Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.
VOL. XVIII.--NO. 889. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
RECAPTURED.
A STORY OF THE APACHE DAYS IN ARIZONA.
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.
There was a boy at old Camp Sandy once upon a time when white men were
scarce in Arizona, and from the day he was ten years old this boy's
consuming desire was to help "clean out," as he heard the soldiers
express it, a certain band of mountain Apaches that had surprised and
slaughtered a small party of people in whose welfare he felt especial
interest, for the reason that there was with them a little fellow of his
own age. They had sojourned at Sandy only three days, and then, deaf to
remonstrance, had gone on their way up into the mountains "prospecting";
but during those three days the two youngsters had been inseparable.
"Sherry" Bates, the sergeant's son, had done the honors of the post for
Jimmy Lane, the miner's boy; had proudly exhibited the troop quarters,
stables, and corrals; had taken him across the stream to the old ruins
up the opposite heights, and told him prodigious stories of the odd
people that used to dwell there; had introduced him personally to all
the hounds, big and little, and had come to grief in professing to be on
intimate terms with a young but lively black bear cub at the sutler's
store, and was rescued from serious damage from bruin's claws and
clasping arms only by the prompt dash of by-standers. It took some of
Sherry's conceit out of him, but not all, and the troopers had lots of
fun, later on, at the corral, when he essayed to show Master Jim how
well he could ride bare-back, and mounted for the purpose one of Mexican
Pete's little "burros" by way of illustration. All the same, they were
days of thrilling interest, and Sherry wept sorely when, a week later, a
friendly Indian came in and made known to the officers, mainly by signs,
that the party had been killed to a man, that their mutilated bodies
were lying festering in the sun about the ruins of their wagon up near
Stoneman's Lake in the pine country of the Mogollon.[1] The Major
commanding sent out a scouting party to investigate, and the report
proved only too true. The bodies could no longer be identified; but one
thing was certain: there were the remains of four men, hacked and burned
beyond recognition, but not a trace of little Jim.
[1] Pronounced Mogol_yone_.
"It was Coyote's band beyond doubt," said the Lieutenant who went in
command, and for Coyote's band the troopers at Sandy "had it in," as
their soldier slang expressed it, for long, long months--for over a
year, in fact--before they ever got word or trace of them. They seemed
to have vanished from the face of the earth. Meantime there had been
chase after chase, scout after scout. General Crook had been transferred
long since to an Eastern field, and was busy with the Sioux and
Cheyennes. Another commander, one who lacked Crook's knowledge of Indian
tricks and character, had taken charge in Arizona, and the Apaches had
quickly found it out. They made it lively for small parties, and easily
kept out of the path of big ones. And this was the way things were going
when, one autumn night, signal fires were discovered ablaze away up in
the Red Rock country, and Major Wheeler sent a troop post-haste to see
what it meant; and with this troop went Sergeant Bates, and on its
trail, an hour later, unbeknown to almost everybody, went Sherry.
Indians rarely ventured into the deep valley of the Sandy. The boy had
hunted jack-rabbits and shot California quail and fished for "shiners"
and other inconspicuous members of the finny tribe along its banks, and
he knew the neighborhood north, south, and west for miles. Eastward, out
of sight of the flag-staff he had never ventured. That was towards the
land of the Apache, and thither his father had told him no one was safe
to go. An only son was Sherry, and a pretty good boy, as boys go,
especially when it is considered that he had been motherless for several
years. The old sergeant, his father, watched him carefully, taught him
painstakingly, and was very grateful when any of the officers or their
wives would help with the lessons of the little man. He had had a pony
to ride, but that pony was old when his father bought him from an
officer who was ordered to the East, and Sherry soon declared him too
old and stiff for his use. What he craved was a horse, and occasionally
the men let him mount some of their chargers when the troop went down to
water at the river, and that was Sherry's glory; and on this particular
October night he had stolen from his little bed and made his way to the
corral, and had got Jimmy Lanigan, the saddler sergeant's son, now a
trumpeter in "F" Troop, to saddle for him a horse usually ridden by
Private McPhee, now sick in hospital of mountain fever. As Mac couldn't
go, his horse would not be needed, and Sherry determined to ride in his
place.
But some one gave old Bates the "tip," and he caught the little fellow
by the ear and led him home just before the troop started, and bade him
stay there; and Sherry feigned to be penitent and obedient, but hugged
his father hard, and so they parted.
But boys who own dogs know the old dog's trick. Sometimes when starting
for a day's pleasuring where Rover would be very much in the way, the
master has sternly ordered him home when, with confident joy, the
usually welcome pet and companion came bounding and barking after. You
have all seen how sad and crestfallen he looked, how dumbly he begged,
how reluctantly he skulked homeward when at last he had to go or be
pelted with stones; and then, time and again, he finally turned and
followed, a long distance behind, never venturing to draw near, until,
so very far from home that he knew he couldn't be sent back, he would
reappear, tail on high and eyes beaming forgiveness and assurance, and
the battle was won.
And Sherry had learned Rover's little game, and he lay patiently in wait
until he knew the troop was gone, then over to the corral he stole,
easily coaxed the stable sentry into giving him a lift, and in half an
hour he was loping northward along the winding Sandy under the starry
skies, sure of overtaking the command before the dawn if need be, yet
craftily keeping well behind the hindermost, so that his stern old
father could not send him back when at last his presence was discovered.
For, long before daybreak, the soldiers were trailing in single file,
afoot and leading their horses up the steep, rocky sides of the
Mogollon, taking a short-cut across the range instead of following the
long, circuitous route to Stoneman's Lake, and only a hundred feet or so
behind the rear-most of the pack-train followed keen-eyed, quick-eared
little Sherry, still clinging to his saddle, for his light weight made
little difference to such a stocky horse as McPhee's Patsy, and trusting
mainly to Patsy's power as a trailer to carry him unerringly in the
hoof-prints of the troop.
When at last the sun came peering over the pine crests to the east, the
little command was deep down in a rocky cañon, and here the Captain
ordered halt, lead into line, and unsaddle. The horses and the
pack-mules were quickly relieved of their loads, and the men were
gathering dry fagots for little cook-fires--fires that must make no
smoke at all, even down in that rocky defile, for Indian eyes are sharp
as a microscope; but before marching on again men and horses both had to
have their bite and the men their tin mug of soldier coffee, and here it
was that some one suddenly exclaimed,
"Well, I'm blessed if here ain't Sherry!"
It was useless for the old sergeant to scold now. The officers promptly
and laughingly took the boy's part and declared him "a chip of the old
block," and bade the sergeant bring the boy along. It was safer, at all
events, than sending him back.
And so, secretly proud of him, though openly declaring he would larrup
him well the moment they got back to the post, Sergeant Bates obeyed his
Captain, and thus it happened that Master Sherry was with "F" Troop the
chill October morning, just at dawn, when they found out, entirely to
their satisfaction, just what those signal-fires meant.
They were not visible from Camp Sandy, you must understand. Indians are
too sharp for that. They were started in certain deep clefts in the Red
Rocks which permitted their glare to be seen only from the southeast or
the east, the direction from which the roving bands approached when
seeking to steal their way back to the old reservation after some bloody
foray, sure of food and welcome at the lodges of their friends and
fellow-savages, provided they came not empty-handed. Coyote's band had
not been near the reservation since their exploit of the year before. A
price was on the leader's head, but scouting parties away down to the
southeast in the Chiricahua country had learned that recently Coyote
with some forty followers had crossed to the north of the Gila, and
seemed to be making his way back to his old haunts in the Mogollon. All
this was wired to Major Wheeler, and Wheeler sent some trustworthy
Apache-Mohave scouts out towards the head-waters of Chevelon's Fork to
the east, with orders to watch for the coming of Coyote. It was one of
these runners who brought in the tidings that the signal-fires were
burning, and that meant, "Come on, Coyote; the coast is clear."
And Apache confederates, watching from the reservation, twenty miles
up-stream, would have said the coast was still clear, for the road to
Stoneman's Lake was untrodden. A day later, to be sure, they got word
that a whole troop of horse had gone by night up into the mountains, but
it was then too late to undo what they had done--lured Coyote many a
mile towards his enemies. They sent up "smokes" in the afternoon to warn
him, but by that time Coyote's people, what was left of them, knew more
than did their friends at the reservation.
For, early that morning, just at dawn, while some of them were sound
asleep in their brush shelters, or "wicky-ups," away on top of a rocky
pinnacle that overlooked the country for miles, this is what happened:
Following the lead of three or four swart, black-haired, beady-eyed
Apache scouts, the soldiers came stealthily climbing the steep. Away
down in a rocky cañon they had left the horses and pack-mules, their
blankets and, many of them, their boots, and in moccasins, or even
stocking feet in a few cases, they noiselessly made their way. Officers
and all carried the death-dealing little brown cavalry carbine, and
thimble belts of copper cartridges were buckled about their waists.
"Find um top," the leader of the little squad of scouts muttered to the
Captain, as he pointed the evening before to this distant peak, and well
he knew their ways, for only three years before he himself had been a
"hostile," and was tamed into subjection by General Crook. And so it
proved. Relying on the far-away night fires, Coyote and his weary band
had made their brush shelters on the old Picacho. The few squaws with
them had filled their water-jars at the cañon. Two trusty runners had
gone on westward to the reservation, and the rest to sleep. Coyote
thought the white soldiers "too heap fool" to think of making a night
march through the mountains instead of coming away around by the old
road. With the troop-horses was left a small guard, and with the guard a
little boy--Master Sherry Bates--fretting and fuming not a little as he
lay there among the rocks, wrapped in his father's blanket, and
listening with eagerness unspeakable for the crash of musketry away up
on that dimly outlined peak that should tell that his father and the
boys had found their foemen and the fight was on. Presently, as the
eastern sky began to change from crimson to gold, the lofty summit
seemed slowly to blaze with glistening fire. The light, still dim and
feeble in the jagged ravine, grew sharp and clear along the range, and
one of the guard, peering through the Captain's binocular, swore he
could "see some of the fellers climbing close to the top"; and Sherry,
though shivering with cold and excitement, rolled out of his blanket and
scrambled to his feet. An instant more and, floating on the mountain
breeze, there came the sudden crash and splutter of distant musketry,
and Sherry could control himself no longer. Mad with excitement, he
began dancing about the bivouac. The men were all listening and gazing.
The horses were snorting and pawing. There was no one to hinder the
little fellow now. Half shrouded by the lingering darkness in the gorge,
he stole away among the stunted pines and went speeding as though for
dear life up the cañon.
The fight itself was of short duration. Surprised in their stronghold,
the Indians sprang to their arms at the warning cry of one haplessly
wakeful sentinel. It was his death-song, too, for Sergeant Bates and the
veteran corporal at his side, foremost with the guides, drove their
almost simultaneous shots at the dark figure as it suddenly leaped
between them and the sky, tumbling the sentry in his tracks, and then,
before the startled band could spring to the shelter of surrounding
bowlders, the soldiers with one volley and a ringing cheer came dashing
in among them. Some warriors in their panic leaped from the ledge and
were dashed upon the rocks below; some, like mountain-goats, went
bounding down the eastward side and disappeared among the straggling
timber; some, crouching behind the bowlders, fought desperately, until
downed by carbine butt or bullet. Some few wailing squaws knelt beside
their slain, sure that the white soldiers would not knowingly harm them;
while others, like frightened doe, darted away into the shelter of rock
or stunted pine. One little Indian boy sat straight up from a sound
sleep, rubbing his baby eyes, and yelling with terror. Another little
scamp, with snapping black eyes, picked up a gun and pulled trigger like
a man, and then lay sprawling on his back, rubbing a damaged shoulder,
and kicking almost as hard as the old musket. And then, while some
soldiers went on under a boy Lieutenant in charge of the fleeing
Indians, others, with their short-winded Captain, counted up the Indian
losses and their own, and gave their attention to the wounded; and all
of a sudden there went up a shout from Sergeant Bates, who was peering
over the edge of a shelf of rock.
"Here's more of 'em, sir, running down this way!" followed by a bang
from his carbine and a yell from below, and men who reached his side
were just in time to see a brace of squaws, dragging two or three
youngsters by the hand, darting into the bushes, while their protecting
warriors defiantly faced their assailants, fired a shot or two, and then
went plunging after. "I know that Indian," almost screamed old Bates.
"It's Coyote himself!"
"After 'em, then!" was the order, and away went every man.
Two minutes later, out from under a shelving rock came crawling a
trembling squaw. Peering cautiously around, and assuring herself the
troopers were gone, she listened intently to the sound of the pursuit
dying away down the mountain-side; then in harsh whisper summoned some
one else. Out from the same shelter, shaking with fear, came a little
Apache boy, black and dirty, dragging by the hand another boy, white and
dirtier still, and crying. Seizing a hand of each, the woman scurried
back along the range, until she reached the narrow trail by which the
troopers had climbed the heights; then, panting, and muttering threats
to the urchins dragging helplessly after, down the hill-side she tore;
but only a hundred yards or so, when, with a scream of fright and
misery, she threw herself upon her knees before the body of a lithe,
sinewy Apache just breathing his last. And then, forgetting her boy
charges, forgetting everything for the moment but that she had lost her
brave, she began swaying to and fro, crooning some wild chant, while the
boys, white and black, knelt shuddering among the rocks in nerveless
terror.
And this was the scene that suddenly burst upon the eyes of Sherry, the
sergeant's boy, as he came scrambling up the trail in search of his
father. And then there went up a shrill, boyish voice in a yell of
mingled hope and dread and desperation, and the dirty little white
savage, screaming "Sherry! Sherry!" went bounding to meet the new-comer.
And the squaw rose up and screamed too--something Master Sherry couldn't
understand, but that drove terror to the white boy and lent him wings.
"Run! run!" he cried as he seized Sherry by the hand, and, hardly
knowing where they were going, back went both youngsters tearing like
mad down the tortuous trail.
Five minutes later, as some of the men, wellnigh breathless, came
drifting in from the pursuit, and Corporal Clancy, running up from the
cañon in pursuit of the vanished "kid," both parties stumbled suddenly
upon this motley pair, and the rocks rang with Clancy's glad cry.
"Here he is, sergeant! all right, and Jimmy Lane wid him."
And that's why Sherry didn't get the promised larruping when they all
got back to Sandy.
DEPORTMENT.
Half this windy day I've watched them,
In the breeze,
Those long slender tasselled branches
On the trees,
Bowing, courtesying politely,
Doing their deportments rightly,
As modestly, as brightly
As you please.
Why, I never saw such manners,
Not till now,
Such beautiful deportment;
But I vow
All the people that I see
Are as rude as they can be,
Not to stop before each tree
And make a bow.
ARTHUR WILLIS COLTON.
[Illustration: Adventures with Friend Paul.]
The following morning we left the village at daylight, each one carrying
about twenty pounds of boiled smoked elephant meat. We were soon in the
forest, and tramped and tramped along without seeing any game. Towards
four o'clock we met a great many fresh elephant tracks. The animals
seemed to be just ahead of us. The footprints after a while began to be
so plentiful that evidently there had been several herds of elephants.
At about five o'clock we came to a beautiful prairie which seemed like a
lovely island on that big sea of trees. There were many fields of
plantain-trees along the borders of the forest, growing in the midst of
trees that had been felled and burned.
Okili said to me: "We have seen, Moguizi, many elephants' tracks on our
way here. I am almost certain they will come here to-night, for they are
fond of plantains."
So we resolved to go no further that day, for we were on good
elephant-hunting ground, and made preparations to spend the night on the
border of the forest and wait for the huge beasts. We only spoke in
whispers, for we thought the elephants might not be far off.
Okili then said, pointing to a spot where the forest advanced on the
prairie, forming, so to speak, a cape:
"It would be wise, I think, for some of us to go to that place, for
there also is another large field of plantain-trees, and the chances are
that some of the elephants will go there, for there are very many."
Then Ogoola, pointing to another field of plantain-trees south of us,
said, "To make sure, some of us ought to go there also."
We all assented.
"We have chosen," said I, "three places where we are going to lie in
wait for elephants, so we must divide ourselves into three parties."
I had hardly said these words than they all cried with one voice, "I am
going with you, Moguizi."
I replied, "Hunters, if you all go with me, then there will be only one
party, and we will be too many together."
"That is so," they all answered. There was a pause.
Okili got up and said, "The Moguizi, Okili, and Niamkala will make one
party. You know that the King said that I must be always by the side of
the Moguizi."
"Yes," they all answered. "The King said so."
Then Okili spoke again, and said, "Obindji, Mbango, and Macondai will
make the second party. Ogoola, Makooga, and Fasiko will make the third
party."
Okili, who had much experience in hunting elephants, said, "Now listen
to what I am going to tell you, and act accordingly. The great thing in
elephant-hunting is for one to have a cool head, otherwise he had better
stay at home. Often elephants, when wounded, charge those who fire at
them. In that case, if the hunter runs away, he is lost, for the
elephant is sure to overtake him, tramp over him, and one of his feet
upon the hunter's body is quite enough to kill him instantly. The
elephant may prefer to impale him on one of his tusks, or seize him with
his trunk and dash him to the ground or against a tree.
"The only way to escape the elephant when he makes his furious charge
upon you is to keep perfectly calm, then when you are sure of the
direction of the huge beast, instead of facing him, move sideways; then
when he is five or six yards from you, take three steps backward as
quickly as you possibly can. His pace is then so rapid that he cannot
deviate from his course, and he passes by you, and you are safe."
"Yes, Okili, you are right," I said. "I have been three times in the
same predicament, and I did exactly what you tell us to do, and there
are no other ways to escape the fury of the elephant."
"We will do so," all the hunters said, with one voice, "but we hope to
kill the elephants on the spot," and as they said this they looked at
the charms which hung on their guns.
We separated, as we had agreed, into three separate parties, but not
before we had taken our dinner of elephant meat. Each party went into
the prairie to reach the fields, and one and all disappeared in the
midst of them.
I had just looked at my watch for the tenth time, which marked one
o'clock, when lo! I saw through the dim moonlight, emerging from the
forest on the opposite side of the prairie, something like a big black
spot, which was moving. Soon I saw it was a huge bull elephant. He
walked for a while, then stood still and looked all around, as if to see
if there was danger ahead.
Okili and Niamkala had their backs turned to me, and were watching in
another direction. I gave the cluck of danger--cluck, cluck! They turned
toward me, and I pointed the bull elephant to them. Then the big bull
gave a shrill, piercing trumpeting, which evidently meant there was no
danger, for immediately afterwards elephant after elephant emerged from
the forest into the prairie. I counted one, two, five, seven, ten,
thirteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty-three, twenty-seven, when appeared
behind them all a cow followed by a baby elephant. No more elephants
came out of the forest; the herd was all there. They all came by the
bull elephant and stood still in a bunch. Were they mistrustful of
danger, or were they taking counsel together before moving?
Fortunately for us the wind blew in the right direction; it blew from
the elephants towards us, so they could not possibly detect our scent.
After a while the herd nearest to us, headed by the big bull, marched in
our direction. Their keen eyes had evidently detected the plantains.
They walked slowly. We could hear their heavy footsteps.
Soon they entered the plantation not one hundred yards from us, and then
the destruction began. Plantain-tree after plantain-tree was brought
down by them. They were making such a havoc!
Before we moved from our hiding-place we waited until they were so far
in among the trees that they could not possibly see us when we crossed
that bit of the prairie that stood between us.
The time came at last when we left our place. Okili gave the small
cluck, to draw our attention, and made the sign to follow him. We left
our hiding-place, and as soon as we reached the grass we lay low,
creeping towards the place where the beasts were. We entered the
plantation; tree after tree had been pulled down. Fortunately they were
making such a noise continually pulling down the trees that they could
not hear us.
We three were close together, and advanced slowly towards the game,
when, to our consternation, the wind shifted suddenly; if it shifted two
or three more points of the compass, then the elephants would be aware
of our presence.
After emerging from a cluster of plantain-trees, Okili suddenly stood
still, put his finger on his mouth--a sign of danger. Looking around, we
saw within twenty yards of us the bull elephant feeding on a bunch of
plantains. How big he looked!
Niamkala, Okili, and I looked at one another, as if to say, now danger
is before us; let our hearts not fail us. Then slowly we pressed forward
towards the big bull.
Of course he was the most dangerous of the whole herd. It was certain
that he would charge if we did not kill him on the spot. Then we must
look out for our lives. Okili looked at his old-fashioned gun once more;
Niamkala did likewise. I gave a look also at Bull-dog, and I said to
myself, "Paul, if you let this elephant tramp on you or toss you or
impale you, it will be all over with you; you will never see home
again."
We were getting dangerously near. Niamkala had left us, and crept
towards the elephant in such a manner that he could send a shot behind
his left shoulder without the danger of his iron plug coming in our
direction if it missed the animal. There was no danger of that, for
Niamkala was a splendid shot, but then he might only wound him.
[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON THE BULL ELEPHANT.]
Okili and I had approached within twelve or fifteen yards; we were
facing each other; circumstance had favored us. The moon was hidden
under a cloud, and just as the cloud disappeared we raised our guns. We
were to fire between the elephant's eyes. Niamkala also raised his gun,
and we all fired at the same time. We were upon our feet at once, and
waited for the effect of our shots. The elephant seemed to stagger, then
suddenly he made a plunge towards Okili and me, charging at full speed.
We turned instantly sidewise to let him pass in front of us. In a moment
he was near; we made three steps backwards and he passed us. I fired
another shot; we heard a thumping noise on the ground; the big beast had
fallen dead.
Of course the whole herd decamped after we had fired. They went through
the jungle, breaking every small sapling that came in their way and
barred their flight. For quite a while we could hear them, until the
noise gradually died away in the distance.
Then we left the dead bull and went on the prairie, and saw some men
running in our direction. As they came in sight they shouted, despite
their being out of breath, "We have killed two elephants and wounded one
that has run away."
We shouted back, "We have killed the big bull elephant."
We embraced one another, and shouted in the wildest manner, "We are men!
We are men!" Then they all danced round the bull elephant, and
exclaimed, "You wanted to kill our people; you charged them, but you got
killed instead." And they had a war-dance round the dead animal, after
which we went to their camp and saw the two cow elephants. They danced
round them, after which they cut a piece off each elephant, and took
these into the wood and left them there upon large leaves, for the
spirits Mombo and Olombo, who ruled over the hunting, to feed upon.
One of the bull elephant's tusks weighed sixty-nine pounds, the other
one sixty-one. The four tusks of the cow elephants weighed one hundred
and eleven pounds.
The following morning, Mbango, Macondai, Niamkala, and Fasiko left us to
go back to the village to fetch people to carry the elephant meat and
the tusks of ivory.
After they had left, we eagerly followed the tracks the elephants had
made during their flight. For hours we followed these. Fortunately Okili
was well acquainted with this part of the forest. A number of
peculiar-shaped trees were his landmarks. During the day we crossed over
several hunting-paths.
"The elephants must have gone far away," said Okili. "Their leader, the
big bull elephant we have killed, is not with them to direct them. The
other bull elephants in the herd were too young. Some big bull elephant
will scent them, and then become their leader. We had better leave their
tracks and follow one of the hunting-paths. I know the path will lead us
to the place where we are to meet Ogoola and Niamkala."
We slept in the woods, surrounded by big blazing fires. The following
day, towards evening, after walking without intermission for twelve
hours, with the exception of half an hour for our noon meal, we reached
the shore of a little river, and came to the big koola-tree where we
were to meet Ogoola and Niamkala. Okili and I were delighted to see so
many koola nuts on the ground, for both of us were very fond of koola
nuts.
We built our camp at some distance from the big koola-tree, and lighted
big fires, then lay upon our backs and put the soles of our sore and
lame feet as near the fire as we could. It is wonderful how this great
heat takes away the soreness.
The next morning I thought I would take a stroll by myself and look for
elephants, as Okili was not feeling very well.
One hour after I left our camp, and as I was walking along the bank of
the river, I spied, on the opposite side, a big bull elephant by
himself, evidently old, and the kind that is called by the natives a
"rogue elephant." The big beast was looking at the water, as if he had
not made up his mind to cross the river or not, or to take a bath. After
some hesitation he plunged into the river. The sun was very hot. He
threw water with his trunk in the air. He took his bath leisurely, then
began to swim across to a sandy island, upon which he landed, then stood
still for a few moments. He had all the appearance of a "rogue
elephant." I did not like his looks, and I was sure he would charge if
not killed on the spot. I looked at Bull-dog carefully, and made sure
that the steel-pointed bullets were near. I kept watching the beast,
hidden by the thick jungle, when suddenly he lay down and began to roll
himself in the sand. This was his sand bath, and he seemed to enjoy it
thoroughly. Then he got up, stood still for a while, and suddenly
plunged into the water and swam in my direction. I saw that he would
land about opposite to where I stood. "Goodness gracious!" said I to
myself, "I am in a pretty fix; I have no choice of position; I have to
face the huge beast, and I must aim right between his eyes before he
lands."
I placed myself by a big tree, which could protect me in case the
elephant charged.
[Illustration: "I TOOK AIM RIGHT BETWEEN HIS EYES AND FIRED."]
I took aim right between his two eyes, and fired, reserving the other
shot. When I fired he was on the point of landing. As the bullet struck
him he gave a shrill cry; then he landed and charged. I dodged by going
to the other side of the tree, and well I did, for as he passed the tree
he moved his trunk in my direction. Then he disappeared, and I heard a
big crash in the jungle, and all became silent. I went in that
direction, but looked very sharp, and then I saw the huge beast
breathing his last. I approached very carefully, for I was not sure that
he had not strength enough at sight of me to get up and charge. I did
not want to waste more of my steel-pointed bullets. I waited for a
while; the elephant kept still; then I ventured nearer and I found that
he was dead.
Okili, who had heard the report of the gun, started down the stream with
a raft he had made, and gave a war-whoop when he saw me by the shore.
Soon after he was in sight of the big rogue elephant. We cut his tail
off as a trophy, and went back to the camp, for Ogoola and Niamkala were
to be with us that day.
There was great rejoicing with the animal. They were hardly seated when
Okili said to them, "We have great news to tell you."
"What is it?" they said, with great eagerness.
"The Moguizi has killed this morning a rogue elephant; there is his
tail."
PAUL DU CHAILLU.
A SCHOOL OF SHARKS.
BY CHARLES LEWIS SHAW.
A boy--that is, the ordinary every-day sort of boy, which is, after all,
the best kind--is supposed to cause sufficient mischief not only to keep
himself but his parents and guardians and a large circle of relatives in
considerable hot water. And when you mix up two healthy boys and a
school of sharks, and incidentally throw in a ship's boat, a heavy sea,
and a sudden squall, there is bound to be trouble. And there was.
Philosophers to the contrary notwithstanding, there is such a thing as
luck in this world. It was pure unadulterated luck when the firm of
Henderson, Burt, & Co., let us call them, manufacturers of fire-arms,
had turned out 5000 rifles of what they supposed was the most improved
pattern, at a time when the market was dull, that an obscure German
chemist should invent a gunpowder requiring a cartridge which relegated
those rifles to the catalogue of ancient weapons. And it was luck that
the Captain of the schooner _Hecuba_ happened to be asleep one afternoon
off the coast of Cuba, and his son and the ship's apprentice were boys,
and had a boyish desire to catch a shark, or the firm of Henderson,
Burt, & Co. would have been bankrupt, and a considerable portion of
General Maceo's army would have had to struggle for freedom this summer
with their fists. And even Spanish conscripts cannot be beaten with
fists. This is how it happened:
When the news of that German's discovery reached us, for I was the
junior partner--the "Co." part--of the firm of Henderson, Burt, &. Co.,
it looked very much like ruin. The Orient, our hoped-for market, was not
only too far away and uncertain, but our agent in Alexandria had already
advised us that the Oriental was becoming more and more fastidious
regarding his fire-arms. In our desperation I thought of Cuba, which, on
account of the poverty of the insurgents, we had hitherto not
considered. The details of the transaction do not matter. Sufficient to
say that in a few days after the suggestion was made, an agreement was
entered into with the Cuban agents that if 2000 stand of arms were
delivered at a specified point on the coast of Cuba at a certain time,
we would be paid in gold then, and not before. It was a strange
contract. The sale was illegal, as the belligerency of the insurgents
was not recognized, and the risk of total loss by capture either by our
own revenue-boats or Spanish cruisers was great. To me was assigned the
entire conduct of the affair.
I didn't relish the task. All halcyon dreams about the Spanish main,
coral islands, and hidden treasures, all latent admiration for
picturesque pirates, low raking schooners with tapering masts,
snow-white decks, and "Long Toms" secreted under the long-boats had
evaporated. I was a business man, and assuming the rôle of the
filibustering blockade-runner wasn't exactly in my line. And as the
_Hecuba_, favored at last by a land breeze, crept out of the harbor of
Tampa, Florida, in the darkness of the June night, I watched the lights
of the revenue-steamer ahead, and thoughts of capture, jail, the
disgrace of a trial, either in an American court or before a Spanish
court martial, possessed me, and I wondered why it was that ten years
ago I had a wild longing to pace quarter-decks arrayed in a slashed
doublet, a velveteen cloak, and a pair of uncomfortable big jack-boots,
and yell in a voice of thunder, "Man the tops'l yards. Port your helm.
Run out Long Tom and send a shot across her bows." It occurred to me
that there was just a little bit too much eighteenth-century Captain
Kidd, Sir Henry Morgan sort of romance being mixed up in this business
transaction. I confessed to myself that I had outgrown all interest in
the blockade-running business beyond seeing 2000 rifles safely delivered
to a customer, and $40,000 received therefor. But in the words of the
ship's boy, a runaway street arab from New York, there were others. And
he and the Captain's son, for they were sworn friends by this time,
discussed the chances of the trip from the vantage-ground of the ship's
boat, into which they had clambered.
"D'ye t'ink they'll see us, Chimmie?" asked the Bowery boy, anxiously,
for it had been impossible to conceal the object of the trip from the
crew.
"I don't know. I hope they do," answered the youngster, who had often
been on voyages with his father, and knew the sailing-qualities of the
_Hecuba_. "This breeze is going to freshen, and we're nearly out of the
bay. Father will show those revenue-steamers a thing or two."
"If dey catch us, will we be hung to de yard-arm, way dey say in de
books?" inquired the street arab, whose first voyage it was.
"Perhaps," cheerfully answered Jimmie; and with a son's unbounded faith
in his father, he continued: "But they won't catch us. The worst is that
they may get close enough to see who we are, and then there will be
trouble when we come back."
"Den yer old man had better be a pirate. Dat's de way dey allus
does--get into trouble in dere own country, and den go piratin' in de
Spanish main after gold gallons," suggested the ex-newsboy.
Jimmie said, in an apologetic tone, as if it were a blight on the
character of his parent, that the skipper, as he called his father, in
imitation of the sailors, wasn't exactly cut out for a pirate. He wasn't
blood-thirsty enough, and mentioned several other drawbacks, much to the
credit of Captain Wade. And then there was an intense discussion as to
what they would do if they were captain and mate of the schooner
_Hecuba_. How they would get a beautiful coral island with only savages
on it, whom they would first kill, and then utilize the island for
burying treasure, imprisoning captive maidens of ancient Castilian
lineage, and holding rich grandees for ransom. The blood-thirsty little
wretches had just determined that I should be their first prisoner, and
was to be held for a ransom that would have bankrupted half the arms
factories of Connecticut, when the voice of the Captain could be heard
in sharp command:
"Ease her off and lay low. Cover up the binnacle light!" And in the
darkness we could see the point of the land we were hugging over the
port bow.
"They see us. They see us!" excitedly said Jimmie.
I looked, and felt a sick feeling in my heart as I saw the lights of the
revenue-steamer slowly moving toward us.
"We're right at the mouth of the harbor," I could hear Jimmie whisper.
"With this wind, she's a good one if she catches us."
In a few seconds I could feel the heavy swell of the Gulf of Mexico; and
the _Hecuba_, with her canvas spread like huge wings that looked
weirdlike in the darkness, sped before the wind. I felt, indeed, that
Jimmie was right--the steamer would be a good one if she caught us. And
she didn't catch us. But Yankee revenue-steamers are not easily run away
from, and it was only after we had steered a course that led the
government boat to believe that we were making for Jamaica did she
abandon the chase. We were then far out of our course, and I now had the
additional anxiety as to whether we would be able to make Cuba in the
appointed time. Slowly we beat up against adverse winds, practically
retracing our course for miles, until at last we sighted the
war-stricken island, with only two days left to make the little bay
named as the rendezvous with the Cuban agents. The elements then seemed
to rise up against us, for a storm came up in the evening with tropical
vehemence, and the sturdy little _Hecuba_ was compelled, with infinite
peril, to seek the shelter of one of the numerous bays along the Cuban
coast. For two days and nights the storm raged with such fury that it
would have been madness to venture forth. We saw on the second night far
out to sea an ironclad, which the Captain's night glass showed to be one
of the fastest of the Spanish cruisers guarding the coast. We took the
small crumb of comfort that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good.
'Twas the afternoon of the second day. The violence of the gale had
spent itself that morning, and by noon had moderated into a gentle
breeze, although a heavy sea was still running. It was the day that I
was to have met the Cuban agents, and it was maddening to think that the
place of meeting was only a few hours' run from where we were idly
lying. I begged the Captain to venture forth, but he gravely handed me
his powerful glass and pointed to a speck on the horizon. I looked, and
saw the funnels of the Spanish cruiser that had passed us the night
before.
"We shall have to wait for darkness," he said. "It would be worse than
folly to try it now. I must turn in for a spell. I haven't had a wink of
sleep for forty-eight hours," and he disappeared into his cabin.
I was not the only discontented being on board the _Hecuba_. The two
boys resented the delay also, and having been kept below during the
storm like prisoners, longed for action. They soon had excitement
enough, however, to suit even their temperaments.
"Sharks!" screamed Jimmie, disturbing the drowsy sailor of the
dog-watch, as he eagerly looked over the rail at a lot of plashing fins
and swaying tails.
"S' help me!" said his companion. "Is dem de t'ings dat follies ships
and swallers people?"
"No," said the sailor, coming up and contemptuously looking at the
school of sharks, whose long tails were making the water boil and bubble
as if a submerged volcano were in active operation. "They're just
thrasher sharks, and they're playin'."
"But they'd eat a fellow," said the ship's boy, and he threw a piece of
wood at one under the bow.
"No, they won't," said the sailor. "A swingle-tail, as some calls 'em,
won't hurt anybody. Though some says a whole school will sometimes
tackle a whale and kill it; but I don't believe it. A thrasher shark is
all play. The only trouble they make is when they get into fishermen's
nets, and with those long tails of theirs slash around and tear and
tangle everything up. They look big, but, you see, they run mostly to
tail. Tail and all, they're between twelve and fifteen feet long, and
weigh about 400 pounds. They make a good fight if caught on the hook."
It must have been half an hour afterwards when my absorbing thoughts
about the affairs of Henderson, Burt, & Co., the undelivered rifles, and
impending ruin were interrupted by a sudden splash at the stern. I
looked over and saw that the two young scapegraces, taking advantage of
the Captain's absence and the sleepiness of the watch, had lowered one
of the _Hecuba_'s boats.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Going to fish for sharks," answered Jimmie. "They are over
there"--pointing a few hundred yards away. "We've got a shark hook and
line, and the cook gave us a piece of pork for bait." And he held up a
most portentous-looking hook, with about three feet of chain attached to
prevent the teeth of the shark from severing it. In my ignorance of the
ways of the sea, I didn't realize the danger. The big rolling waves made
the _Hecuba_ roll and pitch as she tugged at her anchor-chains, and I
anxiously watched the daring young fishermen. When clear of the schooner
they shipped the mast, and in a few minutes they were in pursuit of the
sharks under full sail. I saw Jimmie throw out the line, but still they
scudded on in the heavy sea. What happened then will never be accurately
known. Whether it was that the tremendous tug at the line when the shark
swallowed the hook made the youngsters lose their heads and forget
everything--sail, sea, and a sudden puff of wind that came up--in their
intense desire to secure it, neither can say. The probabilities are that
the tiller being abandoned, as both boys held on to the line, the boat
swung into the trough of the sea, the sheet got caught in some way, and
the sudden puff of wind capsized the boat in the midst of the exciting
struggle.
I had watched the accident, and soon Captain and crew were on deck. As I
looked into the pale, tense features of the Captain as he quickly gave
his orders, I thought he was going on a hopeless errand. But no! Two
figures appeared on the bottom of the capsized boat, and a cheer went
forth from every throat. They would be saved yet. As if to add intensity
to the scene, the wind rose in fitful gusts and a huge bank of clouds
rolled up in the sky. Something had gone wrong with the gearing or
tackle of the second boat, which was seldom, if ever, used; and I fairly
trembled with anxiety as the valuable minutes passed, and looked at the
boys clinging to the bottom of the boat as it was tossed on a huge wave.
But, in Heaven's name! what were the boys doing? What did it mean? Were
they mad? By everything that was sane, they were still holding on to the
line.
[Illustration: OUT OF THE GATHERING DARKNESS CAME A YAWL MANNED BY TWO
MEN.]
"Cut away the tackle!" at last roared the Captain, maddened by the
delay, and noting the actions of the boys. It was done, and with a rush
the boat went down almost stern first, and half filled with water. I
felt that the fate of the boys was now sealed. With a water-logged boat
in that sea it would be impossible to cover the four hundred yards to
where the boys were still clinging tenaciously to the line. Jimmie was
standing up holding the line with both hands, in the position almost of
"the anchor" in a tug-of-war, and the ship's boy, extended on his
stomach along and astride the boat, held the line with his right hand,
while his left grasped the keel. Shark-fishing may be exciting, but
that the excitement was so great that one should court certain death was
hard to understand. I could hardly believe the evidence of my eyes, and
I screamed at the top of my voice, "Let go! Let go!" in the vain hope
that I might be heard. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed hours,
as the crew alongside bailed out the water. It would be too late. The
positions of the two lads showed they were almost exhausted. They
couldn't hold out much longer. If they let go there was yet time, but
they seemed to hold on as if their lives depended upon it. The end
couldn't be far off. The eyes of every one on deck were fixed on the
boys, when off to the left we saw, coming out of the gathering darkness,
a yawl manned by two men. It seemed almost ghostlike. But with
split-sail bellowing out before the wind, she raced on. The men bailing
in the boat relinquished their efforts as they watched the yawl steer
straight for the capsized boat. As they approached we saw one man move
forward to the bow. There was some weapon in his hand. And as the boys
apparently gave one last despairing tug at the line, the thrasher shark
in its agony gave a leap out of the water, but before its somersault was
completed a harpoon quivered in its side. Almost at the same time the
sail was lowered, the yawl was run alongside the capsized boat, and men
and boys helped to manage the dying struggles of the shark. Instead of
making immediately for the _Hecuba_, the Cubans, for such we could see
they were, seemed to be questioning the lads as they anxiously pointed
to the schooner. In a few minutes one of the men threw his cap in the
air, and a cry that sounded like "Cuba libre!" was wafted on the breeze.
It was too heavy a sea to tow the capsized boat, so, hoisting sail, they
ran under the stern of the _Hecuba_.
"Well, we got the shark," said Jimmie, in a more cheerful tone than his
dilapidated appearance warranted, as the boys and one of their rescuers
clambered on deck. Captain Wade walked up to the Cuban, and there was a
moist look in his eyes as he took his hand. "He is my only child," we
heard him say, and everybody understood.
"Oh!" said Jimmie, turning to me as he went below. "That gentleman from
Cuba says he knows you. He wanted to know all about the _Hecuba_ before
he would come on board. You see, the Spanish flag we're flying made him
nervous like," and Jimmie and his accomplice in trouble-making
disappeared. When Captain Wade presented me to the Cuban--who seemed by
his bearing to be a man of consequence--as the agent of the patriots
whom I was to meet, I thought that if there was such a thing as luck in
the affairs of Henderson, Burt, & Co., it was not all necessarily bad.
And I inwardly blessed troublesome boys and distinguished Cuban rebels
who would run risk of capture and execution by rescuing a pair of
youngsters from drowning in sight of what they supposed was a Spanish
revenue-schooner. They told me that what with the presence of the
Spanish cruiser and no sign of our schooner, they had thought that
further waiting at the rendezvous was both useless and dangerous, and it
explains their appearance at such an opportune moment.