._]
Each man had a different style of packing, but all were good in their
way, and all threw the diamond hitch with a celerity that spoke well
for their experience. Each pack was critically inspected by the expert
while in process of construction and after it had been completely tied.
Then the pack-animal was stripped again and another would-be forester
took up the work. After the packing, which consumed the greater part
of the day, some compass-work was done, to show the familiarity of the
candidates with this valuable instrument. Then, to test the ability
of the men in the saddle, each candidate was sent a few hundred rods
down the trail and told to come in at a gentle lope. This trial,
the cowboys admitted, was one of the hardest of the examinations,
because they are accustomed to riding very rapidly when not going at
a dead walk. Several of the men were unhorsed by the unusual gait and
were disqualified as a result, but most of the candidates passed the
examination and were given their uniform and other equipment.
The outfit of the American forest-ranger is unique. He is usually
provided with a rifle and revolver, but in addition to this has a kit
of fire-fighting tools, as well as other implements. Entering one of
the little cabins which form the homes of the rangers you will see
coils of rope hanging from the walls, and axes and shovels piled in
the corners. An army cot, or perhaps a framework of boughs, forms the
bed, two or three logs the chairs, and the food is usually cooked in
the big mud-plastered fireplace which occupies one end of the cabin. A
single room is generally enough for all purposes, unless the ranger is
married, when the Government may provide him a larger house with two or
three apartments. He clears a little patch of land around his dwelling,
where he can raise a few vegetables, and is allowed to kill game and
catch fish if there are streams near him. In this way he adds to the
stock of rations furnished by the Government.
[Illustration: A FOREST FIRE SWEEPING ALONG AT TWELVE MILES AN HOUR
BEFORE A BREEZE. _From a Photograph._]
The ranger must always be on the lookout for fires, especially in
summer, when, in many portions of America, the temperature becomes so
hot that even rivers are dried up, leaves drop from the trees, and the
underbrush of the woodlands is like a vast tinder-heap, ready to burst
into flame at the contact of a single spark.
At such times the greatest care must be taken about kindling fires
near the woods, for if one spreads over a considerable area of ground,
the intense heat creates a wind which grows stronger and stronger
until it becomes a veritable hurricane, driving the fire before it and
burning scores of miles of forest before it is extinguished. The havoc
wrought by the fires was one of the chief reasons for the organization
of the Forest Service. One of the worst of these conflagrations is
well remembered in the States, although it occurred in what is known
as Miramichi Valley, in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. It is
an actual fact that for three months of summer no rain fell in this
valley. Then, one afternoon in the month of October, a fire started in
the Upper Miramichi--no one knows how--but it was supposed a woodsman
did not take the trouble to extinguish the faggots by which he had
cooked his dinner. The first man who discovered the blaze found a
space about one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide in flames in
the midst of a patch of bushes and young trees. He alarmed a camp of
wood-choppers about two miles distant, and on returning half an hour
later the party found that the fire had reached a thicket of pines,
the flames running furiously along the top branches. It had spread so
rapidly that a thousand men could not now have arrested its progress,
and the choppers were obliged to run for their lives to escape. A small
pond at the edge of the forest probably saved them, as by crossing it
they reached the open country and a spot where half a mile of ploughed
field kept the flames in check.
As in other forests of this kind, the ground was covered with a mixture
of dead leaves and other _débris_ a foot or more in thickness. This
burned like tinder, and it was discovered afterwards that in many
cases roots five feet deep in the earth had been reduced to ashes by
the terrific heat. When it is stated that a single tree two or three
feet in thickness will burn to a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and ten
thousand were on fire at the same time, a faint idea can be gained of
the magnitude of the "Miramichi fire," as it is still called. Every
condition favoured its spread, for in addition to the draught created
by the hot air meeting the cooler atmosphere about it, a strong breeze
sprang up which blew directly toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and
forced the living wall of flame down the valley.
At the Miramichi River the flames nearly leapt across the narrow
channel, and thousands of burning embers speedily ignited the timber on
the other side. Along swept the great conflagration, turning everything
in its path to ashes. Several settlements in the woods were abandoned
only just in time for the inhabitants to escape, although the roar and
crackle of the flames could be heard three miles distant. Animals and
birds, confused and blinded by the noise, smoke, and heat, perished by
thousands, though only carcasses of such beasts as deer and bears were
found afterwards to show how deadly had been the fire.
[Illustration: A FOREST FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. _From a Photograph._]
The end was only reached where the forest ended at a stretch of open
country skirted by a salt-marsh. Here there was absolutely nothing
inflammable for the flames to feed on, and the fire burned itself out.
For a month it smouldered in the burned area, occasionally starting up
here and there, and then finally dying down for want of material to
consume. It reached the boundary-line ten hours after being discovered,
and in that time had spread over a territory eighty miles long and
twenty-five miles wide, travelling at the rate of eight miles an hour.
The Hinkly fire, as it is called, was the worst in the history of
America, for it actually consumed a large town in Minnesota, and nearly
five hundred persons who could not escape in time met their death in
the flames. A spark from a locomotive fell into a pile of dried leaves
in the forest at a spot about ten miles from Hinkly. For four months
not a drop of rain had fallen in this part of the State; yet when a
track labourer saw the leaves on fire he passed on, thinking they
would soon burn out. The fire did die down, but for two days the ashes
remained smouldering. Then a little breeze sprang up and spread some
of the embers, still red, to other leaves. The resulting flames shot
up from the ground to the underbrush and then to the trees, and in a
twinkling a forest fire had started. What wind there was blew directly
towards Hinkly, and in that direction the fire travelled, widening as
it went and gradually forming an inverted semicircle, with the village
opposite the centre, so that the ends of the circle were a mile beyond
the town before the fire in the centre had reached it. Three miles away
the people heard the roar of the flames as they shot a hundred feet
above the tree-tops, while every moment a huge trunk, burned through,
fell with a crash. The smoke came through the woods, filling the air
with thick clouds. Everybody seized what valuables he could lay hands
upon, and started to escape. Some, blinded by the smoke, ran directly
into the burning area, and never returned. Most of the people left by
the wagon-roads, only to find they were going into a furnace. More than
a hundred were burned to death or suffocated while trying to get away
by the roads.
As the flames reached the town, and the nearest rows of dwellings were
ignited, the whistle of a locomotive was heard. Through the opening
which marked the cut for the railroad track dashed a passenger train.
The roofs of the cars were smoking from the heat, and every window
was shut to keep the interiors from igniting. The engine-driver stood
at the throttle-valve, while the fireman drenched him with pails of
water from the tank in the tender. The crowds of people, running
hither and thither in the streets, rushed for the train, and everyone
who could get a foothold on the platforms was allowed to do so. Then
the engine-driver reversed the lever and backed his train into the
advancing fire. Luckily no _débris_ had fallen across the track. For
six miles that gallant man drove his engine through the flames and
blistering heat. Several times his clothing caught fire, but the
water-bucket extinguished it. In places the flames literally swept
under and up the sides of the coaches, while the metal-work on the
outside of the engine was so hot that it could not be touched. At last
the train reached a small clearing near a swamp, and the order was
given to all to leave the cars and save themselves. Everyone left but
two Chinamen, who were burned to ashes. The rails were twisted by the
heat and in some places partly melted. This fire swept over an area
about twenty-five miles long and ten miles wide.
[Illustration: FIGHTING THE FLANKS OF A FIRE WITH TREE-BRANCHES.
_From a Photograph._]
Since the Forest Service was established many heroic incidents have
occurred where rangers have risked their lives in preventing the spread
of a conflagration, knowing that if it got beyond control it might
cause untold damage. In fighting fires they use curious weapons. Water
is seldom at hand, but in any case it is not of much value in stopping
a forest fire, for it is useless to merely attempt to extinguish the
flames; all efforts are concentrated upon preventing the fire from
spreading, and so it is fought on the edge of the fire-line. The scene
of a recent fire in West Kansas was near a town, and the rangers were
assisted in their work by the anxious inhabitants. The fire was so
close, and spread so fast, that it began burning up the dry prairie
land on which the town was situated. Men, women, and all the children
old enough to be of service hurried to the locality, while a dozen
ploughs were loaded on wagons and hauled to a point on the prairie
several miles from the line of burning vegetation. Then the ploughs
were unshipped and the horses fastened to the implements, four to each.
As fast as it could be driven each team dragged its plough through the
ground, turning up the fresh soil and burying the dry stubble which
afforded food for the flames. The furrows were dug about five feet
apart, in ten parallel rows, each as long as it was calculated the
fire-line would be, should it reach the spot. While the ploughmen were
thus creating a sort of breastwork to resist the flames, the others
were placed at intervals in front digging earth with hoes and shovels,
forming piles to be used as ammunition to be thrown on the flames, or
spread over the fields as a further obstacle to the advance of the
conflagration. The children, supplied with branches, were stationed on
the leeward side of the burning area to beat down any blaze which might
spring up, thus preventing the fire-line from widening.
[Illustration: AN "OLD BURN," SHOWING THE TERRIBLE HAVOC WROUGHT BY THE
FIRE DEMON.
_From a Photograph._]
Although there were fully five hundred persons in this improvised fire
brigade, they were unable to check the progress of the blaze until
it had reached the ploughed area. The flames leaped over the first
furrow, but the stubble and dried grass between it and the second one
had been covered with earth, and only a part ignited. Realizing the
desperate nature of the situation, the people devoted all their efforts
to extinguishing the flames at this spot. As many as could procure them
obtained branches and beat savagely at the blaze, while others used
their hoes and shovels, some literally running into the fire in their
efforts to stamp it out.
Finally the breach was closed, and, encouraged by their progress, the
fighters redoubled their efforts. By midnight the long row of flames
had been turned into a mass of smoking embers. But the fire, though
conquered, was not wholly dead. Squads of men were left to prevent
another outbreak, and the others scattered to their homes to snatch a
few hours' rest until called to relieve those on watch, for prairie
fires are treacherous and may smoulder for several days, only to break
out with renewed energy. They must be entirely extinguished, or watched
closely until they die out.
Recently another fire occurred, its history conclusively demonstrating
the great value of the Forest Service. In Long Pine National Forest
a sawmill has been permitted to be operated by the Government, under
the control of the foresters. The supervisor of Long Pine Forest is
one Charles Ballenger, who has his head-quarters at Camp Crook, South
Dakota, some distance away. Camp Crook is connected with the mill town
by a telephone line, and one day Ballenger received a message that a
fire had started in the vicinity of the mill. He hurried to the place
on horseback as soon as possible, reaching there the same day the fire
started; but it spread so rapidly that a large area was ablaze by the
time he got to the spot, although the mill-hands and people in the town
had fought it as best they could. They began fighting the fire when it
was only a spot about twenty feet square, but the earth was covered
with so much dry wood and other inflammable material that the flames
were carried through the forest at a great speed, driven by the high
wind.
[Illustration: A FOREST IN EMBRYO--MILLIONS OF YOUNG TREES ARE RAISED
ANNUALLY FROM SEED TO BE PLANTED OUT FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE
GENERATIONS.
_From a Photograph._]
Ballenger realized that strenuous efforts must be made if the fire was
to be checked, and that it would be useless to try to work against
it in the direction which it was spreading. He accordingly organized
the fire-fighters into squads, and directed them how to use earth and
tree branches in working against the flames. Then an effort was made
to change the course of the fire, all hands working along one side of
the burning area. Thus its course was gradually changed towards what
are called the Bad Lands, which are destitute of trees, and where
the fire would not have enough material to keep it alive. This plan
proved successful, although it was necessary to keep up the fight for
forty-eight hours before the danger-point was passed. During this time,
however, the flames had actually covered nearly ten thousand acres,
eating into the forest at the rate of over two hundred acres an hour.
No one thought of changing the course of the fire until Ballenger's
arrival. His skill and experience, however, showed him that it was
the only method which could be taken, on account of the extent of the
forest and its extreme dryness.
The smoke of the fire could be distinctly seen from the town of Camp
Crook, and after Ballenger left for the scene several of the men went
into the second storey of a building to look at it. While there,
someone dropped a match or cigar-end, with the result that the building
was soon in flames. As all the forest rangers and most of the citizens
had gone to the forest to put out the fire there, the few who remained
could do nothing to extinguish the blaze, and most of the town was
destroyed, including the head-quarters of the Forest Service, so that
when poor Ballenger and his weary comrades returned they found they had
lost all their possessions except the clothes they stood in!
[Illustration: MAKING A HOLE TO PLANT A YOUNG TREE IN.
_From a Photograph._]
At present the rangers have to care for no fewer than a hundred and
sixty-six of these national forests, so called because they are
controlled by the American Government. They cover a territory which
is in all nearly five times the size of England. In many places past
fires as well as storms and the work of the lumbermen have destroyed so
many trees, that miles and miles of the woodland are ruined. From these
devastated tracks spring only bushes and shrubs, with an occasional
young tree. The ground is covered with charred trunks, while the
skeletons of what were once forest monarchs rise skyward.
To reafforest these denuded tracts is a part of the duty of the
rangers, and the supervisors and their men have the work of cultivating
young trees and setting them out in such places. To obtain the
necessary tree-shoots for planting they grow them from seed. For
instance, young pines are secured by taking the seed from pine cones,
which are opened by exposing them to the rays of the sun. Then the seed
is sown in the forest nurseries. There are eight of these, situated
on reserves in various parts of the West. They contain enough land to
grow five million trees at one time, and as the nurseries have been in
existence for several years, each year a million or more of these trees
are large enough to be taken to the denuded lands and planted. Already
a large area of land made worthless by the ravages of man and the
elements has been reafforested in this way, and will again be ready to
furnish a timber supply at the end of the next twenty years or so.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL STRETCH OF FOREST CLEARED OF PARASITICAL
UNDERGROWTH AND GUARDED BY THE GOVERNMENT RANGERS.
_From a Photograph._]
It does not seem possible that this mere handful of men could perform
all the duties of the American Forest Service and yet cover such an
immense region as they do, but the records of the Government show that
since these police of the wilderness began going their lonely rounds
the number of fires has greatly diminished, while the various national
parks are in a far better condition than ever before. One of the best
things about the department is that it is educating the settler in
the Far West to a better sense of the value of the forests, and the
wasteful and extravagant methods formerly pursued by the farmer and
lumberman are gradually being abandoned.
[Illustration]
The Legend of the Wailing Woman.
+By D. W. O. Fagan, of Mangapai, Whangarei, Auckland, New Zealand.+
The author writes: "In a cave under the cliffs of Manaia is a
'blow-hole' only actuated once in every month, at the time of
the highest spring tides, when it sends forth a wailing shriek.
Below I have set down the native legend concerning it, as told
to me by my old Maori friend Puketawa. Allowing for idiomatic
differences, the narrative is in his own words."
We beached our boat on the shore of the islet and waited the coming
of the flood-tide to help us against the river current in the harbour
narrows. Night had already fallen, but the sands were still warm from
the heat of the sun, and though the sky was clear and full of stars,
the shadows were very dark under the Pohotokawas, where we lay. Our
fire had sunk to a few dull embers, and Puketawa's pipe glowed like a
red eye from the darkness. Across the channel opposite, a quarter of
a mile away, rose the dark mass of Manaia, its crags among the stars.
Presently, the moon, rising from the sea behind us, lit the dark rocks
with a flood of silver light.
On three sides of the headland cliffs rose sheer from the water to a
height of two hundred feet. On the flat, table-like top a cone-shaped
mass of limestone rocks, piled one above the other, rose to a further
height of a hundred feet or so. The cliff of the seaward face was
pierced at its base by a dark cave, into which the swell broke with
gurgling echoes. On the fourth side the ground fell away in a grassy
slope from the base of the rock-cone to the white sands of the bay.
At the top of the slope were the mound and ditch of an old "pah"
(fort). Whence I wonder did those old-time Maoris obtain their
knowledge of military fortification? Vallum and fosse, scarp and
counter-scarp, the place looked like a Roman "castrum." It needed no
great stretch of fancy to imagine the glint of moonbeams on brazen
armour, the clang of shields and steady tramp of the legionaries on the
ramparts.
I glanced at Puketawa, and saw by the sheen of his eyes through the
shadows and the fierce short puffs at his pipe that his mind was back
in the old legendary days, when these same cliffs rang to the clash
of weapons, the fierce shouts of contending warriors, and the dying
screams of the vanquished.
As the tide rose and a heavier swell rolled into the cave, there came
from its dark mouth a long, sobbing cry--half wail, half shriek--the
anguished cry of a woman in distress.
So sudden and startling was the sound in that lonely place, that I
half sprang to my feet. Though reason told me that what I had taken
for a cry of distress was but the jugglery of air and water in the
rock-crevices, I remained half erect, ready, at a repetition, to launch
the boat to aid. It came again, more sorrow-laden, more piercing than
before.
Puketawa must have divined my thoughts, for he laid his hand upon my
arm.
"It is Heruini who cries for her lover," he said.
"Who is she?"
"Listen. This is her story as it has come down through the years from
mouth to mouth of the 'Tohunga,'[2] even unto this day." And then he
told me the following narrative:--
[2] Priests, who preserve the oral traditions of the tribes.
* * * * *
Ere the first of the Pakeha (white men) set foot in Aoa-te-Aroha
(New Zealand), and before the tribes of the north were welded into
one nation, Kokako was chief of Ngatitoa. Here, at Manaia, was the
stronghold of the tribe. Their lands lay broad and fertile from Waikara
in the west, through Parna, even to Tukaka in the north. Flanked on
three sides by the sea and the precipice, the place was a strong one.
By the slope alone could the enemy approach, and that was guarded by
the "pah," whereof, as you see, the wall and ditch remain to this day.
Look also how the back of the "pah" is set against the rock face.
Through the rock behind runs a steep path leading to the shelf below
the crags. Narrow, walled by high rocks on either side, this path
was also guarded by a stockade. Beneath the topmost crags is a cave.
From the cave's mouth to the cliff edge the space is narrow--scarce
a spear's length in width. Up this path, should the "pah" fall, the
Ngatitoa could retreat, when all was lost, to the cave, where, in the
floor, there was a pool of water.
Before that time of which I speak the Ngatitoa was a tribe numerous and
warlike. Now, half the fighting men had fallen in long wars, and the
tribe was much weakened. Yet was Kokako still a great chief, and five
hundred warriors followed him to battle.
Peace had endured for a year, but still the warriors kept ward on the
ramparts. The times were evil; tribe fought with tribe, chief with
chief, and none knew when the foe might come against them.
Southward across the bay lay the "hapu" (settlement) of Ngatahi, of
which tribe Parema was chief. Now Parema was a man of guile, crafty
and faithless. When words were fairest on his lips, then treachery was
blackest in his heart. Bitter had been the feud between the tribes, but
for a year there was peace.
Kokako was old, and weary with much fighting. His strong sons had
fallen in battle, and of his children there remained to him but one
daughter, and she was very near to his heart.
Heruini, a maiden of seventeen, beautiful as the dawning, loved her
cousin Taurau, and they decided to wed. Already preparations for the
marriage were being made.
Kokako was glad that the youth had found favour in Heruini's sight, for
Taurau was his dead brother's son, and he thought: "It is well. Taurau
will be chief at my death, and after him the son of Heruini. Thus shall
my seed not perish from the land."
Now it befell that Parema and certain of his followers, to the number
of two hundred, came to visit Ngatitoa. That they were uninvited
did not matter--the ovens were heated and a feast was made for the
visitors. Afterwards, as the chiefs talked in the "Whare-runanga"
(house of assembly), Parema rose, saying: "Greeting, Kokako. It is
peace between Ngatahi and Ngatitoa. Miami, my wife, groweth old. Give
me, therefore, thy daughter Heruini. I would make her my second wife.
Thus shall peace be strengthened between the tribes."
The insult was great. That Kokako's daughter, their "wahine-nui"
(chieftainess), should be sought as a mere secondary wife fired the
blood of the younger warriors. Taurau and many other Ngatitoa sprang
erect, their weapons in their hands. Yet Parema was safe, for he was
their guest, and the laws of Maori hospitality forbade violence. Kokako
stilled the tumult and answered scornfully:--
"Parema mistakes. He has feasted too well, and talks with a proud
stomach. He is not now in the 'hapu' of the Hakerau tribes, who sell
their women like pigs. (Parema's wife was of the Hakerau.) To-morrow
Heruini weds Taurau, my brother's son. Let Parema and his followers
attend the 'hiu' (wedding-feast)."
The sleeping "whares" of the single women occupied one side of the
"marae" (open space in the centre of a "pah"). Here Heruini, with
two of her favourite women, slept in a separate "whare." The Ngatahi
visitors camped without the walls.
In the middle of the night, towards the dawning, when sleep is heaviest
on the senses, Taurau, where he slept in the men's "whare," sprang from
his couch. In his ears rang a woman's scream, shrill and piercing. He
heard his name called in affrighted accents. Love's ears are quick to
distinguish. It was the voice of Heruini.
With a shout to his comrades to follow, he raced across the "marae" to
see, in the moonlight, Heruini struggling in the arms of Parema and
some of his followers! All unarmed as he was, he sprang on Parema and
bore him to the ground. In the confusion the trembling girl escaped.
Taurau was dragged from Parema's throat. Yet, ere they could slay him,
the Ngatahi were borne back by the rush of the enraged Ngatitoa. A
comrade thrust his forgotten weapons in Taurau's hand, and he leapt
into the fray.
Then there rose on the still night air a confused clamour of shrieks,
yells, the clash of weapons, and screams for mercy. Kokako raged in the
midst. Taurau's "mere" (battle-club) drank its fill of blood. "Slay,
slay! Let not one escape," was the cry. The gates of the stockade were
closed, preventing egress, and the work of death went on, whilst the
sobbing women clung together, shuddering, in their quarters. A party of
the Ngatitoa had meanwhile sallied forth to fall upon the sleeping camp
beyond the walls. It was done. Through a broken gateway some twenty
of the Ngatahi broke from that riot of blood and death to struggle,
fighting, to the shore. Launching one of the canoes, battered, broken,
and wounded, with scarce ten men at the paddles, they made their
limping way across the bay. Of the Ngatitoa, some fifty had been slain.
* * * * *
It was dawn. The first rays of the sun lit the dark waters. High on the
rock-shelf sat Taurau and Heruini. Behind them lay the mouth of the
dark cavern, before them the precipice. He had been on watch since the
midnight hour, and his love came to him with the morning.
Night and day had the sentinels looked across the bay from the lofty
cliff. Six months had passed since the deed was done, yet had Ngatahi
made no sign. Nevertheless, Ngatitoa knew that they would surely come
to seek "utu" (vengeance) for the slaying. So, in the dawning, Heruini
listened to the "korero-tara" (love-talk) of her lover.
Suddenly, with a cry of "Ai, Ngatahi, Ngatahi!" she pointed across the
sea. Far away under the distant headland appeared a dark blot upon the
face of the waters. As they gazed, the blot became a line of little
dots, that grew as they came.
Taurau sprang up. Shouting, "E tana, e tana!" (the foe, the foe), he
raced down the narrow path.
At once the sleeping "pah" stirred to preparation. The outlying folk
were gathered within the walls, and Ngatitoa sat grimly down to await
the enemy.
[Illustration: "THE CANOES ADVANCED IN LINE--A THOUSAND PADDLES,
STRIKING AS ONE, BEATING THE WATER TO FOAM."]
In twenty great canoes, each carrying a hundred men, they came. Parema
had, with promises of slaves and plunder, enlisted the tribes of the
Hakerau to his cause.
Who shall tell the fury of that oncoming? The canoes advanced in
line--a thousand paddles, striking as one, beating the water to foam.
The rowers, straining every muscle, panted on their stroke. The
grinning figure-heads hissed through the foam of their coming, and
in the centre of each canoe, aloft on a platform, stood a chief who
chanted his "waiata" (war song), swaying his body as he beat time with
his spear above his head.
The canoes raced for the beach. The speed of their onset carried them
high upon the sand, and the warriors leapt to shore. Parema moved at
once to the assault. The Ngatahi warriors and the wild men of the
Hakerau swarmed into the ditch. On them rained a hail of spears and
stones from the defenders of the "pah." They fell by scores, and were
trampled, shrieking, underfoot by their onrushing comrades. Like the
sea beneath the breath of the tempest, to and fro in the ditch surged
the heaving, struggling mass of men under that pitiless shower.
With ladders and logs of wood, some mounted the wall to hurl themselves
against the gate, attacking the stockade with axes in a vain endeavour
to tear it down. The gate opened, and, Taurau at their head, out
poured two hundred chosen Ngatitoa in a splendid sally. Shouting their
war-cry, "Hai-o! Hai-o!" they swept the assailants from the wall and
across the ditch. Naught remained in the ditch but the dying and the
dead.
Then Parema changed his tactics. With trunks of trees, bags of earth,
and the bodies of the dead the ditch was filled. Over these, piled
pell-mell on their shrieking, wounded comrades, the Ngatahi rushed
again to the assault. Then, whilst some engaged the defenders, others
carried brushwood and dry fern, piling it in a great mound against the
stockade. Fire was put to it, and soon the whole face of the "pah" was
ablaze.
[Illustration: THE HEADLAND, SHOWING ENTRANCE TO THE SEA CAVE--THE
CAVE'S MOUTH IS BEHIND THE INTERVENING ROCK MARKED WITH A BLACK CROSS.
THE WHITE CROSS HALF-WAY UP THE CLIFF SHOWS THE ENTRANCE TO THE UPPER
CAVE AND THE LEDGE FROM WHICH TAURAU FELL. _From a Photograph_.]
Then, when the fire had done its work, came the final assault. The
weakened stockade fell before the rush, and the weary defenders found
the enemy amongst them, hacking and hewing. Out-numbered, out-matched,
out-generalled, Ngatitoa was broken and driven back.
Kokako was slain, but Taurau still fought. Scarcely forty men struggled
up the steep path and gained the shelter of the second stockade. After
them swarmed the enemy to repeat their stratagem. But the women were
watching on the cliffs. Down on their heads thundered an avalanche of
rocks. A moment, and the narrow path before the stockade seethed with
shouting, exultant men; another, and it was bare of living thing.