tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91832972662932679822024-03-13T15:06:24.514-03:00From StillwaterDoug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.comBlogger644125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-79525726591994281202022-08-14T11:13:00.003-03:002022-08-14T11:13:53.675-03:00Leonid Solovyov —the eternal wanderer<p> </p><p class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://vk.com/wall-89997328_2318"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">8 Apr 2018</span></a></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid Solovyov —the
eternal wanderer<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">from
<u><span style="color: #3366ff;"><a href="https://vk.com/wall-89997328_2318?lang=en"><span style="color: #3366ff;">https://vk.com/wall-89997328_2318?lang=en</span></a></span></u></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">also:
<a href="https://biography-life.ru/art/225-leonid-solovev-biografiya-vechnyy-strannik.html">https://biography-life.ru/art/225-leonid-solovev-biografiya-vechnyy-strannik.html<o:p></o:p></a></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">9
April Day of Remembrance of the Writer L. V. Solovyov</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Not
everyone knows this writer, his name is rarely put on a par with the classics
of Soviet literature. But when readers hear about Khoja Nasreddin, their eyes
light up: we know—we know! So, he wrote about Nasreddin - Leonid Solovyov.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The
rattling wagons, the merchants calling for buyers, the smell of spices, the
scorching sun... He remembered everything as it is now, but it was almost a
quarter of a century. He will never forget the warmth of the East, which
promises peace and quiet. Leaning against the cold wall of the prison cell,
Leonid recalled his biography: childhood, youth, youth. How much is left in the
past and how much is still to come.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid
Solovyov – childhood</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The
biography of Leni Solovyov began with adventures. He was born in 1906 in
Tripoli (Lebanon), although his father and mother were Russian. They were sent
to the East on an educational mission. Both worked as teachers, taught Russian
in schools.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">When
the boy was 3 years old, the family returned home. However, a calm measured
life did not work: the Civil War and the famine that followed it knocked the
ground from under his feet. They remembered Uzbekistan — in those years a haven
for many Russian refugees. So Solovyov Lenya ended up in Kokand.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The
boy came to this land and fell in love with it. Soon he freely communicated
with traders at the bazaar, and played with local children. Although the family
was not rich, Lenya grew up happy. The railway technical school where he studied,
Solovyov did not like. At an opportunity, he immediately ran away from classes
and rushed to friends. His father, having learned about this, decided that the
son became independent and could take care of himself. A bundle with things,
some money came to him and he was on his way.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Lena
was happy with the unexpected freedom. Traveling around Turkestan, he gave
children Russian lessons, helped local residents on the farm, painted signs for
shops. He was paid for his work — not much, but enough for food. After all, the
most important food is not the one in the plate, but the one in the head. How
many things have accumulated there: wise conversations and fleeting
conversations, funny cases and stories ... It was impossible to keep them in.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid
Solovyov - a biography of his personal life</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">It
all started in the local newspapers. The editors willingly accepted lively
funny sketches of Solovyov for publication. Already at the age of 17, he became
a correspondent of the newspaper Pravda Vostochny, popular in Tashkent. And
when one of the stories received the second prize of the magazine “World of
Adventures”, Lena finally believed in his talent and went to conquer Moscow.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">In
the capital Soloviev entered the Institute of Cinematography at the literary
and screenwriting faculty. The course was accelerated, and two years later, in
1932, the young man received a diploma. Time passed quickly, but the memories
remained for a long time. It was at the institute that Lena met Tamara Sedykh,
who would later call the main woman in her biography - life. The young people
decided to get married. For Tamara it was the first marriage, and for Leonid -
the second. In distant Canibadam (Kondibodom), he tried to start a family, but
his personal life did not take place, the marriage quickly broke up.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Tamara,
Tomochka, at first lived well: love helped smooth out the sharp corners in the
relationship and gave an incentive to work. But then it was not enough:
Solovyov as a creative person constantly needed nourishment - first alcohol,
then women. The wife was patient, silent, and he hoped: maybe it will cost ...</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid
Solovyov - payback for frankness</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">When
Leonid picked up a printed copy of his first book - the story
"Nomad", almost wept. It was followed by others, but soon Solovyov
realized: he is best able to write about what he personally experienced and
felt. Scenes of his life in Uzbekistan immediately surfaced in his head. This
is what he can tell people.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid,
an admirer of oriental tales, had a favorite character of Khoja Nasreddin:
smart, insightful and obtuse. It would be nice to have a conversation on his
behalf. But only the writer decided to make his hero younger, more cunning and
fun. So, in 1940, the book “Troublemaker” was published. Solovyov only had time
to receive laudatory reviews: readers liked the oriental flavor, humor and
moral background of the work. His friends also praised him. Lena often stayed
up late with them, discussing plans for the future and swearing at what the
light is the present – many did not like the Stalinist government then.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Solovyov
did not like to be silent at all and was excessively frank. During the war he worked
as a war correspondent - sent essays from the front under the whistle of
bullets and explosions of shells. Then he himself joined the ranks, received a severe
shell shock, and therefore believed that he had every right to say what brave
soldiers in our country and what cowardly commanders.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Maybe
because of these harsh words, or maybe because of the criticism of the leader
in behind-the-scenes conversations in September 1946, Solovyov ended up in the
Lubyanka. He was considered a dangerous man, opposing the authorities, and was
accused of terrorism. The writer spent nine months in prison awaiting
sentencing, without admitting his guilt. “You better agree with everything,”
his cellmates advised him. “They’re going to jail you anyway, but maybe they’ll
send you away.”</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Soloviev
confessed, but... They sent him far away to the Dubrovlag camp in Mordovia for
10 years. At first they wanted to send to Kolyma, but Solovyov caught up in
time. "Leave it here - I will write the second part of the story about Khodja
Nasreddin," he went all-in. The writer was left in Mordovia, allowing in
his free time to engage in literary creativity.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid
Solovyov - to freedom!</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Four
years later, the writer had 735 manuscript pages of the story. He called it
“The Enchanted Prince.” As if his main treasure, Solovyov took the sheets to
the head of the camp for acquaintance. He did not comment, and did not give back
the manuscript. For three years it lay in his desk, in the fourth year the
manuscript was returned — Stalin died. Paperwork delayed Solovyov in the camp
for another year.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">On
the threshold of the Moscow apartment of the former convict, he met his wife
Tamara, but not as he expected.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">- “Here are your things, my strength is no longer to endure!”</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">At the feet of Solovyov, a heavy bag fell. Tamara reminded him of
everything — women, alcohol, and shame for his exile to the camps.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">There was no place to live for Leonid Vasilyevich, the only refuge
was in Leningrad, with his sister Zina. She accepted reluctantly, "The
Closest!" Soon Solovyov met a woman who, as he admitted, understood his
soul. It was the teacher of literature Maria Kudymovskaya. After the wedding,
he moved in with her.</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Leonid Solovyov - memories ...</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Life was slowly improving: Soloviev began to work on writing and
finalizing scripts on Lenfilm, he was restored in the Writers’ Union, both
stories about Khoja Nasreddin were published together. Already a new generation
of readers remained delighted with the dilogy. Many people wonder what is
behind this work. And Solovyov sat down to write the Book of Youth, in which he
wanted to tell about himself everything that he had kept in memory for so long.
But the usual craving for fiction interfered with the narrative. People who
personally knew Leonid Vasilyevich, after reading, unequivocally stated: “A lot
of what was written was not reality...”</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The author was forgiven for this slight deviation from reality. Even
though he was only 55 years old, he felt the end was near. The stroke paralyzed
part of the body, reminded of itself and a long-standing concussion ... The
only thing that remained for Leonid Vasilyevich Solovyov was long wanderings
through the back alleys of his memory. Who knows what will happen and what will
be true...</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Author of the biography: Sasha Tumanova</span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://vk.com/away.php?to=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.biography-life.ru%2Fart%2F225-leonid-solovev-biografiya-vechnyy-strannik.html&post=-89997328_2318&cc_key=">http://www.biography-life.ru/art/225-leonid-solovev-b..<o:p></o:p></a></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 145%; margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://vk.com/feed?section=search&q=%23%D0%9B%D0%B5%D0%BE%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B4%D0%A1%D0%BE%D0%BB%D0%BE%D0%B2%D1%8C%D0%B5%D0%B2"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">#ЛеонидСоловьев</span></a> <a href="https://vk.com/feed?section=search&q=%23%D0%BF%D0%B8%D1%81%D0%B0%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">#писатель</span></a> <a href="https://vk.com/feed?section=search&q=%23%D0%BB%D0%B8%D1%82%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B0%D1%82%D1%83%D1%80%D0%B0"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">#литература</span></a> <a href="https://vk.com/feed?section=search&q=%23%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%BE%D1%80%D1%87%D0%B5%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%BE"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">#творчество</span></a></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="margin-bottom: 9.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 3.75pt; margin-top: 9.75pt; mso-line-height-alt: 11.25pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://vk.com/wall-89997328_2318"><span style="color: black; font-family: "apple-system\, BlinkMacSystemFon"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "apple-system\, BlinkMacSystemFon"; mso-fareast-font-family: "apple-system\, BlinkMacSystemFon";">See original</span></a></span></p>
<p class="Standard" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Lebanon33.854721 35.8622855.122951294139753 0.706035 62.586490705860243 71.018535tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-50734394395905887112022-08-14T10:19:00.000-03:002022-08-14T10:19:21.983-03:00Leonid Solovyov 3rd Biography<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Leonid Solovyov<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">From: <a href="https://www.vounb.ru/?option=view_post&id=1638">https://www.vounb.ru/?option=view_post&id=1638</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">... The most
curious fate was with Leonid Solovyov, the author of the famous dilogy about
Khoja Nasreddin. Suffice it to say that he wrote the second book about Khoja
Nasreddin in prison - and he spent 8 years out of the 10 assigned to him in the
camp. - and absolutely legally, in the daytime. He served his camp duties as a
night watchman.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">This year,
August 19, marks the 115th anniversary of the birth of Leonid Vasilyevich
Solovyov, a writer and screenwriter.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Very prone to
hoaxes, Leonid Solovyov, however, has a biography based on solid facts. Some of
them will be discussed today.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Leonid Solovyov
was born in the Lebanese city of Tripoli in the family of an assistant
inspector of the North Syrian schools of the Imperial Orthodox Palestinian
Society - the history of this organization is interesting, but this is a
completely separate issue. From two years and subsequent years, the future
writer lived already in the Russian Empire and in the USSR - in 1909 the family
returned to Russia and settled in the Samara province. When the Empire
collapsed and famine gripped Soviet Russia, in 1921 the Solovyov family moved
to the Uzbek city of Kokand. There, Solovyov graduated from school a year
later, entered the Mechanical College, but after studying two courses, he left
it. For some time he worked as a repairman on the railway, taught at the school
of the oil industry.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Leonid Solovyov
began to publish in 1923 in the newspaper Turkestanskaya Pravda (hereinafter
Pravda Vostoka) and until 1930 worked as a special correspondent for this
newspaper. He distinguished himself at the competition, which was announced by
the Moscow magazine "World of Adventures". The story "On the
Syr-Darya Shore" appeared in this magazine in 1927.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">During trips
around the Fergana region in 1924–1925, Solovyov collected and studied
folklore. During these years, he recorded songs and stories about Lenin, which
were included in the collection Lenin and the Works of the Peoples of the East
(1930). According to the literary critic Yevgeny Kalmanovsky, “all the works
included there were composed by Solovyov himself, thus creating a folklore and
literary hoax.” Most likely, it was so, but nevertheless, the expedition of the
Tashkent Institute of Language and Literature in 1933 confirmed the folklore
source of the songs, the "original texts" of several songs in the
Uzbek and Tajik languages were presented.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">In 1930,
Solovyov arrived in Moscow and entered the literary and screenwriting
department of the Institute of Cinematography, graduating in 1932. In the same
1932, his first book, the story "Nomad" was published - about the
life of nomads during the years of the revolution, and two years later - a
collection of stories and short stories "The Campaign of the
"Winner"". </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">In 1939, the
novel "Troublemaker" was published - the first book of Leonid
Solovyov's most famous work - "The Tale of Khoja Nasreddin". In 1935,
according to the scenario of Solovyov, the film "The End of the
Station" (Mezhrabpomfilm) was shot.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">It is curious
that the author dedicated The Tale of Khoja Nasreddin to the memory of his
friend Mumin Adilov. Immediately, in the preface, he briefly told his heroic
fate. However, the folklorist, writer Dmitry Moldavsky, in his book Comrade
Laughter, argued that this dedication is another hoax of the author. All
searches on Uzbek soil for any information about Mumin Adilov, that he really
existed, turned out to be in vain.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">As for Khoja
Nasreddin himself, this, of course, is a well-known folklore character, from
which Nightingale made a 35-year-old man full of strength and energy, while the
canonical Khoja Nasreddin is an old man.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">In collaboration
with the writer and screenwriter Viktor Vitkovich, Solovyov wrote the scripts
for the films Nasreddin in Bukhara (1943) and The Adventures of Nasreddin
(1946). The popularity of "Nasreddin" was very high, as evidenced
even by the fact that the first film was shot during the difficult war years.
The book was repeatedly reprinted, and one reprint occurred even after the
arrest of the author on a political article. Published in translation into
French, Dutch, Danish, Hebrew and other languages.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">During the Great
Patriotic War, Solovyov was a war correspondent for the Krasny Fleet newspaper.
Front-line stories and essays of the writer were included in the collections
"Big Exam" (1943) and "Sevastopol Stone" (1944). According
to the story "Ivan Nikulin - Russian Sailor" (1943), he created a
screenplay for the film of the same name (1944).</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">A year after the
Great Victory, in September 1946, the front-line soldier and order bearer
Solovyov was arrested on charges of preparing a terrorist act. The writer was
kept in pre-trial detention for ten months. As a basis for the arrest, the
investigation presented the testimony of the “anti-Soviet group of writers”
previously arrested in 1944 - Sergei Bondarin, Semyon (Avraham) Gekht and
Leonid Ulin, who admitted that L. V. Solovyov, whom they knew, had “terrorist
sentiments” against Stalin. The file contains examples of the writer's
anti-Soviet statements: collective farms have not justified themselves,
literature is degrading, there has been a stagnation of creative thought. In
prison, Solovyov pleaded guilty to the crime he was accused of, wanting to
break out of the dungeon as soon as possible and get into the camp. The verdict
of the Special Meeting of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of June 9, 1947
read:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">“I only thought
about how to quickly escape from the remand prison somewhere - even to the
camp. It made no sense to resist in such conditions, especially since the
investigator told me: "There will be no trial of you, do not hope. We will
let your case go through a Special Conference." In addition, with my
confessions, I often paid off the investigator, as it were, from his insistent
demands to give accusatory evidence against my acquaintances - writers and
poets, among whom I did not know the criminals. The investigator told me more
than once: “Here you block everyone with your broad back, but they don’t really
block you,” Solovyov later wrote in a petition for rehabilitation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The writer was
sent to the Mordovian Dubravlag, where the head of the camp, who probably read
The Troublemaker with a smile, allowed him to engage in literary work as an
exception. In May 1948, Solovyov wrote to his parents and sister Zinaida that
he did not need to send anything but paper: “I must be a dervish - nothing more
... That's where, it turns out, I need to save myself in order to work well -
to the camp! .. No temptations and a life conducive to wisdom. I sometimes
smile at this myself.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The story
"The Enchanted Prince", the second part of "The Tale of Khoja
Nasreddin", was written on the basis of the script for the film "The
Adventures of Nasreddin", and completed by the end of 1950. The Charmed
Prince is very different from the first book, it is written in a different,
restrainedly sad style.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">After Stalin's
death, relatives, through the chairman of the board of the Union of Writers of
the USSR, deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR Alexander Fadeev, petitioned
to mitigate Solovyov's fate. He was released under an amnesty in June 1954.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Since 1954
Solovyov lived in Leningrad. In "Lenizdat" in 1956 was published in
two books "The Tale of Khoja Nasreddin" - the publication was a huge
success. Continuing to work in the field of cinematography, Solovyov wrote, in
particular, the script for the film The Overcoat (1959) based on the story of
the same name by N. V. Gogol. In 1961, parts of L. Solovyov's new work
"The Book of Youth" began to appear in print for the first time, this
work was published as a separate edition in 1963 under the title "From the
"Book of Youth"".</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The writer died
at the age of 55 on April 9, 1962 in Leningrad. He was buried at the Red
Cemetery, Narvskaya path.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">We add that
Leonid Solovyov was married three times and had no children in any of the
marriages. For the first time, Leonid Vasilievich married very early, back in
Central Asia, in Kanibadam, Elizaveta Petrovna Belyaeva. But their paths soon
parted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The Moscow
family was Tamara Alexandrovna Sedykh. According to cursory eyewitness
accounts, their union was extremely uneven. The writer who returned from prison
was not accepted by his wife or her relatives in the house.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">In April 1955
Solovyov married Maria Markovna Kudymovskaya, a teacher of the Russian
language.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Yuri Olesha
recalled in his diary: “I met Leonid Solovyov, who had returned from exile.
Tall, old, lost his teeth. Recognized me immediately, unconditionally. Nicely
dressed. This, he says, was bought by a man who owes him. I took it to a
department store and bought it. He says about life there that he did not feel
bad - not because he was placed in any special conditions, but because inside,
as he says, he was not in exile. "I took it as retribution for the crime I
committed against one woman" - the first, as he put it, "real"
wife. "Now I believe, I will get something."</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">“The crime
against a woman,” which Solovyov spoke about, he himself touched upon in his
testimony during the investigation of 1946: “I broke up with my wife because of
my drunkenness and betrayal, and was left alone. I loved my wife very much, and
breaking up with her was a disaster for me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">From the memoirs
of Ekaterina Vasilievna’s brother: “By nature, Leonid was a visionary and a
dreamer and remained so all his life”; “... he often saw people not as they
were, but as they seemed to him. Therefore, I often made mistakes ... "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">In preparing the
publication, materials of the VOUNB named after V.I. M Gorky</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><a href="https://avidreaders.ru/author/solovev-leonid-vasilevich/">https://avidreaders.ru/author/solovev-leonid-vasilevich/</a>
looks interesting…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Solovyov Leonid</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Life of Leonid
Solovyov</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Life of Leonid
Solovyov</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The childhood and
youth of the writer were spent in sunny places, almost like resorts. Leonid
Vasilyevich Solovyov was born on August 19, 1906 in the city of Tripoli in
Palestine (now called Lebanon). His parents - Vasily Andreevich and Anna
Alekseevna - were there, as they say, on a long-term business trip, they taught
at a Russian-language school for Arabs. They met in Palestine and got married
there. And that's how they got abroad. Vasily and Anna received their education
with state money and worked in Palestine "by distribution". By the
time of Leonid's birth, his father was a collegiate adviser, assistant
inspector of the Northern Syrian Schools of the Imperial Orthodox Palestine
Society. In 1909 the family returned to Russia. At home, Solovyov Sr. worked in
different places. So until 1918 they lived in Buguruslan and at the
Pokhvistnevo station of the Samara-Zlatoust railway, and since 1921 in Kokand.
In Uzbekistan, Leonid graduated from high school and entered a mechanical
college (but did not finish it). For some time he taught at the FZU of the oil
industry. Solovyov's autobiographical "Book of Youth" written in
1960-61 is about those places ...</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Leonid began
writing and publishing in newspapers back in Kokand. He also wrote for the
Tashkent Pravda Vostoka. In 1927, his story "On the Syrdarya Shore"
was published in the Moscow magazine "World of Adventures". And in
1930, Leonid came to Moscow and entered the literary and screenwriting
department of VGIK (Institute of Cinematography). In just two years, by June
1932, he graduated from the institute course, there is a corresponding entry
about this in the archive of the institute.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Solovyov began
to write short stories and stories about the present, about new buildings,
about working people, about Central Asia. In 1935-1936, they started talking
about the young writer, for example, articles were published about him in the
magazines Krasnaya Nov, Literary Study. Here is a quote from Krasnaya Nov, A.
Lezhnev, "About L. Solovyov": "Soloviev's stories are built
around one uncomplicated idea, like the pulp of a cherry around a bone",
"... his stories retain an intermediate form between everyday feuilleton
and a story" .</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">At the age of
33, Leonid Vasilievich Solovyov wrote "The Tale of Khoja Nasreddin:
Troublemaker" and became a famous writer. At the same time, official
recognition took place. Solovyov was taken entirely. He talked about his last
book, The Tale of Khoja Nasreddin.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">During the Great
Patriotic War, Solovyov was a war correspondent for the Krasny Fleet newspaper.
Sevastopol stone". And Solovyov also worked "in his specialty" -
films were staged according to his scripts.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">After the war,
in September 1946, Solovyov was repressed. He spent ten months in pre-trial
detention and was forced to confess to the false charge of "planning a
terrorist act against the head of state." The writer was sent to the
Dubravlag camp: Mordovian Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, Potma station,
Yavas post office, mailbox LK 241/1Z. According to the memoirs of the prisoner
A.V.Usikov, Solovyov was selected as part of the Kolyma stage, but he wrote to
the head of the camp, General Sergeenko, that if he was left here, he would
take up the second book about Khoja Nasreddin. And the general ordered Solovyov
to leave.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The Enchanted
Prince was written in the camp. Parents (they lived then in Stavropol) and
sisters sent the paper. Solovyov worked as a night watchman in a workshop where
wood was dried, then as a night attendant. Such night positions gave Solovyov
the opportunity to concentrate on the book. And at the end of 1950, "The
Enchanted Prince" was completed and sent to the authorities. The fate of
the manuscript was not heard for a long time, and the author, of course, was
worried. In mid-1953 he was transferred to Omsk. Finally, in June 1954, he was
found not guilty and released.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Here is how the
writer Yu.K. Olesha (Central Archive of Literature and Art (TsGALI)) describes
the first days of Solovyov in Moscow: “July 13, I met Leonid Solovyov, who had
returned from exile. Tall, old, (...) Decently dressed. This, he says, was
bought by a man who owes him. I went to the department store and bought it. He
says about life "there" that he did not feel bad, not because he was
placed in some special conditions, but because inside, as he says, he was not in
exile. I took it as retribution for a crime I had committed against one woman,
my first and, as he put it, real wife. But now I believe, I will get
something..."".</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Leonid's wife's
name was Elizaveta Belyaeva. They got married in their youth, in Kanibadam, and
soon divorced. Then he married Tamara Sedykh in Moscow. According to the
testimonies of acquaintances, the marriage was not smooth, and after being
released from the camp, Tamara did not want to see Leonid at all and even
returned all his letters unopened. Leonid had no children from either his first
or second wife.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">From Moscow,
Leonid Vasilyevich went to Leningrad, to his sister Zina (the older sister,
Katya, lived until the end of her days in Central Asia, in Namangan). In
Leningrad, in April 1955, Solovyov married Maria Kudymovskaya, a teacher of the
Russian language. They lived on Kharkovskaya street, building 2, apartment 16.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">At the beginning
of his writing life in Leningrad, Solovyov was supported by the front-line poet
Mikhail Dudin, and, of course, by other benevolent people. And from the
Leningrad literary environment, Leonid Vasilyevich kept a little aloof.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Life got better.
The Enchanted Prince was published (in the same book as The Troublemaker,
Lenizdat). The book was a huge success. Solovyov again began to work for the
cinema. Wrote "The Book of Youth".</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">He died April 9,
1962. He was buried at the Red Cemetery in Avtov.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Sister Katya
Solovieva recalled: "By nature, Leonid was a visionary and a dreamer, and
he remained so for the rest of his life. ... He often saw people not as they
were, but as he wanted them to be." (words and facts from the article by
E. Kalmanovsky are used)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">From: <a href="https://avidreaders.ru/read-book/zhizn-leonida-soloveva.html">https://avidreaders.ru/read-book/zhizn-leonida-soloveva.html</a></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Moscow, Russia55.755826 37.617327.445592163821154 2.46105 84.066059836178852 72.77355tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-87037828394910964202022-01-22T15:45:00.002-04:002022-01-22T15:46:07.967-04:00 Jim Charles and the Gold Mine<p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;">Jim Charles and the Gold Mine</span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext219"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">By Thomas H. Raddall<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legends of Jim Charles and
his “secret gold mine” still persist in Queens County, all garbled and some
absolutely false. He is described as “a bad Indian” — “a bloody murderer” — and
so on. People have sought for his “mine” all over the Caledonia district, and
especially about the shores of Kejimkujik</span></span><a href="file:///H:/Writingand%20Reading/Frank%20Parker%20Day/Jim%20Charles%20and%20His%20Gold%20Mine%20Raddall/Jim%20Charles%20and%20his%20Gold%20Mine%208x11.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Lake. </span></span><span class="Bodytext217"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The full </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">truth about Jim Charles was
known to two men only. One was a New Grafton woodsman</span></span><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook8"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">farmer named David Lewis, the
other was the Rev. Clayton Albert Munro, a native of Maitland Bridge. Both were
friends of Jim Charles, and he confided in them. Lewis died without revealing
the secret of the “mine”. Munro, after serving in various Methodist pastorates
in Nova Scotia, retired in Bermuda, where he died in 1950 at the age of 86.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Traces of gold were first
discovered in Queens County in the 1850’s. The Queens County Historical Society
has an old share certificate, dated 1854, of a company that was formed to
exploit it. The company went bankrupt soon afterwards. Nobody now knows where
this mine was, if indeed the company dug a mine at all.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The next discovery came in
1884, when a farm hand named Maguire, digging a hole for a fence post on the
farm of George Parker at South Brookfield, found a quartz seam with a pocket
containing some nuggets, one of considerable size.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This
started a gold rush. Men poured in from everywhere. Some were experienced
miners and prospectors. Most were not. They came from places as far apart as
Newfoundland and Colorado, and they included a number of American adventurers
who swaggered about the streets of Caledonia wearing cartridge belts and
revolvers in the fashion of the wild West. Slick promoters floated mining
companies and raised great sums of money, chiefly in the United States. The
first mine was dug on the Parker land. Others followed, in various places in
the region of South Brookfield and Caledonia, and Molega and Whiteburn.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Caledonia, a little
crossroads hamlet of farmers and lumbermen, became the bustling centre. Two
hotels appeared, one of them called The Golden Home. There were half a dozen
busy bars. Miners and prospectors put up shacks and tents.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A printer named Banks moved
in from Annapolis, bringing his press on a wagon, and started a weekly
newspaper called the Caledonia Gold Hunter. (Oddly enough, the newspaper
survived long after the gold rush was only a memory; and the Banks family
continued to print it, under the same title, until when their plant was
destroyed by fire.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All in all it was an amazing
scene in a hitherto quiet Nova Scotia countryside, </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt1"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> it lasted about ten years. A
mine called the Libby was the biggest and most successful, but even that went
bankrupt at last. The gold-bearing seams were narrow and irregular. Most of
them went deep and were expensive to work. The necessary steam engines were
fired with hardwood, cut by gangs of loggers working at boom-time wages. The
nearest railways </span></span><span class="Bodytext215"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at
Annapolis, whence all machinery and supplies had to be hauled by wagon over
something like forty miles of narrow road </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">through </span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the forest, climbing over the
South Mountain en route, and later New Germany. The gold did not pay the cost
of mining, and that was the end of it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These gold-bearing seams,
wandering in their thin spidery fashion, had a peculiar characteristic. In some
places one crossed or joined with another; and where this joint occurred there
was usually a pocket containing free gold in the form of dust or nuggets. Such
a pocket, the one found by Maguire near the surface, started the whole rush.
The slick mine-promoters could take ore samples from one of these seam-joints,
send them to the government assay office in Halifax, and get a fine rich report
to show the gullible.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I give these details of the
Caledonia gold rush for a reason. In considering the strange affair of Jim
Charles it is important to remember the excitement of the times, the greedy
fever of the gold-seekers, and the number of desperadoes who came with them.
Jim Charles had good reason to fear. He had found gold himself, years before
the Caledonia discovery, and for years he had been taking little bags of
nuggets and dust to the bank in Annapolis and sometimes to a bank in Liverpool.
He would never say where or how he got it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the summer of 1944 I had a
visitor. He was the Rev. Clayton Albert Munro, born at Maitland Bridge,
Annapolis County, in 1864. I had never met him before, indeed I had not known
of </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his existance</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. He had started life on a small farm, and earned money for
his education by working in the woods as a logger and river-driver. He entered
the service of the Methodist Church as a probationer, and eventually held
pastorates in Annapolis, Chester, Guysborough, Lockeport and elsewhere in Nova
Scotia. In 1925 Pine Hill College awarded him an honorary D.D. to mark his long
service to the Church. A few years later he retired with his wife and daughter
to Bermuda; and now, at the age of 80, he had come back for one last look at
the scenes of his youth. (He died and was buried in Bermuda in October 1950.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I beheld a grey man of medium
height, moving with unusual vigor for that age, and I found his mind and memory
as keen as that of a youth. He had read some of my stories and came to chat
about bygone days in the Queens County woods. After a time he asked, “Do you
know the story of an Indian named Jim Charles and his secret gold mine?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I said I’d heard a number of
legends about him, but I supposed that no one would ever know the truth. Mr.
Munro said, “I know the truth about him, and if you like you can take it down.”
So I got pencil and paper. This is what he told me:-</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim Charles was a Micmac who
lived on the point in Kejimkujik Lake where the so-called “Kedgie” Club and
cottages are now. He and his squaw Lizzie cultivated a little vegetable plot,
and Jim earned money as a guide to sportsmen in the fishing and hunting
seasons. My family knew him well; he often called at our house on his travels,
and my father and I often saw him when we went to Kejimkujik.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim was not only an excellent
guide, he was quiet and courteous,</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and sportsmen from Annapolis, like Judge Ritchie and
others, made a point of engaging him on their fishing and hunting expeditions.
Some time in the l860’s, when I was a baby, Jim Charles found gold somewhere in
the wooded wilderness beyond Kejimkujik.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He showed some of it to
Ritchie. It was alluvial gold in the form of small nuggets. Ritchie took a
sample home with him and had it assayed quietly, probably somewhere in the
States. He told Jim not to breathe a word of his discovery, but to work the
deposit secretly, </span></span><span class="Bodytext217"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">bringing </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">out a little at a time. Jim used to send it into Annapolis concealed in
little tubs of butter, shipping it by the mail coach.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ritchie used to dispose of
the gold, returning the cash to Jim. This part of my story is hearsay of
course, told to me by my mother when I was a boy in the teens. I believe it to
be correct.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After some years Jim grew
bolder, bringing out larger quantities of gold. And he began to spend the money
recklessly. He bought a good carriage and a trotting horse. Eventually he had
one of his sportsman friends order for him a silver-mounted harness in the
States. He bought fine clothes for himself and Lizzie. He had a love for fine
watches and fancy chains, and often had three or four on his person at one
time, when he and Lizzie drove into Caledonia in their carriage, with the horse
in its expensive harness, and Lizzie sitting up proudly in her fine gown and
beaded Indian cap, they were quite a sight. By the year I</span></span><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook6"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">870</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> everyone knew that Jim
Charles had found gold somewhere. He was watched, and men tried to follow him
when he set off on his lone expeditions, but Jim always managed to elude them.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not far from Jim’s place at
Kejimkujik was a small farm kept by another Micmac, Peter Glode. Glode</span></span><span class="Bodytext217"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and his squaw were good
enough people, but they had a daughter whose morals were a bit loose. A
wandering white ne’er-do-well named Jim Hamilton, said to have deserted a ship
in Liverpool, N. S., struck up an acquaintance with the Glode girl and eventually
moved in to live with the Glode family. He soon learned of Jim Charles and his “gold
mine”. He tried to follow him a number of times but had to give it up. One day
in the 1870’s Hamilton, well primed with rum, went to Jim’s house and
threatened him and Lizzie, demanding to know the secret. He followed this up
with blows, and Jim Charles struck back. There was a fearful struggle in the
little shack. Jim was then about 45, and Hamilton far younger and stronger. At
last in desperation Jim caught up his gun and struck Hamilton on the head with
the butt. Hamilton fell and died in a space of minutes.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim Charles and Lizzie now
had something worse to frighten them — the white men’s law. One of Jim’s
friends was a Caledonia merchant named Harlow, who was also a magistrate. Jim
hurried away to Caledonia, dashed into the store, and cried “Mister </span></span><span class="Bodytext210"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">H</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">arlow! Mister Harlow! I just
killed Jim Hamilton. Save me! Save me!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Harlow, a kindly and sensible
man, calmed Jim down. There were no police in the country districts in those
days, of course. The administration of law was a free-and-easy matter. Harlow
called a magistrate’s court, heard the evidence of Jim and Lizzie, and of the
Glodes. At the end of it he set Jim free. Most people agreed with his verdict,
feeling that Hamilton had got what was coming to him. But there were a few who
thereafter pointed out Jim Charles as a murderer never brought to justice.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(The family of Clayton Munro
were descended from William Burke, the pioneer settler in North Queens, who
spoke Micmac and was very influential with the Indians. The Munros themselves,
always friendly to the Indians, had a good deal of the same influence.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My family now tried to
persuade Jim to take out a legal mining lease, covering the site of his gold,
wherever it was. It would protect his rights, and at the same time it would end
the spying and persecution of men like Hamilton. But Jim shook his head
stubbornly and said, “Bad luck for Injun show white men where is gold.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Soon after this Lizzie died.
In their middle age, being childless, Jim and Lizzie had adopted a half-breed
girl named Madeleine. After Lizzie’s death Jim married Madeleine, and they had
one child, a son. Jim continued to market his gold through the banks in
Annapolis and Liverpool.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One day in 1884 a tragic
accident occurred in Kejimkujik Lake near Jim Charles’ Point. Three hunters
—Gideon Burrell, Stewart Ruggles and a man named Stoddard — set out across the
lake in a small bark canoe. The water was rough, the canoe capsized, and all
three were drowned. Almost at once malicious tongues began to wag. Soon there
was a story that Jim Charles had shot at the men with a rifle, hitting one or
more of them, and so causing the canoe to capsize. It was a lie, of course. The
bodies were recovered some time afterward, and they bore no trace of wounds.
But the story persisted amongst those who had always held Jim a murderer. Some
openly accused him.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim was badly frightened. He
was getting old now. And now that gold had been discovered at South Brookfield
the woods were full of prospectors, many of them rough characters from American
mining camps. He dared not go to his own secret “mine” any more. In fact he
hardly dared to set foot outside his shack.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had spent his money
recklessly in the years gone by. He had nothing now but the expensive watches,
the fancy harness and the rest of it. After a time he had to sell these to buy
food.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Some years before he died, a
false story appeared in a Halifax newspaper to the effect that the notorious
Indian, Jim Charles, had died, and had made a death-bed confession to the
murder of Stoddard, Burrell and Ruggles. I had a church in Guysborough County
at the time. I wrote home at once, to ask if it was true. The answer was that
Jim Charles was alive, though very poor, and that the story was a bit of
imaginative malice on the part of someone in the Caledonia district.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not long after this another
man named Hamilton turned up at Kejimkujik. He was no relation to the dead Jim
Hamilton, so far as anybody knew, but he went to Jim Charles’ shack, told the
old Indian that he was going to be arrested for the murder of the three
hunters, and proposed, “Show me where your gold mine is, and I’ll get you off.”
Jim was terribly alarmed, but he clung to his secret. However, after much
brooding, he made his way to the farm of a man named Lewis, whom he trusted. He
had come to a decision. So long as he kept his secret to himself the spying and
the persecution would continue. He dared not go near his mine — and he needed
money badly. The solution was to share his secret with a white man, a friend he
could trust. Lewis was such a man; moreover he was active and resolute, not the
sort that the shifty characters of the Caledonia “rush” would dare to trifle
with.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lewis agreed to take out a mining
claim in his own name and Jim’s. The next thing was to visit the spot, measure
off the claim and drive the stakes. He and Jim slipped away across Kejimkujik
Lake in a canoe. It proved to be a long journey. All the men who had been
beating the bushes about the shores of Kejimkujik in search of Jim Charles’
gold were wasting their time. The way led by portage to Mountain Lake, thence
to Pescawess Lake, thence by the Shelburne River through Beverley Lake and Pine
Lake to the very source. Thence by a rough and toilsome portage to Oakland
Lake, the source of the Tusket River, which flows in the opposite direction,
towards the western end of Nova Scotia.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lewis was astonished and
amused. The secret of Jim Charles’ gold mine was that it wasn’t on the Mersey
watershed at all. It was on the Tusket</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">! </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At last Jim said, “Soon now.” They were getting far down
the Tusket towards the </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">present </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">village of Kemptville. Suddenly they heard an odd sound
ahead. It was faint at first, and old Jim looked puzzled. It grew louder as
they came around a bend and saw men, and buildings, and the smoke of a steam
engine.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Old Jim had kept his secret
too long. His mine had been discovered by prospectors working up the Tusket
River, and now there was a mill on the spot. What he had found was a large and
rich pocket of free gold at a spot where two seams joined, and the junction
came at a point that was actually part of the streambed. The stuff had caught
his eyes, shining in the shallow water. He must have cleaned out most of this
alluvial gold, but there was enough left to catch the notice of the Tusket
prospectors, and from that they had gone on to mine the actual seams. It was
the Kemptville mine, which ran successfully for many years.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When they returned to
Kejimkujik, Lewis and Jim Charles decided to keep mum about the whole thing.
Who would believe that Jim’s famous mine was on the Tusket, or that it was now
being fully exploited by an organized mining company?</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(Here ends quotation from
Rev. Dr. C. A. Munro)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Record of the N.S. Dep’t. of
Mines and Forests shows that:-</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Gold was discovered at
Kemptville, Yarmouth County, in 1881, by James and Joseph Reeves. In 1885 a
crusher began to operate, and for three years very high grade ore was crushed.
In the year 1885 the mine produced 624 ounces of gold. In following the seam
the mine produced less rich ore, and never again achieved the profit of 1885.
Nevertheless it continued running, with some interruptions, for many years. It
appears to have closed down finally in 1928.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext27"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">**************</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Information from Claude W. Hartlen,
funeral undertaker at Milton, Queens County, in 1926:- Jim Charles, when he was
very old and decrepit and poor, came to live at Two Mile Hill (near Milton)
with John and Andrew Francis, Indians. He used to hobble about on two sticks.
He died soon after. Mr. Hartlen prepared the body for burial. It was very
lousy, and some of the lice crawled on to Hartlen’s clothing. The coffin was a
plain pine box. Harlen ran a sawmill then, mostly making barrel staves. He also
made coffins, but at that time had no hearse. In those days there was only one
R.C. priest in Queens County, and he resided at Caledonia. Hartlen thought the
Indians had sent for the priest to perform the funeral rites, but on arrival he
found that they had not. They said they could not afford the priest. Two
Indians had dug a shallow grave in the churchyard. When Hartlen expressed his
concern about the absence of a priest, John Francis said “Oh, chuck the old
bugger in anyway.” So the coffin was interred without ceremony. This was in the
1890’s. Hartlen could not remember the exact year. In those days Hartlen ran a
little sawmill, sold fire insurance, and acted as the Milton undertaker as a
side line. Indian burials were casual affairs, usually conducted without
benefit of clergy. It was customary to haul the pine coffin all the way to
Liverpool on a hand-cart. If the dead Indian had been popular, the little
Micmac group at Two Mile Hill, men women and children, used to walk to
Liverpool, taking turns at pulling the cart. They brought food in baskets, and
after the burial they sat about the churchyard and held a sort of picnic.
Usually the men had a bottle or two of rum. It was quite a cheerful affair. At
evening they went home.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">*************</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legends of Jim Charles and
his gold mine are still current in Queens and parts of Annapolis and Yarmouth
counties, and there are still people who believe that some sort of El Dorado
exists in the woods of western Nova Scotia, untouched since Jim Charles took
away his last pouch-full. Here are some of the legends:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext219"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext219"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I. Lane Smart, of Caledonia</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Smart’s father was an
American mining engineer, brought to Queens County by a syndicate operating a
mine there during the gold boom of the 1880’s and 1890’s. Isaac (best known as “Ike”)
was brought up in North Queens, and was a guide to fishermen and hunters most
of his life. Information given in 1945.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I’ve heard a lot of tales
about Jim Charles. Who hasn’t? My own guess is that he had no mine. That young
squaw Madeleine was very chummy with the miners when she came to Caledonia, she
was a pretty thing, and her lovers used to pay her in gold dust and nuggets. In
other words she was old Jim’s mine. The miners used to steal gold out of the
sluices, even out of the crucibles. It got so bad that all the miners coming
off shift were searched for nuggets and dust; but the thefts went on. Gold dust
and nuggets were common currency around Caledonia for years.” (Note: according to Dr. Munro’s testimony,
Jim Charles was selling gold in Annapolis many years before the Caledonia gold
rush.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Here is a letter to T.H.R.,
written by James B. (“Big Jim”) Macleod of South Brookfield, a famous guide and
woodsman</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“South Brookfield, June 3rd
1944</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Dear Comrade Tom — Mr.
Munro, or Dr. Munro, or I should say Rev., I think is Clayton Munro formerly of
Maitland, Annapolis Co. After his father’s death his mother married a Nixon.
Alister Nixon of Maitland is a half Bro. Mrs. John Ford of Milton I think a
Sister. I remember the first time I seen him he was on a river drive, Tenting
in the pines below S. Brookfield Church. He came to Sunday-School on Sunday.
The seat of his pants were badly torn. My Half Brother Parker McLeod and he
were great chums. His letter does not change my idear about the Jim Charles
mine. I still think it was in the vicinity of Loon Lake (i.e. on the Kejimkujik
River —THR) Ike’s theary regards the matter will not agree with date of Jim
Charles. As the Whiteburn mine found and worked by Hugh McGuire, James McGuire </span></span><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook3"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">&</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> William happened years after. I can remember when the
McGuire Boys worked that mine. With a pistol fastened to a spring pole to break
the quarts. They cut a wide swath them days. Jim driving his span of greys
rigged up to a fancy carry all, with their silver mounted harnice. Drink finely
got them. Hugh had a Hotel at Caledonia, now the Alton House. He died where
Jack McGuire now lives. His wife still lives. Jim moved to Liverpool. He was
the Dandy then. The country was not good enough for him. He died in Liverpool.
You no doubt know his family.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">***********</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legend related to Helen
Creighton, June 1947, by Thomas “Red Tom” Boyle, then living at Port Mouton but
formerly of West Caledonia:-</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Jim Charles’ wife used to
drive to town with gold, and would go to the States with it. He was a very
treacherous Indian. He made baskets. After his first wife died he married
another Indian squaw named Multi, and when he had to go out hunting he would
tie his wife so she couldn’t get away. Jim shot at two Burrells. He thought
they were trapping on his ground, and he </span></span><span class="Bodytext217"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">shot </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">three men altogether; two Burrells and their brother-in-law
Stoddard. Bullets were found in the body. Jim Charles wore a pair of small gold
</span></span><span class="Bodytext217"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">earrings. </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">His first wife dressed well.
They had a horse and carriage, and lots of gold, and they used to go through
the woods. There is a brook that leads to his tenting ground. Jim would wander
off, but he would never show anybody his mine. His gold came out freely. My
wife had a chunk of Jim Charles’ gold. Before the canoe shooting he shot a man
named Hamilton.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim Charles had a brother-in-law
named Bradford, a fine Indian, but scared to death of </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles. Everybody was scared
of him.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">******************</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legend related to </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Helen </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Creighton, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">July 1947</span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Louis Pictou, Micmac Indian,
Lower Granville, Annapolis County:-</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“They made buttons out of </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles’ gold, and
grandmother made bullets.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles brought </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">his </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">gold to Annapolis himself. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a gold mine and he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">brought nuggets </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">from </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">size of a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pin-head </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to a pea. How </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">found them, it was a sort of </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">dry </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">summer, water was scarce and
he was hunting and he wanted a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">drink and he went </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">brook. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He had </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to follow it down to a pool, sort </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of a little </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">falls. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">While he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was drinking he see </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">this </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">stuff in the water, and he
reached down and got some of this stuff and picked it up. After he looked
around, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">saw
</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">it on the </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">shores. He used to go there
and take the gold to Halifax. After </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">while </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">white folks got wise to it and got after him. ‘Now’, they
said, “Mister </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles, they </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">claim </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">you </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">found </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">mine out there to </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hedge </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lakes. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">much will </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">you take </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">for </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">that mine?’ He </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">didn’t want to sell, but three or four of them went </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">with him </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to Hedge Lakes, and he got
out of the canoe and got on shore, and he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">warned </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">them. ‘I’m going, and I’ll </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">be </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">back </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">in an </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hour’s time, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but I </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">don’t </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">want </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">anyone to follow.’ </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he went, and he come back
sure enough, and he brought </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">these people the </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">gold. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They had </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">liquor and </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">they </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">tried to get </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">him </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">drunk, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">but </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was wise to </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">that, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and they </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">tried </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">coax </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">him </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to show where he got that stuff, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wouldn’t. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That mine </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was never found, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">an Indian or a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">white </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">man.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“They claim he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">killed </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">man, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">then the rest of the Indians
claim he didn’t. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Indians claim he wouldn’t have done a thing like that.
People round Lequille </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">said he </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was a real nice man, not treacherous.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext91" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext90"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">*************</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legend related to Helen
Creighton, August 1947, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Louis Harlow, Micmac Indian, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">at Bear River, </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Annapolis County:-</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Jim </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles’ wife was a great </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">medicine </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">woman, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and during this time
they </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had
</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a dance, </span></span><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and old Jim went down and was
running around with a girl. A white fellow who was courting the same girl came
in, and he struck Jim Charles. When Jim Charles fell he picked up a piece of
wood, and killed the white man right there. They put Jim Charles in jail, and
he pretended he was sick and couldn’t stand the confinement, so they put up a
tent for him. He escaped from the tent and went to the woods.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He thought the dogs were
after him, so he jumped in the water and swam till he came to a beaver house,
and he stayed there. There was a big rock called Jim Charles’ Rock. Finally he
went out and wrote to the people in Liverpool to come and get him. They tried
him and cleared him.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Jim Charles must have killed
Ruggles. He was a lawyer who was against him. There was no Indian in the canoe
with Ruggles. After it happened, other men came to him and said, ‘Uncle Jim,
they’re lying about you’. It wasn’t true, but they told him they were coming
after him. He went in the woods then to escape, and died of exposure.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Jim Charles had a gold mine,
and his wife knew about it, and where it was. He used to go to Halifax with
fur, and he had two stocking-legs filled with gold. George King, the mail
driver, saw him and told me himself. When he first went to Halifax he had an
old horse, and whenever a team came by he had to go to one side to let them
past. He didn’t like that, so after he sold his fur and got his gold he looked
round for the best horse in Halifax, and he bought a trotter. He had a sleigh
all varnished up and painted red. He never told about his gold, because it was
believed that if the Indians found a gold mine, and told the white man, the
Devil would come to the Indian and he would die.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">****************</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Legend related to Helen
Creighton, August 1947, by Charles Charlton, of Milford, Annapolis County:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext218"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The three men in the canoe
which Jim Charles is supposed to have shot at were Stewart Ruggles; Gid
Burrell, a shoemaker; and Zeke Hanley, a white guide. They were in a little
60-pound birch bark canoe, which was overloaded. Some of the birch bark canoes
were so cranky you had to keep your hair parted in the middle, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and others were so
cranky you daresn’t change your mind. Sid Camden brought the corpse of Burrell
through here in a daggin with a single ox, all wrapped in moss. His body was
the last to be found. The only killing I ever knew of around here was old Jim
Charles killing a white man who was too familiar with his wife.” (Note by THR: “Daggin”
or Dagan” was a western Nova Scotia word, probably Acadian in origin, for a
wagon pulled by a single ox.)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(Note by THR) In
July 1957 Arthur B. Merry came to my house with an old gun that he had found on
the bottom of Kejimkujik Lake. It was a very dry summer and the lake was low.
Paddling a canoe over a shallow place near his property on the east side of the
lake, Merry had noticed the gun and fished it up. His property was the old
Charlie Minard place, and it included the Indian burial ground. Merry thought
the gun might be one of those lost when Stoddard and the others upset their
canoe in 1884. It was badly corroded by rust, but one could see that it was a
cap-fire, muzzle-loading, smooth-bore gun, very light and short in the barrel.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(Note by THR) Fifteen
or more miles west of Lake Rossignol, near the place where the boundaries of
the western counties come together on the map like the wedges of a pie, lies a
small lake called Koofang by the woodsmen. Somewhere in the vicinity of “Koofang”
is a huge boulder with a cave under it, known as “Jim Charles’s Rock”. This is
where Jim hid for some years after he killed the man Hamilton. The name “Koofang”
(which means nothing in English, French, or Micmac) is obviously derived from
the old French word “couffin”, meaning a type of basket, perhaps because the
lake had that shape. Modern surveyors misunderstood the pronunciation, and
marked it “Two Fan Lake” on the N.S. government map.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext101" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(Note </span></span><span class="Bodytext1055pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by</span></span><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> THR)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext101" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In May 1966 Reginald Dickie, a land surveyor employed for
many years by the Mersey Paper Company, told me that Jim Charles’s grave was on
the point in Kejimkujik where he had his cabin; the mound can be clearly seen,
and for many years the proprietors of the Rod </span></span><span class="Bodytext1055pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">&</span></span><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Gun Club maintained </span></span><span class="Bodytext102"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">wooden cross or headboard on which was carved or painted
Jim Charles’s name.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This was in
contradiction to my information from Claude Hartlen, long since dead.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext101" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On May 22, 1966 I drove to Maitland Bridge and had a long
talk with farmer and woodsman Cecil Baxter. It was a Sunday and various elderly
members of the Baxter </span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">family had gathered for a reunion, including a Doctor
Baxter, a dentist, who now lives in retirement in Halifax.</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Doctor Baxter could
recall seeing Jim Charles talking </span></span><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to Baxter’s father some time in the 1890’s. All of these
elderly people knew the story of Jim Charles. Cecil Baxter, who had traveled a
good deal in the backwoods west of Kejimkujik as a younger man, knew the whole
area intimately. In essence this is what he said:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Clayton Munro’s
mother, after her husband’s death, continued to live on the Munro farm, and
later she married James Nixon, who was a widower. Hence James Nixon’s son
Allister, and Clayton Munro, were half brothers.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">David Lewis, the
friend and confidant of Jim Charles, had a small farm on the road from Maitland
Bridge to Kejimkujik. He was more of a woodsman than a farmer, and spent a good
deal of his time in the forest. It was David Lewis who went along when Jim
Charles offered to show the whereabouts of his “mine”.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But Lewis was never
sure whether Jim’s astonishment was real or false when they found a real mine
operating on the Tusket. Jim had resorted to so many tricks to deceive the
white folk about his “mine” that it had become almost a habit.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Also there was some
doubt about Jim Charles’s sanity </span></span><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook2"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">by</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> that time.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After Jim Charles
was formally cleared of the murder of Hamilton various people made threats to
see him hanged. Jim Charles took to the woods and hid himself away for three
years up the Shelburne River. Near Koofang Lake there was a big rock and a cave
beside it, where Jim lived during these three years. Woodsmen afterwards found
the place and always referred to it as “Jim Charles’s Rock” and “Jim Charles’s
cave.” It was not on the shore of Koofang Lake but back on the land where there
was a good view. During these three years alone, living by hunting and fishing,
constantly afraid of discovery by white men, Jim’s mind became a bit queer. His
squaw knew where he was, and eventually he returned to the cabin in Kejimkujik
when she convinced him that there was no more danger. He told some of his white
friends that during the time he was living in the cave near Koofang Lake some
people hunted for him with two dogs. One dog was of normal size, the other was
huge. He was much afraid of the big dog.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eventually Jim
Charles’s squaw died, and his son Maiti went away to the States. I have heard
that Malti learned the blacksmith’s trade in Maine and stayed there the rest of
his life.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have heard that
during the days of Jim Charles’s affluence he joined the Masonic order. I don’t
think there was a Masonic lodge in Caledonia then. Possibly he joined the lodge
in Liverpool or Annapolis. The Indians hereabouts were nominally Catholics, and
I have heard it said that Jim Charles must have been the only Catholic
Freemason in existence.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jim Charles
definitely was </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">not</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> buried on the point in Kejimkujik. When he was old he went
to live with an Indian family named Francis in Milton, near Liverpool. He died
and was buried down there. The “grave” on Jim Charles’s Point in Kejimkujik was
a natural mound near the main building of the Rod & Gun Club. When the Club
became a hotel for sportsmen, one of the proprietors used to tell his guests
that Jim Charles, the famous Indian murderer and gold miner, was buried under
that mound. He put a wooden cross or headboard on it, with Jim Charles’s name,
and spun yarns about Jim’s ghost being seen walking about the point at night. It
used to delight the women guests.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Rod </span></span><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook2"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">&</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Gun Club was built about 1907 by a group of sportsmen,
mostly from Annapolis. After some years one of these men — I think he was a
Mills from Annapolis — bought out the interests of the others and turned the place
into a summer resort for families, mostly well-to-do Americans. It changed
hands a good many times during the years since. The most recent owner was
Norman Phinney. The Parks Branch of the Department of Northern</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Affairs expropriated
his and other properties at Kejimkujik when they took over the whole area.
Norman Phinney now lives at Wilmot, near Middleton in the Annapolis Valley.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext2CenturySchoolbook2"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> father remembered the drowning of Ruggles, Burrell and
Stoddard very well.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The day was very
calm, and the canoe foundered because it was overloaded. They had been warned
that the canoe was overloaded. They were heading from Jim Charles’s Point
towards Hog Island when it foundered. For quite a time they struggled in the
water, screaming for help. The cries were heard at a distance of two miles, at
the John Lewis house.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The magistrate was
Charles Harlow Ford, a member of the Masonic lodge. He was an outstanding
magistrate in his day, and people from all over the countryside came to him for
legal advice. He would hold court in his house, and disputes and grievances
would be settled through him. Charles Ford and David Lewis were both friends of
Jim Charles. The wife of David Lewis was an Indian, Esther Jeremy, a sister of
the late Joe Jeremy of Molega.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hamilton was killed
at what is called the Glode Field, in a hollow, not far from the road going in
to Kejimkujik.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;"><span class="Bodytext28"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Other documents today:<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;"><span class="Bodytext212"><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Pinehurst
Lodge (and Jim Charles)- Raddall<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;"><b><i>The
Lost Gold at Kejimkujik – Randall from Footsteps on Old Floors<o:p></o:p></i></b></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Flight of Jim Charles /drf<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<div><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///H:/Writingand%20Reading/Frank%20Parker%20Day/Jim%20Charles%20and%20His%20Gold%20Mine%20Raddall/Jim%20Charles%20and%20his%20Gold%20Mine%208x11.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> <span lang="EN-CA">Note: I spell KE-JIM-KU-JIK, phonetically,
following the Indian pronunciation. The meaning is obscure. According to the
Indians the literal translation is “the-part-that- swells”, and some illustrate
by saying “like a bladder with a narrow end”. Sesbresay’s History of Lunenburg
County (page 341) says that the cove at Aspotagan was alternately called
KEBEJO-KOOCHK by the Indians meaning “a closing of the passage”. Both names
obviously have one etymological origin and seem to refer to the shape of the
lake or cove. However the ancient Indians built eel-weirs on the Kejimkujik
River (below the lake) whose stone remains can still be seen. In a sense these
might be called “a closing of the passage”. Such weirs, in the Fall rains,
would raise the lake and spread its area to some extent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
</div><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/frank-parker-day/john-pauls-rock/paperback/product-8dkgyg.html">https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/frank-parker-day/john-pauls-rock/paperback/product-8dkgyg.html</a></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Kedge Landing Rd, Nova Scotia B0T 1B0, Canada44.4201712 -65.21104516.109937363821153 -100.367295 72.730405036178837 -30.054795tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-86370479486690873482022-01-22T15:20:00.001-04:002022-01-22T15:40:40.791-04:00Pinehurst Lodge and Jim Charles<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEio7guwgSvTy7zjxg3AIpI1pKktUPDsruo6MR7r8uHoojfj9PULR6ujJDwAHnlihbCv1pYDm9pwJvegYqCiF3I-zmQJA9Qv5pSvuRLQvTTV_Wb30UfuQ1BdP3T5wyAvRWX7P9dze8Y29CR0epMV8Ld1n-YHUhDK-_AGT0H2YEY2gwZFI0zvqw1jqsRGUw=s4266" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2697" data-original-width="4266" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEio7guwgSvTy7zjxg3AIpI1pKktUPDsruo6MR7r8uHoojfj9PULR6ujJDwAHnlihbCv1pYDm9pwJvegYqCiF3I-zmQJA9Qv5pSvuRLQvTTV_Wb30UfuQ1BdP3T5wyAvRWX7P9dze8Y29CR0epMV8Ld1n-YHUhDK-_AGT0H2YEY2gwZFI0zvqw1jqsRGUw=s320" width="320" /></a></div> <b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Pinehurst
Lodge</span></b><p></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">From Dalhousie Archives
MS-2-202_31_1_13_access<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">By Thomas Head Raddall<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="https://findingaids.library.dal.ca/pinehurst-lodge"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">https://findingaids.library.dal.ca/pinehurst-lodge<br /></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The lodge stands on the shore of First
Christopher Lake, near South Brookfield, and a private driveway leads to it
from the paved Liverpool-Annapolis highway at the point where the stream from
First Christopher runs into the west end of Ponhook Lake. It was built during
or before the First World War by a Queens County man named Byron Macleod, who
also acquired the stretch of fine pine and other timber-land between the main
highway and the lake.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Macleod had made a little money in the
States, and he built the lodge with the intention of operating a luxurious
hunting camp for well-to-do American sportsmen. At that time there was
excellent trout fishing and moose hunting in this region. During the 1920’s he
gave up the idea and offered the whole estate for sale.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the winter of 1923-24 a Liverpool
man, Captain Laurie Mitchell, was employed as a sporting goods salesman by the
New York firm of Abercrombie & Fitch. There he met a whimsical bearded
customer enquiring about suitable clothing and equipment for a prolonged
hunting and fishing excursion in Canada. The customer gave his name as Lou </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(pronounced </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">KEET) </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">said he was going to Canada at once;
and that he wished to buy a comfortable sporting lodge, accessible by motor
car, and not too far from a town.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 173.65pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mitchell described to him Pinehurst
Lodge in Queens County, Nova Scotia, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte
</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">declared it was just what he was
looking for. He persuaded Mitchell to obtain a fortnight’s leave from
Abercrombie </span></span><span class="Bodytext2TimesNewRoman6"><span style="font-size: 5.5pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">&</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Fitch and accompany him to the spot.
They arrived in Liverpool in February 1924, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">took a room at the Mersey Hotel. The
Annapolis road was deep in snow, passable only for horses and sleighs. (There
were no paved roads in Nova Scotia then, and no snow-ploughs outside the
towns.) Mitchell took </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte
</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by horse and sleigh to see the
spot, and this eccentric American immediately bought the lodge and estate from
Macleod. Presumably he paid Mitchell a fee or commission, and that was that.
Mitchell returned to his job in New York.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">spent the rest of the winter at the
Mersey Hotel, in Liverpool, making plans for a complete renovation and
refurnishing of the lodge, which could not be attempted until the roads were
fit for motor traffic, towards the end of April. He found time heavy on his
hands; he was obviously a city type, and the life in a small Canadian country
town, especially in winter, impressed him as very dull indeed.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 104.65pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He was an odd sight in Liverpool. A
middle-aged man, of pasty complexion, wearing shell-</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">rimmed </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">glasses, and with a thick black beard
covering his jaws and upper lip. The town barbers kept the beard trim in a
style like that of the British Navy. He was very dapper in dress, always wore
spats and usually a white waistcoat. He bought a fur coat to fend off the
winter air.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His invariable headgear was a bowler
hat. He was well spoken and affable in a suave sort of way. There was no trace
of foreign accent. He spoke the flat idiom of the American Middle West to
perfection. He mentioned casually that he had made a good deal of money in land
speculation.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At that time a group of Liverpool young
men had formed a small dance orchestra, calling themselves “The Bambalinas”
after the name of a fox-trot popular then.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The leader was Merrill Rawding, who
long afterwards became a Minister of Highways in the N. S. Government. He
played one of the saxophones. All these lads wore tuxedo suits on dance nights,
and they put on a dance every Saturday night in the Assembly Room of the town
hall. The dances were cheerful informal affairs but quite decorous. Anyone
could buy a ticket and dance, but these affairs were patronized almost entirely
by the better-class young people of the town, and even the strictest of Mammas
regarded them with approval.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Lou </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">soon found his way to the dance hall,
got someone to introduce him right and left, and sent out to a restaurant for sandwiches,
confectionery and coffee for everyone. This made him popular at once. At the
next Saturday dance he did the same thing. And now he began to dance himself,
at first inviting only the plainer and older girls who could not get partners
for every dance. He was polite and smiling, and he was an excellent dancer. It
wasn’t long before he was dancing with the prettiest girls in the room. They
thought it rather a lark. Everyone knew by this time that he was a bachelor
millionaire. He told them that he had purchased Pinehurst Lodge and intended to
live there; and he talked of the fine dinners and parties he would give.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I met him at one of these dances. I was
working in the Milton pulp mill office, up the river, but I always went to town
on Saturday nights to see the movie and take in the dance. He was very affable
to me, as he was to all the young people. He deplored the lack of amusement
through the rest of the week and said he felt sorry for us. Then he invited
fourteen to a week-day dinner and dance at Bridgewater, thirty miles away. It
was now May and the roads were good, but of course Pinehurst was in the hands
of a swarm of carpenters and decorators and would not be ready for occupancy
for two or three months.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte included two young matrons for
chaperones, and he engaged all the taxis in the town (six) to convey us to
Bridgewater and back. My partner was a Liverpool girl, and we were given a taxi
to ourselves. On the seat of each car was a box of expensive chocolates and
several packages of cigarettes. We had a private dinner at the Fairview Hotel
in Bridgewater. Keyte had selected the menu and had special menu cards printed
for the occasion. He had engaged a bedroom for the ladies’ use as a powder
room, and another for the young men, where (in spite of Prohibition) there were
bottles of whiskey and liqueurs.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At the dinner’s end, and before we went
on to the dance, I passed one of the menu cards about the table and asked
everyone to sign it, for a souvenir. All did — except Keyte. I insisted, however.
Finally, with an odd little grin, he took up the pen, went over the list of
signatures, and stopped at that of Roxie Smith, a handsome girl from South
Brookfield. Beside her name he wrote — or rather printed — “and Lou Keyte.” I
thought nothing of it at the time, but later on I realized two things about
that gesture. Keyte, a connoisseur of women, had marked down Roxie as a target.
(She disappointed him, however, then and afterwards.) And Keyte never signed
his name to anything. He printed it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Even his signature at the bank in
Liverpool was done in this fashion, with a quaint style that at first sight looked
almost like handwriting. None of the letters were joined.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">All that summer the work at Pinehurst
went on, and Keyte bought a flashy and expensive Franklin car and hired a
chauffeur to take him back and forth.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Apart from the changes in the lodge
itself, Keyte built a large boathouse and filled it with skiffs and canoes for
the amusement of his guests. He had tons of sand hauled from the coast to make
a bathing beach on the shore of the lake.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He hired a staff of secants, including
an excellent chef.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 31.4pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">On a day in September, 1924, he gave a
grand house-warming party, inviting practically everyone he knew in Queens
County, male and female, old and young. I was one.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There was a smart orchestra, fetched
from The Pines hotel at Digby. A huge punch-bowl, constantly replenished. A
most elaborate supper. For those who wished stronger drinks there was a bedroom
in the north turret, stacked with assorted spirits and wines.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When we arrived we saw a beautiful
young woman, dressed in white from head to foot. She was seated at one end of
the big living-room. Keyte took us to her and said, “Let me introduce a dear
friend of mine, Miss ... Miss ... Miss White!” She made a little conversation
and seemed a quiet and intelligent person, but she kept in the background
during the party. She was an American, apparently from New York.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Everybody had a grand time at the
party, and several Liverpool business men got gloriously drunk in the turret
room. At 1 a.m. everybody sang “For He’s </span></span><span class="Bodytext210"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A
</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jolly Good Fellow” and departed.
Everybody, that is, except Donald (now Senator) Smith of Liverpool, myself, and
two American girls, summer visitors at Mill Village, who had taken us to
Pinehurst in their car. Keyte said to us, “Don’t go. It’s a lovely night. Stay
and talk with me for a while.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We sat on the steps looking out on the
lake for an hour after the rest of the party had gone home. “Miss White”
apparently had gone to bed. The talk was inconsequential, mostly about the
funnier incidents at the party. But as the hour drew late Keyte talked a little
about himself. He was diabetic and he drank very little if at all. I don’t know
what loosened his tongue. I know that he felt himself far up in the wilds of
Canada, an enormous distance away from home.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As nearly as I can recall it he said
this:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I come from Chicago, and I made most
of my money in land deals. My first big profit came from a large area of swamp
land on the Mississippi. An Engineer looked it over for me, and said it could
be drained. The soil was deep and black, the very finest kind of soil for
rice-growing. So I raised the money to drain it, and two or three years later I
was able to sell it at a whale of a profit for myself and for the people who
lent me the money. Then everybody wanted me to find another piece of land like
that and make another haul. They pushed their money at me. Well, I couldn’t
find another place like that, anywhere in the States. However I did find one,
down on the Bayano River in Panama. After that I retired. I had enough, and I
didn’t want people pestering me any more.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Soon after this house-warming party, “Miss
White” disappeared. Keyte said she had come up to Nova Scotia for a holiday and
was now back in New York. Later on, when we knew a lot more about Lou Keyte, we
realised that she was only the first of a succession of dear friends </span></span><span class="Bodytext29"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">w</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">h</span></span><span class="Bodytext29"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">o </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">visited him at Pinehurst. All of them
were good looking and most of them were show-girl types, but at least one was a
former waitress at the Green Lantern restaurant in Halifax. None stayed more
than a week or so. Perhaps the girls grew bored with solitude at Pinehurst, but
I think Keyte had a fickle and insatiable appetite for women. Sometimes a new “friend”
arrived while the “old” one was still there </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">— </span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">but the old one invariably departed
promptly. No doubt she was well paid for her “holiday”.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte had got enough of the small town
society of Liverpool and of the country villages at South Brookfield and
Caledonia. He made frequent trips by car to Halifax, staying at a hotel. With
his ingratiating manner and his lavish spending,</span></span><span class="Bodytext28"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">he
soon made friends in Halifax society. He bought an expensive motor-cruiser yacht</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and
succeeded in getting himself a membership in the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht
Squadron.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He was now living at a furious pace,
dashing back and forth between Pinehurst and Halifax, giving parties and
dinners, and passing from one woman to another like a hummingbird in a flower
bed. Strangely, however, in the midst of all these activities, he maintained a
courtship of a country girl in</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Queens County</span></span><span class="Bodytext2TimesNewRoman2"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 5.5pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">.</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
</span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It had begun in the summer, when
Pinehurst was still in the hands of the carpenters.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 173.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the course of his frequent visits to
North Queens County, he had made the acquaintance of the girl and her parents,
and often stayed at their home for a meal and the evening. Arabelle Lee (which was
not her name) had neither the face nor the figure of his usual fancy, but in a
certain way she was pretty and slim and avid for a good time.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 233.3pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At first she was amused at courtship by
this odd character; but she relished the gifts and attentions he lavished on</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">her,
and her parents were flattered with the notion of Arabelle marrying a
millionaire. The girl went in the car with Keyte to Halifax, chose a trousseau
at his expense in a smart shop on Spring Garden Road (Mills Brothers Ltd.) and
stayed with him at the Halifax Hotel, at that time the leading hotel in the
city. There was talk of a honeymoon in the West Indies, where they would spend
the winter.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 173.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It was now late October. Keyte had
ordered several suits of clothing from Stanford, a Halifax tailor, and to make
sure of an exact fit of the jackets he had sent the tailor one of his own, made
by an expensive tailor in the States. One of Stanford’s employees, Frank Hiltz,
in going over the sample jacket, came upon a Chicago tailor’s name-band,
concealed in the usual manner inside an inner breast pocket. It also bore the
name of the tailor’s client, Leo Koretz, and the date the jacket was made.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hiltz had a chum who worked in a
Halifax bank, and one evening he remarked on the odd difference between the
name of Stanford’s new client and the name as spelt by the Chicago tailor. As
it chanced, this chum had noticed that day a poster, circulated to all Canadian
banks by the U.S. Post Office Department. It was dated September 15, 1924, and
it offered $10,000 reward for the arrest and return to Chicago of one Leo
Koretz.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In detail it read as follows:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">WANTED</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For using the mails to defraud.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(photograph here)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Leo Koretz</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(sample of handwriting here)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nationality, Jewish; age 45 years;
height about 5 feet 10 inches; weight about 180 pounds; medium heavy build;
distinct paunch; shoulders slightly stooped; chest about 40 inches; waist about
34 ½ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>inches; hair light brown, thin on top;
eyes, light gray-blue; cannot get along without glasses, which are usually
shell rims; forehead high and wide; face round; complexion pasty. Is said to
have a scar or birthmark on palm of left hand; speaks German fluently; also
speaks Bohemian, and voice is low and suave. Suffers from headaches and has a
habit of removing glasses for a short time to obtain relief. Lawyer by
profession.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Koretz operated the Bayano River
Syndicate, Bayano River Trust, and Bayano River Timber Syndicate, at Chicago
and New York City. Obtained approximately $2,000,000 through the operation of
these schemes.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Indicted at Chicago for using the mails
to defraud.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Was last seen in New York City, where
he disappeared from the St. Regis Hotel on December 6, 1923.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The photograph on the poster showed
Koretz clean-shaven, but everything else about “Lou Keyte” answered the
description of Leo Koretz. Hiltz and his chum lost no time in notifying the
Chicago police, and a pair of Chicago detectives left for Halifax at once.
Armed with an extradition warrant, and accompanied by a Halifax detective, they
went to the Halifax Hotel, and found their man in a </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">room </span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">with Arabelle Lee. They had just
returned from shopping.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Faced with the warrant, Koretz
shrugged. He had only one thing to say. He asked them to spare the girl any
publicity and to let her go at once. This they did, after some questioning. If
she still retained any hope of marriage with her whiskered wooer it was crushed
by news from Chicago appearing in the next day’s Halifax papers. Koretz had a
wife and children there. Poor Arabelle hurried home, but she did not stay there
long. The scandal was all over the countryside. She departed for the far air of
Oregon, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">married
a Jewish doctor</span><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> there and
perished with him years later in a nocturnal fire that destroyed their house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
Halifax papers were agog over Koretz. It was the biggest story in years.
Apparently what Koretz told me at Pinehurst was partly true. He had made a
large profit for himself and his investors in an expanse of reclaimed swampland
on the Mississippi. He then promoted the Bayano companies, sucking in more and
more money, claiming that the Bayano soil would make rich farmland, that it
held a fortune in timber alone, and finally that his engineers had discovered a
huge oil field under the surface. While building up this airy castle he
proceeded to pay “dividends” out of new receipts, that old device of the stock
swindler.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He divided his time between Chicago and
New York, and between business and women. Undoubtedly most of the $2,000,000
was swallowed up in high living and in “dividends” between 1917, when he
started operations, and December 1923, when the police came to look for him at
the St. Regis in New York. Nevertheless he must have carried off a fairly large
sum. He spent $45,000 at Pinehurst, and detectives found sums of U.S. currency
tucked away in safety deposit boxes in Halifax in the name of “Lou Keyte”.
Rumor persisted that Koretz had hidden a lot of money at Pinehurst, and various
stealthy people dug holes in the grounds about the lodge — and found nothing.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After leaving the St. Regis hotel he
must have hidden himself in New York or that vicinity while his beard grew; and
in the following February he turned up, beard and all, in the store of
Abercrombie & Fitch, and met Captain Laurie Mitchell. That led him to Nova
Scotia.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Had he chosen to live quietly and
inconspicuously at Pinehurst he might have evaded capture for the rest of his
life. But Koretz was not equipped with the temperament for a quiet and inconspicuous
life. His retreat in Nova Scotia bored him after the years of gay living and he
struck a new frantic pace to make it bearable. As a diabetic he knew himself to
be a candle burning at both ends, and he tried to cram every possible pleasure
into the time he had left.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At his trial in Chicago he was
sentenced to a long term in penitentiary, but he cheated the law again, and for
the last time. When little more than a year of his sentence had passed he
succeeded in getting three pounds of sugar candy smuggled in to him. To a
diabetic that was poison, of course. He committed suicide as only a diabetic
can, by eating the whole three pounds. Before the prison doctor could do
anything about it Leo Koretz was dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The title to Pinehurst Lodge, its
furniture and the lands about it, were taken over with the other remaining
assets by the Chicago Title & Trust Company, trustee in bankruptcy of the
Leo Koretz estate. None of these amounted to much, and Koretz’s creditors and
dupes got little. A few years after the debacle the Chicago trust company sold
the Pinehurst estate to F. B. McCurdy, the Halifax financier, for a fraction of
what Koretz had spent on it. McCurdy and his wife and guests used it as a
hunting and fishing lodge for a few weeks each year. After McCurdy’s death his
widow continued to come there for a week or two each Fall. She was still doing
this in 1959.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The oddest part of the Koretz adventure
was his pose as a wealthy sportsman eager to kill fish and shoot moose in Nova
Scotia. By the time Pinehurst was ready for occupancy in the late summer of
1924 the fishing season had passed, so he was spared that. However when October
came his guides and retainers insisted on a moose hunt, and Koretz went along
in a canoe, dressed in his usual dapper way as if he were going for a stroll
down Madison Avenue. When they reached a swamp, and the head guide began “calling”
for moose, Koretz sat shivering in a fur coat and reading a small volume of
poetry. At last a big bull moose appeared in the swamp, and the guide hissed, “There
he is! There he is, Mister Keet!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte looked up. “Ah! So that’s a
moose, eh? Well, well!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“There’s the rifle, sir. Shoot! Shoot!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Keyte turned his eyes back to the
poetry. “Hell, I don’t want to kill the damned thing. Let him go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext212"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 18.85pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext50"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 18.85pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext50"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jim Charles
Rock.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 18.85pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Was finally
found by noted Nova Scotia guide Watson Peck, Bear River, after 30 years of
searching. On a venture into the woods of southwestern Nova Scotia with friend
Stan Zimba, shown photographing the rock, Mr. Peck found the site of Micmac
Indian legend. (Photo by Watson Peck)</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="Heading21" style="background: transparent; break-after: avoid; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: center;"><a name="bookmark1"><span class="Heading2Exact1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Search For </i></b></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark1;"><span class="Heading20"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Rock Over</span></i></b></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></b></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">EDITOR’S
NOTE - For 30 years, the legend of Jim Charles Rock, has fascinated noted Nova
Scotia guide and sportsman Watson Peck, </span></span><span class="Bodytext5Bold"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bear
River. On a recent venture into the deep woods of southwestern Nova Scotia, Mr.
Peck found the rock he has sought for three decades. In the following article
he recalls the legend.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">By
WATSON PECK</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext34"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Not many miles from the new national park at Kejimkujik
Lake, and near </span></span><span class="Bodytext33"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext34"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">back of Digby County, lies </span></span><span class="Bodytext33"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext34"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">huge
granite boulder with a story.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span class="Bodytext34"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It’s known as Jim Charles Rock — so named because a </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">Bear River Micmac wintered it its
shelter a long time ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Big granites are not unusual
in that part of Nova Scotia. For example, there’s Boundary Rock or Junction
Rock as it is sometimes called. It’s a landmark located where Digby, Yarmouth,
Shelburne and Queens counties come to a point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nearby, there’s Flagstaff
Rock, the size of a barn — a rock atop a rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">LANDMARKS<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">To the naturalist, these
rocks are a thing of beauty. To the hunter, they are landmarks and great spots
from which to watch game.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">To me, Jim Charles Rock has
been a challenge for a long time <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…unreadable…<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="Bodytext71" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">some years and died without
revealing the secret of his mine. His body is buried beside that of his brother
at Bear River.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The story fired my
imagination. I wanted to see the rock. Over 30 years I have searched for it,
sometimes by air, without avail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Finally, this fall — and
call it a centennial project if you like — I went on the hunt again. While
traveling with a friend, Stan Zimba, from Philadelphia, I found Jim Charles
Rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I lost track of the tall
pines I climbed to pinpoint the site, but it was several miles beyond where
others said it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It loomed high, like a two-storey
house. The cave shelter I’d heard about gave it away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In it there was only one sign of human presence — an
old green bottle with the brand name well engraved — Galec Old Smuggler Irish
Whiskey.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The book, <b>John Paul's Rock</b> by <b>Frank Parker Day</b>, can be found at <b>Lulu.Com</b>. It is a fiction about the guide, Jim Charles. Search for it by author or title. /drf</span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Caledonia, NS B0T 1B0, Canada44.375026 -65.031084942.804876812899089 -67.228350525 45.945175187100908 -62.833819274999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-81777208530674468682021-12-22T13:57:00.003-04:002021-12-22T14:00:25.643-04:00 How Hot Does Wood Burn<p> <b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 23.5pt; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">How Hot Does Wood Burn?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 23.5pt; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0.3in;">Many private
houses are equipped with a fireplace.</span></p>
<h4 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 22.0pt;">But it is not
enough just to put any wood in it and wait for maximum heat. In order to heat
your home properly, you must have complete information about how hot does wood
burn, as well as the best wood that will be used.<o:p></o:p></span></h4>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Different wood species have
different burning temperatures. Under medium density and at equilibrium
humidity with that of the surrounding air, the wood ignites at a temperature of
about 300 degrees Celsius (572 degrees Fahrenheit). The wood does burn hot,
averaging temperatures ranges from 800 to 950 degrees Celsius (1472 to 1742
degrees Fahrenheit). The firewood is initially heated in the peripheral part,
after which the heat propagates inside.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">To light a piece of wood, a
source of heat is needed to heat part of that wood to a favorable temperature.
Under normal humidity, the wood ignites up to 300 degrees Celsius (572 degrees
Fahrenheit) .<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The temperature during burning
ranges from 840 to 900 degrees. When it is necessary to make an open fire, to
light the logs in the barbecue, it is advisable to use the pine. It is also
often used to heat a home by placing it in a stove.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The burning temperature of the
wood is about 610-630 degrees Celsius. But for this reason you will need to use
about half of the wood than using birch or oak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 27.5pt;">Wood burning temperature threshold of
different types of wood<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Depending on the structure and
density of the wood, as well as the quantity and characteristics of the resins,
they depend on the firing temperature of the wood, on the calorific value and
on the properties of the flame.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">If the tree is porous, then it
burns very intense, but will not give high burning temperatures – the maximum
value is 500 degrees ℃.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">But denser wood, such as hornbeam
wood, ash or beech wood, burns at a temperature of about 1000 degrees ℃.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Just below the firing
temperature near birch (about 800 ℃), as well as oak and larch (900 ℃).</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">If it comes to such woods as
spruce and pine, they light up at about 620-630 degrees ℃.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">As a result of the total
combustion, at maximum yield, water, carbon dioxide and ash result. Ash
represents between 0.5 and 1% of the volume of <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">dry wood</span></strong>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">If the <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">firewood </span>is too wet and
too thick or the air insufficient (the draft is not good, the wood has been
arranged so as not to allow air flow), the burning is incomplete and dangerous
gases (carbon monoxide, nitrogen monoxide) result and smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The smoke is carbon (charcoal)
driven by air or water vapor before it is completely burned and converted to
carbon dioxide.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; padding: 0in;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></strong>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">In the table below you will
find how hot does different type of wood burn:</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="border-collapse: collapse; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 0in 0in; width: 595px;">
<tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Wood Type</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Wood Burning Temperature</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"> [degrees
Celsius/Fahrenheit]<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Western Red Cedar<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">354 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /669.2 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Redwood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">364 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /687.2 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Radiata pine<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">349 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /660.2 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Douglas fir<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">350 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /662 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Oak<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">900 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /1652 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Victorian ash<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">311 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /591.8 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 7;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Birch<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">816 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /1500.8 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 8;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Spruce<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">620 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /1148 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 9; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 178.25pt;" valign="bottom" width="238">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Beech<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt; width: 268.05pt;" valign="bottom" width="357">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">950 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°C</span></strong> /1742 <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">°F</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">At
what temperature does the wood ignites?</span></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h3>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Pyrolysis – the process of
decomposition of wood at high CO2 temperatures and combustion residues – takes
place in three phases.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiURXUj_5vTnJ5IiyCEFLK2XLVHfgYOVNiaNnmQq2UVf0K49cxGmN3Fo_NDLiOZjtA78zTT0wECt9NhMcOF5f_7-lWimZLmbGsiThUfu7tNBy18j4H9sURN3VDavXhVlFSbzMEXtULKJEc7D8Weu2crQpK84y4UeeRVWdFSn2BeV0260wVeTGjWHSqXIA=s504" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="504" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiURXUj_5vTnJ5IiyCEFLK2XLVHfgYOVNiaNnmQq2UVf0K49cxGmN3Fo_NDLiOZjtA78zTT0wECt9NhMcOF5f_7-lWimZLmbGsiThUfu7tNBy18j4H9sURN3VDavXhVlFSbzMEXtULKJEc7D8Weu2crQpK84y4UeeRVWdFSn2BeV0260wVeTGjWHSqXIA=w400-h288" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><br /><strong style="text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The initial process of wood
burning is at 160-260 degrees Celsius (320 degrees Fahrenheit)</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">. Irreversible changes begin to
appear in the wood, ending with fire. The ignition temperature of the wood
varies between 200-250 degrees Celsius (392-482 degrees Fahrenheit).</span></span></span><p></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The second phase of wood
burning is 270-430 degrees Celsius</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">. Start the wood decomposition under the action of high
temperature.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The third phase is characteristic
of a camp fire or a burning furnace. <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The firing temperature of the
wood in the third phase is 440-610 degrees Celsius.</span></strong><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Under these conditions, the wood
will ignite in almost any state and leave behind coal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Different wood species have
different ignition temperatures. The firing temperature of the pine – the tree
is not the fuel itself, is 250 degrees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 23.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The
different stages of wood burning process</span></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 23.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">This is a complex burning
process that is carried out in several stages</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">EVAPORATION OF WATER.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Water is about half the weight of
a freshly cut log. After one season <a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/drying-wood/"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">drying</span></strong></a>,
the water supply is reduced to 20%. When the water is heated in the combustion
chamber, it evaporates by absorbing some of the caloric energy released by
combustion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The wetter the wood, the more
energy is wasted. That is why wet woods crackle and burst, while dry woods
light up and burn lightly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">WOOD IS SMOKING</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Smoke is a cloud of flammable
gases. Their ignition occurs at elevated temperatures and in the presence of
oxygen that sustains this combustion. The gases burn with bright flames.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When their ignition does not
occur, the smoke either condenses on the pipes and the chimney in the form of a
tar or removes them into the atmosphere, thus polluting the environment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">SIGNS FOR A CORRECT BURN</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The combustion must occur in the
presence of flames, until the wood turns into charcoal. The purpose is a fiery,
smoke-free burning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Chimney bricks in the combustion
chamber (if any) should be colored yellow-brown, not black. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/drying-wood/"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Dry wood</span></strong></a></b> should light up
immediately if sufficient air is available.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The glass of the combustion
chamber (if any) must remain clean. The gases coming out of the basket must be
transparent or white. Gray smoke indicates wrong combustion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h3 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">How
does wood burn</span></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h3>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The isothermal reaction, in
which a certain amount of thermal energy is released is called combustion. This
reaction occurs in several successive stages. In the first stage, the wood is
heated by an external source of fire to the point of ignition. </span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As the temperature reaches
120-150 degrees ℃, the wood turns into coals capable of self-ignition. When the
wood temperature reaches 250-350 degrees ° C, combustible gases begin to
release – this process is called pyrolysis.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At the same time, the burning of
the top layer of wood, which is accompanied by white or brown smoke, is mixed
with pyrolysis gases with water vapor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the second stage, as a result
of how hot wood burn, the pyrolysis gases light up with a light yellow flame.
It gradually spreads over the entire surface of the wood, continuing to heat
the wood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The next stage is characterized
by inflammation of the wood. As a rule, for this purpose it should be heated to
450-620 ℃.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In order for the <a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/how-much-wood-is-in-a-cord/"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">firewood</span></strong></a> to
ignite, an external source of heat is required, which will be sufficiently
intense to strongly heat the wood and accelerate the reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 27.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Factors
affecting how hot does wood burn</span></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 27.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">There are several factors that
contribute to how hot can wood burn:</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The grade of wood used for burning.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Material moisture.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><strong><span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></strong><!--[endif]--><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">The volume of air entering the furnace.</span></strong><strong><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.8in; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">These are the main indicators
that require special attention, because they depend on the efficiency of the
wood burning and the temperature that can increase during the combustion
process.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Air</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The wood burns in the best way
and the flames are intense if the air inlet of the furnace is open. This will
also reduce pollution, because the gas particles are burned and produce heat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Humidity level</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The moisture content of wood
plays a key role in firing, so this important point requires a separate
analysis. Every tree that has just been cut has a certain moisture content. In
most cases, this figure is 50%.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But in some cases, it increases
to 65%. And this suggests that such material will be dry for a long time under
the influence of high temperature before it ignites.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Some of the heat will work just
to remove excess moisture through evaporation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For this reason, the temperature
will not reach the maximum value. The heat transfer under such conditions will
decrease.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">For maximum benefits, several
basic options should be used:</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The best option is <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"><a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/drying-wood/"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">drying wood</span></a></span></strong>.
To do this, the tree is cut into small pieces, then bent into a dry place in a
warehouse or canopy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Under natural conditions, the <a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/drying-wood/"><span style="color: black;">drying
process</span></a> will take approximately 1 year. And if the wood is stored
longer and spread over two summers, then the humidity will be 20%. This is the
optimal indicator.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The second option is less preferable – to burn what is, without
paying attention to humidity. But in this situation, you have to spend twice as
much wood to form the desired temperature. In addition, you should be ready to
clean the chimney.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The better dry the wood, the
higher the burning temperature can be achieved. And in this sense the
allocation of heat also depends. The heat does not work with a wet tree.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h3 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Wood
Type and Caloric Power of Wood</span></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 25.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h3>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">When choosing the right wood, you
should know some shades. For example, if you use ash or beech, you can raise
the temperature to a high level, but if you use it for a sauna or oven, it is
very expensive and unprofitable – the wood burns fast.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">For this reason, people have
started to use other types of birch. The birch firewood has a burning
temperature of 800 degrees Celsius (1472 degrees Fahrenheit).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">In the table below, we have a
series of wood species that have the same humidity of 12%. This moisture is the
default moisture of the wood left outside to dry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Without artificial forced drying,
the wood never reaches 0% humidity. I want you to understand that it is not
necessarily a good thing to remove all the water. For burning at normal stove
the wood must be as dry as possible because there is only combustion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="border-collapse: collapse; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 0in 0in; width: 595px;">
<tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Wood Type</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Caloric Power [ Kcal/kg
]</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Fir Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3710 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Spruce Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3700 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Birch Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3610 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Maple tree<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3610 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Acacia Wood</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3600 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Beech Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3600 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 7;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Apple Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3590 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 8;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Cherry Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3560 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 9; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Oak Wood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid rgb(234, 234, 234); border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid #EAEAEA .75pt; padding: 4.35pt 7.25pt;" valign="bottom">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">3460 Kcal/kg<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Hardwoods emit more heat than
softwoods with the same volume, but per kilogram, different types of wood will
give the same heat.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Softwoods are cheaper than
hardwoods and we recommend using them at the beginning and end of winter, when
it is less cold. They offer a clean burning, without turning the house into a
sauna.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They will burn faster but the
fire can be extended by supplementing with hardwood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If you are interested to see how
hot does each wood burn or the heat value of each type of wood, check this <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Combustion of Wood – Heat Values</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Why not use wet wood?</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Wood moisture decreases
caloric power. Most of the calorific power is used for the evaporation of
water, the rest being insufficient to ensure the heating.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Water vapor lowers the
temperature of the combustion and contributes to the formation of soot, which
accumulates and hardens in a thick layer on the walls of the combustion
chamber, ceramics, pipes, chimney, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Atmospheric pollution increases
due to the fact that the gases leave the combustion chamber unburned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Quality of firewood and the way of choosing firewood</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Birch firewood has a better ratio
of thermal efficiency and cost – it is not economically profitable to heat more
expensive breeds with high temperatures of combustion temperature.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Spruce, fir and
pine are suitable for fires – these conifers provide relatively moderate heat.
But in a solid fuel boiler, stove or fireplace, <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">firewood </span>is not
recommended for use – it does not emit enough heat to efficiently heat the home
and cook food, burn to form large quantities of soot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Low quality <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://startwoodworkingnow.com/how-much-wood-is-in-a-cord/"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">firewood</span></strong></a></b> is considered to be fuel
from aspen, linden, poplar, willow and alder – porous wood emits little heat
when burned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Alder and other types of wood
“fire” with coal in the burning process, which can lead to a fire, if the wood
is used to burn an open fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">When choosing, you should also
pay attention to the moisture content of the wood – raw wood burns worse and
leaves more ash.</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Conclusion</span></strong><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">As you noticed different wood
species have different ignition temperatures. In this article <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">we’ve shown how hot
wood burns</span></strong>, having ignite ranges <strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">from 200 to 300 Celsius degrees (392 to 572 Fahrenheit degrees)</span></strong> and
burning ranges reach from<strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"> 840 to 950 Celsius degrees
(1544 to 1742 Fahrenheit degrees)</span></strong>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">The higher the burning
temperature (800-1000° Celsius), the more complete the disintegration of the
wood, the amount of energy released is higher, the efficiency of the
installation is higher and the degree of pollution is lower.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="has-normal-font-size" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.5pt;">Based on the wood burning ranges
we can understand the various factors that affect the wood burning process.
This factors will help you decide how you can make a great fire and what type
of wood you need to choose based on your needs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Stillwater Lake, NS, Canada44.6966255 -63.828672716.386391663821158 -98.9849227 73.006859336178849 -28.6724227tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-13840019050219227822021-11-29T15:28:00.002-04:002021-11-29T15:28:29.962-04:00Leonid Solovyov -Russian/Syrian author<p><b><u> Leonid Solovyov - 1906-1962<br /><br /></u></b><span style="color: #323232; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: 0.35pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;">Leonid Soloviev - author of "The Tale of
Khoja Nasreddin"</span></p>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #323232; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Originally from:<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #323232; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;"><a href="https://eng.mainstreetartisans.com/3936687-leonid-soloviev-author-of-quotthe-tale-of-khoja-nasreddinquot">https://eng.mainstreetartisans.com/3936687-leonid-soloviev-author-of-quotthe-tale-of-khoja-nasreddinquot</a><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">For the reading man,
Leonid Soloviev is first and foremost the author of two stories about Khoja
Nasreddin. This hero came from the oral folklore of the peoples of the East and
Central Asia and taught to do good, to treat life with wisdom and optimism.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oEB7dzv5ASY/YaUobbslBpI/AAAAAAABxBY/i8VrKM4Ftfo7A0Cag5Wsg_4v2Uwmf0x7ACNcBGAsYHQ/s1290/Solovyov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="970" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oEB7dzv5ASY/YaUobbslBpI/AAAAAAABxBY/i8VrKM4Ftfo7A0Cag5Wsg_4v2Uwmf0x7ACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Solovyov.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Only the writer himself had the
opportunity to live in a country that did not appreciate the uniqueness of an
individual, at a time when blind faith was needed more than intelligence and
talent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #323232; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;">Born in Syria, grew up
in Central Asia<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">He was born in 1906 in a family of
Russian intellectuals, but in distant and hot Syria, in the city of Tripoli
(today Lebanon). Parents worked in the Middle East through the missionary
Orthodox Palestinian Society, and when they returned to Russia, they began to
teach in schools in the Volga region. After the revolution, Leonid Soloviev,
whose biography and work turned out to be closely connected with the culture of
the East, with his family found himself in Central Asia, in Kokand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Children’s susceptibility allowed the
future writer to absorb the true values of oral folk art of the Central Asian
peoples, imbued with its beauty and color. After graduating from school in
1922, impressions of traveling around Turkestan, demanding an exit from
studying folklore, and Leonid Soloviev tried himself in journalism - in the
newspaper "Turkestan Pravda".<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #323232; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;">The first literary
experience<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">In 1927, he participated in the
literary contest, announced by the magazine "World of Adventures",
and receives a second prize. Belief in the correctness of the chosen path is
growing stronger - in 1930, Leonid Soloviev entered the Institute of
Cinematography at the scriptwriting department and after two years graduated
from it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tRyBIBcI_hs/YaUobqVHUBI/AAAAAAABxBc/KJA8FuLBSkMH-s-Vw1Vfa_8cTw-vrbIBwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1467/Solovyov2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1194" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tRyBIBcI_hs/YaUobqVHUBI/AAAAAAABxBc/KJA8FuLBSkMH-s-Vw1Vfa_8cTw-vrbIBwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Solovyov2.jpg" width="260" /></a><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">The ease of writing and the innate
optimism of Solovyiev can be seen in the case of a funny hoax. For the
collection of folk songs and legends about V. I. Lenin, he presented texts
written by him himself, presenting them as collected in the course of folklore
studies. Fortunately, this did not entail serious consequences, and expeditions
specifically sent to Turkestan were able to discover the “originals” of these
creations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #323232; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;">The first tale of Hodja
Nasreddin<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">According to Solovyov’s script, the
film is put on, his works are noticed by critics and venerable masters, among
whom was a living classic - Maxim Gorky, and the publication in 1940 of the
book “Distressor”, makes him very popular among readers. This surprisingly
workshop in form and fascinating in content is a story about a legendary joker
and sage, the public protector became a vivid expression of the experience and
memories that Leonid Solovyov amassed during the years he lived in the East.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">The beginning of the war did not
allow him to continue working on "Khoja Nasreddin", the writer leaves
to serve as the war correspondent for the newspaper "Red Fleet".
There are collections of his military stories, according to the story “Ivan
Nikulin - Russian Sailor”, a film is shot. The film is being screened and his
main book, but when the film about the adventures of the merry sage-dervish was
played around the country, the scriptwriter was already in the camp on charges
of plotting an assassination attempt on top leaders of the country.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #323232; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;">"Enchanted
Prince"<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">It is said that Leonid Soloviev, a
writer who created one of the most optimistic literary images, in life was a
little like his hero. The hard character, exposure to a certain weakness that
accompanies a Russian person both in grief and glory, brought a lot of
suffering to him and to his relatives.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rn0NCpXVrHE/YaUobffcUMI/AAAAAAABxBU/Kz4u2H9lJNcnMaJYd2F_XvRFKQ-UX3YbwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1503/Solovyov3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1503" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rn0NCpXVrHE/YaUobffcUMI/AAAAAAABxBU/Kz4u2H9lJNcnMaJYd2F_XvRFKQ-UX3YbwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Solovyov3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Against adversity, he knew one remedy
- creativity, and the second part of the dilogy about Hodja Nasreddin he wrote
in the camp. Among the administration of the GULAG there were fans of his story
about the merry hodge. He was not sent to the distant stage and was allowed to
write in his spare time. But the situation could not but tell: in the second
part of Nasreddin's adventures, a slightly different intonation appears -
pensive and elusively sad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">The “Enchanted Prince” was received
very well, the “Tale of Khoja Nasreddin” was eventually translated into many
languages and was often reprinted in the country. But the time spent in
custody, failures in his personal life did not pass without a trace.
Psychological condition and physical health were irretrievably undermined.
After his release and rehabilitation in 1954, the writer lived only 8 years. In
1962 he died in Leningrad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">In the history of Soviet literature
there are quite a few people who lived in peace and prosperity, accepted
official awards and recognition, published ideologically adjusted volumes and
considered themselves writers. But there were few such as Leonid Solovyov -
those who left the books, which are interesting only by the talent and
imagination of the author, who will read after a very long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #323232; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: .35pt;">Leonid Soloviev.
Bibliography<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Peru Solovyov belong such works:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1932 - "The Nomadic";<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1934 - "Campaign" Winner "";<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxqJdVp_qEA/YaUocE1YvWI/AAAAAAABxBg/BGV2j_BAdKI-NDetphvFImvu7KptuBHBACNcBGAsYHQ/s590/Solovyov4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="590" height="241" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxqJdVp_qEA/YaUocE1YvWI/AAAAAAABxBg/BGV2j_BAdKI-NDetphvFImvu7KptuBHBACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Solovyov4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1935 - "The end of the station" (script);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1938 - “Sad and funny events in the life of Mikhail
Ozerov” (“High Pressure”);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1940 - "Troublemaker";<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1943 - “The Great Exam”, “Nasreddin in Bukhara” (script);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1943 - “Ivan Nikulin is a Russian sailor” (story and
script);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1944 - “Sevastopol Stone”, “I am the Black Sea Champion”
(script), “The Adventures of Nasreddin” (script);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1954 - The Enchanted Prince;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1959 - The Overcoat (script based on the novel by N.
Gogol);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1960 - “Anathema” (scenario based on the story by A.
Kuprin of the same name);<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; letter-spacing: .35pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #676767; letter-spacing: .35pt;">1963 - From the Book of Youth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: 0.5pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">In English translation, we know that the following are
available:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Black Sea Sailor – </span></b><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">to become a Stillwoods Edition
because of rarity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">The Beggar in the Harem – book 1 in Khoja Nasreddin series<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">The Enchanted Prince– book 2 in Khoja Nasreddin series; </span></b><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">to become a Stillwoods
Edition because of rarity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Various spellings of the
family name exist in English web pages:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Solovyev<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Solovyov<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Solov’ev<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">Soloviev<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #464646; letter-spacing: .5pt;">/drf</span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Lebanon33.854721 35.8622855.5444871638211524 0.706035 62.164954836178843 71.018535tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-25845811128801638202021-10-05T14:26:00.005-03:002021-10-05T14:55:05.726-03:00The Lost Gold of Kejimkujik<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Lost Gold at Kejimkujik<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">(the story of
Jim Charles)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">(excerpts from
Footsteps on Old Floors. Thomas Raddall 1988, Pottersfield Press)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><a href="https://docslib.org/the-lost-gold-at-kejimkujik">https://docslib.org/the-lost-gold-at-kejimkujik</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">This man’s name
was Jim, and because his father’s name was Charles the white folk naturally
called the son Jim Charles. He lived in the backwoods of western Nova Scotia by
the shore of a lake called Kejimkujik. In medical English it means “the
strictured passage”. The Indians called it that because their fish weirs in the
outlet partly blocked the stream, and so backed up the water and caused the
lake to swell.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Jim Charles was
born in a wigwam somewhere in the Nova Scotia forest about the year 1830. He
had got a grant of government land on a point in Kejimkujik, where the Mersey
River entered the lake on its way toward the sea. The region of Kejimkujik was
famous for fish and game, and visiting sportsmen found Jim the best of guides.
Jim also would spend the fall fishing for eels at the lake outlet. Whenever
September came, Jim and the others in the little Indian group about Kejimkujik
set up their weir in the outlet of the lake.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">So Jim Charles
lived the happiest life possible for an Indian.. From April till November he
fished, hunted, or merely roved the forest as he pleased. Then came the comfort
of the snug cabin by the shore of Kejimkujik, screened from north winds by tall
pine woods; with Lizzie’s bins full of potatoes, turnips and corn, with barrels
of smoked eels, and always a haunch or two of venison hanging in the woodshed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The best of Jim
Charle’s sportsmen friends was Judge Ritchie of Annapolis Royal, who liked to
fish the streamsabout “Keji” in spring and early summer, and to do a bit of
shooting in the fall. One spring in the early 1870’s Judge Ritchie came to
“Keji” for a fishing trip and found his usually stolid guide twitching with
excitement. Jim declared that he had found the “brown silver” that all the
white men were talking about. The Indian opened a small leather pouch and
showed him a small handful of nuggets and dust. He had found these, he said,
while paddling along a stream. Ritchie was still doubtful but he cautioned Jim
to keep mum about his find. Ritchie arranged for Jim to send his gold to him in
Annapolis Royal for processing. He told him to hide it in Lizzie’s butter
firkins. Ritchie kept Jim’s proceeds from the gold in the bank in Annapolis
Royal.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">However, Jim was
not satisfied with the small amount he could spend from his find so gradually
started traveling to Halifax to by fine clothes for himself and his wife. He
began to ‘show off’ his newfound wealth.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">By this time
everyone knew that Jim Charles had found gold somewhere about “Keji” and
furtive strangers had appeared in the district, watching every move he made.
Jim was smart enough to lead them on false trails through the woods so none
ever discovered Jim’s mother lode. One guy by the name of Hamilton followed him
one time and got lost. He suffered a long, hard and hungry time before he found
his way out again. One day, hot with rum, Hamilton thrust his way into Jim’s
cabin and demanded to know where the gold was. They had a physical struggle and
Jim grabbed one of his guns, swung it by the barrel and hit Hamilton with the
butt. He had no wish to kill the man but the blow killed Hamilton.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The nearest
magistrate was a man named Harlow who ran a store in Caledonia, about twenty
miles away. Jim ran there and declared, “Mister Harlow! Save me! Save me! I
killed Hamilton!” Harlow called together a coroner’s jury, and they traveled in
a little procession of buggies and riding wagons to Kejimkujik. There they
examined Hamilton’s body and heard the testimony of Lizzie and Madeleine, Jim’s
daughter. When all was said and done, the verdict was “death by misadventure.’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">Jim, not knowing
how far a coroner’s verdict could protect him, decided not to take a chance.
Instead he took to the woods with a light bark canoe, his familiar traveling
equipment, and a gun and ammunition. He headed off into the wilderness, beyond
the present-day border of Kejimkujik National Park to a small lake. Here he hid
in a cave under a large granite boulder. Jim remained in hiding here for three
years, a fugitive of his own fears, because no one came searching for him. At
last, however, Jim realized that the affair had blown over, and he came back to
stay openly in his home on the “kej” shore. There are other parts to the legend
(or true story!) but to be brief....</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">After that one
brief glitter of prosperity in his life, poor Jim had nothing but hard luck.
While still a young woman, Madeleine died, probably of tuberculosis, like
Lizzie before her, and she lies in the long-abandoned Indian burial ground on
the eastern shore of Kejimkujik, just across the little bay from what is still
called Jim Charle’s Point. In old age Jim became a rheumatic cripple, badly
stooped, hobbling a few steps painfully with the aid of two sticks. He was
crazy in the head as well. An Indian family named Francis took pity on him and
brought him to live with them. He died about the year 1905.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">His cabin and
little barn on the point in Kejimkujik tumbled down in a few years. Sportsmen
liked to camp on “Jim Charle’s Point” and about the year 1907 some sportsmen
from Annapolis Royal formed what they called “The Kedgemakooge Rod and Gun
Club” and built a wooden lodge near the site of Jim’s cabin. It was a popular
resort for many years, and some American visitors had cottages built on the
point. The spot where Jim Charles hid out is still known to local woodsmen as
“Jim Charles’s Rock” or “Jim Charles’s Cave.” As for his gold, some folk still
believe it remains hidden in the forest about “Kej.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">The real site of
Jim’s discovery, the Reeves mine on the Tusket, yielded high grade ore for
three years, but the gold content continued to dwindle and the mine ceased
operations about 1928.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">See Lulu.Com and search on '<b>John Paul's Rock</b>' for the novel by Frank Parker Day, for one story of Jim Charles.</p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-38759035796468773602021-08-16T07:40:00.000-03:002021-08-16T07:40:06.023-03:00Convict Dress Explained<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">From ‘Lloyd’s
Weekly News’ dated 12 Jan. 1908. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Convict
dress explained</b>.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CMqjp__XHiY/YRo_yCo3oYI/AAAAAAABwSM/UFKH_VpYqjAWMkNDysJ-6ZZ1IaOxJegrQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Convict%2Bdress%2Bcodes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CMqjp__XHiY/YRo_yCo3oYI/AAAAAAABwSM/UFKH_VpYqjAWMkNDysJ-6ZZ1IaOxJegrQCNcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Convict%2Bdress%2Bcodes2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The above
drawings show the distinctive dress of various classes of convicts. All the
clothing up to number 6 is yellow. Reading from left to right the clothing
indicates: (1) First stage (first twelve months) : (2) second stage (two
years), black strip on cuffs : (3) third stage (three years), yellow stripes on
cuffs : (4) fourth stage, intermediate man, blue stripes on cuff, chevron on
cap and arms : (5) star man, blue stripes on cuffs, star on each arm and on
cap: (6) grey dress worn by long sentence men who earn 2s. 6d, a month and spend
1s. 3d. on comforts : (7) blue dress for good character; (8) black parti-coloured
dress worn as punishment for striking an officer : (3) yellow parti-coloured
dress, the penalty for running away : (10) canvas dress for those who destroy
the ordinary clothing of their class.</span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0England, UK52.3555177 -1.174319724.045283863821155 -36.3305697 80.665751536178846 33.9819303tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-17385617650151982072021-06-30T11:15:00.001-03:002021-06-30T11:15:13.377-03:00The Coming World War (1913)<p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;">THE
COMING WORLD WAR.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a name="bookmark34"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">How the Yellow Races are preparing for the
great struggle for the future with the White Nations.<o:p></o:p></span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark34;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">By Shaw
Desmond<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark34;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark34;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">This
capture is from the Union Jack magazine, <u>19 July 1913</u>. It is so
interesting, the parallels with what we see today. The fears of foreign
nations, and other races still exists in the twenty-first century. Have we
learned nothing from history?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>/drf</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PeQdjVMXoxU/YNx7vjP3EdI/AAAAAAABwPY/xGvPhmQyYjw8lzcd4eT9MnGsnDdRaB5awCNcBGAsYHQ/s900/republic-of-china-1913-chinese-everett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="China tourists 1913" border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="900" height="215" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PeQdjVMXoxU/YNx7vjP3EdI/AAAAAAABwPY/xGvPhmQyYjw8lzcd4eT9MnGsnDdRaB5awCNcBGAsYHQ/w320-h215/republic-of-china-1913-chinese-everett.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Bodytext22NotItalic" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">[Is</span></span><span class="Bodytext22NotItalic" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">the
Yellow Man about to challenge the White Man’s world supremacy? If he does, who
will win? If the Yellow Man is victor</span><span class="Bodytext22NotItalic" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">what
will it mean to the White Race? These are the questions which, with the
awakening of China and Japan, are quickly becoming the vital questions of the
twentieth century. Unless certain concessions are made by the White Powers, it
seems assured, for reasons given below, that ultimately the Yellow Man will be
forced to pit his </span><span class="Bodytext22NotItalic" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">600,000,000</span></span><span class="Bodytext22NotItalic" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">against the White Races in a world-war, the
scene of which will be the Pacific, and the prize the domination of the world.]</span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Spread the map of the world before you, and look
at the Yellow Empire which to-day is knitting itself together for the coming
struggle. This Empire has every type of climate, from icy cold to torrid heat,
stretching from the Amur River in latitude 50 deg. north, to Cochin-China, in
latitude 10 deg.; and longitude 90 deg. east to 160 deg. east, nearly two and a
half million square miles of territory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Vast as it is, and although its peoples —including
the Chinese, Japanese, Siamese, Koreans, &c.—greatly outnumber those of the
white races, the latter not only occupy a much bigger area, but possess more
than twice as much land as all the coloured races of the world together, though
the latter outnumber them two to one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">China, with its 407,331,000 people, is, of
course, the predominant partner of the Yellow Federation which is maturing,
though Japan is the moving spirit. Without China, a Yellow Empire would remain
in the land of dreams; with her, it will materialise into the most formidable
combination of the human race that has ever been engineered; and it is because
of this that we must see what is happening in the Celestial Empire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What is known as “the awakening of China” is
due, first, to her successive humiliations by the hated White Powers in her
last five wars with them, and to their continued harping upon “the breaking up
of China,” and their forcing of “concessions”; and, secondly, to the first
defeat of a white race by a yellow, in the Russo-Japanese war, which,
incidentally, has made its rumblings felt not only amongst the yellow but
amongst the brown skinned races.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Here it should be remembered that the Yellow
Races have for the first time learned the gospel of “Force,” for their history
shows that throughout the centuries they have been pacifists.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Recognising that in arms alone can their destinies
be worked out, the Chinese are now reorganising their army and navy, placing
the former in the hands of skilled Germans, who are modelling it upon the German
military system, replacing dummy guns by the most modern Krupp artillery, and
installing wireless telegraphy and an aerial navigation corps. Three great
arsenals, with numerous smaller ones, are working at full pressure, turning out
artillery and small arms for the National Army. A Navy Board has been
established, and the nucleus of a formidable navy created.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What a reorganised Chinese Army may mean to
Europe is shown by a German military estimate issued in 1910, which, upon the
basis of the Fatherland’s </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">army </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of
4,400,000 soldiers drawn from a population of sixty </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">millions, would give </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">China
eventually an army of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">30,000,000 out
of their 400,000,000</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> of people. These experts stated </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">that </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“such an army would be
nothing less than a menace </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">to
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">white civilisation the world over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the opinion of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">men
like </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">General Mackay Herlot and the late General </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Gordon, who </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">have
fought </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by the</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
side of and against Chinese </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">troops,
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">when properly led they have no superiors, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and no equals </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">in
endurance upon a standard of living </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">impossible
to the </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">white soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The spirit </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">which
is </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">likely to animate </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">this
army </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">is shown </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic2"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">by</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic2"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the
following translation of the marching song of the army of Chang, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Viceroy of Hukwang, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and on</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">e of the most
brilliant, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">as </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">he
is one of the most modern, of the Chinaman of to-day:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Foreigners laugh at our impotence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And talk of dividing our country like a</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">water-melon;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But are we not four hundred million strong?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If we of the Yellow Race only </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">stand </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">together,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What Foreign Power will dare to </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">molest </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">us?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Just look </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">at
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">India, great in </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">extent.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But sunk in hopeless bondage. </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">. . </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Then </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">look
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">at Japan, with her </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">three small </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">islands.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Think </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">how
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">she got the better of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">a gr</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">eat nation. . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 130.2pt; text-indent: .3in;"><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Side
by </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">side with this military </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">prepar</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">ation we have </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the dispatch, </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">in
ever-increasing </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">numbers </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of
men and women</span><span class="Bodytext255pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 5.5pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">students to </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Europe
and to Japan </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">to learn </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Western
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">methods. Oxford has </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">had
its Chinese </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">students; </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">whilst
according to</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dr.
W. A. P. Martin, D.D., </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">LL D., </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">formerly
President of</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the Chinese </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Imperial
University, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">who </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">has
spent fifty years in</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">China there </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">were,
so far back as 1907,</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">eight
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">thousand young </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">men
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and, </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">what
is more significant, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">two </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">hundred
young wo</span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;">m<span style="text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;">e</span></span></span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;">n</span></span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;">,<span style="text-decoration: none; text-line-through: none;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">drawn </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">from the most </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">aristocratic </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">families,
inhaling Western ideas in Japan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 185.95pt; text-indent: .3in;"><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">How
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">far China has </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">gone
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">it </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">shown
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by the </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">establishment
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of a Republic, the printing </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of some </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">scores of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">daily papers giving </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">foreign
news, the </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">adoption </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of
Trade Unionism, the</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">strike,
and the boycott; </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the steps </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">taken
to sweep </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">away polygamy, </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">foot-binding,
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and pigtails, </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">head-shaving —the </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">last
being badges of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">servitude of the </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Chinese
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">to the Manchurians </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">or
Tartars —the forming </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of a corps </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of
women </span><span class="Bodytext265pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.5pt;">sold</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">iers wearing </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">men’s
uniforms, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and the recent </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">storming
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of the Chinese </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Parliament
by Chinese Suffragettes. The new China is thorough.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The unique </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">part
of </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">educational </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">reform
has been the in</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">vention of an </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">alphabet of </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">fifty
letters to replace the “picture-writing” of the </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Chinese
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">language.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 207.0pt; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Further, as an attempt
to overcome </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the splitting of China
b</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">y the babel of dialects into which it is </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">divided (people of </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">one
village sometimes do not </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">understand
those of the next), i</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">t was decreed in 1910 that </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">English </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">should be the
official</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">language for
scientific and </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">technical </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">education,
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and the study </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of
that language was made </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">compulsory </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">in
all provincial scientific and technical high </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">schools.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When these evidences of vitality awaken
surprise, it should be remembered that the civilisation which invented the pen,
paper, printing and powder, has never been a dying civilisation, but only a
stationary one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">China has already taken her first step in her
bid for the world’s commercial supremacy. She has the men —she only lacks the
machines. To get the machines, she needs the metal, and, to obtain this, has
abolished the ridiculous “Fungshui,” a sort of false science which held the
minerals of China sealed for fear of bringing ill-luck “through boring on the
pulse of the Dragon.” Now, huge Chinese companies are being formed to exploit
her mineral wealth. According to the report of a distinguished firm of London
mining engineers, China is probably the richest mineral and coal country in the
world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Ironworks, cotton and silk mills, glass-works,
powder-works, etc., are to-day springing up through China like mushrooms, of
which the giant manufactories at Hanyang and the projected Shanshi ironworks
may be taken as examples. “For miles outside Wuchang the banks of the river are
lined with these vast establishments,” according to D. Martin who adds that
these works are “all designed to wage an industrial war with the Powers of
Christendom.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The nature of her industrial challenge is shown
by the fact that between 1867 and 1911, the imports of China increased by 670
per cent., (including Western machinery); and her exports by 650 per cent., and
they are increasing at an even greater rate. The new Chinese Republic has
grasped the fact that to render the vast Empire effective by knitting it
together, a network of communications —railway, telegraphic, telephonic,
&c.—must be established.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The first grand trunk railway of the Chinese
Empire, most of which is open, runs straight down from Peking to Canton like a
vertebral column, whilst, according to Dr. Sun Yat Sen, the Chinese Republican
leader, the Government have planned the building, within ten years, of 70,000
miles of ribs from the main line, to bind together the whole Empire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The capitals of all the provinces will soon be
railway centres, from which lines will radiate in every direction until each
capital will have eight or nine railways leading from it, rendering the
mobilisation of her future giant army an easy matter. It is interesting to note
that although the contract for half of the railway from Hankow to Canton, was
given to an American company, the whole enterprise was ultimately taken out of
their hands by the Chinese to build the railway themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So far as the telegraph is concerned the
provinces are covered with wires. The wireless telegraph is firmly established
and a manual explaining its properties to the people has been issued.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Day and night this work of organisation —military,
educational, and commercial —is proceeding with the pertinacity of the yellow
man, which knows no rest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This setting of her house in order must
ultimately lead to the expulsion of the White Powers from China, in which view
I have the support of the late Captain Mortimer O’Sullivan, himself a friend
and adviser of the late Dowager Empress and a mandarin of the Chinese Empire,
who told me that the Chinese leaders, including the Dowager Empress, cherished
an ineffacable hatred for the “arrogance” of the foreigner, and were only
waiting their chance to regain the “concessions” wrested from them at the
gun-muzzle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This does not mean that commercial intercourse
with the white races will be barred or that the white business man will be
forbidden entry into the Empire as is so often ignorantly supposed. For good or
ill, China is committed to the stress and strain of International commerce and
the fight for the markets, and she has nothing to fear from white competition,
as will be shown.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But the expulsion of the Powers will obviously
be followed up by a demand for the admittance of the Yellow Man to Europe,
Australia, and the United States, without the present rigid racial
restrictions, and in any case by the prohibition of opium importation —a very
sore point with the Chinese, who have deeply resented European efforts to force
the drug upon them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext560" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(The second part of this wonderful
article will be</span><span class="Bodytext56CenturySchoolbook"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">published next week.—The Skipper.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-954634845610566852021-04-19T11:30:00.008-03:002021-04-19T11:32:15.959-03:00Progress on Phase 2 of Stillwoods Lane<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fB0e0aFzGlI/YH2Sx_0WYUI/AAAAAAABwA0/0HsBt02LBfMtxBnauPpD4j_ypagcOYX3ACNcBGAsYHQ/s4320/P1060843.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fB0e0aFzGlI/YH2Sx_0WYUI/AAAAAAABwA0/0HsBt02LBfMtxBnauPpD4j_ypagcOYX3ACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1060843.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frizzle road</td></tr></tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Progress on Phase 2 of</span></b></p><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></b><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> Stillwoods Lane.</b><div><br /></div><div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">19 April 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Stonesage, and Reg MacKinnon have
been working on the extension of Stillwoods Lane.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">At this time there are two
limitations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-20hraK3FP2Q/YH2SvnfKDYI/AAAAAAABwAk/jQhEk2IaiZgv_r3FEElXwS68wF63Yf4IACNcBGAsYHQ/s4320/P1060842.JPG" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-20hraK3FP2Q/YH2SvnfKDYI/AAAAAAABwAk/jQhEk2IaiZgv_r3FEElXwS68wF63Yf4IACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1060842.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frizzle road (left) and Stillwoods Lane (Southwards)</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">There is an intermittent stream that
crosses lot 5 (phase1). The culvert for this crossing cannot be installed in
the Springtime.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">The other limitation is the Spring
Axle Restrictions which limits loads that can be transported. I believe it is
in effect still.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">These photos are from today! Just
after a big rainstorm, Saturday and Sunday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b7VwLQVhSAw/YH2SvhxlxZI/AAAAAAABwAs/iKDuGKTTcPQRY3jhTRb5UvH5mjkwoGBgQCNcBGAsYHQ/s4320/P1060841.JPG" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b7VwLQVhSAw/YH2SvhxlxZI/AAAAAAABwAs/iKDuGKTTcPQRY3jhTRb5UvH5mjkwoGBgQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1060841.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stillwoods Lane (Northwards)</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">They show Stillwoods Lane, work in
progress, and Frizzle road---a temporary access so that the stream is not being
crossed. ‘Frizzle road’ will become a pathway on the completion of Stillwoods
Lane extension.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">An update on the surveyors---they
have been in and out. The work is still very incomplete.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Because the survey is incomplete,
there can be no submission to HRM for Final Approval of phase 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Hopefully things take shape this
week.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPiwdEbM1yM/YH2Svq3Q3DI/AAAAAAABwAo/WwmXxn8wysgPtKKL0I_ei32687vHjxEpgCNcBGAsYHQ/s4320/P1060838.JPG" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPiwdEbM1yM/YH2Svq3Q3DI/AAAAAAABwAo/WwmXxn8wysgPtKKL0I_ei32687vHjxEpgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1060838.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frizzle road at 24 Grant Line (our Home)</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Doug and Gail<o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-69567221866292138092021-03-31T10:51:00.000-03:002021-03-31T10:51:37.140-03:00An Epic of Marble Mountain<p> <a name="bookmark0" style="text-indent: 18.1pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">An
Epic of Marble Mountain</span></b></a></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">BY FRANK PARKER DAY<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span class="Bodytext265pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.5pt;">Harper’s
Magazine, September 1923, Vol.</span></span><span class="Bodytext265pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.5pt;"> CXLVII—No. 880.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APm4dbf6spI/YGR9yIknh0I/AAAAAAABv-I/u_FEaCXXcac1DEGeRgTUk_yM4jPlpim0QCNcBGAsYHQ/s500/Frank%2BParker%2BDay%2Bpainting%2Bby%2BDays%2BWife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APm4dbf6spI/YGR9yIknh0I/AAAAAAABv-I/u_FEaCXXcac1DEGeRgTUk_yM4jPlpim0QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Frank%2BParker%2BDay%2Bpainting%2Bby%2BDays%2BWife.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frank Parker Day<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">AGES ago a glacier
slid over Marble Mountain and dropped granite boulders everywhere. These
boulders generations of red MacDonalds had torn from the hillside with crowbar,
chain and oxen, and builded them by the strength of their hands into fences
that circumscribed their farm. The first red MacDonald from the Western Isles
had been a man of strength and violence, and the conflict with nature, the
struggle with the rocks, had made the thews and sinews of each generation
mightier.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Sandy MacDonald, the
fifth lineal descendant of the original red MacDonald, acknowledged leader of
the clan against all comers, was a giant—a renowned bully and fighter, the
champion of Cape Breton Island sixty years ago in tossing the caber and putting
the stone. He could throw a steer with ease, and had once on a wager lifted an
anchor weighing seven hundred pounds. He was thick and broad through shoulders
and chest, straight in the back, narrow in the hips, and like all his
predecessors who had owned Stone Farm, his ruddy, bearded face was crowned with
a shaggy mop of copper-red hair. He lived in the open, drank much whisky—for in
the manner of our time he operated a private still—and had a tendency toward
religion, which was not Christianity but a kind of savage Hebraism. When very
drunk he used to read to his cowed and silent family fierce denunciatory
chapters, stormy Jeremiads from the Old Testament, and they must perforce listen
to his thunder as long as the whim was on him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stone Farm when Sandy
won the inheritance consisted of two hundred acres of cleared land with no tree
left standing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It lay in a dip of the
hills halfway up the mountain side and, except a few acres ploughed up for root
and garden crops, was all in hay and pasture land. Sheep, cattle, and horses,
had always been the wealth of the MacDonalds. Each generation had cleared a few
acres to the northward and marked its progress with a new stone fence. The
house, barn, and outhouses gray with age and moss, and open to every wind that
blew, stood on a slight rise near the southern limit. High up above the farm, was
the steep mountain side peppered with boulders and mangy with clumps of dwarfed
firs and spruces, that turned tail to the northwest like herds of horses in a
driving rain. Below the farm a wide bog stretched to the foot of the next
range. This bog, a place of quaking mud, was evil and sinister in appearance
and in summer exhaled a sickening smell. Drunken Jock Sutherland cursing,
swearing, and vowing vengeance against all who bore the name MacDonald, had
last been seen on the road to Stone Farm. Sandy had been tried for his murder
and acquitted. Jock’s body was never found and local gossip whispered that Sandy
had killed him and thrown his body into the black, hungry mud of the bog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Such was Stone Farm,
the somber home of the red MacDonalds over which Sandy ruled with a tyrant’s
hand. He would brook no opposition; his slightest suggestion must be obeyed to
the letter. His wife he had beaten and broken to his will in the first year of
their marriage. He begot two sons, Alex and Murdock, who lived in daily dread
of his fist or stick. Even when they were little boys he had, on his departure
for the village, set them tasks beyond their strength and beaten them cruelly
with his ox-whip if the tasks were not completed on his return. Through their
period of serfdom they were sustained by the knowledge that it could not be
otherwise, for they dared not run away, and by the thought that some day they
might be big and strong enough to strike their father to the ground. As they
grew to manhood they were giants in stature. Alex with his big hairy hands and
shock of red hair, was as like his father as are two peas in a pod; Murdock was
dark—black Murdock the people called him—favoring his mother, a Macintosh. Both
were mighty men, but Murdock lacked the tapering grace of Alex, for he was
round in chest and shoulder, heavy in lower leg and ankle and had the fatal
weakness of a hollowed back. Like their father, they were terrible to behold in
anger, and when they fought none could withstand them. Fights and quarrels were
meat and drink to them and they managed to provoke plenty of these through
imagined family insults, or by stealing girls from rival giants at dances.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">One night when Alex
was in his twenty-first year, he was milking the red heifer that he had found
unbranded in the forest. He was in a bad temper, for his father had that day
forbidden him the use of the driving mare and cursed him roundly. While he was
wondering how long he could endure the old man’s treatment, the heifer switched
her tail across his eyes. He struck her savagely in the ribs, and she in turn
kicked over the pail of milk. Sandy passed by at that moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You great lout,” he
cried, slapping Alex on the cheek. “Can you no milk a cow?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Up sprang Alex flushed
with rage to meet his father. For a little they glared at each other, both
knowing that the great moment had come. It was a tradition with the red MacDonalds
that the farm passed on by conquest. Thirty years before, Sandy had fought his
father for the acquisition, and now Alex had thrown down the gauntlet. There
among the cows, milk pails, stools, and piles of manure, by the light of a
swinging lantern they fought a savage battle for the mastery. Though they
wasted no breath in words, the barn rang with their groans, with the thud of
their blows, and their sounds of wild-beast anger. Black Murdock came and
looked on in silence; with him it was merely the alternative of an old or new
master. Once Sandy grasped Alex suddenly around the knees and threw him with
all his strength against the studding of the barn. He sprang forward to
complete his conquest, but in his eagerness slipped and fell sprawling upon the
floor. Before he could recover himself the dazed and half-stunned Alex was on
his feet again. The fall and the great effort in throwing Alex had shaken
Sandy, and from that point the fight went against him. Five minutes later Alex
had his father’s head wedged between two stanchions, while his hairy paw
clutched his throat. Sandy held up his right hand limply as a signal of defeat.
Alex let him up and silently they helped each other clean the straw and manure
from their clothing. The three knew who was master now. Henceforth Alex might
harness the mare when he pleased and drive where he listed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After that night Alex
directed the work of the farm and Sandy humbly took his orders. Murdock, too,
was submissive, but Alex was not yet satisfied. Murdock, though weaker, must
also be beaten and made to feel his mastery. He cast about in his mind for some
ground for a quarrel and at last hit upon a plan. For some time prior to the
fight between Alex and Sandy Murdock had been paying court to Mary MacIvor,
daughter of the innkeeper of Scottdale. Mary, a strapping, rosy-cheeked lass
with masses of black curly hair, the prettiest girl in the parish, was very
fond of Murdock and meant to marry him. This situation made a vulnerable point
in Murdock’s armor which Alex decided to attack. He, too, began to court Mary
with the sole purpose of inciting a quarrel. Mary stood in deadly terror of the
red-haired ruffian but, fearing for Murdock, she tried to assume an attitude of
sisterly friendliness. At parties Alex often claimed Mary as a partner when she
was dancing with Murdock, and though Murdock’s pride was stung to the quick, he
laughed and made no protest. Mary and he had agreed on a policy of
non-resistance in the hope that Alex would soon turn his attentions elsewhere.
In this they were disappointed, for as time went on Alex forgot his original
intent as a kind of rough passion possessed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">One spring night when
Murdock was taking Mary home from church Alex waylaid them on the wooded road
half a mile above the village. The lovers, walking arm in arm, were talking of
their difficulties through Alex’s interference and of how they might escape
him, run away to the States, and marry. Suddenly Alex sprang from the shadow of
the trees, snatched Mary away from Murdock, and threw his arm about her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Get home, you loon,
she’s my girl from now on,” he shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Murdock saw that the
time for passive resistance was gone. He had in his hand a heavy thorn stick
and as Alex turned, he struck him with full force across the back of the head.
The blow might have killed an ordinary man, and though Alex went down like a
poled ox, he was on his feet in a second and dashed at Murdock, red anger
blazing in his eyes. They struck, grappled and wrestled in the half light of
the roadway: they fell to the ground, now one on top, now the other; they tore
the clothing from each other’s backs. In the black shadow of the trees the
fight was like a primitive struggle between bear and giant leopard. Mary,
trembling with terror, had not even power to scream. At last the fighters
rolled from the roadway to the ditch and with the last roll Alex was on top. In
the muddy ditch Alex battered Murdock’s face and head with his great fists,
until he felt the body beneath him relax and go limp. When he knew that Murdock
had lost consciousness he sprang up to seize Mary.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’ve beaten Murdock
for you, you’re my girl now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I hate you,” cried
Mary, struggling to free herself. “You have killed your brother who loved me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I love you, too,
Mary,” sneered Alex.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mary pulled back and
struck him in the face with all her strength. Alex laughed. Women’s blows meant
love to him, and this blow only increased his desire already blazing high.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’ve won you by
fight; I’ll do with you what I will,” he cried.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mary struggled in
vain. Throwing one arm beneath her hips, he gathered her loosely in his arms,
and leaping over Murdock’s body, he parted the dark spruces and ran far into
the heart of the wood, with wild, lustful laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">An hour later Alex
took Mary to her father’s home in the village, saying as he left her, “Don’t
worry, lass, I’ll marry you in a fortnight’s time.” Then he returned swiftly to
grope along the dark and muddy ditch for his brother. If Murdock were dead he
must break quickly for cover. He found in roadway and ditch the marks of the
fight, but no sign of Murdock who, bruised and battered as he was, had
recovered sufficiently to stagger homeward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For two days Murdock
moped about the house, a sick and broken man. When he learned that Alex
intended to marry Mary and what had happened after the fight he determined to
go away. His only fear was that Alex might forbid him that privilege and compel
him to stay at home with Mary in the house. On the third day, when Sandy and
Alex were employed in some work on the mountainside, he lifted his stiff,
bruised body from the kitchen sofa and silently left the house. His mother
watched him as he passed down the road, and when he topped the hill without
once looking back she put her apron to her eyes and shed bitter tears. Poor
woman, she had no joy in her men folk! She loved her two giant boys because she
had borne them, she even loved the brutal Sandy in a dumb, faithful way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex had his way and
married Mary, though she was unwilling and though the innkeeper swore at first
that he would shoot him like a dog. No one in the parish dared resist Alex, and
in a fortnight’s time he brought Mary home as his wife to Stone Farm. Sandy
accepted the sorrowful bride as an inmate of the house, for Alex was master. At
the wedding feast all of the neighboring MacDonalds were present and very
drunk; they hailed themselves as members of the greatest family in the world,
and red Alex as the king of all the MacDonalds. Murdock, tramping the roads to
the northward, was forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">During the following
summer and autumn Alex and Sandy were very busy with the hay, the roots, and
the stock. Each could do a prodigious amount of labor and each was proud of his
achievement. Two men did the work of three. In the winter they lumbered and got
the year’s supply of firewood. They missed Murdock, but they never spoke of his
absence. Alex, with a burning jealousy of Murdock in his heart, was enraged
because he could find no ground of complaint against Mary. She obeyed him
meekly and followed to the letter his slightest suggestion. Once he beat her
for what he called sullen silence. Mary made no resistance; she felt herself in
the grip of fate and lived in mortal terror of her husband.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nothing was heard of
Murdock until the following spring, when a lumberjack, returning to Marble
Mountain from the north, brought word that Murdock had spent the winter working
in the woods on Baie Chaleur, and that there he had fought and been cruelly
beaten by Hercule Le Blanc, the bully of Quebec.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This piece of news
spread quickly about the parish and was gladly heard by the many enemies of the
red MacDonalds. Alex imagined a malicious gleam of triumph in every eye and
whisperings behind his back. For a week he brooded on this terrible insult to
his name. Once in the midst of their labors he turned fiercely on Sandy with,
“How could you breed a loon like that?” How dare a Frenchman lay hands upon </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">his </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">brother!
To be beaten by anyone seemed to him impossible; to be beaten by a frog-eating
Frenchman the depth of infamy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After breakfast one
morning Alex took from the wall his gun, ax, and hunting bag. He put in the bag
his black teapot, a loaf of rye bread, and a piece of bacon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“The ducks will be far
out in midbog to-day,” said Sandy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’m not going duck
shooting.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Where then?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“To Baie Chaleur.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Ay, I thought you
wouldn’t stand that insult forever. You should have moved sooner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I move when I’m
ready,” said Alex. “Don’t work the black mare over hard, her off fore leg’s
strained.” This he said merely to show his authority.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 122.65pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’ll be back for the
hay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Ay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex said no word of
good-by to Mary or his mother, for it was not the way of the red MacDonalds to
say good-by to women or to inform them of their destination, their coming or
going.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He set off down the
road with his bag and blanket on his back, his light ax in his belt, his gun
over his shoulder. He meant to tramp four hundred miles and crush and trample
into the dust Hercule Le Blanc, who had dared to beat a MacDonald. Though the
weather was cold and rainy, he avoided the villages and always camped at night
in the woods, for he was penurious, resentful of strangers, and proud of his
hardihood. No knight in search of the Grail moved more eagerly, nor kept more
steadily to his single purpose. Day in and day out, he averaged thirty miles, and
on the late afternoon of the sixteenth day he reached the Jacquet River Camp on
Baie Chaleur, where Murdock had worked and been beaten.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He entered the dining
shanty just as the men were sitting down to tea, and as strangers were not
uncommon at the time of the spring drive, his advent created no comment. He was
invited to sit down and eat with the others. Alex accepted the invitation and
took a place at the lumberjacks’ table which was loaded with plates of bread,
pitchers of tea, and great steaming dishes of pork and beans. He helped himself
lightly— for he knew that one fought better after a scanty meal—and looked
about to select his antagonist from the crowd. The men were nearly all French
Canadians and he understood their patois but slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 107.5pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Which
is Hercule Le Blanc?” he asked of an English speaker who sat next him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“That’s him with the
black beard— him that’s wavin’ his knife in his hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Is he the man that
licked black Murdock MacDonald?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“He’s the boy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Was it a good fight?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“A dandy! MacDonald did
well till Hercule lashed him in the face with his foot. Nobody can beat
Hercule.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex then sat in
silence, nibbling at his bread. When he thought of how he should begin the
struggle, his heart beat fast and he felt a curious emptiness in his stomach. Heretofore
he had fought men whose strength, tricks, and methods had long been talked of
and considered; now for the first time he would face some one from outside his
familiar world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Tea was soon over and
the men drew back from the tables and lighted their pipes while the cooks
cleared up. Laughing and talking noisily, they separated into parties, the
largest group surrounding Hercule their hero, who tossed back the black curls
from his forehead, waved his arms, snapped his fingers, and boasted louder than
any. Alex could not understand wholly, but he gathered that Hercule was
reciting some epic of his conquests, perhaps his victory over Murdock. He rose
from his seat, crossed the room, parted the group about Le Blanc, and struck
him with his open hand upon the cheek. Silence fell upon the room; everyone
stood still until Hercule, mad with rage and astonishment, sprang forward with
a roar, and the two giants clinched. They strained, tugged, and swayed to and
fro. A table was overset and the broken dishes crashed to the ground. The boss
rushed in and with the help of several men tore the wrestlers apart.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Let me at him,”
yelled Hercule as he struggled for freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex released, stood
quiet, reserving his strength for the fight he had provoked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Who are you? ” said
the boss to Alex.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’m Alex MacDonald
from Cape Breton, Murdock’s brother, and I’ve strolled north to lick him,” said
Alex, pointing to the furious Frenchman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’ll kill him, he
struck me,” screamed Hercule.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Any fightin’ around
here has got to be done in an orderly fashion. I won’t have the tables and
dishes broke up,” said the boss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’m ready to fight,”
growled Alex.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Only let me get at
him,” screamed Le Blanc as he struggled for freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Keep quiet, Hercule,
wait until we get the room cleared; then you can have all the fight you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The tables were pushed
back against the walls, the dishes packed away in cupboards, and the forms
piled high about the stove, so that the fighters might not be burned. The
lumberjacks in expectant mood ranged themselves around the room and improvised
a ring by half sitting, half leaning, against the tables. Lanterns hung from
the rafters made dull blurs of yellow light in the air heavy with the fumes of
Quebec-grown tobacco. In diagonally opposite corners were placed buckets of
water, boxes of sawdust, and chairs for the fighters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hercule, stripped to
the waist, took his seat in the east corner. His body was gleaming white and
the great muscles of his arms, back, and shoulders rippled beneath the skin on
his slightest movement. On his chest was a mass of shaggy black hair. He was
hard and fit after his winter spent swinging the ax in the open. He wore the
short knee trousers adopted by river men on the drive and about his waist some
admirer had tied a red scarf. On his feet he retained his driving shoes, which
bristled with dangerous spikes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stripped to the waist,
Alex revealed himself as a red MacDonald. He retained the heavy corduroy
trousers and worn boots in which he had made the long journey, because he had
nothing else to wear. When he stood up for a moment to scuff his feet in the
sawdust the strength and beauty of his build was apparent. Though perhaps
twenty </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">pounds</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> lighter than Le
Blanc, he carried his weight high, for he tapered from feet to shoulders, the
great breadth and power of which made his waist look slim and shapely. A thick
lock of red hair dangled over his forehead and half hid his sullen yet alert
eyes that watched Le Blanc carefully. He noted the swelling biceps of the
Frenchman and hoped that he might be muscle bound like Jock Campbell of the
Dale. He saw, too, in a flash, that Hercule’s reach was not as long as his arm.
He must depend on his quickness of foot and watch those powerful arms in the
clinches.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A Scotchman and
Welshman—the only two of British descent in the camp —moved by a sporting
spirit, stood behind Alex, and the Welshman offered to swing a towel in his
corner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I want no second,”
growled the ungracious Alex. “I’m a MacDonald from Cape Breton against the
world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His heart at once misgave
him for the refusal of friendship, but it was too late to retract his words. He
was glad that, in spite of his rudeness, the two Britishers continued to stand
behind his chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The boss, who
appointed himself referee and timekeeper, named the rules, which were simple in
the extreme. The rounds were to be three minutes long, with one minute for rest
between them. A fighter knocked down was to have ten seconds to get on his
feet. Beyond these restrictions the fighters were free to punish each other to
the limit of their capacities.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At the sound of the
bell Alex and Hercule sprang from their corners, struck fierce blows, then
clinched to wrestle about the room. Neither could throw the other, but as they
broke, Hercule hooked his right to Alex’s cheek and crashed him to the floor.
For a moment it looked as if the fight were over before getting fairly under
way. In a flat monotonous voice the boss began to count. One, two, three, four
. . . No other sound was heard in that tense moment. Alex lay quiet till he heard
seven and then sprang up quickly to face his opponent. Le Blanc with a grin of
triumph dashed in to finish his work and was met full in the teeth by a
straight left, that shot out with the strength and precision of an engine’s
piston. His smile of victory faded, rage spread over his face, and with a
savage growl, he rushed in again to meet Alex’s machine-like left. They
clinched and wrestled until the bell rang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That minute of rest
was a blessed time for Alex, whose head buzzed and rang from the terrific blow
he had received. When he stood up for the second round his brain was clear and
he had resolved to carry on the fight at long range and depend on his quickness
of foot. Le Blanc, on the other hand, sought to bring the battle to close
quarters, so that he might employ his mighty swings and hooks. Alex danced
about and darted in with straight rights or lefts. The first round had taught
him caution, and in the breaks he kept his hands on the outside of Hercule’s
arms until he was ready to step back out of range. Blood flowed freely from
both and streaked Hercule’s white body, already marked with purple blotches
where Alex had landed heavy blows. When the bell closed the round, the fighters
were even in honors, but Le Blanc was sullen while Alex was growing in
confidence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the third round
Hercule tried holding, wrestling, rubbing with his chin, and butting with his
head, but Alex was his equal at any of those tricks. Once the Frenchman tried
to get his hand into Alex’s mouth in order to rip his cheek open, but all he
achieved was a badly bitten thumb. In wrestling neither secured a true fall,
though several times they were upon the floor. They rolled over and over
against the watchers’ legs; once they disappeared from sight beneath a table,
to be dragged out and stood upon their feet. Thus the fight swayed on, waged
with intense bitterness and hatred.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As they stepped from
their corners for the sixth round, Alex caught a curious glint in the
Frenchman’s eye and sensed a new plan on his antagonist’s part. Earlier in the
fight he had heard Hercule’s backers cry, “</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Tirez la savate, Hercule.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
He had heard that phrase in Arichat and knew its meaning well. Probably this
was the round for Le Blanc’s master stroke. Sure enough, as Alex darted in with
left and right, Hercule threw himself upon his hands and lashed out with his
feet. Alex forewarned, dropped upon his knees and the spiked boots whirled over
his head. A second later he was upon Le Blanc, gripping hard and punching
before the Frenchman could recover his balance. Again in this round Hercule
attempted the </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">savate,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> and though Alex stepped back quickly,
the spikes caught his chest muscles and tore the flesh cruelly. The dexterity
of the Frenchman, who had the marvelous co-ordination of a cat, was
bewildering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When the bell rang
Alex had one minute to rest and think. Unless he could meet this new attack he
would lose the fight. In that event he could never return to Cape Breton. His
chest pained and was bleeding freely. Le Blanc’s backers looked at him and grinned
as they rubbed the legs and shoulders of their champion. Rage and pride welled
up within him; he would at any rate fight until he died. When he stood up for
the seventh round he had decided on a desperate line of action. As they met in
the center of the ring Alex feinted an attack with his left. In a fraction of a
second Hercule was upon his hands and had lashed out with his feet. But Alex
had not darted in, he had stepped back, with his feet well apart in a firm
balance. At the moment of Le Blanc’s greatest extension, Alex caught the Frenchman’s
ankles in his great hands and with a giant effort whirled him waist high until
he crashed his head and shoulders against the stove and piled-up forms. Over
went the stove in a shower of red coals; down rattled the stovepipe. Alex
dropped the Frenchman’s ankles and Hercule lay still. Some one threw a bucket
of water upon the hot coals that seared the floor. A cloud of smoke and vapor
arose, filling the room. When the smoke cleared Hercule still lay motionless.
The fight was over!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As Hercule’s friends
gathered him up and placed him in his bunk, Alex returned to his corner, dipped
some water from his bucket, and washed the blood from his face and breast. He
then pulled on his shirt and coat, gathered up his equipment, and turned to the
door. The lumberjacks were so dazed by the colossal proportions of the fight
and by its unexpected outcome that they stood gaping in silence. The Scotchman,
however, held out a friendly hand, which Alex disregarded, and the boss said, “You’re
welcome to sleep with us tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“When I’m away from
home I always sleep under a tree,” said Alex, and he stepped out and vanished
in the darkness of the wood. He looked up at the stars a moment to get his
bearings and struck off on a southern trail. He staggered as he walked, for he
was sore and faint. He said over and over to himself, “I have beaten him, I
have beaten him, now I must get home to help the old man with the hay.” After a
little he crept into a thicket like a wounded bear and nursed his bruises till
weariness conquered pain and sleep stole over him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When Alex awoke in the
morning the ground mists lay so heavy around him that he could scarcely see
anything ten yards distant. The spruce under which he had slept was dripping
and festooned with spiders’ webs beaded with moisture. His clothing was soaked
with the night’s heavy dew. He rolled over and startled himself with his deep
groan. The muscles of his arms and shoulders were bruised and cramped: the
clotted wound on his breast burned and smarted. By slow degrees he got upon his
feet; his legs were all right at any rate. Luckily, he found a red spruce
nearby, and with a great effort he got a fire going and boiled his kettle. He
crouched close over the blaze, drank some tea, and ate a hunk of bread. Fire
and hot tea warmed him, and before he had finished his meager breakfast the May
sun broke through the low-hanging fog. If only his chest would stop aching. He
opened his shirt to look at his wound. It was angry and beginning to fester.
Bah! What were a few scratches across the chest; he had borne more when a
child! He would reach Cape Breton unaided: a red MacDonald must never fail!
Again he got upon his feet, strapped on bag, gun and ax, and took the southerly
woodroad. For an hour he traveled down a long slope to the bottom where a brook
rippled across the trail. From the brook he drank thirstily before he began the
ascent of the ridge in front of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When he had gone part
way up the slope the strap of his hunting bag began to gall his chest. He
shifted the bag to the other shoulder, but the gnawing ache never ceased. After
a hundred yards he sat down upon a fallen tree; when he tried again it was only
to go fifty yards without a rest. The stages became shorter and shorter; a mist
swam before his eyes, and in a half-delirium he saw Hercule dance triumphantly
before him. He groped dimly up the ridge, swaying and staggering from side to
side, striking wildly at spruce branches that brushed against his face. He cast
away his gun, his bag, and last of all his ax, the woodman’s treasure. If only
a man from home were there to help him he might still make Cape Breton! His
knees sagged, he staggered wildly, and fell prone by the roadside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It was noon when Alex
fell and before twilight some sentinel crows perched upon a near-by fir, to
stake their claim to the treasure. From time to time one fluttered down, to hop
near the fallen man and then to wing back with the intelligence, “He is not yet
dead.” Night fell and with it came furtive brown and gray things that sniffed
the scent of man and slipped silently away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nanette, with a black
kerchief over her head, walked joyfully along the wooded path. The spring was
really come at last and, except for gray patches under the spruces, the wood
was almost free of snow. Though the hardwood trees were bare and gaunt, their
limbs made wonderful patterns against the heaven’s blue. The maple buds showed
a touch of magenta and the unfolded birch leaves a tender yellow. The air was
clear and strong, stirring the blood like wine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When she came to a
sharp turn in the wood-road, she sensed something strange in the forest. She
stopped, stood erect, and wrinkled her little nostrils. What were those crows
so solemn and so silent doing in that fir tree? Perhaps a deer was down with a
broken leg, or a sheep had wandered from the farm and been torn by bears.
Quietly, cautiously, she tiptoed round the bend and to her great astonishment,
saw a giant with a mass of tousled red hair lying by the roadside. Her heart
gave a great throb: she stood trembling like a young poplar at noontide. A dead
man in the forest was a terrifying spectacle; it was out of tune with
everything springing into life!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Slowly she approached
Alex and laid her hand upon his neck. It was warm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thanks to the Good God,
the giant had life in him! She thrust her hand toward his heart and the hurt
body twitched visibly. Whence had he come? Had he dropped from the sky? He was
unlike any Quebec man she had ever seen! It was indeed a wonder that he had not
smothered with his face buried in that soaking moss. With a great effort she
turned his shoulder and face, and the sun touched his brown cheek. She ran to
the brook, fetched water in a twisted piece of birch bark, and dashed it in his
face, pried open his teeth, and poured some in his mouth, but beyond a deep
groan there was no response.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She must get help to
save him! She tore two strips from her white petticoat, drove a stake in the
ground, and tied the strips so that they would flutter in the breeze. That
would keep off all the forest folk until her return. She cast one loving glance
upon the man she had found and then, holding her skirt high, she began to run.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She burst from the
wood crying, “Father, father, a man is dying in the forest.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Father Amirault
dropped his tools and waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“A giant, a giant with
wonderful red hair,” she panted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The whole household
was soon in commotion. An ox was brought from the barn and harnessed to a drag,
on which were lashed four stout boards, a pillow and wool comforter from mother
Amirault’s bed. Father Amirault and Pierre, the oldest boy, took their axes,
for Nanette had reminded them that the big pine was down across the trail.
Nanette fluttered about in a frantic effort to hurry the preparations. At last
they were off, the drag grinding over stones, the ox lumbering along,
unutterably slow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nanette, equipped with
a flask of whiskey, finding their progress too slow, ran ahead, reached Alex,
and knelt by his side. As she chafed his wrists and temples and dropped the
liquor in his mouth, she heard the ring of axes attacking the big pine. She
worked incessantly to warm him back to life and prayed with her whole heart to
the Good God to save him. She wondered how he had become so battered about the
face and neck. When she opened his shirt the angry wound, that looked like the
stroke of a bear’s paw, told the secret of his collapse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZML4cFQNHBU/YGR9spM_kEI/AAAAAAABv-E/iXt-78CHLdUnLfV_-JQfJtN6UEA67SY3QCNcBGAsYHQ/s750/Coastal%2BScene%2BMabel%2BDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="750" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZML4cFQNHBU/YGR9spM_kEI/AAAAAAABv-E/iXt-78CHLdUnLfV_-JQfJtN6UEA67SY3QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Coastal%2BScene%2BMabel%2BDay.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At last father
Amirault and Pierre arrived with the dagan. They rolled the giant upon the
boards, wrapped him in the comforter, placed the pillow under his head, and
lashed everything securely to the drag. Then they set out for the farm with
father Amirault in front, twirling his whip and uttering great shouts to
encourage the ox, Pierre walking near Alex’s head and secretly goading the ox
with a short pointed stick when father Amirault was not looking, and Nanette
behind, her eyes fixed upon the strange man she had found in the wood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When this procession
arrived in the clearing they unlashed the tackle from the drag, and mother
Amirault and Nanette helped the men carry Alex into the house, where they laid
him on the bed behind the stove. That meant that the two little boys must find
quarters in the loft. The bed was too short, but father Amirault soon
lengthened it with two soap boxes, while mother Amirault sewed a yard-wide hem
on one of father Amirault’s nightgowns to make a garment for the sick man. They
undressed and washed the giant, marveling at his thews and muscles, and mother
Amirault placed a fat warm poultice of bread upon his wounded breast. They
poured warm bean soup into his mouth together with some spoonfuls of whisky </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">blanc,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
the universal remedy for all ills. Then they dispatched Pierre to the village
at Jacquet River for the doctor and the priest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">All day long as Alex
lay on the bed behind the stove, father Amirault and the boys were out of doors
while mother Amirault and Nanette washed, scrubbed, and baked within the house.
Now and then Nanette stopped to gaze at the massive head crowned with a shock
of red till her mother said,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“How slow you are
to-day, Nanette.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I cannot put the
strange man out of my mind. What was he doing in the wood, and where did he
come from?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Think of nothing
until Father Saulnier arrives. He will know everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Toward evening they
heard the tinkle of bells, and Pierre, the priest, and the doctor arrived. The
priest was a slender dark man with a humorous eye. As he entered with, “God be
within this house and His grace upon you all,” his glance caught the huge
figure on the bed behind the stove. His eyes twinkled as he said jovially, “Ah,
ah, mother Amirault, what kind of a babe is this you have brought our good Jean
in the springtime? ’Twill take a big spruce to make a cradle for that boy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“He is near death,
Father.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Not with that color
in his cheek.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The doctor had
lingered in the yard to pass the day with father Amirault. He was something of
a fop and proud of his knowledge of sport. He lorded it over the country people
and when he scolded them for not following his instructions he twirled and chewed
the black cigar between his lips. At length he entered the house and stood by
the bed. He bared Alex’s arm and felt its shaggy strength, then opened his
shirt, removed the poultice, and looked fixedly at the wound.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“This is the man who
beat Hercule Le Blanc.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“He has the scratch of
a bear’s paw over his heart,” said mother Amirault.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Those are the marks
of Hercules spikes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After having made his
examination he said, “He may live if blood poisoning does not set in. He is
suffering from shock, exposure, and fatigue. Keep him warm, give him a little
whiskey and warm soup, and put poultices on as you have done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Then the doctor told
them how this giant, Alex MacDonald by name, had walked four hundred miles from
Cape Breton to Jacquet River, to fight Hercule Le Blanc because Hercule had beaten
Murdock his brother.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Four hundred miles
through the woods to fight the bully of Quebec!” thought little Nanette. “He is
my man since but for me he would have died.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The doctor recited the
epic of the contest. When he told at last how Alex had swung Hercule by the
ankles about the room and dashed him against the stove, his little audience was
breathless.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“He is a violent man,”
said mother Amirault, “and not one of ours, father.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No,” said the priest,
“but the Good God has sent him to you and you must nurse him back to life. He
is what the Acadiennes call a protestant. Perhaps he may see the light. It is
not unlawful for you to pray for his spirit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For two days Alex lay
still upon his bed. The stove gave out a constant glow, for in the chill hours
before dawn Nanette crept from her bed to throw gnarled hardwood knots upon the
dull embers. Rest and warmth of bed and stove set the blood restirring within
the body of the giant. Alex began to move and turn, to lapse again into
unconsciousness. Nature was awakening in him as in the wood. Once he looked
into a pair of brown eyes watching by his bedside. He thought of the beseeching
look of a fawn whose throat he had once cut, and fell asleep again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When he awoke and
looked about him he saw first upon the wall some colored prints of saints and
martyrs. A big cooking stove occupied the center of the room. In a neat row
near the door were </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">sabots</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> of varying sizes. A rifle, shotgun, and
two double-bitted axes hung on birch hooks over the dark recess that had once been
a fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The bewildered Alex
turned his head cautiously to get a further view. Near the table, set for
supper with a white cloth and shining dishes, sat two women sewing. One was
perhaps thirty-five, the other a girl of eighteen. Both had dark eyes and
placid oval faces. They were obviously French, mother and daughter. They spoke
in low tones to each other, unaware that the sick man’s eyes were upon them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Where was he? Had he
lost the fight to Le Blanc? No, he remembered the winning coup! He remembered
leaving the camp, sleeping in the wood, getting his breakfast and setting off
homeward. He remembered crossing the brook, the great pain in his breast and
the difficulty of the climb up the ridge. He had sat down upon a tree to rest
and staggered when he began to walk—then he remembered nothing more. What was
he, Alex MacDonald, doing in bed in the middle of the day? He stirred and tried
to raise himself on his elbows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Stay still,” called
mother Amirault sharply. A woman giving him orders, that was too much! He
heaved himself up a little, but fell back trembling as a great pain shot
through him. He suddenly realized that he was weak as a child.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You must not move,
but lie flat upon your back. Death has peered into your face. Nanette, bring
the barley broth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex missed many words
of the patois as he meekly sipped spoonfuls of the rich soup. “Water,” he
murmured. It was the first word he had spoken. Nanette ran to the spring and
fetched a dipperful. He drank greedily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Where am I?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“In Jean Amirault’s house
at Petite Riviere. I am his wife and this is my daughter Nanette, who found you
in the wood. Now lie quiet and speak no more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The women went back to
their sewing and Alex to reflection. Why had these people rescued an enemy and
what would they do with him? What was the motive for their kindness? Probably
robbery! They must have found the money sewn in the lining of his coat!
Strange, there were his boots and clothes piled neatly on the box beside his
bed! Against the wall were his gun, ax, and bag which he had thrown away near
the brook. Well, he was in their power as long as he was sick. Had they
intended murdering him they would have done it before he woke. He must use
cunning and lie there until he was strong, then spring up suddenly, seize his
equipment and money, and set out for home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">About supper time
father Amirault and Pierre came in from their work. When father Amirault
learned that the giant was awake and had spoken he approached the bed grinning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Well, giant, how are
you? You were a big load on the drag. You are a great fighter, heh, and beat
our good Hercule. Well, many will be glad that that bully’s mouth is stopped. I
wish I had seen the fight. You are welcome here, but you must soon get well and
return to your folks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex gave him a surly
look and tried in vain to turn his face to the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Father Amirault,
nothing daunted, grinned more widely. “To-morrow,” he said, “the doctor will be
here again to cure you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They sat down to
supper, and Alex watched them curiously as they drank mugs of tea with their
simple meal of homemade bread and bacon. They were strange folk! They laughed
and talked at table and beamed at one another. Even the little boys joined in
the conversation and were listened to. Sometimes they all talked at once with
great enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After supper father
Amirault and Pierre sat by the stove and smoked their pipes while the women
washed the dishes and the boys played at still-hunting moose in the dark
corners behind the table and Alex’s bed. At eight o’clock mother Amirault gave
the sick man some broth, placed a glass of water on the box near him, and laid
a fresh poultice upon his breast. Then the family knelt down and prayed with
simple devotion. Father Amirault filled the stove with hardwood sticks, closed
the draughts, and sprinkled ashes upon the glowing coals. After that the family
retired, father and mother Amirault in the front room, Nanette to a tiny room
adjoining, not much larger than a closet, while Pierre and the little boys
climbed the ladder to the loft.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex lay still with
wide-open eyes listening to the creaking of beds and the patter of feet above
him. “They must have reckoned,” he thought, “that I am too weak to escape, for
they have not even locked the door. They are deep and cunning, but some morning
they will wake and find the bird flown. Till then I am in their power.” He
lapsed gradually into sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Next day the doctor
arrived and examined Alex’s wound. He shook his head and looked very serious.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You are in for a long
siege, my bold giant. Keep quiet if you want to live. When you are stronger, I
will cut away the proud poisoned flesh so that the edges may heal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June came warm and
bright, July nights were warm and mellow, and the August sunshine gilded the
heads of the wheat in the patch in the clearing, and still Alex lay upon his
back, slowly gathering strength as the ugly wound healed. The doctor had been
with him weekly, and the Amiraults had tended him as if </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">he
had been</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">t</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">heir son. At first he
understood little of their talk and spoke hardly at all, except to ask for food
or water. Day after day he listened and finally understood all. He heard their
prayers with which they began and concluded each day. In them there was always
a petition for the sick stranger whom God had sent them. No blows were struck in
that household nor were any cross words spoken. He saw only happiness, mutual
helpfulness, kindness, and laughter. Gradually it was borne in upon him that
these people were not playing a part for his benefit, but that this was their
natural mode of life. This idea broke upon him as a great revelation. He had
never realized that some people are habitually kind and gentle to one another.
Perhaps their religion had a softening influence upon them. He compared it with
the drunken Jeremiads of his father, and remembered how he had cowered as a
boy, when Sandy, in the role of the Almighty, had denounced the degeneracy of
Jerusalem.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mother Amirault and
Nanette were so untiring in their attentions to him, that, in spite of himself
as he got better, he began to talk with them a little and sometimes to smile.
Something softened within him and he told the women of his home in Cape Breton,
praising it as does every man among strangers far from the land of his
nativity. He told them of the rich acres that his ancestors from the Western
Isles had won on the rocky hills. He spoke of his father and mother and of
Murdock but, though he tried to tell of Mary, his tongue faltered and he could
not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nanette often sat by
his bed and related her simple adventures. As she had been seven times to
Jacquet River for mass, she counted herself a great traveler. She had kept her
eyes open and observed the Sunday dress of every woman in the parish. Moreover,
she had always picked up some news at the church door while waiting for father
Amirault to come with the horse. Once while so waiting she had seen Hercule Le
Blanc, </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">whom everyone knew. She</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
had interpreted sweetly every thing she had met in her little world; she had
seen life at its best and dreamed a little of romance. Better than anything
else, she understood the spirit of the forest and the ways of wild animals. She
could not think how Alex dared sleep alone in the woods, for she said archly,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“A man of your
experience must know that the </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">loup-garou</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> stalks at
night.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex never tired of her
artless tales— sometimes like a child he asked her to repeat a special story—or
of looking at the simple innocence of her face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It was the middle of
August before Alex tottered out of doors to sit on a bench in the sunshine. His
wound was healed, but his strength came slowly. He had hoped to be able to make
the journey homeward in September, but in that he was disappointed. The
slightest exertion threw him into a fever and perspiration. Snow fell in the
last of September, there was no Indian summer, and with the snow vanished the
hope of a homeward journey until spring. He wrote a letter to Sandy, telling of
his illness and whereabouts, and dispatched it by the doctor to be posted in
the village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Since he must perforce
spend the winter with the Amiraults, he resolved to show that he was no
sluggard but worth his bed and board. As soon as he was fully strong he began
to work with the men. What a day’s work the giant could do! He tore out
boulders that had defied father and grandfather Amirault. He built a stone wall
under the barn and laid new sills under the sagging floor. Alex could do
anything with a broadax. In a week he and Pierre hewed out the timber for a
shed planned for many years. They cut a pile of wood whose top towered above
the ridge pole of the house. In the tiny forge he welded broken tools,
resharpened the picks, and relinked worn chains. They cut in that winter eight
hundred spruce logs, hauled them, and rolled them down the brow. Alex was never
idle for a moment of daylight, and they all wondered at his vigor, strength,
and activity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He gloried in the work
that he could do because he had learned to love those simple people in the
forest clearing. Constant association with them changed him. The lowering,
quarrelsome ruffian became gradually a man. Sometimes in the evenings he joined
their songs in a low voice and laughed and played with the children. He began
to dread a relapse into his former life that belonged to another world. For his
right hand he would have not brought fear to Nanette and mother Amirault, who
had nursed him back to life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At the time of the
Christmas celebration, however, he came dangerously near to his old self. The
Amiraults had invited their cousins, the Boudreaus, to visit them on Christmas
day. One of the Boudreaus, Jacques by name, was a big handsome fellow whom Alex
instinctively hated. Perhaps he was jealous of a rival in physique or thought that
the </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">habitant’s</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> glances at Nanette were too friendly. At
any rate, after dinner when the whisky </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">blanc</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> went round, he drank deeply
but remained sullenly silent and refused to join in the singing. When Jacques
Boudreau began a solo part of his special song, Alex sprang up and roared that
the man sang like a frog and that the red MacDonalds could beat all the
Frenchmen in the world. With that he struck the table with his fist and split
the middle board of good spruce— the Amiraults can show you the crack to this
day. The </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">habitant</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> who knew him as the renowned conqueror
of Hercule Le Blanc, stopped short in the midst of his song. Father Amirault’s
eyes gleamed ominously and his fingers drummed a swift tattoo upon the table.
The tinder was ready for a spark when the gentle Nanette laid her hand upon
Alex’s arm and said, “Alex, you must be polite to our guests.” Then he was
ashamed and took his cap and rushed out of doors, and walked in the snowy
forest, returning only after they were all in bed. Next morning it seemed that
all was forgotten, for there was never a mention made of the incident in the
household.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At last April came,
the ice in the river began to crack, the run above the salmon pool roared like
thunder, and snow melted in the wood-roads and cleared places. Alex knew that
it was time for him to go, but he lingered on with the pretext that he must
help father Amirault with his sugar. They had tapped many maple trees and the
sap ran richly that spring. Alex carried the brimming sap buckets from the
trees to the great sugar pot. He sought excuses to stay, for with the thought
of the dour land of his birth and the savagery of his youth came a curious
sinking of heart. However, he was well and strong and he could not live with
the Amiraults forever and, though he had earned his keep, they had many mouths
to fill and they had no room for him in their tiny house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When May came and the
warm south wind melted all the snow among the hardwoods and the arbutus
blossomed again in the moss, Alex said one day to father Amirault, “I must walk
homeward now. You will not lose by having harbored me, for though I have little
money with me, my people are well-to-do and will repay you for my bed, board
and nursing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Father Amirault
laughed merrily. “You have already repaid me, giant. Look at our wood-pile and
the stone foundation, and the new sills under the barn and the logs on the
brow. You have paid many times. Mother Amirault will have more pork in the
barrel next winter than ever before, and besides you are good company. At first
you were cross, giant, but now you are </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">bon camarade.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> No, no, the
Good God sent you to us for reasons of His own and we want no pay from you. In
fact, we shall miss you, giant, and you are welcome to stay always, but, of
course, your mother and father are yearning to see you. So take our blessing
and go. When you come north again to fight another Hercule—poor fellow, I hear
he never boasts now—our poor house is always yours.” Father Amirault completed
this long speech with a circular swing of his arms that signified the end of a
discussion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You are a kind man,”
said Alex. “Did you do all this for me expecting nothing in return?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Return, heh! Did we
not find you in the wood? ‘It is lucky to find a man in the spring,’ the women
say. The Good God who sent you will repay. Perhaps sometime a stranger will be
good to one of my boys.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I have been very
lucky, but I am a poor hand at thanking,” said Alex. “These have been the
happiest months of all my life, but I must return to my people. I shall leave
to-morrow morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The last night, as
they sat together about the kitchen stove, was like many others they had
passed, but it had an added touch of solemnity because it was their last
together. Nanette sat close to Alex, in whom she assumed in her simple way that
she had some proprietary right, and linked her arm through his. Father Amirault
played on his accordion: “</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Malbrouck s’en va-t-en guerre,” “En roulant ma
boule</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">,” and </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“Isabeau s’y promène,”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
melodies their forefathers had brought from old France.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When they knelt down
for prayer that night Alex knelt with them. They besought the Blessed Virgin
and Saint Raphael, friend of travelers, to take especial care of Alex on his
long journey to the land of the Acadians.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For a long time that
night Alex tossed sleeplessly. He watched the firelight make strange patterns
on the wall and heard the great beech trees rustle and brush their branches
against the roof. Starting with a false ideal, he had missed the whole point of
life. He almost hated great strength and physical prowess; bears and lions had
more than he and lived in a world of hunted insecurity. Why had he never
learned of gentleness and love? How could he leave Nanette? How would he greet
Mary whom he had beaten and never loved? What good had come from destroying
Hercule? He thought of one of mother Amirault’s sayings, “Everyone has a cross
to bear, my son; some are heavy and some light, but no one goes through the
world without a cross.” Surely his was a heavy cross! An ember snapped sharply
in the stove and a floor board creaked. He turned and his heart leaped with a
throb of passion as he saw a white figure standing in the middle of the kitchen
floor. It was Nanette, her black hair falling about her shoulders. The stove
threw a patch of red light upon her nightgown; her feet were bare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Alex,” she whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Yes, Nanette.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I may not have a
chance to speak to you to-morrow, so I have come now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Yes, Nanette.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You will not forget
that I found you in the wood?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No, Nanette.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 132.1pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You
will never forget me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 132.1pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Never.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I love you, Alex.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I love you, too,
Nanette.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Good-night.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Good-night,” and she
was gone as noiselessly as she had come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex turned his face
to the wall, a miserable man. If he had been unhappy before, he was thrice
unhappy now. Here was his great chance in life and he must throw it away, to
return to a woman who hated him and whom he did not love. He sprang from his
bed, pulled on coat and boots, and wandered out into the night. The wind was
cool against his hot brow. Far off he heard the rapid roar. He took the road to
the river and on its bank sat down to watch the violence of the waters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Like the river was the
tumult in Alex’s soul. It gave him a strange comfort to watch this violence of
nature. “Perhaps,” he thought, “a man could fight a thing like this.” There was
nothing at home so frankly violent, nothing but the great bog equally dangerous
but silent and sullen. He so convinced himself of his uselessness in life that
he was about to leap into the river, when the moon broke from a ragged cloud
and flooded the valley with cold moonlight. Far off at the foot of the run a
light flickered—some Indian spearing salmon. Something within him said, “These
angry waters will some day find peace and quiet in the sea and be dissolved in
mists and seek again the great lakes in the forest. Life is like that.” He
turned on his heel, walked back, reached father Amirault’s house and slept
restlessly till dawn.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They talked little at
breakfast. When the meal was over Alex hung on his shoulder the bag well
stuffed by mother Amirault with bread and cakes, took his gun and ax, and was
ready to depart. He stood awkwardly, not knowing how to say adieu. Mother
Amirault suddenly threw her arms about him, pulled down his head, and kissed
him on both cheeks. He bent down and touched Nanette’s forehead with his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Remember us to your
good mother.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You will sleep in
villages when you can,” pleaded Nanette. “A lonely wood is no place for a man
when the </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">loup-garou</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> walks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“She is afraid some
other girl will find you, giant,” laughed father Amirault.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex reddened and
promised to do as Nanette wished. He turned and held out his hand to father
Amirault.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No, no, giant, the
boys and I have planned to walk with you as far as Red Brook.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So he set out with the
boys and father Amirault, who waved his hands and chattered volubly. Mother
Amirault stood in the doorway and Nanette upon the slate flagstone to watch his
departure. The morning sun had just cleared the tree tops. Alex was sick at
heart, but he gave no sign of his sorrow. As he entered the wood he turned to
wave his hand. In one quick glance he saw what remained forever in his mind,
the little gray house and barn, the giant wood-pile that the sun colored a
gleaming yellow, and on the doorstep the slender figure of Nanette clad in
black, a black kerchief upon her head, watching until the forest should swallow
him again. She loved him—what a wonder, what a pity! He plodded doggedly on,
his heart filled with a kind of sweet sorrow. He looked up at the May sun and
the swelling buds of the maples and a vague hope kindled in his heart. Could he
begin now? Could he be gentle with Mary? His was a heavy cross to bear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At Red Brook the party
halted and the friends shook hands in good-by. Father Amirault fumbled
shamefacedly in his pocket and produced a knife with a carved handle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Here is this knife, a
present; it will bring you luck. My father and grandfather had it before me,
and it has been used to bleed many a buck and steer. Granddad said that it came
from old France, and certainly there is no such steel nowadays. Take it; we
have all agreed that you must have it for it was a lucky day when the Good God
sent you to us. See how the potatoes grew in the burnt land last summer, clean
and white, and how in September the bog was red with cranberries. Take the
knife, Alex, it is lucky, and it will be a souvenir of your time with us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Alex was so touched
that he took the gift and said never a word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Come back some day,”
shouted father Amirault as they parted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Be sure to come back,
giant,” echoed the boys.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He was alone, plodding
southeastward as the wood-road wound and doubled. The parting gift which all
the family had agreed upon had moved him to the bottom of his nature. It was an
heirloom, perhaps their most treasured possession, and should have gone to
Pierre.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I will repay them, I
will repay them,” said Alex to himself, “but how? Money and lands are of no
avail.” Then he spoke in a voice that was not his own, “I have been a man of
violence and hell. I must become like a little child again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When he sat down upon
a log by the roadside to eat the lunch mother Amirault had prepared, a terrible
temptation came to him. Why might he not return to the clearing, marry Nanette,
build a house and live with them forever in the forest? They knew nothing of
Mary. Once he sprang to his feet with the resolution to return. Then something
smote him on the forehead and a vague consciousness of a general rightness in
human affairs, that could not be ignored without disaster, grew in his mind. He
sat down again and thought of all the loving kindness they had lavished upon
him. He had done enough evil; he must bring no blight upon that one bright spot
in his world. He shouldered his bag and tramped homeward sturdily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At night he entered
the village of Petit Rocher, sought out the inn, spoke gently to the woman who
kept the house, and was amazed at her kindness and attention. There was gentleness
in the wide world as well as in the forest clearing! Once when he passed
through a straggling village at noonday he saw some little boys making
whistles. He cut a branch from a willow with his lucky knife and taught them
how to beat the bark until the bruised skin, lubricated by the sap, turned
easily upon the stick. He made a capital whistle for each child. Heretofore
children had fled screaming from the red giant; these boys piped him through
their village and waved their caps until he disappeared down the road. One day
he overtook an Indian woman carrying a load of baskets and a sack of meal. He
took the burden from the weary woman and when they reached the encampment
received her simple blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Day after day as he
plodded homeward he found a strange pleasure in the budding trees, the wild
flowers, the song of birds, and the play of light and shadow on the hills. The
world seemed new and reborn to him: he did not realize that his new world lay
within himself. At last he reached the Straits of Canso, where a fisherman set
him across in his dory, refusing payment. He was only one day from Marble
Mountain. He rested for the night at an inn, but slept little, tossing
restlessly at the thought of his strange homecoming.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Next morning he took
the road bright and early, but it was nine in the evening before he topped the
mountain and his eyes caught the gray buildings of Stone Farm. He halted on the
great hill for a moment to look down over the homestead that his forefathers
had made. The rising full moon glinted on the ponds of the bog, silvered the
granite walls and stunted spruces of the hillside and clad the old buildings in
a monotone of gray. A faint light glimmered from the kitchen window. “It’s bare
but none so bad,” thought Alex. All seemed friendly save the evil bog that
grinned at him and flung out a challenge. Alex knew its secret. He remembered
as a little boy being awakened by the scuffle and uproar of a fight, of
springing out of bed and peeping through the window to see his father going in
the direction of the bog with a limp body across his shoulders. It seemed to
him that that sinister place had cast a blight upon all who had dwelt in Stone
Farm. He accepted the challenge as an inspiration of something he could do
flashed through his brain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He strode forward till
he reached the house and peeped in at the window. The old man was busy
whittling out an ax handle. The mother sat with downcast eyes. Mary was not in
the room. His mother looked old and broken.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He opened the door and
stepped into the kitchen. The two candles upon the long table flickered as the
draft of night air struck them. His mother looked around quickly to see who was
entering. Terror spread over her face, and she gave a strange cry half joy and
half despair as she clasped her hands upon her breast. Sandy sprang to his
feet, the ax handle rattled upon the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Alex boy, we thought
you dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His expression changed
rapidly from surprise to sullen hatred, to a grin of feigned welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Did you get no
letter; the doctor promised to post </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">it?”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
asked Alex.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No,” said Sandy,
showing his yellow teeth. “Letters seldom come here. Sometimes they are
destroyed by the postmaster,” he added lamely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Aren’t you glad to
see me, mother?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Yes, lad,” she
answered timidly, staring at the floor and without moving from her seat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Did you lick the
Frenchman?” asked Sandy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Ay,” said Alex with
his heart nearly bursting, “but where’s Mary?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Father and mother
stood silent. Finally Sandy spoke,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Murdock’s been home.
We all thought you dead, so he married your wife and took her away to the
States.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The parents were both
in terror. Sandy, with his guilty conscience because of the letter he had
destroyed, expected Alex to fall upon him and throttle him with his great
hands. The mother awaited an outburst of fierce passion such as she had often
witnessed in her household. Alex stood still as if frozen. His heart gave a
great bound, for he knew that the law would set him free.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Married and gone with
Murdock! Well, it’s right, they loved each other, she never cared for me and I
was cruel to her.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“What’s the matter,
man? Will you stand that insult to your name? Won’t you go after them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“No,” said Alex. “I’ve
learned something in the Northland that you could never understand. I’ve done
her a great wrong. Now I’ll gladly give Mary her freedom and let her go with
the man she loves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Sandy’s jaw dropped in
surprise. What had transformed the fierce Alex? He had planned at least another
year as master with Alex absent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Mother,” said Alex,
“make me some hot tea and put bread and meat on the table, for I am hungry
after my long tramp. While the kettle boils I want you and father to come out
into the yard and I will tell you what I have been planning as I came over the
hills.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His mother drew the
kettle to the front of the stove, and the three stepped out into the moonlit
yard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“This summer,” said
Alex, “we will paint the house, barn and sheds, plant flowers and shrubs around
the buildings and some willows and lombardy poplars near the barn. They are
quick growers. The man and I will build a stone-work beside the brook and
around the spring house. It is high time that we make this old place look
better.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Sandy stood still in
open-mouthed surprise. For a moment Alex turned his face to the north and
though his lips were silent his heart sang;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Lui
ya longtemps que je t’aime,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jamais
je ne t’bublierai.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His mother caught the
smile about his lips and understood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“The red MacDonalds,
father, have always striven to win land on the hillside. To-morrow we will
begin to drain the bog. It will make famous timothy land. The deepest part we
cannot reclaim, but our side is good. We will turn those stagnant ponds into
shining lakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Marble Mountain, NS B0E 2K0, Canada45.818191 -61.04255917.507957163821153 -96.198809 74.128424836178851 -25.886308999999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-37887288920532517752020-12-08T15:33:00.010-04:002020-12-08T15:39:22.918-04:00Two Stillwater Lake Area Maps<div class="separator"><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p></div><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><b>Two
Stillwater Lake Area Maps</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qh3x6oXZDJk/X8_URp3a4iI/AAAAAAABv24/iIwNAm2-9mIVhNPlB_XAET-SYITxM0AJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Destination%2BSt%2BMargarets%2BBay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qh3x6oXZDJk/X8_URp3a4iI/AAAAAAABv24/iIwNAm2-9mIVhNPlB_XAET-SYITxM0AJQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Destination%2BSt%2BMargarets%2BBay.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Clearing out some old papers I came across a couple of older maps.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Destination
St. Margare</span>t’s Bay shows the communities around the bay from 1999.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">11D/12 is a
Halifax map at 1:50,000 scale and this is a detail of Stillwater Lake and west.
From 1980.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1SmHjt_sUk/X8_WWU-li6I/AAAAAAABv3M/WhVgmYJUN341Y0zU2PA7C1yqIxd4i1YyQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Stillwater%2BLake%2B11D12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1492" data-original-width="2048" height="291" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1SmHjt_sUk/X8_WWU-li6I/AAAAAAABv3M/WhVgmYJUN341Y0zU2PA7C1yqIxd4i1YyQCNcBGAsYHQ/w400-h291/Stillwater%2BLake%2B11D12.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-91684219821546316962020-12-06T13:55:00.001-04:002020-12-06T13:55:39.043-04:00 Bluefield and Corn Islands, Nicaragua<p> <b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Bluefield and Corn Islands, Nicaragua.</span></b></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.scribd.com/document/468321748/Maureen-Tweedy">https://www.scribd.com/document/468321748/Maureen-Tweedy</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dated about
1955?</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BFBp3z_kVXs/X80YSMUQMII/AAAAAAABv1U/FMlv68ODBH4aPvMXuOL6ag24VwaqY_jjgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1332/Western%2BCaribbean%2BMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="871" data-original-width="1332" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BFBp3z_kVXs/X80YSMUQMII/AAAAAAABv1U/FMlv68ODBH4aPvMXuOL6ag24VwaqY_jjgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Western%2BCaribbean%2BMap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">While doing a little research on pirates and
privateers, I came across an old PDF on the Corn Islands which we had visited
in 2008. We did not visit Bluefields but A. Hyatt Verrill's descriptions came to mind. I was fascinated by the descriptions so I spent some time converting
into text. Hope you enjoy, as I did. /drf<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">England first gained her foothold in Jamaica in </span><span class="Bodytext3Candara"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Candara; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">1659</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> and, twenty years later, came
to an arrangement with Spain, the Treaty of Madrid, in which it was agreed: “That
the Most Serene King of Great Britain, his heirs and successors shall hold,
keep and enjoy forever, with plenary right of sovereignty, dominion, possession
and propriety, all these lands, regions, islands, colonies and places,
whatsoever, being or situated in the West Indies or any part of America, which
the said King of Great Britain, or his subjects, do at present hold and
possess.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It is this treaty that explains the presence on the Atlantic Coast of
the descendents of British subjects the use of their language, names and
customs; and, still faintly, their influence. In no circumstances can we
English flatter ourselves that our occupation was anything but the most
egregious impudence. Nor did we add a glorious page to our history whilst there.
But at the same time the whole story is an amusing one and worth recording.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The middle of the
seventeenth century was, in every way, the Golden Age of piracy for there were
two rich areas of plunder. One was the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf where
untold wealth awaited the successful buccaneer who boarded the ships, chiefly
Portuguese, carrying the pungent spices of the East Indies, the costly silks of
China and the jewelled treasure of India back to Venice, Constantinople, Lisbon
and London. The other El Dorado of the roving privateer was the Caribbean Sea.
Through this area they had to pass all the Spanish galleons which, laden to the
gunwales with gold and precious metals gained from their new empire, were bound
for their home port of Cadez.</span> <span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Pirates of all nations swarmed to the scene, but the most obstinate were
the Dutch, the English and the French. The pirates did not have matters all
their own way and it must have been on some sortie when the English pirates were
being chased and worsted that they sought a haven on the Atlantic coastline of
Nicaragua. Here they found Indians in occupation and, after the most numerous
tribe, the Miskitos, called it the Miskito Coast. Blueflelds itself was named after
a Dutch pirate, Blewfeldt, and the name was later corrupted by the English to
the prettier sound, Bluefields. The Indians were a lawless society at that time
and seem to have taken to the pirates as brothers in crime. For some while they
</span><span class="Bodytext3BookAntiqua"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">seen </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">to have lived happily together until the visitors, restless by their
very calling, became bored either with inactivity or with the Indian novelties
or both. In any case, they decided to weigh anchor and hoist sail under the
evil flag of the notorious Morgan. But, before doing so, they were assailed by
a tardy patriotism and sent word to the Governor of Jamaica that the Miskito-land
they had discovered might, with advantage, be attached to the British Crown.
Strangely enough the Indians were quit agreeable to this audacious suggestion.
Considering that the English pirates evaded authority wherever possible, and
more especially that of their own countrymen, it does reflect the glimmerings
of light in their black souls even if they were offering another’s property.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5wL9MP2f_Mc/X80Ybh0lS_I/AAAAAAABv1Y/vbAKZeF77MMnbJAMN77Yxqf89Qmpg2thgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Map_of_the_Corn_Islands_%2528Nicaragua%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1420" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5wL9MP2f_Mc/X80Ybh0lS_I/AAAAAAABv1Y/vbAKZeF77MMnbJAMN77Yxqf89Qmpg2thgCNcBGAsYHQ/w222-h320/Map_of_the_Corn_Islands_%2528Nicaragua%2529.png" width="222" /></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The result of this gratuitous offer, which the Governor of </span><span class="Bodytext3BookAntiqua"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jamaica
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">accepted
in 1687, was the creation, by him, of the first King of the Miskitos. At the
same time the English government laid the cloak of respectability upon the backs
of the pirates and persuaded them to become law-abiding citizens of the British
Crown. Oddly enough they mostly did, becoming log-cutters in the mahogany
forests and dyewoods of the coast. About this time the first missionaries
landed but, after one look at the unpromising material, hastily withdrew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Miskito
King was invited to send his son, Oldham, to be educated in England. On the
return of the young prince he was asked to recognize Charles 2nd, that charming
saturnine Stuart, as his King. Only too pleased to oblige his “royal cousin”
Oldham did so and, in return, was himself crowned king when his father died. The
symbol at the ceremony was an old hat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 1720 England secured by treaty a
protectorate over the Miskito Coast and used it chiefly to harass and annoy
Spain. She invaded the interior and also Belize and the islands of Roatan, off
Honduras. It was Robert Hodgson (a name in common use there still) who raised
the English flag at Bluefields. In 1748 England and Spain ratified a treaty,
but England kept control of the Miskito Coast on the pretext that her presence
there would prevent a massacre of the Spaniards. Not to be outdone in guile,
Spain tried to take Belize. But the English were a match for her and, on the
outbreak of the Seven Year’s War, seized their opportunity while Spain was
heavily engaged in Europe. England extended her influence rapidly until she was
mistress of all the eastern littoral of Central America.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext31" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Two at least of the Miskito kings were
educated in England, but the rest were an uncouth lot. For the coronation of
Robert Charles Frederick we have an eye witness’s account. “After this solemn
mockery (no doubt the old hat was still in service) was concluded, the whole
assembly adjourned to a large schoolroom to eat the coronation dinner, where
these poor creatures got all intoxicated with rum. A suitable conclusion to a farce
as blasphemous and wicked as ever disgraced a Christian country.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Homer sometimes nods, and the man who became King
Robert was, before his appointment to regal status, the village drunk. The authority
guilty of this lapse was indeed misinformed. But the task was not easy for, if
the king happened to be of sober habits, his sons, half-brothers and all his
relations were invariably wedded to rum. This King Robert, however, was a man of
insatiable thirst and large ideas and, having been made a king then he would do
things in what he considered was a kingly way. He used the lands over which he
ruled as barter for hard liquor and thousands of acres changed hands for the
equivalent in barrels of rum. Not content with slicing up Nicaragua he would,
if sufficiently and happily intoxicated, trade large tracts of Honduras and
Costa Rica as well for the same liquid currency. Banishment, then death mercifully
intervened and the English declared null and void the lavish grants of land the
dead king had made in his cups.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VVVa3x2PBeA/X80ZRbLZJzI/AAAAAAABv1k/cf38Qn4Mip4lkwJpuoNlkXzVqwv87XNQgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VVVa3x2PBeA/X80ZRbLZJzI/AAAAAAABv1k/cf38Qn4Mip4lkwJpuoNlkXzVqwv87XNQgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0378.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">England
made repeated attempts to establish herself at Greytown and in the San Juan
valley. By this means she hoped to reach Granada and </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">cut</span></span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the Spanish possession in two. The expedition sent in </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">1779 </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">failed when it reached Castillo
Viejo, owing to illness. It was an epidemic of</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">some kind and
out of an army of nearly two thousand men only three hundred survived. A year
later Lord Nelson attacked and captured the same place, “the impregnable
fortress.” But nothing much resulted, chiefly because Guatemala saw her chance
to attack Belize.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The protectorate lasted almost another hundred years
and there were various agreements and treaties. Strangely enough it was the
United States, far more than the Nicaraguans who objected to our being there,
and the Miskitos themselves did not wish us to leave when we did in 1894.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The larger number of negroes and mulattos
in Bluefields came from Jamaica, whence they were imported for use on the
banana plantations. But there was already a negro element which had come
directly from Africa. The story of the latter is that a Portuguese slave ship
in 1641 was proceeding <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">from </span></span>Guinea to Brazil but
on <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">the way across, the </span></span>slaves <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">revolted
</span></span>and gained control of the ship but were unable to navigate her
having no knowledge of the sea. Fortune favoured them and, being caught in the
Trade Winds, they were carried to the Nicaraguan coast and cast up on the
shore. The Indians made slaves of them, but allowed them to intermarry and even
decreed that the children of the union should be free. Thus the population is a
mixture indeed, descendants of Indians, Spaniards, English, pirates, negroes and
mulattose. <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There is a sm</span></span>all strong community
w<span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ho call </span></span>themselves Creoles, living in Bluefields,
Pearl Lagoon, San Juan del Norte, Corn Island and the islands of Providence and
St. Andrews. They trace their line <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">from </span></span>negroes
and Mulattoes brought as slaves from Jamaica by <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span>English
in the eighteenth century. They have intermarried with Miskito and Rama
Indians. They speak good and pure English and mostly belong to the Moravian
church. One writer has referred to them: “They are thrifty and law abiding, very
polite, and respectful to strangers, and less noisy and boisterous than the West
Indian negroes who have emigrated to the Miskito Coast in recent years.” This
was written more than fifty years ago, but is just as accurate today. The same
writer goes on to say how inferior the negro is to the Creole, being not only
vain but idle, weak-willed and sensual. His virtues seem to lie in his
strength, his contentment with little and his disinclination to sulk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRyWyKRITNA/X80ZRRghhAI/AAAAAAABv1o/A9VkPA6SJuoxW9OqriGguRsOJEYdD9YGQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRyWyKRITNA/X80ZRRghhAI/AAAAAAABv1o/A9VkPA6SJuoxW9OqriGguRsOJEYdD9YGQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0365.JPG" width="320" /></a>The old English custom of dancing round the
maypole on the first of May has persisted in the most extraordinary fashion.
Instead of a maypole they use a tree, and this is decorated with lights and
coloured streamers. The dance is held at night and, wherever practicable, His
Excellency the President of Nicaragua attends it. It was opened by him this
year, with myself having the honour to be his partner. Probably it was the first
time in history, that the British Ambassador and his wife have taken part. One
of the dancers told me that the steps used and the movements, which are African
in origin, were the nearest the slaves could accomplish to what their English
masters wanted, and, in those days, the maypole dance was performed on the day
of tradition, the first of May, when the corn was planted, and again when the
harvest had been gathered. The music, played on a native band, is very catchy and
attractive, but I have been unable to trace its origin. It is certainly not English.
The spectacle is fascinating. The dancers are supple, agile and fleet of foot,
dancing is in their blood. Their eyes roll and white teeth flash and there is a
tenseness as if so much life is seething and bubbling inside them that they
could never tire. This is not the maypole of the days of Merrie England. “Hey nonny
nonny no” and simpering maidens dressed as shepherdesses in painted calico and
sunbonnets. Here is no tripping along with coloured ribbons to the tinkling
melodies of vial, loots and tabaret. Rather it is the full blooded stamp and
expression of a fierce love that quivers with the ecstasy of the throbbing drums,
a brief recapturing of a long forgotten carefree existence, untrammeled by the
conventions. Thus the custom survived the first shock it must have given the
plantation owners of Jamaica when they saw the new interpretation of a simple
English dance, does credit to those Englishman. Their tradition was<span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>maintained, even if it <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">became </span></span>mangled and
distorted in the process.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3ze1i9t8T_I/X80ZHoyTQrI/AAAAAAABv1g/Z5Z3lteR2xomBL68ZoqE4P_pYzo5S5hIACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3ze1i9t8T_I/X80ZHoyTQrI/AAAAAAABv1g/Z5Z3lteR2xomBL68ZoqE4P_pYzo5S5hIACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0352.JPG" /></a>As the night wears on the experts give place to
others, the circle is enlarged and soon all are dancing with an astounding
energy and no one thinks of giving up and returning home until three o’clock at
the earliest. The older women, strenuous performers all, have a tendency to
appear in very garish colours, slightly on the small size, and invariably wear
men’s straw hats. Also, unlike the Pacific slopes, where the Nicaraguans have
not yet accepted the fact that it rains six months of the year, umbrellas are
as common in Bluefields as in Oxford Street or on Broadway. Tropical downpours
descend without warning, and the older generation are never seen without a
large black umbrella, always open, as it serves the role of sunshade as well.
Even at a dance the straw hat must be protected in case of indecent weather.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 115.0pt 479.25pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">The town of Bluefields
is colourful, neat and clean. The weather-boarded houses are built in the English
cottage style with two story and dormer windows. They are painted white with
red roofs, and each stands in a small garden enclosed by wooden palings similar
to those in any suburb of England. The insularity of the English, their determination
to ‘keep themselves to themselves’ and the inviolable maxim that an Englishman’s
home is his castle, seem to be perpetuated by the many Bluefieldians today who
learned it from their masters nearly three hundred years ago. The streets are
wide and straight, the churches, predominantly Protestant, are white and red
like those seen in Bavaria (…unreadable…).</p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">At
the far end of the town is a small section known </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">as</span></span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Cotton Tree, although the only tree of this name no longer exists.
Here on a shaded green sward are numerous simple wooden houses chiefly occupied
by the</span> <span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Creoles.
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The ground slopes down to the water and, through </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">an avenue of trees, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the view
of the creek is </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">cool
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and beautiful. </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Coconut trees are </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">everywhere
and it is a case of ‘ware heads’ when a high wind is blowing. </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Falling from the </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">height </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">at </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">which
they </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">grow, they cause
a pretty severe head-ache if they </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">catch a </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">person immediately below them.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Bluefields <span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">is</span></span> completely West
Indian in appearance and <span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important;">seems</span></span> to have
no connection with Nicaragua. English is more freely spoken than Spanish and,
except for a certain lilt in the voice and a few idioms introduced from Jamaica,
the English is purer and more pleasing than that heard today in many working
class districts in the British Isles. It is not unusual when talking to some of
the older people, to hear them refer to the Pacific side of the country as
Nicaragua as if it were a foreign country.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">To the traveller, or onlooker, there is a
quaintness in this complete cleavage <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">of a </span></span>country, a<span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>unique situation unparalleled in <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">any </span></span>other nation. At the same time it is an unwholesome
feature reminding one of the old adage <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">of </span></span>a house divided
against itself. The daily air service, that has now been in operation two or
three years, has helped to bridge the gap between the oceans and bring at least
a few of the people closer together. The aeroplane makes a round trip from
Managua <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">to </span></span>Bluefields, up the coast to Puerto
Cabazas, inland to the gold mines <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">at La </span></span>Luz and <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">so back to </span></span>the capital. There are two flights <span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">a</span></span> day as well as freight planes, and the service is well maintained
and patronised. Aeroplanes, however, are powerless to unify the country which
can only be done by a fusion of both populations. This will provide mutual
understanding and toleration of the problems peculiar to each, and a desire to
promote <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">benefits </span></span><span class="Bodytext211pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">common
</span></span>to <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">all. At present the Atlantic Coast
inhabitants con</span></span>sider themselves <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">neglected and are in consequence,
resentful. There is </span></span>not enough employment for the people and the
resulting hardship <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">is a </span></span>discouraging basis for
co-operation. Nor can they be expected to live on repeated assurances that
their <span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">paramount </span>needs will be met. Even now, when the Rama road is a
fact and the tremendous possibilities attaching to it visible, the people are
skeptical. But if they could only realise it, undreamed of prosperity is within
their grasp, and Bluefieids could easily rival Managua.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkQmxDv-9zo/X80ZyCL8x2I/AAAAAAABv2A/DeRx_jtGhwIx2eckCqv1rmi7WJdwAI14wCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkQmxDv-9zo/X80ZyCL8x2I/AAAAAAABv2A/DeRx_jtGhwIx2eckCqv1rmi7WJdwAI14wCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0434.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">To begin with the setting is one of enchantment,
framed as she is on two sides by dense foliage, and on the other two by blue
sea and a silver river. Whether approached by air or water makes no difference,
for all is in harmony, a rich enduring colour. With money, enterprise and
plenty of <span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">imagina</span>tion the town could rapidly be developed into one of the
thriving holiday resorts of the Caribbean sea. Although dormant, everything is
there for the most exacting tourist. The great bar would be admirable for
sailing, particularly for the fourteen-foot sailing dinghy, suitable to racing,
and is comparatively safe. For the larger yachts and the bolder spirits, there
is the rough-and-tumble of the Bay to be faced, the Indian coast villages and
the Pearl Lagoon to be explored, and, well out to sea, the Corn Islands and those
of St. Andrew and Providence. For the timid and lazy there could be leisurely
launches in which to invade the many rivers and creeks in cushioned ease.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eM0C-NzyZ3Y/X80ZxrjDCAI/AAAAAAABv14/8-EL6JSKzFgoNUTuBe3YTAb2UCQRwGk8ACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eM0C-NzyZ3Y/X80ZxrjDCAI/AAAAAAABv14/8-EL6JSKzFgoNUTuBe3YTAb2UCQRwGk8ACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0405.JPG" width="320" /></a>To the fishermen, both the devotee of the fresh
water sport and the deep sea angler, it is surely one of the paradises of the
earth. The variety is unequalled, and even the most discerning could find
something to his taste from spinning for mackerel, battling with sailfish and barracuda
while eluding sharks, or enjoying the humble pastime of shrimping. <span class="Bodytext213pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">As </span></span>things
are now, the cost of all <span class="Bodytext213pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">these </span></span>activities
<span class="Bodytext213pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">is </span></span>trifling.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">The pleasures of the table would not be forgotten
for here can be eaten the most luscious langouste, as big as a lobster, and small
but delicious oysters and shrimps, all of which are extremely cheap to buy.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Owing to the north-east Trade Winds which become
saturated with moisture as they cross the Caribbean, the rainfall is heavy and
this accounts for the saying of the people that ‘it rains thirteen months of
the year.’ The wettest month is October, the driest April, high winds come in
January and February and, in July and August, sudden severe squalls blow up
from the south and south-east. Hurricanes are extremely rare and, if they do
occur, are not of the magnitude of those experienced in the Gulf of Mexico and
the West Indies. On the whole, the temperature is below that of the Pacific slopes.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">As a cottage industry the cultivation of flowers
might well be encouraged. The fertile soil, warmth and rain are all there
waiting, and zinnias and larkspun grow wild in the bush. Both the exotic tropic
and those of the temperate zones would flourish quickly and it could be flown
to Managua and marketed there as fresh as when they were gathered, the flight
taking only one hour. This method would compete on very favourable terms with
the high price of those flowers now imported from Costa Rica.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N37mUxDTRnU/X80ZyOU4z2I/AAAAAAABv18/vhwWPJ-jfzgEPExBqX_prFRsWA9sXZ_5QCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N37mUxDTRnU/X80ZyOU4z2I/AAAAAAABv18/vhwWPJ-jfzgEPExBqX_prFRsWA9sXZ_5QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0392.JPG" width="320" /></a>Surrounded as it is by beautiful forest,
Bluefields naturally employs wood as the building medium and, of course,
exports it. With such an adaptable and living material to hand it is surprising
that there is not more carving to be seen, or even paneling. This is an art
that could easily be taught, especially to the Indian Miskito who is, by nature
clever. The making and carving of models and the creation of bowls, boxes,
salad servers and trays could provide another cottage industry that would be
well patronised by the tourist. On a recent visit we bought some charming
things made from the lovely rosewood, among them models of canoes and pit-pans.
A<span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important;">s</span></span> far as I know <span class="Bodytext2BookAntiqua"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">these
</span></span>can only be obtained from the bookshop of the Moravian Mission in
Bluefields, and all are made by one man, an Indian living in Pearl Lagoon. As more
often than not the shop is sold out of articles, there is no doubt that the demand
for this type of craftsmanship <span class="Bodytext2BookAntiqua"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">exists. The </span></span>color and feel of
the smooth rosewood are a delight in themselves.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Seven miles across the water from Bluefields is
the Bluff, a long promontory encircling the Bay and sheltering inside the Bar.
Banana boats belonging to the United Fruit Company and others can tie up here
and load their cargoes at leisure against a fair sized wharf. At one time the
banana plantations were a thriving concern which gave work to all. Then they
were attacked by disease which caused devastation so wide spread as to be
beyond recovery. The blight was not confined to Nicaragua but spread all along
the Atlantic seaboard. The native, who has his own interpretation of the
inscrutable <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">ways </span></span>of
the Almighty, is firmly convinced that the invention and use of radio are
entirely to blame for the banana disease.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">There are many Indian villages both inside the
Bluff and up the coast. The Rama Indians live on a tiny island called <span class="Bodytext215pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">Rama </span></span>Cay, about seven miles
from Bluefields. They can often be seen paddling to and fro in their canoes,
for many of the Indian tribes bring their produce to sell in the market. Cukra
Hill is towards the river and then there is Pearl Lagoon, as lovely as its name,
Marshall Point, Brown Bank, Taswapounia and Haulover. Far up the coast and
inland there are still many Indians of all sects and many tribal ramifications.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k6X_UdzSB38/X80aRNqarOI/AAAAAAABv2U/YIv8xPffLCgdvZO26tr60qcwIZOXiWlMQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k6X_UdzSB38/X80aRNqarOI/AAAAAAABv2U/YIv8xPffLCgdvZO26tr60qcwIZOXiWlMQCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0440.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">During the four months from April to July the
green turtles, some of them of enormous size, come in droves from all the Cays
around, from the far Caymans and from the waters off Costa Rica, to lay their
eggs on the shallow Miskito shore of Nicaragua. Many of them are killed for the
use of their fat which the Indian melts down, fixes with oil, and uses as butter.
The eggs are also taken and preserved by drying in the sun. These practices,
however, <span class="Bodytext213pt2"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">are</span></span><span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>rarely
followed nowadays in view of the competing demand for corned turtle, a great
delicacy in Europe and the United States. The reason the turtles migrate at this
time of the year is because there are on the surface of the sea millions of tiny
blubber fish. The fishermen call these ‘thimbles’. There is also a peculiar grass
growing on the sea bed. The turtles live on this strange diet, and <span class="Bodytext213pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">as </span></span>they have large lungs
and have to surface every <span class="Bodytext213pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal !important; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">so</span></span><span class="Bodytext213pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;"> </span></span>often <span class="Bodytext213pt2"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">for</span></span><span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>‘blowing’
and als<span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important;">o</span></span> cannot go deeper than five or six
fathoms, one presumes that they live on alternate mouthfuls of grass and
blubber. And if their appearance is odd and their mode of feeding odder, their mating
and hatching are oddest of all. A male and female live together for nine days.
During this time the female gains in strength and well-being until at the end
of the period she is in the pink of condition. Not so her mate who becomes more
and more exhausted until, finally, he cannot even eat. After this unusual
courtship, the female digs a hole in the ground about two feet deep where she deposits
about sixty eggs or eighty. These she covers carefully and then, about dawn, departs
and does not return for fifteen nights. As soon as she comes back, digs another
hole, inlays about the same number of eggs. The young turtles emerge after
thirty-two <span class="Bodytext213pt3"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">days, </span></span>all
ready for the battle of life, a<span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">nd </span></span>go straight down
into the sea and, if they are wise stay there, for they have many enemies
beside man. Among them the raccoon, fox, squash, cougar and puma; all of whom
in company with the Lord Mayor of London, have a pronounced liking for the
succulent turtle. There are three species of turtle, the hawksbill, the
loggerhead <span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant: normal !important;">an</span></span>d the trunk turtle. The latter
is of immense size and fatness and likes to live in peace. If one of them is
found dead on the beach, none of the other breeds will lay within a mile of it;
an efficacious way to ensure privacy.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 231.5pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">There is much coming and going
between Bluefields and Corn Island which lies thirty-nine <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">sea </span></span>miles east-north-east
of the Bluff. The little country boats <span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">tha</span></span>t make the
passage in six to eight hours are stoutly built of wood but unpainted, rough and
the very epitome of discomfort. They carry everything from sails to stallions and
it is a tribute to the seaworthiness of the craft and haphazard, yet <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">skilful, </span></span>crew that a weekly
service is maintained, for the crossing is more often stormy than smooth, and
the Bar, a confusion of waters at all times. The boats usually leave in the
evening and navigation <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">is </span></span>mostly
by guess and by God. The very thought <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">of
</span></span>embarking in on<span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">e </span></span>of
those small leaky boats, the largest with an overall length of only forty feet a<span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">nd </span></span>crossing nearly forty
miles <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">of </span></span>open
sea, is frightening. The people seem quite unaffected by the prospect merely giving
a shrug when asked and saying “we are accustomed to it.”</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Now and again opportunity offers a passage in
the sturdy coastguard’s launch, or the tug boat “Siquia” but we had the good
fortune to make the journey in the fifteen-hundred ton vessel of the Mamemic Line
as guests of His Excellency the President. Yet whatever the craft available, no
one must miss seeing Corn Island. Sea-sickness, fear and discomfort will all
vanish the moment one steps ashore on the green island with its thatch of
waving coconut palms, dazzling white sand and wonderful sea.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">The English pirates were familiar not only with
the Miskito coast but with the neighbouring islands and, of them all, Corn
Island was the nearest to Heaven any of then ever reached. There seem to have
been degrees of piracy, and at the bottom of the scale were the cut-throats
Morgan, Jackson and Morris, who not only landed on Nicaragua soil but plodded overland
to the great lake and sacked Granada, a city they compared in size to that of
Portsmouth. At the top of the scale comes the French aristocrat Raveneau de
Lussan who combined the art of literature with that of privateering, and William
Dampier his English contemporary.</p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dampier was born in England in </span><span class="Bodytext513pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">1652,</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> the son of a Somerset farmer. He left home as a
youth and sailed for the West Indies and, from </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">1675 - </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">1678,
worked as a log cutter at Campeche, in the Yucatan province of Mexico. Two
years later he joined the buccaneers at Bluefields and, in their company
visited Corn Island. In those days adventures to the Caribbean considered the
following as necessities and an indispensable part of their baggage: “beer,
hardtack, gunpowder, knives, razors, needles, twenty-nine barrels of pipes for
tobacco, four boxes of hats and fourteen ream of paper.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Dampier became a famous navigator and travel writer.
He carried the manuscript of his book about with him in a bamboo tube to ensure
its protection against moisture and, commendable foresight, its keeping afloat
in case of shipwreck. The work was published in London in </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">1697,</span></span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">as </span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“A</span></span><span class="Bodytext512pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">New Voyage Round the World,” and
was soon to be translated into French, German and Dutch. Being now a man of
some importance the author came in contact with the great ones of his day and,
among then Daniel Defoe. Recounting his exploits to this man of letters, he
mentioned an island in the Pacific Ocean where they had picked up a castaway.
The man, guilty of some grave fault, had been landed there by an irate captain,
unknown to the prisoner, made arrangements for another ship to take him off
after a specified period of punishment. The man was thus rescued in due course
and that was the end of the story. However it appealed </span><span class="Bodytext7SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">so</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> strongly
to </span><span class="Bodytext712pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">listener that, from this
true account, Dani</span><span class="Bodytext712pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">el Defoe wrote his immortal
work “Robinson Crusoe.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">While moving in the Caribbean, Dampier met a
certain William Paterson, who, via Amsterdam where he had taken refuge for some
misdemeanour committed in his native <span class="Bodytext2BookAntiqua"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">land, </span></span>had come out to seek
his fortune. A cautious Scot, he was no swashbuckling corsair, but a visionary
who had hopes of establishing a great trading company. His idea was probably inspired
by the success of the East India Company in Bombay. Having gathered much information
he returned to London to <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">en</span></span>list the aid of the King and
the city princes, and then, by way of beginning, founded the Bank of England in
1654.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">If <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">all </span></span>these wanderers
were now to return to Corn Island they would find little change in this
Caribbean jewel. The iridescent sea that surrounds it is so deep, and so
translucent, that the ocean bed unrolls clearly beneath, with its fronds of
swaying sea-weed, brilliant fish and glistening shells. The water is constantly
changing colour from the glowing emerald to aquamarine, to jade and to the nearly
peridot <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">and </span></span>as
the sea deepens, first to the sparkling sapphire and then the opaqueness of lapis
lazuli. Surf, crisply curled and chalk white, creams over the rocks, the
coconut trees make little pools of shade and <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">all </span></span>is peace.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Hers, untouched by science and unspoiled by man,
is a Garden of Eden, seven an<span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">d</span></span> a <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">half m</span></span>iles long and
one and a half miles wide, of such utter tranquillity and soothing <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">beauty </span></span>that commercialization
of it seems <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">a </span></span>crime.
<span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A s</span></span>andy track girdles the island and similar ones tunnel <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">their </span></span><span class="Bodytext214pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">way</span></span> through the coconut groves, the dense flower-stream undergrowth
and the standing timber. Mechanical transport is unknown <span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">and </span></span>only the favoured few can afford to keep ponies. For a
population of just over thirteen hundred souls, there are four churches which <span class="Bodytext214pt1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">include the Seventh Day </span></span>Adventist,
the Roman Catholic, the Anglican and the Baptist. The latter mission having
been founded over one hundred years ago, and the Anglican Mission, have the
largest membership. Both houses and churches are replicas of those in
Bluefields.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">The inhabitants of the Island are nearly all
Creoles and English is their mother tongue, here again the purity of their
speech has been maintained, free of any metallic harshness or distortion of
words. As in Bluefields Anglo-Saxon names predominates and many of these are
common to both places. There are families called Quinn, Downs, Hodgson, Lampson,
Jackson, Nicholson, Taylor, Archibald, White, Tucker, Campbell, McCoy, Green
and Wilson. It is customary among these families to have their own burying
ground, a fenced-in plot of land in which the graves are dug. Should a friend
die while visiting any of them, then the body will be interred in the land
belonging to the host.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_cdqUflHhc/X80aRLn3PZI/AAAAAAABv2Q/wckcEQMAO38DFu6fafk-xfIfc_vuksXIACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMGP0465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_cdqUflHhc/X80aRLn3PZI/AAAAAAABv2Q/wckcEQMAO38DFu6fafk-xfIfc_vuksXIACNcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMGP0465.JPG" width="320" /></a>The islanders gain their livelihood from the
prolific coconut which, disdaining the sea bears the whole year round. The nuts
are of especially good flavour as the visitor soon discovers. Every guest is at
once presented with a freshly gathered and prepared nut. The drink is most
refreshing, cool and not too sweet, and the flesh is delicious. All over the
Island are many little mills which extract the coconut oil. This is then sealed
in drums, shipped to Bluefields, and flown over and sold in Managua. Drying of
the copra is another lucrative side-line and the nuts themselves are exported
to the United States. For local consumption the housewives make a very rich
coconut cake, well sweetened with syrup from the sugar cane, another local product.
Despite the name, no corn is grown on the Island.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">A small traffic in turtle shells takes place
with Jamaica. This lovely shell is also used by the men for making peaks on
their caps. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(A fashion which does
nothing to enhance the natural delicacy of the shell.)</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Huge conch shells may be picked up on the
beaches. This shell is blown to signal the arrival of a ship. For this purpose
a hole has to be drilled in one end, and if this is skilfully performed and the
blower proficient, the sound will carry for twelve miles. At Santa Maria de Ostuma,
conch shells from Corn Island are always blown to summon or dismiss the
labourers.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Plans have already been discussed for building
an air strip and erecting a large hotel on the island thus enabling holiday
makers from Managua and other large towns to enjoy this beauty spot. The flight
would only take one hour and ten minutes and the project would certainly bring
prosperity with it and much needed employment. At the same time it will receive
mixed reception from the more conservative element but there is no doubt it
will, in time, be achieved.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">But, for those who rank solitude, untroubled
calm and the simple pleasures of life higher than hard cash and Scotch whiskey
there is the sanctuary of Little Corn Island. This rises, a hazy mound on the
horizon, a few miles north of its bigger sister and is the proud possessor of an
important light-house, the guardian of both islands and the sailor’s friend.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Little Corn Island is the same again, only in
miniature, as its namesake. Several families reside here and they live the same
pastoral existence as on the other islands. They grow their own fruit,
vegetables and corn and utilise the coconuts in the same way and send over the
extracted oil, copra and the nuts to their sister island for export to the
mainland. They also have the added advantage of a large savannah where cattle
can graze. In Nicaragua itself there are great tracts of open land used as
cattle ranges and the rearing and export of the beasts could easily become a
very lucrative and important issue in the economy of the country. Two breeds
that thrive particularly well are the Holstein and the Brown Swiss and
experiment is being made successfully with Jerseys and Guernseys.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">At one time there was a jail on Little Corn
Island which, one would have thought, would have been an encouragement to crime
rather than a deterrent, incarceration on such a lovely isle can hardly be
classed as punishment although I believe the majority of the prisoners were
political ones and not the ordinary felon. In any case the authorities must,
eventually, have reasoned much the same way, and the jail is no longer in use.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">Further out to sea are the islands of St. Andrew
and Providence, and further still, the group known as the Caymans. All these
islanders are on visiting terms with one another and there is continued contact
among all five of then with Bluefields. Intermarrying takes place as well as
emigration from one to another. Yet everything is done at a slow and measured
tempo for, in these lovely languorous waters time is of no account, and man’s
efforts dwindle to insignificance in this superb setting where the hand of God
predominates.</p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">BY MAUREEN TWEEDY (Mrs. Hubert Evans)</p>Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Bluefields, Nicaragua12.0111402 -83.77036937.7373822811959778 -88.16490055 16.284898118804023 -79.37583805tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-41561477353414436652020-07-09T09:39:00.000-03:002020-07-09T09:39:31.320-03:00Trade-Wind Cay<br />
<br />
<div class="Heading11" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark0"><span class="Heading10"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">TRADE-WIND
CAY</span></b></span></a><span class="Heading10"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 27.15pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">By
A. Hyatt Verrill<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">First
published in The Wide World magazine, 1 March 1924<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 27.15pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-vsHMS_pUo/XwcPHOPEl2I/AAAAAAABuHY/BSQVRInnhpknQ8eV87tdRZios6taodu-QCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/TWC%2Bpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-vsHMS_pUo/XwcPHOPEl2I/AAAAAAABuHY/BSQVRInnhpknQ8eV87tdRZios6taodu-QCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/TWC%2Bpic1.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">To be
marooned on a desert island sounds delightfully romantic, but the experience
can be decidedly perilous and uncomfortable unless the place is selected with
great care. This story describes the adventures of three men who found
themselves stranded on an uninhabited islet, once the lair of pirates, in the
Spanish Main.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THERE
are few men, I believe, who have not, at some period of their lives, wished
that they could spend a few months on a desert island. No doubt, could one
choose the island, such an experience might be most interesting and enjoyable;
but unfortunately, when Fate takes a hand and sees fit to give one a taste of
Robinson Crusoe life, it does not leave the choice of locality to the castaway.
And— take my word for it!—a Crusoe life on some desert islands is </span></span><span class="Bodytext3Italic"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">not</span></span><span class="Bodytext30"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> one to envy.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">During
my many years of knocking about out-of-the-way spots in the American tropics, while
exploring or carrying on scientific investigations, I have met with quite a few
novel experiences, narrow escapes, and adventures, but I do not think that I
encountered anything more nerve-racking and thoroughly objectionable than my
taste of being marooned.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I had
been for some months on the island of Santo Domingo, conducting a search for the
supposedly extinct </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><a href="https://stillwoods.blogspot.com/2011/11/notes-on-solenodon-paradoxus.html"><span style="font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">Solenodon Paradoxus</span></a> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">—specimens
of which, by the way, I secured after the creature had been lost to science for
nearly seventy years—and had adopted a novel plan for tracing the whereabouts
of the beasts. This consisted in having cards printed bearing a picture of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><a href="https://stillwoods.blogspot.com/2011/11/notes-on-solenodon-paradoxus.html"><span style="font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">Solenodon</span></a> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">and
stating, in English, Spanish, French, and German, that I would purchase
specimens alive or dead. These cards were posted to all outlying villages and
officials, distributed in the markets, and given to all wayfarers met on the
roads. Many a false trail had been followed when country people brought word
that they knew where the “Jutias,” as they called the animals, could be found,
and I had begun to despair when a man arrived with a tale of the “Jutias”
haunting a small island in Samana Bay.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This
bit of land, near the mouth of the huge bay, is about a mile in length by a
quarter of a mile wide, and is semicircular or crescent-shaped in form. In
olden days it was the haunt of buccaneers, who fortified it and transformed it
into a veritable Gibraltar, where they defied the powers of the world.
According to the natives, vast treasures were buried upon it, but they vowed
that the pirate loot was guarded by evil spirits and demons and showed the
utmost dread of the spot. With perfect sincerity they told how, at one portion
of the island, there could be seen a great chest submerged in the clear water
with a rusty chain leading from it to the rocky shore. Many a man, they declared,
had attempted to haul up this treasure, only to find, as the chest reached the
surface, that upon it there sat a most fearsome and awful monster, who
instantly seized the unfortunate treasure seeker and dragged him to his death
beneath the sea.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />As
far as I was concerned, the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Solenodons
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">which were supposed to inhabit the islet were of far more interest than
either treasure or evil spirits, and being anxious to run down every possible
clue, I at once made arrangements to visit Cayo Levantado, as the place is
called, although to the Dominicans it is more often known by its old piratical
name —Trade-Wind Cay. My black boy, Joseph, demurred a little at first, for he
had listened wide-eyed to the native yarns, but being a Turks Island boy, and considering
all the natives as “stupid niggers.” he finally agreed to accompany me and
brave the devils of the island. Possibly thoughts of treasure-trove also
influenced him. Then another individual expressed a desire to join the
expedition. This was a young Dane, a man named Broberg whom I had met. He was
crazy for adventure, a decent enough fellow, but absolutely lacking in common
sense, and it was to him that most of our subsequent troubles were due. In
fact, had it not </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">been for Broberg I should never have been marooned and this story would
never have been written.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As inquiries elicited the
information that there was no fresh water on the island, although there were
thousands of sea birds and a few wild goats and cattle, a plentiful supply of
water was included in the outfit —enough to serve us for the three weeks I
expected to be away—while to ensure against any trouble on this score, I
arranged with the dusky skipper of the sloop which I chartered to transport us,
to bring more water and supplies at the end of the first week. Then, to make
assurance doubly sure, I borrowed an American flag from the United States
Consul and asked a friend in the little town of Samana, from which the cay
could be seen clearly with glasses, to send a relief vessel if the flag was seen
“union down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">With all possible
contingencies, as I thought, thus provided for, we set sail well laden with
supplies, water, collecting materials, and a sixteen-foot canvas canoe, which I
thought might be useful in exploring the coves and lagoons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A pleasant run of a dozen
miles down the beautiful bay brought us abreast of the island, which lies off a
wild, almost uninhabited stretch of coast where the jungle is broken only by
one or two tiny native villages whose inhabitants bear a most unenviable reputation
as smugglers, revolutionists, bandits, and cut-throats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After some difficulty, for a
heavy surf was breaking on the beach, everything was landed in safety.
Promising faithfully to return in a week, the black skipper hoisted sail and
went on his way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The island was charmingly
beautiful. Where we had landed, a crescent of snow-white sand stretched from a
point to frowning limestone cliffs. At the foot of these a great rock stood a
few feet from shore, its sides undercut by the waves until it had taken on the
exact form of a gigantic turtle. Close by a flight of steps led up from the
beach to the cliffs, which were literally honeycombed with passages, chambers,
and vaults, while everywhere embrasures pierced the rock. Steps, walls,
passages, rooms—all were hewn out of the solid rock, and I thought of the story
the place could tell. Of toiling slaves—white, black, and red— driven by the
pirates’ brutal blows, hewing away at the rock, as they laboured to form this
fortress for their buccaneer captors. And yonder, on the strip of snowy sand,
many a cargo of loot had been landed from pirate ships—laces and silks, velvets
and satins, jewels and gold, bullion from mines, chalices and altar-pieces from
desecrated churches, the treasures from countless sunken galleons and sacked
towns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Even far back in the tangled
jungle we came upon evidences of the corsairs’ occupancy—crumbled walls of rock
where once had been houses, great cisterns hewn from the limestone,
rust-covered </span><span class="Bodytext210pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">ancient </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">cannon. Trees had rent the walls and their roots had
riven the cisterns, the </span><span class="Bodytext210pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">cannon </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">were mere shells, ready to
fall to red flakes at a touch, and apparently no human foot had trod the spot,
no human hand disturbed the ruins or felled a tree since the day when the last
of the freebooters had abandoned the cay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Broberg, having no interest
in science, was keen to dig and delve amid the ruins, searching for treasure or
relics, and while Joseph and I selected a camp site near the beach, he took
pick and shovel and began his excavations. To my delight I soon found that our
informant had been right about the “Jutias” infesting the islet. On the beach
were their footprints, and in the jungle we found places where they had torn
fallen trees to pieces in their search for ants and grubs. But though we searched
diligently we could not find one of the beasts, for they are nocturnal in their
habit and hide away in caves and hollow trees during the day. However, I was
not to find my trip profitless, for many species of rare birds also dwelt on
the cay; there were several species of undescribed rats; insects and reptiles
new to me were there, and my collections grew very rapidly as the days passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Above the tent near the
beach flew the American flag, and Broberg, not to be outdone, added a Danish
flag, while Joseph, being a most loyal and patriotic subject of Great Britain,
produced from somewhere a tiny Union Jack to flaunt its folds in </span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;">the
wind.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And here I must mention—for
it has a great bearing on subsequent events—that the island’s real ownership
was somewhat doubtful. In olden days it had been </span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;">owned
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by Spain;
then it had fallen to the English buccaneers. Later it had become French, and
with the uprising of the blacks had passed into the possession of Haiti. When
the republic of Santo Domingo had come into being the island, through some
oversight, had been omitted from the treaty, and as a bit of No Man’s Land had
been claimed by England. Then, in still more recent years, the Dominicans had
sold it —with adjacent shore lands —to an American company. Only the fact that
it was practically worthless had prevented it from becoming a bone of
diplomatic contention among the Powers, but as it was, nobody bothered as to
who was the legitimate owner of the old buccaneers’ lair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Troubles of a mild sort
began to brew the first day of our stay. When we opened our supposedly fresh
eggs, obtained from a countryman at Samana, we found that well grown chicks
occupied the </span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;">interiors. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Disgustedly I threw mine aside and Josep
followed suit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But not so Broberg. Gulping
down the contents of his, he carefully salvaged and devoured the others,
remarking that in Denmark such eggs were considered a great delicacy and
brought a high price. But even embryo-filled eggs palled upon the Dane. He
longed for fresh meat or fish, and abandoned his excavations for the canoe and
fishing tackle. Evidently, however, the throng of sea-birds had either
exterminated or driven off all fish from the surrounding waters, and not even a
nibble rewarded Broberg’s efforts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Then he experimented with
pelicans, gulls, frigate birds, and other winged denizens of the isle, but even
</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">his</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> stomach rebelled at these.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As I have already mentioned,
there were wild goats and cattle upon the cay, but in all our wanderings Joseph
and I saw few of these, and not one allowed us to come within shot-gun range.
Broberg, however, all else failing and having tired of digging, declared his
intention of going on a goat hunt, and taking my Winchester set forth. As he
was an execrable shot and became terribly excited whenever he saw game, I had
little hopes of his securing meat, and remarking to Joseph that we’d have a try
the next day, I started on my daily search for the elusive “Jutias.” As luck
would have it, we actually saw one, the only one we ever </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">did</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> see on the cay—but despite the fact that it was in
plain view, I was unable to shoot it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When I returned to camp,
very annoyed with myself, I found Broberg there as proud as the proverbial
peacock over the carcass of a half-grown kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Where’s the skin?” I asked,
wondering how he had managed to dress the animal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Oh, I gave that to the
men,” he replied, to my amazement. “They skinned and dressed it and I gave them
the skin for their trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Men!” I demanded. “What
men?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Then he explained. He had
shot the kid, it appeared, on the edge of the cliff at the opposite extremity
of the island, and the creature had dropped over the precipice. Looking down,
he had seen it lying on a narrow shelf near the water, and without stopping to
think had lowered himself down the rocky wall to where his game was stretched.
Then, to his amazement and terror, he had discovered that he could not climb up
the cliff and that the shelf ended a sheer wall on either side of where he
stood. He could not swim —and there he was, alone with the dead kid on a narrow
shelf of rock nearly sixty feet from the summit of the cliff and with the surf
beating against the precipice a yard beneath his feet. To make his voice heard
—he had left his rifle at the cliff top —was impossible, but thinking that by
chance we might have heard his shot and strolled to the spot, he shouted
lustily. Then, when he had almost given up hope, he caught sight of a fishing
boat at a distance, and to his delight managed to attract the attention of the
occupants. The men—two coal-black, rascally-looking Dominicans —could not speak
a word of English, and Broberg’s knowledge of Spanish was most rudimentary.
However, by dint of gestures and the few words he knew, he managed to make the
fellows understand that he wished to be landed, and this having been accomplished,
he got the two to skin and dress the kid. Not only had he given them the hide,
but he had paid them far too liberally for their services, and in so doing had
exhibited a good-sized roll of bills. Why they had not made away with him and
taken possession of the money then and there was something of a puzzle to me,
but somehow I had forebodings of trouble to follow, and I was not mistaken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The very next morning
Joseph, who had gone to the beach for a swim, came racing back, stating that a
boat filled with men was landing. They carried guns, he added, and “look laik
he boun’ for mek trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Even while he spoke I heard
voices from the shore, and a moment later four men appeared before the camp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They were the most
brigandish, villainous-looking rascals I have ever seen, and the thought
flashed through my mind that they might well be some of the old buccaneers come
suddenly to life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The leader was a
chocolate-coloured fellow with an enormous black moustache, bushy brows, red
eyes, and a cruel mouth. His face was disfigured by innumerable pock-marks, and
he was garbed in odds and ends of uniform. His hat was a battered sombrero, his
coat a ragged green affair heavy with tarnished gold braid and battered
epaulettes; his trousers were —or rather had once been— scarlet and were
patched with every colour; the stripes down the legs had been replaced with
silver fringe. His feet were bare; a torn and filthy blue denim shirt half
covered his body, and about his waist was a twisted strip of canary-yellow
cloth through which were thrust a wicked-looking machete and an ancient
revolver. His three companions were ragged, dirty, and dressed in much-patched,
baggy blue denim. All three wore battered military caps and held ready cocked
antique fifty-calibre Remingtons, which they kept pointed most disconcertingly
in our direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bowing and saluting, though
a ferocious frown drew his beetling eyebrows together, the leader spoke, using
the bastard Dominican-Spanish which the natives refer to grandiloquently as “Castiliano.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Señor,” he said, addressing me. “Permit me to
introduce myself. I” —here he drew himself up to his full five feet four and
thumped his chest— “I am the Commandante of La Cacao” (the tiny village in the
jungle opposite). “I have come to demand satisfaction. You have killed a goat,
the property of one of my citizens. You have destroyed that to which you have no
right., and I am here to exact reparation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I could not restrain a grin at his pompous attitude
and ridiculous speech. The goats, I</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> knew, were wild and belonged to no one, but I at
once realized how it had come about. The men with the kid’s skin had reported
our presence and Broberg’s act. They had told of his money and his readiness to
part with it, and the Commandante—who was no doubt a thief and bandit by
profession — had gathered unto himself his bodyguard, if not his entire “army,”
and had come to the cay to rob us. If we refused to pay whatever he demanded
there was nothing to prevent him from shooting us, with no one the wiser, while
if we </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">did</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> stand and deliver he would
probably order us all to be shot to prevent our reporting him to the
authorities. Mentally I cursed Broberg and wished he had never joined me.
Cursing the Dane, however, would not get us out of our dilemma. Those yawning
black muzzles in the hands of the dirty “soldiers” were most disconcerting, and
the fellows’ fingers were terribly unsteady. Joseph had sought safety in the
tent, where he crouched behind my boxes, and Broberg, shaking with terror,
stood at one side, gazing with horrified eyes at the menacing guns. Our arms
were all in the tent, my revolver resting on a camp table near Joseph, my
Winchester leaning against a box and the shot-gun beside it. And, even if we
had had them, they were useless —for not one was loaded!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">All this flashed through my
mind so quickly that I doubt if the glowering Commandante noticed my hesitancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You say that a goat was
killed and that the animal was the property of someone at La Cacao, Senor
Commandante,” I said at last. “Why, then, have you not brought proofs? Where is
the owner? How can anyone swear that the goat —if goat there were —was his? And
what is a kid, anyway —a matter of a few </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">centavos?</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Commandante threw out
his chest and his eyes fairly blazed. “Do you question my word?” he demanded,
while his men straightened as if expecting the order to shoot. “I am the
Commandante, and I say the goat was killed, and that it was the property of a </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">caballero</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> in my village. That </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">caballero,</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Señor, is myself! And as for the value of
the </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">chibo,</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> that, Señor, is not as you
say a matter of </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">centavos.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> No, Señor; his value is ten
</span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">pesos,</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> not one </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">centavo</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> less.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Ten </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">pesos</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> for a kid! My blood boiled at the idea, but before
I could speak Broberg interrupted. “Oh, go ahead and pay him,” he cried, having
got the drift of my conversation. “What does he want? Tell him I’ll pay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As he spoke he drew that
accursed roll of banknotes from his pocket, and the eyes of the Commandante and
the soldiers were riveted upon it. “I made a mistake, Señor,” said the
Commandante, without turning his eyes from the bills. “The value of the goat, I
find, is fifty </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">pesos.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I could have murdered
Broberg! But I had had much experience with Latin-Americans and Dominicans and
I had a faint hope that there might yet be a way out of the difficulty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I cast no doubt on the
Senor Commandante’s word as a gentleman,” I said. “But, as the Commandante
knows, others may also come to claim money for the goat. If you are the owner
and receive payment, then, no doubt, you will be willing to give a receipt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A cunning look crossed his
face and his cruel lips smiled. “Of a truth, why not?” he replied. “It is but a
matter of business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Then, Senor, I will get pen
and paper,” I said, inwardly a little doubtful as to whether my ruse would
work. Stepping into the tent and turning my back to the rascals, which I felt
might spell my doom, I moved to where the guns leaned against the box and
pretended to rummage among the things therein. “Quick, Joseph!” I whispered in
English. </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Take my revolver and act as
if it were loaded. Don’t show fear —they’re cowards; stupid niggers, you know —
and we’ll bluff them. Quick! while my body hides you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joseph, who was really no
coward at heart and realized the necessity of instant action, seized the
revolver. Broberg was close beside me, and I ordered him to stand by the
shot-gun and be ready to grasp it and cock it as I faced the Commandante. Then,
suddenly grabbing up the rifle, I wheeled round and strode towards the amazed
four.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Señor,” I exclaimed, ostentatiously
cocking the rifle. “Permit me to state that you are a thief and a liar!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A look of fury swept over
the Commandante’s features and he opened his lips to speak, but I interrupted
him. “Moreover,” I went on. “You and your men are trespassers on American
property. See that flag?” —I nodded towards the bunting overhead— “The United
States Government has taken possession of this island. If your goats are upon
it you are liable to pay damages. I give you just three minutes to get off this
cay. Go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Commandante might well have
asked what the flags of England and Denmark were doing there, but possibly he
thought that the three Powers had joined hands in acquiring the bit of land. He
gritted his teeth, his moustache bristled; there was murder in his eyes. For a
moment he hesitated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“One half of the first
minute has passed,” I reminded him, fingering the rifle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Commandante stared at
Joseph, who was holding the revolver a bit waveringly. Then his eyes swept
Broberg and the double-barrelled shot-gun, and finally rested upon the
high-powered Winchester in my own hands. He glanced ruefully at his three
ragged men, with their ancient Remingtons, at the rusty old pistol in his sash,
and his mind was made up. His force outnumbered ours, but the advantage as to
weapons was all on our </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">side.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Discretion, he knew, was the
better part of valour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">With his face still a
thundercloud, he bowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8Q6ci7vr3E/XwcPHGcvWjI/AAAAAAABuHU/Q1h5X1w1HEkjMBIAQnxC0XdVIC8EL9jqwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/TWC%2Bpic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="1600" height="196" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8Q6ci7vr3E/XwcPHGcvWjI/AAAAAAABuHU/Q1h5X1w1HEkjMBIAQnxC0XdVIC8EL9jqwCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/TWC%2Bpic2.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">regret, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Señor,”
he said, “that a slight error has been made. Possibly those who gave </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">information </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">were mistaken, or perhaps they lied, </span><span class="Bodytext2105pt1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">quien
sabe? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I am sure, Señor, that the
Ameri</span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">canos
have </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing3pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">destroyed
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">nothing belonging to others. A </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">thousand </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">pardons for inconveniencing the Señores. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Adios</i>!</span><span class="Bodytext74pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">With a sharp </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">order</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">to</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">his </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">men, the Com</span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing3pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">mandante </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">strode off at the </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">head</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
</span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">his </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“army,” and a </span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.5pt;">few moments </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">later the punitive
expedition from La Cacao was bobbing on the waves, headed for the village.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Broberg, limp and nerveless,
sank down, Joseph grinned, and I cursed the Dane for an idiot, but we all felt
vastly relieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We soon found, however, that
our unwelcome visitors had not surrendered and retreated without reprisals.
When Joseph went to our store of water and supplies beside the canoe on the
beach a yell brought us rushing to him. Not a drop of water remained! The angry
Commandante and his men had knocked the bungs from every keg, smashed every
demijohn, and gone off with fully half the provisions!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Nevertheless, it was not as
bad as it might have been. In two days the sloop </span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.5pt;">would
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">arrive,
and with care we could manage for<sup> </sup>that length of time with what we
had in<sup> </sup>camp. When the two days passed, however, and no sail
appeared, I began to grow troubled. If that black skipper failed us we should
be marooned without water, and with mighty short rations of food. To be sure,
we could hoist the flag union-down and summon aid, but several days might
elapse before help came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Twenty-four hours more went by, and still there was no
sign of rescue, and matters began to look desperate. Directly the prearranged
time had elapsed, we hoisted the flag union-down, but not a flicker of a sail
showed on the bay. There seemed nothing to be done but to attempt to reach
shore in my frail canoe. It was a desperate undertaking, for the trade wind was
blowing very strongly, a heavy sea was running, and the nearest point of the
mainland was fully six miles distant. Even then there would be a long and
hazardous trip to any settlement, and for more than one of us to attempt the
passage was impossible. However, I decided to try, but before 1 had gone fifty
feet from the shelter of the island the little craft was swamped, and it was
only with the utmost difficulty that I managed to reach the beach and save the
canoe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We were now down to less
than a quart of water for the three of us. In our extremity we investigated the
old pirate cisterns, but not one contained a drop of water. Then we bethought
ourselves of those most handy of properties for writers of castaway stories
—the coconut palms. But there was not a coconut palm on the island. Two bitter
wild lemons were the only fruit we could find, and these were worse than
nothing. We dug into the sandy, rocky soil and were at last rewarded by a
trickle of water, but when we tasted it we found it was as salt as the sea
itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The next day our last drop
of water was exhausted and we resorted to drinking the juice of tinned fruits,
but this seemed to increase rather than to relieve our thirst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We were literally
marooned—cast away on a desert island without water. That night a short shower
fell, and the next morning we managed to secure a little more than a pint of
dirty water from hollows in the rocks, but the mere taste of the lukewarm
liquid made us thirstier than ever. The only way we could get any relief was by
lying immersed in the sea. Not one of us got any sleep that night, and when day
dawned we felt that we were facing death in its most terrible form.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Almost hopelessly we gazed
across that waste of blue water, searching for a sail, for any craft we might
signal. And then, so suddenly and unexpectedly that for a </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">moment I thought </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">myself delirious, a boat appeared within fifty yards
of where we stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Wildly we hailed it, and in
a few moments it had grated on the beach. The craft was the craziest thing 1
had ever seen afloat.. It was a huge dug-out or </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">cayuca,</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> formed from a ceiba log, but so ancient, so rotten,
and so leaky that I marvelled it could float. It was patched with bits of tin,
a crack extended from end to end, and the only thing that prevented it from
falling apart was tele</span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">graph wire wound </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">around and around the hull.
Its occupants were almost as villainous-looking as the Commandante and his men.
They were filthy, wild-faced, half-naked negroes, and their sole supply of
water consisted of a gin-bottle full of evil-tasting liquid. But a yacht could
not have been more welcome to us; the piratical-looking fishermen were
Samaritans in our eyes, and the mingled flavours of poor gin, fish, and
brackish water passed unnoticed as we eagerly drained the bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Rapidly I made known our
desire to reach shore, and, to their credit be it said, the negroes neither
stopped to haggle nor demanded an exorbitant price. Once we were afloat,
however, I began to think we had merely traded death by thirst for death by
drowning. With the added burden of the three of us and our luggage the ancient dug-out
was brought below its accustomed level, and water poured in through countless
unstopped holes and cracks. The strain of our weight opened the cracks, and a
perfect fountain gushed into the boat at every roll. With Broberg and Joseph
bailing for their lives, I tore my handkerchief, my shirt, and even my coat
into shreds and strove to caulk the leaks, but all in vain. Despite every
effort, the water gained, and it was evidently but a question of minutes before
the boat would fill and go down. The harder the now thoroughly frightened
boatmen pulled on their oars, the more the crazy craft strained and the faster
it leaked, and with nearly six inches of water in the bottom, we gazed
shoreward to see that we had covered less than half the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There was only one thing to
be done, one chance of reaching land, and that was to jettison cargo and so
relieve the boat of weight. Then I decided to take to the canoe. Placing all
the cases and boxes I thought it would stand in the tiny craft, I embarked, and
trusting to the lee of the dug-out breaking the worst of the waves, seated
myself in the stern and started. But I soon found that to keep alongside the
other craft was impossible. I could not hope to keep afloat unless I paddled
head-on into the seas or ran before them. The former was impossible, as such a
course would lead me to the open sea. Shouting to Broberg and Joseph and
receiving assurances that the boat, relieved of my weight and the boxes, was in
no danger of sinking, I swung my canoe about and headed up the bay towards
Samana. Each sea drenched me and every few moments I was forced to stop
paddling and bail. A score of times the craft came within a hair’s breadth of
capsizing, but still I kept on, exerting all my skill and striving to work
inshore. It was horribly slow work. The afternoon was passing, the sun was
setting, and in an hour or two it would be pitch dark. I could not tell how the
others had fared, for I dared not turn my head. Almost imperceptibly the shores
grew nearer, and when night fell I was in calmer water in the lee of a cape and
half-way to Samana. The worst was over. Almost exhausted I managed to beach the
canoe at a point where a tiny stream trickled into the bay, and fairly revelled
in the fresh cool water. Then, having eaten and </span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">drunk my</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> fill, I resumed my journey. As I proceeded I was filled with fears for
the others. If all had gone well they should have overtaken me by now, for they
could have secured a sailing boat at the fishing village, and yet I had seen
nothing of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At midnight I reached Samana,
moored my craft and, with aching muscles and unsteady legs, walked to our
house. Imagine my amazement when, opening the door, I found Broberg and Joseph
just finishing a<sup> </sup>hearty repast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The rascals had been there
for two hours. There had been no sail-boat at the village, but there were
horses, and here the two were, thoroughly enjoying themselves, although they
seemed as dumbfounded at my appearance as I had been at theirs. Indeed, as both
declared, they felt sure that I had been drowned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The next thing I did, of
course, was to hunt up the skipper of the sloop and my friend who had promised
to aid us. Sloop and skipper, however, were missing, and not until months later
did I discover that he was reposing in jail at Savanna la Mar and had been
there since two day’s after leaving us on the cay, while my friend, who was
consular agent, had been called away unexpectedly on business and had quite
forgotten to notify anyone of the pre-arranged signal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A week after we had reached
Samana, as I was seated in my room one morning 1 heard a voice outside that
sounded oddly familiar. Evidently the speaker was having an argument with
Joseph, and stepping to the window, I peered out. There, dressed in spotless
white, his face shining with coconut oil and perspiration, but as villainous in
appearance as ever, stood the “Commandante” of La Cacao!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: dashed .8in; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As
he caught sight of me he swept off his hat with a flourish. “Ah,” he exclaimed,
beaming, “it is the Americano Señor. It is the most glorious day of my life
that I find you well! I have been desolated for fear that the evil ones on the
cay had brought you misfortune, Señor. Can the great Americano Señor, in the
kindness of his heart, pay me for the kid? Just the few </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">centavos</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> you mentioned, Señor. Nothing—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“You unspeakable scoundrel!”
I cried “Thought you’d kill us by thirst, did you? </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Caramba!</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> I’ve a mind to ask the Alcalde to have </span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">you</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> marooned there without water!’’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The man’s face was a strange
mingling of fear, rage, and surprise. “Señor”—he began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But I had had enough of him.
As I looked at that evil pock-marked face all my worries and sufferings and
that nightmare trip in the canoe came vividly to my mind. Leaping through the
open window, I sprang at him. But the Commandante of La Cacao was no fool;
moreover, he was fleet of foot. As I landed where he had stood but an instant
before, he was out of reach—of all but the toe of my boot, and that thumped
delightfully upon the seat of his immaculate trousers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Stoopid niggers,” remarked
Joseph with a grin. “He mos’ surely is pure corruption!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Afterword</span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-amyjM75mdkE/XwcPezYLFYI/AAAAAAABuHk/_vcnQN-G5NQbRcmIHQ2OXnacnOvmmIhsgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Trade-Wind%2BCay%2B2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1374" height="205" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-amyjM75mdkE/XwcPezYLFYI/AAAAAAABuHk/_vcnQN-G5NQbRcmIHQ2OXnacnOvmmIhsgCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/Trade-Wind%2BCay%2B2020.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b><br />
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A very good internet friend,
Alan Schenker, with an interest in Verrill, sent me this at my request. I now
recognise that I have read the story before; but some more details seem apparent
in this version.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Trade-Wind Cay or Cayo
Levantado is presented in its 2020 version. It is now an exclusive resort! The
isle is about 300 metres by 1 kilometre. It is located 1.6 km offshore, 7 km
from Samana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Years ago we vacationed at Puerto
Plata, a resort community 100 kilometers NW from Samana Bay; that is why I
retained the interest in ‘Trade-Winds Cay’. /drf<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Samana Bay, Dominican Republic19.1435577 -69.144708118.6635417 -69.7901551 19.623573699999998 -68.4992611tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-77541055795375446442019-09-05T08:48:00.002-03:002019-09-05T08:49:09.452-03:00The Curse of the Cardews<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">The Curse of the
Cardews<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Or<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">After Three Hundred
Years<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">By W. Murray Graydon<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Digitized from </span></b><a href="https://trove.nla.gov.au/">https://trove.nla.gov.au/</a> <span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><b>This
is part one of a twenty part series</b>. It was never published in book form. The
scans of the 111 year old newspapers do not go through OCR well so I doubt that
I will be digitizing the other 20 parts. I was attracted to this story because
of the references to British Guiana (Guyana). It could be a great read but time…/drf</span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Author of “The Blackmailers</span></span><span class="Bodytext4Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt;">,<sup>”</sup></span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> “Reaping the Whirlwind,” “The Heir of the Loudouns,” Etc.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">From Northern Argus newspaper, Clare, SA,
17 April 1908.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">PA</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">RT I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THE CURSE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">No peace nor joy nor quiet life <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Shall male heir of Cardew</span><span class="Bodytext43"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">But bitter cup and bloody strife <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Shall spirit crush and pride bring low.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 197.6pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Cardew, if thou the curse would spurn,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">To earth Torrana’s dust return.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">CHAPTER I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHITHER FATE LEADS.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“Hello, Gordon! </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I </span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">haven’t seen you for an age. Where are you bound for in
such a hurry?” and the speaker, a middle-aged individual with a complexion
burned to the colour of his own coffee-berries, leaned over the gate to wave an
inviting hand.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“Going to England, Jim,” the
other responded.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“The deuce you are! You don’t
mean it? Lucky dog, if you’re telling the truth. But stop and have a drink.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 222.3pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“Not now, old man. I’ll see you
to-morrow or at the Tower House to-night. So long!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Salutations
and questions similar to the above</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">—</span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">they were answered in much the
same way—continually hailed the popular and genial planter from up-country,
Gordon Ferguson, as he drove his dusty cart and span of vicious-looking mules through
the suburbs and into the main thoroughfare of Georgetown, Demerara, which
thriving port, at the mouth of the Demerara River, is, as every one knows, the
capital of British Guiana.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Ferguson was a vigorous man</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext4105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">of</span></span><span class="Bodytext4105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">forty, with plain and honest
features, and kindly blue eyes that sometimes reflected, in his lonely hours,
the memory of the sorrow that had clouded his life years before. </span></span><span class="Bodytext4105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As</span></span><span class="Bodytext4105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">we shall see more of him
hereafter, let it suffice for the present to say that he had owned and
conducted a sugar plantation in Guiana since his youth, and that he had recently
decided to pay a visit to the old country</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">—</span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">the first
since he left home—owing to economically successful crops during the past two
seasons.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He was as enthusiastic as a boy </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">over</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> the prospect, and his heart
was held with bright anticipations. It was near the end of February, and the
sunset glow, flashing through the forests of the west, heralded that pleasant
hour when Georgetown turns from business to idleness and troops out of doors to
enjoy the </span></span><span class="Bodytext4Spacing2pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">evening</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> air. The grey roofs of the town, half-buried amid palm trees and
luxuriant vegetation, looked very attractive to the toil-worn planter, fresh
from the wild solitudes of the interior, as he drove along broad, quiet
avenues, between detached houses, standing in spacious gardens and a double row
of trenches, in which blossomed the Victoria Regia lily. He entered
Water-street, lined with the warehouses of English, Scotch, and European
merchants, and heard the strains of the band playing in the Botanical Gardens
and caught a glimpse of carriages poking to and fro on the sea wall, before he
finally drew up at the hotel known as the Tower House.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“Take the team to the staples.
Sambo,” he said to the black servant who came forward to relieve him. “My
manager will call for it next week. Thank goodness, I’ve seen the last of it
for a month or two.” he added to himself.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Ferguson followed his luggage
indoors, and after a bath and a change of clothes, he emerged again as the
swift, tropical twilight was falling. Stepping round to a shipping office near
by, he greeted the single occupant, a clerk, who was writing at a high desk, in
tones that implied old acquaintance.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“As hard at
it as ever. Tom. Can you wake up long enough to </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">tell</span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">me if you’ve got an empty berth on the Royal Mail steamer
that leaves day after to-morrow?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Hello,
Ferguson! You’re quite a stranger. You want a berth—eh?</span></span><span class="Bodytext26"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> Not </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">leaving us?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 136.05pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I’m going home on a visit—home to God’s own country, which
is England.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 36.6pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Right you are. Glad of it. The trip will do you good.” and
Tom Kingdom glanced wistfully at the man in whose shoes he longed to stand, “Wait
a moment,” he added, “and I’ll talk to you.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“But the berth?”</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Oh. I’ve got one; don’t worry.”</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The clerk bent
over his writing, and Ferguson, turning carelessly to the maps and photographs
that hung on the wall, discovered something that instantly arrested his
attention and brought an exclamation of astonishment to his lips. It was a
placard in large print—he could read it by the light of a smoky lamp—offering a
reward for a certain Juan Rivera, a Spaniard, who had escaped from the convict
settlement at the Mazaruni River. A description of the missing man, meagre and
unsatisfactory in its details, was appended.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 47.3pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“By Jove! when did Rivera get away?” gasped Ferguson.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 47.3pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“A fortnight ago,” replied the </span></span><span class="Bodytext54"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">clerk.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 47.3pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“And have they caught him yet?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 36.6pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I believe not. He is supposed to have fled towards New
Amsterdam. I wish he would come this way, and into my office; but there’s no
such luck. Isn’t Rivera the chap who stabbed the Dutch Consul?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Yes; and it
got him a sentence of fifteen years,” replied Ferguson, speaking in an odd voice
and with a painful look of reminiscence in his eyes.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“He was a bit of a swell, wasn’t he?”</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“So I’ve
heard, and it was probably true. He came out here with a pot of money,
squandered it all, and then started to drink, and gamble. It was said that he belonged
to an ancient and respected family in Spain, and that his real name was Morrana,
or Torrana, or something like that. I curse the day I ever” —Ferguson b</span></span><span class="Bodytext5Exact1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">roke
off abruptly</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">. </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I left home two weeks ago. I’ve been
visiting friends on the way down,” he went on. “Rivera owes me a grudge, and I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">shouldn’t
wonder if he has been hanging round my place. I testified against him at his
trial.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Well,
they’re pretty sure to catch him sooner or later,” said Tom Kingdom as he rose
from the desk. “Have a drink, old man, will you?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 120.25pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He led
the</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">way to
a b</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ack room,</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">
</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and
had just taken glasses and a bottle from a closet when he was called out by
footsteps in the office.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 120.25pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“What
can I do for you?” Ferguson heard him ask,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the low-</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">spoken </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">reply, “I want a passage on your
next steamer,” reached him as distinctly. It was a familiar voice —a voice from
out </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the dead
past— and Ferguson started as he put down the bottle he had picked up. Looking
through a crack of the door, he saw a tall, apparently middle-aged man, with an
olive-tinted complexion and black beard and moustache, wearing a suit of grey
flannels, spectacles, and a broad-brimmed Panama hat with </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">brown and scarlet band.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Much </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">too old,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">told himself. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“No, it can’t be. The fellow is a
stranger. And yet”—</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The next
instant he had flung the door wide and dashed into the office. “You scoundrel,
you have been robbing my house!” he cried, “Those are my clothes, my hat!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He grabbed
at the visitor’s beard, and it came away in his hand. As quickly he tore off spectacles
and hat, and suspicion became certainty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Juan
Rivera!” he exclaimed.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The Spaniard, now revealed as a young and handsome man of
twenty-seven or twenty-eight, muttered an oath and whipped out a knife. But his
arm was promptly struck up by Kingdom, and thus foiled of his murderous
purpose, he turned and took to his heels before either of the two could seize
him.</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“After him!”
cried Ferguson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Help!
Police!” cried the clerk. “Rivera! Rivera! Catch him!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 146.5pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Though Water-street was thronged with people at this hour,
and the meaning of the clamour from the shipping office ran like wildfire among</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">them, the
escaped convict got safely across, knocking down two lads who tried to stop
him. A loud hue and cry rose behind him, and an excited mob </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">men and boys
were pressing at his heels as he dived into a side thoroughfare, whence we will
follow him </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">on </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">his desperate race for freedom.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 146.5pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Bitterly did Juan Rivera repent the impulse that had
prompted him to steal wearing apparel from the wardrobe of his hated enemy, and
still more bitterly did he regret his folly in trusting his disguise to the
chances and hazards of Georgetown. His overwhelming confidence, the belief that
his very daring would enable him to sail with impunity by a Royal Mail steamer,
was likely to cost him dear. Straining every, nerve, he sped on, and
fortunately his aimless course took him into the comparatively quiet and dark
residential neighbourhood. He twisted and doubled, swerved from right to<sup> </sup>left,
and finally, when he had out-distanced his foes and was at the point of exhaustion,
he climbed with difficulty to the top of a six-foot<sup> </sup>wall and dropped
into an extensive garden on the further side,</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He lay
there, breathing heavily, until his pursuers had rushed by the spot and were
seeking him beyond. The night had now fallen, and to that he owed his good luck
so far. He presently rose, his fertile brain scheming and planning, and having
crept through dense, shrubbery and trees, he emerged close to a large
two-storeyed house, where a single light was visible in an upper room. He
crouched low again as a man and a woman passed quickly down the gravel walk,
conversing audibly. They were evidently going to discover what the noise meant.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“We must not
leave the poor fellow long.” said the woman. “He has been writing all the afternoon,
and the effort has exhausted him. I am afraid the end is near.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I fear so,” assented The man.</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext211pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“It is
very sad, Charles, but </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">it would have been more so had he been
left to die in that wretched hovel. I am glad we took him in.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The voices
and footsteps faded away, and Rivera stood up.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I won’t be
taken </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">alive,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he vowed, “Any death rather than </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">return to
that hell on the Mazaruni. I must hide for a time. And perhaps I can obtain a
fresh disguise yonder. Apparently there is no one at home but a sick man.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 138.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He cautiously approached the house and finding the door
locked, he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">gain</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ed admission by an open window. From
the hall, where not even a cloak or hat was hanging, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">mounted to
the upper floor, and paused on the threshold of a rear room. He glanced within,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">hesitated, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and then entered, with noiseless steps. His fierce
passions were subdued by what he saw</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">; </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">for the
moment he forgot his perilous plight.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">A
dimly-burning lamp revealed a young man—he was well under 30 </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">stretched on
a narrow bed. His eyes were closed, his shrunken features were the hue of wax,
and his breathing was so faint that it could barely be detected. He was evidently
at the point of death. The fingers of one lean hand clutched a pen, and on a
table by his side were ink, paper, and an open envelope, the latter addressed
to a London </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">solici</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">tor.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I might be</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">worse </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">off,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">thought Rivera.
“At least I </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">have </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Impelled by
curiosity, he </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">examined </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the envelope. The sheets </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">within, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">written in a
weak but legible hand, contained a confession. The dying man, it appeared, had
been a clerk of the aforesaid solicitor. With a key made from a wax impression
he had opened a client’s box, transcribed a copy of a valuable paper, and fled
with </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">it </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">to British Guiana. There a fatal
illness had seized him, and in his last moments he desired to atone for his </span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">sin. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He had burned the paper, he
declared, and his knowledge of the secret it might have guided him to—a secret
that explained the theft and flight—would perish with him.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The convict
read on, oblivious to everything else. The pathetic, penitent sentences burned
into his brain, thrilled him as if each word was </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">pin-prick.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">‘‘Miguel
Torrana!” he muttered. “My ancestor! What can this </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">mean?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext81" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext80"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The revelation, dawning by
degrees, burst suddenly upon him in its entirety. His mind went back to his
childhood and early youth, to a family legend that had grown dim and
disreputable through centuries of repetition. Spurred memory woke </span></span><span class="Bodytext810pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">almost </span></span><span class="Bodytext80"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">forgotten names </span></span><span class="Bodytext810pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext80"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">places, and he marvelled at the
strange fate that </span></span><span class="Bodytext810pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">had</span></span><span class="Bodytext810pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext80"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">led him to this house— to </span></span><span class="Bodytext82"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">this</span></span><span class="Bodytext80"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> chamber of death.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It is an omen,” he told himself, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“It bids me
hope </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">endeavour.
By heavens, I will escape </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">will foil </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">my enemies,</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> throw them
off </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">track and win the golden heritage
that is mine by right. There are difficulties to be met, but I will conquer them.
If any cross my path—and there </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">is</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> a
likelihood</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of that—let them beware. To England
first, </span></span><span class="Bodytext90"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and then”—</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">A </span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal;">noise</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> downstairs—it was a </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">key</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> turning in
a lock</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">startled
Rivera to a sense of his danger. “You have given me something to live for.” he
said, softly, with a</span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">glance at </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">dying man</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">: </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and thrusting envelope and confession
into his pocket, he swung from<sup> </sup>the window at the end of the room and
dropped to the ground.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 142.8pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">By a rear garden and a gate he came to a quiet street. He
walked leisurely on, seeking his bearings while he listened to the confused
clamour that he was bareheaded, that he had left the house empty-handed; until
a native policeman sprang from hiding in front of him, brandishing a cudgel.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“You black dog!” yelled Rivera.</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">His knife flashed
out. He struck at and missed the terrified negro, darted past him, and was off
like a hare. One pursuer was bawling at his heels, and eager voices were catching
up the clamour on all sides of him. The mischief was done and he knew the odds were
desperate, but his hot Spanish blood sustained his courage.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“If I can
only get out of the town!” he thought.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The hue and </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">cry</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> rang
nearer. His foes headed him off right and left, badgered and worried him like a
pack of yelping curs; and at last, having been driven along the only way that
was open to him, he broke cover on the broad avenue skirting the sea, and saw
the harbour and the shipping melting before him into the dusky shroud of the
night.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Escape was impossible,
one would rightly have said. The fugitive was hopelessly cornered, but he
leaped on to the parapet, and for a moment stood defiantly at bay, knife in
hand, facing the shouting mob that was closing on him from three sides. Then he
turned and dived head first into the water. </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">A </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">splash,
followed by a white swirl twenty feet out. That was all. The quarry had baffled
the pursuers in the flush of their triumph, and they could only stare,
helplessly into the darkness, some with angry imprecations and some with
grudging meed of admiration.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Boats were
hastily procured. For half the night they pulled to and fro, and at daybreak
every craft in the harbour was searched. But of Juan Rivera no trace was found,
and it was generally believed</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">even Ferguson did not doubt—that he had been devoured by
the hungry sharks infesting the vicinity.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext32"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">CHAPTER II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THE HEIR TO
BEACHCOMBE.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext61" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 30.5pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Between ten and eleven o’clock on a mild and fragrant April
evening, when London streets and squares were bathed in a flood of moonlight
that was a fitting accompaniment to the opening of the season, a man in a soft,
hat and a long-overcoat walked slowly past a West-end mansion. Soft strains of
music fell on his ear, and shadowy forms, like the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">figures </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of a
biograph, moved behind the window blinds. He cursed them </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">under </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">his breath.
A carriage drew up at the kerb, and as two belated guests entered the house,
the man caught a glimpse of the brilliant luxury with</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">in. He retraced his steps, sauntered by a second and a third time.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Shall I
send her a message,” he asked himself, “or shall I trust to a letter reaching
her hands unopened? No; something must be done to-night, else I dine with the
Duke Humphrey to-morrow, as these Englishmen are pleased to call it. My</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">need of money is too urgent for delay;
and with that, walking rapidly away, he turned out of the square and vanished.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Mrs. Adair’s
ball-room was thronged, and if the company present did not consist of the cream
of society, it </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">at </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">least numbered some representatives
of the exclusive circle, and for the rest was made up of people who were not
far removed from the border-line </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Mayfair and
Belgravia. As the dancing was in full swing, and the hum of conversation and
the frou-frou of silken skirts blended harmoniously with the notes of the orchestra,
two young men stood apart at one side of the spacious apartment,</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">where they
had paused for moment’s rest. Intently, but with a</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">different purpose, each watched the
couples that whirled by them.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was not
</span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">year’s
difference between them. Brian Desmond, slender and of medium height, with fair
hair and grey eyes, was a type of the popular clubman who takes life easily,
forms fast friendships, and is capable of forceful action if such </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a ne</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ed ever
arises. His father, Colonel Desmond, was a retired officer and a widower, and
had inherited a considerable fortune from his wife. Geoffrey Cardew—it is with
him our story is chiefly concerned</span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">was tall and
well built, good-looking rather than handsome, with thoughtful brown eyes and </span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">tawny moustache that shaded a
strong mouth. Though he bore one of the oldest names in England, fate had put
him at a desk, in the India Office and compelled him to exist on three hundred
a year and his private income of two </span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">hundred </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">more; which handicap, causing him
to be regarded hitherto as somewhat of a nonentity in social circles, he had
felt more bitterly than he had been known to confess. But those days were gone
for ever, and to-night, as he stood talking to his friend, every fibre in his
being thrilled with the realisation of his altered fortunes and prospects. It was
of such recent date, the change, that he had scarcely had time to get
accustomed to it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“By Jove! I
never saw her looking better,” said Desmond, in a low voice.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 151.45pt 168.25pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Who?” inquired </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Geoffrey. “</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Ah, you mean
Carmen.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 45.1pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">There was no need to ask the question. A tall and regal
girl, of a bold, dark style of beauty that was clearly not English, was just
then gliding past the two with languid and inimitable grace. Diamonds glittered
at her throat and in the coiled masses of her raven hair; her features a perfect
oval, were of a creamy olive tint. She ignored Desmond, flashed her black eyes
at Cardew for an instant, and disappeared with her partner in the</span></span><span class="Bodytext26"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">throng.
Desmond’s face clouded. It was an open secret that he was in love, and
hopelessly </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">so, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">with Carmen Torrana, who for
several years had been residing in London with her aunt, the wife of an
Englishman of wealth and position. And it was equally well known, perhaps that
the Spanish girl had months ago lost her heart to one who was indifferent to
that coveted jewel.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 84.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“There is </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">no woman in the world </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">to compare with her.” said Desmond,
sadly.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext101" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext1010pt1"><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“She </span></span><span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-weight: normal;">is beautiful</span></span>, <span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I admit’” replied Geoffrey, “but
with the beauty of a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-font-size: 11.0pt;">young panther.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext100"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Dangerous,
you mean?”</span></span><span style="font-family: "bookman old style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark0"><span class="Heading10"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I am far from
suggesting it</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"><span class="Heading1NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">.</span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"><span class="Heading10"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> She</span></span></span><span class="Heading10"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext110"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">is not my taste, that is all. Give </span></span><span class="Bodytext1110pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">me a
woman who”—</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Geoffrey
paused, and his face flushed with a tell-tale colour. At the moment Brian’s sister
was passing, and it was her smile that had betrayed his feelings. As fair and sweet
as an English rose, as fresh and tender as the dawn of an English summer
morning, Violet Desmond was as different from Carmon Torrana as day is from night.
Nor was Geoffrey the only one who thought so. He had held aloof while better
men tried their chances and failed.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“It is not
for me to dispute your choice.” said Desmond. “I wish you luck, old chap—at
last.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“But you would have wished me that
always if I had presumed to” —</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Of
course—you know that. But the pater.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 197.75pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I quite understand.” said Geoffrey, shruggling his
shoulders. “I do not complain. It is the way of the world we live in”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He smiled
unconsciously. Brian wished him luck, and Colonel Desmond would doubtless do
the same, and Violet—how would she answer the question he meant to ask this
very night?</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I believe
she cares for me, and for myself alone.” he reflected. “Had I stooped to
dishonour, I might have won her long ago. She is not mercenary—she refused
Parkinson with his ten thousand a year. But I could never have asked her to
share a life of comparative poverty, and happily, I need not,”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext295pt2"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal;">Yes</span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt2"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">was very
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">glad that he </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt3"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">had </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the right to
speak at last. It still seemed too good to </span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">be </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">true. Only a month ago he had been
the insignificant civil clerk, with little or no prospect of ever having the
command of more than five hundred a year. His elder brother George, who had
quarrelled with him </span></span><span class="Bodytext2NotBold"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">unreasonably,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and made an unfortunate marriage and led an unhappy and dissipated
existence abroad for years was then living in a continental city. The two—their
parents were deceased —were sons of a younger and impoverished brother, and
George had inherited from a bachelor uncle. And now George’s wife was dead, and
George had followed her in the grave a fortnight afterwards, and he, Geoffrey
Cardew, had succeeded at the age of twenty-five to six thousand pounds </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">a</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> year and to
the ownership of Beechcombe. the stately ancestral mansion on the crest of Hedsor
Hill, in Buckinghamshire, that had been the home of the Cardews since the reign
of Elizabeth. Little wonder that he was dazzled by his good fortune, and that
he wanted but one thing </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">make him the
happiest man in the world.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 129.75pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Wake up, dreamer, and do your </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">duty.’’ </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">said Brian. </span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal;">We</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> are forgetting our</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">obligations
to our hostess.” and with that he moved away.</span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 129.75pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He has gone to find </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Carmen.” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">thought
Geoffrey, as he looked after his friend. </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">wish she
would reward his devotion as it</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">deserves,
and refrain from showing such embarrassing marks of favour to myself, and from
staring me out of countenance with </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">those </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">black eyes
of hers. </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">have </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">never </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">given her
the slightest </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">encouragement, that</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I’ll swear</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">; </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">but I can’t
help feeling </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">uneasy sometimes. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">She is a true daughter of Spain,
pas</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">sionate </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">in love and passionate in </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">hatred. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Heaven
forbid that I </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">incur </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">her enmity!”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">A true
daughter of England was </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">approaching him, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and at </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">sight </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of that lovely
face Geoffrey forgot all else. It</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> was h</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">is dance,
and he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">claimed </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">it. Relieving Violet of her </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">escort, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he rested
one hand on her slender waist, and the two glided into the </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">mazes </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of a waltz,
to the measure </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">dreamy, rapturous music </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">that </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">was </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">in </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">tune with
their own hearts. On and on they swept, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">units </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">among </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">many, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">yet as deli</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ciously </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">isolated </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">as if they
had been tripping it to Pan’s pipes over a moonlit </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">forest
glade.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 44.9pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">The strains of the orchestra died a way in a buzz</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">conversation.
Geoffrey</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> le</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">d </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">his par</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">tner to a
secluded corner </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the conservatory, hidden by </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">potted ferns
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and feathery mimosa, and stood by her for a moment, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">waiting </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">until the
music struck up again. It was the propitious moment</span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">.</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> U</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">nder the
soft lights her face flushed, Violet’s beauty was </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">more </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">than he
could resist. She rais</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ed </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">her </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">eyes </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">his, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">swiftly
lowered </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">them; </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and seating himself at her </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">side, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">while </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he clasped her
unresisting hand, he </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">poured out the </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">old </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">story</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">— th</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">e sweet, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">eternal </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">story </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">that will be
ever new as </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">long </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">as </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">world lasts.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">I</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></i></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">have </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">always loved
</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">you,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">went on. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I will </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">live only </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">for your h</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">appiness. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Do you</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">can you—care for </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">me </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">little.
Violet?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“More than a</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> l</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ittle, </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Geoffrey,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">she said,
looking up at him bravely and said, looking up at him bravely and blushingly. “Yes,
I will be your wife.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">He kissed
her lips, then started up at the sound of a light footstep and the rustle of a
skirt. Carmen Torrana stood within three yards. Her bosom heaved, a fiery red
spot burned in each cheek, and scorn and anger flashed from her eyes.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Pardon,”
she said; and vanished in company with Brian, who had been in the background.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“How she
frightened me!” said Violet, with a little shiver. “I believe she hates you,
Geoffrey.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Imagination.
dearest,” he assured her.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Ten minutes later,
when Geoffrey and his promised bride left the conservatory, they came upon
Brian in the ball-room alone.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 106.3pt 156.25pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Where is the senorita?” his sister asked.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Gone.” Brian
moodily replied. “A note was brought to her, and she went off in a hurry.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“With her
aunt?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“With
herself,” said Brian, and inclined her head towards Carmen’s elderly relative,
who was passing on the arm of a Scotch baronet.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext121" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext120"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">CHAPTER
III.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A LEGACY FROM THE DEAD.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Brian was
honestly and openly delighted</span></span>—<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">there was no one he liked so</span></span><span class="Bodytext26"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">well as his
prospective brother-in-law —and Colonel Desmond was blandly acquiescent. He patted
Geoffrey’s shoulder and congratulated him</span></span>— <span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“though
Violet might have looked a</span></span> <span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">little higher,” he said. “No
offence, my dear fellow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">am </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">not worthy
of her—no man is,” replied Geoffrey, “But the Cardews have refused titles in
their time,” he added, proudly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“And never a
king of Ireland,” said </span></span><span class="Bodytext70"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the colonel, “but had a Desmond at
his right hand.”</span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext121" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext120"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Life ran in pleasant lines for Geoffrey
then, and he soon fitted into</span></span><span class="Bodytext12NotBold"><sup><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></sup></span><span class="Bodytext54"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">his place as
if he had never been out of it. He had left the India Office, and occupied
chambers at the Albany —</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">partly to be near Violet, and mainly
because Beechcombe, which had been shut up since George Cardew’s accession, had
to be made ready for him. The legal formalities that would put him</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">in possession
of the estate were not entirely completed, but he had carte blanche to</span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">draw on </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">family
solicitor</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">for funds, and he found it a novel
sensation to spend gold as he had formerly spent shillings. Though he regretted
his brother’s death, he did not profess to more grief than he could honestly
feel. George had treated him shamefully, without just cause or reason, and the
two </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">had </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">not met or
written to each other for seven years.</span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">One sunny
May morning, a fortnight after Mrs. Adair’s reception, Geoffrey drove down to
Chancery-lane to keep an appointment which his solicitor had requested in
writing. He arrived on the minute, for he had promised to join Violet later in
the park.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I don’t
suppose it is anything more important,” he told himself, “than a document that
requires my signature.’’</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Archibald
Menzes, a man of sixty, whose head was silvered by the family secrets that
reposed therein, was waiting for him in the private office. </span></span><span class="Bodytext2SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-variant: normal !important; font-weight: normal;">He</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> greeted his client with an air of
professional gravity that for once was not assumed, and having carefully locked
the door and put out biscuits and a bottle of port—at which Geoffrey’s modern and
uncultivated taste rebelled—he opened a ponderous safe and took from it a
sealed blue envelope. He seated himself opposite to Geoffrey and cleared his
throat.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I need not
tell you, Mr. Cardew,” he began, “that ancient and honourable blood flows in
your veins. Your fore-fathers, sir, lived in an age when gentlemen of spirit
met with adventures that are unheard of and impossible in these prosaic days.
And in your case, strangely enough, an echo of one such adventure has </span></span><span class="Bodytext2105pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">sur</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">vived to the
present. At intervals of greater or less extent during the past three
centuries—If I am right in tracing the custom so far back— there has come a
time to each successive male heir of your race when he has made cognizant of a
certain family affair and was put in possession of certain papers relating to the
same. Those documents I am about to deliver into </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">your </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">keeping, as I am bound to do by
virtue of my trust, and as I did in the case of your uncle and of your brother.
Have you any knowledge, may I ask, of what is known as the Curse of the
Cardews?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Very
little, if any.” Geoffrey replied, wondering what was coming next. “There was a
vague family tradition, </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">believe, mixed up with Elizabethan swashbucklers and hidden
treasure, and that sort of thing. I have an indistinct recollection of my
grandfather speaking of it—or it may have been my father</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and even that was not meant for my
ears.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“And your brother George?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 195.1pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“He never referred to the matter, nor did my uncle James.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Well, it
was neither a myth nor a tradition, Mr. Cardew,” said the solicitor. “it was a
fact, a chapter of actual happenings, and it is as real to-day—it has been my
privilege to be convinced of that</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Arial"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style"; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">as</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> it was
three hundred years ago. But I will give you a brief outline of the story, and
afterwards you shall examine the proofs. In the year 1595 Sir Walter Raleigh,
in consequence of reports that credited the northern part of the continent of
South America with being a land of marvellous treasures, and hoping to surpass
the discoveries of Cortez and Pizarro, equipped an expedition and set sail from
England. Among those who accompanied him was your ancestor, Geoffrey Cardew the
first, from whom you are descended in an unbroken line. He distinguished
himself in the defeat of the Armada, and prior to that he had erected Beechcombe,
of which one original wing still stands intact. In due course the expedition
arrived at Orinoco, and sailed up that mighty river, when some of the
adventurers sought in one direction and some in another. A party of five,
braving the perils of the unknown wilderness, pushed up for a considerable distance
to the south, into what is now the north-western part of British Guiana. Of
these Geoffrey Cardew was one, and another was a certain Miguel </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Torrana, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">a Spanish
gentleman of good birth. He and several companions had been rescued during the
voyage from a sinking ship. The rest of the crew, it seems, had perished of
starvation.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Torrana?”
broke in Geoffrey. “Does the family exist at the</span></span><span class="Bodytext25"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">present day?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“I do not
know, sir. It is highly improbable, Why do you ask?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“From mere
curiosity.” Geoffrey replied, truthfully enough. “Will you pardon my
interruption, Mr. Menses, and continue your story?” to himself, he added, “It
is an odd coincidence at least.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">“Of these
five men,” resumed the Solicitor, ‘‘three died of fever in the interior. The
survivors were Miguel Torrana and your ancestor, who had formed a comradely
friendship which, sad to say, was destined to end in tragedy. Ultimately they
found gold, amassed a large quantity of it, and then quarrelled over the
spoils. Both were hot-tampered, and neither would yield. In a moment of
ungovernable rage Geoffrey Cardew struck the Spaniard to the ground with a
weapon. Believing his friend to be dead, and overcome with remorse and grief,
he dragged the body deep into a thicket and fled in a canoe, taking the
ill-gotten treasure with him. But the canoe springing a leak before he had gone
far, he landed, buried the greater part of the gold, and continued his journey
on foot. He reached the Orinoco barely in time to sail with Raleigh—the five
men had been given up for </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">lost—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">and when </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">he </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">returned to
England in 1596 he gave his son Myles a truthful account of his ad</span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ventures,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">with one </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">exception. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Miguel Torrana,
he declared, had died of fever like the rest. </span></span><span class="Bodytext295pt1"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">His </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">deception,
we </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">must admit,
was but human na</span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">ture, though it was to lead to strange consequences. As for
his sin, he expiated that within a month, for he was killed in London in a brawl.</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;">(To be
Continued).</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Georgetown, Guyana6.8012793 -58.15512556.6751403 -58.316486999999995 6.9274183 -57.993764tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-64580569535466148342019-03-02T09:14:00.001-04:002019-03-02T09:15:12.689-04:00Painting Wild Indians<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QXRNbAC025I/XHp_5FX0Y7I/AAAAAAABpZo/kHlbs3-w0tohxcZiQeViW-gHAGKE-389ACEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1600" height="273" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QXRNbAC025I/XHp_5FX0Y7I/AAAAAAABpZo/kHlbs3-w0tohxcZiQeViW-gHAGKE-389ACEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Heading1SmallCaps"><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">Painting Wild Indians</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"></span><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading2"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">by A. Hyatt </span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark1;"><span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">Verrill</span></span></span><span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">From The Wide World Magazine, 1928, </span></span><span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">unsure which issue<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;"><i>I started
to study the works and life of A. Hyatt Verrill almost 20 years ago. Verrill
was contracted by the originator of the Museum of the American Indian, George
Heye, to produce quite a few of these paintings. There were subsequent problems
between the two. It appears that only 48 were ever delivered. Possibly an equal
number were sold privately. His autobiography, Never a Dull Moment, published
by Stillwoods, features one of these private paintings on the cover. This is
the first full description of how these paintings were created.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;"><i>I have
substituted colour paintings where they were available, of course they were
b&w in the original article./drf</i></span></span><span class="Heading225pt"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;"><i>.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very few men know more about the Indians of Central and
South America than the Author, who has travelled far and wide among tribes who
seldom set eyes on a white man. For years past he has been building up, for
museum purposes, a series of pictures, painted from life, depicting Indians in
ceremonial costumes or engaged in their daily avocations. This article
describes some of his experiences while at work among these little-known races.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">TO</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> secure really good photographs of </span></span><span class="Bodytext42"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">wild”
Indians is not by any means an easy matter; and when I say “wild” Indians, I
mean Indians who have not been in close contact with civilization, and not
necessarily hostile or unfriendly tribes.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Indeed, one of the ethnologist’s greatest problems is
to obtain pictures which are of scientific value as permanent records. This is
especially true of the Indians of Central and South America, many of whom have
scarcely been visited by white men, and most of whom are still in a far more
primitive and unsophisticated state than the Red men of North America.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBduMXc9uO8/XHp_44O_5yI/AAAAAAABpZg/ou0ZU45fi3IVCV0EkrW3lOr-XeyFvz8bgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1165" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBduMXc9uO8/XHp_44O_5yI/AAAAAAABpZg/ou0ZU45fi3IVCV0EkrW3lOr-XeyFvz8bgCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic2.jpg" width="232" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Usually, when one attempts to photograph these Indians,
the prospective subjects either hide or run away, or else—in the case of those
who are more civilized</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">assume such artificial and obviously posed positions
and expressions that the results remind one of the old-fashioned photographs in
the family album.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Indians, as a rule, strongly object to being
photographed, even when they have never seen a camera before and have no idea
what the instrument is for. To them it savours of witchcraft or magic, and
while they may not actually fear it they feel that it is a good thing to keep
away from. Moreover, the Indians dread the camera’s “eye.” The staring lens
that “winks” in such a mysterious manner is, to their minds, the eye of some
spirit who lives within the black box and is quite capable of looking into
their minds and reading their most secret thoughts.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So great is their dread of this spirit-eye that if the
lens is visible they will not approach within the camera’s range of vision.
This is often a great convenience, for when one desires to be left alone, or
wishes to guard against the curiosity and inquisitiveness of one’s Indian
hosts, it is only necessary to open a camera and leave it in plain sight.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As long as the little glass “eye” is there to see, no
Indian will approach, no matter how great the temptation may be. Many a time I
have left my trade goods and other possessions fully exposed in the open,
shed-like hut of an Indian village, and have been absent for days, feeling
perfectly confident that the camera left on guard would prevent any native from
rummaging through my property.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And here let me remark that the South American Indian
is, until civilized, absolutely honest. He will not steal; but he is intensely
curious, and delights in examining anything and everything the stranger
possesses. He may rummage through one’s belongings, and even carry off handfuls
of objects to show to friends and relatives, but he will invariably return them
eventually. Nevertheless, it is not always desirable to have one’s possessions
pulled about and hopelessly mixed when one is not present, and on such
occasions an open camera is a most useful watch-dog.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Heading3Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">INDIAN “PROXIES.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NnKiVR0hCPY/XHp_40rHCTI/AAAAAAABpZk/4MD2blEkpTEfi9sECuntBJeDNDKw0XD7gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NnKiVR0hCPY/XHp_40rHCTI/AAAAAAABpZk/4MD2blEkpTEfi9sECuntBJeDNDKw0XD7gCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic3.jpg" width="213" /></a><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A very potent
factor in the Indians’ </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">attitude toward the camera’s </span></span><span class="Bodytext2ItalicExact"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">eye” is their
almost universal belief in what may be called “proxies,” which are widely used
among nearly </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">all </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Central and South American </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tribes. These
take the form of crude wooden, terra-cotta, or even stone effigies, which
travellers often erroneously look on as idols or gods, but which in </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">reality have
no religious </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sacred significance </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">whatever, </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">merely
serving </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">take </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">place of some
person </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or creature.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thus the
medicine-men of the Kunas, Tegualas, and other tribes of Panama use wooden
figures to aid them in curing illness. As the medicine-man cannot remain
constantly beside his patients, he places a wooden image near the sick man or
woman, the little figure taking the doctor’s place and serving as his proxy.
If, on his next visit, the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">medicine-man </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">finds no
great improvement in his patient’s condition, another “proxy” is placed on
guard, and very often a sick Indian will be surrounded by several dozen </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">imitation
doctors</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">” </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of this kind.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Among other
tribes, such as the Guaymís, </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">proxies</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">” </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">carried to even greater lengths.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When a man is compelled to leave his house untenanted
for a few days, in order to go on a hunt or a journey with his family, he does
not bother to lock or bar his doors. Instead, he places a crude wooden effigy
outside and goes forth perfectly confident that no one will enter during his
absence.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not only does the “proxy” deter trespassers by its mere
presence, but the Indian believes that in some mysterious manner the figure
left on guard will warn him if anyone attempts to enter the house, and will
actually make known the identity of the trespasser! The Indian is convinced
that a </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">proxy,” no matter how crude, is possessed with the
spirit of the person or creature it purports to represent. Hence, to his mind,
the camera is the “proxy” of the owner, and possessed with the white man’s
spirit.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Moreover, when he learns the purpose of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">camera, or </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">has
it explained to him, he </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">is
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">more reluctant than ever to have his
picture taken. He believes that the likeness or image of a person must
inevitably possess the spirit, or at least a portion of the spirit, of the
subject. A photograph of himself, carried </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">far
away, must </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">take </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">with </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">it
some of his spirit, which </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">he
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">naturally does not care to part with.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Quite frequently I have found that this objection may
be overcome by giving the subject himself a copy of the photograph, for then he
feels he has lost nothing, and</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">blissfully unaware </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">such
things as negatives</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">he is quite content, regarding the portrait as a
valuable “proxy” for his own use.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oddly enough, most of the South American Indians have a
remarkable way of looking at pictures </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">upside down!</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Among the innumerable tribes I have visited I have
never found an Indian</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">except those who had been in close touch with
civilization and had learned better</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">who did not follow this strange custom.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mU1XO70h88o/XHp_5uQhaQI/AAAAAAABpaM/JOcMuNLAi-MUiEl9Q5t58K0G_2AzRFj4gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="816" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mU1XO70h88o/XHp_5uQhaQI/AAAAAAABpaM/JOcMuNLAi-MUiEl9Q5t58K0G_2AzRFj4gCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic4.jpg" width="163" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With the pictures right-side-up the Indians would stare
at them uncomprehendingly, their faces expressionless and blank</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">; </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">but
the instant one of their number turned the photograph bottom-up they would
become excited and interested, and would point, chatter, and laugh as they
recognized the features of themselves or their friends,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Another factor which adds to the difficulties of
securing good photographs of these South American Indians is the fact that they
usually dwell in dense jungles or forests where the light is poor and there are
usually heavy shadows, while, with the well-known perversity of things
inanimate, it usually rains or is dull at the very moment when all other
conditions are propitious for securing the desired pictures.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If the light is good, the confidence of the Indians
won, and a member of the tribe has been prevailed upon to brave the magic eye
of the camera, the result is usually far from satisfactory, for the subject
forthwith assumes a set, martyred expression entirely unlike his natural self.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having encountered such difficulties, as well as many
others, including the development of mould on negatives and films, the
ruination of cameras by water, and such minor incidents, during many years’
experience among South and Central American tribes, and having frequently
failed to secure the pictures I most desired, I decided that the only practical
method of obtaining satisfactory likenesses of the Indians was to paint their
portraits.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark3"><span class="Heading3"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">DIFFICULTIES OF
TRANSPORT.</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark3;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This, however, did not prove as easy and simple as it
sounds. In the first place, to carry canvas, colours, brushes, and drawing
materials into the jungles and forests and across vast mountain ranges was a
problem in itself. In penetrating the fastnesses of the South American
wilderness, and visiting little-known and remote regions, every superfluous
ounce of dunnage must be discarded.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For days and weeks travel is by dug-out canoes along
rivers filled with cataracts and rapids, where one’s craft must be hauled
through whirlpools and fierce currents by straining, tugging Indians. Portages
are frequent and often long and arduous; washouts and capsizes are all in the
day’s work, and provisions for the boat’s crew and oneself must be carried,
together with clothing, trade goods, and other essentials.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not infrequently it is impossible to transport a canoe
round a fall or cataract, and it becomes necessary to portage the whole outfit
through the jungles to the head of the falls and there construct flimsy, cranky
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">woodskins”—fragile craft made from cylindrical sections
of bark</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in which to continue the journey. Often, too, the
rivers may be far too </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">shallow
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to permit the laden craft to pass,
and all cargo must be unloaded and carried piecemeal for miles up-stream.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On one trip to the Shayshan Indians of Central America
more than fifty portages were made in one day;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
later on, while two men pushed </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
lifted </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the canoe over the
shoals, the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">others </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and myself tramped for more than </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sixty miles </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">over
the only possible route</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the uneven, slippery, water-worn cobbles of the
dried-up river-bed. </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">when travel is by land the difficulties
of transportation are great.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Much of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">forest
is impenetrable </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">until </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">path
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">has been cut </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">with </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">machetes;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">often
the way leads </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">through apparently </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bottomless swamps </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
up the precipitous sides of jungle-covered </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mountains. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very
frequently, too, it is necessary to cross deserts or endless grassy </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">savannahs </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">where
there is little or </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">no water, where
the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sun </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">beats down like a furnace or else rain falls </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">torrents,
and where the dust and the pollen from the grasses fill one’s eyes, nose, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mouth.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Under such arduous conditions, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">every additional ounce of weight becomes the equivalent
of a hundredweight, so far as transportation problems go; and paints, canvas,
stretchers, and similar things are </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">by
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">no </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">means light.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even when one has solved the difficulties of transport
and reached an Indian camp, one’s troubles are not over. There is nothing </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mysterious </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
magical about drawing </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
painting, even to </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the suspicious and
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">superstitious Indian mind, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">for with </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">few
exceptions the Indian is something of an artist himself. But he much prefers
watching the painter to serving as a model, while the interested, chattering
crowd </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">that gathers </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">round effec</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tually
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">shuts off </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the subject even </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">if,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">after endless </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">trouble, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">he
or she has been induced </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
remain fairly </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">quiet for the time </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">being.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Occasionally an Indian </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">is </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">found
who is </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">born </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">model,
but his or her </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">lot is not a
particularly </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">happy one. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sitter
at once becomes the butt of laughter, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">raillery,
jokes, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and good-natured </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">chaffing from every man, woman, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">child
of the village. Wizened old </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hags
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">warn him of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">dangers </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
getting </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">his </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">spirit into the picture;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">as </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a rule, after one or two trials, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the model gives </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">up
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">despair and runs away, or else assumes a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">set, fixed expression, as </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">if undergoing some ceremonial torture.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext32"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">WORKING IN SECRET.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g6H-6m8Ztkk/XHp_6Rc78-I/AAAAAAABpaQ/LkRbE3h7QZ4dUhJuJHPXQkXQaF10x5FIQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1183" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g6H-6m8Ztkk/XHp_6Rc78-I/AAAAAAABpaQ/LkRbE3h7QZ4dUhJuJHPXQkXQaF10x5FIQCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic5.jpg" width="236" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I speedily discovered that ordinary methods would not
serve in painting the Indians of the tribes I visited. Instead of at once
proceeding to paint the people, therefore, I made brief and hurried pencil-sketches,
working surreptitiously when my subjects were not looking or were busy at their
various tasks.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I would jot down a bit here, a bit there;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sometimes
getting a nose, an ear, or half a face before the subject was aware of what I
was doing;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sometimes succeeding in drawing an entire head </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or figure, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
often having great fun when some Indian would slip quietly up behind me </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and shout </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
news </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">his discovery, whereupon every member </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">village
would gather about, examining the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sketches,
holding </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">them upside down, and
shouting </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">laughing with glee </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">at </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
various bits of anatomy on my </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sketch-pad.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oftentimes, too, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
made great headway </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">by making </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">drawings of various birds </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and animals, which I distributed among the Indians,
who, in return, would allow them</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">selves
to be sketched. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To supplement </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">these </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hastily-made
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">pictures, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I would make </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">equally
rapid </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and usually </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">unsuspected colour-sketches of costumes, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">facial decorations, and so </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">on.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sometimes, however, this proved difficult. On one occa</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sion </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
found myself without </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">needed colour for recording the peculiar
ochre-brown shade </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of the Indians’ </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">skins, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">shade </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">which would, I knew, be impossible to carry in my mind;
but </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">solved the problem in a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">rather unusual way. Gathering a number of dried leaves
of various shades of brown, I matched the Indians’ complexions and carefully
preserved </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the leaves, which were </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">exactly
the same colour.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">often,
too, photo</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">graphs </span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">— </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">even
when entirely unsatisfactory as scientific records, or even for reproduction</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">proved
great helps in working up the portraits of the Indians in oils. Especially was </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">this </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">true
of </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">postures </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and attitudes assumed in ceremonial dances, religious
rites, occupations, and so on. Quick snapshots taken without the subjects’
knowledge would record a position or attitude, even </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">if </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">all
details of features and costume were hazy or lacking. But I had to be most
circumspect in securing such snapshots.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once let an Indian catch sight of the camera and one or
two results was sure to occur. Either they would scurry to cover, buzzing
somewhat angrily at having their ceremonies interrupted. or they would all halt
in their tracks and stand staring at me. To obviate this, I found it necessary
to conceal the instrument under my garments or inside a hut, and trust to luck
and guesswork in snapping the shutter with the lens pointed from under my coat
or through </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">chink in a wall.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even with </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">my
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sketches, my photographs, my notes,
and my colour-keys to aid me, an immense amount of material was required in
order to work up an accurate painting. Frequently I have used over fifty sketches,
several dozen photographs, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">as
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">many colour-records in painting a
single Indian;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">while hundreds of sketches, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">colour-charts, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">photographs are necessary </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">when </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">painting
a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">dance </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or a ceremonial </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">group.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In nearly every case I have been careful </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">introduce
only those costumes, ornaments, and implements which I actually collected, and
which are now in the Museum of the American Indian. Thus the pictures become
valuable ethnological records, and when it is desired to construct life-sized
groups they can be used as guides, the identical costumes and decorations
depicted being used on the models.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark4"><span class="Heading3"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">GORGEOUS HEAD-DRESSES.</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark4;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">One immense advantage that such pictures possess is
that they show the gorgeous colouring of the Indians’ costumes. This is
especially true of the feather headdresses, particularly those </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
tribes of the interior of Brazil and Guiana. </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">These </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are
crown-like affairs of most brilliantly-coloured parrot and macaw feathers,
fastened to a framework of basketry and topped off by several long scarlet,
orange, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">blue feathers from the tails of macaws.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At the rear, a long </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">train </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bob</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">”
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of gaudy feathers</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">humming
bird, cock-of-the-rock, parrot, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
toucan skins</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hangs down </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
wearer’s back, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">often a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">magnificent
feather </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">cape or </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mantle </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">is
also </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">worn. </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Much of the detail and all </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the colour of such </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">regalia </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">lost in photo</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">graphs.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The same is true of the colours of the Indians’ skins.
In this respect the pictures prove a revelation to many people who are
accustomed </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to thinking of all
Indians as “</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">red </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">men” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">copper-coloured. Among </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the South and Central </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">American tribes the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">colour varies from </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a rich brown to a pale </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">yellow or olive, and many of </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">these Indians </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are
so fair-skinned that if dressed in conventional garb they would readily pass
for white. This is also true of their features.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With few exceptions, the South American Indian bears
little facial </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">resem</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">blance to his </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Northern
cousins. Seldom do </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">we see the high </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and prominent cheek-bones, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the aquiline nose, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">thin lips, and strong chin </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">which have become accepted as typical of the Indian.
Instead, the South American Indians, as a whole, have rather flat, broad noses,
rounded cheeks, full lips, and receding chins.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Among the Andean tribes of Peru are many with enormous
beak-like noses</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the so-called </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Inca nose</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">”</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
among the Mapuches, or as they are more commonly called the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Araucanians</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">” </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
Southern Chile, we find regular Caucasian features, with well-developed beards
and moustaches. We should never recognize these people as Indians if they were
dressed in everyday clothes and met with in city streets.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Although comparatively few people realize the fact,
there are many times more Indians in South America than in North America, and
no one can say positively just how many tribes inhabit the jungles, forests,
and mountains of the great southern con</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tinent.
Of course, it would </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">be
practically impossible </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">paint </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">whole
</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">these in a single lifetime, but </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">much </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">headway
has already been made, and eventually it is hoped that all </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
more important and characteristic types will be preserved on canvas.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I7DZCHwZZxE/XHp_64DOpJI/AAAAAAABpaY/3uvAFuZcIzMsip1NLRrEfpU26HFqud4WQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1265" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I7DZCHwZZxE/XHp_64DOpJI/AAAAAAABpaY/3uvAFuZcIzMsip1NLRrEfpU26HFqud4WQCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic6.jpg" width="252" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A series showing the types, occupations, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">dances </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
all the British Guiana tribes, together </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">with
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">several Panama tribes, was completed
two years ago, and is now in the Museum of the American Indian;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">paintings
of all the tribes of Panama, and many of </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Peru
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and Chile, were completed last year;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
this year </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">expect to finish the series illustrating the Peruvian,
Bolivian, and Chilean tribes.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have often been asked if I am </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">not </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">afraid
of these Indians, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">if
I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">have not been in constant
jeopardy </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">while </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">among them. This is a </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">most </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">natural
question, as the </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">public has been </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bountifully supplied </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">with exaggerated </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tales
of ferocious headhunters, lurking assassins </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">with </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">poisoned
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">arrows, and unprovoked attacks, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">so that </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
average man thinks </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of all </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">wild</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">” Indians as hostile. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">matter
of fact, I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">very much doubt whether
any Central or </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">South </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">American tribe ever wantonly </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">attacked a white man </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">without provo</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">cation.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of course the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">innocent
may have suffered </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">for </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the guilty at times, and Indians who have suffered at
the hands of Venezuelans, Brazilians, and others, or who have </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">been ill-</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">treated
by prospectors, rubber-gatherers, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
adventurers, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">have often, no doubt, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">evened </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">up
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">scores by taking reprisals </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">on white </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">men
</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">who </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">were </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
no way responsible </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">for </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the abuses. But such </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">cases </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are
rare.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a rule </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Indians are </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">discriminating, take the stranger at his </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">face value, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">treat him according to his deserts.
Personally, I have never been attacked </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
even </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">threatened by Indians,
and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">have visited </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">many
remote </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and almost </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">unknown tribes. Some of these </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">were </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">reputably
savage and hostile, </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
not </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">few </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">had
every reason to </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">make </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">short </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">work
of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">any </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">white </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">man
they met.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a rule, </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">have found these tribes hospitable,
friendly, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">most delightful people</span></span><span class="Bodytext24"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">as
long as they </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">are </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">untouched by civilization and have not </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">learned the white </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">men’s
vices. </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">be sure, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">on
one or </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">two occasions </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">have
passed some </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">most un</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">pleasant </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hours
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and have had some </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">narrow </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">escapes
from serious trouble, but </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">every such case the fault was my own,
</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or was due </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to some act on the </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">part </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">my men </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or to a misunderstanding.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Heading32"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A NARROW SHAVE.</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark5;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On one </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">occasion,
while </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">visiting </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">remote
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carib village in the hinterland </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of Guiana I </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">found
the Indians engaged in a religious ceremony and wrought up to a high pitch of
excitement. As I </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">arrived, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">followed by my retinue of Indian boatmen and their
women, who served as porters, I noticed an ugly expression on the face of the
chief, who was beating a ceremonial drum with a human leg-bone.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Instead of turning and welcoming me, as I greeted him
in Caribee, the old fellow only banged his drum the harder, while his eyes
fairly blazed and his painted face took on a demoniacal expression. I noticed,
also, that the other Caribs were drawing nearer, that each had grasped a club,
bow, or spear, and that we </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">were
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">entirely surrounded by a cordon of
armed warriors.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">utterly
at a loss to account for such behaviour, for the Caribs are </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">usually friendly and good-</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">natured. For a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">time
things </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">looked ugly. I could not
get a word out of the Indians;</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
there </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">were no replies </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to my questions, no </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">explanation </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
their hostile </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">attitude.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My black camp-boy was fairly shaking in his boots; the
docile Indian boatmen were evidently frightened almost out of their wits, and I
have no doubt that serious consequences would have resulted within the next two
minutes if it had not been for the timely appearance of a young Carib whose
village I had visited a few days previously, and who chanced to arrive at the
psychological moment.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In a few words he cleared up the matter, and then I no
longer wondered that the Carib chief was sullen. Some time previous to my
visit, it appeared, a young buck of the village had run off with the chief’s
favourite wife. To add insult to injury, the rascal had joined my party as a
boatman and had had the effrontery to bring his lady friend with him into her
ex-husband’s camp, trusting no doubt to my presence to safeguard him from the
righteous vengeance of the wronged chief.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once the reason for the Caribs’ attitude was made
clear, I lost no time in straightening matters out. Cuffing and kicking the
offending Indian from the village, and driving him and his woman to the boats,
I ordered him to be off. Liberal presents of knives, files, and other trade
goods mollified the angry chief, and presently we were all on the friendliest
of terms.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext32"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">THE SACRED COSTUMES.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-8ttHB_FoQ/XHp_7e9JcxI/AAAAAAABpaY/1qCezSwd3b0xkoaM60JmdOy4y4GX69ZEwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="1600" height="234" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-8ttHB_FoQ/XHp_7e9JcxI/AAAAAAABpaY/1qCezSwd3b0xkoaM60JmdOy4y4GX69ZEwCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic7.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On another occasion, while travelling up a Guiana
river, I found a number of the strange </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">parasara</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> dance costumes hanging on snags or </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tacubas</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> in the stream. The Indians wear these costumes of palm
and fibre in the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">parasara</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
dance, and after the ceremony, which is of a most sacred and religious
character, the dresses are suspended from trees in the fields and snags in the
rivers in order to keep evil spirits away.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">These ceremonial robes are extremely rare in
collections, and as I felt confident that no Indians were near, I helped myself
to several of the costumes and</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to guard against any possible chance of discovery</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">— </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hid
them from sight under the floorboards of the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">batteau,</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> beneath all my dunnage.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Several days later we arrived at a Patamona village
where a </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bimiti</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-running was in full swing. This ceremonial always
follows the </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">parasara,</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> and usually ends
in an orgy of drinking. Leaving two men in charge of my boat, I made my way to
the village, which was at some distance from the river, and found the Indians
hilarious and excited but friendly and good-natured. An hour or so later,
however, the camp was like a hornets’ nest which has been poked with a stick.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Two of the men had been to the riverside, and had
returned bringing news that promised to make it decidedly hot for me, for they
reported that three of their sacred </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">parasara</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
costumes were among my belongings! How they had discovered the dresses I could
not at the time understand, but later I learned that my over-zealous boatmen
had decided to take advantage of my absence to clean the boat, and had unloaded
everything, including the sacred costumes, which were in plain sight on the
river’s bank.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fortunately for all concerned, the Patamonas were, on
the whole, still sober enough to listen to my explanations and to reason.
Declaring that I had been quite ignorant of the sacredness of the dresses, and
did not even know they belonged to the Patamonas, I expressed the deepest
regret for the mistake on my part and offered amends in the shape of presents.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhat mollified, the Patamonas considered the
matter, and after a conference and much discussion the village </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">peaiman </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or medicine-man announced that everything would be all
right if I would go back down the river, accompanied by some of the Patamonas,
and replace the costumes where I had found </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">them. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
was nothing else to be done, so, willy-nilly, I was forced to retrace my way </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">down-stream, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">hang
the dresses on the snags again, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">travel the weary journey </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">back to the camp.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Needless</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">say,
when, a few days later, I left the Indians and </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">headed down</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">river,
I did not fail to again gather in the costumes which had </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">caused the trouble;</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt1"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Spacing1pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">but
I was careful not to visit those particular</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Patamonas again.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On one other trip I also underwent a most unpleasant
experience, and one which I would scarcely care to </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">repeat. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
was when I was </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">among the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mountain </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Guaymis
of Panama—Indians </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">usually </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">regarded </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">as
hostile and who certainly do not welcome the average stranger who enters their
territory. But I had been </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">most
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">fortunate. I </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">had rendered one of the sub-chiefs </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">favour,
and, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in return, he had vouched
for me and had accompanied me to the most remote villages of his tribe, and had
enabled me to meet and make friends with the high </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">chief, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Montezuma.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3-WTlgCg8Os/XHp_7ZnkHcI/AAAAAAABpaU/_1N0uwgPhx0yFu7mVnk-XpZDabucjwFHACEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1218" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3-WTlgCg8Os/XHp_7ZnkHcI/AAAAAAABpaU/_1N0uwgPhx0yFu7mVnk-XpZDabucjwFHACEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic8.jpg" width="243" /></a><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A great ceremonial and dance had </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">been </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">given
in my honour; the chiefs </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">had
compelled various </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">members </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of the tribe to permit me to photograph </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and sketch them, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and,
as a grand finale, I </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">had
been </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">formally initiated as a
medicine-chief </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the tribe. This experience I described in </span></span><span class="Bodytext27pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Wide World Magazine </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">for February </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">March, </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Georgia"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">1927.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everything had been </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">favourable, and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
usually suspicious and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">rather
hostile </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Indians proved most
friendly and hospitable, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">doing
all they could to make </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">my
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">trip a huge success. Then an event
transpired which, for a time, threatened to end </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">tragedy.
One morning a number of Indians from a remote village visited </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">chief’s
house, and though several objected strenuously, their ruler forced them to line
up to be photographed.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That evening, as I lolled in my hammock in the home of
the chief, listening to the chatter of some twenty painted and feather-crowned
Guaymis who had gathered within the dwelling, a young Indian quietly entered
and seated himself in a shadowy spot at one side of the house.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Instantly I recognized him as one of the strangers I
had photographed that morning, for his head-dress was most unusual, consisting
of a huge cap or hood of sloth-skin. Presently the newcomer uttered an agonized
groan, and as all eyes turned toward him he doubled up, grasped his stomach,
and rolled, moaning and screaming, on the floor.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext32"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 1.1in; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Instantly I realized that
I was face to face with the gravest danger. The fellow had been photographed
against his will, he had come into my presence, and almost immediately he had
been taken seriously ill. To the assembled Indians this would mean but one
thing: I had bewitched him!</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And as many of the others present had also been
photographed they would at once believe that they, too, would be taken ill.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And what if the fellow died? Each and every Indian
would, I knew, attribute his death to me, and every one would be in mortal
terror of a similar fate as long as I lived to “control” their spirits. To be
sure, the chief, Neonandi, was a sensible fellow and my best friend, and I was,
moreover, an adopted member of the tribe.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But even the chief, I felt sure, would be powerless to
curb the Indians’ anger once they were convinced that I had caused a man’s
death, and my honorary membership in the tribe would count for nothing. And,
judging by the fierce expressions on the faces of the Indians, and the manner
in which they regarded me, I felt that my own end would not be long delayed,
especially as the sick man was apparently on the point of expiring.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aided by Neonandi, I carried him into the light of the
fire and feverishly administered every remedy I could think of, at the same
time plying the chief with questions. Did anyone know if this man was subject
to these sudden attacks? Had they ever seen him act in this manner before? Did
they know if he had eaten anything which might have caused his illness? But no
one could give me the slightest information.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In fact, not an Indian present even knew who the sick
man was or anything about him. He was a stranger, the only member of his
village present.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite my every effort, the poor fellow was apparently
dying, and presently with a last convulsive kick and a gasping groan, he
stiffened and lay still. I listened for a heart-beat, but found none; I placed
a mirror before his lips, but there was no sign of breath; I turned up his
eyelids and exposed glassy, fixed eyes.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ST86WTc9dd4/XHp_7_smCNI/AAAAAAABpaY/MKieM6W6WHsbP2gQW4NUcfZKdZBSYrw4QCEwYBhgL/s1600/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1147" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ST86WTc9dd4/XHp_7_smCNI/AAAAAAABpaY/MKieM6W6WHsbP2gQW4NUcfZKdZBSYrw4QCEwYBhgL/s320/Painting%2BWild%2BIndians%2Bpic9.jpg" width="229" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Meanwhile the Indians, grim, forbidding, and silent,
drew nearer in the shadows, while above me and the body of the Indian beside
which I knelt stood the chief, arguing, haranguing, and trying his utmost to
calm his warriors. He assured them that the “white medicine-chief” would
speedily bring the cause of the trouble back to life. He was, I knew, playing
for time, and at last he succeeded. One by one, the Indians drew back into the
shadows, squatting on the floor or on low, wooden stools, but never once taking
their eyes from me.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There was nothing more I could do. I had wrapped the
apparently dead man in blankets, I had forced stimulants down his throat, I had
tried artificial respiration, but with no signs of success. How much longer the
superstitious Guaymís would wait for a miracle to happen I did not know, but I
rather wished that they would get the business over and not prolong the
suspense.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However, my play was to appear unconcerned, to act as
if I felt entirely confident and at ease, and, controlling my real sensations,
I calmly filled and lighted my pipe and seated myself once more in my hammock.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Slowly the minutes passed. Never in my life have I
undergone a more trying ordeal, and then, when it seemed as if the suspense
would never end, the miracle happened! The blanket</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">wrapped
body moved; the dead Indian sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced about, rose
unsteadily to his feet, and turning, stalked from the house into the night! He
had merely had a fit, but I almost fainted from relief, and the assembled
Indians firmly believed I had worked mighty magic.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had brought a dead man back to life, and they gazed
upon me with a strange mingling of awe, respect, and terror. But I thanked my
lucky stars that during the remainder of my stay among the Guaymís I was not
called upon to repeat my magic and resurrect a </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">really</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> dead Indian</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Panama8.537981 -80.7821274.519643 -85.945701 12.556319 -75.618553tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-53244330960854754482019-02-20T15:56:00.004-04:002019-02-20T15:57:45.421-04:00Map Making from the Sky<br />
<div class="Bodytext6" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Map</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Making from the Sky</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WYLZ9mWslXg/XG2ww_CoSAI/AAAAAAABpYs/ff7A9QmzkVsgnwfCEVZD8pKLGZyY9k5KgCLcBGAs/s1600/Map%2BMaking%2Bpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1175" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WYLZ9mWslXg/XG2ww_CoSAI/AAAAAAABpYs/ff7A9QmzkVsgnwfCEVZD8pKLGZyY9k5KgCLcBGAs/s320/Map%2BMaking%2Bpic1.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="Bodytext6" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Modern Wonder</i>
magazine 16 July 1938.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext6" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><i>As a retired cartographer, map maker, I was fascinated to see this story written more than a decade before I was born! It features an aircraft that my Dad had flown, and the science has not changed much./drf</i></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext6" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">EXACTLY
eighty years ago, a Frenchman named Nadar made history by taking the first
aerial photograph while up in a balloon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And such a sensation did
his achievement create that all the newspapers printed long stories about it,
while one Paris paper published a cartoon entitled “ Elevating Photography to
the Heights of Art.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But, both aeronautics
and photography have gone far since that day, and now aerial photography is no
longer a “hit-or-miss” affair but a very exact science.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And it is a very
important one, too, as Squadron Leader P. R. Burchall, O.B.E., former
Photographic Officer of the Royal Air Force and now in charge of survey
operations for Aerofilms Ltd., emphasized in a recent interview with </span><span class="Bodytext27pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Modern
Wonder's </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Special
Representative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Air photographs, he
explained, are not just a means by which attractive “bird’s-eye view” pictures
can be obtained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The vertical photograph,
taken by a camera that protrudes through a hole in the floor of the plane, does
not possess the attractive pictorial qualities of the oblique photograph which
is taken at an angle of from 35 to 60 degrees, but it is invaluable in survey
work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It enables mapping and
revision to be carried out rapidly and accurately and provides more detailed
information than can ever be given on a map.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On the other hand, the
oblique aerial photograph with its wealth of easily understandable detail is of
enormous value to authorities who require a pictorial record of existing
conditions when planning new works, or offices, studying slum clearance in
congested areas, recording the progress of works under construction, and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lawyers, too, often find
oblique aerial photographs of great use when arguing legal matters in the Law
Courts, while as a form of pictorial advertising they are becoming more and
more popular.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vertical photographs are
taken by a special camera that is electrically controlled and automatic in
action. It is supported on the floor of the plane in a mounting that absorbs
all vibration while a specially designed “louvre” shutter ensures that the
pictures will be free from distortion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Before the pilot and
photographer— Aerofilms employ almost exclusively former members of the Royal
Air Force—go up on a survey flight, the exact route to be taken and the height
at which they are to fly are worked out in detail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The scale of the
photograph and the amount of area covered is controlled by the height of the
plane and focal length of the lens used, the most usual being a height of nine
thousand feet with a twenty-inch lens, as this gives a scale of approximately
twelve and a half inches to the mile. These conditions are used when work is
being carried out on the revision of twenty-five inch ordnance sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After each exposure, the
film in the camera, measuring one hundred and sixty-five feet, and capable of
taking two hundred photographs, is automatically moved forward, a special
timing apparatus ensuring that at least two-thirds of the ground shown in one
photograph is included in the picture taken immediately after it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Inside the camera are a
small clock, an altimeter and a Veeder counter set in a line in such a way that
when each exposure is made, the light from a two-volt lamp enables them to be
photographed on the margin of the picture. By this means it is possible to
record the exact time of day at which each photograph was taken, the flying
height of the plane, the serial number of the picture, and when necessary,
crosslevels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The “louvre” shutter,
which consists of a row of very thin metal leaves which turn on end in exactly
the same way as do the wooden bars on the old-fashioned Venetian blind, is
first wound up. Then, two seconds before it is released, a red light flashes to
warn the pilot to level up the plane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The instant the
photograph has been taken, a green light signals the </span><span class="Bodytext24pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">“</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">O.K.” and the film is
automatically wound over ready for the next exposure, by means of a small
electric motor and electric control box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The pilot engaged in
aerial photography flies his machine along a series of parallel straight lines
in such a way that about a third of the ground that appears on one side of the
photographs taken on the first “run” will appear in those taken on the second,
and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He is provided with
special instruments including a gyroscopic compass and a drift sight and from
his map he picks out certain distinctive points beyond the imaginary straight
line along which he must fly, and by taking a compass bearing on it, he is
enabled to keep a straight course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xo2ok7M9GwM/XG2wvY8MHEI/AAAAAAABpYo/jG5mc5pagfIjsX0Ia0xfysqJdAUsEy4kACLcBGAs/s1600/Map%2BMaking%2Bpic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: 28.8px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1600" height="226" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xo2ok7M9GwM/XG2wvY8MHEI/AAAAAAABpYo/jG5mc5pagfIjsX0Ia0xfysqJdAUsEy4kACLcBGAs/s320/Map%2BMaking%2Bpic2.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The greatest problem
that confronts the pilot is a strong side wind, for this produces “crabbing.”
That is to say, the plane is being continually forced sideways at the same time
as it is moving forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To counteract this
effect, the camera is swung round to allow for the angle of drift and let the
edges of the photographs run</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> parallel. The photographer checks up the
actual direction of his flight by means of a special sight which is also used
to estimate the angle of the plane’s drift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Within
a few hours of a flight having been completed, the films are developed and then
rough prints are made and assembled so that the area that has been photographed
can be checked accurately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
work is always carried out as soon as possible so that in the event of some
part of the area having been missed owing to low cloud or faulty navigation,
the gaps can be filled in by further photography on the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
studying the aerial photographs, the stereoscope is used extensively, for by
its means the ground may be studied in three dimensions. When you look at a
pair of aerial photographs through a stereoscope, trees, buildings, hills and
other objects seem positively to stand out from the picture in such a way that
you feel you are not looking at a flat picture but a perfect scale model of the
actual country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
accuracy is the essence of survey, the photographs are enlarged and rectified
optically until an exact fit with the ordnance map is obtained.</span></div>
Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0London, UK51.5073509 -0.1277582999999822351.1912379 -0.77320529999998222 51.8234639 0.51768870000001777tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-17557819116965621092018-12-21T16:43:00.000-04:002018-12-21T16:43:11.361-04:00Earmarks of Genius<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.5pt;"><b>Earmarks of Genius</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="Bodytext4" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span class="Bodytext4Exact1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0pt;">From the column
JOURNAL WAYFARER</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Bodytext2Exact1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">BY ALICE FROST LORD</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1913&dat=19450424&id=t_UpAAAAIBAJ&sjid=4GYFAAAAIBAJ&pg=3205,1583349&hl=en">https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1913&dat=19450424&id=t_UpAAAAIBAJ&sjid=4GYFAAAAIBAJ&pg=3205,1583349&hl=en</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Heading1"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=oQQVFBP0nzwC&dat=19450424&printsec=frontpage&hl=en"><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Lewiston Evening Journal - Apr 24, 1945</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark0"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">Earmarks of genius are the early enthusiasms </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">of </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">youth
who later fill many niches in statistical data of “Who’s Who.” Such was the
case with a Norway family, the Verrills.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">The contemporary author, who is famed as a
naturalist, explorer and illustrator, is Prof. Alpheus Hyatt Verrill. He
happened to be born in New Haven. Conn., but he took special courses in zoology
with his father; and the latter was Addison Emery Verrill who belonged in
Maine.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">In an old History of Norway (Lapham’s)
considerable space is given to this earlier professor at Yale. For he was born
in 1839 in Greenwood, in this State, later moving with his father to Norway.
The youngster’s aptitudes did not require any modern academic tests. His traits
were marked. It is recorded:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When he wore pinafores he would
frequently stray away into the fields and pastures, fill his lap with curious
stones—and Oxford county is full of precious ones—and refuse to return to the
house unless his treasures could be taken along with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Birds and reptiles attracted his
childish attention, and his mother found it no small task to remove, after he
had retired for the night, the hoards of natural objects he had gathered and
brought into the house during the day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of course, many a small boy has
exasperated his mother doing like things. But these had a continuing meaning in
the life of this older Verrill who was to become distinguished in this field.
The historian continues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“He mastered the branches taught in the
public schools with remarkable facility, especially mathematics, and was well
up in all branches of English before he entered the academy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 71.05pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">“He nearly began to make a
collection of objects in natural history, and his collection of stuffed birds
was</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">, </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">a
marvel, considering his years and opportunities.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">“When 19 years of age he wrote to Prof.
Agassiz and made his own arrangements with that distinguished savant to become
his pupil. * * </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">* </span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">He also became an adept in fine drawing so essential
to the accurate study of conchology.”</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">Well, the older Verrill became a professor at
Harvard and curator of Peabody museum on the Cambridge campus; and later was
professor of zoology at Yale. At one time he was in charge of dredging for deep
sea fauna in connection with the United States Fisheries.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">Prof. Addison Emery Verrill also married a
Maine girl, Flora L. Smith of Norway.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.0pt;">Such is the
background for Prof. Alpheus Hyatt Verrill</span></b></span><span class="Bodytext20"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">, </span></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">whose biography in “Who’s Who” has measured exactly
six inches of the finest print.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Probably many Maine people are not aware
that it was this man who invented photography in natural colors; or that he has
been an explorer in Bermuda, the West Indies, Guiana, Central America, Panama,
and is credited with rediscovering the (supposedly) extinct solenodon paradoxus
in Santa Domingo—which is a peculiar insectivorous mammal, furry, long snouted
and long tailed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Another unusual achievement was a series
of oil paintings of South and Central American Indians, done from life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Spectacular also was his supervision of recovering
a Spanish galleon that had been sunk in the 17th century off the West Indies. It
is interesting, also, that his home has been in the historic De Soto area in
Florida.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Two generations of Verrills in the
professorial field! What will later ones supply? Are they, too, stone and
bug-minded!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Lewiston, ME, USA44.100351 -70.214776443.9178645 -70.5374999 44.282837500000007 -69.89205290000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-83781595193813591912018-07-12T12:10:00.002-03:002018-07-12T12:10:42.948-03:00The Progressive Phase of G.H.Teed<br />
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 18.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Progressive Phase </span></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark2"><span class="Heading1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">of G.H.Teed</span></span></a></span></b><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark2;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 36.2pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by
Christopher Lowder<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 36.2pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">from
The Collector’s Digest Annual 1972<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 36.2pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">(G H Teed was a Canadian and a prolific and popular author. Biographical information on the author can be found in </span><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/198076137X/ref=oh_aui_detailpage_o01_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1"><b><span style="font-size: large;">this book</span></b></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> which has yet to be delivered.)</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 36.2pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">With very little juggling, we can divide up the
career of George Heber Teed (the ‘Hamilton’ was a personal fancy, added, it is
thought, because the name Heber had unfortunate associations for him) as a
Sexton Blake writer into five phases — Early, Progressive, Mature, Violent,
Late.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Early phase is self-explanatory. Although
there is a certain amount of mystery attached to his first couple of years in
the game, and although he did seem to leap into a prominence that very few
other writers, in any other field of writing were far from assured.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">One could tell that here was an extremely
promising writer, certainly; but that promise was yet to be fulfilled. Teed was
still learning his craft.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">By 1915, however, a gradual change can be seen
in his work, culminating in that extraordinary Summer Double Number of the
Union Jack, “Bribery and Corruption” (see Note 1), in which, throughout the
whole of its 80,000-word length, no-one is murdered.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">To those who may not have read this particular
tale, the idea of a detective story without a body may seem astonishing, not to
say laughable. In fact, “Bribery and Corruption” is a tour de force in every
way, and can be read on many levels.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It can be read simply as a good story, well
told. It can be read as a fine political novel, in which one is given an
extraordinary insight into the machinations and motivations of an ambitious
rogue who seeks political control over a whole town.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It can be read as an intellectual exercise where
one follows the analytical and deductive processes of a detective, and as a
clever example of how to write a novel-length story around that detective
without resorting to violence, murder or sudden death. And it can be read for
its stunningly visual descriptions of a part of the world - New Brunswick,
Canada - the author knew as a child, and which obviously affected him deeply.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Following on from this, it can also be read, I
think, as a vivid slice of autobiography. There are minor characters in the story
who, I am certain, were lifted straight out of Teed’s youthful experiences and
not given even the thinnest of fictional veneers. There are situations and
incidents aside from the tale’s main plotline that I suspect Teed himself had
taken a part in at some time in his early career, or at least knew of at first
or second hand.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This is partly what I mean by the term ‘Progressive.’
There is a maturity - almost a self-awaredness - about “Bribery and Corruption”
that is largely absent in his previous stories. Clearly Teed enjoyed writing
this tale, and clearly he was coming to terms with himself as a writer of what
were then considered to be solely ‘juvenile’ stories.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There is another factor worthy of note
concerning this phase - and one which is possibly the most important of all. He
was beginning to regard the villains he was writing about as not wholly
two-dimensional, cardboard characters.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It is made quite plain that Hammerton Palmer,
the crooked financier who is the villain of the piece in “Bribery and Corruption,”
is a sympathetic character, for all his political wheeling and dealing and
general roguery. He saves a young boy’s life through an heroic and unselfish
action on his own part, and at the end of the story gets away scot free thanks
to the intervention of Sexton Blake.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That this process of ‘cleaning up’ Palmer was a
deliberate one on Teed’s part is given added weight if one reads “The Prize
Ship,” a two-part, 40,000-word story by Teed, that was published in Pluck a
month or so before “Bribery and Corruption” appeared in the Union Jack.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Here, again, Palmer is the hero/villain of the
piece, and here, again, he gets away thanks to Blake - and with a sizeable
slice of the loot (£8,000) gained by his financial trickery.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Compare this with Palmer’s first appearance
almost exactly a year before in the Summer Double Number for 1914, “The Death
Club.” In this story, he is nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer, and
escapes the law, and the gallows, by the skin of his teeth, and with no help at
all from Blake. (See Note 2.)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We see a gradual change in other Teed characters
too in this period. Huxton Rymer is a good example of a ruthless killer who
becomes far more appealing, and, indeed, ‘real,’ as time goes on. The Rymer of “The
Diamond Dragon,” “The Great Mining Swindle” or “The Case of the Radium Patient”
is a far less sympathetic character than the Rymer of “The Two Mysteries” or “The
Blue God.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Of course, giving fictional crooks a
three-dimensional aspect, making them to a certain extent into sympathetic and
appealing characters, was nothing new, and I’m not suggesting that Teed
revolutionized detective fiction as a whole when he used this method. What he
did do, however, was to give his particular characters much more depth than his
fellow-writers in the same field gave theirs.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There is no redeeming feature in Andrew Murray’s
Professor Kew, for instance; Lewis Jackson’s Kestrel remained an out-and-out
murderous crook from “The Case of the Cataleptic” (1916) right through until “The
Case of the Biscay Pirate” (1944) - and who could ever feel any sort of
sympathy for Robert Murray’s malignant Mr. Reece? E. S. Brooks made Waldo into
a friendly enough type, true, but unfortunately Waldo remained, like Norman
Conquest, stubbornly two-dimensional until the end of his days.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Only Zenith, Anthony Skeene’s brilliant albino,
aspired to any sort of depth character on the same level as Teed’s best
creations. But Zenith, alas, was a paradox, and very quirky.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This Progressive phase of Teed’s lasted from
1915 until 1917, when it was cut short - one might almost say in its prime -
with an abruptness that only those who were alive at the time would appreciate.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Quite simply, Rymer, Yvonne, Wu Ling and the
rest became War casualties, and when they returned, after the War, when Teed
came back to writing in 1921, they had all undergone a subtle change in their
characters that made them not quite what they once were.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mostly, this change was for the better. The
period from 1921 until the late ‘20’s is considered by most people, and with
justice, to be Teed’s best, happily coinciding with the true Golden Age of the
Sexton Blake saga - which is why I term this period, from Teed’s point of view,
the Mature phase.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But one of his creations at least altered course
so radically that he might just as well have been an entirely different, even
new, character.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I refer, of course, to Prince Menes, ‘the Man
from Everywhere,’ a character of great originality and easily the most skilful
creation of Teed’s Progressive phase.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Incidentally, it is interesting to note that
Prince Menes was created at a time (1917) when Teed was certainly refreshed as
a writer of Sexton Blake stories, and I think this is why the character was
such an original one.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The year 1916 saw Teed much more concerned with
another market - the Nelson Lee Library. He had started writing for this market
the previous year, but in 1916 he wrote nearly half the total output -
seventeen stories, as opposed to the six (including one Library) he wrote about
Sexton Blake. In 1917, the reverse was the case, as E. S. Brooks began to
corner the market, so to say - six Nelson Lee stories, and sixteen Blakes
(again, including one Library).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">One of the main factors that caused Teed to
concentrate on the Nelson Lee Library was probably simple economics. It’s far
easier in the long run to knock out seventeen novelettes than seventeen longer
stories, and if the reward, in terms of hard cash, is proportionately easier to
come by, then Teed (who, concerning his own money-making activities was fairly
hard-headed - even if he did tend to lose it at a rather faster rate than it
actually came in) probably didn’t hesitate too much in his choice of markets.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Whatever the reason, he undoubtedly came back to
the Blake fold full of new ideas and new courses for his characters to take.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It is a pity that the only real sign of this
renewal of vitality shows itself in one single new series. True, 1917 was the
year when the Black Rat made his first appearance, and also Marie Galante - but
the former was a typical Teed character, and the latter, since she was featured
in only one story, never had time to develop.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Prince Menes, on the other hand, had plenty of
time to develop, and he made the most of it.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There are four stories which concern us here - “A
Case of Reincarnation,” “The Secret Hand,” “The Case of the Crimson Terror,”
and “The Invisible Ray” - and a brief synopsis of the background of the series
might well be in order.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Ten thousand years ago, Egypt was a flourishing
and mighty nation that ruled the known world. However, the country itself was
ruled by the Order of Ra, the Sun God (remember, this is Teed’s version of
history) whose Supreme Master was Prince Menes, twin brother to the actual
Pharaoh. In time, the Pharaoh grew jealous of Menes’ power, and eventually the
Order was betrayed by ten priests and priestesses, Menes was exiled, and the
fortunes of Egypt sank, over the succeeding ten thousand years, because of this
betrayal and banishment.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Before the original Menes died, however, he
swore that in ten thousand years he would be reincarnated, and that his
appearance on earth would coincide with the reappearance of those same ten
priests and priestesses of Ra, who had betrayed their Order. Also, that during
those ten thousand years, the spirit of Ancient Egypt would pass from one
civilization to another, from one nation to another, and these civilizations
and nations would rise up and fall again, just as Egypt had done, until this
spirit would eventually pass to a nation that would rebuild the shattered
Egypt, to make her great once more.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Then, in the latter half of the 19th Century, a
son was born to a Russian Grand Duke and a Chinese princess. At the age of ten,
he was placed in charge of a priest of the Greek Orthodox Church who later ‘renounced
his former faith and embraced the ancient beliefs of Egypt - the worship of Ra
and Amen-Ra - the reverence of Isis and Osiris’ (“A Case of Reincarnation”).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This was Akbad the patriarch, who taught his
young charge that he was the reincarnated Prince Menes, who had been born again
to find the spirit of Ancient Egypt, and weld the modern Egypt into one mighty
nation. But first he had to seek out those ten priests and priestesses of the
Order of Ra, who were all now reincarnated and alive somewhere in the world,
and exact a terrible vengeance on them for their original betrayal of the
Order, ten thousand years before.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This, in essence, was the premise for Teed’s new
series, and the jumping-off point for the weirdest, most original set of
stories Teed ever envisaged. The pity of it was that it was never finished.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">However, in the course of the four stories that
were written, Teed came up with some strange, not to say astonishing, angles,
which, apart from anything else, give us a good idea of the state of his
personal philosophy at the time.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It is dangerous to connect a man’s fiction with
the man himself, but sometimes, as in this case I think, it is largely
justified by the intensity of the writing, and the esoteric knowledge that Teed
obviously had at his finger-tips.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It is a well-known fact that Teed was what might
be described as a hack - I use the word in its best sense; Charles Hamilton was
a hack, so was Dr. Johnson. Basically, he wrote for money - and he wrote, in
his time, a lot of words for a lot of money. He also spent a lot of money, owed
a lot of money, drank more than was good for him, womanised more than somewhat,
and generally racketed around the environs of Fleet Street behaving like just
about every other writer who was (and, indeed, still is) engaged in the
business of making a living by writing stuff that will never come up for
nomination in the literary section of the Nobel Prize awards.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That he was a better writer, per se, than the
majority of his colleagues has nothing to do with the fact that his market was
the lowest in Grub Street.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Strange, then, that this same hack should show
such a wide-ranging knowledge of such rather esoteric subjects as: Freudian
psychology, mysticism, metaphysics and physiological structurization - not to
mention high finance and modern business techniques.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">These last two, of course, are themes that Teed
often used in his stories - “The Crimson Pearl,” “Scoundrels All,” “The Green
Portfolio,” “The Crook of Marsden Manor,” to name but a few - and he showed a
truly remarkable grasp of involved financial chicanery for a man who had lived
most of his early life managing- plantations of one sort or another.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That Teed knew something of ancient religions
and beliefs, too, is fairly common knowledge and, indeed, obvious to anyone who
has ever read any of his early Wu Ling tales. There is a graphic and totally
authentic account of a pagan sacrificial ceremony in “The Yellow Tiger,” and “The
Black Abbot of Cheng-Tu” is packed with esoteric Buddhist lore and information.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But one has only to start into the first four
Prince Menes stories to realize that Teed not only knew a bit about mysticism -
the sort of ‘bit’ one can read up in any good encyclopaedia - but was a
positive authority on it.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That his obvious enthusiasm for mysticism and
the occult was mis-placed is an unfortunate fact, but it still does not detract
from the immense amount of study he had plainly put into the matter.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I say ‘mis-placed’ since most of the premises
Teed used as jumping-off points for his stories in the ‘Man from Everywhere’
series are false ones.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At some time or other, he had obviously come
into contact with that extraordinary farrago of falsification and sheer
downright nonsense The Secret Doctrine by Mme. Helena P. Blavatsky, the founder
of Theosophy.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Mme. Blavatsky, who, during the course of her
life, had been a circus bareback rider, a professional pianist, and a
sweat-shop worker, amongst other things, largely created a pre-historic
macrocosm and a gaudy panoply of gods and goddesses to people it.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The Secret Doctrine is supposedly based on an
Atlantean treatise “The Book of Dzyan,” which she said had been showed to her
by the ‘world-ruling’ Mahatmas of Tibet. Mme. Blavatsky was a firm believer in
Atlantis, Lemuria and other lost continents, some of which she even invented
herself.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Unfortunately for her, an elderly Californian
scholar, William Emmette Coleman, decided to dig rather deeper into The Secret
Doctrine than Mme. Blavatsky cared for or, indeed, her misguided followers
bothered to. He discovered that her sources (all unacknowledged) were the
Indian Vishnu Purana, Alexander Winchell’s World Life, Ignatius Donnelly’s
infamous Atlantis: the Antediluvian World (which, in turn, is a medley of
inventions, misstatements of fact, errors of interpretation and downright
lies), and other pseudo-scientific works. The crowning cheat of all was that
most of the “Book of Dzyan” was cribbed wholesale from the “Hymn of Creation”
in the ancient Sanskrit “Rig-Veda” (see Note 3).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thus, it can be readily seen that anyone who
relies on The Secret Doctrine - and, indeed, the hundreds of Theosophical,
mystical and occult tomes that have sprung, directly or indirectly, from it -
as a cornerstone of his spiritual convictions is sadly deluding himself, and
the only practical use to be made of it is either as kindling, or, as the
fantasy writer Edgar Rice Burroughs did, a basis for a series of science
fiction stories (i.e. his ‘Martian’ novels).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 15.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It
is doubtful whether Burroughs, who was something of a super-materialist, ever
put any real faith in the occult, and especially The Secret Doctrine. Teed, on
the other hand, for all his hard-headedness and general practicality, was
obviously rather taken with the whole concept of lost continents, occult lore,
and the ‘wisdom of the ancients’ at this stage in his development.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The ‘Man from Everywhere’ series is full of the
sort of esoteric mystical lore that was packed into the books and pamphlets of
Donnelly, Mme. Blavatsky, and others of their ilk.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“The Case of the Crimson Terror,” for instance
(the third in the series), contains an interesting synopsis of all that had
gone before in the previous stories, and also a facinating account of world
history that owed a huge debt to the theories of the occultists.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Before the known civilizations there existed the
continent of Atlantis, and also the ‘Pacific continent’ (see Note 4), which
were the cradles of all learning and knowledge. When Atlantis supposedly
disappeared beneath the waves, the survivors spread out through the world and
colonized places as far apart as Egypt, India, South America, and so on. These
colonists brought with them their crafts, advanced knowledge, and religious
philosophies - the latter chiefly centring around the sun and the moon.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The colonists who reached Egypt found a wide and
beautiful valley where the Sahara now lies, and there built a vast temple to
Ra, the Sun God, in the massive pyramid of Zagwa, which was later covered over
by the drifting sands of the desert when Egypt fell after the betrayal of the
Order of Ra.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Though Egypt itself tumbled to the position of a
vassal to nations, then as a slave, then as a barren desert, the Order of Ra
survived and prospered, hidden in the secret underground temple, and through
the ages gathered in the knowledge and scientific discoveries of other civilizations,
so that at the time of the ‘Prince Menes’ series</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">the
Order of Ra had at its disposal a vast fund of scientific knowledge and arcane
lore (a mixture of the profane and the sacred), all of which was inculcated
into the man who was said to be the reincarnation of the first Prince Menes,
who had lived ten thousand years before.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The debts that Teed owed to the occultists are
many and varied. In the ‘Prince Menes’ series, he has various characters
arguing, favourably, such myths and theories as reincarnation, lost continents,
ancient wisdom of the most sophisticated nature (he even mentions, at one
point, ‘men from the stars’ as the bringers of advanced knowledge), hypnotism
as a means of seeing back into the past, ESP, rejuvenation, and a host of other
ideas, some of which, like ESP, have been found to have a factual and
scientific basis.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">It would take more than my alloted space to
fully go into the occult sources (and, too, the fictional sources - see Note 5)
that Teed plundered to construct this fascinating series. Indeed, a complete
exegesis would probably fill a medium sized novel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The most curious part of all is that Teed
undoubtedly more than half-believed what he was writing about, when he was
setting down all the background data and mystical information for the series.
It wasn’t simply a case of mugging it up in the local reference library, for
again and again he warns the reader not to scoff at the weird happenings or
startling psychic occurrences he is describing. And there is a basic integrity,
an intensity, as I have said before, about the tone of his writing that, it
seems to me, has nothing whatsoever to do with the fiction writer’s normal ‘warning
to the curious’ that is written purely as a realistic effect.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -3.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
stories themselves - apart from all the mystical angles which must have puzzled
his younger readers, as well as excited their imaginations - were extremely
adult in other ways, too.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Although “A Case of Reincarnation” contains some
fairly heavy occult philosophy (far more sophisticated stuff than one gets in
the lost-race type of novel that Rider Haggard, for instance, was busily
churning out around this time, and which would have found favour with the same
type of readership), there are some extremely abstruse stock market and financial
convolutions in the story that even I had to read twice. In the end, Menes
ruins the ‘villain,’ Lord Roncote, because Roncote it appears is the
reincarnation of one of those priests who betrayed the Order of Ra so many
thousands of years before.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“The Secret Hand” contains perhaps the strongest
meat of all. Here Blake acts as King-maker in a political drama that exceeds
even “Bribery and Corruption” in its scope and sophistication. We learn that
Blake is a supporter of the government in power (see Note 6), and that out of ‘sheer
party loyalty’ he takes the case offered to him, by an M. P. of the Opposition
party, to stave off a political crisis that might force a general election, the
outcome of which would run against his own political views.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">During the course of the story, it comes out
that the wife of the M. P. is a murderess, and also the reincarnation of one of
the traitorous priestesses of Ra.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In the end, Menes exacts a terrible vengeance by
deliberately driving her insane.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As an incidental point to this story, it is
interesting to note that Teed was by no means totally wrapped up in matters
occult. Blake makes use of a sophisticated type of lie-detector at one point,
and Menes goes one better by employing what can only be described as a pocket
tape-recorder.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">In “The Case of the Crimson Terror,” Teed sets
out his Atlantis theories, and we learn that Blake has written a monograph on
the Rosetta Stone and made ‘some little study of Egyptology.’ Menes employs his
vast scientific know-how to good effect by sending his intended victim
half-crazy by using his knowledge of oxydization.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If “The Secret Hand” is the most dramatic of the
quartet, the fourth story, “The Invisible Ray,” is certainly not far behind it
in that respect, and has, to a certain extent, an even more adult
subject-matter - modern psychology. At one point in the story, we are given a
description of Blake’s knowledge of the subject that is extremely advanced . . .
including, as it does, a theory of Blake’s that criminals cannot simply be
cured by terms of imprisonment, but by a training of the subconscious mind.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Teed also tells us that Blake’s monograph on the
“Psychological Relation of the Human Physique to the Mentality” is acknowledged
by a distinguished authority on the subject as being ‘a very able treatise.’
This might come as something of a shock to those who only know of Blake’s
various papers on tobacco ash, firearms, and the rest of the rather mundane
subjects that other writers foisted on to him.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Taken as a whole, there is no doubt that the “Man
from Everywhere’ series is the culmination of Teed’s Progressive phase, and one
of the very best sets of stories he ever embarked upon. The fact that it was
cut short when it hadn’t even reached the half-way mark is a tragedy of the
first water. In any case, if Teed was using themes like this, what on earth
would the next series have been like? To what new heights would he have raised
the Sexton Blake mythos?</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The mind, as they say, boggles, and any
speculation we might make on the subject would be mere wishful thinking. Teed
didn’t go on with the series, and, in fact, he didn’t return to the Blake fold
for nearly five years.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A lot can happen in that time, and, quite
obviously, a lot did. In 1923, Teed was writing ‘Blake was no believer in the
occult’ (“The Hyena of Paris”), and when Menes returned in 1924, in “The Mummy’s
Twin,” he was no longer the embodiment of mystical power but, as S. Gordon Swan
so rightly put it once, just ‘a sinister Easterner working against the West, a
Wu Ling of Egypt, but a rather inferior Wu Ling’ (see Note 7).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As I have said, I consider the phase from 1921
to the latter part of the same decade to be Teed’s very best - his ‘Mature’
phase. And, indeed, “The Mummy’s Twin” is a terrific yarn on all counts, and a
marvellous example of this ‘very best.’</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But it is not Prince Menes - or, at least, the
Prince Menes that Teed originally envisaged. (See Note 8.)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What actually changed his mind about mysticism
and the occult is by no means clear. It is certain, however, that his attitude
towards figures such as Menes and Wu Ling and even Marie Galante had hardened
over the intervening period when he had not been writing. Where before they had
been romantic figures - characters that had more kinship with 19th Century
fantasy heroes; brooding figures of myth and legend - now they presented a
definite threat to Western civilization. Each character now headed a coloured
organization that had as its basic aim world domination.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And although this basic aim was the jumping-off
point for some marvellous stories, something within G. H. Teed had been lost in
the change-over process from Progressive to Mature. A spark of youthful
idealism, perhaps, that, though based on a mis-placed enthusiasm for an
assortment of ill-considered and largely illogical occult theories, is still to
be regretted - as the quenching of any youthful flame is to be regretted.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">NOTES:</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: .55in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stories
mentioned in the text are as follows: “Bribery and Corruption” (UJ No. 616 -
Summer Double, 1915); “The Prize Ship” (Pluck, Nos. 555/556 - 1915); “The Death
Club” (UJ No. 558 - Summer Double, 1914); “The Diamond Dragon” (UJ No. 493 -
Easter Double, 1913); “The Great Mining Swindle” (Boys’ Friend 3d. Library, No.
228 - May, 1913); “The Case of the Radium Patient” (UJ No. 548 - Spring Double,
1914); “The Two Mysteries” (SBL 1st 11 - June, 1916); “The Blue God” (UJ No.
685 - Christmas Double, 1916); “The Case of the Cataleptic” (UJ No. 620 -
1915); “The Case of the Biscay Pirate” (SBL 3<sup>rd</sup> 65 - February,
1944); “The Crimson Pearl” (UJ No. 564 - Holiday Double, 1914); “Scoundrels All”
(UJ No. 613 - 1915); “The Green Portfolio” (UJ No. 1066 - 1924); “The Crook of
Marsden Manor” (SBL 2nd 224 - January, 1930); “The Yellow Tiger” (SBL 1st 1 -
September, 1915); “The Black Abbot of Cheng-Tu” (UJ Nos. 1236-1254 - 1927); and
“The Hyena of Paris” (UJ No. 1033 - 1923).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There seems no evidence at all for the theory
mooted by E. S. Turner, in the chapter devoted to Sexton Blake in his classic “Boys
Will Be Boys” (Michael Joseph: 1948, 1957), that Hammerton Palmer was modelled
on Sir John Hammerton, a senior executive and Editor of the Amalgamated Press
around that time. Apart from anything else, Palmer wasn’t ‘quietly dropped’ as
Turner says. He was a leading character in “The Blue God” (see Note 1) and “The
Great Ivory Swindle” (SBL 1st 325 - 1924). He was also mentioned on numerous
occasions, in such novels as “The Case of the Courtlandt Jewels” (SBL 1st 253 -
1922), etc.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">L. Sprague de Camp & Catherine C. de Camp:
Ancient Ruins and Archaeology (Doubleday, 1964). Chapter XI, “Nan Matol and the
Sacred Turtle.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There may indeed have been such a place as ‘Atlantis,’
though the very fact that its location has been shunted about the globe by such
a variety of enthusiasts, eccentrics, and downright madmen tends to make one
very sceptical. Best location seems to be either somewhere in the
Mediterranean, or around the tip of southwestern Spain. Flying machines made
out of unknown metals and cities built out of solid gold can be crossed off the
list of the sort of activities the ‘Atlantean’ went in for, however. The myth
of the ‘Pacific continent’ can be exploded far more easily. Due to the
geological structure of the earth’s crust in that area, there never has been,
nor is, nor ever will be a large land-mass in the Pacific.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Teed’s third wife, Mrs. Inez Teed, said that her
husband used to enjoy the novels of Sax Rohmer. This figures. I would guess
that he had delved fairly deeply into Guy Boothby’s stories, too, especially
the ‘Dr. Nikola’ series. I would also suspect that he read quite early on in
his life two fantasy novels that were extraordinarily popular at the turn of
the century - Phra the Phoenician by Edwin Lester Arnold (Chatto & Windus,
1891), and George Griffith’s Valdar the Oft-Born (C. Arthur Pearson, 1895), the
latter a rather tedious plagiarism of Arnold’s book.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">This would be Lloyd George’s wartime government.
In the story, it is implied that Blake (and, presumably, Teed as well) is an
opponent of Asquith, whom Lloyd George toppled from power in the December of
1916.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">S. Gordon Swan: “Character Changes” - Collectors’
Digest No. 208; April, 1964.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">For readers who are interested in following the ‘Prince
Menes’ series through to the bitter end, the entire sequence (1917 and
post-War, in chronological order) is as follows: “A Case of Reincarnation” (UJ
No. 722 - 1917); “The</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Secret Hand” (UJ No. 723 - 1917); “The Case of
the Crimson Terror” (UJ No. 728 - 1917); “The Invisible Ray” (UJ No. 731 -
1917); “The Mummy’s Twin” (UJ No. 1067 - 1924); “The Adventure of the Blue Bowl”
(UJ No. 1112 - 1924); “The House on the Cliff” (UJ No. 1113 - 1924); “The Great
Canal Plot” (SBL 2nd 19 - 1925); and “The Case of the Mummified Hand” (SBL 2nd
35 - 1926).</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 449.35pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I use the term ‘bitter end’ advisedly - in “The
Case of the Mummified Hand,” Menes takes poison. About the only instance I can
recall of a major Teed villain ending it all by his own hand. Teed villains
were usually a pretty hardy lot.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-48209511851278838052018-07-09T16:29:00.000-03:002018-07-09T16:29:29.245-03:00Lost Gold Mines<br />
<div class="Heading10" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-left: 20.0pt; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; letter-spacing: 0pt;">LOST GOLD MINES</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; letter-spacing: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">From Sexton Blake Library #644 Dated October
1938<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Recently</span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> in the Press there has been reported the discovery of
a new gold-mine. This is located in a place bearing the fascinating name of
Yellow Knife in the North-West Territory of Canada. The Yellow Knife River
flows into the Great Slave Lake to the North of Alberta.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The great
difference between this discovery of gold and previous finds lies in the fact
that it was made from the air. A prospector, who had been knocking about Canada
for thirty years, was flying over a bit of desolate country when he spotted the
strike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">He was able to
see the veins in the rocks and, landing immediately, began to stake his claim.
In addition to the veins in the rock there are also gold deposits at the bottom
of the lake. No wonder the lucky finder christened his biggest claim as
Treasure Island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">It seems as if
the mine now discovered is quite incapable of getting lost—mainly through the
fact that its position can be constantly located from the air. Many of the old-time
prospectors would have been very grateful for such an aid. For in the old days
mines were constantly getting lost, and often tragedy dogged the footsteps of
the original finder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">! </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">For Instance, there is
the story of the Lost Arch mine situated in the Turtle Range, California. This
mine was actually discovered on two occasions. Yet no one can locate it to-day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The Lost Arch was
first found entirely by chance. Two men dying of thirst lay under an arch of
rock. One of them spotted a golden nugget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Scrabbling
with his hands he found that he was reclining over a large pocket of gold. But
this discovery was fated to do him no good. His companion died there on the
spot. And it was a long time before the discoverer could crawl into
civilisation, almost at the last gasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">After
recovering he made several attempts to find this gold-mine, but when he died,
in 1889, it was in poverty, for he could not make his way back to the mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">And
this is not the end of the Lost Arch. Some fourteen years later a young botanist
stumbled upon the same canyon with its amazing natural arch. He also spotted
the gold and made a note of the site.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Back
in civilisation he told of his find and arranged with another man to set out
for the spot. But the very next day he was killed in an accident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">So
the Lost Arch mine is still lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">And
there have been many others with a like history—mostly the original finders
have found tragedy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">An
old prospector once got lost in the arid wastes of that stretch of country
known as Death Valley. He was dying of thirst when he happened to dislodge a
rock. That rock was solid gold!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Looking
round, he saw that he was surrounded by the precious metal. Thirst, for the
moment, was forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-right: -3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">He
loaded himself with samples of the gold and set out to win his way back to
civilisation. But after several days of nightmare-walking he fell into the
hands of a wandering tribe of Indians.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">In the course of
a fight the unlucky </span><span class="Bodytext2Verdana"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">prospector
</span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">was badly wounded in the head,
which caused him </span><span class="Bodytext2Verdana"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">to </span></span><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">go out of his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Subsequently he
recovered, and for many years after he would set out on his journey to Death
Valley. But he never saw his mine again, and though the country has been
searched for many years since the gold has never been found.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">It almost seems
that the discovery of gold is linked up with some sort of trouble for the
finder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">A month or so ago
the papers reported the death of a man in the Paddington district. He was
found gassed in a back room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">It came out that
for some time he had been drawing the dole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Yet at one time
he had been rich.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">For he had been a
gold-mining engineer in California where he had been able to amass several
thousand pounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">With this behind
him he had set out on his travels. Then the gold-mining concern failed and he
was soon penniless. Though still under sixty he could not find employment, and this
undoubtedly preyed on his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The Strange story
of the Goler mine brings out the fact that it is not the obssession of gold
that is the chief lure. In this case, a man named Goler with two partners
discovered a rich mine. The partners died of thirst and Goler returned to
civilisation determined to fit out an expedition to exploit his mine. He never
found it again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">But later another
man set out to find it. He failed in his quest, but by an extraordinarv chance
found another rich strike. This proved so fruitful that he is said to have
amassed a huge fortune. However, he ran through it. And once more penniless he
set out for the Goler mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">From this last
journey he never came back. No trace of him was ever found.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Yukon Territory, Canada64.2823274 -13550.2138109 -176.3085935 78.3508439 -93.6914065tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-57885730587428866572018-07-04T13:45:00.001-03:002018-08-28T11:31:49.264-03:00G. H. Hamilton Teed Chronology (magazines)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: .25in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="A184790"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;">TEED, G(eorge) H(eber)</span></b></a><span style="mso-bookmark: A184790;"></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"> (1886-1938);
see pseudonyms <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/d/d757.htm#A21853">Louis Brittany</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/d/d2346.htm#A78565">George Hamilton</a> & <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/d/d2349.htm#A78670">Murray Hamilton</a> <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772">(stories)</a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
See Also <a href="http://ghteed.blogspot.ca/"><b><span style="font-size: large;">GHTeed.blogspot.Ca</span></b></a> for more updated information and some of his stories.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.144">The Robbery
at Ponder’s Bank</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4548.htm#A100656"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Apr 1 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.98">The Last of
the Genghis</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4548.htm#A100659"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Apr 22 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.5">At Half Tide</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4548.htm#A100665"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jun 3 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.105">The Man with
Four Identities</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4548.htm#A100668"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jun 24 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.45">The Crimson
Disc</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100671"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jul 15 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.79">The Golden
Boomerang</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100674"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Aug 5 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.46">The Crook</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100680"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Sep 16 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.116">The Mystery
of Barron Hall</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100682"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Sep 30 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.40">The Clue of
the Raincoat</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100684"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Oct 14 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.14">Blue Diamonds</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100686"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Oct 28 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.121">The Mystery
of the Closed Door</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100692"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Dec 9 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.136">The
Plantation Mystery</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100694"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Dec 23 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo3; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.186">The Two
Mysteries</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6044.htm#A136315"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #11 1916</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.15">The Broken
Vase</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100696"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jan 6 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.80">The Great Air
Mystery</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100699"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jan 27 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.104">The Man
Hunters</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100705"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Mar 10 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.101">Loot</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100720"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jun 23 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.96">The Kidnapped
Stockbroker</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4549.htm#A100721"><i>The Nelson
Lee Library</i> Jun 30 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.63">The Diamond
Sunburst</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6044.htm#A136341"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #37 1917</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.23">The Case of
the Courtland Jewels</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136557"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #253 1922</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.62">The Diamond
Dragon</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136537"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #233 1922</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.95">The Ivory
Screen</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136523"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #219 1922</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.170">The Spirit
Smuggler</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136533"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #229 1922</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.44">The Crimson
Belt</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6048.htm#A136611"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #307 1923</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.68">The Eight
Pointed Star</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136587"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #283 1923</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.131">The Ofloff
Diamond</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6048.htm#A136616"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #312 1923</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.149">The Secret
Emerald Mines</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6047.htm#A136575"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #271 1923</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.21">The Case of
the Clairvoyant’s Ruse</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6048.htm#A136660"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #356 1924</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.25">The Case of
the Jade-Handled Knife</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6048.htm#A136664"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #360 1924</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.82">The Great
Ivory Swindle</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6048.htm#A136629"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #325 1924</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.177">The Three
Gold Feathers</a> (sl) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t1359.htm#A25899"><i>The Boys’
Friend</i> Jul 18 1925</a>, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.20">The Case of
the Chinese Pearls</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136712"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #25 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.28">The Case of
the Pink Macaw</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136675"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #371 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.33">The Case of
the Ten Diamonds</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136695"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #8 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.39">The Clue of
the Four Wigs</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136703"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #16 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.81">The Great
Canal Plot</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136706"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #19 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.128">The Mystery
of the Seine</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136670"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #366 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.151">The Secret
of the Coconut Grove</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136688"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #1 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.187">Under the
Eagle’s Wing</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136708"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #21 1925</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.65">The Digger
’Tec</a> (sl) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t1360.htm#A25923"><i>The Boys’
Friend</i> Jan 2 1926</a>, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.10">The Black
Emperor</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136739"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #52 1926</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.27">The Case of
the Mummified Hand</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136722"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #35 1926</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.93">The Island of
the Guilty</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6049.htm#A136728"><i>The Sexton Blake
Library</i> #41 1926</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.143">The Riddle
of the Russian Gold</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136760"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #73 1926</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.174">The Terror
of Tangier</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136764"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #77 1926</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.1">The Adventure
of the Bogus Sheik</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136816"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #129 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.24">The Case of
the Disguised Apache</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136800"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #113 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.29">The Case of
the Portuguese Giantess</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136815"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #128 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.122">The Mystery
of the Film City</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136806"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #119 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.130">The
Night-Club Mystery</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136769"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #82 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.147">The Rogues’
Republic</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136772"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #85 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.178">The Tiger of
Canton</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6050.htm#A136776"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #89 1927</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.3">The Adventure
of the Voodoo Queen</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136840"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #153 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.19">The Case of
the Bogus Monk</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136831"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #144 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.55">Crooks in
Clover</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136848"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #161 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.69">The 8th
Millionaire</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136852"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #165 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.118">The Mystery
of Gold Digger Creek</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136845"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #158 1928</a>, as “The Terror of Gold Digger Creek”, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.148">The Rubber
Smugglers</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136834"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #147 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.172">The Terror
of Gold Digger Creek</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136845"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #158 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.189">The Victim
of Black Magic</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136821"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #134 1928</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.17">The Cabaret
Crime</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136891"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #204 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.85">The Gunners</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136865"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #178 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.126">The Mystery
of the Man from Rio</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136862"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #175 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.132">The Pearls
of Doom</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136894"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #207 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.139">The Prisoner
of the Chateau</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136900"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #213 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.154">The Secret
of the President’s Daughter</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6051.htm#A136870"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #183 1929</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.84">The Grey Ghost</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6939.htm#A155380"><i>The Thriller</i> Jan
18 1930</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.108">The Masked
Killer</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136934"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #247 1930</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.156">The Secret
of the Strong Room</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136937"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #250 1930</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.90">The House of
Silence</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136940"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #253 1930</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.51">The Crook of
Paris</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136949"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #262 1930</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.2">The Adventure
of the Pearl Pirates</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136952"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #265 1930</a>, as “The Secret of the Thieves’ Kitchen”.
[<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.35">Cassidy the
“Con” Man</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136926"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #239 1930</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.47">The Crook of
Canada</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136923"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #236 1930</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.49">The Crook of
Marsden Manor</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136911"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #224 1930</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.158">The Secret
of the Thieves’ Kitchen</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136952"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #265 1930</a>; also as “The Adventure of the Pearl
Pirates”. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton
Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.190">The Victim
of the Gang</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6052.htm#A136917"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #230 1930</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.43">The Crime on
Gallows Hill</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136959"><i>The Sexton Blake
Library</i> #272 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.195">The Yellow
Skull</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136964"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #277 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.87">Hounded Down</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6941.htm#A155451"><i>The Thriller</i> May
30 1931</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.42">The Crime of
the Catacombs</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136972"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #285 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.89">The House of
Curtains</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136980"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #293 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.77">Gang War</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136984"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #297 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.56">The
Cross-Channel Crime</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136993"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #306 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.48">The Crook of
Costa Blanca</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A136997"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #310 1931</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.103">The Man from
Shanghai</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6960.htm#A156124"><i>Thrilling
Detective</i> Jan 1932</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.53">The Crook of
Shanghai</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A137020"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #333 1932</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.88">The House of
Cellars</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137030"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #343 1932</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.70">The Eye of
the Dragon</a> (sl) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t5389.htm#A122594"><i>The Ranger</i> Oct
1 1932</a>, etc. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f186.htm#A5003"><i>Nelson
Lee</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.135">The Phantom
of the Creek</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137040"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #353 1932</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.50">The Crook of
Monte Carlo</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137049"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #362 1932</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.36">The Chinatown
Mystery</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A137006"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #319 1932</a>; also as “Limehouse Loot”. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.100">Limehouse
Loot</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6053.htm#A137006"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #319 1932</a>, as “The Chinatown Mystery”. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.163">The Silent
Woman</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52252"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 11 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.94">The Isle of
Horror</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137063"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #376 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.38">The Chocolate
King Mystery</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52255"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Apr 1 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.137">The Plot of
the Persian Oil King</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6943.htm#A155551"><i>The Thriller</i> Apr
29 1933</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.134">Perilous
Pearls</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52261"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> May 13 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.146">Rogues of
Ransom</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137071"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #384 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.76">Gambler’s
Gold</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52265"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jun 10 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.9">The Banker’s
Box</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52271"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jul 22 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.54">The Crook’s
Decoy</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137078"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #391 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.73">Frame-Up!</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2480.htm#A52274"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Aug 12 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.173">The Terror
of Malabar</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6944.htm#A155567"><i>The Thriller</i> Aug
19 1933</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.155">The Secret
of the Slums</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2481.htm#A52280"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Sep 23 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.11">Black
Traffic!</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2481.htm#A52285"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Oct 28 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.127">The Mystery
of the Old Age Pensioner</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6054.htm#A137089"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #402 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.13">Blood
Brothers in Formosa</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2481.htm#A52289"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Nov 25 1933</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.4">The Affair of
the Missing Financier</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2481.htm#A52295"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jan 6 1934</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.111">Murder in
Manchuria</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6055.htm#A137102"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #415 1934</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.117">The Mystery
of Cell 13</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6055.htm#A137128"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #441 1934</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.71">The Fatal
Amulet</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6055.htm#A137143"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #456 1934</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.97">Killer Aboard</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6953.htm#A155939"><i>Thriller
Library</i> #11 1934</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.123">The Mystery
of the Girl in Blue</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2482.htm#A52350"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jan 26 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.110">Mr
Wong-Detective</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t5393.htm#A122700"><i>The Ranger</i> Mar
2 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.169">Spies Ltd.</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2482.htm#A52357"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 16 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.182">The Trail of
the Four Assassins</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2482.htm#A52359"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 30 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.107">The Martello
Tower Mystery</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6055.htm#A137161"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #474 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.119">The Mystery
of Plan ’B6’</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2482.htm#A52365"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> May 11 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.168">Spies in
Singapore</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52370"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jun 15 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.59">Death in the
Barber’s Chair</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52373"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jul 6 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.86">The Heart of
Mohammed</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52377"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Aug 3 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.32">The Case of
the Temple Dancing Girl</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52379"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Aug 17 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.191">Voodoo Gold!</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6946.htm#A155671"><i>The Thriller</i> Aug
17 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.72">The Feranti
Pearl</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6946.htm#A155676"><i>The Thriller</i> Sep
21 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.120">The Mystery
of the Cashiered Officer</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6056.htm#A137182"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #495 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.152">The Secret
of the Five Rings</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52388"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Oct 19 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.180">The Tiger of
Tampico</a> (nv) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6946.htm#A155680"><i>The Thriller</i> Oct
19 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.60">Death in the
Palace</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52389"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Oct 26 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.164">Slave of
Trickery</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6946.htm#A155684"><i>The Thriller</i> Nov
16 1935</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.194">The Xmas
Party Crime</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52397"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Dec 21 1935</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.8">The Banker of
Monte Carlo</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6947.htm#A155692"><i>The Thriller</i> Jan
11 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.160">The Shadow
Crook’s Secret</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52407"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Feb 29 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f285.htm#A7665"><i>Shadow Crook</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.184">The Trail of
the Shadow Crook</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52408"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 7 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f285.htm#A7665"><i>Shadow Crook</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.161">The Shadow
Crook’s Vengeance</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2483.htm#A52409"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 14 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f285.htm#A7665"><i>Shadow Crook</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.125">The Mystery
of the Kidnapped Killer</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6947.htm#A155706"><i>The Thriller</i> Apr
18 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.165">The Snake’s
Secret</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6947.htm#A155713"><i>The Thriller</i> Jun
6 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f171.htm#A4485"><i>Cort
Jurgens</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.150">The Secret
of Red Valley</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2484.htm#A52436"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Sep 19 1936</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.64">The Dictator’s
Secret</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6056.htm#A137235"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #548 1936</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.159">The Secret
of the Three Prayer Wheels</a> (sl) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2484.htm#A52452"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jan 9 1937</a>, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.166">Spanish Loot</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2485.htm#A52473"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jun 5 1937</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.171">The Temple
of the Tiger</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2485.htm#A52488"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Sep 18 1937</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.6">The Atom
Smashers</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4406.htm#A97507"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Oct
2 1937</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f235.htm#A6514"><i>Prof.
Sampson Parr</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.91">Invaders from
Space</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4406.htm#A97509"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Oct
16 1937</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f235.htm#A6514"><i>Prof.
Sampson Parr</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.192">Voyage into
Space</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4406.htm#A97511"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Oct
30 1937</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f235.htm#A6514"><i>Prof.
Sampson Parr</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.114">The Mystery
Crater</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4406.htm#A97514"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Nov
20 1937</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f235.htm#A6514"><i>Prof.
Sampson Parr</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.113">Murder on
the Riviera Express</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52503"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Jan 1 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.58">The Dawn Men</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4407.htm#A97523"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jan
22 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f235.htm#A6514"><i>Prof.
Sampson Parr</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.7">The Bailiff’s
Secret</a> (n.) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6057.htm#A137295"><i>The Sexton
Blake Library</i> #608 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.162">Shanghai
Nights</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6949.htm#A155804"><i>The Thriller
Library</i> Feb 26 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.179">The Tiger of
Shanghai</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52513"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 12 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.124">The Mystery
of the Jade Amulet</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52515"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Mar 26 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.142">The Riddle
of the Rose Diamond</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52519"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Apr 23 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.61">The Diamond
Dragon</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4407.htm#A97538"><i>Modern Wonder</i> May
7 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.52">The Crook of
Saigon</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52523"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> May 21 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.106">The Mandarin’s
Ear</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97540"><i>Modern Wonder</i> May
21 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.153">The Secret
of the Marble Bacchante</a> (sl) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2486.htm#A52523"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> May 21 1938</a>, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.185">Treachery of
the Black Abbot</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97541"><i>Modern Wonder</i> May
28 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.109">Monastery of
the Silver Lakes</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97542"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jun
4 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.133">Peril of the
Living Buddha</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97543"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jun
11 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.99">The Last
Round!</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97544"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jun
18 1938</a> [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f26.htm#A666"><i>Black
Abbot</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.175">Terror of
the Reef</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97546"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jul
2 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.102">The Lost
Road</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t4408.htm#A97548"><i>Modern Wonder</i> Jul
16 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.112">Murder Loot</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2393.htm#A50610"><i>Detective
Novels Magazine</i> Aug 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.176">Third Degree</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6950.htm#A155840"><i>The Thriller
Library</i> Nov 5 1938</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7464.htm#A193772.138">The Plunder
of Santa Maria</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t6950.htm#A155850"><i>The Thriller
Library</i> Jan 14 1939</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.66">Don Rico’s
Millions</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2487.htm#A52570"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Apr 15 1939</a>; revised from “The Plunder of Santa
Maria”, <i>The Thriller</i> #519, January 14, 1939. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.83">The Green Eye
of Banyah</a> (na) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t2488.htm#A52604"><i>Detective
Weekly</i> Dec 9 1939</a>, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.37">Chinese
Gordon</a> (ss) <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/t/t1835.htm#A36353"><i>Chums Annual,
1941</i> 1940</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.16">The
Brotherhood of the Beetle</a> (na) <i>The Union Jack</i> #507, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.18">The Case of
the Blazing Island</a> (na) <i>The Union Jack</i> #591, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: .25in list 1.0in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s7463.htm#A193772.22">The Case of
the Conistan Diamond</a> (na) <i>The Union Jack</i> #594, <a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/s/s160.htm#A4726">uncredited</a>. [<a href="http://www.philsp.com/homeville/fmi/f/f28.htm#A738"><i>Sexton Blake</i></a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0London, UK51.5073509 -0.1277582999999822351.1912379 -0.77320529999998222 51.8234639 0.51768870000001777tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-67878548506193475932018-05-20T10:12:00.000-03:002018-05-20T10:12:50.593-03:00Corporal Bob<br />
<div class="Heading10" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2opB62O6DNY/WwFzrkrL9UI/AAAAAAABl6A/U6ySWK3fF1A-s75_-L7z53nhxwdaFtggQCLcBGAs/s1600/Frank%2BPackard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1050" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2opB62O6DNY/WwFzrkrL9UI/AAAAAAABl6A/U6ySWK3fF1A-s75_-L7z53nhxwdaFtggQCLcBGAs/s320/Frank%2BPackard.jpg" width="209" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Corporal Bob</span></b><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Frank L. Packard<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Munsey’s
Magazine, April 1906.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is reportedly the first published
work of Frank L. Packard—one of several hundred. Only a few of these stories
involve the Mounted Police (in Canada). Another, is the reportedly unpublished story
(a Short Novel) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Liegh, of the Royal
North-West Mounted</b>, which has recently been digitized and is in proofing by
<b>Stillwoods</b>./drf<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Corporal
Bob Marston, Northwest Mounted Police, shuffled the greasy cards wearily, and
laid them perfunctorily in little piles on the table before him. Then he swept
them petulantly into a confused heap. He had played solitaire for two weeks,
and the diversion had lost its attraction. The strain of the situation was
getting on his nerves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
pushed back his chair and walked to the single window that the hut boasted.
From the lean-to behind the little shanty came the mournful whine of the sledge
dogs. He gazed drearily out on the endless plain of white. As far as his eye
could reach there was nothing to vary the monotonous miles of snow, save here
and there a cluster of gaunt, naked trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bob!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marston
turned from the window to the corner where Jack Evans lay tossing restlessly on
his bunk. He raised the sufferer’s head awkwardly, and poured a few drops
between the parched lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well,
old chap?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Evans’
eyes opened to rest curiously for a moment on Bob’s face, then he whispered
feebly:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Been
pretty bad, ain’t I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bob
nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yep,”
he said tersely. “Better now, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Evans
closed his eyes an instant; the light hurt them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How’s
the grub?” he asked suddenly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Grub?
Grub’s all right— lots of it,” replied Bob shortly, turning his back to Evans
under pretense of lighting his pipe. Conscious that the sick man’s eyes were on
him, Bob crossed the room and began to poke the pitifully inadequate fire into
a cheerier blaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That,”
said Evans, slowly and deliberately, “is a darned lie!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
stick in Bob’s hand dropped with a crash to the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It
ain’t no use,” continued Evans,“tryin’ ter bluff me. Ye’re a good feller, Bob,
an’ white clean through; but I ain’t been so sick but what I know it’s two week
er more I been on this here bunk, an’ the day afore I was taken down we was
plannin’ ter strike fer the fort. ‘Cause why? ‘Cause thar warn’t only a week’s
grub left. Thet’s why!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Corporal
Marston squinted at him a minute through the immense puffs of smoke he was
emitting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You
know too blamed much for your own good, you do,” he growled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thet
ain’t all neither,” resumed the sick man, nervously plucking the fluffs of the
coarse blanket. “The heavy storms air a-comin’ on, wuss’n the one thet ketched
us. ‘Twouldn’t hev been no easy job ter make the fort a week ago. Every day
makes it wuss, dogs gettin’ weaker an’ weaker, an’— ”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Shut
up!” snarled Bob. Every nerve in his body seemed to jangle discordantly. He
passed his hands over his eyes in an effort to still the violent throbbing in
his head. Desperately he pulled himself together, knocked the ashes from his
pipe, placed it carefully in his pocket, and marched over to the bed. “You shut
up!” he repeated peremptorily, his hands stuck deep in his trousers pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
in command of this expedition. All you’ve got to do is obey orders.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
little red flush of resentment tingled the pale, drawn features.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
no chicken at this business,” said Evans querulously. “Ten years I’ve been on
duty in this Godforsaken country. Yer talk’s jest baby talk, so it is. Don’t ye
think I know,” he cried, his voice rising stronger in emotion, “thet it’s sure
death ter stay anuther day? I can’t go, so I got ter cash in; but yer stayin’
don’t help none. You hike out fer the fort while you got the strength left.
What’s the use uv yer goin’ down an’ out jest ‘cause </span><span class="Bodytext2115pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
hev ter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bob’s
lips twitched nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
ought to feel like smashing you for that,” he said with painful slowness, “only
you’re sick—and—somehow, I guess I’m kind of out of sorts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Neither
of the men spoke for a time that seemed ages to them both. Finally, Evans
raised himself painfully on his elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m
in dead earnest, Bob, an’ I’m goin’ ter hev my say. I seen you kiss thet
photergraph last night when you thought I was asleep. I ain’t got a soul in all
the world what cares a cuss about me. I ain’t sayin’ but it’s my own fault;
thet’s neither ‘ere ner thar. ‘Tain’t fittin’ fer you ter stay. It’s murder,
thet’s what it is—jest murder! An’ I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev it on my conscience.
An’, so help me God,” he finished solemnly, “ye’re a-goin’ ter make tracks!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bob
moistened his lips with his tongue as he leaned over the bunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’ll
be a search party after us a day or so,” he said thickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Search
party nothin’—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
Bob’s hand closed over the other’s mouth. He turned Evans over with his face to
the wall, and drew the coverings around him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Go
to sleep,” he commanded sharply. “Maybe I’ll go out by and by and try for a
shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
took his gun from the corner, drew the chair up to the table, and began to
polish an already spotless. barrel. After a time his exertions relaxed, and the
gun was allowed to slip gradually to the ground. He leaned forward with his
elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands, his eyes staring hard
before him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once
or twice he moved, shifting his position restlessly. He groaned aloud in
anguish, then started with a guilty glance toward the corner. The figure on the
bed was motionless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bob
hitched his chair around until he faced the door with his back to the bunk. His
hand stole into his pocket. He took out a photograph and laid it reverently on
his knee. The eyes that looked into his seemed pleading with him to come hack.
He shook his head sadly as he lifted the picture to his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh,
Mary!” The words welled up from the heart of the man with its immensity of
yearning; the lips that scarcely moved to form them trembled piteously. His
head sank down again between bowed shoulders. “My Mary!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Suddenly
he straightened up, his hands clenched tight in fierce resentment. What was
this sick thing on the bed that it should stand between them? What claim had it
to interpose? What jibing mockery was this that held him back from the craving
that racked his very soul? Duty! The thought loomed up unbidden. What was duty
to him? A morbid sentiment—and how chimerical ! Everything was chimerical!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
drew his hand peevishly over his face; the photograph fell unheeded to the
floor. His bloodshot eyes fastened themselves on the fur mat that hung before
the little doorway leading to the dogs’ quarters. Slowly he rose to his feet,
and on tiptoe began to cross the room toward it, his hands stretched out before
him like one groping in the dark. His face, sullenly averted from the sick
man’s corner, was drawn and haggard, ashy white with the workings of his
reeling brain. Trembling as with the ague, he pushed aside the mat and let it
fall behind him; then he paused to wipe the great beads of sweat from his
forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What’s
wrong with me?” he muttered plaintively. “It’s a square deal. The fool
suggested it himself; I’d never have thought of it if he hadn’t. Lie down,
confound you!” he snarled, with a vicious kick at the dogs that whined around
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
huddled back into the corner, crouching in fear before this new master whom
they did not know. Bob stooped and hauled the sled into the middle of the shed.
He began to fumble with the gear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s
more harness than I want,” he babbled, with a curious chuckle. “Didn’t bring
any spare ones either; there must be more dogs somewhere.” He commenced to
count them. “One—two—three—four; where’s the others? Dead. Of course they’re
dead! Knew it before, only I must have forgotten.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
sat down on the sled and began to tell off the details on his fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Four
dogs—two hundred miles—no rations—Mary?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: dashed 78.25pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There was a note of interrogation in the last
word. Who was Mary? Yes, he remembered now—there had been a picture, hadn’t
there? He felt in his pockets. Well, it didn’t matter, he must have lost it.
Nothing mattered! He was going away from this hell of torment, away from—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
bounded to his feet, shivering in every limb. What was that? Stealthily he
edged toward the doorway, and cautiously lifted a corner of the rug to peer
through into the room beyond. His eyes mechanically followed Evans’ movements,
as from the floor, where he had fallen in an effort to leave his bunk, the sick
man slowly and painfully pulled himself to his knees, swaying to and fro as he
clutched desperately for support.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
was a moment’s quiet as Evans steadied himself; then Bob started nervously. The
slow, faltering words seemed to reach him from some great distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
ain’t never prayed afore, God,” was the piteous confession, “an’ I ain’t no kind
uv right ter now; but seems ‘s if I’d offer. You know how ‘tis, God, an’ how on
account uv me Bob’s figurin’ ter stick it out. ’Taint’t fit ner proper fer me
what has nary chick ner child ter stand atween him an’ her. Oh, God! I don’t
know how ter pray, but thar ain’t no call fer Bob ter die!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Evans’
voice broke with a half sob as he fumbled for his words. Bob stirred uneasily.
A faint glimmer of reason had come to him, and he understood that Evans was
praying praying that he, Bob, shouldn’t die. Well, he wasn’t going to die. He
was going away. He’d almost forgotten that. He was going away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Evans’
voice was firmer as he continued:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“An’
so, God, thar ain’t no other thing fer me ter do.” His hand groped beneath the
blanket. “Jest make me man enough ter—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
a flash Bob’s awakening came in all its bitterness. With a cry he dashed across
the room and knocked up Evans’ hand. The bullet buried itself harmlessly in the
rafters above their heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Evans
staggered slowly to his feet. Between them, on the floor, lay the still smoking
revolver. The sick man’s glance, half defiant, half wistful, rested for an
instant on Bob’s face; then he pitched forward in a deathlike swoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bob
caught him as he fell, and lifted him tenderly back into the bunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
room seemed stifling hot. He staggered blindly to the door, wrenched it open,
and sank bareheaded upon his knees in the snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext20" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
a moment he stayed there motionless; then, sobbing like a little child, he
poured forth the bitter weight of shame that bowed him down. And as he prayed,
in the distance, faintly borne to him by the wind, came the yelping of a pack
of dogs— the crack of whips— the sound of a human voice.</span></div>
Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-81942397984398143682018-04-29T09:35:00.000-03:002018-04-29T09:35:43.653-03:00Plunder of Kurdistan<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9ocGUYZeZc/WuW7fzhWNQI/AAAAAAABlzI/v-mN9EBySfMJVnOoGAo5Zbrj5EsahjO5gCLcBGAs/s1600/Plunder%2Bpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1600" height="311" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9ocGUYZeZc/WuW7fzhWNQI/AAAAAAABlzI/v-mN9EBySfMJVnOoGAo5Zbrj5EsahjO5gCLcBGAs/s400/Plunder%2Bpic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Plunder of Kurdistan</span></b><br />
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">by E. Hoffmann Price<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">From <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Spicy
Adventures</b> magazine, April 1935<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Digitized for Stillwoods.Blogspot.Ca, April
2018.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext30" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Bayonne</span> at sunset. Glamorous, gray
walled Bayonne that for twenty centuries has nestled at the foothills of the
Pyrenees, guarding the road to Spain. But Tom Garrett, sitting at a marble
topped table beneath that striped awning of Cafe du Theatre, had forgotten
Vauban’s fortifications and likewise his tall glass of <span class="Bodytext3Italic">amer picon.</span> Garrett had acquired an aim in life.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
And
every time the girl at the adjoining table recrossed her lovely legs, the
problem became more urgent. He was certain that he could not leave Bayonne
without finding out what kind of garters would draw her hosiery so snugly about
her dimpled knees. Something had to be done about it.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
But
it was the girl who took the initiative. Her eyes suddenly shifted from the
milling crowd she had anxiously been scrutinizing and nailed Garrett with their
dark, long lashed magnificence. She leaned forward just enough to give Garrett
a glimpse of breasts like twin magnolia buds and said in a low, agitated voice,
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Monsieur, on m’a poursuivi depuis Espagne jusqu’ a</span>—
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">”</span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Followed
you from Spain?” echoed Garrett. And without giving her a chance to answer. he
added, “No damn wonder! Listen, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">ma’mselle,</span>
I’da followed you from hell just to see if you kicked your covers off in your
sleep.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Thank
God, an American!” she sighed. She was obviously worried to distraction; but a
sweetly malicious smile twitched at the corners of her amiable mouth as Garrett
turned a rich Venetian red, swallowed, and finally blurted out, “Gee! Do you
speak English?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“I
ought to,” she laughed. “I was raised in Kansas.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Garrett</span>
might have known she wasn’t French.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Her
features were a shade too finely drawn. Anyway, she hadn’t slapped him or
called a gendarme, and an American speaking girl would be a relief after all
this <span class="Bodytext2Italic">‘voulez vous couches avec moi’</span> stuff,
followed by an itemized bill with luxury tax extra, and a <span class="Bodytext2Italic">franc </span>for mama.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Listen,
Susie,” he said, “that makes us neighbors. I’m from Broken Axe, Oklahoma.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“The
name,” she corrected, “is Lydia—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Pinkham?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“No,
silly! Lydia Inglis, and I’m in a perfectly <span class="Bodytext2Italic">terrible</span>
jam, and you looked so much at home here, and sort of honest—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Honest?
Right-o, Lydia, and no lady ever yet claimed Tom Garrett went through her
bankroll while she slept— but anyway, what’s the trouble?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia
eyed him, and made a job of it. He saw that she was as lovely above the equator
as she was below, and that was saying a lot. But despite her relief at having
met a fellow American, Lydia was still a bit dubious about something.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“I
brought something rather precious from Spain,” she finally began.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Uhuh.
About a million dollar’s worth, I’d say,” interrupted Garrett as his appraising
glance shifted from her slender silken legs to the suave curve of her hips.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Idiot!
What I was referring to is in my hatbox.” She indicated the circular container.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“What
I had in mind isn’t and couldn’t possibly be,” grinned Garrett. Yet behind his
badinage, he was thinking fast. The girl looked absolutely one hundred proof
and the pure quill, right out of the wood; but her remarks hinted at smuggling.
There was a lot of it going on, along the Spanish Border. And to test his
conclusion, Garrett added, “I guess it must be valuable—or you’d not be packing
that automatic in a holster at your knee.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Oh!”
That took Lydia’s breath, and it worried her. “How did you—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“That
green guard stripe sort of caught my eye,” Garrett explained. “You could make a
million modeling for Hyacinth Hosiery.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia’s
eyes widened some more. She was wondering if there was anything he hadn’t seen.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Why—how
did—I am wearing Hyacinth—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Sure
you are. I make ‘em, back in the states. But about that hat box?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia
emerged from her chair like a kitten rising from a cushion; slick and graceful
and effortlessly, with a fluent motion that suggested how tightly she could
cling—if she felt that way. Garrett reached for the circular hat box. Lydia’s
fingers closed on his wrist. The gesture was instinctive. As her grip relaxed,
she smiled and said, “I’m developing a bad case of jitters.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
He
accompanied her across rue Bernede, and up the Port Neuf arcade to the first
cross street. There she paused and said, “I’m staying at the Panier-Fleuri. If
you’re not too busy, I wish you’d come up and wait with me until— oh, good
Lord! There’s one of them now!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Garrett</span>
whirled just in time to see a lean, swarthy man with black mustaches duck into
a doorway. The fellow had obviously been lurking to intercept Lydia on her way
to her hotel. But swiftly as he moved, Garrett caught him by the shoulder
before he could dive down the passageway that pierced the otherwise blank wall.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Qu ’est-ce que c’est?"</span> the fellow demanded
as Garrett jerked him into the open. His gimlet eyes were defiant, and he had a
face that would make any hangman feel the nobility of his calling.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“You
know what it’s about!” snapped Garrett. “Steady, there!” His fingers sank into
Gimlet Eyes’ shoulder and held him at arm’s length. Then, to Lydia: “Sure this
is the guy?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia
nodded. With his free hand Gimlet Eyes reached for his belt. And that was a
false move. Before the knife half cleared its sheath, Garrett’s fist popped
home. It landed dead center. Gimlet Eyes was out cold before he crashed into a
pilaster and then slumped to the paving.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Nice
boy,” said Garrett. “Now I’ll call a gendarme<span class="Bodytext5NotItalic">—”</span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“No—don’t!
I don’t want the police mixed up in this.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Then
come up to my apartment on the Lachepaillet Wall,” suggested Garrett. “You’d be
safer up there than in your room.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Oh,
anywhere at all!” Her fingers closed on his arm. “If I ever get clear of this
mess!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
And
as they hurried up the shadowy arcade, looped the cathedral, and headed up the
broad street that runs along the city wall, Lydia’s low voiced remarks
confirmed Garrett’s suspicions. Smuggling and some hijackers trailing her,
making a play for the plunder before she could surrender it to a certain
Antoine Ducasse. No wonder she could not appeal to the <span class="Bodytext2Italic">gendarmes</span> or the <span class="Bodytext2Italic">Service
de Surete</span> for protection. Garrett saw himself plunging into a ticklish
mess— but he also saw a chance of finding out whether she talked in her sleep.</div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Once</span>
in Garrett’s apartment, Lydia flung her hat in a corner, set her hat box on the
bed and lifted the cover. Out of an invitingly scented froth of silk and lace
she drew a brazen bird about the size of a quail. It was a peacock with the
tail fanned out. It stood on a pedestal engraved with archaic, angular Arabic
script. Oh it might be Persian— Garrett didn’t know, and cared less when Lydia
hitched up her skirt to reach for the automatic that nestled in the suede
holster at her knee.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Don’t—you’re
spoiling the view,” chided Garrett as the skirt dropped into place to caress
the softly rounded flesh it concealed.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Can’t
you <span class="Bodytext2Italic">ever</span> be serious? Listen, Tom, I’m in an
awful jam!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“I’m
in a terribly upset state of mind myself,” countered Garrett. To prove it, he
caught Lydia in his arms, drew her slim, deliciously curved body closely to
him. For an instant she resisted, but he found her lips and smothered her
inarticulate protest. And as he felt the firm, half yielding pressure of her
breasts, he kissed her again. An ecstatic shudder rippled down her body . . .
her lips were now sultry and she was returning his kisses. Then her arms closed
about him and her supple curves yielded, clinging and vibrant—</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Finally,
as she caught her breath, she protested, “Oh . . . don’t . . . I’ll scream. . .
.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: dotted 29.3pt; text-indent: .3in;">
“Mustn’t scream,” whispered Garrett. “Someone might
hear, and then we’d both be in an awful jam!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: dotted 29.3pt; text-indent: .3in;">
“You’re <span class="Bodytext2Italic">terrible!</span> . .
. and to think I trusted you. . .” She sighed, flung back her sleek permanent,
“Well ... do wait just a moment—please—I won’t run away and hide . . . ”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
The
fire that smouldered in her dark, misty eyes convinced Garrett. And as he
released her from his embrace, she wriggled out of her sports ensemble, and
flung it over a chair.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BUs0_ptLATk/WuW7f3rAH5I/AAAAAAABlzA/L8oMHmncRBcgJOXSdaRkdoaGzbMKnhOrQCLcBGAs/s1600/Plunder%2Bpic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="947" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BUs0_ptLATk/WuW7f3rAH5I/AAAAAAABlzA/L8oMHmncRBcgJOXSdaRkdoaGzbMKnhOrQCLcBGAs/s320/Plunder%2Bpic2.jpg" width="189" /></a>But
before Garrett’s eager glance could get more than a glimpse of the warm, soft
flesh that smiled at him through tea rose step-ins, Lydia snapped the wall
switch. And as she sank back among the cushions, her ardent loveliness became a
blurred, palpitant whiteness just beyond the moonlight that filtered in through
the river mists that surged over the Lachepaillet Wall. . . .</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Finally,
however, Garrett’s curiosity ranged beyond the seductive mysteries veiled by
silk and moon glamour.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Speaking
again of smuggling,” he said. “You know, we might as well speak about
something—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“I’ve
been making a Mediterranean Cruise,” Lydia began. “And at Beirut I met an
archeologist. Antoine Ducasse. He’s been among the Yezidi devil-worshipers in
Kurdistan. That bird is the sacred image of their god. Satan in the form of a
peacock. Anyway, he stole it from their temple on Mount Lalesh, and asked me to
bring it to France while they were watching him.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“And
that didn’t throw them off the track and the devil worshipers are chasing you
now instead of him?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“No.
But there was an awful scandal about it, and the Yezidis are threatening to
massacre all the Armenians or Christians, or something of the sort if the
British government don’t dig up the sacred bird. You see, it hasn’t any
particular value. Just a relic. So I’m not really a smuggler after all.
Only—I’ve been followed all the way from Barcelona, and Monsieur Ducasse wasn’t
here to meet me, and I’ve been mortally afraid that some one will catch up with
me before I can deliver it, and—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Nuts!”
interrupted Garrett, filling their glasses with Vieux Armagnac that would burn
the fear out of a mooncalf. “Mail it to the old coot, and let’s you and I go to
Nice for the next month or so.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“No,
I can’t,” she protested. “I’ve got to collect the ten thousand francs and expenses
he promised me when I delivered it here in Bayonne.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">But</span>
before Garrett could offer to buy the peacock and Monsieur Ducasse as well,
Lydia clasped her hands behind her head and leaned back among the cushions. And
the whiteness of her shoulders and the way her breasts filled out the tea rose
silk that caressed them was enough to dispose of good suggestions, good
resolutions, and everything but thoughts of a good armful. . . .</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
The
door was barred, Lydia’s pistol was handy, and be damned to the dark sinister
men who were following her. . . and after just so much of such a fascinating
companion, the stoutest fellow in the world would sleep soundly . . . so it did
not particularly amaze Garrett when he finally awoke and found that the moon
glow had shifted, leaving the room in darkness.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Then
he missed the warmth of Lydia’s body, and the possessive confinement of her
arm. But when after some time he heard no one stirring about the apartment, he
began to wonder. Then he snapped on the lights. No Lydia! And her shoes were
missing, and so were the Hyacinth hose and everything else she had flung into a
corner.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
The
hatbox, however, was still there, and he caught the brazen gleam of the peacock
stolen from Kurdistan. Which was a hell of a note. A brass bird is poor company
after what he’d been chasing around forty acres of chaise longue... but at all
events, as long as she’d left the devil worshiper’s god with him, she wasn’t in
any danger.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Unless
a couple of Kurds drop in with snickersnees to carve me into hunks of <span class="Bodytext2Italic">kalter abschnitt,”</span> he concluded with a rueful
grin. “But if they ask for it, they can have their damn bird, and if Lydia
really needs the ten thousand francs that bad, she can stick with me and take
it out in trade.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
He
sighed deeply and eyed the imprint her shapely body had left among the
cushions, and raised the ante to ten million francs. But his speculations were
interrupted by an unusual commotion at the door<span class="Bodytext20">. </span>He
jumped to open up. At first he thought it might be Lydia—but it was not. Still,
it was something just as good. She was barefooted, and wore a night gown that
might have been woven out of moonbeams on a warp of river mist. The only
difference between what she wore and wearing nothing at all was that a
suggestion of covering made her shapely body ever so much more alluring. Her
violet eyes were wide with fright, her copper colored hair trailed over her
shoulders, half to her hips. The heavy tresses half veiled quivering breasts
with each frantic gasp brought into dazzling relief.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Life,”
observed Garrett, “seems to be a succession of women in distress.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Monsieur—il
va me tuer—je suis<span class="Bodytext5NotItalic">— </span>”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“I’d
kill you myself,” said Garrett, drawing her across the threshold, “if you ran
out on me after giving me an eyeful like that. What the hell’s wrong?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
This
lady really didn’t speak English. But after inhaling a bit of Vieux Armagnac,
she sobbed a heart rending story and saturated the left shoulder of Garrett’s
pajamas. Her lover had threatened to kill her, and had kicked her out with
nothing but a scrap of a nightgown you could stuff into your vest pocket, and
nobody loved her, and—</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Sit
down, sweetheart,” suggested Garrett in passable French. “I’m just the guy
you’re looking for. I had a woman run out on me, and we’re both feeling
revengeful, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">n’est-ce pas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Whoever</span>
had woven the cloth for that nightgown must have had a lewd, lecherous mind.
The only mystery about Lili was why anyone had kicked her out of bed.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Tu es tres gentil,”</span> she sighed, smothering
Garrett with a simmering kiss and draping her suave curves to the best
advantage.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“A
lot of the girls claim I’m kinda rough,” said Garrett, who didn’t quite get <span class="Bodytext2Italic">gentil.</span> But with wondering which of her
fascinations most needed caressing, he couldn’t think of his conversation
manual. Garrett had come to France in search of culture, but for the life of
him he forgot whether it was spelled with a “k” or a “c”—but that made no
difference, and Lili didn’t think he was a bit rough.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“J’aime Bayonne beaucoup, ”</span> he said by way of
small talk. Then, fingering the hem of that incredible sea green nightgown he
added in English, “If this had fur trimming, it’d keep your neck warm. . . .”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lili
didn’t understand the words, but the gesture was plain enough.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Que tu es charmant,”</span> she sighed, drawing him
closer.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
But
as she disengaged an arm to reach for the wall switch, something prompted
Garrett to follow the gesture.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Well,
for Christ’s sake! ” he growled, “What are you doing here? <span class="Bodytext2Italic">Allez,</span> you hatchet faced son of a—!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
For
just an instant Garrett thought that Lili’s lover had followed her, and this
was no occasion for spectators.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Then
he recognized the swarthy gentleman whose gimlet eyes had given Lydia the
jitters, down on rue du Port Neuf. Another was following him from the living
room, and things became a blur of motion.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lili
saw that it was too late to snap off the lights. She held Garrett with
everything she had, but she had lost a split second too much. He broke clear of
her by no means amorous embrace and landed with both feet on the floor as
Gimlet Eyes and Monkey Face closed in. A blackjack smacked down on his head.
The room exploded in a blaze of colored lights, but Garrett’s fist landed like
the head-on collision of locomotives.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Gimlet
Eyes pitched end over end and crashed over one of the tripod mounted basins
still green in the memory of the A. E. F.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Monkey
Face drew a knife as he closed in. The blade raked Garrett’s ribs from collar
bone to hip but he snatched the armed wrist, wrenched it, and ploughed his fist
wrist deep into a flabby stomach. Monkey Face doubled up as though kicked in
the solar plexus, and landed with a crash among the andirons of the fireplace.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Garrett
whirled just as Gimlet Eyes untangled himself from the tripod wash basin and
jerked a pistol from his hip. Lead fanned Garrett’s ear, and a mirror spattered
to shards. He ducked, snatched a chair as another shot crackled. But as he
hurled the chair, Lili ploughed home with the boudoir indispensable.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
The
tinware buckled under the impact. Garrett flattened to the carpet, not quite
out, but paralyzed by the crash.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Lili!”
coughed Monkey Face, recovering from the solar plexus explosion, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Prenes l’oiseau! Fiche-toi, sacre imbecile!”</span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Which
was a vulgar way of saying grab the bird and scram. Garrett gritted his teeth,
dug his fingers into the carpet, and tried to drag himself toward the pistol
under the pillow; but a sizzling blackjack laid him out cold. The room burst
into a glare of volcanic fire, and then irised down to Lili’s rear elevation
flashing across the threshold. Then blackness. . .</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">When</span>
Garrett’s scrambled wits assembled, he sat up, rubbed his battered head, and
cursed red haired women. Then he remembered the brazen peacock and gritted his
teeth at the thought of Lydia’s eventual return.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Damn
it! It’s her fault,” he grumbled, “If she’d stayed here like she should have,
no red headed flewzie could have stood a look in.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
But
the more he thought of it, the more foolish he felt. He dressed, pocketed
Lydia’s pistol and a flashlight. Although he had not been out long, he realized
the futility of trying to trail the crooks—but there was one saving point:
Lili’s arriving barefooted and clothed only in a whiff of mist indicated that
she could not have traveled far to get to his front door. Furthermore, he
reasoned, she could not have an apartment on rue Lachepaillet, for the simple
reason that no one could have anticipated his having the peacock in his
possession. Nor had there been any cab from which she could have emerged. The
night was too silent for him to have missed the sound of an engine.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
And
when he reached the street, Garrett saw that Lili’s arrival had indeed been
odd. By the beam of his flashlight he saw the prints of tiny bare feet, plain
in the dust of rue Lachepaillet. One set led to, and the other from his door;
but the trail ran across and not along the street!</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
She
could not have scaled the thirty feet of masonry between the parapet and the
bottom of the dry moat— But maybe she could have. Garrett followed the trail.
And then he learned things about the fortifications of Bayonne. In an angle of
the parapet he saw a low archway which opened into a yawning blackness that
indicated a tunnel running into and parallel to the earthwork that crowned the
rampart. He flicked his flashlight. The glow revealed a small, rubbish laden
chamber that might once have served as a powder magazine or guard room. The
further wall was pierced by an archway. And on the jamb Garrett noted a wisp of
sea green silk!</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
He
advanced two paces and stood at the head of a steep stairway the width of whose
treads were but half the drop of the steps. The stairs led to some subterranean
crypt. Garrett snapped off the flash and picked his way down the treacherous
descent.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Far
below him he heard a murmur of voices: several men and a woman. It was too good
to be true—but there was no mistaking Lili’s laugh. Then he caught a glow of
light.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Oh,
Pierre, won’t you ever get that fire going! I’m half frozen!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Tais-toi,”</span> snapped one of the trio. “Get into
your clothes—do you think I’m building this fire for your benefit?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Evidently
something urgent had kept Lili from dressing. Garrett edged down another dozen
steps of the neck breaking stairs, and then halted. There was more than he had
expected. By the flickering light of a small fire of broken wine cases he saw a
trench scooped out of the sandy bottom of the circular, vaulted dungeon. In it
lay a well dressed but brutally battered man with a black, spade shaped beard.
His shirt was blood drenched, and his dark suit was slashed and gory. A not yet
obliterated trail, leading from a low archway which presumably opened out into
the moat, showed how the body had been dragged into the dungeon. The vault, as
nearly as Garrett could determine, must be the interior of the bastion that
supported the Lachepaillet Wall where it made an angle toward the Gate of
Spain; but the entire spectacle had much more immediate significance as an
example of what his own fate would be if he made a false move.</div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext40" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Manufacturing</span>
Hyacinth hose, however, had not taken the iron out of Garrett’s soul.
Furthermore, he had Lydia’s pistol, and thus saw no good reason for sneaking
away to notify the <span class="Bodytext4Italic">gendarmes. </span>Instead, he
paused to look, listen, and figure it out.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lili
had made a monkey’s uncle of him; but the more he saw of her by the flickering
fire light, the less he wondered at that. She had partly camouflaged her
fascinations in turquoise scanties and an entirely needless <span class="Bodytext2Italic">brassiere,</span> but there was something supremely
entrancing about the pose she was in as she balanced or one bare foot while
getting a stocking started on the other. Garrett cursed her companions, and
sighed regretfully as he watched such agility serving such a commonplace
purpose.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
But
Garrett saw more than just ninety-seven per cent of Lili. He realized now that
she and her accomplices, fearing to make an open attack on his apartment, had
seen Lydia’s departure without the peacock; and with their hideout so near to
Garrett’s quarters, the rest had been easy enough to arrange. And with that
settled, Garrett wondered what there was about the plunder from Kurdistan that
kept the crooks so close to the scene of the crime. Why the fire? And why was
Lili so interested as to forget the chill of that underground vault?</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Monkey
Face was muttering and cursing to himself as the others watched him twist and
tap and tinker with the brazen image. Then an exclamation of satisfaction, and
he removed the pedestal of Satan’s symbol, having unscrewed or otherwise
loosened it. Lili, while watching, had wriggled her silk clad feet into a shoe
and was abstractedly trying to work the bare foot into the rest of her hosiery.
A bird’s eye view was tantalizing and through Garrett’s mind flashed a line of
that old ditty, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">“<a href="http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/folk-song-lyrics/Bang_Lulu.htm"><span style="font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">Oh,
I wish I was the diamond ring upon my Lulu’s hand</span></a>....”</span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
He
shifted to get a better view, and was fairly cross eyed from trying to cover
all in one look, both Lili and the curious ritual centering about the peacock.
Monkey Face was holding the bird by the tail and slowly rotating it over the
fire, as though broiling an actual fowl. The two men were tense and eager, and
Lili was craning her neck to the danger point.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
So
was Garrett. So would anyone watching Lili’s hosiery-adjustment gyrations as
two murderous crooks baked a brass bird. And that was disastrous. The stair
treads were narrow and crumbled and rubbish laden. Garrett slipped, vainly clawed
the masonry casing. His flashlight clattered down six steps. Monkey Face
cursed, dropped the peacock, and bounded forward. Lili started, lost her
balance, and landed in a flurry of legs, arms, and lace. Gimlet Eyes made a
dive for his pistol.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">And</span> Garrett, rather than lose precious
seconds trying to regain his equilibrium, made a headlong dive for the group.
Gimlet Eyes jerked three wild shots at the flying target, but Garrett landed,
unscratched and in the center of the heap. Then Vauban’s fortifications saw
their first real battle. The venerable vault became a howling madhouse. Garrett
planted a haymaker that sent Monkey Face kicking backward into the trench to
keep the corpse company. He ducked a searing pistol blast, drew his own weapon,
but tripped over Lili as she rolled over to struggle to her feet, and pitched
headlong to the sand.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: dashed 49.2pt; text-indent: .3in;">
“Grab the bird!” yelled Gimlet Eyes. “I’ll tend to this—!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_MNaL-xdebg/WuW7fwnV1nI/AAAAAAABlzE/lBsGgVPfs9Ei7t93-Q5Tnb9Aw1LtcgftACLcBGAs/s1600/Plunder%2Bpic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1108" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_MNaL-xdebg/WuW7fwnV1nI/AAAAAAABlzE/lBsGgVPfs9Ei7t93-Q5Tnb9Aw1LtcgftACLcBGAs/s320/Plunder%2Bpic3.jpg" width="221" /></a>But
as he turned to do so, Garrett hosed the vault with lead. Gimlet Eyes doubled
in a heap, dropping his smoking pistol and clutching his stomach. Garrett
gained his feet just as Monkey Face recovered his breath and emerged from the
open grave, knife in hand. And then it became tough going for Garrett. His
automatic was empty. If he turned to block Lili’s dive for the brazen peaock,
he would get cold steel to the hilt— and if he took care of Monkey Face, Lili
would make a clear getaway. He hurled his useless gun. The enemy dodged and
closed in, blade point foremost. Garrett jerked himself aside and missed impalement
by a hair.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Monkey
Face whirled. The blade in his hand was as venomous as the scowl behind it. A
shift—a counter shift— and Garrett was maneuvered with his back toward the
stairs. No more footwork to save him. Payday in Bayonne!</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
All
in a split second; but before Monkey Face could gather himself for the final
lunge, Lili screamed and dropped the peacock like a red hot rock. Which in a
way it was, having lain close to the fire, where it had been dropped at the
beginning of the combat. Monkey Face’s attention was distracted for no more
than a flickering instant, but that was all that Garrett needed. He charged,
brushed the knife aside, and piled Monkey Face crashing against the masonry. He
was out for a long count, but Garrett himself was paralyzed by the concussion.
He knew that he could not pull himself together in time to block Lili.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
She
muffled her scorched fingers with her discarded nightgown and bounded toward
the fire. But her laugh was cut short. Feet were pounding down the staircase.
And someone on his hands and knees was crawling in through the low arch that
opened into the moat. <span class="Bodytext2Italic">Gendarmes!</span> Utterly
incredible—but there they were.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
It
was not until a moment later that Garrett understood how the police could
possibly have heard the riot in that underground vault. That was when Lydia appeared
at the rear of the procession. Then things began clearing up; and so likewise
did Garrett’s battered head.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 39.5pt; text-indent: .3in;">
“Why—oh, good Lord! That’s <span class="Bodytext2Spacing5pt"><span style="letter-spacing: 0pt;">Monsieur </span></span>Ducasse!”
she <span class="Bodytext2Spacing3pt">exclaimed, </span>catching a glimpse of the
bearded man in the shallow trench. “No wonder he didn’t meet me—no wonder I
couldn’t get him when I phoned Lyons—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 49.85pt; text-indent: .3in;">
“Is that why you left?” demanded Garrett.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia
nodded. “Yes. And these <span class="Bodytext2Italic">gendarmes</span> had a tip
and were watching me and hunting for him. So when I left the phone station,
they followed me back toward your apartment. And we heard that perfectly
terrible racket coming up out of the ground, and saw the light of the fire
shining out into the moat from that little arch, and two of the <span class="Bodytext2Italic">gendarmes</span> formed a chain to let the third one drop
to the ditch, and—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“But
speaking of rackets,” interrupted Garrett with a perplexed frown, “what’s the
idea of roasting a brass bird?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
And
then the <span class="Bodytext2Italic">brigadier</span> took a hand.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Mais, Monsieur,”</span> he began, “this very thoroughly
murdered Monsieur Antoine Ducasse is an international jewel thief. Killed in
order to keep him from meeting Mademoiselle In-glees. Look—”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
He
indicated the peacock. The heat of the fire had melted the substance it
contained. Red, sparkling facets were visible.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Rubies.
Stolen in Damascus. Put inside and wax poured over them to keep them from
rattling. Devil worship? <span class="Bodytext2Italic">Quelle blague!</span> No
wonder, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">mademoiselle</span>, he offered you ten
thousand francs to bring this charming brazen fowl through the customs, when
the duty would be but a trifle!”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lydia
eyed the wrathful red head, the battered Monkey Face, and the late Monsieur
Gimlet Eyes. Then her glance shifted to Garrett.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Oh,
I think it was awfully brave of you to follow them—but how did they ever manage
to get in the apartment in the first place?” she wondered.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“But
yes—do inform us, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">monsieur,</span>” seconded the <span class="Bodytext2Italic">brigadier</span> in French. He had none too much
confidence in his English. “For the sake of our records— the evidence.”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Garrett
shot him a trenchant look and groped for words. This was no place to explain!</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
Lili
caught the situation and with a venomous, mocking smile cut in, <span class="Bodytext2Italic">“Au secours! Il va me tuer!”</span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
The
<span class="Bodytext2Italic">brigadier</span> eyed Lili’s entrancing display,
twisted his moustache, and tried to change the subject. Her words had given him
a hint. He saw that Garrett was in a tough spot.</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“What
did she mean by that?” wondered Lydia as Garrett hurried her up the stairs.
“Doesn’t that mean someone was going to kill her?”</div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .3in;">
“Hell,
no!” snapped Garrett as Lili’s laugh followed him from the vault. “It means she
wishes she’d stayed for some of what you’re going to get. Now let’s go home and
talk about Hyacinth hosiery or something.”</div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Bayonne, France43.492949 -1.474840999999969443.4007815 -1.6362024999999694 43.585116500000005 -1.3134794999999695tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-91828287171117617112018-04-07T13:24:00.001-03:002018-04-07T13:25:14.823-03:00The Specter at Serpent’s Cut<br />
<div class="Heading11" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Heading10"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Specter at Serpent’s Cut</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">By Frank L. Packard</span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">Author of</span></span><span class="Bodytext4115pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">The Blood of
Kings”</span></span><span class="Bodytext4115pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">
“</span></span><span class="Bodytext4115pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Sp</span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">itzer</span></span><span class="Bodytext4115pt"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">,” </span></span><span class="Bodytext40"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">Etc.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Popular Magazine</i> October 1911, No. 6, Vol. 21.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Digitized for Stillwoods.Blogspot.Ca by Doug
Frizzle April 2018.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext50"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our research
has so far not attached this story to any of Frank Packard’s books /drf.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext51" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The “spook doctor” drops into Big Cloud and adds
one more topic for the expatiation of the talkative railroad man, Matthew
Agamemnon. He </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">is
</span><span class="Bodytext50"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">still
a talker, but the occult is taboo. There’s a reason.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext61" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext60"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">SUMMED
up short, the Hill Division is a vicious piece of track; also, it is a classic
in its profound contempt for the stereotyped equations and formulas of
engineering. And it is that way for the very simple reason that it could not be
any other way. The mountains objected, and objected strenuously, to the process
of manhandling. They were there first, the mountains, that was all, and their
surrender was a bitter matter.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So,
from Big Cloud, the divisional point, at the eastern fringe of the Rockies, to
where the foothills of the Sierras on the western side merge with the more
open, rolling country, the right of way performs gyrations that would not shame
an acrobatic star. It sweeps through the rifts in the range like a freed bird
from the open door of its cage, clings to cañon edges where a hissing stream
bubbles and boils eighteen hundred feet below, burrows its way into the heart
of things in long tunnels and short ones, circles a projecting spur in a dizzy
whirl, and shoots from the higher to the lower levels in grades whose percentages
the passenger department does not deem it policy to specify in its advertising
literature, but before which the men in the cabs and the cabooses shut their
teeth and try hard to remember the prayers they learned at their mothers’ knees.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Some
parts of it are worse than others naturally; but no part of it, to the last
inch of its mileage, is pretty—leaving out the scenery, which is </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">grand.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">what with cuts and fills and borings and trestles and
bridges, in an effort to unsnarl a few knots in the tangle, the company has
been tinkering with it pretty well ever since the last spike was sent home and
the small army of consulting scientists, with a flourish of trumpets, bowed
gracefully to the managing director of the Transcontinental —and withdrew to
seek other worlds to conquer. However—</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 135.1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is Terhune’s story; and it goes back to the
time when “Royal” Carleton was superintendent and Tommy Regan, big-hearted as
he was gruff, was master mechanic. Terhune was an engineer. His full name was
Matthew Agamemnon Terhune—the only excuse for which seems to have been that
his parents were possessed of a sense of euphony, or one of them, maybe, a
first-grammar education in Greek.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Anyway,
Terhune was dutifully appreciative—he signed in full.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Clarihue,
the turner, swore at him at first for usurping more than the allotted space
ruled off on the grease-smeared pages of the book in the roundhouse that
recorded the goings and comings of the engine crews; but eventually he became
wise enough to content himself with a snort of disgust amplified by a spurt of
black-strap juice pitward. Terhune, given an opportunity, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">would
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">argue that, or any other matter </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">under
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the sun, with a calm and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">dispassionate
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">flow of words that had </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tennyson’s </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">brook
for continuity </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">beaten seven ways </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">for
Sunday.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Matthew
</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aggie-mem-gong</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Terhune!” choked Clarihue. “The fathead wind bag!”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Regan
put it a little differently.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Talk!”
said the master mechanic. “Talk! The man’s a debating society, that’s what he
is. He’ll talk when he’s dead. I don’t know what kind of springs he’s got on
his tongue. I wish I did. I’d equip the motive power department with them.
What?”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
division, however, being generally in a hurry, called him plain “Matt.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
the exception of Clarihue, perhaps, no one ever got mad at Terhune. If it is
true that obesity is a sign of good nature, Terhune is simply a case in point.
He exuded it from every pore of his fat, dumpy body; and he dispensed it alike
on the just and on the unjust.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Certainly,
the man was more or less of a consummate ass; but any inclination to kick him
on that score vanished with one glance at his great babyish moon face, with its
two little, round blue eyes that stared out from under a straggling collection
of sandy hairs, which fringed, much after the fashion of a monk’s tonsure, an
otherwise bald and shiny head. After that glance it was all off. There was no
getting mad at Matt.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Professionally,
Terhune was all right as far as he went. Nothing startling, nothing out of the
way—not even a regular run. Regan used him as a sort of ever-ready substitute
for anything that might turn up. And, as far as Matthew Agamemnon Terhune was
concerned, it appeared to be all one to him. Switching, yard work, local
freight, double heading, anything—he took it as it came, complacently,
good-naturedly. So that it did not bar him from talking, he was happy.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
could talk in a cab; and there, perforce, he had an audience. The fireman had
his choice between being the target for Matt’s views and theories on an
astounding range of subjects—or jumping! From the Alaskan Boundary Question to
the Fresh Air Movement Matt was posted—and, if not profoundly posted, his
ideas, at least, had the merit of being original.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now
all of the above is, on the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">face </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
it, extraneous to the fact that, during a winter of pretty heavy running, the
Serpent’s Cut had netted an appalling number of disasters, even for that bedeviled
piece of construction that never under any circumstances was known </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">behave itself for better than a month </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">at
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a stretch; but, extraneous as it </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">may
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">appear, it had, for all that, a very </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">direct
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bearing on Matthew Agamemnon and his propensity for argument
and talk.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
in any event, the driven-to-desperation directors down East, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">when
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">they got the cold figures that totaled </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">up
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the claims and represented the amount of rolling stock
reposing on the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">scrap </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">heap
from six months’ running in </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Serpent’s
Cut, voted, though they </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bit </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">their
lips when they did it, some sweeping and extensive alterations on </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">that
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">particular stretch of track. And </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">when
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the plans came out in the spring, they called for a new
bridge across the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Musk</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">rat River at the foot of
the grade, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a rock cut from the
mouth of Number One Tunnel </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">straighten
the bridge </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ap</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">proach.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was a big piece of work—about </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">biggest
the company had ever </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">under</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">taken;
everybody realized that. </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">once
the improvements were decided upon, they went at it with a rush; </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the lower slopes </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">stretches
of </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">mountains were just
beginning to </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">shed </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">their winter coats, when
a brigade of</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">engineers, bridgemen,
foremen, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Po</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">lacks, Swedes, Russians,
and what </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">not </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">moved into construction
camp on </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">banks of the Muskrat.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
the bridge material </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
thousand and one other odds and </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ends </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of
supplies began to pour into the </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Big </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cloud
yards—it was all out from </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">East
then—and there followed, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">in the </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">natural
order of things, a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">daily-work </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">special
to the camp. Regan gave </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">it to </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Terhune,
of course; and gave </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">him, be</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">sides,
the various engines as they </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">came </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">out
of the shops to break in after </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">their </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">overhauling.
Also he gave him as </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">fire</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">man
young Charlie Spence, brother, by the way, of the chief dispatcher.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Take
it all around, it was an </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">incon</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">gruous-looking
outfit that Matt </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">pulled </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">out
of the yards those days. Generally a big ten-wheeler, spick and span, glistening
in fresh paint, with Terhune obliterating the cab window and bouncing up and
down on his seat like a cheerful rubber ball; and little Spence, who had never
run anything but “spare” before, expanding his chest in the gangway fit to
bust the buttons off his undershirt; while trailing behind, slewing, rattling,
bumping, came a hybrid conglomeration of gondolas, reversible gravel dumps,
flats groaning under blocked and shored-up steel bridge girders; maybe a box
car here and there, by way of picturesqueness; and, to wind things up, on the
tail end, a caboose that was out of the ark, and not much bigger than a baby
carriage. That was Work Special 117 west, 118 east.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So,
west to the Muskrat in the morning, lugging back the empties at night, became,
for the time being, Terhune’s run—and it suited him as no job had ever suited
him before. Except for the trip to the water tank and turntable at Beaver Tail,
two miles west of the camp, he had the day pretty much to himself; and there
were new men on the work, men he did not know. Or, perhaps, to put the matter
in a truer perspective, men who did not know Matthew Agamemnon Terhune—for the
engineer corps, like the material, came out from the East.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Matt
buttonholed Ferguson, the chief, on the first morning, and opened on him with
the Newfoundland Fisheries Dispute.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ferguson,
who was a receptive Scot, lifted his scraggy eyebrows and rose to the bait—Terhune’s
introduction invariably carried a glimmer of sense; but, being busy at the
moment, he invited Terhune to dinner to hear the rest of it; where incidentally
he introduced his staff, which consisted of a couple of seasoned assistants
and another couple of embryonic engineers, whose names, plus a small edition of
the alphabet recently forged on by a fond and trusting Alma Mater, were Podger
and Clark.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
wasn’t an expensive invitation from the viewpoint of the exchequer of the
engineers’ mess—Terhune was too busy to eat—and for about a week Matt had a
standing invitation; but after that, whether some one tipped the Scotchman off,
or the combined galaxy of mathematical talent got the answer for themselves,
Terhune’s midday repast consisted of what he fished out of his own dinner pail.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Terhune
might have been a little puzzled at this change of front; but certainly he was
not abashed. Nothing, so far, in all of Matthew Agamemnon Terhune’s forty-three
years of life had ever abashed him. Furthermore, if the construction engineers’
mess renounced him as an organization, certain units of it did not; for, while
the canny Scotchman and his two assistants politely and unostentatiously
avoided Matthew, the guileless and demure Podger and Clark continued to hang,
and to all appearances to hang breathlessly, upon the words that fell from the
engineer’s lips.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Things
went on this way for some two weeks; and then suddenly, coincident with the
advent to Big Cloud of one Senorita Vera Cabello, the Alaskan Boundary
Question, the Fresh Air Movement, the Newfoundland Fisheries Dispute, and all
other subjects of character, scope, and vital import similar, were blown away,
as fluff is blown before a gale of wind, in the face of a new and weightier
matter for research and discussion. That is, it was new, and therefore
weightier to Terhune.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Regan,
with ungracious bluntness, called her a “spook doctor”—but the master mechanic
was always blunt. Miss Cabello—pardon, Senorita Vera Cabello, in her
advertisements in the Big Cloud </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Weekly World’s Era,</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
announced herself as a “seeress renowned on two hemispheres,” and followed with
a modest compilation of her qualifications and attainments.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter—of course. Under the great
teacher Yagagama, she had studied the mystic laws of crystal gazing in the far
Orient. At her command were, not one, but </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">two</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
familiars of the dread other world, with whom she was in constant communion for
the benefit of those who consulted her; and further, by special arrangement and
appointment —for which there was an extra fee— she would, for a brief space,
recall the ethereal forms of any dear departed on request—always provided that
the “rapport,” whatever that meant, was propitious and favorable, a risk to
which the client subscribed in his accompanied-by-the-fee application for the
seance.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Senorita Cabello was clever— whatever else might be said of her, let that be
understood. She gave a free public performance in the fire hall on the night of
her arrival. Terhune attended this—and was impressed. There was a black cabinet
on the stage and black hangings and misty, white shapes moving about, potent tributes
to the senorita’s powers. Terhune bulked large in a front chair, his moon face
puckered, his little, round eyes like pin points, as he stared into the
Egyptian blackness in front of him.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
a wonder he didn’t say much that night; but the next night he presented himself
at the senorita’s apartments, which she had meanwhile opened over Dinkelman’s
clothing emporium on Main Street.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
wasn’t any silly business about it as far as the engineer was concerned; that
is, there wasn’t any glamour of feminine charms exerting any undue influence
upon him—the senorita was neither comely nor in the flower of her youth.
Brought down to a simple equation, the idea of the occult and its mysteries
caught Matthew Agamemnon hard; and the latter part of the senorita’s
advertisement caught him harder.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Terhune
had never forgiven his twin brother Sime for the inopportune and fatal attack
of heart failure, some five years previous, with which the defunct had so
arbitrarily terminated, at its most crucial moment, the argument upon which
they had been engaged at the time. He most earnestly desired to converse with
Sime.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
senorita agreed. It took her a few seconds to get the line clear and warm up to
her work; but, inside of three minutes by the watch, she was writhing around on
the floor like a serpent stung by bees, choking and squealing and foaming at
the mouth.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; tab-stops: 1.55in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Terhune had seen a cat in a fit once; and there
was one thing about him that was common to every engineer on the Hill
Division—which was to act promptly in an emergency. There was a pitcher of
water on the table. Terhune seized it, and heaved the contents violently into
her face.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
stiffening limbs relaxed with amazing mobility, and the Senorita Vera Cabello
sat up with surprising suddenness. What she said is not recorded, because
Terhune didn’t quite get the rights of it himself; but when he left, he carried
with him a sort of hazy realization that he had only himself to blame for
sidetracking the “rapport” with Sime—and just at the psychological instant when
it was about to be consummated, too.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Therefore,
he tried it again the following evening. This time he sternly refrained from
even a thought of the water pitcher—which incidentally had been removed—but
Sime, perhaps because he had got close enough to witness the proceedings of the
night before, seemed a little diffident about taking a chance on getting mixed
up with the turmoil and strife of things terrestrial. Sime did not appear; but
Matthew was still optimistic.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blow
much of the engineer’s last pay check, in a very brief interval of time, became
the property of Senorita Vera Cabello is a personal matter, and Terhune’s own
business. Terhune never said. If Sime was stubborn, so was Matthew Agamemnon.
Being twins, it was natural; but let that go.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
the senorita was clever. Pending connections with Sime, she fascinated Matthew
by initiating him into the first degree of the mysteries of the Beyond—and
hinted at much more. She spoke in a far-away voice of dwellers within the first
and second and third spheres, wise counselors and mentors to mankind; of
apparitions, wraiths, and specters, who appeared to mortals when something of
dire moment was impending. But—the world was blind and gross and crass—few,
very few, could s</span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact3"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ee </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">or
understand. It was necessary to </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact3"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">be </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Exact2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">attuned,
to be sensitive.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: dashed 41.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Zar are many t’ings in heaven an’
earth—” she quoted; and sold Matthew Agamemnon a little literature on the
subject.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">At first, Terhune, like a man feeling his
way on a new run, and wary of getting his signals mixed, confined his reflections
on this now all-engrossing matter to young Spence, his fireman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Spence listened incredulously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“I dunno what you mean,” said he, “ ‘bout
visitations from the other world an’ appuritshuns an’ wreaths an’ that sort;
but if it’s ghosts you’re drivin’ at, I don’t take no stock in ’em. Never saw
one; did you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This was the challenge direct. Terhune
blinked his little eyes fast, and proceeded to get his hand, or, rather, his
tongue, in on Spence—and scored cleanly. Spence, on the evening run back that
night, took to dodging, between shovelfuls, the shadows of the telegraph poles
as they flitted across the gangway; and, as Work Special 118 pulled into the
Big Cloud yards, he confessed to a “creepy, cricidy feelin’ up an’ down his
spine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">With this victory as a credential of
proficiency, Terhune opened fire the following day on the construction camp.
And on that day, and for some ensuing ones, he bombarded it pitilessly. He
caught Ferguson on the narrow ledge of an excavation where the chief couldn’t get
away. He cornered the assistants more than once. He labored patiently with
excitable Russians, staring Swedes, and half-witted Polacks, whose knowledge of
English was summed up in the few choice and polite phrases with which they were
accustomed to be addressed by their lords and masters, the road bosses and
foremen. He talked to everybody; and no man, except perhaps Sime, who was dead,
could pace Matthew Agamemnon on talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">But of all his audience, Podger and Clark
alone were solicitious and sympathetic. At the start, like Spence, they asked
him if he had ever seen a ghost himself. Matthew regretted that he had not;
but, in lieu of personal testimony, offered an imposing array of authentic
statistics, which he now had at his fingers’ ends, of people who had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Clark was unquestionably impressed. So
was Podger. But their conversion was a lower and more stubborn matter than
Spence’s. They yielded a point here and there from time to time, as men whose
convictions are reluctantly overridden; but it was several days before they
made a full and unconditional surrender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">However, if it took longer than it did
with Spence, once converted, having been trained in a mathematical school of
hard fact, their conversion was not the passive conversion of the fireman.
Instead, it was practical, and—but the red is against us, and we’ll have to
slow up till we get the track.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">To-day, now that Ferguson has built his
bridge and gouged his cut through the mountain walls, you can see the mouth of
Number One Tunnel staring at you like a little black eye up the grade all the
way from the bridge; but you couldn’t then, for the right of way swept out of
the tunnel into a long half-mile curve close up against the bare gray rock of
the mountainside following the river bend; and, still curving at the bottom,
where it crossed the Muskrat, hit the old wooden trestle on the tangent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This didn’t leave much room for a siding
anywhere; but, what with Terhune and his dump carts and the work in general, a
siding there had to be from the first, so they tapped the main line as far up
as they could squeeze in, paralleled it down to the trestle, and left the last
two rails bent up and sticking out over the water, with the river for a bumper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">About the only rights Terhune and his
Work Special had were this same Muskrat siding and the three-mile stretch from
there to Blazer, the first station east of the camp; the latter because, once
Matt had pulled out, he was in the clear, with nothing on earth to reach him
till the operator at Blazer could wave a tissue in his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">So, also, because there was quiet in the
Serpent’s Cut and a lull in the traffic</span> <span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">for
an hour or so around six o’clock, Terhune was scheduled to leave the Muskrat at
six-fifteen each night and run to Blazer for orders. After that, if he wasn’t laid
out more than two or three times by the wayside, he would eventually make the
Big Cloud yards by eight or eight-thirty—in time to keep a one-sided
appointment with his tantalizingly elusive relation, and imbibe mystic lore from
the senorita, after her customary earnest, if unproductive, fit was at an end.</span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Matthew
Agamemnon Terhune had become a busy man, take it all round; for the more he
listened to the senorita on subjects touching the dread familiars across the
Styx, the firmer became his belief and the stronger grew his desire to
enlighten the unenlightened—so the harder he talked.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
possibly there is a moral here. Certainly no one ever had a less fertile soil
for the sowing of seed than was the field wherein Matthew Agamemnon labored;
and yet, to-day, the first canon in the creed of the Hill Division, bar no man
among them, not even the pick-swinging Russians and Swedes and Polacks, is
ghosts.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
simply goes to show what sincerity and unbounded perseverance will do; for, on
the Friday night when Terhune pulled out from the Muskrat siding, a week after
Senorita Vera Cabello’s arrival at Big Cloud, the only disciples he had were
young Spence, his fireman, and those two learned bachelors of science, Clark
and Podger.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the first flush of spring the days are still short, and it had already shut
down pretty black when Terhune, on the dot of six-fifteen, moved up the siding
and cautiously negotiated the mainline switch for the bumping, groaning,
rattling string that trailed behind him.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
can come down the stretch from the tunnel to the trestle at a fairly stiff
clip, for the arc of the curve is wide; but going up is quite another matter,
with a trifle better than a four-per-cent grade to climb. Terhune had a heavier
load than usual that night; and his pace was little faster than a man’s walk as
he crawled up for the tunnel’s mouth, his engine entering her protest in long,
hoarse, growling barks from her exhaust, and coughing a hemorrhage of sparks
and red-hot cinders from her stack.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
wasn’t much of the right of way in sight, for the beam of the electric
headlight, with the curve of the track, just cut the left-hand rail a few yards
ahead, and then shot away like a truant child to play among the trees and
foliage of the Muskrat Valley that was opening up below. The effect of this
might have been pretty, but it did not appeal to Terhune—he had seen it before;
and, besides, he had other things on his mind. So, by the time they were well
up to the tunnel, having got snugly and comfortably settled on his seat, he
cast, after a professional glance at his gauges, an introspective eye across
the cab at Spence,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s
none so blind,” said he, with originality, “as them as won’t see. There’s
hundreds and hundreds of cases with evidence enough to back ‘em up that no one
with any sense could turn down. Now take that drummer ghost somewheres over in
Scotland that always plays his drum as a warning when one of the family’s going
to die. No one disputes that, do they? Well, then, how about that?”</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
think they’re horrid things,” said young Spence uncomfortably.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
don’t say they’re not,” admitted Terhune, wagging his head sapiently. “I don’t
say they’re not, but— </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What’s that!”</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
The words burst from his lips in a dull, frozen gasp of terror, followed on the
instant by a wild, incoherent yell from the fireman.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
a lurch as it struck the straight, and the roar of the deep-toned exhaust
swelling into a thousand thunders that reverberated hollow and cavernous from
the vaulted roof, the big ten-wheeled mogul had shoved her nose into the round,
inky black mouth of the tunnel; and the headlight, wavering back to its duty,
was throwing its beam far into the opening. And there, where the shaft of light
focused ahead upon the rails, was a sight that made Terhune’s blood run cold.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Full
in the right of way, facing the train, one hand upheld, as though in warning,
the light shimmering through his ghostly body onto the rail beyond, stood the
white, shadowy specter figure of a man.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Great
clammy beads of perspiration sprang to Terhune’s forehead, his fat, florid
cheeks paled to ivory, and the fringe of hair around his head seemed to rise up
until it stood out straight and stiff; then, working like a madman, he jammed
in the throttle, applied the “air,” shot the reversing lever over the full
segment into the last notch, whipped the throttle wide open again, released the
“air,” and, for all the world like huge pinwheels, the sparks flying from the
tires, the drivers began to race backward.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">No
train before or since on the Hill Division ever came to as abrupt a stop as did
Work Special 118 east on that night. The jerk threw Spence halfway up the coal
on the tender; and Terhune spit blood from loosened teeth for a week afterward.
With any initial speed, the flats and the gravel dumps and the box cars would
have telescoped themselves to splinters. As it was, they came together with a
rattle and bang and crunch and grind of battered buffers that would have put a
park of artillery in the toy pistol class.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
the mogul began to bite into the rails, and the train began to back out of the
tunnel and down the grade; but, ahead of it, leading the way, the coupler
shivered like a bit of pastry from the terrific snap-the-whip wrench it had received,
sailed the ancient caboose. And swaying, writhing, squeaking, squealing,
followed the rest of the Work Special, with Terhune, all flabby fat now, hanging
from the cab window, his whistle, from pure nervousness, going like a
chattering magpie, and his teeth, after one last sight of the apparition as
they swung clear of the tunnel, going like a pair of castanets.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
train crew in the caboose, by the time they got their scattered senses together
from the shock that had bowled them like ninepins over the stove and left them
wrestling with the stovepipe, found themselves halfway back to the trestle,
with the speed of their crazy conveyance increasing at every foot. They let out
a concerted yell, and jumped.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Down
below, at the din infernal, lights were flashing all around the camp. Some one
rushed to the switch, and threw it for the siding. The caboose, for all its
age, took it like a young colt, whisked the length of it, shot off the up-canted
end rails, and, describing a neat parabola in the air, plumped, in a clean
dive, into the bosom of the Muskrat. And it was only the fierce swing and jolt
of the engine as it took the switch, and the wild yell of the man beside it as
he swung the main line open again, that momentarily restored Terhune’s wits
sufficiently to check the train and save the rest of his outfit from the same
fate.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
he came to a stop, men clustered around him; but for the first time in his life
Matthew Agamemnon’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he was dumb. He
could only hang weakly in the gangway as the volley of questions came at him
thick and fast.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
suddenly, from the tunnel’s mouth, came the long, shrill siren scream of a 1600
class mountain racer, then the pur of steel, the dull rumble of beating trucks
growing louder and louder; and, bursting like a cannon’s tongue flame from the
curve, the glare of a headlight shot </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">streaming into </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
night. A roar, a whirl, a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">row of </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">lights
flashing like </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">diamonds from a </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">solid
string </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">of brass-vestibuled Pullmans </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">swept
by, </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">took the trestle with a tattoo </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">that
</span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">echoed far up and down the valley, and was gone. And behind
her, the questions silenced, men with blanched, awed faces saw Matthew
Agamemnon Terhune, with a hysterical sob, collapse limply on the floor of his
cab.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just
</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">series of illogical, </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">disconnected
happenings? </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Perhaps. It depends </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">on
the way </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">you look at it. </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Queer
things happen in life. </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If it had </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">not
been for the mechanical </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">bent </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">that
enabled Podger and Clark to tinker </span></span><span class="Bodytext23"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">so </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">effectually
with bits of wire and gauze sheeting, and Matthew Agamemnon’s propensity for talk
that inspired them to do so, and the advent of Senorita Vera Cabello, who inspired
Matthew Agamemnon, the be-Pullmaned Convention Special with clear rights to
Glacier Junction, twenty miles west of the Muskrat, which would, none the less,
have hit Blazer on the tick of her schedule, with no reason on earth for
holding her up, since she had time and to spare to get past the siding before
Terhune pulled out, and which would just as surely have had a breakdown a mile
west of Blazer, delaying her fifteen minutes, a delay that, in the face of her
rights through, her crew were concerned only in making up, would—but what’s the
use!</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chance,
or luck, or something more than that, if you’d rather, whatever you like to
call it; that was all that stood between three hundred conventionites, to say
nothing of two train and engine crews, and a shambles quick and absolute, that
night.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
that as it may be, it was a week before Matthew Agamemnon climbed into a cab
again; and in the meantime, at the polite solicitation of the town marshal
incident to a few unpaid bills, the senorita had departed from Big Cloud. This,
from the standpoint of the psychologist, was a misfortune. His visits perforce
ended. There was no telling whether the Specter of Serpent’s Cut, as they came
to call it, had enhanced or shattered Terhune’s belief in her and, concretely,
in the occult. Not that Matthew Agamemnon was silenced; far from it. He talked
harder than ever, as far as that goes, only he talked </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">exclusively</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
on such subjects as the Alaskan Boundary Question, the Fresh Air Movement, and
the Newfoundland Fisheries Dispute.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark1"><o:p></o:p></a></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark1;"><span class="Heading2"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">THE
SCIENCE OF THE FLAPJACK</span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark1;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext71" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext71" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext70"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">NOW twist your wrist<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext71" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext70"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And bow your back,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
learn to turn<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
good flapjack.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Give
it a flip</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
rich and brown,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Catch
it kerslap!</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
it comes down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Give
it a coat</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
sorghum thick,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Or
bacon grease<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Will
do the trick;</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Or
even plain—</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not
near half bad,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
a day’s tramp</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Or
hunt you've had.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Flapjack,
you helped<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
trail to clear<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Through
all the wilds<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
the frontier.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Well
your humble<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Part
you played,</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
by your strength<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
West was made.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext80" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext8SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Robert </span></span><span class="Bodytext895pt"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">V.
</span></span><span class="Bodytext8SmallCaps"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carr.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9183297266293267982.post-89284518030904781842018-04-05T11:19:00.001-03:002018-04-13T08:33:31.828-03:00The Murder at the Duck Club<br />
<div class="Heading11" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-pagination: lines-together; page-break-after: avoid; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UZj3M8i4LCU/WsYwU-brLHI/AAAAAAABlvw/zf1l1zANsdgHqep3H65bl3IhufCBXASkgCLcBGAs/s1600/November%2BJoe%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="406" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UZj3M8i4LCU/WsYwU-brLHI/AAAAAAABlvw/zf1l1zANsdgHqep3H65bl3IhufCBXASkgCLcBGAs/s320/November%2BJoe%2Bcover.jpg" width="216" /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="bookmark0"><span class="Heading10"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 16.0pt; font-style: normal;">The Murder at the Duck
Club</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: bookmark0;"></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hesketh
Prichard (1876-1922)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">A short story
from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">November Joe: Detective of the Woods</i>
(1918). Short detective stories in Canada.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.michaelmay.online/2017/11/guest-post-november-joe-canadas.html"><span style="mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">Here</span></a> is a little background on the
author and the subject detective.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext31" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext30"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Digitized by
Doug Frizzle for <a href="http://stillwoods.blogspot.ca/"><span style="mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-fareast-language: #0400;">Stillwoods.Blogspot.Ca</span></a> 2018 April.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">November Joe had come to Quebec to lay in his stores against
the winter’s trapping. He had told me that the best grounds in Maine were
becoming poorer and poorer and that he had decided to go in on the south side
of the St Lawrence, somewhere beyond Rimouski.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew that November was coming since two hours before his
arrival a cable had been brought in for him, for when in Quebec, although he
stayed at a downtown boarding-house, he was in the habit of using my office as
a permanent address. I was therefore not at all surprised to hear his soft
voice rallying my old clerk in the outer office. A more crabbed person than
Hugh Witherspoon it would be impossible to meet, but it cannot be denied that
like so many others he had a kindliness for November. Presently there was a
knock at the door and Joe, his hat held between his two hands, sidled into the
room. He was never quite at ease except in the open, and as he came towards me
with his shy smile, his moccasins fell noiselessly on the polished boards.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I handed him his telegram, which he opened at once. It ran:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">Offer you fifty
dollars a day to come at once to Tamarind </span></span><span class="Bodytext595pt"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Duck Club.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext595pt1"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext5SmallCaps"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Eileen </span></span><span class="Bodytext595pt1"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">M.</span></span><span class="Bodytext595pt1"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="Bodytext5SmallCaps"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">East.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe whistled and characteristically said nothing.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Who is Eileen M. East?’ I asked.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe made no reply for a moment, then he indicated the
telegram and said:—</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘This has been redirected from Lavette. Postmaster Tom knew
I’d be in to see you. Miss East was one of an American party I was with, ‘way
up on Thompson’s salmon river this spring.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">At this moment a clerk knocked and entered, bringing with him
a second telegram. Joe read it:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext40"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">You must come.
Murder done. A matter of life and </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">death.</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Please reply.</span></span><span class="Bodytext285pt"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">—</span></span><span class="Bodytext285pt"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Eileen </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">M.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></span></span><span class="Bodytext285pt"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">East.</span></span><span class="Bodytext285pt"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext41" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Will you write out an answer for me?’ asked Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I nodded. Joe is slow with the pen.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘“Miss Eileen M. East.” Please put that, sir, and then
“arriving on 3.38,” and sign.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘How shall I sign it?’ said I.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Just write “November.”’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I did so, and ringing again for the clerk I directed him to
give the telegram to the boy who was waiting. There was a moment’s silence,
then—</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Can you come along, Mr Quaritch?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked at the business which had accumulated on my desk,
for, as I have had occasion to observe more than once, I am a very busy man
indeed, or, at least, I ought to be, for my interests, as were those of my
father and grandfather, are bound up with the development of the Dominion of
Canada and range through the vegetable and mineral king</span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">doms to
water-power and the lighting of many of our greatest cities.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes, but I must have ten minutes in which to give
Witherspoon his instructions.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe went to the door. ‘The boss wants you right away, old
man,’ I heard him say.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Witherspoon shuffled into my room.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’ll go and get a rig,’ continued November, ‘and have it
waiting outside. We haven’t overmuch time if we’re going to call at your
country place for your outfit.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">A quarter of an hour later Joe and I were bowling along in
the rig drawn by a particularly good horse. I live with my sister some distance
out on the St Louis road, and thither we drove at all speed.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">My sister had gone out to tea with some friends, but she is
well accustomed to my always erratic movements, so that I felt quite at ease
when I left a note explaining that I was leaving Quebec for a day or two with
November Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">We reached the station just in time and were soon steaming
along through the farmlands that surround Quebec City.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">You who read this may or may not have heard of the Tamarind
Duck Club. It is a small association composed chiefly of Montreal and New York
business men, to which I had leased the sporting rights of a chain of lakes
lying on one of my properties not very far from the waters of the St Lawrence.
To these lakes the ducks fly in from the tide each evening, and in the fall
very fine sport is to be obtained there, the guns often averaging ten and
twenty brace of birds, the latter number being the limit permitted to each shooter
by the rules. During the season there are generally two or three members at the
clubhouse, which, though but a log hut, is warm and comfortable. In fact, the
Tamarind Club has a waiting list of those who desire to belong to it quite out
of all proportion to its capacity.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">All these facts marshalled themselves and passed through my
mind as the train rolled on, and at length I said to Joe: ‘Murder done at the
Tamarind Club! It seems incredible. It must be that some poacher has shot one
of the guides.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Maybe,’ said Joe, ‘but Miss East said “a matter of life and
death”; what can that mean? That’s what I’m asking myself. But here we are! It
won’t be long before we know a bit more.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">The cars drew up at the little siding which is situated
within a walk of the Tamarind Club. We jumped down just as a girl, possessing
dark and vivid good looks of a quite arresting kind, stepped from the agent’s
office and caught November impulsively by the hand.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Oh, Joe, I </span></span><span class="Bodytext2Italic"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">am</span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;"> so glad to
see you!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">November Joe always had a distinct appeal to women; high or
low, whatever their station in life, they like him. Of course, his looks were
in his favour. Women generally do find a kind glance for six foot of strength
and sinew, especially when surmounted by a perfectly poised head and features
such as Joe’s. He had a curious deprecating manner, too, that carried its own
charm, and he appeared unable to speak two sentences to any woman without
giving her the impression that he was entirely at her service— which, indeed,
he was.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘When I got your message from Lavette, I come right along,’
said the woodsman simply; ‘Mr Quaritch come, too. It’s from him the Club holds
its lease.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Miss East sent me a flash of her dark eyes, and I saw they
were full of trouble.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I hope you will be on my side, Mr Quaritch,’ she said. ‘Just
now I need friends badly.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘What is it, Miss Eileen?’ asked Joe, as she paused. ‘Uncle
has been shot, Joe.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Mr Harrison?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’m terrible sorry to hear that. He was a fine, just man.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘But that is not all. There is something even worse! . . .
They say it was Mr Galt who shot him.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Mr Galt!’ exclaimed November in surprise. ‘It ain’t
possible!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I know! I know! Yet everyone believes that he did it. I sent
for you to prove to them that he is innocent. You will, won’t you, Joe?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’ll sure do my best.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I saw her struggle for self-control; the way she got herself
in hand was splendid.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I must tell you how it happened,’ she said, ‘and we can be
walking on at the same time, for I want you, Joe, to see the place before dark.
. . . Yesterday afternoon there were five of us at the club. I was the only
woman and the men settled to go out after the ducks in the evening, for though
it had been wet all day, the wind went round and it began to blow clear about
three o’clock. Four shooters went out; there was uncle and Mr Hinx, and Egbert
Simonson, and— and Ted Galt.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Is that the same Mr Hinx who was salmon-fishing with us
early this year?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes. . . . Most evenings I go with uncle, but yesterday the
bush was so wet that I decided not to go, so the four men went, and at the
usual time the others all came back. At half-past seven, I began to get
anxious, so I sent Tim Carter, the head guide, to see if anything was wrong. He
found my uncle dead in his screen.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And what brought Mr Galt’s name into it?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">She hesitated for a second.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘He and uncle had a good way to go to their places, which
were next to each other. They walked together, and their voices were heard,
very loud, as if they were quarrelling. Egbert Simonson complained about it
when he came </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">in—said they made enough noise to disturb the lake, and after
that, of course, Ted was suspected.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Did Mr Galt own they’d had any words?’ inquired Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes. Uncle was angry with him,’ she admitted, and a colour
showed for a moment in her cheeks. ‘Ted is not a rich man, Joe; you know that.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Huh!’ said Joe with complete comprehension. Then, after a
pause, he asked: ‘Who is it suspects Mr Galt?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘It was Tim Carter who got the evidence together against
him.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext61" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext6NotItalic"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘</span></span><span class="Bodytext60"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: normal;">Evidence?</span></span><span class="Bodytext6NotItalic"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Uncle and Ted were placed next each other at the shoot.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And had Mr Harrison or Mr Galt the outside place?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Ted had.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well, who was on the other side of your uncle?’ I suppose
there must have been someone.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘It was Mr Hinx.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Then what makes Carter so sure it was Mr Galt done it?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Ah! That is the awful thing. My uncle was killed with number
six shot.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And Ted is the only one who uses number six size. The others
all had number four.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe whistled, and was silent for some moments. Then he said:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I think, Miss Eileen, I’d as soon you didn’t tell me any
more. I’d like best to have Mr Galt’s and Carter’s stories at first-hand from
theirselves.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">The girl stopped short. ‘But, November, you don’t believe it
was Ted!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I sure don’t,’ he said. ‘Mr Galt ain’t that kind of a man.
Where is he?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Didn’t I tell you? Some police came out on the last train.
They have him under arrest. It is dreadful!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">* * *</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Half an hour later November Joe was face to face with Carter,
who gave him no very warm welcome, and added nothing to the following
statement, which he had dictated to the police inspector and signed in
affidavit form:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Last evening roundabout five o’clock, four members of the
club, Harrison, Hinx, Simonson, and Galt, started out for Reedy Neck. Reedy
Neck is near half a mile long by a hundred yards wide. It is a kind of a
promontory of low ground that sticks out into Goose Lake. The members walked to
their places. I did not accompany them, because I had been ordered to take a
canoe round to the north side of the lake, so as I could move any ducks that
might pitch on that part of the lake over the guns. There are six screens on
Reedy Neck. Before starting, the members drew lots for places as per Rule 16.
Galt drew number one, that is the screen nearest the end of the Neck and
farthest from the clubhouse. Harrison got number two. Number three was
unoccupied. Hinx was in number four, and Simonson in number five.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Reedy Neck is covered along its whole length with bush and
rushes, and the gunners cannot see one another. The screens consist of sunk
pits with facings of rushes and alders.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘The shooting began before I was round to the north side, and
continued till it was dark. Several hundred ducks flew in from the estuary. I
waited about ten minutes after the last shot was fired and then went back to
the clubhouse. When I got there, I found Harrison had not returned. I heard
this from Simonson, who was angry because, he said, Harrison and Galt had
talked in loud, excited tones as they went to their places.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘He was annoyed because he was of opinion that their voices
had frightened some bunches of duck at which he might have got a shot.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘At half-past seven Miss East, niece to Harrison, came into
the clubhouse kitchen, where I was at the time arranging to have the dead ducks
picked up. You cannot pick them up while the flight is on because of scaring
the others. When the wind is from the north, like it was last evening, it
drifts the dead birds on to the south shore of Goose Lake. I told Noel Charles
and Yinez, two of the club under-guides, to see about the pick-up. Miss East
told me that her Uncle Harrison had not come in, and I had better go and see
what was keeping him. She was afraid that he might have got bogged down in the
swamp, as it was dark. She was worried-like, and Sitawanga Sally, the Indian
squaw cook, tried to cheer her. She said the path from Reedy Neck was easy to
follow.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I left Miss East with Sally and went out. There was a bit of
moonlight. I went down to Reedy Neck and found Harrison in number two screen.
He was dead, and already stiff. I concluded he must have shot himself by
accident. I lifted the body to carry it back. When I was about fifty yards from
the club I shouted. Galt came running out. I told him Harrison had shot
himself. He said, “Good God! How awful for Eilie. ‘Miss East had heard me, and
was with us the next minute. She was greatly put about.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 266.25pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘We carried the body in and laid it
on a bed. It was then I looked at the wound for the first time. Sally, the
cook, was with me to lay out the body.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I said: “He couldn’t have shot himself this way.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I said this because I saw the shot had spread so much that I
knew it could not have been fired at very close quarters. Sally agreed with me.
I do not know whether her opinion is worth anything. It may be. Most Indian
women of sixty years old have seen dead men. I put my finger in the wound and
drew out a shot. We then covered up the body with a point-four blanket and left
it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I locked the door and took away the key. I did this because
the wound was a dreadful one, and I thought it better that Miss East should not
see the body. I then went to the gun-room and compared the shot I had taken
from the wound with other sizes. It was a number six shot. The only club member
who uses number six shot is Mr Galt. Harrison, Simonson, and Hinx all use number
four. I said nothing to anyone about the number six shot.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘At dawn I went back to Reedy Neck and worked out all the
details. It was easy, for they were plain in the soft mud. There was no sign of
any one except Galt having passed number two screen. His returning footsteps
were along the edge of the water until he came to number two screen where
Harrison was. Then his tracks led up to the silt towards it. He must have been
within twelve paces of Harrison. There he paused, as I could tell by the
tracks. I suggest it was then that he fired the shot. Next he went back to the
edge of the lake and continued towards the clubhouse.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘After making this examination I spoke to Simonson, the
senior member. I understand that he cabled for the police.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext50" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext595pt1"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Signed, </span></span><span class="Bodytext5SmallCaps"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">t. caster.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I read out this statement while November listened with the
curiously minute attention that he always accorded to the written or printed
word. When I had finished he forbore to ask any questions, but expressed a
desire to speak with Galt. We found him in the custody of a tall young trooper,
who, at the command of the inspector, considerately left us to ourselves.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe shook hands gravely and warmly.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Now, Mr Galt, I’m right sorry about all this, and glad that
Miss Eileen sent for me.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘She sent for you?’ cried Galt.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Sure.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s the best news I’ve had since I was arrested. It shows
that she believes I am innocent.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘’Course she does!’ said Joe. ‘And now will you tell me
everything you can remember of what happened yesterday, before Mr Harrison was
found dead?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Galt was silent for a moment.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Here goes!’ he said at length. ‘I’ll begin at the beginning.
In the early afternoon I went for a walk in the woods with Ei—Miss East. I
asked her to marry me. She said, yes. I’m not a rich man, though I’m not
exactly a poor one.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No,’ agreed Joe, to whom a tenth of Galt’s income would have
been riches beyond his farthest dream.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Anyway,’ continued Galt, ‘we guessed we might have trouble
with her uncle, Mr Harrison, and, on the principle of not shirking a bad talk,
we arranged that I was to take the first opportunity of putting Mr Harrison
wise as to the position of affairs. By the time we returned to the clubhouse,
we found Hinx, Simonson, Harrison, and Guide Carter just starting for the
evening flight. I joined them, and, as luck would have it, I drew the next
screen to Mr Harrison. Simonson and Hinx went off together, and I was left with
Harrison, so I started in and told him how Eileen and I had fixed to get
married.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe gave the sideways jerk of the head which signified his
comprehension.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘He was furious,’ went on Galt, ‘even more angry than I
expected a judge—he was a judge in the States—would ever be. He accused me of
being after her dollars rather than herself.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘He couldn’t’a’ really thought that,’ said Joe judicially;
‘that is, unless he was blind.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Galt smiled.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Thanks, November, Eilie always told me you were a courtier
of the woods. As to Harrison, I dare say he would not have been so hard on me,
only unfortunately I had crossed him once or twice in matters about the club. I
blackballed a fellow he proposed this spring.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Blackballed? What does that amount to?’ inquired Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Opposed his becoming a member.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That so? Go on.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘As I was telling you, he gave me the rough side of his
tongue. I begged him not to decide in a hurry, as we meant to get married
anyway, but we’d sooner do it with his good will. That, of course, made him
madder than ever. So, seeing I was not likely to do any good just then, I left
him and went to my own screen, which was next to his at the very end of the
Neck.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Where did you leave him?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘About fifty yards on this side of his screen.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And after that?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I had not been ten minutes in my screen when the ducks began
to come in. They kept on coming. I must have fired between seventy and eighty
cartridges. Harrison, too, was banging away.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Could you see him?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No, the reeds are too high, but more than once I saw the
ducks he shot fall. I could see them because they were twenty or thirty yards
high in the air.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe nodded.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘At a quarter past six the flight was pretty well over and
the firing along the line grew less and less frequent. At the half-past it had
stopped altogether, and I decided to go back to the clubhouse.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘One minute,’ put in Joe. ‘What time was it when Harrison
fired the last shot that you remember?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘It must have been about ten minutes past six.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Did any birds pass over him after that?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I thought so.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And he did not fire at them?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Were you not surprised at that?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Not very. It was pretty dark, and Harrison was not a quick
shot.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Now tell me all the details you can call to mind of your
walk back to the club.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I picked up my gun and my cartridge bags, which were nearly
empty, and walked along the edge of the water until I was opposite Harrison’s
screen. There I paused. I thought I’d have another try to persuade him. I
called out his name. There was no answer. So I walked up the mudbank and
shouted again.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘From the top of the bank? Could you see into the screen?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Partially, but it was dark, and as I did not catch sight of
Harrison I concluded he had already returned to the club, so I retraced my
steps to the edge of the water and came back to the club myself.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You met no one on the way?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I fancied I saw a figure on the south shore.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Whereabouts?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘About opposite number three screen on Reedy Neck.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Have you nothing more to tell me?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No, I can’t remember anything more. But I want to ask you
this question. Why have I been arrested? There can be but little evidence
against me.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">November looked Galt in the face. ‘I wish that was so,’ he
said, ‘but it ain’t. You see, Mr Harrison was killed with number six shot.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘What of that?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You are the only club member who uses that size.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Good Heavens!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘See here, Mr Galt,’ went on Joe, ‘there’s that fact of the
shot, and there’s the fact that your tracks are the only ones that pass Mr
Harrison’s screen; besides which the quarrel between you was overheard.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘It is a chain of coincidences—a complete chain,’ cried Galt
in dismay.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe nodded and left the room without more words.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">As soon as we were clear of the building I asked him what he
thought of it all.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">He turned the question on me. ‘And what do you think?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘The evidence against Galt is about as strong as it need be,’
I said sorrowfully. ‘Here we have a man shot in a screen. The only person who
passed anywhere near was the prisoner. The deed was done with number six shot;
the only man using number six is again the prisoner. When you add to that the
quarrel, which was a pretty hot one by all accounts, why, you have as complete
a case as any prosecution need wish to handle.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s so,’ agreed Joe. ‘And the worst of it is that Galt’s
own story don’t help us any.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Do you believe he is telling the truth?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s the one thing that I do believe.’ I demurred.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well, you know, if he had been telling lies,’ said Joe, ‘he’d
have made a better story of it, wouldn’t he? Let’s get along to Reedy Neck.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">So to Reedy Neck we went. For the benefit of my readers I
must describe it. Reedy Neck is a promontory of mud and rush which extends, as
I have said, some eight hundred yards into the lake. At no point does it rise
twelve feet above the level of the water.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">From the moment that he set foot upon it, November Joe
examined every yard of ground with infinite care, and as he walked kept up a
running commentary upon the tracks and their, to him, obvious story. At first
there were many footprints, but presently these thinned to two.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Look here,’ said Joe. ‘The tapped boots is Harrison and the
moccasins is Galt. Here must have been the spot where Galt told Harrison he is
going to marry Miss Eileen. See, Harrison stopped, stamped back on his heels,
and drove down the butt of his gun into the mud.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes, I see.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And here,’ continued Joe, ‘they separated. Harrison’s tracks
go up the bank, Galt’s passes on. We'll follow Galt’s first.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Which we did. They led us straight to the duck screen he had
occupied. Crouching in it as he would have done, we found that a sea of reeds
shut in the view on every side. The mud floor of the screen was covered with
empty shells.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s where he knelt waiting for the ducks,’ said Joe,
pointing to a circular cavity; ‘his knee made that. There’s little to be learnt
here.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">And we began to follow Galt’s trail back. The returning
tracks ran along a lower line by the edge of the water, until nearly opposite
the scene of the tragedy they swerved at right angles, and went up the bank to
within a few yards of the screen where Harrison’s body had been found.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘He stopped here,’ said Joe, ‘stopped for quite a while. Now
Mr Quaritch, I’ll see what I can find out.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You’ll not find much,’ said a voice behind us. ‘At least,
not much that has not been found out before. If I was you, November, I’d give
it up as a bad job. Galt done it. The tracks is plain as print.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘There’s some says that print don’t always tell the truth,
Tim Carter,’ answered Joe sturdily.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carter, a powerful stubborn-faced woodsman, with wild brown
hair and small side-whiskers, began to walk forward, but Joe held up his hand.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Stand you back, Tim,’ said he, ‘I don’t want you rooting
around and tearing up the ground with your feet.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carter sat down beside me on a driftwood log that lay among
the reeds, and together we watched November; I with sympathy, for Miss East’s
eager hopes lived in my consciousness. Carter’s face, however, wore an
expression of supercilious amusement.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Such a methodical examination I had rarely seen Joe make, and
that very fact damped my expectations. First </span></span><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">of all he
followed out every line of tracks. Then he made a series of measurements, and
last of all began to pick up and look over the gun wads which lay about in
great numbers. Suddenly he darted forward, and picked up one that lay close
beside my foot.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You are both witnesses where I found this,’ he cried. Carter
rose. ‘I’ll mark the place if you like,’ he said with a laugh.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s good! Do it.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carter thrust a stick into the ground. ‘Now,’ asked he, ‘what
next?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">But Joe was paying no attention. He was engaged in examining
the piece of driftwood from which we had risen, and the shore near the water in
its vicinity. At length, evidently satisfied, he came to me.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I want you to take charge of this,’ he said, handing me the
gun wad; ‘it’ll likely be needed in evidence.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l8GauMSSEMs/WtCVNtV4bII/AAAAAAABlw8/3UoKmCmZUyMem3JQrVY7NYof9TcAVnYAwCLcBGAs/s1600/Stand%2BYou%2BBack%2BTim%2BDuck%2BClub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="594" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l8GauMSSEMs/WtCVNtV4bII/AAAAAAABlw8/3UoKmCmZUyMem3JQrVY7NYof9TcAVnYAwCLcBGAs/s320/Stand%2BYou%2BBack%2BTim%2BDuck%2BClub.jpg" width="243" /></a><span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carter listened and grinned. ‘Finished, Joe?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes, here.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Whereaway next?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘To the south shore.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Want me along?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Please yourself.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was a long walk, undertaken in silence. The two woodsmen
were obviously antagonistic. Carter, being pleased to believe Galt guilty, was
consequently full of suspicion towards any attitude of mind that seemed to question
his conclusions. November’s point of view I had not fathomed. It is possible
that he could see light where to me all was utter darkness. On the other hand,
I could not, as I have said, conceive a more convincing chain of evidence than
that which had led Carter straight from the crime to Galt— the quarrel, the
number six shot, the fact that Galt had been within ten yards of the murdered
man’s hiding-place about the time the murder must have been committed.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I went all over it again. There seemed no break, and when I
thought of Eileen East, I groaned in spirit. She believed in Galt, and, even
more for her sake than for his, I longed for November to confound the sullen
Carter, though how this much-to-be-desired end might be brought about I failed
to see.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">At length we reached the south shore.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Any one been round this side to-day?’ asked Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Can’t say. If they have, you’re such a plumb-sure trail-reader,
you’ll know, won’t you?’ Carter retorted grimly.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Without answering, Joe signed to us to remain where we were,
while he crossed and cut diagonally from the lake shore to the mountain. After
that he went down to the boathouse where the canoes were kept. A moment later
his voice rose in a call. We found him looking into one of the canoes.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘When was this one last out?’ he asked.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Not since Friday.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s funny,’ said Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">We followed his pointing finger. In the bottom of the boat
was a little pool of blood.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Can you account for that, Tim Carter?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Vinez and Noel Charles must have taken the canoe when they
picked up the shot ducks this morning,’ said Carter.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘They didn’t go near the boathouse,’ returned Joe. ‘I found
their tracks. They lead down by the hill over there.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I suppose you think this blood’s got something to do with
the murder?’ sneered Carter.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’m sure inclined that way,’ said Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">As we walked back to the clubhouse my mind was in a whirl. I
have already said that I could see little daylight through the tangle of signs
and clues, and now I was aware that the prospect looked more complicated than ever.
As we approached the clubhouse, Miss East, who had evidently been watching for
us, ran out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well,’ she cried breathlessly, ‘what have you done? Have you
found out everything?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’ll want to look over the members’ guns before I answer
that,’ said Joe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘They are all in the gun-room.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">We entered a little annex to the club where the guns were
kept.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Carter picked out one. ‘Here’s Galt’s.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe lifted it carelessly. ‘Twelve calibre,’ said he, examining
it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Sure,’ said Carter. ‘All the others uses twelves, except
Simonson. His is number ten.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Which of them has two guns?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Only Simonson.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Where are they?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Here’s the one he used last night.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And the fellow to it . . . his second gun?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘In the case there.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe picked out the weapon, fitted it together, and looked it
over attentively. Then with equal care he took it apart and replaced it in the
case.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Joe, have you nothing to tell me? Joe!’ cried Miss East, her
face vivid with fear and hope.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’d like to ask Sitawanga Sally a question,’ said November,
‘and maybe Mr Galt might as well hear it.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">At a sign from Eileen, Carter, with a look of deep disgust on
his face, went to fetch the woman and the suspected man. Galt came in first,
accompanied by the police inspector. Meanwhile Joe had taken up Galt’s gun and
glanced through the barrels. As Sitawanga Sally entered, he snapped it to.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">She was a full-blooded Indian and, like many of her race, now
that the first bloom of youth was past, she might have been any age. Her high
cheekbones and wispy hair surrounded sullen eyes. She stood and fixed them on
Joe with an expressionless stare. November returned it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Say, Sally,’ said he, at last. ‘What for you kill old man
Harrison?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No, no! Me not kill’um! Galt kill’um!’ she replied, showing
her yellow fangs under a bulging upper lip.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Joe shook his head. ‘It don’t go any, Sally,’ said he. ‘I
know you shot him with Mr Simonson’s second gun in the case over there.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Me no kill’um! Me no kill’um! she cried.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her arms, raised high for a moment in excitement, dropped
suddenly, and she fell again into the stoicism which was her normal condition.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You’d better put in your facts, Joe,’ said the inspector briskly.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’m free to own,’ began November in his soft, easy manner, ‘that
it was quite a while before I could see anything to shake Carter’s evidence. My
mind was made up it wasn’t Galt done it, so it must’a’ been somebody else. But
I could find no tracks—only Galt’s and Carter’s, and Carter’s bore out his
story right enough. Consequently I set out to look for a third person, and it
was plain that the only way a third person could have come was in a canoe.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yet there wasn’t no signs of a canoe being beached, though I
searched careful for them. Still I knew the shot was never fired from the
water, which was too far off from where Mr Harrison’s body was found for that
to be possible. So you see it only left me one way out. Some one come in a
canoe, stepped out on the big driftwood log lying near the screen, walked up
along it to the end, and shot Mr Harrison from there.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Now the distance from the log to Mr Harrison’s body is above
eleven yards, and yet the shot had not spread much—we saw that—so I guessed,
whoever he was, the murderer must’a’ used a chokebore gun that threw the shot
very </span></span><span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">close and strong, and I began to think the thing must have
been done with a bigger bore gun than a twelve. So I started to search afresh,
and in time I found a wad (Mr Quaritch there has it)—a ten-bore wad recently
fired.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Now, Mr Harrison had a twelve-bore and so’d Mr Galt. The
only man who owned a ten was Mr Simonson, and he was the farthest away of all
in the screen near the clubhouse. Besides, he was wearing boots with nails in
the soles, and he could never’a’ walked down that bit of driftwood without
leaving pretty clear traces. So it weren’t him, but I got pretty certain it
were some one using a full-choke ten-bore and wearing either moccasins or
rubbers. Another point, the murder weren’t done on impulse, but whoever was
guilty had thought it all out beforehand.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Why do you say that?’ chipped in the officer.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘The number six shot. There weren’t no ten-bore shells loaded
with number six. The one who done it must have loaded them cartridges o’
purpose to bring suspicion on Mr Galt.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I see.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Well,’ went on Joe. ‘That’s as far as the examining of Reedy
Neck took me, and there was nothing better left to do but to go round and have
a look at the canoes. Besides, Mr Galt told me and Mr Quaritch he’d seen some
one moving about there on the south shore just after the time the murder was
committed. So round we went, and there, sure enough, I come on the tracks of a
pair of small moccasins leading down to the canoe house and coming up again.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">“‘Sitawanga Sally,” says I to myself, “those footmarks looks
mighty like yours.”’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘But the blood, the blood in the canoe—it couldn’t have been
Harrison’s?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext22"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘No, it weren’t,’ said Joe. ‘It were Sally’s own. She’s weak
and them ten-bore guns kicks amazing. I guessed it bled her nose. Look at her
swelled cheek and lip.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">All the time, as Joe’s words proved how he had drawn the net
round her, I watched the stoic face of the Indian squaw. When he pointed to her
swollen mouth, her features took life, and an expression of the wildest and
most vindictive passion that I have ever seen flashed out upon them.
Recognizing the hopelessness of her position she threw aside all subterfuge.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes, me kill’um Harrison!’ she cried. ‘Me kill’um good!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Oh, Sally,’ cried Eileen. ‘He was always so kind to you!’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Harrison devil!’ answered the Indian woman passionately.
‘Me swear kill’um Moon-of-Leaves time. Harrison kill’um Prairie Chicken—my
son.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘What does she mean?’ Eileen looked round wildly at us.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I think I can tell you that,’ said the inspector. ‘Moon-of-Leaves
means June, and wasn’t Mr Harrison a judge back in the States?’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Yes.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘And he had sometimes to deal with the Indians from the
Reserve. I remember hearing this woman’s son got into trouble for stealing
horses.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Bad man say Prairie Chicken steal’um,’ broke in Sally.
‘Black clothes—black clothes—men talk-talk. Then old man Harrison talk. Take
away Prairie Chicken—far, far. Me follows.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘That’s so,’ said the inspector. ‘I remember some judge tried
Prairie Chicken, and gave him ten years. It may have been Judge Harrison. The
Chicken died in gaol. If that is so, it explains everything. Indians never
forget.’</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Prairie Chicken, he dead. Me swear kill’um Harrison. Now
Prairie Chicken happy. Me ready join’um,’ said the old squaw, and relapsed once
more into her stolid silence.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘She thought Mr Harrison was directly responsible for the
death of her son,’ added the inspector.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Poor woman!’ said Eileen.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">* * *</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">There is not much to add. Subsequent inquiries confirmed the
inspector’s facts and made it clear that Sitawanga Sally, learning that
Harrison belonged to the Tamarind Club, had taken service there for the direct
purpose of avenging her son. No doubt she noticed the affection which was
growing between Eileen and Galt, and attempted to incriminate the latter so as
to obtain a fuller measure of revenge as well as to draw suspicion away from
herself.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blood for blood is still the Indian creed. It is simple and
it is direct.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">I think the whole case was best summed up by November
himself:</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Bodytext21" style="background: transparent; line-height: normal; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Bodytext20"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I guess our civilized justice does seem wonderful topsy-turvy
to them Indians sometimes,’ said he.</span></span></div>
Doug Frizzlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08738522720345918483noreply@blogger.com0Québec City, QC, Canada46.8138783 -71.207980946.4664123 -71.8534279 47.161344299999996 -70.562533899999991