From Stillwater

The Story of Chocolate

2012-01-10T17:31:00.000-04:00

TheStory of Chocolate

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everylandmagazine, January 1917. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, Jan. 2012.

WHEN theSpaniards first landed in Mexicoand Central America theyfound the native Indians using adrink which the Spaniards had neverbefore tasted. The Aztecs called it chocolati, and today we call itchocolate but very few who eat chocolate or drink cocoa ever stop to think howit is made.

If you have once seen a cacaotree,—for cocoa and chocolate both come from this same tree,—you will neverfail to recognize the tree again,for there is no other tree like it. It is a very pretty tree, withrich green leaves, which are bronze red or purple when young, but the queerest thing about it is the way in which theflowers and fruit grow. Instead of budding from theends of twigs, the cacao flowerssprout directly from the rough barkof the limbs and trunk, and the fruits look very funny hanging everywhere upon the bark as if tacked on. The cacao fruits are roughand brightly colored with purple, red, or yellow, and a tree, covered with the yellow fruits or pods, looks as if it werebearing squashes.

Within thepods is a mass of white slimy pulp, and in this are many brown seeds or beans.The ripe pods are very carefully cut from thetrees,—for if broken or torn off, thetrees are injured—and, as fast as cut, theyare gathered in baskets and carriedto some spot where they are dumpedin piles to be opened. This is done by men with big sharp knives calledmachetes (mah-chay'-tayz), and as each pod is split open thepulp and seeds within are dumped into trays or baskets. As soon as a basket isfull of the pulp it is carried to the "sweating-house," where the pulp is dumped into boxes with holes in the bottoms and which are covered over with leavesor matting. After a few days theyare changed to another box, where they are left for two or three days more, by whichtime the soft, white pulp hasentirely disappeared and the beanshave changed to a rich purple color. This process is called "fermenting,"and a great deal of care is necessary in fermenting thebeans, for, if badly or carelessly done, thecocoa or chocolate will be poor and thebeans will not bring a high price.

When theseeds are properly fermented, theyare spread upon huge trays to dry, and as theleast rain or dampness injures thebeans, the drying trays are usuallymade with wheels running on tracks, so that thetrays with their loads of beans maybe quickly run under a shed in case of a shower. As thebeans are drying in the brightsunshine they are raked about by menwho walk among the beans barefootedand shuffle and tread them about tosmooth and polish them. On many of the smaller estates thebeans are dried on cowhides, placed on theground, or in trays placed beside theroad, and one may often see chickens, dogs, sheep, cattle, and childrenscratching and playing about in thebeans. This seems like a very dirty method of drying anything which is to beused for food, and many people who see thebeans with animals or barefooted black men walking about in the trays, think that cocoa or chocolate must bevery filthy. But this is not thecase, for, when the beans reach the factory or mill to be made into cocoa orchocolate, the outer skins with all the dirt are removed. The cocoa and chocolate we buyin the stores are made in bigfactories and go through numerous machines and many processes, but in the countries where thecocoa trees grow the people make the chocolate by pounding thebeans in a mortar. Then they addsugar and a little cinnamon or vanilla, and mix theground beans into paste with water and roll theminto little sticks or cakes. When theseare dissolved in water and milk, theymake a very rich but nourishing drink, exactly thesame as the Spaniards first tastedin Mexico nearly half a thousand years ago. Nowadays cocoa is grown in so manyplaces and in such large quantities that it is not as valuable as it was once.In former days in the West Indies the theftof cocoa was punishable by death, and in some countries thecocoa beans were used as money.

Some Funny Cobwebs

2012-01-10T13:30:00.002-04:00

Everylandis an interesting magazine, written as a missionary publication for boys andgirls, it actually contains some interesting stories from all over the world.

Thisstory is very similar to Cobs andCobwebs published in June 1899 PopularScience magazine. Some of thegraphics may be the same, also.

Some Funny Cobwebs

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everyland magazine and thecolumn ‘Everyland Nature Club’, Dec. 1916. Digitized by Doug Frizzle Jan. 2012.

OF course you have all seencobwebs and every reader of Everyland knowsthey are built by spiders, but didyou ever wonder how the spiders madetheir webs or have you ever noticedhow many different kinds of webs thereare?

If you should examine aspider under a magnifying glass or a microscope, you would find a number oflittle projections on the under sideof its body. These are the"spinnerets" with which thespider spins its web, and a very remarkable process it is. Within the spider's body thesilk is in the form of a liquid andeach of the tiny spinnerets is atube through which the liquid silkflows, and just as soon as it reaches theair it hardens and the severalstreams from the spinnerets run together to form a single thread of finest silk. If the spider wishes a very fine thread he places hisspinnerets close together, while, ifhe wishes a thick thread, or a broad band of silk, he spreads his spinneretswide apart.

Still more wonderful is the fact that thespider can spin hard, dry silk or soft, sticky silk at will and each size ofthread and each kind of silk is used for some special purpose. The dry, hard threadsare always used when a spider wishes to drop from one place to another, for making silk bridges and for making the first part or framework of the webs. The elastic, sticky threads are used forcatching the spider's prey and forwrapping around and around the flyor other insect after it iscaptured.

You may often find spiders'webs with both kinds of silk used in them,for spiders plan and build theirwebs very carefully and use the sortof silk best suited to every purpose, and each kind of spider always builds the same sort of a web. Thus, thebig wheellike, nets which you find among bushes and trees, are built by certainkinds of spiders, and the flatcarpet-like webs which glisten like silver in thegrass, are made by very different kinds of spiders, and as there are many thousands of species of spiders andevery one builds a different sort of web, you can understand what a greatvariety of webs there are, andnaturalists who study spiders can tell just what kind of a spider built a certainweb by looking at it.

Some of these webs are really very wonderful, but the most wonderful of thecommon webs is one built by a little spider that lives among evergreen trees,and if you look carefully you can usually find thesewebs stretched between the twigs. Atfirst sight you will think them verysimple and not at all interesting, as theyare just four or five straight threads in theform of a triangle crossed by some coarser threads and fastened by a singlethread at one end. But if you watch carefully you will soon learn what a veryclever and ingenious sort of a spider built theweb and how remarkable it is.

When thelittle spider is hungry,— and spiders are always hungry,—he stations himselfupon the single thread and gathers up theslack between his feet and draws thewhole web very tight. Presently along comes a buzzing fly and bumps into the net, and instantly, thespider releases the loose silk and the net springs forward and snares the fly.

Again and again, the spider draws up theweb and snaps it back until his prey is hopelessly entangled and the little lasso-thrower can devour the fly at leisure.

Strange as it seems that aspider should capture his prey with a lasso, it is even funnier to think ofspiders building balloons and flying, but nevertheless,spiders do build balloons and travel for hundreds of miles through the air.

When a spider aeronaut wishesto fly he climbs to the highest spothe can find, such as a fence post, a bush, or even a tall blade of grass, andholding securely with his front feet, he raises his body in the air and spins out yard after yard of loosethread. When enough silk has been spun to lift thespider's weight, he releases his hold on thepost or bush and goes sailing off.

Perhaps you may not thinkthis simple breeze-borne silk should be called a balloon, but the spider aeronaut can regulate his speed, or the distance he travels far better than can humanballoonists. If the wind increases,he merely gathers in some loosethread, while, if the wind falls, hespins out more, and if he wishes to ascend or to land he gathers in or spins out thread to suit his needs.

These flying spiders are notone special kind, but are the youngof many common spiders, and if you look on fences and bushes on sunny autumndays you will often find dozens of thethreads streaming up into the airfrom little spiders who are getting ready for a flight.

Sometimes these spider balloonists travel long distances, and they have been seen floating safely through the air hundreds of miles out at sea.

Most of our spiders are verysmall, which is very fortunate for us, for spiders are among the most ferocious and bloodthirsty of creatures.

In thetropics they grow to quite largesize, and the big hairy tarantulasand mygales are so strong and powerful that theyfeed upon birds, pouncing on themand piercing them with their great pointed jaws. If such spiders were aslarge as wolves, we can imagine what enemies theywould be to human beings!

Of all interesting spiders'nests, perhaps the most interestingis the one built by a cousin of the big tarantulas and which is known as the trap-door spider. These fellows live in sandyplaces in the Western United States and make a burrow in theground which they line with silk.Then at the top they build a close-fitting door which is coveredwith earth, so that when it is shut you would never guess it was there. One kind of trap-door spider is not satisfiedwith a single door to his home, but in addition, burrows one or more sidetunnels, each of which is fitted with a trapdoor where it opens into the main hole. When an enemy pursues this spider hedarts into his hole and closes thedoor after him, holding it tightly closed with his feet, which grasp littlesilken handles made for the purpose.Then, if his enemy succeeds in forcing thedoor, the spider hurries into a sideroom and closes that door behind him and holds it shut. If his enemy stilltries to force a way into this new retreat, thespider hurries to the end of the chamber, digs rapidly through the thin layer of earth above, and is some distanceaway while his pursuer is still hunting about in thedark hole from which the spider hasfled.

How I Became an Indian Chief

2012-01-08T11:30:00.003-04:00

How I Became an Indian Chief

From the book “ThirtyYears in the Jungle”

By A. Hyatt Verrill, published 1929. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, Jan. 2012

Stillwoods.Blogspot.Com

Chapter XVIII

EVER since I had arrived in PanamaI had heard wild and lurid tales of theIndians in the remote districts.Obviously many of these were purely the result of thevivid imaginations of thePanamaneans; others were asevidently vastly exaggerated, while some, I felt sure, had a certain groundworkof facts and truth. But one and all agreed in certain respects, and there seemed to be no question that some of the Indians of theIsthmus were far from friendly with thenatives, that they held their territories inviolate and kept out intruders,and that they were practicallyuntouched by civilization, Christianity, or theinfluence of other races.

Among thetribes of which many of thesestories were told, were the Indiansof the high mountains and loftyinterior plateaus of the wildestportions of northern Panama, where,according to all reports, dwell themountain Guaymís.

Never had the Guaymís been conquered. For years they carried on a relentless warfare with the Spaniards, until theDons, deciding that the game was notworth the candle, left the aborigines in undisputed possession of their ancestral mountains. To be sure, some of the Guaymís were enslaved, some were conquered, andsome became civilized subjects of Spain, for theGuaymí race was a large one made up of many tribes and sub-tribes who wereconstantly fighting among themselves.But the true Guaymís of the still-unexplored mountains never gave in, their independence is still recognized by the Panama Government as the"Zona de los Indigenos," and while theyare quiet and peaceable and give no trouble—as long as theyare left alone—they owe allegianceto no one.

I had been warned that itwould be impossible for me to penetrate into theGuaymí country, that every white man who had attempted it had been driven out,and I knew that only a few months previously two American naturalists and their party had been chased from Guaymí territoryand had barely escaped with theirlives. Like many other tribes, the Guaymís had profited by experience; they knew that if one stranger were permitted toenter their territory others would follow, and that very soon they would have neitherterritory nor freedom left. They had no ill feeling towards civilized man, for,through the centuries, many hadbecome semi-civilized themselves,many had made visits to the outlyingsettlements and towns, and many had learned to speak a little Spanish. Also, inorder to obtain cloth, tools and firearms theyhad for years carried on a more or less regular trade with the Panamaneans. But theycame and went like shadows, appearing in theborder settlements singly or in small parties. Silent, shy and uncommunicative,they remained only long enough todispose of their beautiful andhighly-valued woven pita-hemp bags, theirrubber, coffee and cacao, and thenvanished again into the unknown fastnessesof their mountains. From time totime, too, various men had attempted to enter theIndian zone, attracted by stories of rich gold deposits, of oil or of rubber.But none had ever gone far. They might penetrate themountains for a certain distance, might visit thesemi-civilized Indians on thefringes of the country, might tradewith the outlying tribesmen—but thatwas all. If they attempted to go farther theywere ordered away, although I could find no evidence that any stranger had beenkilled or injured by the Guaymís formany years.

Personally I had little fear ofbeing ordered out. I had had much experience with various reputedly hostiletribes; I had learned their ways, their psychologies, and several of their dialects; and never had I been harmed orthreatened. And I felt I would be just as successful with the Guaymís. Most important of all, I had alreadymade a firm friend of one of theGuaymí chiefs. To his house I went first of all, and, as I had expected andhoped, with him to vouch for me therest was easy.

For days I dwelt in chiefNeonandí's house. I picked up a working knowledge of thedialect, I met many of the tribe,and I secured much valuable information and many specimens. The house, like allGuaymí houses, was a huge affair built of split logs and roofed with thatch.Around the inside of the walls were a number of small platformspartitioned off by mats of fibre or palm-leaves and each of these was occupied by a family. Thus the building was a sort of apartment or communalhouse. Each family had its own fire, but thebenches, the open centre floor andeverything else was used in common. These Indians were remarkably clean and hada wonderful idea of sanitation. All drinking water was kept in stopped jars outof reach of dirt or dogs, all food was hung up or placed on palmwood frames orshelves, and no poultry or otherlive stock was allowed in the house.The house-site was carefully selected so that therewas no chance of drainage into thestream used for drinking water, and even latrines were provided in the near-by jungle. Altogetherthe Guaymís were a fine lot ofIndians, tall, stalwart, well-proportioned, with small hands and feet, straightor slightly aquiline high-bridged noses, brown or even hazel eyes, brown orblack hair, and with pale-ochre or russet-coloured skins, many of the women being light olive and no darker than abrunette European. They have no villages, thetribesmen being scattered over an immense area—a house here, a house there, often many hours' or even days' marchesapart—while the whole country isdivided roughly into three districts, each ruled by a separate chief—one ofwhom was my friend, Neonandí, anotherhis cousin, while the third, to whomthe othersare subject, was known as Montezuma. How he came by that name, none of the Indians knew. They could only tell me their head chief had always been a Montezuma, andthis, together with other facts, convinced me that theGuaymís were the direct descendantsof some long-forgotten Aztec province. Many of theircustoms and habits were distinctly Aztecan, many of theirreligious beliefs and deities were identical with those of the Aztecs, over forty per cent of the words in theirlanguage were Nahua or Aztec, and they—aloneof all known existing Indians—still used theancient Aztec spear-throwing-stick or atlatl which the Guaymís called "n'adli."

Having made these discoveries I was all themore anxious to get into the heartof the Guaymi country, to visit the otherchiefs—and most especially Montezuma—to meet as many of thetribe as possible, and to witness some of theirdances and ceremonials.

Neonandí had no objections toguiding me to any portion of theIndian country I wished to visit, but he pointed out that it would be a hard,difficult and long trip, that it would be impossible for me to visit all oreven a fraction of the houses, andhe offered to try and arrange matters so my work would be made much easier andsimpler.

The next day Indians by the dozen arrived at thehouse. All wore their feather head-dresses of eagle, heron, owl, wild-turkeyor other feathers;all were dressed in their gorgeouslycoloured shirts and ornately decorated trousers; all were bedecked withbeautifully woven bead-collars and breastplates, necklaces of jaguar and peccaryteeth, human scalp-locks, and personal charms or fetishes; and all had their faces painted in red and black in elaboratepatterns.

Silently and gravely they would enter thegreat house, mutter their greetingsand, as Neonandí introduced them,would place the right hand on myhead and the left on their own breast. Then, seating themselves, theywould remain silent, staring fixedly ahead and waiting, as motionless and aspatiently as so many stone images. At last all had arrived and Neonandí begantalking. I could not catch all he said, but from thewords I understood and his eloquent gestures I knew he was urging my cause. Inhis gorgeous clothes, and with hischief's crown of long iridescent green quetzal feathers—the Aztecs' emblem of a chief—he looked every inch aking. Whatever he said evidently met with approval, for every now and then some Indian would grunt "K'wank!"(good) and nod his head. When thechief at last ceased speaking anotherIndian rose and talked, and again theothers grunted assent. When severalhad spoken and approval appeared to be unanimous, Neonandí explained that hehad proposed sending word to the other chiefs, who in turn would send word to their subjects, calling upon thetribesmen to gather at a certainrendezvous on a certain date so that I might thus visit themall together, and that the otherspresent—all of whom were sub-chiefs and councillors, had agreed.

This seemed an excellentplan, but one of the youngersub-chiefs had an even better idea. Perhaps, he suggested, many Indians wouldnot come merely to oblige a stranger and a white man; for white men were notliked and the wilder and shyer Guaymísmight prefer to keep away. But if theywere summoned to a ceremonial dance, theywould be sure to come. All agreed with this, and preparations were at once madeto send word to the chiefs and the tribesmen.

Neonandí brought out a numberof plaited cords of palm-leaf, some black, some white, some chequered black andwhite, and some striped. In these the Indians commenced tying knots, arranging them singly and in groups of various combinations.They were astonishingly like the quiposof the ancient Incas, and, to mysurprise and delight, I discovered theywere used in precisely the samemanner. Each cord had its own meaning or key, thewhite ones signifying one kind of a message, theblacks another, and so on, whileknots indicated the details. It wasamazing to find what long and intricate messages could be conveyed in thissimple manner.

When all were ready, severalyoung Indians appeared from outside thehouse, their faces painted withdesigns indicating they werecouriers from Chief Neonandí, and on official business. The face painting of the Guaymís is not purely ornamental, but everydesign, mark and pattern has its definite meaning, and, in order that these may be always thesame, the Indians use carved orengraved wooden stamps for imprinting thepigments on the skin.

Each courier carried a chakaraor pouch containing parched maize, a bit of dried meat and some tobacco.Each was given a number of theletter-strings and, silently as ghosts, theyslipped from the house into the night and started on theirlong journey over the mountains. Iwas surprised that they did not usehorses, for the Guaymís all owntough and wiry ponies and are splendid horsemen. But Neonandí assured me that they could travel faster and farther afoot; and later, when I journeyed over the mountains and saw theawful trails and fearfully rough and broken country, I was not surprised that the couriers preferred Shank's mare.

The meeting had been arrangedfor eight days later, and in due time we left Neonandí’s house, the chief having placed a carved wooden figure or"proxy" in the doorway toguard his home during his absence—and headed into themountains. The going was hard but thescenery was superb. There were cloud-piercing peaks, roaring rivers, tumblingcataracts, rich mountain valleys and vast upland plains or savannas. Most of the time we were well above thejungle, often above the timber-line,and stunted live-oaks and coarse grass were theonly forms of vegetation. Three days of fearful trails—traversing razor-edgedridges with yawning abysses on citherside, skirting terrific precipices where a misstep meant certain death, fordingtorrents, scrambling up one precipitous mountain-side and sliding down another—brought us at last, tired, aching andsun-baked, to the meeting-place. Amarvellously beautiful spot it was! In themidst of a maze of cloud-draped ranges a great flat-topped, isolated mountainrose like a stupendous pyramid. Upon this, in thecentre of the level space at the summit, stood theceremonial house or temple, an immense structure of fresh thatch and timberespecially erected for the occasion.It was fully one hundred feet in length by sixty feet wide and fifty feet high,with its eaves reaching to within two feet of theground. A few yards to one side was a smaller building—put up, I found, for myown use. But it was already occupied. Just inside thedoor was a small raised platform, and, squatting upon this and thoroughly athome, was a shrewd-faced, wrinkled little Indian whose owl-feather head-band and insignia showed him to be amedicine-man. Bobbing and grinning he declared—to Neonandí and myself—that hehad installed himself within theentrance to my hut for the purposeof guarding me from evil spirits. But I soon found thewily fellow had more selfish motives for being there.No Indian could come to my hut to trade without passing this Cerberus at mygates, who permitted no one to enter without paying toll—or perhaps better,duties—in the shape of articles ofnative handiwork, which, later on, he disposed of to me at a good profit. Hewas a leech, a grafter and a parasite no doubt, but he was amedicine-man and as such was regarded with a certain amount of respect andfear, and, as through him I secured many specimens which I might not haveobtained otherwise, and as he wasrich in folk-lore, and was a veritable mine of information for me, I permittedhim to remain.

Already scores of Guaymís hadgathered on themountain-top, dozens of spirals of blue smoke rose from thecamp-fires, and the gorgeouslycoloured costumes of the assembledIndians gave a most striking effect as theymoved about, the women cooking the evening meal, themen busy with preparations for thedance, and the children running,jumping and rolling about here, thereand everywhere.

I had scarcely settled myselfin my hut when Neonandí, who had slipped away, returned and informed me that the "dance-chief" was very ill, and thatunless he recovered no ceremonial could be held. Would I try to cure him? Iagreed to try, and Neonandí led theway to the great temple and,stooping low, we squirmed under theeaves and entered the building.

Within, the beams and rafters were hung with flowers, birds'skins, and streamers of dyed cotton. In thecentre stood an altar-like table piled high with every variety of food known tothe Guaymís, and decorated withmaize-stalks, flower-covered coffee-tree branches, sugar-cane flowers, andbrilliant orchids. Round two sides of thebuilding were rows of roughly-hewn log benches and carved wooden stools, and ina farther corner was a small raisedplatform enclosed by a yard-high partition of woven palm leaf.

Here, wrapped in innumerableskins and bark-cloth blankets, lay a wizened, grey-headed old Indian, his facedrawn and pinched with pain. I diagnosed his case as nothing worse than colic,gave him some pills, and assured him and Neonandí that he would be quite wellby the following day.

As we emerged from the great house theIndians gathered about and gazed atme almost reverently, for word had spread that I was doctoring the dance-chief, who, to theirminds, was a most sacred personage and a great witchdoctor. If he soughtmy help, they reasoned, I must be aneven greater medicine-man!

I had thought that all the participants in theforthcoming ceremonial were now present, but throughout thenight and the day following the Indians continued to arrive, until on the morning of thegreat day over one thousand Guaymís were gatheredon the mountain-top. Most assuredly Neonandís letter-strings had done their workwell!

Montezuma, however, had notappeared. Neonandí was sure that he would attend, but as hour after hour passedwithout a sign of him even theassembled Indians began to think that theirhead-chief had failed them. Thenfrom far off came the faint sound ofa cow-horn trumpet, and instantly theIndians were on the alert. Shouting"Montezuma! Montezuma!" theycommenced beating drums and blowing horns and whistles.

Soon, from beyond aprojecting spur of the mountainside,a little group of mounted Guaymís appeared and, to a welcoming roar ofsalutation, the ruler of all the Guaymís came riding into our midst.

I had pictured the Guaymí king as an old, grim-visaged Indian, butto my amazement he was a young man, a finely-built, well set-up and verylight-skinned Indian, with regular features, a dignified expression, broadforehead, and intelligent face. His costume was in no way different from thatof his subjects, though his crown of sacred quetzal plumes, set off by aband of golden and scarlet macaw feathers,was a most regal affair.

Also, much to my surprise,Montezuma addressed me in fairly good Spanish, although it developed later thata few set phrases comprised his entire knowledge of that language. He seemedvery friendly, told Neonandí that he would order his subjects to permit me tophotograph them, and added that hewould instruct them to bring all the handiwork theypossessed and trade with me. Then, accompanied by Neonandí and twomedicine-men, he disappeared into thetemple.

As thesun set the Indians lit flaringtorches; and when night fell they gathered in a great throng about the ceremonial house. Drums boomed, flutes andwhistles shrilled, and rattles shook, until thebarbaric music rose to a deafening roar. Then, slowly at first, but withever-increasing speed, the Indianscommenced dancing round and around thetemple, chanting in unison, keeping time to thethrobbing drums and piping flutes, and alternately stooping low or leaping upin regular order, until the movingstream of figures appeared like a great serpent gliding in sinuous curves aboutthe building.

Suddenly the music stopped, and silently the dancers faded away, ducking under the eaves of thetemple. From within came a weird chant, a wailing cadence, and the slow measured beat of drums. I was anxious toenter and watch what was going on, but Neonandí warned me against it. The evilspirits were being driven out, he explained, and if I went near they might take possession of me. A few momentslater, however, when the music hadceased, the chief touched my arm andbeckoned for me to follow him. I was to enter thetemple to witness the sacredceremonies of the Guaymís, to seewhat no other white man had everlooked upon!

Inside, a few gutteringtorches cast a fitful glare over thescene and filled the great buildingwith resinous smoke. Round one side themen were seated—row after row of closely packed, savage-looking figures, staringfixedly ahead, smoking theirceremonial pipes of carved stone, and giving not theleast sign that they had noticed myentrance or were aware of my presence. Between themand the central altar-like structurewas a fire of huge logs, and over this girls were cooking thick, unsweetenedchocolate, while near by othersstirred an immense pot of rice chicha.

Moving silently about, other girls were passing thechicha and bitter chocolate to themen; and on the opposite side of the altar sat scores of women, their long hair falling over theirfaces and their eyes fixed upon the floor. All about thealtar were placed small earthenware effigiesof birds, beasts and reptiles, with a few human figures, some monsters thatresembled ogres or devils, and many miniature clay pots, dishes and plates.

All this I took in at aglance, and then seated myself on alow stool that had been reserved for me. Also, I accepted the chicha and chocolate handed to me andendeavoured to sit as silently and immovably as theIndians, while expectantly awaiting thenext item on the programme.

Presently Neonandí rose,approached the altar, and began toharangue the assembled Guaymís. Whathe said I could not catch, for he spoke rapidly and used many words I had notbefore heard, but now and then aphrase was intelligible. As he ceased speaking a chorus of "K'wanks!"came from some of the Indians. NextMontezuma stepped forward, arrayed in all his gorgeous regalia and with the long quetzal feathersof his crown gleaming like emeralds in thetorchlight. Very eloquently he spoke, and as he concluded a roar of "K'wank!K'wank!" came from theaudience. Many, however, remained silent, showing no signs of either approval or disapproval.

Montezuma resumed his seat, anda strange and impressive figure came hopping to thecentre of the floor. Wonderfullyclad, decorated with strings of scalp-locks, feathersand animal skins, his chest covered with beadwork and teeth, a crown of immensewhite aigrettes upon his head, and his wrinkled features almost concealed byintricate painting, I scarcely recognized theold dance-chief whom I had doctored thepreceding afternoon.

In a high, cracked voice headdressed the Indians, leaping inair, waving his arms to emphasize his words. When he ceased at last every manpresent shouted "K'wank! K'wank!" The vote, whatever it was, wasunanimous.

The next moment Neonandí andMontezuma came forward, and grasping my arms, led me, astonished andunresisting, to a spot beside thealtar. Was I, I wondered, to be sacrificed? Had all this ceremony been plannedto lead up to this end? I couldn't believe it, but I must admit I did feelnervous. Neonandí’s grin and Montezuma's smile reassured me, however.

Then, in broken Spanish Neonandíproceeded to explain, and his words were even more amazing than anything thathad gone before. I had, he said, been duly elected a member of the tribe! He had proposed it, Montezuma hadseconded it, and the old high-priesthad carried the motion without adissenting voice. It was evidently up to me to say something; so, as well as Iwas able, I made an impromptu speech in a weird mixture of Guaymí and Spanish,which was duly—though I fear far from literally—interpreted by Neonandí, andwas greeted with uproarious applause.

The next instant the dance-chief came hopping from his cornercarrying a basket and a bag. Thrusting his claw-like hand into the latter, he drew out a bead collar and gorget,which he quickly placed about my neck. Next came a string of jaguar teeth and afillet of scalp-locks. A painted drum was hung over my shoulder, and then, as Montezuma deftly drew the tribal mark of theGuaymís across my cheeks, and added two round spots below them and a line down my nose, thedance-chief placed a crown of hair from thegiant ant-bear upon my head.

I was absolutely dumbfounded,for 1 knew enough of Guaymí customs to realize that I was not only being made aGuaymí, but a medicine-chief as well, for thecrown of ant-bear hair is the emblemof that rank, as are also thepainted dots on the cheeks.

I was, I knew, being mosthighly honoured by my Indian friends, but I confess I felt rather silly and horribly conspicuous with all those Guaymísstaring at me, for even the womenhad brushed back their hair and hadturned to gaze at the uniqueceremony of transforming a white man into an Indian. And I was nervousas to the furthersteps in the initiation. Should I beforced to endure some torture to prove my fitness to become a member of the tribe, or to undergo some other and perhaps equally unpleasant and impossibletest?

But I need not have worried.The initiation—at least in my case—was very simple, once I had been elected byvote and decked in the full regaliaof a Guaymí medicine-chief. Neonandí, Montezuma and thedance-chief saluted me in Guaymí fashion, addressed me as "brother," and made short speeches.

These were greeted with howlsof approval and a bedlam of drums, whistles, rattles and trumpets. Then, when Ihad swallowed a calabash of chocolate, theceremony was at an end, and I resumed my seat amid my fellow-tribesmen. I was afull-fledged Guaymí chief, honoured as no otherwhite man had ever been—and all because I had cured an old Indian ofindigestion!

Scarcely was I seated when the assembled Indians rose and commenced a slow,wailing chant. The barbaric music was resumed, while theold dance-chief took his place beside thealtar, carrying a "devil-stick" in one hand.

Then, in perfect rhythm, the Indians began dancing round and round the altar. Every now and again one would shout the name of some bird, beast, person or spirit.Then, leaping aside from the line ofdancers, he would seize a handful of food from thealtar, thrust some in his mouth, stoop quickly and drop some into one of the tiny clay dishes, and throw the remainder into thefire. At the same time the dance-chief would pick up theimage of the creature or being whosename had been called, together with the dish of food, and breaking them into bits, toss theminto the flames.

This continued until the last of thefood and the last of the images had been destroyed. It was a strange andinteresting rite, and Neonandí gladly explained its purpose to me. The images,it seemed, represented persons, beasts, birds and supernatural beings who couldnot attend the ceremony in person,but whose spirits were believed to have entered thefigures for the occasion. The foodon the altar was for them, for being unable to eat while in their clay forms, theIndians acted as proxies, while thedance-chief broke the images inorder to release the spirits so thatthey might return to their own bodies. And he burned the fragments in order to prevent evil spirits fromtaking possession of them.

When thelast image had been disposed of theceremony came to an abrupt end. The Indians gatheredin groups, laughing and chatting, and presently all had slipped from the building. Outside all was in readiness for the grand finale—thestrange "stick-dance," dear to thehearts of the Guaymís. About acleared level, flaring torches had been placed, although thebright moonlight rendered themunnecessary; and round this spot thewomen and most of the men weresquatted, waiting for the fun tobegin. At one side stood theband—gaily bedecked with feathercrowns and immense sloth-skin head-dresses—carrying drums, flutes, whistles,trumpets and rattles. Near them, andarguing loudly, were several Indians, some carrying seven-foot poles aboutthree inches in diameter, pointed at one end and brilliantly painted, and allwearing strapped to their backsstuffed skins of jaguar, otter, deer and peccary bedecked with feathers, bead-collars and scalps. These were the dancers, and thereappeared to be great difficulty in deciding who should start the dance. And when I saw it in full swing I was notsurprised that each man hesitated to be thefirst victim, for compared to the Guaymístick-dance Rugby football is a gentle game.

Presently, however, all wassatisfactorily arranged. The band struck up, marched several times around the arena, and took up its position at one side. TwoIndians sprang into the open space,one carrying his heavy stick poised like a harpoon in both hands. Instantly they began to dance, theone without a stick hopping in theair, spreading his feet wide apart, dodging back and forth, and constantlylooking over his shoulder at the other, who, with poised stick, shuffled and skippedabout in time to the music.

Presently he lurched forward,the pole hurtled through the air, and with a dull thud struck the other'sleg. He went down as if shot, and a roar of merriment and applause arose from the onlookers. Limping, but with a broad grin, the fellow picked himself up and once more began todance. Once again his opponent threw thestick, but this time the other dodged, thestaff sped harmlessly between his legs, and thecrowd fairly screamed with delight.

Now it was his turn,and as the otherdanced he threw the stick andbrought the fellow down at the first throw. By this time thearena was crowded with dancers and stick-throwers, and theheavy staves flew thick and fast. According to rules, thedancer must serve as a target until he evades thestick, whereupon the thrower takeshis place. Amid the fusillade ofsticks and the tangle of dancers, I couldnot understand how anyone was sure who hit another,or whose partner dodged. That some Indian was not crippled or killed seemedmiraculous, but the stuffed skins onthe dancers' backs protected their spines, and Neonandí assured me that seriousinjuries were rare. Still, it was emphatically no child's game, and when the Indians urged me to try my hand—or rather feet—I felt that being a Guaymí had itsdrawbacks. However, I was a member of thetribe, I could not well refuse, and it would have ill-befitted a medicine-chiefto show signs of cowardice. So, with a stuffed ocelot skin on my back, Ihesitatingly entered the dancingspace.

Being a new hand at the game, theIndians considerately arranged that I should have thepart of stick-thrower instead of dancer. I am quite sure, too, that the fellow who danced allowed me to bowl him overrepeatedly, and I am equally certain that when at last he dodged and I took hisplace he purposely avoided hitting me. The assembled Guaymís, however, like the good sportsmen theywere, applauded my success as loudly as though I had been an expert. Throughoutthe night thefun continued, until all were too weary or too bruised to dance longer. Bydawn, too, many of the Indians hadvanished, slipping like ghosts into thefastnesses of the mountains.

I had accomplished far morethan I had hoped for, but I greatly regretted that I had been unable to take aphotograph of the stick-dance. Butwhen I spoke of this to Montezuma and Neonandí, thetwo chiefs at once solved thedifficulty. A special stick-dance would be held by daylight for my benefit!

Never in all the history of theGuaymís had such a thing been done before, but Montezuma's word was law, andthough some of the Indians demurredat first, they went through the dance. But despite all thechiefs could do, the participants wouldinsist on watching me and my camera, and theytook far more interest in my actions than in thedance.

All through that day the Indians continued to leave—often with no word offarewell to anyone, sometimes coming to my hut to bid good-bye to Neonandí andmyself—but still hundreds remained.

That night, as we sat in myhut, the Indians began dropping inuntil the walls were lined with the Guaymís. Presently a fellow slipped in whom Irecognized as an Indian who had worn a remarkable head-dress of sloth-skinduring the day, and who had objectedmost strenuously to being photographed.

Suddenly he emitted anagonized groan and slumped to thefloor. I hurried to him to find him gasping, his face contorted, and apparentlydying. Here was a pretty how-do-you-do. If thefellow expired every Indian—with thepossible exception of Neonandí and Montezuma—would be convinced he had beendestroyed by having been photographed, and, as practically all present had alsobeen snapped, they would begin tofear for their own lives. In thatcase, my life would not be worth a brass farthing. Even though I was an honorarymember of the tribe, even though Neonandíand Montezuma stood by me, nothing could save me if that miserable Indian diedon my hands. Nervous, frightened, my mind trying to formulate some plan, Idragged the fellow into the light and warmth of thefire. I could find no heart-beat, no breath. I forced open his eyelids andfound the eyes rolled up, and nevera quiver resulted when I touched them.I forced open his lips, poured whisky down his throat, rubbed him, slapped him,tried artificial respiration, and finally, at theend of my resources, wrapped him in blankets and placed him close to the fire. All thetime the Indians were gazing,fixedly, silently at me. Their eyes gleamed, theirstern lips were set, and I felt it would be but a matter of minutes before they sprang upon me. Neonandí was as nervous, asworried, as myself. But he was powerless to prevent an attack under such conditions,and, I fear, he was not entirely free from superstitions regarding the cause of theIndian's apparent demise. There was nothing I could do. Any effort to resistthose sullen, glaring savages would have been worse than useless, and so,striving to remain calm and to show no signs of fear, with the idea of bluffing thewatching crowd, I calmly filled and lit my pipe and nonchalantly seated myselfin my hammock. Slowly, the minutespassed; each second I thought would be my last, and then—sounexpectedly that it was downright uncanny—themiracle happened! The "dead" Indian sighed, he opened his eyes, herose to his feet, and without a word he stalked from thehut and vanished into the night! Hehad had a fit, nothing more.

It had been a close call forme, but it brought most unexpected results. The Indians, quite convinced that their fellow-tribesman had actually died, saw in hisresurrection some great and awesome magic on my part. Had they not seen him dead? Had I not brought him backto life? Their new white medicine-chief was a mighty witchdoctor indeed. Theygazed at me in awe, regarded me as a superior being, and vied with one another in bringing me theirchoicest possessions. But, thank Heaven, theydid not bring a really defunct Indian and ask me to restore him to life!

By thenext morning only Neonandí and his people and Montezuma and his retinue wereleft of the hundreds who had gathered on themountain-top. Montezuma had already urged me to visit his section of the kingdom, and when he prepared to depart herepeated his invitation, addressing me as "brother"and assuring me of protection and perfect freedom wherever and whenever I mighttravel through the Guaymís' lands.

"You are one ofus," he said. "Though your skin is white, you are my kinsman and brother and a medicine chief. You are Cuviboranandi"(the white stranger who cameover sea to become a medicine-chief). "Every Guaymí in the land knows of you, and whenever you return, eventhough all of my blood and all those who have been here are dead, still willyou be known as a Guaymí and welcomed everywhere—even among the most barbarous and savage of my people."

I feel sure he spoke the truth. An Indian's memory is long, and, nodoubt, should I ever return to the Guaymícountry, I should be regarded not as a stranger and a white man, but as anIndian. The chances are, however, that I shall never go back, and only mypicturesque regalia and the memoryof the weird night ceremony on the mountain-top will remain to remind me that I ama Guaymí Indian chief.

Some Ants and their Ways

2011-12-30T15:42:00.000-04:00

Hyatt Verrillwrote about ants a number of times including thescience fiction story, “World of theGiant Ants”. The illustrations for this story are his own and resemble the illustrations used in that story. (I notice the blog linked story does not contain those images, sorry.)/drf

Some Ants and theirWays

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Everyland magazine, Nov. 1916. Everyland NatureClub column. Digitized by Doug Frizzle Dec 2011.

YOU all know what busy littlecreatures the ants are, and no doubtmany of you have watched them as they hurry about hitherand thither as if intent on somevery important business. So, too, you may have seen an ants' nest and wonderedwhat was inside of it and how theants lived.

But if you could watch the ants at theirevery-day life, you would be filled with wonder, for in many ways ants are mostintelligent creatures and many of theiractions and habits seem as if inspired by reason, while in some things the ants have really improved upon man's ways.

Even thecommonest ants have very wonderful habits, and one of themost remarkable of these is the manner in which theants keep cows. Of course they arenot real cows like ours, but tiny insects known as aphids or plant lice; but tothe ants thesecreatures serve the purpose of cowsand they are just as carefully tendedand cared for and pastured as are cattle kept by human beings. The aphids giveforth a sweetish substance known as "honey dew," of which the ants are very fond, and it is to secure a supplyof this substance that the ants keeptheir little six-legged cattle.

To protect the aphids from therain, the ants build little shedsover them and if the plant, on which theaphids are feeding, wilts or dies theants pick up their cattle and carry them carefully to a strong plant where they may be sure of plenty of good food. When coldweather approaches, the ants carry theeggs and pupæ of the aphids into their own snug nests. Here theyare carefully guarded and watched throughout thewinter and in the spring, when the aphids hatch out, thebaby cattle are carried out of doors and placed on plants where they may find plenty of fresh sap on which to growbig and strong.

But theaphid cattle are not the onlyinsects which live with the ants in their underground homes. Several kinds of beetles,as well as spiders and wasps, may often be found in theants' nests and on the best of termswith the owners. Funnily enough someof these make theirmeals off the baby ants and nobodyhas ever been able to explain why theants, which are so wise in most ways, should allow theseunwelcome guests to remain in theirhomes. Not only do these strangerslive with the ants, but their young depend upon theants to act as nurses for them. Whenone of the baby beetles is hungry,he strokes and pats the face of anant in a very funny way and the antat once gives the hungry youngster adrop of honey-like liquid from its own mouth.

Anotherfunny thing about the ants is that they have slaves; and thequeerest thing about theseslave-keeping ants is that they arered while their slaves are black!

When a nest of ants findsthat it needs slaves a regular army is formed, skirmishers are thrown out, andscouts go here and there and searchabout until a nest of black ants is found. Then thered army of warrior ants rushes on thecity of black ants and a very fierce and bloody battle is fought. But the red soldiers are always stronger and fiercerthan the blacks and very soon all the black fighting ants are killed or wounded and the victorious army loots thenest and carries off all the eggsand pupæ and takes them to the red ants' city.

When theyreturn, laden with their prizes, allthe otherred ants come out to meet them andact as happy and joyful at the safereturn of their army as do humanbeings when they have won a battle.

All theeggs and pupae of the black ants arethen taken into the red ants' nest and are guarded carefully until they hatch out and grow up. Oddly enough the black slaves raised in this way are very willingand obliging and do all the hardwork of the red ants' city withouttrying to escape or shirk. The slaves even feed thebaby red ants, as well as thefull-grown ones, and some species of slave-holding ants have become soaccustomed to being fed by their slavesthat they cannot feed themselves and would die of starvation if it werenot for their black servants.

Some ants do even moreremarkable things than these,however. In Texasthere is a kind of ant called the Horticultural Ant, which raises regular crops ofcertain kinds of grass on the seedsof which the ants live. Not only do they plant and weed theyoung grass but they also carrymanure to their gardens, keep the soil loose, and free from other plants and, when theseeds are ripe, they gather themand store them away in regulargranaries.

In tropical America there is a remarkable species of ant known as the Army Ant. These little creatures travel in suchimmense numbers and are so ravenous and fierce that nothing alive can withstandthem. Wherever they go theydevour every particle of food theyfind, and as their armies are oftenhalf a mile wide and extend for miles and miles, theycreate great havoc when on themarch. No obstacle will turn themaside and they even cross streamsand rivers and if they come to ahouse or a village the people areobliged to leave until the ants havepassed. But the natives don't objectto this very much for the ants eatevery roach, bug, rat, mouse or othervermin in the houses and leave them clean. Sometimes theycome upon a house in the night andbefore the people can escape from the ants theytoo are devoured. In many places where thearmy ants are numerous the peoplesleep in hammocks with rough ropes over which theants will not crawl and in such cases thepeople sometimes wake up in themorning and find an army of ants has passed by during thenight and has cleaned the houses ofevery edible thing, even the cat ordog being eaten and nothing but a few bones are left to tell the tale.

A relative of the army ant, and which is found in the same countries, is known as the Umbrella Ant. These little chaps march along insingle file and each one carries a triangular bit of green leaf over his headlike an umbrella. These pieces of leaves are used in building the ants' nests and also for cultivating a speciesof fungus on which the ants feed. Asonly one kind of leaf is used theants are sometimes obliged to travel for several miles to obtain them and theendless procession of tiny green umbrellas, winding up hill and down dale,along the well-worn ants' roads is avery funny sight. Of all the funny habitsof ants, however, the most curiousis that of a little chap from Asia. This antbuilds its home between leaves which it gums togetherwith sticky silk, and where do you suppose it obtains theglue-like substance? Not from its own bodies and not from any plant, but fromits own young, for the young antsspin out the silk for making their cocoons. When theirparents wish to make a nest, two or three ants hold theedges of the leaves together and anothergrasps a young ant in its jaws and rubs thebaby ant's mouth along the seam tobe joined, just as if the littlechap were a mucilage bottle. As soon as thesticky silk from one baby is used up anotherlarva is brought and used in thesame way until all the leaves areglued firmly together and the nest is complete.

How Fish Sleep

2011-12-30T11:35:00.001-04:00

How Fish Sleep

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everyland magazine,Everyland Nature Club column, Oct. 1916, digitized by Doug Frizzle, Dec. 2011.

DOESN'T it seem funny tothink of fish going fast asleep? Most people think of fish as always being wideawake and swimming about, but, strange as it seems, fish sleep just like other animals, and some of themeven make beds in which to sleep.

Still otherkinds sleep upon the surface of the water and rest just as comfortably, when tossingabout on the^-waves, as their cousins resting in theirbeds on the bottom.

Some kinds of fish change their clothesbefore going to bed and put on night-dresses which are so very different from their everyday clothesthat you would never recognize them,while others never bother about such matters, but doze off wherever they happen to be when sleepy.

But thefunniest thing about fish sleeping is that theynever shut their eyes, for fish donot have eyelids like most animals, and so theycouldn't close their eyes if they wanted to. For this reason fish are all verylight sleepers, and wake up at theleast change of light, or at a shadow moving past them.This is why it is so hard to catch a fish asleep, for even in an aquarium the finny creatures wake up as soon as any one goesnear.

Some fish sleep much moresoundly than others, however, andnearly all we know about sleeping fish has been learned by watching these heavy-sleeping species.

I said some fish made beds,and any boy or girl who lives near a fresh water pond or stream in the United States may find some of these with a little search. The common "pumpkinseed," or "sunfish," is a fellow who makes these beds, which look like little hollows linedwith sticks and pebbles upon thebottom of the pond or stream. If youapproach very cautiously you may be able to find one of thefish resting in its "nest," and fast asleep, for fish doze in the daytime as well as at night. Another kind of fish, also known as the "sunfish," is a great giant of afish found in the open ocean, andthis sunfish is one of the kindswhich love to sleep on top of thesea. This funny sunfish, which looks as if he were all head, is one of the largest of all fish, and when he sleeps he liesin a nice comfortable position with his big fin sticking up in the air. This big sunfish is a very sound sleeper,and sometimes one may be seen with half a dozen seabirds perched on his finwhile he slumbers on without knowing he is theresting place of his featheredfriends.

But thefunniest fish are those which wearnightclothes. One of these is thecommon "blackfish," or "tautog," and as the blackfish are very sound sleepers, one may watchthem very easily when they are kept in an aquarium. During the day theblackfish is dull colored, dark brown or nearly black, with faint blotches orstripes, but when he goes to bed he changes his colors and sleeps in a suit ofsilver and black. Like many otherfish, the blackfish rests on the bottom, and lies on one side, or propped upagainst some rock or weed. If you should see a blackfish sleeping in this wayyou would certainly laugh, for, resting on his side with his mouth half open,he looks as if he were actually snoring.

Illustrations by the Author

Anothercommon fish who puts on a night-dress is the"scup" or "porgy." During theday the scup is plain silvery gray,but when he feels sleepy he puts on a coat of brown and gray stripes. Then hesearches about until he finds a nice comfortable spot among the eel grass or seaweeds where he goes to bed andsleeps soundly, for he knows thestriped nightgown will make it very difficult for any enemy to see him among the shadows of theweeds. It is for this very reason that thesleeping fish change their colors,for if dressed in their daytime clothes some prowling shark or otherfoe might come along and gobble themup before they were half awake. Thisis known as "protective coloration," and while thecommonest fish—such as the blackfishand scup, protect themselves in thisway, yet some of their cousins are muchmore remarkable in their manner ofchanging color to protect themselveswhile asleep.

One of thecommonest and most wonderful of theseis the green parrot-fish, foundalong the southerncoasts of the United Statesand in tropical waters.

During theday and when awake, the parrot-fishis a beautiful clear turquoise green, but just as soon as he goes to the bottom to rest or to sleep, his colors change toa dull olive covered with spots and blotches of brown. In this costume youwould never recognize him. But thefunniest part of it is that he knows when to change his coat and whennot to, and if he is placed in an aquarium with a plain green bottom he will goto sleep in a coat of plain green. Then, if some stones or other objects are placed in theaquarium he will make the brownspots appear on his body, and unless you look very closely you will find it impossible to distinguish the wise little fish as he snuggles down among the pebbles in his piebald suit.

Insects that Build Submarines

2011-12-28T04:58:00.000-04:00

Insects that BuildSubmarines

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Everyland magazine August 1916. Column, ‘EverylandNature Club’; digitized by Doug Frizzle, Dec. 2011.

THAT sounds funny, doesn'tit? Perhaps you think it's a joke, for we're so accustomed to think ofsubmarines as wonderful inventions of our own that it's hard to believe suchtiny things as insects made and used submarines ages before man first thoughtof building a boat of any kind.

But, queer as it seems,insects do build and use submarines and moreover theyare very common, and any reader of Everylandwho lives near a pond or stream—in temperate America, at least—can find these interesting little chaps and can watch them as theymove about beneath the water. Evenbetter, you can catch them, carry them home in jars or pails of water, and keep them in your own home in an aquarium where they'll be just as happy and interesting as ever.

But you musn't expect to findthese insects rushing about in tightsteel submarines and destroying otherinsects by torpedoes or mines. No, indeed! The submarines built by the insects are used for very different purposes andare made very differently from those which men use for thepurpose of destroying ships and killing theirfellow men. The insects use their submarines for their homes and to protect themselvesfrom enemies; and comfort and convenience, as well as safety, are far moreimportant to the insects than arespeed and destructiveness. But theinsects' submarines are very cleverly and neatly built and are upholstered withthe finest of silk. And the insect owners don't need periscopes normachinery in their tiny submarines, for they are moved about by means of their owners' strong feet and never have to come upto the surface of the water for air or to have a look about. If they did that, some hungry bird might see them and gobble themdown, submarine, insect and all, and, moreover, it isn't necessary, for these queer insects can breatheand can see at the bottom of the water just as well as when they're at thetop; which is something we humans cannot do with all our brains and science andinventions.

But now you must be curiousto know what these funny insects arelike, and what they are, and how they live, and so we'll take a stroll to some shadypool or sparkling brook and see themfor ourselves.

Place your face close to the surface of thewater and look carefully at the sandybottom beneath. At first you may not see anything but a few pebbles, some littlebundles of sticks and some funny little cylinders of sand. But don't bediscouraged, and in a moment you will be surprised to see some of these objects move about upon thebottom. Take them out and they are apparently dead and inanimate and, unlessyou know the secret, you would neverguess that these ordinary lookingthings are insects' submarines.

But if you should break oneopen you would find it a hollow tube lined with soft and shining silk and witha pale, whitish, caterpillar wriggling about inside and very excited andindignant at having his snug home destroyed.

But it is much easier andkinder to watch the funny insects ina glass jar or aquarium, and in this way you may learn just how the caterpillar builds his submarine, how he makesit travel here and there, and, bestof all, what happens when his short life is over.

If thelittle fellow thinks he's safe he'll cautiously move his head out from hissilk-lined submarine home; thenhe'll look about and, if nothing frightens him, he'll crawl out until hislittle legs can grasp the object onwhich he rests, and then he'll walkabout pulling his funny submarine with him.

And if you have sharp eyesand are interested in nature, and bugs, and live things, you'll notice that there are many different forms of these submarines. Some are little cylinders made oftiny sticks, or bits of grass or straws placed lengthwise side by side; others are like little log huts of the tiniest sticks or straws fastened together criss-cross; othersare made of dainty little shells stuck together,and others are made of bits of mossand leaves, but most are made of tiny pebbles or grains of sand. But even these are of many different shapes. Some are likestraight tubes, others are coiledlike snail-shells, others are likelittle balls, and some are pointed at one end and look like the tusks of fairy elephants.

Although you cannot see anydifference in the variouscaterpillars which make thesesubmarines and live within them, yeteach form of home contains a different kind of owner; and while they are all known as caddis-worms, there are many different species. Each specie alwaysbuilds a certain kind of submarine house, each has distinct habits, and each isthe larva of a pretty, winged insectknown as a caddis-fly.

Some of the submarine caterpillars are carpenters, some aremasons, and, in addition, many of themare expert fishermen and spread silken nets between thestones to capture their prey. Theirtiny nets are funnel-shaped with thelarger end pointed up the stream,but another kind of caddis-wormweaves little oval cups which are fastened to rocks on theedges of falls and cataracts. Both kinds of nets are kept open by the current and any minute creatures which are sounfortunate as to enter them aredevoured by the hungry littlebuilders of the submarines.

But thenets catch all sorts of dirt and rubbish as well as live things, and you oftenmay see rocks completely covered with dirt which has lodged in the insect fishermen's nets and has hidden them completely out of sight.

By and by, when the caddis-worm has grown to full size, he feelsdull and sleepy and drawing himself inside his submarine he closes his odd homewith a silken door, leaving a tiny window for thewater to enter, and then goes soundasleep. As he slumbers he wriggles out of his skin and changes to a shiny brownpupa or chrysalis. Then at last his sleep is over and thepupa bursts open and a queer little insect, very different from the caterpillar, gnaws through the silk door. It is a funny, damp creature with twolong legs, and, using these legs foroars, the little fellow swims up to the surface of thewater toward the nearest rock orstick.

Somehow he seems to haveforgotten all about submarines and fish-nets, and, anxious to get to the open air, crawls up out of the water. Then a very wonderful thing happens, fortwo little pads upon his back swell up and change as if by magic into fourdelicate, hairy, brown wings. All his life this insect has lived at the bottom of thepond or brook; all his life he has crawled about, dragging his submarine house,or has slept inside a brown pupa. Never before has he been out of the water, never before has he possessed wings, andno doubt you think he'll have trouble learning to use them.But in that you'll be greatly mistaken, for no sooner do thelittle pads unfold than thecaddis-fly spreads his new wings and flies away as gaily as though he'd used them all his life.

My Funny Pets

2011-12-27T14:07:00.000-04:00

WorldCat.org is a website that catalogues the worlds books and periodicals. There is not agreat description of Everyland magazine, so I have created a PDF of onecomplete issue of theJuly “Philipino” issue. In theprocess of digitizing ‘My Funny Pets’ by Verrill, thestory of the Big Brown Bear on PEIwas a remainder, since digital, it is published as well./drf

My Funny Pets

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Everyland magazine, July 1916 from the column ‘Everyland Nature Club’ Care of Everyland, 156 Fifth Avenue, New YorkCity, digitized by Doug Frizzle Dec. 2011.

NEARLY all boys and girls arefond of pets, and ever since I can remember I've owned odd and curious birdsand animals; and whenever I've been in queer, out-of-the-wayplaces I have managed to obtain peculiar furred or featheredcompanions. I would like to tell Everylandreaders all about the manystrange, funny, and interesting creatures I have had in tropical lands, but asthis is not possible I'll try to tell theNature Club about some pets I had in Central America.

My first was a native deernamed Pepito. He was given to me when he was a little spotted fawn, and as hegrew older and larger he became so tame he would follow me about like a dog.When we lived in the town, Pepitowas kept in the open court or patioof the house, where he ran about atwill among the flowers and grass andcould drink or bathe at the fountain in thecenter. But we often made long trips into thecountry and Pepito always accompanied us. On thetrain he was perfectly at home, running up and down thecenter of the car, making friendswith the conductor and passengers.

When at last we reached the little village where we stayed, a red or blueribbon was tied about Pepito's neck and he was free to go where he pleased. Allabout were mountains covered with forests full of wild deer and other animals, and every morning Pepito would trotoff into the woods to spend the day with his wild cousins. Often, when outhunting, I would see a herd of deer and would be surprised to see Pepito comerunning from among them to greet me.Sometimes, when the others saw how fearless he was and that I did notmolest them, theytoo would come close and would follow a short distance away as I walked alongwith Pepito.

When thedeer was about half grown a young peccary or wild pig was brought to us by anative hunter. These animals are usually fierce and vicious and hard to tame,but this little chap, which we called Chico,was an exception and from the firstwas very docile and affectionate. He would jump to my lap to be scratched,grunt at our door to wake us in themorning, and followed us everywhere we went.

He and Pepito soon becamefast friends and inseparable comrades, and it was a funny sight to see the two trotting up themountain path side by side on theirway to the woods. All the hunters knew Pepito by his ribbon and took carenot to shoot him by mistake, and to protect Chico we tied a bell about his neck.

Several months after Chico was added to the family a friend gave us a tame white-facedmonkey named Tito. He was a very comical, inquisitive chap. His favorite toywas an old, battered doll, and he would carry this about for hours at a timeand was most dejected if it was taken away or mislaid. But Tito's funniesttrick, and the one which gave him the greatest pleasure, was to wait in the doorway and, as thepeccary ran by, spring on thelatter's back and have a free ride. Chicodid not mind this, and in fact I think he really enjoyed it as much as the monkey did.

One day the monkey caught sight of thedeer, and thinking Pepito would prove a better mount than the peccary he sprang on his back. The deer hadnever experienced such a sensation before and was frightened almost out of hiswits. Evidently his first thought was to make for thewoods, and he dashed off with thedelighted monkey clinging fast to his back and chattering with joy at his fineride.

Around thehouse there was a barbed wire fence,and when Pepito reached this he sprang through between thewires without the slightesthesitation. There was plenty of room for him but therewas no space for his rider, and thepoor monkey was swept from his seat and left hanging on thesharp barbs. He was badly cut, but he had learned a lesson, and from that timeon Pepito's appearance threw him into a fit of rage and fear.

Perhaps the oddest of all thepets I had in Central America was a queercreature known as a kinkajou, or fruit bear. This animal grows to be three feetor more in length and has a little round head, solemn black eyes, sharp teeth,and strong claws. The hair is thick, woolly, and dull yellow in color, but the most remarkable things about the kinkajou are its tail and its tongue. Both arevery long and both are prehensile, or, in otherwords, they can be used like hands.

Kinkajous are very fond ofhoney, and if they cannot get it inany other way theywill reach their long tongues into the bees' nests and lick thehoney from the comb. You can imaginethat such a creature would make a very interesting pet, and I can't begin totell you all the funny, unusualthings our pet kinkajou did. He was just as curious as a monkey and was forevergetting into mischief, but after licking out thecontents of an ink-bottle or pulling over thefurniture with his tail, he would climb up on my shoulder in such an innocentway and cuddle down in such a confident manner that his misdeeds were alwaysforgiven.

But his curiosity and his"handy" tail proved fatal to him at last. One night he pulled abottle of jam from a high shelf and with his ever-ready tongue licked up the jam and broken glass together.Even a kinkajou's tough stomach cannot stand such a diet and the following day he died.

Besides these pets we had many others;such as sloths, macaws, parrots, toucans, raccoons, foxes, and even a youngjaguar. The last would follow me about like a dog and was very gentle andaffectionate with us, but his strength was so enormous and he used teeth andclaws so freely on strangers or any one to whom he took a dislike that finallyI was obliged to put him in a cage and send him to a menagerie.

The Story of a Big Brown Bear As I Heard My Mother Tell It

By Regina F. Cowan

THE northernend of Prince Edward Islandwas sparsely settled in the year1834, when my father leased a farmat Sea Cow Pond. There's a legend that theplace derived its name from a herd of sea-cows which were driven ashore duringa terrific storm and perished there.

My motherwent to housekeeping in a log cabin of two rooms. The front door opened bypulling a thong attached to a latch on theinside, and a wooden button secured thedoor at night. The upstairs was a small unfinished loft, reached by a ladder. Ahatch covered the entrance to the loft. Crude cod and whale oil in tin lamps andhome-made tallow candles were used for illuminating. The house was heated by anopen fireplace. Part of the cookingwas done on a crane and roasts were prepared in a Dutch oven in front of the fire. An unfailing spring well furnished whatseemed the most delicious water onthis continent, with its old oaken bucket.

My fatherwas out on business one evening, and baby Margaret was asleep when Mother heard something moving outside. She looked outof the window and there stood a big brown bear, his fore paws restingon the window-sill and his wild eyesfastened on the sleeping babe. Mother trembling with fear rushed to the cradle, tenderly pressed her treasure to herbreast, and with haste and all thestrength she could command climbed theladder and laid the baby on asheepskin mat. She came down again and looked for something to give the hungry animal. A box of dried codfish was found,and removing the small window mother threw out a large supply to Bruin, who at thistime was trying to break through thedoor. The bear tore the fish inpieces and ate ravenously and picking up theremainder started off.

When my father returned, he found a very frightened mama. Hevowed that he would not rest until he could get a shot at old Bruin. He did nothave long to wait. Within a week Mr. Bear called to pay another visit and my fathersaluted him with an English rifle, and —Motherslept that night.

Béche and the Stranger

2011-12-24T15:12:00.000-04:00

The last blog entry introduced this new magazine(source) to the publications that Hyatt Verrill wrote for. Hewas still a teen when he first travelled to Dominica, and we know he visited the island at least three times. His first visit wasbefore 1900 and from the visit in1948, we know that he wanted to ‘retire’ to Dominica. He presented twopaintings to the library. We gifted the Library in Dominica with four books from ourcollection./drf

Béche and the Stranger

ByA. Hyatt Verrill

Everyland magazine, September, 1916. Digitized by DougFrizzle Dec. 2011.

This is the last of theBéche stories—for Béchehas grown up. The earlier stories in this series appeared in January and March,1915.

SEVERAL years had passedsince Béche the Carib boy had flownhis leaf kites, sailed his palm boats, and caught his first fish. He had grownand had learned much. No longer was he afraid to go fishing with his father, but every day sailed far out to sea in the canoe. In fact, for a boy he was noted as afisherman, and his father promisedthat soon they would go into the forest and cut down a gommier tree tomake a canoe for Béche's own. Béche loved thewoods and often he borrowed his father'sold muzzle-loading gun and wandered through theforest in search of parrots, ramiers (wild pigeons), and agoutis (asmall brown animal like a large guinea-pig). Béche never tried to killanything. Once he had succeeded in killing a great purple ciceroo (agiant parrot), the wildest and shyestof game, and wonderfully proud he had felt when he brought it home.

And thenone day a stranger came to theCaribs' village. He was a white man, and, although Béche had seen many whitemen, they were not like the newcomer. All those he had seen before wereBritish officials or planters, men whose duties or interests brought them to theout-of-the-way village, and whothought it a great nuisance, and fumed and fretted and swore at the simple ways and food of theIndians, and thought them scarcelybetter than animals, and who hurried away just as soon as their business was over. But this man was not anEnglishman and he was neither amagistrate, who wearily fined thepeople in the little court, nor aplanter seeking for land, nor an excise officer looking for smugglers. Béche'sfather said he was an American, butthis meant nothing to the Carib boy,for he had never heard of such a country as America. The stranger did not actlike the otherwhite men, either. He seemed to likethe Indians and ate the food theyoffered and lived in the hut givenhim, and made no complaint. In theevenings he would talk with theCarib men and would listen to theirfairy tales and legends and ask many questions of theold men and women, some of whom still spoke thelanguage of their ancestors. Bécheoften saw the man take a queerpackage of white sheets from his pocket and make marks upon these with a pointed stick, and this interested the Carib boy greatly. He wondered if it were somesort of witchcraft or magic, and thenone day the white man saw the Carib boy watching and tried to explain what hewas doing. He told Béche he was writing, and thenhe pointed to one of the markedsheets and repeated a story Béche's uncle had told several days before; but Béchecouldn't understand that the man wasmaking notes or reading what he had written, for he had never heard of suchthings before. Then the man laughedand with his pointed stick made a few lines and Béche was almost frightened, hewas so surprised, for there on the paper was thelittle village, with the canoesdrawn upon the beach, the waving palms, and thehigh mountain beyond. Béche looked at thepicture a moment and then ran outand stared about to see if the palmsand mountains and canoes were still there,for he thought it must be "obi" and that thestranger had really made all thethings about go on the paper. Then hesurprised Béche still more by drawing a picture of Béche himself and of his oldfather and mother,and the Indian boy stood spellbound while the whiteman covered sheets of paper withbirds, and trees and fishes. To Béche thesewere very wonderful, and, when the man gave thepictures to him and he might have them,the little Carib felt very rich and proud. Then the white man handed theboy thepaper and pencil and told him to make a picture, and Béche,very shy and nervous, tried to draw a picture of thewhite man, and when it was done his new friend roared with laughter to see howfunny he looked in the Indian boy'seyes, and Béche tried to explain that he didn't really look like that and that the triangular body and long crooked legs and skinnyarms and round eyes and three-cornered head and huge ears were not at all like the white man's, but just "made themselves" that way on thepaper.

But thesewere not half as interesting as some of thethings the stranger had and did. Hehad guns,—wonderful shining guns, not at all like those of the Caribs, and, instead of pouring powder and shotinto them, all the stranger had to do was to open the gun and slip in a little bright box; and in achest the white man had ever so manyqueer and interesting things. There were little knives and scissors and toolsand a funny glass that would make fire when held in thesun, and more fish-hooks than Béche had ever seen in all his life. There werecans of powder and bags of shot and papers of pins and dozens of needles andspools of thread and many otherobjects Béche had never seen or heard of, and theCarib boy thought the stranger mustbe very rich indeed to have all thesethings. When he saw Béche looking longingly at thefish-hooks and the powder and shot,he gave the boy a full dozen of the hooks and a whole bag of shot and enough powderto last for months, and Béche was so glad and grateful and thought the stranger such a wonderful man that he vowedblood-friendship from that moment and followed his new friend about like a dog.And the stranger did such mysteriousand wonderful things. He could kill theparrots from the tallest trees, andcould shoot the ramiers as they flew overhead, and this was so marvelous to the Carib boy that he almost worshiped the stranger and looked upon him in awe as asuperior sort of being.

But after he had shot the birds he didn't pick off thefeathers and thencook their bodies. Instead he usedhis bright little scissors and knives and took theskins off, feathers and all, andfilled them with cotton and placed them in little paper wrappers in a chest, for thiswhite man was a naturalist, and had gone to theCarib village to collect the rarebirds and other creatures in the woods. But of course Béche had never heard of anaturalist, and he couldn't understand why any one should want birds except forfood. Then he saw the strangercatching bugs and beetles and butterflies, and he wondered still more. He knewthat some bugs were good to eat; many a time he had eaten the roasted grubs from thepalm trees which are called groo-groo-worms, but he had never known any one toeat beetles or butterflies. But thewhite man put all these away inpapers or bottles, and, although Béche was puzzled, he realized that the stranger wished all theselive creatures for some reason of his own, and so, as he wished to please hisnew friend, he too began to gatherall the insects his sharp eyes saw,and these he brought carefully tohis friend.

The white man seemed greatlypleased and he patted Béche on theshoulder and thanked him, and thenhe reached in his pocket and handed theCarib boy a big, round, shining two-shilling piece. Béche could scarcelybelieve his eyes. He never had had anything but a copper penny before, and herewere two shillings! Presently thewhite man asked the boy what hewould do with his money. Béche thought a long time. There were so manywonderful things he wanted, and so much could be bought with all this wealth,he was sure, that he could scarcely make up his mind. Then at last he decidedand told his friend he would buy a shiny gun like thewhite man's. How the stranger didlaugh at this, but soon he stopped and told theCarib boy that a gun would cost many times his two shillings. Then Béchedecided he'd buy a wonderful "fire-glass," but this he found couldnot be had for two shillings. Then he decided he'd like some of the white sheets and a sharp stick to make pictures.At this the white man laughed again,and told Béche he need not spend his money for such things, and, opening hischest, he drew out two of thepackages of paper and two pencils and gave themto him. Then, not knowing anything else in theworld to do, Béche ran to his motherand gave her the two-shilling piece.

This was only the first of many shillings that Béche was to have,for he brought bugs and insects and birds to his friend, and one day, when hebrought a lovely bird which none of theIndians had seen save once or twice, thestranger gave Béche the wonderfulfire-glass. Now a still more wonderful thing happened, for the white man drew pictures on the paper and made strange marks under them. There was a picture of a fish and under it the funny marks like this — "P-E-C-H-E";and under the picture of a dog, these marks—"C-H-I-E-N". Then the white man made thesame marks without the pictures andasked Béche what they meant, andwithout hesitating the Carib boylooked at "P-E-C-H-E" and said "Peche," and at"C-H-I-E-N" and said "Chien," for Béche was learning tospell and read, without knowing it.

Soon theboy was able to make the same markshimself, and he covered sheets of paper with funny pictures marked"Chien" and "Peche" and otherwords he had learned to print. But thestranger soon began to have troubles he had not foreseen. Béche spoke andunderstood nothing but his native Creole patois, and, while this language doesvery well when one is speaking, it's quite a different matter when one wants towrite it, and Béche's teacher discovered that names of various objects wereabout all he could teach the boy inthis funny tongue. But the teachingdid not cease on that account; and what do you suppose thestranger did to overcome thedifficulty? Why, he began teaching Béche English! Of course it was slow work,but it wasn't so hard or slow as you might think. In fact it was quite easy atfirst and Béche soon learned theEnglish names for many things. Under theword "Peche" the white manwrote “F-I-S-H," and under "Chien," "D-O-G," and so onwith all the otherpictures; and Béche was wonderfully proud to think he really knew English andstrutted about saying "Dog," "Fish," "Bird,""House," and other wordscontinually.

Béche knew there were such things as books, for often his father and theother men and women would bring oldnewspapers and magazines and catalogs home when theywent to the distant town. But they didn't bring themto read, or to look at, and you would never guess what theydid use them for. It was to paste upon the walls of theirhuts for wall paper! Some of thehouses were quite covered with thepages, and one day Béche discovered that themarks on these were exactly like the marks he had learned to make. He was greatlyexcited, and went over the papersinch by inch, and when at last he found thewords “Dog" and "Horse" and "House" and"Fish" and other words heknew, he danced and pranced about in perfect joy at his discovery.

The white man told him he wasvery bright, and gave him a shilling for his discovery; and for days Béche satbefore the paper on the walls, copying thewords; and then, taking them to his friend, he would ask what they meant.

One day he noticed the white man making marks on paper which were verydifferent from those he knew, and he asked his friend what the new marks meant. The othertold him they were figures, and thatby them he could tell how many birdshe had shot, how much money he had paid theCaribs, how many days he had been in thevillage, and many other things. Béchecouldn't possibly understand this, for how could little black marks tell thingsthat even his father must count upon fingers and toes over and over again? Then thestranger had a happy thought and sent Béche for a number of small sticks. Thenhe seated himself on the floor by Béche'sside, and taking one stick he laid it on thefloor and held up one finger, and made a mark on thepaper like this—1. Then he took two sticks and placed theseon the floor in this position — —and held up two fingers, and made this mark—2. Then he bent one stick andplaced two others beside it likethis, = <, and, holding up three fingers, made thefigure 3 on paper. In the same wayhe made 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 out of sticks, using thenumber of pieces the figurerepresented in each. It was very interesting to Béche, really a sort of game;and, with the figures on the paper as a guide, theboy spent thewhole day making the queer shapeswith the sticks until he learnedthat each figure stood for a number. In a few days he had learned to add, for the stranger showed him that by taking the two sticks used in making thefigure 2, and the one stick used forfigure 1, and placing them together, he could make thefigure 3. When Béche grasped theidea and realized that by drawing thefigure 3 on paper it was just thesame as adding the three sticks together, he fairly shouted with delight.

The stranger had now been at Béche'svillage for several weeks, and even thelittle naked children who ran away from him at first would clamber about hisknees and would sit on his lap and try to tell him stories in their funny baby patois. The men liked him becausehe could hunt and tramp and sail as well as themselves,or even better. The women liked him because he was so kind to the children and also because he showed them how to do many things more easily and betterthan before. And the children likedhim because he frolicked and played with themand taught them games and made them toys.

At last came the time when thestranger told the Indians he mustleave them. This made the Caribs very sad and Béche was saddest of them all. Before he left, he gave the Caribs many presents, and theold chief almost forgot his sorrow at losing his guest in the joy at thegun and other useful things the white man gave him.

Perhaps you think that Béchecontinued to study and went to school and learned to read books and became a greatman among the Caribs. Of course,that's the way all good storiesshould end, and I wish I could say that he did, but I'm sorry to admit thatnothing of the sort happened. Therewas no school near, where Béche could go; he had no one to teach him, and hesoon found that it was very tire-some, copying theletters and figures from thewall-paper without knowing what theymeant; but he never forgot what thestranger had taught him and he always hoped tht some day his white-man friendwould return.

All this happened many yearsago, and when at last the strangerdid go back to Béche's island home he found wonderful changes had taken place.There was a school at the village;white men had plantations and estates all about; many of theCaribs lived in board houses; and Béche had grown into a big, strong man, witha house and garden of his own, and with a wife and a whole flock of little Béchesand their brown sisters. But big Bécheknew his old friend just as soon as he saw him, and wonderfully happy he was tomeet him again after so many years. After theexcitement of the first greeting wasover, Béche hunted about in his basket trunk and away down in the bottom found a little package. It was verycarefully tied up in dry plantain leaves and rawhide, and what do you supposewas inside? The very first picture Béche had ever made, —thefunny, ugly, misshapen picture of thewhite man himself!

Some Very Strange Plants

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Everyland Nature Club

Careof Everyland, 156 Fifth Avenue, New York City

IF you were walking through the woods and were very, very thirsty, what wouldyou do for a drink? Why, you'd find a spring or a brook, you say. Of course, ifthere was a spring or brook near,you might, but suppose there was nota drop of clear, cool water to be found! In thenorth you might go thirsty for a very long time, but if you were in the tropics, or at least in some parts of the tropics, you could get a nice, refreshing drinkof water from some of the plantsgrowing all about you.

This may seem very strange,but there are many strange things innature and some of the strangest areplants.

In nearly all tropicalforests the trees are covered withhanging vines known as lianas. These are very useful things, although they are a great nuisance when traveling through the forests, for theyare of all sizes, from tiny threads to huge ropes, and theyare tangled and knotted and twisted togetherlike a perfect network.

They are very strong, and the people where theyare found use them for ropes andlines and call them "bushropes." One kind is used to make rattan, and if you examine the ends of a piece of rattan you will see a numberof tiny holes. These are really theends of little tubes which extend thewhole length of the vine and throughwhich the sap flows. If a livingliana is cut in two, a stream of sap will flow out of theseholes and then it will soon thickenand form a scab across the end of the vine, just as your blood will form a scab whenyour finger is cut. Some of thelianas have sap which is bitter, but othershave sap which is as clear and fresh as thefinest spring water. It is from this that thetraveler in the tropical woods canobtain a drink when thirsty, for all he has to do is to cut off a piece of oneof these vines and drink the sap. But in many places thereare still other plants at which the traveler may find cool, clear water. One of these vegetable fountains is so useful that it iscalled the Traveler's Palm; and bycutting off one of the long leavesclose to the trunk a good drink mayalways be found stored ready for thethirsty traveler. Still anotherplant where a drink may always be obtained is known as the"wild pine," as it looks a great deal like a real pineapple plant.But instead of growing on the groundthe wild pine grows high up on the branches of forest trees and on the vines which cling to them.At the base of each leaf of the wild pine thereis a cup-shaped hollow which always contains fresh, cool water. Quite oftenmosquitoes breed in this water and so, in many parts of thetropics, man has been obliged to destroy all thewild pines in the vicinity to doaway with the troublesome anddangerous insects. The wild pine is an "air plant" or parasite, forit grows in the air withoutrequiring earth like most plants, and in thetropics there are a great many kindsof these funny air plants. There areorchids with beautiful and strange shaped flowers, wild pines, and many other parasites, and theyare all wonderful and interesting, but of themall there are none more strange thanthe Lizard Tree and the Air Cabbage. The Lizard Tree, when growing,looks like a huge green lizard crawling up thetrees, but I think "Centipede Tree" would be a more appropriate name.The stem is thick and jointed, like bamboo, with slender white roots and smoothgreen leaves growing from each joint. Every little while one of these joints breaks off and falls down, and whereverthe joints land they take root and commence to grow until three orfour feet long, when their jointsbreak off and start still otherplants. But oftentimes the piecesfall to the earth, where the joints cannot break away and take root, and whenthis happens the funny plantcontinues to grow until it reaches a tree, when it climbs up until its jointscan break away and tumble down.

This is a very strange wayfor a plant to increase, but the AirCabbage has a habit just as funny, although very different. This plant lookslike a giant cabbage and deep down in thecenter of its leaves is a little cup filled with seeds. The roots are veryslender, and when the big plant isfully grown it becomes top heavy and thefirst hard wind or heavy shower tips it over and thus allows the seeds to tumble out and fall to the ground, or to thelower branches of the trees.

All thefunny plants of the tropics are notair plants and lianas, however. Sometimes when walking through the woods in thetropics, you may stub your toes against some hard object, and, looking down,you see a rusty cannon-ball lying half hidden among theleaves. Of course, it's very surprising to find cannon-balls in such a place,but it really isn't a cannon-ball at all, but thefruit of a tree, and when you look about and see thetree you will be more surprised than if it were a real cannon-ball. The tree is known as theCannon Ball Tree and the funnyfruits are borne on short stems sprouting directly from thebark of the trunk. The flowers arevery odd and pretty but they areill-smelling like the fruit. Thetree has very few leaves and theseall fall off at the season when the fruits ripen, and so you can imagine what afunny sight this tree presents with its bare branches and the great rusty-brown balls hanging to the trunk.

Still another strange tree is theSand-Box Tree. The seeds of this tree are large, round, and nearly flat, andare held within a pretty scalloped shell about three or four inches indiameter. These seed pods are real vegetable firecrackers, for when they are ripe theyexplode with a loud noise and scatter or shoot theseeds far and wide. During theseason when the sand-box seeds ripena constant popping may be heard from thetrees and the seeds fly about likerain or hail. The natives of thecountries where the sand-box treesare found have a very pretty and quaint idea about thepopping seeds, for they believe thatwhenever a seed-pod explodes it announces a lizard's wedding has taken place.

It is strange enough to thinkof cannon-balls and firecrackers growing on trees and of drinking water fromvines and palms, but how would you like to he able to get the cloth and lace for your garments from trees?That is what many of the SouthAmerican natives do, for where theylive there is a tree called the Lace-Bark Tree. This tree has a wonderful innerbark which may easily be unrolled and appears like broad sheets of creamy-whitelace.

This is known as SedaVirgin or Virgin Lace, by theSpanish Americans, and is used by themfor draperies, curtains, shawls, mantillas, and garments. It is so tough andstrong that it even is made into ropes, cables, and harness, and it is socommon and so easily gathered thatit is seldom washed, but when soiled is cast aside for a new supply.

These are but a few of the strange and useful trees and plants in the tropical forests and thenative woodsman can find anything he requires for food, drink, shelter, fuel,weapons, and clothing. Even thread and needles are there,for if the Indian tears his scantyclothing he does not have to go to his home to have it repaired. Cutting a leaffrom an Agave plant he pounds thefleshy pulp between two stones until only thesharp spine at the leaf-tip and the tough fibres are left, when lo and behold, hepossesses a serviceable needle and a bundle of tough threads ready for use!

And this is not the only use to which theAgave may be put. To the nativeIndian it is as useful as thereindeer to the Laplander. From the juice he obtains drink; from the roots a coarse, but healthy flour, and from the leaf-fibers he weaves mats and clothing which hesews together with a needle andthread also made from the sameplant.

The Gull That Ate the Whale

2011-12-21T21:29:00.003-04:00

Finding Everyland magazine was a bit of a search fluke. The magazine was published from 1909 to 1928; published by Interchurch World Movement of North America, it was ‘for boys and girls’. AHV not only wrote a number of stories including fables for the magazine but also edited a letters column for some time. This tale is the first received and prepared. Here are some of the pages in PDF format./drf

The Gull That Ate the Whale

This story is third in the series "Legends of the Northland." The illustrations are made by the author from the Eskimo drawings which he secured with the folk-tales from the Eskimos.

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everyland magazine June 1916. Digitized by Doug Frizzle December 2011.

IT was summer-time the Northland. The bays and coves were no longer icebound, but sparkled in the sunshine. Upon the vast, barren, rocky plains lichens and moss had taken on a tinge of green. About the pools formed by melting snow among the rocks coarse, grasslike sedges had sprung up, and only in the shadow of ledges and ravines were patches of gleaming snow to be seen.

Flocks of twittering snowbirds flitted here and there, hoarse-voiced ravens sunned their black plumage upon the rocks, baby sandpipers ran nimbly along the beaches, and snowy gulls and terns wheeled and uttered querulous cries above their nesting-places on the rocky cliffs.

Weeks before, the last of the igloos (snow houses) had been abandoned by the Eskimos, and close to shore the people were dwelling in their summer tents of skins. Upon the beach the kiaks (canoes) were drawn, and upon the racks the catch of salmon was being spread to dry.

Old Nepaluka, too feeble to work, dozed in the doorway of her tent while Kemiplu her granddaughter played with the shining pebbles at the water's edge. Presently she tired of her play and toddling to her grandmother tugged at the old woman's clothes and begged for something to eat.

"Ai, ai!" exclaimed Nepaluka, rising stiffly, "Thou art ever hungry, little daughter." From the tent she brought a strip of dried meat and handing it to the child again seated herself. As she watched Kemiplu eagerly devouring the tidbit, a smile flitted over her brown, wrinkled face.

"Take heed that thou dost not choke, thou little glutton," she remarked, laughing. "Remember Nudlauk the gull!"

Her appetite appeased, the child snuggled close to her grandmother with a sigh of satisfaction. "O tell me of Nudlauk, Ananating (grandmother)," she begged.

"Very well, little daughter," replied the old woman. "When thou art older thou mayest see the lake and the bones of Nudlauk and the whale and will know that the tale is true.

"A great many ages ago," she continued, "before even the Eskimos lived in the land, there was a great gull named Nudlauk who flew daily across the hills and seas. So large was she that seals and walruses were her prey, and even the bears and wolves and reindeer were to her as but mice and partridges to the great white owls. From the sea, far toward the setting sun, would Nudlauk carry her prey, for to her giant wings the two days' journey was but an hour's flight. Then, standing with one foot on each of two hills, she would tear and eat the creatures she had caught and would feed them to her young.

"At last the seals and bears and walruses were all but destroyed, and, learning wisdom from the fate of their fellows, they would dive beneath the waves or hide among the crevices of the rocks upon the first sight of the gull or the first sound of her beating wings. Unable to get food,—for Nudlauk was slow and clumsy and of little wit,—the great gull became lean with hunger, and each day went farther on her hunting, for far and near all creatures knew her and hid themselves in fear.

"At last, alighting on a mighty iceberg far out upon the sea, she saw, spouting in the waves, a school of whales. Now Nudlauk in all her wanderings had never seen a whale before and she was filled with wonder at sight of the great creatures. 'Ah!' she thought, 'What fine great ogjugs (seals) are these. I will catch one and have a fine feast!'

"So, watching her chance, she swooped and grasped the largest whale in her beak and flapping heavily, for she was weak with hunger, she rose in the air and started homeward.

"But the whale was filled with water and very heavy, and soon the tired gull was forced to stop and rest. As soon as the whale felt himself upon the land he spouted great streams of water, which formed a little pond among the rocks. Again the gull grasped him and started onward for her home beyond the hills.

But ever and anon she stopped and laid her burden down, and at each spot the whale spouted and formed a pond, and one may still see all these little ponds about the country, even to this day. "At last, weary and worn, she reached her home and cried aloud to tell her hungry young that food was at hand. But in her absence the wolves and bears had come, and finding the young gulls weak and helpless, had killed and devoured them; so now, at Nudlauk's call, there came no answer, and soon she saw the mischief that had been done.

"Then in anger and sorrow she screamed aloud until the hills shook and the waters were ruffled as by a wind and the wolves and bears shivered and whimpered with fear within their lairs. But Nudlauk, always a glutton and now very hungry with her long flight, soon forgot all about her young and only a desire to eat filled her foolish brain.

"Grasping the whale by the head she tossed him upward and gulped him down, whole and living, even as do the little gulls to-day when they swallow fish. But the whale, seized with terror, spouted and squirmed and struck out with his mighty flukes and opened wide his great jaws, which stuck in Nudlauk's throat and choked her.

"Gasping for breath and deathly sick the great gull fluttered and struggled, splitting the granite ledges and tearing up the ground, until, unable to get the whale either up or down, she at last fell dying to the earth.

"There between the hills lie her bones and those of the whale which caused her death, and beside the pond that the whale made by his spouting one may see them bleached and white among the black rocks."

A Boys Museum 4

2011-12-19T20:15:00.002-04:00

A Boy's Museum Part IV. The Insect Collection.

Popular Science Department

A Department of Interest to Young and Old

Edited and Illustrated by Professor A. Hyatt Verrill

The American Boy magazine, May 1910. Digitized by Doug Frizzle December 2011.

WITH the first warm breath of spring the multitude of insects will commence to stir and soon a number of kinds will be visible to the stroller through woods and pastures. Insects of many kinds are very particular as to the season of the year when they appear and hence, to have anything like a complete collection, you must be ready to collect them at any and all times. During the early spring many beetles, wasps, bees and flies are very common, which later on in the summer will disappear entirely. Moths and butterflies, however, are few during the spring but increase in numbers with the advance of warm weather. Insects as a whole are a most important group, for among them are found some of the most injurious as well as the most beneficial of creatures.

You will be greatly surprised to find what an infinite variety of insects you can obtain, even in a small district, or in a city and the more you collect and examine them and the better you understand their odd and interesting ways, lives and habits, the more you will wonder and the more interested you will become.

For collecting insects you will require comparatively few tools or implements, and these are all easily made at home or may be bought at trifling cost.

The things required for collecting are as follows: A good insect net, a small trowel, a pair of forceps, a stout, strong-bladed knife, cyanide bottles, some empty tin boxes (old tobacco boxes are good), a tin box with perforated cover, a lot of square pieces of smooth, rather stiff paper.

The net should be of stout, thin cloth, or bobinet, and should be at least ten inches in diameter and eighteen inches deep. The hoop can be easily made of stiff iron or brass wire bent as shown in Fig. 1. The two ends A,A, should be placed in a tin or brass ferrule (which has been previously stuffed half full of sand), and melted lead poured around the ends. The bag of the net can then be sewed on to the hoop, a handle fitted to the ferrule, and all is ready. Any old garden trowel and an old jackknife will do for these tools; the cyanide bottles have been described in a previous article; the tin boxes should be of various sizes and the one with perforated cover should be quite large and roomy, as it is intended to hold live caterpillars. The square pieces of paper should be of assorted sizes and these are intended to hold freshly killed butterflies and moths. To use these papers they should be folded as shown in Fig. 2, and the butterfly placed within as in Fig. 3 and the edges folded over as in Fig. 4. The papers with contained specimens are then placed in your tin boxes and are safe until ready to mount. In addition to these, a small phial of benzine or gasolene and a small bottle of 40% alcohol (wood alcohol will do) should be carried. It is often easier to kill insects, (especially butterflies in a net), with benzine than by cyanide bottles and many kinds such as wasps, beetles, ants, etc., are more easily preserved in alcohol than any other way until needed for mounting. Formaline is better than alcohol, as the colors of the insects are not so likely to fade, but if only kept in the bottle temporarily there is little trouble on this score. It is always a good plan to carry one or two small boxes and a bottle of alcohol or formaline with you in the woods, whether hunting for insects or other things, for oftentimes one comes across rare or interesting things at most unexpected times.

In order to succeed as an insect hunter you must learn the haunts and habits of each kind of insect and must know just the likely sort of places to hunt in; the flowers and trees that the larvae or adults live on, and the localities most favored by each kind. Beetles are easy to collect as they are usually rather helpless and only a few species, such as the Tiger beetles, take flight when alarmed. Under rocks and stones, in decayed wood and under old bark and logs are the best places to hunt for the various beetles. Some species, such as the boring beetles, (Fig. 5), feed on the flowers of wayside plants, and milkweed, golden rod, asters and burdock are excellent places to collect many species of these honey-loving beetles. Others feed on decayed fruit and by placing old apples, pears, etc., in certain spots you may reap quite a harvest of beetles, flies, wasps, bees and many butterflies. The ground beetles mostly live under stones and old logs and it is really lots of fun turning over such things in the woods and finding what a variety of creatures live concealed under these objects Many beetles live in decayed, or partly dead, wood and here you can use the old knife and the trowel to great advantage. In such places you will also find many species of boring larvae and although these are very difficult to raise to maturity they should be preserved as illustrating the general appearance and habits of these creatures. If possible try to cut out a section of some old dead tree or limb that you find riddled with borers' holes. This will make an interesting exhibit in your museum and the beetles and larvae (after preparation and mounting) should be placed in their natural attitudes and positions in the wood. Formerly the large museums avoided all natural styles of mounting and preparation but nowadays they strive to make their birds, animals, insects, etc., look as natural as possible and instead of mounting them singly on stiff, painted stands, they are mounted in groups among all their natural surroundings and accessories. It is, therefore, a good plan to make notes of the surroundings and situations where the specimen is obtained so that later on you can duplicate it as nearly as possible in your museum.

Although most insects, with the exception of wasps and bees, are harmless, it is always a good plan to handle any doubtful thing with forceps; moreover, by doing this they are less likely to be injured or broken.

Many fine, rare specimens of beetles, wasps and flies may also be obtained by "sugaring." This is done in two ways. One is to make a thick, syrup-like mixture of sugar, molasses, vinegar and water and paint it on tree trunks in woods and orchards. The other method is to use a thinner mixture and hang bottles and jars half-filled with the mixture in various places in the woods. By visiting the coated trees at night with a lantern a great number of fine things may be obtained and many night-flying moths are only secured in this way. The jars will catch many beetles, wasps, flies, etc., but moths that get in them are usually ruined. All specimens caught in the jars should be thoroughly cleaned in fresh water before mounting or drying. Of course in the case of the sugared trees a net must be used to catch the insects hovering about. By placing a bright light in the woods many insects will be attracted and can be readily captured, while a bright light in an open window will attract great numbers of insects on summer nights. Another good place to get beetle specimens is on the shores of the sea or large lakes. Many species fly out over the water until through fatigue they drop down and are drowned and are subsequently washed up among the flotsam and jetsam of the shores. I have taken many rare beetles in this way that I have never obtained elsewhere. Butterflies are found mainly in open fields and pastures and about flowers, but many kinds always hover over mud puddles or swamps, while other kinds are easily attracted to within reach by rotting fruit or decaying meat. Butterflies should be caught by the net and although this sounds easy you will be surprised to find how often you miss one. Approach carefully, make a quick, sharp side sweep with the net and at once turn the handle sharply so as to fold the bag of the net on itself, thus imprisoning the butterfly. The net should then be gathered carefully up and the butterfly grasped firmly between the thumb and finger. A slight pressure on the body at base of wings will render him unconscious and he can then be removed from the net and either dropped in a cyanide bottle or killed with a drop of benzine. It is often a good plan to kill with benzine before removing him from the net. No matter which method you follow, the specimen should be at once placed in the folded paper with wings folded carefully and you should be very particular to see that there are no folds or creases in the wings when placing him in the paper.

Caterpillars are a very important thing to look for and collect, for by rearing these you may secure absolutely perfect specimens of many moths and butterflies that are difficult to obtain in any other way. When a caterpillar is secured he should be placed in the perforated-covered box with some of the leaves of the plant on which he was found. When you get home the leaves should be placed in a bottle of water, paper or cotton stuffed in around the stems, and the whole placed in a breeding cage with the caterpillar. The breeding cage may be merely a box with thin cloth or wire netting cover or it may be made quite elaborate with growing plants, earth floor, etc. For single caterpillars a flower pot covered with a wire fly cover,—such as is used for covering cake,—may be used. If you are keeping a number of caterpillars together you should have the leaves that each feeds on in the cage and these leaves should be changed daily. You will find that a healthy caterpillar devours an immense amount of foliage but you should aim to always keep enough on hand to satisfy their appetites with some to spare and all dead or wilted leaves should be thrown away each day. Give the larvae plenty of fresh air, light and food and provide a pot or box of earth if they are of the kind which pupates in the ground. Handle your larvae as little as possible and after the pupae, or cocoons, are made do not disturb them in any way until they hatch out. The moths or butterflies will be very soft and juicy when they first come out, but you should wait until they are fully expanded and dry before killing and preserving them. Moths should be taken out and killed in the daytime and butterflies at night, for at these times each is sluggish and inclined to rest quietly.

In preparing your specimens you will require a few tools and other appliances, but all are cheap or easily made. Insect pins of several sizes are important, but as these cost only a few cents for a paper of one thousand, the item is small. Mounting boards are also very essential and these should be made as shown in Fig. 6. If you can not obtain sheet cork you can use pieces cut from old bottle corks or a strip of corrugated pasteboard, such as is used for mailing pictures. The mounting boards should be of several widths to accommodate insects of all sizes. In preparing beetles, moths, butterflies and other hard-bodied insects these are all that is required except some long slender needles mounted in sticks for handles, a few bits of smooth, thin cardboard,—old visiting cards are good,—and your forceps. For preparing caterpillars you will need an oven, a pair of fine scissors and some straws. The oven (illustrated in Fig. 7) is easily made from tin, but joints should not be soldered as they will soon melt apart when in use. To prepare a moth or butterfly, hold the specimen firmly by the sides of body, press a pin down through the thorax (the hardest part of body back of head to which wings are attached) allowing a little over one-half of pin to project below the body. Pin the insect in the groove of a mounting board so that top of body is level with the two sides. Then with a needle point press the wings down on the board, spread them into a natural position and pin them temporarily with fine pins inserted close to, or through, the large vein or rib at edge of wing. Proceed in the same way with the wings on the other side and be sure that the wings are exactly even and spread alike on both sides. Now take some strips of cardboard a little longer than wings are wide and lay them carefully across wings as In Fig. 8. Pin these down outside of edges of wings with common pins. Lift up and spread the antennae or feelers and secure them with another strip of card and if possible lift and spread at least one pair of the legs. Your specimen should now be set away in a safe place to dry. If the insect has been kept some time after killing he will be quite dry and stiff and must be softened before mounting. To do this a box of wet sand or sawdust to which a few drops of oil of cloves or formaline has been added should be ready. Place a sheet of clean paper over the sand or sawdust and place your dry insects on this. Cover them tightly and in a few hours you will find they are soft enough to mount. Wasps, bees and flies are mounted in the same way as the moths and butterflies but beetles,—if to be mounted in boxes merely as specimens,—should be pinned through one side of the body back of the thorax, Fig. 9). If they are to be mounted in groups or in natural attitudes, the pins should be placed along the sides and should not be run through the specimen at all. Beetles do not require a mounting board for wings, but the legs should be spread in a lifelike position. In preparing caterpillars quite a little skill and practice are required. Place your specimen on a piece of clean blotting paper, make a small incision between the two hind legs with the scissors (Fig. 10), and then with another blotter press firmly on the caterpillar, working from head backwards until all the contents of body are expelled. The oven should now be placed on a small stove or over a lamp until quite hot. Now place a straw in the incision in your caterpillar and blow gently until the body fills out plump and naturally. Now place the caterpillar within the oven through the round opening and blow gently and turn about until he becomes perfectly dry and stiff, watching the process through the glass top. He should then be placed on soft cotton in a safe spot for future use.

In placing your specimens on exhibition you can use a number of different methods. Moths, butterflies, beetles, etc., may be merely pinned in trays or glass-covered boxes with cork bottoms and each specimen numbered and labeled on a slip through which pin is passed, or they may be arranged in independent glass-covered mounts either in a plain, mounted position or arranged with dried and pressed flowers and leaves, Fig. 11. This style of mounting may also be used to good advantage with the dried larvae and very attractive mounts may be made by mounting the adult insect, the larvae and the pupa together in a glass-covered box with leaves and flowers. The best mounts for this purpose are known as the "Riker Mounts" and are very cheap, but they can be made by any boy with some old pasteboard boxes, some soft, smooth cotton and some old glass. The box is filled with layers of smooth cotton, the specimen laid carefully on it and the glass cover pressed firmly down over all and fastened in place by gummed strips of paper around the edges. This method prevents ravages of moths, allows the specimens to be examined carefully and freely handled and keeps them free from dust or injury. Oftentimes a moth or butterfly exhibits very different appearances on the upper and lower sides of wings and in such cases it is well to mount two specimens together,—one right side and the other wrong side up as shown in Fig. 12.

The People Who Eat Alone

2011-12-14T15:52:00.003-04:00

This article is believed to be roughly equivalent to parts 5 and 6 of ‘In Unknown Guiana’ but published three years before them. We have never been able to locate part 6; it may never have been published. Part 5 is here, in text form. The two illustrations are oil paintings by Verrill; we hope they are Carib Natives! Since the original article was not illustrated, we have added them./drf

The People Who "Eat Alone."*

By A. Hyatt Verrill.

From The Daily Chronicle Christmas Annual, 1916. Georgetown, British Guiana. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, December 2011.

A narrow lane of brown and tranquil river with its glassy surface broken by innumerable tacubas, their gaunt water-worn trunks and branches standing sharply forth like half submerged skeletons of prehistoric monsters, and on either hand, the towering walls of giant forest trees rearing their dense canopy of foliage, tangled rope-like vines and vivid flowers a hundred feet and more above their mirrored counterparts.

Such was the scene upon which I looked as my fragile woodskin sped swiftly and silently down the upper Barama to the steady strokes of my Indians' paddles.

Suddenly, through the silence of the vast wilderness, came a faint, far away sound; a rythmatic, pulsating beat. Instantly the flashing strokes of the paddles ceased, and we rested motionless, listening with eager ears, for the sound, though so thin and dim that it seemed felt rather than heard, was unmistakable,—the measured boom of an Indian drum. And, as once more the throbbing noise was borne to us on the bosom of the forest bordered river, my pulses quickened, for there is something indescribably wild, something that savors of primitive savage man, of cannibal feasts and weird orgies in the sound of an Indian tom-tom quivering through the still and humid air of a tropic jungle.

Then, as the paddles dipped once more and the woodskin leaped forward, the centuries seemed swept away and in my mind I saw another boat upon the river in the wilderness, a boat filled with mail-clad men whose faces blanched at the booming drum beats and who with muttered curses, urged their Indian slaves to greater efforts, and crossing themselves prayed that they might escape from the accursed spot ere twas too late. And good cause had those voyagers of old to fear for their lives, for they were in the heart of the Carib country, the district inhabited by that once implacable, unconquerable, indomitable race the mere mention of whose name brought terror to the heart of red man or white, the one tribe to defy the armed intruders from over seas; the tribe to whom bloodshed and battle were as the breath of life; who feasted upon the bodies of their vanquished and who gave the word "cannibal" to our language. But unlike those mail-clad men of centuries past I was hurrying towards the sound of the Carib drum, for there was nothing to fear, the Caribs' warlike ways have long since been forgotten and the tom-tom called the tribesmen to a festive dance instead of to a ghastly cannibal feast.

I had long wanted to visit the Caribs of Guiana for I had dwelt among the Caribs of Dominica,—the last survivors of the race in the Antilles,—and I was most anxious to study the resemblances and differences between the two tribes.

By a long and no means easy journey I had reached the upper waters of the Barama; but the 140 miles of sea in the ill-found, wallowing apology for a steamer; the 36 hours spent bucking the Barima in a noisy kerosene launch where sleep was impossible; the 30 odd miles of jungle road through torrential downpours with shelterless nights in the bush, these were but incidentals and all hardships and discomforts were forgotten as the dull resonant throb of the Carib drum reverberated louder and louder while we swept towards the half-hidden entrance to a narrow-creek.

In a moment the river was lost to view, and rounding a bend of the creek, the woodskin was run gently upon the muddy shore beside a dozen others of its kind.

Up from the landing place a gigantic fallen tree trunk formed a natural bridge and pathway to the summit of the bank, and, in single file, we picked our way along the slippery tacuba and entered a narrow winding trail through the forest.

Ever louder boomed the drum as we proceeded and presently, emerging from the woods, we came forth upon a good sized clearing within which stood half a dozen thatched benabs. I had reached the Carib camp, had come unannounced and unbidden to the merry making, and I gazed about with interest at the scene to which good fortune had led me.

Close at hand stood a neatly wattled hut, adjoining it was a large open benab and in its shelter, standing about, reclining in hammocks or squatting on low wooden stools, were a score or more of women. Some were naked,—save for their blue laps, or loin cloths,—others wore a single baglike garment suspended by a string about the neck and exposing shoulders and breast, but all were arrayed in barbaric finery and gay with paint and colour. All wore their glossy blue-black hair coiled in neat braids above their napes and decorated with innumerable scarlet streamers; all had arms and legs tightly bound with woven ornamental bands of cotton; all wore immense necklaces of beads, teeth and seeds; all had faces painted in strange designs of scarlet and black and all wore a tuft of white vulture down upon their foreheads,—the tribal mark of the true Carib.

A few yards away, beneath another thatched benab, were the men,—splendidly muscled, beautifully proportioned, clean-limbed and physically as perfect as statutes of bronze, —clad only in their long, befringed, embroidered and beaded laps; but one and all with hideously painted faces and their long forelocks of hair covered with the snowy vulture down, the symbol of their race.

At the entrance to the men's benab a tall Carib was seated, holding, between his knees, a drum of cedar and babboon hide upon which he beat the monotonous rythm of the wahnoo dance with jaguar bones for drumsticks.

Close by, stood two great troughs of Paiwarrie and ever back and forth between these and the men and women passed a young and comely maiden with her face curiously adorned with scarlet, the "Paiwarrie Governor," whose duty is to keep the drinkers' calabashes constantly filled with the vile liquor.

It was by merest chance I had come upon the camp during a paiwarrie spree, when, from far and near, the Caribs had foregathered for the dance, and by this good luck I had obtained an exceptional opportunity to see the Caribs when all restraint was thrown aside.

* A Chapter from Mr. Verrill's forthcoming book "Among the Indians of the Guiana Wilderness." It is to obtain photographs and material for this work that the author is now visiting the Colony.

With true Indian stoicism the Caribs showed no surprise at my arrival on the scene, and, seating myself in an empty hammock, I took the proffered calabash of Paiwarrie, for he who would win the confidence of the red men and would obtain an insight of their lives and ways must perforce do as they do in as far as possible. As yet the dance had not commenced and as I wandered at will among the people and explored their benabs I learned much of Carib life and ways. Soon we were on friendly terms; presents of tobacco, pipes, knives, mirrors, etc., serving to establish myself in their good graces and even old Komahrie,—the Peaiman and master of ceremonies,—unbent from his surly aloofness, and vowing I was his brother, posed for his portrait, and then, leading me to his benab, furnished me with a vocabulary and other information of the greatest value, besides disposing of his choicest possessions to add to my collection.

Meantime the drinking was continuing without cessation, but much to my surprise, there were no signs of intoxication, although the Indians had consumed enormous quantities of the sour, ill-smelling concoction. The only visible effect of the liquor was to produce a lethargic, listless, dull condition, the men and women lying or sitting motionless and silent, but with no signs of drowsiness, and apparently wrapped in the most serious and profound thoughts, and often so inert that they would not trouble to lift the drink to their lips, but opening their mouths, waited for the serving maid to pour the liquor down their throats.

In a short time, however, the Paiwarrie commenced to act as a cathartic and emetic, but there was nothing of the nauseating filthy orgy of which I had heard; the people discreetly retiring to the bush, to return and continue drinking, as before.

In an hour or two after my arrival the Paiwarrie began to exert its secondary effect; the lethargic morose attitude of the Caribs gave way to laughter and gaiety, they chattered and sang, the droning boom of the drum became a lively tattoo, rude fiddle-like instruments squeaked, bone flutes added their shrill notes to the barbaric discord, and the boys and girls commenced to prance about, turning and twisting, stamping their feet, and stepping high in time with the drum beats.

Soon the men joined the dance, always in couples, and, casting aside their single garments, the women followed in rapid succession. Each sex, however, formed a separate group, the women and girls dancing on the smooth open space before their benab and the men occupying a similar space before their shelter, while the boys dashed about, here there and everywhere, shaking calabash rattles and yelling like fiends.

No doubt there were definite steps and figures to the dance and these unquestionably had their symbolic meanings for the "spree" was held to celebrate the end of the period of mourning for a deceased member of the tribe and the desertion of the field wherein she had been buried. But only a Carib could have interpreted the meaning of the intricate movements and the gyrations of the dance or the significance of the various forms of ceremonial clubs wielded by the men. To civilized eyes it appeared a confused jumble of leaping, prancing, naked bronze figures; a kaleidoscopic whirl of colour and a deafening din of yells, shouts, the piercing sound of flutes, the thumping of wooden clubs, the stamp and shuffle of bare feet and the whirl of rattles, the whole punctuated and impelled by the resonant hollow boom of the drum.

For a time I watched,—an interested spectator, and taking photographs as opportunity offered; but as Paiwarrie was constantly pressed upon me and I had no desire either to drink more or to offend the Indians by refusals, and as there was nothing more to be accomplished, I prepared to leave the dancing half-drunken throng to themselves.

But my "civilized" Carib boatmen could not be coaxed, cajoled or threatened into leaving,—such an event as a Paiwarrie spree did not fall to their lot every day and they were determined to make the most of their opportunity. Luckily one of my men was of another tribe, and being unfamiliar with the Carib tongue, found himself a mere wall flower. With him and my trusty black Sam I slipped away unnoticed, and embarking in my woodskin, headed for the open river and our camp.

As we paddled up stream in the waning light, the distant boom of the drum was borne to us on the breeze and far into the night the faint, far away reverberations told us that hilarity still reigned among the Caribs.

Much of interest was obtained among these Caribs of the upper Barama and much additional and valuable data was secured from other Caribs, both before and after my first participation in a Paiwarrie feast.

That they are very different from all other Guiana Indians is evident, but who they are, whence they came and what their relationship with the other tribes, are problems which have long puzzled ethnologists and are still unsolved.

Of the same stocky build as the other aborigines, yet the Caribs differ markedly in features, proportions and physical characteristics and are still more distinct in habits, traditions, language, weapons and customs. Thus, among all the other British Guiana tribes, the women wear aprons or queyus of beads, whereas, the Carib women never use queyus, but adhere to plain cloth laps or loin cloths, while the laps of the men, instead of being of plain cloth devoid of decoration, are fringed, ornamented with strips of coloured cloth and braid and are often beaded.

In place of the tattooing, so common among the Akawoias, Patamonas, Arekunas and other tribes, the Caribs use pigments or paints, exclusively and, moreover, the painted designs on their faces have no significance as charms or beenas,—as do the tattoo marks of their neighbours,—but are merely ornamental.

Feather crowns and mantles also are unknown among the Caribs, the only feathers used for decorative purposes being the soft white down of the King Vulture which, gummed to the foreheads of the women or to the forelocks of the men, constitutes the tribal mark or emblem of the race. In order to afford a spot for attaching this down the Carib men wear a long lock of hair, extending from the centre of the head above the ears to the forehead, the rest of the hair being clipped short; So inherent and deep seated is this ancient custom that even the civilized Caribs of the riverside towns cut their hair in the same manner, although they have not the remotest idea as to why they do so.

In their necklaces and other adornments the Caribs also differ materially from other tribes, the women wearing immense necklaces of beads consisting of innumerable strings held together by polished rings cut from palm nuts, while ankles and limbs are tightly bound with fringed cotton bands woven in place and which cannot be removed without cutting.

Like nearly all the other Indians, the Caribs have their ears pierced, but in addition, the women have the lower lip perforated and in the aperture carry one or more pins, which are used to extract jiggers from the feet. The women are adept at removing these pins and reinserting them with the tip of the tongue and it is almost fascinating to watch the pins appear and disappear from the lip without apparent cause. But the strangest feature of this custom of carrying pins in the lip lies in the fact that it exists among no other British Guiana Indians with the exception of the Macusis and their related tribes of southern Guiana, and as these people also use white down on their foreheads on festive occasions there is little doubt that they are of Carib stock, although so widely separated geographically and so totally distinct in many other ways.

The weapons of the Caribs are also very different from those of the other British Guiana Indians. The bows are, as a rule, very crude and primitive, but some are well made and these differ from the bows of the Arekunas, Patamonas and other races in their form and size, as well as in the depth of the groove along the back.

The Caribs arrows, however, are much superior to those of most other tribes and are usually shorter, while, in addition to bows and arrows, the Caribs employ long throwing lances or javelins for hunting large game, as well as true harpoons for capturing large fish. Blow pipes and poisoned darts are unknown among the Caribs,—save where Ackawoias have intermarried with them, but they make ceremonial clubs of many different types and which are often of immense size and weight.

In their domestic arts and crafts the Caribs are very primitive, their basketry being inferior to that of other Indians, their wooden stools rough and crude, their earthenware poorly made and their hammocks of inferior grade; but their water calabashes are well designed and neatly stoppered, their drums are marvels of ingenuity and patience and their strange fiddles,—made from the hollow limbs of the trumpet tree or "Gunga pump,"—are very cleverly designed and are far from unmusical.

As might be expected of a race whose ancestors for countless centuries lived by the sword, figuratively speaking, the Caribs are less inclined to pastoral and agricultural pursuits than the other Guiana tribes, but they are adept fishermen, splendid hunters and unexcelled boatmen. These inherited characteristics of their warlike, nomadic forbears tend to make them lazy and improvident however, and, compared with the Arekunas, Macusis or even the Patamonas, they are miserably poor,—if indeed we can consider any one poor whose every want is supplied by nature and who has no ambitions or desires other than to live an uneventful, easy existence with as little effort as possible. Whereas the benabs of the other Indians are usually well supplied with baskets for various purposes, several spare hammocks, numerous cooking utensils, an ample assortment of bows and arrows, often times a gun, great balls of spun cotton and baskets of raw cotton; the houses of the Caribs usually contain but the barest necessities. Few own guns, more than a single bow with its set of arrows is rarely seen, the baskets are usually few and show signs of long hard usage, a single earthen pot or a battered pail is the ordinary extent of cooking utensils and the hammocks are smoke-browned with age and patched and repaired in innumerable places.

But despite their lack of industry and their poverty, the Caribs are intelligent, honest, scrupuously neat and cleanly in habits and, when beyond the sphere of influence of civilized man, strictly moral according to their own tenets. Indeed, the cleanliness of their villages and persons is most striking and the satin-like smoothness of their skins is in sharp contrast to the scarred and scratched bodies of many other tribes and speaks eloquently of their physical condition and personal habits. No doubt this is partly due to the fact that the women constantly wear the loose bag-like frocks peculiar to their tribe when in the bush, for they state that this is donned to protect their skins from thorns, brush and insects; but the men go about nude save for their laps and their skins are also clean and free from sores, scars or blemishes.

In colour the Caribs average lighter than the other tribes, their skins ranging from a light golden-brown or dark olive to a reddish, coppery hue; the women as a rule being lighter coloured than the men and their faces, strangely enough, being often lighter than their bodies.. Their features are more regular and finer cut than the other Indians, their noses are often straight or even slightly aquiline, their lips fairly thin, their mouths small and their eyes seldom oblique or almond shaped and often hazel or tawny-brown colour. On the whole they are far less Oriental in appearance than the other tribes, many are decidedly Caucasian in features, there is a distinctly Semitic cast to their faces and, if dressed in civilized garments, they might readily pass for natives of southern and eastern Europe or Asia Minor.

In stature the Caribs average taller than the other tribes, the average height of 34 men being 5 ft. 6 inches and that of 33 women being 4 ft. 9 inches while one man was measured who stood 5 ft. 10 inches in height and the tallest woman seen was 5 ft. 3 inches.

The Carib language differs essentially from all other Guiana tongues and while the dialect of each tribe is distinct yet the differences are often so slight that very often a member of one tribe has no difficulty in conversing with members of another. Thus, the Arekunas and Ackowoias can understand each others tongue, but in the case of Carib it is different, for neither Arekuna nor Akowoia can speak or understand Carib (unless the knowledge is acquired) or vice versa. Indeed, there are scarcely a dozen Carib words which even remotely resemble the words having the same meaning in the tongues of the other tribes, although, certain words, such as "toona " (water), "oorapa" (bow) and "poorooua" (arrow) are common to several tribal tongues. This however, is to be expected for such words were of prime importance, and necessity compelled the various peoples to adopt universally understood names for the articles on which their lives depended.

To the student of ethnology the Caribs are perhaps the most interesting, as well as the most puzzling, tribe of northern South America for once their origin or relationship can be definitely established great light will be thrown upon the aborigines of the continent. It has been customary to consider the Caribs of the South American mainland and the Caribs of the Lesser Antilles as identical, the theory being that the insular aborigines were merely wanderers from the coast who, by stress of weather or by choice, had migrated to the islands that rim the Caribbean Sea. But with this theory I cannot fully agree for in many ways the two races are totally different. Putting aside the question of physical characteristics, which might easily be altered by environment, there are many important points to be considered.

Thus, the first Europeans to visit South America found the Indians using hammocks which, to the aborigine, is perhaps the most important of articles with the exception of his weapons, But the early voyagers make no mention of hammocks among the Indians of the Antilles and the few survivors of the insular Caribs never use hammocks and have no knowledge of their manufacture. To my mind it is inconceivable that an article of such ancient origin and so indespensible as the hammock should not have been carried by any Indians who strayed or migrated to the islands, for no South American Indian goes forth, even on a short journey, without his hammock.

Moreover, the bows and arrows used by the natives of the Caribbees were very different from those common to the Indians of the mainland, while the heavy wooden clubs of the latter are unknown to the insular Indians. Of course such clubs may have been in use before the advent of the whites (they are scarcely more than ceremonial among the Guiana tribes to-day) but Pere Labat and other early chroniclers make no mention of them or of the white down tribal marks, when describing the aborigines of the islands. As these early visitors to the West Indies described the Caribs and their ways quite fully and in detail, they could scarcely have failed to note such conspicuous characteristics of the natives had they existed. The fact that they were not mentioned is ample proof, to my mind, that they were unknown to the aboriginal inhabitants of the islands.

But perhaps the strongest argument against the theory that the islands were peopled by Caribs from South America is found in the canoes of the two races.

To navigate the stretch of open sea that separates Guiana from the Antilles would require seaworthy, staunch, large craft for while a stray canoe might be blown to sea and reach the islands in safety, still, in order to transport enough people to populate the islands, not one but many boats must have made the passage. Any one familiar with the light, fragile woodskins, or the narrow, cranky, dugout corials of the Guiana Indians will be skeptical of the latter's ability to migrate in numbers to the islands in such craft. Even granting that this occurred, what then became of these types of boats when the wave-tossed Indians reached a safe haven on the Leeward coasts of the Antilles?

One would suppose that having made the journey in corial or woodskin the Caribs, who are preeminently canoe Indians, would have continued to build similar craft for use in their new home. But such is not the case, for wood-skins are unknown in the Antilles and such dugouts as are used are peculiar to the Caribbean and are so totally distinct from all types of South American canoes that it is scarcely possible to conceive that they are merely evolutions from the corial type. And that these insular Caribs’ canoes are not of recent origin is proven by the records of the European discoverers who described the canoes of the island Caribs as precisely like those of the present day. Staunch, seaworthy, swift and often of enormous size, the canoes of the island Indians could easily have weathered the seas of the Atlantic or the Caribbean and with little danger could have reached the shores of South America in numbers. In fact it is my firm conviction that this is exactly what did occur and that instead of the South American Caribs migrating northward to the islands, the original Caribs were insular people and migrated southward to the mainland. There, finding a land of promise with forests teeming with game, rivers swarming with fish, and an abundance of inoffensive, timid, people on which to prey, the fierce wanderers established themselves, and finding no further use for the sea-going heavy boats in which they had reached their new home, they gradually abandoned the type in favour of the lighter craft of the Arowaks and Warraus which were adapted to river and creek navigation. This theory, too, would account for the hammocks, the white feather tribal emblem and the other peculiarities of the mainland Carib which are non-existant among the Caribs of the Antilles.

Thus, in the islands, where there were no indigenous poisonous snakes, no carnivorous animals, no swampy inundated ground and few insects dangerous to man, there would be no necessity for hammocks, or similar devices. So too, in the islands where all the inhabitants were of one race there would be no need of distinguishing tribal marks, even though the denizens of one island warred upon their next door neighbours. But once upon the mainland, conditions would be very different. Here, in a low land often inundated, where poisonous snakes were common, where prowling beasts abounded and where countless insect pests made sleeping on the earth dangerous, hammocks would be required and their advantage would quickly be grasped by the newcomers and the useful articles would be adopted for their own use. So too, in this land already inhabited and where the handful of warlike strangers was surrounded by hordes of other tribes, a distinctive mark of recognition was necessary. Why the white down of the King Vulture was selected is easy to guess, for this bird invariably flies alone and eats by itself while the common black vultures stand aloof, waiting until the King's appetite is glutted and he retires from his feast. And truly symbolical of the Caribs' ways is the mark they chose, for like the King Vulture, they were a race apart from the timid darker skinned natives; a race holding themselves aloof as superiors of the Warrau and the Arowak, as do their descendents of to-day: a people who "ate alone," for they had cannibal propensities and only the pickings they left from their forays or their hunts fell to the lot of their neighbours. To-day, the Warrau and the Arowak still looks upon his Carib neighbour as a superior being; to-day the Carib still looks down upon his fellow redmen and scorns to eat food touched or prepared by the Warrau, who, as of old stands aside while the Carib. "eats like the King Vulture," alone.

But whether or not the Caribs spread, from the islands to the mainland or vice versa, the question of their origin is yet unanswered.

Perchance, the ancient legend of Atlantis was no myth; the forest-clad volcanic peaks of the Antilles may be the last vestiges of that submerged land and the Caribs the descendents of its people. For aught we know, they may be of Phoenician or Mediterranean lineage, a race whose ancestors were carried by tempest or baffling winds across the wide Atlantic and who, unable to make headway back against the trade winds, settled on the fair islands of the west. Or again, they may be one of the lost tribes of Israel who, wandering westward along the African coast, were borne out to sea and found the New World, ages ere Columbus set forth upon his perilous quest.

There are equally good arguments for each theory and it is idle to speculate. The chances are the truth will never be known and that long after the last of the Caribs has passed into the great beyond the origin of the race will still remain as much a mystery as ever.

Suwannee Treasure Hunt

2011-12-06T17:44:00.002-04:00

Going through the emails from Alan Schenker this was found. It is not by Hyatt Verrill nor does it tell us much about him but rather it furthers a chapter from his autobiography, Never a Dull Moment, ‘More Treasure Seekers’./drf

Suwannee Treasure Hunt

By John Maloney

The Saturday Evening Post, June 2, 1945, researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, Dec. 2011.

The buried loot of the buccaneers has always been coupled with mystery, blood and tragedy —and this Florida hoard is no exception.

THERE'S a hole way down on the banks of the Suwannee River—fifteen miles above where it flows out of thick Florida swamps into the Gulf—down which men with treasure fever in their blood have poured more than $200,000 over a period of sixty years, always hoping for fabulous riches in return. Many persons have gambled everything they had in the search, and lost. Failure drove one man to suicide. Possession of the cache, when it seemed within reach, inspired attempted murders by poisonings, dynamiting, gun and knife fights. But through the years, quicksand has been victor in this more than half-century battle.

No one knows for a certainty who buried the treasure there, but evidence points to the pirate Jean Lafitte above all others. Old Navy and Treasury Department records confirm the fact that Fowler's Bluff, site of the hunt, was a popular hangout for freebooters when piracy was a lucrative and important New World business. Gasparilla hanged one of his mutinous followers there. Dreaded Black Caesar and Billy (Bowlegs) Rogers brought their ships to the Bluff to be careened, scraped and recalked while hiding from American and British patrol vessels. As to there being substantial treasure here, men who have studied every shred of evidence accumulated through three quarters of a century swear that anywhere from $1,000,000 to $15,000,000 in coins, gold bars, silverware and altar accouterments are held by these tenacious quicksands.

There is more than circumstantial evidence that a sizable fortune already has been removed from the pit. I recently have talked with old men who told me that, fifty years ago, they helped dig "something" out of a twenty-foot hole there under the live oak. That "something" ostensibly was later used to establish a Gainesville, Florida, bank, stock a large hardware store, build an office building and start a backwoods sawmill owner well toward being a millionaire in a surprisingly short time. But, to keep dates, testimony and events of many years straight, let's go back to 1888.

In March of that year, an elderly man who spoke with a Scandinavian or German accent appeared in the little village of Hardee Town—now Chiefland, Levy County, Florida—and made arrangements to rent a wagon and team of mules by the week. The day he acquired the wagon, a second man, dark and uncommunicative, joined the first. They bought picks and shovels, and drove off toward the river on the Fowler's Bluff road, a sandy trail through palmetto and blackjack scrub. A couple of months later, two Hardee Town boys passed by Fowler's Bluff while hunting, and raced back to town to tell how, when they came upon the two strangers digging in a deep pit, the dark one had vaulted over an accumulation of dirt, grabbed a rifle standing against a big live-oak tree, and ordered them away from the vicinity and to keep what they had seen to themselves.

Town loafers sat for a week debating about going out to the Bluff and discovering, by force if necessary, what the two strangers were doing. But before they talked themselves into action, the stranger who had first appeared drove into the settlement, bringing his companion, wrapped in a dirty old blanket and delirious with what was known locally as ''swamp fever," an earlier name for malaria. The sick man died that night, and the other stranger could not or would not give a name to be scratched on the unpainted pine board that became the dead man's headstone.

The remaining old man seemed to have become unbalanced over the loss of his pardner. He went around muttering something about an old map, dated 1823, which he possessed and which was very valuable. But Hardee Town folk were busy carving farm and cattle land out of heavily timbered forests, and had no time to listen to an old eccentric. No one in the town noticed when he left the region. Eighty-three-year-old Joe Curry, who remembered this incident well and who is a vital link in this whole strange story, described it to me in typical cracker language: "We paid him no mind, and the first thing we knowed, he wuz gone."

Nine years later, in 1897, an old man walked into a sawmill operated by Emmett Baird just across the Florida line in Georgia. He obviously was ill, and Orie Freeman, Baird's foreman, offered him a bed of shavings in a corner of the mill shed. The old man—who possessed a heavy accent—became more ill the next day and, without a doctor within call, mill hands diagnosed his sickness as pneumonia. It was on the evening before he died that, true to that affinity between deathbeds and buried treasure, the stranger gave a map and some detailed directions to Baird and Freeman in return for what they had done for him.

The old man, of course, was the eccentric who had been digging on Fowler's Bluff back in ‘88. No one living knows what he told Baird and Freeman, but, at any rate, it was enough to make them desert the sawmill and hasten to the Bluff. There they hired Joe Curry, who was living in the vicinity, along with George Higginbotham, to work for them, and swore them both to secrecy in the operation. Curry's wife was to rent sleeping quarters to Baird and Freeman and to serve meals to them and others who worked for them. Within a few days, because they were digging almost in his front yard, Curry was offered a share of whatever they found, in return for his work and for guarding the place day and night.

Curry, despite his eighty-three years, is still keeping a country store within a few miles of the Bluff, and his memory of what took place is still vivid, as is that of his wife. He handled the map frequently, and recalls that it seemed to be made of thick, handmade, oiled paper, that it clearly was a map of this particular bend in the Suwannee, and that three large live oaks shown on the map obviously marked the spot where Baird ordered digging begun. He also recalls that inked directions on the back of the map stated that the treasure, whatever it was, was buried in three separate spots immediately surrounding the three oaks.

From the start, Uncle Joe remembers, Baird was highly suspicious of anyone who came near the place and openly frightened by strangers who came close. Three steamboats made regular trips to upriver plantations and lumber camps. When they passed up the channel, which ran near the shore at this point, Baird made everyone keep out of sight and threw brush over sand removed from the pit to disguise it.

The place evidently wasn't healthy for Freeman. Mrs. Curry says he was in bed with swamp fever much of the three months they were digging. Meanwhile, a hole twelve feet deep had been opened up in the loose sand. They were just getting to quicksand when one of the men struck a hard object with his pick. The others were called out while Baird himself went down and, standing on a plank shelf that had been constructed to keep workers out of the quicksand, began prying around the object they had struck.

The Pirate's Curse

AS Baird pried, the object seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the almost fluid sand. Fearful that it would get beyond reach, he called Joe Curry to come down and help him estimate how large and heavy it was. Joe says that he was able to feel all around it, and to determine that it was encased in something like rough cement, and was about three feet, six inches long, two feet wide and one and one half feet thick.

There was high excitement on the Bluff at this discovery. When it was decided that the object could not be raised without additional tools, Baird had the men stand guard while he rushed back to Hardee Town—by that time called Chiefland—where a blacksmith fashioned a set of grappling tongs to hook around the box. A scaffold was erected over the excavation and Curry went down into the liquid sand with a rope tied around his middle and hooked the jaws of the grapple around the object. Then, with two mules hitched to the hoisting rope, Curry stood on top of it to keep it steady and gave the signal to hoist away. Slowly, the sand began yielding its hold with a sucking sound. All concerned, even Mrs. Curry, were standing on the brink waiting to see what they felt must be millions spilled before their eyes. Suddenly, however, the hoisting rope parted and Joe Curry and the treasure were both dropped with a splash into the pit. Joe barely managed to cling to the rough plank platform to avoid being sucked under by the quicksands. The box sank from sight.

Baird and Freeman were filled with almost frantic despair on losing what they visualized as certain wealth just when it seemed within their grasp. Curry had been thoroughly frightened by his experience, and, though not a man generally susceptible to local superstitions, he admits now that he thought some curse, pirate or otherwise, was protecting whatever was buried there. All this happened during the third week after Baird arrived at the Bluff, and Curry was anxious to drop his part of the partnership and get back to a paying job. At this point, Baird offered him ten dollars for his share of whatever was found, and the privilege of working on a daily basis, while Mrs. Curry was to continue boarding them. The offer was accepted on the spot.

A large crowbar revealed that the chest had sunk down to a fifteen-foot level and was at least temporarily resting there. Everyone set to work building a crude cofferdam around the hole, going down below the chest's level. Without adequate equipment for such a job, they had their difficulties. It was six more weeks before they had the cofferdam completed and had dipped up watery sand until the chest was less than two feet below sand-and-water level. Both Baird and Freeman were at a high state of excitement again. Freeman would get out of bed, wrapped in one of Mrs. Curry's quilts, and watch the operation from its brink. They would allow no one but Curry and old Bob, an elderly Negro Baird had brought with him, to approach the hole. Baird gave orders that no one was to wear light-colored shirts, because they could be spotted too easily by boats passing on the river.

About this time, Baird ordered Curry to cut a limestone block about the size of the chest they were after, and carve figures or letters on it which he had forgotten after fifty years. "Baird told me if we got the chest out, I was to throw the stone in and tell anyone who might come along later that it was what he found," he says now.

Finally, near the end of the eleventh week since they had started, Baird would allow only old Bob and Freeman, who had partially recovered from his fever, near the pit. One night they worked until after one o'clock, and when Baird came in, he dropped the remark in a casual way that he was going to quit. Then he went into Freeman's room where the two men talked for more than an hour in a low tone. At daylight, Baird had his wagon hitched, and before the sun was up he, Freeman and old Bob drove off with nothing but a most perfunctory leave. Shovels, picks, the grapple and all other equipment were left there. Curry says no one saw them drive through Chiefland on their way out, as they would have had to do, and now expresses his opinion that they waited somewhere in a near-by swamp until dark that night and drove out then to avoid questions.

Just what Baird got out of that hole there by the Suwannee probably will never be known, unless he left records that his descendants will not reveal or discuss today. But that he did get something—and something substantial, at that—most persons in North Florida believe firmly, and every evidence points to that conclusion. Exhibit No. 1 is the fact that a few days after Baird left the spot, Curry found, near the hole, part of an old lock and thin pieces of something that looked like concrete which plainly revealed impressions of hinges and metal bindings.

As Curry points out today, both Baird and Freeman—the latter seems to have faded out of the picture completely when he drove away from the Bluff with Baird—were anything but well-to-do, certainly not wealthy even by local standards; yet, just a short time later, Baird was able to establish a bank, stock the largest hardware store in Central Florida, and put up a large office building in Gainesville, seat of the state university, where his descendants still live. None of them today will discuss anything about buried treasure, and some of them have been pretty brusque with persons who did want to delve into the matter including the present owner of the site, who is fully aware that under Florida laws finders are keepers, and who has no desire for anything but information from them.

There is a persistent rumor in Chiefland and Gainesville that Baird brought the box—whatever it contained to a Gainesville bank, where his findings temporarily were stored in vaults. Dr. A. Hyatt Verrill, historian and author of half a dozen books on buried treasure, pirates and privateers, and who is presently to figure in a new Fowler's Bluff search, says he knows persons who have seen old coins still preserved by members of the family as souvenirs of Baird's find. I talked to half a dozen lawyers and businessmen in Gainesville who were all convinced that Baird struck it rich there on the edge of that swamp.

Curry moved away from the Bluff soon after Baird left. Occasional hunters and fishermen were its only visitors until 1902, when another stranger, who local persons think was a New Zealander, became a squatter on the site. He remodeled Curry’s old house with pieces of driftwood, seemed to live mostly on game but meanwhile was digging all over the place. On occasional visits to Chiefland he used old twenty-dollar gold pieces to pay for shotgun shells and food. Naturally, that was enough to start local speculation about treasure again. Several Chiefland men admit today that as boys they hid in palmetto thickets and spied on his digging, but never saw him strike anything. However, local belief that he had unearthed something was so strong that after the old man was found dead in bed—from obviously natural causes—his hut was taken down and searched plank by plank and the ground underneath was dug up, but nothing was found.

Treasure-hunting fever was heightened when fishermen digging worms for bait near the site came on what they believed a nest of petrified turtle eggs. One of the party idly had skipped all but one of the round pellets across the swiftly-flowing river when he accidentally dropped it. The "egg" cracked, to reveal a one-carat diamond in its center. Authorities on pirate and treasure lore pointed out that it frequently was the custom for ill-gotten jewels to be encased in mud and buried for future recovery. An Orlando lady today is wearing this only diamond that the flabbergasted fisherman did not throw away.

Belief that some spell hangs over the Bluff has been voiced from time to time. This was heightened in 1910 when a group of local treasure hunters dug into a spot thickly strewn with skeletons, all buried face down, with a covering of what had been Spanish moss more than a foot deep. The "spell" was not discredited when old-timers recalled that, long before Emmett Baird's search, a lumber camp had occupied the bank at this spot and that most of its workers had been wiped out by a smallpox epidemic. It was remembered then that, according to old custom, plague victims were always buried back up. But the finding of human bones put a stop to further local diggings.

Panthers, whose screams frequently echo through the Suwannee's thick swamps, wildcats and bald eagles, both found here in large numbers, held solitary sway over this wild region for the next thirteen years. Strangely enough, a hunt for gold and family heirlooms supposedly buried about ten miles away, not by pirates, but to keep them from Yankee marauders during Civil War days, indirectly led back to "Lafitte's hoard" and resulted in tens of thousands of dollars and thousands of man-hours being expended on Fowler's Bluff—an expenditure and a hunt that have been carried out, with only brief interludes, from 1923 to this day.

Practically every family down in the Suwannee country hid something from the Federals—even if it was only grandpap's good corn whisky that the Yankees liked so well. One of these Florida families in 1923 was trying to settle an estate, and some of its members declared they would not part with the land until great-grandpappy's gold and silver plate was found. Robert Mahon, possessor of a metal locator, was brought up from South Florida to have a stab at finding the cache. He found nothing for them, but stories of Baird's find and what might be left intrigued him. He went to the Bluff, walked around the site, and got vigorous and decisive indications that he was walking over metal in two spots about thirty feet apart—exactly as Joe Curry remembered the original map had indicated.

The Quicksands' Secret

HERBERT L. NELSON, a large property owner and real-estate broker at near-by Cedar Keys, had studied every available detail concerning previous searches and was virtually certain that whatever Baird found was only part of the original cache. Mahon's instrument wiped out any remaining doubt. He and his wife sold land and prepared to determine, once and for all, just what those quicksands were guarding so jealously. Mahon also put up a small amount of cash and took command of digging operations.

The map originally showed the deposits at least thirty feet inland from high-tide mark. Swamps at the Suwannee's headwaters in Georgia had been drained in later years and more streams were diverted into the river. This resulted in a larger stream that had washed away at the Bluff until the stumps of the old oaks were now touched by high tides. Recovery of anything buried there was thus made more difficult, since seepage through a narrow wall of sand had to be combated at each dip of the spades.

The first step in attempting to reach the object attracting Mahon's instrument was to sink a rough wooden cofferdam about the area to he excavated. Although the result was not entirely watertight, it did hold back the watery sand until they could go down at least five feet below water level before they had to halt operations for pumping and bailing. At this depth—which was thirteen feet from the top of the hole, since the Bluff was only eight feet high at this point—a Negro workman's shovel struck something solid and he let out an exultant yell. Nelson was so sure he had the treasure that he sent a messenger to Cedar Keys for his wife to assist in counting their new-found wealth. Before she arrived, the object started sinking, huge bubbles arising as it went deeper and deeper into the quicksands.

In desperation, Nelson hurried to Chiefland and bought from a well driller several dozen twenty-foot lengths of one-and-one-half-inch piping. With these they attempted to form a sort of basket under the box by driving the piping in at a slanting angle from all sides. They were too late to prevent the sinking. As near as they could tell, the box finally came to rest on a brittle limestone layer twelve to fourteen feet under the top stratum of quicksand.

Nelson went to the United States Army Engineers' district office at Jacksonville with rough diagrams of the sand, water and rock strata that seemed to be defeating him, and asked their advice. One of the engineers became so interested that he obtained leave from the Army and went back to the Bluff to take charge of the engineering. His immediate decision was to construct a still larger cofferdam, install pumps of more capacity than heretofore used to overcome sand and water seepage. For nine weeks, using crews brought down from Jacksonville, they worked in twelve-hour shifts to get boilers and pumps installed around the box's known location. Then, just a few days before they were ready to start the pumps and suck the cofferdam dry, the river started rising from upriver cloudbursts and did not stop until the entire Bluff was covered with water for the first time in known history. When the waters receded, the equipment that was left was silt-covered to a depth of several feet. The curse seemed to be at work again.

Nelson's money was gone. His determination to get that treasure, however, was not washed away by the swamp water. Many of his friends in Florida had become interested in the project and he formed a twelve-man company to carry on. Flood damage was repaired, new machinery installed, and divers were hired to supervise cleaning out the cofferdam that had been completed just before the high water arrived. Another engineer from the Army joined the first, and when the dam was practically freed of loose sand and muck, a diver went down. The box, he reported, was resting just about level with the dam's base.

This time, Nelson and his associates wanted to take no chances on losing the treasure for the third time. The Merritt-Stevens Shipyard at Jacksonville sent salvage experts to look the situation over, then went back to design and build a special grapple of a type that bit harder into whatever it was holding as pressure from above was exerted. Engineers advised locking the jaws around the object, then putting all steam pressure possible to work at once. This was done. The donkey engine groaned, the cable became tight as a bowstring, then slowly the muck and sand began yielding up the box they had coveted so many years. Gradually, a corner of the box came into view. Spectators could see that it, like Baird's find, was probably about three and a half by two by one and a half feet in size.

A full third of the box had been raised above the quicksand when individual strands of the steel cable began to pop like tortured piano wires. Engineers later said this should have been a signal to ease pressure until a new cable could be substituted, but excited workmen did not think of this in time. The cable parted, and box and grapple sank back into the boiling sand. Water slowly seeped into the cofferdam as a result of the bottom sands being agitated. By nightfall, the pit had filled, and once more Nelson was without funds with which to continue his effort. ,

The operation had carried over into 1924. Bob Mahon, like Joe Curry years before, gave up and went back to more certain breadwinning. But Nelson, though broke a second time, was not licked, A year later, he found more friends who would come to his rescue—this time a group composed mainly of Daytona Beach and Orlando businessmen. While funds available were more limited than on previous attempts, he felt so sure of his goal that he started clearing away the site once more, and by the summer of 1926 had hired divers to work down to the box while water was pumped into the dam to liquidate the quicksand and allow them to move through the black muck.

Just as the divers were getting ready to raise the old grapple, the elements turned against Nelson once more. One of the most destructive hurricanes of the century struck, driving the waters of the Gulf back to mingle with those of the Suwannee. Again Nelson's equipment was ruined, the cofferdam filled with water hyacinths and muck, and he gave up for good.

But the fever to recover the treasure had spread widely over the country. Nelson had hardly cleared out before another group, full of optimism and surefire methods, was ready to take up the tug of war with the quicksands.

This time, the project was largely financed by Ernest Buckley, a Springfield, Massachusetts, businessman. The group was made up of at least twenty-one persons, who put finances in according to their ability and interest. Included were Maj. William C. Willams, ex-Army officer; Robert Reynalds, Harry Eastwood and Lincoln Barnes, all of Orlando; and Jack Harold, an adventurer who turned up with a little money and unbounded enthusiasm. A few businessmen from Ithaca, New York, were also included. As Dr. A. Hyatt Verrill, historian and authority on buried treasure, who was later called in as technical adviser, now says, "We had the makings of a first-class mess, and before the business was over, we had it."

The Suwannee, after the flood that first covered Nelson's operation, never receded to its old banks. By the time this group took over, the steel cofferdam that Nelson had started was partly washed by swift-flowing water. The dam itself had buckled when first installed and had never been completely watertight. It was this later group's intention to sink a second shaft inside the first, like a sock in a boot, pump water out of this, and work downward from it.

But first, they reasoned, Nelson had not driven his steel cofferdam plates deeply enough. At least four feet was still sticking up above water level on one side. Drop hammers were brought in, the plates were driven deeper until they were level on all sides, then they prepared the inner section and lowered it until divers could go down and attend to sealing leaks around the bottom. When they went down, they found that the irregular top level had been necessary because bedrock sharply slanted at this spot. In forcing the plates deeper, they had cracked the thin stratum of rock on which the chest then had been resting. The tilting floor then left the chest free to sink still lower, and to slip out from under the area covered by the dam. It was on the loose again.

Two more divers were hired to attempt to locate the chest. One of them nearly lost his life when still more of the old shaft collapsed, fouling his air line until only enough oxygen was getting through to maintain life for an hour while rescuers above removed timbers and got his lines untangled. He declared he'd had enough treasure hunting, and left.

The other diver continued exploring the bottom of the cofferdam, to find that a deep gully existed across its bottom, and that the chest evidently had slipped through this crevice. He worked under constant danger of the cofferdam's collapsing and burying him under tons of sand and water, and had a dangerously narrow escape when a ledge on which he was working about twenty feet under water gave way, sending sand and rocks down on him and causing another large leak in the cofferdam.

Doctor Verrill determined to stop leaks in the cofferdam once and for all. Cement, Spanish moss, sandbags and even sawdust were packed down around its outer surface. It failed to work. A sort of steel bathtub was lowered over the crevice, so that the diver could work with less danger of being jammed between sliding rocks. Even this collapsed after two days of use, pinning the diver there until he deflated his suit and was hauled, barely alive, to the surface. That curse again.

An arrangement was made with H. C. Nutting Company, of Cincinnati, to make test borings for determining the exact location of the chest. The first drilling struck something containing metal. It proved to be a wooden block thickly studded with old handmade spikes. But the second boring, made just outside Nelson's steel cofferdam, brought unmistakable gold smears. Again and again the drill was sunk at this spot, and each time streaks of gold appeared. The entire company assembled. There were loud and heated arguments as to how best to recover the treasure. It was thirty-two feet under water, rock and quicksand. The diver declared he could do nothing more under existing conditions, although he was sure they had struck the real thing. The jinx or curse seemed to have been standing by, laughing.

That it had something definitely amusing to laugh at is apparent to anyone trying today to get an exact chronology of subsequent events. There were twenty-one interested parties to this search, and fully that number of versions of what happened next or why the group did not succeed. Buried treasure traditionally has been the source of fights, murders and bad blood generally, and the hoard at Fowler's Bluff was no exception. First came fist fights. The twenty-one interested persons split into smaller partisan groups. Each set a watch over the others. Those who wanted to continue the recovery without delay were opposed by others who did not agree with methods proposed.

"Captain Jack," as Jack Harold was known, came home from Chiefland one night and by accident noticed some wires leading under the shack he had erected for himself. On investigation, he found fourteen sticks of dynamite in excellent position to blow him higher than the surrounding cypress trees. One of the group distributed a box of candy among the others. Those who ate it were moaning in agony a short time later. Chemical analysis revealed signs of arsenic, but, luckily, not enough to kill. That partner cleared out before the analysis came back.

The Trimmings of Fiction

One group accused another of plans to hijack the treasure when it was recovered. One man got so nervous that he built a shack up in the spreading branches of a water-oak tree and pulled his ladder up behind him when he retired each night. There were open threats of murder, and someone took a pot shot at Doctor Verrill from the edge of a near-by swamp. The crowning incident, at least so far as Captain Jack was concerned, was when he returned from a trip to Chiefland to find his house a glowing bed of coals. He gave up and left, but was believed to have spied on subsequent operations from surrounding swamps. Later, a decomposed body which several members of the operation believed his was found floating down the Suwannee toward the Gulf.

One of the partners—if such they could be called—committed suicide when he saw all his funds going into the sinkhole with nothing coming back in return. Gradually the company dwindled. One of them confided to me that fear of outright murder on the spot, even if the gold could be recovered and divided equitably, led him to quit the undertaking and charge his lost cash to interesting experience.

Finally, Doctor Verrill, still convinced that great riches or at least very interesting historical matter lay almost within grasp, was left with his wife and one or two others to carry on alone. They had no money to keep the operation going. Attempts to do the work themselves proved impossible. Reluctantly, but still convinced the treasure would be brought to light someday, they rolled up the canvas tents that had sheltered them and left the eagles and panthers in possession.

"The curse got us," he laughingly admits today.

The Mysterious Stranger

But the curse and the sands may not be victors, after all. Four years ago, shortly after Doctor Verrill left, a large tract of land that included Fowler's Bluff was purchased by Walter L. Cooper, Sanford investment and real-estate broker, primarily for logging purposes. Former owners of the Bluff retained right to a percentage of whatever was found of the treasure. That inspired Cooper to carry out the greatest research yet completed concerning the cache and its possible source. Today he is convinced, as are many of his friends, state officials and qualified engineers who have studied the evidence and inspected the site, that there is wealth of some kind buried there, and that it can be recovered with proper modern machinery.

At the time the original map was dated, the site was occupied by friendly Creek Indians, ancestors of present-day Seminoles. Government records confirm the fact that Gasparilla, Billy (Bowlegs) Rogers, Lafitte and others of their fraternity used the estuary of the Suwannee as a meeting place where they traded loot—Lafitte was actually more a pirate fence than an outright buccaneer—and made plans for raids. Billy Bowlegs lived until 1888, when he died at the age of ninety-five.

The stranger who appeared in Hardee Town shortly after Billy's death, some authorities reason, might well have come into possession of the map just prior to or following his death, and could well have been a cabin boy with Lafitte, since several of his men retired from piracy and joined Billy when he settled near Tallahassee.

As this is written, plans are under way to move large dredges over to Fowler's Bluff from Mobile. A New York engineering firm, using the latest instruments developed by Westinghouse, is to supervise the dredging of a small harborlike basin which will take in all the territory where the treasure, according to the old map, might be buried. Every scoop of sand will be filtered, on the possibility that chests of coins might have been damaged.

The War Department has granted permission for the navigable channel in the river to be changed, as this dredging operation will necessitate. Divers have been engaged to keep an underwater watch as each scoop is lifted from the bottom. With ample funds to carry the operation to completion, Cooper is convinced that secrets the "curse" has been guarding so many years soon will be wrested from the Suwannee's treacherous and tenacious sands by modern mechanical force.

Further to this on checking through the web, a couple more links tells us that today the story is still not resolved.

http://news.google.com/newspapers?i...50512&dq=spanish-gold&hl=en

and follow up:

http://news.google.com/newspapers?i...dq=gold+doubloons+florida&hl=en

and later

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2007/03/070315-pirate-treasure.html

Devil Fishes

2011-12-05T17:01:00.001-04:00

Devil Fishes and their Kin

Animal Life (Column)

A. Hyatt Verrill, with photos from nature by the author

Popular Science; Nov. 1901; researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, Dec. 2011

Of all the various groups of mollusca none are more striking in appearance than the Cephalopods. Moreover, among them are found the largest of all invertebrates, —the giant squids.

The most familiar of the group are the squids and octopus, commonly called "Devil-fishes." As the name implies the Octopus has eight arms. These are usually about equal in length, surrounding the mouth (in which are situated the beak-like jaws) and equipped along their inner surface with a great number of suckers for seizing their prey. The food consists almost entirely of crustaceans which are readily torn to pieces by the powerful jaws, while held in the strong, muscular arms. The body of the octopus is short and rounded, pulpy, and highly muscular and contractile. The head is small and joined directly to the body except on the under side where a slit occurs, from which projects the siphon tube.

The octopus possesses perhaps in greater degree than any other creature the power of changing color at will. Ordinarily the color of the common Octopus granulosus, of the southern states and West Indies, is pale flesh-color, mottled with minute greenish-red and yellow spots. When disturbed, the color instantly changes; waves of red, blue, green or purple surging over the animal, sometimes in blotches, sometimes completely covering the surface. When exceedingly angry the color is a deep purplish-red. Aside from this power the octopus, in common with all cephalopods, has a peculiar habit of ejecting a purplish or black fluid or "ink" in order to conceal itself, and it is from this fluid that the true "India Ink" is prepared. An old jest is that a disputant in print may hide himself in a cloud of ink.

On the Pacific coasts the octopus attains a very large size, specimens measuring ten or twelve feet from tip to tip being not unusual. In the Atlantic the largest specimens seldom reach a spread of more than five feet. An octopus of this size, however, can put up a good fight, and it is by no means an easy matter to capture them by hand. They are often seen,—where common as in Bermuda,—hiding beneath ledges or in crevices of the rocks between high and low-water mark. If grasped firmly just back of the head there is no danger of getting bitten, but the long tentacles instantly twist and curl about the hands and arm, sticking uncomfortably tight with the multitude of sharp-edged suckers. They are remarkably strong, and a specimen weighing five or six pounds is almost a match for any man. They are lively, too, and manage to travel about on rocks or sand at quite a rapid pace. These peculiarities, combined with their remarkable contractile power (which enables them to slip between one's fingers in a most amazing way), renders them very difficult to hold. Moreover, wherever the arms touch they stick, and I have frequently worked for half an hour before getting a small octopus safely stowed in the collecting pail.

Besides the genus Octopus there are a number of deep-sea genera allied and much resembling it in form and habits. Closely allied to Octopus are the "paper-sailors," or Argonauts, belonging to the genus Argonauta. These animals, famed in song and story, are so much like an octopus in appearance that a description of one would serve almost as well for the other. The main difference consists in one pair of the argonaut's arms being specially formed for grasping and holding in place the delicate shell with which the beautiful creatures are provided. From the inner surface of these specialized arms the shell is secreted. The shell serves as a receptacle for carrying the eggs and is present only in the female.

The true Nautilus has a much heavier and brighter-colored shell, and it is, moreover, constructed with a series of internal chambers or partitions, the body of the animal occupying only the outermost chamber. The animal of the Nautilus is much like an octopus, but the arms are much shorter and the body specialized for living within the spacious shell. The main interest in the Nautilus lies in the fact that it is very closely allied to the fossil Ammonites, which grew to an immense size. The Nautilus is a native of the Indian and western Pacific Oceans, while the Argonauts are Gulf Stream and Mediterranean inhabitants. Neither of them possesses the power of sailing on the surface, however,—the traditional belief being based on the paddle-shaped arms of the latter, whose purpose was for many years unknown.

Akin to the Octopus, and forming a sort of connecting link between them and the squids, are the true Cuttlefishes, of the genus Sepia. The body in this genus is shorter and more rounded than in the squids, but much longer and broader than in the octopus. Moreover it is provided with a thin fin-like edge all around its circumference. The resemblance of the arms to the squids is very strong, there being eight short stout ones, and two longer ones,—the latter with but a few small suckers, except at the broadened spear-shaped tips. It is from the various species of Sepia that the best India ink is prepared, and the internal "pen" or bone forms the "cuttlefish bone" found in every well-regulated canary's cage.

The true squids contain a number of genera, the commonest and best known of which is Loligo. The squids are rather slender-bodied and are almost cylindrical. The tail is provided with broad flaps or fins and in some cases these extend almost the entire length of the body. There are ten arms,—eight short and almost equal and two longer—usually widened at the tip. Unlike the octopus, which lives in holes and seldom swims far from home, the squids are pelagic and swim swiftly and readily, having no fixed abode. Whereas, the octopus possesses no internal skeleton, the squids have a pen or rudimentary skeleton which in some species is merely a thin, horny, plate, and in others calcareous and strong.

The squids are very abundant on the Atlantic coast and are much used for bait. The "flying squids" of the Gulf Stream are more tropical species and have a peculiar habit of projecting themselves from the water,—not infrequently jumping or "flying" so high as to land on the deck of vessels. The squids of the genus Architeuthis are the largest of invertebrates and sometimes attain a length of 40 feet. These huge creatures are natives of the northern seas, and most of the known specimens were obtained on the coast of Newfoundland, where they were found washed ashore after heavy storms. Remains of others have been found in the stomachs of sperm whales, and they are supposed to form a good portion of the food of these marine mammals. Without doubt the old stories of sea monsters, such as the fabulous "kraken," were based on these giant cephalopods. The little Spirulas are perhaps the least known of any of the cephalopod group. Although the empty, coiled shells are found washed up by thousands in many tropical parts of the world, less than a dozen specimens of the animal are in collections, and only two or three of these are anywhere near perfect. The animal is much like a miniature octopus but the shell, instead of being external as in the Argonauts, is situated within the posterior portion of the body. At the extreme end of the animal is a small sucker. All the perfect specimens have been obtained from a depth of 900 fathoms or more, and they are supposed to live upon the ocean bottom, adhering to stones or other objects by means of the sucker. Other specimens have been obtained from the stomachs of dolphins, and during the past year several were found by the writer on the coast of Bermuda, with the animal matter adhering, proving beyond a doubt that the little known creatures live in the immediate vicinity of the Bermuda islands.

Naked Molluscs

2011-12-05T16:36:00.002-04:00

Naked Molluscs of the Sea

A. Hyatt Verrill

Popular Science; Aug., 1901; Researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle Dec. 2011.

As their name implies, the naked molluscs include those genera of mollusca in which the shell is absent or rudimentary.

The group includes the Nudibranchs, naked Tectibranchs, and Cephalopods, although the latter are not properly included in the group. The form, colors, habits, etc., of the various genera are very variable, and even different species of the same genus would hardly be recognized as related. The northern waters are not very prolific in species, but the various genera are well represented. On the New England coast Doris, Aplysia, Aeolis, Elysia, as well as the squids (Loligo), and in deeper water the Octopus occur.

The Doris is readily distinguishable by its ovate body, branched or plumose gills and single pair of tentacles. Aplysia includes those curious creatures the "Sea Cats" or Sea Hares, and are distinguished by the broad flaps or "fins" on the back, two pairs of tentacles, rudimentary shell and partially concealed gills, as well as by their habit of emitting a colored fluid or "ink," similar to that of the Cephalopods. Aeolis is a pretty genus with body covered with papillae, usually of considerable length. In tropical and neotropical waters these creatures are very abundant and the colors,—sometimes protective, sometimes warning,—are often striking and brilliant.

The Aplysias are the largest of the true naked molluscs and often attain a length of 12 or 14 inches. They are slow-moving, somewhat sluggish, creatures, crawling deliberately about on the algae and browsing, much in the manner of ruminants; in fact the similarity is so pronounced that "sea-cow" would be far more appropriate as a name. They swim readily and gracefully by their large body-flaps and eject large quantities of purplish or reddish "ink" when disturbed. They are usually greenish or grayish in color, marked with darker shades, but some species are entirely brown or black. The eggs are laid in long strings attached to algae or stones and usually more or less coiled. They are considered poisonous by ignorant people, and as far as known no other animals will eat them. They are very abundant in the Bermudas, and frequently several hundred individuals may be seen at one time. The species of the Doris group,—belonging to several genera,—are small, seldom reaching a greater size than three inches in length and are usually brightly colored. Purple, green, orange, blue, pink and in fact nearly every conceivable tint and shade is worn by these pretty creatures. The color, however, is generally protective.

Chromodoris roseopicta is gray, marked with white, black, and coral-red and exactly matches the small red sponges and gray bathing sponges on which it lives. Chromodoris zebra is brilliant blue and golden-orange, arranged in longitudinal stripes, but when beneath the surface of the exceedingly blue Bermuda water is hardly noticeable. The eggs of the Doris family are laid in broad gelatinous ribbons coiled and attached to dead corals, sponges or stones.

The Aeolis group are usually semi-transparent, bluish or yellowish in tint, with papilla tipped and banded with red, blue or orange. They live on algae and are small in size. They are delicate and beautiful things but very difficult to preserve in good shape.

Pleurobranchus and Pleurobranchopsis are oval, rounded forms, the former possessing a concealed shell and free gill at side; the latter having gill attached along its entire length and lacking a shell. Pleurobranchopsis, as far as known, contains but one species, P. aurantiaca, of Bermuda,—a bright, orange-colored species, two or three inches long. It lives under stones and among corals and is exactly the same color as numerous sponges associated with it.

To my mind, however, the most interesting individuals of the entire group of naked molluscs are the Elysias,—small species, in general form resembling the Aplysias, but differing in having no external gill, one pair of tentacles, no siphon-tube and no shell. They are lively, often brightly colored animals and usually gregarious, especially during the breeding season.

Elysia ornata,—which until the present year was only known from a poor figure, —was found by the writer among green algae at Bermuda. When first discovered only two specimens were found, and were considered a great prize. A few days later I again visited the locality and was agreeably surprised to find them so exceedingly abundant that over 400 were collected in less than half an hour. At this time they were engaged in depositing their eggs,—a very interesting process,— on the algae and stones just below low water mark. The eggs were first laid in a long, slender string, attached by one end to a suitable support. The owner then passed slowly along, guiding the string of eggs with his mouth and foot, coiling it neatly and fastening it securely down as he did so. The color of this species is olive-green, speckled with black and white, with the edge of mantle and tips of rhinophores broadly ornamented with a band of orange and black. Three days after they were observed breeding they had become scarce, and a few weeks later had entirely disappeared.

Two specimens of another (undescribed) species were obtained about the same time, and these, for brilliancy of coloration, eclipsed all other species I have ever seen. The body was bright wine-color, spotted with creamy-yellow and pale-green, while mantle and tentacles were decorated with bands of azure-blue, vermillion, yellow and green. Despite this gaudy coloring, the little fellows were scarcely visible among the mass of algae, sponges, hydroids, etc., on the under side of the stone where found. Many naked molluscs are specialized for particular habits and localities. Syllia, for example,—which lives on the sargassum of the Gulf Stream,—matches in its mottled orange, olive and brown the floating gulf weed, and to still further-simulate its surroundings, possesses long, irregular shaped projections or filaments on the back.

Dolabella, on the other hand, although closely related to Aplysia, has the "fins" rudimentary, folded close to the back, and like the rest of the body, covered with branching, tree-shaped appendages or papillae. These and the dull brown or olive-green color, render it almost invisible upon the slimy, algae-coated rocks and reefs which are its habitat.

From these examples it will be seen how far the shell-less molluscs of the sea surpass in variety and beauty those of the land, which are known as slugs.

Trailing the Gun Runners Pt1

2011-11-27T12:32:00.005-04:00

We have been looking for this item for a number of years until it got up in the top 10 in ‘Missing Verrill’. A copy of the magazine came up on eBay at a price I could not afford but the vender was persuaded to sell me a clear digital copy. This story probably has not been read in it’s entirety for eighty years until now. Enjoy!/drf

Trailing The Gun Runners

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Author of "The Syndicate of Terror," "Pearls Beyond Price," etc.

A two-part story – Part1, from Secret Service Stories magazine, August 1928, digitized by Doug Frizzle Nov. 2011.

Gale and his "Man Friday," start out on their mission for Uncle Sam and run into many weird experiences in their quest for the smugglers. A mighty interesting story.

I START ON MY MISSION

IT was a wonderful tropic evening, soft and balmy, with a gentle breeze rustling the palm fronds with a caressing touch and filling the air with the delicate odor of jasmine and orange blossoms. Overhead, the full moon rode in a dome of indigo sprinkled with countless stars and, low in the heavens, hung the brilliant Southern Cross.

Beyond the twinkling lights of the little town, the bay shimmered in the moonlight and silhouetted the black hull of a mail steamer swinging at her moorings near the quay while, from distant dance halls, came the dreamy strains of "Sobre las olas" and the liquid tinkling of guitars.

Lulled by the charm of the night, we had ceased our conversation and sat silently smoking in the vine-shaded gallery of Le Croix's house.

Presently, from the fort on the hill, a bugle sounded "taps," breaking rudely into our thoughts, and LeCroix spoke:

"That reminds me," he said, "Mateo was in today. He says all the people are talking revolution and that arms and ammunition are plenty in the interior."

"The rotten beggars!" exclaimed Branch, the British Consul. "How the bounders evade you customs chaps is most extraordinary, Merrit."

"Yes, hang it all!" cried Merritt, the Customs Inspector. "But they do get by us just the same. I'll stake my reputation they don't get their stuff through the ports, though. It may come over the Haitien border, or they may land it at some Godforsaken part of the coast, or, for all I know, they may bring it by airplane. The revenue boats are on the job day and night, the border is patrolled, and if an airship ever showed up here the people would have a panic. Just the same, they get the goods."

"There are plenty of chances," declared Le Croix, the steamship agent. "You can't expect to guard two hundred miles of jungle border with a few dozen lazy natives, nor watch a thousand miles of coast with three tin gunboats. Nobody can blame you, Merritt; but our Uncle Samuel will have to give you more men and boats if he doesn't want to fall down on his job of keeping peace in by keeping arms out."

"What I want is a few good men, not a crowd of boobs," exclaimed Merritt. “If I had even one good, smart Yankee, and the spigottys didn't know he was a revenue man, he might be able to locate the leaks; but I haven't him."

"By Jove!" cried Branch. "I say, Gale, old top, why don't you help Merritt out? You knock about all over the island and none of the natives would conceive of a bug-hunter being interested in their game. Top hole idea, don't you think?"

Merritt's feet came down from the rail with a bang and, slapping Branch on the shoulder, he cried: "Hang it all, man, you've hit the idea all right! What say, Gale? Drop your bugs and orchids and hunt smugglers for a change. I'll fix the salary all right—say two hundred a week and expenses. Is it a go?"

For a space I was nonplussed. Here was I, a naturalist-explorer, being asked to turn special revenue agent to trail down the gun-runners. To be sure, my collecting work was practically completed and I was free lance anyway. The work promised excitement and adventure and the salary was not to be scoffed at. In a moment my mind was made up. "All right," I said, "I'll take it. I don't believe your smugglers are any harder to find than that orchid I showed you, nor any shyer than the trogans. I'm tired of small fry and long for big game, anyway."

"Righto, old chap!" cried Branch.

"I'll bet on Gale," declared LeCroix.

"When do you start?" queried the practical Merritt.

"Daybreak tomorrow," I replied, adding: "By the way, LeCroix, is your motor boat in good shape? I'll borrow her if you don't mind. Can Mateo run her?"

"Welcome to the boat," answered our host. "Yes, Mateo handles her well. I'll tell him to be ready at the dock tomorrow morning at five. Want any supplies?"

"No thanks," I replied. "I'll take my own outfit in the canoe. I'm off to the Colorado swamps to explore the river, if anyone asks questions. I imagine Mateo's a good talker and the more he talks about the crazy Yankee over in the Colorado the better. I'll be back by canoe when I'm ready, so don't send for me. If I want to communicate I'll find a way. But don't let anyone make me a week-end visit. Did Mateo mention where he heard most of the revolutionary talk?"

"He came in from the south," replied LeCroix. "Said every man in the Seybo district was a walking arsenal already. But the whole southeast of the Republic appears full of arms."

"Well, boys," I remarked with a yawn, "it's late and if I'm starting at dawn I'll have to turn in."

Merritt and Branch also rose, and bidding goodnight to LeCroix, we passed between the masses of shrubbery to the street.

Branch left us at the first corner, but Merritt trudged along up the hill with me, talking over the details of my coming trip.

"Gale," he ejaculated, after Branch had left us, "I'll bet old Fales is at the bottom of this deal. Remember how slick he got the goods in for the last rebellion when Mendoza was president? Shipped his cartridges in as tinned vegetables and meats. Never would have been discovered if it hadn't been for a hungry Turks Island stevedore. The nigger dropped a case of beans and copped one of the tins for his lunch. When he opened it up, instead of Van Camp's best, he found it filled with 30-30s packed in black powder—nice, pleasant job it must have been to solder it up, eh! It didn't help us much. Couldn't very well open every tin that came in, and couldn't prove anything on the shippers anyway. Some of the stuff was genuine all right. Opened half a dozen cases and all bona-fide things. Not a mark to show which was which. Tried weighing, but that was no go. Real beans and ammunition tins balanced to a "T". While we waited for instructions from Washington the revolution broke out; but as old Mendoza got wise through the nigger's find he licked the life out of Fale's men. Old Miguel had to beat it over the border and hit Jamaica. Used to entertain the tourists there, telling how he fooled the Yankees with his loaded bean tins.

"He's a mighty decent sort, too. Jolly, good natured, gentlemanly old chap. Educated at Princeton and talks United States as well as anyone. Never lets on, though, and pretends he doesn't spout anything but Spanish, unless you're wise to him."

"I think I've met your friend," I replied. "At least, I became acquainted with a native of that name coming down on the ship. Stout, light-colored fellow with laughing eyes and thin mustache. Always wore a skull cap and smoked long, black cigars. We were quite friendly on the ship, after he found I spoke Spanish, and seemed well up on scientific matters. He took a lot of interest in my work and told me about the birds and gave me valuable hints on the country. He said he lived at 'La Antigua' in the Seybo and invited me to visit him there. Promised a good time and said there were lots of rare things in his neighborhood; but I've never run over there yet."

"That's Don Miguel, all right," declared Merritt. "Has a big estate over there and lives like a feudal lord with an army of half wild retainers. After old Mendoza got out and Carillo came in, Fales came back. Lives an easy life, but loves kicking up trouble for excitement. Money's no object—he's got at least a million salted down in the States, You're in luck, Gale. If Miguel asked you over you'll be as welcome as the flowers in May, and knowing you came here after bugs he'll never suspect you're looking for anything else. If the buzzing is over in Seybo, you can bet old Fales is the queen-bee of the hive. Be careful, Gale; if he or any of his bunch get wise to your game you'll never see little old New York again, my boy."

By now we had reached my hotel and Merritt stopped for a few last words before leaving me.

"Draw on LeCroix for expense money or anything you may want," he said. "I don't want anything to show up between us, and if you send any messages put them through LeCroix or Branch. If you need one of the gunboats anywhere, just let me know and we'll send her around. But what's this Colorado stunt, Gale? There's nothing doing over there. What is it, just a bluff?"

I laughed. "I've a hunch, Merritt," I answered, "but I'm not giving my plans away, even to you; but, nevertheless, as they say of Postum, 'there's a reason'."

"All right," laughed Merritt. "I don't want to know anything—as long as we get results. Good luck to you and for God's sake and your own, take care of yourself."

With a hearty handshake he left me and I watched his spruce, white-clad form disappear in the shadows as he walked briskly towards his bungalow. Although it was late when I reached my hotel routed out a sleepy servant and sent him with a message to Joseph. Joseph was my "Man Friday," my porter and my traveling companion combined. A St. Thomas boy, black as night, but with the features of the Caucasian and the dignity of a Spanish Grandee. Over six feet in height and lean as a rail, he seemed built of whipcord and steel and was ever ready to obey any command regardless of time or place. Taciturn, faithful, willing and honest, and with an intelligence far above his class, he had proved an ideal servant and had accompanied me on all my expeditions into the interior.

Only on one occasion had he ever balked—when he first entered my little Oldtown canoe. His long, grasshopper-like legs were a serious handicap in the tiny craft, and he had grave fears of its seaworthiness. After one or two experiences, he became accustomed to the canoe, however, and now, after numerous voyages on rivers and bays, he was as fond of the craft and could handle her as well as myself. He had the greatest contempt for the natives, especially those of his own color, and classed them all under the general term of "stupid niggers." I therefore felt that Joseph would be an essential part of my expedition and could be fully trusted to keep secret anything which might be discovered.

With the first sign of dawn the next morning, Joseph knocked at my door and, shouldering my dunnage, he departed for the dock. Eating a hasty breakfast, I gathered up my few remaining things and made my way through the still sleeping town to the water-front.

Early as it was, LeCroix was waiting at the quay to see me off, his little gasoline launch ready, with my canoe laid across its deck, and with Joseph seated on our bundles in the bow. Mateo was on hand, and after a few parting words with LeCroix, I stepped aboard, Mateo cranked the motor, and as the chugging exhaust aroused the drowsy pelicans on the beach, the painter was cast off and our voyage began.

In a few moments the dock was left far astern and LeCroix, waving his hand in farewell, was hidden by the mist rising from the water at the touch of the golden sun as it rose amid a riot of color, beyond the palm trees on the point.

As yet I had scarcely spoken to Mateo, for he had been busy about the motor, but now, with a twenty-mile run before us, he had nothing to do but steer and talk. He was a Porto Rican, with the clear skin and reddish hair often found among the natives of Catalan descent, and being an honest and intelligent chap had risen to the position of purchasing agent for LeCroix, his duties being to travel through the interior and purchase cacao beans from the small farmers. In this work he met natives of every class and, being of a sociable and talkative disposition, he made innumerable friends and knew the gossip of every town, village and barrio in the Republic. As he regarded LeCroix with a sort of reverence and boasted that he was an "Americano" himself, he was quick to report anything that savored of revolution or of disloyalty to his adopted country.

He was filled with curiosity as to why I was going to the Colorado, for to him the vast mangrove swamps at the river's mouth were most oppressive, and he could not conceive how anyone in his senses would leave civilization to camp amid such solitudes. He rattled on with Joseph and, as I expected, began to chatter of his recent trip through the island. "And who knows?" said he, "when you return from the Colorado—if God wills that you are not eaten by mosquitoes or killed by fever—but that you may find a new president at El Capital. Everywhere is there talk of revolt, never have I bought cacao so cheaply, Senores. The people desire guns and to buy guns they must of a truth have money. Poor Dios! Had Don Enrique but given me cartridges in place of gold, I could have made his fortune, and yet, one can buy guns cheaply, yes! At Almacen, two months ago, a gun was worth three sacks of cacao and cartridges cost two reales each and now, but Thursday last—when I stopped at Seybo, one could buy a gun more cheaply than a horse, while cartridges—a peso would purchase a dozen. Twas so I told Don Enrique, that he might apprise the Senor Merritt, for it takes not the fortune teller to know that when arms are thus plenty the smugglers are busy."

Not caring to show undue interest in his story, and yet wishing to learn all I could of the district, I remarked casually: "But tell me, Mateo, what sort of a country is this ! Seybo? Is it mountainous or flat, wet or dry; do the people raise cattle or crops? It's a part of the island I have not yet seen."

"Ah, Senor!" replied the Porto Rican, "the Seybo is a beautiful country. For many leagues can one ride over great savannas of rich grass where hundreds of cattle and horses grow sleek and fat. Here and there are clumps of trees—growing in barrancas—and in these the Senor should indeed find good hunting—pigeon and parrot, perdiz and Guinea fowl—all lurk in these barrancas with deer and other game besides. On the savannas are many villages, El Valle, La Ceiba, Cienaga and others; some a score of houses, others of greater size. Here live those who grow the cacao upon the rich hillsides about the plains. But near the sea the hills grow higher and the savannas narrow. 'Tis here the rich men live—Don Miguel Fales, old Jose Moya, Manuel Pedro Gonzales, all with great estates and many men. Here, too, grows the sugar and the fruits and cacao. Truly 'tis a rich land and great wealth have the owners amassed. Of a truth, Senor, you would do well to visit the Seybo."

Evidently Mateo knew the district well, but he could give me little information that I did not already have, and I gave myself up to plans of my campaign and allowed him to chatter on with Joseph.

The mist had now cleared from the bay and the magnificent sheet of water stretched away for miles to the south and east. Before us, a dozen miles distant, the Sierras rose above the horizon, their summits wreathed in rosy clouds and their rugged forest-covered slopes purple in the morning light.

Nearer and to the west, the deep, rich green of the mangrove swamps marked the limit of the bay, the home of countless water-fowl and of myriads of mosquitoes, and the haunt of enormous alligators.

Soon the motor was slowed down and Mateo told Joseph to keep a sharp lookout for floating logs which here, there and everywhere appeared—just level with the water's surface. At last the logs became fewer, and presently we were again speeding through clear water across the mouth of the great river. Soon the launch was run ashore on a little island, and in a few moments the various bundles, the guns and the tent were put ashore with the canoe, Joseph and I pushed off the launch, Mateo started his motor and was soon out of sight beyond the nearest point, and we were alone.

IN THE CAVERNS OF SAN LORENZO

As soon as Mateo was fairly off, Joseph pushed his way into the bush towards the interior of the island, evidently bent on exploration. A minute later, there was a tremendous crashing as something dashed headlong through the brush, and, the next instant, Joseph rushed madly from the jungle, a perfect cloud of mosquitoes swarming about him. Beating wildly with both hands, he dashed forward to the beach and, dropping on all fours, plunged head and shoulders into the water. As he rose, dripping and spluttering, I burst out laughing, for his expression of mingled anger and offended dignity was irresistible.

"Boss!" he exclaimed, "Ah'm ready to do mos' arnythin' an' go arny place; but man! If yo' arsk me, this place is pure corruption an' no spot fo' campin', sir!"

"Never mind, Joseph," I replied, "We're not going to camp here, so don't worry. Just pack all the things in the canoe, with guns and cartridges handy, and we'll soon leave your mosquito friends to themselves."

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, but forebore to question, and at once commenced to busy himself with the baggage.

At last all was ready, and shoving our little craft into the water, we stepped in, picked up our paddles and started down stream. While Joseph had been packing I had been considering how much I should take him into my confidence. I knew he would be of the greatest assistance, for by mingling with the people we met he would learn a great deal which would never reach my ears otherwise, and his color would enable him to win the confidence of the natives far more readily than I could hope to do. As I had already proved his intelligence and devotion to me, and as he was not talkative, I had no fear of his betraying my secret. My only fear was that in his zeal to help he might be incautious and arouse suspicions by his questions, but on the whole, I decided that it was wisest to inform him fully of the nature of my; trip.

"Joseph," I said after we had been paddling for a few moments, "I suppose you're wondering where we're going and what we're after. I want you to remember that everything I'm going to tell you must be kept a secret. If you even let anyone guess the truth it may mean death for both of us, and it certainly will mean that we'll be in a heap of trouble. We're bound on a dangerous trip and if you want to turn back, or are afraid of risking your life, let me know before it's too late."

Joseph's reply was prompt and to the point, as I had felt it would be.

"Mr. Gale, Ah'm pleased to have yo' trus' me an' yo' know Ah'll never be false to yo' confidence. Ah'm not minded to dessart yo', sir, an' Ah'm not afraid of arnythin', when yo's with me, no."

"Thanks for the compliment, Joseph," I laughed. "If you do well on this trip there's a nice little pile of money coming to you. We're bound to San Lorenzo and places beyond, and we're going to try and catch the gun-runners. You heard Mateo's stories and how arms are being brought in. You know the United States has charge of the customs and that we've guaranteed to keep out arms and ammunition so as to prevent revolutions. I'm going to try and find out how the stuff is getting in and who's getting it, and I've an idea that it's landed somewhere on the southern shore of the bay near San Lorenzo. That's the northern entrance to the Seybo and Mateo tells us most of the guns and cartridges are over there. I want you to help me all you can. Whenever we're at a house or village get a chance to talk to the natives, keep your ears and eyes open and your mouth shut, and tell me everything you hear—whether you think it's of interest or not.

"Do you know anything about the San Lorenzo country? I've never been there, but I've heard about it, and it seems to me it's a likely spot to land a cargo."

Joseph was grinning as I finished, and replied: "When Ah was a boy, Ah was cookin' on a St. Thomas boat. Charlotte Amelie was a free po't then, yo' know, sir, an' plenty o' smugglers run from man home down the islan's. Ah knows they ways an' Ah'll be please' to he'p yo' cotch the stoopid niggers, sir. Trus' me to use mah ears an' repo't to all Ah hear. San Lorenzo's a pretty place fo' smugglers, Mr. Gale. The's a big shallow lagoon with mangrove all about an' quant'ties o' li'l canas runin' atween them. Outside the bay the's a long po'nt o' san' lan' growed over with coconut trees. This side, the lan's hilly an' full o' caves—thousan's o' them."

I laughed. "Not thousands of caves, are there, Joseph?"

"Ah'm speakin' true, Mr. Gale," he replied in a somewhat injured tone. "Ev'ry hill has a cave, sir, an' off the sho' the's plenty o' li'l' keys, an ev'ry key has a cave in it. Ah worked at Cana Honda one time, an' Ah been to the caves of 'em. The stoopid niggers use to tell as how a treasure was hid in one o’ the caves an' we use' to spen' our holidays a sarchin' fo' it."

"That must be a fine place for smugglers," I responded; "but if there are so many caves it will be some job to locate the right one. You say you worked at Cana Honda. Do you know the road from there to Seybo?"

"Yessir," he answered, "Ah been over that ol’ road many a time. It cert'nly is a bad road, narsty Ah call it, sir."

"Is that the only trail to Seybo from this side, Joseph?"

"Yessir, mos' of the people go by way o' the south sho' by boat."

"Cana Honda's deserted now, since the company failed, isn't it?" I asked.

"No, sir, the's a caretaker there. A Dutchman named Hirechfeldt with a native wife; but the's no work goin' on. The plantation's all growed to bush an' the docks gone."

I was glad I had consulted Joseph on these matters, for his knowledge of our destination was invaluable. I had heard of the landlocked bay of San Lorenzo, of the huge abandoned estate of the Cana Honda Company and, vaguely, of the wonderful caves; but Joseph actually had worked on the estate and knew the ground intimately.

To my mind there was little doubt that the smuggled arms found their way to the Seybo from the northern side, for I well knew the efficiency of coast patrol—consisting of the three miniature gunboats officered by American customs men—and I felt sure that no native would take the risk of running in to land a cargo on an open coast where one of the patrols might pounce upon them at any moment. The great Bay of Samana, with its low shores, shoal waters, tortuous channels and wooded islands offered far greater opportunities and, if a vessel could once enter the bay unsuspected and then hugged the southern shore after nightfall, there would be nothing to prevent the crew from making a safe landing in one of the smaller bays or lagoons with their thick fringe of mangroves.

As the only available trail from the southern shore of the bay to the interior of the Seybo district led from San Lorenzo, I had decided that this was the most promising point at which to commence my hunt.

"Mr. Gale," said Joseph presently, "Ah'm arskin' yo' pardon, sir, but Ah'll be please' to know why we went to Colorado first, sir?"

It was the first time he had ever evinced the least curiosity as to my movements and I realized that, in so doing, he had naively hinted that now he had been taken into my secret of the trip he considered himself a member of the revenue force, rather than a servant whose duty it was to obey commands and ask no questions.

"I headed for the Colorado just to throw Mateo off our track," I replied. "I knew he'd report where we went to everyone, and if the gunrunners got wind of strangers about San Lorenzo they might keep away, even if they believed we were still bug hunting. Besides, by keeping close inshore we can dodge behind one of the keys, or into the mangroves, if we see anyone about. With the green canoe we can't be seen more than a few hundred feet away, while the launch or a sailboat would be hard to keep out of sight. As soon as we get near the first key we'll head close inshore and go carefully. I plan to spend the afternoon hidden within easy reach of San Lorenzo bay, and if you know of a cave where we can camp and hide the canoe, and from which we can keep watch on the bay and lagoon, we'll run there after dark and stay until we locate the smugglers' boats, if they really come this way."

"Yessir," replied Joseph promptly. "Ah know a cave tha's jus' the spot yo' wish. Ah don' doubt yo' humbugged Mateo. Yo' heard what he said a-comin' over, sir."

A little later we approached close to the shore and soon spied a landing place, a little beach in a small cove among the trees, where we ran the canoe ashore and made a noonday camp. As Joseph busied himself with the cooking, I studied a map of the country and found we should just about reach San Lorenzo by sundown. Then, going to the canoe, I got out a heavy Colt's .38 and a box of cartridges which I handed to Joseph, remarking, "Here's a present for you, Joseph. You may need it at any time and at any rate it will make you feel brave. But don't turn revolutionist in order to use your gun, and for Heaven's sake don't gamble away your cartridges or let anyone steal them."

He thanked me profusely and dropped his cooking while he strapped on the holster, as proud as a peacock and grinning broadly at my remark, for Joseph was not a gambling man and knew I was merely joking. As a matter of fact, I had little faith in the efficiency of the gun in Joseph's hands for, as I far as I knew, he had never used a revolver in his life; but I felt that if it did come to shooting he was quite as likely to hit his assailant as to be hit, for the natives are notoriously bad revolver shots and depend mainly on their long, swordlike machetes when at close quarters. Both Joseph and myself invariably carried these useful implements, and, in addition, I had a double-barreled shotgun, a 25-35 Marlin repeating rifle and a Savage automatic, so that I felt we were well able to take care of ourselves in case of trouble. Little did I dream how much my present to Joseph would mean to me, or how much I erred in my estimation of Joseph's marksmanship.

We soon finished our meal, and pushing off, resumed our trip towards San Lorenzo, keeping close to the shore and maintaining a sharp lookout for boats, but for several hours we saw nothing.

About three o'clock, however, a sail was sighted emerging from behind a large island half-way across the bay; but as it stood away from us and headed towards the northern shore we decided it was some freighter on legitimate business. A little later, a smudge of smoke trailed across the eastern horizon and we watched the Clyde liner as she worked slowly up the bay, hugging the channel a couple of miles to the north. Shortly after this the character of the land, ahead and to the south, began to change, the low-lying, rounded coastal ridge growing more and more broken and presently giving way to numerous sharp, conical hills.

Joseph called my attention to these and remarked that they were the "cave hills" he had mentioned, and half an hour later, we reached the base of the nearest one.

This hill stood near the water, its steep, brush-covered sides rising abruptly from the bay with merely a few masses of broken rock for a beach. Rounding one of these accumulations of debris, a large, arched opening was disclosed in the side of the hill, its roof four or five feet above our heads, and passing under the arch we entered the cavern and floated upon the calm water within. Overhead the roof rose to a height of thirty or forty feet and gleamed with countless stalactites of every size from tiny, needle-like affairs to great, inverted cones five or six feet in diameter. On every side the water extended, far into the dim recesses among the limestone columns and, looking down through the crystal clear water, we could see the white, sandy bottom a score of feet beneath us, and could watch the bright-hued fishes swimming lazily about amid the broken bits of stalactites and marine growth on the floor of the grotto.

Far above our heads, a break in the rocky roof admitted sunlight, but in many places the cave was dark and mysterious with shadows. On one side was a little beach, and landing here, we walked about among the huge stalagmites, which, joined with the stalactites above, formed huge, stone columns of innumerable forms.

It was an ideal spot for smugglers, for a good-sized boat easily could pass through the entrance; but Joseph stated that in rough weather the waves dashed into the cavern with terrific force.

Leaving this first cave we continued on our way and, as we had an abundance of time, we paddled near each conical hill that was in our course and in every one—as Joseph had said—was a cave of some sort.

In some cases the openings were submerged and entrance was impossible, in others, the entrances were far above the water on the side of the hill. Some of the caverns had narrow slits or crevices leading to the interior, while others were merely huge, open hollows in the hillsides. In size the caves varied from small affairs a few yards square to immense chambers several hundred feet in length, and with vaulted roofs a hundred feet or more above the floor. In many instances the floors were covered several feet in depth with fossil sea shells, while in others, the floors were of shining, crystalline limestone.

As we neared San Lorenzo, we found many of the hills separated from the mainland by narrow channels and, here and there, they stood a quarter of a mile or more from shore and formed queer islands of sugar-loaf form.

I could well imagine how difficult it would be to search through all of these caves on a hunt for pirates' treasure or smugglers' contraband, and so, keeping well out of sight of possible observers by following the channels back of the isolated hills, we pushed steadily onward towards our goal.

Just as the sun topped the western mountains we reached the last of the hills, and looking ahead, saw a stretch of smooth, sheltered water bordered on its farther side by an enormous cocoanut grove stretching eastward as far as eye could see, while near us, the land fell off in rocky cliffs clothed with a jungle of brush and vines. At the foot of this cliff we could see the remains of what once had been a dock, for a few crooked iron rods and sagging timbers still projected from the shore or stood drunkenly in the water.

We had reached the end of our day's journey and before us was the entrance to San Lorenzo Bay and the neglected dock of the Cana Honda estate.

About three hundred yards from where we were, a wooded island rose to a height of some two hundred feet above the water and Joseph pointed this out as the spot he had in mind for our camp. The islet was not round or conical like the others we had seen, but was rather square, with bold precipitous sides and was overgrown with thick brush, small palms and a tangle of vines. Joseph declared that there, was a sheltered beach between the rocks and that a large, dry cave was located on the island, and I judged, from his description, that it would prove an ideal spot for my purpose.

Without further hesitation we paddled across to the islet, Joseph ran the canoe between two great masses of limestone and the little craft grated upon a smooth, white, sand beach a dozen yards in length, and completely concealed by the jutting rocks between which we had passed.

Beaching the canoe, Joseph led the way for a few yards inland and pushing aside the hanging vines, disclosed the entrance to a cavern. Stepping within, I was surprised to find the interior almost as light as outside, and looking about, I discovered that the apex of the domed roof was open to the sky, and through the aperture I could see the branches of a tree and the drooping fronds of a palm so sharply outlined, so clear and distinct, and yet seemingly so far away, that they appeared as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.

The cave was immense, it apparently occupied the entire interior of the island and left merely a shell of rock surrounding it. The floor was deep with fossil shells and sloped gradually towards the further side, but in many places masses of stalactites had dropped from the roof and had fallen to the floor forming piles of broken rock a dozen feet in height.

Scrambling over these, I noticed a narrow opening on the opposite aide of the cavern about three feet above the floor. Making my way to this crevice I peered out and to my satisfaction found that I could look directly upon the entrance to San Lorenzo Bay and the cocoanut grove beyond. This was indeed a spot exactly suited to my purpose, and which could scarcely have been improved upon if made to order. Our canoe was invisible to passing boats, the main entrance to the cave was concealed by hanging vines, the smoke from our fire would scarcely be visible as it issued from among the trees around the natural chimney in the lofty roof, and by peering from our peep-hole we could maintain a constant watch upon the bay beyond.

Fresh water was the one thing lacking, but Joseph assured me that there would be no trouble on that score, for a good-sized stream ran into the bay on the mainland near at hand, and it would be an easy matter to paddle across after nightfall and secure our daily supply.

It was now growing dark, and hastening to the canoe, we soon transferred our belongings to the cave, and selecting a spot behind a barrier of fallen dripstone, so that the light would not be visible through the openings, a fire was soon blazing cheerfully and Joseph cooked supper.

As soon as the meal was over, Joseph paddled ashore for water while I maintained a watch upon the bay through the peep-hole. As we had no idea at what hour a smuggling vessel might arrive, I determined that one of us must be constantly on watch from sunset to sunrise, for I felt sure that if a vessel approached it would be after nightfall.

Within half an hour Joseph returned with our two canteens and a demijohn filled with water and I told him of my plan for keeping a sharp lookout and offered to take the first watch lasting until midnight, and he at once curled up on his blankets and was soon sleeping soundly.

I soon found that my task of keeping a lookout was far more difficult than I had imagined. I was tired with the long canoe trip, and peering steadily through the opening towards the bay had an almost hypnotic effect. The soft night-wind rustled the foliage of the trees, the gentle swell of the water broke in little waves against the rocks with a sleepy, swishing sound and several times I found myself nodding and my eyes closing, and roused myself with a start until finally I was obliged to walk back and forth, occasionally scanning the bay through the crevice, in order to keep awake. As the bay was bathed in brilliant moonlight, and the cocoanut grove and even the distant shores, were as sharp and distinct as in broad daylight, I felt that it would be impossible for a boat to approach unseen; but nothing appeared and at midnight I roused Joseph.

I cautioned him to keep a sharp watch, telling him of my trouble in keeping awake, and instructing him to call me promptly if he saw any sign of a boat, I threw myself on my camp bed and did not awaken until Joseph touched my shoulder and told me coffee was ready.

He had seen nothing and stated that in order to avoid any chance of cropping off to sleep, he had gone outside and had walked back and forth on the rocks. I could well imagine that this was a feat calculated to keep anyone wide awake, for the rocks were sharp and jagged, and to make one's way among them required the agility of a goat.

The day was spent in sleeping and eating, and late in the afternoon we undertook a tour of our island. It was hard work scrambling over the steep sides and pushing through the tangled brush, but by cutting a way here and there, we managed to reach the summit and had a splendid view in all directions.

From this elevation, we could look back across the bay for miles and even could distinguish the tiny white dots of houses among the greenery on the northern shore. Towards San Lorenzo we could look down directly on the cocoanut grove and the entrance of the broad lagoon itself, with its fringe of mangrove swamps broken by innumerable little creeks or "canas" that turned and twisted among the dense green foliage. Here, far above the water, the sweep of the trade wind was cool and refreshing, and I at once realized that it was far superior to the cave as a lookout, and I suggested that we should clear an easy trail and make a brush shelter from which to keep watch.

On one side of the summit we found the opening in the roof of our cave and by lowering a string through this we easily could arrange a signal to arouse the sleeper within the cavern in case anything should be sighted.

Joseph at once fell in with my plans, and we set diligently to work, clearing a path through the brush from the summit to the beach, and cutting in a zig-zag fashion to make ascent easier, and at the same time to prevent the path from being seen at a distance. The work was completed before dark and with splendid appetites we ate a hearty meal.

The wind had now dropped and as no sail was in sight I knew that it would be impossible for any vessel to arrive for several hours, and I therefore decided to paddle over to the lagoon and explore the entrance and the surroundings. The moon had not yet risen and although the stars made the night fairly light, yet there was little chance of being seen, even if anyone was in the vicinity, which I thought very unlikely.

We made our way quietly over the calm water to the grove, and passed over the bar at the entrance of the lagoon. I found that in most places the water was very shallow, and that the only channel that would permit a large vessel to pass through was at the southern end of the bar close to the old dock, and I thus felt sure that any boat which entered from the bay must pass quite close to our island and could scarcely escape detection, even in the darkest hours of the night.

THE GUN RUNNERS

Returning to the island, I made my way to the summit, carrying a long coil of fish-line with a lead sinker at its end, after instructing Joseph to tie this to his foot when I lowered it down through the top, so that I could awaken him if necessary. Dropping the sinker through the aperture, I jerked the line up and down so that the lead jangled on the floor, so that Joseph soon located it in the darkness and presently he called up that it was secured in place about his ankle. The other end of the line I fastened to a shrub within easy reach, and spreading my poncho, I sat down with my back against a palmetto and gazed out across the bay to where the moon was now rising.

It was a beautiful night with just enough breeze to ripple the moonlit water and cool the air, but glancing towards the northern shore I saw a heavy bank of clouds hanging about the distant mountain tops and I felt sure that before morning we would have a heavy shower.

For several hours I had been seated at my post, but nothing appeared and I was commencing to think that my theory must be at fault, and that after all, the smugglers might land at some other spot. For all I knew the revolutionists might already have obtained all the arms they required, and while I was looking for the gun runners the rebellion might break out. On the other hand, I reasoned that, if this were the case, there was no reason why the revolt should have been delayed until after my departure, for beyond a doubt, as soon as a full complement of arms was received, fighting would begin. The leaders, I knew, would make every effort to rush their contraband in as rapidly as possible, for at any hour they might be discovered, and the more they obtained before they were apprehended the better. I appreciated the fact that with the moonlight they would be at a disadvantage, but they could scarcely afford to delay until the nights were dark, and even under a full moon, a vessel might creep in under the shadow of the land without being seen from the settlements on the shore a dozen miles across the bay.

Turning these matters over in my mind, I glanced seaward and instantly my interest was aroused, for against the silvery moonlight, I saw a moving black speck, a sail beyond question, and apparently headed towards me.

Intently I watched, and slowly the boat increased in size until, half an hour after I first sighted her, I could distinguish her rig and made her out as a small schooner. She was headed almost directly towards our island and I was just considering the advisability of arousing Joseph, when the schooner's helm was suddenly shifted and she stood off towards the northern side of the bay and disappeared against the dark shadow's of the mountains.

I was greatly disappointed, for I had quite made up my mind that the vessel was really a smuggler bound for San Lorenzo, but apparently she was merely a trader and had followed the southern shore on account of a more favorable wind or current. There was nothing to do but wait, and the hours passed slowly, while the bank of clouds to the north spread across the sky and the moon frequently was hidden by masses of scurrying vapor. At last the time of my watch was over, and descending the path I aroused Joseph, tied the cord to my own foot and went to sleep.

I was in the midst of an exciting dream, in which I was captured by pirates and was being strung up by my heels, when, with a start, I awoke to find my leg being pulled vigorously by Joseph's cord. Quickly throwing off the loop about my ankle, I hurried from the cave to find the night inky black and to be greeted with a terrific downpour of rain. I turned towards the pathway, groping about and stumbling among the bushes, but I had not progressed a dozen yards when Joseph met me, and cautioning me to step carefully and to make no sound, he led the way rapidly towards the summit of the island.

Here we stopped and in a whisper Joseph asked me to listen carefully. For a few moments I heard nothing but the slash and rattle of the rain beating on the foliage, but as the downpour ceased for an instant, I caught another sound, a steady, swirling roar, like a torrent of running water, accompanied by a creaking, grating note.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a boat!" answered Joseph, and added: "Ah don' see it, sir, but he's comin' nearer all the time; but Ah can' mek out where he at."

Again I listened intently, turning my head first one way and then the other. Again the rain poured down in a sudden shower and in the next lull I once more caught the mystifying sounds, but so baffling and indefinite that I could not tell whether it came from right or left, from north or south. Then came a squall of wind and a heavy downpour and through the sob of the wind and the splash of rain we heard the sharp creak and rattle of a tackle-block, the slatting of a fluttering sail and the loud clatter and crash of a boom swinging to the other tack. There was now no question of the boat's position, the louder sounds had located it and we strained our eyes in a vain attempt to penetrate the murk.

Suddenly, a shaft of moonlight pierced a rift in the scurrying clouds and by its momentary gleam we caught a glimpse of a schooner rushing madly through the channel between our islet and the southern shore; a mass of foam at her bows, her lee rail awash and her outflung boom actually tearing the hanging vines from the sides of the island, as, like a phantom ship, she was swallowed up in the blackness of a perfect cloudburst.

Drenched to the skin and wildly excited by what we had seen, we rushed down the path and sought shelter in the cave while outside the wind howled and the rain came down in solid sheets.

Within the cavern we at once fell to discussing the presence of the vessel we had seen. So unreal, so unexpected and so wraith-like had been the sudden glimpse we had caught that we could scarcely convince ourselves that it was not a hallucination. It seemed incredible that any vessel would attempt to run between our island and the shore from the west especially when driven through the inky night by the fierce squalls of a tropical storm.

I did not in the least doubt that the strange craft was a smuggler, for I well knew that no honest vessel would be sailing without lights and none but desperate men would risk their lives and their ship among the shoals and reefs of this uncharted and unfrequented portion of the bay on a night like this. Joseph was almost as surprised as myself over the matter, but when, in the course of our talk, I mentioned the sail I had seen earlier in the night, he expressed the opinion that the schooner I had sighted and the one which had just passed were identical. His idea was that in the bright moonlight the gun runners were afraid of being detected if they headed towards San Lorenzo, and that, to avoid suspicion, they had swung over towards the northern shore as if bound for La Cacao or some of the other ports, trusting to the clouds to hide the moon later and thus enable them to tack back and reach the lagoon unseen.

This seemed a very plausible explanation for the smugglers probably did not expect to be caught in a storm and had to take their chances and run for the lagoon when it broke. It seemed impossible that they could safely steer their course over the bar in the wind and darkness, and we both fully made up our minds that, with the coming of dawn, we would see the smugglers' schooner piled in a wreck upon the sandbar or on the rocks at the entrance of the lagoon.

We dared not start a fire for fear its light would be seen through the opening by any of the desperadoes who might have escaped from the schooner if she had been wrecked, or who might be on the lookout in case she had escaped destruction and had anchored safely in the lagoon.

Soaked by the rain, cold and in utter darkness all we could do was to wrap ourselves in blankets and tent cloths and spend the few remaining hours until daybreak shivering and miserable.

At last the rain ceased, the wind died down, and looking through the peep-hole I saw the eastern sky growing bright with the approaching dawn. Rapidly the pink flush overspread the sky, the last remnants of the storm clouds glowed crimson and gold, the great red sun rose from the sparkling sea and another perfect day had dawned.

Over the surface of the bay the morning mists still hung low but was rapidly disappearing in little wisps and curls and disclosing the indigo blue water with tiny waves dancing brightly in the glorious sunshine.

Our first glance was towards the southeast and the entrance to the lagoon but not a sail nor other sign of vessel was in view. We were more than surprised and leaving the cave we hurried up the pathway for a wider view.

As I reached the summit, I clutched Joseph's arm and pointed to the lagoon. There, hidden from our cave by the coco palms, were the two tapering masts of a small schooner, her hull hidden by the mangroves that bordered the little creek wherein she was safely moored.

Even as we gazed at her, a red flag rose to the mast head, dipped, rose again and a second time fluttered down. It was evidently a signal and, in a few moments, a row-boat issued from the hidden creek, and pulled by four men, it headed up another cana and disappeared among the mangroves.

In reply to my query, Joseph replied that the small boat had entered Cana Honda creek and evidently was bound for the landing place, a mile or so up the stream.

Telling him to go down and prepare breakfast I stretched myself on a dry rock in the sunshine and kept a sharp watch on the schooner and the swamps. Through my glasses, every detail of the foliage and trees was visible, and I easily had made out that the boat contained five men, four at the oars and another in the stern, but her appearance had been so unexpected, and she had passed so quickly from one creek to the other, that I had had no time to study the men carefully.

There was no further signs of life near the vessel and when Joseph called me to breakfast I left him in charge when I descended.

On my return to the lookout I found Joseph with his eyes glued to the binoculars, but he reported that he had seen nothing during my absence. We waited patiently, talking of the schooner and wondering how she had managed to run into the lagoon to find a safe refuge among the mangroves during the storm.

"Well," I remarked, "whatever else our friends may be, they are surely mighty good sailors. It would stump most men to get a schooner there in broad daylight and with a fair wind, and how those chaps ever managed to run over the bar, across the lagoon and into the creek in a miniature hurricane and in absolute darkness is a marvel beyond my comprehension."

"Yessir," answered Joseph. "Thay's mighty good sailor men an' Ah think they's from down the islan's. Ah was studyin' the mas's while yo' was eatin' sir, an' Ah think she's a Dutch schooner, Mr. Gale. The mas's rake too much fo' a native boat, an' they's too tall fo' a Frenchman. She mebbe a St. Thomas boat, but Ah think she's mos' liable from 'Statda or Saba, sir."

This theory seemed quite probable, for the Dutch West Indian boats, especially those from the quaint islands of Saba and Eustatia, are noted throughout the Antilles for their seaworthiness and speed, while the Dutch islanders are born sailors. Moreover, many of the political exiles from the Spanish American republics find a safe refuge in the Dutch colonies and from their retreats aid their friends by providing the sinews of war.

No doubt the little ship hidden in the mangroves had made many previous trips to San Lorenzo, and her captain and crew probably knew every reef, shoal and bar on the coast, and could find their way about with their eyes shut.

We had been chatting and waiting for fully an hour when the row boat again appeared at the mouth of the creek, and headed towards the schooner. This time, however, I was prepared and focussing the glasses upon it, I saw that four of the five occupants were stalwart negroes, the man in the stern being of a lighter hue and apparently a mulatto or quadroon. The next instant the boat shot out of sight back of the mangroves, and a few moments later, the red flag rose to the mast head and fluttered down again. It was evident that this was a prearranged signal to someone on shore, and probably signified that the boat had reached the schooner safely.

All that day we kept watch, one of us constantly on guard at the summit of the island; but no sign of life was visible and no boat crossed the open water between the creeks. Evidently the arms had all been carried ashore in the first trip of the small boat, or else no further attempts would be made to land until after nightfall. After darkness came on it would be impossible to discern the movements of the smugglers from our island and for that matter, it would do us little good, merely to watch the boat. It was essential that we discover where and how the goods were landed, the name of the vessel and to whom the smuggled arms were delivered. After discussing this matter with Joseph I finally decided to paddle around the lagoon and approach close to the schooner after nightfall.

There would, of course, be considerable risk in the undertaking, for in the stillness of the evening the least sound would be audible for a long distance, and if either of us made a misstroke or rattled a paddle against the gunwale of the canoe, we might instantly be discovered by the smugglers, for I had not the least doubt that they maintained a keen lookout and possessed keen ears and eyes.

Fortunately for my plans, the moon would not rise until very late, and we would have at least two hours of intense darkness in which to approach the schooner and take up a favorable position within a short distance of her moorings.

Having decided to attempt this, I told Joseph to have everything in readiness, to remove the remaining things from the canoe, to have arms and ammunition handy, to cover the floor of the canoe with blankets and to wrap each paddle with cloth, from blade to grip, to deaden the sound in case a paddle should run against the gunwales.

Just before sundown, he reported everything ready, and as soon as the sun dropped behind the horizon I left the lookout and descended to the cave. We ate our evening meal rapidly and, for my own part, I must confess that I was inwardly too excited to have a good appetite. By the time we had finished, darkness had fallen and we hurried to the beach prepared to embark upon our rather perilous undertaking.

Before pushing off I again cautioned Joseph against making the least sound and told him that, in case of necessity, I would leave the navigation of the canoe to him, for he was better acquainted with the swamps and channels than myself. I added that if anything happened to me he was to report at once to Merritt but that I hoped for a successful outcome of the trip.

Lifting the canoe we set it in the water and slipping off our shoes, placed them in the tiny craft, knelt in our places, took up our paddles and silently started on our way.

The night was very dark and the shores were scarcely visible, but open water could be distinguished by the sheen of the stars on its surface and we found little trouble in finding our way towards the land. We first ran across to the southern shore, and keeping well within the shelter of the banks, headed for the old dock and the entrance to the lagoon. Passing the dock with the utmost caution, to avoid striking the rotting piles, we paddled carefully up the lagoon. It was very difficult to judge distances and each clump of mangroves looked so much like another that I frequently was doubtful of our course.

We had thus progressed for some time, and I had commenced to think that we had missed our way, when, from the darkness ahead, I heard the faint sounds of voices. Instantly we stopped paddling and drifted motionless in the shadows of the mangroves. The voices came from the dense mass of trees to our left, and straining my eyes I distinguished the outline of the schooner's masts against the stars beyond. We were a little off our course, and in order to approach the vessel closely, we would be compelled to cross a hundred feet or more of open water. Although, from our low position in the canoe, the water seemed very dark, yet I realized that, looking down upon it from the height of the schooner's deck, the canoe might be seen and I hesitated about attempting the passage in the open.

There was nothing to be gained by waiting, however, and as the voices were too far distant to distinguish words, I made up my mind, and dipping paddles we swung the head of the canoe towards the sounds and started forward. All went well, and we were close to the farther side, when we were startled at hearing the splash of oars and the creak of thole pins rapidly approaching from the blackness ahead. With a sudden plunge of my paddle I whirled the canoe around, drove it forward and crouched low in the bow. Joseph followed my example, and we both remained silent and motionless, expecting each moment to have the approaching boat bear down upon us.

In less time than it takes to relate, we heard the swish of water around the boat's bow and the splash of the oars, apparently within a few feet. The next moment our tiny craft was rocking and tossing on the wave made by the boat's passage and the sounds were growing fainter in the distance. It was a mighty close shave, for the boat had passed within a rod of our canoe and, to this day, I cannot imagine how we escaped detection. The boat was now behind us, and from the direction it had taken, I felt sure that it was bound to Cana Honda landing. Resuming our paddles, we crept cautiously towards the hidden schooner until we reached the mangroves beyond which she was moored.

These mangroves grew directly from the water, and between their spreading roots, were many open spaces which were wide enough to admit our canoe.

To endeavor to push through the growth was a tremendous risk, for the roots and trunks of the trees were covered with oysters, while giant crabs scuttled over them, and if by any chance we should run against them the grating sound would surely betray our presence to those on the vessel.

To attempt a passage around the trees, and a direct approach to the schooner, was even more hazardous, however, and in the lowest possible whispers, I made my decision known to Joseph and worked the canoe into the opening between the nearest trees.

Slowly, and with extreme caution, we proceeded, holding out our hands on either side, and working our way among the roots by pushing and pulling, moving by inches, but ever drawing nearer to the schooner in the creek ahead.

Our hands were cut and bleeding from the razor edged oyster shells, but we had accomplished the greater part of the journey without mishap, when, without the least warning, an ibis flapped from its roost above our heads and with loud croaks expostulated at the invasion of its haunts.

The noise was enough to arouse anyone on the schooner and we listened with bated breath expecting a challenge. No sound reached us, however, and after a few moments, we again pushed forward. In a few minutes more we reached the last of the trees, and peering ahead, saw the hull of the vessel looming up within a dozen yards of us.

No light showed upon her and everything was as silent as the tomb. We listened to catch the sounds of whispered voices or the faint noise of footsteps, but the silence remained unbroken. I thought it very strange that no guard had been left and wondered if the five negroes composed the entire crew. Certainly, if men were aboard they were wonderfully quiet. Possibly they might be below and asleep, but this hardly seemed probable, for the night was hot and I well knew how uncomfortable and stuffy the cabin would be, here in the midst of the swamp.

It was of the utmost importance to learn the schooner's name and port, and if possible, locate the contraband, and we now had but scant time to investigate and follow the trail of the rowboat before the moon rose.

With our hands as paddles, we pushed out from the shelter of the trees and approached the schooner's bows. Reaching her side without mishap, we slowly worked our way aft along her side until we reached the stern. Here we passed under the counter, and by peering close to the woodwork, we could distinguish lettering; but the darkness was too intense to decipher the words. I dared not strike a light, and was exasperated to think I could not make out the name, when, in fending off the canoe from the vessel's rudder, my fingers came in contact with the stern, and to my intense satisfaction, I discovered that the letters were raised.

Feeling about until I found the first letter, I carefully went over each with my finger tips and at last made out the name, "GAVIOTA." Below was the name of her home port, and again I felt each letter with infinite care, and with my fingers spelled out the word, "CURACAO."

Joseph was right—the schooner was Dutch.

A CARGO IS LANDED

Time had passed more rapidly than I thought, and as I was about to push the canoe out from below the overhang of the stern, I was warned by a low hiss from Joseph. Busy in discovering the name of the schooner, I had relaxed my vigilance, but at Joseph's warning I heard the swish of oars and the subdued sounds of voices from ahead of the schooner, and I realized that the returning boat was close upon us.

We were indeed in a tight place. To attempt to push off and gain the shelter of the mangroves would be to invite destruction, for the boat was within a score of feet of the schooner, and no doubt its occupants were even now peering ahead with cat-like eyes, in order to locate the exact position of their craft, and the least movement of our canoe would be detected instantly.

After the men came aboard, they would undoubtedly allow their boat to swing around to the stern of the schooner, and we would be discovered at once.

There was no time to hesitate, and with but slight hopes of success, I crouched low and dragged the canoe as far beneath the stern as possible, trusting that, in the deep shadow of the counter, we might escape detection. Joseph at once grasped my intentions and followed my example, and in a moment, the canoe was laid athwart the schooner close to her stern post.

It seemed ridiculous to imagine that we could avoid being seen, for the canoe was longer than the schooner was wide, and one end of our craft must project several feet beyond the vessel's side. Judging from the sounds, that the rowboat was approaching my side of the schooner, I gently worked the canoe back until its bow was flush with the vessel's side, and breathlessly awaited results.

Luckily the rudder of the schooner was swung hard over, but I realized that should one of the men move the tiller, the rudder would grate against the bottom of the canoe and would either capsize us, or would make such a scraping, unusual sound that an investigation would immediately follow.

We were taking great chances, but we had no time to consider them, for our canoe was scarcely in position before the rowboat grated alongside. I heard a man leap onto the deck, and a moment later, four others scrambled aboard.

As they reached the deck, I heard one of the men give a low command, and although it was not in English, I could not determine whether it was in Dutch, French or Spanish. He was answered in low tones, and I heard a door grate on its hinges. The men were evidently barefooted, for I could not distinguish the sounds of footsteps; but I judged that they had gone below, and a moment later, my supposition was verified as I heard subdued noises issuing from the schooner's interior.

Each second I fully expected to see the rowboat drop back to the stern, and to find a smuggler peering at us, but nothing happened, and presently, gaining confidence, I peeked past the edge of the stern. I could see the boat lying alongside and as I watched, I heard a rustle on deck, and the next instant a man straddled over the low rail and dropped into the boat.

Another form appeared at the rail, and in low, throaty tones, addressed his comrade in the boat below him: "Arl ready dar, Pete?" he queried.

"Yas ma bo'; parse da garns, Jan," was the reply, and without further hesitation, the man known as "Jan" passed a package over the rail.

Pete laid this in the bottom of the boat, and reached for another and another, until the tenth narrow object was stowed in the rowboat.

Two more heads now appeared at the rail, and one man sprang into the boat while the other remained on board. Jan stepped to him and together they lifted a heavy box and balanced it on the bulwarks.

"Con cuidado!" muttered the latest arrival, and added in Spanish, "Put the cartridges in the stern and under the thwarts, but move lively or we don't get off tonight."

Pete and his companion in the boat deftly seized and lowered the box silently to their craft, and the two above disappeared. Presently they reappeared, another box of ammunition was safely placed in the small boat, and they again went below.

As they disappeared, Pete and his comrade conversed in low tones.

"Das de las' box, eh?" I heard Pete ask.

"Oui m' fren'," was the reply in the broken English of a Leeward Islander. "De las Oui; dey plainty rifeel an' peetol mo' yes."

The others now arrived and handed down package after package, until over fifty small boxes and bundles had been stowed in the boat.

The fifth man now approached the rail and stepped into the row-boat, which was already very low in the water. "Carrajo!" he exclaimed, and continued in Spanish. "The boat has all it will stand, and there's another load on board. Come along, men. We can't wait here all night."

At his words, the other two dropped into the boat, and throwing off the painter, picked up their oars.

As they pushed off from the side, I ducked back to the shelter of the counter, and in doing so bumped my head against the stern. Instantly there was an exclamation from one of the men. "Sacre!" he hissed, “Wha' 'dat?" For a brief instant I thought discovery was certain, but the huge stroke-oarsman answered contemptuously, "Narthin', yo' dom Franch niggas plenty 'fraid, yes."

There was a subdued chuckle at this, instantly silenced by a sharp command in Spanish from the steersman, and without further comment, the men's oars caught the water and the boat headed towards the other creek. We pushed the canoe from under the stern and stretched ourselves with relief.

"A precious crew we've got aboard there, Joseph," I whispered, "the scum of the Dutch, French and English islands with a Spanish captain. I'm going aboard. I don't think there's any danger. No one is on the schooner, I'm sure, and the boat will not return until they've unloaded her. You wait alongside in the canoe and keep watch, and as soon as I've gone through the schooner, I'm going to follow the boat; so here goes."

As I spoke, I worked the canoe around to the side of the vessel, and grasping the lanyards of the main rigging, I pulled myself up to the rail and jumped aboard. There was no light, and I stepped carefully, across the deck to the companion-way. The door was unfastened, and without hesitation I stooped and entered the cabin.

Inside it was dark as pitch, but I knew that the smugglers must have had lights, and as we had seen no evidences of it, I reasoned that the windows must be screened, and I therefore struck a match without fear. In the light from this I saw a hanging lamp, and lighting it I glanced about and found, as I had expected, that the four windows were all covered with heavy cloth. There seemed nothing suspicious in the cabin, but at the forward end was a small door, evidently leading to the hold, and taking the lamp, I walked to the door and finding it unlocked, stepped through into the schooner's hold.

This was a large, dim place, smelling abominably of bilge water and swarming with cockroaches. The space was partly filled with bales, boxes and barrels and a hasty examination convinced me that these were legitimate goods and were undoubtedly destined for delivery at some regular port. I had no doubt that the schooner made frequent trips among the islands, and that, after delivering her secret cargo of arms, she would sail leisurely up the bay, unload at some port and never be suspected of having made a side trip to San Lorenzo.

Hurrying about among the cargo, and searching for a likely hiding place for the remaining firearms and ammunition which I had heard the captain declare was on board, I was compelled to stoop slightly, for the deck above was not high enough to permit me to stand upright. I could find no signs of contraband, and could see no possible hiding place, and I had about given up in despair when my hat suddenly was pulled from my head by some object which projected from the ceiling. Holding up the lamp to ascertain the trouble, I found my hat caught firmly on a loose screw. Wondering why a screw should be thus placed, I wiggled it back and forth to remove it. As I did so, the entire strip of sheathing moved, and with little effort I slipped this out and disclosed an open space between the ceiling and the true deck above it.

Reaching into the cavity, I was overjoyed to feel my hand come in contact with a package. Seizing this, I drew it out and saw instantly that it was a heavy army revolver in its pasteboard box.

Here, then, was the hiding place of the gun-runners, and a hurried examination showed that the entire space between deck and sheathing served this purpose, and that at various points, openings could be made by removing sections of the ceiling.

I had no time to waste in a further investigation, for my mission was accomplished, and replacing the boards and screws, I returned to the cabin, blew out the lamp, passed out of the companion-way, and hurried to the rail where Joseph waited in the canoe.

We now had no time to lose, for the night was already growing lighter from the rising moon, and I feared that before we could reach the landing and take up a position from which to watch the smugglers, that the moon would be well above the horizon.

With rapid strokes we paddled away from the schooner and headed for Cana Honda creek. In a few minutes we had crossed the intervening space of open water and had entered the broad and sluggish stream, and were soon following its tortuous channel between the fringe of mangroves on either side. I felt sure that, in case the boat had disposed of its load and was on its return trip, we could hear its approach and could dodge into the mangroves, and we made all haste up the stream.

Joseph presently whispered that we were approaching the landing, which was around the next bend, and thus cautioned I headed the canoe close to the bank on our right and, proceeding very carefully, we worked slowly ahead. To round the turn and come in sight of the landing was a risk I did not care to take, for there was now enough light for objects to be visible at some distance on the water and, moreover, I had no means of knowing if there were any suitable protection beyond the bend.

While hesitating as to what to do, the sounds of conversation reached us followed by the splashing of oars, and realizing the boat was returning, we pushed the canoe back among the mangrove roots and crouching down, slipped behind the low-hanging branches. In this way we were effectually screened from view and we were scarcely hidden before the small boat swung around the point and passed within ten feet of us.

The oarsmen were joking and laughing in low tones and seemed to feel perfectly safe, little dreaming of our presence so close at hand. As soon as they had passed out of hearing, I leaned back and, in whispers, asked Joseph if he knew how we could reach a view of the landing without being seen, for I thought it probable that someone was on shore to receive the arms.

Joseph replied that, on the opposite side of the stream a small channel entered the mangroves, and that by running up this a short distance, we could land on fairly firm ground, and could look through the grass upon the landing. This was exactly what I wanted, and we paddled across the stream and Joseph skillfully piloted the canoe into a well hidden back-water.

Pushing carefully through the screen of branches, we came upon a narrow, dark opening in the trees, a mere ditch, which curved and twisted among the mangroves and which was barely deep enough to float the canoe.

A few minutes paddling up this little waterway brought us to a clay bank and grounding the canoe, we crept ashore.

Joseph led the way while I followed and flat on our stomachs we sneaked through the coarse grass for several hundred feet. Presently, my guide lifted his hand for caution, and we wriggled forward to the crest of a little rise. It was now as light as day and before me lay the main creek, its surface bright with moonlight. Its farther shore was low and free from brush or mangroves and with a sharp cut clay bank, and a few feet back from the water's edge grew a single large tree. Seated beneath this, a huge pipe in his mouth, and a gun across his knees, sat a man.

His back was partly towards us and I could not see his face, but his enormously broad shoulders, thick neck and massive build proved that he was a giant in strength and stature. Presently he turned his head towards our hiding place and in the brilliant moonlight l saw his features.

A broad, heavy, brutal face, looking scarlet in the moonlight, and half hidden in a great, tawny, tangled beard. Close-set pig-like eyes beneath overhanging brows and a shock of red hair growing low on his forehead. There was no mistaking his nationality and Joseph's half whispered, "Hirschfeldt," did not surprise me, as I had already suspected the man was the Dutch caretaker of the old Cana Honda estate.

Behind him on the grass, were piled boxes and packages, while, at one side fully fifty rifles were laid upon a strip of canvas, and at his feet stood a lantern, its flame weak and sickly in the moonlight. That he was awaiting the last load of the smugglers was evident, and we prepared ourselves to share his vigil.

The minutes dragged slowly; insects chirped in the bushes, the occasional call of a nightbird broke the silence overhead and now and then a fish, jumping in the creek, would startle us with its splash. Our bodies were cramped and chilled from the damp earth, and various creeping things ran over our hands and faces, and once when a great land crab scuttled across my legs, I could scarcely resist reaching down to knock him off. Luckily there were few mosquitoes, but even without these pests it required all my patience and will power to remain motionless and silent while the grim watcher a few yards distant sat like a statue and puffed great clouds of smoke from his enormous pipe.

At last we heard the sounds of oars and Hirschfeldt rose from his seat, stretched himself, knocked the ashes from his pipe and stepped to the edge of the creek.

A moment after, the boat came in sight, ran alongside the bank and the Dutchman deftly seized the painer and secured it to a stake. A second rope was then made fast to the stern of the boat and, with scarcely a word, the five men began rapidly to unload their craft.

Rifle after rifle was passed ashore and placed beside the others on the canvas, to be followed by dozens of the flat square packages which I knew contained revolvers, until the last box was safely ashore and the men stood waiting.

Hirschfeldt and the steersman, whom I now saw was a villainous looking mulatto, now stepped to one side. Each held a paper in his hands, and running their fingers down the pages they rapidly checked off various items in low tones. Hirschfeldt then produced a bag from his shirt bosom, and counting out a number of coins, handed them to the mulatto, who then turned and gave an order to his men. At the command, the four blacks picked up the canvas containing the rifles, and each holding a corner, they started across the grass grown land towards a dense mass of trees and brush beyond. Hirschfeldt and the mulatto, the latter carrying the lantern, followed and, as they passed from view, Joseph whispered that they were going to the old machine shop. He said it was a tumble-down building hidden in the trees and that, originally, the tracks of the little tramway which led to the dock, had passed through the mass of tropical vegetation which now concealed it.

Presently the men returned, and each having picked up a box or package and again made their way to the hiding place. Trip after trip was made until all the goods were out of sight, when the men stepped into their boat and sat waiting, while their captain sat talking with Hirschfeldt under the big tree.

The crew lolled about, conversing in low tones and a more villainous looking lot of cut-throats I never saw. Each and every one would have been a fitting type for a dime novel pirate.

One was an enormous, jet-black fellow, naked to the waist and with huge gorilla-like arms and receding forehead. He spoke in the deep, gutteral voice of the Dutch Creole and doubtless was a native of Curacao. Another was a bull-necked, chocolate colored man whose thin, cruel lips and bloodshot eyes were made more hideous by the mop of red wool which covered his head. He was the one who had laughed at his companions' fright when I knocked my head against the schooner's stern, and I at once put him down as a native of Montserrat, where many of the negroes have inherited the red hair of their "wild Irish" ancestors, who originally settled the island.

The two remaining members of the crew were as ugly as their comrades, but of slighter build and more active in their movements, and having already heard one speak I surmised that they were natives of St. Vincent or St. Lucia.

As I watched the men, Hirschfeldt produced a jug from behind the tree and both he and the captain drank copiously. The Dutchman then handed the bag of money to the mulatto and the latter, carrying the jug, walked to his boat and handed the liquor to his men. With a last handshake and numerous "Adois" from the captain and "Goot lucks" from Hirschfeldt, the boat was cast off and started down the creek.

As soon as it was out of sight, we wriggled back through the grass and reaching the canoe paddled along the narrow stream among the trees. I had not as yet formed any very definite idea as to my next steps, but in a general way, I planned to reach the bay and after watching the schooner depart, return to deal with my Dutch friend. I regretted that I could not capture the schooner's crew as well and considered sending word to Merritt in order that he might hold them when they arrived in port.

I was thus busy, thinking out plans as we paddled along, and gave little heed to our course, taking it for granted that Joseph was guiding the canoe towards the main creek. Suddenly it dawned upon me that we were seemingly taking too long to gain open water and I was about to ask Joseph his opinion; but at that moment I caught sight of clear moonlit water through the trees ahead.

Thinking we had reached the creek I paddled forward and pushed aside the branches.

Scarcely had they parted when I dug my paddle into the water in a furious attempt to back the canoe—not fifty feet distant, and coming directly towards us was the smugglers' boat!

That they had seen us was at once manifest, for instantly, the steersman leaped to his feet, ripped out a Spanish oath and whipping out a revolver, fired point blank at me.

At his exclamation every man in the boat turned, and the suddenness of their action, and his own impetuous movement, saved my life and all three of his shots ploughed through the foliage above my head.

Almost before the last shot had rung out, the canoe had darted back among the trees, and whirling it about, we paddled with the utmost speed up the little creek. We had scarcely covered a dozen rods when we heard the heavy boat crashing into the branches behind us; but the creek was narrow and shallow, the branches hung low and I doubted if the men could force their craft through the channel to follow us. Undoubtedly we could have stopped and held off our pursuers, or could have picked them off with the rifle from our place among the trees; but I felt sure that any shooting would result in betraying the fact that we were spies and would also alarm Hirschfeldt.

On the other hand, by simply retreating, we might lead the smugglers to believe that we were merely curious natives, for they could not have caught a good view of my features, and if Hirschfeldt had heard the pistol shots he would probably assume that they were fired at some bird or animal.

Moreover, by attacking the smugglers, we would probably prevent them from attempting to land another cargo or visiting one of the ports, and I was anxious, too, to have the vessel captured on her next trip.

All these thoughts rushed through my brain as we made the canoe fairly race over the water among the trees, never ceasing until the sounds of our followers were lost in the distance.

Then, mopping our faces and panting with our exertions, we rested on our paddles and looked about.

We were floating on the edge of a large, quiet lagoon in the midst of a mangrove swamp, and in the bright moonlight I saw that on every side, were scores of waterways between the trees. Certainly we never had been here before and turning, I asked Joseph if he knew the place.

There was no need for him to reply, for I knew by his blank expression and puzzled look that we were lost—lost in the labyrinths of an enormous swamp that stretched for miles along the coast—a maze of waterways and mangrove trees; the home of countless waterfowl, but without a drop of fresh water or a spot of dry land throughout the vast solitudes.

(To be continued) Here

Notes on Solenodon paradoxus

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Notes on the Habits and External Characters of the Solenodon of San Domingo (Solenodon paradoxus).

By A. Hyatt Verrill.

[Plate IV.]

From the Annals and Magazine of Natural History, Ser. 7, Vol. xx., June 1907. Researched by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle Nov 1928.

Mr. A. H. Verrill on the Solenodon of San Domingo

Although Solenodon paradoxus of San Domingo and Haiti was discovered and imperfectly described as early as 1839, several years before the Cuban species (Solenodon cubanus) was known to science, it is still practically unknown to recent zoologists. The published descriptions of this rare and interesting mammal are vague and unsatisfactory. For many years it has been commonly considered extinct, and when, in December 1906, I undertook a collecting-trip to San Domingo with the avowed intention of obtaining the Solenodon, prominent zoologists stated that the quest was hopeless, one of them saying that I would be as likely to secure specimens of ghosts as of Solenodon paradoxus.

During the five months spent on the island I devoted a great deal of time hunting for the Solenodon and in interviewing natives from the remote and little-known parts of the island.

I soon found that the animal was well known to the natives in certain isolated localities, but that over the greater portion of the Republic it was absolutely unknown.

This is readily accounted for by the presence of the mongoose in most parts of the country, and it is only a question of time when this pest will overrun the entire island and the Solenodon will become actually exterminated.

The natives have several names for the Solenodon, calling it "Orso," "Milqui," " Homigero," and "Juron," while the English-speaking negroes from the British West Indies know it as "Ground Hog." The name "Juron" (ferret) is also applied to the mongoose, and for some time I was misled by this confusion of the two animals. In its habits the Solenodon resembles a hog, rooting in the earth and cultivated grounds, tearing rotten logs and trees to pieces with its powerful front claws, and feeding on ants, grubs, insects, vegetables, reptiles, and fruit, and at times proving destructive to poultry. On several occasions it has been known to enter the houses in search of roaches and other vermin, and has been captured iu rat-traps.

It is strictly nocturnal, and spends the day in caves, holes in the coral-limestone rocks and in hollow trees and logs. It is a slow, stupid creature. It is unable to run rapidly, but shambles along with the zigzag sidewise motions of a plantigrade. It is doubtless owing to this that it obtained the native name of "Orso" (bear).

Its long snout and stout front feet, with their curved claws, and its thick short neck prove impediments to forward progress. According to the natives, it is incapable of running straight. They also claim that when pursued it frequently trips itself and tumbles heels over head. When hunted with dogs, it thrusts its head into the nearest hole or shelter, and allows itself to be captured without resistance.

The only specimen that I obtained was a female, which was captured alive and uninjured. A few days after its capture it gave birth to three naked young. These the mother promptly devoured, and she died three days later.

This specimen (see PI. IV.), as preserved in formol, is 14 inches in length, exclusive of the tail, which measures about 13 inches in length.

The body and head are covered with sparse coarse hair, which is reddish ferruginous from the eyes to the shoulders and dusky brown on the rest of the body.

The hair becomes very thin and scattered on the hindquarters, which for some distance on the back and sides are naked, roughly corrugated, and warty, with a sparse, short, woolly growth between the excrescences.

The legs, snout, and eyelids are naked, and, with the bare skin of the rump, are pinkish white. The ears are short, thin, rounded, and are bluish grey with light edges. The heavy rat-like tail is dark brown and naked. The claws are horn-colour. The front feet and claws are large, heavy, and mole-like, and well adapted to digging and tearing asunder rotten wood &c. They are much smaller in proportion than in the Cuban species, however. The snout is also more flexible than in S. cubanus, from which it also differs in the naked skin of the rump, the colour, size, and other characters.

Verrill Criticism 1928

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This note is a criticism that was discovered by Alan Schenker. It appears to refer to Verrill's June 1927 article, Among the Amazons. The difference may be accounted for by differences in publishing international editions. Note also the differences in spelling the tribe name; Verrill calls them Wai-wois. /drf

Verrill Criticism 1928

American Anthropologist

30, 1928

Dr. Walter E. Roth of the Christianburg Magistrate's Office, Demerara River, writing on June 8th, 1927, encloses an article from The Daily Argosy (Georgetown, British Guiana) of May 22, 1927, in which he challenges Mr. A. Hyatt Verrill's article on the Wai Wai in the Wide World Magazine of May 1926. According to Dr. Roth the only approach to this people is by water and the sole difficulty is that of finding appropriate timber for suitable boats, the Wai Wai living on the uppermost reach of the Essequibo, a twelve days' boat trip from the head of the Kuyuwinni in country belonging to the Wapishana, their nearest neighbors to the north and west. According to Dr. Roth, Mr. Hyatt (Verrill) erroneously describes the women, not the men, as manufacturing hammocks, and a chief as wearing a loin cloth of bark instead of finely woven and dyed cotton. Dr. Roth mentions other inaccuracies and arrives at the conclusion that "Mr. A. Hyatt Verrill has never been to the Wai Wai country or seen its people."