BY P. V. ALPISER, OF THE BUREAU OF POSTS, MANILLA, PHILIPPINE
ISLANDS.
The traveller who has visited Japan has, as a general rule, nothing
but good to say of the land and its very polite people; and as a
rule, also, it may be said that such praise is well merited, for the
Japanese certainly try exceedingly hard to please all visitors, and,
if they do not always succeed, the fault in all probability lies with
the visitors and not with the people. Unpleasant experiences rarely
occur to the foreigner in the domains of the Mikado. The Japanese
cities and the country are perfectly policed, and robberies are seldom
heard of. However, I can testify from personal experience that one
_can_ meet with unpleasant incidents in this well-regulated kingdom.
In the early spring of 1903 I was journeying to the Philippines, and
arrived in Yokohama during the latter part of April--in the midst of
the cherry-blossom season, a most delightful time to visit Japan. The
air was full of the agreeable aroma of the cherry blossoms, and all
Yokohama was in festival attire, making a scene of great animation and
gorgeousness.
On the evening of my last day, after dinner, I strolled through the
main streets of the city, down gay Theatre Street, with its rows of
flaunting, unreadable banners, and far out along a broad avenue across
a number of oddly-constructed wooden bridges, not noticing and not
caring whither I went.
My walk took me much farther than I had supposed, and when I started
to return I discovered that a strong wind was blowing and a storm
threatening. When about half-way back to the steamship pier I found,
to my annoyance, that I had lost one of my gloves, and decided that
I had left it in the small restaurant where I had had dinner--a
very nice place kept by a Japanese family who had lived in Boston,
Massachusetts, for a number of years, and which the doctor of our ship
had highly recommended. It seemed to me that I could not be very far
from this place, and I decided to call in for my glove. The restaurant
was located in a side street in the curio district of the city,
branching off from the main thoroughfare I was on.
When I turned down this side-street it was entirely deserted. Not
a living thing was in sight and the road was absolutely and totally
dark, neither the city nor the residents, apparently, providing any
lights to illuminate the street. I had gone some little way down this
gloomy lane when a door on the opposite side of the street suddenly
burst open and two men jumped out and came running towards me. I
stopped and asked them the whereabouts of the restaurant. One of them
answered gruffly, and in bad English, that he did not know. I turned
to go on, noting out of the tail of my eye that the men, after
speaking together for a moment, followed me.
As I walked slowly away one of the pair gave a peculiar call.
It was instantly responded to by two more men, who stepped into the
street from a house just behind me, and as the light from within the
doorway shone upon them for a brief moment I plainly saw the glint of
steel from a long knife one held in his hand.
Late that afternoon, as it happened, I had bought a heavy,
curiously-carved cane as a souvenir, and, fortunately, I had this cane
with me. Now, realizing that I was in a tight corner, I increased my
pace somewhat, swinging the cane with the small end in my hand, and
watching narrowly to prevent any one of the four from getting in front
of me, or stealing upon me unawares from behind.
In another moment I saw they were preparing for a rush, and I knew
that, although I might down one or two of them with my stick, the
others would easily overpower me. Vainly I looked up the street; no
one was to be seen! The houses on both sides were as black as pitch;
there was not a light anywhere! Not even a star twinkled above, for
heavy clouds obscured the sky.
For some reason it did not occur to me to call for help. In fact, I
have always been a rather silent man, doing my work in the quietest
manner possible, and taking my diversions in the same manner. I do
not think I should have uttered a sound if these ruffians had ended
my career then and there. Perhaps a cry would have brought me ready
assistance from a score of adjacent houses, but it never occurred to
me to give it.
I had proceeded but a short distance, always with an eye on my
followers, when I saw, or felt, perhaps, that the rush was coming.
I heard no sound, for the rascals were absolutely noiseless in their
movements.
Hastily I jumped to the nearest house and, with my back to it,
prepared to lay about with my stout stick. The four villains were
right at my heels, he with the knife a little in advance of the
others. A picture of the group at that moment would have made a most
interesting souvenir of Japan.
I was just beginning to regret that I had not suffered the loss of
my glove without protest, when the foremost scoundrel made a lunge
towards me. Simultaneously, a loud ringing, clanging sound smote my
ears, and the quartet disappeared from my view like magic. I am not
sure now that I did not rub my eyes vigorously to see if I was awake.
The noise that had saved me proceeded from the next side-street
parallel to the one I was on, and I was at a loss to account for
it. It was repeated time after time, gradually growing fainter, and
finally ceasing altogether.
Needless to say, I took instant advantage of the respite thus afforded
me, and hurried along at my best pace. I felt sure that my late
assailants would not give up their attempt so easily, and before I had
gone thirty steps my fears were realized.
Glancing back nervously every few yards, I presently saw several dark
shadows gliding along behind me, and I unconsciously drew over towards
the opposite side of the street. As I passed very near the door of a
house that protruded into the street some little way beyond the other
buildings a side door burst open ahead of me and a young Jap stood in
the doorway just long enough for the lamplight to strike squarely on
his face and to reveal, to my surprise, the features of my rickshaw
man of that very afternoon!
A low whistle sounded from behind me and the man jumped out of the
door and stepped in front of me. It was quite plain to me that this
rickshaw man, having seen that I carried considerable money that day,
had organized this attempt to rob me, and that he was determined to
succeed at any cost.
I was surrounded, but, so far as I knew, only one of the precious lot
had a weapon--the man with the knife. I felt the rush again, the one
in front and the two or three behind, and I jumped towards the house,
but was compelled to turn before reaching it and defend myself.
My rickshaw man was the first upon me, and I had the sweet
satisfaction of laying him flat on his back with a tremendous crack
over the head. At the same instant, before I could turn, I felt the
sharp swish of something flying past my head and heard the ripping of
cloth at my side.
[Illustration:
MR. P. V. ALPISER, WHO WAS ATTACKED BY ROBBERS IN A DARK STREET IN
YOKOHAMA.
_From a Photograph._
]
The man with the knife had slashed at me and had cut my clothes open
from my right shoulder to my hip, but, luckily, so far as I could
feel, without even scratching the skin. I swung about quickly, and
as he raised his arm for another and perhaps more effective stroke
brought my cane down fiercely on his arm; the knife fell to the ground
with a clatter. Another of the rascals stooped to pick it up, while
the rickshaw man began to sit up. It was a critical moment, but the
age of miracles is not yet past!
Again that harsh, ringing clang broke through the blackness of the
night, and this time from almost at my side, and a moment later
into the street, a few doors away, there stepped a black figure, and
brought a long steel rod down on the hard ground with a noise that
sent all four of my assailants scuttling away into complete obscurity
for once and all.
My rescuer was clad in a long black cloak with a sort of helmet on his
head, also black, and carried a steel rod, perhaps eight feet long,
to which were attached several iron rings and a long chain. He was,
it appeared, a night-watchman, and as he proceeded on his rounds he
struck the ground with the rod, thus announcing to all, evil-doers and
righteous as well, that an arm of the law was at hand. This quaint
old watchman--for he was quite old and grizzled--in his queer costume,
seemed a relic of the Middle Ages; he was quite different from the
regular Japanese policemen in their smart and jaunty uniform.
I stepped forward and, kicking something with my foot, stooped to see
what it was, and found the knife which the would-be robbers had failed
to carry off with them. The watchman silently surveyed me for a time,
and then to my surprise spoke slowly in English. "You no good here!"
he said; "go hotel soon!"
I lost no time in taking his advice, and in about an hour's time
reached the hotel near the pier. To my intense astonishment, however,
I found the doors locked. I tried for a few minutes to rouse someone,
but failed entirely.
I then went to three other hotels, without better result. This
consumed some time, of course, and finally, giving up in disgust, I
walked back to the pier, entered the Customs House, and saw it was but
a little past eleven o'clock. Think of it! Hotels closed, locked,
and barred at 11 p.m.! This was another new experience for me; I had
evidently not yet learned everything about Japan.
[Illustration: "I HAD THE SWEET SATISFACTION OF LAYING HIM FLAT ON HIS
BACK WITH A TREMENDOUS CRACK OVER THE HEAD."]
I then tried to get a boatman to take me out to my ship, but none
would do so, all saying that a typhoon was blowing. "No can do;
too much typhoon; turn boat down up!" There was nothing to be done,
therefore, but to wait in a corner of the Customs House for daylight.
When it came I hailed a sampan and went to the steamer, taking with me
my cane and the knife--interesting souvenirs of my night's adventure.
[Illustration: TEN LIONS in a DAY!]
By Walter Cooper.
The story of an exciting day's sport on the Athi River,
British East Africa. The lions came not singly, but in troops,
and no fewer than ten fell to the rifles of the party of
three! The last lion, however, nearly bagged a member of the
party before being killed by a plucky native.
We were visiting British East Africa in quest of big game, and on
our arrival at Mombasa at once proceeded by the railway to Stony Athi
Station, taking with us a Swahili headman named Abdullah, a cook, four
gun-bearers, three tent boys, and over fifty porters, who had been
engaged in advance for us by one of the leading trading houses.
Soon after leaving Mombasa one gets into a very desolate thorn-bush
country, which continues without intermission till one reaches Voi.
After Voi one catches occasional glimpses of antelope in the thin
thorn-bush, but it is not until the Capiti plains are reached that
they are seen in numbers.
The vibration of the train unfortunately made the use of field-glasses
impossible, but for all that we saw numbers of zebras and Grant's and
Thomson's gazelle; and once we descried a rhino walking ponderously
along about half a mile off. The country from here onward is
similar in character, being perfectly open plain with short grass,
occasionally broken by a dry watercourse, whilst on either side hills,
or rather rows of kopjes, rose up in clumps. From the dak bungalow at
Kia we could see Kilimanjaro, rising majestically from the flat plain
and looking about four miles off instead of the seventy odd which we
knew it to be. It was cold at this point, as we arrived quite early in
the morning, and we were very thankful for our excellent breakfast.
We all felt rather forlorn, being dumped down on to the station
platform with no one but a Babu station-master to give us advice,
for we were all new at the game except Captain H----, who had done a
little shikar in India. He had brought with him his sister, Miss Sybil
H----, who, being a born sportswoman, was anxious to try her hand at
big game.
The station-master soon fired our imaginations by telling us that five
lions came to drink at a spot close by at which, as it was too late
that day to go farther, we should have to camp. We got our loads
carried there, and soon had the tents up. We also built roaring fires
all about the camp, for, though we were very anxious to meet a lion,
we did not want our first encounter to take place in the middle of the
night. However, none turned up, so next day we made a march of about
eight miles to Lucania, a kopje of considerable height, round which
lions were said to be numerous.
Daybreak showed us a herd of hartebeeste within half a mile of us,
whilst farther off were two small herds of zebra and several lots of
Grant's gazelle and "Tommies," as Thomson's gazelle is usually called.
They were all somewhat shy, but we each managed to bag something, Miss
H---- getting two wildebeeste and Captain H---- an impala.
These uncanny-looking beasts were scarce where we were at that
particular time; we were told they migrated to Kilimanjaro and
returned later. This certainly seemed to be correct, as later on we
saw them blackening the plain quite close to Nairobi. I was with the
young lady when she bagged them, and it occurred in rather a lucky
way. We were sitting under a thorn-bush in a little depression, when
we saw the two wildebeeste coming towards us at a trot. As they got
near their movements became most threatening. After standing for a few
moments surveying us they threw up their heels and, with heads down
and tails waving, charged savagely straight at us. They made several
stoppages in order to inspect us better, but the demonstrations grew
more and more savage, and they had got within sixty yards when Miss
H---- took a steady aim at the biggest and fired. He turned and rushed
off at a terrific pace, the other following suit. Number one, however,
had not covered more than fifty yards when he fell dead, and his
comrade, pulling up to see what was happening, was killed by a second
shot from Miss H----'s Mauser.
We were much elated at her success, as wildebeeste are most
imposing-looking. We afterwards learnt that the apparently savage
charge was nothing more than sheer curiosity concerning an object
which they could not distinctly identify. Hassan, Miss H----'s
gun-bearer, being a devout Mohammedan, rushed up to "chinja" the
animals, their religion prescribing that unless the throat has been
cut from ear to ear, and the blood allowed to flow, the meat is
unclean. The Swahilis were very particular about this so long as it in
no way interfered with their convenience.
The following morning we had just started breakfast when one of the
porters came running in to say that whilst he was gathering firewood
he had seen seven lions, including three fine maned ones. We started
at once, accompanied by our gun-bearers and two Masai boys who were
recommended to us to carry second guns. We were all armed alike,
having Rigby's ·275 Mausers loaded with double ·450 cordite.
The plain hereabouts was broken up by watercourses, in some of which
water still remained, and owing to the moisture there were some large
trees and more bush marking the course than in other parts; indeed,
we could tell exactly where the watercourses were by the lines
of vegetation. Large beds of high reeds covered some of these
depressions.
On our way to the place where the lions had been seen we had to cross
a perfectly open grassy plain, intersected every now and then by
small, dry watercourses. Any one of these might hold a lion, as he
is an animal who likes to slink along unseen. Every donga we came to,
therefore, we searched, expecting to find lions. We passed a lot of
game on the way, but were afraid to fire for fear of disturbing the
lions. Miss H---- was radiant at the prospect, and it required all
our firmness to prevent her rushing on ahead, such was her eagerness.
Personally I was also very keen to get a lion, but I had a lurking
consciousness of my inexperience, which was not improved by the
fearful lion stories, true and otherwise, with which we had been
regaled by every man we met. Captain H---- showed no emotion of any
sort. He was an old hand at meeting danger, but I could not help
admiring his unmoved expression, which showed that he knew what danger
was and was prepared to meet it. Miss H----, on the other hand, had
forgotten all about danger, and her only thought was to get to close
quarters with the utmost speed.
[Illustration:
THE AUTHOR, MR. WALTER COOPER, WHOSE PARTY OF THREE BAGGED TEN LIONS
IN ONE DAY.
_From a Photograph._
]
We were not far from the trees when we saw a lion slinking along
a depression in the ground towards a clump of dry reeds, which he
entered. After a council of war, it was decided that one of the men
should go round and set fire to the reeds, whilst we posted ourselves
as for a pheasant drive. Miss H---- was in the middle, facing the
reeds, whilst Captain H---- was on her left and I was on her right.
Soon the reeds were blazing high, with a noise like a waterfall. A
crashing, as of a big beast coming in our direction, made our hearts
beat faster, and soon out came, not a lion, but a poor little female
reedbuck, followed soon after by her lord. We let them go with a shock
of disappointment, not unmixed with relief.
An instant later, however, straight in front of Captain H----, a large
lioness bounded across a gap in the reeds, followed by several other
forms not easily distinguishable. She had evidently seen us, for
immediately after the rushing sound stopped and growls succeeded,
increasing in volume as the flames came nearer.
Suddenly, without the slightest warning, out rushed no fewer than
seven lions, no doubt the ones the porter had previously seen. They
passed between Miss H---- and myself, and appeared to be in full
flight, when two lionesses, apparently attracted by the movement the
young lady made in putting up her gun, turned and made straight for
her. They were exactly in a line between me and her, so that I was
unable to shoot. Miss H---- had not descended from a long line of
soldiers for nothing. Standing up boldly, she put in three shots
as they advanced. The first lioness went over like a rabbit, with a
bullet in its left eye which penetrated the brain; the two other
shots merely checked the second. Unable to do anything to help her, in
another instant I expected to see Miss H---- hurled to the ground and
worried to death by the enraged beast. But at this critical juncture
her gun-bearer, Hassan, thinking matters were getting somewhat too
exciting, took to his heels.
[Illustration: MISS SYBIL H----, THE PLUCKY GIRL WHO SHOT FOUR OF THE
LIONS.
_From a Photograph._
]
The lioness, attracted by the sight of the fleeing man, or else afraid
of the fearless figure in front, who was not to be intimidated by her
charge, swerved off suddenly and made after the fugitive. The man had
not more than twenty yards start, and the great brute rapidly overtook
him. Miss H---- fired again, and we men both fired as well, but we
were not near enough to make a good running shot. The wretched man,
with a courage born of desperation, turned at the last moment and
hit at the lioness with his rifle. The blow fell a bit short, and the
enraged brute, snapping at what came nearest, caught the weapon in her
mouth at the muzzle. The pace at which she was travelling was so great
that Hassan was hurled backwards, and in falling his finger caught the
triggers, letting off both barrels. By the most extraordinary piece
of luck the rifle was pointing straight down the beast's throat at the
moment, and down she went, with her head nearly shot away, right
on top of him. When we had at length hauled him out he was a
deplorable-looking object, simply smothered in blood, chiefly the
lioness's, for his only wounds were claw-marks on his thigh, caused
by the contraction of the animal's muscles after death. These were
slight, however, and as soon as Hassan realized he had, albeit
accidentally, shot the lioness himself, he began to strut about in
a ludicrous fashion, bragging to the other men as to what a great
lion-killer he was.
[Illustration: "THE LION SWERVED OFF SUDDENLY AND MADE AFTER THE
FUGITIVE."]
Miss H----, who, in spite of the narrow escape she had had, seemed
to have forgotten it already in her pride at having killed her first
lioness, insisted on following up the others, who had now gone into
some long grass on the open plain. We therefore advanced in line,
about eighty yards apart. We had gone about a mile when my gun-bearer
pointed out the top of a lion's head and ears, just visible above the
grass in a hollow. We passed the word along and at once made for the
place. There was a dry watercourse here, and just in front of Miss
H---- along the edge of it were some big rocks. She was within fifty
yards when, in the gap between the stones, she saw a head. She fired,
and it disappeared. A moment later up it came again. Another shot,
and again it disappeared, only to reappear a third time. Once more she
pulled trigger, and then there was a veritable stampede, for a lion
and five lionesses broke out of the grass, galloping in huge bounds
across the plain. They passed right across my front, and my second
bullet knocked over the lion as dead as a door-nail and my fourth a
lioness, which I got with a lucky shot at the back of its head.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE TEN LIONS KILLED BY THE AUTHOR'S PARTY.
_From a Photograph._
]
Captain H----, who had seen them coming, had kept down out of sight,
for fear they should pass out of range, and they went straight towards
him. On seeing him they stopped, giving him an easy shot at about
forty yards. He killed one lioness, and then, taking his ·450 from his
gun-bearer, took the neatest right and left I ever expect to see at
the other two, who, having separated, were rushing past him at about
sixty yards' distance. This made seven lions that we had seen dead, or
as good as dead, and we expected to find the eighth, which Miss H----
had had three shots at. What was our amazement and delight when, after
a very cautious approach to the rocks, we found not one, but three
fine maned lions lying dead in a heap, a Mauser bullet through the
brain of each! Two had light-coloured manes, whilst the other had a
black one.
[Illustration: "THE LION ROSE UP AS IF UNHURT AND JUMPED AT CAPTAIN
H----."]
They must have been a different lot entirely to the other troop,
and, as each one fell, the next one, excited by curiosity, must have
stepped on to a slab of rock which enabled him to see through the gap
in the rocks. Hence, what appeared to be the same lion was in reality
a different one each time. It was an extraordinary piece of luck, as
they evidently could not quite understand what Miss H---- was, as she
and her gun-bearer were sitting down, and, the distance being short,
she was able to make a dead shot at each.
Captain H---- had just left us to look at my two lions, when we heard
a terrific growl and my apparently dead lion rose up as if unhurt and
jumped at Captain H----. He did not spring; he simply pushed him over.
The Captain had no time to do anything, and went down like a log, the
impetus of the lion's movement sending him yards away. Miss H---- and
I, after an instant of absolute stupefaction, rushed for our guns,
which we had put down. Before we had time to shoot, however, it was
all over. The Masai boy, who was following close beside Captain H----,
with the splendid pluck of his race, drew his _simé_ (a sort of sword,
with all its weight at the business end) and hit the lion across the
spine. The beast simply stiffened spasmodically, and before it had
time to fall over the plucky Masai had sheathed his weapon in the
beast's shoulder three or four times. Then we rushed up to Captain
H----, who looked in a terrible plight; he was covered with blood from
head to foot, and unconscious.
We had, during the chase, got nearer the railway line, and we could
see a train in the distance puffing slowly up the incline towards Athi
River Station. The Masai are very fine runners, so we dispatched one
of them to stop the train, and proceeded to contrive some sort of a
litter to carry Captain H---- in. Miss H----, with a woman's wit, at
once proposed to skin a lion and use its hide. We accordingly started
to rip off the skin of the very beast which had mauled him, having
first propped up our coats over Captain H---- to give him a little
shade. What was our joy, in the middle of our work, to hear his voice
and see him sitting up, smiling as well as he could from a face that
was all blood except what was dirt. He said he felt perfectly well,
and could easily walk back to camp.
It appeared that he had simply been stunned by the terrific fall he
had had, and that he remembered nothing more till he woke and found
himself under a canopy made of our coats. On examining him, expecting
to find a shattered arm, we were astounded to find he had only
received some very nasty-looking gashes. The explanation of this we
soon saw. My shot, which appeared to have killed the lion, had hit the
beast at the base of the jaw, smashing the bone to pieces and stunning
him. When he dashed at Captain H---- his lower jaw was absolutely
useless, so that the upper teeth only acted as a rake instead of
nut-crackers.
However, the wounds looked serious enough, for we knew that very few
men recover from lion-bites, most of them dying of blood-poisoning.
Captain H----, however, was able with assistance to walk very
comfortably the mile which separated us from the line, and before
we got to it we were met by an engineer on the railway, who had his
travelling carriage attached to a goods train. He at once placed
the carriage and train at our disposal, and, best of all, produced a
bottle of carbolic crystals. He insisted that the carbolic should be
put in undiluted, as the action of the pure acid is so rapid that it
kills the tissues which it touches so quickly that no pain is felt.
Certainly this seemed to hold good, for Captain H---- took it quite
calmly, and assured us he was in no great pain. We all took the train
for a few miles to the point nearest our camp, when I left them. It
was arranged that I was to pack up the camp and follow into Nairobi,
Miss H---- and the engineer attending the patient to the hospital,
where, it appeared, he would have to stay for a period, as a high
temperature was by this time apparent, coupled with a feeling of
extreme exhaustion, caused by reaction after his narrow escape. I had
also to superintend the skinning of the lions, which Captain H----, in
spite of his condition, was most anxious about. I was much relieved
to hear the next day that he was going on splendidly, though still
prostrated by the shock and likely to be detained in hospital for the
next few weeks to get his arm healed.
The Masai boy we sent away rejoicing with a present of a cow, as well
as some smaller gifts in money and kind. Cattle are the one and only
form of riches amongst the Masai--except, perhaps, wives--so he was
proportionately pleased, and promised to join us again as soon as we
were ready to start. But we hardly expect to bag ten lions in a day
again.
[Illustration:
THE MASAI BOY (ON LEFT) WHO SAVED CAPTAIN H----'S LIFE, AND HASSAN THE
GUN-BEARER.
_From a Photograph._
]
MY FRIEND DALTON: A Tale of the Klondike.
By HARRY DE WINDT.
Twice--and twice only--the famous explorer met "Dalton," the
gentleman wanderer, and he here relates the story of the two
encounters and the tragic episode which finally revealed to
him the man's real character.
"Good-bye, De Windt; I don't envy you the trip," were the last words
that rang in my ears as the lights of Vancouver faded away in the
wintry darkness.
My friends were right. Business of vital importance called me, or I
should certainly not have left Vancouver at a season when the journey
to Montreal is generally attended with discomfort, not to say danger.
In the summertime it is pleasant enough, for the scenery outrivals
that of Switzerland, and the Canadian Pacific Railway is justly noted
for the perfection of its cars and cuisine. But now the passes were
blocked by snow, and a train had recently been "held up" in the wild,
mountainous district between Banff and Calgary. It was Christmas Eve,
so that I had the cars pretty much to myself. Indeed, east of Lytton,
where a party of Victorians left us to spend the New Year, the train
was practically empty. We numbered, after leaving Lytton, a dozen
passengers in all; none too many to dig a way through the drifts
which, to judge from the steadily-falling snow, were grimly looming
ahead.
The prospect of a week or more of weary travel was not inviting, and
I dined the first evening unable to appreciate a dinner worthy of the
Paris boulevards. The cheerless meal over, I smoked a solitary cigar
in a dimly-lit and silent "smoker," and towards bedtime summoned the
conductor, in sheer desperation, to share a hot grog. Afterwards I
sought my couch. But the frequent stoppages due to the tempest
and driving snow kept me awake--a revolver handy in case of
a "hold-up"--until a cold grey dawn was peering through the
window-blinds. For notes to the amount of thirty thousand dollars
reposed in a note-case under my pillow, and the fact that a friend in
Montreal was awaiting them did not tend to lessen my anxiety.
But fortune and the Arctic weather favoured us, for a starving
wolf would scarcely have faced that blinding blizzard, let alone a
train-robber. We were detained for a time by a fallen snow-shed,
but we forged steadily ahead through minor difficulties, and, on the
morning of the third day, steamed safely into Calgary. Here I put away
my pistol with an easy mind, for open country now lay before us. The
robbers who lurked in the mountains, where trackless forests on either
side of the line afford an easy means of escape, were not likely to
trouble us on the plains.
Dark days were now followed by a blue sky and brilliant sunshine as
we rattled over the prairie, clad in a mantle of dazzling snow. The
monotony of this journey can only be realized by those who, day after
day, have watched the same dreary landscape unfold, as void of life
and colour as the moon itself. A desert, in summer, of withered grass;
in winter the scene of snow-clad desolation so wearies the eye that
the sight of a ruined log-hut or a solitary crow comes as a positive
relief. It was therefore some consolation when, at the little log-town
of Regina, a solitary passenger entered the train.
I surveyed the new-comer with an interest engendered by three days of
solitary boredom. He was middle-aged, with the clean-shaven, clear-cut
face and keen grey eyes common in America, but which, upon this
occasion, were clearly imported. For, although the man's appearance
betrayed rough experiences, his tattered tweeds retained a certain
symmetry more suggestive of Bond Street than Broadway. A "Zingari"
ribbon round his shabby grey hat also hinted at the wearer's
nationality, which was further proclaimed when he called in pure
English for a whisky and soda. The speaker was a gentleman, as shown
by his manner and certain subtle signs that denote the species all
over the world. At first I put him down as a wealthy sportsman, but
the usual arsenal and piles of personal baggage were missing. The
traveller, whoever he was, was uncommunicative, for he drained his
whisky at a draught with a sigh of relief, lay full length upon the
cushions, and slept like a baby until dinner-time.
I generally mistrust the chance acquaintance on Canadian railway cars,
but there was nothing of the "sport" or "bunco-steerer" about this
man. At dinner we got into conversation, and the discovery of mutual
acquaintances in England banished any lingering suspicions on my part;
my companion was apparently glad, after many months of solitude, to
exchange ideas with a fellow-countryman. The stranger had not seen
England for seven years, during which period he had apparently tried
his luck at most things--from gold at Coolgardie to rubies in Rangoon,
in the lazy, desultory fashion of one to whom money is no object.
His name, "Edgar Dalton," told me nothing, but the magic words, "Turf
Club," in a corner of his card augured much. I expressed surprise at
this lengthened and voluntary exile, but Dalton's sudden change of
manner warned me that I was skating on thin ice. Domestic trouble,
perhaps, or a woman, had sent him aimlessly roving over the world,
and, anyhow, it was no business of mine. My eccentric friend had
lately turned his attention to fur trading, he told me, and was now
returning to Chicago from York Factory on Hudson Bay. The winter
journey is a perilous one, but Dalton spoke of a thousand miles in a
dog-sled as though it were a summer picnic. "I like roughing it," he
said, frankly; "civilization bores me, and I loathe the very sight
of a frock-coat!" I did not quite believe him, for the most ardent
globe-trotter occasionally yearns for a sight of Piccadilly; but,
anyhow, as I have said, it was no business of mine.
The evening passed pleasantly, for Dalton was excellent company, and
we sat long and late over our cigars, chatting over his reminiscences,
which would have filled an entire issue of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It
was only towards bedtime that a subject was broached destined to bring
about strange consequences. "You say you know Milford well," said
Dalton, naming a small town in Yorkshire; "did you ever meet a Mrs.
W---- there?" The words were spoken with a hesitation that made me
glance sharply at the speaker. Could this be the secret of his life--a
hopeless passion for the beautiful woman whose sufferings had excited
universal sympathy and whose love so many had sought in vain? To know
Milford was to know or, at any rate, to have heard of Mary W----, who,
a few years since, had figured as the innocent heroine of a notorious
forgery case. The affair never reached a criminal court, for James
W---- had successfully absconded with a large sum of money, and had
never since been seen or heard of. Rumours were rife; some said he had
gone to Australia, others that he was in the Argentine, others that
suicide had wiped him out of existence as completely as a pebble
dropped into the sea. And he would have been no great loss, for,
according to all accounts, a more heartless scoundrel never breathed.
But Mary W---- was still leading a quiet and lonely life, although she
might legally have chosen a second husband from among the many men
who had sought her hand. W---- I had never known, but his portrait
had been freely circulated at the time of the crime, and a momentary
suspicion that Dalton might himself be the man was quickly dispelled
when I recalled the portly frame and bearded countenance of the
forger. Not only did I know Mrs. W----, but I had, only the preceding
winter, saved her life in an ice accident--a fact which raised me
considerably in my fellow-traveller's estimation.
"I only asked you if you knew her," he said, "because I happened to
know him. Poor beggar! He was shot last year in a gambling hell in
Coolgardie."
Here the subject might have dropped, but that fleeting hours and the
frequent reappearance of the conductor with refreshments revived
it. There had clearly been something between Dalton and the forger's
beautiful wife, either before or after her marriage. "I may tell you
in confidence," were his last words that night, "that Mary W---- is
and always has been very dear to me." A cloud passed over Dalton's
face as he continued: "If things were different I should have been a
better and a happier man. There, I won't bore you with my troubles,
but here's my hand, Mr. de Windt, for saving that brave, unselfish
woman's life. And remember, if ever you need a friend you'll find one
in Edgar Dalton."
I was right, then, after all. This was but another victim who had
worshipped vainly at the shrine of pretty Mary W----, and I wondered
vaguely, as I dropped off to sleep, whether the "good angel of
Milford," as she was called, had yet heard of her merciful release.
For here, possibly, was a man who might bring some sunshine into her
lonely life.
The next morning found Dalton seated at breakfast with a mysterious
individual who had joined the train during the night. The stranger
was a stout, florid man of about fifty, with shifty blue eyes, grey
whiskers, and a perpetual smile. He wore a serge suit and a yachting
cap, also a profusion of tawdry jewellery, and might have been
anything from a prosperous drover to the skipper of a tramp steamer.
The new-comer addressed Dalton as "Cap," and until the mystery was
explained I marvelled at his apparent familiarity with the quiet,
refined Englishman. But Mr. Hiram Knaggs, it appeared, had acted as
agent in Chicago for Dalton during his northern trip, and had now met
him by appointment to settle about the disposal of a consignment of
valuable furs. Knaggs was a cheery, amusing fellow, notwithstanding
his vulgarity and a painful habit of parading his wealth. At dinner
that night he displayed a bulky pocket-book with which he pleasantly
averred he could buy up the train and everyone in it. Encouraged,
perhaps, by champagne and good fellowship, I then carelessly alluded
to the comparatively modest sum that had caused me such anxiety, but
a significant look from Dalton closed my lips. "Knaggs, of course,
is all right," he explained afterwards, "but in a public car you can
never be too careful." The incident struck me as being curious, for at
the time there was no one within earshot of our table.
Dalton and his agent were leaving us at Winnipeg, and we had
reached that town--then far from being the bustling city it has now
become--when I awoke on the following morning. The berths lately
occupied by my friends were empty, and I was surprised that Dalton, at
any rate, should have left without a word of farewell. There was yet
half an hour before departure, and I dressed hastily, intending to
alight for a breath of fresh air. But a terrible shock was in store
for me. My heart stood still and a cold sweat bedewed my temples, for
when I placed my hand under the pillow it encountered only a worthless
silver watch. My pocket-book and the thirty thousand dollars had gone!
I was about to call loudly for help, when a touch on the shoulder
arrested me. It was Dalton, with a smile upon his face and the missing
note-case in his hand.
"I was the thief," he said, quietly. "Here are your notes, but take my
advice. Never talk about your money before strangers." Intense relief
overcame a feeling of resentment at the trick played upon me, and,
after all, was it not in my own interest? So I put my pride--and
my notes--in my pocket and thanked my friend for the service he had
rendered me, which I never duly appreciated until long afterwards.
[Illustration: "MY POCKET-BOOK AND THE THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS HAD
GONE!"]
On the platform we found Knaggs in a very surly frame of mind, which
Dalton laughingly ascribed to overnight indulgence in "tanglefoot."
But the joke was apparently ill-timed, for the American turned and
left us with an oath, to his friend's amusement.
"Good-bye, De Windt," said the latter. "We may meet again, and if ever
I can do you a turn, for Mary W----'s sake, count upon me."
Three or four months elapsed, during which period I heard nothing more
of my fellow-travellers, but I received a letter from Mrs. W----,
who had been informed of her husband's death by an anonymous
correspondent--Dalton, no doubt. This was in the spring of 1897,
however, and my mind was too much engrossed with personal affairs to
give the matter much attention. A bad attack of the gold-fever then
raging on the Pacific Coast had resulted in my resolve to leave
Vancouver and seek a fortune in the Klondike. I need not describe the
now familiar perils and privations of that ghastly voyage: the grim
passes, stormy lakes, and treacherous rapids; the cold and starvation
that littered the dark and dangerous road to the "Arctic El Dorado"
with dead and dying victims. Suffice it to say that I eventually
reached my destination, and in less than a year had "struck it
rich" enough to acquire several good claims. Early in March, 1898, I
returned from my claim up the Koyukuk to Dawson City, and took up my
quarters at an hotel, intending to return by the first steamer to St.
Michael, and thence, by the sea route, home.
The River View Hotel was not a cheerful residence, although its
numerous guests were very festively inclined. The restaurant at
dinner-time resembled a bear-garden, and between meals dapper New York
barmen ministered to the wants of a rowdy mixture of nationalities
from all ends of the earth. Time hung heavily on my hands, although
there was plenty of gaiety of the disreputable kind to be found in
most mining camps. Dawson swarmed with gambling and drinking saloons,
but crime was rare, for the North-West Police keep a sharp eye on
evildoers, especially the harpies of both sexes who fleece lucky
miners. You did not need, in those days, to go to the creeks for gold,
for the dust was flung about so recklessly that modest incomes were
made by sweeping out the dancing halls. One night of debauchery often
left wealthy men as poor as when they first started out from home
without a penny. And there was some excuse for the poor prospector,
coming straight from months of cold, hunger, and hard work on some
lonely gulch into a crowded, brightly-lit saloon, with champagne,
music, and friends galore, to say nothing of a gambling table in the
background. Even I, who should have known better, was occasionally
drawn into some dazzling pandemonium which, by daylight, would have
sickened me to contemplate.
Thus it came to pass that I found myself one night at the Imperial
Casino in company with a friend who, like myself, was heartily sick of
his gloomy bedroom at the River View Hotel. The Imperial, like most
of its kind, consisted of a dancing-hall leading into a smaller
compartment screened with green baize, which occasionally parted to
disclose a roulette table. The noise and stifling air of the first
room were, as usual, unbearable, and we struggled through a rowdy
crowd of men and women to the inner sanctum, where a number of players
were assembled. For a time we watched the game with interest, for the
high stakes would have attracted a crowd at Monte Carlo, but these
ragged, mud stained gamblers lost or won their money gracefully and
without the push or wrangle that often occurs on the Riviera. I have
seen more fuss made over a five-franc piece at Monte Carlo than over a
thousand dollars in Klondike.
To this day I don't know what induced me to fling a stake upon the
table. My friend, sick of the fetid atmosphere, had left me, and I was
following him, when the solitary number I had backed turned up. I then
carelessly heaped my winnings on the zero and became the unwilling
object of all eyes when the ivory ball jumped into the space
numbered by that wicked little circle. From that moment I won without
cessation, chiefly, I suppose, because of my absolute indifference
to loss. In an hour I was the gainer of an enormous sum, which,
consisting largely of nuggets and gold-dust, was difficult to handle.
A carpet-bag was borrowed from the proprietor, by whose friendly
advice I made my exit through a back door, and hastened along the
snowy, silent street to my hotel. As I neared my hotel a figure stood
out from the doorway of the River View, and I recognised Barlow, of
the North-West Mounted Police, who a few hours previously had been my
guest at dinner.
"Don't shoot, old man," said my friend, as a revolver gleamed in the
moonlight; "it's only me. We have got a big job on. The safe in the
office here was rifled last night, and the thief is supposed to be
living in the hotel. J----, of Scotland Yard, and ten of my men are
inside; so if the joker tries any games on to-night it will be all up
with him. By the way, _you_ look a bit suspicious with that bag. Gold
from Gluckstein's, is it? Whew! Oh, pass in; you're a match for any
hotel sneak." And with a cheery "Good night" I left my friend vainly
endeavouring to keep warm in a temperature that would have tried the
patience of a Polar bear.
[Illustration: "THE DOOR WAS THROWN OPEN WITH A CRASH AND THE ROOM
FLOODED WITH THE LIGHT OF MANY LANTERNS."]
The barrack-like building was in darkness, and by the aid of a wax
match I groped my way to my bedroom, a garret for which I paid, daily,
the sum of twenty dollars. The door was fitted with a cheap lock which
a missing key rendered useless, but I secured my winnings, which I
carefully locked up, and then retired to rest with a mind at ease,
thanks to a revolver under my pillow. I must have dropped off to sleep
suddenly, for when I awoke the fag-end of my candle was sputtering
in the socket. The next moment it had gone out, leaving me with no
matches and an unpleasant suspicion that, while I slept, someone had
entered the room. Conviction followed when I heard a moving body and
loudly challenged the intruder. But there was no reply.
"If you don't answer, I shoot!" I cried through the darkness. There
is short shrift for thieves in mining camps, and the next moment I had
fired at random in the direction of the sound. Simultaneously the door
was thrown open with a crash and the room flooded with the light
of many lanterns. J----, the Scotland Yard man, and half-a-dozen
policemen were soon surrounding a prostrate figure, clad in a grey
sleeping-suit, which lay with a dark crimson mark over the heart,
showing where my bullet had reached its mark. Great heavens! Had I
killed him?
The bare idea filled me with horror, as I pushed my way through a ring
of excited men and, kneeling by the side of the wounded man, gently
raised his head. The features were already twitching in the death
agony, the eyes were dull and glazed, but a faint smile flickered over
the face as I realized, with the appalling terror of a nightmare, that
I was looking upon the features of Edgar Dalton.
"Forgive me," he gasped, faintly, as I bent closer to catch his
whispered words. "I never knew it was you. Knaggs will tell you. Give
her----" The hand was raised, with a last effort, towards a thin gold
chain around the neck, but death arrested it half-way. Edgar Dalton,
killed by my hand, had expired in my arms!
"Come, sir, we can do no good," said J----, presently, as I continued
to gaze vacantly upon the ashy face of the corpse. It was borne
away by six stalwart troopers through the now crowded passages and
stairway. "You've no need for remorse," added the detective, "for
you've rid the world of as clever and cruel a scoundrel as it's ever
been my lot to come across--and I have seen a few. Why, he has murders
enough on his hands in Australia alone to hang him ten times over."
"Mr. Edgar Dalton?" I asked, almost speechless with amazement.
"Is that the name you knew him by?" said the Scotland Yard man, with
ill-disguised pity for my ignorance. "Edgar Dalton, indeed! Why, the
Australian Government has offered a reward of one thousand pounds for
this man, dead or alive, for the past three years. I have been after
him for seven years as James W----, the forger, and I think I am
fairly entitled to the reward," he added. "For, you see, I have netted
both birds this time. There's the other"--and he pointed to a man
standing handcuffed between two troopers by the open doorway. His
dejected appearance contrasted oddly with a gay suit of pink
pyjamas, but although the smiling lips were now screened by a bristly
moustache, and a carefully-curled auburn wig concealed the scanty
grey locks, I had little trouble in recognising my old friend and
fellow-traveller, Mr. Hiram Knaggs.
I was permitted to visit him the next day, and found him shivering,
heavily ironed, in a cold, miserable shanty known as the town jail.
Knaggs made light of his discomfort and the long term of imprisonment
before him, but was inconsolable at the death of his leader. "A whiter
man never breathed, Mr. de Windt," said the man, with tears in his
eyes; and although I knew Knaggs for a consummate villain, I could
scarcely restrain a feeling of pity for the abject figure before me.
Nor, indeed, could I think of the dead man without compunction, for
I could not forget the feeling of gratitude that had prompted him to
save my notes from the greedy grasp of his confederate.
"He always spoke well of you," said the man, "and if he'd only known
last night that the swag was yours he'd have been alive now. But I
suppose the game was up, anyhow, with that J---- on our tracks."
[Illustration: A FORM OF PUNISHMENT FOR CRIMINALS USED IN THE KLONDIKE
AND KNOWN AS THE "WOOD-PILE."
_From a Photograph._
]
And Hiram ground his teeth in silent rage as I left him--to be
eventually sentenced to ten years "on the wood-pile," a local form of
punishment which, owing to the Arctic climate, is seldom endured for
long.
I was permitted to retain the gold chain and medallion, which
contained a faded portrait of W----'s wife. Mary W---- still wears the
little locket in memory of the worthless scamp who wrecked her life,
but who, nevertheless, had loved her in his own wild way.
Two Girls in Japan.