pushing along sleepily today when a big Newfoundland dog came near
killing Walton. I looked around just in time to see Walton plunge over
an embankment into a snarl of milkweeds, briars and rocks, head down,
with his wheel on top of him. He said the dog barked so fiercely that
when he made the plunge he actually thought he felt the ugly beast's
breath on the seat of his pants. We soon discovered that the dog was
tied to a tree, so we went about to repair his wheel. The front wheel
must have been caught between two rocks, when Walton's weight on it
(for a frightened man weighs heavy) doubled up the forks like a jack
knife. We got a blacksmith to heat and hammer it out and now both
Walton and the wheel are in a good ridable condition, and we shall
light out again early in the morning. Are you getting my postals,
which I am sending back from every town? This is to prove to the club
boys that we rode to Connecticut on our wheels and not on the train.
Crystal Lake, Conn., June 28, 1896.
Dear Father:--
We arrived here this evening, having made the run, 1,017 miles, in
thirteen days and this is our record:
Mishawaka, Ind., 110 miles
Edgerton, Ohio, 90 "
Perrysburg, Ohio, 68 "
Wakeman, Ohio, 70 "
Willoughby, Ohio, 69 "
Erie, Pa., 82 "
Silver Creek, N. Y., 61 "
Batavia, N. Y., 70 "
Palmyra, N. Y., 63 "
Memphis, N. Y., 50 "
Little Falls, N. Y., 89 "
Nassau, N. Y., 88 "
Crystal Lake, Conn., 107 "
-----
1,017 miles
Our last day was the most severe we experienced. There was a drizzling
rain all day, in which we rode from Nassau, and, of course, you know
we had to zigzag over the Green Mountains.
We stopped a few moments to see Uncle Epaphro and Aunt Adelia and she
gave us the first free lunch we had had since we left Batavia. When we
arrived here Uncle Lucius and Aunt Caroline were surprised to see us
looking so well. Then to prove to them that we were well as we looked
Walton and I turned hand-springs on the grass in the front yard, and
now we are going to bed. Good-night, remember me to the boys, and kiss
all the girls for me that are worth kissing.
Affectionately, your son,
Arthur.
P. S.--Uncle Collins says the mountains, wildwoods, brooks, lakes and
meadows around your old home are still teeming with fruit, flowers,
song birds, wild game, and shy fish. He says to tell you to come down
and take a good rest.
THE FIRST CENTURY RACE
The Illinois Cycling Club was now in its glory, and I joined them
and entered for the 100-mile race, which came off June 15, 1896. The
aspirants began training for the event early in the spring, but I
attended to my business days, and evenings I slipped out, unknown to
anyone, practicing on the worst hills I could find, preparing for the
race over the Elgin and Aurora course, but none of the boys knew that I
was having any training whatever.
As Arthur and Walton were to start for Connecticut the same morning
on their thousand-mile run, we ate breakfast together at Lawrence's
Restaurant, on Madison Street, about three o'clock in the morning. When
we were about to part, Arthur said to me: "Father, do you expect to win
that race today?" My reply was to the effect that if I did not, Charley
Knisely and his fast bunch would have to make 100 miles quicker than
they had ever made it yet.
When I arrived at the club house about fifty were awaiting the command
to fall in and about two or three hundred standing to see us off,
and if ever a dark horse entered a race it was M. A. Richardson that
morning.
That evening there were reports in all the daily papers, and among
other things the Chicago Times-Herald said in part: "The sixth
annual run of the Illinois Cycling Club, America's largest cycling
organization, took place yesterday. Many of the fast riders, anxious
to make a record over the famous Elgin and Aurora 100-mile course,
tried to have the event postponed because of the heavy rains of Friday
and Saturday, but the schedule could not be changed in their behalf.
"As it was a certainty that the rain had made the regular Elgin mud
roads west of Maywood unridable, the course was taken over the Armitage
road to Addison, 'seventeen miles out,' in the vain hope that this
road would be in better condition. The mud just sufficiently dried
to be caked and baked into a rough mass, beside which corduroy is a
boulevard, furnished ample test for endurance, strength and skill, for
no sooner had a mile of it been traveled than the roadside was strewn
with physical and mechanical wrecks.
"The stunning surprise of the run was the fact that M. A. Richardson,
the untrained and oldest member, a gray-haired wiry cycler, finished
long first, making his appearance at the club house at 12:15, one hour
before R. H. Inman, the second best man, who finished at 1:15. Upon
the home run from Aurora, Richardson did some fast riding, leaving
masculine brawn and youth to figure out just what had taken place."
THE SECOND RACE
The next year the race was set for June 28, 1897, when many outsiders
from the country came in, all intent on beating Richardson, but one can
imagine their surprise when I announced that I would drive a 126-gear
wheel, which was equal to a ten per cent handicap from the 80-gear then
in use.
[Illustration: MYSELF IN THE LEAD UP THE FOX RIVER ON THE FAMOUS 100
MILE RUN.]
The morning was fair and hot when 140 of us lined up, of which I was
the oldest by about twenty years. At the word "go" we ran in a bunch
about two miles, when I pulled out, and then the race really began. At
Austin Avenue I increased my speed to Twelfth Street, when I slowed
down and allowed the fast bunch to pass, and when they turned west on
Twenty-second, as I knew they would, I ran straight ahead through Clyde
to the old Hinsdale road. This confused them, and they struck out, each
man for himself, to beat Richardson in at LaGrange.
When I struck the Aurora Road again there were about twenty-five ahead
of me all strung out. It was a fine sight to see them between me and
Hinsdale, raising a cloud of dust in the morning sun that would have
done honor to the Chicago fire department, hook and ladder included.
One athletic fellow from the stockyards was actually carrying his cap
in his teeth, which seemed to intensify his comical grin of confidence.
I entered the cloud of dust at a steady pace, and when I arrived
in Aurora for registration, eight of the fastest in the bunch had
registered and were out of sight on the road to Elgin.
The distance as our course ran to Elgin was twenty-two miles, for
which I set my pace to reach there in sixty minutes, which I made in
fifty-eight minutes.
One by one I passed my struggling competitors on the winding road
up the Fox River Valley, registering first man at Elgin and off for
Chicago before the next best man hove in sight, having the last forty
miles of the road to myself, which I covered at high speed, and then
ate a fine club breakfast before the second in the race arrived.
DEAD GLACIER
While studying the North American Indians in Alaska I experience a
thrilling adventure in the Mendenthall Valley which memory often
recalls.
At Juneau, Judge Mellen, one of the eight United States judges
appointed to Alaska, from Kentucky, who had accompanied me to Taku,
giving me much information, invited me to dinner, when he told me I
ought not to leave Alaska until I had seen a dead glacier. Mendenthall,
he said was the most wonderful but hard to approach, and he and his
wife declared I was just the fellow to tackle the job.
That evening he sent a trusty guide to me, who had another man on the
string, and said he would take both of us for $20.00, we bearing all
expenses. We were soon together, with his mother, a lady of great
self-respect, who advised me to caution her son, Archibald, and not
allow him to plunge into danger.
I sized Archibald up and decided he was a good fellow with heavy
self-esteem and light experience, so I mentioned, before his mother,
that the outing would be wild experience and very strenuous, at which
Archibald assured me he could stand it if I could, besides it was just
the job he was seeking for, as he wanted to take something home out of
the ordinary.
The next evening at 10:30, the time when the sun sets in Alaska in
June, we left Juneau in a rowboat, as we must cross the bar at high
water at about midnight, or go around about fifty miles each way, both
going and returning.
Our guide, who had never taken the trip before, miscalculated and we
were late at the bar. This left us our choice to jump out and draw the
boat through the sea weeds at once or wait until the next tide came in.
Archibald reluctantly straddled over the side of the boat, mentioning
that he came north for his health, and did not think that a midnight
bath would be beneficial, especially such a very cold one.
"You will get warm enough," I said, "before noon, when we are working
our way through that swamp, where mosquitoes are as big as grasshoppers
and the bears as big as oxen."
"Bears? What bears, Mr. Richardson?"
"I understand that those woods are full of bears. How is it, guide?"
"That is why I took my rifle along," replied the grim old mountaineer,
as he tugged at the oars.
"Where is your rifle, Mr. Richardson?" inquired Archibald, as the white
of his eyes began to show.
"Oh, I prefer a large knife for a close contact. Judge Mellon said we
could borrow either of the Indians."
Soon we were in deep water again, where the wild geese and ducks were
scooting this way and that to keep out of our way, when Archibald
turned his attention to the oarsman, saying, "Say, old man, I suppose
we can hire plenty of guides at the hotel to go with us?"
"Guides," grunted the boatsman, "I can find the place myself. Besides,
there ain't no hotel there."
"No hotel! Where will we get our breakfast?"
"Plenty of fresh bear meat, sir; they kill them every day."
Soon Archibald turned to me and said: "Really, Mr. Richardson, I am
quite chilly now, and if it will be just the same to you I will stay at
the landing while our good friend takes you to the glacier, which you
are so anxious to see."
"Chilly," ejaculated the old guide. "The sun will soon be up. It rises
here now at 2:30 in the morning, and as for staying at the landing is
concerned, would you dare stay alone with those Indians?"
"Alone with the Indians? Why, the Alaska Indians are civilized, aren't
they?"
"Spose so, but Mendenthall Valley is a great place for men to come up
missing."
THE FOREST.
At the landing, the Indians set about to prepare us breakfast of hot
no-cake and coffee. The coffee is from burned wild rice, and the
no-cake corresponds to our corn bread. They pound the dry corn in a
mortar with a pestle and make and fry them. The guide and I filled up
on about ten cakes and a quart of coffee each, but Archibald refused,
whispering to me that the dishes smelled of bear's oil; besides, the
excitement had taken away his appetite.
Archibald then said: "That old Indian says they live here mostly on
fish and bear. Really, do you think those bears are of the savage kind?"
"Oh, no," I replied, "only when they have cubs, but they say this is
just cubbing time."
Mendenthall Valley is about ten or twelve miles west of Juneau, lies
between two precipitous mountain ranges over 2,000 feet high. The
timber, brook and soil give evidence of great age, and no indications
appear to cause one to think it is a grown-up pathway of a glacier.
After entering the woods we could see nothing ahead, only timber,
except at intervals an opening, which gave us a view of the mountains
on either side, as we followed the brook, which led us in a zigzag
course.
When several miles in we discovered unmistakable evidence of where some
large animal had fled at our approach, but we saw nothing but owls,
eagles and other small game. I was urging the guide to hurry up, while
Archibald was grumbling because we were going so fast, saying he was
faint and hungry, so we stopped for lunch, and Archibald was glad to
eat the no-cake, which he refused when it was hot.
The foliage was remarkable for its large leaves. Wild berries were in
abundance, and the trees appeared to be of great age, which caused me
to remark that it seemed incredible that, where we were sitting, the
ice was more than two hundred feet above our heads not so very long ago.
"Not so very long? Do you believe that yourself, Mr. Richardson?"
"Certainly I do. Once this valley was a basin of ice. Have you not
studied geology, Archibald?"
"I have, sir, and I never learned that a glacier could ever thrive in
such a d--d hot hole as this. Say, Richardson, were you living in the
Glacial Period?"
"Which one?"
"Was there more than one?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you living in the last one?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hear that, guide, Richardson says he was living in the Glacial Period,
which was more than 40,000 years ago, and he does not look to be more
than two or three hundred years old. Will you explain, Mr. R.?"
"Oh, yes, the Glacial Period is now on at the poles--long ago it was on
in this valley and still longer ago it was down in the states. Do you
not know that our world is slowly revolving in the direction we call
south? That is God's wise plan to give each part of the earth rest.
Tropical animals once lived here and in Siberia.
"Who told you all that stuff?"
"Geology, sir; the same book which you have been studying. By the way,
did you ever learn about the Neanderthal man whose skull was found in a
cave in the Neanderthal Valley, with the bones of a bear? The man must
have lived contemporary with Adam, and it seems that the bear----"
"Were the bones of that man and bear found in this place?"
"No! No! Do not get excited."
"But you said they were found in Mendenthal Valley."
"I said Neanderthal, where a prehistoric race once lived, but really
where the bones were found closely resembles this place as well as the
name, for I have been there. It is in Prussia. Now let me illustrate
by our presence here, what may once have occured in the Neanderthal
Valley. Suppose one of those ferocious she-bears should come spat
upon us now and the guide and I should escape, while she dragged your
mangled corpse----"
"Bah-aa-aa," roared the guide.
"What are you laughing at, you great fool?" said Archibald.
"Laughing to see your eyes bulge out."
"Please do not speak that way to Mr. Archibald," I said, "he knows
we're in no danger, so long as there's plenty of trees to climb."
[Illustration: ARTHUR, CHARLIE NEWELL, MRS. OLIVER AND FRIENDS.]
"Your business, sir," said Archibald to the guide, "is to take us to
the glacier and the quicker the better. Neither Mr. Richardson or
myself care to roost in these trees over night."
"Twon't be sundown till nigh midnight," grunted the guide, and we all
started on.
I was following close on the heels of the guide as we entered an
opening, when we all stopped and gazed in astonishment at a dead
glacier. Two miles or so away stretched across the valley stood a
perpendicular wall of glistening ice, about 250 feet high and four
miles long, reaching across the entire valley.
To view a glacier fifty or more miles wide, as I found at the foot of
Mt. St. Elias, winding its way high up into the mountain, where the
snow drifts whirl blindly all the summer day, where no plant or animal
abide, seems to be in keeping with the surroundings, but to emerge from
a dense thicket, a valley teeming with animal and vegetable life, on a
hot summer day and fall spat upon a dead glacier is a sight which must
be seen to be realized--then to know that this vast field of ice once
extended to the sea, but so long ago that thousands of acres of timber
have grown up in its retreating pathway, is enough to astound any but
the simple.
I was lost in thought and pondered thus: In time this ice mountain will
waste away to its fountain head and a peaceful river will flow down
this warm valley, where the inhabitants on either side of the river
will be as unable to realize the truth concerning the cold bed-fellow
that once slept in this Alaskan cradle, as we are unable to comprehend
the fact that there is not a spire in Chicago high enough to have
shown its tip above the ice that once lay over that city during the
Great Lakes' Glacial Period.
The earth between us and the glacier was carpeted with the most
beautiful moss imaginable, all shades and colors, caused by reflection
of the sun from the crystal ice. A solemn silence prevailed, such as
I never experienced elsewhere, broken at intervals by reports like
cannons, occasioned by huge mountains of ice cleaving off to melt in
the sun.
In climbing the mountain side to get upon the glacier, I found ripe
strawberries within a few feet of the ice, and upon the glacier
small streams of water, which did not seem to melt the ice. Like all
glaciers, there were great boulders upon it, which had plunged down
from some far away mountain and were taking a slow cold ride. I jumped
across crevices, where if one should fall in he might go down 100
feet, there to wedge in and freeze. Standing in front of this terrible
monster a cool strange halo seems to surround, which is far more
awe-inspiring than that of the Niagara Falls.
On descending from the glacier we found Archibald in a state of
agitation, as a thunder storm was approaching and all the protection
we possessed was straw hats. My laughing aroused his ire and he used
some very undignified language, as the rain began coming down in
torrents, accompanied by a strange rattling sound, which seemed to be
from overhead. Looking up we could see that several immense rocks from
high up the mountain had become dislodged and had started down a deep
ravine with such force as to break others from their moorings, which
also joined in the mad run, roll, slip, slide, plunge. The impetus was
so great and the resistance so strong that when the great boulders
met they flashed fire until the entire valley of racing rocks, trees
and earth seemed to be enveloped in a blue flame, which formed into
a slide, sweeping everything in its path, until it brought up on the
plain below with a slump.
On examination we found that the immense quantity of debris covered
nearly half an acre and was more than fifty feet deep. That it had
swept everything in its path, including trees more than a foot in
diameter, which were broken up like matches. I told Archibald that
whoever got caught in the descent of such a mountain slide would
probably remain as deposit until Gabriel blew his horn, to which he
grunted assent.
As I lingered upon the scene declaring that few people in the world had
ever seen such a wonderful sight, he solemnly vowed that he saw nothing
peculiar about that rock and mud different from what he could find in
the road anywhere.
Wet to the skin, tired and hungry, we started on, Archibald wholly
unprepared for the skirmish awaiting him. It soon cleared up, but every
bush we stumbled against showered down and gave us a fresh bath. My
shoes hurt my feet, and especially my game toe, which sometimes cramps,
took advantage of the situation and, oh, how it did hurt, but I did
not mention it, for fear Archibald would say I did not enjoy roughing
it any more than he did, and so we plodded on, anxious to reach the
landing where I knew the Indians would give us the best they had.
MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM A BEAR
After travelling about three miles, which seemed like twenty, we rested
on a log, when I began rehearsing the sights and scenes of the day.
I said that if compelled to stay in the woods all night, we ought to
consider it a day well spent, but failing to receive a hearty response,
I switched off into a more lively subject by exclaiming, as I pointed
into the woods, "See! See! There is a bear behind that log." The ruse
worked all right until I proposed we rush in and capture him, when
Archibald declared this was the last time he should ever tour with a
man who knew nothing and feared nothing.
As the sleepiest dog will show signs of great activity when a
tea-kettle is tied to his tail, so tired men, finding themselves in
a strange forest, will pick up their heels with amazing agility when
uncertainty confronts them and the landing is far away. Thus it was
that our gait was quite lively, which both pleased and vexed his
mother's son, Archibald, who had insisted on carrying the guide's gun
since I had mentioned that catamounts came out for their serenade long
before sunset. Our course was leading us through heavy timber, when I
proposed that we circle around through an opening and started that way,
the guide following, Archibald pushed straight through, saying that the
barking of dogs proved that we were near the landing.
After leaving the woods and climbing part way up the hill, I could see
Archibald hurrying through the timber where, on account of the fallen
trees, he made but little headway, so I called out to him to come into
the opening where the walking was better, to which he replied, "I am
not afraid to walk in the woods."
At the top of the hill was a berry patch, from which I had full view
along the foot of the mountain, where nearby I saw three Indians
running towards me with rifles in a position to shoot. Between me
and them was a dark ravine, in which dogs were fiercely barking, and
knowing they were trying to kill something, I rushed forward to see,
when a bouncing black bear whipped around the ledge and over the knoll
in the direction of poor Archibald. He was closely pursued by the dogs,
to whom old Bruin was often compelled to stop and give battle. When
running the dogs were upon his heels, and when he stopped and set up
for a fight he would see the gunners and light out again regardless of
the dogs.
I knew the bear would not hurt Archibald unless in the act of running
over him, but I began shouting, "Lookout! Lookout, Archibald! Lookout,
there's a bear after you. Run! Run! Run for your life," at which he
started running toward me, thinking the bear was coming from the other
direction. As the bear ran down the hill with the Indians trying to get
a shot at him, I could see both the bear and Archibald approaching each
other, while Archibald was looking over his shoulder, so he did not see
the bear until he was right upon him, when turning quickly he dropped
his gun and lit out unceremoniously.
The panorama before me was what the girls call a peach--the shortest,
funniest, and most earnest sprinting match ever recorded; Indians
chasing dogs, dogs chasing bear, bear chasing Archibald, Archibald
running for dear life. Archibald did not take a zigzag course as
lightning usually does, but shot straight ahead into the thicket,
leaving no evidence of his late departure, but an imaginary wake. The
bear, who could not stand the nipping of the dogs, turned again, and as
he raised up was shot by one of the Indians.
We could see nor hear nothing of Archibald, whose parting glimpse had
aroused my concern, so I hurried in the direction of his disappearance,
crying out his name. Leaning against a big tree I put my hands to my
mouth and helloed so loud that my voice echoed through the swamp, when
I was surprised at his voice so near me saying, "What in the d-v-l do
you want?"
"Where are you, Archibald?"
"Here I am, up here."
"Oh, yes, come down."
"Did you kill him, Mr. Richardson?"
"Yes, he is dead."
"Did he catch anybody?"
"No, he was not after anyone. Come down out of that tree."
"Not after anyone? What is the use of your lying. If you had not shot
him he would have had me in two more jumps. Is there any more of them?"
"No, there is not. He was not after you. He was running to get away
from the dogs. You know I had no gun. It was the Indians who shot him.
Come down here! Come down! Here is the gun which you threw away."
"I am in no particular hurry to come down. Say, Richardson, tell me how
long you expect to stay in this God-forsaken country?"
"Oh, about three weeks more. Why? Do you not like Alaska?"
"Alaska is all right, but you are so bull-headed, taking a fellow into
such a hole as this. Besides, there is nothing to see here."
"Haven't you seen an avalanche?"
"Avalanche? Nothing but stones rolling down hill."
"And you've seen a glacier."
"Glacier? Nothing but a chunk of ice."
"And a bear right in the woods. Your friends will be glad to hear
about----"
"Now grin, Mr. Richardson! Sit there and hold your sides to keep from
bursting with laughter. I swear if I did not know anymore than you do
I would never compose a book. I did think a brief account of this trip
might be interesting, but no one would care for the minute details as
you would give them. At least, I hope they will not get into print
until after I am dead."
"Why, Archibald, when you get home you will enjoy telling your friends
all about your adventures and hair-breath escapes, how bravely you
faced----"
"Oh, you get out! Let us go to the landing and get some more dodgers
fried in bear's tallow, that you enjoy so much."
We stood in silence a moment, when he put his hand kindly on my
shoulder as he said: "Mr. Richardson, you must not think I mean
everything I say, but I'm so terribly wrought up. The glacier was so
much different from what I expected, and I was afraid you might get
hurt up there alone. Then the landslide startled me awfully, for I
thought the whole mountain was coming down, and that the world might be
coming to an end, and, oh, how this bear did frighten me. I presume I
shall laugh about it when I get home, but I cannot get up a smile now."