The Caverns of Bermuda

The Caverns of Bermuda

Story and Photos by A. Hyatt Verrill

From Tropical and Sub Tropical America, a monthly magazine, issue April 1908, digital capture December 2007 by Doug Frizzle

HUNDREDS of miles from the coast of the mainland, and surrounded by the restless surges of the great Atlantic, lies the little group of semitropical islands of Bermuda. Familiar as a winter resort, and intimately connected in the minds of most persons with early onions and potatoes, these islets have quite another claim to distinction in that they contain more caverns to the square mile than almost any other spot in the world. Indeed, it is no exaggeration to state that every cedar-clad hill encloses a cave.

This may seem strange to those accustomed to consider the Bermudas as “coral islands”, but in reality they are not of coral formation at all; for from beating surf to wind-swept hilltops they are composed entirely of drifted shore sand. This sand consists almost wholly of broken sea-shells with a few fragments of coral. Although in many places the sand has become solidified to the hardness and fineness of marble, the process of formation can readily be traced, step by step, from the loose shifting sand of the dunes and beaches to the hardest building stone. In many localities the layers of stone and sand grade into one another in such a manner that it is difficult to say where one begins and the other ends. The sand, when packed tightly by the wind and then left stationary for any considerable period, becomes saturated with rain water containing carbon dioxide, and the separate particles become, so to speak, cemented together.

A peculiarity of this formation, which has a direct bearing on the caves, is that in the hardest and oldest rock, and between layers formed centuries apart, are found strata or isolated accumulations of loose sand, which, for some reason as yet unknown, have remained unaffected by the percolating water. Overlying the surface of the sand-formed rocks, and especially in the valleys, is a layer of vegetable mould and insoluble residue of decomposed rock of a reddish brown color—the ''red-earth" of the natives, and the only fertile soil on the islands. As there are no springs or streams in Bermuda, and as the caves invariably occur in hills instead of valleys, their formation has proved a puzzle to many, and it is evident they could not have been carved from the rock by underground streams as is the case with Luray, Mammoth, and other well-known American caverns.

It is an established fact that the Bermudas in former geological periods covered an immensely larger area than at present; and what were valleys in that remote age, are now hills. Wherever in those ancient valleys a "sand-pocket," or sand-layer, existed, the surface water —and possibly long extinct brooks as well—was absorbed. Finding the loose sand but a slight impediment to its progress, the water worked slowly through it to cracks connecting with the sea, gradually washing out the sand until a cavity of greater or less size was formed. As Bermuda limestone hardens rapidly when exposed to the air, the walls of these former sand-pockets soon became harder than the surrounding rock, and, as the erosion of the following centuries took place, were left as domed or rounded hills standing above the softer limestone. Then, as the "red-earth" formed, and trees took root, and rain-water filtered through the cracks and crevices, the stalactite or dripstone formation was deposited, still further protecting the interiors and walls from the wear and tear of time and elements.

Unlike most other caverns, the Bermuda caves are all connected with the sea. In some only a few inches of water covers the floor at high tide; in others the tide rises and falls several feel within their gloomy recesses: while in yet others the floor is always submerged, and the visitor compelled to explore them in a boat. Although the water is clear and transparent, no fish are seen, notwithstanding the fact that there is easy ingress from the sea; but in the so called "grottos," which are merely caves whose roofs have fallen in, fish fairly swarm.

The Walsingham Caves are perhaps the most frequently visited of any in the islands, although they are by no means the largest or most beautiful. There are probably a dozen caverns in the Walsingham group, situated near the shores of Castle Harbour on the eastern part of the island. The entrances to most of these, as in nearly all Bermuda caves, are small and partially hidden by ferns, shrubs and drooping masses of convolvulus and jasmine. The largest of these caves is about two hundred feet long, and perhaps thirty feet from ceiling to floor, but for fully half the height is filled with water, through which stalagmites rise upwards to the surface. A narrow ledge, however, permits the visitor to enter dry-shod to its innermost recesses. The stalactites of the Walsingham caves are often ten or twelve feet in length, are sometimes from three to four feet diameter, and are grouped in bewildering array. A few join the stalagmites below and form columns rising from floor to roof. Unfortunately the stalactites and roofs of all the Walsingham caves have been blackened by the lack of care or interest of the owners, who allow visitors to light the interiors by flaming torches of palmetto.

The Penniston or Paynter’s Vale caves, although less than a mile from those at Walsingham, are almost unknown to tourists; they are carefully protected from vandalism and retain all their original beauty. The entrance to Penniston's cave is a mere crack, barely large enough to permit one to enter on hands and knees. It rapidly opens out, however, and a dozen feet from the entrance a person may easily stand erect. The descent is at first quite steep, and as the floor is strewn with large blocks and innumerable fragments of stalactites, walking is, of course, difficult. About fifty feet from the entrance the slope decreases, and the roof—which has hitherto been eight or ten feet from the floor— rises to twenty feet or more. In this portion of the cave are a number of curious formations of dripstone mixed with fine sand, which have the appearance of masses of stalactite covered with hoar-frost. About one hundred feet beyond this, and fully eighty feet below the surface, the lowest level is reached. Here the floor is covered to a depth of several feet with water, in which are masses of fallen stalactites of every size, while from its placid surface and from the edges, great fluted columns rise to the ceiling.

Throughout the cave the stalactite formation is wonderfully beautiful and varied. The ceiling is everywhere covered with the glistening pendants; some slender as knitting needles, others huge, fluted, gnarled and rough; while scattered among them are thin, transparent sheets of crinkled dripstone, hanging like silken draperies from roof and ledges. On the floor and on fallen stalactites new stalagmites have formed, and the "red-earth," washed in by heavy rains, is covered with a thin and icelike coating of the same material. Near the entrance, masses of roots, finding their way through cracks and crevices, have become coated with the dripstone, and the organic material, decaying, has left masses of hollow interlaced tubes. All is white; a glistening, frosted, creamy white, save where the "red-earth" shows dully through its glassy covering, or where masses of fossil snail-shells (an extinct species of Helix peculiar to Bermuda) rest, with their colors still bright, preserved for all time by the same stalactitic coating. In this cave the visitor may watch the stalactites in the very process of formation. Many of the smaller ones are so transparent that by holding a candle behind them, the internal tube, filled with water, and even the crystals of lime held in solution, are plainly visible; while at each point a drop of water ever glistens, ready to drip to the floor below and form an imperceptible deposit on the slowly growing stalagmite which it is building.

On Tucker's Island, in Hamilton Harbour, is still another large cave well worth a visit. This cavern is about three hundred feet long, from fifty to two hundred feet in width, and probably about sixty feet from roof to floor; but as the latter is completely covered with several fathoms of water, the cave's dimensions are difficult to determine. This cavern is navigated by a boat, on which visitors embark at a landing-stage just within the narrow entrance. The stalactites are remarkable for their size, many of them eight or ten feet in diameter; and also for the fact that the majority reach from the submerged floor to the vaulted roof, forming grotesque pillars, arches and columns, springing upward in myriad forms from the surface of the Stygian sea upon which the boat floats in profound silence. All the stalactites are dead, or, in other words, have ceased growing, and are mostly covered with a fine, slimy, dark green algae. This cave is lighted by acetylene gas from a generator outside the entrance, and is the only one so equipped on the islands. It is also one of the few caverns to which an admission fee is charged.

The Bermudians,—who are generally wide-awake in appreciating the importance of tourists,—have apparently remained insensible to the value of their caves as a means of revenue.

Rivaling the Tucker's Island cavern in size and importance, and in fact the largest known caverns on the islands, are the twin caves penetrating the high cliffs on the north shore near Bailey's Bay. These caves are partially submerged at high tide, and owing to the excessive violence of the waves in time of storm, have lost all but their largest stalactites.

At present they are mainly of interest because of their large size and the manner in which they serve to illustrate the transition from true caverns to “natural arches" and "bridges." As the surrounding rock is worn away by waves and weather, the stalactite-coated walls remain, and in the course of time stand out boldly from neighborly cliffs, presenting the appearance of the “Cathedral" or –“Church Rocks," in Somerset Parish, on the western end of the islands. But even the resistance of the hard dripstone gradually gives way before the elements; pillar after pillar is worn through, and finally only a small section of an arch remains, forming a structure like the "Natural Arch" at Tucker's Town, or the "Natural Bridge" on St. David Island. When situated further inland the caverns are frequently destroyed by the falling of the roofs. In the case of small caves the so-called "grottos" result, such as the "Devil's Hole," on Harrington Sound. If of large size, bays or lagoons may be formed, and many geologists affirm that Harrington Sound itself was once an enormous water-filled cave, whose roof, countless ages ago, collapsed. Doubtless many a large and beautiful cave still remains undiscovered in Bermuda; in fact, that such is the case is clearly proved by the report of the naval engineers, who, when excavating for the great floating dry dock at Ireland Island, discovered immense hidden cavers of wonderful beauty, which it was unfortunately necessary to entirely destroy in order to make room for the handiwork of man.

The Palms

America’s Tropical Trees – The Palms

By A. Hyatt Verrill

from Tropical and Sub Tropical America, a monthly magazine, May 1908, digital capture by Doug Frizzle December 2007

SYMBOLS of the lands of perpetual summer, soft skies and balmy trade-winds, the palms are the most familiar of all tropical trees. Indeed, a landscape scarcely seems tropical without these graceful trees, and in the minds of most people they are a necessary adjunct to all southern scenes.

Although so well-known as a whole, and so readily recognized, it still remains true that the great variety, manifold uses, strange habits and odd forms of this group of trees will prove a revelation to those who have not made a study of the subject.

It is doubtful if there is a single class of tropical trees so essential to mankind as the palms. Houses, clothing, rope and cordage, food and drink, needles and thread, timber and firewood, boats and fodder, wax and drugs are all obtained from palms of various species, and there is scarcely a variety of palm or palmetto that is not utilized in the making of at least one of these necessities.

Probably the commonest and most useful of the palms is the coconut. It is a striking feature of every tropical seaside and village throughout the world, yet the origin of the tree is lost in antiquity, for long before Columbus and his caravels sailed the sparkling Caribbean the floating coconuts had weathered the tempests of every southern sea, and wherever they were cast ashore on tropic beaches, had sprung into life and flaunted their plumed heads above the breaking surf.

The coconut palm is especially adapted to spread from land to land and from island to island, for it thrives best on sandy beaches, where its long, rope-like roots are seeped in the briny waters, and its stiff, feather-like leaves are thrashed and torn by every passing breeze. In such situations the ripened nuts fall either into the sea itself, or so near its edge that the first high tide or storm carries them out to sea. Once afloat, and encased in the tough outer husk and dense, waterproof fibre, the nut can withstand an enormous amount of buffetting and can remain in the water for a long period before becoming waterlogged.

The nuts sprout readily when resting on the surface of the ground, the roots pushing from one of the "eyes" at the end and gaining a firm foothold in the most inhospitable soil, while the spearlike leaf shoots upward with remarkable rapidity. The leaves as they first expand are lanceolate, and not divided as are the mature leaves, but in a few hours the slits along the sides appear. As the coconut grows most commonly in spots exposed to the full sweep of the trade-winds, the tree gradually bends away from the wind, while the efforts of the trunk to assume a perpendicular position often results in odd and grotesque curves.

The stem of the coconut palm, as is the case with nearly all the palm family, is very strong and tough, and is composed of closely interwoven fibres in a hard and almost horny outer bark. So strong is this rope-like column that in severe hurricanes the entire top of the tree is frequently twisted off wilhuut injuring the trunk in the least. Often, also, the tree is torn bodily from the ground, for the trunk grows entirely from the surface and is merely anchored by a multitude of fibrous roots that spread from its base in every direction.

The coconut commences to bloom when from three to ten years old, and bears continually, year in and year out, for 80 or ioo years. It is seldom that one of these trees can be found that does not hear buds, flowers, and fruit in various stages of development. The fragrant flowers are borne in clusters, on branching stems, and the nuts develop in the same manner.

Not only is the coconut used for food and drink, but the people of the tropics make every part of the tree serve some useful purpose. The leaves form a thatch for their huts and bedding for horses and cattle, the trunk is used for posts, fences, and for building houses, while fish lines, coarse cloth and our familiar doormats are formed from the fibre of the husks. The dried meat of the nut is the well-known copra of commerce, and from copra, as well from the fresh meat, coconut oil is prepared. The oil, when fresh, is sweet and pleasant, and is widely used for cooking purposes. It is used also in making soaps and as soap made of coconut oil is soluble in saltwater it is highly esteemed on shipboard. From the oil a kind of butter can also be prepared, and when properly made it is superior to animal butter, especially for persons troubled with digestive disorders.

At present practically all the copra and coconut oil used in the United States, Canada and England is imported from the East Indies and Africa. There is always a large demand for it, and there is no reason why the American tropics should not produce large quantities of oil and copra for the north American and British markets. The slightly fermented sap of the tree is also used as yeast in making bread, and if fermentation is allowed to continue a fine vinegar results. When fermented and distilled the coconut-sap furnishes the fiery drink known in the East as "arrack." In some portions of the tropics the fresh sap is boiled down and used as a sirup or sugar.

The shells of the nut are made into dippers, jars, vases, spoons and other household utensils, while the stiff, sharp ribs of the leaflets serve as toothpicks, pins and forks, and at a pinch are made to answer the purpose of needles.

Almost as common as the coconut, but of very different habits and appearance, are the various species of Royal palms. These are the most graceful and majestic of their tribe—the aristocrats of palm land—and are as useful as they are beautiful. They are widely cultivated in tropical countries as ornamental trees, and there is no more imposing sight than the long avenues of these trees so common in the American tropics. Straight as arrows, their beautifully molded and tapering trunks tower, smooth and almost as hard as granite, for eighty or even a hundred feet above the earth, each bearing at its summit a great mass of deep-green, drooping plumes from the centre of which the unfolded leaf-bud points straight and rigid towards the blue sky. Glorious as are these splendid trees when arranged by the hand of man, yet to me they are even more admirable when growing in their natural haunts on verdure-clad mountain sides, their white trunks standing boldly out from the surrounding greenery, and their plumes waving gently to the breeze, far above the tangled sea of vines and jungle at their feet.

From the centre of the crown of the Royal palm the famous "mountain cabbage," or "palm cabbage," is obtained. This delicious vegetable is really the unborn leaves of the tree, and to procure it the tree itself is killed for all time. Scores of the dead trunks thus sacrificed dot every West Indian hillside—gaunt skeletons of vegetable giants whose lives have been taken for a paltry six pence.

The woody covering of the Royal palm trunk is quite thick and strong, and in many places is used by the natives for building their dwellings. These so-called "yagua" houses last for a lifetime. They are wholly built from the palm, for the roofs are thatched with the leaves, and the timbers and frames are composed of sections of the trunk. The fruit of the Royal palm consists of bunches of small purple or dark-green berries, much used in making preserves and pickles.

Related to the Royal palms, and resembling them in general appearance, are the various small forest species, variously known as "gru-gru," the "maho," and by other local names. Several of these bear edible nuts or fruits, and many of them are exceedingly useful because of their tough and durable timber and for their leaves. From the leaves of the maho-palm the few surviving Caribs of Dominica and St. Vincent weave their wonderful waterproof baskets. These leaves are used also in making fish-traps, in thatching houses and for making sieves through which the manioc meal is grated.

Quite different in aspect are the fan-palms, those stout, bushy trees with broad, fan-shaped leaves from which the common palm-leaf fans are made. In many parts of the American tropics the fan-palm leaves are transformed into a great variety of objects, such as hats, baskets, trays, saddle-bags and panniers. Such vegetable articles are strong and flexible, and endure a great amount of the roughest usage. In San Domingo such bags or "macutos" are used universally; small hand-bags, market-bags, and huge coffee and cacao sacks made from palm leaves are seen on every hand, and scarce a schoolchild is met who does not carry his books in a brightly-colored and handsomely woven "macuto" of fan-palm leaves.

The giant of all the fan-palms is the remarkable Talipot palm, originally of Ceylon, but now common in many portions of the New World. The leaves of this fine tree are often ten or twelve feet across, and fifteen to twenty feet in length. They are used as umbrellas, tents and roofs, and, when cut up and pressed flat, are made into books and manuscripts.

Still another class of handsome and useful palms are the "wax-palms" of Brazil and the Andes. These trees have the stems, and in some cases the leaves also, coated with a secretion which consists of two thirds resin and one third wax, and which forms an important article of commerce. When melted with the addition of a small quantity of fat, this secretion forms an excellent substitute for paraffine or tallow, and is widely used in making candles.

There is scarcely a person who has not heard of vegetable ivory, and many of us have seen and handled the smooth, brown-coated ivory-nuts. Few are aware, however, that the nuts are the fruit of certain palms.

The most important of the ivory-palms is a native of Colombia, and the nuts form an important article of export from that and other South American countries. When young, the seeds or nuts are filled with a milky fluid that later hardens into a firm, fine-grained, albuminous substance which for many purposes has all the requirements of animal ivory.

A familiar feature of all tropical oriental countries is the date-palm. Although not a native of America, it has now been so generally introduced in the tropical and sub-tropical regions of this continent as to be worthy of consideration as an important factor among our economic trees.

While the date-palm seldom fruits in the West Indies, yet in Arizona and other sub-tropical districts it flourishes and bears profusely, and has already become of decided commercial importance. Stiff, dry and ragged, the date is probably the least attractive of the palms, but when loaded with the great clusters of its valuable fruit it presents a striking and most interesting sight. A remarkable feature of the palms and palmettos is the fact that many species are peculiar to but one country or island. Of such species the Bermuda palmetto is a good example. Found only in those mid-Atlantic islands, this palmetto forms a most striking feature of their landscape, and in former days proved the salvation of the early settlers, for the berries of the palmetto are edible, and were eagerly devoured by the half-starved mariners and colonists.

The palmettos, however, proved a curse as well as a blessing to the Bermudians of those early days, for they soon discovered that an intoxicating drink or "toddy" could be made from the sap, and for some time the colonists were on an almost continual spree.

Many species of palmetto possess great medicinal value, and the extracts and tinctures of the saw-palmetto of Florida are well known and valuable medicines.

Although but a few of the most valued and familiar palms and their use have here been described, there are more than one thousand species known to botanists, and a large proportion of them are of commercial or economic utility.

Every tropic forest abounds with a multitude of varieties of these trees of poetry and romance, and there are few that do not possess some special value as food or clothing, or that are not essential to the rude arts and crafts of the natives, even though quite unknown to the outside world.

Yet among them all none is more remarkable in appearance, habits, or uses, than the Traveller's palm.

This strange tree is not really a true palm, but is more closely related to the bananas. The stalk somewhat resembles the banana stalk, but the leaves are borne at the extremity of long, stiff stems that spread alternately from either side of the trunk and form a broad, flat, fan-shaped crown. The most remarkable feature of the tree is that it is a veritable vegetable drinking-fountain, and an incision at the base of one of the great leaf-stems will bring forth a quart or more of clear, sweet water, and so beneficial is the tree that many governments have planted them along the highways, where they will ever prove a welcome boon to many a thirsty wanderer. Every traveller in tropic forests should know this tree by sight.

Mastering the Motor Car
What You Should Know About a Car Before You Attempt to Drive
By A. HYATT VERRILL

From American Boy Magazine, April 1916 provided by Bobby Ryan, digitized by Doug Frizzle, 2007

THE FIRST STEP In learning to drive an automobile is to master the mechanical details of the car. One may drive for many miles without the least knowledge of the details or construction of the car, or of why a certain operation produces a certain result, but if anything ever happens, a good working knowledge of the essential features of the mechanism will be of incalculable benefit.
Before you attempt to drive a car, study the motor carefully. Ask the agent, or someone who understands the machine, to explain the engine and its operations, familiarize yourself with its various parts, and watch it while it is running idle until you understand just what each and every part and accessory is for, how it works, and what it does. Get a copy of the instruction book issued by the manufacturers of the particular car you wish to master. In a general way, all motors are similar, and certain requirements and attentions are essential to them all in common.
Modern automobile motors are so well built, there are so few external openings, and the moving parts are so well protected and covered that they will operate even when coated deep with dust and dirt; but there is no excuse for a dirty motor and dirt never did an engine any good. If the motor is wiped off frequently it may easily be kept clean with little trouble, and you'll find a clean motor far easier and pleasanter to adjust and care for than a dirty one.

Fig. 1. Shifting Gears.




The Clutch
HAVING MASTERED the motor, next turn your attention to the driving mechanism. This, in most cars, consists of the clutch, transmission gears, propeller shaft, and differential. As these are all out of sight under the flooring of the car, they are usually out of mind as well, and are woefully neglected. As they receive all the strain, jolt, and jar of driving, and since they are exposed to all the mud, dust, dirt, and grit of the road, they receive the hardest usage of any part of the mechanism of the car and the wonder is that they fail so seldom.
Some cars do not have a clutch, but the majority or cars do and it is to these that my remarks must be confined. The clutch, located just back of the motor, consists of a device which transmits the power and motion of the motor to the driving mechanism or gears and is so designed that it may be connected or disconnected at will. When the clutch pedal is released, or in its normal position, the clutch revolves with the shaft of the motor, and carries with it the shaft leading to the gears. When the clutch pedal is depressed and the clutch is "thrown out," the motor revolves freely and the gear shaft connecting with the rear wheels remains motionless. Thus, with the clutch "out." there is no connection between the motor and the driving mechanism of the car, whereas with the clutch "in," the engine is connected directly with the gears and driving mechanism and so moves the car. Aside from keeping the various grease cups and lubricating devices of the clutch supplied with lubricants, the clutch requires little attention.

The Transmission
BEHIND the clutch is the transmission or "gear box" (in standard cars), and to many this is a deep and unfathomable mystery. While to the lay mind the transmission of a three or four-speed car is complicated, and space will not permit a full and detailed explanation, yet its principles are simply and easily understood, and if these are mastered and the gears are kept properly lubricated, according to the directions in the instruction book, the average driver or owner need give them but little thought. The majority of cars are provided with gears known as “selective”. Fords and some other cars have transmissions of the "planetary" type. Although the action and operation of the selective and planetary gears are quite distinct, yet their purpose is the same; which is to provide a means of increasing the power and decreasing the speed of the driving wheels of the car or vice versa.
The gears may be operated either by means of foot petals and a lever, as in the Ford, or by a hand lever as in the various standard cars with selective transmissions. In the case of the former, the gears may he changed or "shifted" without disengaging the motor from the transmission, for the gear wheels themselves are always engaged and are made to drive, or are left running idle by means of friction-bands which thus serve as a sort of clutch. In the case of cars with the standard selective gears, the various gears are moved back and forth upon their shafts, and in order to accomplish this without undue wear and tear on the gears, or grinding, and jerking as the speeds change, the motor must be disengaged from the gears when shifting from one speed to another; it is to enable the operator to do this that the clutch is provided.
The majority of selective gears have three speeds forward and one reverse, but some have four forward speeds and one reverse. In each and every ease, the operation is very similar and while the operating or gear-lever may be on the right or left side of the car or in the center, yet it is always arranged to move in a lateral and longitudinal direction to change the gears from one speed to another. The commonest method is for the gear-lever to move in two parallel guides or slots with an opening or "gate" from one slot to the other near the center, forming an "H" (Fig. 1.) When the lever is in this central opening or "gate," the gears are all disengaged, and the clutch may be thrown in without moving the car. This is known as the "neutral" position, and is the position to which the lever should always be set when the car is stationary. By moving the gear lever to one end or the other of the two slots, the various gears are meshed and the several speeds are obtained.
The forward end of the inner slot may be reverse and the opposite end the first or lowest speed (Fig. 2-B) or vice versa (Fig. 2-A) ; the two ends of the outer slot will then give the intermediate or second. and the third or direct drive, also known as "high." Sometimes the inner slot gives the second and third speeds and the outer slot the low and second (Fig. 2-C D) ; for car builders have not yet standardized the gear-shifting movements and different makers use different arrangements. In every case, however, low speed and reverse are at the opposite ends of one slot, and second and high are at the opposite ends of the other slot, with the second speed at the same end of the slot as reverse, and the third or high at the same end as first. Thus, if the reverse is in and forward, high will be out and back, and for this reason if you once learn the position of any certain speed on a car you can readily know the position for the other speeds. In most cars you will notice that the position of the various speeds is marked on the plate at the base of the gear lever as on Fig. 2. When the lever is in the slot marked one, the gears are in first; when in two, in second; when in three, in high; when in R, in reverse.
In some cars, the slots do not show at the base of the gear lever, though the positions are marked, but the "H" is there just the same and the gears are shifted in exactly the same manner. Sitting in the driver's seat, you can determine the position of the gears by feeling the gear lever. If the lever slips freely from side to side, it is in the cross bar of the "H" or in neutral, if it will not, moving it forward or back will put it in neutral and it may then be shifted into the desired position.
In shifting the lever from one speed to another, it is obligatory to throw out the clutch, as before mentioned, and as a rule it is also necessary to "go through" the speeds in regular order. Thus, from first the lever must be shifted to second and then to high, instead of directly from first to high; and when shifting from speeds in one groove to those in the other, the lever is swung out or in through the neutral gate (Fig.1). This may sound somewhat complicated, but a glance at the accompanying diagrams will make it plain, it is usually advisable to start the car on the lowest speed, and then shift through to second and finally to high, as the machine acquires momentum. This does away with a great deal of the rack and jar attendant upon getting a car in motion and which would occur if the car were at once started on high or direct drive. Many cars, however, may he started on level ground on second speed without injury, thus obviating one shift, but until the driver is thoroughly experienced and familiar with his car, it is wiser to start on the lowest gear.
The principal attention which the owner or driver should give to the transmission gears is to keep them well lubricated. The exact grade of grease or oil recommended by the manufacturer the car should be used, and the gear-case should always be kept well filled through the opening provided for this purpose.
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Universal Joints
FROM the gear or transmission case, the propeller shaft (I am assuming that shaft-driven cars are under discussion) extends to the rear axle. Somewhere upon this shaft there is a joint or coupling known as a "universal joint." This Is a joint so arranged that the shaft is free to move in almost any direction, thus relieving it of strain when the car rides over unequal spots or sways sideways (Fig. 3.). If the shaft were rigid, it would either be bent, or the transmission or other parts of the machine would be thrown out of alignment. Moreover, the transmission and motor is usually considerably higher from the ground than the rear axle, and hence the propeller shaft must run at an angle from the driving gear to the axle; therefore, in order to transmit the rotary motion through this crook or angle, a universal joint is necessary. Universal Joints should be kept well greased and should be protected from dust, dirt, and grit by keeping them covered with a leather boot. Many owners of cars imagine that this boot is designed and provided for the purpose of retaining grease, and accordingly they pack it full of lubricant. However, the purpose of the boot is not to keep grease in, but to keep dirt out, The joint should be carefully and thoroughly cleaned and greased, and the boot cleansed and replaced at frequent intervals. Aside from this, the universal will seldom require any attention, unless the bearings, blocks or other parts become worn or loose when they should at once and be tightened up.

IF YOU DESIRE information concerning any particular make of motor car in which you are interested, address "The Automobile Editor, THE AMERICAN BOY, Detroit, Mich.," and he will see to it that the information is supplied to you.

The Differential
WHERE the propeller shaft joins the axle, there, is an enlarged portion of the axle housing, and within, this Is the device known as the "differential." The differential consists of certain gears which very in their design and arrangement in different cars, but which are provided for the purpose of distributing the motion and power of the motor to the two wheels equally. The necessity for such a device will be readily understood when it is remembered that in turning a corner the wheel on the outer side must cover a far greater distance than that on the inner and hence it must make more revolutions— or it must slip on the ground if it is connected immovably to the same shaft as the other wheel. In the case of a horse-drawn vehicle, where the wheels are free to revolve independently upon their axle, no difficulty is encountered, but in the automobile, where the wheels are connected to the axle which drives them, provision must be made to permit one wheel to revolve faster than the other white still driving the car. This is exactly what the differential accomplishes. It is not necessary to enter into a detailed explanation or discussion of the technical side of differential construction. In each- case, the axle of the car is in two pieces, and the inner end of each piece is provided with a gear which is driven by means of gears in the differential, and which are in turn operated by a gear upon the extremity of the propeller shaft. The arrangement of these gears permits either section of the axle to revolve independently of the other while driving both. provided that there is any traction or resistance offered to both wheels. If, however, one wheel is resting on the ground and the other is lifted clear— as when the car is jacked up— and the motor is started, the transmission gears being in mesh, then the wheel free of the ground will revolve while the other remains stationary.

The Steering Gear
THE MOST IMPORTANT PART of the car. so far as the safely of its occupants is concerned, is the steering gear (Fig. 10.) A deranged, loose, weak, or broken steering gear may result in a fatal accident without the least warning. Time and again we read of accidents which were caused by a defective steering mechanism, and yet the average driver gives very little attention to this vital part of his car. You should frequently examine the steering gear and see that it is kept properly lubricated, that there is no undue looseness, and that it does not "jam" or bind. All steering gears have adjusting devices for taking up the wear, and you should make use or these and keep the steering mechanism just tight enough to give perfect control of the car. At the same time, it must not be so tight as to make it difficult to turn the wheels.
Although not strictly a portion of the steering gear, yet the proper steering of a car depends a great deal upon the condition of the pivoted hubs of the front wheels, if the bearings are worn and loose, or dry and stiff, it will be impossible to steer the car properly and these parts should be inspected and cared for as carefully as the steering gear proper.
The importance of keeping the front wheels in alignment is often overlooked, even by experienced owners and drivers. If the wheels are out of line, vertically, (Fig. 4.), you may be sure there is a badly worn bearing, pin, or spindle on one or both of the wheels, or that the axle or a spindle is bent. If, on the other hand, the wheels are out of line horizontally, the fault may be remedied by adjusting the distance rod between the wheels. It is a far easier matter to determine a vertical than a horizontal fault in the alignment, but the latter may be easily ascertained by using a string or two light sticks or rods, each a little more than half as long as the distance between the wheels.
To align the wheels, turn one wheel until it is parallel with the frame and in line with the rear wheel on the same side. Place one rod against the inner rim of the wheel, directly in front of the hub, and place the other rod against it and with its end touching the inner rim of the other wheel. Mark a couple of lines across both rods (Fig. 5) and proceed in the same way to measure the distance between the two wheels from rim to rim, directly back of the hubs. If you find the front rims are farther apart than the rear, you must lengthen the distance between them by screwing out the distance-rod, if in the rear of the axle; or by screwing it in if it is in front of the axle. If, on the other hand, the front rims are nearer together than the rear, the operation must be reversed. If there is a little play in the various joints, bearings, etc.. adjust the wheels so that the front edges are slightly nearer together than the rear, for when running with a load there will be a tendency for the wheels to spread apart at the forward edges. Don't hesitate to take plenty of time and to use great care in adjusting the wheels. If they are out of line, they will cause undue wear on the tires,
Brakes
LAST, but by no means least in importance, are the brakes. As a rule, brakes are woefully neglected and, as a result, they give out or fail without warning, and at the most critical times. If you examine the brakes, you will find that there are usually two sets—one operated by a foot pedal and known as the "service brake." and the other operated by a hand lever and known as the "emergency brake." The ordinary form of brake consists of a metal band, so arranged as to grip a metal drum on the hub of the rear wheel. The band may be of metal only, or it may be faced with material composed of woven asbestos and wire. In some cars, the service brake is within the hub-drum, and grips the latter by spreading or expanding, while the emergency brake is on the outer circumference of the drum, and grips it by closing or contracting. In other cars the reverse arrangement is used.
Where the brakes are of metal, little can be done except to keep them properly adjusted, but if they are lined with friction material, the linings may be renewed when badly worn. Brakes should be so adjusted that either set will hold the car on a steep hill, for if you are obliged to depend upon both sets together and one brake fails, the other will not hold the car, and disaster may result. On the other hand, the brakes should never be so tightly adjusted that they bind when not in use. If the rear axle is jacked up and the wheels are turned by hand, it is very easy to determine whether the brakes bind or not. Brake bands should be kept free from grease or oil, and the various pins and joints should be kept well oiled.
When using a brake, never jam it on suddenly and lock the wheels, even in an emergency. If the wheels are locked, the car may slide or skid, whereas if the brakes are put on gradually, using first one and then the other, the car may be brought to a standstill more quickly and with far greater safety. Locking the brakes and letting the rear wheels slide is especially hard on tires.

Throttle and Spark
ALTHOUQH the speed and power of the car may be regulated to a certain extent by means of the gears, yet the primary method of regulating speed and the one upon which you should largely depend, is by spark and throttle. The throttle acts upon the carburetor, and allows a larger or smaller charge of fuel to enter the motor, according to whether the throttle is open or closed. The spark lever acts upon the magneto or commutator, and causes the ignition spark to occur earlier or later in relation to the position of the pistons in the cylinders. This is known as "advancing" or "retarding" the spark, and the niceties of good driving depend largely upon the operator's skill and knowledge regarding spark control. Although a motor will run faster, cooler, and more economically with an advanced spark, when on level ground and with open throttle, yet under many conditions the spark should be retarded in order to secure the best results. In addition to the hand levers which control the throttle and spark, many cars are provided with foot pedals which act upon either the throttle or spark, or both. The ordinary arrangement is to have both spark and throttle levers upon the steering-wheel column, with an additional or supplementary throttle lever which may be operated by the driver's foot. This Is known as the "accelerator," and enables the driver to open the throttle while leaving both hands free to steer, sound signals, or operate brakes and gear-shifts. As the spark lever is used far less often than the throttle, a foot control of the spark is not essential and is seldom provided.

An article on “Learning to Drive the Motor Car," will follow in the April AMERICAN BOY.

Hunting the White Indians

Hunting the White Indians

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From McClure's Magazine July 1924. Digital Capture by Doug Frizzle 2007

FROM Brazil to Mexico—in Guiana, Venezuela, Colombia, Panama and Central America — one hears from natives and Indians, innumerable tales of "white Indians"—strange, savage, retiring denizens of the vast jungles or interminable mountains of the interior. The stories vary little save in minor details. Sometimes the "white" Indians are gigantic, fierce cannibals, again they are timid, undersized and peaceful, or they may he quite like their neighbors in all but color of skin, hair and eyes. How did these persistent tales originate? Is there any truth in them, and, if so, who or what are the "white" Indians?

It was with the expectation of finding such tribesmen—savages in whose veins flowed enough European blood to warrant the name "white" being applied to them—that I undertook two excursions into Latin American jungles.

My first attempt was made in British Guiana. Here, despite every effort, though I made diligent inquiries among all the tribes I visited during nearly three years in the interior of the country, I seemed as far as ever from solving the mystery until, one day, an Indian brought me in a number of utensils and specimens of savage handiwork. There were the usual feather crowns, the bows and arrows, seed necklaces and bead aprons, and among them two paddles that instantly attracted my attention. Not only were they of unusual form, quite distinct from anything I had seen, but the handles were elaborately and beautifully carved in open scroll work of most graceful design. I knew beyond doubt that they were from some unknown tribe I had not visited, and most remarkable of all, the broad, spear-shaped blades were decorated with incised designs of interlocking circles and semicircles—something unknown among any of the tribes of Guiana.

But my Arowak collector could give me very little information as to their origin. He had secured them, along with the other articles, from Indians "topside" or up the river, from wandering Akawoia traders, but that was enough for me. Somewhere up the Demerara River was an undescribed, unvisited tribe—it seemed to me a promising field for exploration. No one knew anything about the denizens of the upper reaches of the river or of the country between there and the Berbice and, upon inquiry, I learned to my surprise that the Demerara, despite the fact that it is commercially the most important river in British Guiana and comparatively small, had never been mapped or explored above Cannister Falls, and that its source and head waters were absolutely unknown.

Having decided to make an expedition I found that not a negro, Boviander or Indian could be found who would agree to accompany me on my proposed trip. One and all were filled with a vague superstitious fear. They told stories of insurmountable difficulties, of rumors of weird savage beasts and semi-human beings who dwelt in the unexplored country, and nothing would tempt them to go beyond the known reaches of the river. I had about given up in despair when by accident I met two Boviander youths and a young Arekuna Indian who were born adventurers. All three at once offered to accompany me or, as they put it "take a walk topside" regardless of man, God or devils.

At each and every village on our way I made diligent inquiries as to the denizens of the headwaters of the stream, and exhibiting my strange paddles, asked if any knew whence they came. But all were wholly ignorant of their origin. Likewise, all were unanimous in declaring that the river rose in "a hole in a mountain," and that the country about the source was the abode of evil spirits or monsters, half-man and half-jaguar, which destroyed all human beings who entered their country. But above Great Falls I had better luck. Here the Indians were more primitive, more cleanly and less ruined by civilization. Among them I again heard the tale of white Indians and one old chief expressed the opinion that the paddles were those of the mysterious white tribe.

Then, at a remote Indian village we found a "spree" in progress. From far and near, the Indians had flocked to the merrymaking, bent only on having a good time and getting outrageously drunk. But they were still sober when I arrived, and in reply to my inquiries, declared that the paddles had come from farther "topside" from the "white" Indians, and that no man had ever penetrated their country, although occasionally a member of the mysterious race came down the river to trade, always vanishing into the unknown district where, so my informants averred, they were guarded by the half-human creatures who dwelt in a stone city on the mountain top whence the river issued from its "hole."

And then Fate or luck played into my hands. Suddenly I leaped up, hardly able to believe my eyes. Into the dancing circle had stepped a strange figure. He was short, pudgy and wrinkled; about his neck and across his naked torso hung strings of seeds and jaguar teeth; in one hand he carried a calabash rattle, gay with streamers of gaudy parrot feathers; upon his head was a gorgeous crown of macaw plumes with streamers of feathers hanging from it to his waist, and the form of the crown, the design of its decorations, stamped him instantly as a member of a tribe I had never seen.

But I scarcely noticed these details at the time. My eyes were fixed incredulously upon his face and body. His hair was gray, upon his good-natured grinning face was a straggling gray beard and mustache, and—his skin was white! Not that it was the white of a pure Caucasian. It was tanned and burnt by weather and sun, it was daubed with paint, and in every superficial character the man was an Indian. But there was no hint of brown, copper or yellow in his skin. Rather, it was that of a sunburned European and the old man's cheeks were as rosily pink as any Englishman's. Unquestionably, beyond the shadow of a doubt he was a "white Indian" if ever there was one and, pressing through the throng, I reached the old fellow's side. "With some difficulty I managed to induce him to leave the dance for a time and, by means of Akawoia, gestures and the help of other Indians who had gathered about I questioned him. And as I talked I was even more astounded at the stranger's appearance. His eyes twinkled and instead of being dull black or deep brown they were light hazel; his features were more Caucasian than Indian, and without his headdress and barbaric ornaments he would have passed anywhere as a good-natured elderly Scotchman, or, if clad in wide trousers and blouse and with a peaked cap on his gray head, he would have been transformed into a typical easy-going old Dutchman.

I was elated beyond words. Incredible as it seemed, I was actually talking to a "white Indian" and my discovery confirmed my theory. I felt certain that he was neither an Indian nor white, but that he was a living proof of my theory that the white Indians were descendants of Europeans and Indians. Conversation was not easy. The old fellow, moreover, was a bit loath to divulge any information regarding his tribe. His eyes lit up when I showed him the paddles; he admitted they were those of his people, and he informed me he was an Akuria. Presents, tobacco and a little coaxing soon established most friendly relations, however, and the fellow, waving his hand indefinitely toward the upper river, declared his people dwelt between the Demerara and the Berbice.

One village only was there, a settlement of less than one hundred individuals, and, so he informed me, it could be reached by a trail leading from a spot beside the stream which he minutely described. But the old fellow refused absolutely to accompany me and guide us. He had come a long distance to have a good time, he had no intention of missing the drinking bout at the end of the festivities, and the merry twinkle in his eyes and the wink he bestowed upon me as he said this were such as no true Indian ever knew or could accomplish.

If I was to follow up my discovery and visit the tribe, there was no time to be lost. "We were woefully short of provisions and game was exceedingly scarce. So I left him, stripped of his regalia but gloriously happy in a pair of drill trousers and a calico shirt, to resume his merrymaking, and pressed on into the indefinite beyond.

Never have I experienced a more heartbreaking, terrible journey. The knife-sharp rocks, the tangled vines, the dense jungles of razor-edged saw-grass made traveling an endless agony.

When at last we reached the end of nowhere and found our farther passage barred by a lofty, impassable mountain side, I no longer wondered at the tales of the river coming out from a "hole in the mountain" and of the stone city on the mountain top. The river did literally issue from holes—scores of them—great fissures and crevices among the rocks. And there, outlined against the heavy sodden clouds, or concealed by scudding vapor and a veil of rain, rose what I first took to be veritable stone buildings—massive fortresses and towers, tapering spires and castellated walls—but which were nothing more than the mountain's cap of sandstone, carved by the elements.

We had run the Demerara River to earth, but we had found no trace of the trail of the strange tribe I sought. There was nothing to do but retrace our steps and discouraged, utterly exhausted, we stumbled back through the wilderness. Then luck again favored us. One of my men, the Arekuna boy, seeking an easier route, came upon a landing place and we hurried to him at his shout. From the spot, a winding, half-obliterated trail led into the jungle, and forgetting our weary bodies and fever-racked bones, we hurried along the pathway. On and on it led; zigzagging, doubling, crossing streams, winding over hills, until at last I halted and declared that I believed we were on the wrong trail and were blindly following some game trail that led nowhere. The next instant we stood speechless, our ears straining. From far away, thin but unmistakable, had come the bark of a dog. Then, as the yelping was again borne to us, we forgot all else and raced onward, for where there are dogs in the bush there are Indians.

Again and again the welcome sound came to us, each time nearer than the last, and then, so suddenly and unexpectedly that we stopped short, we came into view of a clearing and, on the farther side, Indian houses! At our first glimpse of the thatched roofs we knew we had reached the Akuria village. High above the surrounding trees and shrubbery rose an immense conical-roofed house fully sixty feet in diameter and as many feet high, open at the sides under the eaves that reached to within a yard of the earth, while all about stood square huts.

As we stood gazing, figures appeared: short, naked men and women, little children and half-grown boys and girls and, to my delight, all of the same peculiar pinkish color as the old man at the dance. Only a fleeting glimpse did we have. No sooner did the denizens of the village catch sight of us than they vanished like ghosts, leaving the spot deserted save for the curs that nipped at our heels as we made our way to the great house. But the Indians had not gone far.

The men, a dozen of them, were seated about on wooden stools or in cotton hammocks and they gazed at us, as we bent low and entered, with strange expressions of mingled fear, wonder and curiosity. I glanced about. The interior of the huge dwelling was divided into sections radiating from an open space in the center wherein a fire smouldered. I say divided, but properly there were no divisions or at least partitions, the sections being marked by upright posts, each carved and painted in grotesque conventionalized figures of animals or birds, which later I learned were the totems or insignia of the families occupying the house. In each of these sections dwelt a family and in the hammocks swung to the posts, the trembling females of the tribe were lying, wrapped like chrysalids in their cocoons. But the Akurias, though they had never seen white men or black, soon overcame their fears and shyness and, filled with intense curiosity, drew about us. Then as I distributed presents, we became good friends and space was made for our belongings and for swinging our hammocks. I had found the white Indians, was living among them, but—were they white or Indian?

In language, habits, arts, every external and visible characteristic, with the exception of color, they were unquestionably Indian. But their skins, though by no means really white, were not the color of any Indian I had ever seen, and the darkest member of the tribe was lighter than the lightest colored Carib. Moreover, the oldest members had gray hair; many of the men had well-developed beards, and several had light gray eyes. The younger children were almost pure white—where not dirty—and several had brown hair, tow-colored at the ends. But the hair was coarse, straight and typically Indian; the features of both men and women varied from distinct Indian types to those strikingly Caucasian, and I was more than ever convinced that the Akurias were the descendants of some forgotten European expedition —Dutch or British or perhaps Spanish or French—that had been lost or cut off in the bush, and had mixed with some Indian tribe. All about the interior of the house were feather crowns, bows and arrows, baskets and fans; bead girdles and queyus and similar objects. All were distinct in pattern and design from those of any other tribe, and I soon discovered that the Akurias' customs were as unique as their handiwork. In many ways they were communistic, all dwelt together in the great house, all shared equally in the food from the fields and the game and fish obtained, and all worked together and equally at tilling their gardens and at other labors. But there the communistic idea ended. Ornaments, bows, hammocks, utensils were personal property, and the Akurias bartered among themselves, as though dwelling in widely separated villages instead of under a common roof.

A few, I found, dwelt outside in the smaller huts—square, walled-in, two-storied buildings. These I learned were homes reserved for newly married couples, persons who were ill and women about to bear children, while the upper stories were used as storerooms for corn, rice and cassava meal. Although the Akurias had never seen a European or a negro—many had never seen an Indian of another tribe—yet they showed no astonishment at steel or iron tools or utensils. This did not surprise me. I knew that the Indians of the upper Demerara were in touch with them, that they traded with them and thus, through barter with near-by Indians, the Akurias had learned to use many articles of civilization though knowing nothing whatever of civilized man.

But many of the commonest articles of European make had never been seen in the village. Not one had ever seen soap or a mirror; thread, needles, pins, fish-hooks, files were absolutely new to them, and to my utter amazement I discovered they were wholly ignorant of salt! With wondering faces they tasted it, hesitated, made wry faces and showed every symptom of feeling nauseated. Of course they must have salt, no doubt obtaining enough for life and health from plants or other sources of food, but salt, as a separate thing, they had never seen.

One of the most striking things about them was their small size. Not a single man was over five feet four inches tall and many were barely five feet; the tallest woman was five feet one inch and the average height of the women was four feet six. And the women were, without exception, the ugliest females I have ever met. None of the Indian women in Guiana are beautiful but, beside the Akurias, an Akawoia, Arekuna or Macushi would be a veritable Venus. But the crowning surprise came the second day I was at the Akuria village.

I had questioned the men about the paddles, had secured several even more elaborately decorated than those which had led me on my search, and I asked, as well as I was able, how the circular designs were made. For a moment the old fellow with whom I was talking hesitated. Then he grinned, rose, took a battered but magnificently woven basket from its resting place on a timber overhead and lifted the lid. Poking about among its contents, a heterogeneous assortment of feathers, balls of cotton, small baskets, karamani was and odds and ends, he drew out the most amazing thing I had seen—a pair of clumsy, ancient, hand-made iron dividers.

Where had they come from? How had these strange people obtained them? How old they were I could not say, but at the least a hundred years.

Carefully I put questions to the old fellow. His replies were sincere, evidently made with every intention of telling the truth, and yet were unquestionably ridiculous. Long ago, in the very beginning of things, he declared, the first Akuria had been given the dividers by the creator. There were two pairs, he said, and ever since, guarded as their greatest treasure, handed down from chief to son through generations, the magic things had been preserved. The incised designs of circles and semicircles were placed on everything as the tribal mark of the Akurias for no Indians but the Akurias possessed the power to make such patterns.

"Very proudly he spoke of this; very carefully he restored the clumsy dividers to their place in the basket and to my own satisfaction at least I saw in the presence of the ancient instruments the key to the puzzle of the Akurias’ white blood, the proof that they were a mixture of Indian and Caucasian. Sometime in the past—one hundred, two hundred years before—a Dutch expedition, perhaps seamen exploring some river, perhaps engineers bent on roughly surveying the country or making maps, had been stranded in the wilderness. Among friendly Indians they had found a home, through years of primitive life, their arts, knowledge, tongue, all civilized things had been lost; the little isolated tribe had intermarried, the blood of the two races had blended, a new race had resulted, and, throughout the years, through all their wanderings, the people had preserved the compasses as talismans, sacred things connected in some vague, incomprehensible manner with their origin. Of all the European objects and attributes of civilization, of all the Dutch characteristics, only the ruddy cheeks, the light eyes, the humorous expressions and good-natured features, and the hand-wrought compasses remained to link the Akurias with the past. To all intents and purposes they were white Indians.

—

My second experience with white Indians was some years after my discovery of the Akurias, and many miles from Guiana. Many tales had been told me of the fierce, unknown, unconquered savage Kuna Indians of the forbidden district of Darien, in Panama. Within their territory — a vast area stretching from the headwaters of the Canazas River to the upper reaches of the Chuquenaque, no stranger was permitted. Many had tried to go in but, so the stories went, they had either never returned or had come forth mutilated or bearing tales of being driven from the country under pain of death. Government officials declared that one party of nearly one hundred Panamanians had attempted to enter the Kuna territory and only fifteen had returned alive, yet no Indian had been seen, the men having been shot from ambush with poisoned arrows.

All of this naturally whetted my desire to visit and study the savage Kunas, and I made up my mind to enter the forbidden district.

To reach Darien was easy enough though the trip in the filthy, ramshackle coastwise launch was far from pleasant, but once at the miserable Panamanian towns, squatting close to the shores of San Miguel Gulf and the coastal streams, I found that to penetrate to the interior would be no simple matter. To enter the Kuna country was, the natives declared, to sign their death warrants.

But even in Panama, there are certain adventurous fellows, perhaps men in whose veins flows a little of the blood of the dare-devil old buccaneers who under Sharpe crossed Darien centuries ago, and I found two such men. So with the two negroes and my West Indian black boy, Claude, I left the last outposts of so-called civilization behind and headed for the unknown. Our conveyance was a dugout cayuca, long and narrow, cranky as a floating log, and with the two extremities extending out in flat platform-like projections on which the men stood as they drove the craft up stream by means of poles—punting it, in fact.

Our way led up the Tuira River, for while no wild Kunas dwelt on that stream I had formulated a plan of action which I felt sure would result in getting us safely into the forbidden land. In brief, my idea was to visit the peaceful though primitive Chokois; from their villages proceed up the tributaries of the river to the villages of the "tame" Kunas, who I was told were scattered through the district, and then head for the wild Kuna country. By doing this I felt confident that my presence and my designs would be carried from tribe to tribe and would eventually reach the wild Kunas. Thus, knowing my expedition was peaceful and that I was after neither gold nor rubber, the Kunas might allow me to enter their country. And my plans fell out as I had hoped.

Once beyond the Membrillo River, we were in the "forbidden land." We had no knowledge of the location of the first villages, but, feeling sure they would be on the tributaries rather than on the main river, I headed up a small quebrada above the Membrillo.

As we pushed along shore in the dusk, without the least warning we collided with a big canoe moored to the bank. At the same instant, shadowy figures sprang up about us. Our cayuca was seized and dragged ashore, and we found ourselves surrounded by Indians.

Not a single one made any move to seize or even touch us, yet all were armed with bows and arrows, and by means of gestures and a few words of Spanish, they made it quite plain that we were prisoners and were to follow them. With some in advance, others in our rear, we were marched through the jungle for a mile or more, and then, crossing a small brook, approached a group of houses. Here we were conducted to a large hut, and, by the flaring light of a fire, I saw our captors.

A hideous-looking lot they were. Each and every one was painted from head to foot in solid black, blue or scarlet with great rings of contrasting color about eyes and mouth, and on every painted, savage face was an unpleasantly hostile expression. That there was downright peril in our predicament I knew, and yet I could not help laughing aloud at the strange spectacle of a white man and three colored men sitting in a circle of savage Indians in absolute silence, as if awaiting some miracle to enable us to understand one another.

And presently the miracle arrived in the person of a huge, fat, but excessively pompous and dignified individual garbed in cotton shirt and breech-cloth, and with a scarlet cotton cap surmounting the mass of hair looped to one side of his head. Unlike his fellows, he was not painted, with the exception of a red perpendicular line on his nose, but in his ears dangled heavy gold rings and a necklet of cowry shells and gold bangles hung upon his broad chest. For a few moments he looked us over as if we were some strange specimens, and then he addressed me in fairly good Spanish.

After cross-examining me as to my intentions, my reasons for entering his district, my nationality and my past, present and future and making similar inquiries regarding my men, he turned and spoke to the assembled Indians.

At length, after a long and somewhat heated discussion, of which of course I could understand not a word, the chief, as he turned out to be, quite unexpectedly demanded my pictures of the Guiana Indians. I had been right— word of my coming and all I had said and done among the tame Kunas had been reported. As I handed the photographs to the chief, his fellows gathered about, examining them, exclaiming over them, as excited and delighted as a crowd of boys.

It was laughable to see them hold the pictures upside down, yell with surprise, and then peer half fearfully at the back of them and utter ejaculations of wonder when they found them blank.

Once more the old chief spoke to his tribesmen, and, as well as I could judge from, his tones and gestures, argued in our favor. There appeared to be less opposition to the old fellow's arguments than before. But one fellow—a villainous-looking chap I thought him, too, with small roving eyes, thin cruel lips and hawk nose—rose and addressed the others in vehement tones. That he was utterly opposed to whatever the chief had said I well knew, and I surmised that the whole controversy had a direct and very important bearing on our case.

However, even in a Kuna council, the majority wins, and despite the eloquence of the lone opponent, who glared at me with a demoniacal leer as he ceased speaking and seated himself, the chief had his way. Quite as pompously as ever, he informed me that I would be permitted to remain in the district "half a moon." But, added the chief, there were certain conditions affixed to the verbal permit: I was held responsible for my men who were to be confined to the immediate vicinity of the house; I was forbidden to go about unless accompanied by Kunas; I was not to approach or enter the ladies' quarters, nor was I to take any photographs.

Later, I learned that their only objection to being photographed was their belief that in the pictures they would appear as nude as the Guiana Indians. So I showed the Kunas photographs of myself fully clad and, thus convinced that nudity was not a necessity in the magic, the men, and even the chief himself, posed for me. Not until I lined them up and used my camera did I realize that I might have taken photographs ad libitum without the least danger, for not one had an idea that the camera was the means to the end.

Of course I made inquiries about the white Indians. Every one knew of them. In fact the chief gravely informed me there was one at another village less than a half day's walk distant, and if I cared to accompany him, he would show the fellow to me. Highly elated, I jumped at the chance for I felt that at last I was about to look upon a really white Indian. But after a terrible tramp judge of my utter chagrin and disappointment when the "white" Indian proved to be a blind and helpless old Kuna, in fact a relative of the chief, and an excellent example of almost complete albinism! Yes, he was most truly and literally a "white" Indian—skin and hair as white as snow and sightless eyes as pink as an albino rabbit's but he was not by any means the kind I sought.

The wild Kunas were, however, far nearer white than either the tame Kunas or any other real Indians I have ever visited and long before I bade good-by to them I had come to the conclusion that if a white tribe existed in Darien it would prove to be, like the Akurias of Guiana, a mixture of the pale-skinned Kunas and white men lost in the jungle.

According to the chief, there were approximately five thousand of the wild Kunas in the forbidden area, but the villages are widely separated and my restricted stay of half a month was far too fully occupied with making notes and studying the habits, language and customs of the villagers to permit me to make a tour of the district. That the Kunas are of almost pure Mongolian ancestry I was convinced; their language is strongly Chinese, their features thoroughly Mongolian; the odd costume worn by their women is strikingly like that of the women of China in pattern, and they use wooden pillows very similar to those in Japan.

Interesting as these observations were, I seemed doomed to disappointment in another respect, for try as I might, I was unable to induce the Kunas to sell or trade a single weapon, ornament or other article for my collection. This was all the harder to bear as I was surrounded by objects of the greatest scientific and archaeological value, specimens of which no museum in the world could boast. But I had still one card up my sleeve. As a rule, a gift to an Indian requires, by strictest etiquette, a gift in return, and the day before I left I decided to play my last card.

Summoning the men of the village to the chief's house, I distributed everything I owned among them until at last I was reduced to the barest necessities and the clothes on my back. Quite impassively the Kunas received the presents and without comments departed to their homes. I gave up. Evidently the Kunas had unique customs.

But the next morning, as we packed the cayuca in preparation for leaving, the old chief brought out a bundle of bows and arrows, a roll of beautiful Kuna cloth, a huge drum and a gorgeous woman's dress which he presented to me with a grunt. Hardly had I thanked him, when another man arrived laden with a hammock, a blow-gun, several musical instruments and a carved stool. Then, for the next half hour, I was kept busy accepting gifts pressed upon me, until every article I had coveted, admired or attempted to secure was in the pile of presents which, had accumulated.

Then, just as I thought the last had arrived, the cruel-lipped rascal who had been disposed to slice off the soles of my feet upon my arrival, appeared on the scene. With a murderous leer which he no doubt intended for an ingratiating smile, he handed me a magnificent basket. Within was a woman's dress, a number of cowry shell necklaces, several carved calabashes, three of the odd palm-wood combs, and a carved club.

All his former animosity was forgotten, and as I tried, with the few Kuna words I had learned, to express my thanks, he fumbled in his nether garments, which the day before had been my own. With a ludicrous expression of shyness upon his broad yellow face, he handed me a tiny exquisitely carved god of lignumvitae with eyes of uncut peridots. It was his personal fetich, his most highly prized possession, the greatest pledge of friendship he could bestow. No longer was the fellow an enemy. He was now a steadfast, lifelong friend, and as I waved farewell, and the cayuca slipped down the stream, I realized that henceforth to me the Kuna country was no longer a "forbidden land."